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daisynik7 · 1 year ago

Text

Rub You the Right Way

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio), hand job, face-riding, face-fucking, use and mention of sex toys, cum eating

Summary: You've always been cordial with your shy next-door neighbor Choso. One day, you receive the package you've been expecting, finding out a little too late that it isn't your package at all; it's his. What you find inside makes you wonder that maybe your sweet and quiet neighbor has wild side, one you’re curious to see for yourself.

Author’s Notes: First Choso fic! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Consider this my unofficial return from hiatus. Enjoy! Divider by the wonderful and super talented @/cafekitsune!

part 7 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

The trek home from the office is especially grueling today. Your backpack is heavy with a clunky work laptop that’s been due for an upgrade along with a pile of documents that need to be reviewed ASAP. One hand carries the dinner you bought at the station while the other hoists a heavy bag of groceries you picked up during lunch, thinking it would be productive to get as much of your errands done today before hunkering down for the weekend to do a job that doesn’t pay you enough to work overtime.

You eventually arrive to your apartment complex, making one more necessary pit stop to the mail room. Inside, you recognize the distinct pink-hair of the boy standing in front of the lockers. He’s your next-door neighbor’s younger brother who visits from time-to-time. “Hi Yuji!” you beam at him.

He turns to face you, eyes crinkling happily as he smiles. “Hey! How’s it going?”

You drop your bags to open your own locker. “I’m alright. Got a busy weekend working. And you?”

He kneels down towards the boxes in front of him. “Same, except studying for exams.”

“Are you picking up your brother’s packages?” It’s a well-known fact by now that Choso isn’t fond of leaving his apartment or interacting with people in general. It doesn’t bother you though; he’s a great neighbor who barely makes a peep. Never has he ever rubbed you the wrong way, despite his reclusive nature. Sometimes, through his brother, he’ll give you an offering of cookies from the batch he baked that week. On the days you’re working overtime, he’ll send Yuji to check in on you, making sure you’re not too stressed or overexerted. And on the rare occasion that the two of you meet face-to-face, either entering or leaving the apartment at the same time, your heart skips just the tiniest beat at how his face softens when you greet him with a smile. From these tiny gestures alone, you’ve determined that Choso Kamo is a sweetheart. Quiet, but most importantly, a sweetheart.

Yuji slides the stack out from Choso’s locker, answering you. “Yup. I also had some stuff delivered here, so I figured I’d just grab everything.”

You stare at the small package in your own locker, evaluating how you’re going to carry it to your room in one trip. There’s no space in any of the bags and you’re almost convinced that you can balance it on top of your head as if you actually possess the proper skills to do so (you don’t). “Need help?” Yuji chuckles. Before you answer, he grabs it, placing it on top of a box similar in size on his stack.

“Thank you so much!”

As the elevator rides to the third floor, you continue to chat casually with Yuji. The two of you walk to your neighboring rooms and when he reaches for his keys, the stack topples over, the boxes now strewn across on the hallway floor. He blushes, collecting them hastily back into a neat pile. “I’m sorry, I hope there isn’t anything fragile in there.” He quickly slides you a box, avoiding your gaze to hide his embarrassment.

It's new office supplies you ordered for your workstation at home, so you hardly care even if there is a bit of damage done. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good,” you assure him, using your foot to push it towards your front door. “Thank you for your help, Yuji. Tell your brother I say hi.”

“Will do. Have a good night.”

Finally home, you drop all your belongings, letting out a relieved sigh. One-by-one, you put everything away: the groceries in their appropriate places, your lukewarm dinner in the microwave, and all your work junk on the dining table, where you’ll be sat at for most of this weekend starting tomorrow. You save the package for later, planning to refill your supplies tonight so you don’t have to worry about it the next morning.

You soon find out that something even better is waiting for you inside.

~~~

Choso is sprawled on the couch, too lazy to cook dinner. He ordered delivery from Yuji’s favorite pizza joint a few blocks away, which should be arriving any minute now, according to his calculations. When he hears the door open, he sits up, watching his brother enter with a tower of boxes in his hands. “I don’t remember ordering that much stuff,” he grumbles, standing up to help him.

“Most of these are mine. I think only this one is yours.” Yuji passes him a small box, which Choso quickly grabs to toss into his room, hoping to avoiding any questions about it. Truth be told, the contents of that box is way too embarrassing to explain to his precious baby brother. Inside is the sex toy he recently purchased online. It’s essentially a silicone cock sleeve, open on both ends for simple clean-up, made entirely of pliable material for ease and comfort. To put it simply, it’s a fleshlight. A state-of-the-art, new and improved fleshlight, he would like to emphasize. He’s been looking forward to using it all week and once Yuji leaves tonight, he’s going to give it a proper test run until he’s a puddle in the sheets.

It’s been a while since Choso’s been intimate with someone other than himself. A few bad breakups and past betrayals have led him to distrust most people outside of his intimate circle. The unpredictable nature of people, strangers, is frightening to him, so it’s better to avoid them completely. He has the luxury of working a job that’s fully remote, and aside from his brothers and the few colleagues he is forced to converse with periodically, it’s easy for him to remain a recluse, and he’s perfectly content with that. As for his sexual needs, he’s managed to make it this far in this drought thanks to sex toys and pornography. And while he’s aware that it’s not the most glamorous lifestyle, it works for him.

“By the way, your neighbor says hi,” Yuji mentions, opening his packages one-by-one. “She came into the mailroom.”

Choso says your name in the form of a question to clarify, though he’s certain of the answer. The only other human contact he has outside his circle is with you, his next-door neighbor. He doesn’t leave the house much, but on the occasion he does, he always hopes it’s you he runs into. He often worries that one day, you’ll realize what a pathetic loner he is and stop showing him that gorgeous smile of yours. So far, that hasn’t happened yet, so he cherishes those tiny moments every chance he gets. Something about that smile, something about you, makes him feel good. Safe.

“Yup,” Yuji confirms. “She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.”

Before Choso can inquire any further, there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of their pizza. After thanking the delivery man, the two gather at the dining table, ready to dig into their dinner. Choso listens intently as Yuji laments on his weekly occurring university woes with a mouth full of pepperoni and sausage. As much as he adores his younger brother, he’s eager for his departure so he can have alone time to break in his new toy.

At eleven, without a crumb left of the pizza and the recycling bin filled with flattened cardboard boxes, Yuji finally announces that he’s leaving. He stuffs his newly delivered items, which includes textbooks, notepads, and a bunch of miscellaneous items, in his bag. “I’ll see you next week, bro. Take care of yourself,” he says, squeezing his big brother into a warm embrace. There’s always the smallest hint of concern in his voice whenever he leaves like this. Does he worry about him? For living a life of seclusion, constantly in fear of the outside world? Sure, it may sound lonely. In fact, it is lonely. But it’s easier to stay safe in the comfort of his own home than risk being hurt from the unknown. It’s better this way…isn’t it?

Choso muses on his brother’s parting words in the silence of his apartment for much longer than he intends to. He decides that the best way to keep him from spiraling further is a distraction, and that means fucking himself silly into temporary bliss until he knocks out for the night. Hidden away in various drawers of his bedroom are a plethora of options to choose from: vibrators, masturbators, cock rings, even the sex doll tucked deep in his closet. Tonight, however, is all about his shiny new toy. Pristine and untouched for him to ruin as much as he wants. He picks it up from the floor, ripping the tape off quickly, too impatient to inspect the exterior for any potential damage. When a stapler drops, almost hitting his feet, he stares down at it, confused. Thinking it’s a weird bonus item the sex shop has sent him, he chuckles nervously, still searching. Each item he uncovers leaves him more and more baffled: a container of paper clips, a wad of sticky notes, bundles of red pens, another fucking stapler. Finally, he checks the shipping label ripped partially from his haste, whatever color remaining on his face draining completely.

This isn’t his. It’s yours.

Which means…

By the way, your neighbor says hi. She came into the mailroom.

She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.

Oh fuck.

~~~

It’s near midnight when you’re ready to turn in for the night. You almost forget about the box sitting idly on the floor by your shoes, exactly where you left it a few hours ago. With your computer all set up for work tomorrow, you think it’s best to organize your new supplies before you actually do forget. At your desk, you open the package with a pair of scissors, excited for the new staplers you bought, a standard one and a heavy duty one. It’s surprising how neatly it’s wrapped, covered in tissue paper like some sort of gift. After removing all the extra layers, you finally get to the reveal, which renders you speechless.

Nestled neatly amongst more delicate tissue paper, the translucent material almost luminous against the dim glow from the lamplight, is a sex toy. Call it what you want: a penis stroker, a male masturbator, a pocket pussy. There’s absolutely no doubt in your mind what is before you. A fucking fleshlight.

Besides the obvious appearance, the dead giveaway is the user manual included with it, displaying in big, bold print “The Cock Stroker 3000 – New and Improved!”. Lifting the box up to inspect the shipping label, you notice that it says Choso’s name, not yours. If you weren’t so stunned by this unexpected discovery, you’d be giggling at the absurdity of it all. Instead, you’re gawking at the lewd gadget, unsure what to do next.

“Fuck!”

An intense shout from the other side of the wall snaps you out of it. That’s the loudest you’ve ever heard your neighbor, and you can only assume that he has also just realized this unfortunate mix-up. There’s no way the two of you can pretend this isn’t happening. Besides, the last thing you want is for Choso to think you have a bad impression of him after this. Because you don’t, not one bit. It’s perfectly normal for people to have sex toys. In fact, it’s healthy. Even the thought of him using it on himself intrigues you. The hungry expression on his face, tongue lolling out of his mouth, those usually pale cheeks blushing a deep red. The obscene squelch of the wet silicone surrounding his engorged cock, leaking with precum. Closer and closer to the edge, ready to burst any second with your lips near the tip, ready to swallow his load…

You almost curse out loud yourself, ashamed for having such lewd thoughts about your sweet, innocent next-door neighbor. But maybe he’s not as innocent as you think.

Ultimately, you decide the best way to move forward from this is to nip it in the bud. With the opened package in your hands, you walk over to his front door, knocking three times. You hear a faint, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” from within, then hurried footsteps growing louder. Without removing the chain lock, he answers, peering at you through the narrow crack, not saying anything.

Nervous, you greet him with the best smile you can muster. “Hi Choso. I think there was a little mix-up.”

He clears his throat before mumbling a short, “Yeah.”

You glance away from him, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his gaze for this next part. “I opened it without checking the label first. I’m so sorry.”

He shuts the door suddenly, startling you. There’s the distinct rattle of the chain being fiddled with and the door swings open fully, Choso towering over you, a serious expression on his face. He shows you a box, revealing all the office supplies you ordered earlier in the week. Without saying another word, you do the exchange, anticipating that this will be the end of it.

It surprises you when he apologizes quietly, focused on the small space separating you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” He hides it behind his back, as if doing so will erase the image of it from your memory. “You must think I’m disgusting.”

You shake your head, ignoring the instinct to step closer and comfort him with a hug. The last thing you want to do is cross even more lines tonight. “I don’t, not even the slightest. It’s okay, Choso. This is totally normal and totally fine.”

“You don’t have to say that – ”

“But I mean it! I really do! There’s nothing wrong with it!” Desperate for him to believe you, you confess, “I have sex toys too, plenty of them!”

This time, he actually looks at you with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “You don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“I’m not lying!” you urge him.

He retreats inside his apartment, speaking once again through the crack. “I appreciate you trying to make this better, but I think it’s best that we never speak again. Goodnight.”

With that, he shuts the door, leaving you with a lump in your throat, devastated. In your frenzied attempt to fix this, you return to your room, searching your bedside drawer for your favorite vibrator. If words aren’t enough to convince him, then maybe actual proof will. Without taking a moment to reconsider the hole you’re digging yourself deeper and deeper into, you pound on his door, the sex toy clasped in your other hand.

When he answers, you shove it in his face, vindicated that you can prove your point with physical evidence. “See? I told you! I have toys too, so there’s nothing for you to be ashamed about.”

He squints at the vibrator squeezed in your fist as if inspecting it like a foreign object. “That’s it?”

You glare at him, offended by his response. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head to examine it at another angle. “There’s only one button.”

“One button is all I need,” you argue, defensive about your favorite being criticized. “Sure, it’s small, but that’s what I like about it. It fits comfortably in my hand and with just a single push of the button, I can experience three different levels of intensity. What more do I need?!”

He smirks, amused at your rambling. “I just don’t see how something this simple can be useful, that’s all.” It’s the closest to a smile you’ve seen from him; it has your belly fluttering.

You hold back a laugh. “I bet it packs more of a punch than that Cock Sucker 2000 or whatever.”

“3000,” he corrects, grinning, causing your heart to race. “I haven’t tried it yet, but it’s the best on the market right now.” He hesitates, his next words coming out of his mouth slowly, testing the waters. “Maybe you can show me what your little toy can do. Prove me wrong.”

You never expected this from him, but that’s what makes this exciting. All you can think of in this moment is showing him just how wet you can get. “Fine,” you agree, stepping towards him. “But only if you show me what your little toy can do, too.”

~~~

Never in a million years did Choso predict that this would be the outcome of your bizarre mix-up. You, his next-door neighbor, on his bed, naked from the waist down. Your t-shirt riding up your stomach with your legs split apart, the cute vibrator you love so much pressed to your clit. He kneels in front of you, too transfixed at the erotic sight before him to give attention to the erection strained in his sweatpants.

“You’re next,” you say, glancing at his lap.

He nods, all the confidence he had just a few minutes ago when he initially proposed this idea thrown out the window. Now, he’s back to being his nervous self, afraid to be vulnerable with someone he barely knows.

You set the vibrator beside you, closing your legs. “Are you okay?”

He’s frozen, tempted to call the whole thing off. Go back to being neighbors and nothing more. Go back to being lonely Choso and pathetic Choso, who’s scared of everyone and everything and –

“Hey.” It’s only now he realizes that the two of you are face-to-face, foreheads pressed, noses touching. Your voice is gentle, your palms soft on his cheeks. You smile at him, full of warmth and compassion. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone,” he admits. “I’m nervous.” A myriad of what-ifs play out in his head. What if he’s bad? What if you don’t like it? What if this ruins whatever sliver of hope the two of you have at being friends? At being anything more?

“We’ll go slow then,” you assure him, brushing your lips to his. That genuine smile of yours is enough to convince him that it’s worth the risk. That, and how fucking good it feels to have your mouth on his. He closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss, relishing the warmth of your breath. He finds himself gradually losing control of his inhibitions, his carnal instincts taking over, hungry for more of you. He slips his tongue inside, swirling around yours, kisses growing frantic and sloppy. You tug at the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you. His heart pounds in his chest as he roams your body, fingers grazing your perked nipples from outside your top. You whisper his name, so luscious and sweet in your voice. He’d be lying if he said he’s never imagined it before. How you’d sound whimpering from his touch. How you’d feel between his massive hands. How you’d look with his cock filling you up to the brim.

He can’t stand it anymore. He’s aching, begging for release from the confines of his pants. Quickly, he removes them, freeing his throbbing erection. You gasp, marveling at the size of it. “Oh fuck, Choso. You’re so big.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, fumbling for the Cock Sucker 3000 beside him. He slathers a generous amount of lube on his shaft and inside the toy. Foreheads pressed together once more, you both focus on his lap, watching it sink smoothly down his dick. The coldness of the lube and rubbery flexibility of the silicone surrounding him is familiar, though having someone spectate makes this all the more titillating.

“Fuck,” you swear, amazed at how it covers his entire length. You ogle at him as he starts slowly, eventually increasing to a steady pace. Your pussy flutters, incredibly aroused to see this man pumping his cock in front of you. For you.

“Do it with me.” His gaze flickers to the vibrator beside you. “You should feel good too.”

You spread your legs, displaying your cunt to him, already sopping wet with arousal. His eyes follow your every move as you tease the tip slowly up and down your pussy lips. Finding the right spot on your clit, you place your finger on the button of the toy, bracing yourself for what’s to come. As soon as you press it, the vibrations from level one alone are enough to send you wild. Knees shaking, feet flexing, moans pouring out of your open mouth. He continues to watch you, restraining his grunts as he strokes himself faster. Desperate for more, you click the button twice, increasing the vibrations to the max level. Within seconds, you’re coming, back arched and head thrown into the pillows behind you. Tossing the vibrator aside, you stare up at the ceiling, dizzy and disoriented from your ecstatic high, pussy shiny with your orgasm. Choso’s voice is so faint, you don’t understand him at first. You sit up to face him, waiting for him to repeat himself.

“Can you ride my face?” he asks meekly.

More than willing to accept his request, you nod in response, grinning. His expression relaxes and when you lean nearer to him, palm pressed flat on his chest, he even cracks a smile as he’s lies down on the bed, eager to have you like this. You straddle him, facing away from the headboard while his head rests at the foot of the bed. Carefully, you lower yourself until his mouth is pressed to your pussy. His tongue circles your clit slowly and he releases his grip from his toy to hold onto your ass, squeezing the soft flesh firmly. You don’t take your eyes off each other as you rub yourself across his face, his mouth open, swallowing every drop of you. When you reach your second orgasm, you’re practically bouncing on him as he smothers himself deeper, humming in satisfaction as he sucks hard on your clit, flicking it with his tongue.

You lift yourself off him, spent and completely wrecked. Still, you want to touch him, treat him as well as he treated you, make him come as hard as you did. You position yourself between his thighs, admiring the silicone sleeve hugging his dick. “Your turn.”

Sitting up on his elbows, he watches as you grab hold of the toy, stroking him with it. He moans, tongue hanging of his mouth, drool leaking from the corners of his lips, eyes half-lidded. His moans turn into whimpers when you start cradling his balls with your other hand, his body twitching from the sensation. The tip peeks out from the other end, a thick wad of precum collecting at the slit, so enticing that you’re salivating for a taste.

“Your mouth,” he stammers, barely able to speak.

“What?” you ask breathily, inching closer and closer.

“Want your mouth.” He swallows hard, voice trembling. “Please.”

Excited, you remove the toy from him, in awe at the way his fat cock flops heavily against his abdomen. You take him in your fist, loving how hot and throbbing he is in your grip. He’s coated in lube and precum, so slippery with your fingers wrapped around his girth. Unable to resist any longer, you bow your head, licking the pearl off the tip, savoring the taste. He shudders, letting out a loud, “Fuck!”

It’s so much better than a toy. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him is better than any masturbator, fleshlight, pocket pussy, whatever silly contraption he uses to get by. The swirl of your tongue gliding along the shaft, the vibrations of your moans as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, the view of your pretty head bobbing up and down his lap. Nothing in his collection compares to this. This is real. You are real.

He fucks your throat, unable to resist bucking his hips against you, timing his thrusts to meet yours. It doesn’t take much longer for him to be pushed over the edge. You pull off for a brief moment to smile at him, pumping him fast. “Come for me, Choso. Come in my mouth.”

At this, he completely loses himself, muffling his incessant moans into his forearm, too shy to watch you guzzle down his entire load until he’s milked of every last drop. You scatter delicate kisses along the entire length of him, even down to his balls. Too sensitive now, he pats you gently on the head, making you look up at him, a warm smile on your face. He smiles back, caressing your cheek, thumb grazing your soft skin. You lie beside him, nuzzling into his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to a steady, relaxed pace. He slides his arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

This world is a terrifying place for Choso Kamo. But with you in his arms, he feels a bit braver. He’s safe with you.

#choso kamo #choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #kamo choso x reader #kamo choso smut #kamo choso x you

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melancholicstation · 1 month ago

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SECRETARY (2002) INSPIRED BOSS!BOBBY KENNEDY AND SECRETARY!READER: a collection of headcanons!

tags: @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @remotewatch @stargiirl27 @strryhaze @bluevelvetsunset @recentremreports

warnings: reference to erotica, boss employee dynamic, secretary (2002), dominant and submissive dynamics,

authors note: in memoriam of secretary (2002) release date, 29th of may, here's some nice and clean good old freakum fun! and i tried something new with adding outfit formulas to the end of the hc's let me know if you like them and i'll continue, or you can ignore them completely! whatever you decide. much love, melancholistation ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 also this is not proof read hope it's legible! muah

for context i'm imagining this au to be in the timeframe of his time as new york senator!

secretary!reader definitely had no idea who bobby was prior to applying for the job listing she found in the new york times

bobby's definitely initially sceptical as reader's resume could get her a much better job that transcribing his crinkled coffee bruised notes, and re-arranging his insomnia-inducing schedule

he basically tries to make the job sound unbearably unpleasant, in a pseudo effort to encourage her towards a greater, more enlightened path with more of a future (this definitely has something to do with bobby's inferiority complex, always believing that everyone has something better to do than spend their days with him etc. etc...)

yet, reader persists. and he's a weak man... so you know how that ended up!

i'm picturing bobby really trying to be a good man and be on his best boss behaviour for at least a month but after sensing the reader's clear penchant for incessant praise and the way she stares at the sliver of arm hair peeking out of the cuff of his favoured and hallowed oxford shirt, he's a man burdened with a deep sense of yearn so profound he feels physically ill

hot take: the "courtship" era of reader and his relationship literally causes him to stress lose 2 pounds just from sheer anxiety of scaring reader off

he'll literally think reader is mad at him because she only brought him his coffee with one chocolate covered almond instead of her status-quo two... (he's literally sick in the head)

reader is literally terrible at all the transcription to the point where bobby had to bring in a second secretary that looms in the background to fill in the gaps of what you missed (which is a lot!)

your "office hours" are mostly spent picking handfuls of wildflowers that grow on the windowsill of bobby's main office (a planter box he specifically had installed upon learning about your botanist inclined natural back in preschool) and reading trashy erotica and highlighting the funny passages to read back to bobby as he drives you home from the office (you insist of your capability to get home in one piece, yet he adamantly protests that!)

notable mention that this is definitely readers choice of a type writer: either this one, or this one.

on those days where bobby is kept in the office until the sun rises on a new day you bring through a manic assortment of his most treasured delicacies (you make it a point to feed him because let's be honest that man will not take the initiative himself) which consist of: noam beer and a baker bleu baguette stuffed with an bliblical level greed amount of smoked ham and smooth dijon mustard from a local moutardier in brooklyn

literally just like this, except assorted on an old nickel-plated cloche:

readers style imagining to be quite eclectic yet refined yet haute couture... it contains multitudes

this is the exact coat (it's 100% wool with satin cupro lining and 3 bands... i need it in my armoire yesterday so this is me projecting) reader wears on all of the late night strolls she accompanies bobby on to clear his mind after a long day of being pushed from location a. to b. and being needed everywhere. reader's most definitely a calming presence, primarily for the fact that he feels she doesn't need more from him than how he comes naturally

reader would definitely pair that coat with gloves of some sort (or rather bobby would threaten to leave without her unless she was adequately dressed for the weather since he would literally never forgive himself if you contracted the slightest whiff of a cold. no mind that's he's literally only dressed in a cotton poplin shirt with a boucle knit overtop: exhibit a and exhibit b the merino mittens for the city's winter and the rick waved calfskin gloves for the everyday autumn chill that befalls midtown after ten pm.

reader definitely smells like harvest mouse by zoologist

i feel that in this relationship bobby really is the submissive (lee) in all non-sexual situations, he enjoys needing instead of being needed for once (in his whole life actually... but let's not talk about that...)

and i really think that bobby personally had a lot of bad habits (not specifically self-harm but he definitely subconsciously seemed things that were not always the healthiest for him) that could be solved with a girl matching his freak...

calling him a "good man" would definitely change his brain chemistry and heal some deep seeded issues inside of him... just something about him needing that validation that he is "masculine" in many ways, especially after being repeatedly emasculated by his family members, and believed to be less of a "man" (or at least not fitting into the societal and cultural standards of what is considered masculine at that time!). he would get all the way off on that...

but back to secretary!reader style (authors note: got a bit of topic there didn't i!)

her day-to-day work style is either this sweater or this sweater (there is no deviation she has a personal style and she's sticking to it. she was doing capsule wardrobes before they were even a hashtag on tiktok...) paired with either a cute pinafore: this one, or that one or a trusty pair of wool trousers

the shoes will, and will always be: rain or shine, tabi t-bar pumps in black patent

and bobby on more than one occasion fantasies about her pressing her pumps against the prominent bludge in his pants until he severely embarrassed himself in a government building and earned his new pants a much needed trip to the dry cleaners... and this is the way he's sitting while it happens by the way:

bobby definitely loves a good "care taker" role (or has been groomed by his parents to always love cleaning up other peoples messes... but lets not get into that!) so he'd definitely be a part of reader's "self-care routine"

he'd get so into french pharmacy's and always bring back the niche, hard to find skincare when he goes on international tours...

definitely loves a good bath routine and he takes such care when bathing you that your hands are always crinkled.

he's definitely humming while he washes your hair... and it's most likely some song he hears playing from your record player during office hours

and it's routine for both of you, no matter the circumstances, no matter if bobby almost got into a screaming match with a republican souther senator he still comes back in the night to repeat the routine once again. basically, your self-care is his.

he invites himself into reader's apartment one of the days where he personally drives her home and is sort of horrified yet unbearably turned on that she has acquired a left-over poster from his ny senate run and hung it on the same wall as some very suggestive if not down right erotica prints...

but that's not even the number one thing that disturbs him during that visit... ever the nepotism baby he's horrified at the lack of square footage of reader's apartment

and efficiently sets reader up in a nice townhouse in the upper east side that's coincidentally a 10 minute (chauffeured) drive to his penthouse facing the east river (true story alert: i found this nyt 1965 article which detailed him buying east river suite immediately north of the UN HQ, it's a nice short read for anyone interest in his niche realestate acquirements)

reader definitely feel guilty from him spending so much unnecessary money on her but later discovers he definitely has a thing for women using him for money... like gets off on it sort of vibe...

it's a delicate give and take... reader goes into niche grocery stores and forages for the perfect assortment of treats to greet bobby's desk and bobby buys her $28 million dollar investment property! it evens out eventually!

to be honest i don't see reader being a secretary for long after a relationship has been established between her and bobby... cause one thing about #that man is that he knows when to lock it down...

in short they have a courthouse wedding that nearly sent rose and joe sr into a grand mal seizure (they definitely loathe you but are afraid of bobby, as they should be cause he's literally a pit bull for you)

and you two live your freak lives happily ever after!

the end.

outfit formula 1: day at the office

outfit formula 2: errands running day

#rpf political #kennedy rpf #political rpf #rpf fanfiction #kennedy fanfic #kennedy fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #x you #smut #rfk headcanons #rfk fanfiction #rfk fanfic #rfk x reader #bobby kennedy x reader #robert f kennedy x reader #melancholicstation pilled #melancholicstation writes #melancholicstation

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seoulfulbliss · 2 months ago

Text

Jeong Jaehyun (Part One)

Author’s Note: This one is a long story, babes. The background info is important for the intro. Possibly a 3-part story. Enjoy! Friendly reminder, YOU DON’T HAVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORKS ANYWHERE.

CEO! Jaehyun x Pianist! Black reader

Synopsis: After your untimely death, you learn the truth about the plot to sabotage you. Now reincarnated to an earlier timeline of events, you have 3 main objectives: break off your engagement with Jeong Jaehyun, strategically expose the plot against you, and get the fuck away from your family as soon as possible.

Content: Angst, themes of betrayal, hurt reader, time re-do, reader death, reincarnation, revenge plot, badass reader, Jaehyun isn’t a bad person he’s just really stupid, manipulation, gaslighting, brief mention of su*c*de

Word Count: 4.3k

Pt. 2

People have long since speculated that in death, your entire life flashes before your eyes like scenes from a movie. And it either grosses high on the rating scale of every critic’s list, or bombs horrifically in the box office, depending on the genre and quality of the script. Except you, and whatever fate you decide to tempt, hold the pen that has the potential to make or break you as the leading star in this self-directed flick. And while that does add some dramatic prestige to the semblance of life, there are some… nuances that speculation never could quite live up to.

See, the thing about dying that no one does tell you, is that it flashes by from an omniscient point of view. As if you are nothing more than a bystander cast as an extra playing a background character on the street. And you begin to know everything surrounding the fated circumstances of your life.

The way you experience it, it's like your soul evaporates from your body, letting the vessel melt away. And you’re left standing there with the very core of your essence on display. Then you float down this walkthrough of memory lane watching the infamous highlight reel of your ‘greatest hits.’

And it’s… startlingly eerie the effect it can have on you even in death. Because there you are, watching the day you are born. The day your parents took you home swaddled up as their screaming bundle of joy. How happy they had looked back then, proud to be newfound parents. It’s almost surreal, seeing a monumental moment from an outside perspective.

Then, the scene shifts and you are potty training, losing your first tooth, experiencing your first conscious Christmas, learning how to ride your bike. You go through birthdays, spelling bees, first moments, swim lessons, fireworks, and you feel yourself cry.

Then… the piano. The first few notes drift through your consciousness. They dance around your being like unsettled dust caressing the cheek. Then it pulls you in, in, in. And you are 7 when you touch the keys for the first time. You sit by your father, as he delights in showing you proper piano etiquette. In the corner, there your mother stands, a proud cheeked smile on display as she records this moment for her collection of home videos. The memory is fuzzy with happiness for a time that no longer exists. And you cry, cry, cry.

Then you are 8, and your mother notices you start to look like him. Not the man you call your father, but the man she now knows to be your father. She had hoped she was lucky not getting that paternity test, for fear of alerting either man of the dark deed she held dear to her. But neither time, nor genetics, is on her side. So she sneaks a paternity test, gathering hair strands and swabs from unsuspecting participants. Only to conclude that you are not his, not his, not his.

So your mother begins to resent you, resent you, resent you. Because she messed up and she could not live with it.

This time, you are 9. Your mother has been training you in the art of tough love. Critical behind your father’s back, loving in his eyes. It is all staged, all staged, all staged.

Suddenly, like a brand new day, there is Stella, there is Stella, there is Stella. And life doesn’t feel so strange. Except, now you know why you are here. Now everything begins to make sense. It started much earlier than you realized. An entire lie orchestrated at the ripe age of 9.

You sat at the community pool, legs dangling over the edge of the deep end. You were waiting for your private swim lessons to start. You hadn’t been particularly interested in anyone that day. There were a few kids lingering behind waiting for their parents to wrap up boring conversation. Your mother was at the helm of them, toting her rich smile. All while putting on her dutiful act as ‘Mother of the Year.’

“Our daughter is somewhat of a prodigy.” She exclaimed with fake humility. You hadn’t played into it back then. Reliving the memories now, you can see the fabrication of your life. And things would worsen. Because there, hiding in the doorway of the changing area, was Stella. And her gaze was locked right onto you. Well, the version of you from memory. She seemed to scowl, glancing back and forth between an unsuspecting you and your boastful mother. You see the moment it clicks in Stella’s mind as she crafts her master plan. And that’s how you come to realize the fateful day where she supposedly ‘saved you’ was staged. Stella herself forcefully bumped into you just as a group of rambunctious children ran by. She was the one that caused you to lose your footing and fall. She was the reason you had bumped your head and nearly drowned. And she was the reason you had integrated her into your life. All of it was fabricated from the very beginning.

So Stella pretends, like she is some savior you should be indebted to. That’s the kind of rhetoric your mother begins to spew.

“You should be grateful. She risked her life over your clumsy nature.” And you believe her, you believe her, you believe her. So Stella becomes your friend. You hang out at the community pool, sometimes outside. And you begin to understand that Stella lives a hard life. She has no mother. Her father is a drunk who occasionally leaves her at the pool way too late. Often forgetting his responsibility when he is drinking. She has no true parental supervision, so you decide to share your mother. You always wanted a sister anyway.

Then you are 10, and Stella’s father is arrested for reckless endangerment with a DUI. She now has no home. Desperate and eager to maintain this relationship, you make a critical decision that impacts your life. So it begins. With no objection from your parents, Stella now lives with you. Isn’t this ‘the life’?

Except, now you are 11. Your mother treats Stella more like a daughter than you. Every activity you were in, she participated too. Etiquette classes, check. Piano lessons, yep. You wanted to be in Girl Scouts? Well, Stella should be too. After all, she saved your life. There’s nothing wrong with providing family resources for her to be successful. And that was fine, maybe Stella needed more love anyway. She had a hard life. At least, that’s what your parents insist. And you agree with them, for the most part. But they shouldn’t have to sacrifice acknowledging you exist. “You should be grateful though. If it weren’t for Estella, you wouldn’t be alive.” Those were the words that wore you down most nights. You had needs too. Sometimes your parents didn’t understand. But Stella always did. She was always apologetic for your parents focusing more on her than you. But it’s alright; you understood. It’s the adults fault, not hers.

But things got harder still.

You are still 11, but now you are being bullied. Initially, you thought it had been because you had gapped teeth and wore glasses. But humor in death knows no bounds. At a certain point, you wouldn’t have believed Stella to spread malicious lies. However, after your first life, you now know differently. Stella had told kids at school that you were bullying her at home because she had better grades. Which you now know also to be untrue. Stella only had good grades because she bribed other students to do her work. She wasn’t the star student she pretended to be. Manipulation had apparently always been her suitable skill. And people around you believed the lies, believed the lies, believed the lies. Even you.

“Four Eyes.” “Gap Tooth.” “Toothless.” Hushed words kids would whisper behind your back. Sometimes it was directly to your face.

It had severely impacted the confidence you had in your social life. Even in tutoring, things did not improve. You had to take lessons outside of school. “Your grades are unacceptable. You need to be more like Estella. I’m sending you to after school lessons.” And you begged your mother not to go. Because how would you have time for your hobbies? For piano? But your father had the final say. And he agreed. So off to tutoring you went.

Except, “Four Eyes,” “Gap Tooth,” “Toothless” followed you there too. That’s how you met him. Jeffrey. You stood under the awning of the building your tutoring lessons were being held in. The family driver was late. With his tardiness, came the bullying too. A few boys from your class also needed extra tutoring as well. And when they realized they had more of an opportunity outside of school to pester you? They took the chance. Pushing you around, calling names, taking your glasses and tossing them around. That’s how you fell and scraped your knee. Then someone intervened. An older kid you guessed. Something about him struck fear in your bullies. He snatched your glasses back and they ran. That’s how you would develop your first crush. When he leaned down to put the glasses back on your face, you hadn’t expected to be blown away with his beauty. With his face so close to yours, you blushed. Then he held out his hand to help you up. And it was practically love at first sight.

After that day, you would constantly see him around the tutoring facility. Your bullies kept their distance, hardly sparing a glance. You didn’t know what that meant. But you did know you liked a boy for the first time. He was 13. You heard it from the giggled whispers of girls in tutoring. Your heart was practically exploding. You thought you would combust. Finding a way to thank him, you wrote him a note. The opportunity to deliver it presented itself when he left his bookbag in the hallway to use the restroom. You were heading out of the building and snuck it in there. Too shy to use your real name, you coined yourself as Toothless. Days later, you forgot all about the letter, until you were standing under that same awning reading a book to pass the time. The driver was late. Again. But that was okay, because a hand slid a letter between you and the book your eyes were hungrily ingesting. Blinking up owlishly, there stood the cute boy. He seemed amused at your shocked disposition playfully tapping the letter on your head. “If you’re gonna write me a letter, at least read the response.” He chuckled. Embarrassed, you take that letter and make a mad dash for the car which conveniently pulled up for you. That night, you read his letter with a blush on your face. Your fingers graze the letter of his penned name, Jeffrey.

That’s how you become pen pals. Always sneaking letters to each other in between tutoring sessions. Then, he tells you that his grades have improved and he doesn’t need tutoring anymore. So he gives you his address. Because how else is he supposed to receive your letters? With the help of your family driver, you are able to deliver them. But one day, being too sick to go to school, you give your driver specific instructions to drop the latest letter off at the post office. “Handle it with care.” You had said. But how could you know that a curious Estella would be in the car, wondering why the driver was delivering letters in the mail for you. Naturally, she decides to snoop. That’s how she began stealing the letters. Often snatching them as soon as they arrive.

And you are left confused. Because why wasn’t Jeffrey writing back to you? Did something happen? Was he okay? Even though your previous letters didn’t garner a response, you still sent them anyway. Until you turned 14.

By this time, you have no idea that Jeffrey had already been out of the country for 2 years. He had moved. Unaware, you kept sending letters to his old address, hoping for a response. But Stella knew. She read the letters he would write to you, notes laced with concern. He had given you his new address with no word from you in weeks. Thinking you might not have gotten the letter referencing his new address, he kept writing in hopes you would receive the message.

Then, he stops writing altogether. If he wasn’t going to get a response, then what was the point? And Stella is delighted when you stop writing too. Happy to have your attention once again.

Then you are 15. You get contacts and braces. And your parents' attendance at your recitals become less frequent over time. “Stella has taken up tennis, she has a real talent for it.” And they invest in her. “We can’t make it to your recital, Estella has a match.” But it should be fine right? Because there will alway be opportunities for them to visit your recitals. Right? At least… that’s what they tell you. They say they will celebrate you both together at home. But you start noticing that celebrations center around Stella. You confide in her. “I don’t think my parents like me anymore.” And she cries that night instead of you. “I love you. Even if no one else does.”

In moments like these, you are sure she meant it.

Now at 16, Stella is officially adopted into your family. It is announced at her Sweet Sixteen. You don’t get one as your mother expresses budget concerns to your father. “Money is a little tight dear. Maybe only one of the girls should get a party.” Then she sits you down with the news that you will not get one. “Darling, this moment is important for Estella. She’s never had a big celebration before. She’s had a hard life. Don’t you want your sister to be happy?” That’s when they drop the bomb on you. They plan to announce her adoption on the same day. It’s fine. You’ve always wanted a sister anyway… right? You concede, wanting her to have this moment.

At 17, your braces come off.

At 18, you graduate. You and Stella host a joint graduation party. But what is supposed to be for both of you ends up only being for one, as she slips something in your food to give you food poisoning. Thus, you don’t get to celebrate.

Within your first year of college, Stella gains quite the friend group. She is popular around campus for her athleticism in tennis. The whole time you spent proud of her, she spent that spinning lies against you. She would pretend to integrate you into her group all while spewing narratives to make her friends more antagonistic towards you. You however, gain one friend on campus. Jeongyeon, a pretty no nonsense type of gal. She had told you on numerous occasions that she did not like Stella. Convinced that she was a phony. You always shut it down. Because it’s Stella. You grew up with her and you love her. Jeongyeon concedes, but her eyes are wide open.

But Stella didn't want you to have friends outside of her, wanting to put you into a position of dependency. At 20, she finally succeeds in breaking the two of you apart for good. One of Jeongyeon’s private confessions spreads around campus. She had only ever told that particular detail to you. So of course, she blames you. Who else could be the culprit? But if the hills have eyes, then the walls have ears. And Estella is no stranger to eavesdropping. You and Jeongyeon split, and Stella comforts you through the loss. Smug that her plan succeeded. After that, you spend most of your time lonely, getting through it by piano.

Then comes 21. And with your age, comes an ultimatum. You’re the daughter of a businessman, of course arranged marriages are still a thing. Your father wanted a way to advance his business partnerships. Your mother proposes you get married. As their birth daughter, it is your obligation. After all, Stella doesn't want to marry for business, only for love. It is her decision to make, but they choose this for you. You express this as being unfair. But, “You haven’t dated anyone in years. Any guy you did like wanted to date Stella. Who’s jumping at the chance?” The insinuation bruises your ego in ways that fracture a psyche when a mother bullies her child. Embarrassment in social circles is not an option for them, so you just accept the proposal.

Little did you know, you would be quite accepting of this fate. Because in the pile of marriage profiles they give you, is a handsomely recognizable face. “Him.” You point at the ghost of a young boy you once knew. Jeffrey. He was your choice. Except, these days he was going by his given name, Jeong Jaehyun. And like destiny, fate is sealed.

Eavesdropping really was second nature to Stella. And with you squealing into your pillow about Jaehyun being Jeffrey… well, of course she decides to plot. Thus, shit really starts hitting the fan. A month later, Jaehyun comes back from an overseas business trip. He had donned the mantle as CEO in his father’s company, while Mr. Jeong sat as President. There had been plans for you both to formally meet at a business gathering. What you had hoped would be a dream come true for you, instead delved into a nightmare. Because there was Stella running into Jaehyun. And he is grabbing her before she can fall. Then, through her well-crafted scheme she declares that she is Toothless. Speechless, Jaehyun believes it, happy to find his lost penpal. It’s not his fault that he believes her. She’s good at lying, having done it for years. Besides, he couldn’t point you out in a lineup anyway. Your features have changed considerably over the years. You weren’t the same gap toothed pre-teen with starry eyes, glasses sitting as the frame of your ‘Starry Night.’ Your face had matured, blossomed into womanhood. How could he have known? They sit and talk for most of the night. Initially, you think nothing of it, thinking she was protecting you via interrogation.

But when you finally get him alone, you tell him you are the woman he is slated to become engaged to. He is unimpressed, humming disinterestedly, mind stuck on Stella. So you finally breach the topic of being his penpal. And he becomes enraged that you would pretend to be something you are not. He calls you all sorts of vulgar names, accusing what you’re doing to be cheap tricks. What is the truth for you is all a lie to him. In anger, he storms out.

When your parents question you in the wake of his outrage, you swear you did nothing at all. Stella comforts you that night. “Men are stupid. You still have me.” You’re thankful you do.

Later on, behind the scenes betrayal rears its ugly head. Jaehyun arranges a meeting with your parents expressing his interest in Stella. They keep this privy from you. On the day of what is supposed to be your engagement party, Stella and Jaehyun stand together to announce their engagement. This is news to you. Heartbroken, you confront her. The performance she puts on is quite the show. She cries, stating that he had come onto her and pressured your parents to give in to this new arrangement. Stupidly, you believe her. You both cry, comforting each other in the space of friendship.

Confrontation with your parents leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Your mother slaps you, claiming disrespect at your line of questioning. Your father remains clouded in impassivity. And you turn tail to lick your wounds, because what the fuck was that? Your mother had hardly ever hit you before. Reality sets in with the knowledge of what you had suspected to be true. Yes, your parents hated you. Then came the rumors.

News of your failed engagement leaks around school. What you don’t know is that Stella planned this herself. She pretends to be embarrassed by the thought of being seen as someone coveting her best friend's betrothed. She tells everyone, “He came onto me.” And she claims shame for reciprocating it. She then grabs your arm to publicly apologize for being a bad friend. This is another day that Stella wins. Somehow everyone believes you had spread the rumor yourself to make Stella look bad. It was game over from there. You had no idea where you went wrong in life to deserve this kind of treatment. But Stella is always there defending you, making sure you never feel lonely. You were thankful back then. Perhaps you shouldn't have been.

Fast forward to 22, it is your birthday. Stella convinces you to have a pool party. Plenty of people from school get an invite; courtesy of Stella. This is when she fakes falling into the pool. From a certain angle, it seems as though she were pushed by you. She pretends to be injured and fakes almost drowning. With this, your social reputation drowns too. Due to the incident people gang up on you. Jaehyun confronts you too. Sheepishly, Stella admits that she can swim but panicked and got scared. Jumping to your defense, she tells everyone to stop bullying you. “It was an accident.” Everyone thinks she is too nice to you after everything you've put her through. But Stella knows you would never try to sabotage her like that. Because the real saboteur was never you.

Who knew that years of lies could ruin a whole life? In a series of unfortunate events, you lose your ability to play piano. The cause? Punishment for “your years of torment on Stella.” Her friends had set you up to get jumped. They had convinced a girl from another school that you were sneaking around with her boyfriend. With miscalculated rage, that girl and her friends would then go on to jump you. Amidst the altercation, they step on your hands, crushing them. And with that, crushing your dreams of professionally playing piano too. Even with physical therapy, doctors would say the trauma was too grave to restore motor function back to normal efficiency. For your dreams, you weep.

You graduate, but everyone has iced you out in celebration of Stella. Isolated, you spend your college graduation alone.

As the years go by, you work at your dad’s office filing things, while Stella gains sports modeling endorsements. As time boils down for her wedding, she doesn’t invite you to be a bridesmaid. Inviting you instead to come to the wedding planning portion. The purpose being to gloat at your misery seeing her live the life you were supposed to lead. There is also the shock of not being invited to the bachelorette trip either. Stella’s reasoning being that she didn’t want you to sit with the uncomfortability of the bad blood between you and her friends. You supposed her consideration made sense.

Then she schedules the wedding on your birthday. And… that’s weird. The weight of an uncomfortable feeling sits heavy in your chest. When you mention this to your family, they spin your concerns as selfishness. “This is Stella's moment, let her enjoy it.”

Then came the box of letters, and with it you truly understand the magnitude of betrayal. In a rush to get ready for the wedding, you are asked to gather some last minute things for Stella at home. It is coincidentally accidental how find this a shoe box full of letters tucked deep in the back of her closet. What you don’t expect is them to be labeled, ‘From Jeffrey.’ What you hold in your hands are years of missing letters.

Then comes the moment where you piece it together. It all replays in your mind, the way Jaehyun reacted when you brought up Toothless, his sudden interest in Stella, the engagement. Was it all a lie? Furious, you confront her in the dressing room. The bitch. Mid-argument, she pushes you, causing you to hit your head. Disoriented, you notice blood. It cakes around an injury at the back of your head. Pleading for help, she smirks instead. Throwing a bottle of sleeping pills at you, she tells you that you never deserved your life. “You should just die.” Then out the door she goes, on her way to what she is sure is her destiny. The wedding ceremony begins, no one comes looking for you. People had long since stopped caring about you. Your life, an entire lie. So, you do the hard thing. You weigh your options on the scale of life. You haven’t got much left in you, not at the realization of your misery. So, you muster up the final gift you can give to yourself. Holding the letters from Jaehyun, now smeared with bloody fingerprints from your head wound, you take the sleeping pills.

Your vision gets blurry just as notes from the Wedding March drift into your consciousness. The piano, once again. And you fall, fall, fall, until you wake up in your bed.

With a startled gasp, you tip over onto the floor. Feeling around your body, you are certain what you felt before was hardly a dream. But looking at the digital alarm clock beside your bed, you aren’t so sure. Because the information that lies before your eyes simply can't be true. On the face of the clock, reads May 15, 2025… two and a half years prior.

Holy shit. You’re 21 again.

#jung jaehyun x reader #jung jaehyun angst #jung jaehyun #nct imagines #nct angst #jaehyun imagines #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 x you #nct 127 x y/n #nct x black reader #kpop x black reader #x black reader #nct 127 x black reader #jaehyun x black reader

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hidden-poet · 1 year ago

Text

Commander Snow; 8

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The door was fixed with great haste. Before you knew it, you were back in the apartment playing housewife again. Coriolanus’s distrust of you grew to a new level. He no longer trusted you to remain home by yourself. Edmund was still not found, and Coriolanus was certain he would reappear and take you away.

You now worked with him, slept with him, and ate every meal with him. The fence line seemed like an impossible goal with him being so suffocating. You were pretty sure the broken chain was not found. He would have said something, would have taunted you with how close your freedom was. It meant you had something up your sleeve against him.

But you had no way of getting to it. You had tried to disappear during his work hours, when he was most distracted, but the only time you seemed to be out of his sight was when you showered. If there had been a window in the bathroom, you were sure that he would have been in there too.

You tried your best to soften him with affection. When you had the chance, you baked him the oatmeal cookies he loves. He ate whole plates in one sitting.

But as his work increased, your work decreased. Long days spent at his office were hard to fill. He sat behind his desk and never seemed to stop working. Sometimes there was mending you could do, or shoes to shine but most of the day you sat on the couch reading what was on hand.

You had taken to organizing the books in alphabetical order, then grouped them according to color. You worked quietly and slowly. Careful not to make any noise to disturb Coriolanus from his work. You had taken them down again just moments ago to reorganize them by subject when Coriolanus' assistant came in carrying a tea tray and a large parcel.

She drops the parcel down on the table in front of you, amongst the books. You look over it to see your name neatly scribbled on the recipient's information.

The receptionist doesn’t look at you as she puts the tea tray in front of Coriolanus.

He thanks her but her response is drowned out to your ears by the opening of the box.

“Is it from Tigris?”

You wait until the receptionist shuts the door behind her to respond.

You confirmed it was, as you pulled a soft silk nightdress from the box. It was light pink which was uncommon for the districts. Dark pink lace trimming boarded along the bottom and top of the dress. You run your finger across it. It was the most expensive material you had ever felt.

Another dress was folded in the box and you take it out.

It was light blue with yellow birds flying across it, made of a soft cotton material that would fall around your ankles.

“You like them?” he asks.

“They are beautiful,” you admit.

You look in the box for more to see a small pouch filled with sweets from the Capitol.

Tigris was too kind. If things had been different, you would have been a good friend to her. But as her cousin's captive, you were now sworn enemies. The box of treats didn’t change that.

You return the items to the box and see parchment paper protecting soft material at the bottom.

“There's a shirt for you.” It was a long white dress shirt with gold stitching running in horizontal lines down it.

He comes from his desk to collect it. Taking it gently from your hands, he brings it up to his nose and inhales the scent.

“You really miss home,” you comment, watching him breathe in the scent the shirt carried.

“I do. More than anything.” He returns to his desk with it still in his hands.

“You’ll be home soon.”

“We’ll be home soon”.

You smile thinly at him. “That’s what I said.”

“You should see the Capitol. Clothing, culture. Actual buildings, not these pieces of tin. You’ll be able to breathe much better in the Capitol.”

The scratching of his pen picked up where his sentence had been incomplete as he began his work again. The shirt lay across his lap.

“I have the day off tomorrow,” he said without stopping his work, “I was thinking we could visit the waterfall again. It will probably be the last time before Ravinstill dies.”

The thought made your stomach drop. If you don’t make it beyond the fence, it would in fact be the last time you ever saw your favorite place. The time was better spent within the compound waiting for an opportunity. He would never let you get too far in the district.

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Why?” he questions with a hard tone. He continued to write but the pen pressed firmly into the paper.

“I am behind on my chores, and I haven’t made anything in a while. The food in the fridge will go bad if I don’t get to it soon.”

“Let it. The Capitol is full of food.”

You realize now that Coriolanus had already made up his mind to do the activity. You wondered why he chose it. He hated the heat and the bugs.

You walk over to the tray of hot tea and pour out a cup, making it to his liking and placing it down in front of him.

“We’ll go if you want to.”

“Why don’t you want to go?”

“Why do you want to? The walk up there will take us nearly the whole morning in the hot sun.”

“I thought it might make you happy.”

He was trying to win your approval before he ripped everything you had ever known from your finger tips. It was something to use against him. Coriolanus responded best when he was in a position to be a hero. He would do anything so long as he felt he was the only one who could do it for you.

You lean down and wrap your arms around his shoulders, resting your face against his neck.

“You know what would make me happy? Some vanilla extract so I can send Tigris some shortbread cookies back”.

He responds positively by wrapping his hands around your forearms. He liked you looking out for Tigris.

“She’s been asking to meet you.” He says, his hand gently wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “I have a call with them next Friday afternoon. Maybe you’d like to come with.”

You retract your hold now that he was in a better mood.

There was only one answer you could give him when it came to his family.

“I’d love to”.

You had a deep hate for Capitol people but Tigris seems different. In any case, you were sure you could remain civil for an hour-long phone call.

Pouring yourself a cup of tea, you return to your spot with it and Coriolanus returns to his work.

———-

You stood out in the sun with Coriolanus as he discussed the new recruits' performance with another high-ranking officer. They were splitting them up into areas of work. The strong and fast became foot soldiers, the slow were put on kitchen duty, and the ones who showed a inclination to aggression were watchmen. He spared a couple to the infantry to learn basic medic care and help around the hospital. You couldn't work out what sent those recruits apart. It seemed random but you knew nothing Coriolanus did was without great care and strategy.

All the men seemed equally angry and you wondered if Coriolanus was the same when he was a Peacekeeper.

The sun felt nice upon your skin after so long. It was late afternoon and it had just begun to set, leaving behind a nice cool breeze.

You thought about your mother and Edmund. Were they enjoying the sun too?

The sound of a vehicle approaching ruined the moment of reflection. Coriolanus took your hand in his as soon as the tires upon the gravel could be heard as if you were to be run over if he didn’t.

It surprisingly stopped in front of where you stood. A transport car with no doors and a large trunk carried two men. A younger man wearing a District 12 peacekeeper uniform and an older man who wore a Commander uniform set apart by its light purplish color.

“Commander.” The older man greets as he swings out of the car.

“Vongurt.” Coriolanus uses his spare hand to offer a handshake which is strongly and fervently taken.

Another Commander had come to see Coriolanus. You doubted he was any better than the last.

“This is my wife, Y/N.” With his hand, he leads you in front of him to show you off to the Commander.

You were stiff with shock as the man's disapprovingly raked his eyes over you. He too felt jarred at the label of wife. District women weren’t wives. They were barely considered human.

But he smiles nonetheless, something you couldn’t return.

“Pleasure.” With a kiss placed upon your hand, the Commander's attention was turned back to Coriolanus.

“Your compound is impressive, Commander Snow. It has to be the largest I’ve seen.”

Coriolanus seemed unimpressed by the comment. He turns back to the Peacekeepers watching them as they leap, and fight.

“A palace of scrap metal.”

He waves over a tall man in a high-ranking uniform, who quickly makes his way over from across the field.

“Your apartment is only slightly better. Sergeant AJ will take you there.”

“I was hoping that we could talk. I’ve come all this way from District 2.”

“Later, Commander. The conference room at 7. You’ll have my undivided attention there.”

The man nods back and follows his guide back into the car.

Coriolanus makes a comment to his officer about a recruit and the man jotted down all of his thoughts.

You wanted to get away. Break free from his hold and bolt to the fence line. His delusions had reached a new height, with him now openly telling lies to men with power.

Your body moves to your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized you were twisting your hand away from him until he tightened his hold.

He turns to you, asking if you are ok.

“I need to go home” you respond. Home to my mother. Back home to normalcy.

“Take whoever we missed today and regroup them tomorrow morning” he directs the man next to him. A whistle is blown and the recruits stop their training, instead they congregate in front of you.

Coriolanus turns as his officer begins to dish out instructions, taking you back to the apartment.

“The heat can get to you,” he says.

You had lived in District 12 all your life if anyone was to know about the heat it was you. But you verbally agree and apologize for taking him away from his work.

He hushes you and it ends the conversation for the walk home.

He lets you go as you enter your prison, and you take off without him to the bedroom.

You hear his voice wafting down the hallway telling you to lie down. You shove your boots off and get into bed. Every day your window closes. It won’t be long before either the broken fence is found or you are carted off on the train.

But he had called you his wife. Not just to anyone but a Capitol Commander. Even if you got away, the idea that he would leave you here for the presidency is just a fantasy.

How long would you need to live in hiding before he forgot you? Could you bear the costs of it for as long as needed? What work could you do in the mountains to support yourself and your mother?

Wife. Why did he have to say wife? You weren’t that. You were his captive, a victim of his need to be cared for.

Coriolanus enters the room with a wet, cold rag and runs it over your forehead. A victim of his need to pretend he was capable of caring for something.

He sits on the bed beside you running the cloth over your forehead and into your hair.

“Do you feel alright?” he asks as you take the cloth off him.

“I am fine. Just a little lightheaded.” You throw the cloth on the bed stand and he takes it as a signal to get up.

“I’ll get you some water.”

He disappears and you're thankful for the space to think. Could you tell him you just need a walk around the compound by yourself to think? No, he would take it as an insult.

You had to get out. The fence was so close.

You don’t notice him as he sits back down beside you. Only the glass to your lips made you see him.

“I won’t go to the meeting with Vongurt if you are unwell.”

You sit up straighter at his words, pushing the glass away from you.

“No!” you say harshly, “No, you should go. I am fine.”

“You don’t look well.” You were sure you looked terrible after you had the shock of your life.

“But I feel fine. Just too much sun.”

He looked annoyed that you were arguing with him so you switched tactics.

“We need his support to get back to the Capitol. Maybe you could just leave the door open for some fresh air?”

You had pushed too hard, and he got up

“If I am not here, the door is shut.”

“Of course,” you breathe with a soft smile at him, “I’ll be fine by the time you have to leave.”

Coriolanus hovered around you for the next hour and a half before he had to start getting ready for his meeting. He took a shower to wash the sweat off him from the day and changed into his official outfit. It fit snugly, his broad shoulders carried the uniform well.

He attached the dressings of his uniform as you watched him from the bed.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight. What if you feel unwell while I am away?” His fingers were still on the badge he was trying to put on.

“I am fine,” you assure him, “I feel fine.”

“We should invite him here. That way if you need me, I am here.”

You cringed at the thought of serving Commander Vongurt.

“I won’t need you. Besides the conference room is much nicer.” You get up to help him put on his badge and send him on his way.

“I haven’t felt unwell since dinner.” Coriolanus stood over you as you cooked, convinced that the heat in the kitchen would make you unwell again. With a knife in your hand, it was a dangerous time for Coriolanus to tell you what to do.

“You’re sure?” he pokes.

You were tired of saying it so you just nodded your head.

“Go to the bathroom then.”

It was an odd request.

“What?” you question.

“Go to the bathroom and take a shower. Get changed into your night dress.”

He checks his watch once before motioning you forward.

There was no other option for you then to follow his request. You thought maybe he just wanted to complete the bed time routine. He wanted to know you were washed and dressed for bed for his own comfort. You never knew what made him tick.

You complete the tasks quickly and return to find he had placed a glass of water and a packet of dried mixed fruit.

You quiz him on it but he doesn’t answer. He takes your wrist in his hand and tugs you to the bed.

Taking out his handcuffs, he clips your wrist into the cuff, pulling it up to the headboard where he attached the other cuff.

You tug against it in protest. “What are you doing?”

“Just in case, Edmund comes back.”

“He won’t! Please unlock me.” you beg.

“I left your book there if you are not ready to sleep yet.” He stands tall and readjusts his uniform.

“Coriolanus!” You say in a serious tone, “Get this off of me.”

You pull against it brutally and he captures your hand against the headboard.

“I left you one hand so you can read. I don’t have to.”

“Please, don’t leave me here like this!” He ignores you, bending down once more to flick on the lamp.

“You’ve had a big day. Try and rest. I’ll be home soon.”

“Coriolanus!” you call out watching him leave. He flicks off the main light as he goes.

“Coriolanus!” you yell.

You had never felt anger as you lay trapped in bed. He dictated when you worked, when you rested, when you ate. Nothing was yours anymore. Every breath you took was only because he allowed you to take it.

There was nothing to tell the time on. It felt like years waiting for him to come back and release you. You didn’t read, only plotted.

Could you feed him something to make him sick? Surely he would request you to come see him in the infirmary. You could break away when returning from your visit. What if he caught you trying to poison him though?

Friday provided the perfect opportunity. While he was distracted with his family you could sneak away. The communication building was on the other side of the compound but at least you would be outside of the apartment.

But how would you get away far enough to make a break for it? You thought about what was in the surrounding area of the communications building. Nothing would be a reasonable excuse to pardon yourself.

Could you excuse yourself to the bathroom? Surely one of the surrounding offices would have one. Would he let you go alone? Sacrifice time with his family to take you. Would he even let you go or just expect you to make do until the phone call was over?

You came up with twenty different scenarios of escape routes, each one ended with Coriolanus catching you.

You wished you didn’t shoo Edmund away now. He could have got the door opened in time. It was only your fearfulness that stood in the way of your escape. You could be with him now, with your mother. Up in the mountains, safe and sound.

God, you hoped they were safe and well-fed.

You wished for nothing more than to tend to your mother, to ensure that she was alright.

The care that was supposed to go to her was now unjustly turned towards Coriolanus, who was adamant to wring it from your hands.

Edmund had always taken whatever care you gave him with great appreciation.

Never demanded more, and then took it with force.

He was kind and patient. Two things Coriolanus is not.

And now you have dragged him into this mess where his life is at great risk. Still, he had never demanded any more from you.

When his lips first met yours, they were placed almost in questioning. It was up to you to accept and beg for more.

You wished you had seen his affection for you sooner. But he was your brother's best friend, and the main protector of you and your mother. If Coriolanus never entered the picture you doubt he ever would have acted on it.

But he had, and you had returned the affection. It was the start of something new and beautiful or the end of years of friendship and familiarity.

Once Coriolanus went back to the Capitol, your new life would begin.

You hoped it would be alongside Edmund. You would pay him back for his bravery.

You would be a good girlfriend to him, then wife, and then mother of his children. You would never ask him for anything, and take great care of his family life. You would ensure his happiness, as he ensures your life now.

You almost forget you were chained to the bed of the Commander as you daydream of brown-haired babies. But the sound of Coriolanus arriving home was a solemn reminder. His boots against the hardwood floor soften as they reach the bedroom door.

You still had a great challenge before you got to nurse Edmund’s children.

You had to get away from Coriolanus, and the only way you could do that is if he had no idea that you planned to.

The door creaks open and you sit up straight to watch him enter.

“I am sorry. Did I wake you?” He places his coat on the foot of the bed and crawls over to where you lay.

“No. I was waiting for you.”

He smiles down at you as he unlocks the cuff from your wrist with the keys in his pocket.

“You seem happy,” you comment. You could smell the whiskey on his clothes as he leaned over you.

“I am. I have you. I have Commander Vongurt’s support behind me, and Ravinstill is not expected to last the winter. We’ll be home before you know it.”

Throwing the keys on his bedside table, he leans down to kiss you before resting his head on your collarbone.

“That’s not long,” you comment.

“Three months at the most.”

You drowned in your anxiety quietly as he rested.

Three months and your life was over.

He takes your silence as a quiet contemplation.

“Are you thinking of your mother?” he runs a curled finger along your nose.

“Yeah. I’ll miss her”. You hope to never have to know the pain of missing her again. These past few weeks have been unbearable.

“You’ll write. I’ll organize a time she can come to the compound for video calls.”

You were sure he was going to let you write and call. For how long was another thing. You could see it already, your calls being cut short, your letters ‘lost’ in the mail.

“Yeah,” you respond again.

Your mind races with ideas of escape. You could fake a sickness and be sent to the medical camp. No, he wouldn’t send you there. He panicked today over a supposed case of heatstroke.

He lowers his head down closer to you where you can smell the evening on him.

“You want to know what I was thinking?” he asks playfully.

You could start a fire during dinner time. He was sure to open the door to let you out before dealing with the flames.

“Yeah?” you entertain. Fire could go wrong for a number of reasons. Besides you would have to fight your way to the oven. Especially now that Commander Vongurt was here. Coriolanus would be too busy to wait for you to cook something.

“I was thinking I hope we have a boy first. Then two girls, then another boy.”

Your eyes shoot open as his hand reaches out across your stomach. His hand finds its way under your shirt and he lays a warm palm over your belly.

Then again, a big enough fire might kill him. Was it worth a shot?

“You called me your wife today. That’s not true.”

“What else should I have called you? We sleep together, eat together, wake together. We look after each other. The only thing missing is an official title but as soon as we get back to the Capitol, we’ll fix that.”

You turn away from him to your side. Now that the talk of the Capitol was becoming a more serious threat, you felt sick.

“Did I scare you with talk of babies? It wouldn’t be for a few more years yet.”

His rants did scare you. That would be your life if you didn’t figure out a way to the fence. Nursing Commander Snow’s babies in the Capitol. Away from your mother. Away from Edmund.

Still, you had to perform. You couldn’t let any more distrust between him and you grow.

“You didn’t scare me. I am just tired. I’ve waited up all night for you.”

You feel a soft kiss press against your ear before the weight of the bed was shifted as he moved.

“Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He leans over you once more to flick off the light. You hear him walk out to the bathroom to take a shower.

Could you force him to give you the keys? The chain was still dangling from the headboard. If you could somehow get his wrist caught, you could threaten him with a kitchen knife. You shake the thought from your head. You couldn’t hurt him with a knife. You were sure even one-handedly, he could take it off you if you tried.

You just needed a distraction, just two seconds when his attention wasn’t on you to escape.

Wet, salty tears rolled down your cheeks as you lay in the dark, but you made no sound.

You were still awake when he returned from his shower, dressed in his pajamas. Thinking you are asleep he is slow and quiet as he rejoins you in bed.

He curls up against your back and rests his hand on your stomach as if there is something already inside. He wasn’t going to wait a few more years. He said it purely for your comfort.

He dreamt of being a young President with a baby on the way. And another one close after that, and another, and another. He would undo history. He would have as many baby Coriolanus’s and Tigris’ as it took to heal the past.

Watching you nurture, feed, and play with his children would overtake his memories of fighting for his life when he should have been nursed by his mother.

He felt as if he was in the area but soon to be crowned Victor. President Ravinstill just had to die before he could have it all.

His destiny that had been interrupted when his father died but was now back on track. From birth, Coriolanus Snow was supposed to be the man who had it all. Not some impoverished boy, hanging on to his father’s legacy.

When he died, he would be remembered as his own man. Not as the shadow of his father.

Coriolanus Snow; Beloved President of Panem, star pupil of the Academy, Plinth Prize winner, devoted husband and father, and Victor of the games. Coriolanus would be remembered as the man who had it all.

You lay awake under him. The smell of alcohol mixed with the scent of his soap. It burnt your nose as you inhaled.

President Ravinstill could die tonight. There was no guarantee that he would even make it to winter. You had to get out. If you made it to the Capitol, you would never get back home.

While he was intoxicated was your best chance. He seemed so still now, you could take the keys off the nightstand and go through everyone. You were sure he wouldn’t wake, not until it was too late. You remember when your father drank on special occasions, he would sleep for 14 hours at a time. Coriolanus was sure to sleep for at least half that.

You wait until you can’t feel him twitch before you rise from bed. Very slowly, very carefully, you peel yourself from him, shoving a pillow in your place. He doesn’t move from your actions so you continue over to his nightstand where his key ring is laid.

Rows and rows of keys looped together. They jingle as you pick them up. Panic runs like ice up your spin as you turn back to see Coriolanus; unmoved and unknowing.

You wrap your hand around as many keys as you can to stop further noise and make your way to the door. Checking every few steps to ensure he wouldn’t turn up behind you.

The floor creeks as you pass the hallways to the living room but no other sound follows as you cross the kitchen to the door.

You start at the very first key. It slots in but refuses to turn. Moving on to the next, and the next in methodological order, bypassing the ones that were too big or small to be entertained.

You try numerous times but the right key is buried among the many.

Feeling as if it had been hours since the first key, you felt confident that it was coming up.

You stuck a key in with no resistance. The hope that died in you reappeared as the lock turned with the key.

But all too soon it died again, as you felt a hand snake into your hair. It yanks your head harshly back and you find yourself pressed against Coriolanus.

“That key will get stuck in the door, and it’d be a great pain to get it out again.”

His hand in your hair pulls you back.

“I was just going to the kitchen to get some ingredients for a hangover cure. I was coming back.” His hand twists unforgivably in your hair as you make your plea.

“Don’t lie to me,” he seethes.

“I am not!” You protest, trying to break free from his grasp.

“You think I am some type of fool?”

Reaching over you, he takes the keys out of the door and leads you back to the bedroom.

“Coriolanus. Please just listen to me.”

“If I had listened to you, I would have left the door opened. You spoiled, deceiving, little bitch.”

He was still drunk. You could smell it from his breath.

You thought it would make him complacent but it instead made him more violent.

“I was getting you my father's hangover cure.”

You stumble as he pushes you over the doorway.

“You need to trust me, Coriolanus.”

He shoves you until you are back to your side of the bed.

“I don’t.”

He throws the keys hard across the room to free his hands.

“I trust you.” You don’t fight him as he recuffs your chain, instead you willingly go along with it.

For good measure, you place a kiss on his cheek which throws him off guard.

“I don’t trust you.” he reiterated softly.

“That’s ok,” you state, “One day you will. We’ll have a happy life together. You, me, and our children.”

He looks perplexed at your words but makes no further comment as he lays down by your side, resting his head on you.

“I’ve tried my best to take care of you. To make you happy.”

“You have.” you console. You were no longer worried about President Ravinstill lasting the night, but rather yourself.

“Then why-”

“I wasn’t running. I was trying to take care of you.”

His face turns into your skin. You bring your free hand up to his head and press it down.

“Everything is ok. Just go to sleep. You’re drunk. You don’t mean it.”

You run your fingertips up and down starting from behind his ear, down to the bottom of his neck, and up again. You do it until you feel his shallow breaths upon your skin, only then do you release the tears from your eyes.

When you wake the next morning, your wrist is free and Coriolanus is not in bed.

You rise to find him in the kitchen, frying bacon. Maybe he was too intoxicated last night to remember his anger towards you.

“Good morning,” you offer. He doesn’t return the greeting. Maybe he did remember last night, and you were in a lot of trouble.

“How are you feeling?” you try again.

“What’s your father's hangover cure?”

“Two eggs, hot sauce, milk, salt, pepper, and honey”. Your father did not have a hangover cure and it did not include hot sauce or honey, both of which were considered luxury items in the District.

He looks for the ingredients, slamming the cupboards he turns towards you. “All here.”

“Oh,” you comment, “That’s good. Did you want me to make you one?”

The bacon pops in the pan and you rush over to distract yourself with it.

“Sit down. I’ll take over cooking”. The bacon was overcooked to the point where it would be barely edible.

“So what did you need for the compound kitchen last night?”

“I didn’t know we had the items. It's been that long since I cooked, I just assumed we were out.”

“You assumed you wouldn’t get caught.”

You sigh. Coriolanus in a bad mood would only mean bad things for you.

“I wasn’t running. I was trying to help. Are you always going to doubt me?”

“Yes.” he answers, pulling the pan back off you.

He dumps the bacon onto a plate and takes it to the kitchen table. You begin to clean up after him as he sits and eats.

The plate is still full by the time he is telling you to go get ready for the day.

You put on the blue sun dress he likes which acts as a two-second buffer for his anger when he sees you.

He had paused in the middle of throwing his bacon into the trash. Such a waste of food. You thought.

But he was determined to stay in his mood. He slides the empty plate across the counter.

“I am late for work,” he says.

It was unusual for him not to hold your hand as you walked to his office. You would have to work hard today to please him.

His tea was already sat upon his desk when you arrived and you rushed to pour him one.

He doesn’t drink it. It goes cold as he does his work.

You try extra hard to be quiet. There was sewing left from yesterday which you begin to complete.

“We still haven’t found your mother,” he says out of the blue after a morning of not speaking or looking at you.

His words filled you with confidence. If you could get to the mountains, at least you knew you were safe.

He doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“Edmund hasn’t returned to his house but there was a rumor that he was swapping meat for medical supplies just yesterday.”

What would he need medical supplies for? You wondered. Was your mother okay? Was he okay?

You needed to see them to make sure.

“He’s probably hiding with your mother in what’s left of the forest. Don’t worry. We’ll find him and bring your mother home.”

It was a disguised threat. He was trying to get a rise out of you.

“Good,” you comment. Keep searching the forest while they remain safe in the mountains.

“Good.” he repeats back.

A comfortable silence returns as you both go back to work, but it’s interrupted by his secretary bursting through the doors.

“Sir! Sir!” she gasps. Coriolanus shot up from his chair.

“Commander Vongurt is angry!”

You follow him without a word out of the office.

“The courtyard!” the secretary directs.

You fall behind his fast pace and reach for him blindly to keep from falling too far behind.

A crowd had formed by the time you reached the courtyard. You could hear the familiar sound of flogging and painful cries.

The crowd parts as Coriolanus approaches. In the middle of the bystanders was Commander Vongurt and a young boy curled on the dirt floor.

Coriolanus looks upon the same boy who failed to hit the target on the hot day.

Grabbing the baton from the Commander, he throws it to the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Commander Snow,” Vongurt was out of breath from exerting himself in his beating, “This boy is a disgrace to your legacy. I caught him passing scraps to the prisoners through the bars.”

With the protection of Coriolanus, you felt safe enough to speak out, “He’s just a boy.”

“Take him to the jail. He can sleep there for a week if he likes their company so much.”

“Coriolanus!” you take his arm and tug it. He gives you a harsh look and you know you won’t be able to persuade him.

The boy cries out and begins to beg as he is carted away by two others.

“Coriolanus, please!” You tug his arm once more and he hits you harshly across the cheek.

You stumble upon the impact. The men shuffle away from you as you try and regain your footing.

Coriolanus takes your arm in a harsh grip, pulling you back in the right direction but he is turned to speak to Vonngurt.

“District 12 is my district. Next time you feel like taking discipline into your own hands, don’t.”

The older Commander nods his head, but you can see he is displeased to have been spoken to in such a manner.

“Let’s go.” He was now talking to you and shoving you forcefully in front of himself back to the office.

You tear yourself free as the door shuts behind you.

“You don’t dictate my decisions.”

Your nose is clogged from your tears. You couldn’t tell if you were crying out of pain or anger. Your brain was still trying to catch up.

“Calling my name,” he says astonished, “It doesn’t matter if you disagree with my decision. Your job is to support me.”

He catches you as you try to make your way from him and he tosses you to the couch, where he stands over you.

“You embarrassed me. Vongurt already thinks I can’t control my Peacekeepers, now he thinks I can’t control my women as well.”

You cup your bruised cheek. This wasn’t about Vongurt. He was still hurting about your attempt last night. All day he was looking for a reason to lash out, Vongurt only provided the opportunity.

You were put back on defense. With only at most a month before you were carted off to the Capitol, mistakes couldn’t be afforded.

“I am sorry.” you choke out.

He squinted his eyes, bringing his hand up to his head before throwing it back again, “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” you spit. There is no sincerity in your voice.

“Look at me when I am talking to you.” He takes your chin into his hand and pulls it up to his eye level. “Ravinstill is expected to die shortly. This behavior of yours cannot be brought back to the Capitol.”

“It won’t be. I am sorry.” Your fists clench by your side.

He turns your chin to expect your cheek.

“I did it too. That’s the only reason I spoke out. I would have been thrown in jail too.” you contend.

He lets go of your chin and stands up to full height, “You think a Peacekeeper would get the same punishment as a District? No. You would have been hanged. Yet another reason to be loyal to me. I’ve saved you.”

“I am loyal to you. Grateful for you.” You get up and follow him as he makes his way to his desk.

“Coriolanus, please don’t be mad at me. I was only ever trying to help.”

You sob ugly causing him to spin around. Your cheek hurt, and you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders trying to get away within such a short time frame. You were overwhelmed with the whole scenario and the thought of dealing with Coriolanus as he looked for opportunities to lash out was too much to bear.

He softens upon your unraveled composure, taking you into his arms.

“Stop crying. It’s okay”. You feel him rest his head on top of yours. “I am just a little wound up trying to get everything in order. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I am sorry.”

You smile slightly, he is back on defense.

—------

Friday came quickly. The call wasn’t until the afternoon so you spent the whole day as a ball of anxiety.

But at least you had a plan. On evening walks you took more notice of the building surrounding the communications tent, and saw a nurse carrying a load of blankets into a building of washing machines.

There were few things Coriolanus let you do alone, washing was one of them.

The washing machine in the apartment would need to be dealt with. But the long hours spent in his office meant that the dirty clothes were piling up. He would demand a fresh uniform for work. If you left it close to his phone call with his family, he was sure to let you go.

You push it out for as long as you can. He had wanted to leave ten minutes ago but you kept pressing him for one more minute.

You had taken small rocks from the ground during your afternoon walk, telling Coriolanus you would like to take a part of home back to the Capitol with you. He had allowed you to collect a small jar, you picked the biggest rocks you could find.

Big enough to jam the pipes of the washing machine.

“Darling, please. We have to leave.” He bangs on the door of the washing room.

You finish shoving the rocks as far as they would go down the pipe. It made an awful sound as the washing machine ate them up causing the water to rise.

“Coriolanus,” you call. As soon as you open the door, he grabs your arm, ready to yank you out.

“Coriolanus. The machine is broken. Look.”

He barely glaces at it, “ I’ll send someone to fix it. Let’s go.”

“I need to do the washing,” you pick up the basket as he pulls you from the room, “Can I use the compound washing machines?”

“That’s fine. Just move, we are late.”

You struggle to keep up with him as he rushes along the compound. He hated it if his phone call was cut short by even a second. Now he was two minutes late and he was almost running to make up time for it.

You reach the building in record time. He lets go of you to pick up speed, leaving you by the door as he hurries.

He rushes to the small screen, not bothering to sit down on the wooden chair as he twisted the knobs. “Tigris, Tigris? Can you hear me?”

He must have heard a voice on the other side as he broke out into a smile. It was a pretty, genuine smile that you had not seen before.

“Hey,’’ he laughs. You watch from where you stand by the door. He seemed almost unrecognizable. A young boy sent away to a summer camp instead of a ruthless and ambitious Commander. “I am sorry. The washing machine broke. How are you?”

His tone is light and happy as he talks to Tigris. You wonder if he had forgotten he even brought you. He didn’t glance at you as he spoke, giving her his full attention.

You wonder if it is best to make your exit now but his words stop you.

“She’s here.” he waves you over. You drop the basket in coming to him. You wondered what Tigris would look like. What she would sound like.

Coriolanus holds out the receiver for you. You peer at the screen to see a blonde girl in colorful clothing before you put the receiver to your ear.

“Hello,” you greet.

“Oh!” Tigris croons. She pulls the receiver away from her mouth to lessen her shout, “Grandma’am come see!”

She smiles as she turns her attention back to you, “Oh, Coryo has talked so much about you.”

“What is she saying?” Coriolanus places his hands on your hip and pulls down so you are sitting on his knee.

“She’s said you’ve talked about me,” you answer.

He smiles gently at you, turning the receiver in your hand out between you.

An older woman comes too close into the frame and Tigris pulls her back.

“Is that her?” the old woman asks Tigris who nods.

“Girl-Girl.” she talks into the speaker.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“You must be grateful he is sending you back to the Capitol. Don’t ruin it like the last one.”

Coriolanus snatches the receiver away from your ear to soften her words but you heard them any way.

“Grandma’am is unwell,” he tells you, “Pay her no mind.”

Tigris takes back the receiver and positions it in a similar fashion to Coriolanus.

“Did you get the dresses I sent?”

“I did. Thank you. I was hoping to send you back some shortbread but Coriolanus has been busy with work.”

“He was saying you cook. Grandma’am and I are so excited to meet you!”

“Me too,” you lie. “I hear the Capitol is wonderful. I look forward to exploring it with you.”

Tigris laughs. She was beautiful, you thought. Perhaps too popular to be showing you the capital. You felt foolish for even lying about it.

“We’ll have a ball. I’ll show you all around.”

“In time,” Coriolanus interjects. The chains around you would not loosen just because you were in the Capitol. “The Capitol is big. There’ll be time to see it all.”

You let Coriolanus take over the talking. Only offering agreements or soft smiles as the Snow women talk.

The family soon falls into a comfortable way of talking. You had said next to nothing for the last 10 minutes, and it had gone unnoticed. It was time to make your way.

You slowly rise from Coriolanus who latches out on your arm.

“I’ll just put the washing on. That way it will be done by the time we finish.”

He tugs you back down causing you to fall into him. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Tigris almost cringe.

“We’ll do it later,” he demands.

“We’ll be washing well into the night if we leave it any longer. I’ll just pop it on. I’ll be five minutes.”

His face twisted with his words but you kissed him to stop them from leaving his mouth. It was the first time you had ever kissed him on the lips. You could tell by the way his mouth stilled that he was surprised.

“Five minutes.” You kiss his bottom lip to quell any fight he has in him. Grabbing the phone in the meantime.

“Tigris. Grandma. I’ll just be 5 Minutes to put the washing on”.

Tigris smiles at you, letting you know that it is fine. You could just barely hear Grandma’am make a comment about how the people in the Capitol don't do their own washing but it is cut off by you shoving the phone back in Coriolanus's hand.

He cups your face to bring you down for another kiss.

“Five minutes,” he repeats.

You smile at him as you pull away. It was too easy, You had won.

It felt like victory as you picked up the basket and placed it on your hip. You turn back halfway out the door to see he has gone back to talking to his family.

You don’t make it to the tent. Five steps away from the door and you had dropped the basket and taken off at a fast pace.

You walk to try not to draw attention to yourself. It worked for the most part. Hardly anyone gave you a glance. You could see the bins coming into sight. Your freedom is just behind them.

“Hey!” you hear someone call out. You ignore them at first, not thinking they could mean you. But a harsh hold on your arm spun you towards a Peacekeeper.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? Nothing”. Your freedom lay not ten feet away but was hindered by a zealous guard.

“Where’s Commander Snow?” He held you too tight. It interfered with your clear thinking.

“The communications tent.”

“Is that where you should be?”

“No,” you try and tug your arm away from him but his nails dig in. “Let go of me. Let go!”

“Let’s go ask Commander Snow what you should be doing.” The man starts to drag you along as you dig your feet into the dirt.

“Let go!” you shout. He was sure to notice you gone soon if he hadn’t already. Time was running out.

In frustration, you slap the Peacekeeper across the face.

“How dare you touch me. I’ll tell Commander Snow about this. You’ve hurt me.

You feel his grip loosen on you but he doesn’t let go completely.

“No, I haven’t!” he says somewhat fearfully,

“Commander Snow has asked me to get something for him, and not only have you stopped me from doing that but you hurt me in the process. How do you think he will react to that?”

You manage to tear free from him and give yourself some distance.

“I am going to do as he asked me, and you are going to do your duties like you should be doing. Otherwise, I’ll report you to the Commander."

The Peacekeeper mulls over his course of action before raising his hands.

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. Excuse me.”

You turn your back on him and quicken your steps to your destination. Making sure the coast is clear, you crawl behind the large bins. You couldn’t see any broken fence behind it.

Did they find it? Have you just made a fatal mistake?

You continue to crawl, placing your hand on the metal for any movement.

The chain bends showing cut wire as they bend. Relief washing through you.

It digs harshly into you as you pull yourself through.

You could have kissed the dirt on the other side. Freedom. Edmund.

The guard in the tower above you looks out across the field. You keep under his eyesight as you slide across the fence as quietly as you can.

It runs out, leaving ten feet of open field before the safety of the forest. Ten feet and then you were free. There was no cover, meaning that the guard could easily spot you if he was looking.

You say a silent prayer that the guard will keep his focus straight before you take the chance of discovery.

You leap across the field, throwing yourself upon the first tree you touch. The bark smashed your bruised cheek as you waited for the sirens to sound.

He mustn’t have seen you. You had got away.

You take a second to laugh as quietly as you can. Run, a voice in your head told you. You regain your breath and do. You run as fast as you can, taking the backroads back to your home.

Your lungs burn, willing you to stop but you keep going until your house is in view. You only slow down to stop drawing attention to yourself.

People had started to return home from work. You could see them as you walked along the back of their houses. You're careful not to be seen.

The back steps of your place come under your feet, and your caution disappears as you fling yourself into your home.

Edmund was sitting at the kitchen table dressing a rabbit he caught.

He stood up. Turning his knife towards you thinking you were an intruder.

You knew he would never hurt you so you throw your arms around his shoulders despite the threat.

The knife drops and he takes you into his arms.

“I was so worried.” he breathed.

“We have to go. We need to leave,” you state but make no attempt to pull away.

He does pull away, throwing the rabbit into his hunting sack and picking up his knife. You take his bloody hand and he leads you back out the back door and into the forest.

The walk to the mountains takes well into the night. You both do it silently. What was there to say? There was still a long road to safety.

You stay as close as you could to him. Always holding his hand or latched onto his arm.

The mountain trail is tough and you wonder how he made it up with your mother on his back. He knew the way well, having worked in the mines nearly all his life. He warned you of which boulders were loose, and when you tripped over he caught you as if he almost expected it.

You were worn out by the time you reached the campsite. Rows and rows of small wooden houses for the miners. All were empty this time of year as it got too dark too early and not light enough too late for the hours they worked.

You saw a freshly put-out fire and knew that your mother was close.

“Your mothers in that one,” he pointed to the right cabin, “My family’s in the next one.”

For the first time in the hour's walk, you tore free from him and ran into your mother's cabin.

It was a relief to see her sleeping figure. You throw yourself on top of her and begin crying.

She wakes in fright but knows the figure of her daughter well. She throws her arms around you and joins you in crying.

You were home. You were safe.

—---------

As soon as the door closed, Coriolanus felt as if he had made a mistake. He trusted you.

You were better now. Doing well. He could trust you.

But Tigris’s words made no sense to him. You were coming back.

He tried to focus on his family but he eyes the door expectantly.

Dread fills him. How long did it take to put on washing?

“Coriolanus?” he hears Tigris call.

He dashes out of his chair. He had made a very big mistake.

“Coriolanus?” the receiver resounds.

Upon opening the door he is met with his washing by his feet. He takes off running to his apartment. You were sick the other day, maybe you had fallen ill again and taken to bed.

He pushed past Peacekeepers as he ran to his steps. Taking them two at a time he reaches the top and pushes open the unlocked door. It was only ever locked to keep someone in, never someone out. He calls out for you but is met with silence.

He opened every door along the way to the bedroom, hoping you were just hiding.

He calls your name again and again until falling silent upon the empty bed. You weren’t here. Coriolanus had made a big mistake.

Clicking the radio built into the collar of his shirt, he demands that the compound is shut down.

“Has anyone been through the gates?” Both leading officers of the two entryways confirm that no one has. The Peacekeepers are diverted into searching the compound for you.

Coriolanus joins too. He didn’t trust the ability of his Peacekeepers. He searched every nook and cranny of every office and building he could find. His temper flared the longer the search went on.

You had to be in the compound. How could you have got out?

He returns to his apartment. Maybe you had returned upon hearing the sirens.

A cat catches his attention as it sits meowing and eating bits of food from the ground that the birds had managed to pick out.

He had never seen a cat in the compound before. Could it have got in the same way you got out?

He walks over to search it for any clues it might have but it runs off as he comes closer.

He chases it behind the bin where he watches it slip through the bent wire in the fence.

You had got away. Now at large in the districts.

He sighs deeply before taking his rage out on the back of the bins, bashing and kicking at it until he is forced to lean against it to catch his breath.

A search party would be sent out, interrogations would be issued. Someone had to have seen you along the way. He would find you and he would bring you home to him.

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@inloveallthetime

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow #commander snow #dead dove do not eat #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth #hunger games

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lillaydee · 2 months ago

Text

I'm Right Here Part 7

BFF!Joel Miller / F Reader

Sometimes the person we've been looking for has been right there all along.

@copperhalfcent, @demonsasss, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @peelieblue @liciafonseca @ultra-nina-bella @joelmillerpascal @kirsteng42 @heartpatch @capnjaket

Let me know if you want to be tagged or removed from the tag list

WARNINGS: BFF Joel Miller, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Angst, Love Triangles, Miscommunication, Past Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel is a Clueless Idiot, Jealousy, Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced/Supposed Sexual Assault

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 6

You cleared your desk for the evening, feeling the jitters that you had managed to forget for the last few hours as the clock hit 530pm.

“You okay darling?” Mrs. Adler asked, the kindly older lady giving you a sympathetic smile. You nodded, giving her one back, albeit slightly half-hearted. Jake walked out of his office then, placing his lunch box on your desk, sitting in front of you.

“Things are not better?” he asked.

You only managed a weak shake of the head and a regretful smile.

He sighed, rubbing his face.

“Don’t give up on him, darling. He’s stressed. We’ll figure this out. We’re all trying to figure this out. He’ll be alright. This is all just… new, and with the other one not cooperating, he’s frustrated… I know he shouldn’t be taking it out…” he stopped when you waved your hand at him and froze. You heard his truck approach.

You got up and collected your purse and bag, gave him a kiss on the cheek, waved Mrs Adler goodbye and walked out, taking a deep breath to brace for what was coming.

“Hi,” you said as you climbed into the truck, placing your bags on the footwell and pulling at the seatbelt. No kisses. No more. Not since last Friday. Not since Jen came charging at your door with the news big enough to implode a thousand worlds. He hummed in return, taking his foot off the brake pedal and drove out of there.

After an extremely uncomfortable 8 minutes of driving, he stopped in front of Hank’s, immediately freeing the gear and pulling the handbrake. He stopped for a moment, playing with the keys to his truck in his hands, staring at them for longer than necessary, if it was even necessary in the first place at all.

“You sure you’re up for this? We don’t have to,” you started. He heaved a huge sigh of frustration and opened his door. “Let’s just get it over with,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

You took a few extra seconds to breathe before finally leaving the truck, walking into the busy bar, locating them immediately. Joel was already at the bar, ordering drinks for the two of you. You hugged Olivia and the guys, sitting down next to Eric.

“How is he these days, Daze?” Tommy asked. The rest immediately stopped talking and focused on you, Benny keeping a watch for Joel. You were the only person they could ask. Any attempts to ask him directly had been met with hostility. Even Anita and Aunt Tina got the silent treatment the moment they asked him one too many questions last week.

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anything. Will you all stop?” he had frustratedly said, “She’s not answering any questions, she’s not willing to provide proof, all she talked about was moving in with me and starting a family I don’t want! And stop fucking looking at me like that!” he had ranted before telling you that the two of you were leaving, right in the middle of the family lunch. He stopped answering their calls, slammed the door in the men’s faces when they stopped by after work, even came close to punching Tommy in the face when he tried to ask his brother to answer Anita’s calls.

Thing was, they didn’t see that he was exactly the same with you, only it was worse because you lived with him. Gone were the sleepovers, the man sleeping in the living room rather than his own room or yours, buying a single mattress from Ikea to sleep on in front of the TV when the sofa gave his back an unwanted ache. He’s refusing to talk to you, refusing to touch you, refusing to do anything with you. He hardly ate, hardly slept, judging by the sounds of the TV in the middle of the night when you woke up for the bathroom. You tried to sleep with him in the living room at first, accidentally on purpose falling asleep as you watched TV, but he woke you up and instructed you to go to bed. He won’t even lift you into bed anymore, just poked you with his feet and gruffly told you to go inside.

It was as if the old Joel disappeared. The joker, the funny man, the romantic one. That charming smile disappeared overnight. Some semblance of him remained after that initial lunch weekend, but after Jen’s visit, he completely disappeared. In his place, a quiet, grumpy, ready to explode at everyone, depressed man appeared instead. He stopped shaving, staring into the void even if he was supposedly watching the TV, becoming selectively deaf to your questions. Any questions asked, even mundane ones like what to get for dinner, or if he could take you to the grocery store were answered with grunts or short answers, and even those, snappy ones. He was angry with the world, and he took it out on you.

It was immediate, the change in him. One minute he was the hungry man kissing you as if his life depended on it, the next, he was the screaming, vulnerable, panicked one who threatened to beat the living crap out of Jen if she didn’t leave right away.

Jen wasn’t exactly helping, refusing to answer his questions, insisting that they had sex despite his claims otherwise. When he started talking about paternity, she turned her attention on you, going into your room to pack your bags, screaming at you to leave, that this is her house now, that Joel needed you to be gone if he was going to be a good father, that you were in the way of an innocent child having a father and a mother, a happy family.

She screamed and threatened to report him to the cops if he didn’t do as she asked. Joel threatened the same, but she laughed in his face, asking him if anyone would believe his story, what with his reputation with women compared to her own with men. That his ex-conquests would be lining up to testify against him. That it’s time for him to receive karma for the way he had treated women all his life. Joel literally picked her up and dumped her outside, screaming and begging to be let back in. She only left the property when the neighbours threatened to call the cops on her.

So, no, things were not better. If anything, they had gotten worse. Joel withdrew further and further into himself, shutting everything and everyone outside, including you, especially you. Except, it felt worse when he did it to your face rather than just ignoring your calls.

You kept telling yourself to be patient, to be understanding. That there was a massive reason behind this change, that he was going through something unimaginable. That there was no way you could understand what was going on inside his head. But every single time he shut down in front of you, you felt your heart chip a little more. You wanted to help him. You wanted him to know you were there for him. But he was not letting you.

Everyone’s faces fell as you shook your head, playing with the hem of your blouse. But they had no time to ask for details. Joel was back, placing your drink in front of you, taking a seat, drinking his beer in complete silence. It took a lot of convincing for him to be here, and his agreement was not made clear until he actually parked in front of the bar not five minutes ago. He placed his beer back in front of him, crossed his arms on his chest, turned to Olivia and took a deep breath.

She seemed to understand his signal.

“Okay, I need you to listen until the end before you say anything. I spoke to my friend, she’s a lawyer. She could help you with the process if you choose to go down this route.”

He didn’t say anything. His eyes were still fixed on Olivia.

“You need to file a paternity petition, legally ask for a paternity test. If you do, and she is lying, which we all highly suspect, the truth will come out whether she likes it or not. She needs to prove her pregnancy with the lawyers present, meaning she had to go to the hospital and get a blood test. That pregnancy test is not valid in this case. And then you will attend a hearing and present your case. If the judge finds reason to doubt paternity, they will order her to undergo this test.”

“She’s refusing. I already asked her, first thing.”

“She is claiming you are the father and is invested in making you raise this child with her, if the judge orders her to get one, she will have no choice but to do it, or she could be charged. If you don’t do this, she could keep lying, and you will be tied to her, Joel, even if you don’t end up with her, even if the baby is not yours, if there is even a baby at all. Her unwillingness to cooperate is odd, considering how adamant she is that you raise this child with her. I don’t think she’s willing to back down that easily, she’s gone this far. At this point, going the legal route is your best option.”

“Assuming we could get the judge to agree, how long do we have to wait for a paternity test? Don’t we have to wait until the baby is born? What if she harasses Joel throughout her pregnancy?” Will asked. Joel took another drink, his eyes on focused on the water ring on his coaster.

“You can establish paternity once the pregnancy is 10 weeks these days. It’s a blood test for her, a swab in the mouth for Joel,” Olivia said. “Joel, if she is telling the truth, she should have no reason to refuse a court-ordered test. But you need to take this step. You need to file the petition to request for one.”

Joel could feel all eyes on him, his hand clutched into a fist on his thigh. You noticed. You put your hand on his, attempting to make him feel better. But he withdrew his hand from under yours and removed it from his thigh.

“What if she really is pregnant with Joel’s child? Can we do something about how the conception happened? Maybe get the cops…” Tommy started. Joel immediately got up in a huff, telling you he’s leaving. You got up with him, not willing to let him drive alone, or even be alone at all these days.

“Joel…” Tommy protested, but he simply walked off.

The next morning, you woke up for your jog as usual, the first one you will take since you got injured. Joel hadn’t taken you out on walks since that night, and your body was starting to feel sluggish. You needed to start running again sometime, and this seemed to be the perfect time. He was still sleeping on his mattress. You didn’t wake him. He was up until four last night, you were sure of it. You peeked when you went to the bathroom, you could see that his eyes were open, staring at the TV, looking but not seeing, even in the darkness. The drive home was unusually quiet and tense, even more so than usual, and you didn’t have it in you to egg him on and ask him about Olivia’s proposal.

You put your earbuds on and turned on your music. You powerwalked that first mile, wanting to get into the rhythm again, having not jogged for the past month or so. There was still a small twinge of pain on your shoulder when you started running, so you kept a leisurely pace, not wanting to aggravate it further.

You were maybe a little under two miles in when you heard a shuffle beneath all that music, and before you knew it, you were face down on the pavement. You scrambled up and took your earbuds off, coming face to face with a very angry Jen.

“What the fuck Jen?”

“Serves you right. I told you to move out. Why are you still living with him?”

“Because I live there, and you do not. I’m not moving just because you told me to. What gives you that right?”

“Joel and I are going to be married. We are having a child together. You are standing in the way of our child having a happy family!”

“So you said. Funny I didn’t hear the same sentiment from Joel!”

“That’s because you are still there, feeding him poison to make him stay away from me!”

You wanted to scratch her eyes out, squish them into slimy goo and feed them to the rats. But you held yourself.

“You know what? You’re right. Joel would absolutely love to raise this baby with you.”

Her anger seemed to dissipate slightly.

“You think so?”

“As soon as you get a paternity test.”

She rolled her eyes. “What is it about you guys and your obsession with paternity testing? Why are you so hellbent in believing I would lie to him? Trap him?”

“Because that thing a man and a woman need to do to make a baby? Yeah… your version of events is a bit sketchy. It can all go away and truth will be out, all doubts shall disappear, as soon as a paternity test is done.”

“I know my truth. And Joel knows what really happened that day, despite his claims. He’s not getting away with this. And if you were a woman, a true woman, you would bow out and give us a chance at being a family. Are you really so desperate to be with him that you are willing to break a family up?”

“I have said everything I need to say to you, Jen. Paternity test, or nothing. And if you keep this attitude up, we will not hesitate to get the law involved.”

Her smug face turned white. She got more and more desperate, shrieking at you. “Why are you even involved in this? You have nothing to do with this. This is between me and Joel, and no one else! Why can’t you just leave? This is all because of you! You’re meddling in things you shouldn’t be meddling in!”

You knew you were going nowhere with this deranged woman. You shrugged, “Well, I’m not moving out. Not until Joel asks me to.” You turned around and put your earbuds back in, tired of dealing with her.

“Oh no, you don’t!” she screamed, pulling you by the collar of your shirt. She raised a hand to hit you when a truck screeched to a halt next to you. Joel came out, screaming at you to get in the truck.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing Jen?”

“I’m just trying to secure our future, Joel. She’s in the way. She needs to go so we could plan for our baby’s arrival!” she pleaded, her demeanour shifting drastically from anger to desperation.

“Paternity test. And then we’ll talk.”

Jen’s eyes flashed towards you once more, full of anger. “This is all your fault. You couldn’t have just left, could you? You need to ruin my life? What have I ever done to you Daisy?”

Joel helped you into the truck, closing the door behind you. He walked around the truck to get in, Jen following behind.

“Joel, how could you choose her over our baby? You need to tell her to leave. We need to put our baby first. We need to get married, for the sake of our baby.”

Joel stopped abruptly, turning around, taking such aggressive steps towards Jen she shrunk back, taking desperate steps back onto the curb. “You listen to me carefully Jen. I am filing a petition with the courts for a paternity test. I’m gonna make you prove to the courts that you are indeed pregnant with my child, and if you can prove that you are, I will do what the courts tell me to do. I will only listen to them, not you. And let me make myself very, very clear here Jen. Even if I am the father, don’t you ever, EVER, think for a second that I will be with you. I don’t want you anywhere near me, let alone marry you. And if you try to force me in any way, I will press charges against you. I will walk into that police department and report you for drugging me, for assaulting me without consent, and NO!” he raised a finger in her face as she opened her mouth to protest, “I don’t care if no one believes me. I don’t care if people look at me funny. I don’t care if I get laughed at for being an assault victim. Fuck, I don’t even care if they can’t prove anything and drop the charges. Cause by then, everyone will know what you allegedly did. I will make sure of it.”

Jen stared at Joel with her eyes wide, shocked that Joel would lose it on her like that.

“Joel!” she gasped. “How could you speak to me like that?”

“I will speak to a deranged, lunatic of a woman like you however I want. You didn’t give me a choice, so I am not giving you one either. Don’t bother me again. If you know what’s good for you, I’d better not see you again until we’re in court.”

He climbed into the truck and drove off.

“Are you okay? Did she hurt you?” he snarled, not looking at you. You didn’t even get a chance to open your mouth before he started on you. “What the fuck were you thinking leaving the house without me like that? Do you even know what she could’ve done to you?”

“I’m not a child, Joel. I can take care of myself.”

“I promised Eddie I would take care of you!” he screamed.

“And you’re doing a great job at showing it!” you snapped back just as he parked with a screech in his driveway. You got out and walked into the living room, the door having been left wide open. “Wonderful way of taking care of me so far, Joel. Ignoring me, snapping at me, screaming at me. All I’m trying to do, all anyone is trying to do is to help you Joel! But I can’t, we can’t, no one can, because you refuse to talk to anyone.”

His head snapped towards you, his face the epitome of anger.

“You want me to talk? Okay,” he said, slamming the door behind him. “Let’s talk. What do you want to hear? That I feel like a fucking loser who was idiotic enough to be nice to a lonely woman who turned out to be a deranged stalker? That I let her drug me? That there is a huge possibility that she…” he stopped, swallowing, looking away, rubbing his face, “Sexually assaulted me and took what she could from me without my consent? That I couldn’t do anything to prevent it? That I don’t remember anything about it? That I might be a father to a child I already know I will hate for the rest of my life, that I’m already the definition of a deadbeat dad for not wanting to have anything to do with this child ever? That I’m thinking of ways to run? To escape? That I’m refraining myself from going over and just choking her to death so I can just live the rest of my miserable life behind bars than deal with this whole thing? That the thought of that woman doing things to me makes me feel like I want to scrub the living shit out of my skin and just… stop living? Is that what you want to hear?”

Tears were swimming in your eyes. You tried to take his hand in yours, wanting to make him feel better, but he pulled his hand away. He looked as if he was struggling from saying something, contemplating the repercussions of him saying what was on his mind, his neck taut, his jaw tight. You tried one more time, and he finally snapped.

“You think I want you touching me? You think I want any woman touching me at all? You think I would ever want to be with you, or any other woman at all after this? That I could trust anyone ever again? You think I don’t lie awake at night thinking this is my karma for never wanting to be in a relationship? That this is just what I deserve for telling the women before you that I am not interested because I was waiting for my special someone? For the woman I have been in love with since I was six? You think you want to be with me if that child is real? You want to be with a deadbeat dad who wishes he was dead or behind bars if it means he didn’t have to deal with this child? Cause if you do, then you are even more pathetic than I could ever imagine.”

You stared at this man you had known since infancy. This was not him. He’s just scared, you told yourself.

“Joel…” you said, as gently as you could. “We could get through this. Let’s just get the process started, okay? Talk to Olivia’s friend. We’ll get through this. Together.”

He huffed a laugh. “Together,” he muttered.

“Look, I know that you must feel…”

“How the fuck would you know how I feel? Huh? Have you ever been assaulted? Has anyone drugged you and taken advantage of you while you were out of it just for the sake of trapping you with a baby? Do you know what it feels like, knowing that going to the cops will only result in people laughing at you, that no one would take you seriously? Calling you a cry-baby for feeling dirty just because some lady might have had sex with you? That because you had casual sex before no one would believe you if you told the truth? That the person who did this to you could get clean away with it? And you might have to pay her child support for the next 18 years while you go on to live your miserable life? You know how that feels?”

You didn’t know what to say.

“That’s what I thought. So don’t you dare tell me you know how I must feel. Cause you don’t fucking know anything.” He walked into his room, and you could hear him rummaging about. He came back out with a duffel bag.

“I’m ending the lease. You have one month to arrange for a new place, or you could take over from me. I’ll be staying at Tommy’s until I get a new place,” he said, opening the door. “I’ll be back from time to time to get the rest of my stuff.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. “Joel… we can work through this. You don’t have to leave. We’ll look for a place together. We can move if that’s what you need to move on.”

He stopped, the open door in his hand. He turned, his expression unreadable.

“You think I want to live with you? Why? So you could do to me what Jen did?”

You felt your blood turn cold. You stared at him for a while, his eyes still devoid of any feelings.

You turned around and walked into your room, slamming the door behind you.

“Welcome to the company Miss Stevens. We are excited to have you join us. Congratulations,” your new boss offered a hand for you to shake. “It’ll take a week or so to sort your papers, but we definitely want you to join the company.”

You gave him a polite smile, excited for the opportunity. But there was a heaviness in your chest, knowing that you would go back to an empty house with no one to pop the champagne with.

“Thank you, I really appreciate this. I didn’t think I would even be considered,” you told him.

“Well, Jake Miller is an old friend of my Dad’s, and he was raving about you. And based on the interviews and the trial runs you did with us, he’s right.”

You made a mental note to get Jake the most expensive bottle of whiskey you could afford with your first pay.

“Now,” he said, taking a folder out of a drawer. “We are required to let you know the options. We sorely need people in other branches too. You could stay here in our Austin branch, of course, but there are others if you are interested to hear them? They’re all the same position.”

You nodded, just wanting to hear the options.

“Well, there’s one in Saint Paul, though the winters could get quite gnarly there in my personal opinion, and there’s another in Miami. Although I have to warn you that Miami is a very expensive city, given you are on a starting salary. Then again, so is Austin. But at least you have a good support system here already,” he said. He looked at the folder again, “There is one overseas, though I doubt you would want this one. The pay is lower, but you will get free housing, if you could call the shoebox they provide housing. It also means you would be tied to the project for a while.”

“Where is it?”

“Bangkok, Thailand.”

“How long is a while?”

“At least ten years, if not longer.”

Joel walked into the house, an empty duffel bag in his hand. Tommy came in after him with boxes. They started packing his room, Joel working as fast as he could as if his body would combust if he stayed there any longer.

“Go pack your books. I’ll settle things in here,” Tommy said, clocking his brother’s discomfort.

Joel got a couple of boxes and went into the living room, placing books in the boxes, his heart feeling a bit more relaxed now that he was out of that room. It’s been two weeks since he left you at that house, and every day was a struggle. He got the process started for the paternity petition, but the court date was weeks away. He didn’t even want to think about it anymore. He had gotten to the point where he was just surrendering to his fate, letting the chips fall where they may.

Jen did try to accost him at the building site he was working in, but Tommy managed to fend her off. The cops had to be called one time. She left before they got there.

Tommy had been understanding, keeping him busy at work to the point of exhaustion, coming home only to collapse into bed. Benny kept him informed of your well-being, he knew you got the job you had interviewed for a few days after he left. He wanted so badly to call you and congratulate you but given how he had spoken to you the last time you spoke, he didn’t think you would want to take his calls. He sent you flowers, though, he watched from afar as you received them and brought them inside.

He refrained from going to the office to see you, only going back home for clothes when he knew you were out of the house. But by God did he miss you. Oh, how he missed you. He wanted to come home, talk to you, but your face when he said those words to you kept popping in his head. The way you shut down. The way the emotions disappeared from your eyes. The way your body just went lax, as if all the energy you had to fight this battle with him, all your resolve to be strong for him, all your love and respect for him just flew out of your body. And the way you simply turned around and slammed the door behind you…

He will make up for it. He had to. He knew that. But the shame of saying what he said to you in the first place stopped him.

Fuck, how could he ever make up for what he said to you?

He heard Tommy’s phone ring, the younger man picking up. His voice went from his usual volume to a hushed, secretive one, whispering or mumbling something Joel couldn’t quite make out.

Joel placed more books in the first box, getting the second box ready to put more books in. He grabbed a few from the top shelf, the small, metal box sitting there catching his attention.

The small metal box he had kept Eddie’s ashes in.

He put that in his room, if he remembered correctly. You must’ve taken it out after he left. He searched the shelf for the ceramic jar you kept your share of the ashes in, but it wasn’t there. Did you bring it into your room?

He went to your room, stopping a while, contemplating if he should open the door. He didn’t know why, but he needed to see the jar for some reason. Or maybe he just needed an excuse to stand in your room, get a whiff of you. The essence of you that he had been missing for the past two weeks.

Your room was empty, save for the bouquet he had gotten you, left on the bed. No jar. No books. No sheets. No clothes. No suitcases. You were gone, but the traces of your perfume was still strong, lingering heavily in the air.

He ran into the bathroom, your toiletries were gone.

He ran into the kitchen. Your mug was gone.

His heart turned cold.

“Tommy!” he called out, panicked.

Tommy appeared, looking solemn, as if expecting his call.

“Did she get a new place already?”

Tommy leaned on the kitchen wall, hands in his pocket. “You can say that.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“She got the job, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s in Asia. Benny and Eric just dropped her off at the airport.”

Joel felt as if his heart stopped beating.

“When does the flight leave?”

“In two hours.”

Joel jumped out of Tommy’s truck, gunning it through the crowds. He kept calling you, but you didn’t answer. Tears were pouring down his cheeks, his breath in short bursts, his heart trying not to collapse in his chest. He kept redialling, hoping to God by some miracle he would hear your phone ring and locate you amongst the sea of people around him. He ran and ran until he finally heard a faint ringing. He turned around.

There you were, standing there looking at your phone, your backpack strapped on your back.

“Daisy!” he screamed as loud as he could. You turned and saw him, the crowds stopping to look at him for a split second before moving on with their lives. He frantically dialled your number again starting to run towards you, but two burly men in uniform stopped him, telling him he’s not allowed to go where you were without a ticket. You looked at him, at your phone, and turned it off.

You took your passport and ticket from the clerk at the desk before looking at him one last time.

Joel furiously rubbed his eyes off the tears that were clouding his view of you. Beautiful, perfect you. You stared at him from afar for a few seconds before stepping inside to the international barrier, safe from him, about to board a plane that would put two oceans between the two of you.

He could only watch as you turned around and walked away to your new life, never looking back until you disappeared in the crowd.

Part 8

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #BFF!Joel Miller

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djarshaddj · 2 months ago

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HIT 3 worldwide box office collection day 7: Nani's brutal actioner stands just Rs 4 Cr away from Century milestone; overseas gross $2.7 M+

HIT 3 worldwide box office collection day 7: Wall Poster Cinema and Unanimous Productions jointly produced the third installment in the HIT Universe, “HIT: The Third Case“, directed and written by Sailesh Kolanu, after registering a strong 6-day score of Rs 59.05 Cr net in India; on day 7, due to the national emergency situation after Operation Sindoor side by side for non-holiday, it slowed down…

#box office 2025 #Global Box Office Collection Day 7 #Hit 3 #Nani #Telugu

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mariacallous · 2 years ago

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On Boxing Day pro-Palestine demonstrators met customers at the Zara sale in the Westfield shopping centre, in Stratford, east London. They were not there to wish them the compliments of the season.

‘Bombs are dropping while you’re shopping,’ they chanted, as police stood by to make sure the protests did not turn violent. ‘Zara is enabling genocide,’ their placards read.

Quite what they wanted bargain hunters to do about the Israeli forces bombing the Gaza Strip, they never said. Lobby their MPs? Politicians are on their Christmas holidays. Join the Palestinian armed struggle? It was unclear whether the shopping centre had a Hamas recruitment office.

But on one point the demonstrators were certain: no one should be buying from Zara. Even though the fashion chain has not encouraged Israel’s war against Hamas, earned income from it, or supported Israel in any material way, it was nevertheless “exploiting a genocide and commodifying Palestine's pain for profit”.

Zara, in short, has become the object of a paranoid fantasy: a QAnon conspiracy theory for the postcolonial left.

The Zara conspiracy is an entirely modern phenomenon. It has no original author. Antisemitic Russians sat down and wrote the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in the early 20th century. There was an actual “Q” behind the QAnon conspiracy: a far-right activist who first appeared on 4chan message boards in 2017 to claim that a cabal of child abusers was conspiring against Donald Trump.

The Zara conspiracy was mass produced by social media users: an example of the madness of crowds rather than their supposed wisdom. The cause of the descent into hysteria was bizarre.

In early December Zara launched an advertising campaign featuring the model Kristen McMenamy wearing its latest collection in a sculptor’s studio. It clearly was a studio, by the way, and not a war zone in southern Israel or Gaza. McMenamy carried a mannequin wrapped in white fabric. The cry went up that the Spanish company was exploiting the suffering of Palestinians and that the mannequin was meant to represent a victim of Israeli aggression wrapped in a shroud.

The accusation was insane. No one in the photo shoot resembled a soldier or a casualty of war. Anyone who thought for 30 seconds before resorting to social media would have known that global brands plan their advertising campaigns months in advance.

Zara said the campaign presented “a series of images of unfinished sculptures in a sculptor’s studio and was created with the sole purpose of showcasing craft-made garments in an artistic context”. The idea for the studio setting was conceived in July. The photo shoot was in September, weeks before the Hamas assault on Israel on 7 October.

No one cared. Melanie Elturk, the CEO of fashion brand Haute Hijab, said of the campaign, ‘this is sick. What kind of sick, twisted, and sadistic images am I looking at?’ #BoycottZara trended on Twitter, as users said that Zara was ‘utterly shameful and disgraceful”’.

To justify their condemnations, activists developed ever-weirder theories. A piece of cardboard in the photoshoot was meant to be a map of Israel/Palestine turned upside down. Because a Zara executive had once invited an extreme right-wing Israeli politician to a meeting, the whole company was damned.

Astonishingly, or maybe not so astonishingly to anyone who follows online manias, the fake accusations worked. Zara stores in Glasgow, Toronto. Hanover, Melbourne and Amsterdam were targeted.

What on earth could Zara do? PR specialists normally say that the worst type of apology is the non-apology apology, when a public figure or institution shows no remorse, but instead says that they are sorry that people are offended. Yet Zara had not sought to trivialize or profit from the war so what else could it do but offer a non-apology apology? The company duly said it was sorry that people were upset.

“Unfortunately, some customers felt offended by these images, which have now been removed, and saw in them something far from what was intended when they were created,” it said on 13 December, and pulled the advertising campaign

That was two-weeks ago and yet still the protests in Zara stores continue. On 23 December activists targeted Zara on Oxford Street chanting , 'Zara, Zara, you can't hide, stop supporting genocide', even though Zara was not, in fact, supporting genocide. On Boxing Day, they were at the Stratford shopping centre.

Zara has apologised for an offence it did not commit. There is no way that any serious person can believe the charges against it. And yet believe them the protestors do. Or at the very least they pretend to believe for the sake of keeping in with their allies.

Maybe nothing will come of the protests. One could have argued in 2017, after all, that QAnon was essentially simple-minded people living out their fantasies online. Certainly, every sane American knew that there was no clique of paedophiles running the Democrat party, but where was the harm in the conspiracy theory?

Then QAnon supporters stormed the US capitol in January 2021. Will the same story play out from the Gaza protests? As far as I can tell, no one on the left is challenging the paranoia. I have yet to see the fact-checkers of the BBC and Channel 4 warning about the fake news on the left with anything like the gusto with which they treat its counterparts on the right.

To be fair, the scale of disinformation around the Gaza war is off the charts, and it is impossible to chase down every lie. But when fake news goes from online fantasies to real world protests, from 4chan to the Capitol, from Twitter to the Westfield shopping centre, it’s worth taking notice.

Sensible supporters of a Palestinian state ought to be the most concerned. No one apart from fascists, Islamists and far leftists believes that Israel should not defend itself. And yet the scale of its military action in Gaza is outraging world opinion. Mainstream politicians, who might one day put pressure on Israel, remain very wary about reflecting the anger on the streets.

They look at the insane conspiracy theories on the western left and see them as no different from the insane conspiracy theories that motivate Hamas, and they back away.

The Palestinians need many things: an end to the Netanyahu government, and an end to Hamas. But they could also use allies in the West who do not discredit their cause with dark, gibbering fantasies.

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evolucious · 7 months ago

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A Return of Care : Zayne x Reader

For a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from his shoulders, and he’s just Zayne—your Zayne—who’s finally allowing himself to be cared for.

pairing : zayne x reader (no gender specific terms are used to describe the reader)

prompt : Zayne is, once again, working past his limits and finds himself sick. With a bit of coaxing he just might take care himself. (aka, zayne is sick but he says "nuh uh")

genre : sfw, fluff, slice of life, zayne please get some sleep, sick fic

word count : 2,976

a/n : oh wow did i finally return after months with another Zayne one shot? I sure did.

The soft chime of the hospital’s automated door echoes in the hallway as you step into the familiar space, your footsteps light against the polished floor. The box of macarons cradled in your arms smells sweet, a gift you picked up on your way over, a small token of appreciation for Zayne. You know how much he loves these, especially after a long day of seeing patients.

As you approach the reception desk, Yvonne, the staff nurse, looks up from her station with a warm smile. She recognizes you instantly—you’re practically a regular here, visiting Zayne for your routine check-ups or just to chat when he has a free moment.

“Hello, Yvonne,” you greet her, returning the smile. “I’m here for my 7:00 PM with Doctor Zayne.”

“Right on time, as usual,” she replies, tapping a few keys on her console. “I’ll page him to let him know you’re here.”

You nod, leaning against the counter as she sends the message. The familiar hum of the station’s systems thrums in the background, a constant reminder of the vastness of space just beyond the walls. You glance around, noting the quietness of the evening shift. The lobby is calm, most patients already seen and gone, leaving behind an air of peacefulness.

Yvonne looks up, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Strange… he’s not responding.”

You raise an eyebrow. Zayne is usually so prompt, always ready to greet you with his warm smile and steady presence. “Maybe he’s in with another patient?”

Yvonne shakes her head, her frown deepening. “His last appointment ended a while ago. But I’m sure he’s just caught up with some paperwork. You can go ahead and see him—he won’t mind.”

You hesitate for a moment, but the familiarity of your relationship with Zayne pushes the doubt aside. “Alright, thanks!”

She waves you off with a reassuring smile, and you make your way down the corridor, the path to Zayne’s office as familiar as your own home. The door to his office is slightly ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the dim hallway. You knock gently, waiting for the usual, cheerful “Come in!” that always follows. But today, there’s only silence.

Worry knots in your stomach as you push the door open wider. The first thing that hits you is the warmth—the room feels stuffier than usual, almost stifling. As you step inside, the source of your concern becomes all too clear.

Zayne is slumped in his office chair, head tipped back, eyes closed in what looks like a fitful sleep. His usually smooth brow is furrowed, lines of discomfort etched into his features. His skin has a slight sheen to it, and his usually neat appearance is disheveled. A small collection of cough drop wrappers is scattered across his desk, and the wastebasket beside it is filled with used tissues. The sight sends a jolt of worry through you.

“Doctor Zayne?” you call softly, moving closer. When he doesn’t stir, you reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Zayne?”

His eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment for him to focus on you. When he does, he tries to sit up straighter, “You’re here early,” he rasps, his voice rough and strained.

“I’m right on time, actually,” you reply, concern lacing your words as you take a glance at the clock on the wall beside him.

Zayne rubs a hand over his face as he clears his throat. “Yes well, please take a seat. Let's get started with your check-up”. He says, swiveling his office chair to drag a stool beside his desk before gesturing for you to sit.

Before you can protest, he’s already reaching for your chart, fumbling slightly as he tries to pull it out of the stack on his desk. You can see the strain in his movements, the way his hands tremble slightly as he flips through the papers. He’s clearly pushing himself, trying to go through the motions despite his obvious illness.

“Zayne–” you say, your voice soft but firm. Despite being a few feet away from you Zayne carries on as though he didn’t hear you. He pulls out his stethoscope, clearly intent on examining you despite his condition. “Let me just—”

“Zayne, stop.” you plead, gently pushing the stethoscope back down. “You’re always telling me to rest, to take care of myself, but you’re obviously not doing the same. I know you want to work but you’re in no shape to help others right now. Don’t be a hypocrite, Zayne. Please, let me take you home so you can get some rest.”

He hesitates before looking directly at you for the first time this evening, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the strength to argue but there’s a crack in his resolve, a momentary flicker of vulnerability and the weariness in his eyes makes your heart ache.

But then he shakes his head, grasping for excuses. “You must have rode your motorbike here. You cannot bring me home on that.”

“I walked,” you counter, undeterred. “And I even stopped to get macarons on the way.”

His eyes shift toward the box of macarons sitting on his desk, a brief flicker of interest breaking through his exhaustion. Zayne’s sweet tooth is one of the things you’ve always found endearing about him, and you can tell that the mention of his favorite treat has caught his attention.

You smile gently, teasing him just a little. “I was going to give them to you, but I don’t think you should have sugar given your current state.”

His stoic demeanor falters, a slight crack appearing in his resolve. It’s as if the macarons are the final straw, the deciding factor in this small battle of wills. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders sag and his eyes drop back to the desk tells you he’s given in.

He lets out a weary sigh and murmurs, “Just don’t drive my car the way you drive that bike.”

Your heart lifts with relief, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “No promises,” you let out a soft chuckle, glad to see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

As soon as the apartment door closes behind you, Zayne seems to deflate, all the energy he had left draining away. He heads straight for the sofa, plopping down with a heavy sigh, his head resting against the back cushions. His eyes are half-closed, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

“You know,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips, “your driving isn’t nearly as reckless as you like to pretend it is.”

You chuckle softly, sitting beside him on the sofa. “Only because I had precious cargo this time.”

He gives a small, appreciative hum, but it quickly dissolves into another cough. You watch him with concern as the fit passes, then reach out to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead. His skin is still warm, but the tension in his body seems to have eased a little now that he’s home.

“Why don’t you rest for a bit?” you suggest, your voice gentle. “I’ll make you something warm to drink. Take a shower and we then can eat those macarons together when you’re feeling up to it.”

Zayne opens one eye, peering at you with a look that’s both amused and resigned. “Only if you promise not to hoard them all for yourself.”

You laugh, the sound light and comforting in the quiet of the apartment. “Deal.”

As you rise to head to the kitchen, you glance back at him, knowing that you’ll do everything in your power to make sure he gets better—because, after all, Zayne is worth every bit of care and more.

The space is sleek and modern, with smooth countertops and neatly arranged appliances, but as you stand there, a realization hits you—you have no idea where anything is.

Your eyes scan the cabinets, trying to guess where Zayne might keep the tea. You hesitate, fingers hovering over the handle of a cupboard, unsure if it holds cups, plates, or something entirely unrelated. A small sigh escapes your lips as you inwardly curse your lack of foresight. How hard could it be to find a simple teapot in here?

Just as you’re about to open the wrong cabinet, you hear Zayne’s voice call out from the living room. “Top left, above the stove. Teapot’s in there. Tea’s in the drawer below.”

You freeze for a moment, slightly startled that he’d known exactly what you needed without even seeing you. It’s like he can read your mind—or maybe for some reason he’s just that familiar with how people fumble around in unfamiliar kitchens.

“Thanks!” you call back, relief flooding through you as you follow his instructions.

Sure enough, you find the teapot exactly where he said it would be, and the tea nestled in a drawer below. You set some water to boil, then rummage around for a mug, the task becoming easier now that you know where to look. As the water heats up, you glance back toward the living room, half-expecting Zayne to have dozed off again, but the faint sound of his cough reminds you that he’s still awake, though probably exhausted.

When the tea is ready, you carefully carry the steaming mug back to the living room. Zayne’s eyes open as you approach, a tired but grateful smile tugging at his lips. You hand him the mug, and he takes it with a murmured “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Zayne,” you reply with a mock-serious tone, sitting down beside him on the sofa. “Though I should let you know, I’m your attending physician now. I’ve learned from the very best as an intern, after all.”

Zayne arches an eyebrow at, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Oh? And what does this new ‘attending physician’ believe is the diagnosis?”

You adopt a serious expression, holding out your hand as if it were a clipboard. “Let’s see…” you say, pretending to write on your palm. “The diagnosis is… one very stubborn doctor who refuses to rest when he’s sick.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a sip of the tea. “I see. And what do you prescribe, Doctor?”

“I prescribe– a warm shower, cozy pajamas, and a strict order of rest. No exceptions.” you say firmly, finishing your fake note.

Zayne’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he looks at you over the rim of the mug. “Sounds like a pretty detailed prescription. Are you sure it’s not too advanced for me?”

“Well,” you say, tapping your chin thoughtfully, “it’s a tough regimen, but I think you’ll manage. And if you don’t follow it, I might have to put you on an even stricter bedrest.”

Zayne chuckles again, the sound warm despite his rough voice. “You’re really getting into character, aren’t you?”

“Only because I had an excellent mentor,” you tease, giving him a playful nudge. “But seriously, Zayne– no more pushing yourself.”

For a moment, the teasing air between you fades, replaced by something softer, more earnest. Zayne looks at you, and though he doesn’t say anything, you can see the appreciation in his eyes. He knows you’re right, and even though he’s always been the one to take care of you, he’s beginning to let himself lean on you now.

There’s a vulnerability in his posture that tugs at your heartstrings, and without thinking, you reach out and gently place your hand on his forehead. His skin is warm beneath your touch, confirming what you already knew—he’s running a low fever.

Your hand drifts from his forehead to his cheek, your thumb brushing softly against his skin. “Zayne,” you murmur, your voice filled with concern, “I don’t like that you let yourself get like this”

Zayne’s eyes remain closed, but he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek against your hand in a gesture that’s both tender and weary. He lets out a low, affirming hum, a sound that’s as much a comfort to you as it is to him. For a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from his shoulders, and he’s just Zayne—your Zayne—who’s finally allowing himself to be cared for.

After a moment, he reaches up and takes your hand from his cheek, holding it gently as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes remain focused on your hand as he speaks, his voice soft but resolute.

“Alright Doctor, I’ll follow your orders.” he says, his tone carrying the weight of sincerity. “I promise.”

You smile at his words, knowing he means them, but also knowing that it might take some gentle reminders to make sure he follows through. “Good,” you whisper, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all I ask.”

“Now, go take that shower. I’ll make sure everything’s ready for you when you’re done.” Zayne nods, setting the mug down on the coffee table before rising from the sofa. As he heads toward the bathroom, you can’t help but feel a surge of warmth in your chest. It’s a role reversal, but one that feels right. Zayne has always been there for you, and now, it’s your turn to return the favor, even if it means coaxing him into taking care of himself with a bit of playful banter.

As the sound of the shower starts up, you settle back on the sofa, feeling content in the knowledge that Zayne is finally letting himself rest—and that you’re the one making sure he does.

After opening the window to let some fresh air into the apartment, you stand there for a moment, debating whether you should stay and make sure Zayne gets to bed. The idea of leaving him alone doesn’t sit well with you, but something tells you that he’ll be alright. He’s taken care of you so many times before—maybe it’s time to trust that he can do the same for himself.

Your gaze drifts to the box of macarons on the coffee table. A small smile tugs at your lips as you pick up the box, thinking about how something so simple could bring him a moment of joy even when he’s feeling so run down. You can’t resist leaving a little surprise for him, so you carefully take out one macaron and place it on the kitchen counter where he’ll easily find it when he emerges from his shower.

With the rest of the macarons in hand, you head toward the door, glancing back at the closed bathroom door one last time. The sound of running water is still steady as you slip out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind you. Your steps are light as you make your way down the hallway and you can’t help but wonder if Zayne has felt this way each time he’s cared for you—leaving quietly after making sure you were settled in, with a warm heart and a lingering sense of connection.

The cool night air greets you as you step outside, and you breathe in deeply, feeling refreshed and content. The box of macarons in your hand is a small reminder of the connection you share with Zayne, and the thought of him finding the one you left behind brings a smile to your face.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of your alarm buzzing beside your bed. You groan softly, rolling over in your sheets as you burrow deeper into their warmth, reluctant to leave the comfort they offer. You’d been so exhausted when you got home that you fell asleep almost immediately, and now, the weight of that sleep is still heavy on you.

For a moment, you lie there, savoring the last remnants of drowsiness before you start your day. It’s your morning ritual—waking slowly, checking your notifications, and letting the world come into focus at your own pace.

You reach for your phone, swiping it off the nightstand and bringing it close as you scroll through the usual morning updates. Emails, a few messages, and then one that makes you pause. It’s from Zayne, sent last night after you’d already gone to bed.

With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, you open the message, feeling a small flutter in your chest as you wonder what he might have said.

The message from Zayne opens with a photo of the single macaron you left on his kitchen counter. Beneath the image is a teasing caption: “Is this how I’m rewarded for following doctor's orders?"

You can’t help but laugh softly as you read his message, imagining the expression that must have accompanied the text. You quickly type out a reply, your fingers moving swiftly over the screen.

“You know, most doctors give their patients one sticker on the way out for being good sports. What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t give you a reward?", a smirk playing on your lips as you hit send.

It doesn’t take long for his response to come through. "Touché. When can I schedule my next routine checkup? Maybe I can earn some more."

You grin at the thought, leaning back against your pillow, you type your reply.

"I’ll have to check my schedule, I’m suuuuuuuper busy Doctor."

With that, you set your phone aside and stretch, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you. Zayne’s message, as playful as it was, reassures you that he’s okay—and that he’s starting his recovery with a bit of lightheartedness, thanks to you.

It’s a good start to the day, and as you finally roll out of bed, you can’t help but feel a quiet satisfaction knowing that, this time, you were the one who got to take care of him

{pls dont repost i beg}

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deep space #love and deepspace #lads imagine #lads fanfic #zayne x mc #dr zayne #doctor zayne #zayne x reader #lads zayne #lads fluff #lads mc #sickfic

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amethystwrytes · 8 months ago

Text

Safe. (Part Six)

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem. Reader X Lee Minho

Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous.

Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit depictions of sex (some chapters will be more explicit than others sexually). Violence. Blood. Trauma injuries. (Organized) Crime. Emotional manipulation. Discussion of murder and physical assault. Medical inaccuracy galore. Smoking. Past addiction. Legal inaccuracies. 18+ Only MDNI

Chapter WC: 8k

AN: If I were to debate any more over this I just wouldn’t ever post it so F it, it’s out there and now I can’t take it back haha

~ PART SIX ~ (Series M. List Here)

“Is something bothering you lately?”

It’s seven in the morning and you’re tangled up with Minho in bed. After days of being apart, you were relieved to have him next to you. Though Hyunjin was more than able to keep you company (on nearly every surface in the house, no less). But now, Hyunjin is working, or rather has been working. Doing weapons and ammunition deliveries and collection always ends up being a graveyard shift activity, the dark of night used as a cloak to do bad things with bad men. Though you don’t quite understand why they think it’s beneficial, police work at night too, and you often think that doing these weapons deals would be more effective mid-afternoon in the plain of day where no one would expect an arms deal to be taking place, but what do you know?

“What do you mean?” Minho asks, setting his phone down on the side table and rolling over into you.

“You’ve been so restless lately, I barely see you sleep, it’s been quiet I thought, since all that happened with Taehyung. Are you uncomfortable sleeping here? We could stay in your apartment,” you suggest, holding his head into your chest, sleepily stroking his hair.

“My apartment is in the city, loud and lit up 24/7. It’s barely big enough for me, stuffed with boxes and boxes of shit I don’t need, and I can count on my fingers how many times I’ve actually slept there and not just at my office. It’s much better here with you,” he explains.

“Then why so restless and fidgety?” you wonder.

“It’s like you said baby, it’s been quiet since the Casino fiasco with Kim, in fact it’s been too quiet. We murdered one of the men who attacked you and I expected that to ignite a whole blood bath, and yet nothing, nothing has happened,” he says, his hand sliding under your nightdress and fanning out over your tummy, tracing gentle circles all over.

You suppose he’s right. If you had one of those “There’s Been [this many] Days Without an Incident” signs, you could put double digits in the number slots. You haven’t even had to nurse anyone back to health lately. Jisung tripped a few weeks ago walking down the stairs outside his apartment and rolled his ankle. Seungmin got into a bar fight over a girl he’d just met - you cleaned up his face but he didn’t even need stitches. Other than that it had been unusually quiet in your house.

“Maybe nothing will happen, maybe Kim doesn’t care that you killed the guy,” you say, though even you have to admit it makes zero sense.

“Mmm,” Minho shakes his head across your chest, “That’s not how it works Love, not by a longshot.”

“What can you do?” you wonder.

He braces himself over you with one of his arms and kisses your lips, “All I can do is wait for his next move. If I send my guys after him then all I’m doing is risking their lives for something I’m not even sure of, so I wait, and waiting is sometimes excruciating,” his fingers slide up to one of your breasts and play at your nipple, stiffening the bud of nerves and sending signals between your legs, your lips part and a relaxed breath escapes, “In the meantime, I quite enjoy killing time with you,” he grins.

He moves on top of you, slotting himself between your legs, you feel his clothed erection press against your cunt as he ruts against you, his mouth exploring your neck, jawline, and lips.

“Flip,” he growls, his hands heavy and pressing against your hips. You flip onto your stomach, lifting your ass off the bed, pressing yourself against his aching length, you know exactly what he wants. You hear him shuffling, shoving his sleep shorts down and your night dress up your back. You feel him line himself up with you, dragging the head of his cock through your slick.

You brace yourself, digging your fingers around the thick comforter as he slams into you. You let out a gasp at the sudden roughness, but just as quickly your gasps turn to heady moans, wordlessly pleading for more, for harder thrusts. Minho gives them to you, his fingers impossibly tight around your hips, pushing and pulling himself in and out.

“Minho…” you say his name, barely a whisper but also a warning. Your fingers move between your legs, rubbing yourself in soft circles so your orgasm explodes around him. He slows his thrusts, allowing your spasming cunt to milk his own high.

He finally collapses back down on the bed next to you, chest rising and falling heavily as his breath returns to normal.

“Can I ask a favor?” you open one eye and stare at him.

“Anything.”

“I want to learn how to shoot,” you say and he looks at you with a raised brow, “a gun, that is.”

“Well yes,” he chuckles, “I didn’t think you meant a bow and arrow. I’m just a little surprised I suppose, but I think that’s a good idea,” he nods.

“Something small, nothing that will knock me off my feet or send me reeling back,” you continue.

“Mm,” he thinks, “I’ve got a .22 at the office that would be perfect for you. I have a meeting with Hyunjin and Felix this morning, to see how the evening collections went. I’ll send Hyunjin over with the gun after, once he gets some rest he can take you to the range, maybe tomorrow, that sound good?”

“Mmhmm,” you yawn, your morning excursions leaving you sleepy again.

“Go back to sleep baby,” he leans over and kisses you, “I’m going to get dressed, Changbin will be here until Hyunjin arrives later, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, you feel him shift and scoot to the edge of the bed. Maybe it’s because you’re still half asleep, maybe it’s because he fucked you so good, but without really thinking you call to him, “Minho?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

It doesn’t surprise nor bother you that he stays quiet as he rises out of the bed and makes his way to the bathroom, you don’t really care if he feels the same or not, don’t really care that he doesn’t seem to want to comment on your confession. At the moment you just sink back into the mattress, letting the warmth of the blankets overtake you and drift off again.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“Alright Doll,” Hyunjin stands behind you at the gun range, Changbin and Seungmin have tagged along, evidently this is one of their favorite pastimes. “What you want to do above anything else is relax.”

You snort, “You hear how absurd that sounds, right? Nothing says relaxation quite like being in a situation where I need a loud, dangerous gun.”

“I meant you need to relax during practice,” he smirks, “If you relax while you’re practicing and get used to hitting your target, it won’t matter what kind of situation you’re in when you need it. You’ll be used to it.”

“Okay, okay,” you grab the gun and aim at the target, closing one eye and trying to line the barrel up with the big black circle on your target dummy.

“Why are you closing one eye?” Changbin asks, the three men looking at you puzzled.

“I…don’t know? That’s how they do it in movies?” you say sheepishly.

“If you close one eye you’re only going to see half as well, that’s dumb,” Seungmin says.

“Fine, okay, both eyes open, got it,” you look forward again, your eyes trying to line up the little nub thingie with the target.

“You’re relying too much on the front sight,” Hyunjin chuckles, “Your eyes look crossed.”

Changbin and Seungmin giggle and you huff in frustration.

“You know what I think would be helpful? If I actually got to shoot the damned thing. Let’s start there and then you can give me your critiques, okay?”

Without giving them an opportunity to answer, you look back, close one eye, try to line the sight up with your target and pull the trigger…and you can’t even see where your bullet went.

“Alright, so let’s start with number one: you weren’t relaxed whatsoever. Number two: you closed your eye again, and number three: you weren’t even focusing on the target, you were too busy relying on your sight, which is useless if you’re not looking at the target.”

“Try again,” Changbin smiles enthusiastically.

Seungmin cocks his gun and points it at the target then unloads several rounds, you look at the end of the range and see he’s hit the dummy multiple times in the head and center of the chest. All fatal wounds. He looks at you smugly and winks.

You take a deep breath and turn your body towards the target again, picking up your gun and aiming. This time you take a deep breath, you keep both eyes open and pull the trigger. And again, your bullet has flown off into God knows what dimension.

You look at Hyunjin in frustration and he cackles.

“Sweetheart you’ve only shot it twice, don’t look so sour. That stance was much better by the way,” he stands behind you again, his hand gently bringing your arm back up to aim at the target. “Keep your other hand under the grip, to keep it steady, okay?” his lips are a little too close to your ear, and you feel his warm breath against your neck.

“Okay…” you whisper back. Suddenly aware of the warmth. You side eye Changbin and Seungmin, who seem to be having a totally separate conversation as they clean their other guns.

“Just like sports, you want your body to be facing the target at first, it takes a lot of practice and skill to be able to hit something that you’re not facing head on,” he puts his hands on your hips and lines it up with the target down the range.

“Now, take a deep breath…just like that…and look at what you want to hit,” he says. You nod and stare at the big black circle in the center of the dummies chest. “Pull the trigger slow and steady while you exhale.”

You do as he says, you repeat the steps a couple times actually, then finally pull the trigger slowly.

You don’t hit the circle, but you can see the bullet hole has hit the lower right hip area of the dummy. You’re on the board, so to speak.

“Look at that,” he whispers in your ear, his hand giving your hip a seductive squeeze, “that’ll do some damn good damage. Good job baby.”

“Thanks,” you breathe, staring at his lips, “I need to go to the restroom, excuse me,” you say, your hidden fingers dancing across the zipper of Hyunjins pants. He bites his lip and looks down at you wantingly.

You set the weapon down and dust your hands off on the side of your jeans, then walk out of the shooting range, down the narrow corridor to the rest rooms. You stand in front of the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror, wondering if Hyunjin picked up on your very telepathic message. You’ve got no Earthly idea where this horniness came from, if maybe shooting a weapon is evidently a turn on for you, or if it was the way he was so close, pressed against you, teaching you - either way, you need him, and you need him now.

You wash your hands, straighten out your hair and just stare at yourself some more. You’re about to give up - it would probably be better to wait until you get home anyway - when the door to the bathroom swings open and Hyunjin barrels in, locking it behind himself.

“Naughty little girl,” he growls before pressing his lips to yours, immediately pushing you against the sinks, lifting you up to set you on the questionable countertop. “Getting me fucking turned on,” he continues, his mouth trailing down your neck.

“Fuck me, please,” you whisper.

“Really?” he looks around, “Here?”

“Yes,” you start undoing his pants.

“Shit,” he moans when your hand wraps around his throbbing length. “Yeah, okay, okay, just…here sit on this,” he drags you off the counter and removes his shirt, spreading it over the surface.

You shimmy out of your jeans and hop back up, pulling him back in and capturing his mouth with yours.

“God you are dripping wet,” he groans, teasing you with his cock, “Feels so fucking good.”

“Please,” you beg, your nails digging into his skin.

He pushes into you and you both gasp.

“Fuck!” you cry out and he chuckles against you.

“Shhh, you’ll get us in trouble,” he whispers, his hands holding the sides of your thighs to keep you steady.

“Feels so good,” you whimper, quietly, into his ear.

“You’re killing me today…fuck…”

“Shit…like that…oh my god…”

“Hey,” Hyunjin grabs your chin and forces your gaze to his while he continues fucking into you deep and heavy, “I love you, so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” you pant, “I love you too.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, your cries getting lost in his mouth while you cum for him.

He frowns at his shirt as he shrugs it back on, “A shooting range bathroom is not as romantic as your book, but I hope I got the point across, and I meant it, by the way, I love you.”

“It was authentically us, and I meant it too,” you squeeze his hand.

“I do not accept this dingy ass bathroom is authentically us, I am an artist god dammit,” he teases and you laugh.

A knock on the door startles both of you and you scrunch your nose as Seungmin hollers, “If you guys are done fucking can we go get some lunch? I’m starving!”

“Everyone knows, don’t they?” you smile at Hyunjin.

“Yeah, you’d think it would be a cone of silence but these mother fuckers are nothing but catty gossips…and I suck at keeping my feelings for you hidden,” he says.

“Good.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Mornings that you get to spend with both Hyunjin and Minho are your favorite. They typically follow a steamy night of unimaginable pleasure, for one, but you also enjoy the peaceful safety you feel when you’re all sitting at the table drinking coffee and chit chatting. It’s comfortable, much more comfortable than you ever imagined it would be. You know that Minho is still struggling with it to some extent, struggling with the relationship. He never commented on your profession of love for him, never brought it up again. It’s confusing, since he never seems to have a problem when all three of you are piled in your bed, limbs tangled, lips everywhere. He’s more than happy then, and more than happy when you’re alone with him. He also doesn’t seem to mind the morning banter over coffee, even now as you watch him talk shop with Hyunjin, a pleasant expression on his face, it all seems fine.

Yet there are these moments sprinkled into the mix where you can feel his hesitation, feel the withdraw. You don’t feel it with Hyunjin, he’s all in, all the time. Happy as a lark as he sits on the opposite side of the table, sketching something in his notebook, laughing about something that happened on a collection run with Jeongin. You’ve noticed his sketches include a lot more Minho lately, and the expression he draws on him isn’t as dark and dangerous as it once was.

You decide that in this moment it doesn’t matter, eventually you will have to speak on it, eventually you will have to get Minho to dredge up his feelings. Not right now though. Right now you’re going to drink your coffee and laugh with them and watch Hyunjin draw, and hold Minhos hand under the table. Right now you’re going to enjoy this moment.

Because unbeknownst to any of the people sitting at the table, the calm before the storm is about to be over.

It starts with Minho’s phone ringing. He puts it on speaker so he can set the device down and still hold your hand and sip his coffee.

“You’re on speaker,” he indicates to the caller.

“Boss,” it’s Changbin, he’s breathless, and sounds as scared as he did the night Hyunjin was stabbed. “We’ve got a problem.”

Minho lets go of your hand and Hyunjin sets his sketchbook on the table, a serious look on his face as his eyes meet Minhos.

“How big of a problem?”

“A really big fucking problem,” Changbin answers.

Minho knits his eyes closed, “Did we lose anyone?”

Your very breath leaves your lungs and you could hear a pin drop from two houses down. You try to remain calm as the faces of the men you’ve come to care about flash in your head. You have to force yourself to stop asking if you’ll have to say goodbye to one of them, to more than one…

“No, nobody’s dead,” Changbin pants into the speaker, and the three of you let go of the breaths you’ve been holding, “but Boss…they blew up the fucking warehouse. Jisung and I pulled up after we heard the explosion, Jisung ran in like a fucking idiot - I guess to be sure no one was in there - he burnt his hands and I have Chris driving him to ___ right now but he said it’s all gone, the guns, the ammunition, all of it,” Changbin explains.

Hyunjins eyes widen, but Minhos expression distorts into such a dangerous anger that it petrifies you. It’s only when his fist comes down hard on the table that you move, running towards the stairs to get dressed and ready to treat whatever burns Jisung has.

“That’s not all,” Changbin says and you pause.

“What else?”

“I’m a safe distance away at the moment, but every fucking emergency vehicle in a 100 mile radius is there. Local, federal…every type of investigator you can think of or imagine is over there snooping around what’s left of the building.”

“God Dammit!” Minho yells so loud it shakes the china in the cabinets. He picks up his coffee mug and throws it with brutal force across the room and it shatters against the wall, leaving a hole in its wake.

“Get the fuck out of there and meet me here at the safehouse, if you smell like fire go shower first and destroy the clothes you’re wearing so no one can link you to the area. I’m calling my lawyer.”

Minho disconnects the call and slams the phone down on the table.

“FUCK.”

You try to stop your body from shaking and continue upstairs to get dressed.

There’s Been Zero Days Without an Incident.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Minho’s lawyer is a sharp dressed man with thick black glasses named Kim Namjoon. You watch him sip his coffee, a fresh batch you made once you and Hyunjin cleaned up the broken mess from the cup Minho threw against the wall.

Jisung sits in a chair in front of you as you apply some antibiotic cream to his burns. Nothing too damaging, but his palms will be tender for a week or so, you warn him.

“As much as I love watching you enjoy your coffee, I’ve got a smoked warehouse and every investigator about to descend on my front door, so let’s just get to it Kim, how fucked am I?” Minho asks after the silence becomes too loud. “Am I looking at prison time?”

Your hands freeze over Jisungs, “Ouch,” he hisses and you realize you’ve squeezed too hard and look at him apologetically.

“Actually,” Namjoon sets his mug down, “the silver lining here is that whoever blew your shit up cleared you out of your illegalities. Meaning that as investigators comb through your warehouse, and trust me they are, they aren’t finding anything incriminating. Old slot machines and Casino junk, nothing that can’t be explained since you do in fact own a Casino. Kim Taehyung did you a favor without realizing by stealing the weapons.”

“Well aren’t I the lucky one? I’ll have to send him a fucking fruit basket then,” Minho seethes.

“Do whatever you need to do, but we can work with arson and keep the investigators out of your ass as long as the guns are gone, I know that fucks up your other business,” Namjoon raises his brow, “but you know I can’t help you with that.”

“Yes, well, when I’m dead because I’ve got a target on my back - since six fucking organizations aren’t getting their ammunition and weapons from me on time - you’ll be down a shit ton of money without that cushy retainer I keep you with.”

“Stop,” Jisung whines and you realize you’ve squeezed his hands again.

“Sorry,” you hiss, and start bandaging his hands.

You watch as Minho paces the sitting area, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We’ve got to get those fucking guns back,” he growls.

Namjoon interjects, “I can’t be a part of this conversation, but I’ll tell you this, the District Attorney wants your head on a silver platter. You may not officially be charged with anything Lee, but it’s no secret in this city that you’re more than just a Casino owner. So I suggest laying low until this arson investigation is over, they’re going to be on you 24/7, regardless of whether or not they find shit at the warehouse,” Namjoon warns.

“Do we have anyone in that office?” Minho asks.

Namjoon shrugs, a smug smile on his face, “Not officially, but I have it on good authority the DA himself gets his dick sucked by a sweet little twenty-something who teaches tennis at the country club he tells his wife he’s golfing at every weekend.”

Minho chuckles, “Well, hold that dick sucking thing over his head like your life depends on it in exchange for not serving my head on a platter, if we’re lucky maybe Kim Taeyhyung hasn’t got to him first.”

“Will do, but it does pose a risk, we could just piss him off and he’ll try to work you harder,” he explains.

Minho shakes his head, “I don’t have anything to lose at this point,” he says, but you don’t miss the way his eyes flick over to you momentarily, “I can’t lay low when I’ve got three quarters of a million dollars in weapons missing.” You’re not sure if he’s explaining himself to Namjoon or you.

“Alright then,” Namjoon stands and sees himself toward the door, “I’ll play a little dirty for the moment and keep you posted on the investigation. Good luck with that target-on-your-back shit.”

“Thanks,” Minho deadpans and locks the door.

Everyone from Christopher to Jeongin sits around the room waiting for Minhos instruction. You busy yourself by cleaning up first aid supplies in the background, totally unsure of where you should be or what you should be doing. Judging by how quiet the rest of them are, you definitely know you shouldn’t be talking.

“We’ve got to steal those guns back,” Minho repeats himself.

“It’s a suicide mission,” Hyunjin says with a sigh, folding his arms, “That’s exactly what he wants us to do and he’ll be waiting to take us out.”

“Yeah? Well what about all the organizations who have already paid for their weapons and ammo this quarter? We might be able to talk some of them into waiting, but Min and Jung are ruthless sons of bitches who will kill us all for not delivering what we already collected on,” Seungmin argues.

“Now hold up,” Changbin interjects, “We have never lagged on business with them, not even when-” Changbin stops and looks at Minho and you know, not even when Minho was mourning his wife, but he doesn’t say that, “Not even when we’ve been down on our luck. So why would they not be understanding this one time?”

“Sorry, are you new here?” Seungmin laughs darkly, “You think sending them a ‘Thank you so much for your business, unfortunately we’ve hit a snag’ note is going to matter to them? Why don’t you spray it with your perfume before you send it by doves-”

“Enough!” Minho thunders and the arguing comes to an abrupt halt. “None of you are wrong, there are no options that don’t pose a risk, I don’t want to do this in a way that gets anyone killed.”

“How much would it cost to just go back to the source, to Jiyong? Ask him for a new supply of weapons?” Hyunjin asks.

“On such short notice?” Minho laughs, “Millions. Plus we’d be on our own smuggling them in, which I’m sure would make our friends at the DA’s office happy since they’ll be watching us so closely - all of us in prison for life? No amount of blackmail could stop the DA from bagging such a big break, especially over something like dick sucking, every politician in this city is getting their dick sucked by someone who shouldn’t be sucking it,” he sighs, “But even if we could find a way to do that, Jiyong is a loose fucking cannon as it is and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, the man is psychotic. He may fuck us over just to watch us go down, even if it means he’s out millions of dollars, he doesn’t give a shit,” Minho drags his hand down his face.

“We have to steal them back from Taehyung,” Seungmin mutters from the corner.

Hyunjin sucks his teeth, “If we do that, at least one of us will die doing it,” he says.

“So we die stealing the guns back, or we die for not delivering the weapons, or we go to prison smuggling replacement weapons in,” Felix outlines, “Is that where we’re at?”

“We vote then,” Minho stands, “We vote, because Felix is right, your lives are all on the line here, there’s not a single option we have that doesn’t end in potential death or prison. However, Jiyong isn’t an option, we just can’t trust him in a situation that’s already fucked to begin with. So, what’ll it be boys? Steal the guns back and take out as many of Taehyungs fuckers as we can, or plea for mercy from our clients and hope they’ll be gracious and not kill us where we stand?”

“Steal them back,” Seungmin raises his hand, followed by Jeongin, Jisung, Felix, Christopher and reluctantly, Changbin.

Minho looks sympathetically at Hyunjin who sighs, nods, then raises his hand, “Steal them back then, we don’t plead for a goddamn thing.”

Minho smiles, “Then let’s go to work.”

The small group disperses momentarily, probably so they can take a moment to digest the situation, something you’ve been trying to do all day to no avail.

Minho walks over to you, “Well, I think we can agree that your term to be trusted has been met,” he laughs softly, but for whatever reason you find that his words have struck some deep emotional string and your eyes blur with hot tears.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the spare room you use for your medical supply storage. Hyunjin locks eyes with you and sees the tears, he shuffles over to join the two of you.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“I’m trying to figure that out myself,” Minho replies, rubbing your shoulders.

You don’t really know why you’re crying so hard, but at this point you’re audibly sobbing.

“Babe?” Hyunjin tilts your face up.

“I just…I don’t want anyone to get hurt…” you admit. “I’m sorry,” you gasp between sobs, “I don’t know why I’m crying so hard, it’s not like I don’t know what happens out there…”

“It’s alright Love,” Minho pulls you into him, which for some reason only incites more tears, “this was the first time you’ve really heard us talk about things, the first time you’ve really been able to understand how deep in this we are, so it’s not shocking that it hit you hard, the reality.”

You nod, trying to compose yourself. You take several deep breaths. What the Hell is your problem? Are you truly shocked to know that these men risk their lives? As if you’ve not had them bloodied, shot and stabbed on your kitchen table?

You seem to get past the hiccuping sobs and right yourself, “Sorry,” you sigh, “I’m just worried about you, all of you. How will you do this? How can I help?”

Hyunjin smooths your hair and kisses your forehead, “The best way for you to help is to be ready for anything medically speaking, making sure you have everything you need for any possible situation, that’s how you help baby.”

You nod, and look around the room, “I’ll take inventory, make a list of the things I can’t get at the pharmacy, Christopher and I can run out later this week to stock up on trauma supplies.”

Hyunjin kisses you gently and squeezes your hand, “I’m going to go start strategy talk, our next deliveries for the quarter are due in just under a month, that’s not a lot of time.”

You and Minho watch as Hyunjin leaves the room.

“He really is the best I’ve got,” Minho sighs.

“But you don’t like the situationship we’ve got going, do you?” you ask, which comes as a surprise to you. This isn’t the best time to be talking about relationships, not with everything that just transpired, and yet it fell out of your mouth anyway.

“What are you talking about?” Minho asks, looking genuinely confused.

Fine, you guess now is the time, “There are moments, not often but enough that I notice, where you get so quiet, where you feel so distant. I assume that’s because you’d rather it just be you and I, just the two of us together.”

“I suppose that would make things simpler,” he says, “and it’s true that the moment you said you had feelings for both of us it hit me hard, it was a blow to my pride, but then your face flashed in my head, how you looked that day that I threatened you, how you had just asked me not to give you a reason to be scared of me and I realized that I love you, ___, and I love you in whatever way that comes as.”

You smile, “You love me, huh?”

“Yes,” he pulls you into him and kisses your cheeks and nose, “I love you, it’s not something I take lightly and it’s hard for me to say the words because now it’s real, now you know, and now I can actually lose you and if I do I think I might lose myself too.”

“You won’t lose me,” you whisper.

“Mm,” he nods, “Just promise me you’ll always be careful, always keep an eye over your shoulder.”

“I promise.”

“I need to go back to them,” he gestures towards the door and pulls away.

“That still doesn’t explain the way you get so quiet sometimes, so contemplative, like you’re questioning it,” you call out to him.

“I’m not questioning our arrangement Love,” he answers.

“Then what?”

He looks toward the sitting area, then back at you, “I guess I just didn’t expect to start caring about him in a different way, that one took me off guard, and yes it does pull me out of the moment sometimes thinking about it.”

You nod with a smile, “I see.”

“Yes, so don’t worry baby, okay? I’m just getting used to this new part of me.”

“Okay.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“So that’s the thread for the stitch kit, the gauze, the wound care kit, I’d like to get an extra pair of clamps and some sort of disinfectant, iodine if they have it but I suppose alcohol will do if they don’t,” you tell Christopher, tossing a few extra things in the basket.

“I dropped your medication list off with our guy, I’ll know what he can get us and what he can’t by the end of the day,” he shares.

“Miss ___?” a voice calls your name and you turn towards it. A man in a cheap suit smiles as he walks up to you in the aisle.

“Don’t say anything,” Chris mutters under his breath before distancing himself from you.

“You are Miss ___, are you not?” the man produces a photo on his phone of you and Minho, it’s from the night at the Casino.

“I suppose I am,” you shrug, plastering a casual smile on your face. You can feel your pores opening from the impending sweat and your heart begins to race.

“You’re familiar with Lee Minho, the man in the picture?”

“I know who he is, obviously,” you look at the photo, unable to deny that it’s you, “and you know who I am it seems, but I didn’t catch your name?”

“Beg your pardon ma’am, my name is Jeon Jungkook, I’m the lead Detective on an arson case we’re working at a warehouse Mr. Lee owns,” he smiles and shows you his badge.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh, yes, I think I heard something on the news about an explosion outside the city yesterday morning, it was Mr. Lees, you said?” you try to feign surprise but this Jeon guy doesn’t look amused.

“It was, and I was hoping maybe you’d be willing to come into the station sometime to answer some questions about the, uh, possessions Mr. Lee seems to have lost in the fire,” he grins smugly.

“Well I’m not sure why you’d think I’d know about anything he lost. That seems like a conversation to have with him, or perhaps the insurance company,” you say.

“The possessions I’m speaking of aren’t ones that are likely covered by insurance ma’am, and I bet you know that,” he replies.

You shake your head, “Then you’d lose your bet, Detective, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right, I see,” he sighs, disappointed, then digs in his back pocket and leans in closer, “Here’s my card, if you decide you’re done protecting the bad guys then give me a call,” he looks over your shoulder, “Don’t think I don’t see you Bang, be sure to be a good lap dog and carry Miss ___’s medical supplies to her car for her,” he looks at you, “wouldn’t want you to forget anything then not be able to patch up Lee’s boys,” he winks then walks off.

He knows. He knows who you are and what you do. He knows everything. Or maybe he doesn’t but obviously he suspects or he wouldn’t have said any of that.

“Hey, are you good? You look pale as fuck,” Christopher asks but you don’t answer him, suddenly you’re stomach is churning, acid and bile and the iced coffee you drank on the way here bubbling and lurching up, “Hey, ___?”

“I’ve got to get out of here,” you rasp, no matter how deeply you breathe it feels like you’re not getting enough air, “I need to get out, get me the fuck out of here!” you yelp.

Chris nods and sets the basket on a shelf, “Okay, okay, come on,” he ushers you toward the parking lot.

It’s no use, even though the breeze is cool and soothes your skin, your stomach still twists and the nausea is too much, you brace one hand on the side of the car and bend over, vomiting all over the parking space, your shoes, and the rear tire of the car parked next to Chris’s.

“Fuck…” Chris gags, he opens the door and leans in, plucking left over restaurant napkins from his center console and handing them to you.

“Thanks,” you say hoarsely, wiping your mouth off, then bending over to wipe your shoes. You walk over to a nearby garbage bin and toss the napkins in. You feel better after puking your guts out and finally take a breath.

Chris holds the passenger door open for you, “Well, good thing you didn’t overreact or lose your cool or something,” he laughs and so do you. “Do you want me to go back in and buy all the shit we came here for?”

“Yes,” you sigh, resting your head on the seat, “Please. Can you get me a lemonade or something as well?”

“Yeah, be right back.”

“Thank you Chris, and, I know we’ll have to tell Minho about the detective but for the love of God can you please keep your mouth closed about me having a nervous puke session after? He already worries too much about me. If he thinks I’m going to barf every time I leave the house then I’ll be trapped like a rat.”

“I swear.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“Like the lawyer said baby, investigators are going to be watching, but they don’t have jack shit on us, I’ve spent my entire career ensuring that anything they have is circumstantial at best, completely inadmissible, you are fine,” Minho soothes.

“I’ve never been on that side of things before,” you say softly, “I’ve never really been on any side of the law, I guess, but being the one approached, being asked questions - God that was awful.”

Hyunjins hand grazes over your hip, “They’ve got nothing on you baby,” he kisses your bare shoulder. “Don’t let it bother you. Don’t let him get to you.”

“He knew exactly what I do for you, he said it plainly,” you point out.

“So he knows you’re a nurse and made an educated guess that you use that knowledge to help people, big fucking deal, that’s nothing, certainly not a crime, and neither is being in a picture with me, you’re safe baby,” Minho continues. “I protect my people, I would never let anything carelessly slip through the cracks, would never let anything happen to you, to either of you.”

Hyunjins hand stills on your hip and you can feel him staring at Minho from behind you. He clearly wasn’t aware of his upgraded position in Minhos emotional capacities and you grin in spite of the shitty day. Especially when you feel Hyunjins erection growing against your backside.

“Shower?” he asks the two of you.

“You boys go,” you sigh, “I took a shower this afternoon. If my hair gets wet I’ll kill you and I am not fucking anyone in a shower cap,” you laugh, though if you’re being honest your stomach is still queasy and while the thought of getting fucked out in the shower is always appealing, you don’t need the shaking and bouncing right now.

“You usually shower at night though,” Minho pouts, rubbing his nose against yours.

“I…” you don’t want him or Hyunjin to know that you got so nervous after talking to the officer that you puked, you do not need them fretting over you, “I spilled something on myself earlier and wanted to clean up after. Besides, I feel like crap today, I’m no good,” you chuckle, stretching out on the bed with a yawn.

“Then we’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Minho scoots in and tucks you under his chin while Hyunjin presses himself to your back, and you instantly feel the hardness again.

“Be right back,” Hyunjin squirms off the bed and trots off toward the bathroom.

“What’s his problem?” Minho looks at the door.

You giggle, “Our Hyunjin is feeling a little stiff, if you catch me, I think he went to go fix that.”

“Oh…” Minho trails off, but you catch the way he keeps his eyes fixed on the door.

“Go,” you nudge him a bit.

“Without you?” Minho raises his brow.

You cock your head to the side, “See, unlike you, I’m not possessive,” you smile and kiss him, giving his bottom lip a little bite, “Go.”

Truth be told, the scene playing out behind the bathroom door entices you, you can feel the wet pooling between your legs, feeling uncomfortable and slick, and you think of pulling yourself out of bed to join. However, the weight of the last few days seems to be catching up to you, the level of tiredness you feel rivals the way you felt after leaving your third 12hr night shift of the week back at the hospital. You haven’t felt this sleepy in so long that not even the two men getting busy in your bathroom, wishing you were in there with them, could stop your eyes from fluttering shut and immediately going to sleep.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The full night of sleep doesn’t seem to even make a dent in your exhaustion. The following day you still drag your feet, unable to do anything productive despite the growing to-do list you’re making in your head. Not to mention that your stomach still doesn’t feel quite right and you begin to wonder if you’ve eaten something or caught a bug.

When your phone rings, waking you from your second nap of the day you want to toss it into the toilet.

“We’re about five minutes out,” Jeongin yells into the phone.

Fuck.

“Who is it and how bad?” you ask the same question you always do.

“Seungmin got shot in the leg,” he answers.

“Okay, I’ll be ready.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Seungmin sits on the kitchen table, his foot propped up in one of the seats as blood drips down his calf. His face contorts everytime you press the gauze to his wound and you only take a tiny smidgen of satisfaction from that.

“It grazed you,” you squint, “but it grazed you deep. I need to flush it with saline and clean it up before I can decide if you need stitches or not,” you explain.

“Well do that then, it hurts,” he whines and you roll your eyes.

“I’ve got to get back to Lee and the others, tell them what we found before you got sniped in the leg,” Jeongin says, pacing back and forth.

“What did you find?” you wonder out loud.

“Why do you need to know?” Seungmin snaps but rights himself when you and Jeongin both shoot him a look. “Sorry.”

“Taehyungs front business is all in hotels, that we knew, and we also know his actual business is heroin, we’ve never known where his storehouse was though, until now. We just found it,” Jeongin says proudly, “that’s got to be where he’s keeping our stolen guns. He couldn’t keep that much hardware hidden in a hotel.”

“Go,” Seungmin says but looks behind him at Christopher who sits in the living room spectating, “take him with you, no one goes anywhere alone, you heard Lee.”

“You two good to sit here together?” Jeongin asks with a smirk.

“I’ll be nice if he does, and if not then I’ll just go in a little deeper with those stitches,” you smile up at Seungmin.

“Just go, I’m fine,” Seungmin huffs.

Chris and Jeongin leave and you continue to work silently on Seungmins leg, trying desperately not to think about how sick your stomach feels.

You clear your throat after several moments, “You know, asking people to stop getting shot so much is a request I never thought I’d have to utter so often,” god your stomach is killing you - banter with Seungmin? Ugh. You are off today.

“Mm, so sorry Princess, that I inconvenienced your day of doing absolutely nothing. You’ve still got pillow marks on your face for Gods sake, have you just been asleep all day?” he retorts.

“Yep,” you say, swallowing hard, trying to keep whatever is in your stomach from coming up.

“Makes sense, you look like absolute garbage.”

“Feel like it too,” you agree, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

“Well fuck __, it’s not fun being an ass to you if you just sit there and take it,” Seungmin scoffs, “What the Hell is wrong with you anyway?”

“I don’t know,” you frown, pulling your hands away from his leg, “I just…” your hand flies up to your mouth and you run across the kitchen so you can vomit into the sink.

“Ughhhh,” Seungmin groans, “are you sick or something?”

“I don’t know,” you pant, gripping the edge of the counter, “I think I ate something I shouldn’t have,” you say.

“Oh sure, that’s what they all say but really you’ve probably got some disgusting, contagious bullshit,” he covers his mouth and nose dramatically with his arm, “stay away from me.”

“Are you going to stitch yourself up then? Besides, the only people I’ve been around are you guys, are any of you sick? Hm?”

You pluck a paper towel off the roll and wipe your mouth.

“You’re not pregnant are you?” he laughs and puts his arm back down.

You freeze, falling back into the chair you’ve been stitching him from. Your eyes go wide as different numbers matrix-drip down your brain. You don’t remember how long it’s been since your period, but you know you’ve had multiple since you started working for Minho, was the last one at the last house? This house? You can’t remember. The realization that you haven’t remembered to get a Depo shot since you were working at the hospital, however, is a much more violent intrusion, hitting you like a semi truck barreling into a brick wall. You told Minho the first time you’d ever been together that you were good, that you were on birth control, and at the time it was true. In the chaos of everything though, you’d not been back to the doctor, you hadn’t even thought of it. How could you not have thought of it?

You look up at Seungmin, body numb and eyes wide, unspeaking.

He lets out a windstorm of a sigh and rolls his eyes, “Oh for fucks sake.”

Endnotes:

1. Ooofffff. Don’t hurt me

2. I will do tag lists this evening 😘

#skz fanfiction #hyunjin fanfiction #lee minho fanfiction #skz smut #hyunjin smut #Lee know smut #skz romance #hyunjin romance #lee know romance #hwang hyunjin x reader #lee know x reader #Hyunjin #Lee Minho #stray kids

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michaelcerascream · 2 months ago

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Javi Martinez headcannons! no crash modern day au 😞🙏

• everytime Nat and Travis go to a gas station to buy cigarettes, he begs Travis to buy him the cheap ass lollipops at the counter.

• loves diary of a wimpy kid books cuz I said so.

•has tons of those caps in every colour that he wears CONSTANTLY. his mother has to force them away from him to wash them.

• takes bad photos of Travis on his camera. like Travis would be mid - bite of some cereal and he would sneak up and snap a picture.

• everytime he gets a sticker from someplace, like school, or a doctor's office, he keeps them in a little box and waits for the perfect moment to use them. he is NOT a sticker waster.

• every party, wedding, quinceanera, he goes to that has a dancefloor, TRUST he is forcing Travis up there. once Travis has had a few drinks and actually does go up, he is literally the jolliest ever.

• he's "too old for toys" yet buys all these silly figures and stuffed animals, and when Travis confronts him and teases him about it, he retorts with "they're collectables!!"

• he loves the zoo. always makes his parents buy him the animal plushies even if they cost like 40 bucks. he has a whole pile of them at the end of his bed.

•watched the diary of a wimpy kid movie and tried to start a cheese touch at his school. failed miserably.

• once got kicked out of a sports store with Travis because Travis kicked a ball at his head on accident and he started screaming and crying.

• whenever Travis was annoyed, Javi and Nat would dance in his room until he smiled. Trust Javi always gives it his ALL.

• has an old tiktok account where he posted like funky ass videos with millennial audios from when he was like 7. he can't figure out how to delete it since he was logged out of the account. he will never show ANYBODY.

• contrary to popular belief, he would not like Fortnite. he tried to play it a few times with some of his friends, but rage quit after 10 minutes.

• minecraft warrior. Has a shared world with Travis where he always blows up his stuff.

"Javi, for fuck sake, dude!!"

and he's mischievously giggling for hours.

• also he is partial to Roblox too. one time he grinded on work at a pizza place for HOURS. he always used to role-play the hated child on meepcity...

• stole one of Travis' colognes and sprays it everytime he's going someplace nice. REFUSES to buy his own and when the one he stole from Travis is running low, he'll fill it with a teeny bit of water...endless cologne hack!!

• ate a piece of Lego once. he was trying to rip two bricks that were stuck apart, so he used his teeth and boom, swallowed a piece. he cried for hours and Travis told him it would be stuck in his stomach forever.

• everytime him and his family go to a restaurant, and they give him a kids menu, his mom forces him to eat from it, because it's cheaper, and he always gets so mad and doesn't talk for the whole meal, with a pout on his face and his arms crossed.

• car window warrior. always glancing out the window on long car rides, making up imaginary lives for everyone he sees going past. his own personal headcannons if you will.

#michaelcerascream #yellowjackets #yellowjackets showtime #yellowjackets moodboard #yellowjackets headcanons #javi yellowjackets #javi martinez #javi martinez yellowjackets #javi headcannons

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intimidating-fettuccine · 1 year ago

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Toby's hoarding habit

Sometimes you look at your relationship with Toby and wonder if he must be part squirrel the way he hoards things in secret. He was never allowed to have anything at all growing up, and so it’s given him insecurities that anything he gets will be taken away from him, but even as he starts to recover from said insecurities over the many years he’s been at the mansion he can’t seem to break the habit. The habit started with food items but has progressed to random things that make him happy. The following is a list of items that you and other creeps have found hoarded by Toby.

7 unopened boxes of Fruit Gushers, hidden at the very back of his closet where he keeps his empty shoe boxes.

20 different single-wrapped Rice Krispies treats that were hidden at the very bottom of his sock drawer.

3 (thankfully sealed) boxes of chocolates hidden underneath your bed around Valentine's Day that he forgot to tell you about until you found them several weeks after. In addition to the chocolate he bought you that he had just handed to you.

About 40 different rocks that he had found outside and thought were cool stashed at the top of the downstairs coat closet in the mansion.

38 more rocks that were hidden under the sink in one of the downstairs mansion bathrooms.

And, if you'd believe it, 56 more rocks hidden in the back of Tim's closet. Why specifically Tim's closet? Toby didn't have a good answer to that question.

A collection of about 150 very tiny ducks he ordered online that he thought to stash in your own sock drawer for safekeeping. The ducks are still there.

20 unopened Gatorade bottles hidden at the very back of the kitchen sink. He had to relocate these pretty soon because Tim thought they were somehow misplaced during a grocery unloading and put them in the pantry. Toby moved them to his pants drawer to later be found by you when you were looking for a pair of his comfy pajama pants.

2 giant lollipops that he hid behind your cups and promptly forgot about until you discovered them one day while he was over. He began to eat one of them and offered the second one to you, and of course, you accepted it.

10 copies of the movie Cars that were hidden under your bathroom sink. Toby couldn't remember purchasing them or why he put them there but he thinks once he was really tired and wanted to do a funny joke with them at some point so he hid them, but he cannot remember what the joke was.

127 differently sized and colored shirt buttons that were discovered in the top drawer of Toby's desk. None of the buttons go with any of the shirts he owns.

16 different opal stones hidden in an old box you don't use anymore. You only discovered this because you caught him in the act of trying to hide the 17th stone. However, you allowed him to keep doing this, and the last time you counted the updated stash it was up to 33.

And, finally, his most recently discovered stash, 58 uniquely colored marbles, hidden in the bottom drawer of Slender's desk in his office that he had been keeping empty in case he needed to use it for something. Toby decided it should be used for marbles.

Of course, these are just the stashes that have been discovered. There could be many, many more yet to be uncovered.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #slender mansion mayhem #ticci toby #ticci toby headcanon #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby x reader #tim wright headcanons #slenderman headcanons

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mullermilkshake · 2 days ago

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Hunting is best when things are quiet

Part 7 <- Part 8 -> Part 9

Suguru goes hunting.

Summary - You are just an author wanting to put your writing out there and carry on with your life, but when two people end up murdered, things you write about seem to be more real than just pure fiction.

Pairing - Yandere!Suguru Geto x F!reader

<<< Detective!Storu Gojo >>>

Tags - DDDNE, NSFW, Guns, Suguru is fluffy but also wants to commit murder,

<<< Master list >>>

Credit to - @404UND_ Twitter ☆ (Geto) - @maronjapan9a (Satoru)

Hello,

I just wanted to say, amazing work darling. How do you do it? How did you come up with one of the most thrilling plotlines I have ever read? My friend wants to write and I told her to read your book and I am sure she’ll find the inspiration.

Please look after yourself, we don't hear much from you. Keep up the good work!

—

Suguru should have gone fishing this morning, getting up at the crack of dawn was nothing new. He knew he should have gone against his better instincts and left you in bed to your dreams and wistful waking thoughts instead of warming his cock inside you as you writhed underneath him.

He should have left you to eat your breakfast and resume your writing, you were just far too distracting. Tantalising to send him wild, insane enough to rip his hair out from his scalp if he couldn't see you happy. You were far too innocent to realise just how alluring you were, sat there in your pyjama shorts and loose fitting shirt over his thigh like one beautiful writhing mess. Suguru lived purely to see the exasperated expression pull at your lips whenever he sent you over the edge.

He survived just by the scratch marks you left etched into his back.

He thrived on each orgasm until you begged him to stop.

He held out on the way you cooed his name when you were satisfied, which was frequent.

He sustained himself by pushing your boundaries until you only wanted him.

His words. His fingers. His cock. His come. It wasn’t just sex, it was your craving for him, just as much as he adored you.

Suguru loved you and you really were distracting.

He smiled to himself and shook his head, slipping on his boots and collecting his fishing gear in the tool bag and cooler coupled with the rifle over his shoulder. It was too warm to wear a hat just yet, so he tied his hair back fully and went on his way leaving you to do what you did best.

You were a fantastic writer, and Suguru was your biggest fan. He loved how you smiled at those letters, counting each one and packing them away in a small box as though your heart melted and placed it inside alongside them for safe keeping.

It took Suguru ages to write all of those letters. His hand cramped more than once. Still, he didn’t write all of them and he was sure he recognised the handwriting somewhere. But that was a thought for another day. Suguru was adamant he’d catch you a fish from the stocked lake down the way. Maybe some bass would do well for dinner?

Poached? No. Fried in flour with a deep soy glaze, vegetables all buttered and salted. Perfect. Suguru could already see the gleeful smile on your face when he brought a fish back to cook. That and a deer if he was lucky.

His fishing spot was as close to the house as it could be, within a few minutes walking distance, and he’d drag that baby all the way to the front door triumphantly with its tongue hanging clean out of its mouth. It was getting colder now, a deer was enough to prepare and toss into the freezer and take back to the house. The vacation was over in a few days, and with each passing hour, Suguru contemplated suggesting staying here and making the hour plus journey back into town for work. The lanes were in between, so the commute to his office wasn’t a problem.

He knew you would miss the house though. You would probably crucify him if he made the bold claim that it was important he sell it while the housing market was at its peak during the year.

Suguru’s mind always wandered back to you, right to the point he didn’t even realise that his phone was ringing. Was it you? Was there a problem?

Not you. But Mananmi. “Mr Geto?”

He’d only just sat down in his little pop up chair, slipping the phone between his ear and shoulder, trying to fiddle with the fishing lure. “What is it Manami, are you alright?”

She was clearly on edge. It was unusual for Manami to get so shaken up. “I’m fine, but there’s an officer here with a warrant asking to look at the security footage and patient records.”

Shit. He didn’t anticipate that a warrant would have been granted this quickly. It couldn’t be helped though. “It’s alright. They can have them if they have a warrant but only give them the patient list and confirm who they’re looking at on the camera footage. We can’t release any more than that. If the detective tries to give an issue, call me back and I can talk with him.”

“Alright, I will.”

Satoru Gojo was an audacious one, wasn’t he? Suguru knew, but he wanted that confirmation. “Before you go. Does the officer have white hair?”

“No, he's a brunette. Why?”

He paused everything. “No matter, just call me if you need me.”

“Bye.”

It wasn’t the Detective? Suguru did not assume the worst. There could have been a whole slew of reasons why Satoru Gojo was not at his office.

Perhaps he was taken off the case for instance? Suguru would have sat back and relaxed in his chair whilst throwing his lure into the water if that was the case. Yet something settled on top of his stomach that told him that was not the case.

It was pretty clear that their first and only meeting together set the little red whistles in his head off so that they were grating on his mind. Satoru could not know about Mr Simmons’ reason for being there that day and force Suguru to commit the unthinkable that would land him in more shit.

But if the good Detective worked it all out with proof before he got his hands on the other killer, that would equally be just as bad.

Would you visit Suguru in prison? Would you even believe the police after you found out that he had committed a crime in the most gruesome way to keep you safe? It was for you after all and he’d do it again in a heartbeat to each and every person he had killed.

Every person was linked to that book of yours in some sort of capacity. People who affected your confidence and ruined your chances of a decent shot, because the publishing world reeked of superiority and idiot children buying their way in for a failed shot of success.

You merely saw it as hurdles.

Suguru saw it as a horrid travesty. Pure ignorance of those who actually had talent.

Yeah. He would choose to do it all over again. Everytime.

For the time being, it was Satoru he needed to be wary of. One mistake and it was all over. You would be all alone out here, he simply would not allow it. What if Satoru Gojo decided to make a move on Suguru’s behalf and un-fuck everything he had put into into you? The mans words held weight and he could just see those very words cast doubt in your mind.

That was not going to happen.

Again, Suguru shook those negativities away and sat quietly facing the distant mountains waiting for a bite for over an hour. Just simple bliss in nature, where Suguru felt most at home.

The two sisters were a mountainous anomaly, pairing together in a mirror image and it was all on his doorstep. Snow capped year round and equally as stunning at the peak of sunset. One of many he had seen set with you, one of which when he proposed.

God, you were amazing. He thought of you way too much, and even that wasn’t enough.

A tug on his line was one of pure focus and strength to rip him from his thoughts. The vibrations in the water shifted and struggled until there were bubbles and thrashing from one beautiful freshwater bass bobbing in the water like it wasn’t there to play.

Suguru was. That was your dinner and he was certain if it cut loose he’d swim in the plummeting temperature and wrestle that fish to land if need be, but it came towards him after growing weary like it was meant to be.

“Perfect.” Suguru should have taken it back home, but he wanted to see whether he could get a trail on a deer before heading back.

He dropped his rod and sorted the fish out, prepping it for storage in the little cooler by his feet and set off towards the tree line for any evidence. Now Suguru wasn’t adept at hunting as others were, not by any match, it was only a pass time which provided for you.

The wind filtered lazily through the regimental trees around the edge, the cabin in view in a picturesque verge of two worlds. Suguru waited. He waited for a sign, a hoof print or crack of tree bark as an indicator.

For ten whole minutes he stood in silence, waiting and waiting. But it wasn’t a deer he noticed, it was a car coming through and pulling up alongside his vintage car, blocking his view to it.

Suguru held up the rifle and watched the car roll to a stop through the enhanced scope. “The warrant at my office was a diversion, huh?”

Satoru Gojo climbed out of that car and moved around to the back of the other car, peering through the window and taking a generally close look at the grill and side mirrors.

“You won’t find anything there, asshole.”

The Detective was idiotic enough to give him warning to remove any further microscopic incriminating evidence which was more than he could ever ask for.

The scope was on him, the crosshairs directly aimed at his head and Suguru was tempted to pull the trigger.

“He just came at me, officer, I thought he was an animal.” Like that would actually work. It did not stop Suguru from wishing it so.

He continued to watch him, observing him pull out his phone from his suit jacket pocket and put it to his ear. He fiddled with the bolt action and charged it slowly, the hunt had already begun, the bait already taken.

Just a slight pressure on the trigger and Satoru Gojo would be no more.

No more.

No more… Just wait until he puts that phone away.

Movement. Suguru’s scope shifted a fraction to the left. You were right there, standing close by all wrapped up in your blanket waving him over. Satoru held his hand up as though to pause you.

That bastard, who did he think he was making you wait for him? Suguru wanted to shoot him and watch his head explode all over his car window, though there was no way on this dear earth he would do it now with you having to witness it.

“Shit… Go inside, sweetie.” You were standing there with your arms folded and wearing a confused frown. “Please. Go inside. Don’t let him in.”

Satoru put his phone away and pulled a piece of paper from his other pocket and approached you, speaking something that made your face drop and read it.

A fucking warrant no doubt.

Your eyes darted towards the lake, in the direction of the fishing spot and said something. Suguru was certain that your lip trembled. Satoru shrugged and pointed you into the house.

“Fuck.” Suguru stopped for a moment and dropped his rifle. “Think… Think.”

He knew what to do. Rushing to his right pocket, Suguru yanked his phone out and tapped away, flicking to the right app and opening it without waiting for anything.

A live view of the living area and kitchen. The camera overlooking the rose garden was not the only camera Suguru decided to put in. These determined clear and clean alibi’s. They also provided Suguru with the privilege to watch over you. Either way, they would keep you safe.

Suguru noticed the Detective approach the sofa as he did the last time he stepped foot inside the cabin. “I apologise for the inconvenience this causes. But I won’t keep you, I’ll go find Suguru after we're done talking.”

You perched yourself on the edge of the sofa and held the blanket close. “Right…”

“So uh, I read your book. I must say, I think I’m a big fan.”

Your tune changed immediately. “Oh… really?”

“Yeah.” He drawled. “I read that thing in two days, I couldn’t put it down.”

“It’s nice to see someone enjoying what I’ve written. Is there anything you liked in particular? It might help me write my next book I’m having issues with.” You didn’t make eye contact. You never did when someone complimented your work.

“Nonsense. Inspiration is everywhere, you just gotta find it.”

Where was Satoru going with this? It was clearly obvious you were uncomfortable and yet he was ramping up for something. If he had a warrant, then why wasn’t he asking you questions you didn't know the answer to?

“I suppose you’re right.” The stagnant pause was uncomfortable. You shifted and brought your knees closer together. “So that warrant, what do you need from me exactly? It’s probably better if you talk to Suguru, I’m not really sure what you need.”

“What I’m after is the truth and this warrant allows me to take his car for testing, and I have an associate currently at his office collecting data. Y’see there was an incident on the lanes and we think his office’s security camera might give us some clues as to who it was.”

You tilted your head to the side, eyes narrowing at him with suspicion. “His office? But it's a stationary camera. I doubt you’ll find anything on there, the lanes go for miles. I don’t think there’s any cameras around there now that I think about it.”

Satoru was about to speak but you didn’t let him. Always off in your own world. “Though you have a warrant, it can’t be helped, right?”

“Right.”

Suguru noticed you lean over to the coffee table, picking up a small note pad from underneath with your little dangly pen and placed it on your lap. A twig snapping behind him made him look away for a second, a strong gust making a branch shake.

He watched on and this time you appeared eager. “Listen, I didn’t think I’d get to see you again if I’m honest. Suguru deals with all of this and there’s something important I need to ask you. I realise it will most probably be a ‘no’, but my curiosity is far too strong to ignore.”

What was your angle here?

Satoru didn’t seem to know either. “Sure…”

“I already know there was second body, Suguru explained to me after you left, but I’m curious to how they were found. I wanted to know what the bastard did to her and why she suffered. Then I realised that it was for my own morbid curiosity.” You shuffled uncomfortably in your seat, probably kicking yourself for even asking. You even looked him dead in the eye it looked like.

“You read my book so you know the sort of things I write, but my mind is in overdrive all the time and I just… What I’m trying to say is that I’d really like to know the details before it goes public.”

Satoru shook his head slow enough to almost be considered condescending. “I honestly can’t give that information out. But I can tell you this.”

What was he going to say? Should Suguru run in before he could spill his assumptions to cloud your mind? Or stay put until the web further spun itself? You sat eagerly on the edge of your seat, pen at the ready because Suguru knew exactly what you wanted to do now, he almost slapped his own face. You wanted true and raw inspiration. Oh christ.

A systematic characteristic that Suguru both admired and condemned when it was all at the wrong time. True crime was something that came with you as a joint package, watching countless hours for a small pilot light to spark and flicker that sick little twisted flame in your brain.

And Suguru loved it. But not when you were sitting opposite a Detective who had a warrant to check Suguru’s car that doubled as evidence in vehicular homicide.

Jesus christ.

Satoru grinned and leant forward in his seat. “There’s some things in that book that really seem to apply to this recent case actually.”

He was baiting you.

Suguru held the phone in his left hand, took the rifle in his right, covered his ears how he could and set off a round into the air. On cue, Satoru Gojo stopped and shot up from his seat.

“That’ll be Suguru, he went hunting today.”

He held his hand up to you as though to dismiss you and make you sit. Suguru kept his eye on the screen and made his way towards the rest of his stuff to bring back in a slow rush. He never took his eyes off of that live feed.

Satoru Gojo was on the back burner for now, just until he could make his way back to that front door. “I thought you said he went fishing?”

You nodded. “He did, he’s been out there for a few hours, he usually takes the rifle with him in case he sees a deer while he’s fishing. We usually take one back with us to the house to stock up the freezer- sorry is there a problem?”

He didn’t peel his eyes away from the direction of the gunshot that echoed around the curved bowl of the tree line. “No problem. It’s just a reflex I guess.”

You watched him settle himself back down though now he was clearly on edge. “Anyway, where was I- oh right. The bodies were something pretty much out of your book, like they were plucked from the page-”

Suguru jammed his key into the lock and jiggled it, closing the app and slipping his phone into his pocket and prayed the door swung open before Satoru could spill anything else that could implicate you.

He didn't plan to make Mr Simmons’ body anything like what you had written, his attempt was to make it look tasteful, artistic. Not with any direct correlation to your book, which meant either meant the other body was or his subconscious appreciation of your book had screwed him over.

This was not good.

This was not fucking good.

“Sweetie, I got a nice bass for dinner-“ When the door came open it left Suguru in a huff with direct eye contact on the Detective himself. “Detective Gojo, what a surprise.”

“What was that gunshot?”

“My aim isn’t as good as it was, and it was a pretty big rabbit too.”

Satoru's silence slashed through the tension. “Let’s talk.”

“Alright.” Suguru turned to you with the sweetest smile he could muster. “Could you take this into the kitchen, please? I’ll be back in just a moment.”

You nodded and took the cooler from his hand so that Suguru could at least calm himself enough to face the detective.

Just like before, they waited until the office doors slid shut softly into the silence.

“You’re here for my car, I take it?”

“Why do you think that? Maybe I just fancied a chat.” He was in a cocky mood today.

Suguru shook his coat off and hung it over the coat rack. “I didn’t expect you back until you had a warrant, I doubt my fiancé would have let you in otherwise.”

“I am here for the car.” Satoru leant against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

Suguru recognised the scent of his cigarettes in the enclosed space. “Perfect. If I can just see that warrant, it’s all yours.”

He rummaged through his desk drawer and fished the key out, letting it jingle along with a keyring of the photo booth you and him sat through with tongues poking out.

Satoru did his best to hide his frustration though Suguru saw straight through it. “Here.”

“Great, make sure you double pump the clutch, she’s old and can take time to get used to her, but don’t choke her out.”

“You haven’t touched it since the other night?”

“Of course not, I knew you were going to come back for it, I wouldn’t want to affect the validity of whatever tests you’ll no doubt run.”

He did. The other night when you were sound asleep, even if Satoru asked you, you were none the wiser. The car was clean and fixed just as it should have been.

“I’ll decide that when we’re finished. Otherwise, thank you for your time, Suguru.” He called him by his first name.

“If you tow her instead, be gentle. She can be quite delicate as a golden oldie.” Suguru had to suppress his laughter as Satoru ignored his advice and closed the office door harder than he probably meant to.

Suguru couldn't help himself but throw some bait for that slippery fish on the deck. It seemed he took it too.

Speaking of fish, Suguru checked his watch.

I better get dinner on.

Part 7 <- Part 8 -> Part 9

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DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

The oc side characters and advanced plot is my own work. A gift for @vampir-queen and original idea for this fic is their's. Cross posted from my AO3

Also please don’t post any of my work, thank you!

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