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joequiinn · 8 months ago

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The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 3

[chap two] | [all chapters here] | [chap four]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: The response to this series has already been so wonderful and unexpected, so big thanks to everyone who's been hyping me up! The next couple parts of this story have kinda a mellow pace, but I'm literally such a long-winded person so idk how to write without adding a tooon of narrative meat lol. Nonetheless, hope everyone enjoys!

taglist: @costellation-hunter @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @kthomps914 @lotrefcp @marrowfrog00 @mewchiili @munsonssweets @rach5ive @sav12321 @steeldaisies

wc: 3.5k

Chapter Three

Arriving at school on Monday morning, you had almost forgotten about your little meeting with Eddie the day prior. It was such an odd and different encounter that it briefly slipped away from you - after all, it wasn’t everyday you asked someone to be your fake boyfriend. But once you arrived on campus, the sight of Eddie’s van at the far end of the parking lot brought the conversation back to you, making your heart jump in remembrance.

And suddenly, you were nervous. This plan was ridiculous and there were so many damn opportunities for it to go wrong, so many damn holes that could be poked in it. You’d give Eddie a piece of your mind if he managed to fuck this up.

Amelia and Janet were already waiting for you at your locker, your customary meeting spot since freshman year. Whether intentional or not, you knew you were the pseudo-center of the group - you were certainly not the leader, that was Amelia and her brash personality, but it always seemed as if you were the swing vote, the middle ground, the deciding factor. Janet was the most agreeable of you three, generally avoiding confrontation and trying to maintain the peace as best she could amongst your crowd - you figured it was because of her strict upbringing.

As you approached the duo, you felt the conflicting comfort of familiarity butting heads with the frustrated part of you that didn’t want to see them ever again, the part of you that just wanted to run from them. Being a teenager was complicated in that way - as much as you cared about these girls, you also wanted absolutely nothing to do with them anymore.

Amelia and Janet were huddled together, sharing a magazine and excitedly talking about whatever it was that they were reading. Probably some insignificant article about the latest fashion trends of fall (which you secretly were interested in knowing, but you didn’t need to tell them that). Eventually, they heard the close click of your shoes on the linoleum floor, causing Amelia looking up to greet you as Janet continued to skim the page.

“So, feeling old yet?” Amelia teased, leaning back against the locker next to yours as you put in your code.

“Incredibly.” You answered dryly, although there was at least a hint of humor in your tone. It’s not as if you could completely cut them off overnight, that would be an impossible task to ask of anyone.

They both laughed, Janet putting away her magazine while Amelia leaned over your shoulder to check her makeup in the mirror you kept inside your locker. You nudged her out of your way once you had the book that you were looking for, giving her a harsh look out of the corner of your eye.

You knew that, although not perfect, Amelia and Janet weren’t so bad that you needed to be this cold to them - yes, Amelia was unapologetically abrasive and Janet was too agreeably submissive, but you still felt that your attitude towards them was maybe a little unwarranted. But at the same time, your heart and your mind weren’t on the same page. Your head said that they weren’t as bad as you made them out to be, but you could just feel that this friendship was no longer working, that something about it was terribly off and couldn’t be corrected.

As the two began discussing an assignment from a class that they shared, you mulled over your thoughts and feelings about this slowly ending friendship. Neither seemed to notice that you weren’t mentally present to their conversation, that you were somewhere in your own head instead.

After a short while, a duo of football players that you were somewhat familiar with came over to join the conversation. One of them was blatantly flirting with Janet, who seemed absolutely smitten, while the other served as wingman, trying to keep both you and Amelia engaged in conversation. You gave him the coldest shoulder he’d ever encountered, quickly turning all of his attention to Amelia instead.

Paying little to no attention to the group’s conversations, you began to look up and down the hallway absentmindedly, the myriad of conversations drowning each other out, making it easy for your mind to wander. If the group noticed your inattentiveness, they didn’t bring it up. You could have, and maybe should have, just walked away, but you weren’t sure where you’d wander off to until it was time to head to class. You’d have to find a way to get everyone to stop treating your locker like the go-to hang out spot at 7:30 in the damn morning.

As your eyes continued to wander, brain zoned out, your gaze passed over a small cluster of boys about ten feet away. Normally, they wouldn’t have crossed your mind, but today you had to do a double take, realizing that amongst them was Eddie. A friend of his had a locker not far from yours, you remembered at that moment, but it had never mattered before. But it sure mattered now, because you realized Eddie was looking right at you and probably had been for a couple of minutes, just waiting with amusement for you to come out of your reverie and finally noticed his stare. Once you two made eye contact, he smirked and shot you a playful wink.

Despite yourself, it flustered you just a little. You blinked and looked down in surprise, but mentally kicked yourself for the reaction - you could not let Eddie Munson make you nervous, especially when you weren’t actually interested in him in the slightest. You were simply taken aback, you reasoned with yourself, unprepared for the almost genuinely charming look on his face. So, you took a breath, looking back up to find Eddie’s eyes still trained on you. Was this going to be his flirting tactic? If so, it was pathetic, and you hoped that the look on your face told him as much.

You stared at one another for a few long moments, silently challenging each other, testing to see who would do something first. Eventually, Eddie pointed to the corners of his mouth, dragging his fingers up his cheeks while smiling aggressively wide and crossing his eyes as if to make a point, to visually tell you to at least act interested in him. You refrained from rolling your eyes - as challenging as it was - and forced a flirtatious smirk onto your lips, hoping your eyes weren’t saying something your face wasn’t. You weren’t exactly one to put on false airs, so you hoped that you were convincing to anyone that might see you.

Amelia, Janet, and the boys seemed to forget you were there, considering you hadn’t been engaging in the conversation this entire time. But eventually they must have expected you to chime in on something that was said, as they all looked at you expectantly when you didn’t reply right away. Seeing your eyes elsewhere and a hint of a smile on your lips, their brows furrowed and they quickly looked over their shoulders. It was simultaneously exciting and embarrassing to know that they would spot who exactly you were making eyes at.

They didn’t immediately realize it was Eddie that you were looking at, their eyes searching for maybe a familiar acquaintance or someone more stereotypically attractive, someone more to their liking. But then Eddie turned his gaze to them, winking as his grin widened before his eyes returned to you. In the same breath, Amelia and Janet whipped back around to face you with bewilderment while the football players shared a look of confused, judgmental annoyance.

“Don’t tell me you’re making eyes at Munson,” Janet started in disbelief.

“Yeah, what gives?” Amelia chimed in, taking a small step closer to you as if to avoid having the conversation overheard, making it seem like the most dire thing in the world.

You shrug, eyes still trained on Eddie for a moment longer as you tried to hold back your amusement at everyone’s reactions. You were proud that you seemed to actually appear interested, if their reactions were anything to go on.

“I don’t know, he’s kinda cute, isn’t he?”

It appeared that your tone was also as convincing as you were hoping for, because both girls pulled faces at your reply. The football players lingered awkwardly, but didn’t dare chime in on the conversation; after another few tense moments, they said their goodbyes and disappeared quickly down the hall.

Janet dared to briefly look over her shoulder at Eddie again, who now appeared to be in conversation with his friends. But it’s as if he knew he was being watched again, because his eyes immediately flicked up, a grin teasing at his lips as he met Janet’s gaze. She quickly turned away from him as a surprised sound escaped her lips.

Amelia simply made a sound of distaste, her eyes locked on you, “Ew,” She started, “in what world is that freak cute?”

“He is pretty weird…” Janet added, her tone not nearly as harsh as Amelia’s, although you could nonetheless hear her obvious trepidation.

You roll your eyes, a harsh and mocking look on your face, “Jan, you think Anthony Michael Hall is cute.”

Your tone is a touch nasty, and you can see Amelia smirking at the jab despite herself - she and you were in agreement that said actor was not attractive.

“He is!” Janet insisted, looking between you both, “You guys saw Sixteen Candles too.”

“Yeah, and he was a total geek in it.” Amelia responded, a harsh smirk on her lips.

Your gaze drifted back to Eddie, who had finally looked away for a few moments as he conversed with his little gang of nerds. Choosing defiance, you decided to antagonize your friends a little, a mean smirk ghosting over your lips.

“Eddie’s cuter than Anthony Michael Hall, that’s for damn sure.” It felt so wrong to say his name and not just refer to him as “Munson” or “the freak,” but you figured it would make a stronger impact on them if you used his first name.

Both Amelia and Janet made offended sounds in unison, their expressions critical.

“You feeling okay?” Amelia asked, not with concern, but rather with judgment, “I didn’t think the break-up was that hard on you.”

Frustration flared up inside you at that remark - that felt like a personal jab even by Amelia standards. You couldn’t help the sharp look you flashed at her, eyes narrowing, “It wasn’t. Duncan doesn’t matter to me in the slightest.”

As if compelled to confrontation, Amelia couldn’t help but respond in disbelief, “Sure, whatever you say. Munson’s a pretty pathetic excuse for a rebound, though. You could do better.”

You were so damn tempted to continue arguing with her, as you were never one to back down, but seeing motion in Eddie’s direction stopped you from saying anything. Your eyes flicked up to watch as he and his friends started to walk down the hall, coming in your direction. As the group passed you, Eddie came to a halt, taking an exaggerated bow, his eyes locked on yours almost as if he knew what was going on.

“Ladies…” He taunted with a glint in his eyes. As he straightened back up, he looked between the three of you, a goofy smile plastered on his face. As he walked away, he gave you one final, obvious wink.

“Ugh, what a creep…” Janet said while you watched Eddie disappear down the hall. Realizing the time, you abruptly walked off without saying goodbye to either Amelia or Janet.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Aside from briefly saying ‘hello’ to one another in math class, you didn’t see Eddie for the rest of the day; and even something as simple as that greeting turned the heads of a few of your classmates. Sure, you may have passed each other in the hall or spotted one another at lunch, but otherwise your schedules didn’t seem to allow for much of each other. That’s something you two would have to figure out once you got deeper into this little scheme of yours.

As your day ended and you made the drive to the ice skating rink, you pondered how exactly you and Eddie would pull this off. Should you be more up front, more assertive? Or should you let Eddie take the reins on that? How quickly should you move things along? Would you really keep this going until graduation? It seemed that you needed to find some time to discuss all these finer details with Eddie, and soon, or else your cover would definitely be blown.

Come Tuesday, your morning started off differently than you expected. As you walked up to the front doors of the school, Eddie seemed to appear out of thin air, slinking up alongside you. Before you realized who it was, you were about ready to tell them to back the hell up, but you caught the words on your tongue once you realized it was him. The sight of Eddie took you by surprise, your face inevitably saying so, as he shot you a playful grin in response.

“Morning, princess,” He greeted, bumping you with his shoulder. Despite wanting to glare at him and his insistence on breaking the oh-so-holy fake dating rules, you held back, instead giving him what you hoped was a coy look.

“Munson,” You answered simply, feeling strange having a conversation with him in the middle of all your peers, all out in the open like this. When you reached the front doors, Eddie held one open for you, which was a pleasant surprise. Once you’d both entered, Eddie remained at your side, a simple look of contentment on his face as you asked dryly, “What grand gestures do you plan to do today?”

“Oh, I’m going to sweep you off your feet,” He begins playfully, seeming to enjoy the occasional glances shot at the two of you, “You’ll be absolutely head over heels by the end of the afternoon.”

You find his humor both mildly amusing and mildly stale, but you nonetheless give him a slight, doubtful smirk, “I’m sure.”

Eddie looked you up and down while cracking another smile; you weren’t sure if he was trying to turn up the charm for show or if he was trying to win you over just a little, “So, when I ask you out, you want a whole show of it? Flowers, balloons, the whole nine yards?”

“Maybe you should drop in from a helicopter, make it really interesting.” You responded coolly. The contrast of your sense of humor versus your monotonous delivery was perhaps a bit jarring and hard for some to get used to, but Eddie nonetheless seemed amused by it.

“So high maintenance.” Eddie chided, to which you gave him a sideways look. You two continued towards your locker, acting as if you didn’t notice people’s glances; you figured Amelia and Janet were already waiting for you, and you definitely wanted to see how they’d react to you and Eddie this morning.

For a few moments, you two walked in a slightly uncomfortable silence, a small reminder that you didn’t actually know each other at all, that this was all make believe. You could feel Eddie stealing glances at you as if he were deciding how to best engage with you in this school setting.

“Just looking at you yesterday was enough to set your friends off.” Eddie finally spoke up again as a wide grin spread across his lips, “Should I flirt a little more aggressively? Really get them worked up about it?”

You also couldn’t help but smirk a little - Amelia and Janet’s reactions were better than you could have anticipated, so much more dramatic than you expected. You were still miffed at Amelia thanks to her comment about Duncan, but you were sure that today she’d act as if nothing happened. Or at least, she’d try to, until seeing you with Eddie.

“We keep going at this rate, and Amelia and I might be in a cat fight by the end of the week.” You gave Eddie a wicked smile, which he didn’t expect, but he nonetheless looked back at you with just as much amusement.

“Maybe I need to step it up a little, then,” He responded as you two rounded the corner, your locker just down the hall. You immediately spotted Amelia and Janet there caught up in conversation, oblivious to you watching them from amongst the crowd of other students. You briefly paused as you studied them, Eddie following suit as he looked between you and them, “Should we go pay them a visit?”

You glanced up at Eddie through your lashes, similar fiendish glints in your eyes; you were wondering the exact same thing as him, debating whether to approach them or breeze on by as if they didn’t exist. Both were equally devious, and you momentarily felt pleased that you chose to make Eddie your fake boyfriend for this plan - in some ways, such as this, maybe you two were actually on the same page.

And then, the deciding factor just so happened to be heading in your friends’ direction.

Duncan walked down the hall with a quiet sort of confidence, and you absolutely loathed him for it. A few friends were with him as he stopped to chat with Amelia and Janet, and even from here his relaxed smile made you want to slap him. You hadn’t even realized you were clenching your jaw until Eddie spoke again.

“Get it together and let’s go over there.” He instructed, looking between your eyes and your tight jaw. He leaned forward a little with a wicked grin, “Come on. This is what you wanted me for, right? Let’s go get a reaction outta them.”

You chose to ignore the mild suggestiveness of Eddie's phrasing, although you did briefly narrow your eyes at him - you weren’t sure why, but you couldn’t help but hate that he was already doing his job well. He had a point, so you put on your best poker face and walked with confidence in the direction of your locker, Eddie right there alongside you. You made an effort to walk closer to him, to convey some kind of comradery, hoping that everyone would buy your bullshit.

Janet, always the most aware of the bunch, spotted you first, her expression shifting with worry. It wasn’t until you were practically on top of the group that the rest of them noticed your arrival, and everyone’s faces fell into various expressions of confusion, annoyance, and loathing. God, they were all so dramatic.

“Excuse me.” You said to one of Duncan’s friends in the bratty tone that most of them were used to, as he was blocking your locker. When he didn’t move right away, your brows shot up in threatening impatience, prompting him to quickly step aside. Eddie’s eyes followed the guy just to make him more uncomfortable as you opened your locker, intentionally letting it swing loudly against the one beside it.

“You lost, Munson?” Duncan questioned in a challenging tone, stepping forward with his gaze trained on Eddie. You turned, prepared to make some quick retort in defense of your fake boyfriend, but he beat you to the punch.

“Do I look lost?” Eddie put on a false look of confusion before a wild grin broke out across his lips. His response caused you to snort out a small laugh, Duncan looking back and forth between you two with skepticism before his eyes finally settled on you.

“Are you serious?” His tone was accusing as he took a step toward you. You kept your face calm and your eyes cold as you rooted around in your locker, hoping that your supposed nonchalance would really get under his skin.

“About what?” You taunted, the corner of your mouth barely pulling up into a smirk. You shut your locker, finally looking Duncan in the face to find him gazing at you with bafflement. The whole group was watching with similar expressions, but you paid them no mind, “This is my locker. If you don’t like what you see, go somewhere else.”

You looked back at Eddie, who seemed to be eating this up, not afraid of showing his amusement plainly across his face. You figured that that was also doing an incredible job of getting under Duncan’s skin.

“Walk me to class?” You prompted with a flirty tone, to which Eddie smiled. It was a look that could have convinced you that he was actually interested if you didn’t know any better.

“Lead the way.” His fingers ever so slightly grazed the small of your back as you walked between him and Duncan, leading him away from the group without looking back at them, as tempting as it was. Eddie followed right behind you, his shoulders nearly brushing yours as you maneuvered through the crowd. Classes hadn’t even started yet, but already you were enjoying this day far too much.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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shmalk · 8 months ago

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Part 3 for immortal!reader? Can be last chapter, just wanna see Ghost and Soap reaction. Price just explaining or still laughing his off or Gaz just passing out from too much shock.

"sorry for getting shot guys"

"how- what- huh?" Soap stammering.

Ghost still has his hands around Price's collar, Price was still chuckling, cigar on the floor, never belly-laughing this hard before.

Gaz staring at the reader, face paling before his does the cartoon faint, his legs going in the air while his hat flipped before falling.

Reader just staring like it was the norm (probably because it was for her/him)

no one reacts. its quiet, you can't help but awkwardly swallow and rub your throat slightly.

you can hear price sighing, obviously he knew you weren't going to stay dead, but it was still something you weren't overly fond of experiencing.

you felt some pain- but it was mostly none, after all, it wasn't as though you didn't die, you just didn't stay dead.

gaz swallows before his eyes roll into the back of his head, falling backwards and landing on his back, staring up at the sun. you give him a worried glance, but your muscles are still stiff, so you opt for just slightly calling out to him.

you don't get to, however, as someone's gloved hands grasp your face in their hands. you can hear soap as he slams price against the post once more, but your attention is taken away by ghost.

"what the fuck was that," he all but growls, his voice low and gravely, sending still shocks through your chest. "you didn't think to tell us about yer' little fuckin' stunt, huh?"

you swallow, reaching up to grab his wrist. soap moves from wherever he's standing and you vaguely see a figure attending to gaz. "look at me."

ghost isn't happy, the bile that threatened to rise out of his throat had setteld, but now theres steam practically flowing from his ears, theres a ringing he can't shake and his heart is pounding so hard he wonders if you could hear it.

"lighten up, lieutenant." price speaks as ghost loosens his grip on your head, letting out a puff of air through his nose. "they were given strict orders not to reveal anything until told otherwise, or during an emergency."

"captain, i don't think being upset with me counts as an emergency-"

"when i make a decision, you're supposed to trust that i'm making the right one," price isn't mad, but you're not interested in listening to him after he basically tried to kill you.

"Ye cannae ask us tae trust ye when ye've jist shot someone in the heid, cap'n."

"i'll ask whatever i bloody please, soap." price fixes his vest before turning away, not storming, but definitely walking somewhere with slightly more anger than usual.

"yer aight, pet?" soap gives you a once over, not able to look you in the eyes, before he gets shiver up his spine and has to walk away to cool himself down.

gaz - in the middle of the commotion - had been picked up and taken to the infirmary, leaving you.

and ghost.

h u h ?? im so sorry for the horrible scottish accent soap has I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO WRITE IT VERY WELL.

do we like? do we not like?? what will ghost do?? HMM??

#john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #shmalk ! ᧔♡᧓ #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #141 x reader #john price x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #immortal!reader #monster!reader

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space-mango-company · 8 months ago

Text

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #atreides reader #dune #dune part two #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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lis-likes-fics · 2 months ago

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Pairing(s): Coriolanus Snow x Reader, Original Character x Reader Word Count: 15.6k words Warnings: NSFW, smut at the beginning, swearing, mentions of death and murder, Coriolanus Snow is not a good person... A/N: This is part two to Poison. I didn't think it would take so long to write this, and this is only half of what I intended for this part. Now that I have a third part to do, I don't know when it'll be out by but it'll definitely be...a lot to process, me thinks. But anyway, I hope you enjoy this very not happy chapter! Thank you and enjoy!

PART ONE: The Discovery

You're startled awake by a knock at the door. You sit up with a groan, rubbing your eyes as you move quickly to wake up.

You mumble something, a groggy “mm” that tells the person at the door to come in. It's not Coryo. He would have just walked in.

“Charlotta?”

She bows her head briefly as she enters the room. You glance out of the window, confusion and the faintest feeling of panic edging your nerves at how bright it is.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma'am,” she says, and you notice the slightest confusion in her face as she speaks, “but Master Snow has requested your presence.”

You throw your legs over the side of the bed, stretching your arms out wide. “What time is it?”

“Half past nine, ma'am.”

A wash of ice shocks your skin to the bone. You bolt up in an instant, moving so quickly that you make yourself dizzy as you start sifting through your wardrobe for clothes.

Your panic is evident, and she completely understands as she watches you scramble. Like clockwork, you are up every morning at six—hardly an hour after all the servants have woken—to prepare for Snow. Because, like clockwork, he wakes at seven to begin his day with breakfast and you. You're never late. Never.

“How did I sleep this late?” you wonder aloud, snatching a pair of clothes from the closet and rushing to the bathroom.

“Not sure,” Charlotta shrugs as she steps further into the room, beginning to change the sheets from your bed as you get ready. “I came to wake you at your normal time, but you must've fallen asleep again.”

“Shit,” you curse as you shove your toothbrush in your mouth. Your words are garbled in your mouth as you speak through it. “Thank you, Charlotta. Please tell him I'm on my way.”

She nods, gathering the sheets in her arms. “Of course, ma’am.”

As you glance off at the clock on the wall, you grimace as you turn slowly back to her. She probably has a million other things to do but… “Actually,” you sigh, “I'm sorry to ask, but could you help me dress? It will go quicker.”

You're truly grateful for Charlotta. She's one of the only people you know from this godforsaken Capitol who's never given you a hard time.

“Of course,” she says with no quarrel. You thank her quickly as she makes her way over, discarding the sheets on the floor to deal with after.

Together, you're ready in five minutes. You rush to the kitchen and living quarters, retrieving his tray of tea and cakes and this morning's newspaper. You're in the middle of shoving your planner under your arm as you scarf down a cookie to stave off some of your hunger.

When you arrive at his study, you take a steadying breath and check the time. Barely over ten minutes. Not bad.

You let yourself in, not bothering with the door. There's nothing you're not privy to already. If you can't have your privacy from Coryo, he can't have it from you (unless it's an order, but that hardly ever happens).

He doesn't look up from the papers on his desk. As he writes something down, he mutters under his breath. “You're late,” he says.

“I'm sorry, Coryo,” you quickly reply. As you set his new tea tray on his desk, you pick up the old one to set it next to the door to be taken. “I overslept.”

He looks up at you, raising a brow. “You never oversleep.”

You move to stand in front of his desk, holding your planner in your arm. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Coryo looks you up and down, hums, and returns to his writing. “I need you to run these to my office and schedule my appointments for next week. The calendar should be there with the–”

“The stack of requests in the bottom drawer. Yes, sir.” You nod dutifully, scrawling your own notes in your planner.

Unphased by your readiness, he continues. “Yes,” he points a pen at you, “also, there's this creature bugging me. Go handle that, please?”

“Radley Flynn?”

“That's the one.”

You nod. “He's done.”

He hums. “And…” an exasperated sigh leaves him, “Tigris finished the outfits for the big conference next week. If she offers tea, you may have tea, but no fraternizing.” He turns back to his papers. He mutters the last part under his breath. “She's been a bit of a pain lately.”

“Yes, Coryo.”

Coriolanus is quite proud of himself. At the beginning of your employment, you were a bit of a rowdy creature he had to learn to control. The lessons you had to be taught took a while for you to learn, but now that you have, life is so effortless at times. You know your job, your place. You respond as needed, you do as you're told. You're a perfect assistant, a perfect pet. He often finds himself priding his decision to keep you those years ago.

“Before you leave…” He stands, making his way over to you as you watch him move. You're unflinching as he does, standing before you as he presses his thumb over your chin. “You left me unattended this morning.”

“I know,” you nearly whisper, staring up at him in this almost pathetic nature. “I'm sorry.”

Coryo’s hold on you is a persistent kind of tie.

When you imagine a person holding a leash on someone else, it's so easy to imagine a silver chain wrapped around one's neck. It's this tangible thing you can see in your mind’s eyes. Even you can imagine it—Coriolanus Snow with a chain encircling his wrist, yanking tightly to have you falling at his feet.

But that's not what this is.

Your chain, even in the mind, is invisible. It's worse than invisible, it's entirely imaginary. You make up this illusion of a leash to make yourself feel better about bowing to his feet and showering him in your obedience.

You're at the point where your obedience has given you a freedom that makes it easy to escape. At any point, you could escape. As long as you never stop moving, Coriolanus Snow would be a thing ever behind you.

But you've found, silently and unconsciously, that you have become comfortable here.

You have no say in politics, so you're free of the burden of speaking against the injustices of the Capitol (as deeply as you wish to speak against them). You have no possession that is truly yours, so you have no material ties to keep you restrained. You have only one true sentimental tie, as only one true person has a sentimental tie to you, but they have enough power to keep you from having the responsibility to protect them.

In terms of liberation from duty and morality, you are free. And only Coryo can give you that kind of freedom. It is a bitter draught, but you drink it anyway because it is easier than crafting your own wine.

The slightest smirk amuses his lips as he shakes his head. “Don't be sorry,” he brushes your chin, pulling it down just enough to see your bottom teeth. “Just make it up.”

His other hand raises and he brushes his fingers over the swell of your breasts. He pinches your nipples between two knuckles and the smallest gasp interrupts your breaths at the tenderness he finds.

He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. “What's wrong with you?”

You shake your head, raising a hand to grasp him gently. “Nothing,” you say quickly. Offering a smile, you clear your throat. “How do you want me?”

There's a long pause where he thinks to himself, considering your response before deciding to let it go. It's no matter. “Desk.”

“Yes, Coryo.” You do as you're told and sit on the edge of the desk, legs spread and ready to receive him. He likes you like this. Subservient.

He hums as he unbuckles his belt, making his way to you as he situates himself between your thighs. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in close as you hook a leg around his waist. He keeps staring at you, examining the features on your face as he contemplates.

You bring him in, embracing his lips. Your fingers card through the hair at the back of his neck, a gentle tug encouraging him. His tongue licks your bottom lip and his hands roughly grip your thighs as he steps impossibly closer.

One of his hands dips between your legs, sliding under your tight dress and pushing it up to your waist. You moan into the kiss when his fingers graze your clothed heat, spreading wider to allow him the access he demands.

He pulls your panties down your legs and pushes his finger past the seam of your pussy, smiling at the warmth he finds as his lips continue to slide and bite against your own.

It doesn't matter how many times he does this to you, how many times you feel his lips or his fingers or his cock, you never tire of his touch. Your body bends to his every will, and though it scares you sometimes, you're in far too deep to care.

When he’s coaxed you enough and you're nice and ready for him, you sigh when he pushes himself inside of you. You wrap your arms tightly around him, pulling him in close as his mouth finds refuge at your neck.

When he thrusts roughly inside of you, burying his cock deep within your wanting cunt, your eyes flutter as he pulls a heavy moan from your lips.

The door opens as you offer a gentle smile to the tall woman you're happy to call your friend. She beams back at you, all white teethed and shiny eyed as she wraps her long arms around you. “Wonderful to see you, dear.”

“Hello, Tigris,” you say softly. As the hug loosens, and she ushers you inside.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks as she pulls you into the living room. You sit gratefully, kicking off your shoes as you soak in the warmth of the home.

“Please,” you reply. Your feet are killing you, you've got a headache, and sitting down on the plush sofa feels like heaven.

She disappears into the kitchen and returns a moment later. “Let me guess,” she smiles as she sets the tray down. “He told you to have tea but no more.”

You take the cup she offers you. “He did,” you take a sip with a happy sigh. “But I would like some tea and some cakes, please.”

She smiles, chuckling lightly as she hands you said cake. “Coming right up.” You take it from her tattooed hands. She's had them a couple months. They're like tiger stripes.

She sips from her own cup, crossing her legs as she sits back. “I won't keep you too long. I know how antsy he gets.”

You hum. “Thanks, Ty.”

There's a tiny clatter in the kitchen but you both dismiss it. It's simply their grandma’am “assisting” the maids with cooking. She hates cooking, none of you know why she bothers.

“How have you been?” Tigris asks gently, looking you over. You look a little tired.

“Besides both my headaches?” She chuckles. “As well as I can.”

Humming, she licks her bottom lip. “I'm glad I chose this tea then. It should soothe you.”

You sigh thankfully, tilting your head and offering your quiet appreciation. “You're an angel.”

Tigris chuckles as she shakes her head. “I don't know about all that?”

The smell that hits your nose just then is strong. Your stomach does flips as the scent has you scrunching your face. “What is she making?”

She chuckles. “Dinner?”

“And what's for dinner?”

“Something with far too much garlic, it smells like.” Tigris laughs lightly and, despite your unease, you join her.

You bring your cup back up to your lips, hoping the gentle scent of the tea will ease your stomach. But it does little to help. You feel nearly lightly, and you close your eyes as the strong garlicky smell has your headache throwing fits.

“Excuse me,” you pardon as you stand, moving quickly toward the bathroom just down the hall. Tigris rushes after you, her brows creased with worry as she goes to your aid.

You make it just in time, bending over the toilet as you heave the tea and cakes you just consumed. It's gross and you hate it, and Tigris does her best to help as she can.

“Are you alright?” she realizes it's a redundant question but she doesn't know what else to ask.

You sit back, standing to your feet with a frustrated sigh to wash your mouth clean. “Yes,” you nod as you finish. “I was just feeling a little ill. I'm okay.”

She shakes her head. She thinks in all the time that you've known one another, you've only been ill once and it was a couple years ago at least, and it wasn't like this. “You need to see a doctor.”

You shake your head. “No, I'm fine.”

“Honey, you do.” She sighs, “You know Coryo hates sickness.”

“I'm not ill.”

“Nevertheless.” She raises a hand to your cheek, worry shining in her eyes as she looks over you. “Promise me you'll see someone.”

You look away from her, sighing as you concede. Your voice is gentle. “I promise.”

She strokes her thumb over your cheek before letting you go. She turns to leave. “I'll get you some medicine, and your clothes.”

You hum, turning to do another rinse as you mutter a “thanks” under your breath.

You hate doctors.

After the Games, the passive aggressive treatments, the dismissiveness because you were going to die anyway… you feel like your feelings are validated.

And worse, the last time you had to deal with doctors was when you were ill a few years ago. When he was trying to determine how you could have gotten sick, the first questions he'd asked you were about your sex life and your menstruation. Then he just patted you on the head and told you it was stress. You're plenty stressed but that's certainly not what made you sick.

It's safe to say that you're not confident in their ability to treat you.

But when your migraines persist and you think the smell of garlic is going to kill you, you give in and make a secret appointment with a physician between errands. Besides, Coriolanus is beginning to get suspicious. You've been sore, and it hasn't been from him.

Your name snaps you from your thoughts, and you look up to see who's called you. Your apprehension is clear in your face when you lay eyes on the doctor. He's tall, dark haired, older. You sigh gently as you stand, walking past him and down the hall to his office.

When you're in the shelter and general secrecy of the office, he speaks. “I'm Dr. Lockert. How are you?”

You keep it short and simple as you sit. “Fine.”

He hums, taking a seat in his chair across from you. “And why have you come in today?”

You hesitate before you answer. For a brief moment, you consider standing up and leaving. You just need to try and get more rest, you're sure of it…

But the pain simmering behind your eye is the deciding factor.

“I've been a little sick the past couple of weeks.” You clear your throat. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

He reaches to his desk, retrieving a clipboard as he plucks a pen from his coat pocket. “Describe the sickness?”

You sigh. “I've been really tired. Lots of migraines, nausea…a little bloated?”

He raises a brow, though he doesn't look at you. “Have you been using the toilet a lot?”

“Yes?”

He looks at you then. “When was the last time you had your blood?”

You refrain from reacting, you're good at that. The urge to grind your teeth and roll your eyes, the urge to stand and walk out is strong. As calmly as you can, you lick your lips and explain.

“I'm on contraceptives,” you say, your eyes unyielding as you watch him. “I haven't had mine in years.”

You think, for a moment, that spending so much time with Coriolanus has affected more than your confidence. You're a bit colder now, there's a harsher bite in your eyes that you had tried so hard not to recover from him. You think if Lockert can see it, the reflection of the president in your eyes, and that's why he clears his throat as he tears his eyes from your glare.

“Forgive my bluntness,” he mutters, “have your breasts…become sensitive? Perhaps sore or heavy?”

You're about to leave.

Your words are quick and dismissive. You're giving him ten seconds. “Yes, do you know what it is?”

Lockert removes his glasses, rubbing his forehead and sniffing gently. He looks up at you, and he has two seconds left to answer.

“You may be experiencing the early stages of…” he hesitates, “...of a pregnancy.”

You sigh. “No.”

“No?” He had expected that answer.

You sling your work bag over your shoulder and stand. “No.” He stands as well. There's no astonishment or confusion in your voice. You're thinking straight and clearly, and you're more fed up than anything else. “I can't be pregnant. I've never missed a dose once. My line of work…” you slow, ensuring he understands every word, “does not grant leniency for pregnancy.”

He shrugs. “Even so, contraceptives are not always 100% effective.” That's when your ears start to burn with anxiety, a pit forming at the bottom of your stomach. “All of your symptoms coincide with that of early stage pregnancy.”

You don't know if you should believe him. There are likely a multitude of things that mimic pregnancy symptoms. You're not, and you can't be. You don't know what to say.

“Tell you what,” he says. “If you can give me a urine sample, I can have it tested for you. I should be able to have those results by the end of the day. I'll make it a priority because I know you're busy.”

You nod firmly. “Yes, do that.”

He turns to grab the tools for the sample, making quick work of doing such. You might have been too stern, but you don't have time or patience right now. You're running late enough as it is.

As he turns and hands you the cup, you take it. “Dr. Lockert.”

“Yes?”

“If you tell anyone anything about what happens here…” you lean in close, “I'll ensure your sudden disappearance goes entirely unnoticed.”

He stares wide eyed at you, nodding slowly. You take a step back and nod back at him. “Thank you.”

The doctor's words have been weighing on your mind all day. It's been hard to focus with the thought of his diagnosis plaguing you. Around Coryo, you try your best not to show your hesitation but he knows you. He can see it in your eyes, the dread.

When you get that knock at your door later that night, after all your duties, around the house and to your boss, that curling anxiety strikes you again.

You stand and walk toward the door carefully. Charlotta stands on the other side holding a tray at her side.

“Hey,” she says, her voice gentle and hardly above a whisper. “I'm going to point to something in your room. There's an envelope under the tray. It's yours.”

You nod, playing along as you look in the direction she points. You slip the white envelope from its spot in one fluid movement, careful to avoid the cameras in the hall.

When she puts the tray back down, you give her a gentle smile and nod again. You play along.

“A man came to drop this off. He said to be subtle and give it straight to you.”

“Thank you, Charlotta.” You sigh. “You've been really good to me, and it means a lot.”

She smiles, ducking her head a little. “Good night, ma'am.”

You nod. “Good night.”

She leaves you, and you close the door quietly behind her. Turning toward the bed, your heart hammers against your chest as you stare at the letter.

“It's nothing.”

You tear the envelope open in just a few moments. You don't have time to be nervous. When you pull the paper out, you take a breath, and open it.

It's a white hot kind of feeling. It's chilling and stinging all at the same time. You don't know if you need to open a window for the crisp air that lies outside or start your fireplace.

So instead you cry.

You're riddled with gasps as you place a hand over your mouth to silence them. They rack through your chest until you're breaking down onto your bed and fully sobbing. Burying your head in your knees, you let the tears fall with as little control as you can grant them.

It lasts a long time. You don't know if the crying is a result of rejection, a strange sort of acceptance, or plain fear. A little bit of both invades every sense of your being.

You absent-mindedly press a hand to your belly, like you could almost feel the hardly-there being that you hadn't known was growing within you. It aches as it brings forth another round of sobs.

You never really considered the possibility of children, before or after the Games. This world is not suited for children, and after your experience, you never wanted anything so dear to you to ever have to suffer the possibility of facing what you did.

If that wasn't enough, your child was that of Coriolanus Snow's blood. The man was a lot of things, but a father was not among the list. You could not fathom allowing a child to grow under his reign. He was not suited, and you could never allow it to happen. Not without a fight, surely.

Of course, you could get rid of it. You could keep it secret, sneak it right under his nose. Things could go back to normal, like it never happened.

But if he ever found out, he'd probably kill you. A Snow heir? Laid to waste? You cannot hope to take that from him and come off best.

You hadn't many options.

You let a monster raise your baby, or you risk your life by being freed from the burden. Your life had little value to begin with, but you could not imagine the type of creature this child would become.

You don't know what you'll do.

PART TWO: The Escape

As the door is pulled open, she is shocked to see you on the other side as she holds tight to her robes.

“Hello, Tigris,” you speak softly, pulling your large hood close to you.

She stumbles on her words as she stares in surprise. “Uh– Hi. Why are you here so late?”

You'd woken her. You can see it in the exhaustion hiding beneath the concern. It makes sense for her to be resting, it's nearly three in the morning. But you had to be sure you were being watched, you had to be sure no one would follow.

“I'm pregnant.” Her breath hitches, and you swallow thickly. “With Coriolanus’ child.”

She struggles to answer at first, blinking quickly as she shakes her head. “What?” After a moment, she seems to remember you're still at the door. She beckons you in. “Come in, come in.”

She stands to the side and sets a hand on your back when you're safely within her home. She closes the door as she brings you into the living room, starting a fire. She asks if you want tea. You decline.

You shed your coat, sitting with your legs pulled close to your person as you stare at the flickering flames she stokes to life When Tigris takes her seat across from you, you silently hand her the letter you'd received from Dr. Lockert. She reads it quickly.

It's a long time before either of you speak, still in shock from all that's happening.

“How do you feel?” She thinks it's a dumb question.

You shrug, wondering that yourself. “Scared. A little excited? Although, I think that may be the nausea. But mostly…” your breath shudders on a sigh, “fucking terrified.”

She sets the paper down on the coffee table and sets a kind hand on your knee. “What are you going to do?”

You don't look at her. It's so hard to look at her when the thoughts in your head are so muddled. There are words piled on words piles on words. So many “this” and “that”s and “wait, but this”. You stare at the fire.

“I don't want my baby…” you sigh, speaking gently, “...growing up with someone like their…their father.” The word honestly stings when you say it, but you say it anyway.

“Back at Seven, the kids who grew up there were hungry and tired… but they smiled and laughed and played, too. They were happy because they had people who loved them, even if they were poor. Here…” you wipe a hand down your face, shaking your head. “Coriolanus isn't capable of real love. I want my child to be happy. I don't want them growing up with all this money and power, but with no heart to know how to use it.”

Tigris sighs silently, looking down at her lap. She lets your words sink in, nodding gently as she whispers. “So you'll run away?”

You finally turn your gaze to see her, speaking slowly. “I have to.”

You don't want to. It's so hard already. And you don't want to leave her behind. She's the only person who's truly cared since the beginning, the only person you've ever been able to confide in.

“You could get caught and worse.”

“I know…”

Tigris unfolds the letter once more, reading the cursive on the page carefully as she thinks to herself. She stands and walks toward the fire, and you watch as she tosses the paper inside. The flames lick at it, catching fire under the strength of its heat as it curls and crumbles.

“Well, you'll need some help.”

You stare up at her, your eyes glistening as she offers her hand. You take it, giving the weakest smile as you pull her into a tight hug.

The weeks you spend planning go by far quicker than you thought they would. It's in secret visits with Tigris between errands, subtle meetings with District rogues hiding in the Capitol during parties or public gatherings that were easy to hide in. It was arranging transportation, cover ups, people who can be trusted and people who can't. And to do it all without gathering the suspicions of Coriolanus was a painstaking process.

If he ever found out what you were planning… there would be irreparable damage. For you, for your baby, for anyone involved. The idea is chilling, but not as chilling as staying behind and allowing Coriolanus to raise a tyrant in his stead, if he even accepted the child to begin with…

So when the day comes that you are to flee the Capitol… to leave behind all you've known for the life of a fugitive in the Districts, you swallow your fear and take it.

You take a deep breath as you stand before Coryo’s door. You clutch the tray in your hands and files shoved under your arm, feeling the anxiety pooling in your belly.

If everything goes right, this will be the last time you ever step foot in this office…

“Good morning, sir.”

He doesn't look up from his desk. He's already working—always working. “My flower,” serves as his only greeting as he scribbles away at his work.

You set his tray down, picking up the newspaper and setting it where he likes it: laid out flat at the left of his desk. “I have your breakfast and a few documents that need signing before I go.” You put those in front of his work. “Is there anything you need from me?”

He hums, taking the pages and setting them atop the ones he had been focused on. “Aside from our morning appointments?” He looks up at you with a small grin. “No.”

“Perfect.” Anxiety rolls in your belly. This should be the last time you ever do this…

You know how to feel. The issue is not knowing how you actually feel.

“Where do you want me, Coryo?”

Anyway you want me, baby, that's the way you got me.

You steel your jaw and straighten your spine. As you plaster a smile on your face, you let out a silent breath.

This should be the last time you ever do this… And you feel determined to make that happen.

Coryo’s grin is toxic. You can see that. It spews poison, and you're sick of drowning and letting him sicken you with it.

“Come here,” he bids, turning out of his desk the same way he'd done it that first time: his legs spread, his lips curled, his eyes dark.

You walk toward him, your movements slow and sure as you come to stand between his legs with your hands on his shoulders. His own land on your waist, and it's such a warm feeling. But you can't let him distract you. Or you'll become intoxicated once more.

And it's a slippery slope from there.

He stays silent as he watches you, his hands stroking your sides, pulling you in close. He wraps an arm around you, guiding you to straddle his lap.

Even with his toxicity, you can't deny his beauty. Though that's usually how it goes, isn't it? The prettier the snake, the deadlier the venom.

“You are…absolutely radiant this morning, my darling.”

You almost fall for it. It's hard not to, he knows what honey to pour in your ears.

You're almost sure it's subconscious, the way you lift your hand and brush his pale hair from his face. God, his eyes are so pretty. Baby blue, twinkling with such pretty stars—stars you know are all a farce for the purpose of deceit. He's spent a lot of time crafting them, but you know what they really are.

Snowflakes.

Beauties made of pure perfection…but entirely cold and unfeeling. If you get enough of them, trillions and trillions and trillions on trillions, trillions more than that still…you freeze in the bite of the frost.

And if you stay, you'll turn to ice.

“Thank you, Coryo.” You drop your hand to his chin, tilting his head back just a slight before you lean in to kiss him.

The lust is immediate. There's never been any reason for easing into them. As usual, it's fast, it's biting, it's a game.

Who will break first?

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, grinding your hips into his lap. A light grunt falls from him, but he remains unbeaten. He grabs your hips and moves them himself. He knows your body well, even better than you, and it doesn't surprise you anymore.

His growing erection rubs against your clit, and your breath hitches, though you don't pull away. His hands snake underneath your skirt, pushing it higher and higher up the length of your thighs until he's got you exposed. When he's clawing at your panties, you have to remove them yourself before he does it for you.

By the time his hand is cupping your cunt, you're already wet for him. It's like clockwork. His lips and his fingers and his skin against yours make you so weak, all you can do is comply.

You long for the day where it's not so easy as pressing a button. You long for the day where he can ring a bell, and your mouth won't begin to water…

He slips his fingers past the seam of your lips, and your breath shudders. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in as you nuzzle your face there.

“So wet for me, aren't you?” he purrs. His lips curl, “Such a perfect thing, you are.”

You melt against his praise, so used to the coin toss between his honey sweet words and his hollowing insults.

“All for you,” you whisper into his ear, taking his lobe between your teeth with a gentle tug. You know he likes it. Just as he knows your body, you know his. If he's going to have you melting in his arms, you'll have him melting in yours.

You aren't on the same level, but you can pretend to be.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of you, torturously slow in his movements. Biting down hard on your lips, you fumble with his belt as you make quick work of undoing it all. He's half-hard when you take him in your palm and stroke the length of him, matching his tempo as his breath shudders with yours.

“Such a good girl,” he mumbles, clenching his teeth at the way you flick your wrist. His fingers pick up within you, massaging such a deep part within you as you grind against his hand, begging for more. You return the favor, jerking your fist roughly along him, wanting—needing more and more.

When the lust becomes too much, and you can feel the other's release growing nearer and nearer without the escalation of true sex, he pulls his hands from you and you huff needily. “Fuck,” you stutter out, pausing your own hand as his precum sticks to your thumb.

Coryo bids you to look at him as he dips his finger between his lips, sucking your arousal from them with a cocky spark in his eyes as he hums. You do nothing but kiss him back when he pushes his lips against yours, your movements as rough and as fast as his own. The taste of yourself on his tongue is intoxicating. It has you both moaning into each other's mouths, needing so badly to devour the other.

Coryo grabs your wrist, stopping your hand as you gasp at him. His eyes stay locked on you as he uses your hand to guide the head of his cock to your wet lips. Your eyes flutter when you sink down on him, letting out a long breath as your legs tremble.

Through his puffs, he smiles. “Look at you, so beautiful,” he murmurs.

You lock your arms around his neck, holding him close to you. It’s always good with him, this drunken, numbing feeling he gives you whenever he touches you. You crave it so much that you’ve convinced yourself in your entirety that you need it, him, everything he has to offer. It doesn’t matter how cruel he can be, his poison is a chemical in your brain that tells you it’s always worth it for this.

You roll your hips in his lap as his lips graze the skin of your neck. Your quick, fevered movements, so full of a craven kind of lust, make it difficult to set a steady pace. You ride him, and you do it with everything you have. This will be the last time you touch him—the last time he touches you. He’s terrible, he’s a horrible beast of a man that you wish nothing more than to escape, but you will always crave him—his horror, his bloodlust—somewhere deep within you.

His claws dig into your skin, rolling your hips. You’ve rubbed off on him, fueling that lingering primal urge that wants to push you to the ground and take you like an animal. That’s all you are. That’s all you’ll ever be.

“Fuck, you’re so lovely, my flower,” he purrs in your ear, encouraging a shiver down your spine.

“Thank you, Coryo.” You’re breathless, barely holding on by a thread—especially when the pad of his thumb finds your sensitive clit. You’ve been so sensitive lately. He likes it.

His hips cant into you, just as close to tipping over as you are as you grip one another, you searching for his relief and him searching for his own. He circles his thumb faster, he loves to cum with you because you get so tight.

You whimper, feeling tears gathering at the corner of your eyes as you try to will them away. “Coryo,” you sigh. “I’m close…”

“Come on, little thing. You can cum for me,” he bids, and you almost snap at that moment.

Rolling your hips in his lap, you hold on tightly to him as a thread in your belly tightens and tightens. He's more insistent, reaching for his own end in the sparks of his nearing release.

He flicks his thumb, and you break apart. Burying your face in his neck, a whimper—which more resembles a sob—shudders from your chest as you dissolve into him. “F-Fuck, Coryo,” you mewl, grinding a little harder into his lap.

You clench down around him, and a rough groan tears from his throat as his other hand sinks into your sides. His heavy breath is fast and deep in your ear, rare praises fall from his lips. It's all heat and rush and flooding pleasure as you're both sent on a high to last the day. For you, a high that will come crashing down for, quote possibly, the rest of your life.

But until then, Coryo feels good, so you feel good.

He spills inside of you, and you soak it all in. You soak it all in because, after all of this is over and you're sent back into this cold and hungry world, this is a part of him that will be all you'll have left.

Your arms tighten around him even more, willing the sparks of your pleasure to shoot just a little longer. You will away the tears threatening to spill. He surely does not deserve them. You do not deserve them.

With a steadying sigh, you pull away from him. Coryo looks at you with lust blown eyes, his breath leveling once again as he stares at you. He doesn't say anything for a while, he just stares.

He raises a hand to a strand of your hair between two fingers. He sighs shortly. “You're beautiful.”

You hold your breath. You don't mean to, but his praises have an effect on you that you hope you'll shed in the time to come. They play over and over and over again in your brain. My flower, my darling, so good and radiant and beautiful. So beautiful.

You swallow thickly. “Thank you,”you whisper, brushing hair from his face to take a long look into his twinkling eyes.

Snowflakes.

It is not time to freeze.

You kiss him, a deep and dark kiss that you hope will sustain you so you no longer need another. It's almost as if he knows, as if he is aware of your plane to flee. With the way he kisses you, so possessive with the intention to conquer, he must know.

But you pull away, catching your breath once more as you hoist yourself from his lap. You clean up in silence. And the silence is sobering.

As you retrieve the stack of documents needing intending to, you make your way to the door. And you linger. You don’t mean to do it, but you do. You stand there and think, over this and that, over everything that’s ever happened or will happen or won’t ever happen.

You don’t want to leave.

Coriolanus’ pull is so strong. It sucks you in, it urges you to stay within the comfort of his cold eyes. You turn, taking in the sight of him. He sits back in his chair, his attention already turned to his work. He is a sight to see, basking in the glory of a deceiving pale light. And then there are the roses. Those damned roses, frosted in flakes of snow.

He glances up at you, raising a curious brow. “Forgetting something?” His voice washes over you like honey. You have to remember it’s a front. His voice is not sweet honey, it’s bitter sap.

You shake your head. “No.”

You stare some more. How could you leave this man? When he is so beautiful…

Your lips part, an unspoken question on the tip of your tongue that you nearly blurt in your haste to find any reason to go…or stay.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

He watches you for a long time, saying nothing. His pale eyes take you in, but they’re so cold. They’ve always been cold. He’s contemplating something. But it isn’t the silence that convinces you.

“Of course,” he admits. And you believe him, in a way. You believe him, and you look into his eyes and see…snowflakes. Billions and billions and billions of snowflakes. They’re so beautiful, just like him—you can already see your breath in the air.

You smile, your hand tightening on the threshold. As you nod his way, accepting him for what he is, you let go of it. “Thank you,” you say. You take a step back, crossing a barrier where the world outside of his office eases the gooseflesh that had risen in the chill of his winter. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Mhm.”

And you stand there, lingering. Already passed the threshold with nothing more to do than turn away. All you have to do is leave.

You never thought you’d find it so difficult to leave.

It's not as hard to remain inconspicuous as one might think in the Capitol.

Your dark glasses hide your face, your expensive robes cover your clothes, you're wearing a dark hood over your head that keeps identity more or less sealed.

But the fashion of the Capitol is so obnoxious that you're not the only one on the street dressed like this. You stride down the pavement, passing building after building on your way to the train station. It's heavily monitored by Peacekeeper grunts. Your heart is pounding in your chest at the idea of being caught.

Inside the station, it's freezing cold. You wrap your robes a little tighter around you in the hopes of preserving some heat in the shivering air.

You glance toward the hall past the receptionist desk, taking in a breath as you square your shoulders and begin to walk over.

“Ma'am?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you will it to slow so you can think straight. Without sharing your anxiety, you turn to her with a hum. “Yes?” you ask with a tired sigh.

“You can't go back there without confirmation.” You swear you almost pass out when you see her lift her hand, gesturing to a Peacekeeper grunt to step forward. You hear the heavy thump of his footsteps, and it matches the heavy thump of your panic in your throat.

Steeling your nerves and straightening your spine, you answer, “I have confirmation.”

“Let me see.”

Part of you realizes now that you have, in fact, been too much around Coriolanus. You have to remind yourself that most of this is an act as you sneer at her and her tone, walking straight toward her desk.

You open the bag slung over your shoulder, tearing out documentation signed with the name Coriolanus Snow in elegant scripture. You watch her eyes widen, the name striking something in her heart as she clears her throat and nods. With a huff, you collect the paper and turn away to continue your venture.

You’d been holding onto that for a while as one of the things you had Coryo sign within his stack of important documents. You’re just glad you’d had the foresight as you strut down the hall, past the receptionist desk, past the offices, past the closets, all the way down to the exit door at the end. There's a large shed in the back, filled with crates and storage units and all the stuff they don't want to put in the station.

As you push open the door, looking around nervously, you feel like maybe this isn't such a good idea (as though that thought hadn't been bouncing around your head for the past few weeks). It’s so dark, weighed down with a heavy gloom that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You grind your teeth, clenching the strap of your bag between your fists as you steady your beating heart.

What if it’s a trap? What if he knew what you were planning all along and now he was here to collect you, punish you, kill you? Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, scared to announce yourself, to give yourself away.

Your focus shifts immediately at the slightest sound of someone’s soft boot against the floor. You feel your hands flex for something, anything you can use to defend yourself. You’re almost disgusted by the second-natured pull it has—the basic instinct that had been torn out of you during the Games.

It takes a moment, but you notice the second figure stepping out after you and release a sigh. Your fingers relax just a bit, feeling the slightest bit of tension as it slips out of you. “Tigris,” you sigh.

She goes to you, wrapping her arms immediately around your neck and pulling you in. There’s a weight there that both eases you and urges you to hold on tighter. This will be the last time you ever see her…

Tigris pulls away, though her hands are still firmly on your arms. “Did you get here safe? No one saw you?”

“I don’t think so,” you say, removing your hood and your glasses to unveil yourself. “Pretty sure I look like any other highborn schmuck in this place.”

The first figure, a woman you have yet to be acquainted to, steps forward for you to see. Her face is stern, it betrays no softness as she scans you. Her eyes are dark, her hair is darker. She's got tanned skin and a muscular build that you'd see on the ones from your home, or perhaps even District Two. She's a little older than you, an inch taller. She’s dressed as one of the workers here, her uniform as standard as the rest of them, her brown hair tied back in a tight bun.

“We have to be quick,” she says. “The train leaves in ten minutes.”

You let go of Tigris, schooling your expression to be just as hard as her own as you look her over. “Who are you?”

“Your only ticket out of here,” she says. “My name is Josephine, and from now on, you answer to me.”

You raise a brow. “I’m getting real tired of answering to people.” Is that not the whole reason you’re here?

She matches your expression with no patience for your reluctance. “Do you want to get out of this alive?”

You look at Tigris, then at Josephine. With a sigh, you glance down and nod, “Yes.”

She hums. “Then you do as I say when I say it. Otherwise, you screw us all. Do you understand?” You nod. “Good.”

She turns and starts walking further into the shed. You follow her, Tigris walking next to you as she leads you to a large crate. “You’re going to get in here, and I’m going to seal it. Don’t worry about suffocating, you’ll be fine. I’m going to wheel you out with the rest of the cargo, and we’re both getting on that train. Until we reach our first District, you stay in the crate. Silent. Do you understand?”

You nod. She smiles. “Say your goodbyes.” She begins to stack two other crates onto a large cart, leaving you to each other.

She’s crying. It’s the first thing you notice when you look at her. When you feel her arms wrap around you again, you let yourself be wrapped in her. She holds you tight, with a lot more strength than you would have thought her to have. You bury your face in her neck, letting out a slow, trembling breath in an attempt to keep yourself level.

“Please be careful,” she says, her grip just as tight as before.

“You, too.” You pull away regretfully, squeezing her arms with all the worry in your chest. “Don’t get hurt because of me.”

She raises a hand to cup your cheek. “I will be fine.” Glancing over at Josephine, waiting patiently by an open crate, cushioned inside only by a seat of hay. To look less suspicious, you imagine. “I think you’re in good hands.”

You nod, resisting the urge to hug her again as you feel your hand absent-mindedly reaching for your belly. You swallow thickly. “Goodbye, Tigris.”

She squeezes your hands twice. “Bye.”

There’s plenty left unsaid, only you don’t know what any of it is, you just know it’s put to rest.

With a sigh, Tigris pulls away from you, turning away and disappearing from the shed and from your life.

You turn toward Josephine and nod. Climbing into the crate isn’t difficult. You throw your leg over the side and hoist the rest of your body in. When you’re safely sat inside, Josephine gives you one last look before she’s sealing you in, trapping you with nothing but the slightest slivers of light from the breaks in the wood and the holes at the top. The banging of nails is loud, unyielding, it sets every nerve on edge as she locks you inside.

“It will be a long ride to Nine,” she says. “Just sit tight and stay silent, alright?”

You nod, feeling as though your breath is too loud and your voice isn’t loud enough. “Okay.”

You’re shrouded in darkness when she throws a large drape over all the crates, and you almost startle when you feel it move underneath you. You hold your knees close to your chest and try not to hold your breath as the loud squeaking of opening doors fills your ears.

When you hear voices surrounding you—people boarding the train, Peacekeepers barking orders to passengers and workers and other grunts—it all feels so surreal. And terrifying. It’s terrifying. This isn’t going to work. It would be too easy—all things considered. You’re going to get found out, and you’re going to be sent back to Coryo, and he’s going to have you killed.

You decide it’s time to stop thinking.

The crates stop, and you think you were right all along. Then you feel yourself being weighed back all the way to one side and realize that you’re just being loaded into the freight car.

And after a long, long while filled with nothing but distant voices and more cargo and more footsteps and slamming doors, a loud horn is sounded into the air.

And the train begins to move.

Everything is sore.

The crate rattles and clatters around you. Your back throbs harshly from the uncomfortable position you've held for the better half of the last day, your stomach is growling from the lack of food, your behind is aching, and there's a sweltering heat in the air, worsened by the small space.

It's hard to focus on anything when you hear the sounds of people on the street and birds in the sky and squealing wheels and horse hooves on cobblestone. You brace your hands on the walls enclosing you in the space.

You try to look through the cracks of the crate at what is around you. All you can see are the fleeting sights of people bustling through a busy street. It reminds you of the marketplace back in your home district. You can smell stale bread and animal shit and something else, and it makes you want to vomit.

Your concept of time is a little dull by the time the scene has completely changed. You think it's been about thirty minutes, and you're surrounded by the sounds of the wheels moving on top of dirt and the snorts of horses. You can still smell horse shit, so that hasn't changed, but there's the smell of fresh grass and something else to accompany it.

The wagon comes to a stop.

As though you have much of a choice, you huddle in on yourself as you hear heavy footsteps rounding to the back of the wagon to unload the crates next to you. Your crate is grabbed, and you try to stay quiet as you slap a hand over your mouth.

You hear the slight groaning of people lifting your crate, and you panic in trying to stay still as you're wobbling around. They carry you away from the wagon, and you just hope to whatever’s hearing you that these are the good guys.

After a moment, you're put down unceremoniously. There's a pause, then the sound of something metal, and then the top is being pried open by a crowbar. Your heart hammers in your chest, your breath kicks up to a million, and you feel like your brain is about to explode.

The lid comes off with a loud crack!. The face peering in on you is unfamiliar, but it doesn't seem surprised to see you. You don't move just staring back at him before he's backing away as well.

Then you see Josephine. She gives you a reassuring look that helps to calm some of your stress. A hand instinctively falls to your belly as you feel your heart slow just a pinch. She holds a hand out for you. You reach out and take it.

When you stand, you look around at where you are. The glaring sun isn't beating down anymore, but that doesn't change the fact that you're sweating, and you'll probably continue to sweat.

You're in a barn house. It's a nice size, big enough for a large family. There are corn husks and pieces of stalk and leaves all over the floor. There are tools and more tools and more crates and all the necessary items for a barn house (with more emphasis on the barn part than there is on the house part).

You take in the sight of the people surrounding you. There are quite a few, all with a varying amount of emotions across their faces. You swallow thickly, glancing at Josephine for some support. You don't know her well, but she's the only one you're sure is your friend (in the rather loose meaning of the word).

“Everyone,” she says, coming up to stand next to you as she addresses the people in the room. They watch you as they listen to her. There's a boy with brown hair and freckles younger than you, not quite a child but not yet a man. There's a woman older than Josephine with a few gray hairs on her dirty blonde head. Before you're done examining everyone, Josephine’s talking again. “Meet our newest guest.”

“No fucking way.”

Your head snaps to the voice who'd just spoken. You can see a woman your age, skin dark and hair short. There's a type of resentment in her eyes that you are not new to. She looks extremely upset by the sight of you, and you think ‘Great. More people who hate me.’

There's a guy standing next to her. He looks really similar, a brother, maybe. His hair is short like hers, he's much taller. His face, though, isn't as thoroughly repulsed than hers so you think maybe there's hope.

“What is she doing here?” He addresses Josephine directly. “Is this why you didn't tell us who it was?”

“She's fled the Capitol,” she states firmly, reaffirming her positions as the apparent leader. “Our job is to harbor people in need of shelter. She is one of them.”

“Why should we help her?” the woman asks spitefully, looking away from you like you hadn't even existed a moment ago. “What has she done for us, huh?”

They're speaking around you. You don't like that they're speaking around you, like you aren't even there. Something itches inside of you, something that should have dissolved a long time ago that you still find poking around when people aren't taking you seriously.

“Calm down, Via,” her brother says, turning to with an almost exasperated look. At least now you know this isn't an exclusive reaction, though it may be a specialized one.

Josephine’s eyes stay focused on this “Via” character as she speaks. There's an authority in her voice that is undeniable. “It's fine, Vincent.” She pauses like she's giving her rebellious subordinate a silent warning. “She's one of us. We protect our own.”

It's so strange to hear that. “One of us.” Like you're actually part of something, and not some “other” option that no longer belongs to a people anymore. You're so used to the insults: scum, filth, animal, murderer, something that's so worthless to a person's time and energy. Even from your own master, you are—you were—nothing but a pet. Just an animal.

Now you are, apparently, one of them.

Not everyone feels the same way.

“She's not one of us. Not anymore. She's Capitol now.” She turns to you, disgust curling her otherwise pretty features. “Look how she dresses, look how she stands, listen to how she talks.” She makes this scoffing sound. Your hands turn to clenched fists, and an anger seethe within you at this treatment that you hoped would start to dim with the start of your new life on the run. There's so much disdain for you in the things that she says, and you're sick of hearing it.

“She may have been District once, but now?” She shakes her head, raising a finger to point at you. “That's Capitol trash.”

That makes you snap. You don't mean to do it. After years of biting your tongue just to keep your head, after years of being conditioned to take these insults as you try to scrape your life together into something sufferable, being slapped in the face with them by someone who's supposedly on your side (who's supposedly “one of us”) isn't something you can keep down.

It spills like molten lava from a volcano. There's nothing fast about it, nothing striking. It burns your mouth and your chest and everywhere that it's been festering. It spews, but it moves so slowly and so softly that the lethargy is easily mistaken for a weakness, rather than this corrosive thing that's been eating you up for so much time.

“You don't understand what it was like.” Your throat burns as you try to keep it down.

She looks at you with spiteful amusement, as if to say, “It talks!”

“How what was like?” She raises a brow and pulls her voice slow to cut deep. “Being his little pet? His slut?”

The initial explosion comes in short spurts. Your mouth is hot as it forms around the words, words that are so unhelpful that they just continue to burn your tongue.

“He made me.” Flashes of Coriolanus flit through your mind. His smirk is embedded deep in the fabric of your thinking, his lips melding against your skin and his teeth sinking into the flesh are committed to memory.

She's unconvinced. “But you were happy to do it, weren't you?” She steps closer, and Vincent follows hesitantly, as if to ensure she doesn't do something stupid (or to back her up if you decide on something stupid). “You lived in the lap of luxury while the Districts suffered and funded your little paradise.”

“Volivia.” “Via.” Both Vincent and Josephine speak at the same time in an attempt to rein her in.

“No, it's fine.” You shake your head, taking a moment to choose your words. You lick your bottom lip in thought. “For a time, yes, I did enjoy myself.”

She scoffs and gestures toward you with an I-told-you-so look plastered on her face. “Like I said,” she spits. “She's a Capitol slut.”

Your voice raises a smidgen when you speak again, but you try to refrain. You almost don't realize your tactic, the way you speak, the way you try to establish yourself. It's written like Snow.

“Snow sought me out after the Games.” You take a breath, closing your eyes to center yourself. “I was alone and hungry and a lot of people in my District hated me for what I had to do during the Games. They threw rotted food at my house, they stole the food sent to me from the Capitol that I was going to donate most of anyway. I wasn't even allowed into some places because they hated me so much.”

You push past the bile rising in your throat, remembering the way everyone used to look at you. Friends who'd known you for years, who'd known your parents, who you'd practically grown up with turned on you just for “winning”.

“Some understood but no one wanted to risk being turned on by everyone else, not that I blame them for that. People need to eat… So I was really…alone.”

You sigh sparingly, like you're conserving air like rations. “Snow found me and offered me a contract—a spot in the Capitol where I could have a chance to be happy, as long as I became his assistant.” You swallow thickly. “And I agreed.”

Volivia isn't easily persuaded. “And it was so bad going to all those parties? Getting served fine wine and fancy foods?”

The fatigue gnaws at you. “You know, everyone thinks the Capitol is so sophisticated, but they always forget that I was still District.” Your blood begins to boil in your veins, thick like lava as you think of everything you've been slapped with. “They insulted me, and they laughed at me. Some spat at me on the street if they were so inclined.”

You wince. You hadn't meant to word it like that. Volivia wasn't entirely wrong when she said you were basically Capitol. You don't have Capitol blood in your veins, but you've got some of their nerves in your brain, and that's hard to wash out.

“I wasn't much better until Snow gave enough threats that they were forced to stop. You wanna know why I'm so much like Capitol now? Why does a possum play dead? Why do children in the Games kill other children?” No one speaks. “To survive.” It's always about survival. “I spent six years with them, how could I not conform?”

A softer voice speaks, the freckled boy you'd first seen when you arrived. He seems a little shy, if not curious. He tilts his head, speaking tentatively. “What about Snow?”

You look down at your feet. Images of him flash behind your eyes again, but you pretend they don't. Thinking about him won't summon the man, so you don't understand why it feels like it will.

It takes a while for you to garner the courage to reply. He waits patiently, hoping he hasn't offended you.

“My first month there,” you lick your lip, “I spent just getting used to running his errands. I was still so new, and I didn't want to disappoint him because I was afraid he would do something bad to me.” He glances down at his hands.

“But he called for me one night, and I came…” You screw your eyes shut, keeping them that way as you try to say these next words. “I came and he told me to get on my knees.”

A mixture of emotions runs through everyone. Most avert their eyes and look sort of awkward, offering silent sympathies or simply trying not to impose on your unease.

But Volivia will not be persuaded that easily to your side. “Please–”

“One night, I made the mistake of thinking we were on the same level when he threw me to the ground and told me I was nothing but District scum, whose only job now was to please and serve him.” She doesn't speak. “He called me an animal and a whore and told me that I belonged to him, made sure I wouldn't forget it, too. So your insults aren't really hurting me. They're just pissing me off.”

There's a little less venom when Volivia speaks again, but she still isn't kind. She can't let you know that you've affected her. You don't blame her. You would've done the same.

“That doesn't mean we should help you,” she argues almost weakly. “You signed a contract, you knew what you were getting yourself into. You left the Districts behind to become the enemy.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, guess what?” You throw your hands in the air, frustration at the both of you for prolonging this so much. “I'm a goddamn idiot who didn't read the fine print.” You take a step forward. Everyone reacts, but no one moves.

“Do you know what my contract said?” She raises a brow. “If I disobeyed Snow for any reason, he would drop me back at Seven and put my name back into the raffle a hundred times over so I was sure to go back to the Games.” You shudder at the thought. The very idea of going back to the arena is haunting.

You start to feel physically sick. As you imagine yourself running through that arena, your blood pumps through your veins and it itches so much that you think you’d break skin if you started scratching. Your muscles jerk, urging you to move as you stare into Volivia’s eyes. She’s staring at you, glaring. When you look down at her hands, her fists are clenched.

She’s going to hurt you. Don’t just stand there. Run! You swallow thickly. It’s all in your head. Run or you’ll die! Your heart hammers in your chest. You don’t think you can breathe. Go, now!

You close your eyes shut. You’re hit with an immediate wave of regret. Images of blood and gore, the sounds of screams and raging shouts fill your ears.

“I can’t–” You catch yourself. Swallowing thickly, you open your eyes and see her again. There’s something there, not quite confusion, not quite fear anymore. Your voice wavers as you speak quietly. “I can’t do that a second time. I can’t go through that again. The things we did, I…”

You take a step back. It gives away your power, but you can’t bring yourself to care yet. You keep your back straight, keeping your eyes open and focused. Do not show fear. They’ll smell it off of you. And you will die.

“We were just children.” She had red hair, like fire. It stuck out like a sore thumb. His was like night, but he just wasn’t quiet enough. “My games had the most number of tributes under 14 years old than we’ve ever had.” She was dark, he had freckles, she had two tones, he was sick, so was she.

You’d been able to shove it all down for so long, you almost thought you’d forgotten it all. He was so afraid of the dark. And he was so funny, so they cut out his tongue. And she–

“Do you remember their names?”

You turn toward the freckled boy. He’s really sweet. He reminds you of Willard, who had the kindest smile, even as the light was leaving his eyes.

“I remember…” you lick your lips. “I remember their names. I remember how they died, when they died. And I remember how sweet some of them were before they rang the bell.”

You feel childish, standing there and saying everything that you’re saying. It feels wrong, it feels like a sad attempt at sympathy. But you don’t want sympathy, you just want peace. You want to go to a land far, far away where you can forget everything. Where you can sleep without his eyes, their screams, their scowls.

“I would have done anything not to go back. That includes being a whore.” You focus a hard glare at Volivia, walking toward her again until you’re practically toe to toe. “So, yeah, I fucked Coriolanus Snow, but if you went through what I had to go through, there are a lot of things you would do to avoid that arena.”

She stares silently at you, a hard expression on her face battling her own conflictions.

On one hand, you represent everything a District citizen should not be (in her eyes at least). You were too well-spoken, too well-dressed. You smelled like expensive perfume, you kept a posture stiff as a board. Your hands are rough but your nails are pristine.

On the other, as she sees now…you bleed District blood; thick, dirty, and pumped straight from the heart. Even though you talk like money, you huff and bark and claw like an animal. You show her you’re dangerous by bucking up. You don’t waste your time with threats.

Volivia looks you up and down, licks her bottom lip, and steps away. You release a tiny breath. The tension in the barn house feels a little easier.

Vincent walks forward, gently grabbing Volivia’s arm and pulling her back to his side. “I’m sorry,” he says. He offers a small smile, a peace offering. “You’ve been through a lot.”

You sigh, relaxing enough to ease the pain in your back, your feet, your head. “I just want to lay down.”

Josephine reasserts herself. “You’re welcome here. Make yourself at home,” she says. “Vincent. Can you take care of her?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his head to the side, motioning for you to join him. “Come on.” You look between him and his sister and begin to walk forward. Volivia huffs, moving forward and shoving past you with the harsh brush of your shoulders.

She grabs a shovel from its leaning place on a wall, turning back to you and shoving it into your chest. “We’re not freeloaders,” she says. “Wherever we go, we work. Until you get too big to help anyone, you’ll be working, too.”

She turns to storm away, balled fists, scowled face, and all. She pauses as she gets to Josephine. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll use that shovel to dig our graves.” In the next moment, she’s throwing open the doors and leaving you all to gawk.

Josephine gives Vincent a look, and he just sighs and gestures once again for you to follow him. Josephine follows Volivia out of the barn.

You walk next to him as he leads you toward a flight of stairs. “Ignoring Via, we can’t risk letting you out of here so soon. You’ll have to lay low, so you’ll stay in the barn until we’re sure it’s safe.”

He leads you to the open attic. There’s still hay everywhere, still tools and loaded sacks and crates and the like. But there are shabby beds with shabby sheets, enough to fit one more.

“You’ll sleep up here.” He looks around the room, and then scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry for the lack of hospitality.”

You shake your head. “It’s perfect. All I need is a bed.”

He nods, doing a once-over of the room. “There will always be someone here to watch over you and make sure you’re safe. But, on the off-chance that someone we don’t know comes by, you hide in here.” He walks toward the small window. Underneath it is a bench that lines the wall. It’s stacked with crates and sacks and whatever else. He moves some sacks onto the floor and lifts the seat, revealing a small nook big enough for a single person to safely hide. “Just stack some empty sacks on top of yourself. You should be safe—it’s worked before.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m happy to help,” he smiles. There’s a moment of awkwardness. “I’m Vincent. Downstairs was my sister, Volivia. Before you ask—yes, we’re twins. I’m sorry about her hostility. She gets in trouble a lot with Peacekeepers so nothing scares her too much.”

You almost chuckle. You had your fair of arguments with Peacekeeper grunts before you were pulled from the raffle. The ones in your District were glad when you were chosen. It only meant less trouble for them. “It’s okay. I understand.” You look away. “I would have been the same way if someone like me showed up unannounced.”

You see him move out of the corner of your eyes. Though your instincts have dulled a bit during your time in the Capitol, the movement still makes you flinch a little. He’s sure to move extra slow as he sets a hand on your shoulder. “You’re safe here.”

You nod, taking a short breath. “Thank you, Vincent.”

Vincent hums. “Your bed’s right there. I’ll let you rest.”

When he descends the steps, the breath you let out deflates your whole body. You head toward the bed, sitting down slowly to keep it from falling apart underneath you. You lay down to rest your head on the pillows and bid your eyes to close.

There’s a strange feeling in being so far from him. You don’t feel…free. You feel like there’s a string (or a rope) wrapped around your neck, tying you to him still. It’s a loose bond, but it’s ever-present. It feels almost inevitable, this binding holding you to him.

Still, you try to urge yourself that it’s entirely fictional. There is no rope. There’s no chain. You made it up. You made it up to feel safe, controlled, tethered to the ground and not lost somewhere in the depths of absolute insanity.

You made it out. Everything will be okay.

PART THREE: Luxury

It’s been two months.

They kept you locked inside for a couple weeks before they felt safe enough to have you participate in chores. Volivia was pleased to have you start working. She was starting to call you a freeloader. Vincent did his best to make you feel welcomed, despite his sister’s hostility.

Josephine has been very accommodating, but she’s firm. It’s more grounding than it should be. There’s someone still in charge of you. Where you would have felt fatigued by the constant inferiority, you welcome it with silent gratitude. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know how you would have done this on your own—you could have managed to survive well enough, but complete freedom isn’t as wonderful as some people make it out to be.

Gylan’s become important to you. You don’t know what it is. Maybe your mind is preparing you for a child by making you feel too protective over this boy, but you don’t care too much.

Which is a lie. You do care. Because if you care too much and you lose him, how are you to cope with that? At any moment, it could all come crashing down. Coriolanus is cunning. He’ll find you. He’ll find you, and he’ll hurt you, and he’ll make sure you can never betray him again.

That said, you haven’t been very optimistic. Gylan helps with that.

Every day has been the same. Wake up, get dressed, do your chores (which range from doing house duties to feeding the horses to shucking corn—it's a corn field—or whatever else there is to do), eat, go to bed. It’s tedious but it’s honest work. Sure, the bed is shitty, the food is some corn recipe with stale bread on the side most days, and your body hurts all the time, and you're constantly tired, but it feels nice to do something other than run around the Capitol just to have people dismiss you with wishes it is not your duty to perform.

At least here, you’re doing something to help. A lot of this food goes to the Capitol, but what isn’t used for that goes to the Districts.

You’ve begun to show a bit. There’s a little bump on your belly that you find yourself massaging sometimes. It’s never conscious. But it’s comforting.

Gylan asked what you thought you wanted to name the baby. You just shrugged and made a joke about naming them after him if you turn out to have a boy. He laughed, a really excited laugh. It’s refreshing, seeing someone so happy, especially all the way out here in District area.

Vincent has been appointed as your bodyguard—though you’re pretty sure he appointed himself your bodyguard to make up for his sister’s attitude. You don’t mind it either way. When he isn’t working, he’s by you ensuring that you’re okay. While you would normally find the constant company draining, he’s very good at avoiding it.

Sometimes it’s unnerving, being around Vincent. He’s very sweet, you don’t wonder about that, but…there’s something about him that confuses you. Gauging his thoughts is hard sometimes.

Volivia is less confusing to you. You’ve tried your best to avoid her. But it’s a small barn. She hasn’t been overly bitter; although she’s no sweetheart. She doesn’t insult you, but there are some backhanded compliments here and there. You appreciate her effort not to target you.

Sometimes you can’t breathe.

Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night gasping for air, like you’re being buried alive. It’s quiet enough that you usually don’t wake anyone. You don’t know why this happens. Even before, your nightmares were obvious to you. These…they’re much different. It feels like you’re suffocating.

Maybe he drugged you. Or maybe it’s some sort of device planted into your brain. He put it there so that you wouldn’t get a moment of peace when you’re not with him.

But then you realize that’s paranoid and insane.

“Get upstairs now.”

You’re startled by his tone. You wince when you stick your finger with the needle you’d been sticking through the fabric in your hands. Gylan had a tear in one of his shirts from when one of the horses gnawed on it that you were fixing.

“What’s happening?” you ask, putting your stuff down to stand. There’s a hint of fear in your voice that you try to keep away.

Vincent grabs your arm, though he’s gentler than you expected as he pulls you up the stairs with him. Volivia is picking up your tools, throwing them into some crate to discard. There can’t be any evidence of your presence. She’s less patient than her brother, but you’re not upset by that. “There’s no time. Just go.”

You both move quickly up the stairs. He opens the cupboard for you, taking out all the sacks for you to get inside. When you’re inside, he sets them over you and ensures you aren’t seen. “Don’t make a sound.”

You hold your breath.

Loud footsteps are heard downstairs after the door opens with a force that could only come from a Peacekeeper. You would be shaking if the adrenaline coursing through you wasn’t so familiar. You treat it like the Games because it is. He’s hunting you. You have to be silent.

There’s talking downstairs that you don’t understand. It sounds like mumbling, and you can’t even try to focus on it over the loud beating of your heart. You take in a slow, silent breath, hold it, and let it out just as quietly as you took it. You feel a little less like you’re dying.

The heavy footfalls of soldiers come up the stairs. You close your eyes and remain as calm as you can, listening to all the different sets of feet as they come.

“You got anything up here?”

Volivia’s is the voice who answers. She sounds pissed, more than usual. “We’re farmers. What the hell do we have to hide?”

A set of boots scuff on the floor when someone stops. It sounds so close to you. You think you’d be mistaken for a statue if you were discovered, you’re so still. “Just answer the question.”

“No.” That’s Gylan. You almost lose all your calm worrying about him. But he’ll be fine. He’s supposed to be here.

You hear the Peacekeepers start to throw things around. You hear mattresses lift off of weak wooden bed frames and fall to the floor. You hear heavy sacks of tools hit the floor with a loud clatter, anticipating the harsh bruising that’s to come from it. Someone beats on the nook next to you. You’re so startled, you jump with the slightest movement. It’s just small enough that you don’t draw any attention to yourself.

They keep kicking them, not hard, just enough to see if they can hear anything. Your heart is running wild. You can hear it pulsing in your brain.

Everything is still. Silent. You could hear a pin drop (or, perhaps, even your heart hammering in your chest).

“We hear anything about this again…” there’s the sound of a heavy boot, “and we’ll burn this place to the ground.”

You don’t know what happened. All you hear is Vincent saying Volivia’s nickname like he’s warning her. You’re supposing she bites her tongue, because nothing else is said.

After a moment, the heavy boots retreat. But you’re not immediately retrieved. You think you’re hiding in that cupboard for another five or ten minutes before someone finally comes to get you. It’s Gylan. He looks extremely worried, but he’s putting on a brave face for you. It’s sweet, but you don’t want him to have to do it.

“Josephine is on her way,” he says, helping you out.

Vincent is gathering things. “Pack your stuff, only light essentials. We have to get out today.” He comes up to you, passing over an empty sack. (You’re getting tired of seeing sacks.) You grab it, but he doesn’t let go yet. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice gentle and his eyes just as much. You nod. He lingers there for a moment, making sure, and then turns away to continue packing.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you start to pack some clothes.

“I don’t know,” Vincent replies. “It’s better not to say until we get there anyway.”

Josephine returns half an hour later. She’s carrying a bag over her shoulders that she hands off to Vincent. He passes his own back to her, looking up the stairs where you wait with Gylan. He’s telling you about which Districts he’d been to since he joined Josephine when Volivia’s calling you both down. You both grab your things and follow.

“We won’t take the train this time,” Josephine says. “It’s too risky.”

“We’ll travel by foot?” Volivia wonders. Wouldn’t that be risky, too? You’re easier to catch on foot. But she has a point, you’re easy to track by train…

“Until we reach the old farm at the edge of the District borders. There should be an emergency wagon there for us to use.” She turns to Gylan. “Are there any horses already there? Do you know?”

“There should be,” he says. “Penny said she checked up on them yesterday.”

“Good. Make sure you have everything. We leave in five minutes.”

It feels better, not walking so much.

The farm on the outskirts of Nine is even smaller than the one you’d been at for the past two months. It’s old and pretty run down. All the crops are bad from poor keeping. You don’t think anyone actually lives there. But they have an operational wagon and two horses that usually roam the area, so that’s all that matters.

It’s dark as the wagon takes you through the woods. You'd been traveling for over a day now. It’d been comforting to reach some trees. Being out in the open like you were felt so dangerous.

You peek through the tent, looking up at how dark the sky was. It isn't this dark in the Capitol. Too many lights. The stars are so bright here…

“How are you feeling?”

You look at Vincent, who’s holding the reins to guide the horses through a path in the trees. You shrug gently. Your body is sore—it’s always sore—your stomach is uneasy and you have a mild headache. They’re things you can ignore well enough until the wagon dips and makes your stomach flip uncomfortably.

“I’m okay, but this sickness is wearing me out,” you answer.

He chuckles lightly. “Do you wanna walk a bit? Via knows how to drive.”

The wagon is moving slowly enough that you could manage to trail behind it. It would be nice to break away from the uneven motion it’s putting you through, but the thought of walking isn’t giving you much relief with the way the bottoms of your feet ache.

You shake your head. “No, I’m okay. My feet still hurt from yesterday.”

He hums. Glancing away from the path, he gives you a gentle smile and pats the spot next to him. “Come sit next to me.”

Your stomach flips for another reason. You don’t want to get out and be seen… You don’t know who would see you, but the nerves eat away at you every time you think of the chance that you could be caught and condemned.

“You sure we won’t get caught?” you ask anxiously.

A light chuckle comes out of him as he nods. “Yeah. We’re basically in the middle of nowhere.” He scoots over a little. “Come on.”

You swallow thickly, thinking about it for another moment and assuring yourself that’s he right. There’s likely no one for miles. “Okay,” you mutter, hoisting yourself out of the wagon so you can pull yourself into the seat next to him. It takes some maneuvering, but you get there.

You sit next to him for a while. It’s so dark out and the ambiance of the horses and crickets and everything else around you is nice. You can feel yourself relaxing as the night air kisses your skin. You could fall asleep right then and there, but you refuse to. You’re too vulnerable right now. If you fall asleep and something happens… who are you to believe that you’re safe here? You know better than that.

You know it's foolish, but there's a bigger part of you, a wiser part of you that knows that you should always anticipate danger before you consider being safe.

So you don't sleep. The rest of the ride is silent, and you enjoy it as you try not to let your heavy head fall onto his shoulder.

District Eleven is beautiful.

Even in the dark, the vast orchard of trees to one side and field of strawberries to the other are breathtaking. The air smells sweet, the perfumes of the fruits in the late summer night waft into the air lovingly. You haven't been around such lavish fruits since you left—and even before that, they were never grand orchards of them.

You help the group unpack the essentials from the wagon, taking them inside with tired but dutiful movements in order to get in a bed faster. The owners of the orchard are kind, and they have a separate house from the large shed that is actually big enough to house all of their newcomers. It's nothing like the lavish mansions of the Capitol but it's spacious and comfortable and you don't share a room with five people. It's just you and Gylan.

Gylan is an easy sleeper. As soon as he plops into his bed for the rest of the night, he's out like a light. You don't have such luck. While he enjoys his slumber, you sit by the small window with your arms around your legs and stare out at all the greenery.

You don't know what time it is when a soft knock comes to the door. You quietly bid the person to come in. Gylan doesn't hear, he's a really deep sleeper.

“You're still up?” Vincent asks as he steps inside, looking between the two of you as he whispers to avoid disturbing your roommate.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Sorry, not easy to sleep in new places.”

He shrugs, walking over to you and standing by your bed. “I get it.” He gestures to the edge of it, “you want some company?” He raises his brows, “I can help you sleep.”

You swallow thickly, your arms tightening around your legs. “How?”

He shrugs again. “I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

You try not to let your face drop into something more upset. You look down at your lap and clear your throat, letting your legs go and rubbing at your palms.

“I…” you clear your throat, not looking up at him. “I'm sorry, I'm really not… I…” You struggle to find the words. Rejecting him feels wrong.

You're not a whore, but you owe him and you owe the rest of his family for helping you. You're not a whore, but he could choose to throw you out and expose you to the Capitol again.

And what about Coryo? What if all of this was for naught, and he'd find you anyway? What if he found you and then found out that you'd betrayed him even further by fucking someone who wasn't him? It's the fight between two very difficult choices.

Vincent's face widens instantly as he realizes what you're saying. His eyes are big as dimes, his hands reach up in surrender. He shakes his head quickly.

“Oh,” he says, his voice hushed. “Oh! Fuck, uh– No, that's not what I meant. I meant like…like a back rub or something…” He wipes a hand down his face in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, and you find it reassuring—endearing, even.

“I see how bad that sounds. Um…” he shakes his head, as if to figure out what to say, “breathing exercises, y'know?”

“Oh.” You clear your throat, your own embarrassment creeping up your neck at the realization that you'd misunderstood him. “Okay, well. Yeah, um, that's fine.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, that was–”

“No, it was my fault.” You can't believe you misinterpreted him in that way. He hasn't come off in such a way thus far, and he's going to start now? How stupid could you have been…?

“No, it's not,” he breaks you from your thoughts.”You did nothing wrong.”

You don't believe him, but it's…nice to hear that you're not to blame. Even if you don't believe him. You should have known better.

“Okay…”

It gets quiet. And awkward. You sort of just sit there, and he sort of just stands there. It's silent and strange, and you don't know what to do with yourself.

“So…” you clear your throat.

He nods, “Yeah.” Vincent rubs his hands together, glancing around and rocking on his feet. “Did you want some…breathing stuff?”

You lick your bottom lip. “I'm actually…really sore in my shoulders, if you don't mind?” You feel like you sound stupid. You're not used to expressing your needs. You're used to standing straight and doing as you're told and pretending you've got everything together. Here, you don't have much of anything to keep together. You're exposed, and dealing with that is hard. “If that's okay with you, of course,” you add on, straightening your back to try to regain some composure, any professionalism you can hold onto.

“Yeah,” he says easily. “No problem.”

Vincent moves to sit on the edge of the bed. You stand, and he pulls your chair in front of him. You sit and feel his hands on your shoulders.

He's got strong hands. You assume it's from all the work he does, especially between moving around the Districts so often. His hands squeeze your shoulders, his thumbs moving between your shoulder blades to work out the knots he can feel. You're very tense.

Your eyelids are heavy. It feels really nice. Waves of relief and—almost embarrassingly—pleasure flower through you. You sigh longingly, trying to keep from making any sounds that would make this exceedingly more awkward for the both of you.

It's quiet and comfortable, as he works out the kinks in your back. You enjoy the peace and relief, he seems to enjoy granting it. When he speaks, it's very quiet and very assuring. You lean into every word and every pause between them, processing the weird curling in your chest.

“I just want to let you know that…” he takes a quiet breath, “I wouldn't do that to you—taking advantage of you like that.” One of his hands moves down to your arm, squeezing gently and smoothing his palm over the skin. “Especially not after everything you've been through.”

You're good at reading lies. You used to hear them every day, spewing from Coriolanus’ mouth like lava. But Vincent's words don't spew. They're soft and sweet, they're sincere and they're kind and you believe him.

You swallow thickly. “Thanks.”

“If you ever need anything, I'm here.” His voice is even softer now, dropped down a few pitches just to really make sure you understand what he's telling you. “All things considered,” he chuckles lightly, “you're safe here.”

That isn't a concept that was easy to understand for you. It never has been, and you're not sure if it truly will. But you want to believe him, and you want to trust him. He isn't lying, you know he isn't, you can hear it in his voice and feel it in the way he works his fingers into your back.

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes and letting them stick together like they're glued with sap. You take in a deep breath, let it out, and allow yourself to smile. Even if you don't believe it yet, you nod and think to yourself, ‘We're safe.’

Coriolanus Snow taglist: @the-nerdy-goddess @secretsicanthideanymore @tvparty18 @nowitsmissing @vi0lentb3rry @hiireadstuff @feyresqueen Tag yourself here...

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow smut #ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #female reader #reader insert #dark fic

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latin5mamii · 4 months ago

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Angel - Jude Bellingham

|WARNINGS: nsfw (not too much you'll have to wait😉) Previous part |SUMMARY:How could you know that a stupid nickname could change everything? |AUTHOR'S NOTE: Long chapter (I know you love me😌) enjoy!

“Girl he’s literally the love of your life, what’s wrong?”

YES, maybe you were overthinking on Jobe's warning. You know that he, being your best friend forever, has always been protective of you. If there had been something wrong he would have told you right away, right?

The first thing you did after Jude left was call your best friend, who was sure to attack you in any way possible. So now you find yourself talking about it with her, and she thinks you're stupid, obviously, but maybe you too start to think that you're a little paranoid.

“You're right, maybe? I don't know what to think either and I'm not even sure I realized what happened."

That kiss, God, couldn't get out of your head. You'd probably been waiting for this moment since middle school, yet you managed to ruin it from your thoughts. You try to practice one of the therapies to banish bad thoughts but it obviously doesn't work.

“Y/N, let me be honest with you: just trust Jude, you know your bond is very strong and I think he wouldn't have kissed you if he didn't want to”

But that's not what you meant, unfortunately. It's obvious that if he hadn't wanted to kiss you he wouldn't have even stayed at your house to sleep, because let's face it, you both knew what would happen. What if he didn't have to leave? You know very well what would happen after that kiss. You didn't even want to confront Jude because you didn't want him to think that you don't trust him. He said he would write to you as soon as possible. Maybe you have nothing left but to trust him. Ok that you study psychology , but not everyone is definitely crazy or plotting behind your back. And anyway you had other things to think about: You probably didn't forget that he invited you to one of his games, right?

"He also invited me to one of his matches, the one in two weeks, I think"

You can hear your friend gasp in amazement, you can hear an envious but playful tone in her voice.

"Are you fucking serious? Lucky you!"

The day continued in a calm, but boring way. You were waiting for a message from him, that's the truth.

You even thought about sending him a message, but would you seriously have done it? So you tried to distract yourself: reading, studying , trying to do anything not to think about him, about that kiss and the way he could make you feel butterflies in your stomach at any moment.

(Seriously, could you stop thinking about him for just one minute? It’s like he’s the only thing on your mind. Oh wait, he probably is.)

The moment you finally stopped thinking about it (Or at least you think) your phone buzzed, and you, as if you've been waiting for years, take it right away, and when you read Jude's name on the screen, you can't help but smile and your heart skips a beat.

Jude: Hey Angel, hope your day was as good as mine. I can't stop thinking about you. Lunch was a drag without you.

You couldn't help but smile as you typed back.

You: Hey, lunch was boring here too. I missed you.

(You missed him? It’s only been a few hours. But hey, who am I to judge?)

A few moments later, your phone buzzed again.

Jude: Let’s make up for it then. Are you free tonight?

Your heart raced at the thought of seeing him again so soon.

You: Definitely. What do you have in mind?

Jude: How about we take a trip to the lake? We can have a picnic and watch the sunset.

You:You always know how to make me smile, what time?

Okay, maybe this message was a bit stupid, but as soon as he replies, you can see that this message was appreciated.

Jude:Built for this, ain’t I? I’ll come pick you up at 6?

You: I can’t wait

Jude:See you soon then, Angel.

You spent the next few hours getting ready, packing a small bag with everything you might need for the lake. The excitement built with each passing minute, your heart racing at the thought of spending the evening with Jude.

As the clock neared 6, you were ready and waiting. Jude arrived right on time, his eyes lighting up as he saw you.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, pulling you into a warm embrace.

"Beautiful?" You say with a slightly embarrassed tone as you rest your head on his chest.

"I can't deny it" An embarrassed smile appears on your face.

The car ride was pretty quiet, but also stressful because of all those awkward silences that happened because of what happened earlier at your house.

When you got to the lake, you settled on a towel and he started staring at you again, not that you didn't like it.

Jude’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Ready for a swim?” he asked, his voice dripping with playfulness.

“Absolutely,” you replied, slipping off your shoes and heading towards the water. Jude followed close behind, his gaze never leaving you.

Once in the lake, you splashed him playfully, laughing as he blinked in surprise. “Oh, it’s on now,” he said, closing the distance between you with a few swift strokes.

Before you could react, he scooped you up, water dripping from both of you. “Put me down!” you protested, giggling.

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice low and teasing. He twirled you around before gently setting you back in the water, his hands lingering on your waist.

“Alright, alright, you win,” you said, breathless from laughter.

He grinned, his eyes locking onto yours. “I always do.”

His fingers lightly tracing patterns on your skin under the water, sending shivers up your spine.

“Jude…” you began, but his name on your lips seemed to ignite something in him. His gaze darkened with desire as he moved even closer, his breath hot against your neck.

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours. The kiss was searing, his hands gripping your waist tightly as if he never wanted to let go. You responded eagerly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer.

The water lapped around you as the kiss deepened, growing more passionate by the second. Jude’s hands roamed over your back, pulling you against him as if he couldn’t get enough. You felt his heart pounding against your chest, matching the frantic beat of your own.

You broke the kiss for a brief moment, gasping for air. But the second you met his eyes, filled with an intensity that took your breath away, you were drawn back together. His hands moved to your hips, lifting you slightly as you wrapped your legs around his waist, anchoring yourself to him.

"We gotta pick up where we left off this morning, yeah?" he groaned against your lips, his voice rough with need.

You nodded quickly and in an instant his lips were on your neck, leaving significant marks. You let a soft moan from your lips and you know that this is driving him even more crazy. His lips are now on your lips again, in a kiss with hunger. You have been waiting for this moment for a long time, and it has finally arrived.

The feel of his skin against yours, the taste of his lips, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the universe,it was intoxicating.

Jude’s hands moved up and down your body, exploring every curve, every inch of you, as if he couldn’t get enough. You matched his intensity, your own hands tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, you finally pulled back, both of you breathless and flushed. Jude rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath.

You both stayed there for a moment, just holding each other, the water gently rocking you. When you finally made your way back to the towel, he started talking to you.

"My mom... she’s been asking about you. She wants you to come to dinner tomorrow night. She misses you,a lot."

Your heart warmed at the thought. Jude's family had always been like a second family to you, and the invitation really warmed your heart, "I'd love to come," you replied, smiling.

“She’ll be happy to hear that”

He said, caressing your cheek. “Anyway, there's one more thing I wanted to ask you.” A sense of anxiety made you laugh nervously. He looked slightly more serious.

"I have to go back to Madrid the day after tomorrow," After a short pause, he continues, "And I was wondering, if maybe you wanted to come with me."

Now you are sure of the fact that most likely, at this request, your eyes widened and perhaps, your heart might have missed more than a beat. Did it mean that you would sleep together every night? Did it mean that perhaps you were his girlfriend? A question now kept bombarding your head: What are you two?

A couple? Best friends who have gone too far? You don't know how long you've been staring at him without giving him a response, but just the thought of actually staring at him shocked embarrasses you so much that it makes you want to disappear.

"I mean, I want to" You are still slightly shocked by the proposal and can't form a sensible sentence.

Jude starts chuckling at your form of communication.

"You want to? Okay, that's a good start"

"But I'll let you know tomorrow for sure, okay?"

"It's more than okay, angel"

After spending a little more time at the lake, enjoying the sunset and each other’s company, you and Jude eventually packed up and headed back to his car. The drive back was filled with comfortable silence and soft music, your hand resting in his, little stolen glances that made you giggle, is this what it feels like when you're in love?When you reached your house, Jude walked you to your door, his arm draped around your shoulders. As you turned to face him, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight, beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes twinkling under the porch light.

“Goodnight, Jude,” you replied softly, your heart full as you watched him walk back to his car.

A smile played on your lips and you couldn’t be more excited for what was about to come. You giggled all the way to your apartment and as soon as you got in you flopped onto the bed, stomping your feet excitedly. How can I blame you? You've been waiting for this your whole life.

#x reader #fanfic #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #x you #fanfic series #x yn #x female reader #request #character x reader #x you fluff #suspense

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frenchkisstheabyss · 7 months ago

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⛧ 𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 ⛧

⛧ Pairing: poly!slasher!minsung x chubby!fem!reader

⛧ Genre: slasher au/horror/fluff/angst

⛧ Summary: It's Halloween 1996, you've just broken up with your toxic ex, and there's a killer on the loose. When you go to the local video store to find your next distraction, you run into your longtime crushes who have their hearts set on looking after you. But you must be careful. Not everyone's who they appear to be.

⛧ Word Count: 2.1k

⛧ Warnings: brief discussion of murder, implied possessive ex, intro to knife play if you squint, suggestive, psycho Minsung, you probably have a killer fetish, & that's all my loves. It's otherwise quite fluffy tbh.

⛧ A/N: I'm starting this series as my love letter to 90's slasher films aaaand because I just love Minsung. I'm writing this in "tapes" instead of chapters for ✨ ambiance ✨ so I hope the vibes come across. I'm already working on part two so I'll have my knives and fingers crossed you babes enjoy this one.

💀 >>> Go to Tape 2 >>> 💀

A bell dings overhead as you step through the door of Topline Video. A crowd of middle school kids dart by, nearly knocking you over in their excitement to get home with some cheesy slasher flick they definitely shouldn’t be watching. All are in full costume, wearing the kind of plastic masks that smell sorta funny when you put them on.

The kid dressed as a goblin turns back for a second, peeling up the murky green mask to reveal an apologetic face. “Sorry, lady!” he shouts, taking your gentle smile as a sign of forgiveness and racing to catch up to his friends. “Lady?” you whisper to yourself, the door creaking shut behind you, “Great, now I feel ancient.”

Lucky for you there’s no time for an existential crisis as you’re swept into the frenzy of the video store. The walls are packed with what must be a thousand VHS tapes. Double sided displays line the aisles with hundreds more. Every one of them is some brand of horror movie with even the most obscure subgenre present.

Black and orange streamers travel from one end of the ceiling to the next with tiny spiders dangling from them. Giant skeletons lurk in the corners guarding jack o lanterns with flickering eyes. Every year people eat it up but this year is particularly spooky. It sends a shiver down your spine when you recall why.

“I heard they found another leg” a red haired girl says, casually smacking on a piece of bright pink bubblegum. Beside her a shorter girl files through tapes under a large bloody hand drawn sign reading SERIAL KILLERS.

“I thought they already found both of his legs. A guy can’t have three legs.”

The red haired girl shakes her head, smiling mischievously. “That is not true. I hooked up with him once. You could for sure consider that thing a third leg.” The girls break into a fit of giggles. Dodging their insensitivity, you squeeze yourself into the Monster Movie section.

“Hey Drac” you sigh, staring up at the Dracula cutout looming over you, “I live in a town of idiots.” “You don’t mean everyone, do you?” a voice answers back with the worst Dracula impersonation you’ve ever heard. Suspicious that it isn’t coming from the cardboard cutout, you peek around to see a familiar face stocking the shelves.

Your heart immediately begins to flutter, a blanket of warmth encompassing you. Han Jisung. If you flip through the dictionary you’ll find him under D for dreamy. The glow of the setting sun kisses his dark curly hair, making it almost sparkle. And those brown eyes, they’re so…no…keep it together.

“That’s a terrible Dracula voice” you tease, arms folded across your chest. “I don’t know what you mean. Bleh, bleh, bleh” he carries on, pretending to bare his fangs. Now it’s you who’s giggling and you can’t stand how easily he gets you to.

“You are such a dork, Han.”

Returning to his normal voice he only shrugs, “But that’s why you’re so insanely in love with me isn’t it?”

His words intensify the heat moistening your palms. Fidgeting with the sleeves of your jean jacket, you wrack your brain for some witty response only for nonsense to tumble out.

“No. What? I…uh…um…early.”

Popping a copy of Megaverse Massacre 2 onto the shelf, Han raises an eyebrow at you, “Early?”

Your brain finally catches up to your mouth and you spit it out. “Uh, yeah, early. I heard you guys were closing early because of the…”

“Body hacking psycho killer?” a voice cackles, gripping your shoulders from behind. You let out a blood curdling scream that draws the attention of a few nearby shoppers. Swinging around, your fist ready to dish out a debilitating gut punch, you come face to face with Lee Minho. You haven’t quite decided if he can be filed under “dreamy” or “asshole” yet.

Minho grins, never finding you cuter than when he’s getting on your nerves. “I’m sorry, babe. Didn’t hurt you did I?” he teases, straightening out your clothes with a gentleness you weren’t expecting. The sun’s doing that thing again. The sparkle. The glow. The radiant brown eyes searching yours, threatening to make you fall even deeper into them than you already have.

Han dips between the two of you, separating you before you rip Minho’s head off. “I’m sorry. Really. He was deprived of air in the womb. Being an asshole’s just a side effect.”

Over Han’s shoulder Minho frowns, “Hey! Rude much?” Digging into his pocket, Han pulls out a lollipop. It’s sugar blown into the shape of a blood drenched kitchen knife. “Are you bribing me with a sugary murder weapon?” you ask, staring at it skeptically. Han flashes you a close lipped smile, his cheeks so fluffy it’d be a crime to deny him.

Snatching the lollipop you waste no time popping the wrapper off and tapping Minho on the head with it. “Hey! What was that for?” he winces, wiping lollipop residue from his head. “Sorry, babe” you grin, sucking on your tool of revenge, “Didn’t hurt you did I?” Han buries his face in his hand but it does nothing to hide the joy he takes in his best friend’s pain.

This is nice. Laughing with someone. With them. It’s been a while since you felt this light around other people. The recent weight on you hasn’t been of some invisible boogeyman sneaking off with one of your limbs. No, your boogeyman was someone you knew well, or at least thought you did, and he’s haunted you every chance he can.

Speak of the devil…

A bell dings, drawing your attention to the door where a man in a demon mask scans the room for someone. You recognize him immediately. Those boots. Those pants. That flannel shirt you always found totally hideous on him. Your heart sinks, the lollipop in your hand tumbling to the floor.

You see Minho and Han’s hearts sink too. It’s as if they sense that any joy you’d been feeling just went down the drain that instant. Minho whispers something into Han’s ear. You can’t make out what, only the calculated tone of his voice. “Hey!” Han says, perking up again, “We’re having a movie night tonight. You should come.”

As the man in the demon mask spots you, your eyes dart back and forth between the men. “A movie night? Sure that would be…I’d like that.”

Han takes you by the hand, “Wicked. Come on, you can pick a movie from the back.” He leads you towards the backroom just as the man advances towards you. Peeking over your shoulder you spot Minho blocking his way. A quick left turn stops you from seeing what happens next, filling your vision instead with tattered old movie posters.

Passing a few of Han’s coworkers, you wave politely and they smile in return. The back room’s like a dustier, quieter version of the sales floor. The walls are still lined with tapes, only there’s no way these have been watched any time in the past decade. Through the dust you see the spine of a tape titled Camp Counselor Sleepover Murder Party 4.

“That one” you decide, stopping dead in your tracks.

Han stops too, squinting to spot what caught your eye, “A woman of taste I see.”

Pulling it from the shelf, he blows the dust away and hands it to you. “Only the finest for you.”

You feel that lightness again. It's easy to feel it when he smiles at you like this. Such an unexpected but welcomed sense of safety. “Han, thanks for…” you start but the surprise sensation of his lips pressed to yours makes anything you were about to say feel insignificant.

With one hand still holding yours, his other hand comes to rest on your lower back. Your lips are somehow softer than he’d imagined. Even in the absence of the lingering strawberry flavored lollipop, he knows they’d taste just as sweet. Minho’s gonna kill him when he finds out that he kissed you first but nothing could be more worth it.

“Thank me by not worrying about your ex,” he says, “He won’t bother you anymore. I promise.”

You want to tell him how much he doesn’t understand. That your ex doesn’t give up that easily. But you decide not to ruin the moment, even if letting yourself believe him feels delusional. “Jisung, we need you up front!” one of his coworkers shouts back. He hesitates, unsure if he should leave you or not.

You kiss him first this time, turning him loose, “Go. I’ll be fine back here. Camp Counselor Sleepover Murder Party 1-3 have gotta be rotting around here somewhere right?” One last kiss and he’s rushing back up front, clueless as to how he’s supposed to focus on anything else now.

Turning back to the shelf you realize how big of a challenge you’re in for. Maybe there’s a feather duster somewhere? Or a respirator mask?

“Give it here. That has to be wrong.” Minho approaches the kitchen counter where you sit, playfully swinging your feet. He reaches for the magazine in your hand but you clutch it tightly to your chest, refusing to fork it over.

“Live with it, Minho. You are Suspicious Boyfriend.”

“Suspicious boyfriend” Han sings, retrieving a bag of freshly popped popcorn from the microwave, “I think it has a ring to it.”

Hopping down from the counter, you skip your way over to Han extending the magazine and the pen in your hand out to him. “Your turn, Hannie.” You see the skepticism all over his face but don’t give up. All torture must be equal after all.

“I’ll take that” Minho smiles, stealing the popcorn for himself.

“Sure. Why not?” Han surrenders, grabbing the magazine and the pen. You and Minho watch on, far more amused than you should be, as Han skims the pages checking off answers to silly personality questions. Pick a country to travel to. Pick a favorite food. Upstairs or downstairs?

After a minute or two he finishes and slides the magazine back over to you. You can barely contain yourself as you assess his results. Leaning across the counter, you share them with Minho who immediately begins to laugh.

“What’s so funny? What did I get?” Han asks looking so genuinely concerned that you almost feel bad for telling Minho first. Minho empties the popcorn into a bright orange Halloween bowl, shoveling some into his mouth. “Comic Relief Best Friend” he mumbles. Han frowns, coming to see for himself. You hold the results page up for him.

Which Horror Character Are You?

You point to his score beneath the headline “Comic Relief Best Friend”.

“Oh, okay. So I’m funny and I die before him. Perfect.”

“Aww, come on. Don’t be like that” you say, poking at his chin, “It’s not like I got the best result either. I’m the Final Girl.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Minho asks, his words muffled by food, “It means you make it to the sequel.”

“No, it means that I’m boring. Badass but boring. I wanna be the killer. They have more fun.”

Han shakes his head, a sympathetic hand resting on your shoulder, “I hate to break it to you but you’re not really killer material.” Minho takes your hand like a doctor prepared to give you some bad news, “Yeah, you just…you don’t have it in you, kid.”

“Don’t have it in me? I do so!” you protest, your tantrum not doing much to make you less adorable. Minho moves toward the knife rack behind him, carefully selecting the biggest, sleekest one he can find. “Okay, so kill me.”

There’s a long, tense silence.

“Come on. It’s not that hard. Just…” Minho mimes stabbing himself in the chest, his tongue stuck out sideways. “Give it!” you shout, running to take the knife away. Minho catches you by the wrist, slipping the knife into your hand and raising the tip of the blade an inch away from his throat.

“Do it” he dares, his hand tightening around yours, “Prove us wrong.”

There’s an unnerving excitement in his eyes as he awaits your decision. An excitement that doesn’t seem to want you to back away. No, it wants you to come closer. He wants you to come closer.

“Hannie,” you plead, “Can you talk some sense into him please?” Han joins the two of you, saying nothing at first, simply observing. The way that they watch you is intensely sexual and some part of you, one you hadn’t known existed until now, seems to take pleasure in it.

Han laughs, bringing his arms around your waist, “Oh but sweetie, we’ve played your game. Don’t you wanna play ours now?”

#stray kids au #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #han jisung x female reader #han jisung x you #han jisung x reader #chubby reader #minho x reader #minho x you #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #plus size reader

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gard3nias · 7 months ago

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Amor tam pulcher | KTH - masterlist

❁pairing: senior!taehyung x junior!oc

❁description: a love story revolving around a butterfly and its favourite flower

❁synopsis:

if he could, he'd write poems on how pretty she looked, on how perfect she was. He'd probably make the next Catullus or even better, he'd dare say. Everyone would love to read about her and how she makes him feel. He even wonders how she isn't loved, worshipped in fact, by everyone but he's glad he's the only one whom she hops to whenever class is dismissed, the only one to have her cheeks explore all possible shades of red, the only one whose arms she'd willingly fall asleep in between.

❁genre: romance, fluff, smut, angst

❁wc: 120.59k

❁date: 30/03/2024

❁warning: mature content, mdi

❁notes: strangers-to-lovers, teen love story, lots of fluff, smut, senior!taehyung (taehyung is like super smart), junior!oc (academic weapon, she loves herself an excellent academic performance), a lil angst, taehyung is head over heels for oc, nature lovers (oc loves flowers, taehyung loves butterflies), countryside (looks like Italy because that is the only type of countryside I know and love), oc has a lovely family, taehyung has daddy issues, jimin and jungkook are taehyung's besties( they also have other two girls as best friends); oc has a girl best friend (childhood best friend) and three boys as best friends); oc is so fucking prettyyy, like girl pretty; cross-posted on wattpad and ao3

❁chapters (status - ongoing) ⇀ updates every two Fridays, midnight

latest — 02/11

❀ ❛prologue❜ - 1.52k

Rewriting the story of Daphne and Apollo ⇀ «A love that drives me crazy, a lovely crazy, a sexy crazy, an amazing crazy»

❀ 01 ❛love is all around❜ - 4.24k

On a chilly summer morning, a bouncy curly-haired sun rose up and shone above the flower ⇀ «If only you knew how special it feels to be special to someone...»

❀ 02 ❛ying yang❜ - 4.28k

Photosynthesis: the sun shines bright above the flower providing it with energy which will be transformed into nutrients ⇀ «Always thought my match would look like me but two pieces of the same puzzle can't be equal»

❀ 03 ❛the exploratory stage❜ - 5.48k

As the sun shines in its might, it brightens the way for a little flower to see over the horizon ⇀ «This is who I am now or maybe who I always was but forgot to be»

❀ 04 ❛just like old times❜ - 6.70k

The bright rays of the sun show the way to the flower, introducing it to an innocent little bear, a ferret and a little wasp ⇀ «He's pretty. No wait! Heavenly. Gorgeous. God's favourite for sure... and mine too»

❀ 05 ❛a monarch butterfly❜ - 4.17k

There, going back home, was an unusual combination of subjects: a cricket, a wing-man, a monarch butterfly, a little pika and a puppy ⇀ «They say mental exhaustion is greater than the physical one and yet I feel dead up there and no different when it comes to my body»

❀ 06 ❛venus❜ - 4.82k

Who could have ever thought that a flower could grow in space? Who? No one surely and yet... there it was, standing upright in its beauty ⇀ «Whenever she walked in, time would slow down and my pupils would expand, all for me to sip in her majestic beauty without missing anything»

❀ 07 ❛a laurel❜ - 4.92k

He knew he wasn't meant to fly to space because he physically couldn't but this thought wouldn't stop him. Was he being pretentious? Trying to exceed his limits? ⇀ «Like you a little, don't want no riddle. Say it, say it back, oh, say it ditto. Can't wait 'til the morning, so say it, ditto»

❀ 08 ❛fuck you!❜ - 6.10k

Normally, flowers are in people's gardens or on a bed of green grass so... what the hell is one singular one doing in the middle of the ocean. Does it know, does anyone know, that too much water will cause it harm... especially when the water is salty? ⇀ «I see her in the back of my mind all the time like a fever, like I'm burning alive»

❀ 09 ❛en route❜ - 5.07k

With its six tiny feet into proper boots, a good protective shield over his wings and an astronaut helmet on, the monarch butterfly embarks on a life-threatening journey, one believed to be a one-way ticket travel ⇀ «If only he knew... if only she knew...»

❀ 10 ❛who we are, what we do❜ - 6.01k

Flowers don't have eyes, yeah, and neither does a pika glow even during the day. The flower is used to seeing only the sun shine during the day. The little pika walking by is unusual. ⇀ «They say not to believe what you see online. "The beauty you could find there is so surreal that it can't be real", they say. But what happens when it's standing just a few feet away from you, glowing like the moon on a starless night? How do you withstand it?»

❀ 11 ❛an overly ambitious hedonistic seductress❜ - 6.04k

Cleopatra is the modern definition of the term "femme fatale"; she's known for ruling in ancient Egypt but also for her relationship with Ceaser and Mark Antony ⇀ «Chiquitita, tell me the truth. I'm a shoulder you can cry on. Your best friend, I'm the one you must rely on»

❀ 12 ❛the butterfly, the cricket and the wing-man❜ - 4.49k

A butterfly, a cricket and a wing-man all have wings somewhat. The first does fly, the second mostly leaps and the last doesn't fly unless the first two do. ⇀ «Life itself has nothing to give you. Lay in your bed all day and you'll get the point. Life starts making sense and having a shape when you start doing something, when you meet the right people»

❀ 13 ❛the Titanic❜ - 7.31k

Between the night of the 14th and the 15th, in 1912, one of the biggest ships of its time sank, going against the expectations but did it? At the time, there was a little competition between countries so when it sank it wasn't so surprising: something so big with very few resources would have never made it across the ocean. ⇀ «There's a monster in the water. It clawing into the ship. I'm sinking»

❀ 14 ❛from five to ten❜ - 11.44k

Brighten the mood. Increase the energy. Make a downturned flower rise high and flunt its beautiful petals for others to see. ⇀ «'Temptare', handle, try, test»

❀ 15 ❛bold, red and underlined❜ - 14.70k

“You know? That party I wanted to host at mine? You’re so invited. In fact, you’re the first one on my guest list and I’ll underline your name in red as in ‘in great and urgent need of pussy��—” ⇀ «XOXO, Gossip Girl»

❀ 16 ❛«it's Daphne»❜ - 11.30k

A monarch butterfly sees a lot of flowers in its short span of life but never has this one, nor its ancestors, seen a flower as pretty as the one ahead. The flower was there, living beautifully in space. ⇀ «I'll be your piece, your ART»

❀ 17 ❛hesperiidae❜ - 6.41k

Right when the sun faded away and the dark clouds took over, the little butterfly's wings fluttered less as it lost hope until something caught his eye, a gleam slicing through the gloom and focusing on a flower. ⇀ «Who would have ever thought that something so little would warm me up so much? An it's just a smile at that»

❀ 18❛opposites attract❜ - 5.59k

Winter and the Wind of the West come to destroy but nothing can touch a flower when it's under a shelter, something that will prevent it from dying in the cold or losing its beautiful petals. ⇀ «He could swear he'd seen a new galaxy in her eyes, one that has never been discovered yet»

❀ 19 ❛peek-a-boo (boo boo)❜

❀ 20 ❛lifejacket❜

❀ 21 ❛monarch and blue morpho butterflies❜

❀ 22 ❛rosy cheeks❜

❀ 23 ❛caramel macchiato❜

❀ 24 ❛butterflies, flowers... and butterflies❜

❀ 25 ❛hwiparam❜

❀ 26

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azrielwingspan · 14 days ago

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THE CYBORG WHO STOLE MY HEART (Bucky X F!reader)

A/N: I know I know, there's another Bucky fanfic that I'm already working on and yet here I am starting a whole new one. Why you ask? Because I'm a dumbass. The idea just popped up into my head and I HAD TO write it down. Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1 :

Chapter summary: Bucky and Sam come across a woman who seems to have lost her mind. Literally. Using Bucky’s cyborg brain, they try to figure out who she is.

Chapter warnings: Mild swearing.

You know when you're having a great dream with a hot guy that could only possibly exist in dreams ? The happiness that breathing the same air as him brings you? That's what you were feeling right now.

Eyes as blue as the ocean, veins that were easy to put an IV in and that black shirt phew. Was it possible to drool in dreams? You were going to have a great day once you woke up. That was for sure.

Why was he looking at you like that though? Weren't they supposed to be flirting with you or puckering their lips in your dreams by now? Was this supposed to be a slow burn or enemies to lovers genre dream?

"Why is she staring at me like that?" the hot guy asks the air next to him.

"She's just coming into it, give her a second." it responds back to him.

Wait, what ?

"Are we sure she's alright and not having an absence seizure?" the air voice asks.

"She's alright. Probably in shock." another voice responds.

Shock? From seeing that beautiful man in front of me? Sure.

Okay, focus.

Wait, it's a dream. Why do you need to focus?

Eyes, the colour of piss , come into focus. "Cannn youuu hearrr meee?"

"Why are you speaking like that?" you manage to ask, still trying to figure out if you'd accidentally taken shrooms.

"Not a seizure then." the voice from earlier comments.

Piss eyes looks proud of himself. "I told you, she's in shock."

If this really was a dream, it would have to be the strangest one you have had in a while. What in the actual cockfuck was happening?

"Youu areee in theee hosp-ee-taalll. Weee---" piss eyes sounded like he was having the seizure.

"Stop talking like that." you say, blinking rapidly to clear the dark spots from your eyes. Things were starting to feel more...real. A heaviness settled over your head, every breath seemed to send a slight sliver of pain through your side and your arm felt numb.

Dreams weren't usually ultra-realistic, were they? Only one way to find out now.

"Is she...pinching herself?" hot guy asks, that strange look on his face.

A set of cold hands clamp your hands down.

"HEY." you say, the slight sting of your pinch confirming your doubts.

"Self hurt or mutilation can be a side effect. We need to restrain her for her own safety." Piss eyes speaks rapidly and you hear him muttering to himself.

"I'm not...is this not a dream?" you finally ask leaving the room in pin drop silence.

"I don't think so...unless Wanda is upto something again." air voice sounds a bit unsure himself.

"Wanda?" the name seemed familiar but in this state , you could barely remember your own name.

You try to get up only to be gently pushed back down by piss eyes. "You probably shouldn't be doing that. Bed rest for the next 10 days, I'm afraid." he says not sounding apologetic about it at all.

"What even happened? And---" you're cut off by air voice.

"Where are you? Well, the Avengers compound. Now, don't get too excited and all. We can make you sign a NDA , but we aren't going to because we're hoping you're trustworthy. Stark said you might be...useful. Now, if you're feeling upto it, how the hell did you end up in the middle of a cemetry half dead?"

You blinked once, twice, thrice.

"Who is Stark?"

"Listen, man. She's got to be living under a rock if she doesn't know who Stark is. That guy has been stuffed down everyone's fucking throat." Sam tells Bucky as he takes off he looks at their new visitor.

Bucky doesn't respond and instead stares at Sam with a poker face.

"What's going on in that cyborg brain of yours?" Sam isn't phased by Bucky and his staring anymore. He was however very sure that Bucky would not be bringing home any ladies with that serial killer look.

"What if she's lying?" Bucky finally says, turning to look at the CCTV recording of the room you were in. You were sleeping again, knocked out by the pain killers.

"Lying about not knowing Stark or not being able to remember what happened to her?"

"Both."

"What purpose does that serve her?"

"Well, that's what we're supposed to find out."

“How exactly are you planning on doing that?” Crossing his arms over his chest , Sam raised an eyebrow at his cyborg friend.

“I’ll think about it.” Bucky walked past him, grabbing his jacket on the way. “With my cyborg brain.”

“I understand that you want to get some answers” you said for what seemed like the 100th time, exasperation taking hold of you. “I honestly cannot remember what happened. I’ve thought myself into a headache. I’m sorry, okay?”

Sam looked defeated as he let he shook his head. “It’s been two whole days. Now, I don’t want to seem like a dick and question you in this state but we need some goddamn answers.”

“Too late for that I guess.” you muttered under your breath.

“Huh?”

“She said ‘too late for that I guess.’” The hot guy, Bucky, was his name chimed in.

How the hell did he hear that? As if reading the question on your face, he simply said “Advanced hearing.”

Okkayyyy.

Sam on the other hand was giving you a flat look. You gave him one back.

“I’m feeling much better now. Can I atleast get out of this damn bed?” you scratched near the iv line, wanting to just rip it out. “Piss eyes told me I shouldn’t but I cannot stay like this.”

“Piss eyes?” Sam was clearly running out of patience.

“The doc. Is he even a doctor? He’s very…”

“Sort of.”

That explains it.

“She’s right.” Bucky takes a step forward, looking at Sam. “Walking around will help her recover faster.”

“THANK YOU. See , I knew you were the smart one.” you give him a wide smile to which you get a poker face in return. Embarrassing. Not letting it deter you, you pull the iv out.

“Hey !!” Sam steps forward, surprised at your show of stupidity.

Before he can reach you to help you out of bed, you’ve already stood up. Which was another stupid move considering that the entire room was spinning around. Holding on to the wall next to you for support, you blinked rapidly.

“That’s another concussion waiting to happen.” Bucky commented dryly.

After regaining some semblance of direction, you managed to stand up straight ignoring the slight stab of pain in your chest.

“Much better.” you say, taking a step forward. The pastel pink tee and pants that had been given to you did not compliment your current condition, you knew. To be quite frank, you were a good looking woman too. Always have been. Then why the hell was Bucky looking at you like he was going to stab you right then and there?

“Uhhh…now what?” your suddenly felt extremely awkward in front of the two men.

“Don’t ask me, you were the one who wanted to do this.” Sam still had an arm out, ready to jump into action in case you cracked your head on the tiles again. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Bucky make a slight movement. Thank fuck you did because the next thing you knew , you were holding a dagger 2 inches away from your chest by the handle.

Silence engulfed the room for a good 20 seconds before it was broken by a very calm “What. The. Fuck.” from Sam.

You looked at Bucky who stood in the same spot like nothing shocking had even happened. Finally a crack of a smile appeared on his face.

“Told you she was lying.”

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader

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grison-in-space · 1 year ago

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Currently rereading Eric Flint's 1632 and reflecting on just how influential Flint was to me and my approach to both praxis and politics as a teenager. I found Flint when I was about thirteen or fourteen, around the time I found Pratchett I think, and he's left an equally wide thumbprint on my soul. Isn't that the most wonderful thing about stories, that people you've never met can help shape our adult selves? Mother of Demons I often recommend for its SFF worldbuilding--Flint built a species with at least four genders, only some of which are reproductive, and associated "normal" sexual orientations, and then proceeded to write in a textually intersex character and queer the hell out of it.

1632, though, is the one where a little West Virginia town in 2000 gets picked up and dropped in the middle of Thuringia, Germany in the eponymous year--right in the middle of the Thirty Years War. The local United Mine Workers of America chapter plays a major role, particularly its head.

As I write this I'm listening to the scene where the little town of Grantville, having admitted after a few days that they are probably not ever going home, is crowded into the high school gymnasium listening to the mayor lay that reality out and suggesting an interim council to help the town set out a sort of constitutional convention so they can work out what on earth they're going to do moving forward--especially since there's a bunch of displaced refugees collecting in the forests nearby. Sensible of them, really; the Americans murdered the shit out of the local soldiers that displaced them, on account of how the shaken mine workers that went out to figure out WTF happened not being super down with suddenly running into a bunch of fuckheads raping the locals and torturing people to find out where their valuables might be. After that, said Americans proceeded to retreat into the town boundaries and gibber quietly to themselves. I would go lurk in their woods, too.

Anyway, the mayor sets up this proposal, everyone agrees, and a CEO who was visiting for his son's wedding at the time steps forward and says: look. I know how to lead, and I'm probably the most qualified person here. I lead a major industry corporation effectively and I did that after my time as a Navy officer. I put myself forward because I'm qualified. Now, we're going to need to circle the wagons to get through the winter, tighten our belts, but we can get through this. We can't support all these refugees, though; we'll have to seal the border so they can't bring disease--they're a drain on our resources we can't afford--

and the UMWA guy, he gets really mad listening to this. There's this Sephardic refugee woman he's real taken with who got swept up in the town first thing, and she's sitting in and listening; he's thinking about throwing her out, thinking about how much she knows about the place they're found in, and he's furious. But he gets a good grip on his anger and he marches up and he says, look. This dude has been here two days and he's already talking about downsizing?! You're going to listen to this CEO talking about cuts, cuts, cuts? Nah. Trying to circle the wagons is probably impossible, it's stupid, and if you think my men and I are going to enforce that, you can fuck off. That proposal is inside out and bass ackwards. We've got about a six mile diameter of Grantville here; how much food do YOU think we're going to grow? How about the soldiers wandering around, do you think we're going to be able to fight armies off on our lonesome? Look at the few refugees we already have in the room, they'll tell you how those armies will treat you! We could do it for a while, the amount of gun nuts here, but so what? We don't have enough people to shoot them! Not if we're going to do anything else to keep us going! We have about six months of stockpiled coal to keep going, and without another source or getting the coal mines working, we're screwed. We have technical strength but we don't have the supplies or resources we would need to maintain it. Those refugees? They're resources. We need people to do the work we will need to keep ourselves. The hell with downsizing; let's grow outwards! Bring people in, give them safety, see what they can bring to the table once they've had a moment! He invokes: send us your tired, your poor!, and the CEO yells in frustration: this isn't America! so he yells back "it will be!"

And of course everyone cheers. I love Flint for many reasons but he is unapologetic about affection for the America of ideals--ideals, he freely admits, that are often honored in the breach rather than the observance, ideals that are messy and flawed, but nevertheless ideals that can work to inspire us to become the best version of ourselves. For Flint, history is as valuable as a source of stories to inspire ourselves as it is a repository of knowledge, and on this I tend to agree with him. We must learn from our moments of shame but equally we must learn from moments that show us how to be our best selves.

It's been twenty three years and the text is now an interesting historical document in its own right, hitting points and rhythms in beats that are sometimes out of place today. It's not perfect. But the novel contains a commitment to joy and to emphasizing the leaps of faith and understanding that regular, everyday people make every day to try and support each other that I routinely try to match in my writing.

Anyway, one of the strengths of the novel, I think, is its gender politics: it's a very ensemble kind of novel, lots of characters, and it's preoccupied with positive masculinity in a lot of ways. There's a lot of these hyper masculine characters--Mike Stearns perhaps more than anyone else--and--and...

... And Flint's characterization of Stearns, as he sketches out who the man is--his pivotal American leader, ex boxer, working class organizer, big man.... well, it lands equally on "he is delighted and astonished to find a local woman who quickly assesses how the cushion of air in tires works," and "he considers who to set up a Jewish refugee in the middle of Germany up with and he thinks to ask the Jewish family he grew up with to host her and her ill father because he thinks she'll be most comfortable there", and "he views people as potential assets rather than potential drains." A younger man asks him for advice on whether to pursue a professional sports career because of the boxing and he says no, you're in the worst place of not being quite good enough and you'll blow out your knees without accomplishing safety. He frames that interaction such that he allows his own experiences to make him vulnerable and invite the younger man to understand when a struggle have worth it.

It's actually a really deft portrayal of intense masculinity that also makes a virtue of a bunch of traits more usually associated with women: empathy, relational sensitivity, the ability to listen. As a blueprint for what a positive masculinity can look like, vs the toxic kind, it's very well done. I think sometimes when we look at gender roles in terms of virtues, and when masculinity is defined in terms of opposition to femininity, people get lost by arguing that virtues assigned to one gender are somehow antithetical to another gender. In fact that's never been the case: virtues are wholly neutral and can appear in any gender. What the gender does is inflect the ways we expect that virtue to appear in terms of individuals' actions within their society.

Gender isn't purely an individual trait, basically; it's a product of our collective associations. Two characters with different genders can display the same virtues and strengths, but we imagine them expressed in different ways according to our cultural expectations around gender. And I just think that's neat.

#Eric Flint #1632

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greenerteacups · 3 months ago

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Hi GT. I hope this message finds you well. I am sending all the good vibes and we'll wishes your way! ♥️♥️♥️ I hope you've had a wonderful summer.

I'm such a big fan of your work. Lioneheart is amazing and has stuck with me for such a long time.

I was wondering if you had any other stories you'd like to explore one day (even if you never get the chance to write them.) Whether it be fanfiction or original work, I was just curious because sometimes I feel as if I have hundreds of stories inside that I could tell, and I am not sure how to pick just one and see it to completion.

First of all, thank you! This is a fun one. I have a few enduring ideas for longfics I may or may not ever write (i.e., ideas that would have been projects already if I didn't have an ongoing longfic). I don't get stuck in them mostly because I try to remind myself that the idealized story you imagine when a concept occurs to you will never actually exist as it does when it's unshackled by the constraints of execution. What you'll get if you actually sit down and hack it out is (1) a real and imperfect piece of writing, and (2) the satisfaction of having written it, which is by far the more reliable source of motivation, if we're being honest. That being said, here are some ideas I've always wanted to explore, if and when I finish Lionheart:

I've always wanted to write a longform canon-divergent Tomione fic about Tom Riddle's 7th year at Hogwarts. Big honking political melodrama ft. the original Knights of Walpurgis, a Triwizard Tournament, and realistically functioning time travel (hence why this one's always been kicked down my list of projects, because writing a time-travel plot is like running through a minefield made of trampolines). I've already got character concepts sketched out for the Hogwarts cast — sooooo many fun ideas for the teenage Walburga. But I'd still need about a week of solid fic preproduction on the plot alone before I was ready to boot up and start writing, and it'd take at least 250k words — closer to 300k, if I'm being honest about myself. So this probably won't see the light of day anytime remotely soon, if ever.

A canon-compliant Dramione war fic, diverging from the Malfoy Manor chapters in Book 7, picking up from a speculative thread I read once about what would happen if the war didn't end after Voldemort died at the Battle of Hogwarts. I've always thought it would be fascinating to see who Hermione and Draco would become if they were actual soldiers in the war (and my disappointment with how Book 7 handled the "war" of it all has been established). That being said, Book 7 of Lionheart will probably give me a lot of similar ideas to chew on, so I don't know what my appetite for this one will be once I'm finished with it.

Durmstrang AU. This one's barely a fic concept so much as it is a mental moodboard — I just want to worldbuild the hell out of Durmstrang. And the international wizarding world, generally. It's a delicious sandbox.

A longform canon-compliant fic or series of fics about the previous generation of Blacks (Sirius/Bellatrix/Narcissa, namely). If you look at the books, there's a huge amount we don't know about the fall of the Blacks. I always found it bizarre that the sisters and Sirius seem to be the only ones left by 1995. No one else has a claim? No one else from this all-powerful wizarding family wants to step in and claim this big honking townhouse in the middle of London? Or its attendant fortune? Dude, what happened? Also, we don't see nearly enough of the Black family melodrama in canon. They lose 4/5 children of a generation in the span of almost single decade. And then (presumably) all of their parents die in the span of another. Goddamn. Just imagine the character work you could do there.

A No Chosen One/Voldemort Wins (The First Time) AU where Hermione never gets her letter, and meets Draco much later in life as a self-taught witch. The dynamics I have in my head for this are really enjoyable, and it would be a chance to finally write Hermione POV, plus the Draco I've cooked up for this universe is [chefs kiss]. I also just love the idea of Hermione as a feral witch-child running around muggle London. I love it a lot.

#greenteacup asks #dramione

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from-the-clouds · 2 years ago

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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. 1

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist |

summary: When you let your new neighbor’s daughter inside to call her father from your landline, you never expect to be dealing with the fallout twenty years later. Series will take place before and after the outbreak, and is partially inspired by this request. Slow-burn(ish), eventual smut. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 6.4k chapter warnings: mentions of/encounters with a drunk person, references to absent parents, i imply that both reader (and joel) like pineapple on pizza. a/n: i need to get my shit together and make a proper masterlist/post for this series but i'm absolute garbage with photoshop/making collages so that is a project for another day!! for now, i wanted to get this first part out to ya'll. i watched a playthrough of the game too so ill be including some references to that throughout the series. this will be some hallmark-movie ass romance so strap in!! this chapter was super fun to write and i loved writing for reader and sarah, give it a read and let me know what you think!

-March 7, 2003-

“Excuse me? Ma’am? Excuse me?”

The voice behind you is so timid you don’t hear it right away, especially not when your phone is pressed to your ear with your shoulder as you sort through the mail, your coworker droning on and on…

“Ma’am?”

It’s a little more forceful this time, a little closer too, and that’s when it finally gets your attention. Turning around on your heel, you find a young girl standing behind you, one hand hooked in the strap of her backpack that hangs off of one thin shoulder, the other worrying about the butterfly pendant of the necklace she’s wearing.

You recognize her immediately as one of your neighbors, the girl from across the street whose name you didn’t know yet, because you only moved in about two months ago. You’d met the man who you assumed was her father – Joe? Or was it Joel?, you couldn’t remember – the first day you’d moved in, but there had been so much going on that you were too flustered to be engaged.

It’s a Friday, but apparently that doesn’t keep you safe from work calls after you leave the office, because you’re getting an earful of a whole lot of hot air, so much so that you’re probably unintentionally frowning at the girl in front of you while you try to follow the conversation.

“....I think you’re right, but they’re not going to budge unless we sweeten the deal somehow-”

“Can I call you back?” you blurt, ultimately thankful for the interruption. You don’t even wait for his response before you click off your blackberry, sighing, looking up. “Hi, yeah, sorry. Can I help you?”

“Uhm, I’m Sarah…..Miller….I live across the street?” her voice goes up slightly at the end of the sentence, like she’s unsure, even as she points to the home behind her, a two-story place that’s considerably bigger than your own, but maybe a little older. “I uhm…I locked myself out and I was wondering if I could use your phone…to call my dad at work? Please?”

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “That’s fine. Just uh..follow me I guess.”

Tucking the stack of mail in your hand under your arm, you wave her after you, your kitten heels clicking on the hard pavement of your driveway.

“Be careful here,” you warn her as you step over the middle step to your front porch that has rotted, and gives easily under any amount of weight. You’d learned about it the hard way, last week, and still had the bruise on your leg to show for it.

Your front door is open, and Sarah pauses to take off her shoes when you do, a pair of beat-up white Converse that have been doodled on in Sharpie.

“Here, phone’s right there,” you lead her into the kitchen and point to the landline. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Uhm, could I just get some water…please?” She stands rigidly in your kitchen, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Of course,” you reach into the cabinet. Once the glass is filled and placed in front of her, you retreat to your front living area to give her some privacy while she makes the call, sitting on the couch and scrolling through unanswered emails on your blackberry. Sarah mumbles indiscreetly, until you hear her call out again.

“Uhm…ma’am…I’m sorry, Miss…uh-what’s your last name?”

“Oh,” you sit up, giving her your first instead.

“Okay….Uh, my dad wants to talk to you…could you-”

“Sure,” you stand, stepping back into the kitchen, and accepting the receiver from the girl.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Joel Miller,” you’re greeted with a low, gruff drawl. “You’re the new neighbor, I believe introduced myself a while back”

“Joel,” you repeat. It’s Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel, you force yourself to remember. Joel and Sarah Miller. “Yes, we met very briefly.”

“And it sounds like you met Sarah.”

“Yeah.”

On the other end of the line, you hear him hesitate, let out a long sigh. “Look, I hate to put you out, but she lost her key to the house, and she tells me the Adlers aren’t home. Do you think she could stay at your place until I’m able to get off work in a couple hours? I know it’s a big ask, but-”

“Of course she can,” you cut him off, peering over your shoulder at Sarah, who’s staring up at you expectantly with wide, terrified eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.”

“She’s probably got homework so I’ll make sure she stays quiet and out of your way. I’m so sorry, she should know better than this. It’s the second time this month this has happened, I keep tellin’ her-”

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal,” you cut him off, unintentionally, before wondering if it was rude you didn’t let him finish. It’s the native New Yorker in you, always in a rush and uninterested in drawn-out excuses. It’s an unfortunate instinct you’ve been trying to train yourself out of, particularly now that you’re living in the southwest. You soften your tone. “She can stay as long as she needs to, seriously. I don’t have anything planned.”

“Okay,” the voice on the other end sounds relieved. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I should be home by nine, I’ll call if anything changes. Thanks so much.”

“Of course, we’ll be fine. See you soon.” You hang up.

Sarah is still behind you when you turn around, clutching the glass of water she’s got in both hands like a vice. “You can stay here until your dad gets home,” you tell her.

“Did….did he sound mad?”

“Maybe a little stressed,” you’re honest. “But….not mad. I also don’t know him, so…”

“I bet he’ll be mad. This is the second time I’ve locked myself out this month because I forgot my key, and I already got lectured once that last time because he had to leave work early.”

“You made a mistake, people forget things…” you shrug. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

Her shoulders relax slightly, and she looks around like it’s the first time she’s actually registered where she’s at. “You have a nice house. It’s cozy.”

“Thanks,” you put your hands on your hips and look around too. “I’m still settling in, so not everything’s unpacked, but I could give you a tour if you’d like?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Ma’am. That tickles you. The address is still not something you’re used to hearing, even though you’ve only been in Austin a few years. “You can just call me by my first name, you know? Ma’am makes me feel old.”

“Really?” she grins, following you down the hall. “I can’t wait to be old.”

“You’ll feel differently someday,” you answer. “But…I guess it’s not so bad.”

Compared to the house you grew up in, your new house is nothing special, but it’s yours, and you couldn’t be prouder that you’d bought it all on your own. It’s a three-bedroom ranch, and you’d converted one of the rooms into an office for yourself. There’s a kitchen, living room, and den. But your favorite part is your large, screened in back porch that overlooks your yard. Now that it’s getting closer to summer, you sit outside in the mornings with a cup of tea and read the newspaper, listen to the birds.

“Can I do my homework at your kitchen table?” Sarah asks once you’re finished showing her around.

“Make yourself comfortable wherever,” you answer. “I could probably stand to get a little work done myself.”

Sarah sits at your dining room table, spreads out her books, and works quietly while you answer some emails and look over some contracts. You’ve got a big meeting Monday with a potential client, and a giant stack of term sheets to go through, but if you could manage to get some of it done tonight it might actually help you down the line. As much as possible, you try to avoid doing too much work outside of your office’s standard hours, but sometimes, it’s inevitable.

The subject Sarah has homework in is algebra, which renders you useless. Even when you have to do any accounting at work, you’re used to having a calculator nearby. It’d been awhile since you spent time with anyone as young as she was – in sixth grade, she told you – and it was starting to serve as a confirmation of your own dysfunctional childhood, because her carefree, sweet nature was so drastically different from anything you remembered feeling.

After about an hour, Sarah slowly starts to close her notebooks, zipping her pencils back up in plastic pouches. You look up from making revisions on a contract, the smell of blue ink heavy in the air around you. “I’m done,” she announces. “Could I sit on your couch and read?”

“Of course,” you answer. “Give me five and I’ll join you.”

It doesn’t take long for you to find a good stopping point, and you pack up your messenger bag, and join Sarah in the living room. “So…I’m starting to get hungry,” you tell her. “Are you?”

Sarah nods sheepishly.

“I could order us something,” you said. “What do you like?”

You aren’t much of a chef, though you can generally figure your way out around any recipe. However, cooking for one is notoriously tedious. If you had multiple mouths to feed, maybe you’d be tempted to hone your skills in the kitchen a little more. Most nights you usually treated yourself to a depressing, hastily thrown together salad, scrambled eggs, or a PB&J. Tonight, you had actually been planning to take yourself out to dinner – there’s a cute little French bistro down the street and you were hoping to treat yourself to a cocktail and a nice meal while you read.

Sarah closes her book, contemplating. “Could we….get a pizza?”

You think about it. “Sure, yeah. Pepperoni…cheese?”

“Can we get….one of both?” she tests.

“Yeah, we can do both,” You smile. “I bet your dad will be hungry, too, he can have some if he wants.”

“Maybe…he likes pineapple on his,” Sarah wrinkles her nose.

“He has good taste. I do too.”

“Gross.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them separate,” you call over your shoulder as you retreat to the kitchen.

Once the pizza is ordered, you return to your living room and curl up on the opposite side of the couch from Sarah, who is engrossed back in her book. “They told me about 30 minutes. What are you reading?”

“To Kill A Mockingbird,” she says, showing you the cover.

“That was one of my favorites growing up.”

“I have to read it for school…but it’s pretty good so far.”

Your phone pings with another email, and you glance at it quickly.

“Is that work?” she asks.

You nod. “Yeah. It still finds you, even when you leave.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“No way!” Sarah perks up. “Like on the tv shows? That’s so cool.”

You snort, shaking your head. “No, not exactly. I’m a corporate lawyer so it’s not as fun, actually, it’s just a lot of paperwork and meetings…”

“So…you don’t like it, then?”

“It’s….” you think about it. “....Fine.” Did you like your job? It wasn’t really something you thought about in that way, you’d always seen it as a means to an end. “I went to law school because my dad wanted me to…he wanted me to work for him someday. And…that didn’t pan out so…yeah. But you know…it pays well, and….”

“You get to wear cool outfits,” she gestures to you.

“Yeah, I guess I do. Although the heels do get a little uncomfortable.”

Sarah’s eyes shift behind you for a second to the hallway leading to your bedroom, then widen excitedly. “You have a cat?”

You turn around to see what she’s looking at, the white and gray ball of fluff that you’d found underneath a dumpster one late night in college.

“Yeah, that’s Martini.”

“Martini,” she giggles, and the cat approaches her cautiously. He’s notoriously shy and quiet, and not even particularly cuddly, but he likes to sleep at the foot of your bed and will sit next to you on the couch if you stay still for long enough.

The cat sniffs Sarah’s outstretched hand, then presses his face into Sarah’s palm so she can scratch him under his chin, his favorite spot. “He’s not usually a fan of strangers, he must like you.”

“I love animals,” she says. “My dad won’t let me get a pet because he says he’ll end up taking care of it.”

You chuckle. “Cats are pretty easy…at least, he is.”

Martini allows himself about twenty seconds worth of affection before he darts out of the room and heads to his food bowl.

“I’m gonna go change out of my work clothes, I’ll be right back,” you push yourself off the couch and walk down the hallway. Any other night and you probably would’ve been in pajamas awhile ago but that’s probably not acceptable, so you settle for jeans and a sweater, which is much more comfortable than the dress and tights you had been in before.

The pizza arrives and after you tip the driver, set it on your kitchen island and pull some plates out of your cupboard. You and Sarah are both long settled with full plates when you speak again.

“Wow….I forgot how good pizza is…” you say, staring at the half eaten piece in your hand.

“You don’t eat pizza?”

“Usually only when I’m drunk,” you say, then immediately realize you’re talking to an eleven year old. “Oops, I…probably shouldn’t be telling you that.”

She giggles. “It’s okay.”

“So, it’s just you and your dad across the street?” you ask. “Does your mom live with you?”

The second the question registers, you immediately regret asking. Sarah shrinks before you, her face dropping, shaking her head. “No I…I don’t really have a mom.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, softly. You just assumed she existed although you’d never seen her, and you feel guilty, racking your brain for something that might help make her feel better. “I understand, my mom wasn’t really around growing up.”

“She wasn’t?” Sarah asked, looking up.

You shake your head. “My parents got divorced when I was young, my dad took us, and she moved across the country, so….I didn’t see much of her.”

“My mom… she left when I was a baby.”

“I’m sorry.” You say again, staring at the girl in front of you.

For a moment, looking at her, you see yourself, and you wonder how a parent can wake up one day and choose to ignore someone that’s one half of themselves. Someone they made. If they really understood what that might do to a person’s psyche, growing up thinking that they weren’t wanted. You had always told yourself that your mother, your parents must have not understood, because if they did, and they still chose to do it…

“Are you married?” Sarah asks, and you’re snapped out of your train of thought.

Taking a bite of pizza, you shake your head no.

“So you live here alone?”

You nod, chewing.

“Do you like it?”

You nod, swallow. “It’s better than having a roommate, or living in the city.”

Standing up, you walk towards the fridge for a can of sparkling water. It hisses while you open it, and you lean over the counter while Sarah continues to drill you. “Do you ever get….scared? Like at night?”

“No….not really. I have locks. And this is a safe neighborhood. And uh, I may or may not have a nightlight still.”

Sarah giggles. “Me too.”

There’s a sturdy knock on your screen door, which you’d left open to let in the cool spring breeze, and you notice Sarah’s eyes widen. “I bet that’s my dad.”

As if he heard her, and maybe he did, the guest calls out. “It’s Joel!” It’s the same voice from over the phone, but much clearer.

“Come in,” you answer.

The screen door creaks open, the sound of boots shuffling inside. “Sarah?” It’s the same voice from the phone. Joel steps into the warm light of the kitchen.

When you first met it had been from a distance, you were carrying boxes and he was loading something into the back of his truck. It’s clear you hadn’t gotten a good enough look at him, wouldn’t have forgotten his name, because fuck, he’s kind of gorgeous…tan skin, dark wavy hair, and a sharp jawline covered in stubble. In the archway to your kitchen he looks huge, taller than you remembered.

“Hi Dad,” Sarah says. “Miss-“

You cut her off simply by saying your first name. “Nice to meet you…again.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, and thank you so much for keeping an eye on her. We’ll get out of your ha-”

“We got you pizza,” Sarah pipes up, looking at him. You can tell that she’s trying to stall. Or at least, trying to offer him something that might soften the inevitable lecture she’s going to get. It’s a smart play, and definitely not something you would’ve been above trying at her age.

Joel looks at the three pizza boxes spread across your countertop. “You didn’t have to feed her, really, like I said, she should’ve known better,” he turns to look at her pointedly.

“I had to eat anyway. Please, help yourself. There’s a ton of leftovers,” You really did not want cold pizza in your fridge, because it’d be too tempting to eat as a late night snack or even breakfast on your way out the door in the mornings.

Reluctantly, he looks at you before taking a plate. “Thank you,” he turns to his daughter while he opens one of the boxes. “Did you get your homework done?”

Sarah nods. “And I got ahead on my reading for English.”

“That’s good.”

Joel turns back to you, settles in a chair with the plate of food in front of him at the island. You do the same. “I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to come over and properly introduce myself. Sarah too.”

You shrug. “I’m the new neighbor, that’s probably my responsibility anyways. It’s been kind of hectic settling in.”

“Where’d you move from?”

“Well, I’ve been in Austin for the past few years, but originally I’m from Manhattan.”

Joel nods. “Why Texas?”

It’s far away from my insane family, you think, and then settle on something else. “Work.”

Sarah is staring at her plate and tearing a piece of crust into tiny pieces. Joel eyes the slice of pizza he’s just taken a bite of.

“Pineapple?” he looks over at Sarah. “Are you tryin’ to bribe me so you don’t get in trouble?”

“It’s my favorite, too,” you offer, then wink at Sarah when Joel isn’t looking. She tilts her head down, her hair hiding the grin on her face from her father.

A buzzing sound cuts through the room before Joel can answer, and he digs in his pocket to fish out his cell phone. “Hold on, I gotta take this.”

When he steps out of the room, you begin to clear the empty boxes and plates off your kitchen island and bring them over to the sink. Sarah brings her plate over as well, stands next to you at the sink while you rinse them off and load them in the dishwasher.

“Thank you for dinner,” she says.

“Of course,” you answer.

“I just really hope he’s not disappointed with me.”

Placing your hand between her shoulder blades, you give her an encouraging pat. “I don’t think he is….” you hear Joel on the phone in the other room, his voice rising in volume. “....and honestly….it sounds like he might have bigger fish to fry…”

“Tommy…are you fucking kidding me? Again? How many times is this gonna happen? Okay…fine. fine. I’ll be there soon, but you can’t keep doing this shit.”

Sarah grimaces, and you both turn back to the sink sheepishly when you hear Joel’s footsteps returning. She bumps you with her elbow while you clear your throat.

You’re sure there’s still a residual smile on your face when you turn around to face Joel, who has his hands on his hips. “Alright, Sarah, we gotta get going.”

“Is everything okay with Uncle Tommy?”

“No, I’ve gotta pick him up at the police station.”

“Did he drink too much again?”

“Sarah!” Joel exclaims. “Please, it’s gettin’ late and you’ve got a soccer game tomorrow, you need to get to bed.”

You’re biting your lower lip so hard to keep from laughing you almost taste blood. It’s not funny, definitely not funny to Joel, who you can tell is having a rough night, but it’s objectively funny as an outsider, watching all their familial drama being put on blast by his daughter who doesn’t quite have a filter yet, and is first and foremost trying to protect herself from getting into trouble.

“She’s a lawyer, I bet she could help Tommy,” Sarah looks over at you. “Couldn’t you?”

Joel frowns. “That’s not how that works-”

“What’d they bring him in for?” you ask.

Joel runs a hand through his hair. “Public intoxication. Are you really a lawyer?”

“Well…I’m a corporate lawyer so that wouldn’t really be my specialty. But uh…I’ve definitely been able to talk my friends out of that kind of thing before.”

“But this is not the first time,” Joel says. “It’s probably useless.”

“Didn’t you say you can’t afford to keep-”

“Sarah, enough.” Joel’s voice is as stern as you’ve heard it, and he digs into his pocket, producing a keychain. “Go home and get ready for bed. I’ll be home in a minute.”

Sarah sighs, defeated. “Okay.”

Joel stands dead still while she shuffles to the door, cramming her feet in her shoes with her backpack slung over her shoulder.

By this point in the evening, you’d usually be curled up on your couch by the fireplace with your latest knitting project, moderately stoned, watching bad reality television and sipping sleepytime herbal tea. But your night has already gone drastically different from your expectation. Why stop now? “If you wanted…I could try to help.”

Joel shakes his head, looks at the floor. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“You didn’t ask,” you shrug. “I offered.”

He looks up, a soft smile breaks across his face, revealing a row of straight, sparkling teeth, the corners of his eyes crinkling. It’s the first sincere smile you’ve ever seen from him, and your knees feel a little weak at the sight of it. You think you might offer him anything just to see it again. “It’d be a huge favor. But….I’d appreciate it.”

“Alright well…” you look around, push yourself off the countertop. “I probably should change before we go. I don’t think I’ll be taken seriously in this.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I need to make sure Sarah gets to bed alright, how ‘bout you meet me on my porch in ten?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks again,” he raps his knuckles on the counter twice before retreating, and you stay in place until you hear the screen door close behind him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I feel like you’re meeting us all at a very chaotic time….I promise, things aren’t usually like this.”

Joel’s not sure why he feels the need to clarify this to you on the drive to the police station. In fact, he might be saying it more to convince himself, because he thinks ever since Sarah’s mom ran off, things have never not been chaotic.

In some ways, he’s glad it happened. It was a doomed relationship from the start, they’d both been far too young to understand the consequences of their actions, so it was probably for the better that she was no longer around. But he was caught in a constant state of feeling like he could never quite get a handle on things.

Joel glances over at you in the passenger's seat of his truck. He decides that you look a little out of place there, dressed in a black pantsuit, a messenger bag tucked between your heel-clad feet. He can’t remember the last time there was an adult woman in his car. Three months, maybe? It had been a date, a third date, and subsequently, a last date. But right now the context is different.

Your head is tilted towards the open window, the breeze casting stray pieces of your hair around as the radio cuts in and out of an old Eagles song and then to static, and then back into music again. He needs to get his damned stereo fixed but unfortunately it hasn’t exactly been high on his priority list. His gaze travels down the slope of your neck, where your skin dips into the collar of your silky blue blouse, then back to your profile, your lips moving as you mouth the words to the song, but don’t sing.

I get this feelin' I may know you

As a lover and a friend

You stop when his words register, turning to look at him, and he averts his eyes back to the road. “No offense or anything….” you say. “But compared to the family I grew up in….this is all pretty tame.”

Joel ponders that for a moment, notices the way your eyes are narrowed, the corners of your lips quirking. “What, you got a problematic little brother, too? A precocious eleven-year-old?”

“No kids,” you answer. He didn’t think so. “But I do have a problematic older brother. And the stress he’s caused has definitely taken years off my life.”

At least you seem like you understand.

He’s shocked you’re in this car with him, that after entertaining his daughter all night, you’d offered to help him out with this Tommy mess. Though, he assumes you’re doing it out of guilt because Sarah made it sound like he was broke.

“You know for the record, I actually have the money to bail him out.”

“I figured.”

“Then why’d you come?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. My life has been pretty boring lately. I can’t remember the last time I did something exciting on a Friday night.”

“This is exciting to you?”

“It’s objectively exciting,” you sound assured. “Maybe more exciting than being the person who got arrested for public intoxication.”

Despite the stress of the evening, he can’t help but laugh.

“And whether you’re broke or not, bailing someone out of jail is no joke. If you can at least try to talk your way out of it, you might as well.”

Joel can’t argue with your logic.

“What is it you do again?” you ask, eyeing the protective glasses he has in the cup holder of his front seat. There are nails stuck between the rubber grooves of the mat beneath the seats, a pair of thick gloves resting on the dashboard.

“I’m a carpenter.”

“Makes sense,” you answer. “So you’re handy?”

“You could say that,” Joel lifts the can of flat, warm seltzer from his lunch break to his mouth, just to take a sip.

“That’s hot,” you say, and he nearly chokes when he hears it. Are you….flirting? Though, you can’t be, because when he looks over at you, you’re staring at the road, face neutral.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know, I don’t make the rules of what’s hot and what isn’t….it’s just a fact. Everyone knows that.”

“Do they?”

“Uh-huh,” you respond. “I mean, I wish I was handy. I’m pretty much a lost cause in that department.”

“If it paid the bills, you’d figure it out.”

“If it paid the bills, I can tell you, I would not be living in our neighborhood.”

Joel puts his blinker on, preparing to pull into the police station. “You probably still could, it’s not that nice of a neighborhood.”

“Shut up,” you snort, rolling your eyes. “But in all seriousness, it is peaceful. It’s quiet.”

“See, but you still didn’t say nice.”

“It is nice. I like it.”

When he parks the car, you straighten up, unbuckling the seatbelt and exiting without a word. On the opposite side of the truck, he observes how you rebutton the front of your blazer, smooth down its lapels and shift your shoulders back before turning to him.

“You ready?” you ask.

He nods.

“After you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When Joel spots you again, Tommy is walking a few paces behind you. You turn your head over one shoulder, smirking at whatever he’s saying. From where Joel is sitting in the lobby, he can just make out the soft curve of your hips, the tops of your thighs over the barrier that separates him from all the desks of the officers and staff at the station. You’ve got an easy, relaxed gait and you give Joel a wink when he catches you staring.

He can tell it’s just meant to be celebratory thing, since both you and Tommy seem to be in good spirits, but he likes the sight of it anyways, the idea that you’re both in on some secret that no one else is.

Joel stands to greet you and his brother to get the download, but as he approaches, your group is intercepted by one of the cops that had been hanging around reception.

“Miller,” he says lowly to Tommy. “This better be the last time I see you in here.”

When Tommy doesn’t answer right away, you pipe up.

“I assure you my client will be on his best behavior.”

The cop turns to you for a minute, turns back to Tommy, contemplating. “You’re lucky you have a good lawyer…” he says. “Although I’m still not convinced you’re really paying someone to get you out of a public intoxication charge.”

“I-” Tommy opens his mouth but you cut him off.

“Alleged…intoxication,” you interject, stone-faced.

“He can hardly walk straight.”

You purse your lips. “But….you never did a sobriety test, so, would it hold up in court?” you grimace. “If I had to guess….probably not.”

The cop narrows his eyes at you. “Don’t push it, princess.”

Despite the infantilizing nickname, You respond with a polite smile. “Thanks again, officer. Have a nice evening.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs before backing away.

You turn to Joel, your smile fading, and Tommy cuts in. “We should get the fuck out of here before he changes his mind.”

“That’s it? You’re free?” Joel asks.

Tommy nods.

“Tommy’s right, we should definitely leave.”

It’s a mad scramble, the three of you settling back into Joel’s truck, and if he was feeling a little less angsty about the way the whole evening had gone, he might’ve even peeled out of the parking lot for dramatic effect. But at this point, his patience is wearing thin.

He’s back on the main drag, en route to Tommy’s place, with you on the passenger’s side, and his brother in the back, leaning forward with his elbows resting on your seats when his brother speaks up.

“Holy….shit!” Tommy turns to you. “That was fucking awesome, are you kidding me? Joel, where the fuck did you find her?”

He’s still drunk, words slurring together, and he shakes both of your shoulders ferociously. You actually giggle — the sound of it is fucking adorable and Joel wishes that these are not the circumstances for hearing such a noise. He rather it be because of something he said, but he knows Tommy has always been more charming, even when drunk

“She’s my neighbor, Tommy.”

“No way! How come I’ve never seen you around before?” Tommy asks, and Joel can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“I’m kind of new to the area,” you answer.

“Dammit, oh my god, Joel, I wish you coulda seen it.”

Joel looks over at you, and is thankful that he catches your eye. “What’d you say?”

“Never underestimate your negotiating power when the cop you’re talking to’s shift ended over an hour ago, and he doesn’t want to fill out any more paperwork.” You cross your arms, look over your shoulder at Tommy, who is leaning back against the seat with his head in his hands, laughing, before looking back at Joel. “I told you, I have experience.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy pokes his head back between you. “How’d he even get you to come down here? What’d he have to do, offer to paint your house or somethin’?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Sarah got locked out again,” Joel explained. “And I was over at her place when you called. She’s a corporate lawyer.”

“Ah, that makes sense. You know, Joel’s always liked the smart ones,” Tommy starts, and Joel has to contain the urge to slam on the brakes and send his brother face first into the back of his headrest. Unfortunately, he can’t do that with you in the car. “Too bad he’s dumb as a box of rocks.”

“Okay, watch yourself!” Joel snaps, and he’s only halfway kidding. “You got off easy, but you’re on fuckin’ thin ice, and I’m still pissed that I’m spending my night bailing you out again.”

Tommy doesn’t even catch on to Joel’s irritation – or maybe he does, and has just decided that he’s going to be the Annoying Younger Sibling and see how far he can push it. “Don’t let him fool you, okay?” Tommy continues, and you’ve angled yourself towards him, amused. “It’s not always him lookin’ after me. Before he had Sarah, he was crazy.”

“Alright, alright that’s enough, Tommy.” Joel shoots daggers towards his brother in the rearview mirror, and he watches Tommy’s smile falter, finally deciding to back down.

“Is that true, Joel, were you really crazy?” you ask after Tommy grows quiet, tilting your head. “I can’t see it.”

“Well we’ve all have our moments, right?” he says sheepishly.

“We do,” you agree, and then it’s finally silent.

Joel is thankful to see Tommy’s driveway straight in front of him, and his car lurches up the curb. “Alright, alright, this is your last stop,” he says to his brother. “You’ll get in okay?”

Tommy takes a deep breath, settling himself after all his bravado and sinking back against his seat. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at Sarah’s game.” He slinks out of the truck and slams the door behind him.

Normally, Joel would’ve chewed him out after something like this, but he knows being hungover tomorrow at a middle school soccer game, sandwiched between screaming parents and the ear-splitting whistles of the referees will be punishment enough.

“I’ll see you then.” He watches his brother stumble up the steps to his home, unlock the door, and give a wave before disappearing inside.

Joel’s left alone with you. “Should we get you home, now?”

“Yeah, we should.”

Joel puts the car in reverse, puts one of his arms over the back of the bench seat to look for cars behind him, and catches you staring. You don’t even seem embarrassed that he notices, either, you just shift your gaze away to outside the window.

He feels a little self-conscious about the first impression he’s probably made, which is a feeling he’s not used to…caring about what people think.

“Sorry about him, he’s….a good guy but a real piece of work.”

You giggle. “Like I said, I have a brother, too.”

It’s been awhile since he’s interacted with anyone outside of Sarah, Tommy, and his coworkers, and his day was exhausting. He wants to ask more questions, see if he can hold some kind of conversation, but words fail him, so you spend the short drive on the way back home mostly in silence. You’re so quiet that by the time he pulls into your driveway, he thinks you might be asleep. If you were, he doesn’t even get the chance to wake you, because you immediately sit up straight once the truck has come to a halt.

“Thanks for everything tonight,” he says.

“You’re welcome, it was no problem,” you get out of the car, sling your bag over your shoulders, and close the door. “Have a good night.”

Joel’s listening to the retreating click of your heels up the driveway when he rolls down his window all the way to speak again. It’s clear you’re tired, your shoulders are slouched, and he feels incredibly guilty. You worked all day and then had to put up with his entire crazy family.

“Hey,” he says. “How much do I owe you for the pizza?”

You turn around, still stepping backwards. “Nothing.”

“Look, you’ve done too much for me tonight to say that,” he says. “I’m startin’ to feel bad.”

You stop in your tracks then, the smirk on your face fading a little bit as you slowly step forward to where he leans out the truck window. It’s only a few feet, but you’re much closer now than you’ve been to him all night, and there must be jasmine in your perfume. It smells expensive, he thinks, as your hands lift to rest on the door next to his elbow. “You shouldn’t feel bad,” you say softly, voice low.

God, you’re fucking beautiful, he realizes, basked in the glow of the moon, a smile creeping along the edges of your lips. Of course, he knew you were attractive, had definitely registered it at some point before – maybe when he’d walked in on you and Sarah giggling in the kitchen. He was just too busy being worried to even notice until now.

This isn’t a date, but you’re so close he could kiss you, kind of wants to just to see what would happen, but he doesn’t. You’re his new neighbor, and if he’s reading this wrong, he doesn’t want to be reminded of the mistake everyday, first thing in the morning when you’re picking up your newspaper at the end of your driveway and he’s leaving for work.

“But uh…if it would make you feel better…one of the steps on my front porch is rotted. Maybe you could come over sometime and fix it? That a fair trade?”

Joel nods, and you stick out your hand. “It’s a deal,” he says, ignoring the jolt of energy he feels when your palms press together, like you’re a kid wearing a hand buzzer, trying to shock him.

“Great,” you step away. He’s about to put the car in reverse when you speak again.

“Oh, and Joel?” you ask, he looks back at you. Before you speak again, your eyes shift to the ground, like you’re mustering up the courage to ask him something, and when they return to his again, your expression is somber. “Go easy on Sarah….she’s a good kid.”

Joel nods, understanding.

“I know.”

volume ii

taglist: @yaskna @venomous-ko @lomljigg

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller series #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #tlou fanfic #tlou series #texas sun

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creedslove · 2 years ago

Text

BETRAYED - PART SIX

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: angst, age gap, established friendship, unrequited love/one sided feelings, fluff, glimpse of Pedro being a great (silly) dad, and more angst of course

A/N: I have no idea how you guys are gonna react. I hope you guys like it, because I was very invested and loved writing every single part of this chapter. Don't forget that all ideas and suggestions are more than welcome ❤️

I still can't manually tag people on the works because I use the app and it won't let me do it, that's why I don't have a tag list at all!

3k words

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

"You did WHAT?" Kate raised her voice without really meaning to, at the shocking news you'd told her. She couldn't believe just a few feet away from where everyone stood, hidden by a couple of trees Pedro had declared his love for you and kissed you.

And the most shocking to her: you had told him to walk away. She was shocked and expressive at first and then she went silent as you finished your account of what had happened. You told her about Pedro's apologies, about how he confessed his feelings and kissed you. And above all, how it took every ounce of strength and self-control to break that kiss.

"And then, what happened next?" She asked with fire in her eyes, anticipation making her anxious and excited to know, which caused you to roll your eyes

"What do you think happened, Kate? You think we just had a quickie in the middle of the bushes?" You groaned and sighed "he walked away, he came back inside, probably went home, I don't know, I came straight to the kitchen to help you" you shrugged. Your heart was still pounding and it felt like it would burst out of your chest at any moment. But that was not the only thing Pedro messed up in your body, you hated yourself to know your lower belly burned in need at the mere memory of his touch, of how warm his body was against yours, how his lips fell perfectly against yours. You hated the fact your arousal pooled in your underwear, every step you took you could feel it and it was a reminder of how he still had power over you, like no other man ever had and you doubted any other man ever would.

Pedro, on the other hand, should've been home at least an hour prior. He was so ashamed of himself for locking himself in the bathroom after what happened, he felt as if he was back in junior high, hiding away after being dumped by the girl he liked.

He stared into his own eyes in the mirror and sighed again, he just couldn't wrap his head around the fact you didn't love him anymore. Maybe you still did, he wasn't sure, but he'd screwed things up so bad you just wouldn't take the chance. And worse, you didn't even believe him. He never thought any of that could happen. He felt so disappointed in himself and didn't understand why he couldn't have been a better man to you, if he had, maybe right now you'd be together. It was no use wondering things now, he knew he'd lost you and he had nothing else to do there, he only wanted to get a glass of water and get the fuck out of that place. He walked silently through the hallway feeling so thankful to see the guests had already left and he didn't have to socialize with anyone, his social battery was drained at that point and he didn't have to pretend to be happy at all.

"But did you even tell him you were dating?" Kate's voice came from the kitchen, making Pedro stop dead in his tracks. He took a deep breath, his gut churning really hoping it would be someone else to reply to the question but you.

"When was I supposed to tell him? When he got his tongue down my throat?" You replied with a hint of annoyance as Kate seemed to be carrying out an interview with you, while you were tired and emotionally exhausted and all you wanted to do was go home.

"Plus, I'm not dating anyone, I'm just seeing Liev, it's not serious, just a few dates here and there…"

"And some fucking too, Y/N, or you really think I haven't noticed how you and him simply disappeared in the middle of dinner the other night and returned to the table all flushed and giggly?" She raised her eyebrow in a playfully way and saw how you blushed

"Kate!!!" You censored her "that's embarrassing, yeah, it happened a few times, so what? I'm single, he is single, or do you really think Pedro doesn't sleep around? I mean, he did when we were friends and close all the time, even if he knew it hurt my feelings, would he stop it now?" You asked "besides, I don't really buy this sudden gust of feelings he's got for me, I mean, the apologies were really important and I felt they were honest, and I really appreciate that, but don't you think it's too much of a coincidence that he suddenly discovers he loves me right when I'm about to walk out his life? You know he loves being loved. There's nothing wrong with that, we all want affection and love, but not when it comes at the cost of someone's happiness" you shrugged and got ready to leave.

Pedro was speechless and unable to move as too much bombarded him at the same time. First of all, you were dating? He couldn't believe his ears at first and it didn't make it any easier when you explained to Kate you weren't dating, you were just fucking the guy. If anything, it made it all worse. He couldn't believe that damn ape got to have access to your gorgeous body, a body that should be his, touched, kissed and worshiped by him and no one but him.

But the moment he heard your suspicions on his feelings, he felt like disappearing. He couldn't even describe how painful it felt, the pang in his chest was intense and he couldn't help but feel his eyes filled with tears. He didn't care if he looked pathetic, childish even, he was broken-hearted and done with that situation.

"Fuck this" he mumbled under his breath and finally exited the house, he was definitely getting you out of his mind.

•••

You hadn't seen Pedro many times after Flora's party. There had been other dinner parties you attended and some you even took Liev along with you, but Pedro was never present. He always came up with excuses saying he was busy doing photoshoots, studying his script or he was just out of town, little did everyone know, he felt left out and offended to know he hadn't been invited to the gatherings right after you two had fallen out. He didn't want to take out on any of your mutual friends, but it did seem to him it was pretty clear they preferred you over him. Not to mention no one wanted to have a simple friend get together turned into an awkward show by you and your boyfriend and Pedro there, lingering and watching you from afar.

But sometimes you two ran into each other at the gym. He usually kept to himself, always greeting you and asking how you were doing, but as soon as he saw Liev approaching, he'd put on his headphones, turn his back to both of you and focus on his training. He hated every single minute of those gym sessions, they were torture, he hated seeing you with that man, and no matter how much he tried not looking at the two of you, he couldn't help doing it. It was like a morbid curiosity that struck him every time and ripped his chest open. So he just decided to change schedules and avoid that sight once for all.

After his training he just shyly waved goodbye to you and headed home, he stepped into the shower in order to clear his mind, hoping he would forget about you and the unresolved feelings that haunted him. Every time he felt his heart ache, he thought of how much you suffered because of him and had to admit to himself that yeah, maybe he did deserve what he was going through. It pained him to think of everything he made you go through, but now you were happy, and as much as he tried being happy for you, he couldn't. It hurt him, but he was an actor after all and he would have no problem pretending for you. If you let him in, he would put on a happy face and support you as much as you helped him.

He got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, walking to the closet and finding something fresh to wear. Pedro knelt down to look for his pair of sneakers when he came across a box. He frowned softly as he didn't recognize it at first, it took him some time to finally acknowledge the object. It was the box you had handed him his birthday present. You'd always been really good at giving presents and the last birthday you spent together wasn't anything different.

He opened the box and smiled sadly, it somehow still held your perfume inside, making his heart flutter in his chest. He chuckled at the happy memory and frowned as he spotted something under the bow. He hadn't seen that when he got it nor the months that followed it, but now it had caught his attention and he was curious to find what the heck that was. He pulled it carefully, seeing it was a small card and thought maybe it was just something extra that came in with the box and you hadn't noticed it as well.

He still opened and held his breath at the words he found beautifully written. That handwriting he would recognize anywhere.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to find this card… I'm not that great with words, but here it is:

Feliz cumple mi amor. Te deseo toda la felicidad del mundo y quiero que sepas que siempre estaré a tú lado. ¡Te quiero hoy y siempre! **

- Y/N"

Pedro had lost track of how many times he'd read that message over and over, but by the time he was able to put it down, he had made up his mind: he wasn't going to let you go that easily.

•••

You were almost finished preparing dinner, placing the last potatoes in the baking pan and waiting for the oven to reach the right temperature when you heard the doorbell ring. You frowned and checked the clock, it was still early for Liev to show up, so you sighed, feeling a little annoyed at the uninvited guest. You went silent once you opened the door and saw Pedro standing there, he didn't say anything at first either, just scanned you with soft eyes, admiring you, taking in every single beautiful feature he came to love over time.

"Hey mariposa, can we talk?" He asked in his sweet voice, wanting to come inside desperately, you noticed his hands fidgeted with something nervously.

"Sure, Pedro. Come in, let's go to the kitchen, I'm cooking and can't leave stuff unattended" you said giving him space to walk in and saw him following you, you had no idea what that visit was about.

You asked him to make himself at home, offering him something to drink which he politely declined, and observed you put the baking pan into the oven. Only then, he realized how much he missed your cook, how you'd spend the weekends at his home, baking all the things you enjoyed eating, and he would always end up with the dishes as he was not skilled with his cooking at all.

"Listen, princesa, I came here because we need to talk…"

"Pedro please, don't call me that…" you said in a low voice and bit your lips, finally turning to him. You saw him frown and shake his head softly.

"Call you what, hermosa?" He questioned you, seeing a soft flush spreading across your face.

"Calling me those pet names, Pedro… I know I used to like them, but it's not appropriate anymore, I mean, we're not that close and-"

You were interrupted by his hands gripping your hips, squeezing them gently and gluing his body to yours, your faces inches away from each other's, he closed his eyes, leaning towards you, his short beard scratching against your chin, your skin so sensitive to his touch, it sent goosebumps all over it.

"So you don't wanna be my mariposa anymore? You're not mi cariño? Mi hermosa, mi muñequita, mi amor?" He asked in a whisper against your ear. Even if you tried to break free from his touch, which you straight up didn't, it would be impossible. Your body felt on fire at that teasing, at that taunting moment, you hated how Pedro ruined you. But you also loved.

"Answer me, Y/N… I know you don't believe in me, you don't believe in my feelings for you, but guess what, I think you are a lying little shit as well" he kept the same tone, but this time it was followed by soft kisses spread all over your neck, ghosting it softly. "You are a fucking liar Y/N, because you told me you didn't love me anymore" Pedro continued, his lips on your throat, making you squirm as he added his teeth, leaving soft bites all over it, before finally getting to your lips.

He stopped and stared into your eyes, stroking your cheek gently and pecking your lips and chuckling.

"If you don't love me anymore, care to explain this?" He showed you the card you had written for his birthday, seeing your widened eyes and your disbelief. You hadn't forgotten about the card, but you just hoped really hard he would never find it.

You gasped and moved your body against his, so he would stop holding you so close, but Pedro used his weight to prevent you from escaping.

"Cat got your tongue, princesa? I guess it means you still fucking love me, don't you?" He chuckled "that means you are not only a fucking liar, but also one little stubborn muñequita, because you love me, you know I love you and you don't want to be together" he shook his head.

"Pedro, we can't, please, I already told yo-" you squealed the moment you felt his heavy hands on your ass lifting you up and placing you on the kitchen counter. He only took his time to settle you down before attacking your lips with his. The kiss was urgent and deep, his tongue brushing against yours as his hands roamed around your body, at the same time you tugged his hair, not helping yourself but moaning at how heated you were making out.

Pedro broke the kiss and smirked at you "Eres tan linda, mi amor" he whispered and stroked your cheek, sinking his hand down your lap and getting under your shirt, his thick, rough fingertips brushing softly against your skin like he'd never done it before.

"We can't…" you whimpered in need and only earned a scoff from him.

"Mi amor, mira…" he said patiently and let go of your body, though he was locked in your embrace as your legs snaked against his waist "if you want us to stop, we will, but does it really seem you do?" He tilted his head and gave you one of his sweet innocent smile, waiting for you to let go of your body, which you just didn't.

He pulled you back for another kiss, his hand tight on your hair, dragging sweet moans from your mouth. You couldn't resist any longer, you know you should, you had to, but it felt impossible to break free from his spell. You were tired of lying to yourself, you ached for Pedro and you would go all the way with him.

Suddenly the sound of a door slamming shut interrupted you both, you immediately broke the kiss and saw an enraged Liev staring at you both.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" Your boyfriend shouted in pure anger. You can see jaw tightening and the way his veins were more visible.

He took a step closer to you both "what the fuck is this piece of shit doing here? I thought you were done with him?" He yelled "I guess you couldn't keep in your panties anymore, you really got that hungry of a cunt to want two cocks at once? I didn't know you were such a filthy whore" he said taking another step closer to you.

Pedro closed his hand in a fist "shut the fuck up, don't you fucking dare talk to her like that, asshole" He immediately placed himself between you and Liev, shielding your body with his own.

"You shut up, asshole. I'll deal with this bitch first and then I'll fucking kill you!" Liev yelled and aimed his punch at you, but hitting Pedro instead, as he stood there to protect you.

You were so nervous you didn't even know what to do, you just screamed, so terrified and scared at how angry Liev punched Pedro. You had no other reaction than grab a knife nearby and point it at Liev

"G-get out Liev, get out now!!!" You threatened though your voice and your hand was shaking.

The man laughed at your attempt to scare him away, but was distracted enough to receive Pedro's punches on his face as payback for the first attack. Liev wasn't expecting and lost balance for a moment, falling down.

Pedro groaned in pain, but turned to you, taking the knife from your hand "calm down cariño, things will be fine" he said trying to soothe you as he turned to the man "get the fuck outta here and don't come back, I'll fucking kill you if you ever get anywhere near Y/N" Pedro threatened with cold anger in his eyes, anyone could see he was deadly serious, and Liev got up slowly, walking towards the door knowing if he gave in to his revenge thoughts, the cops would be on him at any minute.

He shot you one last glare "and you, little bitch, enjoy your moment with this dick, I hope he treats you like shit, exactly like a filthy whore like you deserves it"

Liev exited and left you shaking in nervousness at everything that went on. Pedro held your face gently, his own bleeding at the wounds he got. You whimpered and began crying.

"Shh it's okay cariño, I'm here for you, you're safe now" Pedro wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, only caring about your well-being and nothing else.

-----

** translation: "Happy Birthday my love. I wish you all the happiness in the world and I want you to know I'll always be by your side. I love you today and forever"

A/N: I hope you guys have enjoyed it!!! Again, I picked Liev with Liev Schreiber in mind but it was a just because situation so you guys can picture whoever you want. If you have any other ideas for the next chapters, let me know ❤️

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal headcanons #pedro pascal imagine #javier peña #javier pena #joel miller

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nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

Text

comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter six: home

summary: takes place after 'make my heart surrender' ends (so if you haven't read the series, you can do so here). after surprising carmy at the restaurant, he has something really important to tell you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: time jump, fluff, 'i love you', smut (18+ mdni), no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language, not proofread -- will probably go back and make some edits

word count: 3.9k

listen to: no such thing - john mayer | you're the best - wet | pancakes for dinner - lizzy mcalpine | want want - maggie rogers

a/n: hi it's me! i'm tired of breaking my own heart are you tired of me breaking your hearts?!! if you're wondering what the heck happened between chapter 5 & 6, make sure to read 'make my heart surrender' or at least, this final chapter!

didn't think you were getting smut with this final chapter?! gotcha!! i had to take some DEEP breaths while writing this. thank you so much for all of the kind comments, external screaming, and dms about this series. i love you all sm. here's is thee much needed and well-deserved fluffy chapter where carmy finally says (redacted).

read: chapter five | masterlist

“God I fuckin’ love you.”

Your words echo in Carmy’s head all shift, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t said it back yet.

The restaurant has been slow for lunch, and in every single moment he’s had to think about it, the words felt like they were on the tip of his tongue:

I love you.

I love you too.

I love you and I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.

But what was he supposed to do? Tell you in the middle of your mise en place? Follow you into the walk-in and tell you there? He almost regrets not just saying it back right then and there – the minute he realized that you and Richie were both pulling a prank on him. Carmy decides that telling you here, at the restaurant just won’t do – just wouldn’t be romantic enough – and he knows you deserve more than that.

As you finish up your prep for dinner service, you eye Carmy carefully. He looks totally wrapped up in thought, and you can’t imagine what he must be thinking this hard about. You’re here. You can’t believe you’re here. And you could care less about anything else right now.

“How ya doin?” you ask him, pulling him from his thoughts.

He doesn’t know if you can see it on his face – that he’s thinking way too hard about this.

“Uh, I’m-. Just thinkin’ about strategy… for dinner service,” he lies, trying his best to throw you off his trail.

“Okay,” you reply, unconvinced.

But it’s clear that he’s not going to give you much more than that.

“You should go home,” he blurts out. His response takes you by surprise, and as soon as he realizes it sounds like he doesn’t want you here, his face softens, quick to course correct.

“I just mean-, you must be tired. From the drive. As much as I appreciate the help…” he trails off. “It’s been slow today anyways. You should take my key and head home. If you want. Get some rest.”

Home.

You smile in response at the sound of it, knowing that, after today, Chicago is your home.

“You sure?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” he insists. “If it stays this slow, I may even be able to get home early.”

You’re sure you have the silliest grin on your face as you hear the word again.

Because this is your home now.

Because Carmy is your home now too.

“Well, if you insist,” you say with a shrug.

“I do,” he says back, a seriousness in his voice.

“Okay,” you giggle in response, agreeing to his demand.

Carmy’s always trying to take care of you. It’s one of the things you love the most about him. Whether he’s asking you if he can make you something or asking to walk you home, you’ve always known that this is how he shows his love.

You and Carmy both wash your hands, and he follows you towards the locker area, watching you hang up your apron in the locker that will now be yours. He busies himself with finding his apartment keys while you gather your things.

“I kinda missed this place,” you say, even though you’ve only been gone three weeks.

“Yeah?” he asks, a light in his eyes as he watches you.

It feels surreal: seeing you here, knowing that you’ll be at his place when he gets back, that he gets to keep you.

“Yeah. And maybe even some of the people too,” you smirk, cheekily.

Carmy blushes, taking a few steps towards you with his keys in hand.

“Need the address?” he asks.

“I remember how to get back there,” you reassure him, playfully.

It hadn’t been that long since you walked home with Carmy the night that changed it all: the night he’d made you his carbonara, the night that feelings were revealed, the night you made love. You’d followed him back to his apartment two nights in a row after that, letting yourself surrender to this thing between you that you’d both spent over two years fighting. And you’d let him take you to bed each night, getting lost in the way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way his skin felt against yours.

You’re still in shock over how much has changed in your life in the last month alone.

It felt like heaven.

It feels like heaven.

And you wonder what took you both so fucking long.

At the same time, you know it happened exactly when it was supposed to happen – that anything before this wouldn’t have worked.

As Carmy hands you his keys, you give him a goodbye kiss, the tension between the two of you palpable. It’s the kind of ‘I can’t wait to get you alone’ tension and you can’t wait till he gets off his shift – your thoughts filled with all the things you want to do with him when you finally do.

It takes a while to leave the restaurant – everyone wanting to get in their hello or goodbye in – before you’re on your way home to Carmy’s apartment. On the drive there, you laugh to yourself about how the staff of The Bear have been betting on how long it’d take for you to come back. It fills you with a sense of warmth, confirming that this was exactly the move you needed to make. Since it’s close by, and you still have your stupid fucking U-HAUL, it doesn’t take long to get back to Carmy’s apartment. You make a mental note to find a good storage container to rent out so you don’t have to lug this thing around while you look for a place.

By the time you get into his apartment, suitcase in hand, it’s clear to you that Carmy wasn’t expecting you. His home is messier than you remember it being when you left three weeks ago, but it’s not so intolerable that it’s maddening.

You put something on the TV in the background, while you unwind, taking a shower then tidying up a little bit around the apartment. You let yourself enjoy the simplest of pleasures: your favorite pair of sweatpants that you can’t believe he’s kept, and a comfy bralette you’ve packed at the top of your suitcase.

But it all starts to hit you as you start slowing down: after spending the night in Cleveland, you’d driven all morning to Chicago, jumped in on the line for dinner prep. You’ve barely had a moment to slow down and holy shit, are you exhausted. It doesn’t take more than a few episodes of Pasta Grannies for you to pass out on the couch. Carmy’s YouTube playback is set to autoplay, and as your eyelids become progressively heavier, you promise yourself you’re just going to close your eyes for a few moments…

“Hi sweetheart,” you hear a voice say, causing you to slowly blink your eyes open.

“Carm?” you mumble, only half awake. “Is it you? You’re really here?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Did I wake you?” he whispers, letting out a small laugh.

You giggle as Carmy comes into your line of sight. He’s perched on the edge of the couch as you reach for one of his hands so that you can touch him.

“Yeah, but I’m glad you did. What time is it?” you ask, becoming more and more awake by the minute.

“Ten-thirty. Business picked up a ton for dinner.”

“Damn.”

“So much for getting off early.”

You hum in response, sitting up momentarily to grab his hands, pulling him towards. Carmy smiles, laying his body over yours, before leaning in for the softest, gentlest kiss.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he smiles back at you, the words just on the tip of his tongue.

I love you too.

You pull him back in for another kiss, this time deepening it. You laugh again, as Carmy breaks the kiss, an inquisitive look plastered to his face.

“What?” he questions.

“Nothing. You smell like hot giardiniera,” you giggle as your lips twist into a smile against his.

He laughs, “Yeah?’

“Uh huh,” you say.

“I’ll shower,” he suggests, playfully.

“No, no it’s okay. I’m kinda into it,” you reply, earning another chuckle from him.

“It’s okay,” Carmy replies, shaking his head. He places a peck on your lips before sitting up properly, earning a groan from you as he pulls away. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. Maybe we can move this to uh… my bedroom?”

“Are you putting the moves on me, Berzatto?” you tease him, shooting him a playful look.

“No! I just meant-, since I know you must be tired-,” he stammers, a blush running across your cheeks.

You shake your head, sitting up to reassure him with another kiss.

“I’m kidding,” you say with a chuckle. “And I’m also starving.

“Yeah?” he sounds.

“How about this? Why don’t you jump in the shower and I’ll order us a pizza. I’m sure we can find something to do while we wait for it to get here,” you say suggestively.

Oh.

“Sounds great,” he agrees with a quick raise of his eyebrows.

You watch as Carmy disappears into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling your ears, you scroll around a little for a good pizza spot nearby. You settle on something New York style out of habit, ordering a few things for delivery.

By the time Carmy gets out of the shower, you’ve curled up with yourself in his bed, scrolling around on your favorite social media app. You let out a whistle as soon as Carmy enters the room with only a towel tied around his waist. You can tell he’s tried his best to dry his hair, running the towel through his perfect curls a few times. You’ve got all this pent up sexual energy, and seeing Carmy like this, all hot, nearly-naked, and wet is really doing it for you.

Hell, he could be in a full hazmat suit and the man would do it for you.

You watch as he rummages through his dresser, searching for a t-shirt and a pair of briefs, but there’s no fucking way you’re letting him get dressed. You toss your phone to the side, standing up from where you are on the bed.

As you approach, you snake your arms around his waist, stopping him in his tracks. He cannot believe this is real: that you’re here, in his bed, in the sweatpants that he knows you love. That you’re here to stay. That you’re here and you’re his.

“Hey,” he says, his lips twisting into a smile as you begin to leave soft kisses across the back of his shoulders.

“Hey, yourself,” you reply, nipping at the skin you’ve just kissed.

Carmy hisses at the feel of your teeth, letting out a laugh that seems to rumble in his throat.

“Can I help you with something?” he teases you.

He feels your lips curl into a smile against his skin, smirking in response.

I fucking love you too.

But before he can say anything, your hands are pushing his towel down past his hips, desperately envious of the way the material clings to him.

“Mhm,” you hum. “I think you know.”

He lets the towel fall to the floor, and Carmy groans as you wrap your hand around his hard on, hissing as he feels you pump him a few times.

“Seems like you’ve been thinkin the same thing,” you say again, feeling how hard he already is.

He bites into his lower lip, his eyes rolling towards the back of his head as he enjoys the way you touch him.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day, sweetheart.”

“Well…” you trail off. “I’d love to hear more about what’s been on your mind.”

“Yeah?” he croaks out, the pleasure you’re bringing him causing him to short circuit.

“Yes,” you sigh out, wound up with desire.

Finally, Carmy turns around, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you in for a passionate, lust-filled kiss. His lips are on yours like he’s been starving, as if nothing would satiate him the way tasting you will. You open your mouth, deepening the kiss, as you feel his tongue slide against yours. Carmy begins backing you up towards the bed, guiding you down to his mattress.

“Had this on my mind since you left Chicago,” he mumbles, his pupils wide, fully blown out in lust.

“Me too,” you manage to get out.

He leans in once more, pressing his lips to yours once more. You drag your teeth against his bottom lip, before he breaks the kiss, his mouth and hands searching for real estate lower. Carmy leaves hot, open mouthed kisses along your breasts, your torso, and you’re practically pulling off your bralette like it’s burning your skin.

“Been thinkin’ about this. You…” he admits, his voice hoarse.

You gasp in pleasure as Carmy drags the sweatpants, along with your panties, down over your hips, tossing them who knows where behind him.

“... tasting you.”

You moan as he positions himself between your legs, kneeling on the floor, his chest pressed to the bed. Your legs quake with anticipation as you feel his hot breath fan over your core. Every moment he spends making you wait is killing you.

“Carmy, please,” you beg, as he begins leaving soft kisses along your inner thighs. You can tell he’s making himself wait too, building the anticipation so that when he lets himself have you…

“Carmen!” you moan.

He practically groans against you as he uses the tip of his tongue to trace your clit.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he muses, before burying himself between your thighs again.

His mouth is on you, tracing little shapes with his tongue, licking up and down your progressively wet core, while his hands keep your legs spread wide.

All for him.

He continues to eat you out, completely enraptured with the way you taste, the way your moans and gasps sound, the way you say his name, calling out for him and only him. As he slips a finger inside of you, you bury your hands in his hair, your hips thrusting up into his hand and against his mouth.

“Holy fuck, Carmy,” you gasp, your mind completely taken over with the pleasure he’s giving you.

He can tell that you’re close, adding another finger, taking note that you seem to like it even more. It’s as if he’s memorized every single thing you loved, everything that seemed to make you tick, and applied it to this time.

“Carmy, I’m gonna-,” you cry out, your legs shaking as he brings you over the edge.

You’re gasping, writhing against the bed, your legs still pushed wide by tatted hands as you begin to come down. You look down, tugging Carmy’s hair to bring him back up to you. When he finally looks back up at you, he’s grinning, completely satisfied with the pleasure he’s brought you. He makes his way back up, laying his very naked body over top of yours, leaning in for another kiss.

You can taste yourself on his lips, and he doesn’t know if it’s possible to get harder than he is.

“That’s what you were thinking about?” you whispered against his lips, spreading your legs to make room for him. You can feel his hard, aching cock against your wet center, and if you think you’ll die if he’s not inside of you as soon as possible.

“All day.”

He kisses you, nipping at your top lip momentarily, before continuing with:

“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about it, actually.”

That and something else.

Three words he can’t seem to get out.

Even though they’re begging to be said.

You reach down, wrapping a hand around him, sliding his thick tip against you so that he can feel how wet and needy you are for him.

“I can think of a few other things I want,” you beg him, feeling him shudder against you as you drag the tip of his cock over you again and again.

“And what’s that?” Carmy asks you cheekily.

Instead of answering, you guide him into you, earning a gasp from the both of you as he splits you open. Carmy takes his time pushing into you, making sure to pause when he’s fully seated inside of you.

Your eyes are locked with his, allowing yourself to get totally lost inside of the pools of blue. You’re sighing out in pleasure, squeezing around him, your lips so fucking close to touching it’s near-painful. Carmy begins to slide out of you at a dangerously slow pace, thrusting into you, deeper each time. You’re pulling him down to you, and it’s as if you can’t get enough – enough of his mouth on yours, enough of him to hold onto – even though you have all of him.

You’d let him consume all of you if he wanted to, you think to yourself, as he swallows your moans in his mouth.

It’s tangled legs, and tangled tongues, and whispered pleas.

“God, you feel so good,” he grunts, burying his head in your neck as he speeds up. You can tell the both of you are close – that all the pent up sexual energy means that neither of you will last long.

But you don’t care.

You’ve got all the time in the world now.

“Carmy,” you whine, desperate for him to let you cum.

You know you have his attention, as he raises his head, locking eyes with you again.

“I want you to fuck me from behind,” you whisper, desperately.

“Fuck. That’s so hot,” he groans, his eyes wide.

Unwillingly, he peels his body off of yours, letting you sit up straight. He thinks he may have died and gone to heaven as he watches you turn around, kneeling on all fours over his bed. His hands immediately go to your ass, dragging calloused palms over the curve of it as he kneels behind you.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he gasps, guiding himself back into you.

He thinks the sight alone may send him to an early grave as you bow your back, your ass still high as you press your chest against the bed.

“Your ass is fucking incredible,” Carmy says, pulling out slowly, before thrusting back into you with a force that makes you cry out.

“Carmen,” you whimper, your legs shaking beneath you.

This feels too good.

“Hmm?” he asks, his hands smoothing over your low back, following the way your back seems to arch in pleasure.

“Fuck me. Please.”

He knows he won’t last much longer. His hands hold onto your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into your skin as he begins to speed up. It feels unreal, incredible, being this deep inside of you. And he gets to watch: watch the way you arch your back, watch your body respond to every single thrust, watch you grasp at the sheets and pillows, searching for something to hold onto.

“I don’t think I’m gonna last long, baby,” he stutters out, his thrusts becoming more erratic as you beg him to keep going.

“Please, Carmen. That feels so goddamn good,” you plead with him, face down into his sheets.

“Shit. Fuck,” he howls, his voice booming against all corners of the room.

Carmy places the gentlest hand against your low back, as if it to ask you to lay down, laying his body over yours from behind. He pauses, because it just feels too damn good, and he wants to revel in this moment before this ends. Ever so slowly, he begins to drag his cock in and out of you at the most torturously slow pace. His mouth leaves small kisses against your shoulders, nipping at your soft skin as he continues to make love to you.

“Faster, Carmy. Please. I’m gonna cum,” you pant.

You’re not sure just how much more patient you can get here. You feel him begin to speed up, and you’re moaning into his mattress against, begging for him to make you cum. He can feel you squeezing around him, and the sight of himself fucking into you really isn’t helping either.

“Fuck,” he manages to get out, his hips beginning to stutter against your ass.

“Yes. Whatever you want. I’ll give you whatever you want,” he repeats, earning the most blissful ‘Carmy’ from your lips he’s ever heard.

“Baby, I’m so close,” you whine.

“Yes, me too. Yes. Fuck, I love you,” he calls out, shutting his eyes as he cums.

He can feel you shuddering around him, as he fucks you through your orgasm too, completely unaware of the words that have flown out of his mouth.

You’re both panting, breathless from what you’ve just done, as you begin to come down.

“Holy shit,” he finally says, leaning his forehead against the back of your shoulder.

“You can say that again,” you chuckle, trying to catch your breath.

“Can we do this tomorrow? And the day after that?” you ask, playfully, turning your head to kiss him. “And the day after that?”

Carmy smiles, “Absolutely.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get cleaned up and back into comfy clothes. Carmy knows there’s no point in fighting you for your favorite pair of his sweatpants as he picks out another pair, remaining shirtless for your viewing pleasure. The pizza arrives shortly after, and you find yourself in bed, with the man you’ve loved for so long, getting a much-needed refuel break.

“You know I hate eating in bed,” Carmy points out, watching you get crumbs all over his sheets.

“Yeah, well I’m getting my own place so… that’s a future problem for you and me,” you answer, without a single care in the world.

“For when we move in together?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

It’s almost as if he’s testing the waters – seeing if that’s something that’s still on your mind.

“Right,�� you confirm, confidently.

But you’re in.

You’re all in.

It seems like you’ve passed whatever test he’s given you as the corners of his lips curl into the softest smile.

“You know… you live in Chicago now,” he teases, in reference to your choice of pizza.

You scoff in response, throwing in a playful eye roll for dramatic effect.

“Oh fuck you.”

He laughs.

You eat quietly, enjoying your first night in Chicago as a resident. You watch as Carmy’s face changes, as if he’s trying to find the right words to say what’s on his mind. Instead of asking, you wait, knowing that he’ll bring it up when he finds them.

“Hey uh…” he starts, hesitantly. “I just want you to know… that I… I meant what I said earlier.”

The more serious tone he uses piques your curiosity as you stare back at him blankly, unsure of what he's referring to.

“What do you mean?” you ask back.

Carmy takes another beat, pausing as he musters up the courage to clarify with:

“That I love you. I didn’t want you to think I just said it because… well you know.”

Because you were naked.

Because he got caught up in the moment.

Because he was inside of you.

He licks his lips, before opening his mouth to say it again:

“I love you.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, his eyes are on you, watching your face for any kind of reaction.

But you’re beaming as you hear them and it all begins to make sense. It was something you’d said earlier, but the fact that he hadn’t said it back hadn’t been on your mind. Is this what he’d been thinking about all day? You just figured he'd say it back when he was ready.

You shake your head, a grin plastered to your face as you reply,

“I know, silly. I love you too.”

Fin.

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