#stared at both his current mini and the old mini for these | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xxepherr · 8 months ago

Text

.ೃ࿐ELECTION DAY

summary — in which austin accidentally lets it slip that hasan’s faceless (yet public) girlfriend is the woman they’re currently watching analyse the maps on CNN.

pairings — hasan piker x politicalcorrespondent!girlfriend!reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1893

note — i personally would have “6’4 jacked boyfriend” as his contact name so that whenever weird men try to hit on me they see that but thats just me (and this reader insert ofc) (also this is nothing special just me rambling tbh — what’s to say this political!reader doesn’t become a mini series)

THE DAY WAS HERE. election day. not only was it the day your boyfriend had spent hours upon hours preparing for for weeks, but you, too. you were a political journalist and correspondent currently working the map for CNN during the weeks in the lead up to the election.

it was a big day for you. four years ago you were streaming your own map coverage to fifteen thousand people on twitch, accessing your sources across multiple states to provide statements on what was going on nationwide. being asked a couple months ago to run the maps in front of millions was certainly a step up, but it gave you control to speak objectively without bias unlike most of the other news anchors and correspondents that were pushing right-wing sentiment over any other coverage.

you hadn’t seen hasan in a few weeks now unless you counted facetimes and tuning into his streams. you’d get texts while he was streaming and the occasional kaya video ( because apparently she’d been whining with your leave ). it wasn’t the same, but you were both incredibly career-driven people, so being hours apart by plane wasn’t as daunting as it probably should’ve been.

“you’re gonna be late to stream,” you laughed softly, fiddling with the cap of the bottle of water someone had gotten you. endless tabs were open on your laptop in front of you, following aspects of every state because there was still hours to go before the polls closed, so you were only needed in short segments for now to go over 2020 and 2016 county votes in particular states at a time.

“you’re right,” hasan’s voice was slightly staticky through the phone. “i might have to focus on kornacki or fox news so that i don’t spend too long staring at you.”

“aw,” you let go of your phone, holding it between your ear and shoulder to screw the cap back on the bottle. one of the directors caught your attention across the room, holding up his hand to say that she had five minutes before they were back on air again. “i’m back on in a few . . . i’ll have your stream open on my laptop, though!”

“good luck today,” hasan said softly as he started his stream, leaving it on his opening scene while his mic was muted. people were already flooding in by the thousands. “i’ll talk to you in, what, twelve hours? i love you.”

“twelve hours,” you hummed in agreement, “i love you more,” you sighed softly, noticing that the twitch tab was reloading to take her to his ‘starting soon’ overlay. “good luck.” you ended the phone call first, quickly putting it back on do not disturb and placing it over on the table that was full of analytical notes. the board that now had the map of the united states of america was lit up again, an empty canvas waiting for you to load up the old votes to load up projected blue and red areas.

TOO MANY HOURS TO count and three hundred thousand viewers into the election, hasan was still going strong. despite the pull to watching CNN more than he probably should, he managed to force himself to switch between fox news to laugh at republican propaganda and msnbc. though, he would one hundred percent lying if he said he didn’t have CNN up on his second monitor.

things were steadily climbing, and josh ( ettingermentum ) was back after mike from PA left the call. josh, who had been raging on ( no seriously, no one had really heard him be that loud all day ) about how the democrats fucked up was finally broken up when austin joined the call, the atmosphere shifting.

christmas sign in full view and a cold slab of a slice of pizza being shoved into his mouth, austin’s discussion on if he was being sent to prison if the republicans dominated was dwindled until josh left the call to analyse the polls for twitter.

“ugh, can we watch something else?” austin asked, barely swallowing his mouthful of pizza first. “all i’ve done is watch fox today.”

“yeah,” hasan chucked humourlessly, clicking around mindlessly between tabs as he tried to find msnbc’s coverage. because the tabs were so small thanks to the fifty million twitter tabs he had open, he almost groaned in frustration when he accidentally clicked on the CNN tab.

the tab where you were conveniently fiddling with the data of state of pennsylvania. it was already a dangerous game having you on screen when the chat knew what the silhouettes of you looked like — photos from behind of you walking with hasan, photos of your eyes after he tried to do your makeup, mirror fit checks with your face covered by the phone . . . chat only needed to be railroaded enough to work it out.

just as he was about to switch tabs again, austin opened his mouth. “oh, man, i miss her,” there was a shift in his tone, more than just him speaking without thinking. familiarity shone through. from the way he casually uttered your nickname to the sigh, it was probably worse than railroading. it was the train forgetting to slam the brakes on worthy.

hasan wisely kept his mouth shut as he switched to fox news — anything was better than CNN currently — and his eyes slowly zeroed in on the chat. question marks upon question marks until it eventually morphed into ‘holy shit she looks familiar’ and ‘girlfriend reveal????’ to ‘omg face reveal’ and his breathing faltered.

someone switched the chat to emote only mode in the few moments he was silent for, austin thankfully following suit. glancing at his second monitor, you were still doing your thing, this time discussing the iowa flip from blue to red, completely oblivious.

“austin,” hasan finally said, tone flat. there was no use making a big fuss out of denying it — that would just make it more obvious.

austin chuckled nervously, awkwardly. “uh . . . sorry, hasan. i didn’t think about it . . . awkward.”

“clearly,” he grumbled, digging his fingers into his hair for a moment as he thought. the election was put on hold in his mind for a moment as he switched the screen to the full facecam. he wasn’t going to directly deny or confirm anything, so instead he said, “take what you will from what austin said. in saying that, don’t go harass her, clearly she was faceless for a reason. anyway,” hasan cleared his throat, “moving on, back to the election . . .” and he swiftly moved on like nothing ever happened ( while the mods were timing out anyone who asked about it for an entire week ).

“PENNSYLVANIA AND NEVADA ARE expected to be the closest as of currently,” you gestured to the map that demonstrated the slight wave from the blue shift. “we’re looking at about half a percent, but election night is full of surprises so . . . we’ll continue to keep an eye on that for now.” the directors in the back signalled that the camera was no longer live, and you nodded and took a deep breath. the polls weren’t looking as good as everyone had expected it would look for the democrats.

finally off the air for a much needed break, you wandered back over to your little table off to the side. notes were piling up, but upon noticing the spam of notifications flashing across your phone. weird, you thought, your notifications usually not showing up unless it came from verified accounts across all social media platforms . . . until you noticed that it was coming from your private instagram and twitter account. super weird.

and then the text from hasan.

6’4 SUPER JACKED BOYFRIEND: uhhh so austin accidentally told 300k people we’re dating

6’4 SUPER JACKED BOYFRIEND: call me when ur done? so sorry

oh. on one hand the first part was exciting. three hundred thousand? it was a new viewership record for him. on the other? that means a shit ton of people knew the secret you guys had spent almost two years safeguarding. you’d wanted to keep your face out of everything because you had your own career and didn’t want his to intertwine with it. a healthy work-life balance was keeping that shit separate, but it was only really time until people found out anyway. it wasn’t the best kept secret, anyway.

still, you weren’t mad. you sent off a quick text saying ‘it’s alr’ with a smiley face emoji and shut your phone off completely, shoving it off to the side and turning your laptop back on. you’d be back in california tomorrow, anyway, it could be dealt with then.

THE AIRPORT WASN’T AS secretive anymore. tired after only getting a couple hours of sleep because you got back to your hotel at some god awful hour this morning, it was an instant relief to see hasan waiting for you, dresses comfortably to not draw too much attention to himself — which was difficult because he was fucking huge.

either way, you had no energy to do anything but collapse into his waiting arms, letting him engulf you until you were suffocating. “this is nice,” you mumbled. “sorry i didn’t call, was so tired.”

“you’re fine,” he promised, pulling you back slightly to look at him. “i missed you,” he slipped his hand into yours, and he took your suitcase with his other hand. it was nice to be able to publicly be in his presence without worrying, so much so that you leant into his arm, tiredness dragging your feet.

“missed you more,” you said honestly, but there was more on your mind than just small talk. “where’s austin? motherfucker’s been blowing up my phone.”

hasan chuckled, “if i hear him apologise one more time i’m gonna commit a hate crime.” he then shook his head, “he wanted to stay at the house but i told him to come ‘round tomorrow . . . want you to myself first.”

you knew what that was code for, so you shook your head with a silent laugh. “let me sleep first, god.”

and sleep you did. the house was silent thankfully so you were content tucked up in hasan’s arms, stealing him from clocking in with his twitch chat for ten hours in a fit of selfishness that you were entitled too.

“austin might’ve saved our relationship,” you teased, trailing your fingers up his arm that was tightly wrapped around you, both on the verge of falling into dreamland. “now we can go out on proper dates again.”

“you can tell him yourself,” hasan’s arms tightened around her a little bit more, so full of warmth that the blanket was starting to render useless. “when he knocks our door down tomorrow morning.”

“aw, come on,” you tapped his arm a little harder, fighting the urge to gnaw on his forearm. “you love him.”

“i love you, he’s just my side piece,” he kissed the side of your neck tenderly, “night, baby.”

“g’night,” you mumbled back with a soft smile, the world drifting away for just that little bit longer until tomorrow rolled around. you could deal with your very public relationship then.

#hasanabi x reader #hasan piker x reader #hasanabi fic #xeph writes about hasan

565 notes · View notes

potatomountain · 4 months ago

Text

C:IU Chapter 1

Act One: Chapter One

Masterlist | Next

Pairing: Poly 0t8 Ateez x fem reader AU: Mafia/detective Genre: 18+ poly romance, action Word Count: 3.5k Summary: "Not the same" Warnings: 18+, mentions of drunken sex, attempted kiss, triggers, panic attack, suggestive AN: Dividers and banner made by me @potatographics. Usual beta readers tagged in masterlist! No editing done!

There was a sense of nostalgia as your phone rang for the dozenth time in the last five minutes, knowing who it was before looking at the screen. With a smile you brought the screen to your ear, nearly avoiding one of the bystanders on the sidewalk. “Hi Ji.” “Finally you pick up! Where are you? You said you would be here ten minutes ago!”

You laughed at the frantic voice on the other side, having missed him. “The distance was a little more than I thought so I left later than I should. I’m walking up now, is he in?”

There was a moment of silence, some shuffling, and then a sigh. “He is and he’s more frantic than I am! He thinks you stood us up.” “Now why would I do that?” You mused, stepping up to the S.K Unit. “He knows I just love him.” The bitterness was still there, no matter what.

Even if you were the one who opted for this. Who asked for this meeting.

Well you did that out of bitterness too.

“I’m here and coming in.” You announced before hanging up and pushing into the familiar precinct.The familiar uniform at the desk, staring up at you in shock before they scrambled to greet you.

Now you didn’t think you looked that different. Was it the outfit?

You weren’t in your old fitted suits of black and white. Hair was colored and shorter, and you were wearing more makeup than you used to but that last bit was a habit by now. Was it the low cut top? The tight mini skirt or the lace stockings?

You’ve been wearing such things for some time now you hadn’t realized that your old unit would gawk at your appearance. And boy did they gawk.

The second you stepped back in the familiar room with lined desks, heels clicking to a stop with finality, your old unit looked in your direction. Most of them at least.

It was your old Captain who you stared down, capturing his gaze with your own and tilting your head curiously as his eyes skimmed down your length. He swallowed hard.

Good, rub it in his face what he lost.

Smiling sweetly, you finally turned your attention to Jisung and Changbin that flanked you, the latter swooping you up into a hug. “God Damn you look amazing!”

Playfully you swatted at his arm, smile turning coy. “Yeah? I don’t have as many restrictions with my current work so I’ve really branched out. Believe it or not, I do have a gun on me, and not my purse.” You gave a little twirl just to show off the fit some more.

“It’s in the boots right? Otherwise-” Jisung made a face, shaking his head before he pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him happily, truly having missed him since you had barely talked to him since the night of the club.

It had been so long, and so much had happened, you felt a little bad for ignoring them but it hadn’t been safe.

As if you had time anyways, even your sweet lovers complaining they didn't get to see you.

With a sigh you pulled away from them both, smiling and waving at the two youngest that were in the room, just to have one attached to your waist in the next second. “Hey there Innie. You doing well without me?”

“No.” He buried his face into the crook of your neck, showing his age as the youngest.

“It hasn’t been the same without you. Are you going to come back? It’s been months.” Seungmin chimes in from right behind Jeongin, an expression on his features you weren’t used to, like a kicked puppy.

“She’s not.” Chan finally barked out before you could answer, his tone enough to get the others to back away and clear the way for him to approach you. “You asked to meet. Business or pleasure?”

When he looked like he wanted to bend you over the nearest object and probably hate fuck you, you couldn’t help but play coy. “Business and personal. Can we talk in your office?”

With a sharp nod he turned on his heel and headed to his office, pushing the white sleeves up to his elbows, a sign he was agitated. Good.

Stepping into his familiar office he immediately shut the blinds, motioning for you to take a seat while he shut and locked the door. You opted to stand, a fact he didn’t mention as he moved over to his desk.

“Personal first, if you don’t mind.” You kept your tone cool and nonchalant, finding it funny how the tick in his jaw and flex of his muscles no longer excited you like they used to. How many times had you fucked yourself to the mental image of his fingers inside you, his arm flexing under your own hands as you held on?

Now you imagined another hand, another arm- many of those. Some that you could vividly remember how they felt on your skin, and others you could only think about. Perhaps you'd get the courage to make those fantasies a reality soon, not liking the anxiety that bubbled up in your chest when you often thought of physical contact in that way.

I'll get over it; you told yourself for the nth time in the last several months. The fact you were here now, facing down the man that broke your heart and had betrayed you to an extent you never thought you would recover from, was proof to you that you could get over that other thing.

“Personal as in about the last time I saw you?” Chan's tone was clipped and to the point, a sign he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. “What is there to say?”

You relaxed your expression to try and appear as bored as possible. “Oh I don't know. How my best friend and the man I loved and admired sabotaged my career so they didn't have to make any personal sacrifices to their morals?” Venom still dripped in your words as your stare turned cold. “We can start there.”

“That's not the case-”

“Oh? Then what was it? I know I confessed, Chan. And then the next time you talked to me you were transferring me out. Doesn't matter why, you handled that like a fucking child.” You cut him off, sneering at the tick in his jaw.

He barked out your name, much like he used to when he felt like you were overstepping orders or infringing on his authority. You just rolled your eyes at him, locking your hips and placing a perfectly manicured hand on the curve. “I didn't have a choice in transferring you.”

“Funny, it sounded like you suggested the transfer. Or well, you listened to Minho about it.” You snapped out, the calm and collected air around you falling fast. “But by all means, tell me how you had no choice but to transfer me. No choice not to confess. No choice not to talk to me after I did. No choice but to break me into a million pieces by ignoring me and my feelings until it was convenient for you.”

Toe to toe with him now, he was no longer keeping a cool head either, anger twisting his handsome features into a sneer. “You don't know anything. I played by the rules as much as I could. But you never think about that do you? I didn't want to keep quiet! Fuck I couldn't keep my hands off of you when you were drunk and I hated myself for that!”

While he pushed his hair out of his face, you were flabbergasted, staring up with wide eyes. “What… what do you mean? What did you do, Chan?”

He turned away, clenching his jaw hard enough the veins on his neck bulged out. “You kissed me. Left a hickey. Felt so fucking good grinding up on me. I didn't fuck you. But I-” Mr. Stickler for clear consent and rules couldn't meet your eyes as he admitted, to him, his greatest sin. “You tasted so good, Trouble. Fuck I can still picture you coming on my tongue- on my fingers. The sounds you made, the way you begged-” He lifted his gaze to yours, a heat there you were unfamiliar with.

One step closer, and you took one back. You would have found his admission hot before, the idea you had such an effect on him that he broke his own rule, but that was before.

Before that red wolf.

You told yourself this was beforehand and it wasn't the first time you had done such things drunk, so why did it matter.

It mattered when your name fell from his lips like a heated plea. When he reached out and grabbed your hip, pulling you flush against him. It mattered when he leaned in as if to kiss you, his eyes on your lips. “Is it really impossible to go that route?”

Panic welled in your chest at how close he was. You didn't want him to touch you- you didn't want to be touched.

It was the sting of your palm that brought you back to your senses, a red mark clear on Chan's cheek as you were now several feet away from him, back against the door and breathing a bit erratic.

He didn't move aside from glancing at you. You could see the pain in his gaze, the confusion. Perhaps now he would finally realize how much he had screwed up.

“This was a mistake.” The thought of sticking around, alone in this office, had your chest tightening more by the second. Fumbling with the door, you were tripping over your feet to get out faster.

A chorus of your name echoed around you, different levels of concern and panic. You would have run right out if not for Chan grabbing your wrist. You struggled, turning to smack him again.

Jisung swooped in for the figurative rescue, pulling Chan off you and stopping your hand from connecting again with his Captain's jaw. “Hey hey, let's talk about this.”

“I'm trying.” Chan hissed out, the tick in his jaw back. “Why did you-”

“You touched me.” You cut him off, short breaths had your chest heaving. “You don't have the right any more Chan. I told you, you lost me. I wanted to make it clear what you fucking did is unforgivable, but I wanted to work past it so that we can work together. Because despite you being an entitled, self-absorbed, goody-two-shoes asshole… you and this unit are good at your fucking jobs.”

Shaking off Jisung's hold, you stepped back, surprised to see the two youngest flanking you and stare down Chan. Seungmin even put an arm in front of you almost protectively, another thing you did not expect. They were the last two to join and you had a friendly working relationship with them but you weren't as close as you were with Jisung or Hyunjin.

Where was the latter? And Minho? And Felix? Two of those you wanted to see more than anything.

“She has a point, Captain. about you being a self-absorbed asshole that is.” Seungmin drawled it out so easily, sparing you a concerned glance. “You don't talk to us. You make decisions without explanations, ones that affect us all. We lost the vote to keep her here, but you never told us she didn't know about it. You told us there wasn't much of a chance otherwise. It was her or us.”

“Even I regret my vote.” Changbin added on, stepping up to his Captain, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We've been a mess since she left. Hyunjin acted out until you had to suspend him. Felix has been like a shell of his former self. Minho is too busy talking to the higher ups and moving between other precincts. We haven't met our quota in months-”

“I get it.” Dejectedly, Chan's whole demeanor fell. “I fucked up.”

Some of the tension slipped out of the room then, but you were still far too tense, stepping back. “You clearly have shit to figure out. Ji, let me know when this unit is level headed for a job.” The shaking of your words gave way to your panic, but you didn't stick around to let them poke at it.

Jeongin walked you out however, silent as he fell into step next to you. You didn't protest, mostly because he didn't ask any questions. He was there as you signed yourself out and walked out the front door, only pausing when you did.

The last thing you expected stepping out of the S.K Precinct was the tall, lanky man holding a bundle of your favorite flowers in his hand, pacing as if he was nervous. “Mingi?”

His head shot up, those boba eyes you adored brimming with concern, brows pushed together even deeper at the sight of the man next to you. “Princess?”

Tears welled up behind your eyes as you stepped closer, but Jeongin was right there. “You know him?”

“He's my boyfriend.” You replied without a second thought, chest tight with emotion that was reflected on Mingi's features. The way his eyes widened a tad more, brows shooting up at your admission, and the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his full lips.

Recognition flashed across Jeongin’s own sharp fox-like features. “The one who hit Chan?”

“Yep. What are you doing here baby?” You stepped up to him, glancing down at the flowers with a silent question.

He handed them over to you, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The way you stiffened wasn't lost on him, but he didn't address it. “I heard you were coming to see that fuck face so I came to pick you up. I got her from here.” Mingi nodded over at Jeongin, effectively dismissing him.

He hesitated a moment before turning on his heel. “Alright just- don't be afraid to reach out. We don't stand with Chan on this.” He was back inside the next moment.

Alone with Mingi, the flowers now in your hand, he smiled down at you but it was still a little tense. “Boyfriend? Really?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you instead buried your nose in the flowers. ��Do you really want to question that after you brought me flowers?”

“No… you're right. Let me take you home then?” He asked, moving his arm around you but not touching. He must be able to tell how on edge you were.

You were trying to forget.

“Who says I didn't drive?” You retorted, automatically defensive from his care. It made you feel weak, like you were fragile. You knew that wasn't their intent, what they thought; you knew they were just respecting your triggers. Yet it pissed you off anyways.

“The fact you lack a license, Princess. Now for my own piece of mind I'd like to take you home.”

You hated how easily he calmed your thoughts, proving he didn't think you were fragile but he needed it. “Fine- lead the way.” With a resigned huff you let him lead.

Moments later you were in the passenger seat of his car, much like Wooyoung's, it looked a bit rundown on the outside but had a slick, luxurious interior. “Are these your undercover cars or something?”

“Yeah. I'll have to show you my baby though. She purrs like a kitten, made the modifications myself.” He slipped into the driver seat with ease, chair pushed back and one hand on the wheel. “Buckle up Princess.” Was the only warning you had before he was slipping into traffic with a harsh swerve.

It didn't surprise you that he was a car guy, at times taking notes of black stains on his fingertips that would last a few days. You never asked, mostly because it was in passing. You also weren't surprised he was a reckless driver.

What did surprise you was when you realized he was not heading downtown to the Pink Boa apartments you had been staying in the last few months. “Mingi? I thought you were taking me home?”

“Yeah, back to Captain's place.”

“That's not home.” You protested, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He glanced over at you incredulously. “Of course it is. It’s home for all Pirates.”

The surety of his words had you stumped, so instead of answering you glanced down at the flowers again.

Right after they officially accepted you into the Pirates, you demanded to go to work. You had reached out to Haru and she set you up with one of the apartments she kept her girls in. Your legal address was still next to Mingi, this was just considered a burner apartment, one that you didn't need to stay in but you did anyways.

Haru had been right about a woman's touch after such incidents, burying yourself into work to also keep her from probing. Were you running from what happened? Ignoring It? Yes.

It wasn't because it happened, but you hated the way it changed you. Your desire for the others was still strong, but the moment you thought of them touching you, your mind would slip. The creepy drunk men hitting on you? Also making your skin crawl.

Your ability to do your job was affected. Your relationship was strained. You felt… less.

So you pushed through it, pretending you didn't break down alone in that apartment. Pretending Yeosang didn't see any of it. You pretended the others didn't have a reason to be worried. Pretended you couldn't see Wooyoung or San because of work, despite living in the same building as them.

Mind racing with anxiety, wondering just how you were going to face them, you didn't realize the two of you were already pulling into a garage under the stone and metal building on the river that was home to your Captain and his lover's.

Your lovers.

It had been a little over three months since you had been here, avoiding meeting them in person as much as possible. And when you saw them, physicality was out of the question. Not that it wasn't comforting when San rubbed your back or Wooyoung held your hand, but you would always find yourself guilty that this was all you could handle.

Mingi getting out of the car and rushing around to open the door for you gave you little time to prepare. Would you ever be?

Hesitantly, you took his hand, trying to keep yours steady. Mingi once more didn't say anything, but there was pain in his eyes and his jaw clenched.

It hurt that your pain hurt them, a concept you were so unfamiliar with. Your pain is something they didn't like to see. They feel hurt with you, they share your anger and sadness.

It made you want to run.

“Please don't ask Mingi.” You knew he wouldn't, but you still pleaded with him.

His gaze shot up to meet yours, not even hiding the depth of his pain. His full lips fell open repeatedly, gaping like a fish as he scrambled for words. “Before… before we go in…”

You tensed up unintentionally, which resulted in a choked groan falling from Mingi's lips.

“Fuck Princess- before we go in… can you please not look like I'm walking you to the guillotine or something? If it helps, this is about work okay?”

Averting your eyes, you moved past him with a heavy breath. “I'm sorry. I'm trying. I'm really trying Mingi.”

“Did he do something? That Chan fucker? If so I'll drive right back there and break his fucking neck you just say the word Princess.” He followed you, the door shutting behind him as you both made your way to the stairs.

“He… he tried to kiss me. And I just-”

“He what?” Mingi stepped in front of you with a stormy expression. “Fuck- Princess. Then we can take a minute. Let's sit on the steps. I can hold you if-”

“Please.” The word was out before you could stop yourself. Before the guilt could eat you up. “Just for a minute.”

As he set the flowers aside he sat on the stairs and pulled you onto his lap sideways. Feeling his shaky breath on your neck oddly calmed your nerves. Even as you replayed the events of the precinct over and over until it no longer spiked your anxiety, he held you and kept you calm.

It brought you a twisted sense of pride to know that Chan was just as fucked up as you were right now. S.K was in tatters, but so were you. Maybe taking a page out of his book and being an entitled and self-absorbed asshole would help.

Then you could seek comfort in Mingi's embrace without the soul crushing guilt of the pain you caused him.

Taglist in the Reblogs! Masterlist | Next

#pirateeznet #lapydiariesnet #mirohsaurorasociety #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez ot8 #ateez fanfiction #C:IU #mafia au #mafia ateez #detective ateez #mingi x reader #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #ateez x y/n

298 notes · View notes

stevesgother · 7 months ago

Text

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!”

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

“It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been four years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

–

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all– the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from the stomach of the boy you loved. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

281 notes · View notes

wakasaz · 1 month ago

Note

ooh, i heard u wanted some waka reqs<33 mayb more benkei's sis reader x waka? i love that trope, it is so underrated..

n for prompt,,,,, maybe waka seeing reader at the club (n shes not supposed to be there,,) n well.. since shes obviously drunk, things get spicy! smut too,, thank u!<33

Sins Between Shots

The bass hit like a heartbeat, low and heavy, vibrating through the concrete floor and straight into your chest. Neon lights pulsed in time with the music—violet, electric blue, blood red—painting the crowd in a kaleidoscope of color. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and perfume, every breath tasting like heat and wild freedom.

Bodies moved in waves on the dance floor, silhouettes tangled together, grinding, swaying, losing themselves in the rhythm. The DJ stood elevated in the far back, head bobbing, hands in the air, commanding the room like a god of chaos. Behind him, LED screens flashed with strobes and visuals that made your head spin if you stared too long.

To the left, the bar was lined with glowing bottles and slick counters, bartenders moving fast—pouring, flipping, shouting over the music. Laughter and slurred pick-up lines floated through the haze, half-lost in the beat.

In the VIP section, separated by velvet ropes and guarded stares, expensive cologne mingled with cigarette smoke. Leather couches curved around glass tables littered with drinks, half-melted ice, and untouched appetizers. Conversations here were quieter, more dangerous, all power games and smirks exchanged between sips.

You weren't supposed to be here, not even old enough to get in technically. Your birthday is in a few days so it's not that big of a deal right? Benkei would kill you if he knew but he thinks you're at Yuzuha's for the night.

You're six shots in and currently grinding on some guy you just met. He's cute you think—honestly you don't really remember what his face looked like, his clothes just reminded you of someone and that's why you accepted when he asked.

You see a flash of purple move past you but you think nothing of it continuing to dance until you hear someone say your name and then the pair of hands on your hips are ripped away.

“Hey, why did you—”

You turn around and see Wakasa, your brother's best friend—and the guy you've had a crush on since you were a little girl and Benkei introduced you holding the guy you were dancing with by the collar of his shirt, wakasa fist pulled back about to throw.

“Waka!” You say speech slightly slurred And vision a little hazy

He glances at you and pulls the guy close so their nose to nose “fuck off, I see you ‘round her again, I'll kill you” he says before pushing the guy back with enough for to make him stumble.

Wakasa walks over to you and crosses his arms. “You're not supposed to be here little Arashi” little Arashi the nickname he gave you when you were ten because you followed your brother everywhere—a mini him wanting to be just like him.

You gulp, scared he's about to call Benkei but Waka smirks and shakes his head “you look good” you feel your face Heat up but when you go to say something someone bumped into you and you stumble forward slamming into Wakasas chest. He smells good like cherry lollipops he always has and whiskey.

Your hands fist his shirt—pulling him closer to you and his wrap around your waist steadying you. You look up and see something in his eyes. You're not sure what it is but you've been seeing it a lot lately but usually it disappears as fast as it comes but tonight it's not.

You're so lost in his eyes you don't realize both of you are leaning closer to each other till your noses brush together. “Tell me to stop, little Arashi” but you don't. You lean up and close the gap between you two. He tastes exactly like me smells and it makes you moan into the kiss.

His arm that is wrapped around you pulls you closed so your bodies are flush and he deepens the kiss—his tongue flicking your bottom lip asking for permission you grant him without a second thought.

You didn't even know you two were walking till your back hit the wall and you feel wakas hands slide down towards your thighs. “Jump” he says against your lips.

You do as he says and wrap your legs around him, his hands gripping your thighs. You continue to kill and start grinding on each other. Your hands in his hair as his moves to your ass.

Wakasa puts you down and you see your in a bathroom. He turns you around so your facing the mirror and counter before he pushes on your back bending you so you're lying your front on the counter. His hand slides up the inside of your thigh going under the dress you wore tonight and he groans, mumbling something about how wet you already are.

He pulls your panties down to your ankles and undoes his pants pulling his hardened length out. His other hand grabs your face and turns you so you're looking in the mirror.

“Eyes on me, princess” he says as he pushes into you both of you moaning at the feeling. He doesn't give you time to adjust thrusting in and out of you. Slow at first but then picking up his pace. The top of your dress is pulled down as he plays with your tits, groaning and telling you, you have no idea how long he has wanted you like this.

You push back meeting his thrust “fuuuuck, just like that baby. Taking my cock so good”

You moan and whine his name, one of his hands slipping under your dress again to find your clit. You continue to watch in the mirror and you swear he has never looked more beautiful. He smirks at you and tells you you're his good girl and how good you feel wrapped around him. “Never had pussy this good”

You moan his name as you feel yourself come undone, clenching around him as he tells you to make a mess all over his cock. Your eyes crossing and legs shaking, the only thing holding you up is the counter the wakas arm wrapped around you.

He finishes seconds after you with a moan of your name, his head laying on the back of your shoulder. You can feel his breath hitting your neck. You both stay there for a few seconds catching your breath before he stands—readjusting his clothes and yours.

He kisses you one last time before resting his forehead against yours—his hands on your hips again

“You're mine now, little Arashi”

#idk of i like this #tokyo revengers #imaushi wakasa #wakasa imaushi #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #wakasa imaushi x reader #tokyo revengers x you #imaushi wakasa x reader #wakasa x reader #wakasa x y/n #imaushi wakasa x you #wakasa x you #tokyo revengers x yn #♡~mazie is talking~♡

115 notes · View notes

dc418writes · 8 months ago

Text

Meddling Meet Cute

✨Pairing✨: Terry Richmondxblack!singlemom!reader

Summary🪄: Your daughter’s at it again…

🚨: pretty much all fluff🌸

A/N🎤: it’s my first Terry fic🤗! I’m very nervous (then again when am I not🙃), but I hope you guys like what I came up with☺️

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest*

“Ma come on!” The excited nine-year-old pulled you just hard enough past the barricades that your steps were a tad more hurried to avoid stumbling over your daughter.

“Callie relax, the rides aren’t going anywhere.”

“I know, but Jianna-,”

“Isn’t going anywhere either,” you chuckle still being led by the girl clearly on a mission with her eyes set on the infamous ‘High Flyer’.

Besties since kindergarten, you couldn’t lie about how cute the duo was. They were practically stuck at the hip during school - always working or playing together at recess - and outside wasn’t all too different seeing that one would typically be at the other’s house. It always brought a smile to your face watching their animated conversations and lighthearted debates.

And after this past year, you were especially glad to see none of that had changed. That she had a true friend to support her during the tough times.

“There she is!,” Callie smiles already beginning to bounce and skip towards her best friend. Jianna begins to frantically wave alerting the much taller and unfamiliar man to her right. Jianna’s mom’s boyfriend maybe? She did mention a new guy she was really into...

Before you can stop her, Callie easily slips away running to hug her friend - and introduce herself to the tower of muscle who adorably shakes her hand with an amused smile of his own.

“Um Callie-?,”

With the man in tow behind them, Jianna tightly wraps her arms around your waist in one of her famous warm hugs before peering up at you with a sweet, “Hey auntie!”

The term given to you by the young girl herself when she was about six since, “You take care of me like my other aunties. So that makes you my aunt too!” You didn’t have the heart to go into the semantics with the wide-eyed little girl, so you just smiled and said, “Okay sweetheart.”

“This is my uncle Terry from the army. Uncle Terry, this is my friend’s mom.”

He was broader up close, and the orange shirt stretching across his chest and shoulders only made that more apparent. That paired with the dark jeans over his thick thighs didn’t help the ache beginning to pulse in your core that you haven’t felt in…damn when was the last time you felt that?

“Hi Callie’s mom,” he greets with probably the prettiest smile you’ve seen in this town on a man and an outstretched hand. A hand that completely envelopes your own once you place yours in his.

“Hi Jianna’s uncle Terry,” you softly chuckle along with the man himself.

God that deep baritone voice was dangerous. And his grayish-green eyes?! You didn’t even know they came in that color.

“Well we’re going to the line bye!,” Callie rushes grabbing Jianna’s hand. Your quick, “Hold it” begrudgingly halts both girls turning around to face you again.

“Tell us what rides you’re going to, and we’ll follow behind.”

“Mom we’re nineee,” she whines with that pouty secret weapon of hers and batting those curly lashes similar to yours.

“You want us to choose the rides?”

There’s a brief, silent stare off between you and your mini me before she announces they’ll be in line at the High Flyer.

“And we’ll be sitting at that bench.” It was about 20 feet away and had the perfect view of both the entrance and exit lines so you would always see the girls.

“Spoken like a true mama,” Terry murmurs with a low chuckle as you both sit. Meanwhile you try to ignore the flutter in your lower tummy at how ‘mama’ sounds out of his mouth.

“Reminded myself of my own back there,” you softly laugh while inwardly cringing. Although you’re enjoying your time so far with Terry - a brief, comfortable silence currently between you two - there’s this creeping suspicion you can’t seem to shake. “Is everything okay with Nitta? I thought she was bringing Jianna?”

“She said she wasn’t feeling the best and asked if I could bring her instead,” he casually answers.

Huh..maybe it’s nothing then.

“She also said Jia told her she really wanted me to go so she could show me around? Didn’t know she was meeting yall here until we got out the truck.”

Yep. There it is.

Your quiet ‘huh’ along with the knowing look on your face has his brow rising in intrigue. And admittedly, he thinks it’s cute how your deep brown eyes slightly squint. “What’s up?”

From your sudden shift to surprised, you clearly didn’t expect him to hear you. Or be paying close enough attention to read you so well. Who wouldn’t pay attention to you though? Bright skin that nearly shined gold when the sun hit you just right. Your full lips that looked so soft. Not to mention your body with curves in all the right places that made him realize it’s been too long since his last time.

You debate on whether to say anything, but the way he deeply gazes at you tells you he probably won’t just let it go. “I uh think a couple of nine year old matchmakers may be trying to work their magic.”

Looking back at the girls, they each throw both of you a quick wave now at the front of the line.

“You think it’s working?,” Jianna asks.

“I mean they’re talking? That’s more attention I’ve seen my mom give a guy,” Callie shrugs. “Might be going better though if he brought flowers like I said.”

“Then that would’ve gave us away like I said.”

“Not that Jia doesn’t want to spend time with you though!,” you hurry to correct meeting those hypnotic green eyes again. “She talked about you all the time when you were gone.”

“Really?,” he smiles and you swear you feel your heart skip a beat. Or two.

“Anytime you’d call she’d get so excited. And when you’d send her something for her birthday or Christmas? All she’d talk about for a good week.”

Deep down Terry knew his sister and niece loved him. But actually hearing how he made them feel from another person made him emotional in a way he hadn’t during his time in the service.

“I have a feeling mine was the ringleader here.”

At that moment you can hear both girls squealing and giggling as the carousel like ride gently swings them higher than any playground swing would. Their arms waving and legs kicking before disappearing on the other side.

‘So you were single,’ Terry thought.

“Sorry to get you wrapped up in all this. If it makes you uncomfortable-,”

“Far as I’m concerned, we’re just two friendly adults watching two kids,” he replies holding up his hands showing he saw no harm. “If it makes you uncomfortable though-,”

“No! No I agree, just two friendly adults,” you smile. There was a glint of something behind your eyes that told Terry there was more to your daughter playing Cupid, but rather than dig he opted to leave it alone until you were ready. Hopefully trusting him enough to explain.

“Did you see us?!,” Callie shouts running up to the both of you with Jianna by her side.

“We did. Surprised yall aren’t dizzy going around so much,” you answer making the girls laugh as they shake their heads.

“We should all do the firecracker next!,” Jianna suggests, which of course Callie quickly agrees. Just a few feet across the way, the line was already filling up with teens and adults alike waiting to ride the infamous drop tower that’s been popular since you were a kid. Those already on it screaming as they quickly free fell before stopping halfway to rise and repeat the motion again.

“Afraid I’m gonna have to sit that one out girls, but maybe Uncle Terry will ride with you?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer before being pulled by the girls. Judging from the quick, concerned glance he gives you he clearly wasn’t a fan of the ride either.

‘Sorry,’ you innocently mouth when he turns to you from the line shaking his head with that cute tilted smile.

‘Later,’ he mouths back, which you didn’t fully get until he brought up the Tilted Record when the girls didn’t know what to ride next.

“You gotta ride it ma,” Callie practically begged. “It’s so much fun!”

“Yea you gotta ride it ma,” Terry playfully winks bringing those flutters back stronger than ever as a heat creeps to your cheeks. A few minutes later, you were smushed into his side pleasantly smothered by his clean, woodsy scent as you all spun around and eventually backwards. Callie and Jianna in the seat behind you having the time of their lives squealing and singing to the music playing overhead.

“You did that on purpose,” you jokingly glare up at the taller man while following behind your still somehow energized kids.

He simply shrugs with a glimpse of a smirk on his lips, “Maybe. You had fun though.”

He might’ve had a point. “Still, friends don’t do that.”

His deep chuckle and wide smile hits you deep instantly making your knees feel like jelly - something you never thought possible let alone experienced. Not even with Callie’s dad. “Best friends mess with each other all the time,” he counters. “Guess we’ve leveled up.”

“So Jia’s uncle was nice,” Callie starts. She tries peeking at you in the standing mirror as you dutch braid her hair for the night, but it’s difficult with the way her neck is craned downward.

“He was. We’ll have to get him something for winning those stuffed pigs for you and Jianna.”

“Mhm,” she agrees as you move to the last section. “So what else did you think about him? You think he’s cute?”

You knew she’d been itching to ask since you both got in the car. Especially after Terry was nice enough to make sure you got there okay before wishing you both a good night.

Securing the last braid with the small rubber band, you pat the spot beside you beckoning her to join you in the king sized bed. She instantly climbs in snuggling under the fluffy throw she loved so much. “Callie I don’t want you worrying about me and dating alright? And definitely no more blind dates.”

You still had nightmares about the one with her principal. Who can put away that much shrimp?

“I just want you to be happy. Like how you were with dad,” she whispers peering up at you.

Eventually you’d have to tell her the truth about that strained relationship and how things were only ‘happy’ for her sake.

“I am happy lovie. Long as I have you I’m good,” you smile kissing her on the forehead. “You just focus on being the amazing kid you are okay?”

She nods, sleepily smiling and clearly minutes away from slumber. “Love you ma.”

“Love you too. Now let’s get you to bed.”

Moments after returning to your bedroom, beginning to feel the familiar heaviness of your lids, a couple of short vibrations from your phone stop you from sliding under your covers curious as to who would want something this late.

Hey, it’s Terry. Got your number from Nitta (sent 10:56 pm)

She’s still feeling bad so looks like I’m bringing Jia to dance tomorrow and apparently on snack duty?? (sent 10:57 pm)

Hey and yea forgot it’s her turn. I was next week but we can switch. I’ll pick something up, no worries😊(sent 11:02 pm)

Also I can take Jia if you want? Not sure if you had other plans (sent 11:04 pm)

Was that too much? What if he thought you were trying to pry?

Nah it’s ok, I got her. And thanks for taking over🙏🏽 (sent 11:13 pm)

Look at us, friends helping friends😉 (sent 11:14 pm)

“Nice,” he thought as his hand frustratedly passed over his face. “And with the winky face? Somebody take this damn phone.”

lol always😌! (Sent 11:17 pm)

Terry didn’t realize he was holding his breath until your response finally flashed on his screen allowing him to breathe again. Relief soothing his tense muscles as he sat back against the wooden headboard.

Neither one of you were really able to sleep that night though. Thoughts of the other and the time at the fair admittedly making each a little excited about being together again the next day.

And while you never knew what was planned for the future, something told you this ‘friendship’ would be far different than your other ones.

#terry richmond #Terry richmondxblack reader #terry richmond x reader #Terry Richmond x woc #rebel ridge #aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x reader #Aaron Pierre x woc

340 notes · View notes

willofthequill · 11 days ago

Text

A Mouse With A Plan

Welcome back to another adventures in Mouse's Mini-verse! It's Father's Day and the one year anniversary of the start of my Daddy Duty series! I cannot believe I have been writing these silly stories about Mouse and Sukuna for a year! I have had such a blast working on this series, and I have no intentions or desire to stop! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, given Kudos, likes, or reblogs! I appreciate you all and hope you have many happy days ahead!!

If you prefer to read this story on AO3 click here !

Author's Note: For anyone new to my Daddy Duty Series, Mouse is Sukuna's, currently, 3 year old daughter with reader. Monkey is their infant son. Summary: Mouse is a toddler with a plan and she is not taking no for an answer. Author's Note: They did not celebrate Father's Day in Heian Era Japan, so we're doing a birthday fic on Father's Day instead!

There's an extra something extra at the end to celebrate the first anniversary of this series!

WC: 2900+

CW: reader is referred to as 'Mama' and 'wife' but not described and no pronouns used for reader, toddler dad Sukuna, dad sukuna, heian era, true form Sukuna (4 arms), it's pretty much just plain Dilf Sukuna fluff and crack, SFW in every way, just family fluff

Fic Divider by: @strangergraphics

“Papa! Papa! Helloooooo! Papa! Wake up, please and thank you!”

Sukuna opened his eyes in narrowed slits at the only being in the world who would dare to sit on his chest and try to pry open his eyelids to wake him up. “What do you want, Mouse?”

“Good morning, Papa!” She preened and leaned forward. She cupped his face and kissed the tip of his nose. “Is you up now, Papa?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you is!” She giggled and kissed his nose again. “Hi Papa!”

He sighed. She better be damn glad she was cute. He lifted one of his hands to rub her back affectionately. “Hi Mouse. Now answer my question. What is it that you want?”

“Help me wake Mama up, please and thank you!”

“Wake her up yourself,” he grumbled. She had done just fine waking him up…

“Nuh uh! Mama gets scary!” Mouse said, her eyes wide and looking almost haunted.

Sukuna blinked slowly, as she reminded him again of a bitter truth. His daughter found you scarier than him… Nothing humbled a person like fatherhood it would seem.

“Why do you need me to wake her?”

“She’s scary.” Mouse pressed her lips at him in a brave display of annoyance. “I says that.”

“I mean what reason do you have to need her awake?”

“I has a plan. Needs her awake. Oh! I needs Urau-rau too!” She made an ‘oh’ face and clambered off of him and began heading towards the bedroom door. She paused to look at him over her shoulder. She gave him a look like one would give a comrade on a battlefield and left him with words of encouragement for his task ahead. “Be careful, Papa. You got this!”

“Alright, Mouse. You’ve got Uraume and me here. You put Papa on Monkey duty and banned him from half of the house. What’s up?” You asked, leaning a hip against a kitchen counter.

Uraume stood a few feet away, glowering at the toddler standing in front of you both with her hands on her hips and a triumphant look on her face. Tuna sat beside her, staring up at her as if waiting to be assigned a task.

Uraume huffed in vexation. “This had better be important.”

“It is!” Mouse said indignantly.

“We’re listening,” you encouraged her to start speaking before Uraume made her into breakfast.

“Don’t you know what today is?” Mouse asked, cocking her head slightly to the side.

“Obviously not.” Uraume’s patience was exceptionally thin when they were tired and Mouse already had that thread on the verge of breaking.

“It’s Papa’s birthday!” The look on her face as she glared up at the two of you was pure disappointment.

You and Uraume look at each other with eyes wide and jaws slightly ajar. Well, shit. Mouse was correct. It was in fact Sukuna’s birthday.

“Good job, Mouse! That would have been very important to not remember” You smiled at your daughter and reached out to pet her head.

Sukuna generally did not celebrate his birthday. Half of the time he did not even remember it himself. Which had been fine when it was just the grown ups. But now you had a child and she was old enough to remember having a party on her own birthday. There was no way Mouse was going to settle for anything less for her Papa.

Uraume looked at you. “Lord Sukuna does not celebrate his birthday.”

“Well… Now he going to! And next year! And next year! And a lot of next years!!” Mouse had one hand on her hip and another in the air, moving as she spoke. Her tone came across if she was making a royal decree. The Tiny Tyrant was trying very hard to leave no room for argument. She is just like her father.

“Lets just worry about this one right now,” you smiled at her.

“How did she even know it was his birthday?” Uraume asked.

“She must have heard him mention it to me the other day. The only thing I can think of is she counted it down? She’s really good at counting,” you answered, feeling fairly confident that was the answer.

“Right! Okay! I gots a plan!” Mouse ran over to a counter across from you, grabbed a sheet of paper off the counter and came back to her same place. “Mama? Urau-rau? You ready, please and thank you? ”

“I will hear your proposal but I make no promises that I will go along with it,” Uraume crossed their arms across their chest and waited to hear what Mouse had to say.

She gave an angry pout in Uraume’s position before she began to read off the paper in front of her. She had a list of foods she wanted to make for her Papa. You had to give her credit, it was really well thought out.

But there was one thing that had been bothering you. You held out a hand towards your daughter. “May I see your list?”

“I was going to ask the same thing,” Uraume muttered. They leaned in closer as you both examined the paper Mouse had been reading off of.

You had been curious how your three year old would have written out a list and then been able to read it off. Sukuna worked with her regularly on learning reading and writing. Not only did he want his daughter to be educated, he wanted to instill in her from a young age a love of reading and learning. Because of this she was very advanced for her age.

Still… this was a bit above her abilities.��

Your eyes got wide when you saw that the words were there and they were correct. The kanji were very messy and a bit hard to read, but they were definitely right.

“I did good?” Mouse asked.

“You did very well, Mouse.” She preened at your praise.

“Who helped you with this?” Uruame’s voice was laden with suspicion.

“Tuna!” Mouse grinned and leaned down to wrap her arms around your resident kitsune. She rubbed her face in his fur affectionately while he looked up at the two of you with what was clearly a smirk on his face.

“How did Tuna help you?” You hated that your brain started questioning if Tuna was transforming without your knowledge. He was an old kitsune so not as mischievous as a young one, but he was still a kitsune.

“Wanna see?” Mouse straightened up, her face beaming with excitement and her eyes bright.

“Yes.” Uraume did not even give you a chance to consider it before they replied. Honestly, you were intrigued too.

“Okay! Stay right here, please and thank you!”

Mouse and Tuna scurried off down the hall and returned shortly with one of the calligraphy sets and washi. You and Uraume watched in silence as Mouse got everything set up. She laid down on her belly and Tuna took up a spot on the opposite side of the washi. He pressed her nose affectionately to her forehead.

She grinned up at you as she reached up to pet his head affectionately. Her pink hair was messy from never having been combed this morning because she was too anxious to hold her conclave in the kitchen. She brushed her hair out of her face and resumed her position. “Okay, we ready! Watch us, please and thank you!”

“Go for it,” you answered with Uraume echoing with a sound of approval.

Mouse instructed Tuna that they were going to write ‘I love you, Papa’ and were specific that it was to be written in a large size. You watched as Mouse carefully dipped the brush in the ink and brought it to the paper. Her tongue peaked out of her mouth on the side as she tried to concentrate. She got part way in on her own, which was impressive to you. But what blew your mind was what came next.

Mouse paused her hand. “Tuna, I got stuck. Can you help me, please and thank you?”

The kitsune leaned his head down and used his nose to gently guide her hand to write it out. He did this each time she got stuck or did not know how to start. Every step of the way until it was finished. If Mouse started to get frustrated he would rest his nose against her forehead and ‘give a little ‘foof.’ It would make her smile and then she would give a nod and they would start again.

You and Uraume glanced at each other, absolutely stunned. Never in a million years would you have thought that you would have a 5 tailed kitsune that was patiently teaching your daughter to write. And yet that was what was happening right before your eyes.

Mouse got to her knees and picked up the washi as Tuna moved to sit at her side. She held it up for you and Uraume to see. Both of them looked up at you with pride on their faces. “Ta da!”

Every single kanji was right. You were stunned and proud. Of both of them. You squatted down and pet both of their heads. “You guys did a great job! What are you going to do with that, Mouse?”

She gave you a huge grin. “I’ll tell you! You ready to start the plan, please and thank you?”

Uraume looked at you and gave a disgusted sigh, but you could see the slight smile on their face. “I guess you have earned some cooperation.”

“What that mean? Co-bob…er-a-dee-don?”

“Not even close.” Uraume shook their head.

“Coperation,” you couldn’t hide the chuckle at Mouse’s attempt. “Good try. It means that Uraume is going to help us with your list.”

Mouse jumped up and down in excitement, spinning in a circle before taking a stance similar to one would before a fight, including putting up her fists up in front of her. “Please and thank you, let's go!!

“Papa! Monkey! We ready!” Mouse called as she burst through the shoji door to the bedroom where Sukuna laid reading while Monkey laid in bed next to him happily playing with his newly discovered toes.

“Are we finally released from our imprisonment?” Sukuna arched his eyebrow, making no moves to get up. About an hour ago he and Monkey had their approved territory reduced to just the bedroom. He was annoyed and curious simultaneously.

“Yup! Time to sit up, please and thank you!” Mouse ran to stand next to Sukuna’s side of the bed. She was unable to stand still so she did an excited little dance in place. She looked your way. “Mama, don’t forget you got to carry Monkey!”

“I won’t,” you chuckled, moving to pick your son up from the bed.

All four of his eyes lit up when he saw your face. He began excitedly babbling and immediately reached for you. You made a silly face at him to watch him smile big and laugh. He was the image of his father with the exception being he only had 2 arms. (You would have loved him the same and thought he was just as beautiful with four arms.)

The markings on his face were identical to his father’s with the exception of it being on both sides of his face and a mark across his nose. He had the same bands on his wrists and biceps, with light markings on his chest and back that were similar to his father’s. Sukuna had said the markings on his own chest and back darkened and widened with age, so only time would tell.

“You ready, Monkey?” you asked as you scooped him up and held him against you. You kissed his head and gave him a little squeeze as you watched Mouse giving Sukuna a hard time. You had such a beautiful little family. Your heart fluttered at the thought.

“Okay, Papa! You gots to close your eyes - all of em! And then hold my hand. Please and thank you!” Mouse said as Sukuna finally stood to his full height. She pointed a finger up at him as she tilted her head back. “And nooooo peaking!”

“And if I don’t?” He challenged.

“Please, Papa? Pretty, pretty please and thank you very, very much!”

He was pretty sure her eyes could not get any bigger and her lip could not stick out any further. He could tell she was excited, and he knew they had been working at something all damn day . He had to admit he was intrigued. He gave a loud sigh. It was overly dramatic and filled with dejection.

Mouse laughed at him and reached out her hand. For these two this was just business as usual. Sukuna closed his eyes, all four of them, and held out one of his hands. She looked at you with a big grin on her face. “Okay! Lets go! Don’t let go of my hand, okay, Papa?”

Don’t let go of my hand, okay, Papa? Those words and the sound of her sweet little voice saying them were now etched onto his heart and burned into his memory for the rest of his life. He gave a grunt. “Fine, fine. Lead the way.”

“Okay, Papa! Open your eyes!” Mouse directed as they came to a stop a short time later.

Sukuna opened his eyes and blinked. And then blinked again. There was a feast fit for a king laid out in front of him. Deserts, sweets, snacks, fish, rice, fowl, meat… and he could see his favorite meal that Uraume made with a very different type of meat.

You sat on the opposite side facing him with a smile on your face. Monkey was sitting in your lap facing him as well. Uraume knelt nearby with a small smile on their face but their head bent in respect as usual.

Everything looked and smelled delicious. He now knew why they had been busy all day and his movements had been restricted. But there was still just one thing he didn’t understand. “What’s this about?”

Mouse wrapped her arms around his arm, hugging it, and gave him a smile so bright it could rival the sun itself. “You forgotted?”

“I forgot what?” His eye brow arched.

“Silly Papa!” She covered her mouth as she giggled. Once she had recovered she looked up at Sukuna, a grin still on her face. “Happy Birthday, Papa!”

In honor of this series turning ONE YEAR OLD, here is an extra little short to celebrate

Sukuna's First Birthday

15 years ago:

“When is your birthday?”

Sukuna paused eating his meat to look at the child he had taken in under the pretense of putting their ice curse to use. “What type of question is that?”

The white haired 10 year old shrugged their shoulders. They had been filling the silence by asking him every single damn question they could think of. And some of them had been utterly ridiculous.

Still, he had humored the kid and answered all of them. Even the absurd ones. Though he did comment on the quality of some of these questions when he answered them.

“It’s just a normal question people ask each other," Uraume said with a shrug.

“I don’t know. Never knew and couldn’t care less,” Sukuna shrugged.

“But everyone has a birthday,” Uraume screwed up their face.

“Well, not me,” he shrugged. “My mother abandoned me and I have fended for myself my whole life. I never had anyone to share that knowledge with me, and no one has ever asked.”

“How many Oshogatsu festivals have you seen?” Uraume asked.

Sukuna made a tch sound and did some quick math in his head. “I would guess somewhere around 27? Why does it matter?”

“I just needed to know,” Uraume said, eyes tilting up as they organized thoughts in their head.

Sukuna was reaching for another skewer of meat again when they spoke. “Ten'an Gannen rokugatsu jūgo-nichi. “ (06.15.857 CE)

“What is the significance of this date?” Sukuna snatched up the meat and took a bite.

“You said you had seen approximately 27 Oshogatsu festivals. So I added 3 years to that since most people do not start to accrue formative memories until the age of 3. So that would be approximately 30 years ago,” Uraume explained their math.

“Okay… and the month and day?”

“That is the Month and the Day that you took me in,” they averted their gaze, shyness setting in.

It was an interesting choice of dates. The large man shrugged. Why not? He had no plans to celebrate it, but if it made the kid feel better, it was a small concession.

Sukuna lifted one of his hands and moved it like he was waving something off. “Fine, fine. If that is what you wish, I will accept it.”

Uraume looked back at him and grinned from ear to ear before they lowered their head and hands to the ground. “You honor me, Lord Sukuna!”

Sukuna himself was not bothered by not having a birthday. But the fact that Uraume had been upset that he did not have one and then took actual, thoughtful care in choosing a date…

It caused an unknown feeling, and honestly uncomfortable, feeling like a warm flutter in his stomach.

Sukuna shook his head and reached out a hand for another skewer of meat. He reasoned it was probably just some weird vagal response or indigestion and gave it no more thought. Instead he feasted on the delicious food that Uraume had made and continued answering stupid questions into the night.

And so goes the story of Sukuna’s first birthday.

120 notes · View notes

eternal-sunflowers · 2 months ago

Text

Wildflowers

AO3 | written for @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event | prompt: kite | rating: t | wc: 5k | cw: language, mentions of steve's parents (particularly his mom in this fic) being emotionally and verbally abusive | tags: post-s4, everyone lives, steve pov, established relationship, the party, el and steve sibling relationship

Steve’s leaned back on a blanket, sunglasses perched on his nose as he watches the kids run around the park with each other as they enjoy the beautiful late-March weather.

Lucas and Will and Mike are playing frisbee on one of the few open chunks of grass to his left. Lucas is desperately trying to teach his beloved, non-jock friends how to throw a frisbee well enough that it doesn’t veer immediately into the ground, or into someone else’s picnic, every other time. Will and Mike are currently laughing at Lucas as he has one hand on his hip, the other waving the frisbee around as he yells something about “proper form” and “how to flick your wrist” and “aerodynamics.” Steve shudders, sees exactly where Lucas got the pose from, and turns to look over his shoulder.

Max is over on the old tennis court behind them teaching Erica how to skate, both of them in protective gear as part of Steve’s requirements. He’s had one too many concussions, and they’ve all had ten or twenty too many life-threatening hospital visits between them, for him to not adamantly refuse to let them do anything that could result in bodies and heads colliding with concrete without any protective gear involved. The girls grumbled a yes, mom before acquiescing, though Erica seemed to have fun picking out matching gear to Max when Steve took them shopping, so he’s counting it as a win for all involved. At least Erica has someone to connect with and look up to. Erica seems to be balancing pretty well if Max’s cheers are anything to go by.

Steve turns back forward to where Dustin is currently teaching El how to fly a kite. El is staring at the shitty plastic as if it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Dustin’s going on and on about how to check the way the wind is blowing first, how to deploy the kite and slowly relinquish more twine, how to hold the grip tight so it doesn’t blow away, how to not release too much slack so it doesn’t get out of control, how to stay away from trees so it doesn’t get all tangled. El is nodding and taking in everything as if it’s life-saving information. Steve is thrilled to see the way her eyes are lighting up and how she’s lost a lot of that pent up tension that comes with fighting evil mind wizards and knock-off horror movie creatures before hitting puberty. She deserves to be a kid.

El turns toward him as if on cue, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile. She shakes her kite at him vigorously. Steve laughs and waves at her, gives her a thumbs up. “You got this, El Bell!”

El nods and turns back to Dustin, the two working together to get her kite up and steady in the air. Once it’s comfortably staying on the breeze, Dustin cheers, pumping his fist in the air, El mimicking the excitement with a few excited jumps of her own, her hands gripped firmly to the coil of string. Dustin reaches over and says something, to which El nods. She then wraps the coil around her wrist twice before gripping it tightly in her hands again, looking to Dustin for approval. Dustin grins wide and nods before getting his own kite up in the air, coil wrapped around his own wrist for good measure. The two sit down then, shoulders knocking as they get into what sounds to be a heated conversation about Jean Grey and Wonder Woman.

Steve nods to himself as he watches. He’d lost a few kites that way, by getting excited and accidentally letting go of the flimsy coil of string, or by getting it caught in a tree, or by pissing off his mom.

“Twizzler for your thoughts?”

Steve looks to his right. Eddie is reflecting his position, leaning back on his elbows, hair piled up in a chaotic bun, sunglasses perched on his nose, though Steve can just make out the crinkles around his eyes peeking out around the edges of the lens as Eddie looks back at him, a soft smile on his face. His sloppily cut sleeveless Judas Priest shirt rucked up slightly on his stomach, the sides billowing out in their deep cut to let the breeze in. He’s holding out a handful of Twizzlers between them.

Steve laughs, holds out his palm. Eddie drops a few into Steve’s hand before taking a massive bite of, like, 5 Twizzlers at once.

“You’re an absolute gremlin.”

“Mm, I prefer goblin, actually.” Eddie leans in, mumbles around a mouthful of half-chewed Twizzlers.

Steve rolls his eyes, raising one hand to gently palm Eddie’s face away. “Fucking hell, don’t talk with your mouth full, you absolute goblin. Happy now?”

“Peachy.” Eddie grins.

Steve hums, turns back to watch Dustin and El while he eats his Twizzler in a very non-goblin way. Dustin is gesturing wildly with the hand not tied to the kite, mouth going a mile a minute, Steve’s sure. El has her head cocked to one side, both hands still firmly holding the coiled string, her eyebrows lifted high into her bangs.

A big gust of wind comes through then, whipping their kites violently against the current, jarring El out of the conversation. She seems to panic slightly, starting to frantically grapple with the string to reel the kite in. Dustin reaches his free hand over to stop her, leaning in to calm her mounting fear. He stands, offers her his hand, pulling her up. He turns them both to better position themselves in the wind. He grins over at Steve and waves before taking off at a jog across the field.

“Dustin! What are you–”

El laughs, sends Steve a blinding smile, and takes off after Dustin.

“El!” Steve slumps back. “Fuckin’ hell, these kids.”

“Seems like they’re having fun. El’s really taken to the kites we picked up.” Eddie, finally free of the Twizzler monstrosity, muses.

“Yeah, it’s just – they gotta be careful with ‘em, ya know?” Steve gestures toward Dustin and El who are now chasing each other in circles, their kites flimsily flopping through the air. “At this rate, they’ll destroy ‘em and–” Steve turns, mouth still open where he trailed off mid-sentence, and raises his eyebrows expectantly, like Eddie should know exactly what it means to be careful with the kites.

Except, of course, Eddie doesn’t. Just stares back, one brow lifted up in question. “And?”

“And – well, then, um.” Steve’s voice wavers slightly. “And then they’ll – just,” He sighs. “Nevermind, it’s nothing.”

He feels Eddie shift ever so slightly closer, feels the brush of a pinky against his own under the crumpled jacket Steve took off once they got to the park in favor of enjoying the sun in his threadbare tank. The touch warms Steve through far more than the sun beating down on them, makes his insides feel like pop rocks, threatening to explode through his skin in a desperate attempt for more more more.

Eddie squeezes his pinky – the most comfort they’re allowed to give each other in public, and even then it has to be obscured like this or else they’ll be crucified or put on trial. At least Hopper would get them off the hook, but still.

“Sweetheart?” Eddie squeezes Steve’s pinky again. “What’s goin’ wrong in that head of yours?”

“‘S nothin’. Just watchin’ the kids ‘s all.” Steve’s thankful for the glasses protecting his eyes at that moment because he can feel the damp starting to build. He blinks vigorously, wills the tears to stop before they even start.

“I mean, the little shitheads make me wanna cry too. All the damn time. But, they’re surprisingly good today.” Eddie nudges Steve’s shoulder, shifts his own glasses up into the chaos nest on his head. “Look at me?”

Steve turns, looks into the loving eyes of his boyfriend, and his resolve all but crumbles. Silent tears stream down his face. “Shit.” He swipes clumsily at his cheeks, knocking his glasses around in the process, a choked laugh escaping. “I promise I’m fine.”

Eddie cocks his head, eyes crinkling in their squint. He hums, squeezes their pinkies together again before moving his hand to envelop Steve’s wholly.

Steve’s breath hitches, his voice coming out small. “Babe. We can’t.”

“It’s under your jacket and there’s no one on this side of the park ‘sides the kids. We’re fine, sweetheart, ‘least for a few minutes.” Eddie lifts himself slightly and rips the hanky from his back pocket, handing it over. “To dry the tears that so marr the face of my beloved. I’d do it myself, but that actually might be pushing it.”

“Thanks.” Steve takes the hanky, uses it to wipe the last bits of tears away before dropping it in his lap. He sighs, heavy and pained. Eddie squeezes his hand, his eyes soft and encouraging in their gaze. “I just–being at the park is great, and, you know, I just want to be here and, uh, help the kids feel like…like kids, you know?” He looks over for confirmation, either of the park being something kids actually do – something he’s not even sure of anymore – or of the fact that their kids should get the chance to just be kids after saving the world, like, 5 times.

Of course Eddie knows the second part. He fucking lived it. What a stupid fucking question. Steve just doesn’t know how to broach the first part with him.

Eddie nods, though, with the same encouraging smile on his face.

Right, yeah. Eddie’s not one to make him feel stupid for anything, ever.

“They just deserve this. And it’s fuckin’ nice as hell to see them being so…normal. To have gone a year with no earth shattering apocalypse or any omens from the ground beneath us.” Steve gestures, looks out at the park that sits on the edge of Hawkins. A tiny thing, normal enough, on the edge of all the shit from last year, so it looks relatively unscathed, at least in the parts they visit.

He tips his head back, eyes squinting at the glare of the sun, even through his glasses. He closes them after a few moments, takes a shaky breath. “And I feel so fuckin’ stupid,” he holds up his free hand to stop Eddie’s pending interruption. “Just let me finish.”

He hears Eddie clamp his mouth shut, a grumble of “you’re not stupid” echoing through the bubble they’ve made together.

“I feel so stupid, because, like – I’m happy for them. I want this for them. I want them to be dumbass kids and enjoy growing up and being dumb and having sleepovers and gossiping and playing games and just hanging out and enjoying being kids. I mean, for fuck’s sake, Erica’s twelve. She’s a child. I know I call ‘em all kids still, but she literally is a kid. And I’m so fuckin’ happy to see her and Max getting on, though terrified at what those two can cook up together. I’d deal with their combined snark any day of the week before ever going back to Max isolating herself, or Erica dealing with this shit on her own. She’s tough, but, like, a kid, you know?”

Eddie squeezes his hand, starts rubbing circles against his palm. Steve’s grateful for the contact, grateful for everything about Eddie, really. Grateful he knows when to listen and when to interrupt and when Steve needs a little prompting to continue and when to wait for Steve to gather his thoughts. Steve doesn’t even know what he needs half the time until Eddie figures it out for him.

“But?” Eddie offers, tone gentle and free of judgement.

“But…” Steve turns his head, blinks his eyes open, takes a few seconds to reorient his vision to Eddie as the sun spots fade from his sight. “But there’s a part of me that’s almost, I don’t know, jealous, I guess? Jealous that they get this, get to just be kids without–” He swallows, feels new tears hot on his cheeks.

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Stevie?”

“Did I ever tell you about the last time I flew a kite?” He looks over Eddie’s shoulder to where Dustin and El have now settled to a slow walk. He thinks they’ve traded kites somewhere in the midst of his breakdown. Dustin laughs at some story El is telling and Steve smiles. “Is it weird to remember the last time I flew a kite?’

Eddie shifts, seemingly mulling over the whiplash of a topic change. “‘S not weird, least not a bad weird or anything.”

“Right, sure. Well, um, my mom used to actually take me out to the park and stuff when I was little. I know, shocking, right? Those were some of my favorite memories of her because she would actually kind of…relax for a bit, or at least would be less tense.” A wistful smile takes over his face. “I had this collection of kites that I remember loving, but fuck if I remember what they looked like. I just knew that kites meant the park, and the park meant my mom would relax for a bit. But, I had a bad habit of losing the kites, or fucking them up like everything else.”

Eddie grumbles, “You don’t fuck anything up.”

“I did, though. A lot of things. But the kites were, like, a breaking point, I guess. Or one of many.” Steve pushes his glasses up on top of his head so he can fully wipe his eyes with his free hand. They’re red and puffy and glistening with the endless reserve of tears that he tries so hard to keep under control. “When I kept accidentally letting go of the kites, or they would get ripped from me on a big wind, I learned to tie the kites off to my wrist, like Dustin showed El, so the kites couldn’t fall out of my hands. ‘Cept the kites would still get stuck in a tree, or fall into the bushes and get ripped. I started tying them to my belt loops so I could run around and play, but that just also made them get twisted up.” He takes a deep breath, scrubbing his face. “Fuck, man, this is so dumb.”

Eddie squeezes his hand, but Steve can tell by the way his leg is bouncing and the slight clench of his jaw and the softness of his eyes that Eddie wants to offer more than the obscured comfort a crumpled jacket is allowing them. Fuck Hawkins. “Never dumb, sweetheart. I promise.”

A wet smile covers Steve’s face as he continues. “Well, young Steve did a pretty dumb thing. The last time I flew a kite, we were at one of the parks near Loch Nora. I was so excited. I wore my favorite shoes, these little scuffed up sneakers with some god awful pattern on them. My mom hated them because they were ‘dirty’ and ‘unprofessional’ or whatever, but what the fuck does a 7-year-old care about professionalism? I don’t even know if I really knew what that word meant then. She would only let me wear them at the park or when we worked outside, those few times a year she actually touched her flower beds.

“But, we get to the park and I go running out to the open field with my kite in hand. I lean down and immediately start threading the string through the holes where your shoelaces go. I was so determined, and so sure, that this would keep the kite safe, because those were my favorite shoes, and as long as I was careful with where I walked, the kite wouldn’t fly away, it wouldn’t get caught in anything, it wouldn’t get torn, or whatever.

“So, I get the kite secured and tucked the coil of string into the side of my shoe. I grab the slack and go to stand to get the kite into the air. It was a nice windy day like today. The kite took off easily and I was just so, so happy. I walked around and was able to pick up cool rocks and flowers and stuff, was able to play other games and even talk to some other kids, I think, without worrying because the kite was secure. And it worked, for like, an hour, until my mom noticed.”

Steve stops, feels cloth damp across his cheek. He blinks. It takes him a full 4 seconds to realize Eddie is drying his cheeks with the hanky that had been crumpled in Steve’s lap. Eddie looks up at him and smiles, a sad thing. “You don’t have to keep going, sweetheart.”

Steve nods. “No, no, I do. I just – I haven’t really, like, thought about it in, god, 12 years? 13 years? Or something like that.” He chews on his lip, thinking about how it’s really been that long since his mom spent any time with him like that. That’s not as sad of a thought as he expected, but, really, he came to terms with his parents not really being parents a long time ago.

He takes a deep breath, swallows down the bubbling anxiety in his chest that always comes with reliving his childhood. “So, I get a good hour in with my new kite plan, and then my mom comes rushing over. I guess she finally saw I wasn’t holding the kite, or maybe she hadn’t even looked at me for an hour, I don’t–” He shrugs, runs a hand through his hair. “But, she wasn’t happy, like, at all. She grabbed my arm and started hauling me off to the car, and I was so scared and confused. I didn’t know if someone was hurt or I was in trouble, but I remember hoping for the first option, even though it was selfish, because being in trouble meant–” His voice wavers and he takes a shuddering breath.

“Anyway, we get to the car, and my mom starts just fucking laying into me about how stupid I am and how what I did is ‘unbecoming of a young man’ and I’m standing there, a fucking 7-year-old, trying hard not to cry because crying is also unbecoming. And I’m just so confused because I don’t know what I did wrong. So, when she’s done yelling, I just nod. It isn’t until she tells me to sit down and rips my shoes off that I even get an idea of what’s happening. But, before I can say anything, or ask any questions, she just–she takes my shoes, grabs a fucking nail file or something from her bag, and cuts the kite loose. I start screaming, because wow, I loved that kite and was so happy to fly it. I told her I’d be good, I started apologizing for nothing just to try and fix things, and then she throws my fucking shoes in the trash can and tells me to get in the car.”

Steve drops his head to his knees, pulls his hand away from Eddie’s and wraps both arms around himself as he sobs.

“Oh. Stevie, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. That’s – fuck, that’s such an asshole thing to do. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I thought I did. She was so mad, Eddie.” Steve lifts his head to look at Eddie, face blotchy red and slick with tears. “She never took me to the park again. She never did anything with me again. It was like I just stopped fucking existing.” He hiccups around another sob.

“Hey, listen to me.” Eddie holds his gaze, hands viciously gripping the blanket between them, pinky just barely grazing Steve’s shorts, but he’d feel that warmth through seventeen layers of clothing, he’s sure. “You did nothing wrong. You were a kid. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. You weren’t dumb and you didn’t fuck anything up. Frankly, your mom is a heartless, soulless bitch, and if I never see her again, it’ll be too soon. You owe her nothing, and never will. She’s hardly a mom. Hell, Claudia and Joyce have been better moms to you then that woman ever has and ever will be.”

“Why is my mom’s name in your mouth, Eddie? I swear if you’re shit talking her meatloaf reci– oh shit.” Dustin’s voice is suddenly much closer than Steve remembers. His eyes flick up to see they’re only a hundred feet or so away. He frantically pulls up his shirt to wipe away the tears, though he knows by Dustin’s ‘oh shit’ that it’s fruitless, and he steels himself for questioning, throwing a pleading look at Eddie in the process.

“Steve? Why are you crying?” El jogs over, Dustin close behind, and sits on the blanket in front of him. “Are you hurt?”

He pulls on a thin, watery smile. “No, El Bell. I’m not hurt. I’m okay.”

El frowns. “But you’re crying.” She turns toward Eddie, narrows her eyes. “Did you make him cry?”

Eddie throws his hands up. “Innocent, Ms. Grey, I swear. I’ve been a perfectly adoring boyfriend.”

El holds her squint a few moments longer before releasing with a nod. “Good. I would hate to have to be mean to you.”

Steve lets out a laugh at that, a full blown cackle, really. El looks shocked, though a smile pulls at her lips. “Did I say something funny, Steve?”

“Stevie, are you laughing at your sister threatening me?”

Dustin plops down on Steve’s free side, offers up his arm, which Steve gratefully leans into. Dustin squeezes his shoulder and smiles at him before leaning forward to look at Eddie. “If you made Steve cry, then yeah. You know where El’s loyalties lie.”

“Oh, yeah? And where do yours lie, Henderson?” Eddie leans forward, glaring at Dustin.

Dustin looks at his arm around Steve, then at Eddie, back to his arm, then back to Eddie. He raises his eyebrows, a smirk to accompany the gesture.

“Un-fucking-believable. You nearly give your life to protect a guy and he still doesn’t choose you.” Eddie grumbles before throwing himself flat on the ground, lolling his tongue out. “Goodbye, cruel world, for I am left alone to perish.”

“Hey!” Steve croaks out, throat still thick with tears. “Alone? The hell am I, then?”

“You, my dear, are the one who stole away my loyal subjects.”

“We’re not to be stolen. We choose where we go.” El smiles, leans against Steve’s legs. “I choose you both, but Steve is sad, or hurt, and so right now he needs me more. I will be there for you when you are sad or hurt like I am here for Steve right now.”

Steve stares at El, swallows down a sob at how matter-of-factly she just said that. The surety in her tone warms over something deep and broken inside of him, starts to knit it back together. He feels hot tears on his cheeks again and pulls up his shirt again to wipe them away.

“Fuck. Alright, yeah.” Eddie sits up, hissing out at the movement. “You make a good point, Ms. Grey – I do apologize.” He gives a half bow and El giggles.

Dustin squeezes Steve’s shoulder and leans in. “What’s goin’ on, man?”

“It’s stupid, you two don’t need to worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re crying, it’s not stupid, Steve.” El glares at him softly, a look he knows well to mean you taught me this so why aren’t you applying it to yourself? He loves her, but damn, does she have a memory like a steel trap, and a heart full of fiery loyalty and love for her family.

“She’s got you there, man.” Dustin chuckles, and, wow, okay, betrayal.

“I think Stevie here would feel a whole lot better if you two taught him how to fly one of these sweet kites you’ve both got.” Eddie chimes in. Steve cuts him an incredulous look and shakes his head.

Dustin cocks his head, opens his mouth to speak, but is cut short by Eddie’s hanky pelting him in the face. “Henderson, if you know what’s good for you, shut the hell up.”

“Wha–? I didn’t even say anything!”

“Preventative measure.”

“I’ll teach Steve how to fly a kite.” El pipes up, practically vibrating with joyous energy, her smile blinding in its intensity.

Steve can’t help but smile as he looks at her. “You don’t have to. Really, I’ll be fine.”

“But, I want to. I want to spend time with you.”

And, fuck. How is Steve supposed to deny that?

El stands and holds out her hand. “We found a really nice spot over there with lots of wildflowers that’s really nice to walk through with the kites. Can I teach you there?”

Steve looks at her hand, then over to Eddie. Eddie smiles at him, reaches over and squeezes his thigh once before pulling his hand back. “Go on, sweetheart. Dustin and I will keep the stuff guarded for a bit.”

“You sure? I promise I–”

“Stevie. You deserve this. You deserve to replace that with a better memory. And, plus, your El Bell has specifically requested your company.”

Steve turns back to El, her palm outstretched, her face patient and kind. He bites his lip as he considers it, thinks about how raw he is right now, feels the fear and anxiety over even touching a kite again, but the love in El’s smile somehow blankets over all of that. He lifts up the collar of his shirt to scrub his face one solid, good time to get rid of any tear-marks, then takes her hand and stands up.

El beams at him and leads him toward the open field, their hands slotted together. Steve feels the warmth radiating off of her and lets it burrow deep in his soul. If there’s one thing he’ll never deny, it’s basically whatever El wants or asks about. She’s his sister now, and he would do anything to see her happy. He’s not surprised she’s picked up on doing the same for him.

Once they get to the field, El starts on a tangent of things she learned from Dustin about how to fly a kite and keep it safe, how to turn with the wind to get the best draft, how to lower and raise the kite as the wind changes, to stay away from trees to avoid getting stuck. “Oh! But, first, here.” She reaches out towards his hand, which he easily gives to her. She smiles and wraps the string around his wrist twice like he saw her do earlier, before placing the coil in his palm. “There. That will help make sure it doesn’t fly away. It creates a stronger tether. Just hold onto the coil when we release the kite.”

She’s smiling so earnestly at him that his heart feels like it’s about to burst. There’s nothing but pure love in her smile. No hidden expectations or anger. No shards to look out for. Just pure, unadulterated love

“That’s really smart, El Bell. Thank you.”

“Dustin showed me!” She holds up the kite. “Ready to launch? Just hold onto the coil and let out the string to get it up into the air.”

Steve nods back at her and she holds up the kite as he unfurls the string, then she tosses the kite up. It takes easily to the air and he hears a few whoops behind them, definitely coming from Eddie and Dustin, and he smiles.

The kite steadies itself after a few moments and he takes solace in watching it flutter in the breeze. He feels a nostalgic wave of calm wash over him at the sight and he sits down, overcome with the emotion.

El immediately sits next to him, her hands plucking out the wildflowers from the patch they’re sitting in. She starts braiding them together into what he knows will be a crown perched on his head within the next 10 minutes. He’s grateful for her ability to just sit in silence at any given moment, and she’s grown pretty good at knowing when he needs silence or no questions and when he needs to talk. He’s so damn lucky to have found a younger sister in her. He thinks they both kind of needed each other in scarily similar ways, though the flavors of their trauma differ.

They sit like that for a few minutes as he watches her work the flowers together, giving her feedback on which ones are his favorites, which she readily includes more of, causing something warm to bubble inside of him. He’s learned that warmth is basically a default emotion around El, and is proved right again when he looks up at her, her brows furrowed slightly in concentration as she hums out one of Eddie’s songs. She should come with a warning – be careful, contains so much love it will burst through every barrier known to man just to build you back up again.

“Hey, uh, next time, could we–” He fidgets with the coil and El nods at him softly, urging him to continue as her fingers deftly twist the flowers together. “Could we, instead of just wrapping them to our wrists, could we just –” His voice drops to a whisper, “could we tie the kites to our shoes? Where the shoelaces go?”

El cocks her head to the side, and Steve stammers out an explanation. “We would have our hands free then to do other things, like play other games, or, uh, or –” He gestures at her collection of wildflowers scattered across her lap. “Or pick the flowers, make more flower jewelry!”

El keeps her head cocked a few, excruciating seconds longer, before righting herself, smiling that brilliant smile up at him, sending fresh waves of warmth through his soul as sets her finished crown on his head. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had, Steve.”

tags: @sunshine-daydreams0809

divider by saradika-graphics

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #steddiebingospring #el and steve sibling relationship #it's very important to me #sun writes

81 notes · View notes

julesdaydreams · 2 months ago

Text

@wolfstarmicrofic II may 2 - sir II word count: 1380

CW: age gap (both consenting adults) NSFW - suggestive imigary but nothing actually happing other than heavy flirting and teasing, enjoy! I tried to make this under 1k words, but I'm very bad at keeping it mini, sorry

“Next week, we’ll be discussing the themes of race, class, and gender in the works of Emily Chopin. Please read the texts I provided you with online and don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions. Have a great weekend.” Remus ended his last lecture for the day, turning around when his students started eagerly leaving the lecture hall.

It’s been a long week, his joints aching from standing too long without the help of his cane (because he refused to use it at university. He was in his mid-thirties, not mid-sixties, alright?). He sat down in his chair at the desk, sighing as his hip popped and the ache subsided a bit. He couldn’t wait to get home and take a long, hot bath.

He was focused on gathering his belongings, shutting down his laptop when a smooth low voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you have a moment?”

Remus closed his eyes for a brief moment. He knew that voice all too well. Sirius Black had made his job a living hell the moment he had stepped into his classroom this semester. Twirling his silky black hair as he watched Remus like a hawk in his sessions. Bright grey eyes looking all so innocent, even though Remus knew it was all just an act. Clothes always just a bit too tight, teasing him, making him imagine ripping the offending garment right off of the younger man.

Even worse, Black was attentive, one of his best students, really. Always asking the right questions at the right time, head slightly tilted as he hung onto Remus’ every word as he answered, making him stutter whenever the other bit his bottom lip in concentration.

But Remus was a professional. And he wouldn’t let beautiful twenty-something-year-olds ruin him or his career. So he ignored the other man to the best of his ability.

That plan seemed to work right up until a few weeks ago when the student had decided to make it nearly impossible to ignore him, by approaching Remus after classes, or in the hallway when they crossed paths, or Remus’ office during his open office hours, invading the small and quiet space with his sultry voice and boisterous laugh.

Black always had an excuse, too. Asking about an assignment, or if Remus could elaborate on a topic he had broached in one of his lectures. But what started innocent, quickly turned into dangerous territory: Black asking about his personal life.

He asked if he had a wife, or husband (no, and Remus knew the question was redundant anyway, seeing as he had no ring on his finger - and since Sirius had been eyeing his hands for quite some time, he must have noticed as much).

The next time, he asked if Remus liked to read books in his free time or if he just did so for his lectures, and what kind of books he liked reading most. The next day, a first edition of his favourite novel lay on his office desk with a neatly written note on top, swirly initials in the bottom right corner ~S.O.B.

Remus had stared at the book for entirely too long, debating giving it back (technically he wasn’t allowed to accept gifts from his students. Bribery and all that.), but he couldn’t get himself to part from it, so he took it home instead.

Save to say, Sirius Black had managed to weasel himself into every crook of Remus’ brain and life and it was driving the professor insane, to the point that every interaction with the younger man had him reeling, threatening to boil over and do something irreparable to his career.

He willed himself to prolong the inevitable and not let it be the interaction he was currently in, but a different one in the future.

When he looked up and into hooded grey eyes, lined with charcoal and sparkling with a hint of mischief, Remus doubted his ability to keep things professional once more.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Black?” he asked, voice coming out much clearer than he thought he could manage at the sight of the other man.

Black smirked in that way of his that said he had Remus exactly where he wanted him. Wrapped around his little finger.

The student leaned against the desk, stretching out his long legs clad in infuriatingly tight leather pants that Remus wanted to peel off desperately. He tilted his head, silky hair falling to his side and revealing the pale and smooth skin of his neck that Remus dreamed about marking up.

He was well and truly fucked. Black clearly decided he had toyed with Remus enough and it was time to attack.

“I was wondering… what someone like you might do on a Friday night? I could see you enjoying a hot bath, maybe with a nice book, relaxing those muscles you got, you know? Or maybe you’d surprise me and go to a pub or bar? Drink one or more beers, take a nice bloke home with you. One with long black hair, legs for days, porcelain skin that you would take your time marking up with your mouth. You’re a gentle lover, aren’t you, professor? You’d know how to take care of a guy like me.”

Remus swallowed. Not once had Black been this straightforward with him, painting an image in Remus’ head that he desperately wished was reality. He worked his jaw, eyes scanning over the room to make sure that the rest of his students were truly gone, before carefully crafting his answer.

However, whatever was about to come out of his mouth died at the tip of his tongue when Black shifted slightly, revealing black ink under the collar of his shirt.

Remus snapped.

One moment he sat on his chair, the next, he was looming over his student, arms on each side of the other man, palms resting on the dark wood, bodies so close, Remus could smell Sirius’ shampoo and it made Remus’ professionality crumble like a house of cards. Their faces were closer than ever and Remus smirked when he heard the other man take in a sharp breath.

“I don’t know what games you’re playing here, Mr. Black.” He spoke lowly into the student’s ear, revelling in the way it made him shudder. “But I can assure you, I’m everything but gentle in bed. And you would be wise not to test me. Are we clear?”

Remus leaned back just a bit, looking into wide and lustful eyes and it made him hot all over.

This was it. This was the moment that could change everything and Remus wished - hoped - Black would make the right choice and leave. Take the threat as it was and run for the hills.

Of course, the student had never left him alone and he wouldn’t start now. Black’s tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip and Remus had suppressed a groan at the sight.

“I think you’re all bark and no bite, sir. You couldn’t hurt a fly.” Again, that infuriating smirk, Remus wanted to see it crumble, wanted to shut up that smart mouth and make it useful for once. See it wrapped around-

He was getting ahead of himself. Again.

He raised his hand and tilted Black’s head up slightly, watching hungrily as his throat bobbed.

“Tonight. 8 pm. The Three Broomsticks. I’ll show you just how gentle I can be... if you’re up for it.” He gave the other man’s thigh a tight squeeze, before stepping back, grabbing his bag, and walking out of the lecture hall with wide steps, forcing himself not to turn around and take the other man right then and there over the desk and show him what happened when you provoked your professor too much.

No. That could wait for another day. First, he had to get ready for tonight. And he already had lots of ideas on how to make Sirius Black regret ever thinking he could win this little game of theirs.

Fuck being professional.

#sirius showed up and had the night of his life #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #wolfstar microfic #hp marauders #marauders fandom #marauders #short story

67 notes · View notes

jinxposting · 7 months ago

Text

Jason Todd x Jinx! reader Chapter 10

Green

You tossed and turned all night. The cot you slept on creaked with every move. You breathed out a sigh.

"Can't sleep, huh?"

You sat up, meeting the masked eyes of Red Hood. Even at night he had his guard up. His hair was tussled from what you assumed were his own failed attempts at sleep.

"No. You?"

"No."

You both sat in silence for a moment longer before he cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"So, did your hair get... longer?"

You snorted at the cringe on his face. He couldn't make small talk to save his life.

"Yeah. It tends to do that."

You stood up from the cot, bare feet creaking against the wooden floorboards. You shivered from the chill but did your best to ignore it.

You had officially run away. Or, did it really count as running away if you were an adult? It certainly felt like it.

You currently reside in Red Hood's safe house. A rickety old place on the outskirts of Gotham. He apologized for the living accommodations, stating he never stayed in one place for too long. You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel homesick for your own bed. But right now anything was better than going home. Than seeing Joker.

Red Hood assured you he'd kill Joker on his own. You didn't have to be involved whatsoever. Part of you was grateful for that. Another part still felt protective. The urge to defend your paternal figure reared it's ugly head. Like you said, you were nothing if not loyal.

You thought back to the first bomb you'd built for Joker. It was a nail bomb. He found your natural affinity for destruction euphoric. A mini him. You never felt entirely right about that. You were you, no one else. But if that's what it took to be loved than you'd grin and bear it.

But now, without him, who were you? What were you without Joker? Everything about you was molded in his image. Your very visage was Joker.

"Hey, you okay?"

You were brought back to reality. Right, you were with Red Hood now.

"Yeah. I'm fine... Where's the bathroom?"

He pointed down the hall. "To the left."

You stared yourself down in the mirror.

Your eyes were rimmed with dark circles. Your hair loose and tangled. Green. Always green. You used to take pride in that. Before the chemical baptism, you even dyed it regularly.

You pulled out your pocket knife with your right hand and grabbed a fistful of hair with your left.

You were sick of green.

With a jagged slice a chunk of hair went limp in your grasp. You stared down at the now loose strands before dropping them. You picked up another section and repeated the action. Over and over and over again. Until you were left with a pile of hair at your feet, what was still attached now hung above your shoulders.

You wouldn't let him dictate who you were anymore.

You aren't Joker.

You ran a hand through your freshly cut hair. It was lopsided and sloppy. But it was still you.

You are you.

#short chapter cuz im tired #dc comics #bat family #jason todd #joker #jason todd x reader #villain reader #jinx reader #jinx jumbles

91 notes · View notes

cosmicalily · 8 months ago

Text

"to be loved is to be remembered" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

4. episodic memory | hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

episodic memory: a type of explicit memory that is categorised as the collection of personal experiences that occurred at particular times and places.

author's note: eeee and the series is finished!! suprisingly quicker than i expected! simply finishing a series is a big accomplishment for my adhd brain so i'm pretty proud of myself :) and having artsy hyune as the final piece after my art exam (my last exam of the year!) feels like a perfect fit. enjoy!

warnings: pregnancy (giggles mischievously)

Your room was a gallery, a time capsule of yours and Hyunjin’s love story. A collection of events, both big and small, some from the very moment, others recalled years on. Pictures from a photobooth, taken after your third date, pinned alongside a beautiful oil painting of the flowers he had bought for you on your one year anniversary. In his sketchbook, Hyunjin carried his immediate thoughts and ideas, his sensory and short term memory. A rough drawing of a handmade coffee cup he caught you admiring at a market, a sketch of an old couple that brought him anticipatory nostalgia, and many, many illustrations of you, his muse, his lover.

Whilst Hyunjin worked with a range of mediums on paper and canvas, often blending a mix into one piece, you preferred to work with ceramics. Sculptures and dishes and cups were scattered around your house, some decorational, others used on a daily basis. He loved to paint your pieces, and often your pieces became a blend of each other, something so beautiful and unique that neither of you could have created alone.

It was a warm morning in the small studio the two of you rented together. Currently, the two of you shared a two-bedroom apartment with Hyunjin’s friend, Felix, and his girlfriend, originally in order to save for a separate studio space. It was important that your home was a place for resting, and that you had an alternate space for creating. You had set it up with your kiln, a miracle secondhand market find, and Hyunjin’s easels. Whilst the studio you’d ended up choosing wasn’t as spacious as other places you’d visited, it had huge floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the space in sunlight.

Each piece you created, whether together or on separate ends of the room, was a tangible memory of an experience you shared. Something you could look at on the wall or hold in the palm of your hand, a trigger to release a vivid recollection of a moment in your life.

Today, you worked on a set of plates. The two of you were currently saving for your first home together, after five years of dating and three of living with your friends. You wanted to make whatever place you’d be calling home in the next year or so time as personalised as it could be. Hyunjin, sitting on a chair by your clay-coated desk, dipped his fine tipped brush into a pale pink glaze, painting a cherry tree on a vase you’d fired a few days ago. You warmed the clay in your hands, dampening and smoothing and cutting as you felt the need for it, whilst Hyunjin did the same, alternating and mixing colours as the picture developed.

“You look pretty when you’re doing your thing,” you said suddenly, realising you’d been staring at your boyfriend, unbeknown to him, for a good five minutes. The clay had begun to dry on your hands, so you dipped them in the jar beside you, smoothing out the cracks.

“So do you, baby,” Hyunjin replied, his face creasing into a smile. The freckle below his lower lashes disappeared as his eyes crinkled into crescent moons, glittering in the bright sunlight.

He reached out for your hand, not caring that it was white with clay, and squeezed your fingers, painting one handed the way he usually did when you were with him. You sculpted one handed too, although this was a little more difficult on your part, and eventually you had to let go to place your plates in your kiln, along with the pieces Hyunjin had finished glazing.

The two of you washed your hands and sat down by the windows, drinking the loose leaf chai Hyunjin kept by a small electric kettle in the studio. Using one of your handmade teapots, he poured the tea and handed you a mug. You sat together, backs against the sun warmed glass of the windows, his arm around your shoulder, your head nestled in his neck.

“We’re going to make that home our nest,” Hyunjin murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“We aren’t even halfway saved for it yet,” you giggled, but indulged his fantasy nonetheless. “I want our bedroom walls to be green, dark green. Apparently it’s the most calming colour.”

Hyunjin nodded thoughtfully. “I heard that too. And I’ll paint the tiles for our bathroom; we need an actual bath, one of those pretty claw-foot ones.”

“I’ll make the tiles,” you offered, and he smiled at you, kissing the tip of your nose.

You sat together, soft jazz playing in the background, bodies against each other. The room was warm with the heat of the kiln and the brightness of the afternoon sun, and you knew, you always had, that Hwang Hyunjin, although he wasn’t your first, would be your last love.

“Can I draw something?” You asked, your head resting against Hyunjin’s thigh as he worked on a painting. You hadn’t been feeling well recently, so rather than work on your ceramics, you would sit with Hyunjin and watch him paint. He’d even put away his oils for the time being as he knew they triggered your nausea, and had begun experimenting with watercolours again.

“Of course, baby, my sketchbook’s on the floor,” Hyunjin replied, one hand slotted in your hair, gently massaging your scalp, the other holding his paintbrush.

You pulled a pencil from your bun, something you never recalled placing there, but always happened to be present, and began to sketch. You drew the white walls of the studio, sketched the shadows on the hardwood floor, and drew your boyfriend, his eyes focused, plump lips slightly open.

It was comforting, sketching. You understood why he loved to do it so much. It took your mind off the dull headache that hummed behind your eyebrows and the waves of tension in your stomach. You leaned closer into Hyunjin’s touch as you drew, adding small details and blending shadows with your fingers, until you felt it was complete.

“What did you draw, pretty girl?” Hyunjin asked, setting his paintbrush down and shifting his canvas to the drying rack in the corner. He sat down on the floor beside you and pulled you into an embrace, kissing your forehead gently. Although you felt far from pretty, your curls escaping your bun and your eyebags more prominent than usual due to a lack of sleep, you didn’t fight back, because you knew he wasn’t talking about your appearance. He always saw deeper than that.

“It’s the studio,” you replied, showing him the page.

“What’s the meaning behind it?” He asked, the way he always did.

“It’s the place where I first told you I was pregnant,” you whispered, your eyes glassy.

Hyunjin paused, not understanding. “But this sketch was right now, wasn’t it? Those are the clothes I’m still wearing.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my God,” Hyunjin turned to you, eyes wide and sparkling. “Oh my God, are you having our baby?”

You nodded, and a tear trickled down your cheek and onto your lip. He wiped it tenderly with the soft flesh of his thumb, and you kissed his finger, not caring that it tasted of paint. “I took a test a few days ago when I was still feeling crap after a week. I realised I hadn’t gotten my period in a while either. I was really, really scared at first. Because we only just moved into our own place and there’s still so much to furnish and plan-”

“It’s okay, baby, it’s going to be okay,” Hyunjin interrupted you, stroking your warm cheeks. He tucked your bangs behind your ear and nodded at you slowly. “We’ll be okay. If you’re happy about it, I’m happy. If you're not, I'm not, and we can do something about it. I trust you and your body. Yes, it’s unplanned, but for fuck’s sake, we’re artists, do we ever plan anything properly?”

“No,” you giggled. “And I am happy. Really happy. After the shock settled down, I was flooded with this insane joy, because there’s nobody else I’d want to do this with other than you. Truly.”

Hyunjin’s eyes watered. “I’m happy. Incredibly happy. Can I paint on your belly when it grows?”

“Of course you can. They’re going to be the most creative little angel, I already know it,” You smiled, resting a hand on your stomach. Hyunjin moved his hand on top of yours, linking your fingers.

121 notes · View notes

kingofbodyrolls · 3 months ago

Text

Stuck in a Cabin (m) | pjm

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

Cute and innocent looking Park Jimin is your lifetime nemesis that you’ve already fallen into bed with not once, but twice. Will a snowy weekend trip with your friends to a cabin in the woods make it the third time you get with your enemy?

→ Pairing: Jimin x female reader → AUs: non idol!au, winter!au, holiday!au, snow!au → Genres: smut, humor/comedy, crack, fluff in you squint → Trope: enemies to ??? (forced proximity) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 5.5k → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (don’t be stupid), hair pulling, multiple orgasms, usage of toy (a dildo), very brief oral (female), multiple orgasms, double penetration (with a toy lol), anal (please go slow and don’t be like these fools), an obscene amount of lube, creampie, cockwarming, dirty talk and endearing degrading names (he still calls her brat 😜), unintentional exhibitionism (or is it, Jimin?? 👀). → Read on AO3? [link]

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a mini series ‘The Winter Collection’, but it can be read as a stand alone (as can all the installments in the series).

“I pick the music,” you snap, your hand darting toward the audio console to change the station. Before you can touch it, Jimin’s hand intercepts yours with a sharp slap.

“The driver always picks the music,” he declares with a smirk, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. You rub your hand, still stinging from his slap.

“Brat.”

You sulk in the passenger seat, seething with frustration. Why are you stuck here again, especially when it’s your car that your nemesis, Park Jimin, is currently driving?

Snow piles up thick along the roadside, but the pavement itself remains clear of the sparkling white blanket. However, patches of ice glisten treacherously, making it difficult for the tires to grip the asphalt.

“Remind me why you’re driving again?” you huff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms in a pitiful fit of anger. Jimin always manages to provoke this reaction from you. Your blood boils, and despite your best efforts, you can’t help it.

“Have you forgotten who got us out of the snowstorm last time?” he smirks, glancing at you briefly—his eyes lingering on your chest, pushed up by your crossed arms. Then, his gaze snaps back to the road, his fingers gripping the wheel tightly, just as they did during the storm.

Thankfully, the snowstorm has passed as you head toward the cabin where you’ll be spending the weekend with your friends.

You huff and sink deeper into your seat, clearly displeased with the situation.

“I really don’t know how I ended up in a car with you again,” you grunt, turning your gaze to the passing landscape. Snow blankets the trees, which grow thicker and denser as you approach the cabin in the forest.

It’s better to stare out the window, you figure, than to acknowledge the feelings stirring in your chest—how your heart races just in his presence. No way will you give Jimin the satisfaction of knowing he affects you—whether through his touch, his words, or his cock. Admitting any of it would only stroke his ego further, and you refuse to give in to the man you despise with every fiber of your being.

“Because you love me,” he declares, and your eyes widen so much they might pop out of their sockets. You gape at him, speechless and flustered like a fish out of water, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite the rush of emotions, you manage to spit out a denial as if it’s second nature to you.

“I don’t love you. I don’t even like you,” you retort sharply.

Jimin bursts out in an endearing chuckle. Damn, why does that sound always get to you? It’s so genuine, filling the car with his infectious laughter. “Listen here, brat,” he says, his voice teasing yet earnest, “you can deny it all you want, but we both know you’re head over heels for me.”

You gape again, his audacity leaving you seething. Can he hear the frantic beat of your heart?

You attempt to deny it once more, your arms remaining firmly crossed over your chest.

He chuckles again, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “You’re cute when you lie.”

His comment makes you blush fiercely; your cheeks burn bright red and your ears feel like they’re on fire. The urge to leap out of the moving car to escape him intensifies—this is pure torture. It was bad enough when you reluctantly admitted to yourself that you might have feelings for your enemy, but you’ll go to any lengths to ensure he never finds out.

The rest of the ride drags on, the car enveloped in slow, sensual music that Jimin seems to adore. Each song carries a suggestive undertone that feels torturous, causing your thoughts to inevitably drift back to Jimin himself.

Suddenly, a warm hand slaps your thigh, trailing up your leg and dangerously close to your crotch, causing you to catch your breath and shiver. What the fuck is he doing?

You turn to face him, silent, your lips pressed tightly together. Words feel dangerous now, so you let your angry eyes convey your message. He chuckles softly, squeezing your thigh briefly before withdrawing his hand.

His hand, warm and lingering, leaves a chill in its wake on your thigh. Memories of his touch—exploring your body, igniting every nerve ending—flood your mind. Damn it. Why does your mind betray you like this?

Your body betrays you, squirming involuntarily in your seat, and you’re certain Jimin notices as you hear him chuckle once more.

“We’re here,” he announces, a playful lilt to his voice, and you snap your gaze to the two-story cabin, several cars parked out front. Looks like you’re the last one to arrive.

You’re relieved to have finally arrived, though you’ve dreaded this trip. Being stuck in close quarters with Jimin is a recipe for disaster. Your heart might just end up with the wrong idea.

As you both step out of the car, you grab your luggage—a small bag you’ve packed specifically for this weekend trip.

Despite its small size, your bag is surprisingly heavy. When Jimin notices your struggle, he moves to take it from you. However, you stubbornly refuse, grappling for control over your belongings.

He offers, “I can take your bag.”

“No, thank you,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze head-on. You refuse his help, resisting his attempt at chivalry. You can’t afford to let your heart entertain false hope.

He suddenly smirks, his gaze trailing up and down your figure. “Do you have something naughty in there?”

You lose your grip on the bag, and it tumbles into the snow with a soft thud. Shock overtakes your expression as you gape at him, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“No,” you assert, shaking your head, your heart racing and palms growing clammy.

“Maybe I should take a peek then?” He chuckles, settling into a seat, his fingers inching towards the zipper of your bag.

“Fuck no!” you shout, snatching up your bag and storming towards the door, seething with a mix of anger and embarrassment. Damn it. You do have something in your bag, and there’s no way you want him to see—or find out—what it is.

Behind you, his laughter fills the air like warm honey as you swing the door open, letting the welcoming warmth wash over your already flushed face.

You greet your friends, who are already lounging on the couches around the warm fire pit. As their eyes rake over you, you silently pray that they can’t see the blush staining your cheeks.

“Hey,” Namjoon greets you with a warm smile from the couch. “Took you long enough to get here.”

You groan and roll your eyes at his comment. You’re not sure if he’s insinuating what you think he is, but even the thought makes your cheeks flush deeper. Nothing happened between you and Jimin this time, but the implication alone is enough to set your face on fire.

“Joon, just let them come in,” Seokjin scolds, throwing you a playful wink that makes your stomach churn. He knows, and you can only hope the others don’t. The memory of what you and Jimin did in Seokjin’s bedroom at his Christmas party floods your mind, and you curse inwardly. It’s bad enough that you’re so easily manipulated by Jimin’s touch—you despise the fact that you might be falling for him. No, you’re not falling for your enemy. You can’t be.

“When did you get here?” you ask Yoongi, who is sprawled out on a couch, nearly asleep. He shoots you a half-awake glare in response to your interruption.

“About an hour ago,” he groans, his voice heavy with fatigue as he stretches his arms lazily.

“We're heading into town to do some shopping in a bit. Want to join us?” Hoseok asks with a bright smile, and you can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah, is everyone going?” Jimin asks, casually settling his perfectly round ass onto one of the couches. Damn Park Jimin’s ass—why the hell are you staring at it in, and in those black sweatpants? Ugh.

The guys nod, chatting excitedly about what to pick up at the store—booze, snacks, and dinner. They turn to you, and Namjoon asks with a curious gaze, “You’ve been awfully quiet. Don’t you wanna tag along?”

“I think I’ll just stay here and relax. But could you grab some red wine for me? I’d love a glass later. And just pick up whatever snacks you guys want,” you say with a smile, tossing your bag to the floor, safely out of Jimin’s prying eyes.

“Sure, go ahead and head upstairs to your room to unpack while we’re out shopping. We’ll be leaving in just a minute,” Seokjin offers kindly.

Yoongi groans again, questioning why he has to come along, but Namjoon playfully scolds him, insisting they need his expert opinion on selecting the finest whiskey in the store. You don’t linger to hear more of their banter, swiftly grabbing your bag and ascending the stairs to your room. It’s a shared room with some of the other guys, but as long as there are single beds, you’re fine.

Upstairs, the hallway stretches out with rooms on either side. You check each one, searching for an empty space to claim, until you reach the end of the hall, your hand hovering over the final doorknob.

You turn the knob, pushing the door open to reveal a small, cozy, and warmly lit room. Your eyes immediately catch the queen-size bed, the sole furnishing in the room. Perhaps the guys had been considerate, giving you your own room? With no bags in sight, you step inside, feeling grateful for the quiet retreat.

You plop down on the bed, tossing your bag to the floor and letting out a sigh. The mattress feels comfortable as you stretch out, listening intently for any movement downstairs. The murmur of your friends’ voices filters up, mingling with the sounds of Yoongi being reluctantly dragged along. The front door opens, accompanied by a few of Yoongi’s colorful curses, and then silence settles in as the door closes behind them.

You sigh again, savoring the rare moment of solitude. Finally, you can gather your thoughts—though they frustratingly drift to Jimin. No, that’s not what you want to focus on right now!

But the persistent ache between your legs, lingering since the car ride with Jimin, demands attention. Maybe it's time to do something about it. Almost instinctively, you reach for your bag on the floor.

You unzip the bag and stick your hand inside, rummaging for what you know will help you focus on anything other than your infuriating enemy, Park Jimin.

Your fingers finally locate the plastic bag you’ve carefully packed, and you pull it out, your hand wrapping around the familiar soft silicone. It’s purple, glitter sparkling as you turn it in your hand, its length and satisfying thickness promising a welcome distraction.

It’s beautiful, resembling a pretty dick, and your thoughts swirl to Jimin’s cock. Your pussy throbs at the comparison. Jimin is a bit girthier than your dildo and about the same length. The mere memory of him sends a shiver down your spine.

You sit at the edge of the bed, quickly pulling down your jeans and panties. With no idea how much time you have before your friends return, you know you need to be fast. The last thing you want is to be caught in the act.

You lean back against the headboard, spreading your legs, already slick with arousal.

Damn, you really are a mess.

You begin to rub your clit, teasing yourself, and your mind betrays you by wandering to Jimin—his fingers, his mouth. Damn it, you started this to avoid thinking about Jimin, so why does he invade your thoughts even now?

Heat floods through you as you keep steady pressure on your clit, rubbing slow circles. Flustered and aroused, you can’t help but think about the risk of getting caught if you’re not quick enough. The illicit thrill excites you more than it should, and you’re surprised at how your walls clench at the thought.

You slide a finger inside your folds, feeling the tight, wet heat, though it doesn’t quite satisfy as much as you’d hoped.

Your breath quickens, matching the accelerating pace of your heart. With a sense of urgency, you increase the speed of your movements, thrusting your finger inside yourself faster, all the while anxiously aware of the time passing. How long has it been now, anyway?

God, you’re so wet and you just crave to be filled. You glance at your sparkly purple dildo beside you, convinced you’re slick enough to take it. Grabbing it eagerly, you run your slick hands over its smooth surface, ensuring it’s coated with your own arousal.

You open your legs wider, positioning the dildo in front of your eager pussy. Slowly, you ease it inside, relishing the stretch that sends shudders of pleasure through you. Not wanting to rush, you take it slow, savoring the delicious fullness as it gradually fills you up.

Throwing your head back, you revel in the sensation as soon as the dildo is fully inserted. Taking a deep breath, you start to withdraw it slowly, only to eagerly thrust it back inside moments later.

You continue to thrust the dildo into your pussy, establishing a deliberate rhythm of self-pleasure. It’s a satisfying feeling, one you’ve been yearning for. Since your last encounter with Jimin, and with no one else since, this release feels necessary—like finally letting go of pent-up frustration.

You lose yourself in the sensation of fullness, thoughts of Jimin consuming your mind. You find yourself wishing it was his cock thrusting into you instead of your pathetic dildo. The toy pales in comparison to Jimin, but that’s a truth you’ll never admit to him.

You pant and moan, lost in your pleasure.

Then, the door creaks open, and your eyes snap open in alarm, breaking the euphoric trance. There stands your enemy, Park Jimin, his eyes widening and pupils dilating as he instantly realizes what you’re doing.

Your mind races—he shouldn’t be here, no one should! What is he doing in your room? Damn it, why does your pussy clench around the dildo now, of all times?

Jimin looks shocked, but his expression quickly shifts to a smirk as he confidently strides into the room with his bag in hand. His smile is mischievous, to say the least—this encounter promises trouble. The question lingers: will this end well for you, or not?

“What are you doing back? No one’s supposed to be here,” you spit out, your voice both heavy and breathless. You instinctively close your legs, as if you could shield yourself from his prying eyes, though he’s already seen it all.

He chuckles, the sound filling the room with a menacing undertone that sends a shiver down your spine—and yet, strangely, it also sends a thrill of excitement through you.

Damn it.

“I never left. Just came to claim my room,” he says casually, running a hand through his hair in a move that sends a dangerous thrill through you. Your stomach flutters with a mix of apprehension and something else you don’t want to admit—but damn it, you can’t deny the effect it has on you.

“Your room?” you choke out, breathless, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks while the dildo remains snug inside you. Conversing with him in this state feels surreal—both embarrassed and intensely aroused, caught in a tantalizing mix of emotions.

He just nods, closing the door behind him, his mischievous smile widening with every step he takes towards you.

Fuck. Looks like the guys didn’t get you a room all to yourself. There’s only one bed in here—which means you’re supposed to share it with Jimin unless you want to sleep on the floor or freeze on the couch in the living room. Damn it.

“What are you doing with that dildo stuffed inside your pussy?” he asks with a teasing smile, eyes glinting with mischief. Now standing right in front of the bed, he makes your pussy flutter around the dildo. Fucking hell. Jimin will be the death of you.

You hiss as his warm hand touches your foot, sending shivers up your spine. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you snap back, embarrassment and anger bubbling up inside you. The heat of the situation, mixed with being caught, leaves you feeling both hot and bothered.

“Does that thing really satisfy you?” he asks, his gaze shifting from the glistening toy between your legs to your flustered face, a smirk playing on his lips.

You grimace, biting back a response. The truth is, your dildo never truly satisfies you, but it’s the best you can manage when desperation strikes.

Jimin notices your eyes darting away in shame and bursts into laughter, his voice dripping with smugness. “Admit it,” he taunts, “you totally miss my cock, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen in shock—how does he read you so well? It’s as if he can see straight into your mind. But there’s no way you’re admitting it, so you stay silent, your defiance the only shield against his penetrating gaze.

He moves closer, his fingers trailing a tantalizing path along your calves. Leaning in, his voice drops to a provocative whisper, “Tell me, brat. Is that toy really better than my cock?”

You remain silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But your body betrays you—craving his touch, yearning for his cock instead of the lifeless dildo.

“Look. I already know the answer, but you have to tell me if you want me to touch you,” he says, as if discussing the weather, not the way he’ll wreck you if you let him. He removes his hand from your legs, “You’re such a brat, but suit yourself. Enjoy your dildo,” he taunts, moving away and off the bed. Panic grips you as your mind races—now that he’s here, you don’t want him to leave!

“Wait!” you blurt out, and he freezes mid-step. His back is turned to you, but you can already picture the smirk playing on his lips as he slowly turns around, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly confident way.

“It’s not better than your dick,” you gasp, the words slipping out amidst a stifled moan, the silicone still filling you.

“Aw. Can’t find anything to match up to my cock, huh?” he taunts, his tone dripping with patronizing amusement. You roll your eyes, exasperated. Damn him. He’s insufferable. So fucking utterly full of himself.

"I’m perfectly capable of finding good dick. This is just an emergency…” you groan, feeling the dildo slowly slip out of your folds. Jimin shifts closer, his gaze lingering on you with a knowing smirk.

“Emergency? Let me help you then,” he says, his voice dripping with sweet poison. Damn it, you crave his touch more than anything right now. Fuck. you really want his help, you want him so bad.

You bite your lip, parting your legs to reveal everything to him. He holds you under his spell like no one else, leaving you powerless against the desire coursing through you. Despite your disdain, you ache for him like nothing else.

“Let me watch you fuck yourself with it,” he smirks, catching you off guard. It’s not what you anticipated, but you’re intrigued, not unwilling.

“What?” you snap at him, feeling your body react to the idea. You really want his dick and not like this pathetic excuse of a dildo.

“You heard me. Get to work, brat. If you can make yourself come, then I’ll fuck you after,” he smirks, his tongue flicking over his lips suggestively.

Is this a challenge? Damn, a surge of heat washes over you, and your hand plunges the dildo back into your pussy, a guttural moan escaping your lips.

“That’s it,” he murmurs in praise, sending a rush of heat through you, your stomach twisting with a mixture of nerves and desire.

You throw your head back, heart racing, and close your eyes as your body shivers. You can feel his intense gaze on you, imagining his eyes fixed on your every move, tracing the contours of your pussy.

Jimin reclines, his gaze intense as he watches you thrust the dildo in and out of your pussy. Every movement leaves you feeling desperate, panting softly, lips caught between your teeth in a futile attempt to stifle accidentally uttering his name.

Jimin watches in silence, his presence so palpable you have to open your eyes to confirm he’s real, not some bizarre figment of your imagination. His gaze is sinful, observing you in this intimate act — it knots your stomach with a heady mix of desire and nervous anticipation.

His smirk widens, eyes dark and intense as you catch the unmistakable outline of his arousal straining against his sweatpants. A shiver runs through you at the thought. All you want now is to reach your climax, to feel him inside you. His presence alone is enough to drive you wild with desire.

You’re panting hard, chasing after your climax, but it eludes you, adding to your frustration. Jimin senses your struggle. “Let me help,” he murmurs, his voice laced with promise.

You grunt in frustration, resisting his offer. “No. If you help, you won’t fuck me, right?”

You desperately want him to fuck you, so you’ll handle this on your own, thank you very much. Jimin chuckles softly, “Listen, brat, I’m so hard for you right now. Whether I help or not, I’m going to fuck you. Just let me.” His sincerity breaks through your resolve, and you find yourself giving in to him.

His hand finds yours, and you relinquish control, allowing Jimin to take your place at the end of the dildo, guiding it inside you while your fingers find your clit, eagerly seeking the pleasure he promises.

You stroke your clit, the dual sensation tightening the knot in your stomach even faster. Your breath quickens, Jimin’s gaze locked on you with awe. “Damn, Jimin, I’m—” you gasp, savoring the exquisite rush of being filled while pleasuring yourself. It’s intense.

“Just come already so I can fuck you, that’s what you want, right?” he taunts, maintaining a steady rhythm with the dildo.

“Yes! I need your cock,” you gasp, biting your lip and throwing your head back in desperate anticipation.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall apart, your pussy fluttering around the dildo, your clit pulsating as you moan his name. God, you feel shivers all the way down to your toes, your body convulsing with the release of built-up tension.

“Such a good girl. As a reward, I’ll fuck you silly,” he promises, his words sending a thrill through you, your pussy fluttering around the dildo in anticipation. Shit, you can’t wait for that.

He withdraws the dildo, setting it aside as he gazes at your pussy with evident captivation. Slowly, he moves closer, then looks up, locking eyes with you. “Let me taste you?” His voice is a husky plea, tinged with desire.

His eyes hold both innocence and sin, and you bite your lip before nodding. “Yes,” escapes your lips in a breathless whisper.

He dives down, his tongue extending eagerly to meet your still-pulsating pussy. With each lick, he gathers your juices, his sucking intensifying the sensation. Your stomach tightens, hands finding purchase in his hair, pulling slightly as his touch overwhelms your senses.

Park Jimin might look cute, you’ll admit, but his tongue is sin personified, a devilish tool he wields with expert precision. It’s why you often find yourself beneath him, craving the unique pleasure only he can provide.

His tongue swirls around your clit with an intensity that makes your breath hitch, fingers tugging harder on his hair. Just for a moment, he pulls back. “You taste so sweet and delicious,” he murmurs, licking his lips glistening with your sheen, sending tingles down your spine and a needy moan escaping your lips.

Then he dives back in, licking a stripe from your folds to your clit. “I think you deserve to get fucked now, brat,” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief, stealing your breath away. You partly hate how you’re falling for him, despite his devilish charm and the way he pleases you.

He pulls back, studying you for a moment before quickly undressing, his clothes tossed to the floor. He crawls back onto the bed, grabbing his dick and stroking it—though he hardly needs to, already hard for you. He opens your legs, and your pussy clenches in anticipation. You want him so bad, your heart pounding in your chest.

He grunts, smirking as he moves closer. The head of his dick caresses your folds, turning you to butter. Slowly, he pushes himself inside, and you moan his name in pure pleasure.

“You’re still so tight, fuck,” he pants, stilling inside you as he bottoms out. The sensation of fullness sends a shudder through you, eyes rolling back as you arch your back, nipples hardening against the teasing fabric of your shirt. He begins to thrust, fast and relentless, and you moan, feeling like you’re ascending to the heavens with each powerful stroke.

His hips slam against your thighs, his balls hitting your ass with each thrust. He grabs your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders, driving deeper and making you see stars. Suddenly, he pulls out, and you look at him in confusion.

“Ass up,” he commands, and you turn over on all fours, presenting yourself to him. His hands glide over your ass, setting your skin on fire and making you shiver. “Such a pretty ass,” he murmurs, then spanks you, eliciting a moan and a clench around nothing. He soothes the stinging spot with a gentle caress, the contrast sending waves of sensation through you.

You feel him position himself behind you, and his cock enters you again. You groan, high and airy, like he’s just fucked the breath out of you. He thrusts deeper, hands gripping your thighs and pulling you into him with every powerful movement.

Frustration mounts as you drag the shirt over your body, finally tossing it aside before collapsing onto the bed. Your head rests against the mattress, and you relish the way Jimin’s thrusts hit deep, effortlessly finding your g-spot. “Jimin—” you moan, a symphony of fullness and bliss escaping your lips.

He grunts, ramming harder into you, “Isn’t this better than that silly little dildo?” His voice is laced with condescension, but it only makes you wetter, and you moan out a breathless yes.

“Speaking of that sparkly thing… have you ever had it in your ass?” His hands possessively grope your cheeks, making your pussy clench around him as you struggle to form coherent thoughts.

“Well, brat?” He slaps one of your ass cheeks, the sting blending with pleasure.

“I’ve never had the dildo in my ass before, fuck,” you moan, lost in a delightful haze. “I’ve only been fingered before.”

He hums thoughtfully, and you already know what’s coming next. “Do you want to try? Being filled in two holes, hm?”

Your pussy clenches again. Fuck. The very thought makes you drip even more. “Fuck. Yes.”

You feel his cock twitch inside you. “Fuck. Do you have lube in your bag?”

You nod, biting your lip as he pulls out of you and strides over to your bag. Returning with the lube, he takes his place behind you once more. “Just gonna prep you, okay? Let me know if it hurts.”

You nod, biting your lip hard enough to taste a hint of blood, but the sting is a distant concern. The click of the lube opening and the sound of the liquid being squeezed onto Jimin’s finger send shivers down your spine. You feel his finger teasing your rim, the cool liquid running down your ass as he carefully applies it. The sensation makes you shiver. Slowly, his finger starts pushing in, moving in and out with a careful rhythm, stretching you gently and gradually.

He’s taking his time to make sure he doesn’t push you too far, stretching you slowly and gradually.

“Fuck, Jimin. You can go in a bit more, it’s fine,” you grunt, feeling both of your holes clench as he presses his finger in deeper. You’d forgotten how it felt to be filled like this, the heightened sensitivity of your ass adding to the intensity.

“You’re taking my finger so well,” he pants, clearly affected by the scene unfolding before him.

“Do you think you can take a second finger?” he asks, pulling his finger out momentarily.

“Yes,” you pant, eager for more.

He pushes two fingers inside, stretching you further, and you moan, the mix of pain and pleasure sending waves of sensation through you. Despite the generous amount of lube, there’s a slight burning sensation, but the pleasure quickly overrides any discomfort.

“Fuck.”

Then he enters you again with his cock, and you cry out in pleasure, tears welling in your eyes as you choke on your own breath. The sensation is overwhelming, filling you completely. He begins to thrust, his dick plunging into your pussy while his fingers work your ass. The double penetration makes you clench, and you know you could come just from this.

Suddenly, he withdraws his fingers. “I think you’re ready. Let’s try. I won’t push it all the way in, just a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” you manage to say, biting your lip as he grabs the purple dildo, applying an obscene amount of lube to it and your ass. His thrusts slow as he focuses on inserting the dildo into your hole. You hold your breath as you feel the silicone prod at your ass while his cock fills your pussy. The sensation is intense, a mix of sting and pleasure.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, caressing your ass with his free hand. He successfully pushes the head of the dildo inside, and you gasp for air.

“Shit. It feels weird, but good,” you pant, bliss washing over you. You need him to move. “Please move, fuck me, Jimin.”

He keeps the dildo still as he resumes his quick thrusts, his balls slapping against your pussy. The pleasure is incredible. Slowly, he starts moving the dildo in and out in rhythm with his thrusts, and you’re gone, so far gone. The coil in your stomach tightens, and you feel like you could snap at any moment.

“Jimin, Jimin!” you pant and cry out, the urgency in your voice driving him wild.

“Fuck! You’re gonna come, aren’t you? Come on my cock, you filthy brat,” he growls, his voice dropping an octave, sending shivers down your spine.

And then it happens; the coil inside you snaps, and your vision turns white with sparkles dusting your retinas. You scream his name, and both your pussy and hole pulsate, gripping his cock and the dildo for dear life. Your mind turns blank, then bursts with colors, your body heating up and floating as Jimin slows down, fucking you gently through your orgasm.

“Fucking hell. You’re beautiful when you come,” he murmurs, his voice deep and strained, like he’s close too. You feel him twitch inside you repeatedly.

“Shit. I’m gonna come,” he stutters, then releases his white-hot seed into your pussy, filling you up, and fuck, you love it. He groans your name, thrusting a few more times before the dildo falls to the bed. Both of his hands grab your hips, squeezing hard, and you moan at his possessive hold.

“Turn around,” he commands, his voice exhausted as he pulls out, his seed and your juices trailing out. You comply, laying back on your back, opening your legs for him. He enters you again, slowly fucking his seed back into you. You spot a slight flinch on his face, a sign of overstimulation, but he pushes into you regardless. You don’t mind; it feels nice and hot.

He stays inside you for a moment, both of you catching your breath, and then you burst out laughing together. But the sound of rustling and rumbling from downstairs snaps you back to reality. The guys are back. Instinctively, you clench around him, your heart rate spiking with fear of being caught.

“Jimin, the guys are back!” you whisper urgently, your blissful haze crashing down.

He just chuckles, “Yeah, they’ve been back for a while. Didn’t you hear the door open?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed and in utter disbelief. That means they heard everything. You weren’t exactly focused on being quiet. Your face heats up, wanting the bed to swallow you whole. Jimin just laughs at your misery.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he teases, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You fume but can’t help the way your heart softens at his cheeky smile. Despite being your enemy, the chemistry between you is undeniable. You want him, again and again. It’s time to stop lying to yourself.

“Kiss me, you piece of shit,” you demand, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him down for a kiss, not caring anymore. Your heart wants what it wants, even if it’s your mortal enemy, Park Jimin.

→ Requested taglist: @yopjm @chimmy-licious @aubrey0moore @jeonsbabygirlsworld @haru-jiminn

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ Author’s note: so… what do you think? I’ve actually been writing this one for almost a month and it’s damn laughable because the wordcount is so small! Normally I would have finished this in a few days… but I’ve been struggling with it and not feeling it. But I did it! I finished it, and just in time for Muse. Let me know if you liked it, and, are you excited for Muse?! Also— I feel like this ‘series’ is concluded, I really don’t know what more I could add to it, and I honestly feel like it would be really boring, because it’s all the same 😂

#jimin x reader #pjm x reader #jimin smut #jimin fic #jimin fanfic #pjm smut #pjm fic #pjm fanfic #pjm x you #park jimin x reader #park jimin smut #park jimin fanfic #bts smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #bangtan smut #bangtan fic #bangtan fanfic #series: the winter collection

21 notes · View notes

dark-elf-writes · 3 months ago

Note

Mu Qing and Feng Xin showing up and seeing Ghost King and Ghost King Mini living with him in domestic bliss

AJDJSJJDDHDJDHDJDJDJDJ

I’m imagining this being before/during the Banyue incident where all four of them are in disguise and immediately all clock each other (Xie Lian of course knows exactly who at least three of them are and has a feeling Wei Wuxian is Hua Cheng’s son even if he doesn’t know who exactly he is) and the tension that would be in that shrine has me screaming.

Like imagine imagine two emotionally constipated men who can’t admit that they’re worried about their friend/former boss showing up to see not one but two ghost kings just chilling in said friend’s home like they belong there. It’s a tiny shrine. There is one bed. There are two ghost kings. One of said ghost kings, the one that created all of demonic cultivation when he was still alive, is currently in the body of a five year old and perched on their friend’s hip. The other that killed 33 gods is staring at them like he is watching his wife and first child. There is still one bed and Xie Lian said both of these ghost kings slept there the night before.

It’s a wonder they didn’t immediately start swinging tbh.

#the elf talks #mdzs #tgcf #Wei wuxian definitely goes with them in full five year old body and is still a badass #xiao hua au

22 notes · View notes

cherrycola27 · 2 years ago

Text

Red, White, and Bradshaw

A Red, White, and Rooster Sequel

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, political inaccuracies. Mentions of and acts of terrorism, death. Allusions to and full smut. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 1: Designated Survivor

At thirty-nine years old, you'd lived quite a life. You had been married to the man of your dreams for almost a decade. You had four beautiful children with him. You had been the First Lady of the United States, and you were currently the Secretary of Commerce for Bradley's successor, President James Hamilton.

Though you had worn many hats during your time in Washington, you never lost sight of who you were. After his time as president came to an end, Bradley supported your political career. He was more than happy to take a back seat from the spotlight and be a stay at home dad to your kids.

Andy and Elle were now seven, Leo, whom you were pregnant with at his second inauguration was five, and Wren, your fifth anniversary vow renewal oops baby, whom you loved very much, was three.

Your two boys were the spitting image of their father, and your two daughters were like mini versions of you. Out of all of them, Elle and Leo had definitely inherited your can-do attitude and "bossy" personality, as Bradley would say, while Andy and Wren shared his laid-back vibe.

Your family was your pride and joy, but you were also proud of the fact that you never had to sacrifice your love of business and politics to have them. You were blessed with a supportive husband who recognized how hard you worked.

When President Hamilton had first offered you a cabinet position, you were hesitant to take it. How could you raise a family and serve? Being First Lady was one thing. This was an entirely different level.

Bradley listened as you told him about your worries and assured you that he would do everything in his power to support you if you wanted to make this career move. "You supported me when I need you. You helped me follow my dream, and now it's my turn to help you." Bradley had told you as he held you in his arms one night.

The next day, you accepted the offer, and after a relatively quick vetting process, you became Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, Secretary of Commerce.

The first few months were an adjustment. You spent many sleepless nights venting to Bradley about how you thought you'd made a mistake and that you should quit. He would listen to your concerns and encourage you and soothe your worries each time. He celebrated all of your victories in your new position, both big and small. Everything was going well—too well.

.............

It was a quiet night in Washington D.C.

President Hamilton was about to give his first State of the Union address. You were in a secure, undisclosed location with your family. You had been chosen as the designated survivor. You thought it was silly, really. What were the odds that every single person ahead of you in the line of presidential succession died at the same time?

But you also understood the importance of it. You appreciated a good backup plan.

You were relaxing in some leggings and a well-worn, oversized Georgetown hoodie, staring at the TV when Bradley joined you.

He had an old Navy shirt and some flannel pants on. He'd just tucked the kids in bed before coming to watch the State of the Union with you.

He wrapped his arm around you as the two of you shared a bowl of popcorn.

"Oh my god, did I look that stuffy when I gave my speehes?" He asked as the two of you listened.

"No, Dearest. You looked exceptionally handsome." You told him. He laughed as the two of you continued to watch the screen. Everything seemed fine—normal even.

Until it happened.

A large boom shook the safe house just as the live feed of the address went black.

You and Bradley looked as each other with panic in your eyes.

"Bradley, go get the kids." You told him. He was out of his seat and racing down the hall before you could finish your sentence. You quickly flipped through the TV channels to see if you could figure out what was wrong. The sound of sirens and helicopters blared from outside. Whatever this was, it was serious.

Just then, Dante, the head of your security team, burst in the door. Mrs. Bradshaw, we need to move all of you now." He said in a protective tone. "Dante, what's going on?" You asked him. He didn't respond.

Just then, a news flash came over the TV, and your heart sank. Your children came running into the room and gathered around you as Bradley followed behind.

"Oh my god." The two of you said in unison. "Bradley, they blew up the Capital." You said in disbelief as you watched the screen. You couldn't believe your eyes. In the spot where the beautiful building had once stood was nothing but a pile of burning rubble.

"Dante, I need you to get the Seresin's on the phone right now." You demanded. "Mrs. Bradshaw, we need to get all of you out of here now. We will call them from the car." Dante said. You wanted to protest, but he was grabbing your arm and hauling you out door as more members of your security team escorted Bradley and your children.

You looked back over your shoulder just in time to see a banner flash stating that there would likely be no survivors. Your heart sank as you thought about all innocent men and women who lost their lives— your parents included.

Suddenly, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Andy and Elle sat on either side of you in the car while Leo and Wren clung to Bradley.

You were vaugly aware of him telling you that they had reached Jake and Jaycee. The Seresin's and their three children were fine, and more security would be sent to them.

Bright lights from police, fire, and military flashed through the streets of D.C. as Dante navigated them. You were sure someone was talking to you, but you didn't hear what they said. You felt like you were underwater.

You didn't register yourself getting out of the SUV or the fact that you were being taken through a back passage of the White House. It was only when Chief Justice Inglewood was asking Bradley to hold the Bible and for you to place your hand on, that you snapped back to reality.

"Wait, what's going on?" You said as you looked around the room.

"Mrs. Bradshaw, you're the designated survivor." Chief Justice Inglewood said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You still hadn't processed what was going on.

"Honey, you're about to take the oath of office. You're going to be the president." Bradley said to you calmly.

You took a deep breath as Justice Inglewood looked at you. "Please place your left hand on the Bible, raise your right hand, and repeat after me." She began. You didn't even have time to process what Bradley had said before Inglewood started the oath.

"Do you, Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of your ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States?" Chief Justice Inglewood asked you.

That's when the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. The president, vice president, and everyone else in the Capital tonight were dead. You swallowed thickly as your children huddled close, not sure of what was happening, but aware enough to know something was off.

You took a deep breath and looked at Bradley for reassurance. He nodded his head and smiled.

"I, Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, do solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." You affirmed in a shaky tone. You felt like you were going to throw up. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue felt like sandpaper. You were vaugly aware of someone taking pictures in the background as you spoke the words.

"Congratulations, Madame President. I wish this could have been under better circumstances." Justice Inglewood said as she shook your hand.

You thought that it was odd that she was shaking your hand and congratulating you. You were here because hundreds of people had died, not because you won an election. You did deserve this.

Your hands started to shake as tears pricked your eyes. This was wrong. All wrong. You felt like you couldn't breathe. How the hell did you end up here?

Your husband turned to you and saw the fear in your eyes.

Bradley immediately pulled you in for a hug before cupping your face in his hands. He could sense the terror running through your body as the severity of the situation set in.

"Oh my god, Bradley. I—I—what am I going to do?" You said as tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

"Right now, we are going to tuck the kids in and read them a bedtime story. Then, you are going to go with Dante to a secure conference room and talk with the department heads that weren't at the State of the Union. You are going to figure out a way for us to get through this because that's what you do best, honey. You solve problems. Tomorrow morning, you are going to drink way too much coffee, put on a suit, and address the nation. You are going to let them know that we are down, but not out. You are going to show them how strong their president is. But most of all, you're going to do your best. That's all you can do." Bradley tells you as he kissed your forehead.

Dante doesn't give you time to respond or to help Bradley with the children before he is whisking you away again.

"Go get 'em; Madame President. I love you." Bradley said as he ushered you to go. You nodded and followed Dante.

You couldn't believe this was happening. One minute, you were enjoying a quiet evening. The next, you were thrust into a position you weren't even sure you wanted and knew you weren't qualified for.

"Oh my god." You said to yourself for what seemed like the hundredth time this evening as the weight of everything settled over you.

You were no longer Secretary Wiseman-Bradshaw. You were President Wiseman-Bradshaw.

Life as you knew it would be forever changed.

Dante and your other Secret Service team members stopped outside a door. Dante went ahead while you waited behind. Moments later, he returned and said,

"Madame President, they're ready for you."

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby @wkndwlff @dakotakazansky @multifandomlover4life @princess76179

#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #tgm #rooster smut #rooster x reader #lt. bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm smut #top gun 2 #red white and bradshaw #red white and rooster

395 notes · View notes

pandorasprongs · 2 years ago

Text

CHAPTER THREE | so inviting, i almost jump in.

'it's nice to have a friend' masterlist + playlist | previous chapter

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

SUMMARY: jamie and reader go out for drinks and meet a familiar face that brings up a painful memory for both of them.

WARNINGS: language

A/N: i'd like to apologize in advance for this one because the end is just 100% angst so brace yourselves sorry :')

It was like deja vu. Over the past weeks, you and Jamie started hanging out on a regular basis. Late nights and weekends were often spent eating pizza, watching old movies, and searching for old schoolmates online. He even helped you re-organize your room when he arrived during one of your cleaning days. You uncovered a box of old toy rings that Jamie gave you every birthday of yours for five years.

Initially, Jamie would message you if he was on the way. But the more he came over, it went back to your usual habits of him just showing up at your door at random hours of the day. When you weren't home, he'd message that he dropped by and then you'd call him when you got back. He'd race over to watch another one of your favorite childhood movies.

You hadn't realized how much you missed it all till you started spending time with Jamie again. You missed it so much that you may have neglected to mention to Liv how often you were with him. Despite the mini-sermon she gave you weeks ago about confronting Jamie, you hadn't actually made any moves to do it. All of this started to feel normal, regular, and the thought of disturbing that scared you too much. Even if there were times where you were annoyed at how casual he talked about the past few years of radio silence from him. Or how he'd mention his Man City teammates and you felt like tensing up every time.

There was no need to bring it up anymore, something you repeated to yourself. Plus, you were noticing that Jamie was now closer to your childhood best friend than the one who broke your heart. But still, you were cautious around the footballers Jamie associated with. Even when the season started again and Jamie would offer to tour you around the clubhouse or reserve tickets for the games, you'd always politely decline. You're sure the AFC Richmond players aren't terrible people given how highly Jamie would talk about them, but better to be safe than sorry.

Besides, with his now swamped schedule, you hadn’t seen Jamie recently. The most you did was when he’d send messages before training or games to which you’d answer with a “Good luck!” It was weird in the beginning, given that when he was at Man City, Jamie didn’t do any of that, but you hoped that this meant he wouldn’t leave again.

The next time you did was the night after one of their games, which continued their winning streak, thanks to Zava. While you knew Richmond fans — well, Liv and Frankie — were absolutely ecstatic to have him, Jamie despised the guy. You stopped yourself from pointing out the hypocrisy of him hating the player for being self-centered and thinking highly of himself.

You guess it’s working though because now you’re watching Richmond secure their fifth win in a row with your neighbor’s kid, Ronnie. When her mom found out you were a Science professor, she practically begged you to tutor her kid (and occasionally babysit). Ronnie was in primary school, so the lessons were pretty simple and you’ve been doing sessions every week to help her out. You always rewarded her afterward with whatever she wanted to watch on your TV that was age-appropriate, of course. This time, — after running back to their flat to get her Obisanya shirt, — she decided on watching the game.

“Zava’s incredible,” she murmured next to you, staring at the screen as if in a trance. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the reaction. The game was finished and so the channel was just playing match highlights, which for Richmond, were mostly their current star player. Sometimes, you’d spot Jamie in the background and even though the rest of the team was cheering along, he was having a hard time masking his resentment.

When you were finally able to drag her away from the TV, you heated up two plates of lasagna. Ronnie’s mom still hadn’t knocked on your door and you didn’t want to leave her alone in your flat, so she was having dinner with you tonight. For the most part, it was just like eating with Jamie. She was non-stop talking about the match which turned to talking about her favorite players and future games. It reminded you of Jamie as a kid, who’d go on and on about the exact same things.

As you’re washing dishes and Ronnie’s answering some extra worksheets, — she asked for them! — you hear the doorbell ring. You go over and find Jamie standing at the door, much to your surprise.

“Hey! Didn’t know you were coming over,” you say, but after noticing his exasperated expression, you tilt your head. “I know you don’t like a certain teammate, but I thought you’d at least be happy about the win.”

Jamie sighs. “I know." He gives you a weak smile, and you have to admit that even that simple act made your heart skip. “Is that lasagna?”

Jamie enters the room without warning and as soon as he does, your eyes widened remembering who else was there. You turn to the dining room table at the same time as Jamie and together, watch a 9-year-old stare in awe.

“Oh my God,” she let out. “That’s Jamie Tartt!” She walks over to you, leaving behind the worksheets.

You lean over and whisper to Jamie, “Forgot to mention I’m watching my neighbor’s kid.”

But Jamie’s already jumped into celebrity mode. He crouches down and confirms, “That’s me.” He glances at her oversized jersey before asking, “You a fan of Richmond?”

Ronnie nods her head enthusiastically. “I’m Ronnie! Congrats on winning!”

Jamie chuckles, and thanks her. “Nice to meet you, Ronnie.”

You hear someone approach the door and clear their throat and you turn to find Ronnie’s mom looking curiously at you. You turn back to Ronnie — who has now launched into a full monologue about how much she loves the team — and exclaim, “Look who else is here! I think it’s time to head back to your flat, Neens.”

She pouts at that statement, but one look from her mom and she was waving goodbye to the player. You quickly collect all of her stuff scattered around the place and hand it to her mom, who seems too exhausted from her shift to even notice the other person in the room.

Once you close the door, you lean on it and sigh in relief. “Sorry about that. I sometimes watch her after tutoring if her mom isn’t back, yet.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Nah, not a problem. I love meeting fans. Real ego boost.”

Yet another countless eye roll. “Calm down. You’re not even her third favorite player.”

Jamie scoffs, almost offended but after remembering the lasagna, he heads to the kitchen for a plate of his own. You walk beside him and after tripping over a loose marker Ronnie left, you fall forward. Jamie's reflexes kick in and he catches you quickly and you grab hold of his — really broad, you notice — shoulders to steady yourself.

Now you're stuck in a position that happens in almost every 90s rom-com you've watched: your feet diagonally off the ground with Jamie's hands gripping tightly at your waist. Both of you are too much in shock to move and simply look at each other with wide eyes. Your faces were close, too close to be platonic if it was intentional. So much so that if you leaned forward, just a little bit…

You snap out of the trance and move to stand straight up as Jamie lets go of you. You head over to the sink and quietly curse at yourself and that stupid blue marker. Things haven't been weird between you and Jamie for ages. And you weren't going to let the possible resurfacing of your feelings ruin that. Not again. Plus, if you were already burying your old feelings of resentment, why not add onto it too?

You go back to washing dishes when Jamie asks you a question. "Are you doing anything Saturday night?"

Given what just happened, your mind wanders off in the romantic direction before you shake your head. Instead, you respond, "I think you know better than anyone that I never do anything Saturday night." You reply as you wipe your hands. "Why?"

"Just wondering if you want to get a drink with me. Well, you get a drink and I get water 'cause fucking Roy’s banned me from alcohol till the season’s over. I just really need a night out. Fucking Zava, I swear." Forget the fact that he was technically at a night out with his teammates earlier; he more of just wanted a night out with someone who isn't so related to his football life. Or, he just really wants a night out with you.

You snort at that last comment but oblige anyway, ignoring the feeling of disappointment.

Jamie and you had only ever hung out together in the comfort of your own home. You'd just assumed that it was to avoid any unwanted press and since the bar he mentioned was one of those members-only pubs, it makes sense that the first time the two of you hung out publicly was there. But seeing as it was a pub, it's not going to be a romantic not-a-date date that you'll be going on.

Though, you soon realized how different it was from your usual places. Everyone there was dressed up so formally and you were glad that you picked the black trousers that you usually only wear to work over your everyday jeans that had paint stains at the bottom of them. Maybe you had worn it in case Jamie at the last minute decided to take a detour to a nice restaurant, but you were relieved either way.

The two of you ended up just sitting in the bar while Jamie complained about his most recent Twitter feud. Christ, you pray for Keeley Jones for having to deal with all his PR nonsense. When he starts shit-talking Roy for getting him up at 4 am for training, — “I thought he was joking!” — you end up tuning out of the conversation knowing how long the rant was going to be.

Your eyes drift off behind Jamie when you notice a familiar face. Suddenly, it felt like the walls were closing in on you. You could feel your breathing hitch and your fingers were scratching the inside of your palm. Before you could even consider doing anything, he reached you.

"Jamie Tartt!" The footballer's train of thought is broken and he turns to his former teammate to greet him. "Haven't seen you since you went off to be a reality star!"

Jamie simply rolls his eyes at the comment. "Well George, I haven't seen you since they forced you out of Man City!"

"They couldn't afford me anymore," He shrugs before his eyes land on yours. You shift in your seat and you can see the exact moment when Jamie notices how uneasy you've become. "And who's this with you?"

He doesn't remember you. And why would he? To him, you were just another crazed fan at a pub, one of many he's encountered over the years. You doubt that the memory of that night stuck with him the way it did to you.

"This is (Y/N), an old friend of mine," Jamie adds carefully and you build up enough courage to shake his former teammates' hand, but not enough to stay in this conversation.

"I'll let you two catch up while I get another drink." You explain, in an obviously fake cheery voice, but only Jamie spots it. He reaches out for your hand on the table to comfort you, but you swipe it away before he can.

You head off to the other side of the bar to order another beer, but you can't stop your eyes from shifting over to the pair of them again. Jamie looked so comfortable laughing and talking to George. You scoff at the sight. How could he act so chummy with that guy when he was the driving force for why the two of you ended on shitty terms in the first place?

Jamie's told you all about how he's been working on himself and trying to become a better person, but a part of you still feared that one interaction with that guy would unravel everything. He was an absolute prick; the number of fights and scandals Jamie had been in for his entire career was nothing compared to the amount George had in his first five years.

You wanted to trust Jamie, but he was always quick to change who he was when he was around certain people. You just hoped he had grown enough to not let his Man City "mentor" — too many of George’s scandal photos had a 19 to 22-year-old Jamie Tartt in the background — bring back the side of him he's tried so hard to erase.

You don't know how long they were talking, but by the time they moved over to the pool table, your vision was already starting to blur. The drinks just kept coming. Flashbacks from that night started to come in too: the spotting Jamie in the crowd, the confrontation, the holding back of tears, and the walk-out. You couldn't look over at the pair of them without an intense pain appearing in your chest.

Jamie looked back to where you were supposed to be seated and found you spacing out into a corner. It was the same dreamy and tired look you had the first time you tested your alcohol limit when your parents were out of town. Immediately, he abandoned the game of pool and rushed over to you.

"Maybe that's enough alcohol for tonight." Someone pulls the Cosmopolitan from your grasp and you squint your eyes to identify them as Jamie.

"Ha, that's rich coming from you." You can't remember how many times you've had to help Jamie sneak up the stairs and into his bedroom after a night out. "Aren't you still busy hanging out with that Man City prick?" Lack of tactfulness is the most obvious sign you'd drank too much.

"Woo, a little harsh there," You hear George come up to the two of you. You rush — well, more of stumble — forward to confront him, but Jamie holds you back. The retired footballer points out, "She's a feisty one."

"Let's bring you back to your flat, yeah?" Jamie offers softly, but you remove yourself from his arms and shake your head.

"I am perfectly capable of getting home by myself." You grab your clutch from the table. "Don't want to ruin another night for you guys, right?"

A pang of guilt visibly hits Jamie, but George is just left confused. You start to walk towards the exit and get to the door till you feel someone gently take hold of your left arm.

"You can't even see your phone clearly to book a taxi. I'll drive you home." Jamie's voice is low and whatever common sense you have left takes him up on your offer. He turns his head to say goodbye to George, but all the former footballer does is shout, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" following by a boastful laugh.

You clench your clutch at the comment, but Jamie brings you out the door before you can turn back and do something that'll land you on the front page of the Sun the next morning.

When you get to Jamie's car, he carefully helps you into the passenger's seat and puts on your seatbelt before getting into the car himself. Once the car starts, you take the chance to close your eyes in an attempt to remedy the throbbing headache you feel is already coming on.

You don't know how long you stay like that, but when you open your eyes, you're already at your building. You slowly get out of the car and once you make it to the sidewalk, Jamie asks, "Can’t believe you just downed a dozen drinks like a recent divorcee."

"I wonder why," You scoff and side-eyed him, unwilling to move your head from looking forward. You see the footballer's expression drop and suddenly you understand what Liv was going on about. You finally break. "How could you still be so friendly with him, Jamie! He’s an absolute arse and everyone in England knows it!"

"He was my teammate! And still a major name in football, even after retirement and all the shit he’s done. I didn't want to risk anything!" Maybe if you were sober, you'd accept that reason. There were countless alumni, tenured professors, and chairmen that you had to suck up to just to keep your job. But were drunk people ever known to be rational?

"Is that why you let him talk to me like that? Back in the pub?"

"You two barely spoke a word to each other," Jamie points out but you shake your head furiously.

"I mean back in Cardiff!" You exclaimed loudly and you knew for a fact that at least one of your neighbors had heard your outburst. But you didn't really care.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You went to walk up the stairs, expecting it to be the end of it. If Jamie didn't have anything to say, then what was the point? He'd let you walk away and tomorrow morning, you'd be back to normal and you can just pretend this night didn't happen. You've done it before.

"You said you didn't want to talk about that." Jamie finally speaks up.

"I thought I didn't," you admit, your voice levels lower than before. You continue walking when you feel a presence following suit. You stayed in that silence till you made it back to your flat. It's a miracle you didn't tip over on the way in, but spite was enough to power you through.

Jamie closed the door behind him and sighed, "I couldn't just ignore him at the bar."

Suddenly, any fear of confrontation seemed to disappear. Your anger resurfaced and you spit out, "You seemed just fine ignoring me for seven years." You turn to face him and for a second, the pitiful look in his eyes almost made you back off. Almost. "Or is abandoning your best friend easier when she's not some big-shot footballer?"

"I know you're mad," Jamie starts and you angrily run your hands through your hair.

"Yes, I'm mad, Jamie!" You shout and you watch him take a step back, but you don't falter. "I'm mad at you! Seeing George tonight just reminded me of it and how a part of me still fucking hates you for taking their side."

"I've been trying to apologize—"

"I know, Jamie, but I'm still pissed at you, okay? For leaving me like that! And for letting me leave that night! I mean, how could you? Just throw away a decade of friendship for some football assholes that threw you away the second they could." Everyone knew how Jamie's career with Man City ended and it was surely a sore spot for the player, but at that moment, you didn't care.

Before Jamie can even defend himself, you start again. "I... fuck Jamie, I loved you. You were my best friend. I would've spent every waking hour with you if I could've. But you couldn't care less about me, right? The moment someone more famous than me believed in you the same way I always did. You just stopped answering my calls, and my texts, and even my parents when they asked you for me! Worst of all, you didn't give me a single reason why!

"Honestly, I would've been fine if you did stop being friends with me, as long as you gave me an explanation. Even if it was for some stupid reason that I wouldn't understand or hate you for, because at least I could've moved on! Instead, I spent years wondering where it all went wrong. If I could've done something, anything to change what happened." You start to feel the strain on your throat and know for a fact that at least one of your neighbors would be eavesdropping, but you were finally letting it out.

Your voice comes out hoarse, "And then the next time I did see you, in that pub, you were a whole new person. A complete and utter prick, Jamie. After that night, I prayed that you'd come to your senses. Do the decent thing and apologize, even if it was just a fucking text or something. But no, you kept ignoring me and pretending I didn't even exist. So I forced myself to stop thinking about you. To stop caring about you calling me. To stop dreaming about you telling me you fucked up and that you were sorry. So I could move on with my life."

You look away from Jamie and around the living room in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing down. You were unsuccessful. "And after years, I did move on. I went to London, got a job, and stayed as far away as I could from football. From you. But God, you always find a way back to me, huh?

"It just had to be you who found me in Nelson Road that night. It had to be you who picked me up, who drove me home, and reminded me how happy I was when we were kids. So much so that I thought I'd be fine without an apology! As long as I had you back in my life, it'd be fine. But as you can tell now, it's not." The amount of alcohol in your system was wearing you down and you were starting to get tired.

You start to lose your balance when Jamie's there to catch you, but you harshly push him off you. He doesn't seem affected by your strength, but even then, he moves back.

"Just get out, Jamie." is all you manage to say this time and after hesitating for a moment, he does. Now you're left alone again, only with your thoughts and the realization that any chance of bringing back what you had with Jamie was gone.

A/N: and that's that! i hope this teases the interlude nicely cause i'm sick of being so vague about that night since that's up next and trust me, it gets worse in that one... anyway i hope you all enjoyed this one!

TAGLIST: @moonflowersandsparkles @faith-alons26 @rexorangecouny @aiyaiy @thegirlthatwantedtowrite @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @higherthanheroes @guccilongboard @alipap3 @rockchickrebel @ellietartt @shineforever19 @skewedcherries @jamirtarttdodo @meg-ro @deepdarkvelvet @scaramou @rae4725 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo (couldn't tag you for some reason?)

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt fanfic #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt angst #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #it's nice to have a friend series

386 notes · View notes