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iheartspderman · 17 days

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AHHH THIS IS SO CUTESYYY

Jake's pov: Uncomplicated

Jake Lockley x You (Fem!Reader)

2,400 words / 18+ only, no minors

Masterlist.

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Summary: Deep down you knew Jake wouldn’t be calling if he didn’t think he needed you. Or maybe that’s what you told yourself to make it more tolerable to be out of your warm bed at this hour.

Warnings: No smut, reader tending to Jake's injuries.

Notes: Couldn't get this gif out of my head, so I wrote something inspired by it. Don't ask me what this nonsense is. It's Jake being Jake.

A phone call woke you up. Come pick him up, he’d said. Knowing exactly which asshole would be calling you to ask that. Very little else could be said before the line was ended. A second later, the location buzzed for you to follow.

You could have said no. Should have told him to fuck off calling you at this time. Sometimes you thought he did it on purpose, just to press your buttons. Deep down you knew Jake wouldn’t be calling if he didn’t think he needed you. Or maybe that’s what you told yourself to make it more tolerable to be out of your warm bed at this hour.

So you went.

You threw on a few layers and left to go pick him up. Silently cursing him all the while. Nights were cold and you weren’t functioning on enough hours of sleep to be doing this shit. At least it wasn’t all the time, but still. You’d prefer he called you at a reasonable hour. Jake didn’t seem to know what reasonable meant.

Ended up in some industrial area. Stopping to recheck the location on your phone. Didn’t seem like the right place. Movement caught your eyes. You look back up to find him staggering in his walk towards you. A sombrero on his head. The black bomber jacket open gave him little protection. No buttoned shirt, leaving his chest bare and exposed to the elements. Hand bandaged and bloody. He looked beat up or drunk, more likely both. All in all, he looked rather pleased with himself getting into your car.

Ducking his head to not lose the hat. He stunk of beer and cigarettes. You wrinkled your nose as it invaded your senses the closer he got. Waiting for him to shut the door. Didn’t bother to ask him to put his seatbelt on. More stubborn than a damn toddler, this one. It’d be his own fault if he bonked his head. Might finally knock some sense into him.

You pull away from the warehouse to drive him back home. Taking one last glance to see if you could spot anything out of the ordinary about of the place. Any clue as to why Jake came out looking the way that he did. Definitely a story there. Jake was already messing with the radio, getting the station he loved on. You turn it down to talk.

“Had a good night?”

He hummed at first, before saying, “Si señora.”

“What’s the emergency?”

“Sin emergencia. I needed a lift and I got one.”

Jake carefully plucked a bent hand-rolled cigarette out from his pocket. Straightening it between his fingers shaken fingers before catching it in his lips and searching for the lighter. Noticed the way he only used three fingers on his left hand. The other two wrapped haphazardly. Electrical tape somehow holding it together. His face cut up but no longer bleeding. A line of dirt and blood streaked down from the bridge of his nose.

“It was a party then?”

You didn’t even try to sound like you were convinced. Jake chuckled and blew out a plume of smoke. Shifting to open his window a crack.

“You could say that.”

Your hands shift on the steering wheel. Annoyed by that. You’d dealt with it with one being all cagey and now you had to deal with another. You wished they’d be more like Steven sometimes. Honest. Open. Not so headstrong and stubborn. Still though, they were equally as beautiful and handsome in their own ways, the bastards.

“I could ignore your call next time. Or stop the car right now and kick you out.” You threaten. “Start talking.”

“And risk your precious boys? Or you gonna make me beg again? Tu cabeza está en la luna.”

“They wouldn’t be this stupid.”

“Ha! You sure about that, chica?” Jake laughed to himself, “Steven cries in the shower if he thinks too long about sea turtles.”

You roll your eyes but he continues, “Marc threatened to throw Steven off a cliff for kissing you. Not so smart, your boys.”

“You’re one of them.” You bite back.

That seemed to give him pause. Another exhale of smoke as he regarded you more closely. You kept your focus on the quieter dark roads, seeing him in your peripheral was enough to put you on edge under his scrutinizing gaze. Passing under lights illuminated that stare. Like he’d make a meal out of you if he could.

You eventually break the silence between you two.

“So what’s with the hat?”

“Lost my hat. Needed a new one.”

“And your shirt?”

“Ah, that too. Needed it for my hand. Couldn’t find a new one of those.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing your nose needs to know.”

“It does if I’m going to patch you up.”

“You once told me to kill them with kindness. But I found their gun instead. That’s all.”

You sigh. Loudly.

“What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you fucking want, mi mariquita.” He met your same tone with a rueful smile. Flicking the end of his cigarette outside.

You noticed how he’d gotten ash all over the glass and in the car. Another thing you can be annoyed about, later, once he’d sobered up. Right now you weren’t speaking to him or entertaining his flirtations.

You pulled through one of the drive-thru’s you knew would still be open at this hour. Tossing a couple of burgers over to Jake. His happy noise directed more at the burgers than at you. It was either he eat now or he’d be rampaging through the kitchen once he got home. You'd be hearing all about it from Steven the next day. Wanted to save the other from the hassle.

“You’re too kind. Maybe I should be nicer to you.” He said through a mouthful. Head bouncing along to the tune of the radio. Some sort of happy little dance while he ate. Never could resist bouncing a leg or his head to something in particular he liked.

“Yeah, yeah. Saying and doing are two separate things.” You half smile, glancing to him before heading home. He was still stuffing the last of his burger into his mouth by the time you parked up on the streets outside his apartment. Jake rubbed his hands on his pants, angling the one hand carefully to avoid snagging his makeshift bandage.

“And this where I kiss you goodnight? I enjoyed our little ride. Shame it couldn’t be longer.”

“No, idiot, this is where we go up together and get you cleaned up.”

“Didn’t think you were serious. Do I have to say please?”

“Only if you know what’s good for you.”

He laughed and you left the car to go to his apartment. Jake sauntered up behind you. Hands into his jacket pockets. Curled in on himself like an animal ready to pounce. You folded your arms and gave him a look in the elevator as he pushed for his floor and then proceeded to push the buttons for every other floor after.

To his credit, he didn’t pounce on you. Kept some distance. Leaned his back against the elevator wall. Some of that smugness gone and he did look like he was in some discomfort. His good hand readjusted the sombrero when he caught you looking. His hands patted down his other pockets and began to pull a gun out.

“Oh, there’s the bad man’s~”

“Jake!” You bark, hand snapping to his wrist to stuff the weapon back into his pocket. No cameras or people around but he had evidence on him you’d really rather he didn’t.

“Why do you still have that? I swear to god.”

“Don’t bother, most of them are assholes.” A sharpness in his tone he didn’t have before. He smiled hazily. “They abandoned us long ago.”

“Starting to sound like Marc.” You roll your eyes.

“Nah. He still believes. Little by little. More every day now that you’re around. He lingers about when Steven practices.”

“And why don’t you?”

“Why would I? Only one I’d want to pray to is you.”

That shut you up and gave you pause. You’d fallen for that one. Jake snickering let you know he knew it too. He was being an ass again.

The elevator stopped clunkily to his floor and he led the way. You go to reach out to stop him from bouncing off someone’s door but Jake’s able to catch his own unsteady balance. Making it to his own door, somehow. He lets you both in.

“Mi casa es su casa.” He waves his good hand lazily.

You nudge your hand into his back to push him towards the bathroom.

“You see Steven got Marc a fish? I didn’t get a fish.”

“You’d probably eat it.”

He laughed. A real deep wheeze from the chest.

“That’s exactly what I said when Steven brought up the idea. Got banned from going near them. I like the fishes. I have no beef with them.”

“Would you want a fish?”

A pause. “Nah. That’s their thing. Not mine. They won't let me decorate unless it's some more dorky nerd shit.”

While you both talked. You’d gotten Jake on the edge of the tub with his bandaged hand over the sink. Peeling away the electrical tape slowly. Jake winced.

“Sorry.” You say. He shakes his head but doesn’t respond.

Unwrapping the torn shirt from his fingers you see there’s darker blood and a nice gash at the palm. Dirtied and mangled. You turn on the cold tap and take his hand under the water. Flushing out dirt and dried blood. Stretching out the fingers to manipulate and feel for any breaks or damage to the nerves. Moving your fingers away to see if he could move them himself.

If it’s not Jake getting battered it was one of the others some other way. Steven while cooking or Marc when he got too rough playfighting with you. You use the bottle of disinfectant he kept out. To the sting, Jake growls like you were testing his patience, a scowl setting on his face.

“Quit being a baby. I need to clean it.” You protest back at him. Tossing him a scowl of your own. You could've been nice and warm in your own bed right now, not dealing with his bullshit. “You and your dumb hat.”

“My sombrero isn’t dumb. You take that back.”

“No.”

“Always so mean to me, princesa. Keep that up and I might just fall in love with you.” A playful pout you’d love to just kiss off his stupid face. He only ever used love like a threat, so you didn’t take it to heart.

You ignore him again. Pulling the medical kit out you used what little counter space you had, you open it up and pull out the supplies you’re going to need. Threading up the needle, Jake kept his bleeding hand still over the sink while he watched you. Wasn’t the first time you’d patched him up, knew it wouldn’t be the last either.

“Why were you out again? You don’t need to do that anymore.” You finally ask. Jake made a reluctant noise in his throat.

“I do. It was for a friend.”

“Who?”

“Does it matter? They needed me to do a thing and I did the thing.”

“You don’t have to do everything someone asks.”

“No. But I want to. Makes me… useful. The world doesn’t stop spinning just because we do.”

Jake doesn’t look away when you begin stitching him up. Didn’t take many stitches. Soon you were wrapping it in a cleaner bandage. Letting him pull his hand away to inspect the wrapping.

“Stay tonight.” He says. Not asking. You shake your head.

“You’re still drunk. No.”

“I’ll take the couch. You can have your way with his pillow.”

That caused you to scoff and go to leave. His good hand reached to catch yours. Tugging you, guiding between his thighs to enclose them around your legs. In retaliation, you smack the hat off his head, it hits against his back, the string around it going up against his neck. His chin pressed up against you as he looked up at you. A different look in his face this time, making you pause. One unlike any you’ve seen before. No. That’s not right. You’ve seen this look before, on the others, sure, but not on him. You steady yourself against him. His voice dropped an octave lower.

“I don’t want to be by myself tonight. Please?”

“Well be nice then.”

That stupid smile was back.

“I can’t promise that.”

“I’ll think about it. Stay still.”

You go for a cotton swab and dowse it in disinfectant. Wiping at the injuries on his face. Checking over the forming bruises. Fingers checking his nose wasn’t too fucked. Another noise of a groan from Jake. The cut on it wasn’t too bad once it was cleaned. You placed a plaster over his nose for good measure. He smiled lazily up at you. Arm wrapping around your waist to hold you.

“Did you think of your answer yet?”

“Yeah. I decided you’re getting the bed and I’m getting the couch. You need your rest.”

“No, no, no. No. That’s not how this works, chica. I get the couch. You get the bed.”

“I’ll just go home then.”

“Ayúdame. Anyone ever told you you’re so stubborn?”

“Anyone ever told that to you? Also, get rid of the gun. Don't let the others find it.”

He chuckled and shifted his head to press his cheek against you. Taking in a long unsteady inhale. Probably thinking of ways he could get his cake and eat it too. To your surprise, he relents.

“If it gets you to stay, I‘ll take the bed.” You feel him playfully bite into your side, hard enough to hurt. Causing you to make a noise and squirm away, smacking at his good shoulder. A pained laugh comes out from Jake.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you love me.”

You didn’t have anything to say back to that. Damn him.

Come morning, you’d wake up to Steven complaining how sore he felt all over. How he’d found a gun inside his fish tank. Also, why were you wearing a sombrero? What on earth happened last night?

Only the fishes would say.

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iheartspderman · 22 days

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this is so good i might cry

direction to perfection; j.l.

pairing: jake lockley x reader, marc and steven are briefly alluded to but do not make an appearance

summary: one day, your vigilante lifestyle leads to you to crossing paths with a moon-serving weirdo in white bandages. jake promises that he won't get in the way, but there's something about his smirk that has your spidey-sense tingling, and what do you know—

he sets a building on fire.

it's not supposed to be romantic.

warnings: depictions of fighting and violence, injuries, hurt and comfort, reader is a spider-person and thus has a spider-person sense of humour😭.

word count: 3.8k

notes: part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'bonfire”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

You have a love-hate relationship with your spidey-sense—it’s useful enough to give you a heads-up, but it’s not exactly a get-out-of-danger-free card.

It kicks in as you’re soaring through the air, an errant pulse in your veins that tells you one thing: MOVE. But there’s no time—before you even manage to lift your web-shooter, one of Doc Ock’s mechanical arms whips around and collides hard against your torso. For a moment, you feel your ribs crack underneath the metal, the sharp pains accompanied by a real stupid thought, even by your standards: guess I’m going to call in sick tomorrow—

—and then you finally hit the brick wall behind you. The air is ripped from your lungs and your thoughts short-circuit into nothingness. New York’s evening rush hour is drowned out by high-pitched ringing. If it weren’t for your wallcrawling ability, you’d be falling forty stories down onto the traffic below. Instead, rooted into the small crater you’ve made into an office building, all you can do is languish in what surely must be multiple broken bones and a slightly bruised ego for not being able to dodge a hit that you saw coming.

Speaking of—there’s another one heading towards you right now.

You leap upwards without a second thought, just narrowly avoiding becoming a shitty claw-machine prize as the arm lodges into the wall where your head used to be. Spots dance across your vision and you groan—your body does not want to move.

Suspended between two buildings, Doc Ock’s mechanical arms dig into concrete and brick as she follows you up. Her voice is deceptively empathetic. “Down so soon, little spider? I expected more from you!”

One of the arms rears back again but distantly, there’s the clench of a trigger—and it gets pinned behind her by a golden grappling hook.

The wire grows taut then there he is, using the reeling mechanism to lunge upwards. All the momentum is channeled into his crescent blade as Jake jams it between the plates of the trapped arm; it jerks like a wounded animal, suddenly uncoordinated and stiff. When it lashes out again, he easily dodges and jumps across the buildings onto the fire escape next to you.

“Mierda! You okay?”

Glowing white eyes, wide with concern—the sight is enough to shake you out of your concussive stupor. Jake extends a hand, and you take it readily, allowing him to help you up onto the rickety platform.

“Just peachy,” you wheeze as you lean almost your entire body weight against him.

This was supposed to be a simple mission. It wasn’t even supposed to be a mission in the first place, but one detained drug dealer led to another, which led to a smuggler and a mercenary and a goddamn gym teacheruntil you were faced with a whole corrupt laboratory that tied back to Doc Ock’s operations.

Jake got looped in somewhere between the mercenary and the gym teacher, apparently answering some kind of divine calling of his own. Egyptian god of the moon? Protecting travelers of the night? You just call the people you save New Yorkers, no fancy labelling here.

But you’re not so prideful as to turn away help when you need it, especially when it comes gift-wrapped in superhuman strength and a bullet-proof cape. Even though you catch him giving himself these looks in the windows you pass by or having whole conversations to himself under his breath—you’ve seen weirder.

Like now: There’s a clear conflict happening in—on?—Doc Ock. The damaged arm flails wildly through the air, and the other three can’t seem to decide between trying to calm it down, retreat, or kill you.

Those white eyes turn to you. “Sure you don’t want me to shoot her?”

“No!” Now you remember why you were initially wary of him—because when you first met, he was holding one of his blades to a lackey’s throat. Danger, danger! You didn’t even need your spidey-sense to tell you that; he wears the warning like a badge of honour. “We just need to subdue her till the cops come. Follow my lead.”

Jake gives you a mock salute. Fortunately, Doc Ock’s lab was deserted—except for her—when you crashed the place. Whatever supersecret bioweapon she’s cooking up will still be waiting for you to destroy it after you capture her.

With just one press of a button, you’re soaring back into action. The arms seem to have coordinated themselves again—having decided to kill you, how lucky—but so have you and Jake. One lunges towards you, and you pull upwards on your web, going feet over head as you as you flip backwards out of the way.

In that split-second moment when you’re fully upside-down, your arm extends downwards and thwip!—your web attaches to the titanium plating. The world realigns itself, and your momentum carries you in an arc below the arm, dragging it behind you as you continue in your original direction.

As soon as you land on the side of the opposing building, you yank hard. Immediately, your other hand comes up to shoot a dozen or so webs to attach the claw onto the wall. It won’t last—the brick is already crumbling under the force—but it gives Jake enough time to shake off Doc Ock’s attention and join you.

Closer than you were before, you can see just how much force it takes for him to drive his blade through the circuitry. Sparks burst like little fireworks around his hand. He makes it look easy, but a shudder crawls down your spine—you just know what he’s capable of.

You both leap out of the way as the arm thrashes erratically; Doc Ock cries out in frustration. That’s two arms down, and two that are busy suspending her in the air. You’ll have to catch her once you take out another one, but that’s no biggie.

“Jake!” You gesture towards the nearest arm, and he nods in understanding. Despite the pain radiating through your limbs, you grin. For all his snark and murderous tendencies (which you hope are just a joke), he’s a half-decent partner.

It’s too bad, then, that Doc Ock doesn’t seem to care about how good of a time you’re having. Her mouth twists into a snarl, and in a blink of an eye, she’s scrambling away. Retreating? Your poor, bruised head is hopeful for the night to end.

In a way, it’s right—she is trying to get away from you. Unfortunately, it also recognizes that she’s retracing your steps, right back to the lab where you first found her.

“Oh, damn it!”

Your injuries and Jake’s limited modes of superhuman transport make it impossible to gain any real ground as you chase after her. Doc Ock climbs through her shattered window half a minute before you do, and even if your conscious mind doesn’t realize it, some part of you does—it’s an ambush.

You dive to the ground just as a mini fridge is thrown in your direction. Pain shoots down your side, your vision blurring with tears. The sheer wave of nausea that washes over you makes your mouth water and fuck, you might actually puke like this.

There’s something else coming but you can’t do anything other than half-heartedly roll behind the nearest object. The workbench shields you from—what, a chair? You aren’t afforded anymore time to think about it because she rips off the counter next, several important-looking valves raining down around you. Through the noise, you just barely manage to pick up a quiet hissing in the air as you try to gather your bearings.

A line of workbenches down the centre of the room, an aisle on either side.

On the right: sinks and fume hoods.

On the left: whiteboards.

Directly in front of you: the absolute bane of—and possible end to—your existence, holding up that chunk of black countertop as if it were a hammer and you are a nail.

You brace yourself for the hit, but it never comes. There’s a surprised yelp from above you, and your peer through your arms at just the right time to see Jake land a brutal kick into Doc Ock’s chest, sending her flying. You don’t see her land, but you do hearit; equipment crashes to the ground, glass shattering on the linoleum.

With a hand from Jake, you’re back on your feet. Doc Ock is reeling at the far end of the room. The walls are littered with long, deep gashes—some from your initial confrontation with her, some likely from her mechanical arms flailing from Jake’s hit. Several of the fume hoods are missing their windows entirely, which definitely bodes ill considering that there are still chemicals in some of them.

Gritting your teeth, you somehow manage to get the words out, “Just stand down, Olivia!”

A hand is clutched at her side, and some petty part of you hopes that her ribs are broken too. “This isn’t over.”

You gesture to her mechanical arms, two of which are still malfunctioning like headless chickens, then to yourselves, who are (mostly) in one piece. “Well, it sure is about to be.”

She raises her eyebrows at Jake. “You raid a Spirit Halloween and suddenly think you can defeat me?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just take fashion advice from someone cosplaying as an octopus.”

Jake leans towards you. “Do you always talk this much?”

At that, Doc Ock’s eyes narrow, filled with determination. She’s not backing down this time, which means neither can you.

You both ready yourselves like you have countless times before, straightening your stance and setting your shoulders back. But Jake doesn’t show the same patience. No—he sees the remaining mechanical arms twitch in preparation, and a blade is already leaving his hand with deadly-precise aim.

Wait, wait, the hissing sound—the gas—

“Get down!” You ram your body into Jake’s, bringing you both to the ground as the blade makes contact with the titanium, sparks flying out and—

BOOM.

It’s like your heart stops.

For several moments, you don’t register anything at all. You aren’t even sure if you’re still breathing.

Slowly, your senses return. The scent of burning plastic invades your nostrils—even the air tastes like it too. Something’s landed on top of you, pinning you down with a surprising amount of strength. Warm and sturdy and pressing into all the wrong places, but you can’t even hear your own whimpering—there’s nothing but ringing in your ears.

Are your eyes closed? You can’t bring yourself to check. All you can do is try to remember how to live, and figure out what the hell is happening.

Your spidey-sense has gone quiet. That’s—that’s good. Hopefully. Or maybe it’s just been knocked out of you by the blast. You let that last thought get washed away into the muddled mess of your head; you could probably use a bit of positive thinking right now.

Everything hurts. That’s been true for the past hour, really, but there’s no gut-wrenchingly painful burn anywhere on your body like what you expected from a lab explosion. The closest thing is just that warmth against your back, in a thick arm across your chest, and encircled around your wrist, where it lingers along your pulse point.

Something brushes up against your cheek, roughly textured but trying to be so, so gentle. Words start to pierce through the hearing damage. “—estás bien, te tengo. No te preocupes, estás bien.”

“Jake?” Your voice comes out small and tinny, unsure of how loud to speak when everything sounds like it’s underwater. You receive an affirmative rumble, and the tension seeps out of your limbs, just a tad.

Tentatively, you open your eyes. And there’s—nothing. Just a white sheet of fabric covering your entire field of view. Jake huffs out a laugh at your confusion before finally standing up, his cape pulling back from where it was draped on top of you.

“Oh.”

It’s like a bomb went off. Nearly every surface has been scorched black, save for the perfectly untouched flooring around you where Jake shielded you both from the blast. Any equipment in the room has been reduced to pieces—if not completely combusted into ash and soot—and fires still linger despite the efforts of what’s left of the sprinkler system.

No sign of Doc Ock anywhere—she must’ve gotten away. Jake lets out a long string of curses under his breath, then finishes it off with an eloquent: “Fuck.”

The fire alarm is incessant, and the sprinklers have all but drenched your suit. If you had half a working brain left, you’d feel the shivers wracking your body and realize that you’re still bleeding out in several different places, but the only thing that crosses your mind is how tired you are.

You throw your mask off with a groan. The sirens in the distance only add to your growing headache. So close, you were so close this time.

“Come on.” Jake’s stands over you, mask retracted, and you can see the grimace on his face from how the mission turned out. Wordlessly, he offers to help you up, and is promptly ignored. He keeps his hand extended towards you, shaking it a little for emphasis, but you refuse to budge.

That is, until your mind so helpfully strays and wonders—how big was the blast?

Your eyes widen, and your body jerks upright as though electrocuted. Oh, God—you didn’t see anyone else in the lab other than Doc Ock when you arrived, but what about the other floors? What about the pedestrians on the sidewalk below, who might’ve had glass and debris rained down upon them when the windows were blown out?

It takes several tries to get to your feet, none of which are entirely successful because Jake has to intervene halfway through to hold you upright. Your second wind catches him off-guard and his brows furrow as you try to leap back into action. “Whoa—talk to me, bug. What’s happening?”

“Need to—” You try to shrug him off. His grip loosens for all of a moment before you’re stumbling again, and then he returns, as firm and steady as ever. “Was anyone hurt?”

“You.”

“Not what I meant,” you scowl. It’s thoroughly ineffective. The only response you get is a subtle tilting of his head, then a loss of his undivided attention as he listens to something—someone—in the room that you aren’t privy to.

His gaze flickers back to you, marginally softer. “No one else was hurt. You need to rest.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. What’s the point of superhealing if you can’t bounce back after a fight? This time when you struggle against him, Jake lets you go, crossing his arms as you limp around the room.

Fortunately, most of the smoke is being pulled out the windows; what’s left is enough to burn and scrape down your larynx, but you push through it. Doc Ock has to have left some kind of trace—if not during her escape, then in the work she left behind. But kicking around in the ashes yields nothing. There’s no conveniently placed folder full of evil plans, or vial labelled SUPER SECRET BIOWEAPON (ONLY COPY - NO NEED TO SEARCH ANY FURTHER).

Jake sighs. “What are you looking for?”

What are you looking for? The building is still on fire, for Christ’s sake—you should have been gone ten minutes ago. Still, your stubbornness is steadfast. “There has to be—something.”

He sweeps out an arm, gesturing to the resounding nothing around you. With wet curls stuck to his forehead, his tone veers on sardonic. “Oh? Your little spider-sense tell you that?”

“Spidey, and—and it’s not a radar, I can’t just turn it on,” you bristle. His ensuing snicker lands all wrong, and your mouth twists into a scowl. “Funny, is it? Blowing up a building?”

“Hey.” The lightness disappears from his expression. “How was I supposed to know about the gas leak?”

It’s a valid question. Still, the anger in you can’t help but flare up anyways, running on his words as if they were diesel. You bite back a retort at the last second, which isn’t enough because the resulting silence is accusatory in and of itself.

He takes a step towards you, chin raised as water continues to rain down on you both. Solid, sturdy—unyielding. The sight twists your stomach into knots, but you stand your ground, placing your hands on your hips even though it pulls painfully at a handful of your muscles. “Shit happens, bug. It’s no one’s fault—well, maybe a bit my fault, but—”

“I had her.” It’s a blatant lie, but full of conviction as it leaves your lips.

He’s nothing short of incredulous. “Did you?”

“Yes—”

Faster than your hazy mind can register it, his hand shoves at your shoulder. Not hard, but it didn’t need to be—you practically crumple, hands scrambling to find something to hold on to before you land flat on your ass, but Jake wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you.

You swat at his chest. You hate that his warmth is familiar. “Let me go.”

He counters: “What’s wrong?”

“You, asshole.”

“’m the bad guy now? You want a fight that bad?” His eyebrows cock upwards, regarding you like some unruly child.

He’s being inflammatory on purpose and it’s working. You’re an elastic band in his fingers, one that he keeps stretching and stretching and stretching until you snap. “I don’t want a fight, I want a—”

Win, you almost admit. You wanted a win, after all this time you’ve spent chasing after Doc Ock. Countless sleepless nights and lackeys thrown behind bars, only to fail in the final moments when it really mattered. The realization is debilitating, even in the confines of your own head, and so you lash out again, distracting yourself from the bitterness on your tongue by spewing it out instead.

“We’re not all out for blood, you know.” Then, because you can’t help yourself— “I’m not you, Jake.”

“Is that what this is about?” His hand tenses almost imperceptibly against your back, but you manage to catch it. Of course you do, with every sense on high alert, blood rushing in your ears. “You mad ‘cause I’m a killer?”

Something dangerous underlines his tone when he says the word and you flinch, trying to create some distance between the two of you on instinct. Jake doesn’t grant you that—his other arm comes to hold you as well, pulling you in even though you think you might suffocate in his presence.

“You knew this from the start. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to turn me in now.”

“Maybe I should,” you say in a rush, gaze steely as it meets his. For all your superhuman powers, none give you the ability to read what’s going on behind the storm in his eyes. You’re so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating off his skin, hear the words in his mouth before he even says them.

“You’re the one with the spidey-sense.” His voice is low. Somewhere in the back of your mind, through the shame and anger and desperation—you note that he’s called it by the right name this time. “You tell me. Am I a threat?”

Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your stomach is all fluttery and weird but—no. There’s no tingling at the back of your neck, no hair-raising along your arms. Petulance makes you want to lie and say yes anyways, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. It just… isn’t true. And for some reason, you have feeling that this would be going too far, even as a rash potshot.

When you don’t respond, Jake’s expression softens, the lines of his face giving way to an understanding look that makes you feel smaller than his antagonism ever could. The fires have mostly died down now, but warm reds and oranges still flicker along the side of his jaw, in corners of his irises. His arms feel less like a cage and more like a lifeline, keeping you from drifting out to sea.

“Just—thought I finally caught her,” you mumble, and he pulls you the last few inches into a proper hug. Exhausted, you let yourself melt into his arms, the adrenaline beginning to seep away despite the cacophony of sirens in the background. “It’s been so long, Jake.”

“I know.” He doesn’t, not really—you haven’t divulged just how far this rivalry goes, but you don’t have to think very hard to realize that he’s speaking from experiences long before he ever met you. “We’ll get her next time.”

You snort softly into his suit. “What, you staying?”

It’s silly, the tinge of hopefulness that laces your voice just minutes after you’ve essentially accosted him. But Jake’s grinning when you pull back to look at him, all boyish confidence, and you nearly forget to breathe. “I could be convinced.”

Wait—what? He’s thrown you off-kilter. You—you didn’t think he’d actually— “Well—!”

At your stammering, he lets out a laugh, throwing back his head. It’s a wonderful sound, and when you flick his arm in response, there’s no real force to it.

“Well, you know what they say,” you sniff, trying to maintain your composure. “Friends close, enemies closer, and all that.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely. The effect is severely diminished by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Keeping one arm around you, he starts to lead you towards an exit. “Don’t know how you’ll handle it—your spidey-sense going off all the time with me around.”

On the way out, he picks up your mask from where you discarded it, slapping it a few times against his leg to brush off the soot and ash. His own mask and hood come up to envelope his face as he hands it to you. Distantly, you wonder how his glowing white eyes would look in the dark. Probably a bit stupid, is your conclusion.

“I’m sure I can manage,” you sigh, and once you slip on your mask, he gives you a little pat on the head before you can bat him away. Jake leans away enough to avoid your attempts to tug at his hood, but at the next opportunity, he reaches over again, the little shit, hand drawing in close, and your spidey-sense, superhuman and extraordinary, it’s—

It’s never been quieter.

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iheartspderman · 23 days

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the discourse about avantika (allegedly) being casted as rapunzel is very weird to me. there are so many white women claiming that if we’re changing the race of white princesses we can do it to minority princesses as well, but white princesses were not made for diversity/representation. the whole reason we have WOC princesses is for representation !! so no, recasting a white princess as a WOC is not the same as recasting a minority princesses as a white woman since their ethnicity does a play a part !!! all the women who have been casted as princesses are so talented and that’s what should be the focus !!!! i feel like a lot of white women don’t understand that there is so much media created for white women by white women. please let WOC have this !!!😊😊

#rapunzel #disney princess #avantika #there have also been white women who have played princesses😭😭#avantika is also so very rapunzel coded i love her #pls don’t correct my grammar ik it’s bad😞

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iheartspderman · 28 days

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I think I miss Carl Grimes as much as Rick Grimes misses Carl Grimes.

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iheartspderman · 1 month

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rip carl grimes u would’ve loved alex g 🙁

#carl grimes #twd #i think about him a lot #i miss him

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iheartspderman · 2 months

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need crm rick like i need air. that man is FINE

it's actually so embarrassing how fucking bad i want him

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iheartspderman · 2 months

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i need to be his controversially young girlfriend.

#i need him #rickgrimesbrainrot #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #andrew lincoln #twd #the ones who live

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iheartspderman · 2 months

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doing the lords work w this one🫡🫡

shy shy shy

a little insecure tasm peter parker x reader, early stages of relationship

masterlist | requests are open!

nerdy peter lovers rise

They were just glasses.

On, off. On, off. A clear reflection of Peter in the bathroom mirror, a few circles of color where his head and body would be.

Peter examines himself with the lenses on, pulls out a piece of his sweater that had gotten caught inside his plaid pajama pants. His hands run up through the damp hair that falls flat against his forehead in an attempt to give it a little volume but it's no use without his usual styling products. Peter slaps his palms on his cheeks, shakes his head and sends micro-drops of water sailing. He bounces in place, attempting to shake out the jitters his body has had trouble containing all day.

Peter pushes his contact lens case aside, gives himself one last glance over. He contemplates for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. Peter sighs as he pulls the lenses off again, cradling them in his hands and blowing air through his lips.

Metal frames, thick lenses.

Couldn't have that spider fixed his vision while he was at it?

Okay, Peter's vision wasn't that bad. Maybe he could survive without the frames Peter felt altered his appearance so drastically (or at least, reflected more accurately the type of person Peter was in his spare time). Peter with Contacts was cool and confident - scaled back from the confidence he had while he was in his suit, but not as pathetic as he was back in high school. Peter with Glasses? Yeah, that guy looked deserving of wedgies.

He reaches for his phone to check the time (and make sure he hasn't left you alone for too long), but can't make out what the white numbers say through his cracked screen.

Okay, maybe it is pretty bad.

Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.

Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.

Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.

It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.

"You wear glasses?"

Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.

"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.

You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.

You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.

Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.

"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.

"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.

You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.

"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.

"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.

"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."

"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.

"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.

"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.

You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.

You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.

But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.

Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.

You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.

"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.

Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.

"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.

"Tell me about it."

"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.

"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."

Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.

"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.

"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.

"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.

Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."

"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.

Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.

"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."

"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.

"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."

"I didn't know you were into that."

Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.

"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.

"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?

Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.

"Nuh-uh," you say, pulling Peter's hand back down. "Keep them on."

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iheartspderman · 4 months

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no I love lucy gray x platonic!reader so bad u don’t understand

The Valley Song

Requested: nope, I just wanted to write this

TW: just Coriolanus’ being himself.

Pairing: possible Coriolanus x reader, Sejanus x reader, Lucy gray x platonic!reader

Authors note: Listen to this for the story. I imagine this is what the reader sounds like when singing <3, I’m also changing the lore a little to the reader wrote the valley song to fit the story :)

Part 2

The Hob was filled with people as usual. The crowd of people made the heat even more unbearable, but everyone arrived to hear the Covey preform as always. The summer heat caused sweat to drip down everyone’s faces, but no one seemed to mind as they awaited the Covery to preform.

Drinks were being passed sound eagerly as the members of the district awaited the sound of the music and voices that allowed them to escape just for a few hours.

Coriolanus Snow stood towards the back of the Hob, Sejanus by his side as they spoke to his bunkmates, what were their names? Smiley and Bug. Such stupid names, Coriolanus thought he to himself as he leaned against the back, unsecured wall of the hob.

It wasn’t always his first idea of what to do in their night off, but then again they were in District Twelve…there wasn’t much to do to begin with.

Coriolanus’ attention was turned back to the stage as eager whoops and applause filled the Hob as Lucy Gray and the rest of the Covey made their way on stage.

With their clothes and make up, the girls had flowers entangled in their hair. It made it seem like they had rolled around in a field before coming up on stage. It was intriguing, but very much district, and it made Coriolanus internally scowl.

The covey continued to play for a few hours, rotating songs and singers. Giving each other a break, Maude Ivory sang for a while before Lucy Gray returned. Of course she held the audience in a captivated gaze at the sound of her voice.

Coriolanus and the other off duty peacekeepers were no exception as she twirled around the stage with her black guitar in hand. It was a sight, certainly one that would make her plenty of money if she came with him back to the capital. She would make a pretty capital girl, once she was cleaned up and better fed at least, Coriolanus thought.

The end of the night was winding down, and everyone was exhausted from the dancing over the last few hours. Lucy Gray panted softly before approaching the microphone once more.

“District Twelve ya’ll have been amazing as always,” she said with the biggest grin, like it was a privilege to be preforming at the Hob in the lowest district in Panem.

“And just before we go for the night we got a special treat. My cousin Y/N Rose Baird! She got an awful special song for y’all tonight to finish us off.. y/n!” Lucy gray turned and beckoned her cousin up front.

A girl, maybe not much older than Lucy Gray, maybe a year or two stepped up wearing a pink blouse and off white skirt, her hair was done half up, help of what looked like baby’s breath through her hair.

Coriolanus’ eyes widened a bit at the side of her, the soft rouge on her cheeks and pink on her lips. It was soft. Not harsh make up like Lucy gray had worn, but very little.

“Oh wow…” he heard Sejanus’ voice beside him, and for a moment he had completely forgotten he was there, “she’s beautiful,”

Sejanus was right though. This Y/N Rose was beautiful. Even from the way that she held the old brown guitar in her hands, everything about her intrigued him. The softness in her eyes and expression. Glancing around the room, he felt a hot jealously spring through him as he saw many of the other men looking at her the same way.

They didn’t deserve to look at you that way. You were too gentle, too soft and vulnerable. He could tell by just looking at you. The shy way you were glancing around the room. You preferred the background, and he liked that.

Lucy gray was always upfront, bold. Abrasive. But that wasn’t you. You weren’t like your cousin, who had killed in the games, you would never hurt anyone. And you needed protecting. He could do that.

“Thank y’all for comin’” Y/N’s voice rang into the microphone and he couldn’t help but stare. In the corner of his eye he could see Sejanus almost making heart eyes.

“This is a song I wrote a little while ago. Lost someone as we all have. Hope y’all like it,” she said nervously before she gently began to strum the guitar in her hands. One note after another. Then she began to sing.

“Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow.

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.”

Coriolanus felt like he was in a trance as she began to sing. Her voice was soft and airy, almost shy. It was so different to Lucy Gray. Though his mind snapped out of his thoughts as Lucy Gray found her way over to him with a grin.

“Hi! Good ain’t she?” She asked happily, rather proud of her cousin.

“Good isn’t the word for it,” Sejanus said, his cheek flushing a bit as he looked from Lucy Gray back to the stage.

Coriolanus cleared his throat, “yes, she’s quite good. But most of the Covey is,” he said, listening as Y/N continued.

“Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by.

So I can see my true love go by.”

“She was always shyer than most,” Lucy Gray said, “prefers the background. But I couldn’t let her not sing this one,” she said, and it make Coriolanus think….who was it about? Was this recent?

“Go write a letter, send it by mail.

Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.

Capitol jail, love, to the Capitol jail.”

“Who is it about?” Coriolanus asked, he couldn’t help himself.

Lucy gray let out a small sigh, “someone she was with about a year ago. He was the bakers son. Honestly I never seen someone so smitten before,” she said fondly, remembering how Y/N was with the boy before shaking her head,

“but he got himself into some bad trouble with the peacekeepers. Attempted to bribe one of the commanders. They thought he was all involved with the rebels and then he was sent off to the capital jail. Never seen someone so heart broken before.” Lucy gray shook her head, her messy black curls moving as she did so.

“But anyway, she wrote this a while ago. But just finished coming up with the music. I think it’s a hit with the district. Many people lost a lot of loved ones. For things like stealing and illegal trading,” she finished explaining.

“Roses are red, love; violets are blue.

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

Know I love you, oh, know I love you,

Birds in the heavens know I love you.”

Coriolanus’ head snapped back as she continued to sing the last verses of her song. It reminded him of his mother, she would sing those same lines to him. And it made his stomach flutter. Nerves? Anxiety? He couldn’t tell.

Sejanus cleared his throat, “Lucy Gray….do you think you could introduce us?” He asked hopefully, and Lucy Gray gave a knowing grin.

“Why of course. Once the crowd clears,” Lucy Gray said.

Coriolanus couldn’t help but internally scoff at Sejanus. What could he do for a sweet shy girl like you? Sejanus was just as weak. You needed someone to protect you, who knew better. Sejanus couldn’t do that to you. But Coriolanus could. And he wouldn’t lose to someone like Sejanus.

His pale eyes moved from Sejanus as the crowd erupted into applause, and watched as Y/N gave a bashful smile and a cute little bow.

Yes.

He couldn’t lose you to anyone.

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iheartspderman · 4 months

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this is actually me when i post

#girlblogging

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iheartspderman · 4 months

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U ATE THIS SO HARDDDD AGAHDHFB

you keep him there - coriolanus snow.

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Warnings: Death. Dead Body. Toxic relationship. Toxic!Snow x Toxic!Reader.

Summary: Coriolanus is now President and you his First Lady. Perhaps you don't particularly like him but, you are protective of him.

Word Count: 1215.

You sit in calm silence, hand pressed to your temple - careful to avoid your meticulously styled hair as a cigarette burns between your fingers - the beginnings of a headache coming on as you knead the taut skin softly, waiting patiently for the arrival of your husband.

You’d known Coriolanus your entire life. A common theme amongst most polite Capitol society. Of course, 17 years on and the divide between old money and new still existed; flimsy but very much still there.

Were the two of you close growing up? No.

But, did you consider him friend? Also, no.

At the very least however, did you like him? Not in the slightest.

Of course, none of that mattered, not when each of you headed your respective families; families who made up half of the remaining four of the Old Guard of the Elite - Snow and Blizzard.

So, it was to no one’s surprise when your betrothal to Snow was announced at 20; the match arranged by your respective grandparents - although you suspected Coriolanus had more of a hand in it than his senile grandmother did - and cementing your union as husband and wife at 21.

So, despite your dislike of the 25-year-old, newly minted President of Panem, his role as husband in your life actually meant something to you - you’d always protect him.

It’s what got you into your current predicament.

“How many times must I tell you to stop smoking inside?” his voice shatters the silence from where he stands on the other side of the Parlour.

His long legs carry him quickly over to you, a deep scowl etched into his features as he plucks the cigarette from between your fingers and crushes it in the ashtray.

“The nicotine will stain the walls yellow. Not to mention the smell,” he stands over you, sharp nose turned up in disgust.

“So, I’ll have an Avox clean the walls and replace the furniture,” you resolve, standing from the plush couch and leading him out of the Parlour and into the Drawing room. “Besides, that’s the least of our material problems, right now.”

“And what about when the nasty habit leads you to an early grave? Hm? What will an Avox do then?”

You stop outside of the Drawing rooms closed doors. Turning to face him, you lean against the frame of the closed doors and smile.

“Come now, Coco, I thought we agreed never to lie to each other,” you tut. “Let’s not pretend the prospect of an early grave doesn’t secretly thrill you.”

Coriolanus rolls his eyes at the nickname, he simultaneously hated and grew fond of it.

“And yet, still you pretend you don’t like me,” he raises an eyebrow at you. “Whether you choose to believe me or not, I would like to grow old with you.”

“Or not,” you smile tightly, turning swiftly back toward the closed doors.

A lie, you knew Coriolanus held affection for you, no matter how oddly he showed it. Although, the same could be said about you with him. However, it was just that affection - it wasn’t a lie that you didn’t like him.

“As I was saying, yellow stained Parlour walls are the least of our material problems right now,” you open the doors of the drawing room and reveal the dead body on the floor. “Not when Livia Cardew’s fiancé is bleeding out on my new rug.”

“I’m not sure what it is about me that seems to invite talks of treason,” you find yourself leaning, once again, against the doors frame as Coriolanus steps further into the room.

“Must be all those outward displays of affection you show toward me,” he speaks sarcastically, crouching down. “I'll have a new rug made for you.”

You snort something of a laugh - a rare sound.

“What did he say?”

“He came to deliver something of a warning to me.”

You stand behind Coriolanus, placing a hand on his shoulder and peering down at the blue faced and bloody nose body.

“Is that so?”

You make a noise of agreement, “something about power getting to your head and boasting that he himself was about to step into immense power in a few short weeks when Livia’s mother steps down; that he was doing me a favor by stopping by, if I had any sense I would leave you before it was too late.”

“Truly two pretty little idiots,” you scoff. “As if we’d allow the fool and that idiotic girl to take control of the Capitol’s largest bank. Although, I suppose we should thank them,” you wonder aloud. “They have made it significantly easier on us.”

“Thank you,” Coriolanus pats his cheek and stands.

Ushering the two of you out of the room, he guides you to the front doors with a hand on the small of your back.

You laugh, proper this time; the sound is nice, reminding Coriolanus of a songbird - without the temptation to shoot it dead - and it brings a genuine smile to his face.

“What of Livia?” you ask, as he takes your coat from an Avox and helps you into it.

“We keep her alive, a small token of our mercy,” he decides. “But we strip her of the majority of her family’s assets, replace her with someone Capitol society trusts as heir to the Cardew Empire on the grounds of treason and leave her with only enough to keep her just above the line of poverty.”

Turning you toward him, Coriolanus observes you quietly with a strange look in his eye as he tucks a stray hair back into place and fixes the imperfection.

“I supposed I should break the unfortunate news of her never-to-be husband’s passing to her, I’m already ten minutes late,” you smooth out the front of your coat, stepping out of his reach and out the door but, not before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Before, you can clear the landing to descend the front steps however, Coriolanus calls to you.

“Hm?” you turn back to him.

“Would you…” he trails off, the strange look still in his eye - it’s insecurity.

You don’t point it out.

“Would I?” you repeat, stepping back within his reach.

“Leave me,” he finishes, recalling the earlier warning given to you. “I mean, after all, you say you don’t like me,” his lips pull bitterly.

You almost laugh in his face, that after five years together and all you had done for him that he would still question your devotion to him.

“I don’t,” you shrug, nonchalant.

His jaw tenses, ears turning red with anger… or maybe humiliation but, you don’t give him time to dwell on it; crowding his space and gripping his jaw tightly between your fingers, you force him to look at you.

“But, I also don’t have to like you. I love you and that’s enough for me, I can only hope that someday that it’ll be enough for you too,” you loosen your grip.

Coriolanus swallows thickly, eyes closing as he presses his forehead to yours.

“It’s enough for me,” he whispers.

“Always remember,” you remind him, pushing him back slightly to look into his eyes “We’re a team. Snow lands on top and…”

“the Blizzard keeps it there,” he finishes.

You keep him there.

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#coriolanus snow #i could fix him #he’s unfixable

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