#I would respect them but it’s so. nauseating. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atticrissfinch · 6 months

Text

No Soul to Sell (dark!joel miller x reader) (18+) (oneshot)

pairing: dark!ex-boyfriend’s dad!joel miller x fem!reader summary: divorced joel is fucking his way through his newly acquired bachelor status, when he remembers you—the (recent) ex-girlfriend of his son—are now an option for him. CAUTION: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. NONCON WARNING. Warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT] Joel POV, misogynist!joel, slut!joel, general evil menace!joel, dubcon that devolves into explicit noncon mid-act, age gap (unspecified, but joel is old enough to be reader’s father), mentions of infidelity (joel is a lying cheater, reader has been cheated on previously—not by joel), little/no prep, coerced unprotected piv, noncon creampie, lying/manipulation, sexist and derogatory/degrading language word count: ~2.8K | ao3 a/n: here’s my contribution to @chloeangelic’s divorced!slut!joel challenge. It was supposed to be 1.5k or less, but daddy chloe gave me special permission to go over. she also convinced me to write a fucked up alternate ending to this already fucked up fic, and I’ll provide the warnings for that before the alt ending, below the initial fic. Masterlist | Kofi A little post-fic drabble for those interested :)

Joel was acutely aware of his perpetual need to keep his dick wet. Hell, it’s the primary reason his wife left him in the first place.

Whenever the old bitch went frigid, he was forced to dip his wick elsewhere. Preferably somewhere young and pretty. If you put a gun to his head, he would admit that the papers weren’t a shock. He wasn’t exactly the most diligent at covering his tracks, and his wife wasn’t that stupid. So she had them drawn up the day she discovered he had been stepping out.

He shrugged it off, said some less-than-polite words, and—after some nauseating mediation proceedings—signed the fuckers. Packed his shit and went on his way to his recently secured apartment.

It wasn’t until after about a week of being by himself that he came to terms with how shitty being alone really was. Having to actually put in work to get sex again was a chore. When he was married, if he’d wanted it badly enough, his wife would usually give it up one way or another. But now he was severely lacking in a live-in cock warmer, and he needed it. He needed a warm hole to fuck, or he felt like he was going to shrivel up and turn to dust. After a few days without one, he would start getting jittery, and no amount of coming in a tube sock would satiate his carnal, irrepressible need for pussy. Any pussy.

And now, three months into his bachelor lifestyle, he’s already worked his way through most of his ex-wife’s (less loyal) friends, and all available female acquaintances that he could reasonably plow into. He’s run dry to the point where he’s started fucking the better pussies a second time. Since the divorce, Joel has learned that he really doesn’t like repeats anymore. He likes the thrill of sinking into a new hole, the challenge of what makes them tick. As soon as he cracks the code, the mystery is gone.

One evening, he’s lazily scrolling through the contacts on his phone, his dick once again fueling his decisions, when he comes across you.

Of course. It’s so obvious, he’s frustrated he hasn’t thought of you before. He knew you’d always had a thing for him. He had for you as well. The moment the two of you met, there was an energy between you. Purely sexual. He saw it in your eyes, he felt it in his dick. You had wanted him. And he had wanted to give it to you. But both of you were well aware that the other was off-limits, especially with your respective partners at each other’s sides. One of those partners being his own son.

A son he never truly connected with. A mama’s boy through and through. Sensitive and soft like her, but selfish and surly like him.

And ultimately, to Joel, a disappointment.

But now. Now that his wife is out of the picture. Now that Preston is out of your picture…

Joel: Hey you. Would you mind if I stopped by tonight? I think we’re overdue for a talk.

Not even an hour later, Joel is knocking at your door.

You open it, and you’re nothing short of a fuckable vision, clad in your black cotton leggings and your tank top, hands glistening and damp from what he parses is water from the dishes you’re in the middle of doing.

“Sorry, just finishing up,” You pardon yourself, bending at the waist like a fucking siren beckoning him as you pull up the door on your dishwasher to latch it shut and start the cycle.

He can’t resist it. Not for another second. He can hear, feel your breath hitch as he presses dangerously close against your back, your stomach hitting the lip of the counter as his breath fans out over your neck.

“Joel…” You start to object as he slides his hands down your torso, landing on your hips and rolling his own into yours to show you just how quickly you’re getting him where he desperately craves to be. “What are you doing?”

“What we’ve both wanted to do since we first laid eyes on each other,” Joel replies huskily, ghosting his lips over your ear to nip at your earlobe.

You half-heartedly attempt to bring your shoulder to your ear to nudge him away, but he just gives a small chuckle. “Am I wrong about that?” He bites kisses down the expanse of your neck, flexing his fingers around your hips. “Have you not been fuckin’ me with those beautiful eyes since we met?”

“We can’t do this,” You puff out, your breath already shallow with your own desire.

Joel’s fingers squeeze heavily at your hips as his fully hard cock grinds between your asscheeks in those sinful leggings, resulting in your head lulling back on your shoulders with a moan.

“We’re both single,” Joel counters, “We can do whatever the fuck we want.”

And then Joel is spinning you around, crashing your lips together in a hungry, brutal kiss. His tongue doesn’t request entry, it just takes it, filling the expanse of your mouth for his own exploration and pleasure and tasting of his filthiest dreams. His hands rake up your tank top over your tits for his mouth to devour, your head falling back again as obscene noises spill out of it.

Joel hitches your leg at his hip and drags his cock up your cunt, pulling a whimper from you that has him feeling feral, crazed enough to want to rip right through your clothes.

“Wait, wait, wait,” You pant out, shoving some space between the two of you in a way that makes Joel want to show you exactly what he thinks of that little move at this current juncture. But he huffs a sigh, caging you in with his hands gripping the counter at your back, but leaving precious inches of atmosphere between you.

“I don’t wanna wait,” Joel growls out, grinding his teeth.

“Look, I just need to know something, okay?”

Joel struggles not to roll his eyes in impatience, forcing himself into some semblance of concern. “Alright. What do you need to know, darlin’?”

Your eyes flutter momentarily at the name, but you push through. “When Preston told me about you and your wife—”

“Ex,” He corrects with gusto.

“Right, sorry, ex-wife. Well, he made it sound like she left you…” You hesitate a moment before exhaling, “Because you cheated.”

And Joel isn’t daft, so he slides his hands around you and nuzzles at your nose with his own. “Darlin’, that’s the opposite of what happened. She cheated on me.”

It’s as easy as breathing.

He can feel the tension sapping from your body at the words, so he continues. “And maybe it makes me a bad man, but all I’ve had the strength to do lately is try to fuck her, and her unfaithfulness, out of my system.”

“I get that,” You reply softly, your fingers creeping up to lock into his flannel and your eyes meeting his with only slight trepidation.

Once he sees he has you reeled in, he goes for the kill. “And could you think of any tastier revenge for what he did to you? For takin’ after his mama like that? Steppin’ out on you?”

A rattled shame shimmers in your eyes as he abruptly brings your reality to light. “Joel—”

“I know. I know all about it. His mama told me before we split.”

Your eyes dip down, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

“Hey,” Joel coaxes, tipping your chin back up to look at him. “Wouldn’t you like to get back at them? Cause I can’t think of a better way. You get to fuck the older, more mature version of him. The man who brought that cheating motherfucker into this world. And I get to slide into someone so much fuckin’ tighter and younger and cuter than her. It’s a win-win.”

“I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do,” Joel whispers, and determines that you have had quite enough conversation, silencing you with his mouth on yours again. This time you melt into him, clutching his flannel as hard as he hopes your pussy will be on his cock in a few blistering moments.

You’re face down on your mattress in record time, Joel wrenching off your leggings and underwear and shoving his own bottom half free of clothing before pulling your now bare hips into his throbbing cock.

“C-condoms in the nightstand,” You stutter out.

He groans. “Don’t make me, darlin’. Wanna feel you.”

“Joel,” You protest again, and he’s starting to really fucking hate how his name sounds on your tongue when you’re reprimanding him like that. It reminds him of his ex-wife, every fucking time he did something she didn’t like.

Joel, stop tracking mud on the hardwood.

Joel, stop shoving things in the closet.

Joel, stop trying to put it in my ass.

Just non-stop nagging, nagging, nagging.

Joel shakes his mind clear and refocuses on the delicious, plump ass raised in the air for him.

“Aren’t you on birth control, darlin’?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then that’s all we need. How about you just trust me and we’ll have some fun, huh?”

“Okay,” He hears you mutter into your arm. “Just pull out, please. I still don’t wanna risk—” Your words are cut off by an almost shrieking moan of your own making as Joel fucks into you without warning, your insides clenching around him like a fucking vice.

Joel’s own moan rings out loud, animal, as your slick insides open up around him, parting easily as he starts to fuck you with abandon. “So fuckin’ tight, darlin’. Squeezin’ this cock just right. So fuckin’ good.”

You mewl into the sheets, wrinkling them with your fingers as he ravages your insides with ferocity.

“Knew this pussy would be good to me. Open up so easy for this big cock. You openin’ up easy for me, darlin’?”

You whine, lost for speech as his fingers bruise at your hips, smooth down your spine under your shirt to keep you pressed into the bed for him.

The sound of your skin slapping together penetrates the room, and Joel is getting tired of only hearing his own voice. He likes when they talk him up, tell him how good he feels, how much better he is than their husbands or boyfriends. He prods at you between breaths, “C’mon, talk to me, sweetheart. Been fuckin’ a lot of bitches like you since my split, you really gonna let them show you up? You don’t wanna go down in my little black book as a boring piece of ass, do ya? Keep it interestin' for me.”

He thinks he hears you whine mutedly, “‘S good.”

But that’s it. Just more of Joel’s grunts, more skin-on-skin, more of your shitty bed frame squeaking.

Boring, boring, boring.

Joel feels his façade sloughing off of him in sheets as your pussy grips him, taking him all the way in and soaking him an amount that he thinks you should probably be embarrassed about, with how desperate you are for him and how little you’re showing it.

“Just a piece of fuckin’ meat for me, huh? Nothin’ to say. No brains, no nothin’. Just a fucked-out little cocksleeve whore.”

He hears you make a weird noise beneath him and then your voice finally rising and skipping with the tempo of his harsh thrusts, “Joel…I’m not sure I like this.”

He knew this was coming. He just laughs it off, redoubling his imprints on your hips. “Oh, you don’t like this, huh? What don’t you like?”

“I-I don’t think I—”

“No, lemme just stop you there, sweetheart,” Joel growls out, halting his thrusts when he’s pressed balls deep inside you, holding you flush against his hips. “Lemme stop you, ‘cause I already know you don’t think. You’re a fuckin’ woman.”

You squeak below him as he picks his pace right back up, punishing your cervix for the sins of your protests as he blabbers on, “You were created to be a vessel for cock. Holes to fuck. Everything else is secondary. This is what you were made for. This doesn’t make you happy?”

“I’m really not having fun anymore, Joel! Please stop!�� You plead, lashing out a hand to push against his hip, only to be slapped away. Joel’s face turns vengeful as he secures a hand around the back of your neck and forces your hips down onto the bed, pinning you with his full body weight and knocking the air out of your chest as his cock continues to split you open.

“Well, lucky for me, I’m having enough fun for the both of us right now. I’d say that’s all that matters.”

“I said stop!” You let out a violent sob, using all your strength to buck up against him to no avail.

Joel scoffs, bringing a hand around to shove four thick fingers into your incessant mouth, cutting off any comprehensible dissent from you. “Shut the fuck up, bitch. I’m gettin’ what I came for.”

Your muffled screams propel him forward into your trembling wet heat, grunting when your walls clutch him as if your life, your sanity depends on it. And shit if that doesn’t make him that much harder.

“Oh, fuck yeah, keep squeezin’ me like that baby, just like that. Don’t wanna hear a goddamn word about you not droolin’ for this cock, darlin’. Cause I can fuckin’ feel it. Droolin’ from your mouth and your pussy.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers that you’re biting into his fingers as you scream over them, but for reasons foreign to him prior to this point, the pain spurs him on. Your saliva drips down his fingers, flowing in rivulets down his wrist as he hammers into your cunt.

“Not sure why you’re fightin’ me, when I gave you the chance to speak the fuck up. The one time I don’t want a bitch to shut her goddamn trap and you refused to do it. ‘F you’re not gonna make it worth my while, I’ll do it my damn self,” He grunts, holding open your jaw with his crooked fingers and railing into you with every ounce of resentment he has for his ex, for his son, and for every cunt who dared not impress him.

Joel feels his release building, his cock twitching inside you as he fucks your tightening hole, but he begs his body to hold out just a little longer. He pistons his hips in shallower thrusts as he levels with your ear, speaking over your whimpers, “I got a little confession, sweetheart. I lied. I did cheat on my wife.”

You whine, sob around his fingers, bending your knees against the mattress as you try and get leverage, but Joel’s smart enough to know you’re no match for his strength. The new position you’ve ended up in has Joel fucking even deeper into you, your keening growing more unhinged as Joel takes and takes and takes.

“Yeah, I cheated on that bitch over and over and over,” He spits, punctuating each repetition with a relentless slam of his hips into your ass. “And now that I’ve been where he’s been, felt what you got to offer, I can see why my son cheated on you, too.” He thrusts into you one last, brutal time, looping his free arm your neck to hold you in place as your sobs go quiet, more like resignation. Like defeat.

Joel’s forehead presses into the back of your neck as his cock pulses inside you, filling you with his load and claiming you for himself. He grunts out, “I know you wanted me to pull out, but…well, shit, I didn’t wanna. Want you to remember this.”

You finally go limp underneath him, and Joel hums a rumbling sound of approval. “That’s right. Just let it happen. All filled up with me now. What would Preston say? Spreadin’ your legs for his father, wringin’ his cock dry for his come?”

His fingers slip out of your mouth, drenched and a little pruned with purpling divots from your teeth adorning them. You just sniffle, your head collapsing into the sheets upon Joel relinquishing his hold.

“You stupid bitches never learn,” He mutters, groaning as his cock slips free of your clutches and lifting his weight off of you. He watches you take your first full-chested breath since he pinned you down, and it looks a little pathetic to him. When you don’t make an effort to move, Joel just goes about pulling himself back together. He leans against your bedroom door frame, studying the rise and fall of your body with each breath, his come leaking out of your spent cunt, the spots on your hip where he guarantees color will bloom where his fingers had been.

“All the same,” He mumbles. “All of ya. You’re nothin’ but fodder. Spread you out, devour you bit by bit.”

You lay silent, but he knows you hear him.

“And if there ain’t nothin’ left of ya when I’m finished,” He says, shrugging a little as he turns to leave, “far as I’m concerned, that’s when I know I done my job right.”

—-

Post-fic drabble

Alternate Ending

Further warnings/tags: noncon piss!kink (f receiving), disrespect/violation of someone in a presumed catatonic or dissociative state

word count: ~500

a/n: Chloeangelic is 100% to blame for this. I was fully content with the original ending, and then she said “but what about piss kink?? Maybe??” and I’m nothing if not a subby little bitch for her, so here it is.

----

But he stops. Takes in the sight of you. You look so goddamn helpless.

“Hey,” He prompts, shaking your foot in search of a response from you. You don’t budge. You don’t speak. The only signs of life are your tear-filled, periodically blinking eyes and the undulation of your breathing.

He thinks you may be in shock or something. Typical woman.

Something about that pisses him off. Deep inside the darkest recesses of his psyche, he craves a response from you. And you’re not giving it.

As he ponders how to earn that response, nature poses its own suggestion for him. He bats the idea around in his head. His gaze lingers on your bare ass, your exposed back, your overall catatonic state. He thinks about his wife—ex-wife—and every time she complained that he was too rough with her, that he asked too much of her, that it seemed like he didn’t care about her.

Well, fuck her, maybe he fucking didn’t.

Rage flares up inside him again, staring at your pitiful, fucked out body. And he decides to just release it.

Propped up on his knees between your spread thighs, flaccid cock in hand, he expels a cathartic sigh as he starts to relieve himself.

He expects you to bolt up the second the hot, wet pressure hits your back, but you are surprisingly unphased. He cocks his head to the side as his piss soaks the back of your rucked-up shirt, darkening the white and bleeding up the ribbed fabric.

He tilts the head of his cock down, his piss shooting against the globes of your ass and splashing back a little on impact. His eyes go dark as he aims for the crack of your ass, devouring the sight of it seeping down to the creampie he made of your sorry cunt. The substances intermingle on the wet spot directly below the opening of your pussy where you’d already made a mess on the sheets with your combined fluids. Something about adding one more to the mix has him transfixed. Less upset at your lack of reaction.

He’s actually disappointed when he feels his cock emptying, sputtering out the final remnants of his piss directly toward your creamy slit.

Satisfaction settles in his chest for the first time in a long while…maybe since before his divorce. Seeing a woman totally destroyed by his own hands, his own dick. A phantom shiver vibrates down his spine at the magnitude of this self-discovery, and he rolls his neck in a circle as he stuffs himself back into his pants.

He flicks off the lights, leaving you reeking in a puddle of his come and piss, and contemplating whether he should call his son to come find you.

Taglist Update: I have decided to decommission my taglist in favor of an updates blog! Please follow@atticrissfinchupdates and opt in for notifications to get notified when I post a new fic!

Visit here for instructions on how to get a tab just for the blogs you’ve subscribed to at the top of your tumblr page!

taglist: @bbyanarchist @within-the-depths @livingdeadmaria @cool-iguana @a-roving-woman @koshkaj-blog @asideblogformyficreading @totallynotastanacc @adaslittleblog @walkintotheriveranddisappear @pr0ximamidnight @sinfulrock @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kyloispunk @pinkiec6-rubi @vickywallace @pattwtf @chiyo13 @neverwheremoonchild @janaispunk @youandmeand5bucks @ladyburberry @kamcrazy123 @punkshort @survivingandenduring @confessionbrain-writings @lizzie-cakes @prettyinpunk85 @joeldjarin @bubble-pop-eclectic @chloeangelic @tripkid @untamedheart81 @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff

#dark!joel miller #dark!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #bd!joel #bd!joel miller #the last of us #tlou #katy wroted fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fic

596 notes · View notes

cookingmamatwo-dinnerwithfriends · 9 months

Text

tough crowd… || theodore nott x reader

a/n: this is short but i LIKE IT

theodore nott never really thought that he would ever be in a serious relationship. he assumed that, given his family's reputation, people would avoid him like the plague and he would be arranged to marry a pure-blood witch. he had resigned himself to this all the way back in fourth year, when he found himself at the yule ball with no date. he was okay with being alone. all he really needed were his friends.

but ever since he saw (y/n) in the courtyard that day he's found himself changing. he used to ignore the lovey-dovey couples around school that were glued to the hip, sucking faces in the hallway. but now, seeing them made his stomach churn, not only from disgust, but because he wanted a relationship like that. but maybe minus the nauseating amount of PDA.

theodore talked to (y/n) every day in potions, and he found himself wishing that his double potions class was longer. just so he could get more time to spend with her. they were growing closer, now friends rather than acquaintances.

one day in class, after lots of stolen glances, giggling, and no-so-discreet flirting, malfoy lost it.

"canyoutwojustgoonadatealready?" draco raised his voice, losing it after theo asked to compare hand sizes with her (PFFFFF im getting the ick).

both theo and (y/n) stared at him with red faces, shuffling away from each other and looking down at their respective cauldrons. people at the tables near the group looked over in mild interest.

theo wasn't sure how to recover from this, but before he could spiral, a piece of parchment was slid in front of him. it was a cartoon at someone pulling at their collar nervously (ya know? i physically cannot insert a gif i think ill melt). he smiled down at the paper and then back up at the girl who was side-eyeing him. she then turned to face him fully and offered an apologetic smile for the interaction.

as much as theo hated to admit this, draco might have just given him the perfect opportunity. after class, he put on his coolest persona, leaned against the potions station and looked down at the girl.

"maybe we should go on a date..." theo said, analyzing her face for any kind of reaction. "would you...like to?" oh no the facade is slipping, don't let her see you weak theodore.

"yeah, yes, i mean..." she trailed off, closed her eyes and then opened them again, facing him, "yes, i would."

"we could go to hogsmeade this weekend..." he looked into her eyes hopefully, but trying to seem cool.

"that sounds great," she said, her grin widening, "i'll see you then." she went to walk away, but then turned around slowly and said, "i'll also see you tomorrow because-"

"yeah we have-"

"-we have potions..."

"-potions. yeah..."

"...yeah. okay, bye!"

DUDE I THOUGHT I COULDNT WRITE A PART 3 BUT I REALLY LIKE THIS ill write the date soon HAHHAHAHAHAH

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #harry potter x reader #harry potter #theodore nott imagines #theo nott imagines

914 notes · View notes

genderkoolaid · 2 months

Note

I don't know if you know, but there's just been a case of a maths teacher being fired after deadnaming and misgendering a transmasc student in the UK. He, of course, couldn't accept this decision and took it to court and luckily, he lost the case (he didn't like that), but I was reading through the judiciary judgement and it's so nauseating and obviously targeted at transmascs in particular.

He refused to use his pronouns, wrote his deadname on the whiteboard, and actually pulled the student aside afterwards to warn them against taking testosterone and it causing irreversible damage. Not only that, but he straight up compared HRT (which he had no evidence the student was even on) to Mengele's experiments in Auschwitz.

The link in case anyone is curious: https://www.judiciary.uk/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/Lister-v-New-College-Swindon.pdf

(cont) It's just nauseating to read the judgement and see the amount of deadnaming, misgendering but also a teacher complete move past the boundary between a student to attempt them to either a) detransition, or b) prevent them from transitioning in the first place. This teacher is essentially attempting both, the first by not respecting his social transition, and the second by in a private conversation pressuring him not to do HRT, and also speaking to HIS FRIEND, and also attempting to pressure her to talk him out of it (pg 13). I struggle to put into words how obvious it is that here and abroad, how people talk about HRT and transition in regards to transmascs and trans men is so overtly misogynistic and controlling, and so deeply rooted in misogyny. These people are furious at losing what they perceive is owed to them, it's obvious that they want emphatically to detransition trans men, and the underlying sentiment is because of an ownership over our bodies.

(The linked pdf)

Yeah, this is a fucking wreck. And it seems like a lot of reporting on this is from transphobes who see this guy like an academic martyr. Also got some hot exorsexism from this article:

“I do say this is breaching the Equality Act because you are encouraging the idea that a non-binary person can come into class and say she is a boy and by the afternoon she can say somewhere between the two,” he said.

Also, not a big fan of how they constantly use "they/them" for the trans student in question, except when it comes directly before/after a quote or sentence that would make it too awkward?

#m.#ask box #examples of transandrophobia #holocaust tw #nazi tw #transandrophobia #transmisandry #anti transmasculinity #transunity #exorsexism #transmisogyny

366 notes · View notes

g1rld1ary · 2 months

Note

omg hiiiiii! just saw your requests opened, so excited! i was hoping you could write something for lockwood with the enemies to lovers trope. anything you feel like with that is awesome! and ofc if you don’t want to feel free to not write it 🩷🩷

-mel

what once was ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ synopsis: you and lockwood hated each other, you had since you were just starting out as agents. when your team is made to work with his on a big case, deeper feelings might just get revealed

➻ word count: 10K (exactly, what are the chances?)

➻ warnings: swearing, mentions of kissing, angst maybe?, injuries

➻ thank u so much for this request lovely!!!! i am SO sorry this took almost a month, but it's the longest fic I've ever posted here so hopefully that makes up for it a little?? if this isn't what u had in mind pls let me know and I'd be happy to write something different! ik it might not be exactly enemies to lovers but I hateee when the dynamic has no respect or reason to be lovers. anyway thank u for the request lolol!!!! xxxxx

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You thought you were a good person. You dedicated your life to fighting ghosts, you helped old ladies cross the street, you recycled when you could. That was enough to be considered a good person, right? You were almost totally convinced, except for the all the vile things you had to say about Anthony Lockwood.

He was, with no exaggeration, the bane of your existence. You had known him all your life, but hadn’t been friends with him since you were both twelve, just beginner agents. And yet, despite all of this hatred burning up within you, it seemed like the universe wouldn’t give you a moment of peace.

You understood running into his company every once in a while — agency events, maybe the occasional case, but lately it seemed like it was every week you had to face Lockwood’s nauseating grin and infuriating attempts at being charming. Whether it was your respective teams being sent on overlapping missions, picking up more supplies or just trying to pick up a coffee after a draining night, you had started to see Lockwood everywhere.

When you saw him again whilst you were picking up some doughnuts for your team you couldn’t help yourself snapping at him.

“God, are you obsessed with me or something, Anthony?” You barely spared him a glance as you finished the transaction with the cashier, quietly thanking him as you left. Lockwood did the same, practically throwing down his cash to catch up to you.

“You wish I was obsessed with you! I am just as unhappy as you are, trust me.”

“So what, you chased after me just say something we both already knew? Or do you have something you’d like to say, an apology perhaps?” You chanced a look in his eyes. Hurt flashed through them, and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction.

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He cried, almost dropping his own box of pastries when he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You didn’t try to hide the rolling of your eyes.

“Whatever,” You huffed, before being struck with an idea. “By the way, did you hear that I’m now a team leader? That makes me the youngest in at least ten years — maybe ever. Pretty good for someone not fit to be an agent, don’t you think?” You feigned an interest in his opinion. His face dropped for a moment, then contorted to become almost polite.

“That was never—” You interrupted him with another sigh.

“Anthony, I really don’t care to listen to you discredit my achievements anymore.” You left him on the side of the street, marching back to your dorm at Fittes. You didn’t need to hear him tear you down and ruin your self-confidence more than he already had — not that you would ever tell him that. Lockwood was similarly disgruntled. Every interaction between you two turned into a fight regardless of what he said; he just couldn’t win.

You had a week of blissful distance from Lockwood and Co before you ran into them, quite unfortunately. You and your team had been assigned to an apartment that allegedly housed a few Type Ones, nothing serious but the residents had complained of hearing noises at odd hours. You held a bit of doubt — living in the dorms had forced you to become accustomed to the most bizarre noises at night, and those were most definitely not ghosts. Plus, adults tended to be paranoid; the noise could be anything from rodents to their little children being awake in the early hours of the morning.

Still, you had a job to complete, so you trudged your small team up to the apartment in question, ready for a quick job and to be cozy in bed before midnight. When Lockwood and Co were standing outside the apartment next to your appointed one, your face dropped into a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped, talking directly to Lockwood. He hesitated for a moment before turning to face you, brilliant smile shining.

“Lovely to see you again too, sweetheart, we’re actually here on a job? Nice of you to come as our clean-up crew, but that really won’t be necessary. Run along now.” You had to hand it to him, Lockwood had perfected his condescending tone. You were going to respond when the girl behind him began to talk.

“Hey, I recognise you! You’re—” Lockwood cut her off quickly.

“Alright, Luce, I think it’s time we go inside, don’t you?” He was shepherding the girl through the apartment door before you could process what was happening. George, to his credit, looked highly amused at the whole thing. You always liked George, even when he was at Fittes, and seeing him was usually the only upside to your interactions with Lockwood and Co.

“Who’s the girl?” You asked, nodding your head to where she and Lockwood had disappeared to.

“Lucy Carlyle,” He answered, “She’s a Listener — still learning the ropes.”

“And she knows me how?” George just smiled, and you could tell he was keeping secrets.

“I’m sure you’ll find out one day.” He began to follow the rest of his coworkers and you pouted.

“I hate when you side with him!” You called after him, before composing yourself and directing your own team to start the night. They just went along with it, used to your behaviour, and set up your equipment for the mission.

It was not going well. You could all feel a supernatural presence, but no ghosts and no signs of what you’d thought might’ve been the source. Plus, all you could hear was the apartment next door — their stompy footsteps, their laughter over the tea you knew they always had, and one of them wouldn’t stop knocking on the fucking wall.

It was supremely childish, and you would put all of your bets on it being Lockwood trying to throw you off your game. Unfortunately, it was working. And your bad mood was spreading to your teammates. The mission was certainly not going well, all four of you picking fights and throwing digs at each other as you searched uselessly for what could possible be the source, all with no confirmed supernatural presence.

Just as you were about to say something really cruel to your favourite member of your team, the words died in your throat. The temperature rose a few degrees, and you could practically see all your negative thoughts floating away. By the looks of it, your teammates all felt it too. When the freezing shock of the change wore off, you all resigned to embarrassment, realising exactly what had just happened.

This was only furthered when Lockwood waltzed into the apartment, cocky grin practically blinding you.

“Guess that another successful mission for Lockwood and Co now includes saving the careers of egotistical Fittes agents too now,” He crowed, and you rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might disconnect from your face.

“Clearly,” You tried to keep your tone level, “The source wasn’t in this apartment, so we couldn’t have found it regardless of if you were here.”

“Plus they were just Type Ones. You didn’t save any lives, Lockwood,” Your best friend, Sarah, piped up and you smirked.

“Maybe not in the physical sense,” He conceded, “But I definitely saved the career of the ‘youngest ever team leader’ — don’t think you would’ve kept the position for very long if you couldn’t fight a simple Type One.” You turned red in humiliation. How dare Lockwood act so high and mighty, like you owed him the career you fought so hard for? You wanted to express all the seething fury that burned your tongue, but the only thing that came out was a vicious declaration.

“I hate you, Anthony Lockwood.” Lockwood at least had the decency to look somewhat hurt. Although you’d been arguing for years with the insults only getting meaner as you both grew up and developed more precise vocabularies, neither of you had ever vocalised any hatred before. It cut deeper than Lockwood thought it would. You didn’t wait to observe the intricacies of his reaction, storming out of the apartment, making sure your kit bag hit him heavily as you passed.

“Well,” Lockwood broke the awkward silence that fell over the apartment, “I think we’re all done for the night. Let’s go.” Lockwood and Co began packing up their kit bags and gear, Lucy sweeping some leftover magnesium dust under an armchair. Lockwood paused in the doorway, looking back to Sarah with a curious softness.

“Make sure she’s alright, yeah?” Sarah nodded, swallowing a curious look. With a final nod he was gone, leaving the rest of your team to wonder what had just happened to shift the dynamic.

Back in your dorm at Fittes, you were still fired up. Pissed off by Lockwood’s ego, his audacity, you had practically already paced a hole in the floor upon your short return from dinner. All of these years and he still didn’t believe you were a capable agent, let alone team leader! You may not have really hated him; it was hard to truly hate someone who you shared so much history with, but you were glad you said it. Glad you hurt him, even a little. Maybe then he’d know how you felt.

He had — probably unwittingly — saved you arse though. It was one of your very first missions and unfortunately Lockwood was right; a team leader who couldn’t defeat a simple Type One, or realise that their case was a goose chase in the wrong apartment, wouldn’t last. So although he was the one who had told you you couldn’t be an agent in the first place, you probably owed your current position to him, which only mad you more mad. It was an endless cycle of being angry at Anthony Lockwood.

When Sarah came in to sit on your bed, you still weren’t done, taking the opportunity to verbalise your stream of thought.

“He is simply the worst person in the whole world and has no respect for me! I mean, he wouldn’t have helped at all if it didn’t serve his own inflated ego ,” You said, throwing your hands in the air in anguish. Sarah simply watched, barely concealing her amusement.

“Ok, but have you considered maybe he just argues back because you hate him? I mean, where did it start?” You huffed, vaulting yourself back onto your mattress.

“When we were twelve years old, he told me I couldn’t be an agent. I said ‘fuck you’ and have worked my bloody arse off to be one despite it, and to become the youngest team leader at Fittes, and yet every time I see him he still tries to sabotage my career or make me look stupid! God, he drives me up the wall!”

“So you’ve said all these horrid things because he didn’t believe in you?” She laughed a little, eliciting a deep frown from you.

“You don’t get it,” You said, tone solemn, “He was my best friend. He was supposed to believe in me even when everyone else said it was dumb.” The dampened mood brought a premature end to your conversation, Sarah leaving you to your thoughts and feelings as you dwelled on the past in a way you would usually forbid yourself from.

You pulled a framed photo out from behind your stack of books on the shelf. You and Lockwood as children, smiling brightly on a day at the beach, a spade in your hand and a bucket in his, your free ones intertwined as kids often do. You didn’t know why you’d kept it after all these years, looking at any photo of Lockwood typically made you mad, but you felt a bit guilty discarding the keepsake, especially the handmade frame his parents had given you one birthday before they passed. Plus, the memory untouched was one of your favourites — one of the last of your carefree days in childhood when you and Lockwood were best friends and both your families were whole. You held it softly for a moment, indulging yourself in being swept away by memories before deciding enough was enough and returning to the present, distracting yourself with a novel you’d picked up.

You were given a few weeks to cool down, blissfully free from any trace of Lockwood. You thought he must’ve been aware of the heightened tension between you recently, since you’d seen Lucy shopping around Arif’s and ran into George whilst getting your usual Friday night takeaway.

Hearing your name being called from around the corner of an aisle you turned quickly, reflexes on edge. Seeing it was just the redhead you relaxed, making yourself smile.

“Oh, hi, Lucy. How are you?” You made polite conversation, continuing on with your shopping. She replied cordially, a vague awkward air between you that you were both trying your best to overcome.

“We’re all really sorry about the case the other day, by the way. We didn’t mean to take it over or jeopardise your job or anything.”

“It’s nothing,” You assured, “I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me, every agent knows that.”

“Yeah, but if Lockwood hadn’t—”

“Lucy,” You interrupted, “You don’t need to condemn Lockwood, or defend him. We both know where we stand with each other and that’s ok. I hope that doesn’t stop us from being friends either; you’re sweet.” Lucy managed a smile, revealing a pretty sparkle in her eye.

“I’d like to be friends too. Maybe we just won’t tell him,” She giggled, and you nodded gravely.

“Sounds like a plan.” You left Arif’s with a bag full of groceries and plan for coffee sometime.

George was less forgiving than Lucy. As you bickered over who got the last can of Coke in the restaurant’s little fridge, he imparted some of his very much unwanted advice.

“You should apologise. I think you crossed a line,” He said and you rolled your eyes.

“He questioned my right to even be where I am — I think I have the right to be pissed at him.”

“He didn’t mean it,” George said quickly. Almost too quickly.

“How would you know?” You narrowed your eyes. George recoiled — he’d been caught.

“You know,” He trailed off, “Lockwood’s not like that. You should know that better than anyone.” You huffed again, fed up.

“I knew,” You corrected, “He’s shown me exactly how he feels about me now. And I am absolutely fine with that. I’m taking the Coke.” You ended the conversation abruptly, snatching the can out of George’s grip.

“But Lockwood doesn’t like any of the other flavours!” He called after you. You exaggerated a laugh, not looking back as you opened the restaurant door quickly.

“I know!” You yelled over your shoulder. George watched you leave, calculating look in his eyes. You said you hated Lockwood, he didn’t doubt you believed it, too. But he knew that most people didn’t remember which fizzy drinks their enemies liked.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Thankfully, you got just the distraction you needed. Your team had been given one of the most exciting cases on the Fittes roster. One of those old boutique hotels with funnily named rooms and a long, terrible history that had you buried in fascinating research. You couldn’t believe your team had been given the assignment, it was a sign that you were really beginning to be respected as a team leader in the agency. So, you couldn’t screw it up.

You and your team had been practically camped out in the Fittes archives, researching as much as you possibly could about the old hotel. There were a smattering of unfortunate deaths across the years — some darker than others, but you were confident it was nothing you couldn’t handle. The owners hadn’t specified exactly what supernatural experiences they had seen around the hotel, just that it was clear there were several presences around and they wanted them all gone to reopen the hotel as soon as possible. This did admittedly make you a little apprehensive — you didn’t actually have a solid idea of how many ghosts you’d be dealing with, and it was anyone’s guess how many of them would be Type Twos.

Finally, you were confident you and your team had done as much research as you could, and you were prepared for anything. And so you packed your kit bags, took the train ride and rocked up to the hotel mid afternoon, confidence overflowing. By nightfall you’d been on a tour of the grounds, set up your base and had started brewing some tea to get you all in the zone. You took a glance out the front window, seeing movement in one of the windows of the house next door. It was owned by the people who ran the hotel and they intended to open it as a second venue, but delegated the job to some smaller agency since the stakes for it weren’t as high.

It was all going well for a while. You had a plan to go room by room, making each ghost free before finishing in the majorly haunted kitchen. You were inclined to believe there’d be a cluster of Type Twos there since it was set alight years ago, and the accident had been swept under the rug in favour of saving the business.

The entryway was easy; a few Type Ones that practically led you their sources, clearly just wanting to finally be laid to rest. There was one nasty Limbless that gave you all a fright, but your researcher, Ben, was always miles ahead of the rest of you and knew exactly who the ghost was and therefore how to put him to rest. You told him you owed him a beer later and moved on, crossing a single room off the floor plan and shifting into the library, which was not so easy.

You started to think things were not as great as you originally anticipated when you turned to face the mass of Type Ones. Not the end of the world, a little bloody annoying though. Sarah seemed to agree, kicking the leg of a couch in frustration. The four of you figured your way out of it, though significantly depleted of supplies.

You returned to your home base to recoup, physically and mentally battered.

“What’s the plan?” Sarah asked, chugging down mouthfuls from her water bottle. You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought hard, tapping your fingers insistently on the old wooden table.

“Alright, I think we’ve got enough for one more safely. Kyan, you go outside and get the rest of our equipment whilst we hit the second bedroom.”

“If we’re right then there should only be the one ghost there, right? The strangled woman?” You nodded in response to Ben, mentally drawing your plan.

“And if you’re wrong?” Kyan asked.

“We won’t be,” You affirmed, tapping twice on the table to get you all moving.

Kyan left the building to go fetch the spare supplies and the remaining three of you ventured into the second bedroom. Everything was as it should be; lower temperature, creeping feelings of unease and miasma. You’d put together your chain circle and were feeling good about the Type Two woman you were facing, well, as good as you could in those circumstances.

That was, until it wasn’t just one Type Two. Despite the research and preparation you’d undertaken, there was definitely more than one Type Two enraged by your presence in the room at that moment. There was the woman, an angry apparition of some sort — you didn’t have the time to exactly figure out which subtype she fell into when a man also appeared. Shit. He wasted no time showing you he was aggressive too, and your heart sunk into your toes.

Doing some quick mental calculations, you announced the new plan — to get out. As team leader, you refused to be responsible for an injury or something worse because you wouldn’t back down when you knew you didn’t have enough defences left.

“Soon as it’s safe, get the fuck out of here,” You said, feeling to make sure they were still both in the circle with you as you stood with backs inward. “Use your defences as liberally as you feel you need to — we’re all getting out of here tonight.”

“What about the sources?” Sarah asked nervously, “We’ve only got one or two so far.”

“Who cares? Most agencies get one or two a mission and we’re in a giant bloody hotel. We’ve got more nights to get this done. We can’t get it done if you lot go off and die, can we?” Ben shrugged.

“S’pose not. Let’s go.” With that the three of you made a run for it, bolting out the bedroom door and into the corridor.

“Oh fuck!” You yelled, dodging out the way of another phantom headed your way. Evidently your previous endeavours had attracted the attention of some of the other ghosts inhabiting the hotel, none looking all that happy.

Your swear words didn’t falter as you continued the escape, ducking and jumping and making an utter fool of yourself to ensure you all made it out alive. You’d been covered by Sarah a few minutes ago with one of her magnesium flares, and so returned the favour without hesitation, only faltering slightly when you realised it was your last. You tried not to worry about it too much, you were nearing the laundry where there was a back door you could get to.

The closer you got to your escape the fewer visible apparitions there were. That was a good thing, your chances of ghost touch reducing greatly. However, that didn’t mean you weren’t still being hunted. A poltergeist had found you somewhere along the way, and the stream of things being thrown at you hadn’t ended yet. You’d vaguely felt something heavy hitting the back of your head and shoulders, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins was withholding the pain for the moment.

You’d crossed the threshold into the laundry, the back door within your sights. Maybe you got complacent, believing the end was nearer than you thought. Maybe it was just awful timing. However, as your feet hit the tiles of the room, you were being swept off your feet by the washing machine sliding into you, crushing you between it and the wall. You cried out unintentionally, feeling a sickening crack inside your chest. Your teammates turned back, door wide open and safety in sight.

“Don’t you dare come back for me,” You croaked, the wind pushed out of you. “Or I swear to God I’ll come and haunt you.” Ben took the threat and ran, ducking out the door into the fresh air of the night. Sarah hesitated, turning back to lock eyes with you, regret painted across her features. With a final threat she left too, leaving you to try and push the machine away from you in order to make your own escape. However, in an unfortunate series of events, the adrenaline started to wear off after your chase and you felt the sharp pain running along your skull, a thick drop of blood making its way down from a strand of hair into your left eye. Plus, you were pretty sure the machine had broken one of your wrists as any pressure you put onto it trying to move the machine set your nerves on fire, leaving you just your legs to try and make an escape. Turns out it’s harder than it looks to push a stupidly heavy washing machine away from you with your legs when you’re incapacitated on the floor.

Seeing your best friend the strangled woman approaching you sighed, trying to resign yourself to your fate. There was no way you were making it out without a miracle, and you were never the lucky kind. As she spotted you, you sealed your eyes tightly closed, unwilling to watch your own demise. It never came. When you chanced one eye open all you saw was sparks, the unmistakeable smell of a magnesium flare filling the room. You didn’t know what to feel. Relieved, of course, pissed off that your team had disrespected your wishes and endangered themselves, faint from the adrenaline and blood loss. Mostly faint, you decided, as you lay your head back against the tile, a sleep sounding like the nicest thing in the world suddenly.

You must have passed out for a minute or two as when you opened your eyes again you were in the air, distant voices yelling over the explosions and lights, but you felt a million miles away. You cuddled yourself into the body of whoever was carrying you — they were warm and your body felt ice cold. Everywhere you looked appeared blurry (and slightly pink, presumably from the blood in your eye), so you granted yourself some mercy and simply closed them. You thought you heard a mumbled “Hold on for me,” But you couldn’t be sure, everything was ringing in your head and the weight of staying awake was heavy on your foggy brain.

The next time you woke up was about half an hour later, or so you guessed. The sky was fractionally lighter than you remembered seeing, inching towards dawn, and you were laid down on dewey wet grass. The cool of it was nice on your skin, though you knew it would do major damage to your hair. Not that that was your greatest concern at the moment. You pushed yourself up on your elbows slowly, looking around at the scene that was coming into focus. Your team were on one side of you, looking exhausted but mostly physically fine. Straight ahead of you was Barnes, not looking as disappointed as you thought he would after a failed case. To your left was Lockwood and Co. Why were Lockwood and Co here? Why was Lockwood looking at you so intently, and why did he look like he was worried about you?

Only the first of your questions was answered. Evidently Lockwood and Co were the ‘small agency’ the hotel owners had given a chance for the smaller house on the edge of the property. They heard the commotion your team had made and Sarah’s screaming outside the kitchen door and came to save the day — of course. You were about to put up the protest that you didn’t need saving but it died in your throat when you saw the serious looks of everyone around you. Clearly this wasn’t the time for any of your bullshit.

“Clearly this case is bigger than your team can achieve,” Barnes said, and the fire was reignited within you. He must have been able to see what you were going to say and cut you off, “But I’m not taking you off the case.”

“Thank you,” You said quickly, tension in your shoulders releasing slightly.

“Lockwood and Co will work with you until the hotel is ghost free.”

“What?” You and Lockwood cried in unison, and you felt his eyes fall back on you. You refused to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir—” You started, being cut off by Lockwood.

“We don’t work well together—”

“I happen to know you both need this case, or do you not care about the future of your jobs?” Barnes raised an eyebrow in the intimidating way only he could pull off. He had you there. Failing in a case, especially one that resulted in a near death experience would certainly jeopardise your trajectory at Fittes, and, unbeknownst to you, Lockwood and Co were pretty desperate for some good representation, unable to receive the praise deserved from the Combe Carey Hall case. You looked at Lockwood to find him already searching your face. After a moment of silent arguing between the two of you, you turned back to face Barnes, exaggerated smiles on both your faces.

“We’ll do it.” You smiled sweetly. A few more formalities sent Barnes and the other DEPRAC officer off, and only the two teams were left standing around, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of all the kit bags.

“So what do we do now?” Sarah asked, a thought very similar to the ones bouncing around your head at the moment.

“Breakfast?” George suggested, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen your team agree to something so enthusiastically. The group of you all headed back to the train station, but Lockwood didn’t let you continue in the line to get your ticket. Instead he pulled you away from the crowd, seeming to have already told Lucy what was happening, judging from her cheerful wave goodbye.

You glared at him, yanking your arm away then groaning at the pain.

“What are we doing, Lockwood?” You asked with an exaggerated huff.

“We’re going to the hospital,” He said, unbothered by your protests. “And don’t say you’re fine because it’s clear you’re injured. I’d say a broken wrist, concussion and maybe a cracked rib, but we can let the doctors tell us I’m wrong, I’d be happy for them to tell you otherwise.” That shut you up, not least because you knew he was probably right. You’d been given a shot of adrenaline and a few painkillers by the DEPRAC officer who accompanied Barnes over, but you probably did need actual medical attention.

It was a very awkward cab ride to the local hospital. You and Lockwood were so used to arguing by now that silence felt like the only other viable option. You couldn’t make small talk, what would you even talk about? The only thing you knew about his life was his childhood, and you sure as hell weren’t gonna talk about that. The tension was palpable in the backseat, and when the cab driver wished you good luck for the hospital visit, you figured he didn’t just mean because of your injuries. You did force yourself to thank Lockwood when he paid for the ride though, even if it was just for the sake of the day moving on faster.

At least the waiting room created its own noise; beeping and chattering and footsteps filling the silence between you two. You struggled with the form in front of you, inconveniently having your dominant hand be out of working order. You painfully etched out your information over an embarrassing amount of time before Lockwood huffed loudly and snatched the clipboard from your lap.

“Fuck’s sake,” He muttered, pulling his own pen from his suit pocket, beginning to scribble down the answers for you. You just relaxed, your tired, drug-addled brain being allowed to rest for a moment. It wasn’t until he asked about your health insurance that you fully realised he was answering the questions by memory and forced your eyes to focus on the paper. Sure enough he’d gotten it all right, birthday and middle name included. You glanced up at him curiously, but it seemed like this was the moment he refused to make eye contact. You only had to inform him of things that had changed since you’d fallen out, neither of you verbalising that fact.

Things didn’t change when you were called into the doctor’s office either. The mix of pain, medicine and sleep deprivation led you to embrace the exam table and bordered on falling asleep as Lockwood talked for you. He’d gotten the rundown of the actual events from Sarah and his brief moments when he saved you, and explained the night as you got an x-ray for your hand. Plus, as you were waiting for the cast (it was, in fact, broken), he explained your previous medical history — the knee you dislocated when you were nine and the broken pinky finger from the year after. You only had to participate to explain the injuries you’d acquired during your career as an agent; the ones from after you and Lockwood stopped being friends.

The whole trip was extremely bizarre and slightly unnerving, and you were glad to get on the train on the way back.

“You were wrong about one thing,” You said, pulling out your walkman from your kit bag.

“And what’s that?” Lockwood asked, and you got the impression he was bracing to be yelled at again — you felt almost bad.

“No cracked rib for me.” You grinned, beginning to laugh uncharacteristically. You didn’t know why, it really wasn’t that funny, but Lockwood followed suit soon after. The two of you laughed borderline hysterically, much too energetic for that hour of the morning when everyone else was still heading to work. It only tapered off when your poor ribs couldn’t take it anymore (not broken but aggressively bruised), and the two of you fell back into silence. You had your music and Lockwood had a magazine you suspected he’d stolen from the A+E waiting room.

The only other time you spoke during the trip was when you summoned the courage to utter a somewhat genuine “Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thanks. For not letting me die. And stuff.”

“Oh. You’re welcome,” Lockwood shot you a smile, the glowing kind you rarely got to see anymore.

As you got back to London and closer to Portland Row where your team was waiting, the air seemed to get thicker between the two of you once again. Maybe it was the proximity to the things that had torn you apart or the sense that you had predefined roles to play, but the carefree air between you had dissipated, leaving only the familiar tension that had been building over the last four years.

You followed Lockwood inside, trying to hide the out of body experience you were having returning to his family home after so many years. It had changed a little, of course, but still felt overwhelmingly the same, which both scared and comforted you. All the freaky foreign ghost hunting objects still littered the shelves, and you took the liberty of admiring them once again, remembering the stories Lockwood’s parents would tell about them and the adventures they’d had when collecting them. In your periphery you saw Lockwood hurriedly grab something off the wall by the stairs, shoving it in a drawer, but you really had no interest, choosing instead to reacquaint yourself with the house. The glimpse you got up the stairs showed a myriad of framed pictures of Lockwood and you scoffed — of course his ego would be on full display within his own home.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

It was surprisingly easy to get into the groove of working with Lockwood and Co. Obviously you already liked George and Lucy, but your team seemed to work unexpectedly well with theirs. You and Lockwood stayed out of each other’s ways, the few times you were left to work together resulting in another stupid argument. The first time when you thought he was calling you dumb, the second over something minuscule; who’d let the tea brew too long so it tasted shit. And then who had to subsequently get up and make the next pot. Despite both of you honestly trying to be professional and get on with the job, it was agreed by everyone that it was simply easiest to keep the two of you apart as much as possible.

However, when the hotel owners wanted the leaders of both teams to meet up for updates on the case, you couldn’t get out of it. The day wasn’t looking good. You’d shown up to Portland Row so you could get a cab together — the meeting being dinner in central London, and had already argued with him over his choice of socks. In your defence, the powder blue socks matching your dress did make it look like you were a high school couple trying to match at a formal! However, George had rolled his eyes and pushed the two of you back out and towards the waiting cab, effectively ending that argument. You’d also teased Lockwood for bringing his rapier to a business dinner, but that was neither here nor there.

You’d held it together for most of the dinner, both of you putting on your best fronts and using your most formal tones to convince the elder couple that you were confident about the case. You found yourself kicking his shins to stop Lockwood from making promises you couldn’t keep regarding the case, and he got you back with condescending remarks, correcting you when he disagreed with how you presented the case. Altogether though you thought you were pretty subtle, and the two of you were presenting a model image of your respective companies.

However, when you shot Lockwood one of your saccharine smiles under the pretence of friendliness — he’d just undermined your authority again and stolen the best piece of dessert that you were going for, as if he didn’t torture you enough — you were shocked to hear the woman across from you laugh.

“It’s so wonderful to see you two bicker like an old married couple,” She giggled, and both you and Lockwood’s jaws dropped. “I mean, it just seems so dismal to be dating in these times, but you two give me hope that the future generations will still be able find love despite the Problem.”

“And clearly you’re both sensible kids, which is very important for a lasting relationship. Working for two different agencies would surely diffuse tensions around all those dangerous missions and such you agents partake in — except for this one, of course,” Her husband chimed in, jolly glint in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, but it’s important to remember to be kids as much as you can. But you two playing footsies all night has proved that you’ve got that covered too. Silliness is just as crucial as being sensible, it’s how a marriage stays fun. We would know, we’ve had fifty odd years of it!”

You didn’t know how to react, and by the looks of it, Lockwood didn’t know either with his signature smile frozen on his face. First of all, you were not playing footsies with Anthony Lockwood — the bruise forming under his trouser leg was testament to that. Second of all, you had no idea how the woman could get your dynamic so incredibly wrong. Aside from all of Lockwood’s double edged comments and cocky corrections of basically anything you said, the two of you had hardly addressed each other directly all night, you might as well have been strangers!

The dinner wrapped up very soon after. The couple had taken a liking to you both and so trusted your teams to handle the case as you saw fit, only making you promise to take a romantic weekend getaway (or honeymoon! As the woman had remarked optimistically) to the hotel once it was completely ghost-free and renovated. For once you were glad that Lockwood was unable to ever shut up as he took the lead, seeming to believe that corroborating their assumption was the best choice in your situation. You weren’t sure you were entirely comfortable with lying to this sweet old couple, but you couldn’t deny that Lockwood was a better talker than you, and would probably handle the situation with more delicacy.

That was how you ended up being led out of the restaurant with Lockwood’s hand on the small of your back. You wondered if he’d ever done this before, and you didn’t know if you meant for a real or pretend relationship. You both said your goodbyes to the couple, flattered by the abundance of compliments they paid you — both personally and professionally, assuring you they were overjoyed to have your teams work the case. Just before they stepped into the cab the woman took you aside.

“Hold onto a boy who looks at you like that,” She said, “You might fight, but when he’s this in awe of you, you’ll find a way to make it work.” You didn’t know how to respond to that and so simply nodded, offering a weak smile as she slid into the back seat of the taxi.

That left you and Lockwood alone. You just looked at each other for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

“Do you mind if we walk home? I really fancy some air right now.” Lockwood easily agreed, looking rather flustered himself, and off the two of you went into the night.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but you could tell he wanted to. Lockwood always chewed his lip when he was holding something back, he had since he was a child. You sighed and asked him, knowing it was the only way to make the habit go away.

“Nothing,” He said, “Just weird. Don’t you think?”

“Nah,” You lied, “Old people just say things like that all the time. They don’t care to know the full picture.”

“Which is?”

“We hate each other.” Hurt flashed through his eyes, but it didn’t make you feel as good as it did the first time you’d said it.

“I don’t hate you,” He said quietly, almost a whisper.

“What?”

“I don’t hate you. We don’t get along anymore, but I don’t hate you. I hope you know that.” You faltered for a second. Had his use of ‘anymore’ been intentional to create a stabbing feeling in your gut?

“Oh. I guess I don’t really hate you either, if we’re getting sappy about it.” You tried to diffuse the tension growing between you, not wanting it to evolve into a discussion about what estranged you in the first place. Lockwood refused to apologise and you refused to forget, resulting in the bitter stalemate you’d been locked in for the past few years.

Your distraction came with a glance over Lockwood’s shoulder, and the wisp of a phantom coming into view. Lockwood was trying to continue the conversation about your developing relationship, but stopped when he noticed you frozen beside him. Turning slowly he swore when he saw the ghost, going straight for his rapier.

“Put your hand into my coat pocket,” He said, effectively drawing you from your freeze.

“Excuse me?” You whisper-yelled, not in the mood for him to try and lighten the mood with whatever dumb joke he was trying to make.

“Just trust me, I have flares in the inside pocket, just reach in and grab them to defend yourself whilst I keep an eye on them.” Them? You wondered until you looked around, seeing other ghosts start to emerge from the shadows, attracted by the scene you were obviously creating. You wasted no more time, ignoring the intimacy of reaching into Lockwood’s jacket, grabbing yourself a flare for each hand. With you accounted for, Lockwood told you the plan, he’d fight a path back to Portland Row and you’d cover the both of you with the flares, since you weren’t good for very much else with a broken wrist and no rapier.

It was hardly the most intense situation you or Lockwood had been in, but as the primary fighter in the situation, Lockwood was still putting up a good show of skill. Despite yourself you were entranced, admiring the graceful way he moved with the rapier, so in tune with it you’d think it was connected to his arm. As much as you hated Lockwood — well, you’d just established you didn’t actually hate him. As much as you thought he was egotistical and irritating, you had to admit that you really admired him as an agent. Lockwood was undeniably talented with a rapier — it was the fencing competition that got him started in this business in the first place — but to watch him in action was really something special. If you didn’t know better you’d think it was easy for him, he fought with the same ease and elegance he might drink a cup of tea.

You were so caught up in watching him that you hardly noticed when you arrived in front of 35 Portland Row, both luckily un-ghost touched. You were also alerted to the proximity you’d found yourself in. You’d stayed close obviously, not wanting to be left to the ghosts, but when Lockwood had turned to make sure you were still with him safely inside the iron fence, you found yourself only inches apart.

At this distance you were alerted to just how much he’d changed since you were kids. He was taller, obviously, your chin tilted up to make eye contact. He’d lost the baby fat that used to fill out his cheeks, leaving his face defined and bordering on gaunt — you figured he wasn’t taking very good care of himself, judging on the dark circles that seemed by now permanent. Plus something had changed in his eyes. He didn’t look carefree anymore, something dark and tortured lay behind the charming smiles. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was, and you figured you probably had something identical. However, the small scar on his jawline from when you accidentally flung a plastic toy into his face was still there which drew a small smile from you. Something within you urged to run your finger along it, and you felt your fingers twitch before you realised how inappropriate it was. That instinct didn’t feel so bad though when you caught Lockwood’s gaze shift down to your lips. Only momentarily, but you saw it. And worse? The fact that you didn’t mind. After all of these years and the fighting and terrible words shared, here you were maybe about to kiss Anthony Lockwood. You would be disgusted with yourself if you didn’t have so many other feelings fighting their way to the top.

The front door opening was enough to make you both jump apart, you rushing towards it to get as far from Lockwood as possible.

“Hey Lucy!” You called, practically floating up the front steps you were going so fast.

“Uh, hey, guys. We thought we heard you outside so I got sent to check. Had to make sure you weren’t secretly making out or something,” She joked and you forced out a laugh, far too loud to be real.

“As if! Come on, I’m dying for some tea.” You slid past her, rushing straight to the kitchen for a minute to think.

Lucy watched you go suspiciously, before turning to Lockwood.

“What did you do?” She interrogated, all her scary Lucy-ness coming out.

“I don’t know,” Lockwood replied earnestly, still somewhat dazed himself. Lucy gave him one last look up and down before returning inside, leaving Lockwood to fix his smile on before rejoining the two teams.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

The week leading up to your team’s next attempt at the hotel was extremely weird. You and Lockwood hadn’t spoken about what had happened (or almost happened) out in the front garden, but you had had a long talk about your behaviour lately. Over a few cups of tea in the kitchen whilst the rest of your teams were working down in the basement, you managed to both admit you were being dickheads. There was no mention of the underlying factors of your resentment, but you both agreed for the sake of your jobs you would try and be friends, or at least civil. No more bickering, no more picking apart small comments, no more rolling eyes.

It worked for a bit, which was really complicating your emotions. On the one hand, Lockwood was lovely, like he’d always been, and it was kind of nice to be able to talk and joke with him again after so many years, although you both carefully avoided the topic of your personal lives. On the other hand, it made you sad to pretend that everything was fine when you knew what you did. He didn’t think you could be an agent; Lockwood didn’t think you were good enough. And you could both pretend all you liked to be friends, but as long as that was what he thought about you it could never be real. So, while you’d both stopped your rivalry on the surface and gotten on with the case, there was a tension bubbling behind your smiles that both of you could see whenever you locked eyes.

It all came to a head when you started discussing your action plan for the hotel. All seven of you were standing in the basement of Portland Row, staring at a blown up floor plan of the place, little figurines representing each of you. It didn’t take you long to realise that you weren’t being represented.

“Where am I?” You asked, an uneasy silence falling over the room.

“You’re not coming.” Lockwood took the fall, even though it had been a unanimous decision whilst you were on an Arif’s run one afternoon.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t help the biting tone in your words, fury you’d worked hard to conceal bubbling back up to the surface.

“Your wrist—” Sarah tried to reason, but something in you had unlocked and you were not backing down this time.

“You and I know full well if this was a Fittes case I would still be out in the field, broken wrist be damned,” You spat, and you could practically see the gears turning in Lockwood and Lucy’s heads.

“They make you go into the field injured?” Lucy asked, but you weren’t focused on answering her — George nodded for you.

“So who’s barred me from being in the field, on what I might remind you, was my case first.” There were a few moments of silence where no one wanted to be the subject of your anger, but with a resigned sigh, Lockwood accepted the blame.

“It was my idea.” You couldn’t help the frustrated groan that came out of your mouth.

“God, this is so typical! You’ve never thought I was good enough, and now what? Sabotaging my cases? My career? Because you don’t believe in me,” Your voice broke on the last sentence, and you could feel the tears heavy behind your eyes, threatening to fall. You spat a final “Fuck you,” before running up the basement stairs, up to where you knew the bathroom would be for some privacy.

You realised when you were at the top of the stairs that in your time working with Lockwood and Co you hadn’t actually used their bathroom, and didn’t remember which of the closed doors it was. Choosing one blindly you shut yourself inside, finally letting the tears that blurred your vision roll down your cheeks.

You sobbed heavily, indulging all the terrible feelings you’d been concealing for far too long. When the tears weren’t so frequent the setting around you came back into focus, and you noticed with a start you definitely weren’t in the bathroom. The view from the window told you it was Lockwood’s late parent’s bedroom, but the used furniture and messy bed said someone was still living there. Your stomach dropped as you stood, wiping the tears from your eyes. Looking around you were sure this was Lockwood’s room, the suit jacket on the desk chair a dead giveaway. However, a picture frame on his nightstand attracted your attention the most. It was the same one you had in your dorm at Fittes, the one gifted to you by Lockwood’s parents for your birthday. Both of you grinning widely and carelessly joyful. It had been so long since you’d felt like that, even longer since you’d felt it around Lockwood. The thought made your heart ache a bit. His parents would be so disappointed in the two of you. That made you start crying a little again, picking up the photo to examine it closer.

“It’s been there since you left,” A voice from behind you said. “I couldn’t bring myself to put it away.” You hadn’t noticed Lockwood come in and you didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. You put the photo down with a start, turning away to wipe your face dry again.

“Go away, Lockwood. Just give me a minute and I’ll be back downstairs. I overreacted but I need to get over it, okay?” You snapped, praying your face wasn’t still red and splotchy (it was).

“No,” He said, and you turned to face him curiously. “Look, this has gone on long enough and we need to fix things.” You crossed your arms petulantly, a silent challenge for him to fix the damage you believed to be all his. “You said downstairs that I thought you couldn’t be an agent. Why?”

“Don’t you remember when I told you I wanted to be an agent like you?” You scoffed, “You all but laughed in my face! You said I couldn’t do it, that I’d be injured or killed and I couldn’t handle it. I’ve thought about that every case since, you killed my self esteem for years. I thought that if no one else, my best friend should have believed in me. But here I am, youngest team leader at Fittes with the highest successful case rate for my division. All in spite of you.” Lockwood stared at you, and you could practically see his neurons firing and making connections at a million miles an hour.

“That’s not what I said.” You could barely contain your bitter laugh.

“Does it matter? You didn’t believe in me, that’s what’s important.”

“No,” He said, “Because that’s not what I meant at all. I did believe in you — I do. I always have.” You scoffed again as he stumbled over his words. A little grovelling now couldn’t make up for all the years of anxiety and insecurity he’d caused.

“I mean it! If I didn’t believe in you, then what’s all this?” He led you to one of his dresser drawers. Opening it there were a stack of papers and you picked a few of them up, flipping through them. Every single one was about you. Photos from your childhood together, newspaper clippings of your successes throughout the years, the magazine article you interviewed for talking about women in power in the ghost hunting field. Lockwood had saved every piece of media about you, the ragged edges showing he’d ripped them out just to keep them. You remained silent, astonished by this new revelation. You looked up at him, and Lockwood could have cried at the look in your eyes.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be an agent,” He explained, “Or that’s not what I meant. I meant that you shouldn’t, or more clearly, I was saying don’t. Asking. Don’t you remember? My parents were dead, my sister had just died. You were all I had left, and I didn’t want you to jump head first into the most dangerous job in the world. I wanted to protect you.” It was Lockwood’s turn for his voice to break and tears to arise, and you suddenly felt supremely stupid.

“Oh,” Was all you could say. After all of these years; the insults thrown and dirty looks exchanged, all your anger came from a misunderstanding? Not only that, a misunderstanding that twisted such an earnest declaration of care into something so awful.

“But you did it, and you weren’t just any agent,” He laughed slightly despite his emotions, “You were the best bloody agent Fittes has ever seen and all I could do was watch from the shadows and be proud of you silently. Why do you think Lucy knew who you were already? There were pictures of you all over the house before I made them take them all down when I knew we were working together. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“But all the arguing…” You trailed off, still unable to completely process this information.

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean you don’t drive me up the wall, especially when you were being — or I believed you were — deliberately obtuse to my efforts to explain myself. But now I see we were just on totally different wavelengths.” You were really struggling, there was a lot of new information being revealed at such a rapid pace that was completely changing your perspective on your whole adolescence.

“You love me?” Lockwood did laugh this time, loudly and with the same charm he usually had.

“Yes, you idiot. I have since we were kids.”

Oh. Oh. You suddenly felt like an idiot. All of this time you thought that Lockwood believed you were weak, not good enough, not worthy of your successes, when in fact it was the complete opposite. And then you thought about how you felt about Lockwood. How his believed lack of faith in you affected you so much because you cared so deeply about what he thought of you. How you could never bring yourself to look away when he was fighting because he was so completely in his element. How nice it had been to be able to joke around with him during your research. Oh God. You thought you simply respected him and his skills as an agent, but evidently the truth had been just out of reach your whole life.

“Anthony?” He was already looking at you, eyes searching deep into your soul. “I think I might love you too.” Neither of you could help the kiddish smiles making their way on your faces, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly before you knew what was happening. It felt nice to be held by him again, the last time would have been after his sister died. These were much better circumstances.

When you both came down the stairs later, no one mentioned your intertwined hands. You all had a lovely dinner at Portland Row, warmth and laughter filling the space and making you feel at home like you used to when you were a kid.

It wasn’t until you were on your way back to the Fittes dorms that Sarah leaned over to you, mischievous grin on her face.

“Tell me you were making out up there, please,” She giggled, and you shoved her away lightheartedly.

“Shut up,” You laughed, “Besides, it wasn’t making out.”

176 notes · View notes

nc-vb · 10 months

Text

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝

it is said that distance makes the heart grow fonder. instead, it only proves to make the water levels rise a few millimeters.

pairing -> neuvillette x gn!reader

warnings -> sfw, sad neuvi & reader, smooching

notes -> reader's position is a non-canon one

character mentions -> lady furina, fontaine npcs, non-canon melusine characters

wc -> 2.1k

It wasn’t so often that the paths of you and your lover could so seamlessly cross.

As one might assume, governing a nation is not a walk in the park, nor is it a part-time position. It is a twenty-four-seven, midnight-to-midnight, no-matter-how-small-the-crisis job that someone has to take responsibility for— with Monsieur Neuvillette, the Chief Justice, leading the charge of each court proceeding and Lady Furina as its grandest witness, and you, the Maison Ordalie's Directeur Général, helping them to uphold Fontaine’s values and protecting its honour from outside the marbled walls of the Opera Epiclese, Fontaine is a tightly-run ship that seldom allows for its men to enjoy much free time.

Though when it did, finally exiting the realm of your job responsibilities only then meant having to catch up on your neglected home responsibilities— tackling the towers of only partially rinsed dishes; taking out the trash you just knew would be stinking up your foyer since you’d put it there three days ago (which had been the last time you’d even been inside your home); rewashing the load of laundry you’d run out of time to hang up to dry and now was, most likely, moulding from being left in basket, still damp. Ah, and there’s probably so much more you’d been forgetting about.

This cyclic routine of yours had become nauseating a long time ago, only proving capable of transfiguring your already sour mood into something brazenly foul. Typically, there were very few things to exist that could improve it again, but the soft, muffled knocking on your front door by one of your sweet Melusine neighbours when she realized you’d finally returned home, fortunately, is one of those few things.

More often than not, she would bake once the weekend began, knowing you to be around at least long enough to be able to consume perhaps one of her newly learned confections. Somedays, you’d even been lucky enough to sit and enjoy them together whilst enjoying the views from under your shared garden’s gazebo. Being that you lived on the first floor of a three-floored pied-à-terre with three other Melusine living above you, who had also been found lucky to have much more manageable lifestyles, they often cared for the plants of the garden when you could not.

Even luckier for you, though, was having such kind neighbours that would go out of their way to take care of those aforementioned chores for you. Garden tended; garbage bags mysteriously vanished from the inside stoop; dishes sparkling clean and put away in their respective cupboards; laundry thought a lost cause having been hung up, dried, and folded, awaiting your return for them to be returned to their drawers— none of this had been you. Elsie, your second floor neighbour, had been the culprit, you learn, having rounded up her sisters Elie and Eloie two days prior to your return to surprise you.

“Have you seen Monsieur Neuvillette lately?” Elsie inquires, looking up to you from her place on your stoop. When you step aside to let her in, she shakes her head, lavender-coloured ears whipping about. “I won’t be staying. I only came to say hello and to give these to you.”

“Oh, I see,” you say, accepting the circular tin she raises toward you. Cracking it open a few inches, you smile at the soft treats. “Madeleines! Thank you, Elzie. And, to answer your question, no… I haven’t seen him lately… not even for work.”

“You’re quite welcome. Please find time to share them with the Monsieur today, then. Sedene mentioned he looked restless this morning.”

Without missing a beat, your heart skips one of its own, and your expression twists habitually guiltily. You know full well your absence from him, and vice versa, isn’t to be helped, and that the two of you have had this same conversation many times over. But it never proves to help whenever someone else points out either of your miseries.

You’d always thought the Palais Mermonia to be particularly cold, in company’s sense. It never mattered that it was always full of people, of employees, and even of Lady Furina’s raucous, nails-on-a-chalkboard cackle of a laugh, because you knew its Chief Justice much too well. In spite of his assurances that he would be alright, mind occupied by having to organize new cases and sort out the old ones, it wouldn’t be too long of a time later that you found the skies overcast, and yourself drenched by a sudden downpour.

You supposed, after saying your farewells to Elsie, locking your front door, and making your way to the other end of the Court of Fontaine, that today would be no different. Of course, you remembered to carry your parasol on you this time, accompanied by the tin of fresh-baked madeleines you promised Elsie to eat up. Today, the sky was shining blue, quite literally only minutes ago. So, either something sad or distressing has crossed his path, or, he’d been feeling sentimental again, because it’s raining again.

At the very least, you hope the cause for it to be the latter. This way, it can easily be remedied by you appearing before him, rather than him being consumed by the details of a case so heavily, and for an unspecified period of time. And there have been too many of these as of late that compared to last year’s weather, one might consider the possibility of that prophecy coming true just a little sooner.

Clutching the cookies tighter to you and keeping a firm grip on the handle of your parasol, you hasten across the bridge of the Court Region Waterway untoward the Palais Mermonia, greeting Bruneau and Liath and Plessia as you pass. The main doors are heavy, but even with your arms full, you manage to pry one of them open enough to enter the building.

You don’t both to carry your umbrella with you — it would just be yet another mess the building’s staff would have to trail after you for to clean — and instead shove it into the corner to let it drip there, telling the one guard that you would return for it, and them saluting you in acknowledgement.

Inside the Palais Mermonia has always been a plethora of people, staff and guards and visitors alike, but it is as you’d said— there’s a certain degree of emptiness to it that unsettles you whenever you visit here. Perhaps the grave amount of case files that sat in the archives surrounding Monsieur Neuvillette’s office cast such a dreary spell over the place; having been the one to compile many of them, yourself, for his records, you know firsthand just how dark some of their contents had been— to have to pass those off and share them with your lover had been your major grievance for your position. There’d been nothing you hated more than sitting in during his readings and seeing his expression change from the joy of having you appear to him, to the rage and sorrow of taking in the details of a new case. In those moments, you made sure to hold him a little tighter, a little closer, and speak just a little sweeter to him, a little softer.

The rain would, eventually, subside.

You push open the door to his office as gently as possible, and shut it just as carefully so as not to startle him. Without looking first to confirm, you know that he sits at his desk, pouring over the day’s files and records while it pours outside. His stoicism masked the obvious, though at least, this had been to you only— something was weighing heavily enough on his mind that it’d begun to affect the weather outside. Spending enough time with the man made this easy to tell.

“Neuvillette,” you softly call to him when he’d yet to look up. He jerks slightly in his seat, stiff shoulders losing their tension upon recognizing your voice, and the corner of his lips rise before his eyes can even meet yours.

“My love.”

If having you appear in a room filled with such disheartening unkindness is his relief, yours had always been the advent of a smile on Neuvillette’s face. A rare glimpse of the peace you often find yourself daydreaming over while away, the rush of pure joy you feel at the sight of your lover relishing your presence is nearly akin to the blessing of the gods— you only embrace him tightly enough and hope this feeling reaches him.

Nose pressed into the side of your head, hands and arms cradling you almost impossibly close to him, he breathes you in as deeply as physically possible— yes, his gesture promises.

You raise your chin from his chest and peer up at him, grin lazed and tired but pleased all the same.

“You were finally released from your duties?”

“If it were easy to delegate them to my juniors, it might’ve taken less time to escape,” you muse, hands sliding down his robes to claim his hands in yours— he squeezes them gently, grateful. “No one seems to know how to write a proper report anymore; I feel like I’m grading homework.” Neuvillette laments at the sudden shift in your expression, its complete opposite serving to dim the light in your eyes. By the way your grip tightens beneath his fingers, he supposes it must have little to do with your subordinates, after all.

“It’s… been raining for so long now,” you mumble into him, cookie tin forgotten atop his desk. “I tried to hurry to you, I-I…”

Neuvillette’s hand shifts along one of yours, quick to fit thin, nimble fingers in between your trembling ones. He lifts it, and presses your palm and fingertips into the smooth, porcelain coolness of his cheek— few words are found necessary, you’d both once agreed, as he’d always been a man of sterling gestures over forced sentimentality. In each glance, each touch, each curve of his lips upward, his vehemence never went unnoticed; it’d simply been his brand of love— demure and chaste, but abundant. There’d been no questioning his intention.

“I would sooner give up my position if it meant I could stay at your side at all times, if it meant you wouldn’t cry so much. If it meant you wouldn’t suffer alone.” Neuvillette sighs, a would-be defeated sound if not for remembering who he was standing with. “I… feel useless on days like these when I’m not with you.”

“Justice cannot relent so long as villainy works around the clock. It is our sworn duty to see such justice prevail, after all.” Neuvillette swipes a thumb over your lip, and subconsciously, you lean into his palm almost delightedly. “And you have done so beautifully, and without malice. Every word written in those reports from your juniors, while, written juvenilely, speak of your fairness. Your impartiality. Your ability to see both the truth and the good in all.” He turns his hand, pressing his lips into your palm. “It is admirable. It is my pride for you. It is why, as much as I wish you could stay at my side, as you said, I hope you can see the value and honour you bring in helping to protect Fontaine. I can’t imagine many else doing so well as you do.”

You raise your free hand back up to his chest, and push. A fraction of a single second is spent wide-eyed and confused until Neuvillette’s legs hit one of the many couches within the four walls of his office, and he is forced off-balanced into its plush. Your other hand gone unrelinquished, you fall with him, knees parted to either side of his and dipped deep into the cushion; Neuvillette’s breath hitches unnoticeably, yet at your sudden embolden proximity, his pale cheeks burn with vermillion.

“I’m supposed to be comforting you, you know,” your murmur.

A kiss to his temple, to the swell atop his cheek, to the button of his nose, and to the cleft of his lip— you lower yourself into his lap, parted lips dropping to slot between his and hands rising to thread into his strands of falling starlight, pulling him ever closer into you. It’s not enough, simply consuming him. You only wish to drown his sorrows, by whatever means necessary and however possible. If this means only having mere moments to appear before him, to deliver him sweets and treats of various kinds — not including yourself, of course — and holding him as tenderly as you do now for what seconds you must have left before having to leave again—

Tongue posed at his lower lip, your gaze is brought to the side and through the glass of the window. The rain. It stopped.

“And I can promise… you’re doing a fine job of it, my love.”

#favoniuslibrary #neuvillette x yn #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #crying bc i'm posting this at 445am and i have to be up for work in 2 hours but i wanted it DONE tho there was more i wanted to say in it..#hope neuvi liked the cookies tho #✦ nc vb.#neuvillette

527 notes · View notes

nexysworld · 4 months

Text

Summary: He warned you not to run. The consequences of trying to escape were made very clear - but you didn't listen, did you? Now you get to suffer for the choices you made. Alternatively: lots of monsterfucking with true form Sukuna.

Pairing: Sukuna x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, Smut, MDNI, Monsterfucking, True Form Sukuna, Two Dicks 4 arms baby, canon typical violence (not to reader), descriptions of death/blood (not reader), dub-con (reader is into it by the end), tongue fucking, oral, Unprotected Sex, reader gets referred to as a pet, no use of y/n.

Read on A03 || Ask Box || Masterlists

AN: Similar to my Toji fic, this is the first time writing for Sukuna. Hope I did it justice.

“There you are, Little One.”

The deep gravelly voice tickled at your eardrums before the wall behind you crackled and exploded, sending debris shooting past you. Outside light from the city lit up what was left of the now destroyed building, where you sat on the floor stunned. Heartbeat in your throat, you dared to stand, forcing your stiffened body to turn and face him. “I told you, if you tried to run, I’d kill every person in the city.” He smiled lazily, recounting his own words, amused as you stiffened where you stood. He stepped closer, each footfall making the air feel heavier around you, forcing you still. “And yet you ran anyway.” His large hand cupped your cheek before patting it softly, the way one might a puppy on its head. “I can’t imagine you believed you could get away. So I assume you were looking for a display of power.”

‘No. No. Tell him no. He’s wrong.’ Your brain worked the words up, bouncing around your skull desperate for escape before halting and dying in your dry throat. Not so much as a whimper came out.

“And since you want to see my power so badly. I saved the finale of the show for last.”

It only took a second for him to leap from the floor of the building to the ground below, you in tow under his arm. The weightless feeling, you always hated it. Disorienting and nauseating. The world blurred, colors mashing together as wind whistled in your ears.

He tossed you onto the ground like a sack of potatoes, knocking the wind out of you. You pushed yourself up, the pavement rough under your palms. Not ready to make eye contact with him again, you scanned side to side. The city was in ruin, smoke and flames curling into each other as they danced around blocking the sky. What wasn’t burning or sparking with torn electrical lines, lay crumbled around. Specks that looked like ants littered the debris, your stomach threatening to come up once it occurred to you the ants were people. Bodies. Everywhere. The familiar feeling of saliva pooled in your mouth, you desperately swallowed it down, face tensing as you willed the feeling back. “You’re missing the most important view, Little One.” He cooed, turning your form to face the opposite direction. “N-no.” The words left you in an airy whisper. Three friends, lined up in front of you, forced to kneel down in a respectful bow. “Yes, actually.” This time he nuzzled into your neck from behind. “Look at them.” “Y-you can’t.” Your eyes squeezed tight, unwilling to look at the scene before you. “I can.” He brought his hand around you, squeezing your face to lift your head, holding you in position. “Open your eyes.” When you didn’t comply, he squeezed harder, a forceful grip that made you feel like your bones would shatter beneath his fingers. “Open your eyes, or I’ll start with their toes. Make you listen to their cries of pain.”

You complied this time, cracking one eye open, then the other. “Now then, who first? You pick.”

“I can’t –” You’d never heard a scream like that before. Sharp, like nails on a chalkboard before it died off into a pathetic sob. To prove his point, your friend’s foot was removed from her body, making her almost fall out of her bowing stance. In a panic you brought your shaky hands up to point at the same girl, not wanting her to suffer. “H-her.”

You could feel the way his smile widened as his cheek was still pressed against yours. You saw two painted fingers wave just slightly in your peripheral, and the boy next to her split open all over, the piece of him collapsing to the ground. You tried to turn your face again, but his grip held firm. “Wh-why?” “You didn’t ask properly, pet.” His words felt like ice in the pit of your chest.

Footless girl, fear-stricken, tried to run for it as she saw the remnants of the boy in the middle. A pathetic sight as she scrambled to her good leg, using a street rail to try and hop, blood trailing behind her. The same flick of his fingers, and her good leg was gone. Determined she continued, desperately clinging to the rail, pulling her torso along. “Yes, yes! Keep going, see how far you get.” Sukuna laughed as he watched the spectacle.

Her breath was so ragged you could hear it even at this distance, shocked that she could move at all with the blood loss. Her movements slowed as she reached the end of the rail. “Looks like you have nowhere else to go.” He mused.

And like that, she was gone too – head disappearing into thin air as if it never existed at all.

“And like that I’m bored.” He said flatly, your final friend combusting into a gush of blood before disintegrating. He didn’t even give the boy a second look. Your knees wobbled, if not for his grip you’d have hit the ground, brain too overstimulated to process. He said something to you, but it didn’t register, your vision blinking in and out before you ragdolled entirely.

*******************

You woke some time later, no real way to gauge how long – head heavy on your neck. Pawing at your sleepy eyes, you looked around not noting anything familiar. It was an older house, tatami flooring with a sliding door that was opened into the backyard. You could hear the thwacking of the bamboo fountain as it filled and emptied itself. Greenery and moonlight encompassed your vision, no sign of the city wreckage you’d been subjected to earlier.

Scanning down at yourself, you had been scrubbed clean. Tattered clothes replaced with a soft bathrobe, hair brushed and smelling of flowers. It felt wrong. Pampered and preened like a prized doll while your friends, no, while all of those people suffered. You wanted to scrunch up and cry, red faced and ugly. Force the world away while you wallowed.

“He wishes to see you now.”

Uraume’s voice made you startle, skin prickling as if it could fling itself right off your skeleton. You hadn’t noticed her presence or when she’d even entered the room. She didn’t give you the opportunity to reply either, yanking you up by the sleeve of the robe – your leash. You had no choice but to follow, using your hands to hold the fabric closed, not wanting to expose yourself to her, or the cold air. She took a hard right down a long hallway, then a sharp left – headed to the mainroom of the home, in the dead center. She finally let go of you in order to slide the double doors open, pushing you forward, and sliding them shut behind you. He sat in the center of the room on top of some colorful blankets. He was too far away and the room too dimly lit for you to see him clearly – but you could tell something was off. “Come here.” He commanded, head resting in his palm.

It was an automated response as you stepped forward, one foot, then another. A puppet on strings, hobbling forward. As his features came into view, you understood now why he looked so off. He looked less like Shuji now, that was for sure. An extra set of muscular arms were folded atop his lap, just beneath the regular ones. All four of his eyes opened, the left ones glowing red, skin distorted around them.

You froze. Just for a second, fear forcing your legs to bring you forward again until you were standing before him. Your hands kept their death grip on your robe, nearly hugging yourself. Sukuna straightened up where he was seated, all four pupils locked onto you. “What’s the matter, Little One? Don’t like my true form?”

You shook your head, not sure if the right answer was the truth or not. Luckily for you, it was. He laughed, amused by your timidness. “Very well. But I think you’ll grow to enjoy it, and all of its offerings soon enough.”

Not a clue what he meant by that, you stayed your position unmoving, staring back at him.

He looked you over one more time, scratching his chin. “Enough of this boring silence. Remove your robe.”

Your face went red at the commend, grip tightening further until the blood left your hands. It took only seconds to decide that the consequences of not listening would outweigh the embarrassed shyness you felt. Slowly, you pulled at the soft fabric – “Too slow.” Wind gusted past you, fabric shredding and hitting the ground, leaving you in nothing but the sleeves. You didn’t need to look down to know you were bare before him, your arms finally opening enough to let the remaining scraplets of fabric slide off of you and onto the floor. It was too reminiscent of your friend, the way he’d hit the ground in pieces.

He reached out one of his bottom arms, grasping at your arm to tug you forward into a sitting position on his lap. Both lower limbs came to rest on your hips, holding you there. His top left hand came up to your face, stroking it gently with the back of his hand. “Beautiful, pet. I haven’t seen a human with such captivating features in a very long time.”

His free hand snaked up your side before kneading at your breast. He pinched at your nipple, tweaking the perky bud, playing with it. The urge to squirm had you attempting to move your hips, still halted by his firm grip, the rest of your body still tense. “Hmm. You’re too stiff.” He let go of your breast, leaning back on his top hands to look at you again. “Relax.” “I can’t.” Your bottom lip wiggled, eyebrows coming together as you looked down at the monster beneath you. You weren’t sure what you wanted more, to cry, or to wail on him after everything. But you knew better than to do either. “You have nothing to fear from me, at least not now.” He added, releasing the grip on one half of your hips, rubbing your lower back tenderly. “Or maybe, it's not just fear.” He pulled you upwards slightly, so you were sitting more onto his stomach as he leaned back. “Regardless, you’ll be pliable soon enough.”

Both his bottom set of limbs smoothed up your sides, kneading at your breasts, thumbs rubbing gently over your nipples. Your toes curled slightly at the sensation, hands reaching forward to brace yourself against his chest. “That’s it.” He cooed. “Feels good, yes?” He replies, continuing to tenderly massage your chest. You nod, bringing your sight to his chest, unwilling to look him in the eyes while in such a compromising position. You were angry with yourself for reacting this way to him. You didn’t want him to garner any satisfaction, show any level or pleasure – and yet all it took was him playing with your sensitive tits to get you squirming.

Involuntarily you moved your hips, grinding against his abs to get some relief from the aching sensation between your legs. The hard muscles were an interesting feeling, the ridge of them bumping your clit with enough force to make you hiss with pleasure. His hands gave your chest one last squeeze before pulling away. Something wet lapped at you between your legs, making you whine before jumping with confusion. “You taste delicious.” Your head tilted to the side with confusion, before one of his hands pointed down. You followed the direction of the digit, another wet sensation against your clit made you jolt slightly before you finally saw the culprit. A mouth on his stomach, sitting squarely between his lower abs. It had no lips, but a large pink and slobbery tongue poked out, tasting at you. You watched as it licked against the entirety of your pussy, flat and slippery. It did it again, like licking ice cream. Confliction of disgust and pleasure melded together in your mind, nipples pebbling as your cunt squeezed together craving something to cling to as the muscle continued to attack your clit. The heady whine that flung from your throat made you feel pathetic, but your legs shook from the pleasure, thighs tensing around his stomach. “Much better, Little One.” He praised, sliding you back to where you were seated directly over the mouth’s opening. “Let yourself enjoy the pleasure.” The tongue stopped its movement, drawing away from your bundle of nerves, making you whimper disappointedly. You realized why it had retracted a moment later when it was prodding at your slippery hole before diving in. The sensation was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, much longer and thicker than a human tongue, yet not as stiff as a cock. It wormed inside of you, stretching you out gently, the tip easily finding that special spot inside of you. “A-hng!” You whined out feeling yourself cinch around the muscle that continued tasting your insides. His hands took purchase on your sides, grinding you down onto him again while his tongue fucked you. Your own hands grasping at his arms for support while he moved you effortlessly against him. Your breasts bounced with the movements, the tension between your legs threatening to snap at any moment. He could sense it before you. “Good. Good pet, cum for me.” He commanded, the tongue flattening itself inside of you against the spot that had you seeing stars. His hands moved you faster against him. Like a well trained dog, you heeded the command – white hot pleasure exploding from your core before spreading out reaching the ends of your nerves, skin tingling.

Panting, you let go of his arms, falling backwards from the heaviness in your limbs. He caught you easily, sitting up again while he cradled you before placing you down on the bedding in front of him. There was a tent in his pants, the large indentation straining against the fabric. Your eyes stayed glued to it, half lidded as your pussy leaked spit and juices onto the blanket.

By the size of the bulge you could tell he was big. Not surprising given he was barely human. What did make your eyes widen into saucers, was the sight of him undoing his fabric belt, freeing himself. One fat cock sprung free, the tip drooling with beads of precum already, twitching and pulsing with need. It was massive, but human-enough. Below it though, a second one emerged, equally as large and leaky as the one above it.

You stared at them, intimidated, fearful. “Now lets see.” He stroked the top one a few times, more precum pearling at the tip before dripping off onto the bottom one. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to have fun in this form. Should I breed you with both of them at the same time?” His top most eyes narrowed as he watched your response.

Wide eyed and afraid – exactly how he liked you. He laughed, taking the massive cock he was stroking and smacked it against your cheek a few times, leaving a sticking trail of precum. The cooling sensation of it, as it dried in the night air made you shudder.

That word though, breed. The thought made you bristle as if this situation couldn't get any more awful. “N-no. Please don’t. I don’t think I.. I don’t want to be bred.” Where the confidence came to speak in this situation, you’ll never know.

He laughed again. “You don’t think? Little One, your job isn’t to think, not anymore. Not ever again. You do as you're told. Like a good pet. Now, come here.” He motioned for you to come closer.

You didn’t move, looking up at him, a small act of defiance – or at least it was supposed to be. The reality was you were too disgusted and petrified to move. Tears were soaking your cheeks again, plopping against your knees before rolling off onto the blanket.

He raised a brow, curious at your reaction. “Why are you crying?” “Because I–” The words stopped again, choked up in a sob. You rubbed your fists against your eyes, swiping them away. “I can’t do this. Not with you. Not after….please.” “Not after what? If you’re going to accuse, do it with your whole chest girl.” “It’s not an accusation! You killed them! You destroyed the city!” You wailed, grabbing the blanket in your fists.

He dropped his cock to put the hand on his stomach, leaning back into a full deep bellowy laugh, clearly finding your outrage and tears hilarious. He finally calmed down, smile still stretched onto his features. His two upper hands cupped your face, the lower ones moving to drag you forward, closer to him, until your noses nearly touched. “Who made me do that?” He asked, mockingly. “Who knew the consequences of her actions, but chose to be a cowardly little mouse anyway?” “B-but –” “No buts. You ran. They died. It’s all your fault, isn’t it?” He cooed, smoothing your tears away from your eyes. “S-stop it.” “Stop what? Reminding you of your own misfortune? Tch. Can’t even take responsibility for your own ineptitude.” He rubbed his nose against yours, a bunny kiss. “This is exactly why you’re not made to think, Little One. Can’t handle more than a thought rattling around up there before you’re in tears. Pathetic. Cute but pathetic.” Yanking you even closer, he had you reseated on him, just above the two appendages between his legs. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll clear all the thoughts out of that head. You’ll only be able to think of me from now on, no more guilt. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?” He pat your head, not giving you the chance to reply, leaning down to lock his lips with yours.

It was a rough kiss, messy, but softer than expected. You let out a “mmph!” into his mouth when you felt the tip of his cock prod against your hole, still slicked up from the tongue. He let go of the kiss, a trail of saliva connecting you both. His hands gripped you, sliding you down over the shaft, the stretch too much at first. As if sensing your discomfort, his abs parted again, the tongue making its way out to flick against you as you adjusted to where you were seated on him. A new gush of slick pooled out of you as your cunt clenched around him while the tongue worked your sensitive bud. It felt good, incredibly good.

“See? Just give in.” He spoke through grunts, beginning to slide you up and down his length. Each time the head of his cock would press against your inwardly sensitive spot before gliding past to kiss your cervix. The tongue below continued to circle and lick at your clit as best it could, following the motions of his hands. You were weightless to him, no harder to manipulate than a fleshlight.

Legs trembling again, your back arched as much as would allow in this position, tensing like a bow string before that familiar tidal wave of pleasure crashed down on you. This time far more intense than before as the tongue kept lapping, his cock kept drilling. Your vision had white spots scattered about, each aftershock of pleasure made you squeal.

Every now and then, the bottom cock would slap at your ass as he glided you back down. The overstimulation nearly hurt with pleasure, a sensation you didn’t think possible to experience. A particularly hard thrust had you whine out again, this time tongue out like a panting puppy, just trying to catch your breath.

He adjusted your positions, this time so your back was pressed into the blanket, legs folded against you. It made the feeling of being full intense, like he was reaching into your ribcage and popping your lungs with each movement. One hand laid flat onto your stomach, splayed out as the outline of his cock disappeared and reappeared beneath it, before pressing down. The pressure was all it took to make you cum again, toes curling, arms clawing at his back to cope with the sensation. Whatever thoughts, worries, memories had been swirling in your brain were dumped out – replaced only with a comforting black numbness as you squeezed your eyes shut, snippets of Sukuna flashing in every now and then.

A few more quick thrusts on his end had him spilling into you, hot cum warming your belly from within, spilling out of your cunt from the overflow. His movements slowed, keeping a pace that was pleasing enough to ride out his own orgasm, but not too quick to overstimulate himself.

Tired. You were tired now, could fall asleep at any moment. He patted your cheek again to get your attention. Lazily, you turned to look at him, chest still heaving as you caught your breath. “I’m not done yet, on your belly.” The thought of getting to blackout on pleasure again made your sore pussy ache again. You beamed him a dopey smile, giggling, before forcing yourself to roll over. You ignored the tired ache in your limbs, lifting your butt up for him. “What a good pet.” He praised. “Learning so quickly.” Sukuna placed the second cock at your entrance, slipping it in easily. He leaned forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into your hip when you yelped. “Marked up, just for me.” He added. “My royal lap dog.”

You nodded eagerly as best you could, face squished down into the bedding. “Bark for me.” “Woof! Woof! Woof!” Humiliation didn’t have a spot in your fucked out blank brain.

“Good girl.” He said through a dry laugh, continuing to pound into you from behind. “Do it again.” “Woof! Woof!”

“Like you mean it, brat.”

You scaled up the pitch a little, bringing your ass back to meet his thrusts. “Woof!”

He rewarded your good behavior by leaning back on his legs, using all four hands to grip you firmly, rabbiting into your tight hole from behind at nearly and inhuman speed. Your front remained flopped forward, mouth open, drooling pooling against your cheek as a fourth orgasm was ripped from you. “That’s it. That’s my good pet, taking all I have to give you.” He grunted one last time before you felt the telltale twitch of the second cock told you he was close. It throbbed inside of you again, pumping more of his seed into your spent hole. He smacked your ass lightly. “What do we say?” “Th-thank you.” You replied dumbly, leg muscles twitching as your lower half slid off of his softening cock and down onto the bed. Your eyes were too heavy now to keep open even as you fought the impending feeling of sleep pulling you down. He said something else, but you didn’t catch what it was, slightly jostled awake by the feeling of being moved.

He’d laid you flat onto him, two arms holding you in place while a third gently stroked your hair and back. The warmth of his chest and the heavy heart beating sound were what did you in, finally letting that happy sinking feeling take over. No thoughts of anything, not even your slain friends as you curled up on him, out like a light.

#Ryomen Sukuna #Ryomen Sukuna x Reader #Sukuna #Sukuna x Reader #Jujutsu Kaisen #Jujutsu Kaisen x Reader #Sukuna x You #Sukuna x Y/N #Jujutsu Kaisen Fanfiction #Fanfic #Oneshot #x reader #Reader Insert #Sukuna jjk #jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader

336 notes · View notes

cherrsnut · 5 months

Text

Hostage - Chapter 1

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 3.8k

Previous // Next

Chapter 1

Silence echoed throughout the walls of the streets, and for once it looked like the town had been abandoned, just like everybody had agreed to up and leave it in search of a better fate than what lay ahead of them, or perhaps all the citizens just simply vanished from sight. The breeze of the sea, just as icy as the ocean, seemed to catch on with the mournful mood of the alleyways. The tense atmosphere signaled the hidden mice to not even voice a squeak out of respect.

Even at the plaza, everyone was quiet, and their usually lively ambiance ceased to exist. Just by the sight of the ocean, you noticed just how the wind didn’t spare any mercy for all the attendees of the Reaping. Making this already melancholic ambiance much harder to ignore.

You looked around and followed behind the big agglomeration of people queuing up, making another step further into Panem’s hell. You pursed your lips together and gulped down nervously, patiently awaiting your death sentence.

There were people everywhere, too many people for it to be so quiet to your liking. Although the great majority were adolescents of the oceanic village, you had previously realized the older folks stood far behind you, their suppressed anxiety over their children’s safety due to the men in white, the Peacekeepers, stance in front of them. Their threatening military pattern removed any type of confidence of any caregiver to sneak in and take their child away without facing heavy repercussions. Stationed there to install and make the proceedings of the Hunger Games go as smoothly as possible from outside the Capitol.

The sea of heads that appeared in front of you made the stage barely visible, but you came across what looked like a Peacekeeper setting up a camera, of course, the Reaping was to be live-streamed. Just on top of a platform and above the stage, you were sure the crystal lenses would take up the view of all the adolescents present.

“Everything will be alright” You turned to look beside you, surprised to find a voice breaking the quietness you were starting to getting used to and assume it would prevail for the rest of the annual event. At least before the cries of children as they break their realization of being chosen, or the burning point of a mother’s distress breaks out in a horrible scream.

You assumed it was a pair of siblings, taking notice of the facial traits to be almost identical. Very blonde locks, both wearing the same warm coffee color eyes with freckles of the same hue spotted all other cheeks. And while they represented themselves in the body of the other gender, you found the boy to look somewhere about your age, his sister was a head smaller than him, and you thought it was plausible she just came of age for the nauseating event.

“I promise” he made an oath to his sister, interlocking his finger with hers. She breathed heavily, the limit of her sanity crossing over a soon-to-be panic attack. She tried to fixate her eyes on him, fighting off a barrier to gain herself back together, a battle she looked like she was going to lose. Her brother, which you finally recalled his name to be Philip, crouched down and enveloped her in his arms. An arm protectively around her back, while the other moved around her head in an attempt to massage it to calm her down.

Even in his arms, the little girl was visibly trembling, probably both from the fear and anxiety, that were purging an acidic bile up to her taste glands. The little girl’s forehead pressed on her brother's chest, finding comfort in his protective body.

“Just breathe deeply, ‘kay?” he reassured. His hard fingers were full of little lines of scars, some of which you could recall treating at the herbal shop, and crept up to hold her face. Philip always found himself surrounded by District’s 4 aquaculture, and it was bound to happen after long shifts handling the wires of the nets to eventually cause multiple physical damages.

Philip removed himself from the little girl and looked at her features. She struggled to do so, every time she tried she’d be under attack from another uncontrollable shaking. She could only grab onto his shirt, the shaking becoming increasingly harder with each passing second. The hand that was used to the hard labor of the sea, wrapped itself on top of his sister’s hand, much bigger in comparison. The warmth of their bond calmed her down just slightly, and he went to kiss her forehead affectionately.

“I’m here” his whisper was carried by the breeze that brushed her ear, which tickled her slightly. Upon noticing your heavy stare on them, Philip looked over to you. Both of your eyes interlock with each other. You tried to give him an encouraging smile, but the heavy situation still weighed you down, and your smile came across as a sad one. One that showed pity and understanding toward his sister.

He gave you a knowing look, before his eyes went to his sister, and suffocated further in his embrace to help her to get back to the queue. “I’m here” he repeated.

The stern voice of a woman, announcing a “next” brought you back to reality. You’d forgotten just how the line always moved rather fast, especially so when you had a tendency to drown yourself in self-pity. You were always alone while queuing up to sign in, and never had people you called friends. But you were content with the short company clients or injured patients gave you, just like Edna’s until she died. But you did wonder how it would feel in this moment to be in the company of another person, would you cry together? Maybe hug each other? Or maybe just stay silent unable to utter anything that wasn’t bitter. But this year you felt differently, you wished for the little girl’s safety just like your own.

You gave your hand to the Peacekeeper just as you told her your name, and she took it with the rubber texture of the black-gloved hand of hers. The way she held it was rather rough, but you understood it as wanting to keep you completely still for the pinch in your finger and not mess it up. The end of the buzzing sound coming from the long mechanism suggested the dna withdrawal was finished, accompanied by the slight pain of the tiny nick, so small you’d never consider it an injury.

The Peacemaker guided your finger, a blood drop visible forming, and pressed it on top of the inky empty box drawn on a piece of paper. Your name was attached next to it, with your general information written in smaller letters below it. You assumed the pieces of paper that were attached just like a book, were the enlistment of the possible Tributes of your District. But then again, you didn’t care enough and let that thought drift away just as fast as it came.

Another mechanism, this one much larger and formed just like a box had been stepped and decided to stay in that flat shape. A laser came from the bottom, scanning the blood accompanied by the noisy sounds of mechanical beepings. When it was all set, the Peacemaker simply bid you farewell and called for the child behind you.

You left defeated, another step closer to the selection process. The idea of you being chosen terrified you, and you could feel the anxiety taking hold of your bones. You prayed again in self-pity. Edna always mentioned the idea of sirens existing, and while you never truly believed in it, you prayed for them to listen to you. Every time, at the Reaping, for the past four years you prayed for them.

With an exasperated sigh flying out, you walked around the plaza trying to find a place to stand by and wait for your trial. That was until a hand tapped your shoulder and a raspy voice called out your name. You turned, even more surprised to find Philip along with his sister, both holding hands.

You looked at the boy standing in front of you, expectant as to why he had called you. He gave a quick glance to the little blonde beside him before he spoke.

“Hey, umm, you mind taking Emi with you?” your eyes trailed off to the girl, finally being able to give her face a name. Emi looked at the floor, a mortifying expression coming across her face.

“It’s just-” he tried to continue his explanation.

“Sure” you smiled at the girl gripping onto dear life to her brother. You took out your hand for her, and with unsettlement pumping over her brain, she brushed her finger across yours.

“So, Emi is your name” The statement oddly sounded like a question, but you wanted to make her feel more comfortable even in this terrible situation. To communicate with her, and make her see you as someone she could trust momentarily before she would hopefully turn back with her brother.

Her crystal eyes moved up to you and murmured an mhm before walking indecisively toward you. She looked at the ground when you told her your name, but you couldn’t feel any type of annoyance by it, not when her hands were trembling exaggeratedly. So you squeezed hers lightly in an attempt to make her feel more at ease in your presence.

Philp sighed and you noticed the heavy burden that lifted off of him. He gave you a small smile, the one he hadn’t reciprocated before.

“Thank you” his eyes shone, which only suggested to you the tears he wanted to pour out in that moment. You empathized with him, he probably didn’t have much time to take in the Reaping for himself, and rather give away his attention to his sister who needed him to be strong in her stead. A thought appeared one which you respected and showed sympathy for the mental work they put in for the sake of the younger family members.

“Don’t mention it” you smiled with him. You rolled your eyes at the girl holding your hand, and with the same smile, you muttered. “Let’s go Cupcake”

“Hello Cuties” Sing sang the woman on stage. Her peculiar fashion style nationally known for the Capital’s trends flied around with her sparkling personality. With the color theme of purple pink and pale yellow, shades lighter of the sunflower petals, she wore a design that resembled a kimono. The notable way how the coat of the fabric was placed on top of the other to keep it in a steady place, and with the addition of the belt, covering the whole of the waist until just below her chest, as a means to keep the clothing stuck and not untie itself. The completely yellow obi, name of the kimono belts, was adorned with some sort of lacing at the top and bottom of purplish-dyed sheep wool, with the addition of a pink bow wrapped around the obi.

The star of the fashion design was the sleeves. With a hole showing the shoulders and a few inches down the arm, the rest was covered in the beautiful colors of the spring. With many odd shapes and colors on the fabric. Which later opened up its sleeves up to three feet long. It gave off the impression of wings when the arms were pulled up. The rest seemed to just be decorations around her figure, from a fabric choker of purple as well as the striking head ornaments of the same color scheme presented.

Her voice was too optimistic for your liking, and the singing tunes brought up were as distasteful as her color choice.

“Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be in your favor” The District 4 escort celebrated baring her teeth out with that pink tint across her lips, the same tint that decorates her eye shadow.

“But before we begin, The Capitol has brought us a special film for us” she again songed, and you were already starting to be filled with the irritation of her voice.

Emi was still holding your hand. She had kept a close distance from you, practically stuck to your form from the moment we were placed here. She tugged onto your long skirt, and you looked down to find her somber eyes looking up at you. Although you agreed to stay by her side, her added melancholy was starting to affect your already distressed mood, and even though you tried to calm her down she seemed focused on her overwhelmed state.

You smiled at her, with the film starting in ahead of you.

“War. Terrible war” You rolled your eyes up while making a hand movement in a sign to poke fun at President Snow’s repeated speech. Your mock seemed to finally crack a little smile on the little girl, and you were pleased to see her relax a tiny bit.

The film carried on, and your attention span had been but all gone. The Hunger Games were a devastating reality, that had already taken hundreds of children away. You couldn’t see the point of this little speech anymore, and right before the selection process at that. And it seemed Snow was trying to ridicule the Distrct’s anxiety. It exhausted you to no end to have to listen to the same words and the same images, and it got you wondering just why it had to be the same recycled film every single year.

You thought of Emi again. The very same thought appeared every single year, just why were we taking the consequences of a revolution none of us partook in? The only person that you knew who was alive from when the Revolution was still afloat was Edna, and she still lamented that she was just a child when it ended, and luckily enough she never got chosen as Tribute. And that thought only led to helplessness because even though it wasn’t in the least bit fair, there was nothing you nor anyone who would be able to do anything about it.

“The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness” It was the voice of a pragmatic leader giving a speech, sprinkled with sentimental music that made your stomach stir uncomfortably. The crease in your eyebrow knitting as you tried to forget the nauseating feeling from inside you, represented exactly in your self turmoil, you were disgusted.

You gulped down hard as the film finally ended. You gave Emi a quick squeeze to comfort yourself. She only gave you a pointed glance before directing her attention to the colorful escort on the stage.

“Alrighty. Now the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman” she informed, as you bit back your tongue to correct her misuse of words of man and woman for children.

“For the honor of representing District 4 in the 67th Annual Hunger Games” she continued. She then started walking over the large crystal sphere. Inside laid the names of all the girls that had been forced to sign in, inside a folded piece of paper. “Ladies first” she giggled further.

Her hand moved around the pieces of paper messily scattered around the sphere before choosing one. She quickly picked it up to her eye level, a sneaky smile appearing on her face.

You let out a breath, you had done your best to try and calm your nerves. The anxiety was way past the boiling point, and you swore your legs felt drunk.

The escort walks back to the microphone, and the only thing missing for her to further mock your emotions was to make a little dance around the platform, kick up some moves, or simply jump in excitement.

She opened the piece of paper. Your heart beating fast in the back of your throat, as another wave of anxiety filled every single pore in your skin. Her long nails made it difficult for her to open it, and as time passed on, you could feel yourself growing insane. You internally cursed at the escort, every cell in your body screaming at her to just finally read it. And before you knew it she called out a name, your name.

Everything just stopped in you, and if it weren’t because you’d be a dead corpse from organ malfunction, you could’ve sworn your heart just stopped. Your eyes were locked on the colorful woman, but you weren’t looking at her. You were staring into space, you were trying to assimilate the situation you just got yourself involved. But you couldn’t, there was something in you, and that something didn’t connect the wires that you were going to die sooner than you hoped for. The idea of being picked for the annual event was always at the back of your mind, what would be your reaction? You thought that rationally, you’d be upset, maybe crying as well, or perhaps straight screaming and begging to do a re-drawl.

But you weren’t, you were simply still. The look of every girl that had known you looking at you, and it wasn’t melancholy that invaded their intense gaze, but rather they were grateful they weren’t the ones chosen. As hypocritical as it made you, you were mad at them. Your internal anger was justified in your eyes, maybe because you needed someone or something to be mad at. But no matter how irritated you were, you’d done the same in their stead the previous three years you had attended the Reaping.

With another exhale, you came to yourself. You needed to get on the stage. You walked out to the corridor, but barely made a step when Emi tugged back on your fingers. Her eyes were scanning your facial expression. And the way she spoke your name suggested to you, she was beyond her shocked stage.

You gulped another chunk of saliva and got to your knees. You smiled at her, as brightly as you could force it out. And it occurred to you to close your eyes, because you knew you couldn’t force a reassuring look without the fear lurking behind it.

The military steps of the Peacekeepers echoed within every corner of your body so quickly and in a rushed matter. You kissed her forehead, as gentle as a flying feather, to put her at ease.

“I’ll be fine, Cupcake,” you told her as confident as possible, trying not to let the fear accumulated in you spill over the beautiful young girl. And so you stood up, another quick smile flashing over your face before walking the hall that would send you straight to a living Hell. You kept muttering those words “I’ll be fine” as if you wanted to console yourself unknowingly. For now, if lying to yourself is what kept you sane enough to act normally, even suspiciously so, you’d go for it. And once the situation avalanched over your entity, you could collapse and lament for yourself on your own.

You held your head high while walking, your form an empty shell void of any emotions. The very pink hue colored on the escort’s face became clearer with each step, she smiled brightly at you. The wrinkles shown at the corner of her eyes signal of her enjoyment.

“Wonderful! We have our female Tribute for District 4!” playfully expressed the escort, looking straight at your eyes. You walked up the stairs, with Peacekeepers in tow behind you.

The escort held up a hand to you, helping you get up faster, so she could back to her selecting process, although this time it would be a boy. All in her chillingly joyful manner.

Without hesitation, she placed the mic in front of you.

“So, dear, tell me, was that your sister?” she asked you, although it seemed she was asking on behalf of the whole Capitol.

“No…” your voice was weak, the intimidating audience just looked up at you which worsened your nauseating bitter taste. The escort eyed you, waiting for any further explanation.

“She’s my… friend” Her impatience only made your voice quieter, which she must have been content that your husky and throaty tone was speaking through the loud microphone.

The sudden realization came crashing now. Seeing the look of pitied people just below you, wishing you luck before you left for the Capitol, filled the shining of water in your sclera and, you hand was lightly shaking beside your thigh.

“Everyone, please! A round of applause for our lovely Tribute!” she called your name again. Her clapping was soon stopped at the awkwardness that she was the only one celebrating this. You breathed in and out heavy air.

“And now, for the gentlemen” announced the woman standing beside you. Of course, she was trying to salvage the situation. You looked at everyone, and they were all looking back at you. You were lucky enough to connect eyes with Philip, and while you never considered him to be a friend, you were happy to see a familiar face. He was the only one to provide you with that comfort. He looked like he wanted to say something through his eyes, and you responded with a tear swimming down your cheek, and following its path further down your neck.

“Vito Rosechaser” was called. The look of another adolescent, about your age or older roamed around his fellow friends, that gave him a sad look. He opened his mouth, surprised, and as the situation sunk deep into him, he walked down the hall, again with the Peacekeepers around him like frustrating flies.

Just then you’d taken in his appearance, from afar his eyes seemed dark just like his hair. Big build and muscles that suggested he’d worked hard in his life, and you lamented that he propably didn’t deserve this.

You looked at Vito at the end of the stairs, and his eyes briefly grazed yours before he stopped to look at the public. The mic was stolen from you.

“And finally” the hyper tone echoed throughout the plaza, loud enough to quiet down the crashing waves of the beach nearby. The breeze cold as snow felt like it had punctured your veins, and that icy hurt traveled through your body.

“Our Tributes from District 4” her white teeth never failed to show at the camera.

“Come on you two, shake hands” The oddly dressed woman grabbed onto the hems of your and Vito’s shirts, encouraging you two to do the action and let it be over. She stepped back, and the both of you looked at each other before gripping both of your hands.

“Happy Hunger Games!” she sang happily. It echoed in every single rib, deep inside your abdomen. A voice you’d never forget, you were sure of that. Even long after the Games, if you’d even be able to survive, you’d be waking up with this chilling lullaby she was singing.

“And remember, may the odds be ever in your favor”

Previous // Next

#finnick #thg finnick #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x you #the hunger games #thg #thg x you #thg fanfiction #thg x reader

153 notes · View notes

nova-amor · 8 months

Text

𓈒∘☁︎ ◜ 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 ◞

𝐜𝐰 — 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭, 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐮 [𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠], 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐢-𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 [𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦], 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 [𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥]

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 𝟐.𝟓𝐤

house parties had never really been your thing. all throughout high school and college, you had preferred to stay tucked away in your room, binge-watching a movie series or reviewing lesson sheets while your friends spent their friday and saturday evenings at the nearest party. there had been no strong appeal to spending your nights out drunk, sandwiched between sweaty bodies while the worst techno music overwhelmed your eardrums.

and, it wasn't like your friends made fun of you or tried to pressure you to tag along to such parties either— they had quickly learned to respect your recluse behavior and would often just send you videos or photos throughout the night to keep you in the loop, which you always found enjoyment out of.

so, it definitely came as a shock to everyone when you had willingly volunteered to join them for a night out one random evening. you had elected yourself as the designated driver for the evening, which they had very much appreciated with the rising price increases in third-party riding apps. upon arrival at the party, you had slipped away into the backyard, attempting to escape from the nauseating aroma of cheap booze, sweat, and other foul body odors.

the music was also a bit quieter outside, fewer people to interact with, and a soft golden glow from the porch lights that was just enough to illuminate the texts from the book you were reading. having found peace amongst the chaos of the house party, you were thoroughly enjoying the moment up until it was rudely interrupted by the host.

a ice cold liquid spilled atop your head, a high-pitched screech of surprise eliciting from the depths of your throat as the sickly sweet scent of booze-filled your nostrils. your vision was blurred, your head sweeping left and right before your sight finally landed on the culprit behind you.

“oh, shit, i'm so sorry,” satoru gojo gasped, his artic blue eyes forming into the size of saucers. it was as if he was frozen into place, muscle tensed and pale cheeks heated up with a scarlet tint. “shit, i didn't mean to spill— someone bumped into me and— fuck, i'm so sorry—”

his rambling pissed you off, the back of your hands now stained with the sticky substance of beer and makeup as you wiped your eyes. your hair was soaked in beer, along with your shirt and bra. you glared up at him, streaks of black mascara and eyeliner smudged around your eyes and down your cheeks.

“where's the bathroom?” your voice was icy, laced with venom as you abruptly stood up from the bench. satoru was barely able to slip a word out, his pink lips agape and towering frame dwarfed beneath the intensity of your gaze. he pointed in a random direction upstairs, earning a roll of your eyes and a shove to his shoulder as you brushed past him.

you tore open the sliding door, the gross aroma of alcohol and sweat making your lips curl in disgust as you squeezed through the large crowd. you pushed and shoved past people, earning a few glares and under-the-breath snarls as you made your way upstairs.

finally, finding the bathroom, the golden overhead light illuminated the yellowish splotches that decorated your white t-shirt and smears of your makeup, effectively ruining your evening. as you stripped yourself of your top, there was a sharp knock to the bathroom door before a familiar white-haired man poked his head through the door.

“fuck, i'm so sorry,” satoru apologized as he stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. you peeked at the black hoodie held in his fist while you rubbed a damp washcloth around your cheeks, the act smearing more makeup around than actually removing it. “i'll send you money for the shirt, just tell me how much it was. and, i grabbed you a hoodie, it might be a bit big on you but at least it's better than nothing, right?”

you glanced between the hoodie satoru was clinging to and his eyes. you had never seen satoru look so afraid before, most likely because you rarely got angry at anyone. and, whenever you did, you allowed actions to dictate rather than your words.

“i don't want your money,” you sneered at him, your face finally rid of all your makeup. you tilted your head forward, rinsing your hair beneath the rushing cold water spewing from the faucet. “you can just leave the hoodie on the toilet, thanks.”

satoru gnawed at his bottom lip, fixated on the curve of your back as you bent over the bathroom counter. his gaze was shameless, heat pooling into his pelvis as he inhaled a sharp breath of cold air through his nose. he sat the hoodie down on the basin of the toilet, taking a step closer to you.

“let me help you,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as his fingers engulfed yours, aiding you in your attempt to rinse all of the beer from your hair. his pelvis was pressed softly to your behind, his warmth radiating through the layers of fabric between the two of you. “i'm really sorry again, just wanna make it up to you. i'll do whatever it takes, just don't want you t' be mad at me.”

a shiver runs down your spine— either from the weight of satoru's words, the cold water cascading down the sides of your face, or both.

“gojo, stop apologizing,” you said as you peeled your head out from under the water. satoru took a step back to grab a decorated towel, allowing you some space between the two of you. “you don't need to make anything up to me; it was an accident, you didn't mean to do it. it's over, let's be done with it.”

as you wrapped the towel around your head, satoru's hands grabbed at your waist— pressing your back up against the bathroom counter while his legs found their place between yours. one of his hands trailed up the curve of your body, ghosting over the swell of your bra-clad breast before cupping your neck, and gently tilting your head backward. his light blue eyes peered down at you, pupils wavering and enlarged. “are you sure there's nothing i can do to make it up to you?”

you gulped, heart pounding a frantic rhythm as the temperature of the bathroom seemed to rise from his close proximity. "gojo," your voice was breathy, the lingering remnants of anger melting into a puddle within your chest as the pad of his thumb caressed the hinge of your jaw.

“stop calling me gojo, angel,” satoru’s head dipped down, mere centimeters away from your face. it felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore.

“and let me make it up to you the best way i know how,” half-lidded eyes glancing between your lips and your eyes. the tip of his nose brushes against yours, your head growing light from the intensity of the moment. “would you allow that?”

with a soft nod of your head, satoru's lips press against yours— capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue pushing past the seam of your lips, stealing the very air from your lungs. his hand squeezes at your waist, the lingering sweetness of alcohol flooding your mouth. satoru guides you over to the toilet, his long legs spread out as you sit upon his lap.

the wet sounds of your lips fill the bathroom's void, the booming noise of dance music fading away as you surrender pieces of yourself to satoru. his hand trails up from your neck to cup the back of your head, smushing your faces together while his other hand kneads at the fat of your ass cheek through your jeans.

“fuck,” his voice is deep and raspy, dripping with lust as your lips devour the sides of his neck with scorching hot kisses and licks. you suckle at the space beneath his ear, ripping a long groan from his throat as you nip at the sensitive spot. “fuck— lemme— can i take your pants off, please?”

“no,” you breathe into satoru's ear, your bruised lips brushing against the soft earlobe. your fingers hook onto the waistband of satoru's pants, barely able to tug them down from your position on his lap. “but you can take yours off.”

you snake down to the bathroom, watching with hungry eyes as satoru peels his pants and boxer briefs off, the fabric pooled at his ankles as you kneel in front of him. his cock is long, thick, and veiny— cockhead flushed a rosy shade of pink, oozing pearls of white pre-cum.

a hushed fuck is breathed out through gritted teeth as your soft hands wrap around the base of his cock, pumping his throbbing length with twists and flicks of your wrists. your lips wrap around the head of his cock, tongue lapping up the white globs of pre-cum seeping from the slit. satoru's hips buck up to chase the warm sensation of your mouth engulfing him, his head dipping back to lean against the bathroom wall, whispers of praise and moans bubbling up from the depths of his throat.

“fuck yes,” his voice is soft, his fingers stretched across the back of your head, guiding your mouth up and down whatever inches you allowed your throat to gobble down. “so wet— mouth feels so good— such a good girl f'me— f-fuck, just like that, god you look like a dream—”

his cock pokes at the gummy wall at the back of your throat, tears streaming down your hollowed cheeks as satoru guides your head up and down his cock in languid movements. he twitches against your tongue, your mind spiraling, completely forgetting how vulnerable you two were to getting caught. at any given someone could open the door and catch you in the act, satoru's pitiful hiccups were drowned out by the thumping of the music downstairs.

“stop stop stop,” satoru peels your mouth off his cock, his muscles tensed from his approaching orgasm. he practically melts at the sight of your teary eyes and flushed lips, drool pooling down the edges of your mouth as you look up at him. “don't wanna cum yet... c'mere here, pretty girl.”

satoru helps you from off the floor, heat rushing between your thighs as he pulls down the fabric of your jeans. you don't fight satoru as he twists your body around, guiding your hips back down onto his lap. your legs are stretched over his bare thighs, the sticky girth of his cock flushed against your sex. his dick slips between your soaked lips, cunt drooling all over his length as he teases the pulse of your clit.

the mushroom tip then pushes through your entrance, the delicious stretch of his cock easing its way through your tight ring earning a quivering groan from the man. “god, you feel good around my dick, such a perfect pussy—”

a pleasant buzz settles over your mind, your head tilting back to nestle against his shoulder. “gonna fuck me good, ‘toru?” you tease as satoru guides your hips, lifting your body up and down his length as if you were his personal sex doll. his biceps and thighs flex against you, your pussy desperate to be stuffed full of his cock as he thrusts into your tight heat.

“you fuckin’ know it— g’na give ya the best dick ya ever had, g’na make sure ya remember this forever,” satoru rambles into your ear, affectionate kisses peppered across your neck as a muscled arm snakes around your waist. “squeezin' me so tight, angel; best pussy i've ever had,” he grinds his hips into you, barely able to muster up the strength to pound you properly.

“ya feel even better, ‘toru, fuckin’ love yer cock,” you groan out, his cock nudging against the gummy walls of your cunt, stroking the fire within you just enough to pull pathetic whimpers and moans from you. “yer cock was made f’me, f-fucckk—”

“g'na cum deep inside you, okay? so close, so fuckin' close, pretty girl— need ya t' cum with me, baby, okay?” satoru whimpers, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. you felt like you were on cloud nine, like your soul had drifted out of your body and into the very heavens above.

with your eyes pinched closed, all you can do is nod and gargle out a pathetic series of “yesyesyes”s. satoru's free hand latches to one of your breasts, peeling back the thick layer of your bra to pinch at your nipple. he twirls the sensitive bud between his slender fingers, tugging and pinching at them until their nice and puffy.

the sensitivity of your breasts being fondled and his cock head rubbing at the mind-numbing spot buried deep into your gummy walls tears a scream from your throat as your release submerges you into its depths. satoru tenses up against you, his cock pressed impossibly close against your cervix as a series of curse words ramble from his lips. his cum stains your insides— the thick load spilling out from your sopping cunt and dripping down his balls.

satoru holds you close for a few moments, his labored breaths heating your skin as he presses his sweaty forehead into the back of your shoulder. “holy fuck,” he manages a chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder blade. “let me just stay like this for a little bit more, not ready to pull out just yet, pretty pussy's just too warm.”

you lean against satoru for what feels like an eternity, your tiny sniffles and whimpers filling the air as satoru adjusts your weight atop him. “satoru, we should clean up before someone walks in, we forgot to lock the door,” you manage to say, earning an annoyed huff from the man.

satoru reluctantly pulls out of you, your legs too weak to support your own weight as you lean against the opposing wall. he guides you to take his place on the toilet seat's lid, the plastic warm against your skin as he shuffles around to grab you something to clean yourself with. he settles on the damp cloth you used to wipe your makeup with, his touch attentive and gentle as he kneels before you— making sure to clean every drop of cum and arousal from every crevice and fold of your cunt.

“fuck, look at that,” he murmurs, peeling back at your puffy lips as a white glob of cum seeps out from your entrance. it drools down your slit before pooling on the seat. “what a pretty sight, my cum drippin' out of your cute little pussy.”

you roll your eyes, cheeks puffed out in embarrassment as satoru scoops up the spilled cum. his finger prods at the tight ring of your entrance, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers hook into the walls of your cunt— fucking the wasted seed back into you.

“can't let it all go to waste, right?” satoru gazes up at you, a smug smirk painted across his lips.

“s-satoru, the door—” your hips buck to meet his shallow ministrations, another chuckle bubbling from his lips. he litters kisses along the soft skin of your inner thighs before resting his cheek against the warm skin.

he peers up at you from below, another finger slipping deep inside of you. “i'll make sure to lock the door this time, baby— don't want someone catching a glimpse of what's mine, right?”

maybe parties weren't so bad after all.

234 notes · View notes

chalkrevelations · 11 months

Text

There are things I say to my partner in the privacy of our living room when I’m blowing off steam that I would never in my life say to friends or other family members or bosses or work colleagues or fellow community members. I do this not because I’m two-faced but because I’m human. I get frustrated, but I’m also a grownup who realizes that my frustrations and fears in that moment are not the entirety of who I am. I have a right to express them, but I do not have the right to inflict them on the people who would be hurt by them. That’s why those conversations happen in private, in a safe space of trust, where my relationship allows me to show my partner parts of me that aren’t perfect and allows my partner to show me that I don’t have to be perfect in order to deserve to be cared about. I get support through my petty moments until I can be a better person.

This latest attack on Build is a horrifying violation of privacy and trust that leaves me feeling literally nauseated. I once again reiterate that I don’t trust third-hand amateur fan translation to be accurate and contextual, particularly given the provenance of the material, but Build himself is apparently distressed enough by at least some part of the material to make a public apology. So, that being out there, I will say: This was a private matter that should have stayed private, out of respect for everyone involved. Whatever was actually said is nobody’s business except Build’s and now, unfortunately, any named individuals who this was inflicted on and who may have been hurt by it. Which, rest assured, was the intention - to hurt not only Build with this, but also, particularly, Apo and Bible, both of whom Poi has shown her dislike of and ill-will toward in the past. I suspect some people also don’t know how abuse works, and it shows, given that what was purportedly said is a reflection of Poi’s own views back at her.

Whatever the context, I see that purity cancel culture still insists on freezing people in amber in their worst moments - without recognition of any capacity for change or growth - as long as it provides ammunition for a smug, gleeful Particicution. You’re stuck on some unkind things Build supposedly said more than a year ago? Let me tell you what I’ll remember for the rest of my life: The small, broken sound of Build’s voice just a few months ago as he tried to protect Bible and Bible’s career from a sociopath, in a telephone call that he felt he needed to secretly record as evidence of how he was being manipulated and abused.

Meanwhile, I see that swathes of KP fandom continue to be complicit in Poi’s campaign of public and dehumanizing abuse of him, which now includes not only borderline revenge porn, but separating him from his friends and isolating him. This is what abuse looks like. It’s happening in front of your eyes. Do you even care? Do you actually, legitimately care about abuse, or is it just a tool for you to use to win petty shipwars and make yourself feel righteous? Because here it is. Take a good look. This is a textbook play. And if you’re participating in reposting those screenshots of private conversations and mocking Build’s relationships and spreading vituperative language about him and acting like he deserves to have his life and career destroyed, you’re enabling an abuser. You are aiding and abetting her, as the very scenario she threatened him with - in order to maintain access to him, to keep him under control and compliant - continues to get spun out. YOU are a bully and a hypocrite and an abuser, helping to prove that the most dangerous time for an abuse victim is when they leave.

But I guess some victims do have to be perfect, huh?

(ETA: 7/18/23, 1520 - This post is being linked on Twitter by @cherryluminary with my permission. I'm not over there, but I increasingly feel like it's important to name what's happened, and continues to happen, to Build online as what it is - abuse. Similar to to my last post that breached containment, I'm going to ask people to remember that the behavior of Build's fans reflects on him - however fair that may or may not be - and should remain above reproach. I understand being angry - I'm angry, and at more people than I've discussed publicly, at this point. But if I find out you've been descending anywhere near the level of the ugly little sociopath in my inbox who openly admitted they want Build to kill himself, I'll block you.)

#build jakapan #do NOT show your ass in my inbox or anonymous will be turned off

236 notes · View notes

phantoms-lair · 6 months

Text

You wanted Red Hood vs Overhaul, you got it

Eri clutched Deku tightly and he sped away, Overhaul right on their trail leaving a swath of destroyed objects and people in his wake. And as soon as he caught up to them, that was going to be Deku. He was going to die because he wanted to protect her.

Deku was wrong. She was a curse. She clutched his shoulders tighter, tears welling in her eyes. Her horn began to glow as her quirk subconsciously activated. Because of her Daddy disappeared, and then Overhaul used her to make his bullets to steal other people's powers. She'd caused nothing but pain and misery, she was the one who should disappear!

Her horn grew as her quirk tried to activate. But much like you can't uninstall a computer program that's running, Rewind couldn't erase itself or it's user while it was activated. Eri's despair tried to force it over and over again. Just as Overhaul's outstretched hand was about to brush Deku's back Rewind divided by zero and they all vanished.

It was the smell that hit Midoriya first. The air around him had been full of dust and the scent of blood. Suddenly there was none of that, but an almost nauseating amount of fumes and unwashed humanity. Also they were in free fall.

He quickly assessed. He wasn't in Tokyo anymore. The cars were on the wrong side of the road and the signs in English. But all that quickly was overshadowed by the horror that they were in a residential area.

He had to get Eri to safety while luring Overhaul away from the area. He did his best to get they lay of the land before he'd fallen enough for buildings to block his view. Looked like there was a harbor. Maybe if he could get him there, there'd be less people for him to destroy. And hopefully some local heroes would come to help.

Path set, Midoriya used Full Cowling to kick off a building and launch himself away.

"Anyone have eyes on what the Hell is happening?!" Hood demanded over the coms.

"Two metas, Boss. One Robin-aged, one adult. Robin-aged one has what looks to be a small child. He's fleeing from the adult and heading towards the harbor. Small child looks to be injured."

Hood adjusted the route his motorcycle was going in order to better intercept. "How badly injured?"

"Bandages on her arms and legs, but it's hard to get close enough to see more, sorry." His lieutenant sounded apologetic, but from the sounds of Hood could hear from back where he was he couldn't blame her. "Powers?" Might as well know what he was getting into.

"Robin-aged seems to have some green lightning around him, but he's not projecting it. It seems to give him either a strength or speed boost, hard to tell when all he's doing is running. Adult looks like he can destroy or remake anything his touches and - Gah."

"Did you get hit?"

"Negative, sorry for scaring you, sir, Adult caught a piece of his own shrapnel in his eye. He then touched his face with his hand and half of it exploded, then reformed. I wasn't expecting it."

Good to know. Especially because she might have just told him exactly how to take this guy down. "I'm going to intercept the kids. Deploy Code Beta Omega on my mark." Hood's helmet switched modes from camera to radar as he pulled his bike even with the fleeing kid (who was definitely getting a speed boost out of his power if nothing else) as his people set off numerous bright flares right in front of the adult meta's face, followed by wide area smoke bombs. "Need some help?"

"Are you a local hero?" The older kid asked in very heavily Japanese accented English.

"I'm the protector of this area." Thankfully Japanese was one of the languages he was fluent in, so he could speak to the kid in his own language. "Get on."

The boy hopped on, the smaller kid strapped to his back and Hood had to respect his sense of balance. The green lightning vanished as the kid took a breath.

"Can you get Eri to safety?" the boy asked. "I can buy some time with Overhaul. Lure him out to the water where fewer people will get hurt."

The way he said it, it sounded like the cost of that time would be his life. And the littler one, Eri, seemed to pick up on it. "You don't have to do that Deku." she said in a shaky voice. "He won't hurt you if I go back to him. And I'll be fine. He won't kill me, even when he accidently takes too much of my blood, he can just take me apart and put me back together again."

The words were brave but the fear and remembered pain in them was palpable and Hood saw green in a way that had nothing to do with Deku's hair, outfit or lightning. He sharply turned the motor cycle into an alley, where he knew a group of his people would be evacuating civilians. "Get them to the clinic. The girl needs help and the boy probably does too."

The boy looked panicked. "But Overhaul-"

"-is Done." Hood finished. "Overhaul is done."

For a moment the boy looked like he'd bluescreened, then "Overhaul is mysophobia, destroying his mask should get a panic reaction. Especially if you spit on him or something. He's arrogant, sadistic, and enjoys psychological manipulations. He also have some bullets that destroy quirks, so be very wary if he uses a gun over his hands."

"Quirks?" Everything in Hood's soul wanted to get going and destroy the man who'd hurt a child like this.

There was a split second of panic on the boys face as he tried to reword "Powers? His lets him disassemble and reassemble anything he touches in any configuration he chooses."

"Power destroying bullets? Hood laughed. "Kid, I don't think you know where you are. This is Gotham." And with that he left the kids in the hands of his crew and stalked back to where Overhaul was about to meet his end.

The smoke was beginning to clear as Hood strode to Overhaul's location. Deku had given him what information he could, and he appreciated it, really he did. Any other Bat or Bat-Adjacent would have made good use it, especially the mysophobia.

Hood was not going to. He'd already gotten all intel he needed earlier. He took a good look at the man. Huh, when Deku said he had a mask Hood was expecting a standard supervillain mask, not a honest to goodness plague doctor one. He's sure the doctors at Arkham would have a fun time pulling apart this whackjob's psyche.

Not that he was going to give them a chance. Not after hearing a little girl talk about repeatedly being ripped apart and pulled back together.

"Where did they go?" asked Overhaul, in a tone that suggested he was in charge and giving up the intel was the only way Hood would live through the next few minutes.

Cute.

"Doesn't matter. You're never going to see either one ever again." Hood smirked under his helmet. "In fact, enjoy your view of the ass-end of Gotham. It's the last thing you're ever going to see."

Overhaul sneered. "Eri will be so upset. Another person dead because of her. She really is a curse."

The green was overwhelming. The only thing keeping Hood in control was the knowledge that he was going to give the Pit exactly what it wanted.

Overhaul touched the ground and it exploded, rearranging itself as large spikes erupted from the ground. Most people would have been impaled. Most people weren't trained by the Bat, the League of Assassins, and the All-Caste. "You heroes are so annoying. Like any one of you would be able to properly use an asset like her."

"SHE IS A CHILD." Hood roared. One of the spikes nicked him, but only caused surface damage, naturally. It would have been embarrassing to do more than was entirely when one gets hit on purpose. He needed two things. Overhaul provided the presence of absolute evil, and he provided his own blood. With two flashes the All Blades appeared and two hands fell to the ground.

Overhaul stared for a moment. He'd lost arms before and it was easy enough to replace one using the other, but he'd never lost both at once. His mind raced, trying to come up with a solution, and his knees began to buckle.

He never hit the ground however, as Hood caught him by the throat with one hand. With the other he ripped off the mask before pushing Overhauls face into some street sludge. This being Gotham and Crime Alley in particular, who knows what it might have been. Guess he was going to use the kid's info on mysophobia after all.

"It's tempting, you know, to keep you alive just long enough to watch infection set it. But people like you do tend to find a way of rebounding and I'm not going to risk it. I do want to catch up with those kids and make sure they're okay, so I'll give myself...ten minutes? Yeah, ten minutes sounds good. Ten minutes to show you exactly what happens to people who hurt kids in my territory. Ten minutes to make you beg for death, then - like the kind soul I am- answer your prayers."

Overhauls eyes were wide with terror. "But...but you're a hero?"

Hood grinned cruelly under his helmet. "I haven't called myself one of those for a long time. And Babs," he said, seeming to address no one. "I don't want Daddy Bats or any of his crew interfering."

For the next ten minutes, he was going to enjoy himself.

#Ghost Writing #BnHA #Batman #Red Hood #Deku: What did you mean by 'This is Gotham'?#Hood: None of the heroes in Gotham have powers #Deku: You're heroes without quirks? This is a place of quirkless heroes?#Hood: Yeah‚ and it's not like this is the only place like that. Star City-#Deku: *starts sobbing uncontrollably*

95 notes · View notes

feelbokkie · 1 year

Text

Random dates with BF!SKZ

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: nauseating amount of fluff

pov: 2nd person

description: Random dates you would go on with BF!SKZ

pairing: bf!skz x reader

warnings: mention of drinking

word count: 1,348

방 찬 (Bang Chan)

Card Sleeving

You cannot tell me that this man did not collect Pokémon cards at some point in his life

I feel like he would just keep them in a box somewhere

It wasn't supposed to be a date originally

He just asked if you had any plans for the next day and you told him you had to sleeve and put your pcs in a binder bc your collection was also in a box somewhere

So he said he would come over to help you

He just wanted to spend time with you

He loves spending time with you, he doesn't care what you two do

And you remember finding a box of his pokemon cards when you were over one time

💡

You snuck over while he was still at the company and stole his Pokémon cards

Sat there and counted all of them before going out to buy binders and the appropriate sleeves

Along with a few new packs of cards

Set everything up the next day before he came over: the show you two were watching was queued and ready to go, supplies on the table, and wine chilling in the fridge

Chan said he would bring lunch

"Here, I grabbed you some more cards from the office." "I have a surprise for you too!"

Is surprised and touched

And excited

You two spend the rest of the night organizing your respective collections

이 민 호 (Lee Min-Ho)

Couple's Cooking Class

You mentioned once that you wanted to go to a cooking class and he suggested that you two go to one together

You said yes because you love helping him out in the kitchen

You bought matching aprons for the class

Thought it would be easy since Minho knows how to cook already

Boy, were you wrong

Turned into a menace in the kitchen

You didn't mind, you were having fun

You two made a mess in that kitchen

Pretty sure the instructor was just waiting for you two to set the whole building on fire

Somehow didn't

Manages to out cook the 3 star Michelin chef

"This was fun but I can teach you how to cook if you're serious about learning."

서 창 빈 (Seo Chang-Bin)

Buy Stuff For Each Other (Idk what else to call it)

It was a trend a couple of years ago where couples would go to Target and seperate, buying things for their partners following a prompt to see how well they know them

You'd take it one step further and do the challenge at a mall

You would set a budget specifically for him because you know he would just go overboard and buy expensive things like a Cartier bracelet

He will still go over the budget and try to say it was on sale

He is bouncing from joy on his way back to the dorm

"I'm hungry, should we order each other food too? We can have it delivered so it'll be ready by the time we get home." "I'm dating a genius."

He went overboard with his shopping

You should have known better, he goes crazy when it comes to spoiling you

Is ecstatic with the things you bought him

"Wow, my baby knows me so well!" "Bin--" "I'm going to show the guys! They're going to be so jealous."

황 현 진 (Hwang Hyun-Jin)

Comedy Show

He's always laughing so it's perfect

He insists on sitting in the front

"Jinnie, we can't sit in the front." "Why not?" "Crowd work." "That's exactly why I want to." "Did you forget who you were in the last few minutes?" "What?" "You're an idol." ."..I'll make up a fake job if I get asked." "What if the comic recognizes you." "We lie."

You two ended up sitting up front

Luckily, nobody in the audience recognized him

The waiter who brought your food might have, but they didn't make a big thing of it

You eventually get called on for crowd work because of how much Hyunjin was laughing

"God, you're so pretty. What's your name?" "Sam!" "Where are you from Sam?" "Seoul!" "What do you do? I'm an artist". "That's cool, why kind of artist?" "...The normal kind?" "Are you not sure?"

Real smooth

Pretty sure he didn't breath the entire time you were at the show, he was just laughing the whole time

"Seungmin should get into stand up, he'd kill!" "Yeah, and you'd be his first victim."

한 지 성 (Han Ji-Sung)

Pretend To Be Tourist

He will try to convince you to dress up like a tourist too

"We have to be fully dedicated, babe." "Okay, but a fanny pack??" "It ties the whole look together, don't you think?" "Whatever you say, Ji."

Buys disposable cameras because why not

"Let's only speak English to really sell it. Loser has to pay for lunch."

Which will be easier for you if you're a native English speaker

You go to all the touristy destinations

Even buy souvenirs

You two also get suviouners for the guys as a joke

Snacked on street food and pretend like you never had it before

Walked by a few Stay and he got offended that they didn't recognize him until you reminded him that he was in disguise

Took a picture of them to post on bubble later and tease them

Saw a few street performances

Had to physically restrain him from joining them when a skz song or a girl group song came on

He was doing so well only speaking English until an old lady came up to him and asked for directions

"That doesn't count!" "That definitely counts." "Y/N...!"

이 용 복 (Lee Felix Yong-Bok)

Paint Pottery

It would be a cute date at a place like Color Me Mine

Couldn't decided if you should make a little animal figurine or a mug so you just did both

Felix chose an animal that reminded him of you and you chose a baby chick for obvious reasons

Ended up making two mugs each so you would both have matching sets

Decided to make mugs for each other instead

Both of you made the mistake of wearing white and ruined your clothes

Felix came up with the idea of making a heart with both of your thumb prints on the bottom of your mugs

Secretly Felix wrote "I love you" at the bottom of your mugs so you would have a message every time you finished drinking

You painted a heart the bottom of his for the same reason

Neither of you had a theme but somehow made them match perfectly

Felix keeps the mugs that stay at his dorm in his room so nothing happens to them

김 승 민 (Kim Seung-Min)

Watch Horrible Movies

Trash movie night!

You two just pick out the worst movies you could think of

Just a date night where you two could be haters

Thought of the idea for a full date night of watching bad movies after making Seungmin watch most of the Twilight series and watching his reaction

Loaded up on snacks and junk food

Made a fort

Started off with Breaking Dawn part 2

"Was she not a baby literally two days ago??" "This is probably one of the most fucked up parts of the whole series, Min." "Probably? That's a fetus and a grown man! He imprinted on her when she was fresh out of Bella!"

There are a lot of movies so you also made a drinking game out of them halfway through

"I'm going to die of alcohol poisoning at this rate." "I can't tell if the movie is actually good or I'm just too drunk." "I'm nowhere near drunk enough for that yet. You're just a lightweight, Y/N."

Woke up the next morning so hungover

양 정 인 (Yang Jeong-In)

Make Matching Hoodies

Simple date, but cute af

You sent him a TikTik of another couple doing it and he agreed that you should make them too

Insisted that you two get different colors so you two wouldn't accidentally swap hoodies

You both know you were going to steal his a few times anyway

You were in charge of ironing the patches on, Innie was in charge of sewing them in place to make them more stable

Played music while you were working

And ordered food

it turned into an impromptu karaoke night

Innie always takes the hoodie with him on tour and wears it to sleep

—

Buy me a coffee?

290 notes · View notes

darling-i-read-it · 9 months

Note

is it possible to either request a fic or hc whatever you feel like doing of trevor?

something kind of like that college request with love sick smitten nauseating trevor and his sweet little girlfriend who walks in to them planning a heist. she knows what he does but she doesn’t want a part of it and neither does trevor but she still supports him. he does anything in his power to keep her out of it. but does he get turned on seeing her hold his gun? yes. will he eventually try to get her warmed up to straddling him with a gun pointed at his neck while she rides him? absolutely.

but putting her in danger is something that makes him physically sick. maybe during the heist she somehow ends up in crosshairs, similar to what trevor did in north yankton when he put that gun to the woman’s head “if you move i’ll shoot her brains out”

but trevor just sees red like his special ability. killing anyone who angers or threatens his baby.

HI literally making me absolutely feral i hope you enjoy <3 <3 Trevor you're such a real one

tw for guns, violence, vague sexual descriptions, typical trevor stuff

Trevor fell in love with you because of your innocence. All the girls who loved him where like him, something similar in their hard gaze, the smell of alcohol on their breath. Not you. You were different.

he swore it was a good thing, he promised Ron and Wade that you were happy with him.

they never believed him. it was hard to believe Trevor on a good day

but they could see from the way you were with him that he was telling the truth. You would sit in his trailer, gently cleaning up without being invasive, laugh at his dumb jokes, call him cute. There is no one someone who didn't love Trevor would do all that

He was nauseating about you. He talked about you all the time, bragged endlessly, always had your name on the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah, I brought her out to dinner last night. She tried to drink me under the table but I had to bring her home," he would say, with heart eyes.

"She didn't make me take down my posters. Would Amanda do that for you Michael?"

"We had lots of fun yesterday. Don't worry Ron, I cleaned the couch. "

He loved that he had something in his life no one else did. You were his unicorn.

Obviously spending so much time with Trevor, it was easy to know what he did for a living. He didn't like to hide anything from you and he didn't like to hide his job in general

Trust that he would be honest about everything. Down to the last penny, he would tell you what he did and why he did it (even if his reasonings were always a little skewed)

You didn't want anything to do with it. You had no interest in going to jail and he perfectly respected and appreciated that. He liked having someone on the outside anyway

Plus, you were the person he could go to outside of all of that. He had plenty of friends in the business, he wanted something that was normal and just for him

that being said

Trevor does love a little bit of corruption. He has never said no to taking you out shooting.

"Just...like that," he muttered. He had his hands on top of yours, his body pressed against your back. You had one eye closed like it would help you aim the gun in your hand. You starred at the beer can on the stump, breathing in and out evenly, just like he had taught you. "Whenever you're ready doll."

You pulled the trigger. Your ears rang out. Trevor didn't believe in ear protection (or any protection for that matter). You missed, just barely.

"Am I getting better?" you asked, hopelessly. You had asked him to teach you to use a gun just in case someone came home while he wasn't there. He agreed. You needed to know how to defend yourself.

"Oh so good. Honestly better than most of the men I've worked with." He loved seeing a gun in your hand. He loved when you brandished it, talking like it wasn't a fully loaded weapon in your hand. He liked when it got a little close to him, making him twitch a bit.

But that's a whole different battle.

Other than that, you avoided all of his lifestyle things. No heists, no ride alongs. He wanted you as safe as humanly possible.

Naturally, if you were around, you were bound to walk into a heist planning without meaning to. You didn't recognize the concentrated look on Trevor's face as he starred at the wall, full of papers and lines and pictures. You had just been grabbing some groceries before coming back to Wade's cousins.

Michael Townley was there, his eyes trained on the wall as well.

"He's no good. We need someone who's done this before Trevor," Michael was saying. You slowly closed the door, approaching the wall. Trevor was sitting on the arm of the couch.

"And Frank is? I mean, I like the kid, don't get me wrong. But can he handle all that?" Trevor's sounded unenthused. He turned to look at Michael and saw you standing behind him, grocery bags in your hand. He stood up quickly. His sudden movements caused Michael to turn around. "Hey baby. You're back early."

"The other store I wanted to go to was closed," you explained. "What's all this?" You asked even though you knew the answer.

"Nothin'," he promised, approaching you. He grabbed a bag from your hand. "You grab beer?"

"Course."

"Atta girl." He helped you put things down on the kitchen counter. Michael gave you a nod in acknowledgment. You returned it with a thin lipped smile.

"Are you guys planning a heist?"

"No need to worry about that dollface," Trevor said. "We can finish this up later." He turned to look at Michael, eyes like daggers, daring him to defy. Michael nodded once. He knew what it was like to want to keep someone out of the danger.

"Yeah, no problem."

but the information stayed up there. You could look at it while you watched the TV, making sense of the ramblings. They'd be down by the docks.

Trevor ignored any questions you asked about it. You didn't want to know, he knew that. You were just curious.

The day of, he planned a full day. Heist at 9, lunch with you at 1. You would come grab him from a safe point, he made sure of it.

Then things went array. His timing had never been great and honestly, he probably should have made sure the safe point was completely safe. It was the exit area, the place where everyone was supposed to meet up when things went well. Everyone showed, all the goods were there...

they were followed

You were already there, waiting with your car, sitting on your phone

You saw everyone rolling up, tires screeching and people running

Guns were going off. You ducked your head below your steering wheel and freaked out silently

Someone was running towards the car, grabbing your drivers door, opening it up because you didn't bother leaving it locked. You didn't even think

Someone pulled you out of the car, tossing you on the ground. You saw little to nothing for a moment, eyes blacking out as you looked around the soon to be chaos

You stood up shakily and saw the man who had pushed you down. Someone completely foreign and honestly scary looking. The second you registered his face, it had been blasted off.

You screamed, almost falling over and scampering away

Someone had grabbed your arm, keeping you up

"Right here doll."

You knew the voice well and almost melted into Trevor's touch, a heavy sigh of relief leaving your lips. Even if everyone was still shooting, you were safe with Trevor. He'd never let anything happen to you.

He dragged out of the fire and placed you carefully behind a car.

"Stay here till I get you." He gave you a gun and said nothing else until he had turned around.

You peaked over the car. There were dozens of men pointing a gun at him. He looked untouchable, guns in both hands, face hard, eyes red.

"Now who wants to fucking try it? Huh?"

You had never seem him move so efficiently. It was like he couldn't get hurt at all. His vision had slowed and everything in his way was gone.

He didn't stop until the very last man was under his boot and a gun was through their temple.

Then he ignored all of his comrades to run to you, skidding on his knees to make sure you were alright.

"You alright baby? They hurt you? I'm so sorry you had to be here."

His voice was rushed and honest. He had you in his arms, breathing harshly. You held him tightly against you, breathing in the smell of his shitty cologne. You had never been so happy to see him.

#trevor philips x reader #trevor philips x fem!reader #trevor philips imagines #gta imagines #trevor philips headcanons

137 notes · View notes

violetriorsons · 7 months

Text

—in a world alone (we're all alone);

a collection of missing moments based on xaden's letters to violet. // pre-FW; iron flame spoilers.

part one.

“sgaeyl watched me kill another cadet for bullying garrick during threshing. she says she chose me for my ruthlessness, but i think i just reminded her of my grandfather.” — chapter 12 (iron flame).

.::.

The number one objective: don't die today.

It's proven to be a shockingly easy goal over the last few hours. A quick glance at the sun in the sky tells Xaden it's the start of the afternoon, and the biggest problem he's faced since Threshing started at nine this morning is the uncharacteristically strong heat for the beginning of October.

It's unsettling — he knows damn well that Fen Riorson's son is at the top of the hit lists of a number of cadets in his year (and the other years, for that matter). And he also knows Threshing is the best opportunity any of them are going to get to finally settle any bets.

It's why when his year dispersed this morning, Xaden had made a point to move in the opposite direction than Garrick and Masen. The target on his back is too big today to risk his only friends.

But so far, it seems his worries were for nothing. The few cadets he's come across over the last four or so hours have paid him nothing more than a wary glare, clearly far more interested in finding their dragons than wasting time trying to run a sword through him.

The dragons Xaden has passed by have also ignored him, both to his relief and mild dismay. The jitters in his chest persist, but for new reasons.

For months, the most common and accepted rhetoric he's heard spread throughout the quadrant is that no self-respecting dragon would go through the disgrace of bonding a marked one. That there's nothing worthy in the children of the people who had threatened the safety of human- and dragonkind all over Navarre.

Up until now, Xaden hadn't let himself dwell on the theory. His priority was keeping himself, his friends, and the rest of the marked ones in his year alive (a feat he's already fumbled, twice). But now, walking through the disturbingly quiet forest, there's no escaping the nauseating fear that everyone was right.

If he'd had the choice, Xaden thinks he might've gone into infantry to honor his father's wishes. He hadn't had the time to figure out for himself what he'd wanted to do with his life before fate and the lost Battle of Aretia had written his destiny for him. Before he knew it, the apostasy had come and tragically gone, and he was suddenly saddled with a hundred and seven souls to keep out of Malek's all-too greedy hands.

Three years ago, Xaden had brokered a deal with General Sorrengail to keep the orphans of his father's allies alive. He knows his father would've abhorred the agreement, but the man had also taught him well about making tough decisions. And making it through the riders' quadrant was their only shot at survival.

But now he's dreading that he might've sentenced them all to a worse fate: if the dragons aren't interested in bonding them, they'll all be doomed to relive their first year in the riders' quadrant over and over until Malek finally decides to collect his due.

Xaden hears the crackling of dragonfire in the near distance— too near for his liking. He quickens his steps as he searches around him in vain for any spot of blue.

Unlike Garrick this morning, Xaden did have a certain dragon from Presentation on his mind. An enormous, navy Blue Daggertail that had left him stunned when he saw it near the end of his deadly stroll yesterday.

He'd stopped dead in his tracks when he'd first caught sight of it, and had Garrick not given him a shove from behind, he's sure that he would've ended up a pile of ashes for daring to look a dragon in the eye for as long as he did.

It was an honest mistake. Xaden had felt something shift inside of him when he locked eyes with the beast, a sharp thrill that lingered long after the first-year cadets had all retreated to their bunks for the night.

Though judging by the icy narrowing of the dragon's eyes as it stared back at him, he thinks maybe the feeling was not mutual.

The thought is reinforced by the fact that he hasn't caught a single hint of her presence anywhere this morning. Idly, Xaden wonders if perhaps the Daggertail had picked another cadet at the start of Threshing, and his mood begins to sour.

But before he can linger any longer on his newfound worries, he hears a familiar shout nearby that has his stomach dropping.

It's Garrick.

All thoughts of the Blue Daggertail are forgotten as Xaden races in the direction of the shout.

The number one objective: don't die today. It goes for himself and especially for his best friend.

Xaden may or may not bond a dragon today. But if nothing else, he'll gladly spend the rest of the day making damn sure his friends make it out of this forest alive.

The shouting continues as he approaches, and Xaden recognizes the voice of Garrick's opponent just before they both come into view.

Prince Alic.

Xaden should've seen this one coming. He'd been too concerned about the target on his own back to consider that his friends have also made enemies in the quadrant all on their own.

The limp-dick, sorry excuse of a prince had wasted no time trying to assert dominance in the quadrant after crossing the Parapet this summer. He's been a terror to most, the Riorson son included, but Alic has had it out for Garrick since he lost to him during assessment week on the mat.

And apparently, he's decided Threshing is the perfect setting to enact his revenge.

Garrick's one of the best in their year when it comes to sparring, but the royal training the asswipe of a prince has under his belt makes him more than a worthy adversary. And though Xaden would be willing to bet that Alic snuck up on Garrick, any matters of honor and dirty tactics don't matter much if Alic makes it out of this forest with Garrick's head in the end.

Rage waves over Xaden and he barely manages to wrangle it back under control so he can slow his steps and assess the situation from a distance.

So far, Garrick seems to be holding his own well enough.

Xaden wavers, unsure of whether to step in or let his friend prove himself to any dragon who may be paying attention.

"I'm betting the prince loses his head."

The unfamiliar, feminine voice startles him out of focus from the fight. He hadn't noticed the giant shadow under his feet that now blankets his immediate area, and when he twists around to look for the source of the voice he finds himself face to face with the navy Blue Daggertail he'd been seeking all morning.

"Holy shit," he curses without thinking, and he just barely stops himself from scrambling backward. Dragons typically don't respond well to cowardice, and he doubts this particular one is any exception.

Her size had been daunting during Presentation, but having her right in front of him now, with her head lowered to his eye level and a bit too close for comfort, it dawns on him what a monstrosity of a creature she is — especially compared to the other dragons he's come across in the field today.

Suddenly, Xaden can't remember exactly why he'd been searching for her in the first place. Does he have a death wish?

The dragon's head moves forward, and Xaden locks his knees in place as she gives him a quick sniff at his chest before lightly blowing steam in his face through her nostrils.

"There's something very familiar about you." Her voice echoes in his head again, and his heart is threatening to break through his ribcage as she stays in his personal space and continues her perusal of him.

Xaden arches an eyebrow. Familiar? "Yeah, we kinda met at Presentation..." His joke falls flat, but he pushes forward. "I'm Xaden —" He stops short of saying his last name, and his earlier fear surges back with a vengeance.

Despite all it's cost him, Xaden has never been at odds with the war his father had started. Their country was corrupt, rotten to the core, and the price Xaden has been made to pay for his father's actions has only strengthened his belief in Fen Riorson's cause.

But would the dragon agree with that?

"Riorson," the dragon finishes for him, rather absentmindedly — uninterested, even — as she sniffs at his hair. She says nothing more, all her focus on her odd inspection of him, and some of Xaden's nerves give way to confusion.

Is it a good sign that this dragon is currently covering his leathers in snot?

As if in response, the dragon chuffs. "Better that than being charred by dragonfire, I would think."

Xaden's eyes widen in return. Did she hear his thoughts?

"Very true," he breathes. He tenses again, keeping quiet as he awaits judgment from the dragon he'd spent all night thinking about.

With no warning, the dragon lifts a claw and swipes it over the upper left side of Xaden's face, too quick for him to see it coming. The claw breaks the skin deep over his brow, nicking the eyelid he'd managed to close out of pure instinct, and digging through the top of his cheek.

"Fuck," he swears without thinking, instinctively lifting a hand to his eyebrow. His fingers come back bloody.

"There," the dragon says, sounding satisfied as she lowers her head to his level again. "Now I see it."

"Interesting word choice after almost taking my fucking eye out." He can't help himself from expressing his disdain as he works to keep the blood from seeping into his eye. "What do you see?"

"I'd given your grandfather a similar scar during his Threshing. It'd been accident then."

Surprise quells the anger. His brows knit together, the movement making the sting from his new wound worse. "You knew my grandfather?" He didn't even know his grandfather. From either side of the family.

"He came before you. But he didn't make it out of the quadrant." Her words are matter-of-fact, but there's an undertone of sadness that has Xaden believing she feels the loss far deeper than he ever could.

"I'm sorry...," he trails off, not sure how he's supposed to address her. He wipes more blood away from his brow before it gets in his eye.

"Sgaeyl," she offers distractedly, her eyes moving beyond him, to the sword fight still being waged in the tiny clearing behind him. "I said the prince would lose his head today. Why don't you go prove me right?"

Xaden turns back around and tenses, cursing himself for forgetting about Garrick.

Blood is now flowing from Garrick's left shoulder but he's paying it no mind as he raises his sword up to block Alic's attempt to slice Garrick's right arm off. As the two swords clash, Alic gets in a sloppy, but effective kick to the side of Garrick's calf that has him going down.

Garrick manages to twist his body last-minute to land on his side and avoid getting the wind knocked out of him. But the maneuver has his wounded shoulder taking the brunt of his fall.

Xaden's moving toward them before he even realizes it, silently drawing his own sword as he approaches. His heart is hammering again as he watches Alic raise his weapon to take the final strike.

Xaden sword is quicker, and he runs it through Alic's back, deep enough that it reappears through his abdomen. Alic's response is a garbled groan, and Xaden lifts his foot to kick the prince off his sword.

Alic falls forward, the force of Xaden's kick sending him face-first towards the ground — right where Garrick is lying.

Garrick rolls out of the way just as Alic hits the dirt. His eyes meet Xaden's with a flash of gratitude as he works to get himself up.

Xaden waits to make sure his best friend is good before turning his attention back to the dying prince, who's working mightily to get up onto his knees.

"You're a... worthless piece... of shit, son of a... traitor..." Alic's rambles are out of breath as he continues to bleed out on the ground.

Xaden hears the dragon grumble behind him, and he can feel the wordless expectation emanating from her as she waits impatiently for him to follow her earlier command. He spares a quick glance at Garrick again, who's retrieved his sword but is distracted by the dragon who's stepped out from the trees and into view.

"Sorry I butted in," Xaden tells Garrick with a sheepish grin. "But I've been asked for his head." He tilts his head in the dragon's direction as means of explanation. Garrick's eyes widen, but he chooses to stay silent in the presence of the dragon, giving Xaden a firm nod instead.

Before he can think too hard about it, Xaden swipes his sword through the neck of the still-rambling royal. The man's head hits the ground with a sickening thud, and Xaden works to keep his breakfast down.

Though not his first kill, it is the first time he's ever decapitated someone. It turns his stomach in the worst way, even as he feels a small twinge of satisfaction in getting to behead one of King Tauri's sons.

Perhaps he's not quite as monstrous as he's come to feel over the last few months — yet.

He's still got a dragon to impress, so he forces down the nausea, compartmentalizes any horror he may feel over adding to his body count, and bends down to retrieve the severed head by its hair.

He turns toward the dragon and tosses the head at her feet, making sure to keep his eyes off the ground and on hers the entire time.

She chuffs in what seems like approval. "Ruthless."

A heady rush of pride sweeps through him, giving him confidence as he admits to her, almost accusingly, "I've been looking for you all morning." Her earlier words about his grandfather finally sink in.

He came before you.

She'd chosen him. And now she's choosing Xaden.

She lets out another chuff. "I woke late. And I refuse to skip breakfast, even for Threshing."

Xaden smiles, glancing behind him to see that Garrick has disappeared. His smile wavers, and he worries over the wound in his friend's arm. Will he be okay to keep dragon-seeking?

"You care a lot for him. And for the others." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Xaden answers anyway. He forces down the trepidation over letting her in on his secrets.

The marked ones and Aretia are who he's dedicated his life to, and there's no point in trying to hide it from her. She needs to know who she's choosing, and what he'll be continuing to fight for. And all the types of monsters he's willing to fight against.

"You carry scars for the ones you're devoted to," she notes. "And now you'll carry one for me as well."

The reminder of the wound on his brow cuts through the adrenaline enough for him to feel the sting again. But her words erase any lingering resentment he may have felt over the scratch.

She steps forward. "Get on my back. The cadet you saved will be just fine, and your other friend has already been chosen. There's no point in spending any more time around here tempting the cadets who'd love to take your own head off your shoulders."

Xaden exhales in relief at the news about Masen, and decides to trust her certainty that Garrick will make it just fine on his own.

He hesitates for just a second, calculating the best strategy to make it up her leg. The gauntlet didn't quite prepare him as well for a dragon of her size. It's a challenge, but he makes it up to her back, avoiding the spikes at her neck, and reaches the divot with only minor embarrassment.

"Didn't you practice?" she chastises him, but her tone is light.

"Of course I did." He rolls his eyes. "But you're huge."

She chuffs. "Wait until you see my mate. You'll see who's the real monstrosity of a creature."

Xaden lifts a brow, fighting the discomfort of her knowing what he had been thinking earlier. "Is that always...?" He trails off, not sure how to phrase the question.

She scoffs. "Get used to it, cadet. I know everything about you. I always will." It almost sounds like a threat.

He nods, mostly to himself, knowing he'll just need time to adjust to it.

As a means of distraction, the dragon formally introduces herself. But she also launches into the sky as she does so, and her words are lost to the wind whooshing past Xaden's ears as he directs his focus on staying seated as she flies high above the trees.

He remembers her earlier introduction, though — her name is Sgaeyl. She's a navy Blue Daggertail, once bonded to his grandfather.

Unbidden, a memory from many years ago of his mother rises to the surface. She'd told him once that her father had entered the riders' quadrant while she was a baby. She never got to meet him.

"Dragons aren't allowed to bond direct descendants of their previous riders," Xaden notes lightly, trying to shake off the heavy feeling that comes from remembering his mother.

Sgaeyl stays silent, and Xaden interprets it to mean that she has little care for any rule that may stand in the way of what she wants. And what she wants at the moment is him.

"I could go mad," he continues absentmindedly. Judging from the excited flip his stomach just did at the thought of being wanted by this dragon, he may already be half-way there.

"You won't go mad," Sgaeyl asserts.

He arches his wounded brow. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I chose you," she scoffs.

He grins at the arrogance, but his chest fills with pride. And anticipation, as he sees the flight field getting nearer in the distance.

Soon, they'll be landing in the field. Soon, he'll be walking up the dais to look the roll keeper and General Sorrengail in the eye and announce the name of his new dragon — and relish in the shocked faces of Commandant Panchek, Captain Fitzgibbons, Colonel Aetos, and anyone else who doubted that a dragon would choose Fen Riorson's son — or any marked one.

Sgaeyl knows everything about him. And she chose him.

Xaden Riorson is officially a rider.

#xaden riorson #sgaeyl #xaden and sgaeyl #fourth wing #iron flame #fourth wing fic #empyrean fic #this really got away from me oops #it's way longer than i thought it would be #lina scribbles

72 notes · View notes