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flowersforjude · 2 months

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𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 ≈ 𝐢. 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

❛ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦❜

﹙finnick odair x oc!fem reader﹚

﹙next chapter ➵ masterlist﹚┈﹙read on ao3 ➵ read on wattpad﹚

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | canon typical violence, slight self-injury, mentions of death, etc.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.8 k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've been working on this for little over a year now. I've posted all current chapters on Wattpad and AO3. I thought I might as well post it here too. This chapter was really just for scene setting and character introduction. The juicer stuff is in upcoming chapters. Hope you enjoy!!

The crunching of gravel beneath hundreds of feet echoed through district four in a sorrowful song. Each pair of feet belonged to a different person with their own story. Each pair was distinct from the one beside them, in front of them, or behind them. But today they were all moving in the same direction, for the same reason. Today they all had one thing in common. They were all reluctantly marching towards the Justice Building because today was the reaping for the annual Hunger Games. They were hesitant, and yet everyone walked steadily on their path without complaint, as if resigned to their fate.

I walked with my mother Camilla, my father Lyle, and my little sister Shae. We are silent as we make our way to the growing crowd of people in front of the Justice Building. Today was not the day for idle conversation. Today was the day for fear or for hope. Fear that your name would be called. Hope that it wouldn't, or that some other unlucky child would be forced to go to their deaths.

This morning, as I got ready, I found myself sitting in the bath longer than necessary. I watched with blank eyes as I dipped my hand down into the cooling water and lifted it back out. Droplets of water raced down the back of my hand until they faded out like one of the many lives taken by the games every year.

The longer I sat in the cold tub of water, the harder it became to keep my mind focused on the small things. Like how shivers ran races down my spine or how my damp hair rested limply on my shoulders. No matter how hard I tried, my thoughts wouldn't stay simple for long. Soon they morphed into debilitating notions of blood and death. My mind ran rampant with scenes of tributes dying in brutal and messy ways.

Now as my feet crunched gravel under my soles, my brain created new ideas of torment. Shae turned twelve this year, and that meant it was her first Reaping Day where her name was in the drawing. It was only once, I kept telling myself. She wouldn't be picked. But the odds never favored ones in our position.

"This is where we go our separate ways." My mother said when we reached the point where we had to split up. I could see unshed tears making her brown eyes glossy as she pulled me and Shae into a hug. She kissed both our cheeks before stepping aside for our father.

"Be brave, girls." He told us and then bent down to hug Shae. When he straightened up, he pulled me in and squeezed. He gave me a kiss on the cheek before he stepped away completely.

"After the reaping, we met back here, and we'll go home." My mom said firmly, as if cementing the idea that both of her daughters would be returning to her. She wiped away a few tears that managed to sneak their way down her cheeks. "We love you both."

"We love you too," I replied.

My parents went off to the area where the adults watched. Watched as two kids were chosen to fight to the death. Shae and I walked on together, our breaths shallow with fear and anticipation. As we approached the spot where our paths diverged, I turned to say goodbye. Her eyes flickered over to me as if to plead for escape. She switched her gaze to her line, staring at it like a slithering viper ready to strike if she dared take even one step closer.

"Shae?" I dropped down to her height.

She started shaking her head, and her pink lips began to wobble. "I can't, Lyssa. I'm scared."

I gave her a sympathetic look and smoothed down her hair with my hands. "I know you're scared, but your name is only in there once. The odds of you being chosen are slim."

She inhaled deeply, her chestnut eyes still wide and fearful. I pulled her close and breathed into her hair the words of reassurance that she needed. I cupped her face in my hands, gave her a gentle nod of encouragement, and watched as she tentatively stepped away from me and towards the other children. It took everything in me not to grab the back off her dress and run.

I took my place in line with the other seventeen-year-olds and watched as the people in front of me got their fingers pricked by an intimidating looking woman.

As the seconds ticked by like the timer on a bomb, it grew harder to breathe. The nerves I chained down all this morning fighting their way up. An anchor pressed down on my chest, weighing my whole form down as it rested in the sand of the sea. I couldn't look scared. I knew it made no difference whether or not my fear was visible. If my name was called, then that was that. But I didn't want anyone to view me as weak. Even if that's what I was in reality.

My feet shuffled forward as the line flowed. The girl in front of me gasped loudly as her blood was drawn. In seconds, she was moving out of the line, and it was my turn.

"Next!" The woman called. "Name?"

"Lyssa Monroe."

She looked down the list till she landed on my name. She silently held out her hand, and I held my pointer finger out to her. She pricked it, but I barely registered the small pain; I was too focused on staying calm. She smeared my blood on multiple sheets of paper; in a way, she just sighed my possible death certificate. Those slips of paper will be sent to the big glass bowl, whose only purpose was to hand out death sentences. And I stood a chance of being called. I wonder if that bothers her. That by doing this job, she's sending kids to their deaths. I wonder how she feels or if she feels anything at all. Maybe she didn't; maybe you have to be void of emotion to do this job.

When she called for the next person, I stepped out of the way and went to stand with my age group. I pressed my still bleeding finger into the fabric of my dress. It was the nicest clothing item I owned, and I hated it. I wore it on reaping day and reaping day only. The atrocious piece of material served as a reminder of the worst days of my life. Days filled with fear and dread. The only thing I felt when I looked at it was anguish.

I didn't know any of the girls I was standing with, so I searched the crowd for Shae. I found her standing between two girls her age, but she was so small compared to them.

I caught her eyes and sent her a smile and a wink. I tried to look carefree for her even if my stomach was twisting in rough knots. Something was off; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, swirling around like unruly waves in a storm. No matter how much I attempted to convince myself otherwise, today was not going to have a good outcome. But Shae needed me to reassure her so she wouldn't break down. I knew she was scared. This was her first year in the drawing; her name was only in once, but it was that one chance that kept her up all last night.

I dug my nails into the palm of my hand. The sharp pain of them digging into my skin was enough to ground me for now.

Sabine Glass, our district escort, strutted out from the Justice Building, and we all focused our attention on her. She had the usual bold and careless air about her as clicked her way to center stage. With each step, her dress glistened in the sun, its green sequins catching the light like tiny mirrors. Around her neck hung a necklace of bronzy-white seashells that matched her earrings, bracelets. The same shells were intricately woven into her updo. Her shoes were the same color as her dress and had heels so long that I wondered how on earth she even managed to walk on stage without falling.

She cleared her throat into the microphone, getting the attention of the crowd. "Welcome! People of District four, to the reaping of the 70th Hunger Games! I know we're all very excited to see who our tributes will be this year, but before that, we have a presentation from the esteemed President Snow!"

The crowd clapped with a small fraction of Sabine's enthusiasm. four was a career district, but only half the population fell into that category. So some of the citizens had pride for this whole charade, but the hatred and fear of the other half far outweighed that misguided respect for the games.

Two huge black screens were set up on either side of the building, and with Sabine's cue, they started to play the origin video of The Hunger Games. We were made to watch this video every reaping day, year after year. It was to remind us of the horror before the games so we wouldn't want to rebel again. When the video was over, Sabine began clapping, and slowly, the crowd reluctantly joined in.

"That was spectacular!" Sabine cheered into the microphone. "Let's begin, shall we? As per usual, ladies first!"

She walked over to the glass bowl and swirled her hand around in it, meticulously searching for the right slip of paper. The tension of the crowd was palpable. Everyone was still and the quietness was suffocating. My heart raced in my chest, like I had just gotten done for a swim and was laying on the warm sand of the beach, soaking up the sun's rays. Though even after all the time I spent out there, my skin stayed its same pale shade.

Sabine plucked out a slip of paper and pranced back over to the microphone. As she neatly unfolded it, my nails racked deeper into my palm, digging into my skin until I felt a slight trickle of blood flow down my palm. My ears clouded with the sound of adrenaline, and only Sabine's shrill voice brought my senses back to me.

"Lyssa Monroe!"

My heart stopped along with everything else as the blaring silence rang in my ears. Chills ran down my body, and the blood froze in my veins. I didn't move; I couldn't move. The girls around me murmured amongst themselves and stared at my unmoving body with sympathy and selfish relief.

"Lyssa Monroe?" Sabine spoke again, this time as a question.

The girls parted like a great wave, creating an aisle for me to walk through. The first step I took was unintentional, but it was like my body had switched to autopilot. My legs numbly carried me all the way to the stage. I didn't raise my head until I walked up the steps and was in front of the crowd.

As I lifted my eyes, the sun seemed brighter than before, momentarily blinding me. When they adjusted, my eyes met the crowd of my fellow District four members.

I found my parents in the cluster of adults. My mother had her face buried in my father's chest. Even from here, I could see her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. My father's face was set hard, but I knew he was trying to keep his tears reigned in.

I turned my attention to Shae, who had pushed her way to the front of her section. Her tiny hands held the barricade in a death grip. Her cheeks were red and stained with tears.

Sabine shoved the microphone at my face, and only then did I realize she had asked me something.

"What?" I muttered dumbly.

"I asked how old you were, dear."

"I'm seventeen," I mumbled.

Sabine took the microphone back and placed her hand on her heart. "And how lovely you are, my dear."

She turned back to the audience, clapping her hands. "Now for the gentleman." She glided over to the bowl that held the boys' names. She repeated the same swirling hand movements around the glass until she snatched up a slip of paper.

She cleared her throat before reading the name. "Hector May!"

A gasp rang out among the crowd, and even me in my numbed state lifted my eyes in surprise. Hector May was Mayor Walim May's son. Of course, being the child of the mayor didn't exclude you from the reaping, but they were rarely chosen. That's why everyone had started to murmur amongst themselves as Hector slowly made his way up to the stage.

He looked behind him at his father. The mayor tried not to show any emotion at his son being reaped, but I saw how his jaw clenched and his hands began to subtly shake in his lap.

"What an interesting turn of events!" Sabine exclaimed. "How old are you, dearie?"

"Eighteen." Hector answered in a deep monotone voice.

"And you're the mayor's son, correct?"

"Yes."

Sabine laughed almost giddily. "What a wonderful pair we have here." She motioned for us to shake hands. We both moved forward and grasped the other's hand as Sabine addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of presenting to you your District four tributes for the 70th annual Hunger Games!"

━

We were marched in silence down a long hallway, escorted by a couple of stern-faced peacekeepers. Hector and I were taken to separate rooms, mine with harsh fluorescent lights that cast everything in a painful brightness. The stark and sterile air felt suffocating as I helplessly waited for what was next. I shifted nervously on the hardwood chair, tracing small circles onto its smooth surface while my leg anxiously bounced up and down. Even pinching myself couldn't make this nightmare go away. My throat tightened in despair while tears stung my eyes.

A creak of the door handle made me jump, and I scrambled to my feet. My parents and Shae entered the room, their faces blurry with emotion. We raced towards each other, a tangle of limbs that collapsed into a heap on the floor. Someone was sniffling, and it took me a moment to realize it was me.

My father wiped the tears off my face and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Everything will be alright." He stated calmly like there was nothing to worry about.

I looked at him in disbelief. "Dad, how can you say that?"

He sighed. "I know you're scared, sweetie. But you can't let your fear control you. You're going to be fine because you're going to win."

"How? I can't–" I couldn't even finish my sentence. How could my father be so sure, so calm?

"Lyssa." My mother said, clearing the tears from her eyes. "Your father is right. I know you're scared, but you can't think about that right now."

"What do I do?" I asked helplessly.

My father was the one to answer. "Find a weapon that fits you. One that's easy for you to use but effective. Try throwing knives. You were always good with those."

"Okay." I nodded along with him.

"You have to come back, Lyssa." Shae blurted out.

I looked down at her small frame and immediately drew her to me. "I promise I will try my hardest." I said into her hair. My lips connected with the top of her head as her arms tightened around me.

The door opened again, and the peacekeepers came in. "Time's up." One of them said.

We hugged each other one last time before one of the peacekeepers escorted them out. They all called their last farewells as they were moved out of my view.

"Be brave, Lyssa! Remember what I said!"

"Win, so you come back home!"

"We love you, sweetheart!"

There was one peacekeeper left in the room with me. "It's time to board the train, Miss Monroe," he said.

I nodded and hesitantly followed him out into the hallway, where Sabine and Hector stood waiting.

"Now then, you're both very excited, I'm sure, so let's hurry along. The Capitol awaits!" Sabine sang, genuinely excited, with a smile plastered on her face. I tried to tell myself it was just because she was from the Capitol and didn't really know any better. Though, as she led a silent Hector and I away, I couldn't help but feel disgust towards her. She was voluntarily escorting us to our deaths.

My face remained blank as we boarded the train. The odds were never on my side, and they never would be.

Let me know in the comments if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this story! <3

#ˏ*ೃ➵violent delights #the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x reader #thg #thg fanfiction #fanfiction #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #thg series #the hunger games catching fire #the hunger games mockingjay #friends to lovers #mentor x mentee #slow burn

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duramaters · 2 years

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Aches and Adoration // Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: It’s been a few years since you became a member of Dauntless and you want to brush up on your fighting skills. Getting Eric to help you was probably not your best idea.

Warnings: Explicit language, violence and injury, fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Taglist: @ask-the-inserts @not-the-teen-witch @danthegirl99

The layout of the leader’s room matched you own but the space itself was larger despite Eric’s minimalistic style. You compared the kitchen to your own, where yours was littered with appliances, cookbooks and ingredients the only things you could see in Eric’s were a coffee machine and a small, heaped fruit bowl. You let your eyes flit across the living room to his bookshelves, overflowing with an unexpected variety of texts. You didn’t have him down as a voracious reader but he had proven you wrong before. While you had been studying his space he had collapsed onto the couch with a grunt, the motion clearly upsetting his sore ribs.

“Ice?” You questioned, tilting your head towards the kitchen. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and you stepped lightly towards his freezer, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his private space. You rifled around in the draws and grabbed a bag of ice and a towel from the side before returning to the couch. Intending to just hand the ice to Eric you were shocked into silence when he began to lift the hem of his vest, drawing your attention to his red-raw knuckles. You sucked in a breath at the sight of his fluttering abs as he struggled to breathe through the pain across his ribs. Gently lowering the cool ice-filled towel to the developing bruise you tried to keep your gaze steadily on the arm of the couch, hoping that you could fight down the blush rising to your cheeks. Maybe you should have grabbed some ice for yourself, because you felt as though you were on fire and you weren’t even directly touching Eric’s skin.

“You’re a terrible teacher, you know that?” You whispered as you lowered yourself to crouch by his side.

“How so?” He grunted through clenched teeth and you couldn’t tell if his injury or the cold bothered him more.

“Aren’t you supposed to set a good example? He totally tapped out and you ignored it.” You ventured a glance up at his face and noted the confused quirk of his lips.

“You didn’t get that luxury from him.” Eric mumbled, and you realised then that his attack on Thelonious had been entirely for your benefit. Revenge on your behalf.

“Oh,” you shyly returned your attention to his ribs, “thank you, Eric.”

A muffled “didn’t do it for you” was all you got in response and it caused your lips to pull up in a knowing smile at the blatant lie.

You removed the bag of ice and brazenly ran your hand over the purpling skin, checking for any further wounds, your thumb caressed the ridges of muscle and pale flesh and your brows pinched in concern. Eric sucked in a harsh breath above you and you withdrew your hand so swiftly you almost hit yourself in the chest.

“Sorry.” You muttered sheepishly. “Give me your hands?” Eric stared down at you, sat delicately on your knees next to his stretched out legs, and pulled a face of disgust. You rolled your eyes, fully aware that he was embarrassed by your touch. “They’re all cracked and covered in blood Eric, c’mon, please?”

His hands landed gracelessly on his knees and you lifted his large palm softly into your own so that you could wipe at the scrapes with the dampened towel. You noticed him fisting his neglected hand into the fabric of his cargos and pretended to ignore the almost imperceptible shake of the hand you were currently working on. Was Eric nervous? No, he was clearly just trying to hide his pain, you reasoned, wiping his knuckles even more gently and moving up to sit beside him on the couch. Your knee lightly bumped into his muscled thigh and you shifted to put some distance between you since he didn’t seem to be enjoying the contact of your hands on his and you didn’t want to test his patience.

You had almost finished cleaning both hands of blood when you felt his thigh press back against your knee, filling the space, protesting the distance you had created. It was surprisingly soothing and a stark contrast to your usual bodily contact during training. It almost made you gasp but you both remained silent, not daring to acknowledge the lingering touch and the tension that was beginning to build. Feeling emboldened, you sat up on your knees to reach across Eric’s lap and check on the bruising of his ribs, his eyes level with your throat as you wiped away the wayward drips of freezing water from his exposed stomach, the muscles trembling beneath your touch. You were distractedly balling up the towel in your fists and preparing to move back to your side of the couch when you felt the dampness of lips at the base of your neck and a thank you murmured into your smooth skin. The pleasure of his warmth against your own had you releasing a soft moan before you came back to yourself.

You felt yourself tense, your eyes flew open and you fell backwards into the armrest, almost winding yourself in the process. You directed your wide-eyed stare towards your leader and the thunderous expression that marred his handsome features sent a wave of fear through you.

“Shit Eric, I’m sorry-” Any chance to explain yourself was crushed by Eric shooting up without even a twinge of pain and marching towards the door.

“Leave.”

You gaped at him for a second before his deepening scowl had you following his orders, looking around the room in shocked desperation. You turned to face him at the entrance with pleading, watery eyes.

“Eric, I-”

The door slammed in your face.

~~~

Saturday was typically a rest day but you often took up residence in the training room to practice your weapons handling so that you weren’t completely idle. Today, however, you fully intended to stay in your room and mope. You had barely slept and had been plagued by the phantom sensation of Eric’s pouty lips against the base of your throat, the memory of his face as you practically leapt across the room to get away from him taunting you every time you closed your eyes. You had just gotten comfortable with a book when a knock sounded from your door. A spark of hope lit up in your chest at the prospect of it being Eric standing out there in the corridor and you padded your way across the room, aiming for nonchalance but not being able to contain your small smile.

“Will?”

“Don’t seem too disappointed.” Your friends eyes were alight with mirth at your failure to hide your dissatisfaction. “I just came by to ask if you wanted to join me on my run? Christina was saying how your endurance needs some work.”

“That snake.” You scrunched up your nose, but laughter bubbled out of you at the thought of Christina imploring Will to get you to work out. It was your rest day, but a light jog couldn’t hurt. You pulled Will into your apartment by his sleeve and abandoned him in your living room so you could go and change into some proper clothes without leaving him standing in the corridor.

You were pulling your sports bra over your head when you heard your front door close heavily. Grabbing your running shoes you stepped back into your living room to find that your sweet brunette friend had been replaced by the imposing blond leader you hadn’t been prepared to see.

“Where’s Will?” In your confusion, you had completely forgotten the previous nights dismissal, but you were quickly reminded of it as your eyes landed upon Eric’s tongue, flicking out to moisten his reddened lips. It looked as though he had been chewing on them, they seemed sore and you so desperately wanted to soothe them. His eyes were firmly planted on your chest since it was not particularly well hidden in your current attire.

“I don’t want him sabotaging my hard work.” He pulled his gaze up to your face, registering the look of uncertainty in your eyes, the tips of his ears turning a dark shade of pink.

“I take it the light jog I had planned in now going to be a brutal sprint around the city?” You cocked your hip and crossed your arms, subtly lifting your chest in defiance.

“Of course.” He grinned at you wolfishly, any hint of last nights rage disappearing with a smirk.

#eric coulter #eric divergent #eric coulter x reader #x reader #eric coulter x you #x you #divergent #fluff #jai courtney #enemies to lovers #fem!reader #mentor/mentee #smut #g writes #slow burn

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colubrina · 2 years

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DAILY WORD COUNT

THE COLLECTIVE: 408 my first draft is done!!!!!! *confetti* *horns blaring*. It's my 11th original novel. Calloo! Callay!

now all I have to do it revise it lol

#amwriting #have sent the ending to readers #now I want and chill #i have a book to beta read for my rogue mentors mentee #the last mentee program I will do #I put one more mentorship into the community than I took out so I call that a debt paid #maybe I read too much heinlein as a child lol #but the book is done!!!!#sort of

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reiderwriter · 6 months

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Can I request a Spencer babying the reader BAU and everyone on the team is so done with it but reader is confused and oblivious...?

A/N: Thank you for your request! I've been very much feeling post-Prison/ later seasons Spencer recently, so I hope you enjoy this fic!

Warnings: mostly fluff, implied age-gap, slight mentor/mentee dynamic.

Your first year in the BAU would've been tough had it not been for Doctor Spencer Reid.

It was tough still, but without him, you don't think you'd have been able to handle much of it. He'd been your mentor through each case, taking you under his wing when he wasn't on academic leave, teaching his criminology courses at the FBI Academy.

Those weeks were the hardest, and you found yourself moping about in the office, texting him once or twice a trip for advice.

On one particularly hard case, he'd come back into the office after you'd text. Not to consult on the case, but just to drop you off a chamomile tea and a pastry to brighten your day that little bit.

When he was back, your days were great. He knew so much, and you learnt so much from him so quickly, eagerly consuming his every word. You were so eager to please him that you often forgot others around the two of you.

“Spencer, if you're done fawning after Y/N we have a case to work on,” Emily gently chastised the man as he pulled out your chair for you, ready to sit down to hear the details of your next crime.

“Oh, Emily, thank you, but it's okay. Doctor Reid was just being considerate, I'm sure he'd have done it for anyone.” The shared glances around the room were filled with glib secrecy, but no-one commented further, leaving you slightly baffled.

Those shared looks between the other members of your team had become more common as of late, with each one more worrisome than the next. There was something unsettling about being the only one out of the loop, and as the newest member of the team, and the youngest, it often felt disheartening.

“Y/N, don't worry. Being the youngest member of any team is tough, but you're smart and you're holding your own.” With a pat to your head he walked away, lifting the weight off your shoulders slightly but not fully. You needed to get to the bottom of the BAU's non-verbal communications, and you needed answers.

Your first technique was interrogation. Surely one of them would break and tell you if you laid out your thoughts and feelings clearly.

Surely not, you found, as each member casually and softly blew you off.

“Y/N, you just need to think carefully about how certain members of the team act towards you. How familiar they are. How overly familiar they are.” Tara had at least told you that much, bit it had left you just as confused as the radio silence from the others.

“Everyone has behaved very professionally with me. You've all been very welcoming up to this point, which I appreciate greatly.”

“I wouldn't count gifting you flowers for your first successful case as the most professional act, Y/N,” she said as she sipped her coffee. “But I suppose that is just up to interpretation.

Doctor Reid had sent you flowers after you finished your first case. But there had been extenuating circumstances in that case. You'd both worked on the geographical profile on that case, and together had figured out the species of flower the unsub was using was only cultivated on one local flower orchard. It had cracked the case open and you'd found your unsub hours later.

So the flowers were an extension of that small joint success. That was all.

Your second attempt at figuring out what was going on was observation.

Partially taking Tara’s advice, you tried your best to track the moments when each of the weary looks would come your way.

Overwhelmingly, they seemed to be directed towards Doctor Reid whenever the two of you interacted.

You had to gently inform him of this, before it interrupted both of your abilities to work.

“Doctor Reid, do you know why Emily and Rossi are both currently watching us from between the blinds in their offices?” You whispered to the man, leaning in close to his ear. You were quite sure he didn't know, but a question seemed as good a way as any to broach the topic.

“I do, yes. It's best if you ignore them.”

His nonchalance in the matter shocked you, so sure you were that this would be news to him. You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

“Why are they staring at us?” You finally managed to force the words out in a small squeak, forcing his eyes back to yours.

“Don't worry about it for now, I'll handle it.” He smiled down as you, and the bright gesture washed away more of the tension you'd been feeling in the office. You smiled back at him as he rose from his desk chair and carried himself to the stairs. You giggled when he winked down at you, just as you noticed Emily frantically hurrying away from her office window as Spencer knocked on her door.

As much as he told you to not worry about it all though, you really couldn't help yourself. You found yourself growing more clumsy under the watchful eyes of your entire team, galling more times than you'd care to admit into Doctor Reid's arms. He always caught you, though, and you were thankful you never did yourself serious injury.

You finally got the answers you'd craved out on a case about a month into your struggles.

There was something slightly unsettling about the way the female Sheriff was paying attention to Doctor Reid, and it made you uncomfortable. Your mouth ran dry when she touched his arm, but a small part of you warmed up again when he shrugged her off. Until, at least, you heard him explain why.

“I'm sorry, I'm a germophobe, so I'd really prefer you not touch me.” His voice was calm and steady; it really didn't seem like he was lying.

“You're not pulling my leg? I'm sorry if I came on too strong, but-”

“Why would I pull your leg, I said I don't like physical touch?”

“Well, there was that young girl earlier, Y/N was it? You had your hand on her back as you walked in, so I didn't think…”

The woman had made a good point, and you crept closer to the edge of the door to hear Doctor Reid - Spencer's response.

“Sheriff, if we're done here, do you think I could get back to my job?” You were almost disappointed in the change of topic, but you weren't all that sad to see the Sheriff remove herself from the room. Slipping in behind her you decided to test the new theory that had slipped into your mind in the last minutes.

You called out to him to grab his attention as you walked into the room but before he had the chance to turn and greet you, you threw your arms around his shoulders and pressed your body down against his, enveloping him in a back hug.

It was quite possibly the most familiar position you'd been in with him, but really it wasn't all that different from your usual proximity.

Unlike when the Sheriff casually brushed against him, he didn't stiffen, didn't pull away, but instead melted into your touch, looking up at you with a large grin.

You stood shocked for a minute before grinning back.

“Spencer, I think I know why everyone has been watching us for the last few weeks.” You said, causing his eyes to panic slightly as he acknowledged your words.

“The, uh, the Sheriff was just in here talking about a development either some of the DNA test results-” He desperately tried to change the subject, but you were locked in now, spinning his chair around to face you more as you came eye-to-eye with him.

“I know why the Sheriff was in here, Spencer, I heard it all.”

“It's not what you think,” you paused for a moment as your brow furrowed, trying to figure out if you'd somehow caught the wrong end of the stick.

“So our coworkers haven't been waiting for you to ask me out, having noticed large changes in your body language and attitude around me?”

“It's….exactly as you think.” His face was flushed with pink and your heart skipped a beat at the man in front of you. But you still had some questions.

“And you knew, but you didn't say anything to me despite the fact that I bought it up multiple times?”

“I'm…I'm not good with words," he frowned

“Are you good with dates?”

“Excuse me?”

“You're going to take me on a date when we get back to Quantico. After giving it some thought, Doctor Reid, it seems I've become quite enamoured of you.” You dropped into his lap then, sitting there like a cat pleased to take up residence on its owners legs. He stuttered for a few seconds but then found his voice again, face lighting up.

“Spencer. Please, Y/N, call me Spencer.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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seravphs · 1 year

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy.

wc — 1k

tags — confident reader

He lets you loop your arms around his neck and whine for kisses, gifts, everything he has. With an unlimited budget and the deep pockets of a man in love, he spoils you rotten.

Here’s the problem with being the strongest: you will always be the strongest. From the day he was born, there was no competition. Gojo didn’t even have to begin to outstrip his peers. He was simply born better than them.

But eventually, even that level of talent grew exponentially until he went from being simply unbeatable to untouchable. His growth was incomparable, leaving him a lonely god on his own plane of existence.

That’s why he needs you: sweet and soft and demanding. Everyone else had it all wrong.

The Gojo clan spoiled their young head rotten. Knowing that he would bear the burden of the world from the moment he was born and those blue eyes opened, his mother demanded her child grow up in peace. Nothing was asked of him, no demands, no pleas for help.

The outside world relied on Gojo as their saviour, but within the Gojo compound, he was just a spoiled little boy whose mother adored him.

The way he acts within the walls of the Gojo stronghold is a carefully kept secret. He’s as soft as a newborn kitten, hair carefully washed by his childhood nurses and left out to sun in a patch of light. He’s sleepy and warm and mellow, hardly the strongest anymore. Without knowing any of this, you somehow bring that back out in him years later.

An auxiliary manager in training, you first met him when you were tagging along with Ijichi on one of Gojo’s missions. Ijichi was flustered, even more so than usual, at the thought of having to care for a mentee when he could hardly take care of himself.

It only made matters worse that your first mission would be with Gojo. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, despairing at how he would inevitably fail to shield you from his barbed comments and wicked teasing.

In the end, he needn’t have worried. The two of you turn the tables on him.

Poor Ijichi.

It started off as a way to bully him more, because Gojo could be such a little tyrant.

“Come on, Ijichi. Let her tag along, what’s the harm!”

“You heard him,” you had announced self-importantly, and thrown yourself promptly into the passenger seat.

That was usually Gojo’s seat, but he was willing to give it up for some amusement.

You hadn’t been given permission to go on this mission, but you had insisted. First you wheedled, then you whined, finally you outright demanded. You wanted see the powerful Satoru Gojo in action.

He leans forward, arms draped over the back of your seat. He pokes your cheek playfully as he says, “Oh, are you a fan?”

“As if!” You scoff. “I don’t care about you, I care about your cursed technique.”

Gojo takes your bluntness in stride. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about his technique (he caught you demanding details on Hollow Purple from Ijichi once) or maybe it’s the way your cheeks puff out when you pout. He knows you’re lying. Part of your assignment to Ijichi is because you begged Masamichi to be placed where you could watch Gojo work.

It’s easy work for him. The curse is vaporized in seconds. He makes it look so weak you wonder why they even bothered with it at all until you remember that this curse had been failed to be exorcised by a first grade sorcerer who had come back licking his wounds. It’s not that it’s weak, it’s that he’s too strong.

“Anyone up for lunch? My treat,” Gojo says, still immaculate as ever.

Ijichi, who had been standing so close he got covered in some strange muck, not even from the curse but from Hollow Purple cutting through the mud, looks at him suspiciously. Gojo is never this nice.

You have no such reservations. Ijichi yelps and protests when Gojo brings you to a luxurious restaurant in the heart of Tokyo without a reservation, relying on the strength of his name alone. He doesn’t even eat much, content to watch you order whatever you like on his dime. It amuses him, the way you’re so confident about it, as if you know he won’t refuse you.

He won’t.

By the time you order dessert - for you and Gojo, telling him he’ll like whatever you choose for him - he can’t bear the burning question that’s been lurking in the back of his mind anymore.

“Smoke break!” He demands cheerfully.

“You don’t even smoke!” Ijichi says, terrified, as if Gojo is some high school bully dragging him out under another pretense to shake him down for cash. He might, just for fun.

You smile and wave them off. You wouldn’t let Gojo do that seriously, but Ijichi is just so fun to tease. You’ll come rescue him later if it looks like he’s really miserable.

“Alright, spill the beans,” Gojo says, leaning against the doorframe and blockading Ijichi from going back inside. “What’s her deal?”

Ijichi just stares at him slack jawed, open mouthed, terrified, clearly still waiting for some kind of attack.

“Oh, come on! I’m not that mean to you, am I?” Even Gojo can’t resist a twitchy smile at what he’s saying. “Who is she? Where’s she from?”

Ijichi blinks. “She’s just some girl. Masamichi hired her.”

“She’s a right little princess,” Gojo murmured. “What, is she the daughter of a clan head or something? Maybe even the Three Clans?”

Ijichi sighs. “You would think so with that attitude, but she just comes from a normal non-sorcerer family.”

“Her?” Gojo asks disbelievingly. “A girl like that? Impossible.”

“It’s true,” Ijichi says. “I don’t even know where Masamichi picked her up.”

Gojo returns to his seat with a overly sweet parfait waiting for him. You’re right, he does like it. Or maybe he likes it because you’re finally giving him your full attention, waiting with rapt delight to see if he’ll give it full stars.

He thinks he might take you out to dinner more, if it gets you to look at him like that. You might not be a clan princess yet, but he can’t wait to make you one.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojou fluff

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winterarmyy · 13 days

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He Hates Me, Doesn't He?

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: You hurt Bucky's girl, and now he hates you.

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Words: 6.7k++

Warnings: angstyyyyyyyyy, but with happy ending because I cannot live in agony. miscommunication galore. 'I want to strangle bucky's girlfriend.' soft reader, cold/mean bucky. bucky should've grovel more. horrible attempt of writing verbal arguments. nothing much but pain.

Inspiration: I remember reading a bucky fic years ago and I like the pain that it caused me to feel. Idk why the pain suddenly came back to me lately. So, this is my take on the same idea. I haven't able to find it. But when I do, I'll reblog it in my another acc!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

y/n had always been a steady presence in the Avengers, known for her gentle demeanour and unwavering support. Her relationship with Bucky Barnes had blossomed from a quiet friendship into something deeper. When they first met, Bucky was reserved and hesitant, still grappling with his past as the Winter Soldier. y/n, with her gentle nature and patient understanding, slowly helped him come out of his shell.

She remembered the sleepless nights they spent together when they were on the run with Steve and Sam. They'd share stories, and sometimes just sit in silence, her quiet company offering solace to Bucky's restless mind. The unspoken bond growing stronger with each passing day. Bucky looked up to her, finding comfort in her presence, and in turn, he became fiercely protective of her. They'd watch each other's backs during missions, their synergy on the battlefield a testament to their deep connection.

And somewhere along the line, she fell for him. She had fallen for Bucky's resilience and vulnerability, though she never expected more, knowing that a relationship was not what he needed right now. At least, that's what she thought. Little did she know, Bucky had always loved her; ever since the day she offered him tea the first night they were on the run to Wakanda. Maybe she was just simply aloof, or maybe Bucky’s flirting skills weren’t translated the way he wanted, but they never crossed the line between friendship and ‘something more’.

Then when Jen came into the picture, it felt like things started to change. Jen was bold and confident, and it wasn't long before she caught Bucky's eye. Their relationship seemed to spring up overnight, and y/n, though hurt, tried to be happy for Bucky. Jen was supportive and caring, or so it seemed, and Bucky deserved happiness.

Now, as planned the team was instructed to moved into the Avenger compound for a few months to train new recruits. It had only been the first month but surely it was jam packed with endless of rigorous training sessions. The original team—y/n, Sam, Bucky, Jen, Clint, and his mentee Kate Bishop—were all assigned to train the new recruits, with additional of few agents from different branches coming in to help out.

y/n was heading to the training room; she knew it was way too early but she thought that if she didn’t get out of bed now, she might not even get up at all. To her surprise, she was not the first one. She saw a few new trainees were already on the way to the training room; some of them greeted her a good morning. She simply smiled at their enthusiasm.

The moment she entered the area, she overheard voices coming from the corner of the room. She paused, recognizing Jen's voice, which was raised and laced with contempt. Curiosity piqued, y/n stepped closer, staying just out of sight behind the white board. In hindsight, it might seem weird that she was sneaking around to eavesdrop on Jen, but she couldn't help it.

Initially, y/n liked Jen. She tried to welcome her into their tight-knit group and even supported her relationship with Bucky. However, as time went on, Jen began acting strange. The things she said about Bucky sometimes sounded condescending. She would make comments like, "It's amazing how well he's adjusted, considering his past," or, "It's great that he's trying so hard to be normal." The way she acted often differed from her words, with Jen giving Bucky disapproving glances or sighing heavily whenever he mentioned something from his troubled past.

She had noticed these discrepancies and started to feel uneasy around Jen. She couldn't shake the feeling that Jen’s support was just a facade. Now, standing behind the whiteboard, she strained to hear the conversation.

"…and honestly, I don’t understand how anyone can trust him," Jen was saying. "I mean, sure, he's got that whole 'reformed hero' thing going on now, but let’s be real. He was Hydra’s pet assassin for decades. The things he’s done? It’s unforgivable."

Her friend, another agent from a different branch, nodded hesitantly. "But you’re dating him, aren’t you? Doesn’t that mean you trust him?"

Jen laughed, a cold, humourless sound. "Dating him? Please. I’m in it for the fame and the perks. Have you seen the way people look at us? Besides, he’s hot, I’ll give him that. But trust him? Never. People like him don’t change. They’re broken. He's a monster, and he always will be. It’s only a matter of time before he snaps again."

y/n felt a surge of anger rise within her. How dare Jen talk about Bucky like that?

Memories flooded her mind, flashing back to Bucky’s nightmare-plagued nights. She remembered the prominent dark circles under his eyes, the haunted look that never quite left his face. The silent pain he endured, adjusting to a modern world where he felt like an outsider, magnified when Steve left. She could still see the wary, suspicious glances people cast in his direction, the whispers behind his back when they first ventured out. Before the fame he acquired as he regained his reputation after the Flag-Smasher incident.

She had witnessed his hardships firsthand—the nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat, the moments of crippling doubt and self-loathing. But she had also seen his triumphs, the small victories that slowly built his confidence. The first time he laughed freely in her presence, the genuine smile that lit up his face when he finally allowed himself to relax. She cherished those moments, the sunshine that broke through the clouds of his tortured past.

All of this came rushing back, breaking the chains on the Pandora's box inside of her. The fury she felt wasn't just for the disrespect to Bucky; it was for every ounce of pain he had suffered, every moment of joy he had fought so hard to reclaim. Her eyes hardened with resolve as she stepped forward, her voice steady but cold. "Take that back," she demanded, her presence startling both Jen and her friend.

Jen turned slowly, a smirk spreading across her face as she saw y/n. She knew from the beginning about the cute little crush y/n had on Bucky. To be frank, everybody sort of knew about it, except for Bucky somehow.

"Or else what, y/n?" she replied with a mocking tone. "You’re quite pathetic aren’t you? You think that I can’t see how you’ve been eye-fucking my boyfriend all this time? Come on, now. Backing him up would not give you a leeway into his pants, y/n."

y/n’s face went through a range of emotions—shock, embarrassment, and then seething anger. Jen’s words were like poison, each one landing like a punch to the gut.

Jen continued, confidence oozing out of her cocky demeanor, "Besides, we all know that I can easily beat you in a fight, doll"

The use of doll—a nickname Bucky had given y/n from day one, when Steve had quite literally kidnapped Bucky from the government—made y/n blood boil. Hearing it from Jen felt like a personal attack, a deliberate attempt to undermine everything she shared with Bucky.

And it was true that Jen had graduated top of her batch from the Avengers program and had countless successful missions under her belt, but y/n knew this wasn't about accolades or abilities. This was about something deeper, something more personal.

y/n clenched her fists, taking a step closer. "You think this is about who can fight better?" she said, her voice shaking with restrained fury. "This is about respect. You don’t get to talk about Bucky like that."

Jen scoffed, a cruel smile on her lips. "Respect? For that monster? You’re delusional. He’s a ticking time bomb, a liability to the team. And deep down, everyone knows it."

y/n’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, she slapped Jen hard across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Jen stumbled and fell to the ground, shock and anger flashing across her features.

She stalks forward like a predator cornering its prey, "I’m just done with your lies and your insults. Bucky deserves better than you." Jen instinctively crawled backwards towards the centre of the room. Seeing that she got the attention of the few new recruits she regained her composure, smirked again, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "You’re pathetic, y/n," she taunted. "Defending a lost cause." her voice was loud enough for y/n to hear but quiet enough that the others might not be able to decipher her words.

At that moment, Bucky and Sam burst into the room, followed closely behind by a new recruit who alerted them of the incident. Bucky’s eyes widened as he took in the scene—Jen on the ground, y/n standing over her, shaking with rage. "What’s going on here?" His demand was completely ignored as y/n’s mind was hyper-focused on the wrath bubbling within her.

"Get up," y/n demanded, her voice shaking with wrath. Bucky’s momentarily froze as he watched the confrontation escalate before him. y/n, usually so composed, was now a whirlwind of rage, her eyes blazing as she stood over a trembling Jen. Bucky had always known her to be fierce in battle, but this was different—this was raw, unbridled anger. "I'm going to make you regret every word you said. So get on your fucking feet before I rip it off you.."

Jen, still on the ground, looked up at y/n with wide, teary eyes, playing the role of the victim to perfection. "Please, I didn't– I don’t know what you're…," she whimpered, casting a fearful glance at Bucky and Sam, who had just arrived on the scene.

Bucky's mind raced. Why was she doing this? He stepped forward, trying to diffuse the situation. "y/n, hey!" he shouted, his voice a mix of confusion and anger. "What are you doing?"

Completely ignoring him, "Get up," y/n snarled, her eyes blazing with intensity. "Get up and fight me. I’ll show you who the real monster is." Jen looked up, her hand on her cheek, disbelief mingling with her fury. "You’re crazy," she spat, scrambling to her feet.

Her response was only a furious shout. "I said, get up!"

"y/n, are you crazy?!" Bucky yelled, moving quickly to intervene. He grabbed her wrist, his grip tight and unforgiving.

She turned her fierce gaze towards Bucky; her expression momentarily faltering at the hurt in his eyes. "Bucky, you don’t understand, she--" she began, but the words caught in her throat as she saw Jen's smirk flicker for just a second.

"There's nothing to understand," Bucky snapped. "You’re acting insane."

y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with hurt and frustration. "Bucky, you have to listen—"

But he cut her off, his expression hard. "I don’t care! You hurt her, y/n. You think I don’t see that bruise on her cheek?!" Bucky shouted, his face contorted with anger. His eyes, usually filled with a gentle warmth when he looked at y/n, were now blazing with fury. "This isn’t like you, y/n. I’ve noticed that you’ve never liked Jen, and I don’t know why. But this? This is just immature and reckless." His metal grip on y/n's wrist was tighter than he intended. She winced, her eyes watering not just from the pain but from the sting of his words.

y/n had never seen Bucky like this. His anger was palpable, radiating off him in waves. It was like being hit with a physical force, and she felt her heart breaking under the weight of it. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her anger flaring even hotter. "Bucky, you don’t understand," she tried to explain, but the words caught in her throat.

Bucky’s expression remained hard, the force on her wrist tightening painfully. "You need to grow up, y/n," he seethed, his disappointment evident in his tone. "You're always causing drama lately, and it needs to stop. Jen’s been there for me in ways you haven’t, and I won’t tolerate you attacking her like this."

The words cut through her like a knife. Her heart shattered at his harshness, at the realization that Bucky thought so little of her. She yanked her wrist free, feeling the sting of his grip lingering. "Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Believe what you want."

Without another word, she turned and stormed out, leaving Bucky standing there, torn between confusion and guilt.

A gnawing sense of remorse tugging at him, but he couldn't shake the confusion and anger clouding his mind. "Jen, are you okay?" he asked, helping her to her feet.

Jen, tucking herself to his side, managed to summon a few tears, looking up at Bucky with a feigned innocence. "I don’t know why she hates me so much," she murmured, playing her part perfectly.

Bucky fingers softly traces on her wounded cheek before his gaze switched to y/n’s retreating form, a knot tightening in his chest. He wasn’t sure why those mean words had spouted out of his lips. Was it because he saw Jen injured on the ground and his protective instincts kicked in? Or was it because Jen had been whispering doubts in his ear about y/n’s loyalty, making him question his longtime friend?

The truth was, Bucky had always relied on y/n’s unwavering support. She had been his rock through the toughest times, and seeing her so furious, so hurt, shook him to his core. Yet, in the heat of the moment, he had lashed out, unable to reconcile the image of Jen crying with the fierce anger that radiated from y/n.

As Bucky comforted Jen, his mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He couldn't shake the image of hurt on her face, nor could he ignore the nagging feeling that he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

On the side, Sam was only able to watch the scene play out silently, a frown creasing his brow. He had a feeling there was more to this story, and he intended to get to the bottom of it.

As weeks passed, the rift between Bucky and y/n deepened, fueled by Jen's cunning manipulation. In a private conversation, Jen planted seeds of doubt in Bucky's mind, suggesting that y/n harboured hidden resentments and intentions.

"I hate to say it, Bucky, but maybe she's not who we thought she was," Jen insinuated, her voice dripping with false concern. "Maybe she's been hiding her true feelings all along, waiting for the right moment to strike."

Bucky, already vulnerable and confused after the incident in the training room, absorbed Jen's words like poison, allowing them to fester and take root in his mind. He began to view y/n through a new lens, one tainted by suspicion and distrust. This single conversation, filled with subtle manipulations and insidious suggestions, was all it took to fracture the bond between Bucky and y/n, leaving Bucky cold and distant towards the one person who had always stood by his side.

Most days he would avoid eye contact with her during team meetings, barely acknowledging her presence when they were forced to interact. In training sessions, his instructions to her were curt and clipped, lacking the warmth and camaraderie they once shared. y/n felt each of these interactions like a stab to the heart.

She couldn't understand how quickly Bucky had turned against her, how easily he had accepted Jen's version of events without even giving her a chance to explain. The hurt festered inside her, eating away at her sense of self-worth.

Then one night, as y/n sat alone on the rooftop, staring out into the darkness, Sam found her there. He knew this was where she retreated when she needed space to think, to process her emotions. He approached her cautiously, sitting down beside her without a word.

"Why aren't you at dinner, y/n?" Sam finally asked, breaking the silence. He could see the emptiness in her eyes, the weight of her sorrow pressing down on her.

She shook her head, her voice hollow. "Lost my appetite," she muttered, her gaze still fixed on the horizon.

Sam gently prodded, knowing there was more to her withdrawal than just a lack of hunger. "Is it because of what happened the other day at the training room?" he asked softly.

Instantly, her demeanor shifted. Anger flared in her eyes, directed not just at Jen and Bucky, but at the entire situation. "I don't want to talk about it, Sam," she snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. But Sam wasn't one to give up easily, especially when he knew how much y/n was hurting. "Come on, y/n," he urged, his voice gentle but insistent. "You can't keep bottling this up. Talk to me."

Her expression softened slightly at Sam's persistence, but the pain still lingered in her eyes. "Seriously, Sam, please just drop it," she pleaded, her voice wavering with emotion.

Sam could see the cracks forming in her facade, the vulnerability seeping through the tough exterior she usually projected. Without a word, he pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her bury her face against his shoulder.

As she clung to him, her facade finally crumbled. Her lips trembled, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "He hates me, doesn't he?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbreak. "Bucky hates me."

Sam held her tighter, offering silent comfort as she grappled with the weight of her sorrow. He knew there were no easy answers, no quick fixes to mend the shattered pieces of y/n's heart. But in that moment, all he could do was be there for her, a steady anchor in the storm of her emotions.

The dim glow of the kitchen's overhead light provided a faint sense of solace in the otherwise silent darkness of the compound. Bucky sat at the wooden table, his tired eyes staring blankly at the cup of untouched tea before him. It was a nightly ritual lately, this dance with sleeplessness and the haunting memories that lurked in the shadows of his mind yet again.

Footsteps broke the stillness, and Bucky's gaze shifted to the entrance of the kitchen. y/n stood hesitantly in the doorway, her presence casting a tentative aura over the room. There was a palpable tension between them, an unspoken weight that hung heavy in the air.

She cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. "Mind if I join you?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She was expecting Bucky to ignore her completely but he didn’t; Bucky simply shrugged nonchalantly, his guard seemed to flatter. "Suit yourself," he muttered.

As she quietly took a seat opposite him, a heavy silence settled between them. Bucky's thoughts churned with a whirlwind of emotions, each one vying for dominance over the others. His guard seemed to falter in the presence of her tentative yet comforting aura. The weight of his own vulnerability loomed large in his mind, drowning out the anger he had harboured towards her.

As the silence stretched between them, she felt a surge of compassion wash over her. She knew why he was awake at this time. She knew that the tea he brewed was to help him sleep. She was the one who planted that habit to him after all.

And despite everything that had transpired between them, she couldn't bear to see Bucky suffer alone. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she decided to reach out to him, to offer what little comfort she could.

Without a word, y/n rose from her seat and moved to stand behind Bucky's chair. He stiffened at her touch, his muscles tense with apprehension. But as her gentle hands began to massage the tension from his neck, a wave of unexpected relief washed over him.

Her touch was soft and comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness he had grown accustomed to due to Jen’s unwillingness to acknowledge this side of him. She ran her fingers through his hair, coaxing him to relax, to let go of the burdens that weighed heavily on his shoulders. For a brief moment, Bucky allowed himself to forget the walls he had built around his heart. In her presence, her voice, and her touch; he felt a glimmer of hope, a flicker of warmth that he had long since forgotten.

But then, like a sudden gust of wind extinguishing a fragile flame, the weight of Jen's words came crashing back down upon him. Anger flared within him, hot and fierce, directed not only at y/n but at himself for allowing his heart to yearn for her.

He pushed himself away from the table, his movements sharp and abrupt. "I don't need your pity, y/n," he spat, his words laced with bitterness. "Just leave me alone."

With that, he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving y/n alone in the suffocating silence.The disbelief that clouded her thoughts gave way to a searing agony that twisted in her chest. How could he say such things? How could he push her away so callously, after everything they had shared?

y/n buried her face in her hands, her body trembling with the force of her sobs. The weight of her shattered dreams pressed down on her, crushing her spirit beneath its merciless grip. She had never felt so alone, so utterly abandoned by the one person she had trusted above all others.

The pain of losing Bucky, of losing the love that had sustained her through the darkest of times, threatened to consume her whole. Each breath felt like a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the emptiness that now filled her soul.

In that moment of crushing despair, she couldn't help but believe that Bucky truly hated her. The thought tore through her like a knife, leaving behind a raw, gaping wound that no amount of time or distance could ever hope to heal.

As she sat alone in the suffocating silence of the kitchen, y/n felt the full weight of her heartbreak descend upon her like a tidal wave. She was lost in a sea of pain and sorrow, drowning in the agony of losing someone she had loved so deeply, so completely. And in that moment, she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever find her way back to the surface again.

Unbeknownst to her, Bucky lingered just out of sight, his heart heavy with guilt. He wanted to go back, to take back his harsh words and hold her close, to chase away the tears that stained her cheeks. But the poison in his mind was too strong, clouding his judgement and trapping him in a cycle of self-destructive despair. And so, with a heavy heart, he turned and walked away, leaving y/n to cry alone in the darkness.

The mission had already been tense enough, but as y/n found herself face to face with Jen in a location she wasn't supposed to be, the atmosphere crackled with an added layer of hostility. It was as if fate had conspired to place them in this confrontation, and her jaw clenched involuntarily as she braced herself for what was to come.

Jen's presence in that spot was no coincidence, and she knew it. Her suspicions were confirmed as Jen turned to face her, a smirk playing on her lips, a gleam of malice in her eyes. y/n's grip tightened on her weapon, her pulse quickening as she prepared for the verbal assault she knew was coming.

"How does it feel, knowing that Bucky hates you now?" Jen's words sliced through the air like a knife, each syllable carrying the weight of y/n’s deepest fears. It was a direct hit, striking at the core of her insecurities, and for a moment, she felt as though the ground had been ripped out from beneath her feet.

But she refused to let Jen see her falter. With a steely resolve, she squared her shoulders and met Jen's gaze head-on, her expression a mask of defiance. She may have been shaken by Jen's words, but she refused to let them break her.

Ignoring the taunts, she focused on the mission at hand, determined to prove her worth despite Jen's attempts to undermine her. But with each passing moment, the weight of Jen's words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over y/n’s every move.

It was a battle on two fronts – against the enemy they faced together, and against the doubts that threatened to consume her from within. But she refused to back down, drawing strength from the knowledge that she fought not just for herself, but for the team she believed in with all her heart.

But Jen's relentless barrage of insults made it difficult to concentrate, her words like daggers slicing through y/n’s defenses.

"Aww come on y/n, bet you’re reeling in the loss right now, aren’t you." Jen continued, her voice ice cold. "The Asset’s little lapdog, clinging to him like a lost puppy."

y/n’s temper flared at the insult, her grip tightening on her weapon as she fought to keep her emotions in check. But Jen's mocking laughter only fueled the fire burning within her, pushing her to the brink of her patience. "Shut your mouth, Jen," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "Or I swear to God, I'll make sure that the team finds your body disassembled in one of these rooms."

Jen simply rolled her eyes, unfazed by her threat. "You love him that much, huh?" y/n had no intention to deny that fact; she does love him, "More than you ever could." her voice was firm and true. Jen’s smirk fell as she scoffed. "Ain't that cute, the Winter Soldier and his little psycho sweetheart."

Before y/n could respond, a voice cut through the tension like a knife, freezing her in place. It was Bucky, his expression dark and stormy as he stepped into view. "What's going on here?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he took in the scene before him.

y/n’s heart sank as she realized that Bucky might have heard everything. She turned around to meet his eyes and his face confirmed her suspicion; he heard it. Bucky had heard everything – every taunt, every insult, every word exchanged between her and Jen; even the confession of her true feelings. She met his gaze; searching for some sign of understanding of his emotions and the little that she saw was: disappointment, betrayal and guilt, mirrored back at her in the depths of his stormy blue eyes.

In that moment, all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms, to pull him away from all the painful memories and hurtful words; so far away that he would forget he had ever been taunted, betrayed, or made to feel less than he was.

Before she could utter a word, let alone take a step towards him, Jen's voice broke through, but it lacked the usual confidence. "Bucky, it's not what you think," she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between Bucky and y/n. "I-I was just..."

y/n’s clenched her jaw, her patience wearing thin as Jen stumbled over her words, unable to come up with a coherent explanation. She could see the confusion and hurt in Bucky's eyes, a reflection of the turmoil raging within her own heart.

"I-I mean," Jen continued, her voice faltering. "I was...um...just trying to...uh..."

But her feeble attempts to justify her actions only served to further incense Bucky. His brow furrowed in anger, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

"Enough," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't want to hear any more lies."

y/n’s heart ached as she watched Bucky's expression darken with anger and disappointment. She wanted to explain, to tell him the truth about Jen's betrayal and her own misguided attempt to defend him. But the words caught in her throat, choked by the weight of her guilt and regret.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky turned away, his shoulders slumped with defeat. "Let's just finish the mission," he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "We'll deal with this later."

As he was about to walk away, y/n noticed a red dot on his chest, the unmistakable mark of a sniper's laser sight. Without thinking twice, she leaped towards him, her body acting as a human shield. Time seemed to slow down as she collided with Bucky, pushing him out of the way.

"y/n, no!" Bucky shouted, his voice filled with panic as her body slumped against his chest.

In the chaos, Jen was nowhere to be seen. She had slipped away, taking shelter and ultimately fleeing the area as she heard multiple footsteps approaching.

Bucky tried to pull up his gun, but it was too late. An array of bullets rained down on them. He felt the searing pain of a few shots piercing his own flesh, but it was nothing compared to the sight of y/n’s body being riddled with bullets. She was hit in the shoulder, wrist, thighs, and other places Bucky couldn't even register.

Rage surged through Bucky like an inferno, obliterating any semblance of restraint. He moved with a deadly precision, his eyes blazing with fury as he unleashed a storm of bullets on the enemy. His movements were swift and unforgiving, every shot finding its mark with brutal accuracy. The enemy fell one by one, their bodies collapsing in lifeless heaps. The air was filled with the deafening sound of gunfire and the acrid smell of gunpowder, but Bucky's focus was unyielding.

Within moments, the room was cleared, the enemies wiped out in a flurry of rage-fueled vengeance.

The adrenaline ebbed away, leaving Bucky standing amidst the carnage, his chest heaving. He turned, and his eyes fell on y/n's crumpled form. The sight of her lying in a pool of her own blood shattered his rage, replacing it with a crushing wave of worry and panic.

"Hang in there. Please," Bucky hastily spoke, his voice trembling. He activated his com line, desperation seeping into his tone. "Guys, we need help. y/n... she's... she's been shot. We need to get out of here right now!" Panic coursed through him as he turned his attention back to y/n, frantically trying to stop the bleeding on her stomach. "y/n, doll…please" he pleaded, watching her hazy gaze. "Don't you dare give up on me now. Come on."

"babydoll, stay with me!" Bucky cried, his voice breaking as he cradled her in his arms. Blood soaked through her clothes, staining his hands. "Please, hang on, you can’t leave yet. I haven't told you... I haven't—"

Her eyes fluttered open, her breathing shallow and ragged. "It's okay, Bucky," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the chaos. "It's okay. Don't cry." Her shaking hands struggled to move, and with great effort, she managed to cup Bucky's cheek. The gesture was weak but filled with tenderness. "It's okay," she repeated, her fingers trembling against his skin.

"Don't talk like that," Bucky choked out, his own tears mingling with the blood on his face. "You can't.. I haven't told you...please doll..." His voice wavered with the weight of unspoken words and unconfessed feelings. He hadn't told her how much he truly cared for her, how every moment spent away from her felt like an eternity. He hadn't begged for forgiveness for his coldness, his mistakes, and for letting Jen's poison taint his actions. The guilt gnawed at him, each heartbeat a reminder of the words he hadn't said, the emotions he hadn't expressed.

He pressed her hand harder against his cheek, feeling the warmth of her touch anchoring him in the moment.Her hand weakly brushing against his cheek. "I know, sweetheart," she murmured. "I know."

Bucky's heart shattered as he clung to her, feeling her life slipping away. "No, no, no," he muttered desperately. "You can't leave me. Please, y/n. Please."

She smiled faintly, her eyes closing. "I'm here, Bucky. I'm right here."

With a final, shuddering breath, y/n’s consciousness slipped away. Bucky felt a surge of panic, but he knew he had to move. He lifted her limp body, cradling her against his chest as he ran towards the quinjet. Each step was agony, his own injuries slowing him down, but he didn't care. All that mattered was getting y/n to safety.

"Hang on, y/n," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Hang on. I won't let you go."

In the sterile environment of the medical bay, y/n lay unconscious, her body hooked up to various machines that monitored her vital signs. Bucky sat by her bedside, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. Every beep of the monitor seemed to echo through the silence, a haunting reminder of her fragile state. He held her hand, his thumb gently caressing her bandaged wrist.

Memories of their time together flooded Bucky's mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the connection they shared. He remembered the laughter they had shared, the late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. He remembered the gentle touch of her hand, the warmth of her smile that never failed to chase away the darkness.

But amidst the memories, there was also pain – the pain of their last conversation, the words left unsaid and the choices left unmade. Bucky's throat tightened as he recalled the day he had walked away from Jen, the air thick with tension and unspoken truths.

His voice was cold and final. "You almost got her killed, Jen," he had said, his eyes blazing with anger. "Stay away from us. Stay away from me."

Jen's eyes had flashed with anger, her words cutting like knives as she lashed out in frustration. "And what, you think you'll find someone better than me?" she had spat, her voice dripping with venom. "Good luck with that, Bucky. You'll never find anyone who would put up with your baggage."

But Bucky had remained resolute, his decision fueled by a sense of longing and regret that threatened to consume him whole. "Maybe not," he had admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'd rather be alone than with someone who doesn't truly care about me."

Now, as Bucky sat by y/n’s bedside, the weight of his decision bore down on him like a crushing weight. Tears welled in his eyes as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers trembling with emotion.

"I'm so sorry, babydoll," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I never meant for any of this to happen. So, please, wake up. I need you."

But y/n remained unconscious, her breathing shallow and weak as she lay before him. And as Bucky watched over her, his heart heavy with worry and regret, he vowed to do whatever it took to bring her back to him, to keep her safe from harm for all eternity.

For in that moment, Bucky realized that he couldn't bear to lose her – not now, not ever. She was his rock, his anchor in a world of uncertainty and pain. And as he held her hand tightly in his own, he prayed with all his heart that she would find her way back to him, to the love and light that had always guided them through the darkness.

The soft hum of machines filled the air as y/n stirred awake, her senses slowly coming back to her. She blinked, disoriented at first, until her gaze fell upon Bucky, who was sleeping soundly in the chair beside her bed. His hands were clasped tightly around hers, his face peaceful in slumber, but she couldn't help but notice the tear stains on his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines etched into his forehead.

"How long has it been since?" she wondered to herself, her heart aching at the sight of Bucky's exhausted form. She carefully sat up, trying not to disturb him as she lovingly examined his sleeping face. She couldn't help but smile as she gently ran her fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through her fingertips.

Bucky groaned as his sleep was interrupted, muttering something about Sam needs to leave him be; before he abruptly sat up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Hi there," y/n greeted softly, her eyes sparkling with affection as she watched Bucky's reaction.

For a moment, Bucky seemed unable to comprehend that she was finally awake. His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape. But then the realization hit him, and he threw himself at her, wrapping her in a tight embrace as if she were the most precious thing in the world .Despite the pain that shot through her body, she managed to let out a soft chuckle, returning his embrace with equal fervor. The warmth of his embrace chased away the lingering chill of unconsciousness, and for a moment, everything felt right.

"y/n..." Bucky breathed into her neck, his voice trembling with emotion. She hummed in response, her heart swelling for him. "Hmmm?"

Not wanting to let go of her, Bucky called her name once again, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "y/n-..." She paused, her lips curving into a tender smile as she whispered in his ear, "Yes, Bucky?"

Bucky tightened his grip, his breath hitching in his throat as he buried his face in her shoulder. y/n gently rubbed his back, her touch soothing and comforting as she reassured him, "I'm here, sweetheart." The scent of her hair, the feel of her warmth against him—it all felt overwhelming. Emotions churned inside him like a tempest. Relief, guilt, love, and fear battled for dominance, leaving him raw and exposed.

She gently rubbed his back, her touch soothing and comforting as she reassured him, "Bucky, I'm not going anywhere.

Bucky's mind raced, images of the past few weeks flashing before his eyes. He remembered the coldness with which he'd treated her, the cruel words that had slipped from his lips, fueled by Jen's poison. He thought of the sleepless nights, the nightmares that had gripped him, and the aching void he'd felt every time he saw y/n’s hurt expression.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "For everything. For not believing you. For pushing you away."

Reluctantly, she pulled away, but not before wiping the tears from Bucky's cheeks and fighting the urge to place a tender kiss on his forehead. As she looked into his eyes, she could see the depth of his love and the pain he had endured for her sake. And in that moment, she knew that she had found her home in his arms. Bucky took her hands in his own, his eyes closed as he pressed a kiss to her wounded wrists. "This will never happen again. Ever," he vowed, his voice filled with determination.

Moved by his words, y/n felt her heart flutter with emotion. She realized in that moment that she could never stay angry at him, no matter what had transpired between them. She understood now that they were both at fault, both victims of circumstance and misunderstanding.

With a surge of courage, she reached out and pulled Bucky into a kiss. Her lips met his in a slow, passionate embrace, pouring all of her love and forgiveness into the tender gesture. It was a moment of connection, of healing, of reaffirming their bond despite the trials they had faced.

The taste of Bucky's lips was like a soothing salve to her soul; it was intoxicating. It felt as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them entwined in each other's arms. When they finally broke apart, Bucky whispered those three words that y/n had longed to hear, "I love you."

Her heart soared with joy, and she couldn't help but tease him, "Took you long enough." her teasing words met with a cheeky grin from Bucky. "I love you too, Bucky" she blinked slowly. As he whispered softly under his breath, "Come here," he pulled her back into the kiss, their lips meeting in a tender embrace that spoke volumes of their unspoken love. And in that moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of their world, they found solace in each other's arms, knowing that together, they could weather any storm.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I just needed to let this out lmao. It's been stuck in my head for several weeks. Thank you for spending your time reading this crap... honestly. Love you so much 🤍

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #tfatws!bucky #bucky angst #bucky fluff

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eloves-writes · 6 months

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so it goes…

[coriolanus snow x reader]

desc: part 2 here! as dr gaul’s assistant, you find yourself alone in her laboratory bearing an unpleasant task with her other mentee, coriolanus snow, who you strongly despise. or so it goes … warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), slightly public sex, reader is wearing a skirt, think that's it but please lmk if i need to add anything! a/n: thank you so much for all the love on my last fic! and thank you anon for this request, i love and appreciate requests more than you know!!! enjoy this. will for sure write a second chapter if one singlular person expresses interest. mwah mwah mwah ily this work contains mature themes, minors dni

dr gaul’s lab was filled with weird and wonderful (but mostly weird) things. you sat, bored, on your side of the gamemaker’s desk staring at shelves and shelves of creatures of all shapes and sizes with various muttations. according to the clock beside you, it had been 30 minutes since gaul herself had left the room to ‘see to something’. it was often best not to ask questions when things like that happened, but you really wished she would come back soon as your work day technically ended in a few minutes and gaul’s second-favourite mentee came to visit her after hours almost every day. coriolanus snow was not necessarily an unpleasant person, not to you at least, but he was certainly unbearable. he was so up his own ass thinking he was better than everybody else that he failed to realise how much of a pompous twat he was. ‘snow lands on top’. god, those four words were practically all you heard come out of his mouth when he wasn’t sucking up to dr gaul or spewing fake niceties to any authoritative figure who would listen.

as you were thinking about how annoying he is and how pretentious his stupid hairstyle was, the door to the lab was hauled open by the peacekeepers who stood guard outside. thank god gaul was back, you couldn’t wait to get out of here. not that you weren’t grateful for this assistant’s position, because it was a highly coveted role for university students each year and you’d beat them all out for it. even snow. ha. even suck-up snow. fuck. snow.

the tall blond had entered the lab and was walking up to your desk with his usual self-assured smile and red uniform.

“y/n, good evening.”

“snow.”

his pleasant facade dropped for just a moment at your monotonous response.

“where’s dr gaul?”

you passive aggressively put down the pen you had been tapping on the desk.

“i don’t know,” you replied blandly, studying his face like you trying to read his mind. “she left like a half hour ago to ‘see to something’, but she’s not been back. i’d suggest you leave and speak to her tomorrow instead.”

coriolanus pulled a face as if thoroughly surprised that anyone could be anything less than cordial to him. it was a subtle change in expression, but you figured that’s what he was thinking.

“that’s quite alright, y/n,” he smiled mockingly, “i’ll sit right here and wait. nowhere to be tonight.”

“shocker,” you murmured, watching as snow sat in the empty chair opposite you.

the two of you stayed sat at gaul’s desk for almost 10 minutes before either of you said anything else.

“how is the apprenticeship going?” snow asked, trying to fill the awkward silence by feigning interest.

“it’s great. thanks. thrilling, actually. i’m having the time of my life. this is so much fun,” you retorted.

coriolanus raised an eyebrow and shifted in his seat. “you know, every one of gaul’s students wanted this apprenticeship. if you’re not enjoying it, i am more than certain that you could find somebody to fill the role.”

you huffed sarcastically. “oh good try, snow. i’m not giving it up that easily.”

“so i’ve heard,” he muttered.

before you could respond to that, the laboratory doors hauled open again and dr gaul finally returned.

“ah, coriolanus, good,” she welcomed, entering with purpose in her stride. “i have a small ask of the pair of you.”

there was no way in the whole of panem that this would be a ‘small’ ask, coming from her. coriolanus’ eyes widened in apprehension.

“don’t make that face at me, coriolanus snow.”

“sorry.”

“good. i must continue to deal with a situation that has arisen, i need you two to feed chupa before he gets too hungry. that’s all, then you both may leave and i shall see you," you watched her search for a rhyme, "before tomorrow’s eve.”

then she turned to leave, with you and coriolanus pulling faces of horror. ‘chupa’ was a particularly hideous and dangerous looking creature that gaul had advised you, on multiple occasions, to keep your distance from. and now she was asking you to feed him? sometimes it was like she wanted you dead.

“wait a minute,” you said hesitantly. gaul moved only her head to look at you and you regretted opening your mouth immediately. “sorry, dr gaul, you want us,” you motioned to yourself and snow, “to feed that,” you pointed at the cage where the beast appeared to be smirking.

“yes,” she replied plainly. “he will eat anything, but he most likes the small green snakes.”

with that, she left the lab again.

coriolanus looked at you, looked at chupa, then looked back at you. “what the fuck is that?”

you snorted, enjoying seeing him uncomfortable. “do you want to get the snakes, or shall i?”

“you get them,” he spoke quickly. “i don’t like snakes.”

you were suspicious at this apparently strong aversion to the slithering reptiles. perhaps they’d scared him when he was younger, and never shook it off. or perhaps one had bitten him. you imagined him flailing his arms and screaming and it made you chuckle to yourself as you took a jar half-filled with thin, forest green snakes. they weren’t venomous, in fact they were quite amiable and undeserving of being fed to the ugly brute in the cage beside you. regardless, you removed two snakes from the jar and placed it back on the shelf.

coriolanus was keeping his distance, making you do all the work. lazy asshole.

“can you open the cage?” you directed snarkily. he tentatively unfastened the top of the cage, standing closer to you than he ever had before. up close, he looked like a real person. a real person who was just as real as everybody else in the capitol, not any better. he smelt better than a lot of them though. like cologne and fresh roses. you mentally chastised yourself for noticing and tried to focus on the task at hand.

your snake-holding hand slid towards chupa’s mouth, which opened to reveal a large set of sharp fangs that seemed to be moving upwards

“be careful of the fangs,” snow warned from behind you.

“thank you coriolanus, i’m so glad you told me that. i was truly about to stick my fingers into his mouth,” you retorted sarcastically, starting to feed the snakes to the disgusting creature.

he mumbled something incoherent that sounded something like “i wish you would.”

“sorry what was that, snow? did you say something,” you asked, becoming more irritated by his unhelpful presence.

as chupa finished the tail of the second snake, he bit the air above him in an attempt to get your hand for dessert, making you rapidly withdraw your hand from the cage and leap backwards. coriolanus dropped the lid in shock and it thankfully fastened itself.

when you had leapt backwards, you had leapt backwards straight into snow’s arms that he had instinctively wrapped around you in protection. his arms were stronger than they looked through his uniform jacket, and his chest much more toned. it felt beyond strange to be this close to him. but something deep inside of you suddenly yearned to be closer, and you slowly rotated yourself in his arms to face him, hands pressed against his chest.

coriolanus was looking into your eyes like nothing else was in the room. like he had never seen a person’s eyes this close before. he was looking at you like you were most incredibly fascinating thing he had ever seen.

and maybe you were; he had grown used to the capitol women throwing themselves at him. he didn’t struggle to take them home, had no issues finding a date to all the various events he attended. then there you were- snapping at him and poking fun at him, and not even waiting until his back was turned to roll your eyes or pull faces. in what he deemed a cruel twist of fate, you were the only girl in the capitol who didn’t look at him like he was god, and you were the only girl in the capitol he truly felt something deeper than momentary lust for.

his lust for you was not momentary. it was perpetual. and having you this close to him, safe and protected in his arms, confirmed for him that you needed to be his. the world bent to the will of coriolanus snow. and so would you.

in an instant where your body no longer obeyed your better judgment, you pressed your lips to coriolanus’.

he kissed you back like you were a source of oxygen, using his advantageous hold of you to force you to walk backwards towards the rows of bookshelves behind gaul’s desk without separating your lips. he swiftly checked the door to make sure nobody had snuck in before your bodies were eclipsed by the cover of the well-stocked shelves and you were roughly pushed up against them. snow continued to kiss you, moving down to your neck to leave marks sure to raise questions the next morning, then down to your collarbone, unbuttoning your blouse as he went so that his path was clear to mark you with his mouth all the way down to the waistband of your skirt. his kneeled down before you and pushed up your skirt, looking up at you for approval. you nodded, still caught up in the moment. this was fine. this felt good. it really felt good when snow removed your panties and placed your legs over his shoulders, holding you up at the waist and running his tongue along your folds, earning a loud moan from you. he withdrew his head from you skirt to shush you, before returning his tongue to your centre and flicking it against your clit. you bit onto your knuckle to absorb the sound of the whimpers escaping you. where the fuck had he learned to do this? it felt heavenly, his mouth drawing you ever closer to release with his large hands digging into your hips to keep you in position.

“coryo,” you whispered. “coryo, i’m close.”

he began to hum in acknowledgement, sending you right over the edge. a moan slipped from your mouth as you came, feeling your slick drip onto his face. he continued to lap at your juices as you rode out your orgasm, a blissful haze washing over you. if these were the skills making snow so cocky, you couldn’t fault him for that particular trait any longer. he lifted his head and smiled at you like a man who was very aware you’d just cum on his face by his manipulation. he helped you take your legs from his shoulders with a satisfied smirk when they wobbled under the weight of your body, then he kissed you again, softer this time, to force you to taste yourself on his tongue. you reached your hand forward to his crotch, palming him through his constricting pants. he indulged you for a minute, then removed your hand and lifted it to his lips like a true gentlemen.

you felt a little disappointed to not repay the favour, finally feeling content with your formerly repressed lust for the man.

but then he leaned down to your ear and whispered in a low tone, “you can owe me one,” before giving you one last lewd kiss and leaving you stood behind the bookshelves in the head gamemaker’s office with messed up hair and a realisation that you really wanted coriolanus snow to come and visit after hours again tomorrow.

#coriolanus snow #corio snow x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus snow smut #coryo snow #coryo x reader #hunger games fanfiction #tbosas fic #tbosas #coryo smut #coryolanus snow #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x you #corio snow #corio snow smut #president snow #president snow smut

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togrowoldinv · 11 months

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Best Closers In The City

Lawyer!Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

You are an associate to some of the most successful attorneys in the city. You’re invited to a special dinner with the partners. What happens when one of them asks you to be her mentee?

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, very muscular Natasha, degrading, overstimulation (sorta), strap on sex, oral (N receiving)

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

When you got the job at Romanoff Danvers & Maximoff, you had no idea what to expect. Everyone said it would mean working over 40 hours a week without much praise, but you didn’t care.

You wanted to work for the best law firm in New York City.

You met Danvers, Carol, first. She is alluring, no doubt about that, but she is also brilliant. The woman has a reputation for cleaning up messes quickly and keeping the city safe.

You met Wanda Maximoff second. She oversees the associates, so you see a lot of her. She has the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. Despite being one tough litigator, she is genuinely kind and always asks you how you are doing. Not in a way to make small talk, but like she truly wants to know.

And that leaves Natasha Romanoff. You have seen her around the office, usually early in the morning or late at night, but you haven’t spoken to the woman. There is a sense around the firm that you don’t speak to Natasha unless you’ve made partner or she speaks to you first.

But you really want to talk to her. She is the managing partner, something you long to be one day. Plus, she is gorgeous. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about her in a slightly less than appropriate capacity.

Sometimes she would leave the office with a man or woman waiting for her outside. It was never the same person twice. You wondered what it was like to be them.

When you get to work today, Wanda waltzes into the bullpen with a notepad in hand. She prefers not to use technology.

“Good morning! As you all know, tonight is the annual partner dinner. Carol, Natasha, and I have been observing you all for a while now, so we would like to formally offer the following list of you an invite to the dinner,” Wanda announces.

She is met with chatters of excitement from all of you young, aspiring attorneys. None of you knew when this day was going to come, but here it is. Your chance for a seat at the table.

“I know, I know, it’s very exciting,” Wanda says, a chuckle escaping her lips. “Now here are the associates that will be joining us. Peter Parker, Kate Bishop, and Y/n y/ln.”

You fight the urge to stand up and do a happy dance. Instead, you share a smile with your fellow invitees and accept congratulations from others.

“See you all at 8!” Wanda says. She leaves the bullpen.

“I wonder which one of them picked which of us,” Peter says once the woman is out of sight.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Each partner picks an associate. At least that’s what Mr. Stark told me,” he explains.

“Oh, I hope Natasha picked me,” Kate comments. You all laugh.

“Natasha doesn’t speak to any of us, and Carol doesn’t either for that matter. I bet Wanda picked all of us,” you reason.

“Just wait and see where we are placed to sit tonight,” Peter says. “I bet I’m right.”

You forget about the dinner mostly as you dive into your work for the day. But what Peter said does linger in your mind as you gather your bag before walking to the car that is taking you all to dinner.

You figured dinner would be at some restaurant, but the car arrives at a house. A huge one with glorious architecture. There are lions on either side of the entrance. A dark wooden door is up the stairs.

“Holy shit,” Kate speaks for the group as you walk to the door together.

Peter rings the doorbell and the door opens almost simultaneously. Carol is on the other side, a glass of wine in her hand.

“Hello! Come on in,” Carol greets the three of you.

“This is a very nice home you have here, ma’am,” you say.

“Oh, I wish I could take credit for this place. It’s Natasha’s,” Carol explains. “Follow me and we’ll go into the dining room.”

You follow the blonde. Your eyes wander around the house as you admire how perfectly put together the house is. There are very few personal decorations, but there are so many objects that you can imagine have meaning to Natasha.

When you enter the dining room, there are place cards at the table. One for each of you. You sit in your assigned seats and Carol scurries off to the other room to gather her fellow partners.

They file in one by one. Carol sits across from Kate, offering her a smile. Wanda sits across from Peter. And that leaves the seat across from you open. If Peter was right, then that means Natasha chose you.

She is last one to walk in. She sits in the chair across from you and looks up at you through her eyelashes. The woman is even more beautiful up close. Her red hair cascades over her suit lapels and her green eyes shine in the dining room lights. You wonder what that jacket is hiding.

You are admiring her when Wanda begins speaking, “Thank you all for joining us tonight for this very special dinner. And thank you to Natasha for graciously letting us have the dinner at her beautiful home.”

Natasha offers Wanda a nod and a soft smile. One of which Wanda happily returns.

“It’s truly a unique and sought after experience, so I do hope the three of you leave tonight with more knowledge about your chosen career. We picked you from the fine cloth of other associates,” Carol explains.

She looks to Natasha to continue the spiel. You all watch her intently and wait for her to begin.

“Yes, as Carol and Wanda said we invited you three here for a reason,” Natasha says. Her voice is velvety just as you hoped it would be. “It should also be noted that while we all are going to speak to each other tonight, there is also another element to the dinner.”

Subtle glances are shared between you, Kate, and Peter.

“We have decided to improve the tradition and give you each full access to us. You’re sitting from across from the partner that has chosen you to be their mentee, if you so choose to agree,” Natasha explains. She looks you directly in the eye as she says her next words. “And you will agree.”

There is a certain harshness to her tone that you don’t know if it turns you on or scares you deeply. You think it’s both.

Soon, the food is served and the group talks intently. Things about the firm come up, but you find that the women don’t only want to talk business. You see the way Natasha does not offer as much personal information as the others, but she throws in a couple of comments here and there.

After dessert, you are practically itching to ask when you get to learn more about the mentor and mentee relationships. Carol puts you out of your misery when she announces that that part of the night begins now.

“We’ll go to my study,” Natasha says to you. She stands up from the table and leads the way. You can’t help but notice the way her pants hug her backside.

When you enter the room, she closes the door behind you. You take a look around. The walls are lined with bookshelves except for one area where there is a stained-glass window. Pink roses are painted with a landscape of green around them.

Natasha notices you admiring it. “It’s one of a kind,” she says.

“It’s beautiful,” you comment.

“Thank you,” she says. She walks to her desk and gestures for you to sit in the chair on the other side.

You sit, but she remains standing as she takes the suit jacket off. You notice the way the buttons strain against her chest, and her arms are noticeably toned even through the mid length sleeves she is wearing.

“You might want to stop staring,” Natasha says, pulling you out of your trance.

“I’m sorry,” you rush out the apology.

“Mhm,” she hums. You can’t read her, so you don’t know if she was flattered or upset by your stares. Your nerves are at a high. “So, y/n, what are your career goals?”

“I want to- um- well- I want to make partner one day,” you say.

“That sounds reasonable,” Natasha remarks. She stands up from her desk and walks around to your side. Her hands grip the desk and she leans against it. Once again, your eyes rake over the tight-fitting shirt. “Why family law?”

“It seemed like the path where I could do the most good,” you explain.

“And that’s what you want to do? Good?”

“Yes ma’am,” you say. “Why did you-”

“I’m asking the questions, y/n,” she interrupts you, standing at her full height again.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“You’re too quick to apologize,” Natasha scolds you lightly.

You don’t know how to reply. She walks to her drink cart in the corner and pours herself a shot of what you presume is vodka and she swallows it quickly. You watch her every moment before she turns back around. You avert your gaze.

“Y/n,” Natasha says. She invades your space, her hand gripping your chin to force you to look up at her. “Do you know why I chose you to mentor?”

You try to shake your head, but her grip is too firm.

“No, I don’t,” you speak softly.

Natasha grins wickedly as she keeps her hand on you. Only she moves it to the side of your face, her fingers arching over your neck and touching the base of your hairline.

“I chose you because I think you’re intelligent. And you’re capable and hard-working,” Natasha explains. You feel your cheeks burning from the compliments. “But you’re also naïve, and you’re a bit of a pushover.”

Oh. There it is. Your eyes burn as you fight back tears, cursing yourself for being unable to handle criticism.

“I don’t tell you this to upset you, y/n,” Natasha says, her voice softening just a hair. “I can help you be better. You have the instincts. It’s just that someone needs to toughen you up.”

“Okay,” you say. “How did you- nevermind,” you remember you aren’t the one asking the questions.

“How did I what?” Natasha inclines you to continue.

“How did you even know all of this? You don’t speak to us associates.”

“Oh, I may not speak but I’m always listening,” Natasha says. “And trust me, sweetheart, I see everything.”

You shiver at her words. Everything means that she might have seen you watch her leave all of those nights. You avert your gaze, and her hand grip strengthens again.

“Tell me, y/n, have you been watching me?” She knows the answer, so she doesn’t bother waiting for you to speak. “Since you have been, maybe you would like to see more of me?”

“I- um-” you can’t formulate words.

Natasha releases you from her grasp and steps back so you can see all of her. She starts slow, unbuttoning her shirt. Each button strains and your eyes follow her movements. Her hands are deft as they move against her shirt purposefully.

When she gets to the last button, she looks you directly in the eyes and pulls the shirt away from her body. That uncovers her chest and her arms. Your eyes don’t know what part of her to look at first.

“Don’t just sit there,” Natasha says sternly.

You stand up quickly and she takes your hand. She brings it to her abs. Your other hand follows. You brush your hands over her abs, an undoubtable eight-pack, and she smirks. You move further up to her abdomen to her rib cage area and run your hands over a couple of tattoos.

Natasha didn’t seem like the type to have these, but they make her impossibly hotter. Your hands skip over her bra-covered chest and move to her biceps. The woman flexes her arms, and you feel weak in your knees.

“Do you like what you see?” Natasha asks, her voice is deeper than usual.

“I do,” you say. “Can I?”

She knows what you mean, and she reaches behind her own back to unhook her bra. The garment falls to the floor. You take one breast in your hand as you move your mouth to the other. You look up at Natasha as if asking for permission. She nods and you place your lips around her nipple.

You suck thoughtfully and lick around the perky buds, switching between breasts. Natasha makes beautiful sounds as you do so. When you kiss down her abdomen, she lets out a gasp. You fully intend to worship her entire body.

“Take off my pants, baby,” Natasha instructs you.

Your fingers work to unbutton and unzip her suit pants. Kneeling in front of her, you pull the pants down her legs. For some reason, you expected her to be wearing panties, but she is wearing black boxers. Her thighs are muscular and your urge to be between them increases when you notice the bulge in her boxers.

“Fuck Natasha,” you mumble. She lets out a chuckle.

“Did my good, sweet associate just say fuck?” She teases.

You answer by pressing kisses against the skin of her thighs that are revealed. Nat gets impatient and pushes her own boxers down her legs. All that she’s left wearing is a strap.

Natasha takes it in her own hand and directs it towards your mouth. You comply quickly and suck the cock. She moves her hips faster with every passing second, loving how you take the thick length.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” she says. “God, I’ve wanted to have you kneeling for me since the first day I saw you in the office.”

You groan at her words and continue your ministrations. That is until Natasha needs more, and she pulls you up by your shirt collar.

“Take off your pants,” she tells you. “Now.”

Nat doesn’t wait for them to reach the floor before she has you bent over her desk as she enters you from behind. It’s easy from how wet you are from the entire evening.

“You take my cock so well, baby,” she says, her mouth right next to your ear. “I know you’ve imagined this too.”

“I have,” you admit, your voice broken from the pleasure she is bringing you. She moves in and out of you, hitting you right where you need her every time. Her arms hold you tightly against her.

When Natasha places a few kisses on your neck, you whine, and her grip tightens.

“I’m gonna- fuck Nat- I’m gonna come,” you say.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” Natasha says. “Tell me how good it feels.”

You groan out a string of incoherent words as you come for Natasha. She feels the slick against her strap as she continues to take you from behind.

“Too much, Nat,” you mumble when she still hasn’t stopped her movements.

“Come on, baby, you can take one more,” Natasha says firmly. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

“Yes- fuck- yes ma’am,” you reply.

It doesn’t take long for you to come again. This time she relents and pulls out of you. Your head is fuzzy from the overstimulation, but you’ve never felt so good.

Natasha releases you from her grasp and you turn around to face her. She has an almost goofy grin on her face, and you know she is pleased with her work. But you remember she hasn’t come yet.

“May I take care of you?” You ask her, reaching for the strap again.

“I think you’ve earned it. Go ahead,” she says. Nat takes her own initiative to take the strap off of her hips.

You once again kneel in front your mentor, but this time you waste no time burying your face between her legs. You collect her wetness with your tongue and make quick work of finding her clit.

“Fucking good,” Natasha mumbles as you lick and suck. She holds onto your shoulders as you continue. It feels good to make a woman so strong feel weak in her knees.

You hum against her, and she is almost over the edge. All it takes is for you to add one finger to work in tandem with your mouth and she is coming hard against you.

After cleaning her up, you stand up to face her again.

“Come here,” she says, pulling you by your hips into her hold.

She kisses your lips slowly at first. Her tongue brushes against yours. But she picks up the pace and you’re left breathless from your first kiss with the woman.

“So, what did you think?” Natasha asks.

“I think I want to do that again,” you say, dumbstruck from the events.

“In due time, y/n. Right now we need to get dressed and say goodnight to everyone,” Natasha says.

She turns to look for her shirt and it’s then that you notice the tattoos on her back.

“Roses,” you say aloud. Your eyes glance back towards the window.

“Roses,” Natasha turns back to you and says. “You wanted to ask why I chose family law.” She puts the shirt back over her arms and back.

“I did.”

“My sister,” Natasha says. “We were separated as kids. I am still trying to find her. In the meantime, I can help other people.”

“And was she named Rose?” you ask, hoping you aren’t pushing.

“Her name is Yelena. But she loved roses, so I guess it’s my way of feeling connected to her.” You haven’t seen her speak this softly about anyone.

“That’s really beautiful, Natasha,” you say.

“Yeah,” she says. “Do you maybe want to stay for a little while after everyone leaves?”

“I’d love to,” you say, a smile on your face.

“Good because I want to snuggle,” she admits. You share a chuckle and finish getting dressed together.

You leave her study and everyone goes about their way except for you and Natasha. You stay at her house and learn everything about her. Talking all night, sharing kisses, and a couple more rounds of intense sex, you have a perfect time with her.

This isn’t what you expected out of working for Natasha Romanoff, but you will take it.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #lawyer!natasha #natasha romanoff comfort #wanda maximoff #carol danvers #peter parker #kate bishop #beefy!nat

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here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can · 6 months

Text

’i know, sugar, i know.’

summary: finnick comforts reader after a nightmare

warnings: mentions of violence, death, pain, fear and forced prostitution (let me know if there’s more)

hot tears are running down your cheeks over already dry ones, like the adrenaline through your body. your hands are trembling as you hurry along the path that goes through victors village. it’s covered in sand. almost everything in your district is. sand from the beach, little stones and pieces of seashells, crushed under the peacekeepers’ boots. you’re running away. why? isn’t that obvious? you’re a victor, haunted by nightmares like every other one. where to? you don’t even know yourself. just away from your house, not your home. the house you got gifted in return for your cruel actions. actions that still haunt you and always will. you never wanted this. yes, before you did all of this you had to work hard to survive and still only barely made it. but was it really worth it? you know the answer. no.

definitely not.

when you win the hunger games, you can be free, live a happy life and the games are over for you. that’s what they say. well, guess what. that’s not true. the games never end, even if you won them. you can never really win. you aren’t free and president snow makes sure for you to know that.

your life had never been perfect but before you were thrown into an arena with 23 children that wanted to kill you, you were happier. the ones you killed yourself still haunt you, you see them in the scared, little kids at the reaping, your new mentees. the capitol is cruel. the four words repeat in your head. over and over again, the sand is hurting your feet but you don’t pay attention to that. you’re running through the village without stopping. you are just a kid. just a kid. 17 years old. you should be living your life instead of being sold to people at the capitol. but you can’t do anything about it. your family has no protection except you. you suddenly stop running. where’d muscle memory bring you? you’re standing at the end of the path in front of a house identical to yours.

finnick. your mind clears up and you find your original intention. the one you had when you left your house. you just want to see him, know if he’s okay, want him to tell you that it’s not real, that he understands you, that he goes through the same things. you want him to hold you close, whisper sweet words to you and wait until you fall asleep. without thinking any longer, you knock on the door. one, two, three, four seconds go by before the door opens. surprisingly fast.

finnick is standing before you, his hair disheveled but perfect, as always, wearing a white shirt and sweatpants. he looks alarmed but sighs loudly when he sees you. his sea green eyes are tired but as piercing as always. he seems to stare directly into your soul but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable.

‘y/n? what’re you doing here?’

‘i’m sorry i woke you,’ you murmur with a soft sniffle.

‘no,no, don’t be. are you okay?’ he asks with a worried frown. you weakly manage to shake your head before the adrenaline from earlier is completely gone. two muscular arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest where you let out a choked sob. finnick’s heart breaks for you, seeing you like this. to him, it’s a miracle you’re not able to hear it shatter in your position.

without thinking much about it you wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his torso before he picks you up and carries you inside, closing the door behind the both of you. the next thing you know, you’re standing in the kitchen, feet now on the ground but still close to the young man’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing as your crying slowly stops and your breath calms.

‘hey, it’s okay, i’m here. i’ll protect you, alright? promise,’ he softly mutters into your hair. you can feel his lips move against your scalp as guilt washes over you. you shouldn’t burden him with this. he goes through the same things and you don’t find him knocking at your door in the middle of the night. he’s been doing it for a year longer than you now and he’s never really talked about it to you and how he’s getting by.

‘i’m so, so sorry, finn’

‘there’s nothing to be sorry for, sugar’

‘but- but you don’t show up at my front door step in the middle of the night because of some-‘

he interrupts your ramble.

‘maybe sometimes i want to.’ he gives you a soft, sad smile. ‘c’mon now. tomorrow’s the reaping, we gotta get some sleep,’ he states and without waiting for a reply, he picks you up again and carries you upstairs to his bedroom. finnick crawls into the bed next to you and pulls you close to his body again where you both lie in a comfortable silence until you start talking.

‘i saw her again,’ you whisper. ‘the girl from 10. she was only 13 years old.’ your voice breaks. ‘she was just a kid. and i shot her, i killed her. i feel horrible. i’m a monster, finn.’

it’s true. you saw her again in your dream. almost every time your brain puts you back in the arena you see the little girl, your arrow in her chest, the clattering of your bow on the ground as you realise what you had done, the cannon that signals her death.

and then the booming voice that announces you as the winner of the 68th annual hunger games, the winner.

what a lie. no one ever really wins.

‘you were just a kid yourself. you didn’t want it, you were forced. it’s not your fault, sweetheart. you’re in district 4, safe,’ he mutters as you let a few silent tears fall onto his chest, dampening his shirt but he doesn’t care. finnick just wants to hold you, make it stop, protect you from the capitol, snow. if he could take all of your pain and fear away, he would without hesitation. without even thinking about it. ‘but so were you,’ you whisper. ‘you were 14, finnick, 14 and then 16. and now 19. it’s not fair.’ he repositions himself to look at you. there it is again. the sad smile. it says more than a thousand words. and you return it.

‘i know, sugar, i know.’

you fall asleep soon after but finnick stays awake for now, unable to bring himself to sleep as well. he watches your facial expressions shift, watches a frown form on your face as you mumble quietly. all he does all night is whisper sweet things to you and hold you close in the hope to ease your mind and help with the nightmares. he silently thinks about the situation you’re both in; forced into prostitution by president snow. an object to buy. he knows that you’re only doing it because you want to protect him and he only does the same to protect you.

ironic, isn’t it? he chuckles softly at the thought before silently vowing to find a way for you out of this, away from the capitol, into a happy and free life. maybe with him. you’d want that. a life with him somewhere down by the coast.

‘i love you, sweetheart, you don’t even know how much,’ he whispers and plants a soft kiss on your hairline before finally falling asleep with you in his arms.

a/n: please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it <3 luv ya also I’m laughing at the gif rn because it’s literally finnick casually laughing about his own death i love him

edit: i just noticed that finnick being 19 in this and the sentence ’tomorrow’s the reaping’ means that annie is going to get reaped the next day

#i love him so much #finnick x reader #finnick x you #thg finnick #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff #finnick x y/n #finnick odair x reader

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anya-anya002 · 7 months

Text

𝔓𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔪 (i) *full*

ꜰᴜɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ! ᴀʟᴇx ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪᴄᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you have a biology exam and you ask your friend’s father to help you study-

𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: age gap (21 f, 37 m), cheating, corruption kink (u gotta squint-), established relationship, mentor x apprentice relationship, medical kink/anatomical words….

(Guys…..I haven’t been to a med class in almost a year bear with me and Google-)

In the back of the funeral home was a small office; that’s where Mr. Turner authored the obituaries. Although small, it has a sort of coziness to it with its darkened navy walls stained with cigarette smoke. Then, to cover them were clippings from anatomical books he published. But now, it’s a dimly lit room with the familiar stench of cigarettes. You stood in the doorway with your bag in hand.

Your eyes were already focused on the person who occupied the room, Mr. Turner. His thick, brown tortoiseshell glasses perched on the tip of his nose as his fingers typed away on the laptop. A cigarette tight between his lips while his nostrils trickled out smoke like some kind of work fiend. But yet, he somehow looked peaceful. His shoulders slouched, and his hair ruffled. The blue light from the computer clashed against his face exposing smooth yet wrinkled skin. Yet, in all this time, he managed to keep his youth; you envy it.

“Mr. Turner,” you spoke. The air was thick with silence as the keys clacked. Then it stopped, his head turned to you, a blank expression worn as you stopped dead in your tracks. The lamps above the bookshelf cast ghastly shadows against his face, making his eyes glow.

“I, I was just wondering if you were being serious when you said you didn't mind helping me with my biology course last week.” you stammer.

“My anatomy test is in like three days, and I just can't wrap my head around everything,” you finished. Your words spewed out like vomit as you gripped the strap of your bag. While you were nearly panicking, Mr. Turner frowned. His arms stuck out tall while he stretched. Long, thick fingers interlocked as he let out a soft grunt and then returned to his position.

“Yea, I told Marie to let you know after she told me you're studying to be in mortuary science,” he said, a slight smile gracing his face. You nod, enter the room, and plop on the small, gray, squeaky couch. You looked at him, then at the brass clock that hung behind him, then back at him. Your nerves scorched at knowing that your friend told her father what you wanted to do.

“So, what’s the test on?” He asked. The cigarette ash fell onto the desk as he set it in the nearby ashtray. You paused, swallowing dryly before gripping the edge of the couch cushion you sat on.

“Uh...reproduction,” you said in a low voice. He hummed and looked at you again, his eyes a lot livelier.

“Hmm, do you have flashcards or no?” he asked, you shook your head ‘no.’ His index finger tapped the top of his knee rhythmically.

“Hand me your notebook,” Mr. Turner said, you scrambled and reached into your bag for it. You stood to hand it over, your legs rickety as you stood in front of him. His eyes peered up at you, scanning you up and down as he still tapped his finger against the desk. His gold band glimmered in the soft, yellow light as he clicked something off on his desktop. Flipping through your notebook for a moment lazily before speaking.

“Y/N?”

“Yea?” you perked up as he sat your notebook in his lap.

“Do you remember the barbeque your family threw that summer?” he asked, you sat down slow, still gazing at him while you nod. Both your eyes piercing into each other like needles before you blink. You were squirming in your skin as you nodded, vividly remembering the way his hands ran up your spine. Your cheeks heated up as you tugged on your top. Your ears rang from the silence, just the two of your gazing at each other.

“Yes,” you breathed to which Mr. Turner grinned. An almost crooked, hungry grin as he ran a finger through his hair. Bringing his chair out from his desk and sliding it right in front of you.

“How about we... study in a different way hmm?” he proposed. You nodded without a second thought, and the smirk on Alex’s face turned ghoulish. His dark eyes glowed within the small, dark room as you squirmed.

“Strip,” he commanded. You blinked, your whole body sweated as he stared you down. You slowly kicked your shoes off, each layer dropped onto the floor in soft thuds.

“Point to me where the vagina is,” he deadpanned. His warm honey, deep voice within the tiny room, like a bear growling within a cave. Once your jeans were gone, there was nothing left to remove. Your nakedness made you realize how warm it actually was in here. The beating in your chest turned into banging. You pressed your lips together tight, your hands shaky as you brought your arms to your chest.

“Y/N,” Mr. Turner said. You looked at him almost like your head was filled with cotton. His legs crossed to prop your notes against his slack-cladded knee. The lenses of his glasses now blocked by golden light as he waited.

“Yes, yes sir?” you asked. Your eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Anxiety began to bubble in your chest as he repeated himself.

“Point to me where the vagina is,” he said, even while repeating himself he just stayed purely monotone. As if you weren’t sat in front of him completely bare, he propped his head in his hand.

You scooted back on the couch, your body tense as you spread your legs, exposing your two puffy lips. Your eyebrows furrowed while your left hand reached down, past your stomach. Spreading your pussy lips with your middle and pointer finger.

“Do you need a mirror?” he asked, your eyes widened as Alex just watched you unfold. The idea of your cunt being seen back to you made a slither of shame appear in the pit of your stomach.

“It’s okay to need help, isn’t that why you’re here?” he cooed. You blinked, everything you thought about Mr. Turner may be wrong. You looked at him blankly, his fluffy shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a little half-up ponytail as he sat the book down onto the desk.

He leaned in close, the smell of bourbon and jasmine was faint while his eyes refused to stray from yours. Should you say something? Maybe you do need a mirror, you’d never know.

“Can you move your right hand for me?” he asked. The timbre voice rumbled through the room as he rested his hand on your ankle. Reaching down, the pad of your finger poked around. Cringing at the feeling of your finger poking at your urethra, almost like taking a big inhale of car exhaust.

But then that cringing vanished as you eased inside your hole. A soft gasp left you as your cunt began to stretch at the intrusion. Mr. Turner sat there unmoved, his eyes trained on your finger curiously.

“Is that where it is darling hmm?” He asked, a smirk bloomed on his face as arousal bubbled out of your little hole.

“Yes Mr. Turner,” you breathed. He hummed in approval then gently pulled your hand away, your finger removed from your cunt. His eyes went from yours down to between your legs. Your eyes clenched tight as he leaned closer. His breath ghosted against your legs, the follicles in your skin stood up as his closeness became ‘coke-headed’ close. His head hovered above your pelvis, his eyes looked down at the view.

“What a gorgeous thing Y/N/N,” Alex said. His thumb pulled the two thick lips apart to gaze upon the hole. His peer grew once more as he continued to gaze at your pussy.

“Tell me,” he began, his hands remove themselves from between your legs and ventured toward your inner thighs. They gripped the fat of your thighs tightly as he pecked your lips. Your eyes widened at the action,

“Now,” he said. His right hand and left leg untangled themselves, unzipping the golden zip of his dark green slacks. Fuck, the last time you saw him like this your own intoxication interrupted. But now there was no coitus interruptus, just you.

“I know you guys joke about the clitoris but….” Once he unzipped the slacks, the shade of this boxers were a deep maroon, but there wasn’t enough time to fully gaze once he pulled himself out.

Thick, that’s all literally all you could think, like any girl in a porno; will that thing even fucking fit in you?

“Which is more sensitive huh, the tip of my penis…or that adorable little clit of yours?” He asked, his cock ran across your slit, heat radiated off him. Fuck, he felt so warm, warmer than the room itself. Instead of static you felt fire licking up your sides.

“The clitoris?” You said, more like asked, maybe he didn’t catch the sudden inflection. Alex’s eyebrow raised, however…fuck he caught it.

“Are you sure dearest? Do you need an example?” He asked. Grabbing the base of his member and rubbed his tip against your vulva. That fire that licked up your sides, now seared them.

“Oh,” you shivered, his tip is flushed as he rubbed it against your clitoris. Mr. Turner groaned, eyes screwed shut while he see-sawed against your soaking slit. Deep-red tip moved in a circular motion as you whined, squirming against the couch as you gasp.

“Are you sure now?” He asked.

“T,the clitoris sir,”

“Hmm,”

His rubbing became faster, as if he was consumed by pleasure. Out of your control, moans continued to slip from your mouth as his thumb eased his tip inside. Gasps filled the room. Your eyes cracked open to see Mr.Turner, his glasses now perched atop his head as he clenched his eyes shut. His smooth, pale skin pasted in a thin sheen of sweat, his crow's feet now more prominent skin wrinkles like how one ruche cloth.

“Fuck-” he cursed, your hand that held your lips spread snaked to his. A fire blazed against your cheeks at the feeling of his hand against yours. Odd, such a trivial interaction sent your heart into overdrive and your scalp all prickly.

“Mr.Turn-”

“Alex,” he groaned out, his eyes opened while he reached down and gripped the fat of your thighs.

"Alex," you gasp. Your eyebrows furrowed as he gazed down at you, almost like he's never seen you before.

"Are we still studyin'?" you asked. Then you both went silent; your heavy breaths could be heard throughout the tiny office. This silence, however, was tensionless. Like a little break.

"No," he panted. His face leaned down to your ear. He hummed and slowly began to thrust inside. The feeling of his sheer girth nearly painful, your eyes screwed shut. Your hips felt wide almost like they weren’t supposed to bend like this.

The two of you panted as Mr. Turner’s hips rocked slowly. Watching your every move as his hips rolled against yours. Your legs burned slightly, making your face ball up as a hot tear rolled down your cheek.

“Alex!” You cried. Your hands gripped at his clothed shoulders. He ran his fingers up your spine all while tangling himself into him.

“Shh, shh, I know it hurts angel…you’re so tight though,” he cooed, to which you looked away flushed. Alex’s chuckles filled the room, still praising you sweetly as his hips pulled away from yours.

“Just breathe for me,” he continued, Mr. Turner’s lips pressed against the left side of your face. The rough hairs of his beard scratched against your skin. The pain slightly dulled as soft lips press all over your face. His little whispers and coos finally subdued once he felt your hips buck against his.

If you could take a picture of the sheer pleasure that appeared on Mr.Turner’s face. His lips curled into a large grin. His large hands ran over your breasts, his palms rough, calloused as he pawed and squeezed at your flesh.

“Al-“

“You’re gonna pass the exam-“ he blurted right before pounding into your cunt. You stare at him wide, the tip of his penis nudge against the swollen, spongey spot that made your entire body shudder and a loud moan to come from your lips.

The wallpaper appeared to be peeling or it may have been your head rocking up and down from Alex’s thrusts. His hair dangled down against his forehead as his cock plunged into your wet pussy, the squelches brought your hands up to shield your face. Embarrassed if you could still feel that with your nakedness on full display and your legs spread wide giving him a full view.

“H, How?” you finally squeaked, your eyes big as you gazed up at him. You would've been actually studying for said exam if it weren't for his cock that thrusted deep inside of you, nudging against your spot once more. He moved your hand away as you whine loudly, now able to fully look at him in the dim light.

“How can you fail the easiest exam in medicine?” he chided, his hips snapped against yours, a loud slapping sound filled your ears. His tip poked at the tight ring of your cervix. Your moans grew loud, echoing throughout the tiny, dark funeral home. The couch lurched with each deep thrust he made. His tip was kissing your cervix more as your pussy gush around him.

Alex moaned at the sight, his eyes glued between your legs before he spoke once more.

“I mean- we’re ‘reproducing’ right now,” he teased, you gazed up at him. If it were anyone else who said that, you'd get up and dip out, but it's not anyone. You shivered at the words clenching around him and hearing his moans in response.

“What’s that called Y/N?” Mr. Turner asked, eyeing you with curiosity. His hips still moved as you thought of anything to say yet the way his thick cock fucked into you deep dumped out all your words like a piggy bank. Easing against your spot as you moan.

“C’mon Y/N…what’s it called when you squeeze your cute little pussy around my cock?” He asked, a brow raised on his sweaty forehead as you shiver and clench around him again. Unable of an answer you blurt,

“Contraction?” You asked meekly to which he chuckled low. His laughter rumbled against your chest as you look up at him. Your big eyes couldn’t sway him however as he grabbed your leg and placed it on his hip, forming a pressure in your lower stomach akin to someone sticking a finger deep inside your belly button.

“Wanna try again?” He teased, the golden light tickled the sides of his face, shimmering through his locks of hair as he gazed down at you. However this time, you answered him,

“Vaginismus,” you said, still unsure. Your mind occupied on your friend’s dad’s cock thats stretching your walls.

Mr.Turner, or Alex tapped his chin, now actually serious. He gazes down at you. Scanning over your body as if you’re a text book or an anatomical diagram as the silence crept back in. Your chests heaving as he searched for an answer.

During that tense, confused silence you heard footsteps. As if not even the dead that rested here wanted you to finish upon hearing the loud, slow, clicking footsteps. Mr.Turner’s eyes widened as he paled—quickly, he scrambled. Pulling out of you, to your dismay. You began to whine softly, but he simply shushed you by pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Get dressed we’ll finish at some other time,” he whispered before getting up and adjusting himself. A scowl appeared on his face as he tucked himself back in his slacks and wandering out to investigate the noise.

Leaving you all to yourself in the empty room…

“Who’s here?” Mrs. Parks-Turner’s voice filled the quiet hall, to which you tensed. Your heart stilled, scrambling to get dressed once more.

“No one Vivi, just a video in my office…”

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅: @rentsturner @harrysbestiee

*if you’d like to be tagged just message me ‘tagged’*

#anya—anya #my fics #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #funeral director! alex #mentor x mentee #arctic monkeys #full story #the bar🍸#mortuary au #Spotify #smut #𝔓𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔪🪦

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flowersforjude · 1 month

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𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 ≈ 𝐢𝐢. 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

❛𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦 ❜

﹙finnick odair x oc!fem reader﹚

﹙previous chapter ➵ next chapter ➵ masterlist﹚┈﹙read on ao3 ➵ read on wattpad﹚

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | canon typical violence, bandaging wounds, mentions of lack of food/food aversion, finnick odair being charming, etc.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.4 k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | When you see the tag 'friends to lovers', believe it. Finnick and Lyssa's friendship is so sickenly sweet it makes me hate myself. I love a good enemy to lovers as much as anyone, but I CANNOT write that for Finnick. I tried. But this is a slow burn, so y'all get that.

Once we pushed through the crowd of people and reporters that had already gathered around the train station, we were ushered into the dining car. There was an extravagant meal set out on the long table. The steam and scent rising from the bowls of soup, baskets of bread, trays of cheese, and more made my mouth water. I held myself back from devouring the whole spread. Hector had no such reservations; he sat himself down and loaded his plate.

"Do help yourself, dear." Sabine instructed when she saw me standing there. "I'm going to inform your mentors that you're here."

After she left, I continued to stand, gazing at the meal before me. It's not that I didn't want to eat; I did. While 4 wasn't necessarily a poor district like eleven or twelve, there was a severe separation of those who were well off and those that struggled. My family had the misfortune to be part of the half that struggled. So yes, I very much wanted to eat, but I was afraid of throwing it back up since my stomach wasn't used to rich Capitol food.

"For crying out loud, sit down and eat." I was startled by Hector suddenly talking. He pulled out the chair by him and patted it. "Come on."

I hesitantly sat down and reached for a slice of the steaming bread. If I ate a little at a time and slowly, maybe my stomach would have mercy on me. When I finished the bread, I took a piece of cheese and another slice of bread and placed the cheese on top.

"Is that all you're going to eat?" Hector asked. "Don't you eat that on a daily basis?" When I gave him an incredulous look, he got a little flustered. "Sorry, it's just that folks from your part of 4 don't have a lot. I figured you'd want to try the turtle soup or whatever that pink stuff is."

"I don't want to overwhelm my stomach," I answered. And if I'm being honest, I'd feel extremely guilty if I gorged myself on Capitol delicacies while my family was home going hungry.

"Oh yeah, that makes sense," he chuckled. When I didn't say anything else, he took that as a sign to keep talking. "My brothers would be going nuts over this stuff."

I furrowed my brows. "You're the mayor's son. Don't you eat all this stuff all the time?"

"Only on special occasions," Hector said.

I hummed in response and continued with my bread and cheese.

"So, do you have any siblings?" Hector asked.

Without thinking, I blurted out, "You talk a lot." I regretted it immediately, as he seemed to shrink into himself. "I'm sorry," I said hastily. "It's just that during the reaping, you came across as the silent type."

"I was scared out of my mind."

It was silent for a moment before I spoke. "I have a sister."

Thinking of Shae and my family reminded me that I shouldn't be talking to Hector like a friend. Eventually, he'll be my enemy, my openet. I should be putting a wall up. Not making small talk with someone who would be trying to kill me in a week.

I stood to excuse myself just as the door to the compartment slid open. Three people walked in, and I recognized them as some of the Victors of 4. Everybody knew of them. Every year at school, after the games, we'd have a lesson on the newest Victor. The lessons lasted a week, but if the winner was from our district, then it stretched into two weeks.

There was Clay Ledger, tan and tall. He won almost a decade ago. Apparently, he killed two opponents at the same time by bashing their heads together. People say he's the king of kindness, though.

Then Midori Hall, with her pretty dark skin and romantic brown eyes. She's one of the most desired women in Panem. She's also deadly; in her games, she hid up in the trees and dropped down on her enemies to deliver the killing blow. Since she won, she's been acting as a nature activist.

And the last one, Finnick Odair. He's by far the most famous. He won his games at fourteen, the youngest in the history of the games. Since then, he's been dubbed the heartthrob of the Capitol. All the women want him, young and old. He's got the typical beach guy handsome thing going for him–sandy blonde hair and sea green eyes. Like the beach personified. Don't let that fool you, though. There's a reason he's a victor.

"I'm Midori." The dark haired woman introduces herself. Her voice was soft but held an air of firmness. She was also taller than I imagined. "This is Clay, and-"

"Pretty boy doesn't need an introduction," Clay teases. He shakes Finnick's shoulder playfully. The grin the older victor wears is almost sickening, but I can see it isn't fully genuine. That fact only strengthens my knowledge that, even if you came home a victor, that doesn't mean you won. You still have to live with what you did. With who you are now. "I'm sure they know who he is, Midori. We're old news compared to Finnick."

The younger man's lips tilt in a small smile, his dimples making an appearance. Then he shoves Clay off of him in a way I can't decide is good natured or not. "Thanks for that, Clay." Finnick says, taking a few steps to the side to ensure he wasn't jostled again.

I look on and wonder how they can act so casually. How can they act like they're in such good spirits? Maybe they're not, and I'm already seeing everything as fake, as a threat.

Clay offered a smile at Hector and me and moved to take a seat at the head of the table. "Sorry to get right down to business, but we haven't got a lot of time."

Midori stood behind him. There were rumors that they were together, but they've never gone public with it. "First things first, are there any special skills you have that we should be aware of?"

"I was trained at the academy," Hector said. "I was pretty good with hand-to-hand combat."

"Good," Clay nodded.

"What about you?" Midori asked me.

"Not anything really," I said sheepishly. "I guess I'm good with throwing knives. My dad taught me."

"Okay, that's good," Clay said. "You're both very promising."

Finnick nods and finally decides to contribute to the discussion. "The other tributes will be just as good, if not better, than you, though. So be sure to take full advantage of the training days offered to you."

"Yes," Clay agrees. "The few days that tributes are allowed to train will give you vital chances to practice your skills and give you a higher chance of winning."

"Have you seen much of the other tributes?" Hector asks, still nursing a bowl of some Capitol dish.

Midori sighed and claimed the chair to the right of Clay's. "We reviewed the reaping footage earlier, and so far, one and two are looking the strongest." No surprise there. Districts one and two almost always produce the best tributes. "Six and five also look good, but none of the others stood out."

"You got all that information from watching the reaping?" I chime in. Midori nods her head from her seat. "So the other mentors analyzed us?"

"Most definitely," Clay replies smoothly.

I thought of the other mentors watching me shuffle my way to the stage and mumble through the questions asked of me. It put an uneasy feeling in my stomach. "What do you think they have to say about us?" My eyes fixed on Finnick, directing the question to him. Somehow I knew he'd be honest.

"Hector looks strong, and he has the intimidation factor. The mentors will warn their tributes to be aware of his size and strength." Finnick pauses and purses his lips before moving onto me. "You? You're small, but you're lean, so you obviously have some mussels, but your appearance will make others underestimate you. You'll be an easy target for tributes."

Even though I asked and I knew he'd be brutally honest, I still couldn't help the deflation of my already hazardous mood. I nodded my head while biting my lip. My mind was ushering me to the blank oblivion that it craved. "Okay, any suggestions on how to fix that?"

"Well, for one, you could stop bleeding on the tablecloth." Finnick pointed out in a voice that sounded a bit shocked.

I suppressed a weary laugh as I looked down to see the growing red stain on the once white tablecloth. "Oh, great," I chuckle.

"Why are you bleeding?" Hector asked, alarmed.

"Doesn't matter." Finnick answered for me. "We need to get that bandaged, or else Sabine will lose her sequins." He moved and motioned for me to follow him.

"I can take care of it myself." I assured him, even though I was right behind him already. I longed for a moment alone just so I could get a grip on my nerves.

"You don't even know where the bathrooms are, do you?" He asked. I remained silent. "Yeah, I thought as much, so stop being modest."

I followed Finnick out of the dining car. My eyes roamed the broad expanse of his sweater-clad back, focusing on the pristine threads. I wanted to be sick, and only the reminder of the food I ate made me swallow it down. I wished my hands would stop shaking, but it was that or break down in front of Finnick Odair. That wasn't something I wanted to experience.

The man in question stopped abruptly, and I almost ran into him. My bloody hand shot up and caught me. When I hurriedly jumped back, there was a red stain on the pure white fabric of his sweater. I couldn't help but imagine the rest of my blood seeping out of some wound as I lay dying on the ground of the arena.

Finnick craned his head back to look at me. "Sorry," I muttered. "I got blood on your shirt."

His shoulders shrugged nonchalantly. "I have other ones."

The door to a bathroom whooshed open, and I found myself standing among marble countertop and glimmering gold-accented walls. I couldn't hold back my grimace as I took it all in. It seemed completely ridiculous to need a bathroom to look this over the top.

"Here, sit on the counter." Finnick instructed as he rummaged through a cabinet on the opposite wall.

I hopped up onto the vanity, leaning my back against the smooth mirror. As I waited, I held my hands together to control the shaking.

"You don't have to do this for me." I said as Finnick held a cloth under the water faucet. "I know how to bandage a small wound."

"My job is to help you, Lyssa." He stated, taking my hand and whipping away the dried blood crusting on my palm. "Besides, you're going to want to save as much of this as you can for the arena."

I laughed humorlessly. "Thanks for the advice, mentor."

Finnick looked at me with a severe expression. "I'm serious. It's going to be brutal in there." His face was a mask of grim understanding. I should be taking his words seriously, but all I can think about is how my damn hands are still shaking. How Shae is probably laying in my bed right now, just as worried as I am. How the chances of me surviving are incredibly slim.

I shut my eyes and rested my head on the mirror. I could feel tension pounding at my skull.

The sound of a package being ripped open met my ears, and I soon felt the soft touch of gauze being placed over the cuts. "I'm going to die in the arena." I announce faintly.

"You will die if you go in thinking like that." He promised, finishing up with putting the bandage on my hand. "If you'll get over this 'I'm doomed' attitude, I'll help you." I met his fierce eyes, but I thought I saw a sadness lurking in them that seemed too genuine to be fake.

"How are you going to make sure I survive?" I asked, leaning closer to him off the sink. "I'm not any different from the other tributes, and like you said, they're probably better than me anyway." I couldn't meet his eyes. I couldn't look at them and risk seeing the same hope and faith I saw in my family's faces.

"You have such little confidence in yourself," Finnick scoffed. He'd finished dressing my cuts, but he didn't back away. "You said your father taught you how to use throwing knives, right?" I nodded. "Build on that skill during training, then. And I'll help you learn how to make the Capitol like you so you'll get sponsors."

I hopped off the sink, my hand now taken care of, but my mood did not improve even with Finnick's uplifting words. "It's not going to be that easy." I grumbled under my breath.

Finnick walked out of the bathroom and waited outside the door for me. "It won't be," he agreed. "But don't you think you owe it to your family to at least try?"

"You're a lot different than I thought you'd be." I find myself saying.

"Oh," he chuckles.

I nod. "Yeah, I think I would've liked to meet you under different circumstances."

He smiles, and it's like a light is being shone down on him from above. "How would you have liked to meet?"

"Maybe at the market," I shrug.

He laughs as we turn a corner. "That would've been great," he agrees. "I would have been busy looking at the plants."

"And me being me, would have run into you because I never look where I'm going, truthfully." I built onto his little scenario.

"I would have rushed to help you up because that's just the gentleman in me. We would have introduced ourselves, and I'd offer to carry your bags home for you as an apology," he continued.

I turn my head so I can see him, and he's still smiling. His eyes still held that strange sadness behind them, though. It confused me some, I'd always had the impression that Finnick loved everything to do with the games. But he didn't seem to be too happy at the moment.

"That would have been a lot nicer than this." I mumble in conclusion.

━

My designated bedroom is impressive. The lush carpet and warm colored walls were surly designed to put one at ease. It has the opposite effect on me. I resent the comfort I have at the tips of my fingers because it reminds me that my family is at home. That they aren't here to share in this luxury with me.

The ceiling I stare at is becoming increasingly more boring with every passing minute. I've been laying in the lavish bed for hours now. Tossing and turning under the duvet, which in normal circumstances, I'd be overjoyed to be covered up with. I have too many thoughts racing through my mind to even contemplate sleep. I get tired of the restlessness, so I slip out of bed. I opened the door as quietly as I could. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to wander around or not.

I have no destination in mind as I find myself in the dining car once again. The table is bare now. The tablecloth with my blood stained on it and the extravagant meal are now gone.

Finding nothing of interest in this room, I move on. I find my way to the last compartment on the train. It's a lounge area with a big circle couch along the back wall.

I don't know how long I sat there by myself. I could've spent hours watching the twisting shadows pass by the train window. I imagined Shae crawling into bed with my parents, seeking comfort in their embrace since I wasn't there. It eased my troubled watered thoughts to picture her snuggled up between them. I found solace in the fact that they all had each other.

I thought about all the things I didn't get a chance to say to them. The goodbyes I would have said and promises I would have made. My mother always said that I had this talent for disappearing into my own head. I've always been grateful for this gift, for the ability to help myself when nothing else could. Right now, it came in really handy. Instead of thinking of how I might very well die, I think about other things to keep my mind off of it. I don't want to think about how I'll react once I actually let it dawn on me.

"Couldn't sleep?" Hurtling headlong into my messy thoughts, I hadn't even heard the door slide open. But there was Finnick standing in the moonlight with rumpled clothes and bedhead.

My heart raced for a split second at the sudden sound of his voice, but I let out my startled breath and relaxed back into the cushions.

"I could ask you the same thing." I responded, eyeing him cautiously as he took a seat next to me. His eyes looked tired, and there were distinct purple bags beginning underneath. I couldn't help but think he looked slightly striking like this. Loose clothes and sharp features made soft in the silver glow of the moonlight.

"I know it won't help," he spoke slowly. "But you really shouldn't stay up. You're going to want to rest as much as you can. Sleep is hard to come by once you're in the arena."

I didn't respond right away; I just kept gazing out the window. My hands had stopped trembling hours before, but my thumb kept rubbing across the bandage that was resting on my palm. I thought back to what Finnick had said when we left the bathroom.

"I haven't given up," I swore. He turned closer toward me as I took a deep breath. "You said I have no confidence in myself; well, you're right. I don't know how to do the things you have to do if you want to survive in there." I took another shaky inhale and clasped my hands together to stop their movement. "But I don't want my parents to lose their daughter. I don't want my sister to be alone."

Finnick leaned forward on his elbows. "I swear to you, Lyssa, I will help you as best I can. But you have to promise me you won't let go."

"Let go of what?" I questioned.

He caught my gaze with his wild ocean eyes. "Of that storm inside you. The storm that's keeping you connected to your home and family. That storm will keep you alive."

"How can you be so sure, so confident in me? You don't even know me." I wondered. I tucked my legs under me, trying to shrink in on myself once more. Everything felt so raw and real at the moment. Maybe it was because it was the dead of night, and I was tired. I got the feeling that either one of us could say anything right now and it'd be the honest truth.

That caught me off guard. I'd never been a very trusting person, but I tried not to judge a person until I could make an honest impression of them. I was ashamed to admit, though, that I'd already judged Finnick Odair the moment I watched him in his games. Then he worked his way through almost every woman in the Capitol the moment he turned sixteen, and that only solidified my impression of him. I insisted that if I were reaped, I would never act like that. Sitting on this train with him, though, made it hard to condemn him for anything.

Finnick leaned back to rest his head on the sofa's plushness. I didn't know why, but I was glad it was him who found me. Anyone else, and I'd be completely on edge. "Because you're my tribute. I want you to have your best chance at victory." He stops himself from saying anything further. His short response hides a deeper meaning that I can't identify right now. But I have the feeling that it's true concern, and it's at that moment that I'm faced with the fact that Finnick is nothing like the Capitol act he disguises himself as.

"You put on a good show, you know," I say carefully. His face tenses for a moment, and then he hesitantly laughs as if he just caught on to what I meant.

"Well, I have been told my acting skills are something to be craved after." He jokes, and I think I glimpsed a wink through the darkness.

"You're a lot kinder than I thought you'd be," I admitted.

He smiles softly. It makes his already handsome face even more enthralling. Even though I've agreed to give it my all, I still have the urge to apologize for the obvious fool I'm going to make of myself in the arena. I want to apologize for being clueless and for the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing.

I want to apologize for the disappointment I might be.

"It's getting late. You should try to sleep." He pushes himself up and off the couch. "Goodnight." I look up to meet his gaze, and he's smiling at me. I decided that I like it when he smiles at me. I don't pause to think why. He pads away back to his room, leaving me in the dark by myself.

Later, as I twist under the covers again, my thoughts are filled with something other than my death looming over me.

God, I feel so bad for the things I'm gonna put them through. But any who as always, I hope you're enjoying and please feel free to comment and reblog. <3

﹙taglist﹚@iammirrorball @lilydoeswrite @aoi-targaryen

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duramaters · 2 years

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Aches and Adoration // Part 1

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: It’s been a few years since you became a member of Dauntless and you want to brush up on your fighting skills. Getting Eric to help you was probably not your best idea.

Warnings: Explicit language, violence and injury, fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9k

You sat on a ledge overlooking the Pit, absolutely entranced by the testosterone fuelled dance below. It was a Friday and that meant Fight Night at Dauntless. A great hulking man with a ginger mohawk and braided beard had picked his opponent clean off the floor and flung him into the corner of the ring and you were pretty sure the poor man was already out cold before he hit the ground. Even from where you sat, high above the action, you could hear the rattling of his chest as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. It was brutal and bloodthirsty and you loved it. You had never really bothered to attend Fight Night before, much preferring the quiet of your room and a good book, but you had been dragged along by Will and Christina to watch their friend, the very unfortunate casualty now being hauled through the crowd.

“This is amazing!” You bounced slightly on the cold concrete and Christina let out a chuckle at your shameless enthusiasm. You continued to watch the redheaded hulk make a mockery of his victims until the final bell rang and people began to disperse. Looking over at Will and Christina with a glint in your eye you naively asked if they thought you would ever be able to do that.

“Not a chance in hell.” Will shook his head with a slight smile.

“You’d be crushed like a bug within the first five seconds.” Rolling her eyes Christina nudged your shoulder with her own to show that she was only teasing before standing up and pulling you with her.

“Wanna go get some drinks?” Will walked between you, slinging his arms around your shoulders. You shook your head at him, body still buzzing with adrenaline from the fights.

“Nah I’m gonna go back to my room and try to wind down or else I’ll never sleep.” Sending your friends a light-hearted smile you broke away from them and jogged up the stairs and along the concrete corridors to your room, mind replaying all of the different fighting techniques you had observed over the past few hours. As soon as you unlocked your door you headed straight to your bookshelf and gathered all of your old training manuals from initiation. You had only realised from watching the evening’s entertainment that you had almost forgotten everything you had been taught back when you were sixteen and new to Dauntless. No time like the present to brush up on your old skills, you thought. Hopefully muscle memory and a good trainer would allow you to regain at least some of your old prowess in the ring.

~~~

The next morning found you cross legged on the floor beside your bed scribbling down pros and cons for all the potential Dauntless members you could ask to help train you. Hours had passed, spent with you considering your options. You had deliberated asking yesterday’s winner but you knew his reliance on brute strength and size wouldn’t work with you. You needed someone cunning and ruthless who wouldn’t go easy on you. That last point was crucial but it sadly meant that you had to cross Tori off of your list, she was way too nice to beat you to a pulp just to motivate you to do better. The only option left was one you weren’t too thrilled about, but you had never really interacted with the man before so you refused to pre-judge him based on reputation alone. Eric Coulter definitely met your criteria – he was intelligent, aggressive and uncompromising, exactly what you needed. Unfortunately, Eric Coulter also happened to hate you on sight.

“Absolutely fucking not” he snapped at you when you had sidled up to him during his lunch and directed your bright smile at him.

“I haven’t even said anything!” you pouted. He was nowhere near as intimidating as you thought he’d be, tearing up chunks of bread and smearing them with butter. Inching closer to him on the wide bench you clamped your hands together in front of your chest ready to actually beg the man in front of you.

“Fuck off.” Oh, maybe you should have headed his reputation after all.

“Can I at least say what I came over to say before I fuck off?” You questioned him, raising an eyebrow as he continued to ignore you and focus on his food. You took his silence as a go-ahead. “I want to get back into fighting and I figured you were my best bet at actually getting good.” Hopefully flattery worked with him. He released a breath through his nose and you watched his jaw tick and his fists clench in what you assumed was an attempt to not punch you smack in the nose. You slowly slipped back into your previous position on the bench, putting precious space between you and the apparently seething leader.

“I’m not going to say it again.” Eric’s voice came out in a harsh whisper but there was no way in hell you’d be leaning in to him to hear him better. With a sigh you swung your legs over the bench and left him to his lunch, trying to hide the disappointment from showing through the drooping of your shoulders as you walked away.

~~~

It turned out that the ginger giant from Fight Night was a Dauntless born named Thelonious and he was more than willing to teach you to fight. A bit too willing, you realised in hindsight, but you didn’t have many other options since Eric had refused to even entertain the idea of training you. You had set out the mats and refilled your water bottle in preparation for your training session and had decided to perform some simple stretches while you waited for your new mentor to arrive. He entered the training room flanked by two smaller, but equally as intimidating men and one of them looked you up and down lecherously, forcing to you repress a shiver and subtly glance around to take stock of the rooms other inhabitants. You noticed a flash of green hair and recognised the woman who had done your first tattoo. Good, it meant you had a potential ally in case things turned nasty with Thelonious and his pals. Squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident than you felt, you stepped forward and greeted the man who had agreed to train you.

“Let’s get started, pipsqueak.” He said, grinning wickedly a you through his thick beard. He clearly only wore the braids during fights, probably so his opponent couldn’t use it against him. You made sure to take a mental note of this. “Be warned. I won’t go easy on you kid.” You nodded in understanding, now absolutely terrified at the prospect of sparring with a man you had seen obliterate at least ten people a few nights ago.

Before you had even had chance to brace yourself against the mat a thundering fist met your abdomen and you doubled over in agony, pretty sure that the man had ruptured your spleen with the hit. Another punch landed against your ribs and you were convinced you felt them shatter beneath his knuckles. The air left your lungs and all you could manage to utter was a soft “ooft” as you were thrown back across the mat. Laughter behind you had you tenderly turning your head to see the two other men mocking you while Thelonious was above you, smirking at your pitiful attempts to get off the floor.

“Stay down and leave the fighting to the men, yeah pipsqueak?” He high-fived his repulsive friends and without so much as a backwards glance at you they left the training room outwardly pleased with the damage Thelonious had delivered to your crumpled body.

“Come on.” A hand appeared in front of your face and you peered up to see a streak of green hair. “I think we should get you to the infirmary, that dick definitely did a number on your ribs.” She said, hoisting you to your feet and gently draping your arm over her shoulder. The walk was slow and hard going, but you made it with the help of your saviour.

“Come see me for a new tattoo when you’re all healed.” She winked and saluted you before diseappering down the corridor. A kind looking male nurse rushed over to assess your injuries, his incessant questioning about what had happened distracted you from the pain until his fingers prodded your ribs over your clothing. Your eyes screwed shut and your teeth clenched in reflex to the sharp pain.

“Fucking ow, dude.” You grimaced. He had the good sense to look sheepish and quickly removed his hands from your side.

“Sorry I’m new, let me grab someone else!” He rushed off and you couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty at how you’d taken your pain out on him. As you settled back into the bed, shifting to ease the pressure on your lower back, you heard voices approaching down the corridor. A rather harangued looking doctor entered the room followed by a man who was too focused on the tablet in his hands to notice you.

“You’re using way too many resources, we need to be practical and only administer medication to people who really need it. The supplies are too low for-” Eric stopped mid sentence when he finally looked up from his tablet and saw you hunched up on the bed. The doctor had delicately lifted your shirt and your new knuckle shaped bruises were on clear display. Eric’s eyes had zeroed in on the discolouration and he had fallen deathly silent.

“I knew you were a fucking idiot.” He muttered under his breath and his admonishing tone had tears welling up in your eyes. The doctor didn’t seem to have heard his cruel comment.

“And what is your professional opinion here Mr. Coulter? Does she need treatment?” Eric merely huffed in response and left the room.

“Is he always such an ass?” You looked up at the doctor with a watery, yet conspirational grin.

“Always. Without fail.” She snickered and set about fixing your injuries.

~~~

You were perched delicately between Will and Christina at the dinner table when two large hands appeared on the table either side of your food tray. You could feel the softness of a t-shirt pressing against the exposed skin at top of your spine and when you leant backwards slightly in your surprise, the hardness of taut abdominal muscles pressing into your shoulder blades caused your breath to hitch.

“Did you learn your lesson or are you still desperate to fight?” You stiffened as you realised it was Eric’s hot breath tickling your temple. He backed up when he felt you shifting to face him, grunting at the bursts of pain radiating from your injuries. Will and Christina watched on with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation as you made eye contact with the man now towering over you.

“The only thing I learned was that I really ought to be able to defend myself against disgusting egotistical maniacs so that the next time that pig comes near me I can annihilate him.” You looked up at Eric, your saccharine smile contrasting your murderous tone. Eric’s responding smirk made your heart stutter and you had no clue if it was out of fear or something else entirely.

“Perfect.”

#eric coulter #eric coulter x reader #x reader #eric coulter x you #x you #divergent #fanficition #reader insert #fluff #kissing #mentor/mentee #jai courtney #jai courtney could smush me like a bug and i'd say thank you #smut #enemies to lovers #fem!reader #i know there aren't many of u left who still think about this man daily but those of u who do i hope u enjoy #no y/n #g writes

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ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult · 8 months

Text

Bad PR-Jordan Li Fic

A/N: I saw someone post about needing a fic about Jordan being in a relationship where they're "unmarketable" and haven't been able to get the idea out of my head since. This is written with a black reader in mind. I also have a sequel in mind if anyone wants it.

Word Count: 3739

Warnings: Some sensuality and swearing.

I don't claim to own any characters or property from Gen V or The Boys. All credit to the original gif creators.

Silence was something that I always thought I longed for. Every day for the past twenty years, there was noise, whether it was someone (usually multiple) talking, music blasting, cars going by, or screaming. By now, I thought I would have learned how to tune it out and focus on what was most important: save the little kids from a burning school, study as hard as I could to get into GOD U, and manipulate social media algorithms so much it would make tech experts’ heads spin.

But, I hadn’t. Then, I thought I got used to the noise, the demands to take pictures with total strangers, the background noise of a song I was doing a TikTok challenge to, Liza, my Vought-assigned PR rep, and my parents insisting on what I should wear, and the constant buzzing in the back of my head that my ability caused. However, as I laid on Jordan’s bed, listening to them ramble about Brink, I didn’t mind the noise so much.

“I mean, he’s kind of a mad genius but for good,” Jordan stated. Then, they turned to me with a sheepish smile on their face. “Sorry, I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

I shook my head. “No, no, it’s alright. Brink’s brilliant and it’s amazing that you’re his mentee.” I pushed myself up onto my elbows. “Besides, you’re pretty cute when you’re excited.”

Jordan rolled their eyes and slowly made their way towards me, stopping right at the foot of their bed. “Only when I’m excited?”

“Shut up, you know you always look good,” I teased.

They playfully flipped their hair and batted their eyes. “Well, we can’t all have a glam squad on call so I appreciate it.”

I scoffed, rose to my knees, and playfully pushed their shoulder only for them to switch to their masculine form and grab my hand. “That’s not fair and I didn’t even ask for them, my parents and Liza insisted on it when I got in.”

Jordan nodded but I could tell they weren’t listening since their eyes were on my lips. “I don’t feel like talking anymore.”

Something about their deeper masculine voice sent tingles down my spine and made my stomach feel fuzzy. Then again, they easily caused the same effect in both forms. My breath caught in my throat as soon as our lips touched, and I could feel my heart rate pick up. I tried to relax in their gentle but firm grip as I wrapped my hands around their neck, but it was easier said than done.

Suddenly, my back was against their bed and the kissing got more fervent. Jordan slipped their tongue down my throat and trailed one of their hands down my leg. I shivered as they pulled my leg up around their hip and pressed further into me.

“I should’ve known this is what you meant when you said you wanted to hang out,” I breathed after pulling away for a second.

“I had good intentions but you kept screwing me with your eyes,” Jordan huffed back.

“No, I---” Jordan cut me off, switching to their feminine form and kissing my jaw, working their way down my neck. “Not…fair.”

One of their hands slowly started trailing up under my (their) sweatshirt and I tried to stifle my giggles at the soft touch. After a couple of seconds, I couldn’t help but start giggling and covered my face when Jordan paused their actions and looked up at me.

“Still ticklish?” Jordan teased.

“Shut up, it’s your fault since they're your hands,” I groaned through another laugh.

Jordan smirked at me and ran their hands down my waist, gently tapping my sides, causing more laughter on my end. I tried to reach for their hands to stop them but they were too good at dodging me. At some point during my laughter, my phone started ringing.

“Ignore it,” Jordan whined as they pressed their head against my stomach, their big brown eyes somehow looking bigger and browner than usual.

“I can’t,” I whined back as I pulled away from them and grabbed my phone from my desk. “It’s Liza, I have to answer.”

Jordan rolled their eyes. “That bitch has the worst timing.”

“She might not be able to help it.” I quickly answered the phone. “Hey, Liza.”

“Y/N, I’m on campus and we need to talk ASAP. Meet me outside the Crimefighting building in five,” Liza rattled off.

“Oh, sure, what’s it about?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you when I see you.”

She clicked off and I turned to Jordan, who was much less than pleased.

“Let me guess, you have to go,” they said.

“I’m sorry, it sounded important,” I said as I started grabbing my stuff from around their room. “I’ll try to make it quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.” They pushed themselves off the bed and stood in front of me, gently grabbing my hands in theirs. “It’s your career and I’m proud of you. I knew what I was getting into when the Cyclone became my girlfriend.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Ugh, don’t say it like that. But I appreciate you and I will show you as much later.” I quickly kissed them and grabbed my shoes. Just as I was about to leave, I paused at something in their closet. “Is that my jacket?”

Jordan shook their head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I snatched the item from the closet and held it out. “Jordan, you’re going to try to convince me that you’re into vintage Yves Saint Laurent?”

“Your taste rubbed off on me,” they said with a shrug.

“I’m flattered.” I put it back in their closet.

“By the way, do you know where my black hoodie went?”

“See you later!”

About four and a half minutes later, I was sitting at an outdoor table with Liza and my parents. Despite the summer heat, Liza was wearing a navy skirt suit, and her graying black hair was tied into a severe bun on the top of her head. She was typing on two different phones and her laptop simultaneously, deep blue eyes never staying on anything too long. My mom, who sat on my right, smiled kindly.

“So, Y/N, how does it feel to be a junior?” she asked.

“Great, Mom. I thought I told you and Dad that you didn’t have to hover this much since I am a junior now,” I said, glancing at my dad who was on my other side.

“We’re not hovering, it’s been two days since we dropped you off,” Dad insisted. “Besides, this is about business.”

“Wha---”

“Oh my gosh, is that Y/N Y/L/N?” Someone squealed behind me.

“Show time,” I sighed.

The “someone” was actually two someones, a pair of what looked like freshmen. One was a tall, pretty brunette in a white graphic tee and matching mini skirt and the other was an equally pretty, slightly shorter brunette wearing jean shorts and Vans. The taller one held her V-Phone with a death grip.

“Can we take a picture with you?” The taller one asked.

“Of course.” I stood from my seat and made my way over to them.

“I can take it.” But before my mom could stand, Liza shot up from her seat, grabbed the phone, and ushered us closer together.

“Okay, Y/N in the middle, Tall Girl on the left, Short One on the right,” Liza instructed, eyes never looking up from the camera.

“It’s Ashley,” the short one said.

“Smile!”

I did as I was told and the girls were walking away before I could even say an obligatory, “No problem.”

Both my parents smiled as I sat back down.

“It’s great to see that you’re still popular after all this time,” Dad said, his eyes hidden behind his tinted sunglasses.

“As she should be. Y/N has thirty million followers across all her social media and she does amazing in the Midwest and the South, both tough demographics for young black women,” Liza stated.

“Thanks, Liza,” I said, mindlessly playing with the ends of my butterfly locs. “So, you mentioned you were coming but left out my parents.”

At this, Liza finally paused from typing and looked up at me. She slowly set her elbows on the table and rested her chin on top of her pale hands. My head involuntarily started shaking from side to side and Liza lifted one of her hands.

“Let me speak first, Y/N, and then we can argue about it,” Liza stated.

“The last time you said that, I ended up almost getting mauled by a dog during an animal shelter livestream,” I hissed.

“Well, the dog had a serious history of trauma,” Liza insisted.

“You didn’t inform me of that before insisting I cuddle with it for the camera!”

“It was a learning lesson: you are fantastic under pressure.”

I huffed and folded my arms over my chest. “So, what is this about?”

Liza assumed her previous “Serious business” pose. “Like I was saying, you’re doing fantastic numbers. That last TikTok you and Cate did hit a hundred million views in less than twenty-four hours.”

“The ‘Rover’ challenge wasn’t that hard,” I commented.

“That’s amazing!” Mom practically cheered.

“That’s my girl,” Dad said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

I smiled despite the strong sense that a “but” was coming.

“However,” Liza continued.

Uh oh.

“My job is to do everything in my power to make sure everyone associates Y/N Y/L/N and Cyclone with beauty, intelligence, grace, taste, and power. So, we are a little concerned about Jordan.”

Immediately, my shoulders tensed and I gritted my teeth. “Who exactly is ‘we’?” I glanced at my parents.

Mom’s eyes widened and I had no idea what Dad was doing.

“No, of course not, Sweetie, we love Jordan. They have been a fantastic influence on you,” Mom insisted.

I could feel my face warm up about what had transpired with Jordan a few minutes ago. I doubt that would fall under “good influence”, or any time we went out with the others.

“And they give you a run for your money when it comes to combat. You need someone challenging like them. Plus, that Luke boy isn’t bad either,” Dad added.

As their words sunk in, I had a strange feeling that my parents were there to lessen a Vought-sized blow. My suspicions were confirmed when Liza’s lips pressed more firmly together and she was glancing at one of her phones.

“Are you reading a script right now?” I seethed.

Liza’s head shot up and she shook her head. “No, no, Y/N, not at all. Just some notes.” She quickly regrouped. “I understand that you’re happy and you’re probably having some fantastic sex right now----”

“Liza!” I interrupted, praying that the ground would open and swallow me whole.

Suddenly, Dad’s arm was back at his side, and Mom was suddenly very captivated by a pair of seniors skateboarding past.

“But the facts are that a bi-gender Asian supe is not marketable in the Deep South or the Midwest,” Liza said. “I am not shaming Jordan for who they are but, my job is to sustain your relatable-but-unattainable brand and not let anything get in the way of it.”

“You’re saying my partner is a threat to my career?” I asked, my voice much hollower than I intended.

“Potentially. Now, I have come up with a very good alternative.” Liza turned her laptop so it was facing my parents and me. On it was a picture of Andre and some clips of us on social media. “Andre Anderson tested very well. Our focus group members responded positively to the black power couple aesthetic.”

“We’ve met him before, he’s nice,” Mom offered.

“He’s cool and I’ve met his dad and I could see us all getting along,” Dad mentioned.

My head was swirling with so many thoughts that I was convinced I was either going to be overwhelmed by them or find one that was coherent enough to state. My mouth settled on, “It’s the twenty-first century and you’re all telling me I have to break up with my partner because of demographics? Jordan’s an amazing supe and they’re so smart, it’s scary. They can do---will do so much good and the only thing you care about is optics?”

Mom gently touched my arm. “Y/N, please, calm down.”

When I glanced around, I noticed that several Vought-A-Burger wrappers, a couple of cigarettes, and a few panicked squirrels and rabbits were swirling around the table. Quickly, I released the small animals and put the trash in the nearby receptacle.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered, eyeing Liza.

“I understand that you have strong feelings for Jordan but, think about it. With the right moves, you could be living in The Tower with the legends of your generation. Sure, you’re number three at GOD U right now, but this status can easily go away. You’ve worked your entire life to be the hero that little black girls everywhere look up to. Don’t take Cyclone away from them before she even starts,” Liza warned.

I desperately wanted to say something snarky, but my mind was blank. The only thing I could sense was my throat tightening up and my eyes beginning to well. I brushed a loc out of my face to play it off and tried to gain my thoughts.

“How much time do I have before I make a decision?” I asked.

“Twenty-four hours. I’ll be looking out for your call, text, email, or video call,” Liza stated as she started to pack her things.

My parents stood and Mom gave me one of her warm hugs and Dad pulled me to his side.

“It will be okay, Y/N,” he whispered.

I swallowed the giant lump in my throat to thank him and then insisted on walking them back to their car.

A few hours later, Elle Woods was sobbing in the fanciest restaurant in California while I carefully placed my baking pan in the oven. As much as I wanted to sob, I had no time for tears, I had to think. The thinking led me to have so many circular thoughts that my head spun and I resorted to baking and watching my favorite movie.

If Elle could solve a murder case and exonerate her client as a first-year law student, I should be able to figure out this PR mess. On the one hand, I was happier with Jordan than I’ve ever been with anyone. On the other hand, my dreams and my family’s position were hanging by a thread.

Maybe it was better that I channeled my energy into baking cupcakes.

I exhaled a small gust of wind to clear the bowls and utensils from the counter and place them in the dishwasher. Then, I focused on pushing multiple gusts of wind from my hands to clean the counters and wash the dishes. By the time I was done, I was exhausted and flopped on my couch to mindlessly watch the movie.

Unfortunately, the bright and colorful backdrop of Elle’s LSAT studying montage did nothing to take my mind off my dilemma. All I could think about was Jordan’s face when I told them. Breaking up with them would be like shooting a puppy’s mom in front of the puppy and making it watch it bleed out.

How would I tell them anyway? Hey, babe, I’m sorry I had to run out on us almost hooking up to meet with Liza and my parents. Funny story, they want me to break up with you so that I have a shot at a career and date Andre instead. See you for that morning lecture?

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The sound jolted me from my thoughts, and I pushed myself off the couch to answer it. “Rufus, if you try to get me into your room again, I swear to----” I cut myself off at the sight of Jordan, in their feminine form, staring back at me.

They wore a navy sweatshirt and black sweatpants. Also, their cheeks were more flushed than usual and they smelled like their sandalwood body wash, meaning they had probably stopped by the gym recently.

“Is Rufus bothering you again? I’ll go murder him right now,” Jordan said.

I quickly grabbed their wrist. “No, I appreciate the thought but I’m fine, besides, I can take care of myself.”

“I know but I can’t help but worry.”

A strange warm, tingling sensation ran its way from the center of my chest throughout the rest of my body. I was sure that if someone listened closely enough, they would hear me buzzing.

I stepped aside to let Jordan in and leaned against the door to close it. “So, what brings you by?”

They wandered over to my couch, sat down, and grabbed my phone off the coffee table. “Because you haven’t been answering my texts or calls.”

“Crap, I am so sorry, Jordan, I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

Jordan glanced around my dorm. “I can see that.” They sniffed the air. “Legally Blonde and you’re baking, what happened at the meeting?”

Of course, Jordan would cut straight to the point. Usually, this kind of banter was pleasant but my stomach was in knots as Liza’s words and my parents’ expressions replayed in my mind.

“What? I can’t bake and watch a comfort movie after a last-minute PR meeting?” I asked rhetorically, crossing the room to my desk to start organizing my textbooks.

“Don’t try to deflect, Y/N. Tell me what happened.” Their voice was gentle but firm and I knew that they were not going to let me out of this conversation.

So, I set Brink’s latest book down and sat across from Jordan on my tangerine accent chair. I prayed that I would find the right words to say before blurting them out. As soon as I made eye contact with them, my chest tightened.

“Well, Liza surprised me by having my parents join us,” I started.

Jordan raised their eyebrows. “Shit, this is serious.”

“Uh-huh. Liza said that my numbers are doing great and I’m on track for a promising career.”

“And?”

I gulped. “And…she’s concerned that my personal choices might get in the way of that.”

Jordan frowned. “Personal choices? Every college kid known to man has done illicit substances and drank alcohol underage. You’ve never been caught doing any of that anyway.”

“You’re right but she wasn’t talking about partying; she was talking about us.”

As soon as the bomb rolled off my tongue, I saw its impact on Jordan, from the flashing expressions of confusion and anger to the clenching of their fists. I just wanted to make it stop.

“What?”

As I rambled Liza’s reasoning, I could sense the hurt and animosity flowing from Jordan. Once I finished, the timer for the cupcakes went off and I jumped up to grab them. I could have cried at the momentary escape as I set them on the counter to cool.

“She weaponized your desire to be a positive role model for other girls who look like you to screw you over,” Jordan said slowly.

I wiped my hands on my sweatpants. “Liza’s doing her job, babe, and she’s looking at all angles, including how it could impact my goals.” I returned to my seat and folded my hands in my lap.

“Her job is to make you choose between your relationship and your career?” Jordan asked. “That’s bullshit, this whole thing is.”

“I know, Jordan, trust me, I know, I almost started a small tornado when she said it.”

Jordan eyed me closely for a second. “What else did she say?”

“What?”

“I can tell you’re holding back, Y/N. Whatever else you have to say, it can’t be any worse.”

They might have just jinxed that.

“Liza thinks that Andre would be a better fit for me because a bunch of people like the idea of a black power couple.”

Jordan had two angry responses: the first was they would attempt to tear down anything and everything around them unless consoled. The second was they would become unresponsive and deal with all their rage internally. That night, I got the second one. Their eyes were hollow and the color drained from their face. My eyes welled up as I hoped for them to start screaming, swearing, or something, but nothing happened.

“But I don’t want to do it, Jordan, I think it’s so stupid.” I knelt in front of them, grabbed my phone from their hands, and set it aside to hold them. “My parents don’t even really agree with Liza because they know you and they think you’re awesome.”

“What do you think?” they muttered.

“Like I said, I think it’s stupid. We can figure something else out. Liza can spin us as the ultimate diverse power couple, huh?” I did my best to smile as widely as I could. “Come on, let’s forget about this. I made white velvet cupcakes with cream cheese filling. You can be my first taste tester once they cool.”

Things would work out, they had to. We would figure something out and survive our junior year at GOD U with little to no incidents. Suddenly, Jordan’s hands slipped from my grasp and they shifted to their masculine form.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” Jordan whispered.

“What do you mean?” I replied.

“I mean, you don’t necessarily have to be a supe but, I know that you’re scared for your parents. Your success has helped them a lot and it could destroy them if your reputation takes a hit,” they said. “And I’ve seen how little black girls light up when they see you now and how passionate you are about helping them and, I know that you’re just getting started and I don’t want to be in the way.” “Jordan…”

“I don’t want to hold you back anymore, Y/N,” they muttered.

Their words sunk deep into my core like a boulder and took all my words with it. I wanted to tell them that they could never hold me back and that they made me a better super, a better person. But all I could do was watch as they stood and walked out of my dorm, taking our one and a half year relationship with them.

#jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine #black!reader

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