Tumgik
#i'm on the far left fyi
vivwritesfics · 2 months
Text
(Oh My God) They Were Roommates
Chapter Ten - Oh Dang She Crashed
Lando Norris and Y/N L/N were teammates. Tension had been between from the minute they started driving together and, when it only got worse, McLaren CEO Zac Brown decides there's only one solution: Have them live together.
1.2K
SHE'S NOT PREGNANT FYI
Series Masterlist
Tumblr media
While Lando and Y/N laid together, with Y/N falling asleep on his shoulder, Max Verstappen and Daniel Ricciardo were out for drinks. It was just something casual, something to do together because they didn't see each other all that often now that they weren't teammates.
But they were still the best of friends, and they still hung around together. Daniel took Max out for a couple of drinks, no more than a couple of drinks (since they had to race the next day).
Now Max was good at keeping secrets, but he had to get it off his chest, had to tell someone. If that person decided to tell the rest of the grid? Well, that wasn't on him, was it?
Max pulled his chair closer to the table as the waitress placed the gin and tonic in front of him. Daniel received his own drink and Max couldn't hold it back anymore.
"Guess what I walked in on," he said, his leg bouncing. He was far too excited for this.
Daniel looked at him as he sipped his drink, eyebrows raised as he waited for him to continue. "After last weeks race, after Y/N won, I asked her if she wanted to come out for drinks, but she said she was busy. So I asked Lando and he was down. I went to get him from his drivers room and what did I walk in on?"
He paused, waiting for Daniels brain to catch up. Daniel's eyes went wide. "No," he gasped and sipped his drink again. "No way! Lando and Y/N? Seriously?"
"Seriously!" Max insisted, using his straw to stir his drink.
"Is... is that allowed? Are we allowed to fuck our teammates?" Daniel asked, leaning back in his chair.
Max shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know if it's ever actually happened before, since, you know."
"Surely there are some rules around this."
Again, Max shrugged his shoulders. If they were he hadn't read it anywhere. "Don't tell them I told you," he said and Daniel nodded his head.
***
Y/N woke up, her own head moving with the gentle rise and fall of Lando's chest. She pushed away from him and stretched her arms up. She didn't feel as sick as she had the day before, but she still felt pretty rough.
Checking the time on her phone, Y/N shook Lando's shoulder. "Lan, get up," she whispered, continuing to shake him.
Lando's eyes fluttered open. He didn't get up from the bed, just turned his head towards Y/N, watching as she stripped to get into the shower.
He pushed himself up from the bed and walked over to the bathroom. He knocked on the door and pushed it open. "I'm gonna head to my room," he said, talking just loud enough to speak over the noise of the shower. "Are you okay to get to the circuit on your own?"
Y/N shouted a response back, something Lando had to get her to repeat, before he left her hotel room to head back to his own. He got himself ready to head to the circuit, changing into a new McLaren shirt, a new LN4 hat and a clean pair of jeans. Still, though, he worried about Y/N.
If she was that sick, which he knew her to be, he didn't want her racing. He wasn't going to stop her, it wasn't like he had much of a choice. If she wanted to race, she was going to do just that.
When he was ready, Lando made his way to the circuit. He signed posters and caps and made his way to the hospitality unit. Y/N met him there just minutes later, still looking as sick as ever. Where she had woken up feeling slightly better, she was once again feeling terrible.
She drank water through the day, and was never very far away from Lando, unless somebody needed her. It wasn't that she followed Lando around like a lost puppy, but more like he refused to leave her side. She looked ready to drop to the floor at any moment and Lando wanted to be there to catch her.
Eventually, though, she was called away by her trainer. He took one look at her and sent her to lay down in a dark room until the start of the race.
Half an hour before the race started, she was woken up. Y/N went to her drivers room and got changed into her fireproofs and race suit. Fuck, she wasn't ready for this, but she had to do it. Had to do it for the team.
She lined up on the grid, her teammate just in front of her. Y/N almost bottled it on the formation lap, but she held it together and brought the car into its square on the grid. The commentators were definitely talking about her mess of a formation lap, but she couldn't think about that now; she had a job to do.
The lights went out and Y/N got a good getaway. But it didn't stay good. Suddenly her vision was going blurry and she was almost throwing up in her helmet. But she tried to hold it together.
Lando passed her, and then several other cars did. She didn't care, too busy trying to breathe.
Y/N got eleven laps into the grand prix before her black spots appeared in her vision and she lost control of her car, spinning towards the barriers. Y/N didn't shout, she didn't scream as her car hit the barriers and span away. The left side of her car was wrecked from the impact, but it had stopped moving.
She wasn't responding.
"Red flags at turn eight," Will Joseph said to Lando.
"Is everything okay?" Lando asked as he slowed his car right down, following the other cars into the pitlane. The only car he couldn't see was the other McLaren.
Medics rushed over to her. They pulled Y/N out of the car and checked her pulse on her wrist. They kept her helmet on as they got her onto the stretcher and into the ambulance.
"Where's Y/N?" Lando asked as he climbed out of the car. He didn't know what was happening with the race, didn't know that she was the reason for the red flags.
"She's on her way to the hospital," said Andrea.
Of course, nobody at McLaren quite knew the relationship Lando had with Y/N. They didn't know that his heart was pounding too loudly for him to hear anything else. Shit, he couldn't go back into the race, not until he knew she was okay.
But the car was cleared from the track and the race was restarting. Lando had to get on with his job, he knew. He could check on her later. Plus, he knew Y/N would have been pissed if she knew he stopped racing for her. "Keep me updated on her, please," he said before he climbed back into the car.
He was going to race, and he was going to do it for her.
Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @hollie911 @topguncultleader @annispamz @carlossainzwho @spideybv28 @wherethefuckisthething @fangirl125reader @minkyungseokie @marialovesf1 @kitixie @i-wish-this-was-me @bborra @formula1mount @charlotte1697 @formulaal @eviethetheatrefreak @lordpercivalcharles @venisvendetta @marie0v @tbsloneely @laur20a23 @formulas-bitch @cmleitora @marvelavengers000 @gills-lounge @andydrysdalerogers @demipatterns @holy-macncheese-balls @jule239 @aexitizen-ln4 @landosgirlxoxo @allinestarr @starmanv @st0rmzi3 @random-human02 @nocoolusernamesavailable-blog @happymeal777 @ashy-kit @juniper-july19 @im-an-overthinker @haylenxx @kapsylia @prettiest-at-the-party @urfavnoirette @norassimpingzone @thehufflepuffavenger1 @taintet @amorydsmt @hi00000234567 @iamkaku @maxv33rstappen @noneofyourfbusinessworld @thatsusbitch @izzy-marvel @carqueensworld
623 notes · View notes
lacollectionneuse1967 · 4 months
Text
remembering you
Theseus Scamander x Reader
Tumblr media
summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.
nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?
fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.
category: office romance. smut with plot.
warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.
author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.
1916, Northern France
How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.
Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.
The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.
The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.
Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.
Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.
You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.
Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.
The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.
The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.
"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"
Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.
So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...
"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."
"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.
He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.
"What do you want?" you ask warily.
The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.
"Ungrateful little-"
"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."
Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.
Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.
"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.
He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.
"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"
"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"
The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.
"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.
"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."
The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.
"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"
"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."
If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....
Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.
For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.
When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.
"Take my siblings," you say.
[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.
"No! Y/N, you can't-"
"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."
The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.
When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.
"I'm not going, sir."
You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.
The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.
The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.
"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."
"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.
"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."
You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.
"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."
He makes a noise of gentle surprise.
"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"
"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.
He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.
"You want to stay so badly. Why?"
"I told you, I'm a nurse."
"You're a child."
"I'm sixteen," you bite back.
"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."
"I'm no Muggle."
"No, you're... You're something else."
You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.
"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."
His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.
"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.
Your shoulders slump in relief.
He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.
'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'
Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.
"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.
The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.
You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.
But you can't imagine he'll deny you.
You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.
"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."
He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.
"Why?"
"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."
You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.
You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.
You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.
When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.
He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.
You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.
The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.
His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.
But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.
You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.
You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.
You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.
"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."
He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.
The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.
"What is your name?" he says.
"What's yours?"
"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"
"It won't matter soon enough..."
"Do you so badly not want to live?"
"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."
The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.
"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."
Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.
----
1925, London, Nine Years Later
'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'
It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.
A memo already?
You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.
A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.
In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.
This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...
Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.
No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.
Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.
You lift it from your desk in annoyance.
You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.
"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."
You scoff.
It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.
It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.
It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.
For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.
"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."
It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.
"Who is this?" Comes the message.
It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.
But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.
"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."
His reply comes quickly this time.
"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."
You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.
"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."
"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."
"So, no after-work pint for me then?"
"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."
"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."
"How very patriotic."
There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.
You like it.
The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.
As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.
Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.
"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."
----
London hadn't been kind to you.
It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.
During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.
They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.
Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.
Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.
Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.
"Morning, sunshine!"
You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.
"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.
It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.
However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.
"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."
He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.
You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.
"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."
"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."
"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"
"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"
"It gets old."
"You're a liar. You love me."
"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."
You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"
Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.
It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.
You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.
You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.
It makes you shudder, the thought.
You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.
Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.
"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.
For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.
"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"
His words fade in and your heart swells.
"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."
You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.
"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."
----
You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.
"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.
"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.
But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.
You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.
You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.
It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.
You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.
"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"
But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.
He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.
"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.
A half-glance is all you need.
The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!
You go stiff, your face wan.
It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...
You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.
"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"
"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.
Theseus is grinning bashfully.
"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.
"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"
"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"
It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.
Mr. Byrne.
War hero.
Auror.
Initials T.S.
God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.
The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.
When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.
You don't know why you feel so shaken.
'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'
But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.
You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.
And he'd promised to remember you.
It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.
Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.
After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.
"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."
You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.
Then:
"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."
It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.
"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"
You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.
"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."
"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."
You throw yourself into your work with rigor.
Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.
The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"
Your heart aches weakly.
But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.
Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.
It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.
The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.
The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.
You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.
No. Fucking. Way.
Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.
He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.
The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.
He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.
His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.
Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.
"Mr. Scamander!"
Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.
She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.
"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"
You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.
"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.
-----
The next day you see him at a far distance.
You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.
Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.
Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.
You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.
He saw you.
His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.
Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.
You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.
The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.
"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."
You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.
The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.
"Oh, thank God," you think.
He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.
He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.
You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.
"Are you flirting with me, sir?"
It's a comfort to be writing to him again.
"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."
You laugh aloud at his candor.
"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."
You huff at that.
"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."
"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."
"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.
"Are you not?"
Fuck. Well, you've already met.
"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."
The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.
You wish he'd remember you on his own.
"Hmm..." he writes back.
Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.
"You're beautiful."
Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.
He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.
"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."
You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.
It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.
Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.
"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."
You worry you sound cruel so you add.
"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."
He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."
You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:
"Can I come see you?"
There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.
"What, you mean at lunch?"
You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.
Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.
"I mean now. In your office." You write back.
'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'
It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:
"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."
You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.
The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.
You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.
He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.
For a moment the two of you just stare.
'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'
It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.
Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.
He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.
"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.
"Hi," you say, stupidly.
"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."
You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.
"I could say the same about you, actually."
He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.
"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."
You frown.
"Why would anything change that?"
He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.
"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."
That hurts your feelings. "Why?"
He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.
"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."
He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.
"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.
You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.
"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.
"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.
Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.
"I can't," he says, pitifully.
But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.
"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.
You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.
You would not ask him a third time.
Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.
"You think that's funny, do you?"
You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.
You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.
Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.
"Get off!" you shout gleefully.
"You get off," he retorts jokingly.
Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.
At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.
Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.
"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.
But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.
He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.
You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.
"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."
He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.
You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.
A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.
You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.
"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.
He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.
"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."
It's almost a whine.
You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.
His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.
"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.
It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.
His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.
"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."
And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.
With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.
"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.
You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.
It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.
His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.
You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.
"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.
You nod, quickly.
"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.
"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."
"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.
It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.
Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.
"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.
You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.
"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.
The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.
Theseus doesn't seem to mind.
"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.
You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.
Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.
"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.
He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.
He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.
He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.
"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.
He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.
"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.
Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.
'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.
He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.
"You like my cock, baby?"
"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."
He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.
He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.
You gasp at the applied pressure.
He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.
"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.
"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.
"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.
"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.
He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.
You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.
It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.
'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.
You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.
It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.
He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.
He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.
"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."
You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.
"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.
Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.
"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."
"I promise."
-----
part two here
author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)
comment/ask to be added to the taglist!
taglist: @msauthor
710 notes · View notes
animeomegas · 3 months
Text
The Quest for a Second Life - Epilogue
??? x ALPHA!READER
Tumblr media
Summary: Having spent so long choosing their second life, the MC is finally rewarded and gets to live their second life. The only questioning remaining was... Itachi or Kakashi. GN!Dom!Alpha!Reader x Multiple Naruto Characters
Word count: 6.4k
Warnings: N-sfw content, tiny self-harm for magical blood potion purposes. All alphas have dicks, fyi.
A/N: And we're finally here! This is the end, and I hope people like it, even if you'd have preferred the other character. This has been a journey and a half, thank you so much for joining me on it. Merry Christmas to those that celebrate! I am deeply honoured to call @omeganronpa my friend, and seeing as I'm too far away to be around in person, I hope that this gets my message across as well as I had hoped 💗💓💞💖❣️
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Epilogue
James found herself lingering in the library when she knew she ought not to. She had just sent another human into their chosen pocket dimension, this time a historical romance, and she really needed to get back to her office to receive the next one. She knew this, and yet her feet refused to co-operate.
She couldn’t stop wondering after the human alpha she had recently worked with, although she wasn’t sure if humans would agree with her use of the word ‘recent’. They didn’t normally, and James had learnt that time flowed differently for humans than it did for Curators.
No, her mind was behaving badly. It was wandering off without her permission and whispering suggestions of going to check on the human alpha, even though James’ shift was still far from over.
Before she could think better of it, James turned and started walking towards the hidden backroom of the library, where books that were in current use were stored. Surely, it would be okay for her to have a little look at what that human alpha was up to. She would only linger for a little while and then she would get back to work.
She entered the backroom and scanned the shelves for the correct book. It wasn’t difficult to find, but she suddenly felt nervous. It wasn’t as if Curators weren’t allowed to watch the pocket dimensions, in fact, she knew several of her peers who did so regularly, but James had never felt the urge.
Until now.
“Just a quick peek, then I’ll greet my next human.” She opened the book and put it into viewing mode.
...
Ugh, you really shouldn’t have bought this much stuff. You juggled the shopping bags awkwardly, but persevered forwards as best as you could. It wasn’t your fault that there was a sale on today, how could you resist getting an entire bag of fresh peaches? You wondered if you could figure out how to make peach lemonade. It was the height of summer and a refreshing drink sounded like heaven right about now.
At least your new sandals were working well. They had been a gift from your parents when they returned from their business trip, and they were as cool as they were durable.
You dodged around a bush so that the branches didn’t abduct any of your shopping, grateful that you were getting used to this route now. Although you had grown up in the area, you had never really had a reason to stray this far. Of course, not until you met him.
Ugh, him. He was perfect. No, he was beyond perfect.
You had found him by chance, and the first few weeks had been a whirlwind, but you knew, more than anything, that he was perfect for you.
And there he was, in all his perfection, as you finally reached your home.
Itachi.
He was standing in the chicken run, his long, dark hair swept up out of his face in a more stringent ponytail than normal. You had helped him with it before you left, after his fringe kept getting stuck to his skin. He was wearing a pair of incredibly short shorts, and a loose T-shirt that always fell away from his chest whenever he bent over. It was a personal favourite of yours, but one that you never let him wear outside of your own home.
Itachi must have heard you, because he turned, a grin lighting up his face. You could see he had a smudge of mud on the swell of his left cheek.
Itachi was utterly stunning. He took your breath away effortlessly, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Alpha!” he called, lifting one hand up in a wave. “Look!”
It took you a moment to understand what he wanted you to look at, but you eventually realised that he wasn’t waving; he was clutching two chicken eggs.
“Amazing!” you called back, approaching the back gate, but stopping at the fence as you realised you didn’t have free hands to unlock it.
“The chickens are finally old enough to lay eggs!” Itachi was practically beaming as he exited the run. A couple of chickens attempted to make an escape, but Itachi flicked his fingers and gently knocked them back with magic. “Look!” He came right up to you now, letting you into the garden, and holding the eggs in front of your face.
“That’s brilliant, ‘tachi. Why don’t you help me get all this unpacked inside, and we can cook the eggs for some lunch. I have some peaches and lemons for lemonade, too.”
You both headed into the kitchen through the back door. You dumped everything on the table and gratefully slumped into a chair, thankful to be out of the hot sun. Itachi practically floated around the kitchen, still beaming. He unpacked what he needed and immediately started making lunch. He settled on shakshuka with the fated peach lemonade.
It was with great amusement that you watched Itachi don his cooking apron, the one you’d specially embroidered with ‘Proud Chicken Oma’.
After you had cooled down a little, you slowly unpacked the rest of the shopping, until Itachi called you over to the oven.
“I’m going to fry the eggs,” he said, sounding giddy. You had known that he wanted chickens, you did too, but the genuine joy that they gave him still surprised you. You felt so incredibly lucky that you had literally wandered into his life by accident, and that he had allowed you to stay.
“Let me watch.” You hugged him from behind and peered over his shoulder. And if you also took a quick sneaky look down his shirt while you were there, well, no one could prove it. It was probably too hot for hugs, but you couldn’t make yourself let go. You nuzzled into the area where you would one day put your bond mark, but for now lay unbroken skin.
Itachi wanted you to meet each other’s families before you properly bonded. Hopefully that day would come sooner rather than later, because having him walk around without your claim was driving you mad.
Itachi cracked the egg into the pan, and perhaps you were too much of a sappy romantic, but the lucky double yolk that it contained felt symbolic.
The silence was thick enough to cut. You took a sip of your tea to try and stave off the awkwardness, but it didn’t help.
You were sitting at your kitchen table with Itachi and his parents. Sasuke had been sent out to collect some eggs, most likely so Fugaku and Mikoto could talk to you alone, but even now that Sasuke was firmly outside, the silence remained heavy and oppressive.
“How long have you known each other?” Fugaku asked, finally breaking it.
“A few months, father.” Fugaku’s lips tightened and the lines around his eyes deepened. You got the vibe that he wasn’t happy with that answer. It was such a shame that Itachi cared about their opinions.
“And how did you meet?”
You cleared your throat, “Itachi found me unconscious in a snowstorm and nursed me back to health.”
There was a beat of silence, before Mikoto spoke. “Then you owe my son a life debt, you would do well to remember that.”
You were really getting the vibe that they didn’t like you. It was for that reason, that you hastened to reassure them that you had been looking after Itachi as well.
“Oh! Well, I returned the favour by giving Itachi my cloak when all his clothes were destroyed in the middle of the woods.”
Itachi immediately went red faced, and held up his hands, sputtering. Oh, whoops. That definitely sounded like you had been fucking in the woods. Of course, you had actually fucked in those woods, but that wasn’t what you meant to share with his parents of all people.
“We didn’t—It was an Amplexus plant!” Itachi explained hurriedly, his face continuing to darken. “I needed the seeds for a potion, and it got a hold of me, that’s all!”
Itachi’s panicked explanation broke the tension, as his mother started giggling, and his father sighed and put his face in his palm.
“Sasuke is our only hope,” Fugaku muttered.
It was at that moment that a squawk sounded from outside. Sasuke’s dulcet tones followed shortly afterwards.
“Try that again, you glorified rat, and I’ll burn off all your feathers, I fucking mean it, I—”
Fugaku sighed again and downed the rest of his tea like it was the alcohol he clearly needed.
There was no sweeter smell in the world than the one of yours and Itachi’s scents mingling together. And while you were certain many other alphas would say the same about them and their omegas, you were pretty sure you were right.
You panted onto Itachi’s neck, basically drooling. A joint heat and rut wasn’t the greatest for practical reasons, but fuck, if it wasn’t the perfect time to exchange mating bites.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Itachi slurred, hips rocking up to meet yours at every thrust. “Bite me, alpha, claim me, please!”
You groaned, knot already catching on his rim. It was getting harder and harder to control yourself. Itachi mouthed at the juncture between your shoulder and neck, the place where he would soon be placing your bite, and your self-control collapsed like a house of cards.
Your knot tied you and Itachi together, plunging you both into an orgasm. Somewhere, through the haze, your teeth managed to find their mark. You bit down just as you started filling Itachi with your cum. Itachi seized but managed to bite back.
You rode the waves together. It was the longest orgasm of your life, and by far the most powerful. Your mind was clouded with lust and emotion. Every instinct in your body was screaming, but they were all screaming different things; it was making you dizzy.
Protect him.
Make him scream.
Get him pregnant.
Hide him away.
Show him off.
Love him. Love him. Love him.
Yes, yes, you were going to love him, you did love him… And everything was going to be perfect.
You ran out of your joint bedroom potions lab barefoot, having abandoned your slippers in your haste.
“Itachi! There’s been an incident!”
You heard a crash from the kitchen, and quickly, Itachi came racing out to meet you in the living room.
“What is it? What’s going on?!” He scanned you from head to toe but couldn’t see an injury. He had known that you were playing with magic, and he was rightfully worried about what you had managed to do.
“It’s gone,” you said, wide eyed.
“What’s gone?!”
“My dick.”
Itachi blinked at you, processing, before his face morphed into something horrified.
“What? How can—?! What were you doing?! What do you mean gone?!” He grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you roughly. “Tell me what happened!”
“I was just playing around and then suddenly it was gone,” you explained, wringing your hands.
“What spell did you use?” Itachi asked frantically. “I can reverse it. We can figure it out!”
“I don’t know… I mean, at least I’m still alive right? It could have been worse.”
Itachi was still horrified, and you’d wager that he didn’t agree with you.
“No! I mean, yes, but we still need to fix it. Let me see!” He knelt down and started to aggressively tug down your shorts and underwear. “Maybe I can perform a reversal of—”
He managed to get the fabric down and out popped your dick, unharmed and just as it always was. Itachi blinked at it. You started cracking up, unable to hold the laughter in anymore. Itachi, realising that he’d been pranked, scowled at you.
He stood, crossing his arms and huffing. “That wasn’t funny.”
“Yes, it was,” you laughed, wiping away your tears. “You’re completely obsessed with my dick, I knew it! I’m just a glorified dildo to you, huh?”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Itachi had delightfully rosy cheeks.
“Am I? So, you don’t want to suck it?” You playfully shook your hips, wiggling your dick, playfully.
Itachi wavered. You waited patiently.
“This has nothing to do with anything,” he said, kneeling down in front of you.
“Whatever you say, darling.”
“Shut up!”
He was so much fun to tease. Hopefully, he never found out that you had the same obsession with his nipples.
“We do need more space, but I still want to maintain that cosy vibe, you know?”
“I agree. We could always increase the number of rooms, but still have them all be fairly small and closed off.”
You and Itachi were pouring over several sketches, trying to design your new home. You had decided to move closer to the nearest town, although you were still staying firmly in the woods because neither of you wanted to give up your private sanctuary. You also just needed more space. You needed a bigger dining table, more bedrooms, a separate potions lab, and crucially more storage space so that you didn’t come across snake eyes in the fridge when you were trying to make a sandwich.
Thankfully, with Itachi’s magic, the local builders, and the money sent from your parents, it was sure to be a smooth process.
“I think we should have a bedroom for Sasuke to use,” you said, tapping on an empty part of the proposed floorplan. “Not just a guest bedroom, but one that’s specifically his.”
Itachi nuzzled into your shoulder. “You wouldn’t mind? Because that would be amazing.”
“Of course not. He’ll be old enough to visit on his own soon, and I want to make sure he knows he’s welcome.” You liked Sasuke and you understood why Itachi loved him so much. He was like a tiny murder kitten that loved to scratch people. It was adorable.
“We have the pup rooms, the lab…” Itachi peered down at the paper. “Is that everything?”
You hummed, considering. “I think so. Unless you want a nesting room. Although, I’ve never seen you nest before, so if you don’t want one, that’s fine.”
“Oh.” Itachi was silent for a moment. “I’ve never tried nesting before.”
You immediately wished his parents would return so you could punch them in the face. Carefully keeping all the anger below the surface so you didn’t make Itachi think you were angry with him, you brushed some hair out of his face.
“Do you want to try it? We can try together, and if you like it, we can get a little nesting space added onto the master bedroom.”
Itachi smiled, looking unsure. “Okay. I suppose we can try it.”
“Well, I’m not an expert, but I think I can help with a simple nest layout.” You leant back and surveyed all the materials you had for nesting. Most of it was stuff that Itachi had made, some of it was things you had made, and a couple of pieces were from a craftsperson in town, made from rarer and more difficult materials. There was more than enough for a nice nest.
You slotted the heaviest duty and flattest pillows into the corner and arranged them in a double layer before securing them together with a sheet.
“One of my old partners used to arrange the base like this. It works well.”
Itachi growled and immediately destroyed the base, stacking it in a different way. Oh, yeah, whoops. Itachi was way too possessive for you to casually be bringing up old partners.
 “You’ve had other omega partners?” he asked, still rearranging the base. His voice was carefully controlled, like he was trying to sound distracted, when in reality, his attention was fully on your answer.
“Yeah, I—” You paused, trying to retrieve the memories. It was strange… You could have sworn you had past partners but trying to grasp onto details felt like trying to catch smoke. You could see flashes of dates, gifts and physical features, but you couldn’t really make sense of it. You wondered if it was a side effect of the amnesia spell you’d had. You decided not to mention it in case Itachi got worried. “I’ve had a couple, but they didn’t go anywhere. It never felt right, y’know?”
Itachi hummed, reasonably placated.
You continued to help him with small suggestions until you recognised the signs of an omega in nest building mode. Instincts took over, and you leant back to let Itachi do it how he wanted to.
The nest was so very him, even for his first attempt. It was chaos, but organised chaos, with gentle colours and neutrals, and lots of wool.
 Itachi sat back, blinking the daze away. “Now what?”
“Now you get in it.”
“And… what’s the point? What will being in it do?” He was staring at the nest reverently, and you knew he was going to like it.
“It should help you relax.”
Itachi bit his lip, but gingerly climbed in and tried to get himself comfortable. He fiddled with a few final pieces, but once he was settled, he sighed, seeming content.
After a few moments, he looked over at you. “Do you… want to come in, too?”
You grinned, and agreed, carefully climbing in and spooning your omega.
With you there with him, Itachi curled his legs up to his chest and went boneless. His purrs were so loud that you could feel them in your chest, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He nuzzled into the pillow his head was on, basking in the soft materials.
You kept holding him but tried to remain still so as to not disturb his first nesting experience. You didn’t want to distract him from his bliss. You were honestly so shocked that he had never nested before. Had his family kept him so busy from such a young age that he had never had the time?
You made a mental note to see if you could add a nesting nook for Sasuke’s room too, seeing as he was also an omega and had probably received similar treatment. If he couldn’t have one at home, at least he could have one here.
Suddenly, Itachi stopped purring.
“Is something wrong, baby?” you cooed, gently stroking his hair. “We can fix whatever it is, I promise.”
Itachi only whined, pushing his hips back into yours. He seemed really out of it, not that that was particularly surprising. If he’d been repressing himself, knowingly or not, for his entire life, then his instincts were going to try and take over the second they could.
“What do you need, omega? Come on, tell alpha.”
Itachi pouted, whining again. He shoved his hips back harder this time, like he was making a point. Oh.
“I see.” Your mind was racing at how hot he was. “Do you want to cockwarm, honey?”
Itachi nodded, his purring starting back up again now that you were understanding him. Oh, he was just the sweetest, horniest little thing and you would set the world on fire for him.
You carefully untucked your already half-hard cock, trying to avoid knocking anything out of place. When you were free, you tugged his trousers down and easily slipped inside him.
When your hips met his skin, Itachi purred louder than he had before, melting into the nest completely. His eyes rolled back, and he was lost in the fuzziness.
Okay… so you definitely needed that nesting room.
You looked around your new living room proudly, savouring the ‘new’ smell. The entire house was perfect. It kept the essence of the old one, but you had so much more space. No more tripping over cauldrons in the morning, or accidentally spilling powdered bone on the carpet when you were trying to clean.
You were almost finished with the unpacking. The house still seemed pretty empty, but that was good; the house would be able to grow with you.
Itachi had scurried off into the bedroom a few minutes ago with one of the boxes, but you were still sorting through living room stuff. You peered into the nearest box. And kitchen stuff apparently. Why did you own so many wooden spoons?
“Alpha?! Can you come help me with something, please?!” Itachi called from the bedroom.
You stood up, stretching out your sore arms, and then went over to the master bedroom. You pushed open the door easily.
“What do you ne—”
Suddenly, you were reminded of the very first time you had ever walked into Itachi’s bedroom in the old house, the time where he had been half naked and in the middle of changing.
Here, he was half-naked again, but this time it looked purposeful, because Itachi was wearing lingerie.
It was a two-piece set, made out of a dark blue silk that perfectly contrasted against Itachi’s pale skin. Embroidered on it were hundreds of tiny, silver stars, creating the image of a night’s sky. Extra pieces of gauzy, see through fabric had been attached to the top piece, which hide absolutely nothing, but acted as a delightful tease. The set was clearly hand made, and damn, he was again, taking your breath away.
“Well, hello,” you cooed, feeling that stupid horny alpha grin slide onto your face. “What’s all this?”
Itachi fidgeted bashfully as you approached. “It’s a surprise, a celebration for the new house.”
“It’s a lovely surprise.” You ran your hands over his heated skin, feeling the silk with your palms. You kissed him heavily, your fingers dancing along the edge of his panties. “This is perfect for the new house, do you know why?”
“Hm? Why?” Itachi moaned, tilting his neck submissively, and giving you access to his bond mark. You nipped around the scar before answering.
“Because we still need to break in the new bed.”
“That will be 500 ryo, thank you.” The man handed you the requested amount and took the pouch of amethyst dust in return.
“How many enchanted apples for these?” a little boy asked, holding up a lovely bouquet of flowers. Oh yes, he was the florist’s son, you remembered.  
“Hmm,” you took the flowers and appraised them. “How about three?” The boy nodded enthusiastically and grabbed three apples before running home. These flowers would be a lovely surprise for Itachi.
“Do you have any more of the inflammation potions?” an old man asked, approaching the store. You recognised him immediately and put the flowers down, ready for a likely lengthy and completely inappropriate discussion. “They’re great for the old joints.”
“We have three left. How many would you like?”
“I’ll take the lot, thank you.” You wrapped the order up and passed it over. He handed you money in return. “Thank you. There’s a lot of downsides to getting old, but the joint pain is the worst of it in my opinion. At least I don’t have to put up with heats anymore. They’re great fun when you’re young, but when your back starts to go, well, you find yourself wishing them away.”
You hummed politely.
“This is why it’s so important for alphas to hone their skills in bed. I can’t count the number of times a young alpha has believed they don’t need to worry about sex skills because an omega in heat is so far gone that everything feels good, but one day the heats will stop, and besides, some of the best sex happens outside of heats and ruts and all that nonsense.”
You laughed, shaking your head. Why did your market stall always attract the weirdest advice and clientele?
“I’d wager you know all about that though. Has Itachi come home with any surprises lately?” You must have looked surprised, because the man winked. “Who do you think taught him how to embroider silk?”
You snorted. Of course. You made sure to slip a complimentary headache potion in as a thank you.
“The bedding is all fresh and clean, we bought it especially, and this blanket, I knitted it for you so you’d be warm, it can get cold out here. Oh! And also—”
“I’m fine,” Sasuke said, a slight red flush on his cheeks. “You worry too much, big brother.”
You watched from the doorway as Itachi fussed over Sasuke. Now 14, he was old enough to make the journey here on his own, and this would be the first time he was making proper use of his room. Itachi had been driving himself crazy trying to make everything perfect. You reckoned he was trying to ensure Sasuke had a good enough time that he’d want to come back.
Itachi’s face screwed up in indecision. “Maybe I should get another blanket for you, just in case.”
“Brother—” Too late. Itachi left the room to grab another blanket, leaving you and Sasuke alone. He glared at you harshly. Oh dear, here came the kitten claws.
“I know several spells that would remove all the parts needed to make sure you never touch my brother again. Just saying.” Sasuke crossed his arms and tried to look threatening. You had to try to keep your giggles under controls.
“Itachi wouldn’t like that very much,” you said lightly, remembering his reaction to your ‘I accidentally spelled my dick away’ prank. “And besides, that would be a very rude thing to do to the person hosting you.”
Sasuke growled, but you only raised an eyebrow at him.
“What’s going on?” Itachi walked in, another blanket bundled up in his arms.
You immediately snitched. “Your brother is threatening to cut my dick off.”
Itachi gasped, “Sasuke!”
Sasuke glared at you, but you only stuck your tongue out at him. You were seriously looking forward to the next week.
“So!” you clapped your hands together and looked eagerly around at all the potion supplies. “What potion am I learning today?”
You had been having Itachi teach you magic since you moved in, and while you were hardly a prodigy like him and his brother, you were starting to get decent at it, especially potions.
“It’s a pretty simple one, but it requires exact temperature control,” Itachi explained, pulling over a small cauldron. “We’ll need to use runes to manage that.”
“Exciting,” you murmured, trying to recall which runes would work best for temperature control. Probably the same ones that Itachi carved on your hot chocolate mugs. “What does the potion do?”
Itachi smiled, “You’ll see when we’re done.”
“Nooo, Itachi,” you whined. “I want to know now.”
“Later, I promise.” He laughed as you pouted and starting rattling off the ingredients list. “Now, help me crush the beans.”
Time passed quickly as you concentrated on following the potion recipe as best as you could. Before long, it was a blinding white and gently steaming, just as the drawing on the recipe showed.
“It’s ready,” you said proudly, closing the lid on the jar of moss. “Now will you tell me what it does?”
“It needs some blood to work,” Itachi explained. He grabbed a sharp knife and held it to his finger.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Could my blood work instead?”
Itachi laughed lightly. “That wouldn’t work; it has to be me. Don’t worry, it will only be the slightest prick.”
You weren’t happy, but you allowed it, and two drops of Itachi’s blood fell into the cauldron. It immediately started bubbling.
“What’s supposed to happen?”
“Well, it will turn one of two colours.” Itachi leaned over the cauldron and watched intently. “Gold or black.” As he spoke the potion turned to a brilliant gold and Itachi beamed.
“What does gold mean?” you asked, wishing he would just explain what this potion was already.
“Gold means that the person who donated the blood is pregnant.”
“Right, okay, and what does black mea— Hang on, what did you say?”
“I’m pregnant,” he clarified, watching your reaction.
You swallowed heavily, “What?”
Itachi giggled, “I’m not going to say it again.”
“Holy shit.” Your brain blue screened for a moment, before it rebooted, and the phrase properly sank into your brain.
Itachi was pregnant. Pregnant. As in, there would shortly be a baby, your baby, and his baby.
“I love you,” you blurted out, wide eyed. “We are going to need so much baby stuff.”
Itachi laughed, tearing up. “We’ll figure it out.”
“You can do it, Daiki! Come on baby, walk to appa!” You were crouched on the floor, arms open and ready.
Daiki gave a little pup whine, but still tried, toddling over on unstable steps. He managed to get three good steps in before he fell into your arms.  You caught him easily.
“Whoo! Look at that! You’re such a clever pup, isn’t that right?” You lifted up your baby and blew a raspberry on his stomach, dissolving him into giggles. Daiki did some proud wiggles as you put him back down, glancing over at Itachi for positive attention as well.
Itachi smiled, eyes glazed with sickness, from his position laying on the sofa. “Good job, baby.”
Daiki squealed, grinning and shoving a fist into his mouth.
Itachi was watching you both, even though he was unwell. This was the first time that he was properly ill since Daiki was born, and he was nervous about it. You had quickly learnt that Itachi had very low expectations of your parenting abilities. You tried your best not to take it personally, understanding that alpha parents in his family weren’t normally the most hands on, but it did sting sometimes. You were doing your best to prove him wrong.
Was it easy for you to do all the cooking, cleaning, childcare, and caring for Itachi at the same time? No.
But was it something you were happy to do while your partner recovered? Of course.
Speaking of caring for Itachi, you probably needed to resoak the flannel on his forehead. You shuffled over, keeping an eye on Daiki, and gently lifted the cloth. Like you’d expected, it felt warm to the touch.
You resoaked the flannel in the bowl of ice water and wringed it out before gently wiping down Itachi’s face.
“How are you feeling?” you asked softly, dabbing around his neck.
“I’m okay.” Itachi sighed and sent you a weak smile. “How are you—”
“Oma! Oma!” Daiki had crawled over to you both and grabbed a fistful of Itachi’s top to pull himself into a standing position. “Oma!”
“Careful, darling.” You unwrapped Daiki’s hands from Itachi’s top and supported him up yourself. He seemed to realise that something was wrong, because he blinked at you and Itachi, and curled in on himself unsurely.
“Oma?” he asked, bottom lip wobbling.
“Oma is poorly, but he’s okay,” you said softly, smoothing down Daiki’s hair. He looked unsure, but he eventually nodded and patted Itachi gently on the arm. Itachi took his hand and covered it in kisses, and Daiki finally relaxed.
Suddenly, from the kitchen, you heard the sound of dinner boiling over.
“Oh! Come on Daiki, we have to go and save dinner!” You stood up, picking up your pup as you did.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to do something?” Itachi asked, sitting up slightly.
“Rest.” You stared him into submission, and Itachi reluctantly laid back down. “I can handle everything, trust me.”
Itachi still wasn’t comfortable relinquishing control, but you’d get there. For now, you had a sick omega and a needy pup to tend to.
You pottered around the kitchen, putting away the washing up, while Sasuke diligently took notes on spellcrafting at the kitchen table. You were used to him being around by this point, as he had moved in five months ago to take a magical apprenticeship under Itachi. As you understood it, his parents had encouraged him to stay in their village for his apprenticeship, but Sasuke had insisted that Itachi teach him.
Thankfully he had mellowed out a lot, and now when he threatened to cut off your dick, he was only joking.
At least you hoped he was joking.
Itachi was out today manning the stall in town, which meant you were holding down the fort and looking after Daiki.
The pup in question was currently playing in the garden with Sasuke’s cat, who was just as prickly as him, but had a soft spot for Daiki. At four years old, you were okay to let him play alone as long as he didn’t leave the fenced in section, and you could see him from the kitchen window.
Sasuke sighed, putting down his pen to rub at his temples.
“Having trouble with the spellcraft?”
“No.” He gave you no other information, so you decided to pour him a glass of orange juice as a peace offering and sit down with him. Clearly something was weighing on the teenager.
“Is something wrong, Sasuke?”
“No.” It was a predictable Sasuke response that you didn’t buy for even a second.
You knew that he’d need a bit more prying. “Are you sure?”
Sasuke hesitated. You remained entirely silent as he battled with himself, knowing that any amount of encouragement would only cause him to clam up. Eventually, he spoke, his words coming out slowly. “My father sent me a message.”
“I see.”
“He wants me to come back home, now. He said he’s found me another teacher.”
You nodded, and carefully kept judgement out of your words. “And how does that make you feel?” Sasuke shrugged, playing with the pencil. “You know that you’re always, always welcome here, Sasuke, never doubt that. Even if you decide to stop studying under Itachi, you can always stay here or visit as often as you want.”
Sasuke’s shoulders relaxed and you knew you’d hit the nail on the head. “Okay.”
“Do you want me to tell your father that you’re extending your apprenticeship here?” Sasuke nodded, looked relieved. You gave him an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, and he relaxed even further.
“Thanks,” he muttered, sipping his orange juice.
“Of course; you’re family.”
Outside, the chickens started squawking, which was your cue to go and grab Daiki, so you left Sasuke at the table and went out into the garden. “Daiki, what did I say about messing with the chickens?”
But it wasn’t Daiki, it was Itachi getting home that had set them all off. He was carrying multiple bags on his shoulders, and he looked incredibly winded. You ran over to grab the bags.
“Are you okay? Come on in.” Itachi panted and followed you inside. He looked completely exhausted; even Sasuke jumped up to help when he saw the state that his brother was in.
“What happened?” Sasuke demanded.
“Nothing, nothing, I’m just winded from the walk.”
“Bullshit!” Sasuke swore, putting a hand on his brother’s forehead. “You shouldn’t be this tired from a thirty-minute walk.”
“Sasuke, don’t swear,” Itachi reprimanded. “I’m just tired, nothing more.”
You raised an eyebrow, grabbing him a glass of water, but making sure he knew that you didn’t believe him. Itachi took the glass gratefully and downed the whole thing.
When it became clear that neither you nor Sasuke would be letting the issue go, Itachi sagged down in his chair.
“It’s nothing, really,” he insisted. “I think—Well, I’m pretty sure I’m tired because—”
“Because?”
“Because I’m pregnant,” he blurted out, looking to you bashfully. “I’m sorry, I was going to tell you soon, I just hadn’t decided how yet.”
“Wha—Really? That’s amazing!” All your previous suspicions were forgotten, and you hugged Itachi tightly, feeling giddy at the amazing news.
Sasuke sent you a suspicious glare, but he had long since made peace with the fact that you and Itachi were having sex as long as he was able to live in denial about it.
You laughed gleefully and covered Itachi’s face with kisses as he giggled. “I guess it’s only me on market duty for the next year then, huh?”
You filled up his glass again. Now that you knew he was pregnant, your instincts were going to remain in ‘overly doting’ mode for the foreseeable future.
“Actually, I was thinking…” Sasuke awkwardly trailed off, scuffing his feet on the ground. “Maybe I could take over some stuff with the market stall. We could open it more days a week then, and you could spend more time on parent duty or whatever. I mean, I still need to study, but I have some free time, and it would bring in some more money.”
You grinned, ruffling Sasuke’s hair. His sheepish expression melted into a petulant pout. “That’s an amazing idea! Seeing as you’re going to be around for at least another six months, it makes a lot of sense! I’ll take you with me a few times until you’re confident doing it alone, okay?”
He rolled his eyes, “It’s not hard.”
Itachi, pregnant and probably incredibly hormonal, burst into tears at the idea that Sasuke living with you would be a more permanent thing.
Sasuke, completely allergic to feelings, promptly fled the room with the excuse that he had to practice a potion, leaving you to delicately wipe Itachi’s tears away.
“I’m happy,” Itachi sobbed into your neck. “I’m so happy.”
“Me too, baby, me too.”
You were incredibly lucky to be able to say that and deeply and truly mean it.
James watched as the human alpha built a home with their children, their mate, their mate’s brother, their mate’s brother’s cat, and seven… turkeys? Something like that, James couldn’t quite remember the word for those tiny creatures.
The human was happy, and bizarrely, that made James feel happy too. The weird burning in her chest subsided, and she was able to close ‘Potions and Magic and Sex, Oh My!’, knowing that her human made the right choice.
It was with a light heart that James left the library to guide more humans, knowing that her human alpha was happy.
If you asked her, the human alpha had more than earnt a happy second life.
358 notes · View notes
fluffytriceratops · 6 months
Note
Hi, I’m not sure if you’re still doing requests or not but if it’s okay, could I request a headcanon of maybe 2k12 and Rise!Leo x reader having a cuddle time? I don’t mind you choosing one of them, I totally understand. I love Leo so much he’s such a dork and needs to be protected at all costs 🥰 Thanks!
𝐆𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐂𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 - 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐨 [𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟐 & 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐞]
notes: yes, of course! i would love to write this for you!! i'll do them both since you asked so nicely hehe, but this is my first time doing a headcannon of rise leo so i apologize if it's a little ooc. ^^ i hope you enjoy! <3 [also photo is not mine fyi-] 
warnings: mature language/swearing, tooth rotting fluff,
tags: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @rheawritesforfun @s-s-ironnie @post-apocalyptic-daydream @mysticboombox @drowninghell @lec743 @raphielover  @raphslovemuffin80 @squirrelfurs @bibiz82 @pheradream-15 @kikithedreamerwriter @m1dnyt3-w0lf @scholastic-dragon @moonsua1
(if you would like to be tagged in my future tmnt x reader related work, feel free to let me know and i'll happily add you!)
i love you all sm! i'm sending all the virtual hugs and well wishes to you!! <33
---
Tumblr media
2012 Leonardo:
- as a cuddle bug, you love a good cuddle session. and honestly, leo wont oppose to this as he too loves to cuddle with you. 
- plus how can he say no when you waddle up to him with a cute pout on your face? wondering why he had left you in the bed all alone?? 
- "you fell asleep and i wanted to make myself a cup of tea." he hummed, extending an arm and watching with a warm smile as you curled into his side and nuzzled against him. 
- "and? i don't see your point in leaving me. is tea more important than your beloved?" 
- leo fights the urge to roll his eyes and bites back a grin. "well..." 
- he lets out a laugh when you scowl and pull away from him, he catches you by the waist before you get too far. 
- "i'm kidding, nothing is more important than you." he hums, planting a sweet kiss to your temple. 
- you huff, puffing out your cheeks in agitation. "doesn't feel like it, leonardo." 
-  leo winces. "pulling out the full name, huh? that's a low blow, baby." 
- "you shouldn't of left me for a sack of crusty leaves, dickhole." 
- leo chuckles at this, shaking his head to himself. "i'll make it up to you, promise. shall we go back to cuddling?" 
- you glance up at him, taking in the way he gazes at you adoringly. his ocean eyes are so full of love it makes your heart ache. 
- with a soft smile and a nod of your head, you wait for him to grab his tea before making your way back to his bedroom. 
- he places his mug on his bedside table before climbing into his bed. you wait for him to get comfy before climbing in as well. planting yourself on top of his chest. 
- leo runs his hand up and down your back in a comforting manner. watching as you trace invisible patterns into his skin with your index finger. 
- he loves laying with you like this. the rest of world falls silent when the two of you get to cuddle. 
- it's like the only person in the world is you. you're all that matters. 
- leo see's you getting sleepy again, eyelids falling heavy. he lets out a breath of content when you nuzzle yourself further into him. pressing your face in the crook of his neck. 
- "i love you." you mumble, breath tickling him. 
- "i love you, too." he whispers, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. 
- cuddle sessions with you were the best. there was no place he'd rather be than here. with you safe in his arms. 
--- 
2018/Rise Leonardo:
- leo's a clingy mother fucker. he loves a good cuddle. and honestly, he can be a tad clingy.
- but you can't complain, because you love cuddles too. and leo's good at cuddling. 
- sometimes, however, it can catch you off guard. 
- you're laying on the couch, scrolling through random tiktoks on your phone when out of nowhere a body practically launches itself on top of yours. 
- your breath leaves you and you grunt at the sudden weight. "holy fucking shit-" 
- you can't see leo's face, it's buried in your chest and your face heats at the sight. "what the fuck are you on?" 
- "cocaine." comes his muffled reply and it makes you snort and roll your eyes. 
- he tilts his head up, resting his chin against you as he stares up at you cheekily. 
- "you're such a shit." 
- "but i'm your shit. and you love me." he purrs, smirking at the way your face heats even more. 
- "shut up. you didn't have to launch yourself onto me like that. if you wanted cuddles so damn bad you could have asked, asshole." 
- your hand finds his shell and you begin to trace the grooves, knowing how much he likes it. leonardo practically melts in your arms. 
- "you would've said no-" 
- "that's a fat fucking lie and you know it." 
- leo pouts dramatically. "you've got such a potty mouth today." 
- "that's what happens whenever you're around." 
- it's leo's turn to roll his eyes. "not my fault i take your breath away~" 
- "only when you yeet your entire body mass onto mine without warning-" 
- "don't be so dramatic." he nuzzles further into you, wiggling to try and get more comfortable. 
- you sigh, "you're lucky i love you." 
- he beams at this. "see, what did i say-" 
- "i will throw your ass onto the floor." 
- leo shuts up at that. but you don't miss the massive shit eating smirk on his face. the sight makes you smile. 
- "i love you too." he says after a moment, pressing his face into the crook of your neck to plant a few tender kisses to your skin. 
- it's your turn to melt against him. "you better.." 
- tossing your phone onto the floor, you wrap your arms around him to the best of your ability. your legs are tangled together and your breathing evens out. hearts beating in perfect sync. 
- cuddling with leo felt like heaven. and while you'd never say it out loud, cuz he'd never let you live it down, you honestly adored every second of it. 
431 notes · View notes
viridianriver · 4 months
Text
Holiday Consumerism: Is it actually going up?
After all the news about people boycotting Black Friday and general holiday shopping this year in support of Palestine, I got curious if a dent was actually being made. But when I looked for honest reporting on this? I noticed that NONE of the charts or articles were adjusting for inflation - in a way that seemed very favorable to big business.
And that left me wondering, is the upward trend in our consumption real, or just mirroring the upward trend in the cost of fuckin everything with inflation.
Tumblr media
It seems the news is very much taking the slant of 'consumerism is soooo good, everyone is buying, you should too'
Tumblr media
But let's look at the numbers and see for real how 'record' these record profits are.
(FYI a full report on holiday spending for 2023 isn't out yet - but MasterCard put out a report that Black Friday spending is up 2.5% since last year, not adjusted for inflation, so I went ahead with the assumption that trend will continue and applied a 2.5% increase to last year's holiday spending stats)
Tumblr media
So without adjusting, it's WOOHOO LINE ONLY GOES UP YAYY CONSUMPTION RECORD PROFITS! But actually adjusting? It looks like our consumption is leveling off. And companies aren't getting endless growth - to outpace the growth of inflation (Which is what they really care about, growth is meaningless if it's cancelled out by a devaluation of that currency)
Tumblr media
And to graph out the percent change from the prior year, for each year? Well, not inflation adjusted, the companies keep making more than the year before. But looking at the inflation adjusted one? They're getting less business this year.
I don't know how much of this is from boycotts, how much is from the general price-gouging and wage-stagnation we've seen, but for whatever reason, consumerism is dialing back in a way I just haven't seen reported! And me? I'm here for it. The more we can spend locally, reduce, reuse, recycle, barter and trade? The less influence these huge companies can have in our political system, and the less environmental destruction is happening!
So if you feel like you're alone in trying to have a non-consumerist holiday? I think that's moreso the business media narrative speaking - you're far from it!
296 notes · View notes
diejager · 10 months
Text
A Fantasy
Tumblr media
Pairing: YANDERE Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader
Cw: NSFW, DARK, non-con, dub-con, non-con drugging, somnophilia, creampie, possessiveness, obsessiveness, breeding, marking, blood, biting, Stockholm syndrome, tell me if I missed any.
Wc: 9.8k
(A/N): FYI, Tracer’s (Overwatch 2) the reader’s mentor.
Requested by : @oyasumimosura
Tumblr media
What stood before you was a great field of devastation and ruin, burned and broken buildings that used to be warm homes, lively parks that were turned to ashes, trees and plants laid wasted around dilapidated cars with broken windows and bent metal. People, young and old, laid motionless on the scarred ground, burnt black or left intact in a pool of their blood. Some were holding hands, a family, friends, a couple. Others were alone, forgotten, and left to their sad deaths.
One minute you were rushing through a portal, behind your mentor and besides your teammates, the Cavalry, as she liked to say. Rushing through fights to protect humanity and omnics and its future. The mission was like the one yesterday, the preparation, the meeting, the briefing, and the deployment, but the fate of it changed. A portal malfunctioned, it sent you elsewhere, far away and lost. This wasn't your world, this wasn't your universe, but now, you were in someone else's universe, playing their game.
The clock had struck and time felt meaningless on the battlefield, the sounds of beating aircraft blades, the booming shot of guns and the shockwaves of grenades were all people could hear. Soldiers were the only ones left, fighting against the other side - the enemy, the traitors, the terrorists - until one came out victorious.
While purposeful, the deaths and ruin of this Occidental village were regretful, families shattered, memories lost, and homes destroyed. All you could do was run around, trying to find the source of those cries you heard. A little girl's, whose tears welled for the mother she lost in the tirade of war.
The longer you ran, the closer you got to her. The girl's purple shirt and jeans were dirtied with soot and ash, dark from what was left of her village. You blinked, fazing through time and space to get to her more quickly. Rounding broken walls and jumping over fallen debris, you left a blue trail behind you, blinking your way to the crying kid.
You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into your chest when you got to her, recalling to your previous position with the girl, behind a brick wall. She clung to you, eyes red and swollen, lips bit red and her cheeks puffy. She looked like a seven-year-old child, alone, lost, and miserable without her parents or protection.
"Don't worry, love, " you used the words Tracer often used when she saved someone, her reassuring and calm voice. "I'm here."
Tumblr media
Those zigzagging lines of light lingered in his mind, a shadow of a woman making her way through the abandoned town. The spring in her steps and the flexibility of her movements, jumping higher than any man should've been able to and changing directions so easily. She was fast, vanishing in a line of blue light and then appearing once more meters away.
Ghost saw her save a child, no older than an eight-year-old - or so he thought. A lone child on the battlefield was dangerous, a death wish for the kid if his enemies got to her first. Fortunately, the athletic woman got to the kid before anyone could, swiping her into her arms and disappearing in a blink. Seconds ago, she stood next to the pole, now all that was left was a blur of blue. She had disappeared as quickly as she appeared.
He picked at the memory constantly, powers, it seemed, were her thing, speed and agility of which no one should be able to wield, but she did and she used it to save a child. Although he admired that from a stranger, the question of her being a danger to them was still left unanswered. Whether she could be trusted or an unknown enemy that would tip the scales in the enemy's favour.
However, months later, after the war ended, there weren't any sightings of her, anywhere on earth, as if she had disappeared - again. He remembered her, though, the determined glint beneath blue goggles, her hair tied in a ponytail, flowing through the air, and her pretty lips.
She could still be in Europe, she probably was, or so he hoped. It would mean that he could run the chance of meeting her, to quench his gnawing curiosity. It would be difficult - near impossible - to find her in the millions living in Europe, but he would keep his eyes open, he had questions and he wanted answers.
He wasn't a believer per se, nor was he an atheist, he had a veto in what he put his trust and belief in. He wouldn't curse others for not believing in a God or gods, he wouldn't scoff at those who believed in them, and everyone had their rights. At this moment, however, the thought of God helping him had crossed his mind.
He had dared cross his limit, entering a small cafe - or a bistro, he wasn't sure - blocks from his flat. It was small and homely, the air was warm with the smell of coffee and tea and the place welcoming with the smiling faces of the cafe's workers.
He sat far into the shop, his back against the softness of the booth's couch, bored eyes observing his surrounding for any danger. Even off duty, the habits that ensured his safety still stuck to him, following him wherever he went.
The waitress, a young-looking woman, with striking eyes and hair pulled in a bun, walked his way. Her face looked familiar, lashes framing her pretty eyes, blushed cheeks and beautiful full lips. He knew those lips, and those eyes, and her build, short and athletic, but strong.
It was the child-saving vigilante he saw, only without her blue goggles and her tight bodysuit, blue and white that emphasized her muscles (it was probably made for usefulness, sticking to her body without any stray cloth when she ran, it made running faster and easier.). Wearing a chemise and black pants, instead of the standard skirt the other women wore, her shoes clicked as she approached him, hand pulling out a pad from her black apron's pocket.
He froze when her hand disappeared into her pocket, the items inside were unknown to him, and the content could be dangerous to him. He had to remind himself that she was a civilian at the moment, not an enemy vying for his head. She was safe, as long as she didn't attack him. He waited for her to speak, her pretty lips forming the words she wanted to tell him.
"Good morning, sir," her voice was melodic, soft and inviting. He craved hearing her speak to him with the soft lull of her tone. "Have you decided?"
Decided? What had she - you - meant by "decided"? Then he remembered he was in a cafe, people walked in to order food and drinks, to go or to eat there. He couldn't drift off like that, he couldn't disappear into the darkest depth of his mind. It was a dangerous place.
He cleared his throat, blonde lashes fluttering as he blinked, staring at your face. You were pretty. His words rumbled out, slightly muffled by his black mask: "No." He neither spoke more nor less, blunt as a hammer and sharp as a knife.
"Would you like more time to decide?" You were polite, smiling at him although his only spoken words were brash. He didn't want you to go yet, he just found you, heard and spoke to you,
"Anything you- uh... you recommend?"
You perked up at his question, seeing a more approachable change in him. Your smile widened, brighter than before as you listed off the menu by heart. Your optimism reminded him of Johnny's, expressively happy and grinning. The cafe - Ma's cafe, he learned from you - had its famously brewed tea latte, a mixture of earl grey and vanilla latte.
He took your recommendation, and you left with a skip, apron bouncing with each step. He watched you walk behind the counter, shuffling around with cups and the machine - he thought it was a coffee machine, those with pre-made coffee in its tank - meticulously, knowing well what he ordered.
You came back minutes later with a smoking mug filled with a milky brown liquid. It was fitting its name - London fog - with the white swirls that mimicked the fog that filled the cool, morning air until early evening when the sun started heating everything.
"Thank you...?" Ghost tried, wanting to know your name, you didn't have a tag on your apron.
You gave him your name with the smile you gave everyone, a customer service kind of smile that would assure that you wouldn't get any complaints about your service. He repeated your name a few times in his mind, memorizing every syllable and the way it sounded so well.
He wanted to repeat your name, whisper it lowly, but he had to make sure you were farther away from him, or you'd hear him obsessively call you. It rolled off his tongue amazingly, a perfect symphony with his deeper, raspy voice. He'll get to know you better, he planned on visiting more often, to learn your schedule and watch over you.
He pushed every intrusive thought back, bringing the mug to his lips (he had pulled down his mask to drink). It was sweet, slightly bitter from the coffee, but sweet nonetheless, perhaps a bit too sugary. He savoured the drink you made him, breathing the warm aroma of your mix. You'd made it, you had it, and served it. It was made for him, with your care and smile.
Tumblr media
Ghost came by the next week, wearing the same black hoodie and dark jeans. He sat at the same booth and waited for you to walk by with the same smile as the prior week. You did, eyes wide with recognition when you caught him staring at you from the corner booth. You made your way to him with a grin, clad in a similar uniform and a serving tray under your arm.
"You came back," your calming voice reached his ears, giving him something to cling to in the cafe.
He liked habits, familiar things and usual occasions, but he hated the new and the unknown. They were dangerous, and deadly in his line of work. You expressed your gratitude at the tip he left you, way over the usual price other usual clients would.
"I never got your name."
He hadn't given you his name? That's right, he didn't for fear of people finding out his true identity, a broken man hidden under the mask of a monster - a Ghost. Trust issues stacked with insecurities and his introverted tendencies had made forming relationships much harder, making friends complicated with the backlash of his many blunt comments and irritated huffs, and letting people in from the fear of being betrayed, backstabbed, beaten and abandoned.
You were a vigilante, you saved a girl, you smiled at him and greeted him like you would a friend. You didn't shy away, nor freeze at the mere sight of him. You were new, but you were good - or so he thought you were. To him, you could be the achieved unachievable, a friend made from dust, a relationship formed from miracles and normalcy.
He blinked, mumbling lowly his name, low enough that it only reached your ears. You cocked your head downward, your smile widening as you repeated his name.
"Nice to see you again, Simon. I'm happy to see you again."
He nearly shuddered from hearing his name roll off your tongue, so melodically spoken. He wants to hear you call his name again and again and again, as many times as you could until he got sick of it (he probably wouldn't, he was already addicted to the way you spoke).
He dozed at your words, that you were glad he came back. He was glad too. He wanted to come by the day after his first visit, but it would seem too strange, perhaps dangerous to see him every day at the same spot, at the same time of day. He was a man of schedules, organized and neat planning.
He figured he would start by buying once a week for a month or two, then change it to twice a week for the following months, until seeing him every day would become the norm for you. He would kickstart the routine and make it a usual appearance in your life. He would make *him* a usual appearance in your life.
"Same as last time, Simon?"
God, he loved hearing you say his name. He simply nodded, he would make it his usual, a hut sweet, but enough to drown the bitterness in his soul.
Tumblr media
The leaves turned darker, shrivelling and dropping dead to the ground. The mellow sky grew gloomy, and colder with each passing day until it dropped so low that Ghost had to wear a thicker jacket over his usual hoodie. Autumn was at an end and winter crawled ever so closer.
He was back from deployment, on a temporary leave to "relax and diffuse" as Laswell said. Everyone was back home, Price with his cigar and Nik, Gaz back home with his girlfriend, Soap with his rowdy family of seven and Roach went home to open arms and warm welcomes from his parents.
Ghost only had an empty apartment - or he used to, he moved to a house on the quieter side of town - and the cute, dazzling waitress that served at Ma's cafe. That's where he was going, he texted you before he left, letting you know that he was back and ready for a hot cup of London fog and brunch.
You read his message, replying with a "Copy that, Lieutenant". It became a running joke between you after he told you about his work, nothing classified or too detailed, but enough to let you know he was built to fight and survive.
The bell rang when he pushed the door, seeing you peer out of the kitchen once he stepped in. He was hit with a warm embrace, the cafe's heater worked well, warming the place and making it cozy enough to eat with only a t-shirt on. He gave you a nod, finding his way to his usual spot, the one he sat at for the past months.
How many months have passed since he first stumbled here? He couldn't remember everything became a blur when it was associated with you. His moments with you were warmer and calmer than at the start. You opened up to him, walls crumbling down and letting yourself build something out of it: a friendship with Ghost.
He liked being friends - for now. He had plans to make a move, to push farther, into unknown territory and try his luck. He had a feeling you'd say yes, he loved you so much and you showered him with adoration and smiles, you had to be in love with him, no? Of course, you were, he wasn't delusional, he was of sound mind, careful.
"Welcome back, Simon," you strut to him so casually, the same clothes, the same smile. "How was your deployment? Soap and Roach got into any trouble?"
He spoke fondly of his TF, they were his family, and he felt proud when he talked about them to you. He invited them once, and they all loved you as much as he did, you were sociable and easy to talk to. Though Price and Soap had the biggest effect on you, they reminded you of someone. You told him about your friends, chaotic like his TF, but a family. It sounded like an ops team, he wouldn't be surprised. He remembered the first time he saw you, it was still fresh in his memory.
"Soap stirred up some shite again," Ghost huffed, sloshing his shoulders to appear more relaxed in your presence, to make him seem less threatening than he was. "No casualties, everyone made it out fine. Bit bruised but alive."
"That's the main objective, no?" You chuckled at Ghost's indignified groans about Soap and Roach behaving like children high on sugar.
You stuck around longer now, gracing him with a bit of random chatter. He got to know about your days, your activities, your wishful thinking and your goals. He discovered something new every day, whether it came from your lips or from his own time.
You stood by his table until the chef rang the call bell. You winked charmingly and turned to get his order, he hadn't ordered yet, but he came by so often, ordering the same that the employees knew what to make when he walked through the door.
He liked the normalcy, where he came by once every two days when he was on leave. If the Task Force was sent on a mission, he could be gone a few days, a few weeks or a month. It always varied, but he made it work with his hate of the unknown, the unpredictable.
"Are you free tonight, love?" Ghost asked, eyes gazing from your hands to your lips.
He found that open-mouthed expression at his question. You seemed hesitant to answer him, thinking about your reply to the man who tipped you well and was as close as a friend to you; or perhaps you were simply shocked that he finally asked you out, and wondering if you had time for him.
You nodded, a smug smile replacing your shock: "How 'bout eight? I finish at seven tonight."
" 'S fine, eight at the bar down the street?"
"It's a date then."
His heart almost broke his ribs, beating wildly against its cage when the word "date" left your lips. He had a date with you tonight, he couldn't believe his ears. Perhaps you meant as a date between friends than one between lovers, but at that moment, all he could think was how your hands would feel between his, how your soft, plump lips would feel over his and how your body would feel against his, below and over him.
He dove into his delusional mind, imagines and dreams swimming freely, jumping from one to the other. He had dreams for once, a wish that he hoped you'd indulge, and a family he wanted but lost.
Tumblr media
Everything seemed to go the way he planned, you waved at him when you saw him waiting outside the bar and giddily joined him. He found a quiet and mellow corner at the bar, a table pushed against the wall with two stools.
The bartenders knew him, he drank here with the others, and they didn't bother him and served and usual. Some were surprised he brought a friend - a woman - with him but left him to his own.
You sat down and downed a few beers while he drank his bourbon. You spoke sporadically, hands waving enthusiastically with every word. Your cheeks were flushed, slightly pink and warm from the alcohol, but you were lively, animated and happy.
It made him happy, seeing you so mirthful around him, being able to let loose from your stricter atmosphere at Ma's cafe. Your tense shoulders were looser, your back relaxed from its ramrod-straight position and your voice felt more invigorated. The alcohol might've played a part, running through your system and making you bolder.
The first time always played well, just as he imagined, and the thing that solidified everything was your parting words: "Next time's on me, Simon!"
You drank together every week, from friends to drinking buddies, there was nothing more intimate than that, to trust someone with your drunk self and your loose tongue, spewing words and thoughts the second they crossed your mind.
That boosted his confidence, the feeling that he could confess, and tell you his deepest and darkest thoughts and wants. You'd know what kind of man he was, broken and messily put together, like a DIY project made by a child gone wrong. He had sharp edges and missing pieces, a cracked personality and dangerous thoughts. He was a SAS soldier after all, once you become one, you see some twisted shit.
Like the week before, you walked out together, your legs shaky but still able to walk home, accompanied by Ghost. He helped you to your apartment, his broad shadow looming over the door, silent as always. When your shaky hands were able to unlock the door, turning the knob and opening the door, you turned around to bid your drinking buddy good night.
Lips parting to say the words, until he cut you off, his chapped lips met yours. His gloved hands caressed your cheek, thumb rubbing under your wide eyes as he held you in place. His lips were warm and plump, but chapped, a scar running over it.
His eyes were closed, lips on you for a few seconds longer until he pulled away, a dazed look in his eyes. While he expected a reaction from you, he hadn't envisioned shock and sadness, one that made his gut plummet. He winced at your expression, unable to understand what he did wrong. He thought you loved him.
"I- Simon, I- I can't, I'm sorry," you hushed out sadly, head turned down to stare at your feet. You were unwilling to gaze into his disappointed - probably heartbroken - eyes.
"Why?" He rasped, voice hoarse as if he hid cried for hours, or was on the brink of tearing up.
"I just can't, Simon," you persisted, feeling much more sober than the last few minutes. His surprise had severed you up - willingly or unwillingly. "I don't mind staying friends, but I can't get too attached. I won't be here much longer."
" 'Cause you're not from here?" He scoffed, but it didn't hold any resentment or irritation, simply sorrow and distress. " 'Cause you're from another world?"
You whipped your head to stare at him, your mouth agape and fearful shock glazed over your eyes. How could he have possibly known? While your identity was fabricated work, you know how to make a believable fake ID, Genji's knowledge helped you. You stepped back, hand reaching for your door knob, unsure of what Simon would do to you now that the secret was out.
He turned and ambled out, shoulders slumped slightly without a word to you. His world shattered once again, God seemed hellbent on making his life a misery.
Tumblr media
He stopped coming after your "altercation", you felt horrible, but you couldn't let your heart run wild when you know Winston would find a way to fix the portal in a year or two. One had already passed and you couldn't overindulge in this world's pleasures and leave when you got too attached.
Yet, grief at being relieved that he never appeared again clawed at you, he knew you weren't from his world. It was dangerous information, especially in bad hands, but you couldn't do anything about it. This world had different rules and standards, it worked differently and you weren't book-smart like Winston or Torb. You were a simple agent working under Tracer.
You did, however, regret letting Simon leave so abruptly, he was an amazing friend, the perfect drinking buddy and would probably be a caring lover, but couldn't risk it. Even if you wanted to text him, and apologize over and over until Simon would talk to you again, you knew how to respect people's boundaries. If he left so coldly, never passing by, texting or calling told you enough. He needed time to calm down and clear his mind.
You went back and forth between your home and the cafe every night, your original routine - before meeting Simon - felt alien to you. You'd been so used to seeing Simon at the back of the shop, a hot London fog in his hands and crepes on his plate with melting butter. It was foreign to see the spot occupied by another client, or the cold spot in your chest when it was vacant.
You disliked it. You hated it. The cold, the silence, you wanted to see him at least once.
Can we meet? Usual place. was the sudden text you received from Simon during your shift. It was dated today at 5:39.
Without a second thought, you replied, affirming the date and time, tonight, right after your shift on Friday. A weight was lifted from your shoulder, the silence from Simon was broken and he finally reached out to you. Your break to let him calm down had worked it seemed, the let him cool down and clear his mind.
It was late by the time you got to the pub, around nine. You had returned home and fixed up your depressed look for a more lively one, hoping it would make Simon feel better. You caught him at your usual place, head hung low and demeanour shut off from the world around him. You took hesitant steps towards him, he didn't look exactly sober from the number of cups decorating the table, nor did he look drunk, from his sharp, hooded eyes.
"Simon, " you greeted him slowly, nearly flinching when his brown eyes washed over your smaller figure. Chills erupted through the ends of your nerves, fingers twitching at the sudden burst of danger you felt from your friend. You had no reason to be scared, wary of his demeanour, but not scared or hateful. He'd yet to act out violently or malevolently.
He gave a curt nod, emotions bleeding through his eyes. He was a stoic man, but his eyes were extremely emotional, pain, regret, grief, hate and joy were some you'd seen flash in those pretty brown of his.
He had a whole bottle ordered in advance, the cap still tightly screwed onto the bottle's neck. He poured you a cup, of rum straight out of the bottle without ice or any accessories.
Thanking him, you sipped on your drink it felt hot and heady on your tongue, it burned your throat. You hadn't drank since you'd last seen Simon, weeks ago, and you could see - feel - its effect. You coughed slightly but still downed the rest.
"You wanted to see me?" Your question left an odd sensation on your tongue. He hadn't spoken a word since you walked in, always the brooding, silent menace. He stared, fixated on you or something on you, it was perturbed you.
"I wanted to apologize, love."
You missed that low hum in his voice, and the caring way he said you "love". You'd been used to it since most British you knew always called someone they cared for "love" or "dear", loving terms of endearment used publicly. Now, however, you knew it weighted, an undertone to its meaning, a special significance in his heart.
"Didn't mean to jump you like that," he continued, regret painting his rough tone. "It felt right; to me. Guess I was more plastered than I thought."
He was human and alcohol coursed through his system. It made him bold and erratic, he acted out without a second thought. You could forgive him for the influence his bourbon had on him; you were going to forgive him anyway.
Although you felt better with his apology, forgiveness for his sudden move wasn't what you prioritized. You wanted answers. How did he know? Was it a sudden, incomprehensible blurb that he spat in a spike of hate and pain? Or was it conscience wording from his drunk mind?
"Do you remember that night?" You lost your smile, pursed lips and hardened eyes at your questioning - interrogation of him.
"'Course I do."
"Do you remember what you said? About me coming from somewhere else."
He nodded, eyes levelled to stare straight at you, unwilling to hide or lie, he spoke honestly, "Another world, love. Didn't forget."
"How'd you know? I'm not exactly showcasing it to everyone in bright colours. So how?"
"Saw you save that girl, lil babe crying for her mother," his answer was slow and purposeful, giving you what you wanted to hear. He recalled the event that occurred months prior, everything aligned with your own experience. "We don't - can't - have shite like that, too developed and powerful. Nothin' like that's possible in this era. So I figured you weren't from here. "
His reasoning made sense, his wording was careful, and it seemed like he had time to think about it. The time you gave him had helped. You kept your doubts to yourself, questions you had that he probably didn't have the answer to. A way back; a way home; an escape. All things he had no answer to.
So your shoulders relaxed and asked Simon to pour you a second cup, to which he obliged. You drank and smiled, back to the trying times when you just started drinking with him, the unknown and the awkwardness that lingered in the air stung.
You don't remember how many cups you had, or how many bottles you finished. Did you even finish the first one? Did you get halfway through before your vision started blurring and your mind dazed into mumbles of incoherent words? Simon hadn't touched another cup since the world around you blurred, the corners of your eyes turning black and your movement slowed to a slur.
He paid for the drink on his tab, slinging your arm over his shoulder, hand holding your waist as he walked out. You were drunk out of your mind, but something felt different, you don't remember being this inebriated the last time you drank half a bottle of rum. Was there something else in it?
Simon dropped you in the back, buckling you in before he made sure you sat upright. He was close, his neck bare and sweaty, his musk smelled strong and heavy, smoke and gunpowder weighing at the back of your throat. Although your vision was faulty, you could see the tight muscle of his neck and shoulder tense as he worked.
His scent stuck to you as he closed the door and drove home, the air in the car smelling like him. Whatever had drained you, lulled you to sleep, taking comfort in the familiar warmth even if a small part of you started panicking.
Tumblr media
He had you, in the basement of his house, soundproof and padlocked from the outside. Any risk was accounted for and any escape plans were foiled prematurely by his quick mind.
Ghost laid you beneath him, on the soft, plush bed he bought and built for you, queen-sized for the times he'd spend cuddling you. He had you splayed, body limp and limbs pliant to his every desire. He admired your sleeping form, how your lace fluttered lightly and your lips perked, thinking on the corners as if you were wincing - a duck face - and your peaceful expression. You were adorable.
Your shirt came off first, pulled over your head and thrown over his shoulders, then your bra. Without his gloves, your skin felt soft, hot to the touch. Kneading your breasts, he held one in each hand and felt the fat. You twitched and mewled faintly when he pinched your nipples, hardened by the cooler air hitting your drunk-induced heat. He kissed them, lips closing around your nipple and sucking loudly. He gave each one the same amount of attention, pulling off with a wet pop.
His fingers trailed the lines of your abdomen, strong and athletic, but not too burly like anyone in the army. He admired your figure, half-naked and unconscious on his bed, in his home. He kissed down your stomach as he took your pants off, sliding leg after leg out, leaving you only in your panties.
You were beautiful: your skin - soft, your hair - silken, your lips - wonderful to kiss, and your eyes - gems. You were breathtaking to look at, a treasure to his eyes solely. You were an unblemished canvas, unmarked by other men - in his mind - by sin, and your scars were trophies, won through difficult times. He wanted to be the one painting you, displaying you prettily for his eyes alone. Pieces of works were kept secret like Michelangelo's love poems and sketches.
His eyes wandered the expanse of your body, groaning when he saw the wet patch, your body had reacted to his caresses, your arousal turning the spot over your cunt darker, wet. He pushed his nose to it, breathing in the tangy musk. His fingers hooked under the string and ripped it off with a harsh tug. You wouldn't need underwear anymore once he was done with you.
Ghost's pupils dilated, wide, blown eyes as it keyed on your slick cunt. He adjusted your legs, moving them over his shoulders to have better access to you. He gave a testing lap, running the flat of his tongue over your rim, prodding your clenching opening and leaving at your pulsating clit.
You tasted delicious, he growled and dove back. Tongue circling your button, sucking loudly, lifting the protective hood to let it swell and throb. He held your hips tightly ad you squirmed and moaned, but you never awoke. The drug he gave you was potent, tested on bigger, stronger military men. It could knock them out, so it would pull a stronger reaction from you.
It weighed on his mind, that he resolved to drugging you and bringing you home to be able to show you just how much he loved you. He'd preferred if you were awake, he wanted your first time together to be wonderful - fantastic - in all ways, but you would've protested, fought him and left him once more. He couldn't risk losing you completely, it hurt.
He had no other choice and felt guilty, but he couldn't let his mind wander when he had you under him, ripe for the taking. He pushed his thoughts away and concentrated on you, his needy girl.
His tongue returned between your leg, cheek nuzzling into your sweating thighs. He alternated between sucking your button, lips enclosing around it, and dipping his tongue into you, groaning anomalistically at your tensing walls. He pushed his forefinger in, joining his ravenous tongue. His nose bumped your clit, jerking you each time.
A second finger joined the first and his tongue left to give attention to your neglected clit, pumping to the third knuckles and curling upwards. You arched off the bed, hips buckling into his open mouth as he stretched you open with a third finger. The sound was lewd and wet, loud in his ears.
His cock twitched, straining against his pants, the fabric tight and inflexible, nearly painful. He wanted to relieve the tightness, that burning ache deep in his guts, but his needs came second to yours.
He flickered his tongue and pushed his fingers deeper, curling and panting against you. You spasmed, legs closing around his head, squeezing him as you came. His fingers eased out slowly to savour the taste of your arousal, mouth covering your fluttering hole and slurping the slick that drizzled down your ass.
He loved how you tasted, sweet and salty, like a healthy, ripe fruit ready to be bitten into, juicy and perfect. He almost lost himself, dazed by your essence and his anguish; if only you'd accepted him early, you would've been awake and conscious of this act, and you'd be able to love and embrace him as he did to you. He wouldn't have to wait so long, in pain and regret, for not wooing you enough. He wouldn't have to feel so guilty.
Snapping from his hazed thinking, he lowered your legs and climbed off the bed to undress. He peeled his hoodie and shirt, which stuck to his skin by sweat, and he dropped his pants once he unbuckled his belt. His cock bobbed, slapping wetly against his navel before it hung heavily between his legs, the head achingly red and swollen. His balls felt heavy, and tight from all the neglect. They were big and full, ready to pump his seed into you.
He cradled you, pulling your legs over his elbows and slotting his hips to yours, his cock over your slit. He moved his hips, slicking his shaft with your juices, groaning at the wet warmth under him. When it felt slick enough, he dipped the tip in, your labia stretching to swallow his uncut head. The sound was downright filthy in his ears, the squelch and your strained moans.
He watched himself inch deeper, sinking into your depths with unrelenting hunger, panting and growling until he bottomed out, his balls sitting snug against your ass. His bulbous tip kissed your cervix, nudging it as he rolled his hips, testing how deep he could reach and how strong he could fuck.
He slowly pulled out, hearing the wet noise of his cock slipping out to the tip, and slammed in, his balls slapping the roundness of your ass. He rocked wildly, groaning each time he bottomed out, feeling the heat of your walls clench around him like a vice. Your spasming walls wrenched low moans from him, as often as you whimpered and mewled.
"Fuck- you feel so fuckin' good-" he pushed out through his clenched teeth, his cock twitching when you tightened around him.
Your legs shook, your back arching slightly and your voice keening loudly. He covered your body with his, lips meeting yours in a hungry and possessive kiss, tongue diving into your mouth and committing it to memory. His hand found your clit, thumb rubbing your sensitive nub, urging you towards your end.
Keening, you came, gripping him with a vice. He grunted, his pace becoming sloppy as he chased his peak after yours, breathing in your neck with dazed, hooded eyes. He swore, thrusting as deep as he could and came, his seed rushing to fill you.
"Fuck- fuck-" he gasped, rocking a few times into you, riding off his edge until he calmed down.
White globs leaked from your stuffed cunt, rolling down your ass and leaving a trail. His chest rumbled happily, bending down to kiss you slowly, soft and adoring compared to the last. He slid out when he softened, his cum oozing out of your gaping heat, the plug keeping everything in left.
He loved watching you full, oozing of him, asleep and satiated in the bed he bought for you. You were both coated in sweat and cum, hair sticking to your glistening skin. Your dishevelled and panting aroused him, his soft cock jerking upwards, hardening moments after he just came.
"We're not done yet, love."
Tumblr media
You felt heavy and warm, a heat - a body - held you tightly, fingers carding through your hair and caressing your back. It smelled like sweat and smoke, a familiar musk. You opened your eyes, seeing a pale, burly chest, Simon's naked chest. You froze, body tensing, shoulders squaring and arms ready to push him back.
"Morning, love," his voice was raspy with sleep, deep and calm as he greeted you, his lips meeting your hairline. "Slept well?"
You frowned, legs moving, jutting out from between his knees as you struggled to free yourself. Your body felt sore, the peak of your discomfort coming from your heat, a pulsating and warm pain. You feared the worst.
When you looked down, you were covered by only a shirt, a big, dark grey t-shirt that smelled like Simon, it reached your knees. You winced, seeing your nakedness and Simon's pants hanging low on his hips, flashing the sharp dip of his navel and his sculpted torso. It left little to imagine, the red blemishes on your neck and shoulders, slightly faded from his careful handling and bruises the size of his fingers around your thighs.
"You-" you coughed before you could day anymore, throat dry and scratchy, alcohol dehydrated people faster.
"Drink," he held you up, back to his chest, arms slipping around you too comfortably to hand you a cup of water, cool and fresh.
He had expected this, he wasn't as delusional as he first seemed, and he was prepared. You took it, gulping it down carefully, counting the seconds - minutes - that would pass until the drug kicked in, if he had diluted any in your water.
He hummed happily, his chest vibrating as he wrapped his arms around you, nosing the collar of your neck, he placed fluttering kisses on your open shoulder. The collar of his shirt slipped from one side, exposing your skin. His teeth grazed you, teasingly nipping you with warm puffs of air.
You gulped, gathering whatever wits you still had after this whole kidnapping situation. Your mind was running miles per second, eyes gleamed over with tensions and tiredness, and your body sore from Simon's perverse affection.
"Where am I?" your voice was small, still raspy from - what you assumed - moaning and mewling.
"Home," he mumbled, latching onto your skin and sucking a dark spot.
Home? It neither meant your flat nor safety. It was *his* home, a prison he built for you. You looked around. You thought it better to get to know the place he decided to keep you captive, to learn and discover its secrets, anything you could use against or for you.
It was like a studio apartment, everything was open apart from the bathroom, it had a small kitchenette with a fridge (probably in case he left for a while, deployed in another country while he kept you here.), a bookshelf filled to the brim with books and a desk pushed to the side. He'd forgone leaving you with a television, a mobile device, a phone or a computer, all were risks of you getting out.
The walls were painted over, bare of windows and stairs lead to a door, locked from both sides. He locked you in his basement, beneath his house and every other neighbour's nose. No one would come to your rescue if you screamed. No one would hear your cries of anguish or your pleas for freedom.
He bit down, teeth pressing onto your skin, denting the scarred flesh with his teeth marks. You yelped, the area hot and painful, his strength leaving an almost skin-deep bleeding, fiery and red. It was irritated and swelled in seconds. He moved from one patch to the other, determined to mark up your shoulder before possibly moving on to the next one.
You squirmed on his lap, trying to free yourself from his restrictive hold. You gripped his hands, digging your blunt nails into his forearms. He scoffed, nuzzling the bites he made, tongue lapping at the bleeding lines.
"Ghost," you gasped, legs kicking and body struggling.
Clicking followed every kick, the distinct sound of metal rattling in a disorderly way. You looked down your leg, catching the cuff around your right ankle, a long chain kept you jailed in the basement. It was long and winding, enough to comfortably walk laps around your new accommodation but too short to reach the door.
You stared at it incredulously, the utter rage and disgust that burned in your gut that he planned to keep you as if you were a glorified pet or some sort of prize he scouted and obtained.
You knew he liked you before, it was a simple and innocent crush, like finding your first one and not knowing how to react. That, and the fact he was a soldier, scarred by time and marked by warfare made him so standoffish. You thought it was simple, but now, it was too late to forget, to not look, to let bygones be bygones.
He was obsessed, not necessarily sane, but not crazy either. He wasn't delusional, by everything he set up as a precaution, but he let his darkness fester, grow and crack the surface of his calm and stoic persona. He was still calm and meticulous, but it was a different kind, storming ideas for your imprisonment and wishes he wanted to make true. Ghost and Simon overlapped, neither good nor evil, he was simply letting the monster rage uncontrolled.
His pent-up emotions drove him to the edge, and your rejection pushed him over, tipping the scale of his sanity. That's how you ended up in your current situation, his hands wandering over your thighs, dipping between them and down to your knees. He still nipped at your skin, biting and pulling the collar down the other shoulder. His teeth sunk into the muscle between your neck and shoulder, warm fingers slipping under his shirt to knead your chest.
You winced, flinching when he plucked your nipples, pulling on them until you let out a pained whine.
"Stop-!" your hands followed his, clamping around his wrists and dragging him out, but he stayed firm, unmoving to your will as he twirled your mounds. "Fucking stop!"
He huffed, hands dropping to your lap. He mumbled into your bitten skin, groaning in complaints about not letting him care for you. His complaints came with hot breaths on your nape, mouthing the back, turning silent and unmoving.
His quietness was familiar to you, his penchant for sifting through his thoughts in utter silence. Then he moved, draping the covers over your body, tucking you in. He stood at your bedside, expression lighting in a gentle smile. Under the dim lighting of the room, he looked like a beautiful angel. A gold halo hovered over his blonde locks, framing his pale skin and warm, brown eyes.
He kissed your forehead, lips lingering a few seconds longer as he took in the calming moment. He had you, he had you in his home.
"How about breakfast? Fried eggs and bangers, how's that sound?"
The normalcy of eating breakfast in bed, to wake up and be greeted with a British breakfast made by Simon. He liked the idea of such normality, it was romantic, domestic even. To be able to cook for you and serve you the food he made, he'd eat at the table in the middle of the room, seated opposite from you.
He left before you could give him a piece of your mind, or your reply to his question. Fried eggs, you knew what that was, but *bangers*, what the fuck was that?
The stairs creaked lightly, bending under Simon's weight, but his steps were silent - dangerous. The lock clicked when it was unlocked, and he left you alone, the door locking behind him. Gone was your escape, gone was your freedom, gone was your life with the door locking before you.
Tumblr media
Time seemed endless, it went by in a blink or in long, painful moments that left you angry. He hadn't given you a clock, and without anything technological (the microwave didn't have the time, whatever Simon had done, worked. Time never played on the four-letter screen.), you couldn't tell day from night, seconds from minutes and minutes from hours. Time dragged agonizingly slowly, the only clue was Simon kept a pattern: three meals a day, breakfast, dinner and supper before going to bed with his arms wrapped around you.
How long you've stayed here was unknown. You couldn't know and Simon didn't want to tell you. He changed subjects or glared at you until you dropped it or he decided to drop it. You had no link to the outside, no way of knowing if you'd been announced missing or if anyone was worried. Simon had cut all your connections to the world around you, just outside your reach, on the other side of these walls that confined you.
You desperately needed to know about your case, if they knew, if they filed a missing person report if they were searching for you. It pained you to be ignorant of everything but your small world, the things that happened in your small room. Everything you knew was Simon.
His horribly, soothing words in his deep voice, speaking into your ear or your hair, whispering his dreams and his hopes, his love and his adoration. His wandering hands, raking the tension from your shoulders, the knots in your back, your worry from your eyes and lips, and the pleasure - forced - he brought upon you.
Entertainment was brought through him, or through the books he left for you, most were erudite, both old and new novels. Bram Stoker's Dracula, The Silence of the Lambs and The Heart of Darkness were a few of the novels you'd caught on the bookshelf.
He also fed you. Most days, he'd stay until it was time to eat, he would leave - sometimes half an hour or a whole hour, it ranged between depending on the meal - and come back with warm plates. They always smelled good and they tasted better.
It surprised you how skilled he was in cocking, as he was in infiltration, sniping, abducting and killing. Perhaps he took the time apart from you to forge his plan, to learn to cook and to care.
You ate, slowly and contemplatively. He stared at you eat, always making sure you took the first bites before digging into his own plate. It weighed heavy in your gut, like a reluctant gift you were bestowed, and Simon made sure you ate everything.
You felt dazed, gone, after eating, as if a cloud washed over your mind that made you slower, and sluggish with everything you did. The food was drugged, you were aware of that when you first felt lethargic. It made you less testy, less bratty as Simon grumbled, you were more pliant to his whims and easier to move when you tried fighting him.
Though it eased the nausea that wracked your body in the mornings, the sudden discomfort in your abdomen and the heaviness that the ache gave. You rarely needed to move from the bed if the urge to vomit came up, Simon kept pills for that. If you did, he'd comfort you, holding your hair back as the content of your stomach surged upwards.
Your time spent with Simon was time spent organizing your thoughts, Winston was smart, engineering-wise, he was amazing. Then there was Mercy with her medical breakthrough and Torb with his ingeniously brilliant machines. If they came together, found what went wrong with the portal you went through.
Trace would be so worried if she wasn't already dead worried. She was a caring and responsible mentor, taking you in before and after the fall of Overwatch. Nearly twelve years under her and this was the first mishap. You spent nearly two years in Simon's world - you counted the time your could count, the days you spent working and enjoying life as much as you could in a different place - and your heart never stopped missing your family.
You missed Jack - Soldier: 76 - when he would openly laugh, and Gabriel, when he was still the man he was. You missed Tracer's fussing, blinking around with so much energy, and Reinhardt's proud standard when he loomed over his teammates with his Barrier Field. You missed them horribly, they were the glue that kept you hoping for freedom.
It happened when you nearly conceded to Simon's whims, bending to his will and words, letting his hands wander your body and feeling pleasure - genuine. His confessions were parroted, and his I love youwas returned.
You ate less, however, the lump in your gut grew by the days, weighing heavier and heavier. You had weird cravings, followed by nausea most mornings, gripping the toilet bowl with your head hung low. Simon held your hair back and rubbed soothing circles on your back, bemoaning about your pains and cramps.
He left a few times during your period of captivity, vanishing for long periods - usually a week or two - and had you manage everything on your own. He had cameras set up, watching your every move, connected to whatever device he decided to watch you.
He was deployed a week ago, his steps never walking to the door during the week, but now, you could hear his booming steps around the house. They were loud and intentional. Dread always filled your body when you learned he came back, he was clingy, handsy and obsessive when he came back, growling that he would burn down the world if couldn't have you; or that he was thinking about you - constantly - and that the video feed on his phone was never enough.
You picked up on his pace, hurried and panicked. They stomped around the house in search of something before it stopped at your door. Your ears perked on the clicking of the lock, straining to listen to his heaving breaths.
Crack
You jerked forward. Something behind you cracked, the loud cracking filled the air as you turned. A blue swirl cracked the shift in reality, like glass fracturing and breaking into pieces, it glowed with every line. It pulsed calmly, the swirls capturing your attention. You felt drawn to it, your hands twitching with the urge to touch it, to let your fingers swim in the infinite pool.
"(Name), are you there?" a voice called from the other side, small and feminine. It was dripping with worry and exhaustion. "Luv, are you there?" she cried a second time, a hand emerging from the portal.
You knew the voice, the warm, familiar voice that called out to you with love and compassion. A friend. A mentor. A family.
You reached out to it, hand inches from hers. Then the door to your cage burst open, his screams echoing in the basement. He hurried down the stairs as fast as he could, mask still on his face as he reached for you. His gloved fingers grasped the air for you, rushing towards you with immense worry and fear in his eyes.
Mere seconds behind you, his fingers grazed your back as you fell into the waiting arms of your mentor. He was too late, he fell on the vacant bed, watching the portal close behind you. He clutched the bending, the place you sat moments ago. It was still warm, your heat and smell still mixed into your sheets.
Tumblr media
He spun lies about your absence, about your sudden disappearance from his world. You moved away after your breakup, you distanced yourself from him to make the move easier on your heart and his. The TF had accepted the excuse, solemnly nodding about your leave and wishing they could have said farewell to a good friend.
They moved on with life, still smiling nostalgically when you were brought up, but Ghost was left heartbroken. He knew something was wrong that day, the itch in his brain about something happening at home. That's why he was in such a hurry, in a panicked frenzy to get home - to get to you. He was too late though, seeing you being pulled into a portal. Dooming was the effect on him; devastation was the pain in his heart; shattering was the sorrow of his soul.
He poured everything into keeping you, only to lose you. Now, he poured every second of his life into work, never letting his mind wander to the bump on your stomach or the subtle relinquishment in your actions to him.
He was deader than dead, colder and more stoic than before. They saw the change, they understood, but never blamed you. Everyone had fallouts, Simon just had more than the rest of the world. That's why he played Ghost more often than before, building his walls higher and his appearance darker.
Yet somehow, Soap was enthusiastic enough to rope him into playing games on his console (he used to play more before finding time between deployments to jump into a match with the others). Overwatch 2, an evolution of the first made better. Soap promised it was good. His spiel about the characters having a profound background and the gameplay being fun. Ghost was doubtful, he and Soap didn't have the same definition of fun, they were associated with different things.
He liked Soap, though, so he humoured his sergeant. He downloaded it on his console, watching the white line charge until it became playable. Soap had mentioned a few names: Genji, Sombra, Reaper and Zenyatta, he even joked about Reaper resembling him, the skull mask and the dark drapes. He'd also gushed - like an over-enthusiastic gamer - about a new character, a woman, the sole student of this Tracer.
He scoured through the lists of players, eyes skimming over the faces before he spotted a familiar one. It was more cartoonish, drawn in gentle lines and beautiful shades. Your face, it was your beautiful face. He nearly dropped his controller, hands shaking and body heavy.
Was it guilt that washed over him? Was it pain that washed over him? Was it sorrow and melancholy that washed over him? Or was it his world that came crashing down on his shoulders?
The world dulled, his breath became stagnant and shallow as he stared at your hero. You were standing proud and fearless, guns held in your hands with a bright smile. He watched you emote, your character moving as it was coded. He scrolled through your skills and perks, some he remembered you use. You blinked and recalled, moving back and forth between time and space, breaking the fragile shift in the world.
Soap was right about the new hero, you were interesting and lovely. In a flurry of emotions, he opened up your biography - or a snippet of your backstory. Every word bled his heart, every act and every situation wracked his body with sadness. The more he read, the more his tears threatened to fall.
You kept your - his - child, a beautiful kid with his blonde hair and your eyes, a round, yet sharper face like his. You kept him, you hadn't aborted the child. You gave birth and he wasn't there. You took care of your kid and he wasn't there. You watched him grow and he wasn't there.
He cried, body closing on itself. His shoulders shook, his vision blurred and his face streaked with tears. A broken sob broke through his throat, restricted and pained with waves of emotion, deep and harrowing sadness of his loss.
"I miss you, love," he rasped, his fingers gripping his hair, nearly ripping out the seams. "I miss you."
987 notes · View notes
What I'm actually furious about, isn't just the anti-Semitism I've dealt with here.
What I'm furious at is the Israeli government and military. I am furious that they have the nerve to perpetrate war crimes while appropriating the memory of the 6 million. It makes me sick. It feels me with rage. It fills me with feelings of betrayal (those are complex and require deconstruction, discussed briefly below). How dare they massacre children, civilians, and fucking hospital patients; and how dare they do so while using the 6 million as a rhetorical shield?
The edgelord who left me a snide remark comparing the situation in Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto wasn't the first person to make that comparison to me. It was actually the Palestinian woman who translated two major sources from Hebrew into English for me.
She was translating a biography of Tossia Altman when her three nephews and sister-in-law were murdered during the IDF action in Gaza. I asked her if she wanted to stop working on the project (with no impact on her fee for the project, of course; that's where about $4000 of the money y'all helped me raise went, fyi). The brand of Zionism practiced by Tossia and her comrades is very very different from the version embodied in Netanyahu, and it was those schools of Zionism which mostly died in the Holocaust (I said), but I would completely understand if the material was too triggering for her.
She said "I’m not sure about this triggering me, I think holocaust survivors and Gazans are on the same boat to tell you the truth. It could be an opportunity for me to actually fathom the full picture, in a way." And I haven't stopped thinking about it since.
I'm not going to post the rest of our conversation here, for what I hope are obvious reasons. And for concerned parties, this woman has been living away from Gaza for a very long time.
But this is why I'm so angry and emotional.
And I'm over here having these, frankly, very painful, personal feelings (if my posts over the last 4 months haven't made it clear, I spent my teen years in an extremely manipulative right wing Israel "education" program, and was raised surrounded by first and secondhand Holocaust trauma which inevitably impacted how my elders educated me about The Conflict none of which I was fully able to deconstruct until I became a Holocaust Historian in grad school). Especially with my knowledge of how SHITTILY Holocaust survivors were treated when they got to Palestine in the mid-1940s; of how fucking disgracefully Yad Vashem treated Rachel Auerbach and Yitzhak Zuckerman. Of the way the Jewish fighters actually died in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. I became a Holocaust historian because I am the great/granddaughter of survivors and I do this work because it's a fucking calling, not something that brings me joy. And the goddamn Israeli government, the government of a nation which likes to say it exists for all Jews (when it barely even represents the Jews who live there but that's a different conversation); the way that government manipulates and misuses that history to excuse their actions in Gaza make me fucking sick. And, as demonstrated by some of you actual fucking pieces of shit, puts Diasporic Jews in danger. (side thought: Does Netanyahu WANT to put Diasporic Jews in danger?? He knows how this fucking shit works, and I wouldn't be surprised if he WANTED Jews to feel deeply unsafe and respond to that by fleeing to Israel).
And WHILE I'm experiencing all of this and trying to keep it all together while writing the what may be the most important thing I've ever written in my career, you fucking [word I don't use out loud or in writing] come in here and to throw your anti-Semitic bullshit at me when I ask you to please not spew it at me via my (year old) fucking Holocaust Remembrance Day posts, and when I ask you to be fucking mindful of it in your political speech.
So let me make it fucking clear, as far as I am concerned there are 4 separate conversations at play rn.
1) October 7 was horrific, genocidal, and traumatizing for Jews on a global basis.
2) Israel is committing heinous war crimes in Gaza right now which, if its own military's statements are anything to go by, are actively genocidal.
3) You shouldn’t harass random Jewish people because you’re disgusted with Israeli governmental and military decisions and actions.
4) The Israeli government’s appropriation of Holocaust memory within its larger state building project doesn’t give you [collective: non-Jews] the right to abuse Jews for discussing and generally having feelings about the Holocaust.
And FRANKLY I think all those conversations are accurate and valid. I also don't think I'm obligated to tear my heart open give you all my intimate feelings because a bunch of pieces of shit on this site can't grasp points 3 and 4.
So fuck that right wing program I belonged to as a teen, fuck you fucking left wing anti-Semites who can's grasp that you're touting the ideologies of people who would have wanted you dead, and fuck the Israeli government for committing war crimes. fuck them for their ongoing abuse of palestinian civil and human rights, and fuck them for invoking the memory of the 6million while doing it.
I've fucking had it with that fucking State, I've had it with you goddamn Jew-haters, and I've had it with the Jewish ppl who might want to destroy my career upon seeing this post.
I am mad as HELL.
I'm not even saying my mental health break is over. I've just had a moment of clarity, my period is over, and I'm pissed as hell. i'm tired of policing myself to make the gentiles who hate me comfortable; and I'm tired of policing myself to make my coreligionists who'd destroy me for having these thoughts comfortable. and there are 122,000 if you, so i don't care if you're so fucking fragile that this post makes you hit the unfollow button.
tl;dr:
youtube
299 notes · View notes
Note
may i request a jealous supervillain, because a new villain is attempting to flirt with their hero? Luv ur writing so much (⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)
"You're seething, darling," the hero said.
"You're smug," the supervillain snapped. "I bet you just love the attention, don't you?"
The hero raised a brow.
The supervillain folded their arms, but didn't take it back, despite the sudden tinge of colour staining high on their cheeks. They glared in the direction the other villain had sauntered off to.
"As a matter of fact," the hero watched them, "yes."
The supervillain's gaze snapped to them; water about to boil over.
"Darkstar is rather dreamy," the hero continued, with a sigh, a small smile playing on their lips. "Did you see those abs? And that line about-"
They didn't get to finish before the supervillain caught hold of their throat and slammed them into the nearest surface.
"I have abs," the supervillain growled, lethal, at the precise moment the hero choked out laughing.
They grinned up at the supervillain, careless of any normal person's perceived notion of danger, utterly unbothered by the fact that there were fingers around their neck that could crush their windpipe.
The supervillain's eyes narrowed. "You're doing this on purpose."
"I've never seen you jealous before." The hero's head tipped, still watching them. "You have at least five minutes of it being cute."
"Mm." The supervillain didn't quite seem to know what to do with the hero now that they were pinned, particularly as the hero wasn't doing anything about it whatsoever. The supervillain stepped closer, so that the hero could feel the abs. Just in case. "Five minutes?"
The hero's smile faded some. "Then it gets annoying if you're going to be a passive aggressive toxic child about it. Seriously. Jealousy is fine, but deal with it like an adult, yeah? No stabby stabby."
"They flirted with you in front of me."
"Joys of a secret relationship, dear."
"You really are enjoying this far too much."
"Stop being so fun to wind up then."
"Fun."
The hero's gaze flicked up and down them in turn; not boiling water, perhaps, but no cool thing. "Fun."
The supervillain wet their lips. "If you ever cheated on me, I hope you know-"
"-This should be good. Threats and intimidation. Relationship goals."
The supervillain's jaw worked. They slowly let go, and cleared their throat. "I will flirt with you more."
"I'm not asking you to flirt with me more. Although, if we are having a serious conversation right now, maybe show you care a bit more often though, hm?"
The supervillain cleared their throat. "I like that you don't have abs. You're like home. And powerful enough, anyway. Giving you abs would be too much for anyone."
The hero's eyes softened a bit, winded with affection, before their lip twitched. "Oh?"
"Don't make me say it again."
The hero smiled properly, and leaned in to kiss the supervillain's cheek. "Flirting is fun, but you know you're my person, yeah?"
"I'm going to carve their abs out."
"Uh huh."
The supervillain pressed a kiss atop the hero's head, some of the thunderstorms of them simmering down. "You're mine."
"With all my heart."
The blush on the villain's face was absolute at that. They turned away, prickly against it, and the hero grinned again.
"You still have about three minutes of jealousy left, fyi," the hero said, to their back.
The supervillain stopped. They considered. Then they rounded again, all deadly grace and heat, and crushed the hero against the wall again with a kiss. The hero's next laugh was soon swallowed up, transformed breathless.
Even if they didn't know who exactly by, after three minutes, everyone with eyes would know that the hero was taken.
1K notes · View notes
3d-wifey · 4 months
Text
And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 11
Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn A/N: LADIES N GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! there are multiple POV changes in this, I'm training yall for the arena and Mockingjay. FYI: I was so disheartened bc this felt like the worst past I've written for this story :(((
Past (xii) - Finnick
[ 21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR
Finnick is sitting at his desk, probably looking as worn out and exhausted as he feels. It’s the early hours of the morning, and he hasn’t slept for the past two days. He’s been writing for hours, trying to find the right words to say. The sun had just set when he poured himself into the seat, and now, he glances to his left, the first tendrils of sunlight are peaking up.
The room is quiet, save for the sound of Finnick's labored breathing. His hands are shaking, a side effect of the stress that has been building inside him like a pressure cooker. Snow's visit has left him reeling, unable to process the implications of the deal he's been forced to make. He knows he has to write you a letter, but the thought fills him with a sense of despondency. Something that normally fills him with insurmountable excitement and anticipation fills him with devastation. It feels like, like…there’s nothing he can compare it to. Not everything feels like something else and Finnick knows this kind of grief is very rarely experienced. 
What is he supposed to do? He hasn’t opened the last letter you sent, knowing it will be the last one that won’t carry the weight of mourning. He knows that you'll write to him again, that you won’t take this lying down. You’ll write and write, and he will...he will do nothing.
It sits in front of him, innocuous and unassuming. Something devastating folded in a green envelope and wrapped in your scent like a well-dressed bomb. Does his fear outweigh his longing for you?
He picks it up, holding it gingerly in his hands.
No, he realizes, it doesn’t.
He’s careful to tear the seal on the flap and your perfume wafts up like a surprise. He takes a deep breath, savoring the scent, trying to steel himself for what comes next.
Dear Finn,
I feel like I’ve missed you longer than I’ve had the chance to know you. It's been three months now, but maybe by the time this letter gets to you, we'll both be on our way to the Capitol. I'm working on being more optimistic, but that uphill battle is becoming steeper the longer I'm away from you. 
I keep thinking about when I first met you. When I looked into your eyes, I didn't see fireworks exploding or any of that other shit they depict in those gaudy Capitol romance novels. I looked into your eyes and saw you, something far more breathtaking than fireworks. And what a sight you were.
Three years back, you said something I never agreed with, that it was hard to love you. At the moment, I didn’t get to say what I really wanted to because I was eighteen and the thought of being so emotionally vulnerable made my teeth itch. 
I wanted to say that you aren't hard to love. I wanted to say loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done. And that's why it was so difficult. I could never let myself love you—let myself have you because how could I possibly deserve to? But that’s the kicker. It’s not hard to love you, Finn, it’s impossible not to.
Something happened recently that made me realize that I’m not the most forthcoming person when it comes to my feelings. But, Finn, know that my love for you is never in doubt. How I feel about you may be complex, but it’s not complicated. I love you desperately, humanly, simply. Without even trying, you peel me back to my core, but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul. 
I miss you, more than I was prepared to—and I was prepared to miss you considerably.
We may not be next to each other, but we’re under the same sky, and each glowing point on that backdrop of black is a star—a sun at the center of someone’s solar system. 
In some other universe, on a different Earth, there’s a girl in love with a boy whose freckles run like constellations. On another, there’s a girl who’s in love with how her boy’s eyes squint when he smiles.
That's the one constant. There are billions of stars, billions of universes, and I love you in every one of them. 
Tears are blurring his vision before he can read how you close the letter and he has to sit back as the full weight of what he’s about to do hits him all at once. Your words are like a balm to his soul, but they burn him just as much as they soothe him. A reminder of what he’s losing just as much as a reminder of what he’s fighting for. There was never a need to put a label on what you two had, what you were to each other, because it would never be replicated. It had always just been ‘yours’ . Now, with a flick of his pen, it’ll be nothing.
Maybe , he thinks, maybe there’s a way I can explain why I’m doing this, some kind of code or something. Maybe I can still meet with her, just in secret. But Snow …It always comes back to Snow. 
Snow reads these letters, and surely he'll be more vigilant of Finnick to make sure he keeps his side of the deal. Besides, if you knew the real reason he’s doing this—that it’s against his will, that he wouldn’t even think to do this in his worst nightmare—you’ll latch on, consequences be damned. 
He’s doing this for you. He has to remind himself that it’s your life on the line here, not just his heart.
Still. 
He's careful when folding the letter back, only bending it along the preexisting lines. He sets it beside himself. 
He picks up a piece of paper from the stack in front of him tucked against the wall, twirling his pen along his fingers. His leg bounces, nails tapping on the desk. 
He writes something down and comes to a stuttering halt. It isn't good enough. He crumbles it up, throws it in the trash, and picks up a new one. 
Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 
He's stuck in a loop, unable to find the right words. The pressure is building, and he can feel himself starting to crack. He needs to get this done, needs to find a way to say goodbye.
Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 
He's lost track of time, doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. The words are eluding him, and he's starting to feel like he's lost his grip on reality.
Finally, he puts pen to paper and the words flow out of him like a dam breaking. He writes about his love for you, about how much he misses you, about how impossible it is to imagine a future without you. He writes about his fear and his grief, about the weight of the world on his shoulders. He writes you goodbye. 
When he's done, he holds your letter carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. He knows what he has to do, knows that there's no turning back now. 
With trembling hands, he picks up the tan envelope and slides his letter inside. He seals it with a kiss, feeling the weight of his decision like a physical burden. 
He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and places the letter on the stack in front of him. It's done. The words are written, the decision made. 
He sits back in his chair, feeling numb and hollow. He doesn't know what comes next, but he knows that he'll face it head-on. For you.
Past (xii) - You 
[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN
Finnick's reply came faster than you expected it to. 
You plop down in your office chair, giddy as you rub at your sore cheeks. You've been smiling like an idiot since you picked up the letter from the Mayor's office. You tear into the envelope and pause. 
The words are kind of smudged, dried drops of something smearing the ink. Luckily, you can still read it. 
My heart, 
My moon and stars. 
I must have rewritten these words at least a dozen times by now. You should see the pile of crumpled paper next to me. You'd call it wasteful, but I'm sure you'd be secretly charmed by how nervous you make me after all these years. 
There's no way to dance around it, and I know how much you hate when people mince their words.
It pains me to think it, let alone write it. This will be my last letter to you. 
I know you have a hundred and one questions bouncing around that beautiful brain of yours, you'll want to know why. And the answer is, there is no why. I've decided that it's best, for both of us, to stop. Stop the letters, stop the meetings. 
It ends here. 
I don't want you to hate me. But if that makes it easier for you to stay away from me, then despise me. More than the Peacekeepers, more than the Capitol, more than Snow. Take that loathing and hold onto it like you used to hold me. 
But, selfishly, I want you to know what I'll be holding onto. 
Those little moments outside of time where you and I were the center of each other's universe, two stars orbiting each other. The balcony of my room, the floor of yours. 
I want you to know this because I don't want you to doubt that I love you. 
Because I do. I love you. I could say it a thousand times, and it still wouldn't be enough. I could say it until my tongue falls off and I'd find a way to sign it to you. 
I could live a thousand lifetimes, be a thousand different people, and I will never love someone like I love you. 
I think of your smile and I fall in love again. I think of your touch and I fall in love again. I won't leave you without you knowing this. I'd sooner stop breathing. 
There are plenty of things I should be thanking you for, but if I tried to make a list, I'd run out of paper. 
I felt...free with you. As free as anyone can be in our situation. I've never felt so close to another person before—I never let myself. 
I thought it would pass eventually, like a sand castle when it's high tide. Noticeable, beautiful, but temporary.
But I can tell you now, that was such bullshit . Since that first dance, there was never a moment I wasn’t in love with you. I loved you before I knew I was capable of it, before I knew I had it in me, and you had my heart before I even knew it was there. I saw the thorns of your past and held my hands out, ready to bleed if it meant I could touch you.
And that scared me. The very thing that gave me strength was my biggest weakness. That’s a hard pill to swallow at sixteen and it’s just as daunting at twenty-two. 
Years ago, you asked me if I could wish for anything, what would it be. I still wish I was a different person, someone you could be proud of. And I wish that person got to grow old with you. 
God, you don't know how badly I want to grow old with you.  
I have no doubt that there's a planet out there under a different sun where we end up together. Hand and hand with the two kids we always talked about. A little girl that'll have me wrapped around her finger because she'll look just like you. And a little boy that'll drive you up the wall because he's a little too much like me. That universe is where my heart lives.  
We'll find it someday, just you and me. Until then, they'll find our love written in the stars. In every constellation.  
-Yours until words lose meaning,  
Finnick O.  
You reread the letter. Then reread it again. You keep rereading it until the words refuse to sit still, letters blurring together. 
It ends here? What’s he talking about? He can't possibly mean the two of you. He can't. 
But he’s ending it. He ended it . Why would he—? He said there’s no reason, but…but there has to be. 
You try to think of anything you did—anything you said that could have led to this but you're coming up blank. 
This doesn't make any sense. It doesn't line up with the Finnick you know. 
The letter says that he loves you, and you thought you knew he loved you, but it’s pretty hard to believe that when he’s leaving you.
He promised he'd stay with you, he promised , and Finnick doesn't break his promises. Not with you. No. Not after everything you've been through together. You only have each other. 
The paper falls from your trembling hands to the desk. 
No . You only have Finnick. But, Finnick—he doesn't want you anymore, right? So, where does that leave you? What else do you have? 
A grandfather clock ticks in the background, though it sounds muted to your ears. 
You look down at the paper and find wet spots, ink more smeared than it was before. Your cheeks are wet. Are you crying?
Stupid. You wipe at your cheeks roughly—angrier at yourself than you are at him. There are a million and one reasons this could have happened and they all begin and end with you. You have no one to blame but yourself.
You know what it feels like for your body to break. What it feels like to be drained down to your skin, nerves, muscles, and bones. You've come eerily close to knowing what it feels like to have your mind broken. 
But this is new. This is what it feels like to have your heart broken. It's sudden, and it rips you apart on its way in. Not an arrow, but a knife. Quicker than you thought it'd be, but it hurts just the same. 
You’re so cold. You don't think you've ever been this cold before. Not even when you were nine and you got such bad hyperthermia that you couldn’t work for the rest of the winter. He always ran hot, you think distantly. And all his warmth has left you. 
You hold on to yourself because no one else will. You would have preferred your body breaking. At least that heals. 
“I can’t,” you weep, stuttering over betrayal and loss, “I can’t do this on my own.”
You press your forehead into the desk, your body shaking with the sobs you’re holding back. It hurts so bad. Pain sitting rooted in your chest, sharp and rigid like a peach pit. Your heart doesn’t beat, it throbs . Throbs like a festering wound, irritated and infected. 
You pull at your shirt and dig your nails into your chest. Maybe if you press hard enough through the skin and fascia and muscles you could pull out the problem.
But that’s impossible. There’s nothing there. It’s the absence that hurts, that gaping Finnick-shaped hole. You wanted to give him your heart, but not like this.
Did you get ahead of yourself? Thinking anything could last with someone who shines as bright as him? Maybe…maybe if you were a little more like him, if you shined just as bright. 
You scoff. 
You’re not a star, you’re not even the moon. How can the sun love the same darkness it chases away?
He described the ocean to you once. Vast and endless, like it could go on forever. And he told you about all the people who get lost at sea. Now you’re one of them. 
You have capsized, water rushing up past your neck and into your mouth and nose, just as salty as your tears. Your lungs burn from the lack of air, you can’t breathe and no one will come for you because you're as good as dead.
Here you sit in your study in your home that isn’t really yours, far away from any ocean, but you're drowning anyway. 
You drown and you drown and you drown and you do it alone.
Present (X) - Finnick 
[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL
It’s a last resort, a unanimous choice between them all. A wordless decision that the victors made to appeal to the Capitol citizens. Though they’re all using different means, it’s all for the same result. That’s what Finnick has to remind himself when he’s called on stage after Beetee. 
The crowd screams at his entrance and he locks his hands behind his back. He smiles while nodding to his adoring fans as he stands beside Caesar.
“Finnick, I understand that you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody.” The crowd hoots and hollers at the dramatics of it all and the idea of one of them being the special someone close to his heart. He chuckles and looks down. The Capitols being painfully predictable is finally paying off. All according to plan. “Can we hear it?”
He could spew some generic flowery shit that could apply to literally anyone he’s come in contact with, but…
He looks at the camera. There will be fourteen victors coming up to perform before you, so you should still be in your dressing room. Are you watching? Watching him?
"My love, my star . My heart is yours. And…and if I had to pick a place to die, it would be in the warmth of your arms. Your smile, the last thing I see and your lips, the last thing I taste. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you.”
Caesar pouts at the audience as they coo at his love letter and he wishes they never heard it. He wishes he could have said it to you directly. Those words, they’re yours and they should have been for your ears only. And, yet, here he is, relaying his heart to you through a screen. Look how far we’ve fallen, Star. 
“Oh, my. That’s very touching, Finnick. Isn’t it? I’m sure whoever it is, is listening and feeling truly loved.” 
“I hope you’re right, Caesar.”
They allowed Mags to opt out of her interview on account of her not being able to speak. How kind , he scoffs. And as he settles on the raised platform beside her, he briefly squeezes her hand. 
You okay? He mouths and she nods with a smile. 
One by one, each victor comes with their own approach to sway the masses. Oh, he knows there's no way they'll be canceling the games. Finnick is more likely to drain the ocean with a teaspoon before Snow even considers stopping this cruelty. But it’s worth a shot, he supposes. It can’t possibly make going into the arena any worse.
Besides Johanna's impassioned speech, nothing the other victors do stands out to him. Then, you're called out.  
He sinks his teeth into his lip as the audience applauds at your entrance.
From what he can recall, your outfit is a remix of the dress you wore in your first interview as if it has aged and matured with you. It’s gained a long train and the hip-high thigh slits that your stylist is known for.
You blow kisses to the crowd and they, understandably, go wild. You turn to Caesar with a smile and the overhead lights shine on you, painting your skin in soft lighting like a blanket. He takes a breath. And another, until he notices he’s breathing in sync with you.
He blinks when the crowd breaks into raucous laughter and he realizes he’s missed something.
"Oh, we all know just how shy you are." Caesar smiles, holding his laugh behind clenched teeth in that way of his that reminds Finnick of an overachieving beaver. The crowd laughs with him and your cheeks must hurt from holding that coy smile. "Now, the last time we talked, you said you were composing a new piece." Caesar pulls a violin out from…somewhere behind him and presents it to you like a gift. Finnick doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you’d use the violin as your strategy. Mostly because of how much you hate it. Or maybe you don’t anymore. Maybe you’ve grown to love it and he’s none the wiser. “Can you play it for us now?" The crowd clamors in ooohs and ahhhs at the idea. It has always been a privilege to hear you play. Finnick watches your face closely.
It wasn't your favorite thing to do, by far, but you took to it like a fish to water. Usually, Snow would have you play at the more "personal" get-togethers. But every once in a while, you would compose a song for Finnick . And when it was just the two of you, you'd share it with him. He'd sit in front of you in awe as you played. He doesn't have a musical bone in his body, but he can hum every piece from memory. 
“You’re kind of putting me on the spot here, but, sure. I would love to play it for you all.” You laugh. You place the instrument under your chin and position your fingers and bow.
And you play .
It's not showy like the pieces you usually play for the public. Not grand or performative, but soft and soulful. Melancholy. It feels nostalgic almost, like something you would write for him. 
The haunting melody carries throughout the silent room as if everyone is breathing with the lilting notes. Everyone but Finnick—who holds his breath. 
He looks down, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching as he fights back tears. Because as much as you may hate the instrument, you play it as if it's an extension of your body. And you've always been better at showing how you feel than saying it. 
It sounds like a goodbye. 
You come to a stop and Finnick's lungs stop constricting with your movements.
When you finish, it’s quiet before Caesar clears his throat and gives you a small smile that almost looks genuine.
“That was marvelous , my dear. Truly moving—wasn’t that moving?” He asks the audience, and Finnick will be surprised if there’s a dry eye in the crowd. Even their applause sounds sad. 
“Thank you, Caesar.” You nod at the praise. “You taught me so much—all of you. If I had known this would be the last time I got to play for you—” You trail off into a sob and the crowd coos. The words may be fake, but he isn’t too sure about the tears. He wonders if you think you won’t make it out of the arena alive—not that he would let that happen. If he could just talk to you, and have an actual conversation, he could know what you’re thinking.
Caesar pats your lower back and Finnick’s eyes narrow. “And you played beautifully.”
You hand the violin back with a watery smile and, fake or not, Finnick hates to see you cry. 
You’re met with a standing ovation as you climb to your place on the platform. With the way the victors are positioned, he stands directly behind you. Or, well, strictly speaking, he’s more diagonal than directly behind you. Still, how lucky is he? He could, theoretically, lean forward and catch a whiff of your perfume—
He gathers himself, straightening up and lacing his fingers behind his back. He squeezes the space between his thumb and forefinger.
Katniss spins and her wedding dress transforms in a flurry of fire before their eyes. 
“Again with the fire.” He mutters under his breath.
The crowd is in awe as she spreads her wings, but he isn’t so easily cowed. Though, he might not be the target audience. Finnick’s never been particularly fond of birds, even if they are mockingjays.
"You know Katniss and I, we've been luckier than most. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if it weren't…if—" Peeta stops himself, glancing around nervously.
"If it weren't for what? What?"
“If it weren’t for the baby.”
Now, that catches his attention. Gasps echo throughout the room at Peeta’s revelation. Finnick’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline with how high they raise. Caesar tries to do damage control, but the situation is quickly escalating. 
“Call off the games!”
“This is cruel!”
He purses his lips around a growing smile, but he can’t hide it for long when the crowd starts shouting. That’s…that’s certainly one way to get the audience riled up. He catches the slight smirk on Peeta’s face as he watches the commotion he caused and Finnick’s a little jealous. 
Chaos unfurls in a way he never thought the Capitols were capable of. They’ve always been so docile; sheep shepherded into any direction Snow leads them. But it makes sense. The romance act was meant to fool the Capitol and fool them it has. He hides the vindictive glee he feels at the riot breaking out in the name of the victors, but only barely. He would kill to see Snow's face right now. 
How does it feel, he wonders, to see your people rebel in support of the savages you tried to paint us out to be?
He looks over, brows furrowed, as Mags takes his hand with a proud smile and he glances down in time to see you take Chaff’s hand. He pauses for a moment before taking the hand the woman from Five offers him. In sync, the victors all raise their hands in a show of solidarity. 
“Stop the games!”
“Call them off!”
Finnick grins big at the mayhem unfolding before him and they keep shouting long after the lights cut out.
Present (X) - You & Finnick
[23 & 24 ] - THE CAPITOL
“Star!”
It didn't take long for the tributes to be escorted off the platforms and as he chases after you, Finnick realizes that he vastly underestimated just how many people stood between you and him. He isn't sure if he's too far away for you to hear or if you’re actively ignoring him.
”Star!” Finnick pushes through the crowd of victors and stage crew to get closer. Chaff glances at him and now he knows for sure that you’re ignoring him.
“Stubborn.” He mutters as some of his fellow victors let him pass, glancing at him before continuing their conversations. But, as he’s said before, he’s just as stubborn as you. He racks his brain for something that’ll catch your attention before he loses what might be his last chance with you. “ The message was for you! ”
You pause at the entrance of the elevator at Finnick's shout. You're so close to getting away, so close. Your escape is a hair's breadth and a footstep away, but you remember how you felt sitting in your dressing room watching Finnick's interview. Was there a pang of jealousy over the possibility of the message being for someone else? God , it couldn't even be categorized as jealousy. 
You look over your shoulder and his lungs stop constricting. He’s got you. Now, for the hardest part: keeping you.
There are dozens of eyes on him, people milling around as if they aren’t honed in on whatever this is. He can’t blame them for being curious, he’s a little confused himself. He went into this with no plan, not that he would have been able to stick to one with how you’re looking at him.
“What?” The lingering crowd fully parts for him as he approaches, and you regard the gathering audience warily. 
“What I said, the message—it was for you.” He repeats. 
He can’t afford to be coy, that hasn't worked the last dozen times he's attempted a conversation with you and it definitely won't work now. He knows if he doesn’t catch you now, there won’t be any more chances.
Peeta dropped a baby bomb, and, somehow, this is the most dramatic thing to happen tonight. His eyes are locked intently on you, either unaware of all the attention he’s captured or just uncaring.
You look over to Chaff for some kind of help and he smirks at your growing embarrassment. You watch in disbelief as he walks away using the excuse of finding Seeder to escape. 
“Finnick, this isn’t the time.” You glance between him and the floor, tracing the threading in his boots instead of the desperation in his eyes. 
"Can you please just,” he shifts his weight on his feet, "can you look at me, Star? Please, just look at me." He lifts his hand like he aims to reach out to you, but hesitates. 
This situation is developing into something far more intimate than your current company should allow. More intimate than you should allow. You can always just walk away, turn your back to him and get on one of the idle elevators—let it end here once and for all. The only thing stopping you would be the completely unfounded guilt. 
You don't owe him anything, let alone your time. 
And, yet. 
Maybe you can get some kind of closure and set clear boundaries before you go into the arena—and that reasoning sounds weak even to you.
Both of you could die tomorrow and truthfully, you don't want to walk away from him; you've never wanted to.
Besides, it's not like he can hurt you any worse than he already has. 
Finnick jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist, a sensation he should be accustomed to but has grown foreign. 
You pull him aside away from eavesdropping ears, but not from nosey eyes. You feel like a spectacle, with how front and center Finnick has made this, but when haven't you?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You question him in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what this is or what you think this is, but it is not the place for it. What if this gets back to Snow—”
“I don’t care.”
“—There’s already so much…what?”
“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, and for once, he’s not lying. “I don’t care if they hear us, or—or if this gets back to Snow.”
Your jaw shifts as you narrow your eyes up at him and there’s that anger he’s been expecting.
“Please, Star. Just…just let me speak.” He begs. Your face goes blank, a mask slotting into place like a lock with a key that Finnick has long since lost the right to. He blocks out the chatter around him. 
“Not here.” For a moment, he thinks he’s being rejected until you grab his wrist and drag him behind you. The elevators are filling in droves and you just so happen to pick the one housing some of the last people he wants to witness this. 
Haymitch takes one look at your faces and the grip you have on his wrist and raises his hands in defense. 
Haymitch turns to Katniss and Peeta. “Nuh-uh, believe me. You do not wanna be locked in here with them.” He shakes his head and steps out without a backward glance and you contemplate going with him. “I’ll meet you guys up there.”
Johanna steps on in his place, elevator doors closing behind her. She looks between the four of you and whistles. Finnick sighs.
“There’s the happy couple.” You glance at Peeta and Katniss because she certainly isn’t talking about the two of you. “You caused quite the stir out there. Why didn’t you tell us you were expecting? We could have thrown you a baby shower.” You sigh through your nose. You don’t even have it in you to intervene in this conversation.
“What the hell is a baby shower—”
“We didn’t know how everyone would take it.” Peeta cuts Katniss off. “We’re already the newest victors. The baby might’ve painted an even bigger target on our backs.” He says without stuttering once.
“That’s a fantastic answer, Peeta.” Johanna crows sarcastically. “Did Haymitch prep you on that one or did you come up with it on your own?”
“No. No, it’s all me.” He assures with a downward smile. It certainly is all him. He’s the mastermind behind all of this, right? Ironically enough, Finnick doubts Katniss had any real part in making this ‘baby scandal’.
Finnick opens his mouth to make a quip but thinks better of it. You’re already aggravated at his presence and he honestly doesn’t want to remind you that he’s here. His only consolation is that you’re still holding his wrist, all five pads of your fingers are searing points on his skin.
Peeta gives you an imploring look, eyebrows raised as if to ask if you’re alright and you nod and—when did that happen?
It’s quiet, with no other sound than the nearly inaudible woosh of the elevator going between floors. No one makes an effort to break the steadily growing awkward silence. Finnick does, however, make the mistake of making eye contact with Johanna. She mouths you’re dead at him over your head and, yeah, that definitely fills him with much-needed confidence. 
Present (X) - Finnick
[21 & 22] -  THE CAPITOL; TRAINING CENTER; ELEVENTH FLOOR
“Alright. You wanted to speak.” Your dress flutters around your legs as you settle into a big green chair. That same giant green chair you sat in three years prior. You’ve both grown considerably since then. Just in two completely different directions. What a juxtaposition. “Speak.” 
He stays where he’s standing a couple of feet away. He probably should have figured out what to do on the elevator ride, but, again, he’s without a plan. “Did you hear my message? When I was up there with Caesar? I know you were still getting ready—did you hear it?”
“I might’ve.” You shrug and cross your arms, still so stubborn. “Great strategy by the way. I’m sure you’ll reel in plenty of sponsors.”
“God, Star, it wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for the fucking movement.” You raise a brow at his words but give no further outward reaction. He moves to stand before you, each step more unsure than the last. Your glare is scorching, but there’s been enough space between the two of you to house the sun. “Do you remember when you said my poetry was a gift? And—and that I shouldn’t waste it on them? You said you would never be tired of anything I do. Do you remember that night? What I said?” He implores. It was a special night full of promises and you gave him more than he deserved.
You look him over with a critical eye long enough that he’s sure you’re just not going to answer. Especially when you turn to stare off to the side before sighing out of your nose.
“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you. A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I. Everything I do, I do for you.” It only takes him half a second to recognize the lines and he’s stunned, transported back to that garden under the stars. “I remember all of them…I remember everything you’ve made for me.” You give him fleeting peripheral glances and avoid his gaze like you’re ashamed of that. 
He nods, frantic and eager. He’s making headway. He honestly didn’t think you’d let him get this far. Your eyes widen when he drops down into a kneel before you smooth your face into a blank mask. “They’re all yours. And they’ll keep being yours even if you still hate me when I leave this room. Everything I’ve written since I met you has been for you.’’ He confesses, hands moving to grip the arms of your chair, but is it really a confession? The Capitols love his poetry because they adore the idea of Finnick Odair being devoted to them, longing for them and, for that, you’ve always been his inspiration. 
You stare down at him, giving no indication that anything he’s said has swayed you. He grits his teeth through the sting of rejection and sighs, arms falling to his sides.
“I can’t tell you how sorry—”
“Why now?” You cut him off. “It’s been two years. You don’t owe me anything, Finnick, so if this a guilt thing—”
“I–It’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not…it’s not why I’m here.” He sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair. “We could die tomorrow. And I don’t want you going into that arena thinking that I don’t love you or…or that I wanted to leave you.”
You squint at him, face twisting into a sour scowl.
“You said,” you drawl, slow and drawn out like you’re explaining something fundamental to a child, “you thought it was best if we ended it.”
He shakes his head. “I lied. I had to and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I know saying sorry won’t be enough, but please know sending that letter was the last thing I wanted to do. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted to do.”
“What? What are you talking about? You said—”
He holds his hands up, stopping your completely warranted stream of questions.
“I know. I know what I said and I never would have said it if Snow hadn’t shown up at my house—”
“Snow showed up at your house?” Your arms unfold and you lean forward so suddenly that he almost flinches back. “When?” 
“Uh, a few weeks before I sent the letter. He’s the only reason I even sent it.” He scoffs, remembering the state he was left in after Snow offered the ultimatum. He doesn’t need to try to remember the words written in the letter he sent you because he’s never forgotten. They’re tattooed on the back of his eyelids, seared into his memory every time he blinks.
“What did he want? What did he say to make you…” He watches you try to articulate your confusion. What led to this ? What could have possibly been worth giving you up? 
“Snow he–he was convinced that our relationship would somehow lead to—civil unrest. His solution was to get rid of one of us, get rid of you . I couldn’t let that happen. He never explicitly said it, but you know how he is, how he speaks …I was scared. I was. I didn’t—” His voice cracks and you stare down at him with stunned, wide eyes. He wants to shuffle closer. He wants to sway into you and take some kind of comfort. But he doesn’t. “I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t just tell you because you would have tried to find some kind of loophole and we couldn’t afford to make him more hostile than he already was.”
You look to your left out of the wall-length windows and smirk, completely throwing Finnick off. 
"Star?"
You stand. He watches as you pace the length of the room before turning on your heel and walking onto the balcony. He can do nothing more than follow you. 
“He came to my house too, you know. Around the same time, I think. He wanted to remind me about how privileged I am.” You snort and that sick feeling is developing in his stomach, organs twisting to make room for the settling dread. He isn’t sure what he thought you’d do in light of the revelation, what he expected you to say, but it’s not this. “Went on about how thankful I should be that he was allowing us to be in a relationship and…and that as long as I kept myself in line, I could keep you.” You sigh, propping your elbows on the railing and placing your face in your hands.
He doesn’t know what to do. Speechless doesn’t even cover it. His anger is there, and he doesn’t see that ever leaving him...but he’s been angry for so long and he’s been tired for even longer.
“We played right into his hand, Finnick. He gained something from this, bastard that he is.” You scoff. You turn and sit with your back against the glass railing. "That's all that matters to him."
Finnick stews on it and many things are starting to make sense. In the months leading up to the event, the two of you started seeing each other less and less. Long periods where all he had was your perfume and words to keep him company. And considering Snow was the only way either of you were allowed to come to the Capitol…Of course. It all seems so fucking obvious now .
"I should have known better. Snow was never gonna kill you, he's too fucking— God .” He stops and shakes his head. All of the lost time, the unnecessary pain. 
“Come sit down, Finn.”
Finn. 
He hasn't been called that in a long time. He takes a second to stare unseeingly at the stars before sliding down beside you.
It's quiet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if there's anything he should say, and he's sure you feel the same. But he does know if it was up to you, you'd both sit in silence for the foreseeable future and he has two years' worth of confessions to make. 
“The mo—” he stops, overwhelmed by how much he wants to say, but nothing feels good enough, “I loved you the moment you laughed at my stupid joke the first time we danced together and I have loved you ever since. Even when I wasn’t there to show you, even when I—I left you. I’ve loved you the entire way, Star. There are billions of suns out there, billions of universes, and I love you in every one.”
Your head whips up.
“I remember everything you’ve made for me too.” Your mouth twists, brows furrowing as you stare at him and he can’t express in words how good it feels to be seen.
"I don’t hate you.” You shrug a shoulder, smiling small and quick. “You said ‘even if you still hate me’, I don’t hate you.”
“...You don’t?” 
“I tried to. For a while, I thought I did." He shouldn’t be surprised by that. He shouldn’t be hurt by something he explicitly told you to do in his letter. Finnick shouldn’t be a lot of things that he is. “But I just… couldn’t . I didn’t even want to, after a while. I was just tired.”
His head thumps against the railing. He closes his eyes. There's a question on his tongue, an answer he shouldn't need but wants regardless. 
“Is that why you stopped sending letters?” When he opens his eyes again, he’s relieved by the fact that you’re still facing him.
Your face twists like you’ve tasted something sour, something rotten. “I just…I was fine waiting for you, Finnick. It was hard, but it didn’t hurt. Not too bad, at least. I would’ve waited a thousand years because it would have been worth it to hold you for a second. And I could get through that because I knew you were waiting for me too. But, I realized you were never coming. And, eventually, I realized…you weren’t waiting either." You whisper, wrapping your arms around your legs as you pull your knees up. He stiffens, freezing in place as he tries to slow his heartbeat. 
He drops his head, brows furrowed as he tries, and fails, to stop tears from forming. It's just, it's cruel . The one thing he promised himself he'd never do—leave you, hurt you—he had to do for you. 
He wipes his face, pressing the base of his palms into his eyes. 
"Star, I…I would never…It killed me to write that letter, you have to know that, right? Right ?" He implores, voice rough while his breath hitches repeatedly. His throat feels tight and swollen as he stutters over the words in his chest. The words you have to hear, the words he needs you to hear. You stare forward, refusing to look at him anymore and he turns to face you full-on, refusing to look at anything but you. "How can I let you know that? What can I do—to prove—that I'm sorry ?"
He thought you both had changed, changed too much to be fluent in what you two used to have. He thought it was a different language, but here, up close, he can see that it’s not so much a new language as it is a cipher. You just had to let him get close enough to understand again. He had always thought you had such an open face, it was a wonder to him how you were able to lie so eloquently when you could never lie to him. But it wasn’t until he was shut out that he realized you were letting him read you, subconsciously or otherwise. He reads you now, eyes tracing your face eagerly—hungrily, and finds…remorse?
"I know you’re sorry. I know. And logically, knowing the truth should make it easier to get over it.” Your mouth opens and closes, hesitating. “But you left me." He nods hard enough to hurt his neck. "I did." And he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry. He doesn't think there's enough air on the planet for him to tell you just how sorry he is. "You left me, Finnick. I know it isn’t rational to feel this way knowing you didn’t want to, but…” You lick your lips, resting your cheek on your knee. When you look up at him, actually look at him and not somewhere over his shoulder, the glossy state of your eyes has him digging his nails into his hands to ground himself. "It’s just—it’s more than a little hard to dissociate you from that hurt." I’d take that hurt from you if I could, he thinks. I’d grit my teeth through the pain and wear it proudly if it meant you’d have a moment of relief. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry, Star." Because, really, what else is there to say? There’s no way to describe everything he’s sorry for.
"...I'm sorry too." You say and he wants to tell you there’s nothing to apologize to him about, but you lock your pinky with his and it’s entirely unexpected and truly enough to make his throat tighten, and all he can manage is a wistful sigh at the feeling of coming home.
Far below them, the sound of the city is dampened by the distance but no less heard. He goes to speak but spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. It’s your ankle. Or specifically, what’s on your ankle.
“You wore it?” He asks, touching the fraternal twin of his own bracelet. He appraises what he thought was lost reverently. Tracing the grooves of the shells, the divets in the charms, the rough twine of the rope—it all feels like a live wire under his fingers.
“I never took it off.” You slip your heel off, loosening the straps of the bracelet and wiggling it down your foot. “I just thought it might be a little sad to parade it around when you didn’t want me.”
“There will never be a moment on this Earth of me not wanting you, not while I still have air in my lungs. Not even after.” 
“And how’ll you manage that?” You ask, your eyes crinkling in that old mirth you used to wear around him like a beauty mark.
“For you? I’ll find a way.” He promises.
You hum, appraising the jewelry for a second before passing it to him. He can’t help but smile when you lift your hand, silently prompting him. He places the bracelet on you, tightening it on your wrist. It feels like muscle memory when he lifts your hand to place a kiss on the center shell.
The corner of your mouth twitches up and you nod. “Okay.”
He leans in, placing a hand on the base of your neck and pulling you towards him and he’s still in awe that you actually let him. He holds the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his slender waist. 
"I'm not asking for forgiveness, it wouldn’t be fair to.” He murmurs into the crown of your hair. “But after we do this, I want the chance to make it up to you." He'll spend the rest of his life mending what he tore apart if you let him.
“I think…I’d like that.” You speak into his chest and he feels your voice more than he hears it. “It was for you too.”
“What was?”
“The song I played onstage. I wrote it after it all happened. Honestly, I couldn’t touch the violin without thinking of you, Finn. You were the only person I ever wanted to play for.” You whisper and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Finnick’s taken by the sudden need to look in your eyes more than anything, to see and know you and be seen and known in return. He pulls back enough to look down at you.
“ Star .” He begs you beseechingly, and there’s no hesitation when you look up at him and he grins. It feels like it’s been years. “There you are.”
You smile. It's small and heavier than he remembers, but it's there and he is as whole as he will ever be.
A/N: IMAGINE POURING YOUR HEART OUT AND EXPRESSING HEARTFELT INTIMACY TO THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE JUST TO GET DUMPED yeesh. fun fact: "...but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul." I actually texted this to my beta reader about Finn from Adventure Time after seeing an edit bc I love him so much, but then I converted it into Finnick love. also, Finnick's letter was one of the first things I wrote for this story months ago. That balcony talk was inspired by Hozier's Unknown/Nth WE IN THE ARENA NEXT CHAPPY
153 notes · View notes
Text
Orion and I have been talking about the Wittebane lore and how so many key pieces are missing to the point that it makes Caleb look absolutely stupid. We were filling in the blanks when it reminded me that I HATE the Good Brother/Bad Brother dynamic people put on Caleb and Philip just because of hindsight.
Like, I'm getting some heavy Stan Vs. Ford vibes from some posts I've seen making excuses for Caleb because he "changed his mind" and making him the good guy while pushing that Philip COULD HAVE changed during his time in the Boiling Isles which, is quite frankly, ridiculous knowing his background. This hinges on the notion that the Boiling Isles were 100% good and wouldn't give Philip any excuse NOT to change. It makes me wonder if we watched the same show or if someone's wearing rose-tinted glasses with a dash of denial.
Let's take a step back and look at a popular situation where it's been speculated that Caleb wasn't "that into" witch-hunting because he seemed "more approachable" to Evelyn and just did it to "fit in". That makes him worse because while he was fence-sitting, he taught his younger, impressionable brother that anyone accused of being a witch deserved death and actively trained him to be a witch hunter instead of having him "pretend". He went as far as to whittle him a mask and dress up as a witch for said training. Belos uses the same tactic shown in one of the portraits on the Palisman monster. Caleb still played with innocent people's lives and looked quite content in doing it.
That means, even after his death, Caleb has no right to be disappointed in anything Philip did pertaining to witch-hunting. Guilt-ridden? Absolutely, but Philip is doing exactly what Caleb wanted before he fell for a witch and left him in the hands of people who only doubled down on those teachings. Philip was a kid/young teen when Caleb left or started to mess around with Evelyn if the portraits are to be believed.
Does this excuse anything Philip did?
HELL TO THE FUCKING NO
I've already pointed out that serial killers who had horrible childhoods don't get a pass for what they've done. Philip is no different. It's still fucking murder. He needs to answer for his crimes, but Caleb can't be glorified for his change when he didn't take time out to reprogram the monster he created. "We don't know that he didn't" is not an excuse or an answer. If we go by what the show gave us, he didn't do crap, just ran off to have a new family.
Here's a novel idea: NO ONE would have stopped Caleb from kidnapping his brother, taking him into the Boiling Isles, and telling him that he could be whoever he wanted to be there. He had already strong-armed Philip into the witch-hunting crap, he could have done it again to reprogram him. But he didn't. This is even more heartbreaking if you headcanon Philip being a strange child that would have been shunned by the Puritan society at a drop of a hat if he didn't align himself to their standards, the same people Caleb left Philip to.
If people want to play the "PHILIP SHOULD HAVE" card, the "CALEB SHOULD HAVE" card will be played as well. If I ever wrote about Philip meeting Caleb in the afterlife, it would have him ripping Caleb a new one verbally for betraying him so brutally and being hypocritical, teaching him one thing but doing the exact opposite.
Let's look at the "PHILIP HAD SO MANY CHANCES TO CHANGE IN 400 YEARS" argument. Setting aside the possibility that he may have been a clinical psychopath (FYI, psychopaths are not born evil but are wired differently), why? What could have possibly changed his point of view in the Boiling Isles, let alone in the real world? He's in a world he considered to be hell. He already had it drilled in his head that witches were evil and deserved death, meaning they were dehumanized, and he was desensitized to watching "witches" be killed in the human realm.
Where was this influence to change going to come from? You can't say the witches/demons since he views them as monsters to be destroyed. Any kindness he was shown was chalked up to them wanting to lead him astray and any hostility he faced only justified his position. Add the fact he was raised Puritan and you'll realize nothing was going to shake his beliefs unless it was another human. Religious people tend to have an iron fist on their beliefs and don't let them be challenged regardless of evidence. (Source: I'm an atheist who's had a LOT of conversations with religious people. Many still think I don't believe in God because I want to sin and don't have morals. Worse? Worship the devil. Got nowhere near convincing them otherwise) No one in the Boiling Isles otherwise was going to be able to achieve that. It's wishful thinking that Philip/Belos would have started to pull an Oskar Schindler just because of the time he was there, which probably only had him socializing enough to get his point across before stowing himself away into one of his caves/the Titan's Skull to do more planning.
At least it makes them more human instead of having one angelic and the other demonic but for some reason, people don't like that.
I also think it's funny that blame on Caleb is deflected hard because we all know people blame their parents for their actions ALL THE DAMN TIME. If Philip had a turnaround and seen the light, he would have put all the blame on Caleb and how he was raised.
Caleb's heart was in the right place, but his actions, or lack thereof left something to be desired. I am also aware that Caleb was also a child but going into adulthood and meeting Evelyn should have made him realize what he had done and helped Philip to come to the same conclusion as well, not just leave him alone in a world that cared very little for him.
351 notes · View notes
frickinsleepdeprived · 11 months
Text
Interesting First Dates with the Demon Slayer Hashiras
Just wanted to compile a little something else for y'all teehee- (some of these will be more on the modern side than others, all of these headcanons feature pre-established relationships fyi)
......
Text Key:
Normal text: you, the reader
Italicized text: the character in question
......
......
Muichiro
He's an antisocial person, not to mention he's pretty aloof to begin with. So naturally you don't want to make him uncomfortable, and frankly neither does he.
So when you guys are discussing first date ideas, you both didn't want to go with the generic dinner or movie, hell staying in sounded boring also.
"You know what I just thought about Muichiro?"
"Hm? What's up (y/n)?"
"I heard that there's an orchard nearby, and it's open to the public-"
"Say less let's go."
So you guys went, turns out it was an apple orchard. So that means you'll have fresh apples for you both and maybe some of the other hashira.
Once you both returned to headquarters, you both had two baskets each filled to the brim with apples and you didn't know what to do. So you both decided to just make cider out of some, give a basket to the mess hall, save a basket for each of you. And whatever was left you both divided equally among the other hashira.
......
Mitsuri
Mitsuri, obviously, is the love hashira. Love is practically her brand.
So you expected something extremely lavish, like a five star four course dinner or something. Hell maybe she might get some help from Uzui who knows?
But instead, she decided that for your first date, you both are gonna go to a wine/sake tasting.
"Mitsuri where are we going?-"
"You'll see soon enough, I promise!"
So you guys get to the winery and distillery, you looked at her rather confused. What were you both doing here?
But as you went inside, you realized what this was all about.
And Mitsuri was about to put you onto some really good wine and sake?
Say fucking less.
"You liking this so far (y/n)?"
"How come I haven't known about these types of events before? Or what good wine is?"
Needless to say you guys had a really good time, and went home a little tipsy.
......
Obanai
The serpent hashira isn't really one for dates.
Moreover, Obanai didn't believe in them at first simply because he didn't think they were a necessary requirement to court with someone.
However, he noticed that you went to the cemetery dedicated to fallen demon slayers a lot.
He was always curious about it, so he asked if he can accompany you.
But he wouldn't outright say he wants to be with you, he'd probably make up some kind of excuse.
"Obanai it's okay if you just want to be with me when I go, I don't mind."
"W-what're you talking about? I just want to go with you to ensure your safety. There's no telling who can be out there..."
And you can tell he's lying because his face gets red, and his snake hides it's face.
Nevertheless though, he went with you and when he saw you at one of your relatives graves, he couldn't help but feel a little grateful he decided to go with you.
It's something he'll definitely never forget, and afterwards he felt bad not only for lying but also your loss. So you guys decided to explore the rest of the cemetery for the day.
......
Sanemi
Given that he's on the more competitive side, it's only natural that Sanemi would want to make your first date a fun challenge.
What better way to get a fun competitive spirit going on in your relationship with him than video games?
"Soooo what're we playing Sanemi?"
"Uh, well what do you want to play? Your choice not mine I'm indecisive as fuck."
So you picked up an iconic guitar.
Yes, you're gonna play guitar hero.
Sanemi was surprisingly really good... on the easiest difficulty that is.
You on the other hand have been playing this for so long that you can play it on almost max difficulty.
"oh yeah, it's on. You pick the song we're putting that shit on max difficulty."
So you chose a song you knew by heart, whatever that may be
And the way that this man was closed in on the game, it gave you chills.
Needless to say his determination paid off and he won lol.
......
Kyojuro
You guys didn't want to go out but at the same time you didn't want to stick with the generic movie and eventual make out session.
Luckily, in your boredom, you started thinking about all of the art supplies you've accumulated over the years.
Then you remembered something you recently bought.
"Hey Kyojuro I'll be right back, just need to grab something real quick."
"Alright my darling flame, take your time."
So you came back not even five minutes later with a huge pallet of face paints and brushes varying in size. Along with some water in a glass and a paper plate
"Hey Kyo I need you to take off your shirt and tie your hair up for me."
"Um, okay? What do you have plotted my little flame?"
"You'll see, now hold still."
So you painted on his back, seeing as how you didn't have any other canvases available at the time.
And he was really still too, it was truly a testament to his own discipline. Which was pretty strong in your opinion.
"Okay, now don't move... alright you're good, just don't lean back."
You showed him a picture of the landscape you painted on his back, and his jaw just dropped in pure awe.
"You like it?"
"I must say my sunflower, you definitely have quite the artistic expression! Well done beautiful."
"... you wanna try?"
He didn't even hesitate, he had you raise your shirt and he just started painting. You could tell by the strokes he was pretty skilled.
After that he took a photo of what he painted on you and showed you.
"Oh, wow. T-that's beautiful, how come you never told me you painted?"
"Well, I just figured it wasn't necessary, why? Are you that enamored by my artistic skills, my love?"
......
Shinobu
Truth be told, she had a few errands to run for the butterfly estate
You decided to tag along and make it more enjoyable for her, she never really liked going out alone anyways.
"Where are we heading out to?"
"I have to pick up some stuff from the apothecary, who knows, maybe we'll find something we'll both enjoy for later!"
So you guys went in, found everything you needed for the butterfly estate, and ended up picking up some bath bombs for a bath later at night.
"Shinobu, my love my light, that one has glitter in it-"
"Oh don't worry dear, this isn't for us."
"Please don't tell me you plan on glitter bombing Giyuu again-"
She simply smiled, knowing damn well she had not the purest of intentions
Nevertheless you both returned home and put one of the bath bomb to use
It was always relaxing for you guys, after all, you both wouldn't mind just basking in each other's company if the day would allow for it.
......
Tengen
This man... has three wives.
And now that you're in the mix you kinda felt out of place a bit.
Little did you know that you'd be scooped up from training with Obanai that day and taken elsewhere.
"Babe I was training-"
"That's unflashy of you, let's go do something fun. Besides I've already got something aligned."
"I- okay by all means."
Yeah there was really no protesting this one.
He noticed that you've been becoming a little closed off so he decided to take you on a date. Just you and him.
Once you both got to where you needed to be, you noticed it was a dance studio.
"Oh god I'm gonna trip over my own two feet-"
The class entailed lessons in bachata, which is a type of Hispanic dance similar to salsa and rumba.
And knowing you, you didn't have any dance experience, like at all.
However, you know you're a fast learner, and so is Tengen.
And you soon realized that dancing with this hunk of a man you called your boyfriend wasn't so bad after all.
Matter of fact, it was exhilarating knowing that the both of you could be this intimate without ya know, doing the do or even without words.
"You enjoying this at all? Your face is pretty red there."
"I- hush, it's not like yours isn't either."
"Darling, my face is red because I'm sweating. Yours is red because you're embarrassed. I gotcha, don't worry."
And with that said you decided to just let go of any concerns you had. Allowing Tengen to take the lead with the dance.
Overall it was a good time, also really good exercise seeing as how you both kinda nodded off after you got home.
......
Gyomei
Given how he's blind, there are many things that you kinda felt like he missed out on, despite being able to see the transparent world.
However, you knew one thing that brought him comfort was his faith in his religion.
He never really talked about it, but when he did, he'd become so overwhelmed with emotion that he'd just cry.
Which you didn't mind, it's his faith and he's allowed to get as emotional as he needs to.
"(y/n), there's a place I want to show you. Why don't you join me?"
"Oh, okay, lead the way Gyo."
So he takes you to a grand building, one made of gold and beautiful teakwood. The sight taking your breath away as he smiled at you.
"Gyomei, is this the temple you always talk about?"
"Yes, it's a beautiful sight. But there's something in the back I want to show you."
So he takes your hand, greets the monks, and quickly leads you to the back where a beautiful butterfly garden resided. A huge Buddha statue in the middle of a koi pond.
You stood there flabbergasted, how could one small area be so beautiful?
Gyomei motioned for you to sit next to him, which you did, leaning your head on his shoulder as he took this time to pray.
You were never the religious type, but something told you to come here more often. With Gyomei by your side of course.
......
Giyuu
He's rather reserved, kinda like Muichiro however he's willing to interact with people if he has to.
However asking you on your first date with him was so unfathomably hard for him that he had to pull the rizz duo (Kyojuro and Tengen) to help him out.
And boy did they help, well, aside from Tengen picking you up like a sack of potatoes and running to the beach.
But once you got there, Kyojuro told you to close your eyes. Which you did.
And by the time you were set onto the sand you were like "Okay what the fuck is going on more importantly where is my boyfriend?"
"I'm right here, my treasure."
So you open your eyes to see Giyuu, at this point Kyojuro and Tengen were running away giggling like schoolgirls. Your boyfriend's faint smile, however, distracted you from the fact that you were basically kidnapped and taken here.
"Giyuu, are those horses?" You asked, looking at the two beautiful mares that stood before you.
"Yes, they are... I'll admit, Rengoku-san and Uzui-san did have a hand in helping me plan this. But I hope you'll enjoy everything that's in store for tonight. So come on, ride with me for a few."
On the outside, you're stunned.
But on the inside you're jumping up and down with glee, knowing that you'll be able to ride a horse for the first time in a very long time.
And it didn't take long for Giyuu to find out you're a skilled equestrian.
It made him proud though, knowing that you like doing something else other than training all the time.
"I see that someone's enjoying themselves?"
"Yes, I very much am. Thank you Giyuu, this means so much to me."
Afterwards you got off your horses and gave them back to their handler, which Giyuu thanked him immensely.
"So... what now?"
"I figured maybe we could walk along the shoreline? If that's okay with you?"
My GOD this man is flustered beyond comprehension. But through his insecure words, you knew he meant well and what he says, he means wholeheartedly.
You guys walk the shoreline until sundown, then afterwards he treats you to a nice dinner on the beach. Albeit it was small but it was still super intimate and nice.
Truly, you wouldn't rather spend your time any other way. As long as you were with Giyuu, nothing else mattered.
......
OMFG MY BACK HURTS-
Regardless though, I truly hope you all enjoyed these interesting headcanons! Feel free to leave a request!
283 notes · View notes
Note
aita for not giving someone the wifi password and not telling my parents about it when they asked?
this happened a while ago and ik it sounds trivial but i feel so damn guilty and i just need to know if i did something wrong (fake names used ofc)
so about seven or eight months ago a friend of mine (liz, 16f at the time, now 17) was brought to our house. child protection services had taken her and her two brothers (they're all adopted, but one of the boys is her biological brother, who i'll call james) from their parents because the boys did something to their neighbor's dogs and were found wandering all over town at night. i'm not sure exactly what as i've never been told, but i deeply suspect it was something sexual. i'm not sure. about a week before this, my friend's dogs were brought over here, again because cps wanted them removed.
so my friend is now staying with me (16f) and my twin sister sister (anna). we have a large "closet" that is really more of an attic than anything, so we put liz in there because our house is small and we didn't want her sleeping on the couch.
for about a month, things went pretty well. we had a good time! we hung out a lot, and she told me about some volunteer firefighting she did, and also some farming stuff she did with her adoptive uncle (this is important for later). but she had a secret cellphone (her parents weren't big on cellphones and they were kinda strict) that she used to do social media behind their backs. most importantly, she was talking to an older guy (axel, 28m) via snapchat. anna and i have autism and adhd and are kinda clueless about some things, so we didn't think it was such a big deal at the time. so when she asked for the wifi password, i thought nothing of it. one day when my mom asked if she had a phone, i told her no bc liz asked me not to tell my parents and i thought being loyal to her was the right thing
well, one day, liz found her biological family via facebook and started contacting them
from what little i've heard, liz and james were taken from their bio parents because the mom was an alcoholic and doing drugs, and the dad was abusing them. they never visited the kids once. but now this mom is telling liz that she wants the kids back, and because of this, liz really wanted to go back to her bio family, even though they lived in another state that was pretty far away.
so she goes up to my mom and tries to talk to her about it. also, cps came by again and said liz couldn't sleep in the room she'd been sleeping in anymore because it had no windows and thus no fire escape. and my mom found out about the phone and the older guy she was talking to. things finally got so stressful that my parents had to have liz moved to another home about an hour away
now here's why i think i was the asshole. apparently, liz had been lying to me A LOT. she never actually did the firefighting work (she did some cooking for them. that's it) and when she said she knew how to milk a cow, she actually didn't know how, AND THEN WENT ON TO MILK OUR COW ANYWAY. IN FRONT OF MY DAD. it was insane and it made anna and i freak out because we have a hard time making friends sue to previous bullying issues at a school we'd gone to
later on i overheard my mom telling my dad that she was afraid that the bio parents were trying to groom her or something, and they didn't know i'd heard that. so now i'm afraid that i'm responsible for my friend leaving and all that. also, since she's left, liz has gone on to refuse to go back to her adoptive parents and has basically made their lives hell. and she keeps getting james upset by trying to convince him into thinkking that he should want to go back to the bio parents
so am i the asshole for hiding stuff frmo my parents?
(fyi: they have since known that i gave her the wifi password. they were pissed, but they realized that i didn't know any better and aren't mad at me)
What are these acronyms?
66 notes · View notes
aaeeart · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media
I feel guilty about this one :')
Wanna read something evil? Read the fanfic under the cut!
New addition from the Inquisitor Kanan AU, this one is from Fortress Inquisitorius and will have some unsettling stuff (Fallen Order and Rebels were mean to captured Jedi and so am I), like you know, torture. Just fyi if you don't approve, don't read 😄 I'm posting these excerpts randomly so far - no reading order yet, take it or leave it >:)
But for some quick info, you know what this is, the jedi gets snatched, Empire is mean, the jedi is sad.
Kanan flinched awake, a dream in his head quickly dissipating leaving behind confusion and a gradual understanding. He was in a dimly lit cell in an uncomfortable interrogation chair he had occupied since his arrival at Fortress Inquisitorius. Still bound from his chest to legs, still just as much hopeless as he has been before he finally fell asleep.
His gaze fixed on the opposing wall, his features contorting as he struggled to control the tightness in his facial muscles that lingered from the fading dream. Though the specifics eluded him, he could recall the Ghost and his crew engaged in conversation, a stark contrast to his current reality. The dream had offered a temporary respite, only to further accentuate his misery upon waking.
Lost in his thoughts of the elusive fantasy, Kanan became aware of another presence only when the purge trooper made a sharp movement to his right. The trooper stood by the red barrier, assuming a stance that suggested he was surely due to be changing shifts soon.
A mischievous grin formed on Kanan’s face as he spoke, his voice laced with mockery and a touch of wonder.
„You know,“ he taunted, relishing in the opportunity to undermine the trooper’s intimidating facade, „I’ve encountered more fearsome guards at a droid spa. Straight backs and all that, you know?“ The trooper’s shoulder twitched in response to the prisoner’s remark, prompting him to adopt a more rigid and militaristic pose. Kanan chuckled inwardly, thoroughly amused by the trooper’s reaction. „Honestly, they'll have anyone guarding important people these days, wouldn’t you agree?“
Seething with anger, the trooper clenched his fist, but before he could formulate a retort, an urgent beeping emanated from his wrist com. The trooper’s helmet crackled with a distorted voice demanding his presence elsewhere. Casting a – Kanan imagined a resentful glare on his undoubtedly ugly face – at the jedi, the trooper reached for his belt pocket and deactivated the red barrier with his key card, leaving Kanan alone once more.
In the ensuing solitude, Kanan took a deep breath, attuning his senses to the surrounding environment. Though meditation proved challenging within these confines, it still offered a means to gather strength and fortify his resolve. As he struggled to calm his racing thoughts, a traitorous voice whispered in his mind, sowing seeds of doubt and despair.
"Hera didn't come for you," the voice insidiously murmured. Kanan bit his lip, determined to silence the treacherous inner dialogue. "They left you," the voice persisted, its relentless persistence threatening to erode his resolve. Frowning, Kanan pushed back against the voice, "I'm at peace with my choice." he whispered to himself and let the bubbling anger cool off. "They're safe. They're alive."
The truth of his words resonated within him. He knew deep down that he would feel it if something had befallen his crew. Besides, the Grand Inquisitor would undoubtedly relish in taunting him with such information. The Inquisitor rarely left the moon anymore, especially not since a few days ago, when apparently Lord Vader himself gave his dark side puppets the order to break their new toy.
It turned out a new jedi came to Lothal. Ahsoka Tano. The realization brought a mix of glee and apprehension. Ahsoka was a legend among the padawans, Kanan recalled, the student of Anakin Skywalker.
He supposed it only made sense she survived the Purge. She left the jedi order near the end of the war.
"Fulcrum," the Grand Inquisitor had revealed during a previous encounter, his words still reverberating in Kanan's memory. "She is the one you've been receiving orders from." The revelation had shocked Kanan.
He spent so much time thinking he was the sole survivor and yet...
"You really didn't know," the Grand Inquisitor chuckled. "How dissapointing. And how inconsiderate of your captain, don't you think?"
Kanan felt a little betrayed at the thought. Did Hera know Fulcrum was a jedi? The Inquisitor picked up on the hesitation in a split second and tried his best to exploit it.
But he left the cell as frustrated by his failure to make Kanan succumb to his emotions as he did any other day, while Kanan, if he ignored the fact he wasn't escaping any time soon, or that his body felt like it could crumble to dust with each blow, slash or surge of electricity, he felt victorious as he smiled each time the Inquisitor lost patience and left.
Ever since Ahsoka's appearance however, his situation had deteriorated. Before, Kanan had endured each painful day with the belief that death would soon claim him due to his perceived uselessness. Now, he found himself staring into an abyss of uncertainty. He was not to be killed; he was to be broken, molded into one of the Inquisitors. Kanan understood the reason behind this decision—his connection to his crew and their association with Ahsoka made him the perfect bait.
"There is no hope," the small voice persisted, its insidious tone causing Kanan to sigh heavily. He raised his gaze toward the ceiling, fighting against the frog in his throat. The sounds outside his cell abruptly captured his attention, diverting his focus from the haunting voice within.
It couldn't be... Stretching out with his senses, Kanan sought the familiar Force signature amidst the suffocating darkness, but..
Ezra's voice, filled with determination and defiance, echoed through the corridor.
"No," Kanan whispered in disbelief and lost focus as thick fog of panic overwhelmed his senses.
No. No no no.
"You will take me to Kanan Jarrus." Ezra's voice commanded sharply.
"That won't work on us, kid." A cold answer from a trooper.
Then an amused laugh from the Grand Inquisitor. "You will see your master soon enough."
The heavy doors swung open, revealing the Grand Inquisitor and the troopers. Ezra's eyes widened as he spotted Kanan, his voice filled with relief. "Kanan!"
The Grand Inquisitor's sly smile twisted into a mocking grin. "Ah, Kanan Jarrus, our heroic Jedi master. Your padawan has been quite resourceful, breaking into our secured facilities to find you."
Meeting Ezra's gaze, Kanan saw relief flooding the young boy's face, mingled with a sense of urgency.
A surge of pride and concern welled up within Kanan. Ezra's gone to such lengths to save him? Doubts flitted through his mind, but the profound connection and familiarity that flowed between them dispelled any skepticism as their eyes locked in a steadfast gaze.
Fear consumed Kanan's being as desperation laced his voice. "What are you doing here?" he pleaded, struggling against the restraints that held him in place.
Ezra made to move towards Kanan, but the two Purge Troopers grasped his arms and held him back.
The Grand Inquisitor's voice dripped with sadistic satisfaction as he walked closer to Ezra. "Unfortunately, Kanan, your apprentice's bravery comes at a price," He paused and extended his hand towards one of the troopers and the armored soldier placed his electric baton in it.
Kanan growled urgently, his body contorting in a futile attempt to break free from the restraints, but he only managed to bruise himself.
The Inquisitor smiled and activated the baton. He spoke to Ezra. "It looks like your master doesn't wish to save you, boy."
"No!" Kanan yelled when the dark sider raised his hand. With a swift motion, he struck the boy, causing him to stagger and cry out in pain. In that moment, Kanan's crumbling walls collapsed, his heart overriding his logic with a single desperate goal.
Summoning every ounce of strength he had left within him, Kanan broke free from the chair, and hurled the Grand Inquisitor together with the Purge Troopers aside as he rushed toward Ezra. But as Kanan reached out to embrace the boy, his arms closed around empty air.
The illusion shattered before his eyes, leaving only a haunting void.
The Grand Inquisitor's laughter echoed through the cell.
Realization washed over Kanan like a chilling wave. He had been played. The weight of his failure settled upon his shoulders, crushing his spirit and extinguishing the fight within him.
Before Kanan could react, the Grand Inquisitor exerted a powerful Force push, slamming him against the cold floor, rendering him motionless once again. The Inquisitor knelt beside him, his gaze burning with sadistic pleasure.  
"Come now, Kanan," the Inquisitor taunted, his voice filled with malice. "Where's that charming smile of yours?" Kanan fought to calm his rapid breathing, his lips trembling into a thin line. The metallic scent of the cell invaded his nostrils as the Inquisitor continued to press him down.
He lost. He did exactly what the Inquisitor wanted and expected. He suddenly noticed how cold he felt, as if he just emerged from an icy pond…
In a moment of overwhelming vulnerability, Kanan flinched as the Inquisitor activated his crimson lightsaber, bringing it dangerously close to his face. Heat emanated from the blade, uncomfortably close to Kanan's skin.
A hand landed on the side of Kanan's head, tugging at his hair, still tied in a ponytail. The grip tightened, digging into his skin as the Inquisitor forced his head up, drawing it nearer to the blade.
Leaning forward, the Grand Inquisitor hissed into Kanan's ear, his voice laced with triumph. "You see, Kanan," he whispered, relishing in his victory. "You are not special. Everyone breaks within the walls of Fortress Inquisitorius, and you are no exception. You're just like the rest of us."
He let him go and the two imposing Purge Troopers forcibly lifted Kanan from the ground, dragging him back to the interrogation chair, strapping him in once again.
The Grand Inquisitor approached Kanan, his eyes burning with a sadistic fire. "Use the dark side, Kanan," he demanded, his voice dripping with malice. "Free yourself and embrace the power that awaits you."
Kanan clenched his jaw, his eyes filled with unwavering resolve and loathing. "No," he declared, the simple word filled with defiance.
The Grand Inquisitor's face twisted into a cruel smile. He retrieved the electro baton and pressed it against Kanan's chest. Agonizing pain coursed through his body and he screamed and the longer the pain lasted, the more did the scream sounded like an agonized wail followed unwittingly by tears. From the pain or for the shame of how easily he let himself be tricked, for himself...
The Inquisitor removed the baton.
Kanan took a long desperate breath, shaking from exhaustion. The Grand Inquisitor gripped Kanan's chin, his grip tightening with every word. "You are a fool, Kanan Jarrus," he sneered and forced the jedi to look him in the eye. "You will break, just like all the others, it's only a matter of time. And when you do, I will revel in your defeat."
He let him go, tossing the baton aside, waving his hand towards the electric torture device connected to the chair itself.
The excruciating pain wracked Kanan's body, his screams reverberating through the walls of the fortress.
TBC...
203 notes · View notes
runa-falls · 9 months
Text
cat and mouse - 3
Tumblr media
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Supervillain(?)!Reader
Warnings: mention of alcohol and being inebriated, Miguel in normal clothes (yes this is a warning), friends vs. lovers type beat
a/n: this one might be a little frustrating fyi. also it might be a while for the next part to come out bc i'm having trouble figure out where i want this story to go.
Summary: Every time you try to convince people it was an accident, you immediately get ratted out to the Spider. But really, it was! You don't know why you're being hunted, you didn't even do anything wrong. Yet.
w/c: 2.4k
part 1 part 2 part 4
masterlist
----
The villain's life isn’t too bad. Especially when you have friends. Well, a friend.
Really, it’s just like being unemployed, but you’re not living off of your life savings, you’re living off of someone else’s.
Maybe someone else’s else’s savings.
Ok fine, you’ll admit it. You haven’t actually done much crime at all. You’ve just been mooching off of Felicia like a girl with a sugar mama.
So what? It’s not your fault she’s the most generous criminal you’ve ever met. And technically, the money comes directly from other people’s accounts, so you are still acting as an accessory to a crime and that’s good enough for you.
So far, you’ve been treating these past few weeks like an extended vacation. 
You’re still not used to your powers. It’s not as easy as thinking about something and it happens. It’s more like a feeling, something you have to pull from within. After the first few times of accidentally exploding someone’s Kia Soul and a breakfast sandwich that cost $12 (which is a crime in itself), you’ve been a little apprehensive about using your powers unless you really need them.  
Thankfully, you have Felicia to teach you a few non-power-related moves just in case. You actually thought you’d never see her again after she left you on that roof. Even though she did say, “I’ll see you later,” you thought she was just being polite. But then you got a text for brunch a few days later.
Feli is not a villain, but she’s certainly not a hero either. She kinda just does what she wants when she feels like it. It’s inspiring, really. 
You never told her about what happened that other night, not wanting to mention how Spider-Man mistook you for her. Or the fact that your shared a heated kiss with the hero. You’re supposed to be a bad-ass criminal, not some girl who fraternizes with superheroes like some sort of groupie. You do, however, tell her about how full-black suits aren’t your style and that you’re thinking about finally embracing your fiery locks.
She agrees adding, “We can’t show up in the same fit every time we’re committing a crime. We need to keep it fresh, give ‘em something to talk about.” 
You were ready to go down to a fabric shop and stitch something quick together, but Feli adamantly convinced you that she would take care of it. Feli has this awesome AI assistant named Zee that does everything from ordering groceries to building her a new ultra-sleek motorcycle. You were told to tell Zee what you were looking for in your new suit since she’s also conveniently connected to an advanced fabricator. 
“Hello, Ms. Hardy and Ms. Blaze.” You grumble at the AI’s use of your long-hated nickname, “How can I be of service?”
“Make her a new suit,” Feli commanded, “and make it quick, we have things to do today.” She sits at a desk, clicking idly through her large desktop. You peek over her shoulder, curious about what she’s working on. It’s a Pinterest board full of outfits and modern interior design ideas. 
“Certainly. What are you looking for?” A holographic menu streams from the fabricating machine, showing you options for the size, fit, and design of the suit. 
“Orange, maybe? And make it a little more breathable, I was sweating bullets in that other one.” 
The menu scrolls around as you speak, showing you favorable color combinations and breathable fabrics and designs. 
You tap on a fiery orange and black palette. It’s simple and makes sense. A few designs with your chosen colors pop up and you see the perfect one. It’s asymmetrical, leaving enough skin uncovered to ensure there’s a fair amount of ventilation for your extra-warm radioactive body heat. You click the ‘process’ button, and the machine starts right away. Estimated Time: 14 hrs and 27 minutes.
Feli stands up when she hears the rev of the machine working its magic. “Alright, darling, let’s get you up to my closet. We’re going to the club.” 
Apparently, one of Feli’s associates owns the club we’re going to. 
“He’s been asking about you, hearing about the power plant and all.” The limo he sent to her house is exquisite, offering expensive champagne and snacks. The windows are super tinted for privacy and the partition has been rolled up since you got in, so you can’t really tell where you’re headed. “I told him I’d bring you around the club sometime. That is if he lets us have some fun afterward.” 
The club itself is quite packed. The building throbs with the heavy bass of electronic music that you can hear even through the heavy metal doors. There’s already a line that wraps around the block and it’s only 8 pm. 
You carefully step out of the limo after Feli, trying not to trip in your borrowed heels. The bouncer instantly recognizes her and lets you pass, velvet rope pulled aside. 
The sea of dancing bodies moves like a stop-motion film under the strobing lights as you walk right past the general area. You pass through a curtained entrance, walk up some stairs, and stop in front of the balcony area that overlooks the dance floor. VIP only, it says. 
In the middle of the sitting area is a large bald man dressed in a proper suit, making him look like a frightening businessman. A large smile appears on his pale face when he spots your friend and he stands up to greet the two of you.
You can barely hear his voice over the loud music. “Felicia Hardy, wonderful to see you.” She offers her hand which he politely pecks. 
She merely acknowledges him, “Fisk.”
He turns to you. “And you must be the famous, Blaze.” You don’t offer a hand and he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Please, call me Wilson.”
You don’t spend too much time with him, both because he seemed pretty busy and Feli wanted to go downstairs as soon as possible. He asks you normal things like where you’re from and how you met Feli, but he was mostly curious about your powers and how you got them. 
“A vat, hm? I’ve heard that one before.” It’s true. Vats of shit almost ensure the creation of new villains. “S’a miracle you didn’t die from that.” 
Feli is a lot more talkative once you leave Fisk. Despite working for him, she doesn’t seem all that fond of him. “He’ll probably call you up if he ever needs your skillset. I’d recommend taking whatever job he offers, he usually compensates generously.”
“But how? I didn’t give him my number.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’ll be in touch.” 
She tells you to find a table while she gets some drinks. Apparently, the bar is open for her, another perk of working with Fisk. You feel like a wallflower as you wait for her, watching as people come and go to the dancefloor or bar. You sit at the high-top table, legs swinging idly to the beat of the music.
You’re almost shoved off your seat when someone bumps into you and you have to hold onto the table to keep your balance. “Oh, sorry,” You hear a familiar voice say over the pounding music.
“It’s ok.”
 “Lava Girl,” You look over at the man, head having to tilt up to see his face. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” You barely recognize him as you’ve never seen him out of the suit before. He’s wearing a tight black short-sleeve that stretches nicely over his broad chest and dark wash jeans. Looking like any other civilian. 
“Miguel!” His eyes wander over the short black dress you were borrowing from Felicia, briefly stopping over the length of your bare legs that are visible through the glass table.
“Always seem to be wearing something new when I see you.”
“Well, my friend has expensive taste.”
His brows furrow, “Friend? You’re here with someone?” 
“Mhm.” Your eye catches on a head of silver hair, wandering through the crowds of loud and rowdy people. “Oh, just a sec. There she is.” You stand up to catch her attention and miraculously she spots you, flashing a smile as you wave your arms around like a lunatic. 
Then she sees him and her soft smile stops. One of her perfectly tailored eyebrows raises as she joins the two of you, drinks in hand. “You.” 
He seems surprised to see her. “Fel…” There’s a long bout of silence between the three of you. Whatever light energy was there quickly grows tense and you start to feel uncomfortable. 
What’s with these two?
You try to salvage whatever you can from this weird conversation. “So, how do you guys know each other?” Felicia’s gaze releases its hold on Miguel and they both look at you, almost like forgot you were even there. 
Miguel starts. “Uh, we’re old friends.” She gives him a look that you can’t decipher. “Older enemies.”
Then she writes it out, “Ex’s.” 
You can tell he’s trying to hide a wince, but he’s not very good at it. So he was looking for her that night. Does that mean he would’ve kissed her instead of you then? Wait, that also means you kissed your best friend's ex! Shit.
“Oh.” You pick up a coaster just to have something to do with your hands. “Well, that’s cool– I mean it’s not cool, but– like, oh, so that’s how you know each other. Wow, what a small–”
“Why are you here Mig?” Suspicion drips off each word as she steps forward, almost like she’s trying to protect you. 
“You’re asking why I’m at a club owned by one of the notorious crime lords in Nueva York?” 
And all of a sudden you’re not there again. It’s just them. 
“No, I’m asking why you’re here. With her.” 
“Can’t a guy just say hi to a friend?”
It dawns on her. “She knows?” She says through gritted teeth. 
He run a hand through his dark brown waves, “Look, it just happened.”
“Miguel, leave her alone, she hasn’t done anything.” You feel like you’re a kid watching her parents bicker about things unknown to you. You nervously fiddle with the hem of your skirt.
“She’s a good girl.”
“It’s not like that, Fel.” She rolls her emerald green eyes.
“Sure, it isn’t. I know you, Miguel.” 
He scoffs, “Yeah, whatever.” He brushes her off, clearly done with the conversation. “Ok, well, I’d love to stay longer, but I did actually come here for a reason.” He pulls away from the table, “It was nice seeing you, Blaze.” You could tell that he means it just by the way he looks at you. 
You nod at him, not really up to say much of anything after tonight. You can tell you’re dismissive send-off stings, but you don’t really care. 
“Hardy.” She doesn’t even look at him and he walks away without another word.
“Ugh, that guy.” Feli takes a deep sip of her vodka cran and you watch as a napkin sticks to the sweating glass as she tilts it back. She pushes yours closer to you, letting the perspiration drag against the glass table.
At this point, you’re not really feeling the whole club scene anymore.
“Promise you’ll stay away from him.” Your eyes lift from your untouched glass to meet her stare. “I know he’s Nueva York’s sweetheart Spider-Man or whatever, but he’s bad news, trust me.” 
“Ok.” 
“You really don’t wanna get caught up in the superhero drama. I’m just, trying to look out for you, Blaze.” 
You nod, forcing yourself to smile. “I know.”
And you do. She probably has a good reason for it, but it doesn’t make you feel any better.
All the events of the evening sit in the air for a second. Felicia, Fisk, and Miguel. Your brain is having a hard time organizing everything and the noises around you aren’t helping.
You decidedly pick up your glass without thinking and quickly drain it, barely even tasting it before feeling its cool contents bloom throughout your body. You set it down a bit harsher than you intended, but the coaster does a good job of absorbing the sound. 
You hop off your seat. “Let’s dance.”
Feli is surprised by your sudden changed mood, “Oh, right now?” You need to let loose. You can’t let some stupid kiss ruin your new life. You can’t let anything distract you. You can’t let him distract you. As of now, you’re a new woman and you’re ready to embrace exactly who everyone thinks you are. 
You offer your hand, “Right now.” She takes it, letting you lead her straight to the middle of the dancefloor. 
This time you run before you even see him. Well ‘run’ may be an exaggeration. You were too drunk to even walk in a straight line so let’s just say you ‘left.’
So the night went off the rails a little bit. One fruity mixed drink turned into a few rounds of shots, which turned into a very ambitious plan to revisit that bank that shut down on you a few weeks ago. Since it hasn’t been hit since that night, you assumed everything would’ve simmered down around it. Less security, less fuss, and less Spider-Man. And you were right. 
You were also careless. 
Drunk girls and endless power create an interesting scene for the police to discover. First, you skipped the doors altogether. Why use the front entrance, when you can walk straight into the vault? By the time the cops would get there, they’d be greeted by a huge hole that rips through several layers of (theoretically) indestructible materials.
Then there are the two blood-red lipstick kisses right next to it. That was Feli’s idea.
“Oh my god, you know what would be so cute? If we signed off on this with little kisses!”
“Why would we do that?” Your words slur slightly as you step into the vault. It’s stacked high with bills placed in perfectly rectangular towers. A soft breeze could easily ruin the whole room. 
“A girl’s gotta leave her mark.”
“Mm…ok, why not.”
You stuff your small handbags to the brim, not worried when a few bills fall out. This job isn’t really about the money, it’s about sending a message. 
You both casually stagger away from the crime scene, catch a cab (paying with handfuls of cash because you can’t be bothered to count it out), and get back to her place. 
“You staying over?”
“Can I?”
“Of course, darling.”
177 notes · View notes
call-sign-jinx · 3 months
Text
Endless Love (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw) - Chapter 5
Tumblr media Tumblr media
summary - Y/N Y/L/N and Bradley Bradshaw have had a rivalry ever since they both attended the same academy. Every chance they took, they always tried to one up each other. One day, Bradley takes the rivalry too far and Y/N ends up in the hospital with serious injuries. Will it make Y/N want to get him back twice as worse? Or will it make her realise that this rivalry between them is childish?
warnings - swearing, enemies to lovers, mention of serious injury, traumatic episodes, reader traumatised from what happened, smut, slowburn, seizures, flashbacks
a/n - hi girlies! sorry that i haven't been posting a lot i got writers block 💀💀💀 anyways, enjoy!! xx
Tumblr media
I've finally come back to Top Gun, Mav caught me up luckily. Somehow he pulled some strings with Cyclone to let me stay here. I'm glad me and Mav sorted everything out. I still haven't spoken to my mum yet... It's been 3 weeks since she visited me at the hospital.
It's been kinda quiet since me and Bradshaw decided to stop the whole "rivalry" thing. Minus for the arguments between Bradshaw and Bagman. It's been nice in all honesty. Except for when Bradshaw tried to throw a right hook at Bagman. Fanboy stopped him before he could make contact. It didn't end too badly. They just death stared each other then walked separate ways.
Bradshaw was late to the briefing this morning so the only chair left was next to me. Great, although we're civil, I hate having to deal with his fucking manspreading. It's so annoying.
Bradshaw walked up to the table I was at and sat down. I was shocked to feel that his leg wasn't rammed against mine. I looked down and saw that he had stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. I quickly give him a look then begin to focus on the briefing.
"Shocked to see how little of an annoyance I can be when we're not arguing?" I rolled my eyes with a smirk as I tried to focus on the briefing. "Everyone's going to the Hard Deck tonight, you wanna join?" I turned to look at Bradshaw, my eyes narrowing, smirk still apparent on my face.
"Bradley Bradshaw, is inviting little old me to drink with you and the others?" I place my hand on my chest. Bradshaw is the one to roll his eyes now. "I'd love to. As long as you don't sing Great Balls of Fire."
"Now that is pushing it sweetheart. there must be a compromise we can come to." he has desperation in his voice, with a little bit of humour.
"You can sing it once then. No girl on your lap or at your side cause that is just fucking tacky." I chuckle as I try to multi-task and listen to what Mav is saying. I'm partly failing.
"Is that your way of saying you're jealous? I'm flattered sweetheart, but British isn't my type. Neither is hot-headed." His tone was all but flirtatious. Maybe I should've just continued to argue with him, because the flirty tone he's using is grating. Like, it sounds nice but really weird at the same time because he's never used that tone with me.
"Absolutely not, never. Just because we're civil now does not mean I'm going to have feelings for you. And girls sitting on your lap or basically grinding against you while you sing Great Balls of Fire is the cringiest and most disturbing thing to even look at for a second. So no, I am not jealous. And FYI I don't go for your type either." I cross my arms as I finish the conversation and bring all my focus back onto Mav, who keeps sending me knowing glances which I send away with eye rolls.
------------------------------------
Today was stressful. Very stressful. Stressful enough to need a straight double whiskey when I get to the Hard Deck. You wanna know why today was stressful?
Firstly, I was paired with Hangman. Which is annoying as it is but he thought he led the whole thing when it was a team building exercise. And he kept ordering me which got us "killed" by Mav.
Second, my flight suit had a stain on it so I had to try and get it washed after the training exercise. It didn't come out, so I'm going to order a new one.
Third, Bradshaw could not stop with the flirty comments. It was so aggravating. I wish we were still arguing cause he was actually less annoying than this.
And lastly, Mav kept pulling me to the side and asking if me and Bradshaw were a thing. Oh my days! Absolutely not! Never in a million fucking years would I date Bradshaw of all people! I'd date Hangman before Bradshaw. Actually no. I would not. I have too much self respect.
When I got home, I took a hot shower. It was fucking amazing after the day I've had. After I got out of the shower, I dried my hair, did my skincare routine, put some makeup on, and now it's time to decide what to wear. It was between a nice dress Phoenix told me to wear or my tight black shirt with some nice-fitting jeans. I asked Phoenix and she told me to wear the dress, obviously. But only if she wore one too. Not being the only one wearing a dress.
It was a short black dress with criss-crossing straps and a slit on the right leg that goes up to my hip. It was really nice, I've just haven't gotten to wearing it yet.
I quickly put the dress on because I was running late. I grabbed my purse, car keys and vape before going out and locking the door.
The ride to the Hard Deck wasn't too long because I could afford a closer one when I moved here. I parked my car, locked it, then headed to the door of the Hard Deck. Phoenix was outside waiting for me.
When I tell you the whole bar went quiet when they saw me and Phoenix, it would be an understatement. Maybe it was because we were in civvy clothes? But we headed to our group and all the boys eyes were wider than golf balls.
"What's with the eyes? It's not like we're naked is it?" I said, eyes darting between all the lads. They were shocked.
"Y/N, I think it's cause you're wearing that short dress, they've never seen as much skin on you before." Phoenix giggled before dragging me to the bar.
"Hey Penny, two double whiskeys please." Phoenix asks Penny with a smile. As I look around, I see a man. He's tall, blonde hair, greenish-blue eyes, and he's staring at me. I recognise him from somewhere. It's Thomas! I didn't think he'd be here tonight. He said he was going to go home in England for a bit to see his family.
"Thomas?! I thought you went back to England for a few weeks! What yer doing 'ere?" I walked up to him and hugged him, shocked that he was in San Diego but especially in the bar I usually go to.
"Thought yer could use some company, but guess you're already set aren't yer?" He chuckled as he looked to Phoenix then in a different direction, all the lads were death staring Thomas.
"Yeah, guess so. Want a drink? Me and Phoenix just ordered double whiskies." I guided him over to the bar where me and Phoenix originally stood.
"Go on then, one can't hurt." He ordered himself a double whiskey and paid for mine and Phoenix's as well.
--------------------------------------
We've been at the Hard Deck for a few hours and I'm quite drunk, drunk enough to not be able to drive. Which is great, cause I want to go home.
Phoenix and I have been dancing to The Weeknd, Mac Demarco, ABBA, Jerry Lee Lewis (because Bradshaw sang it, yet again), and some other singers that I'm too drunk to remember.
Me and Phoenix are currently dancing to Great Balls of Fire, as per requested to play again by Bradshaw. Him and that fucking song. It's like he's married to it. Or he can't breathe if it's not playing.
As we're dancing, I feel someone come up behind me. I turned to see who it was and it was just a stranger. He had his hands on my hips and began to basically grind into my arse. the fuck?
"Erm, can you not do that mate?" I stepped away from him, closer to Phoenix. He had this strange look on his face. It made me really uncomfortable.
"Come on babe, just wanna dance with you." His smile was sloppy and sadistic in a way. Gave me the shivers. Not the good kind.
"Well I don't wanna dance with you. So fuck off. Freak." I rolled my eyes then turned to Phoenix with an awkward smile.
"Don't call me a fucking freak you bitch!" He grabbed my arm and yanked me closer to him, his breath stunk of cigarettes and Bourbon. I always hated that smell.
"Get the fuck off of me you prick!" I grabbed his elbow and dug into it with my fingers which made his grip loosen, then I kicked the back of his knee which got him to the floor.
"Touch me again and we will have a serious problem, got it?" He nodded in answer, fear and anger in his face. "Get the fuck out of this bar." He got up and walked straight out, the whole bar giving him death stares as he leaves.
As soon as the door closes Bob comes over to us, weaving through the crowd with a worried look on his face.
"You okay Y/C/S?" He looked at me with worry and sympathy. I nodded my head yes.
"I'm fine Bob, he was just a prick who should listen to people. Taught him a lesson, hopefully he'll learn from that." I rolled my eyes as I took a sip of my whiskey. "Surprised I can still do that, I'm fucking leathered." I chuckle as I begin to dance again.
Bob nodded with a small smile then went back to the others. Me and Phoenix continued dancing until she had to go home cause her friend said her dog needed to be taken to the vet. So I was left to hang out with the lads.
"Hey Y/C/S, you alright? You look really bad." I place my hand on my heart and mock offense.
"Wow Bagman, I cannot believe you could say that. To me of all people. I look fucking fabulous you rat." I giggle as Bradshaw laughs. He'd laugh at anything that insulted Hangman so I'm not surprised.
"Seriously though Y/L/N, you look unwell. How much have you had to drink?" Bradshaw had genuine concern in his voice. I also did not know how much I drank.
"Fuck knows, wanted to have a fun time. I was, till Nat had to go home cause her dog is sick. I really hope her dog's okay. Do you think it'll die?" Just as I finished my sentence, Thomas came next to me and placed his hand on my waist.
"Come on Y/N, let's get you home." He began to lead me out until I felt his hand go lower. Last time I checked, he had a fucking girlfriend.
"One, I ain't going home right now. And two, get your hand off my arse cause I specifically remember you have a fucking girlfriend." i poked his chest in annoyance because his girlfriend is super nice, and pretty. Like drop dead gorgeous. And she treats him so fucking well as well.
"Yes you are going home, yer leathered. And she doesn't have to know if anything happens, can just be between you and me babe." That's it. Absolutely not. Not a fucking cat in hells chance.
"Right, you are a piece of shit for that. i ain't going home and I'm moving out. And I'm telling your fucking girlfriend how much of a shit person you are." Thomas laughed, I knew he could be a dick sometimes but this is just too far.
"Come on Y/N. Firstly, where would you even move to? You don't make enough money for even a small shitty apartment. And second, she won't believe you." Shit, she wouldn't. She's literally head over heels in love with him.
"She will." A voice said behind me, I turned to see that it was Bradshaw. I furrowed my brows in confusion.
"And why's that? She's practically wrapped around my little finger." My face contorts to disgust. Jesus, how did it take me this long to realise he is a complete and utter twat?
"Because in Y/N's bag, is my phone, and it's recording. So she will believe Y/N, because there's proof." All the colour drains from Thomas' face.
"So you best fucking leave now. And I'm getting all my shit in the morning." I look at him with anger an disgust, how could he even think about doing that to such a caring and beautiful girl?
Thomas walked out immediately, slammed the door to the bar on his way out. That's when realisation hit me, I'm now homeless.
"Shit... where am I gonna stay? He is right that I can't afford to live anywhere... Maybe Mav could let me stay with him?" I turn to Bradshaw and he looks like he's just got an idea.
"You can stay with me, until you get enough money for an apartment." Although I was very drunk, that sobered me up quite a lot. Bradshaw was offering to let me stay at his place? I mean, we are civil now, but letting me stay at his home? Jesus, he must really mean it about feeling bad about arguing and the crash.
"Are you sure? Because that's a big thing to offer Bradshaw." I looked at him, unsure myself. But why was Bradshaw offering this? Was it out of guilt? Sympathy?
"Yes. You don't have anywhere to stay. Fanboy only has one room and his couch is fucking uncomfortable. Coyote and Hangman most likely don't want to live with you. Payback lives with his girlfriend. And Bob and Phoenix live with Phoenix's mom. And Mav will probably hate you living with him because he won't be able to have any alone time with the ladies he brings home. So I'm the only viable option." Damn. He must have put lot into this for him to just come up with all that.
“Are you 100% sure that you want to do this? Cause I can just find some place to live I don’t wanna intrude init.” I look at him with concern and uncertainty in my voice.
"Yes of course, helping out a friend, init." He faked a British accent as he said "init", I giggled at him as he pulled a face as well.
"Right okay, thank you so much you don't know how much this means to me..." I have a thankful look on my face. "Please could u come with me to pick my stuff up tomorrow? I don't want to go on my own." He nodded yes. "Thank you..."
"Right, let's get you home. You're so fucking drunk." He chuckled as he guided me out of the Hard Deck with his arm round my shoulder.
--------------------------------------------
As we got to his house, I began to search the outside. It was quite nice.
We both went inside, Bradshaw helped me as I was stumbling everywhere. He guided me to the spare room and placed me on the bed.
"Goodnight sweetheart." Bradshaw muttered as he got to the door.
"Goodnight Bradshawwwww." I said before quite literally passing out as my head hit the pillow.
48 notes · View notes
Text
CANNIBAL DAD
Dad! Bob x Baby/Kid/teen! Reader
Yes I have become a part of the Bob simps, BUT THIS IS NOT A FANFIC! No, THIS is Mista' Bob Velseb as a dad! Cause who doesn't want him as a dad? I know you heathens like me want him as a DA-, Ahem. Sorry for that. Anyway onto the post and enjoy! As a FYI some things may not be cannon.
Warning: Cannibalism, gore, mention of murder/killing, Abandonment, Cursing, Mentions of being drunk, Mention of trying to feed off of Bob (Don't.), Used as bait, knifes, bones, kid behavior but more unhinged
Tumblr media
BOB VELSED
To say the least you're mother never even wanted you after getting drunk and sleeping with a notorious cannibal killer that was loose after he tried killing her one night.
Bob found out he had a kid when she just left you at the front door of his hideout in the winter with a simple note saying, " Here's your kid, I don't give a shit if you eat them or not but I'm not keeping them. " ( She didn't live long after that)
Definitely didn't know WTF to do once he got you inside (Man was not prepared). He stood in his living room holding you for about a hour debating whether to eat you or not.
Once you started to try and grab his sweater he decided to keep you and raise you, even if he was on the run or not you are his little ball of sunshine!
He sat on his slightly disheveled couch for about a hour trying to think of what to do. Sure he'd had one night stands before getting caught but THIS! This wasn't something he would have ever expected to happen as he looked down to the small infant wrapped in his sweater to keep them from the winter cold. He had just got back from killing that cursed woman who left you out in the cold but now he had no idea what to do, he was stuck between eating you or not.
Finally he decided to just eat you and as he went for his knife something snatched his 2nd sweater, he froze as his head slowly looked down at the small hands closed down on it as if asking to be held up closer to him. Slowly but surely he lifted you up and held you with one arm as his claw like hand went to grab your hands, you gave small coo's and babbles as you played with his fingers. He knew then and there he wouldn't let the world take you away from him.
Robbed a convenient store 5 hours after he realized he needs to get you food and supplies when you tried latching onto him. (Headlines were fucking CHAOTIC with the pictures and tape!)
Definitely experienced with some baby care knowledge. I will die on this hill.
Since he's on the run the house isn't in the BEST conditions. . . . . But he makes due with what he has and knows he can keep you warm through the winter!
He doesn't know how to handle you crying so he usually keeps a victim alive for help until eventually killing and cooking them. Can't have anyone see him be a softy
You're toys and chew toys consistent of bones, anything he steals off victims, his horns (Yes. He gives you the horns.) Any and all clothes, blankets, and victim hand's (Don't question how it stays fresh. . . .)
The girl kept screaming for bob to let her go as he made his way to his hideout, he was slightly running since he had gone out pretty far in the woods and was worried you had hurt yourself. He opened the door and could hear the little screams of his ball of sunshine, " I-Is that a baby? Oh god please don't hur- " " Quiet! Now I need ya' help and your gonna' help me or else I take ya' eyes and SHOVE 'em down your throat! "
Bob dragged her closer to the screaming as they entered and saw a little baracade of blankets with you in the middle screaming and crying. He let go of the girl and gently picked you up while turning to the girl slightly panicked " They been cryin' for 6 hours now and I can't find what's wrong, Now help me so they can stop! " she made her way towards you and held you close as they started to try and calm you down, which proved difficult from bob death staring them.
Slowly but surely you calmed down and looked up at the girl " Th-There we go, just tired aren't you? " she slowly rocked you back and forth to sleep as bob loosened up before taking you back and mimicking her movement while talking to you. She slowly made her way out of the door and bolted for the front door ' Finally! Freedo- ' it was short lived as they were yanked back by their hair and had their mouth covered " Now where do you think yer' goin'? I can't have you living after what you saw. . . . " she screamed, but being muffled, as bob dragged her to the basement.
As you grow older into the time frame of crawling or walking he had to start buildin' baracades!
Man saw you crawling for the first time and was starstruck! Until he noticed his knife hanging a LITTLE too close to the edge. Baracade numbro 1!
Now seeing as you are the child of a man who most definitely has ties to a certain cult and is definitely non-human in some way can he REALLY be surprised the first time you crawled on the ceiling and were over him while he tried to sleep?
Yeeeaaahhhh wall crawling? Be glad you haven't been stabbed or accidentally thrown when you fall off at random points
In total there are 13 baracades and 5 wall crawling stoppers (He got proper baby proofing materials later down the road, don't worry)
Ontop of the wall crawling is the, and in order of how he found out about them, Glowing eyes, Locking your jaw on anything that's flesh (R.I.P finger's from the chew toy) sounds like a demon escaping everytime you cry, demonic animal noises, and then finally you having surprisingly sharp teeth!
Bob held a camera as he set it up while setting you across the room " Ok, Come to papa! " you looked at him dumbfounded for a minute before starting to attempt to make your way towards him " That's it! Ya' can do it! " finally you started to crawling and his eyes got star's in them " There you go! Come on! " you were about half way before the lights went out and both your eyes started to glow " Oh shi- " before he could finish he heard you on the walls making those demonic noises that stuck in his nightmares " SHI-SHOOT! WHERE'D I PUT THE NET!!!! " he grabbed the little net bed as he tried finding you on the wall's.
" (N/N) WHERE ARE YA'! COME OUT FOR PAPA! " he went for the kitchen first until he heard you crawling on the ground in the living room then on a wall again, he went from room to room with you one step ahead of him until finally he decided to return on the power and look for you. " There now I can- " he covered his ears at the screech you let out from your guys room
' NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo!!!! ' he slammed open the door expecting to find blood from you getting his knife but instead found a broken bone and slightly chipped tooth. He let out a sigh of relief before cradling you and trying to calm you down ' I really gotta' get 'em some soft chew toys. . . . '
When you got to the stage of being able to speak and stand he is the type of man to try and make you say Dada but instead you say Mama. Also becomes VERY protective and cautious once you start walking.
Around this time he'll try to hunt more since when you were a baby he couldn't leave you alone so he was limited to hunt around him instead of far out. Also will refuse to take you with him no matter how big of puppy dog eyes you give him.
Never excluded sneaking out and following him when he didn't take you!
It was 8:00 and bob had finished getting his hair slicked back and painting his face, you were put to bed and should be asleep by now. He had been hungry for about 4 weeks now but can you really blame him? He had to take care of his little ray of sunshine that's you! " * Sigh * Finally, I can go out and get me some meat. Don't need to worry about littl' (Y/N) tryin ta' come along eitha' " He made his way out the front door not noticing two glowing eyes watching on the ceiling or hearing the little demonic giggle that came out of you while following after Bob.
------Time skip------
Bob pinned his victim onto the wall while digging his knife as far as he could into their abdomen while letting out a holler of laughter. " HAHAHA HAHAHA!!!!!! Oh how I've MISSED this! " he pulled the knife out as the victim sprayed blood from his mouth onto his clawed hand, they dropped limp as Bob released them to the ground before pressing his knee down into the wound while placing his knife into their neck. " Did you know- "
" MAMA! "
.
.
.
.
.
.
" W-Wha- " before the victim had more of a chance to speak bob squeezed their throat to make them pass out before turning to their littl' sunshine who ran up to him while making grabby hands " Mama mama!!!! Up up! " he picked you up with a big and slightly concerned smile, " Now how did you get here littl' lamb! " he could be mad another time. Rn, he just needs to take you home and bring the body with him " Mama, can I help? " bob was caught off guard but slowly he gave you a soft smile " Of course ya' can, just help papa with the body. " " MAMA! " he would have to find a way to break you out of the ' mama ' thing eventually, all that mattered at the moment was getting home and avoiding the approaching police.
He tries and take you out with him on peaceful walks and sometimes hunting since you will also most likely pick up cannibalism from bob and have his more sadistic traits, but you can cover them well like him too.
Since you now talk and walk he of course brings you little trinkets and gives you you're own room if you want one! If you don't he will build shelves from already broken ones or steal one for all your little gifts and finds. ( Has a secret compartment in his sweater where he keeps your drawings for himself 🤭)
He let's you keep whatever you want from a hunt and if you want something from a store he'll make sure to dress you up and wear a disguise so you can go shopping.
He also tries his best to pick up on sewing and knitting for you and himself. He remembered how much you loved watching people make things but never brought it up because you were so shy about it, so he surprised you with a semi wearable scarf! Since then he's been trying to do more but still needs practice.
You were waiting at the door for bob to show up again, you sadly couldn't got hunting with him but he promised to bring you back something special! Slowly you were loosing the battle of sleep until the door opened " Mama! " you never let him live the name down as you tried to jump up on him " Hey! How'd my little hell spawn hold up da' fort? " you straighten up while saluting to him " Guarded and secure! I even caught you a present! " you ran off to bring your gift over as bob set the multiple bags down on the fixed dinning table.
As you came back bob was slightly shocked to see the heavily bleeding and unconscious person you dragged along with you " I saw them in the woods lining the house and they tried to break in! " bob let a smile adorn his face, on that didn't look so crazy and forced, before picking you up and spinning you around as you giggled " Hahah! That's my girl/boy! " he set you down in a chair before pushing the bags towards you " Now you remember how I was gonna give you something special? Weeelllll I noticed you eyein' a few things in the store that you didn't grab sooooo- "
He didn't finish before you tore into the bags and started making excited demonic animal noises " Mama! Thank you! " you lunge to bob as he caught you and returned the hug " Anythin' for you my littl' sunshine. Now, how about I start dinner'? " " Yay! Dinner! "
Getting about 5-8 years old he allows you to venture out on your own but not to far to where he can't find you, but still you get to explore none the less. Of course you bring back things you find to bob which he cherishes with his life and makes sure to get you something back.
Buuuttttt your also a little rebel so you usually decide to go a LITTLE farther than allowed without him knowing.
This is also how you come across skid and pump one of the days you get lost and Bob's loosing his shit trying to find you and telling himself you're alright
Of course you make friends with the two and when you tell bob he is in a bit of a crossroad considering he tried EATING them last Halloween, But their your friends and he'll accept it eventually!
Are they allowed at the house? HELL NO! (Still sneak 'em in tho)
When he has a re encounter with the four people from last year because you were waving goodbye at the edge of the woods and he popped up to scold you for going out so far until seeing the four across the street. Cue awkward silence
Bob saw you waving towards the sidewalk across the forest and came up behind you with a worried but angry look " (Y/N) (M/N) Velseb. What are you doing out here? " " Mama! I was waving goodbye to my friends! " Bob turned to the sidewalk and froze as he saw the two familiar pumpkin and skeleton kid with two concerned parents. " Mama, can they come over for a play date PLEEEAASSSEEEEE!!!!!!!! " bob looked down at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes he could have imagined and felt his heart tighten as he looked back and forth between you and the others, finally he let out a sigh while looking at you " Fine. They can come but ONLY if you agree to tell me when to expect guest. Got it? " " Mhm Mhm! I got it! "
bob let out a tired sigh as you turned to tell skid and pump they could go over before happily climbing up to sit on his shoulders as you headed back leaving two very confused Lila and jaune behind with skid and pump feeling excited to have a new friend.
Now as I said, rebellious kid. Meaning you have gone into town which results in you getting both almost kidnapped by frank and having some very scary encounters with others.
Roy is a perfect example! Your first interaction was scary as shit for all of them cause you decide to pull the same did you know your old man pulled on them! Doesn't help you also have a Southern accent like him with a more deranged smile. Safe to say he don't wanna try shit with you
Other interactions that were tense at first are Frank, had tried bribing skid and pump with candy and you pulled off a head tilt with a smile which sent him driving, Dexter, you had met him when bob grounded you and he tried coming in through the front door, the cult, they had no clue of any ties between you and bob so they thought it was a good idea to try kidnapping you! Fucking. Not. Never came back to the house, and finally! Jack and john, you can use your imagination 🙃
Now of course once Jack and John find out you two are blood related (after you went to the police station because you lost bob on one of your hunts) they use you as bait every chance they get! Doesn't work out well though 🙂
You were currently sitting in a cell scared out of your mind and making the most eardrum bursting screeching anyone can imagine as you try to clue bob where you are. " Jesus! How the hell did that phsyco get laid and have this thing birthed! " John complained as you stopped and threw one of the pieces of the destroyed cell bed at him, he quickly ducked as you start giggling uncontrollably " That's not important! What is is that he shows up to try and get them out so we can catch him. " you started to actually loose your breath as you finally looked at the two with tears in your eyes while speaking " You can't catch mama! He's just gonna escape! "
You stopped laughing as the power went out and your eyes glowed as you started jumping up and down " Mama's here mama's here! " both men drew their guns as the turned on their flashlights trying to find him " Jack, get to the breaker box and turn on the- " before John could continue he was thrown across the room as Jack turned his gun and flashlight towards him, and oh BOY was bob pissed. He was in his signature costume drenched in blood and guts from what the flashlight showed.
" Did you know? " his voice was strained as his glowing eyes turned to jack before he was being held up by a claw around his throat " That you neva' fuck with a man who would do anythin' for his KID. " he blocked off more of Jack's airway before feeling a bullet got through his chest and hit Jack in the leg " MAMA! " you panicked slightly as you watch bob drop Jack and face towards the cowering John while smiling more pissed than ever " I'm alright sunshine! Just close yer' eyes and ears for me, well be home soon. " you followed his instructions as he lunged at John more determined than every to rip him piece by piece for putting you in a cell and trying to use you as bait.
This next section is for girl things, I'll do one for the boys but girls gotta be done first so I can get it out of the way
You have now entered teen years (11-18, sorry if you disagree) and guess what? You now have a period! Yaaaaayyyyyyyy........ Yeah god have mercy on anyone who hears the screams of demonic pain in the woods or enters the woods.
Bob has no experience whatsoever ever dealing with this subject so he is going to probably be the equivalent of a new dad panicking that his wife/girlfriend went into labor.
Tell him exactly what you need or this man will pop back up at the house with a human sacrifice ready for you to consume if it means he's safe from your wrath.
Be thankful he never dropped his sewing and knitting hobby cause you getting custom shit if it's certified help material
Bob had been pacing back and forth as he tried to think of how to help you as you were currently curled into a ball on his bed with blood all over your legs. He knew this day would come but he didn't think like this! Slowly you started to groan again as bob heard the slight clicks in it " Ok bob, what do you remember your ma' telling you and how ta' handle it. " he perked up when he thought he heard meat painfully came out of your mouth " Ok, I'll be back sunshine. Just stay tight and I'll bring ya' somethin' to help. " he exited the house now on a mission.
------Time skip------
You had been waiting for bob for about a hour now, the pain wasn't there anymore so you found it easy to shower and go about trying to stop the blood from getting everywhere. " I wonder why dad's taking so long..... " you chuckled slightly as you remember how you'd always say " mama " instead, just then the door opened with bob having a giant bag in his mouth while dragging a body behind him. He set the bag down before placing, who you recognize as a cashier, on the table.
" Ok I got whatever I could possibly think of before the police arrived and took me to a cell. " bob started pulling out all sorts of materials to help you before turning to look at you to see you facing the body " Dad, why did you bring a cashier? I thought we had enough meat? " he picked up the cashier before turning to you with a smile " For a offering so you don't kill me of course! " you almost laughed before composing yourself and looking at bob " Dad I don't need a sacrifice! Why in the world would you think I need a sacrifice???? " he scratched the back of his neck as you face palmed yourself not believing what was happening right now. " It's the thought that counts dad " you gave bob a hug as he hugged you back before turning to the now conscious cashier and punching them unconscious.
Hormones is 100% something he can't help you with even if he tried, but he's 100% gonna be your gossip buddy and do runway modeling for you if you pick up a habit of designing clothes or do things to help in anything you pick up (I can't help but imagine him striking a pose with duck lips as you laugh your ass off at his attempt at looking hot in a dress you made)
Having " The Talk " has got to be the only other time you've seen him visibly have to take more mental breaks than when he told you about cursing. Man was praying you'd stay little forever
He makes sure you drink your setting boundaries and respecting people who respect you juice 👏! (If you a Top he's gonna give you the finest gentleman juices in👏the👏world👏!)
One thing that's a constant he tells you is that no matter who or what you want to date he's gonna be happy as long as you are, so long as they pass his test! Also tells you if you do a secret relationship you better make it worth keeping it from your old man! And if they do something to hurt you or they weren't worth it YOU will be able to get all the revenge you want!
He really is just that dad who may not know anything about what happens when a girl matures but will happily try his best ever thought he knows absolutely nothing. Just don't bring up people drama cause you both gonna go and kill that person for dinner.
Bob heard the house door slam and saw you running up the stairs mumbling nope under your breath on repeat and red faced. He set down his book and glasses as he made his way up to your room that he gave you once you become 11, hearing you pacing and panicking made him slightly jog up and knock on your door as softly as he could. " Littl' lamb? Are you alright? Ya' ran up the stairs and were kinda' red. " " I-I'm fine dad! Nothing's wrong! " Bob was about to say alright but then something struck him like a hammer as he realized what was going on ' Right, she probably has a crush or her hormones must be going crazy. ' he opened the door as you stopped pacing and looked at him with some slight panic but tried to play cool as you smiled at him
" (F/N). I think it's time I talked to you about something. " you visibly tense as you sit on your bed while bob sits to your right " What do you need to talk about? " bob could see how tense you were before letting out a sigh and placing his hand on your shoulder " Listen kid, I know it might be hard now with all ya' hormones and feelings going haywire right now but, no matter what I'll always give ya' the same love I give ya' now. "
It was confusing to understand what bob was saying but you guessed you got it " Thanks dad? " that's when bob put on a smile before getting serious " But just so you know, if anyone hurts ya' or don't pass my test I ain't hesitatin' to kill 'em. And make a secret relationship' worth it! " finally you got what he was saying before and start laughing while bob tried to stay composed " I mean it! And make sure to get me some grandkids! " you laughed harder as bob slowly joined in.
Finally you both calm down and you give bob a hug as he wrapped his arms around you " Thanks dad. . . " " Anytime sweety'. "
Ok now that I've ran out of ideas for the girls it time for the boyz!!!!!!
First and foremost he is 10000% more prepared for this than anything for a daughter, I mean he had to go through this as well!
Boners and stuff of that nature is the easiest talk he's ever had to talk to you about. Man probably will give you the secret holy grail of how to hide a boner in any type of pants in this world
He still has the sewing and knitting hobby and I see him just crafting shit every teen boy would need to survive teen years. (ESPECIALLY if you get achne!)
He also gotta show you the groom my friends 🤌
It was around 10:00 and bob was on the verge of passing out from watching Kitchen Nightmares
(Fight me but he definitely watches it)
Until the scream of his son woke him up and had him running upstairs. He slammed open your rooms door as he searched around to find you sitting with the blanket over your head " (M/N)! Is everythin' alright!?!?!?!? " He made his way towards you and tried pulling down the blanket but you retracted and pulled it further on " Yup! Just a nightmare! " now bob knew this to be a lie so he had to think for a minute until remembering how old you were now.
" Son, pull the blanket off yer' face. It can't be as bad as some of the victums' I've seen. " Slowly but surely you pulled the blanket down to your shoulders as bob sighed with a slight smile on his face making his way towards you " Son I know you probably already know what's happenin' and I know this is probably scary but it's not as bad as it could be! " knowing how embarrassing but comforting this would be he pulled out a photo and handed it to you. " No way. Is that- " " Yup! That's my' freshman year picture. . . . " It showed a much younger bob with much longer hair than what he has now, slightly skinnier but still chubby body, and OMG he had a punk phase.
(YUP!, I feel like starting shit and just like with Kitchen Nightmares you can fight me because I'll die on these hills!)
But the one thing that had you in shock was to achne that lightly went all over his face " Go on, get it out yer' system! " and get it out of your system you did. When you finally calmed down as bob re-took his very much embarrassing high school photo, you look up at bob as you sideways hug with a smile on your face " Thanks dad, you really are the best dad someone could ask for. " Bob smiled as he hugged you back to the best of his abilities " Anytime. Now I gotta show ya' some tricks I learned for groomin'! "
Now, same rules apply with hormones. He may be able to give advice but he's not going to be fully there. Also applies with the interests, he will play basketball like he's 19 again until his leg gives out and your now trying to get him in the house so you can have him sleep like he's 80.
" The Talk " was so weird for you because he was bringing shit up that you ain't never fucking image goes with puberty. He just got no filter between what is happening simplified and what's happening with too much detail!
You getting your respect women juice and your gonna get your beat anybody's ass if they disrespectful juice! Man raising a gentleman! (If your a bottom he's gonna make sure your a power bottom, Mama don't raise someone who don't say what they want)
Dating rules and secret relationship rules still apply along with the revenge. This man is VERY supportive
He's all and all better at handling a boy than he is at handling a girl because this man is one of the most unprepared people possible for a daughter than you can ever imagine.
Bob had set down some plates as he made his way up to your room knowing you would have sneaked into the window to avoid him, but can you blame him? He's gotta worry when you have a temper that's almost got you and sometimes him caught (But he's proud). Getting to your door he heard you throwing things around the room while talking to yourself. He knocked as loud as he could which caused the room to go silent. " (M/N)! I'm coming in the room! " " Dad NO! "
Bob opened the door to a absolute mess, everything was thrown about or some destroyed as you stood in the middle gripping at your hair " (M/N)! WHAT'S WRONG!?!?!? " Bob ran to you, grabbing your shoulders and turning you towards him. You froze and went stiff as you started to well up tears " N-Nothing I just- I- " bob wrapped you in a tight hug as he tried to calm you down while you cried, calming down bob looked at you again and asked what was wrong. Letting out a sigh you looked away from him " I. . . . . I got a crush...... "
Bob got a smile on his face as he let you go and put his hands on his hips " Well who's the lucky gal'! " You rubbed your arm feeling nervous as bob looked confused, then he slightly went wide eyed as he let out a sigh putting his hand on your shoulder " Son. Listen. " you tensed up expecting the worst " I don't care who ya' love or what ya' love. Your still my kid. I'll be there for ya' no matter what. Just know if they dare hurt ya' anyway possible or don't fly with me I'm killing 'em. "
You smile as he hugged you, slowly returning the hug and looking up at him " Thanks dad...... " " Of course, just get me some grandbabies! " you laughed while going red as bob joined in with you before letting you go " Now, tell me about the boy who got my littl' devil's heart! "
Now gender neutral teenage stuff because I've got what needed to be divided slightly (Of course it's gonna be short so I can end my misery because my fingers hurting)
Kidnapping and going out hunting is going to be the most common things to happen.
Bob doesn't always go to your rescue every time though cause you handle yourself pretty well sometimes, RIP Jack and John's goddamn wallets from the hospital trips 💀
You honestly just get alot more freedom than expected but he still worries so you always gotta keep him updated every 6 hours
Bringing anybody home you like so he can meet them or a photo is a MUST. Don't want them getting accidentally killed!!!! Although it might sometimes be on purpose......
I imagine him starting to get you to be more social and him also trying as well while also being in disguise (I realized I forgot to mention this but bob will age just not as quick as you think he will)
You both walked down the park path making jokes and enjoying some quality time before night, since bob or you both would leave on your own seperate hunts. Sitting on a nearby bench bob gave you a tired lazy smile as he tried to catch his breath " I told you the hoodie was a bad idea. Besides nobody's here! " you opened your arms to make a point as bob let out a breathy laugh " I know kid, but I ain't as yong' as I used to be. I'm almost 100 you know? " you rolled your eyes at Bob's over exaggeration before sitting next to him " Lies. You look like your in your 60's. "
" Oh really? " bob looked at you before narrowing his eyes " How old do ya' think I was when you were a kid? " you crossed your arms as you looked at him " 34 " bob gave you a smile before leaning back on the bench " Wrong kid, 61. " you sprang up from your spot and got in front of him " WHAT!?!?!? How are you just now getting streaks of gray in your hair!?!?!? "
Bob let out a short laugh before looking back up at you " Have ya' ever wondered why ya' can do what you can do? " " Yes but I ju- " then it clicked " You were a cult member!?!?!?!? " bob stood back up again before giving you a smile and walking into the woods " It's almost night. We betta' head back. " you stood in stunned silence before quickly running up to bob sputtering on your words " HOW CAN YOU BRUSH THIS OFF!?!?!?!? "
Now to the faithful day somebody steals his baby's heart! Aka the day he becomes the most hardest man to please when you try dating someone.
Partners are a VERY hard thing to come across when you are the daughter of a notorious killer and killer yourself, plus the police and everything doesn't help either.
So saying you ACTUALLY found someone who isn't trying to collect some sort of bounty or apart of the cult he is V E R Y on guard. The first interaction feels like a stand off in the wild west between the two.
Now of course he'll want to know how you met up, so for your sake and theirs lie. Say you met in the park or somewhere instead of the truth which is you saw them on a killing spree and they saw you.
Staying for dinner is like a spin the wheel for how you will compromise dinner with bob. Human meat is DEFINITELY off the table so finding a substitute is key to them actually staying.
Overall this man ain't gonna chill until he's certain they can be trusted
The air in the room was heavy and felt like a snake, almost ready to tear out the poor boy/girl next to you who had a all cheery look. Bob sat across from you two and was silently death glaring them while you tried to think of a way to defuse the situation " Dad, this is (R/N). There my Boyfriend/Girlfriend. " bob looked at you briefly before looking back at the boy/girl next to you " So, (R/N). How did ya' meet my daughter/son/kid? " he was trying to scare the kid in hopes he'd give bob a reason to gut them on the living room floor.
" Oh! I had met them one night when taking a stroll around the park, they were alone and I was curious so I introduced myself and the rest is good memories. " you could hear the imaginary hammer hit one nail into a coffin with their name on it as you decide to quickly chime in to stop another one being hammered " It was after I left to hang out with Skid and Pump! It was beautiful outside and I didn't want to head home just yet. We hanged out for a while until I headed back and we just kept meeting up there. " That's when Bob's eyes got a sadistic look before he started rapid firing questions at your boyfriend/girlfriend.
" How often would they stay at your house? "
" Sometimes for 2 day's. "
THUMP. 2 nails
" How did ya' know where to meet up? "
" They would text me when and where before 6. "
3
" How did ya' already know where we live? "
" I've been inside before "
4. Bod started going for his knife.
" Do you know what we do for a livin'? "
" I've been told "
5. You kept your hand stead on your own knife.
" Do ya' know who I am? "
" Bob velseb. Wanted serial killer and cannibal. "
6. Bob started drooling as he prepared to stab him.
" And tell me young' man/woman. Where exactly do ya' work? "
" The butcher shop right by your old restaurant! "
.
.
.
Bob smiled and looked towards you " They can stay fer' dinner! " you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as you hugged bob with a goofy smile before turning around and saying " Welcome to the family! "
Tumblr media
FINALLY!!!!!!! FUCKING. FINISHED. This has been in my drafts since 2022 and I have poured way too much energy into this that I'm about to cry in joy for finishing.
Anyway I hope you enjoy this read and that it isn't disappointing for how long this has taken me. Request are open and pinned with all my rules and such if you want to request something. BYE!!!!!
249 notes · View notes