#Sorry for how grainy these came out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bi-writes · 10 months ago

Text

i didn't have an amazing christmas this year so i projected this onto bestfriend!roommate!simon and im sorry about it but im also not sorry about it but i tried to end it nice

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 6/?)

cw: mature language and content, mentions of past trauma, mentions of unrequited love and lack of family, mentions of death and loneliness, allusions to violence

you waited for the ringing of the call to stop. you were seated on the couch, the laptop propped up in your lap as you stared at the screen hopefully. your heart skipped a beat when the ringing stopped, a circling loading screen popping up until a grainy video came through.

simon was seated in the dark; you guessed that he was hunkered down in his room, seated on his bunk. he had his skull mask on; the plate sewn onto a balaclava, eye-black hiding most of him in the void of the terrible quality video, and you tried not to notice the mysterious drops of something against the white of his mask.

"hey, simon," you greeted him, giving him a gentle smile. simon ran a gloved hand over his head, nodding.

"''ello, luv. i know the time is bad, if...if you want to head to bed, 's alright with me."

you scoffed, "you know that's not happening. i don't care what time it is here...i always want to talk to you."

he grunted lowly, looking away for a moment at something out of your view before looking back. you moved to go sit by the window, keeping the laptop propped up as you looked outside. you could see the soft lights lighting up the neighborhood; twinkling lights, mostly in red and green, sparkling between the soft snowfall that had began to fall against the pavement.

there was something so peaceful about the moment. you could see the wind pushing the snow at an angle as it fell, starting to add a fresh blanket of white to everything. if you squinted, you could see two people in the apartment across the street, trying to build a small bike in the early hours of the morning. one of them held papers, instructions you guessed, and the other held a screwdriver and was trying to fit the two back wheels onto a base.

"how are you?" you asked suddenly, looking back down at the laptop. "you look like shit."

simon laughed dryly, "you can't even see me."

"i know you," you laughed with him. "and i know that even through the shitty camera, you're worse for wear."

he hummed, looking down for a moment.

"i've had better days," was all he offered, and you swallowed hard, trying to look at him better.

"i miss you, simon."

you said it easily. you did miss him. he was so far away; you didn't know where he was, but you knew it was far. and he did not say when he would be coming back; you suspected he didn't even know himself when he would be.

"i miss you, too, luv."

you looked out the window again. you looked at the couple again, watching one of them take a few bites of some cookies that were laid out while the other had a few hearty gulps of the milk in the glass beside them. your eyes watered a little. their house looked...full. stockings hung over a dwindling fireplace, christmas tree lights giving the room a soft yellow glow, a mountain of presents gathered under a full tree of ornaments.

there was nothing in your apartment. no lights, no tree. you never liked to keep one; you had no one to buy presents for. and simon--this day only brought the wrong kind of feelings to the surface. feelings of torture, of unexpected discovery, of death and the stench of it which couldn't be covered by lighting evergreen candles or baking sugar cookies.

so much of the day surrounded family--of which you didn't have. no one to visit, no one to bring the wine while you cooked the ham, no one to hand you a gift and no one for you to give one to either. you had learned a long time that it was best not to dwell, but it was hard. it was hard when you looked across the street and saw people that had so much more of something. something that you desperately wanted, but couldn't be bought.

when you looked back down at the laptop, simon could see the tears in your eyes clear as day. your eyes were so glossy and wet, and he swallowed hard as he looked at your face, illuminated by the twinkling lights that were bright outside.

"sorry--" you whispered, reaching up and wiping your cheeks with the sleeves of your sweater. "sorry, i don't know why...i don't know what's wrong with me." you laughed it off, but simon could hear the pain in your voice. something aching and scratchy, something hollow.

"did...did you get what i sent?"

you looked up at him, frowning a little.

"sent? like...a package?"

"oh, christ, luv, don't tell me you haven't left the flat all day?"

you opened your mouth to respond, but you closed it, smiling shyly.

"just...go check outside. i can see it bloody snowing, go get it before it gets ruined."

you got up from your seat, going outside momentarily. when you came back inside, you had a wet box in your hands, and you set it down on the table as you when to go get something to cut the tape off. when you had opened the box, there was a smaller one inside, a nicely wrapped burgundy box that fit in your lap. you took a seat in front of the camera again, seeing simon's messy handwriting on the top of the box.

happy december 25th.

you laughed reading it, looking up at the camera after you reading the message.

"just another day, right?" he asked. you had new tears now, but they weren't sad. your heart was beating fast, making you take shaky, fast breaths, and you tried to smile, but it was hard.

"j-just another day," you whispered back to him. you took the top off the box, taking the tissue paper out to reveal a little plushie inside. it was a black teddy bear, but this one was unique. someone had fashioned a little skull mask of it out of felt, messily sewn fabric fit over the bear's face with the beady black eyes peeking out from the eyeholes--just like simon's. you picked up the bear, letting the box fall to the floor, and you tipped your head back as you tried to keep your tears inside. "simon--"

you and simon had never really gotten the chance to just be kids. to just be. to just enjoy and to receive something that didn't serve a purpose or a function, something unnecessary and trivial--something considered extra. because possessions were luxury, and you can't remember the last luxurious thing you had ever gotten.

"i know," he said lowly. "fuck, i--"

he pushed his own laptop down, and the camera tilted so you could only see his lower half. you watched him lose a bit of control, more tears coming down your face as you held your breath. simon cleared his throat loudly, ringing his hands together nervously before he picked the camera back up to his face.

"i'm getting the next fuckin' plane out of here, y'hear me?"

you brought the bear to your chest, hugging it gently before nodding. you wondered if this was why he had gotten you something like this--something to hold onto when he was gone. something to remind. something that would make you remember in the simon-shaped void you seemed to dwell in all too often.

"okay."

you had spent many december 25ths without him. you had spent many december 25ths right here, on a lonely windowsill, watching through the windows of lives that you wished you were living. this loneliness was not new--but now the loneliness was shared, and it hurt to share it.

you fell asleep there, watching glittering lights between the snowfall and holding the bear to your heart. the laptop went dark after awhile, and you slept there by the windowsill, wondering if anyone looked in and wanted to live this life instead.

the empty, quiet life of nothingness and bad dreams.

but it was something warm that woke you. a familiar hand, cradling the back of your head, whispering against your hair.

his breath was shaky. sucking in with difficulty, and then breathing out in rough stutters. your eyes opened slowly, your cheek squished against his tactical vest. you realized that he must've just gotten home--he was still head-to-toe in his gear, and you were staring up into the skull plate.

"simon--!"

you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. you gasped as you held him close, and it took everything in you not to burst into tears. your heart fluttered at the thought that he must've left as soon as he told you last night--determined to get back to you.

when you pulled back, simon rested his forehead against yours. you nuzzled your face against his, soft breaths as you grounded yourself in the realization that he's here, he's with me, he's alive.

"just another day," simon murmured, gripping your head with both hands. you swallowed hard, opening your eyes and meeting his own. you swear you saw something sad in them, something emotional, tears of some kind, but he blinked it away before you could look too long. "but i...had to come home."

your nodded reaching up and putting your hands over his on your face.

"i love you, simon."

if he had paid enough attention, he would've heard what those words truly meant. that you didn't just love him, you love him. not want, need, not a preference, but a requirement. undeniable, endless, raw, soul-sucking love--the kind that tore up your insides and spit them out without remorse.

but how can you really love someone like me?

simon tangled his gloved hands into your hair now, tugging gently.

"i love you more."

how can you love someone who's already dead?

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty

629 notes · View notes

sweeterthanficstion · 1 month ago

Text

— between here and there || l.s.k

pairing: ghost!leon kennedy x ghosthunter!fem!reader

tags: set in 2001, graphic depictions of dead animals one is right under the cut, mentions of death, mentions of grief, mentions of violence, themes of obsession and love, implied/referenced childhood abuse inflicted by a parent, typical horror topics. (if i missed anything pls dm me and let me know!!)

summary: Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt. Or: The year is 2001, and you've just found out about a haunted homestead on a prairie, sure to hold a million mysteries within its rotting walls. You've chased rumors of the supernatural before, but this place feels... different. Maybe this time, you'll find the evidence you need to prove the existence of the other side—and finally go viral. But quickly you come to learn that some doors, once opened, can't be shut.

word count: 6.6k

a/n: i wrote 80% of this fic on my phone, so i'm sorry if it reads badly 😔, i hope you enjoy regardless though! and things will make more sense in the coming parts, i promise <3 also; thank you claudia for beta-reading for me!! n also thank you @/uhlunaro for bone-chill, go read their work!! it's so good n inspired this fic.

playlist ⭑ AO3 || back to the party ⭑ next (coming soon) »

You were eight when you saw your first ghost. Your mother had found you with your face pressed up against the living room window, eyes wide as you stared out into your backyard, convinced there was a dog by the fence that was staring right back.

Your mother had ushered you back to bed, murmuring about how there was no dog out there, and you needed to sleep. But you saw him! You swear it! Floppy ears and a bone between his teeth.

You couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning and anxiously waiting for morning to come. By the time the sunlight had crept through your window, you scampered outside to prove it. You’d spent nearly an hour out in the early morning cold, digging, digging, digging with your bare hands, until eventually, you found it, something that wasn’t a dog—not anymore, anyway.

Wrapped in a plastic bag you found it, decayed skin clinging stubbornly to yellowed ribs poking through like splintered wood. Its jaw hung open, snapped and crooked, patches of fur still clinging to the skull, matted until it resembled something more like melted plastic. There was a sense of grief that came with finding its body, a suffocating presence that weighed down over your little lungs, tightened your oesophagus, made your stomach clench.

You gave the rotting dog carcass a proper burial.

A grave by the oak tree, dirt pressed down gently over its brittle body as if the dog might still feel it, a ring of daisies set atop in remembrance. When you finally stood, wiping mud-stained hands on your pants, you could feel your mother’s eyes on you, her silence heavier than her words ever were.

After that, her patience thinned. She’d catch you whispering to empty rooms, her voice sharper each time, the snap of her voice was soon paired with the snap of a belt. The corners of your room were just corners, she’d say. The shadows were just that; shadows.

You stopped talking about it, but the flashes of something stayed—the fleeting movements, the whispers, the shadows that lingered in the corners of your vision. The haunting weight of it all clung to you like a thick blanket, creeping in with every bump in the night, until curiosity bled into something deeper.

Eventually, you gave up waiting and started searching, looking for answers between ghost-hunting forums and haunted houses.

And now, years later, you’re chasing a truth you’re still yet to prove.

You jolt from your thoughts the same time the van does over a potholed, eyes snapping to the stretch of dirt road before you. The homestead comes into view, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it—looking every bit more eerie when bathed in hues of twilight than it did in the grainy two-bit photos on your laptop screen.

Luis lets out a low whistle from the driver’s seat, before he clicks his tongue and puts the car into park. “Well, we’ve seen worse.”

Luis says it with an air of carelessness you struggle to stomach under the looming shadow of the homestead. He’s never believed in the paranormal the same way you do, always the wind, always a shadow to him, everything has an explanation. Never a ghost, never a spirit.

Yet, he sticks with you, out of what sense of loyalty you’re not entirely sure, but you’re grateful all the same. Maybe it’s the remnants of a childhood bond that keeps him tethered to your side, echoes of sleepovers and whispered secrets, of nights spent laughing over nothing, long before you were chasing shadows and seeking the dead.

It’s not that Luis doesn’t care—he does, more than he’ll ever admit. He just doesn’t see the world the way you do. And that’s okay. He doesn’t have to believe. You do.

He slides out of the car easily, no doubt eager to unpack the camera gear. You hear the back of the van slide open, before you finally make the decision to move, feeling as if your bones have stuck themselves together—rigor mortis.

The homestead looks like it’s rotting from the inside out. Once-grand pillars holding up the front porch that have long since bowed, wood that rots and splinters from years of neglect. The windows, fogged over with dust, are cracked and warped as if the house itself has been trying to keep the world out for far too long.

“What even happened here?” Luis asks, eyeing the decayed structure with a grimace as the both of you step onto the creaking front porch.

In truth, the research had been thin. The house didn’t show up on any official ghost-hunting registry, and there wasn’t much mention of it in local history. But there were enough stories, enough pieces of something to make you believe it was worth the three hour plane trip.

If no one else could get proof, then maybe you could. This could be your big break, could be your skyrocket to supernatural stardom—If that was even really a thing.

“A lot. Murders, disappearances, all the fun stuff.” You joke, flashing a wide grin over your shoulder, trying to ease the pit in your chest, and find amusement at the way Luis shivers at the mention of murders. His shoulders stiffen enough to make you bite back a laugh.

Luis fixes you with a hard stare. “You’re not right, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Plenty of times,” you reply, grin only widening. You reach up and give his cheek a playful pat, “You’re not special.”

He rolls his eyes and you’re well aware he doesn’t buy your teasing, but that’s half the fun. You slip past him to check out the entryway, Luis trailing behind with his camera over his shoulder.

Luis keeps his distance as you wedge the door open. A thick layer of dust comes loose with the movement, swirling with the fading light and wafting straight into your face. You cough violently, waving it away with a grimace.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Luis mutters, adjusting the lens of his camera.

“Nothing’s going to happen—” And as if infuriatingly on cue, the door slips from your gasp and slams shut with a bone-rattling thud.

The both of you jump despite yourselves—Luis lets out a yelp that he stifles with a cough, while you freeze, hand still hanging in the air where the door had once been.

The silence that follows is deafening. You stare at the door for a beat, pulse-quickening as if it might just spring open again on its own, while you feel the burn of Luis’ gaze in the back of your neck, waiting for you to explain it away with your usual bravado.

You lower your hand slowly, give him a sidelong glance. You take a step back from the door as if daring it to open or slam shut again. “Well. That’s one way to make an entrance.”

Luis glares at you. “Yeah, real funny. Can we leave now?”

Rolling your eyes, you reach for the handle and tug the front door open again, choosing to ignore Luis’ insistence. The homestead is as quiet as you imagined it’d be, even so you can’t shake the eeriness of the silence. You swear you can hear static in your head.

Luis hands you a flashlight, which you flick on before toeing the warped floorboards. The wood groans beneath you, but it holds, so you plant your foot fully inside, waiting for the house to react. One second. Two.

Nothing.

With a relieved sigh you step deeper into the homestead. The pale remains of sunlight filter through grimy windows, while dust swirls lazily in the beam of your flashlight as you sweep it across the room.

“Are you recording?” You whisper over your shoulder to Luis, who gives a quick nod, a thumbs-up flashing in your periphery.

The homestead opens up around you—parlour to the left, kitchen and dining room through the door on the right, and a staircase, old and worn, curling up toward the shadows in the back.

“We’ll set up in the parlour,” you murmur, moving toward it. Your hand brushes against the wall as you reach for the light switch, fingers hesitant. You flick it, expecting nothing. But then the chain bulb overhead sputters to life, casting a weak, flickering glow across the room.

“Huh,” you breathe. “Not bad.”

Nightfall comes sooner than you would’ve hoped, and you’re starting to understand why there’s so little about this homestead online. In the two long hours you and Lewis have been here, the silence has remained unbroken. The EMF reader has not spiked once and the camera has picked up nothing. No doors have slammed, nothing has creaked strangely, not even an unsettlingly cold gust of wind.

Maybe this place is a waste of time, another dead end to add to your already growing list. You contemplate if packing the van up now is a good option. But yet, yet—you can’t shake the feeling that there is something waiting for you here, just beyond reach. A presence. A secret.

There’s still upstairs, a voice nags at the back of your head. Rooms yet to explore, yet to be turned inside out so you can find what’s hidden in the confines of this home’s brittle bones.

Luis follows behind as you carve a path up the stairs, flicking the stairwell light on and waiting for the flicker of the bulb to cease into a steady hum. It takes a moment too long, and your fingers twitch at the edge of your flashlight.

You never did shake your fear of the dark.

Upstairs, the floor is dappled in the pale glow of the moon. You sweep your flashlight through the shadows, the light catching on each warped surface, every peeling edge of wallpaper, casting lonesome shadows across the splintering floors. You watch the EMF reader calibrate and tick in your hand as you tread further down the hallway. The air up here feels heavier, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you.

That’s when you see it.

Or him, rather.

At first, you make out nothing but a vague shape standing at the end of the hallway, a shadow where there shouldn’t be one.

But as your eyes adjust, you make out the figure’s skin; a sickly pale, marred with crawling veins like rivers of ink. He has hair like dull flaxen straw, eyes that are such a piercing blue you make them out even in the dark. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as a chill crawls down your spine. You take a step back, stumbling into Luis, who nearly drops the camera.

The light overhead flickers dramatically before the bulb bursts with a sharp pop, plunging the hall into sudden darkness. Your EMF reader spikes violently in time with your heart slamming against your ribs, and in the panic, you scramble to bring up your flashlight—but as the beam sweeps over him, he vanishes, parts of his body disintegrating into the light, like bend the rules of physics themselves, like something wrong.

“Is that—?” it hits Luis the same time it hits you. Not a person. A ghost.

But there’s no haunting glow, no cloud of smoke. He doesn't float; in fact he doesn’t move at all. Instead, the air grows thick, an oppressive weight that threatens to shatter your ribs inwards and pierce into your lungs.

You hear him. The sickly sound of breathing, a rasping inhale followed by an exhale, like a death rattle. The noise crawls under your skin, itches against your bones.

Your own breath catches in your throat in favour of hearing his. The sound swells, crescendos, then tithers to nothing. Silence, like buzzing in your ears, is all that’s left behind. Slowly, you peel your eyes open, the ghost is nowhere to be seen.

You come back to reality like ungluing yourself from a fly trap—slowly, sticky, the numbness in your body ceases.

“Did you.. Did you get that on tape?” You ask Luis between bated breath, eyes still glued to the wall where he had been.

Luis swallows hard, his breathing ragged. He fumbles with the camera, fingers trembling, flipping through settings with a frantic sort of urgency. His face drains of colour as he checks the screen. The camera blinks, sputters.

Panic surges as you rush downstairs, tripping over your feet. Luis yanks the camera from his shoulder, flipping it open to review the footage. His hands move fast, flipping through buttons…

Then, the camera shuts off with a mechanical click, the small screen fading to black.

"No, no, no," Luis mutters, voice tight with frustration. He pulls out the tape reel, and the acrid smell hits you first. He stares at it, brow furrowing. You step closer, peering over his shoulder. The reel is ruined—burnt and blackened beyond recognition, as if scorched by something unseen.

Neither of you says a word.

“Sorry, we’re full.”

The words feel like a death sentence this late at night. Luis sighs sharply, his breath fogging up the plexiglass screen between him and the motel keeper. “There’s got to be something, no? Just one room,” he mutters, pushing the crumpled fifty across the counter one more time, almost pleading.

The motel keeper eyes the money, before shaking her head. “I’m serious, hon,” she says, her voice flat, tired. “We’re booked solid. You can try the highway if you’re desperate.”

You’re really only half-listening to the exchange, shivering from the cold as you lean by the side of the van parked under the carport.

The motel sign above flickers weakly, casting uneven shadows across the parking lot, the words The Black Dog barely legible in the failing neon glow. Cerberus snarls from the sign like a bad omen, one head flickering on and off as if it’s ready to give up entirely.

After the encounter at the homestead, neither Luis nor yourself could shake the feeling of dread that had settled like a thick fog, a weighted blanket that provided more unease than comfort. The decision to leave for the night had been easy, but now, standing outside in the frigid air, you’re starting to feel the sting of bad luck. There are only two motels in this entire town—one’s closed for maintenance, and this one, The Black Dog, is fully booked.

Luis pulls back from the counter with a groan, stuffing the money into his pocket as he joins you outside. “No luck,” he mutters, breath curling in the chilled air.

But you're distracted, focused on the yellowing photographs lining the walls behind the motel keeper’s desk, town history captured in fleeting moments behind dusty glass. Your eyes widen in realisation when you note the homestead is in one of them. A farmer’s family stands at the front of it; a husband, a wife, his daughter and two sons.

You quickly rush up to the window, leaning down closer to the little cutout in the plexiglass as you rest your elbows on the counter. “That photo,” You start, finger pressed to the plastic surface, “do you know who the people in it are?”

The motel keeper swivels in her squeaky office chair, her eyes widening with a sort of realisation. “Them? Well they’re the original settlers of this land,” She hums, turning back. “Their family were the first to come this far east, their father built that homestead with his bare hands.”

“What happened to them?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Desperate for more, desperate for answers. Although, your ghost looks nothing like any of the men in the picture.

“Well they died,” The motel keeper says, something akin to god-fearing in her voice. “But whatever malevolent force has been haunting that place never did.”

You stare at her, wide-eyed and unblinking. Luis fills in for you where you can’t.

“You’re not serious,” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement.

“Dead serious, hon. That place is no good. They say the prairie wind drove that family mad—” she states, sticking a thumb over her shoulder to point to the picture “—we’re just not so sure it was the wind that did it.”

You decidedly spend that night in the back of the van, parked right outside the homestead on that old gravel path.

The wind whistles terribly and you begin to understand what they mean by prairie fever—you can’t fathom what it would’ve been like, out here, all alone with nothing but the wind and the wolves.

“Something’s wrong,” Luis murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. You turn your head, watching as he stares at the ceiling of the van.

There is a sudden unease that settles in your chest, watching him like this. Luis has never been rattled by the dark, never questioned the supernatural because he didn’t have a reason to. In many ways, he has been your anchor.

And what is a ship without its anchor?

You hum, mirroring his movements and righting your neck to stare up at the ceiling. “Luis, you say this every—”

“No, I mean it.” He cuts in, a certain urgency to his words. “We saw something, I saw it. He was–” His words die, fizzle into nothing on his tongue as if it’ll be a sin to refer to the shadow as anything more than just a shadow. “We can’t go back in there.”

You understand… yet you don’t.

“This is the closest we’ve ever been Luis, what do you mean we can’t?” Your words are oddly calm despite the desperation they clearly convey, “You know how much this means to me.”

Luis sighs, “I get it, I’m just not sure this is a good idea.” He hesitates. “I think… I think we’re way in over our heads this time.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Luis holds you to it.

A car crash—that’s what you see in your dream. Although, it feels more like a vision; a premonition or maybe a memory.

You’re trapped behind your own eyes, sitting rigid in the passenger seat. There’s the sound of tyres screaming against the asphalt, a horrible blur of red and blue, glass and smoke.

The car swerves hard, jerking your body with it, weightless, floating, falling. The ground falls away, and for a split second, there’s nothing. Just the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You try to catch a glimpse of the driver, but your eyes are glued to the chaos that unfolds before you. You catch a glimpse of the side of his face, shadowed in the flickering lights. Just the curve of his jawline—sharp, familiar.

And then you slam into a tree.

The night is much less forgiving than day. In moonlight, your mind is left to fill in the gaps, pulls at the seams of reality, and paints over it with every fear you’ve ever had the cowardice to bury. A creak in the floor becomes footsteps. A sigh of wind becomes a distant cry.

But daylight? Daylight spills over the horizon like a gentle promise. In daylight, things feel explainable. Safe. You do not falter and question the shape of shadows, each one is tethered to something, tangible and real, solid in your grasp.

Yet the homestead does not follow these rules.

The walls bleed with secrets you’ve yet to learn, each groan of the floorboards underneath your gentle footsteps sounds like another pair is following closely behind. Light spills through windows, but it dies before it reaches the corners, and does not fill the room the way it should.

It’s that morning, one hour into your second investigation, that you smell it—something faint at first that quickly grows stronger, souring the air with each breath you suck in. It’s familiar but unwelcome, the unmistakable stench of decay. Luis notices it too, his nose wrinkling as he glances toward the far end of the hallway.

“Do you smell that?” he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod.

The smell rots. It festers the further you walk down the hallway, intensifying until it clings to you like a second skin. It seeps through the floorboards, through every crack in splintering wood, and it leads you to a door. The one at the end of the hallway from the night before. The one you didn’t manage to open because he had been there.

Luis nudges you with his elbow. “Ladies first.”

“Very brave,” you mutter, pushing the door open.

Inside, the room is cold, the air heavy with dust. Yellowing and peeling wallpaper lines the walls, a dusty bed in the corner, a dresser by the opposite wall and a wardrobe by the adjacent one.

But what draws your attention are the walls—every inch covered in horrifying jagged scratches, as if something had clawed at the walls in a frenzy of desperation.

N-O-E-L.

The letters are scrawled over and over, the same pattern repeated a millennia of times. They twist and turn, written backwards and mirrored, as if whatever had left them behind had longed for a voice it had forgotten how to use.

“What the hell…” Luis murmurs, stepping closer with his polaroid camera, the shutter sounding as he snaps a few photos of the scratches. “What are we dealing with, the ghost of Christmas past?”

You swallow, admittedly now confused. “What does that even mean?” You muse, walking towards a wall and running your fingers over the splintering wood.

“His name, maybe?” Luis supplies, lifting his head from behind the camera.

Without thinking, you speak. “Is your name Noel?”

Silence answers.

You decide to move around the room, keen to find answers where your ghost refuses to give them to you. Your fingertips grazing the walls as if you could pull the truth from the cracks in the old plaster.

“I know you did this,” you say, your voice firm but edged with a strange softness, like you’re coaxing something fragile from the dark. “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

The lights flicker. Luis begins to pray.

The stench grows, grows, grows, more potent with each step you take towards the bed. You fear you’ll find rot when you pull the covers back—a body, perhaps. But what you find confuses you more. You fall to your knees by the bed, crane your neck to peer beneath it, and your eyes catch the glint of silver.

Your hand stretches out, inching under the bed as your teeth catch your lip. When you pull the object free, you look up at Luis, who meets your gaze with the same confusion. In your hands you hold a hunting knife.

And as quickly as it had come, the stench subsides.

You turn the knife over in your hand as you push yourself off the dusty floor, a strange emblem is etched into the heel of the blade.

“Well that’s not weird at all,” Luis mutters, taking the knife from your hand to inspect it himself. You bite the inside of your cheek, about to say something more, when a faint creak draws your attention. The wardrobe. The door swings open, as if nudged by an unseen hand. You meet Luis’ wary gaze, your heart thrumming with anticipation.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, you rise to your feet, walking closer, pulling the door open by its rusting brass handle. Inside hangs a tarnished mirror, and in it you catch your own reflection—dark circles ring your eyes, your reflection looks as drained as you’ve begun to feel.

Luis hums over your shoulder, a spark of realisation lighting his expression as he clicks his tongue. “Not Noel, look.”

You squint into the mirror, making out the jagged inscriptions in the wall that are now mirrored. “Leon?”

There’s a knock on the wall behind you, too loud to be mistaken for the walls of the house adjusting.

“Is that a yes?” You breathe.

Two knocks.

Luis stares at you, his voice hushed, disbelieving. “Are you talking to a ghost?”

“Holy fuck, I’m talking to a ghost.”

Your ghost isn’t as terrifying with a name to its haunt. Leon, you’ve come to find, is gentle. You and Luis have spent the past three hours communicating with him; knock once for yes, twice for no. A language of patience.

You’ve been documenting it all in your notebooks—entry after entry of everything you’ve learnt. It's all you can do, considering the tapes you’ve tried to record burn out. You figure he doesn’t like the notion of being seen. Being known is different, though. You can feel that—he wants to be known.

He cannot leave.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

He knows only his name.

You find he also likes to move things.

First, it was the photos. Luis had left the polaroids from the bedroom out on the dining room table to develop, safe with the windows drawn. You’d found them around the house later, one in your bag, another nestled between the equipment. Harmless. Cute, almost.

Then Leon started to move bigger objects. Your torch was found in the bedroom closet, Luis’ lighter in a kitchen cabinet, your hairpins scattered like breadcrumbs on the mantle of the fireplace. It’s a game to him, one that you find yourself eager to indulge.

You slip into the kitchen, carrying a small wooden figure you’d picked up from the general store—nothing too special, a simple carving of a bluebird. Ghostly fingers might appreciate the weight of its worn edges, you think.

“Alright,” you say aloud, speaking to the empty room, “I – uh, got you something.”

You place the bluebird on the dining table, straightening the figure before taking a few gentle steps back. The temperature in the room drops suddenly, a chilly cold that you no longer mistake for the prairie wind, a denseness in the air that can only be explained by experience.

Your EMF reader ticks up, and you itch to jot down the reading, yet the moment you turn your back, there’s the sound of wood scraping against wood. You spin back on your heel, only to see that the little bird has moved, facing the window with its beak pointed towards the fading sunlight.

“So you like the bird then?” You nearly laugh, low and under your breath.

There’s another scrape, this time longer. The bird moves again, right before your eyes, closer to the edge of the table.

Despite the absurdity of it all, you continue to talk. “Careful, you’ll knock it off.” You warn softly.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the bird stops just short of tipping over the edge, as if Leon has taken your words into consideration. You watch as the bird drags back across the table to the centre.

The lights flicker with your laughter, as if your ghost finds amusement in the cadence of your voice.

You begin to wonder how anyone could’ve thought this home was malevolent at all. The unease that had come with your first encounter has long since given way to something deeper—an ache, a yearning, a quiet desperation to understand. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay, to uncover every secret this house holds.

How did he die? Was it peaceful, or something violent? What kind of life did he lead? Did he love? Did he lose?

You sit on the living room floor, your back pressed against the wall, clicking your pen twice as you jot down tonight’s meeting in your notebook. From the wall beside you, two soft knocks answer in return.

There is a difference between an architectural haunting and a hereditary one. There’s a certain comfort in knowing a haunting is bound to a place, that its roots lie deep within the dirt that make up the home’s foundation. That it cannot follow you home.

But when a haunting becomes hereditary—when it latches onto you, burrows under your skin, sinks its claws into your soul, twisting, festering—when it’s tethered to you, that's when the fear takes hold. You cannot outrun a hereditary haunting.

Last night, you dreamt again. The homestead, its walls bleeding dark and thick, like wounds seeping into your memory. The flashes came in fragments: the house, the woods, a clearing bathed in moonlight. A glint of a knife to match the gleam of his eyes. And then, the sensation of cold mud pressed against your skin as you lay in the dirt, helpless, hopeless, dead.

You wake in the middle of the night and wonder when this haunting stopped feeling architectural.

Luis finds you on the third day in the parlour, your fingers curled around the edge of an old, weather-beaten box. It drags across the warped floorboards with a groan, sending up a small cloud of dust.

He pauses in the doorway. “What are you doing?” His voice cuts through the otherwise quiet home.

“Cleaning up.” You keep your eyes on the box, focused as you rifle through its contents.

Luis steps further into the room, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn floor, nearly tripping over the marbles you had laid out earlier for Leon to move. “Cleaning up?” His brow furrows. “Jesus, I thought we were here to investigate.”

“We are,” you mutter, your hands brushing off the dust clinging to your clothes as you turn to face him. “I’m just helping out.”

“Helping out?” Luis stops mid-step, his confusion sharpening. “Helping the ghost?”

Your hands still. The air shifts, colder than before, almost as if something is standing beside you. You glance over your shoulder, but it’s just Luis, a mix of disbelief and frustration in his gaze.

“Yes, Luis,” You sound annoyed now. Tension thick in the air.

His laugh is short and bitter. “This is crazy,” he mutters, his voice rising slightly. “You’re growing too - too attached, we need to leave.”

“No.” You straighten up, the words more defensive than you intend. “He needs help. Look at the state of this place!” You gesture to the peeling wallpaper, the broken furniture scattered, the oppressive sense of neglect.

“He?” Luis tries to be your voice of reason, tethering you back to reality, to the here and now because currently you seem like you’re in a different plane of existence entirely.

“Yes, he.” You drag the box into a corner, your back to him, and run your hand across its lid. The texture feels wrong—too damp, too cold, as if the cardboard itself is rotting from the inside. “He’s trapped here,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Luis. “I don’t know how long, but... it’s been years. He doesn’t even have anyone to mourn him.”

Luis exhales sharply, his breath fogging the air. When did it get so cold? “You don’t know that,” he snaps, his voice louder, louder, louder. “You don’t even know who ‘he’ is!”

The words hit you like a slap. Something shifts, as if the chain binding his anchor to your ship has snapped and broken all at once.

“I’m not—” You stop, swallowing the words. “I’m not crazy, Luis.”

You can see the flicker of regret in his eyes, the way his expression softens, but it doesn’t erase the sting of his words. He hesitates, lowering his voice as if it could take back the hurt.

“I didn’t say that,” he murmurs, “But you’re not thinking straight. You haven’t been since that night. The ghost—or whatever it is—has you hooked. And you don’t even see it–”

Each word feels like a knife twisting deeper. The betrayal coils inside you, bitter and raw. You trusted him to believe in you, to see you, even when no one else did. You open your mouth to argue, but your ghost has better timing.

A sudden, violent knocking echoes through the house, an urgency to each rap. This time, it’s not coming from within the walls, and oddly, that unsettles you more than if it were. The sound pounds from the front door, growing louder, louder, louder with each second that passes. When both you and Luis rush to the foyer, you stare blankly as the door handle rattles on its own.

You don’t think when you walk forward, as if compelled by an unseen force, your hand wrapping around the crystal handle before twisting it and tugging it open. There, crumpled on the porch, lies a bird.

It’s ruined. Feather slicked by a sheen of its own blood, some still fluttering in the wind, others matted to exposed bone. The body is split open, like something had torn it apart with its bare hands, its innards spilt on the rotting boards. Thin ropes of intestine, wet and glistening, loop over themselves.

The head, nearly severed, hangs at a grotesque angle, twisted so far back it looks as though it were straining to see something beyond its reach, connected by just a thin sinew of flesh. One of its glassy black eyes remains open, dull and lifeless, its beak parted in a scream that never came.

The bird has blue feathers. A bluebird, you realise.

Leon doesn’t speak much the rest of the day—if you can qualify the knocks and the flickers of light as speech at all. When you ask him about the bluebird, there's only silence. When you press him on whether he caused it, a vase shatters like fallen stars at your feet.

Perhaps he’s not all gentle. Neither are you, though, so you give him grace. You pick up the shards of glass one by one, wrap them up in a handkerchief, and discard them in the garden.

It’s only when you return inside that you realise you’re bleeding. A thin line of red trails from the split in your thumb, the sting arrives after, delayed but insistent. You watch it drip, swirling with the water as you rinse it away, the crimson draining down the sink.

You’ve grown used to seeing Leon in your periphery. His shadow is a presence that has grown comforting. Unknown to know, unfamiliar to familiar. You find yourself looking forward to the night even more now, eager for a glimpse of him. But tonight, he doesn’t visit.

You think you might’ve upset him. Between the dead bird and the silence, maybe he didn’t like all the arguing, how loud the house had gotten today. You don’t blame him.

“Luis wants to leave tomorrow,” You hum softly into the darkness. You don’t need to see Leon to know he’ll be listening. “I have to go with him.”

Silence.

“I’ll miss you,” You try again, your voice holding a sense of urgency. Please, please, please.

Again, silence.

You ignore the tears that prick at your eyes, upset that your ghost is ignoring you. You fall asleep with a headache and a heartache to match. But when you dream that night, it’s much more alarming than any of the ones before.

You wake in the darkness, your body stiff in your dream like you’ve lost your flesh and have been made up of bones. Rigor mortis once more. For a second you think this might be some sort of horrible sleep paralysis,but before the panic can set in, your eyes focus on the cracks of light in your vision, seeping through the darkness of your mind.

You’re not sure what part of your brain comes to the conclusion, but you realise you’re stuck under something, in something maybe. A coffin? Something wooden. You can smell the musk of the cottonwood.

When you wake from the dream, your headache is pounding twice as hard, you sit up, groaning as you press a hand to your head. When your eyes open, your breath catches in your throat.

Leon.

He's there. Right there.

Closer than he’s ever dared to get, standing beside your bed, watching, waiting, like he always is. Yet, he looks more solid, more here than you’d ever seen of him before. You could make out the shape of his nose, the curve of his eyes, the length of his lashes.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, bated breath caught in the cavern of your throat as you try to comprehend what you’re seeing.

“Leon,” you whisper his name, your voice shaky, barely more than a breath.

He doesn’t move, but his eyes soften, just slightly, a weight behind his gaze that you can’t quite place. You watch his chest rise and fall with breath that should not be there, lungs that have no reason to expand, a heart that doesn’t beat. And yet, yet, he is here, in front of you, as vivid as anyone else would be.

You lift your hand, your fingers trembling as they hover just above his cheek. You know he isn’t real, not in the way you are, but in this moment, he feels real enough. The heat of your skin, the cool air between you—it all blurs together until the only thing you are sure of is him.

Slowly, carefully, your fingertips brush his skin.

It is faint—barely a touch at all, like reaching through fog—but it is there. For a second, maybe less, his skin feels solid beneath your fingers, cold but tangible. The breath catches in your throat as your hand lingers, the boundary between life and death blurring, blurring, blurring. His eyes flutter closed.

But then, just as quickly, the sensation is gone. Your fingers slip through air, the chill of the room returning, and he is nothing more than a ghost again.

No, no, no your mind screams. A desperation in the way you reach for him again only to feel nothing. A hand over his chest is merely a hand in mid-air. You cannot feel the beat of his undead heart.

Yet, the weight of his gaze remains, heavy with something you cannot name. You want more. You want him to stay. You want to stay.

Leon’s lips part, the faintest hint of a breath escaping, and you swear you can almost hear him say something. Almost. His hand twitches, as if he is also trying to reach for you, but can’t quite cross the divide.

It is unbearable, the way you see him see you.

You don’t tell Luis of what happened last night, refuse to unravel the complexities of the ache in your being that cannot be satiated anymore.

It’s not pain exactly—at least not the kind Luis would understand. It’s deeper than that, a longing you can’t explain. You’re stuck here, you realise, tethered not by chains but by something far less visible, yet much harder to sever.

Luis frowns when you tell him to go without you, that you’ll follow in a day or two. He doesn’t believe you, not entirely. There is scepticism in the way he argues, but you don’t have much fight left anymore. Maybe there isn’t in him, either.

You’d promised yourself this was temporary—a few nights, maybe a week—just long enough to get the evidence you needed. But those days had unravelled into something else. You couldn’t say when you’d first realised you weren’t going to leave. Maybe it was when the lights began to flicker in time with your heartbeat, or when the chill of the air began to feel like a ghost of a touch on your skin.

There was no evidence to gather anymore. No story left to tell but this one.

And perhaps, you think, that’s always been the truth of you—this love of yours, spilling over the edges of your heart until it found something, someone, to hold onto. Living or dead, it didn’t seem to matter. Love for you has never needed a pulse, just a presence.

You walk through the homestead, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feet, and find that the air no longer feels heavy. There’s no longer that crushing weight on your chest, no musk of decay hanging like a warning. You breathe, and for the first time, the house feels still.

"Leon?" you call, your voice fragile, unsure.

The lights flicker in response, faint and distant.

Maybe, you think, this house has always been your grave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

#it's DONE. FUCKING FINALLY #and once again - catch the horror movie references for a gold star #amber's haunted prairie party!#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy #event! ₊˚⊹♡#spilled ink ₊˚⊹♡#sweeterthanficstion

186 notes · View notes

waywardxrhea · 2 months ago

Text

Better Late Than Never - Matt Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Detective!reader

Your teamwork with Daredevil to take down a dangerous gun trafficking gang leads to your life being on the line more than once.

word count: 6,280

content: hurt/comfort, two idiots in love, canon typical violence, guns, blood, car violence, forced sedative use, binds and gags (not the fun kind lol), beating as an interrogation tactic, knife use

a/n: this was done for an anon request! i was given lots of free reign with this one so this is what i came up with for the request of Reader getting captured and Matt/Daredevil has to attempt to rescue!

ps idk why, but i pictured Tom Ellis as the face and voice claim of the gang leader? not the intention, but it just kinda happened lol picture whoever you would like!

“Thank you for your time, and again, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” you said to the young woman you had arrested the week prior as she walked out of the precinct, shooting you a dirty look on her way through the door.

You had found her in possession of a weapon that was unregistered and untraceable, so you took her in and had the gun run against the database to confirm your suspicions about the weapon. Captain Mahoney had recently assigned you to work on a case of an organized crime gang who were trafficking guns, so you were on high alert for any weapons that matched their MO. Turned out your hunch was right and the gun matched up with the weapon used in a murder a few weeks prior to her arrest. The detectives on the case were having trouble tracking down who the killer was, so when the gun’s tool marks matched up exactly, everyone was happy to have someone in custody for the crime.

The woman never once swayed from her story of innocence though, so naturally, she lawyered up. Her innocence was proven just hours before by a pair of talented attorneys from the law offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page. You looked up to see one of her lawyers coming toward you with a smug look on his face as he approached, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his cane not unfamiliar to you at this point. “I guess you can’t be right all the time, Detective,” Matt Murdock said to you as he came to a halt mere feet from you.

You looked out at the bustling New York sidewalk where the woman had been moments before, and told him, “I’m just glad she didn’t go away for something she didn’t do. She ended up having a solid alibi and we found grainy footage of some thug slipping the gun into her purse the night I arrested her. I don’t think we would have known to look if it wasn’t for you and Foggy.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he said, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips. There was a moment of silence before Matt spoke again, telling you, “Nice job, by the way, taking down that serial mugger last week. The streets already feel safer because of you.”

“Oh, you heard about that?” you asked curiously. Truthfully, it had been such a cut and dry case, you never followed up on what happened after the arrest.

“Yeah, when he hired us as his lawyers. Obviously, he was guilty, so we got him to take a deal,” Matt replied with a quiet chuckle. You watched as an almost cocky smirk curled up one side of his lips before he added quietly, “He said you were a little rough with the handcuffs?”

You leaned casually onto the wall beside you, crossing your arms loosely with a cheeky smile plastering your lips as you asked, “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you, Murdock?”

Before he could respond, an older officer who was wandering past barked out your last name and said, “Hey! What are you doing fraternizing with the enemy? He’s the reason so many of my arrests walk, you know!”

“Are you encouraging her not to listen to serious concerns from a constituent in her jurisdiction? I was just telling her how safe I feel now that she's on the case and taking serial criminals off our streets,” Matt said to him, his quick defense of you and the lawyer-speak making your heart flutter in your chest. He straightened his tie with his free hand not holding his cane and added, “Maybe if your arrests would actually hold up in court, they wouldn’t walk.”

The other officer stalked off, mumbling something you couldn’t quite make out, but you guessed that Matt could judging by the way his jaw was working in frustration. Wanting to take his attention away from the stressor, you quietly cleared your throat and told him, “You look really nice today, by the way. The tie really flatters you.”

His gaze finally tore away from the man when you said this and the muscles in his jaw relaxed, a smile returning to his features as he said, “Well, I’m glad it isn’t horribly obscene.”

“You could wear the gaudiest of hats and a neon orange tie and you’d still look amazing, Counselor,” you told him, a playfulness in your tone as a smile teased your lips.

Matt leaned in toward you slightly, his voice lowered and almost with a sultry quality to it as he asked, “Are you flirting with me, Detective?”

The gesture and his proximity made your heart start pounding in your chest, the sound reverberating loudly in your ears as your eyes quickly darted down to his lips before focusing back on his eyes behind his red lenses. Your voice sounded foreign in your own ears as you breathlessly said, “And if I-”

“Okay you two! No more puppy eyes at each other! You’re cut off for the day!” came Foggy Nelson’s voice as he approached with Captain Mahoney beside him. Both you and Matt straightened up in response to his interruption, the space between you growing once more to one of more professional standards as the two men approached.

Captain Mahoney playfully tsked at the pair of you before telling Matt, “Come on, Murdock! I need her sharp for the case we’re working on! I can’t have her daydreaming about you the whole time!”

“I don’t daydream…” you mumbled, averting your gaze to the ground in the hopes that the furious blush now taking over your cheeks would be less obvious that way.

“And I don’t need you to start now,” Captain Mahoney said, a quiet chuckle leaving his chest. You glanced up to see him giving Foggy a pointed look before telling him and Matt, “Now, you two get out of my precinct! And don’t come back unless you have to!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be back with cigars for your mom soon!” Foggy said as he and Matt turned to leave the building.

“Oh, no you won’t!” Captain Mahoney shouted back.

“They totally will,” you said with a quiet laugh as you watched them disappear into the bustling crowd on the sidewalk.

Before you could return to your desk, the Captain’s voice caught your attention as he asked, “When are the two of you gonna finally go on a date?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told him, shocked that he was discussing this with you.

“Uh-huh, sure,” he said, not even trying to hide his smirk.

Wanting the conversation to be off of your painfully obvious crush on Matt, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you get a team together to head to the potential drop site with me tonight?”

“Yeah. It’ll be you, Stewart, Greene, and Campos,” he replied, relenting on his teasing, at least for now. “I had to make it a small team so you won’t be so obvious. You’ll go in plain clothes with bulletproof vests underneath. The four of you will have body cameras on at all times and I’ll be nearby in a van watching the feed with backup in case you need it.”

“Sounds good, do the others know yet?”

“No, I was just about to find you all,” he said. “Meet me in my office in ten and we’ll discuss the full plan.”

That night once the sun had set and things were settling down as much as they could in New York City, you and your team of officers were making your way to the site where you were told the latest shipment of illegal guns was coming in. Dressed in plainclothes, the four of you ambled toward the site, Greene’s arm slung around your shoulders as she pretended to drunkenly stumble down the sidewalk while you brought a water bottle in a brown paper sack to your lips and took a long drink before pulling a face as if the contents tasted like cheap liquor on your tongue. Campos and Stewart flanked the two of you on either side, both of them also pretending to be unsteady on their feet as the four of you made your way toward the docks.

Once the four of you got to a mostly hidden spot near where the shipment was supposed to be delivered, the act was dropped and you all crouched silently as you stared at the dock. The boat was scheduled to arrive in the next thirty minutes. As the time got closer, Campos leaned over and whispered, “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“This is where my source told me they would be,” you told him.

Stewart, a slightly older officer, scoffed quietly and said sarcastically, “Yeah, Daredevil? Look, I know that after what happened with Fisk, Mahoney trusts him, but me personally? I think-”

“You should really listen to the detective in charge,” came the gravelly voice of the man in question as he perched on the structure across from the four of you. “Ghallagar got spooked since you’ve been onto his trail, so he moved the shipment a few docks down. If you hurry, you’ll be able to make it before the sale’s done.”

“And what’re you gonna do, huh?” Steward sneered.

“Let New York’s Finest do their work,” Daredevil replied. “All I came here to do is make sure you can do your job.”

“Thank you, Daredevil,” you told the man in red graciously. He simply nodded before silently turning and making his way in the opposite direction. “Well, you heard the man, let’s go!” you told the others before gesturing for them to start getting up and heading in the direction of the new stakeout location. Before you could head off though, you spoke aloud so Captain Mahoney could hear, telling him, “The shipment’s being dropped off a few docks down. We’re heading there now. Control van can stay in place, it shouldn’t be too far from the original location.”

“Control van staying put, copy,” came the captain’s voice. “If you need backup just call.”

“Will do,” you said before creeping your way to the front of the small pack. You had your service weapon drawn and pointed to the ground, but it was ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

When the four of you arrived, the van for transport had just pulled up and you saw three men get out, heading over to meet with three more emerging from a small boat anchored at the dock. They were all armed to the teeth. It was clear that Ghallagar was not messing around. Before the guns could exchange hands, you motioned your crew forward. Staying slightly ahead of them, but fanned out, you raised your weapon and shouted firmly, “NYPD! Put the weapons down! Now!”

“Shit, we gotta go!” you heard one of the men from the boat crew shout before turning tail and running back to get the boat started.

“Stop running! Put your hands where I can see them!” you shouted, firmer yet, as the four of you slowly creeped toward the men.

“Get the guns! Now! We’ll hold ‘em off!” one of the gang men roared while gesturing for the shippers to grab their boxes.

“Weapons down!” you warned.

“I don’t think so!” the man in charge of the street crew snarled before opening fire.

“Get to safety! I’ll provide cover!” you shouted at the other officers who quickly obeyed your command and hid behind shipping containers. In case Captain Mahoney hadn’t heard the gunfire, you shouted, ”Shots fired! I repeat, shots fired!” You heard more gunshots firing off from your side and watched as one man from the boat who was still on the dock got shot, a crimson spray of blood misting the air as the bullet made contact.

Before you could make a move to back up and into an area of cover of your own, a rapid spray of bullets came flying toward you! You barely registered it as a second man from the street crew who had taken the heavy artillery weapon out of the van before the wind was knocked out of you completely and you were knocked onto your back. As you lay on the ground struggling to breathe due to the impact of so many bullets on your kevlar vest, you saw a blur of red dash past you and toward the dock.

You barely registered the shouts of, “Officer down! Officer down!” from Greene as your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins, but rather than pushing you up like it normally would, it froze you to the ground.

When you were finally able to turn your head to see what was going on because you could no longer rely on your hearing, you saw the red-clad figure of Daredevil standing over a bloodied man who had crumpled to the ground. You saw his shoulders moving up and down as his chest heaved with the effort of the fight, his fists clenched at his sides as he stood menacingly over the body. His head jerked up as the van peeled away from the dock without their fallen man and the boat zoomed away into the water.

Closing your eyes, you breathed a sigh of relief to know the fire fight was over. “Take care of him,” you heard Daredevil’s voice bark to the other officers. It sounded like he was getting closer to you. You attempted to take a deep breath, but groaned in pain as you did, earning a concerned, “What hurts?” from Daredevil as he came to crouch beside you on the cold ground.

“Ribs. Stomach. Bullets to kevlar,” you managed to get out between shallow breaths, squeezing your eyes shut as more pain burst forward with every word.

“I’ve got-” Daredevil started to say, but stopped abruptly. When he did, your tightly closed eyes were suddenly engulfed by light before more excruciating pain radiated throughout your body as you were lifted up and into Daredevil’s arms. As you moved through the air with your eyes snapped shut, you felt Daredevil nearly lose his balance as a blast of air jostled him. Opening your eyes for a brief moment, you saw the gang’s van flying past you, missing the pair of you by mere inches!

You came to a crashing halt right into his armored chest with a cry of pain a few moments later, your knees buckling under the weight of your body and the pain. “I’m right here, you’re okay. You’re safe,” he whispered, pulling you gently back up into his chest, his gloved hand supporting the back of your neck as he did.

Through the ringing in your ears, you barely heard your name being called out as officer Greene and Captain Mahoney made their way over to you and the masked man. “Are you okay?!” Greene asked exasperatedly. “Those guys are maniacs! Santos barely got out of the way before he got hit!”

“I’ll-” you tried before groaning in pain once again.

“Greene, make sure that bus is on the way and get an ETA, I can handle this,” Mahoney told her before you felt another set of hands on you to give support as you were peeled away from Daredevil’s chest. “I can’t believe they tried to hit you!” he grumbled. When you were able to open your eyes for a few moments you saw the deep scowl on his face as he shook his head, mumbling something you couldn’t quite make out through the cotton in your ears as your heart continued to pound relentlessly.

It felt like mere moments before you were being put onto the gurney and being stabilized by the EMTs as you guarded your midsection while they worked. Glancing over, you noticed that since you were out of his arms, Daredevil was about to leave. Not wanting him to go without an acknowledgement of being the reason you were still alive, you managed to get out a weak, “Thank you. For saving me.” In response, he offered you a nod before sprinting off, leaving you to be taken to Metro General to be checked over.

A few hours and exams later, you were released by the doctors at the hospital, being cleared of any breaks or concussion. You were simply sent home with massive bruising and told to take it easy the next few days with some pain killers. And although you protested, Captain Mahoney benched you for the next few days, telling you to stay home and heal up before returning for desk duty at the end of the week.

It was understandable, being told that you would come back for desk duty after what happened, though. You were shot at by a heavy weapon and almost mowed down by a van, for Pete’s sake! You cheated death. Twice! But it still felt like a punishment. Riding the desk hadn’t ever been your style, and you hated to start now…

Reaching over to the nightstand near your bed in your apartment, you felt around for the bottle of Advil that had become your best friend the past couple of days. When you finally made contact with it, you opened the lid and turned the bottle in order to drop a couple pills into your hand, but nothing came out. Groaning in pain and frustration, you realized that you were out and hadn’t bought any before coming home after the hospital visit… Shit. You would have to go to the bodega down the street and get a new bottle.

Getting dressed was a task, and it took you a long time to get your sweats and t-shirt on in order to go to the shop. You didn’t even bother with sneakers, slipping into a pair of slides sitting by the door as you grabbed your purse off the hook and began making your way out of your apartment building. The walk was slow going and painful, the constant bustle of people around you on the sidewalk not helping as they shoved past you, your tender ribs and bruised abdomen taking hits that had you wanting to scream.

The bodega thankfully had the medicine you were seeking. After paying for it and a bottle of water, you were taking the pills as you left the store, not wanting to wait a second longer for the pain relief you desperately sought. Before you could close up the pill bottle though, from the alleyway beside you, a pair of arms reached out and grabbed you! The pills scattered all around as you struggled to go into a defensive move you knew by heart in order to get out of the attacker’s grasp. But almost as if they knew you had bruised ribs, they squeezed your midsection, igniting your whole body in a searing pain that had you seeing stars. Taking a deep breath to scream turned out to be fruitless as only a weak cry tumbled out when your expanding ribcage violently protested the intake of air.

“Gotcha,” said a gruff voice, their breath hot beside your ear as they spoke. After he did, you felt a needle enter your arm as he muttered, “Night, night. The boss can’t wait to see ya, Detective.”

When you came to, you blinked hard a few times, thinking that maybe it was all just a pain-induced nightmare. Reality hit you though when you tried to move your arms but couldn’t because they were tied behind you as you slumped over in an uncomfortable chair. Trying to remain as still as possible so as to not notify your captors of your conscious state, you took in your surroundings.

You were shoved into a corner of the room, so you had a pretty good view of the space around you. Lining two of the four walls were crates upon crates, each marked with the symbol of the gun runners you had been tracking. So, that confirmed your suspicions about who had snatched you… On top of each box was a display of what gun was inside, small spotlights illuminating the weapon as if it was an art piece in a museum. Two men stood guard near the boxes with guns of their own holstered to keep the product safe. Another man sat in a chair nearby on his cell phone. Because of his proximity, you assumed he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for you to wake up.

There was a musty smell that permeated the air and the occasional drip of water echoing in the distance. It was a narrow room with a slightly rounded off ceiling, which you thought was odd. There was graffiti on the wall that seemed vaguely familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where you had seen the tag before… The far wall looked like it had collapsed long ago, and it held the only entrance to the area that you could see. It didn’t even have a door, it was just an opening in the collapse. Something more promising though that clued you into where you may be located was the unfinished rail tracks peeking out from under the collapsed rubble and the unused tracks that had been used as makeshift barriers to protect the guns.

You must be in the tunnel where the city had tried building an additional subway line a few years before, but it collapsed before they could get too far. Neither you nor Daredevil had been able to figure out where the gang’s base of operations was located, and now it made total sense. The area the city had accessed to get into the underground area was sealed and forgotten about by the population at large. You didn’t even know where the entrance was, although you had your guesses. Any time you would chase a group of troubled teens you caught harassing a street vendor or tagging the window of a business, they would just disappear into thin air near 45th and 9th. That was where you knew the graffiti tag from! There must be an entrance into this place somewhere near there! Not that knowing where you were particularly helped you at the moment, but… If you made it out of here somehow, at least you knew the best way to get to safety.

“Hey, look who finally decided to wake up,” said the man near you. A shiver zipped down your spine as you realized that it was the same voice that spoke in your ear when you were taken. “Thought we overdosed you there for a little while. Guess I’m not as good at calculating drug doses as I thought. Oh, well.”

“What do you want with me?” you tried to ask firmly, but your voice came out broken and scratchy from lack of use over however long you had been out.

“You’re asking the wrong guy questions,” the man said in a bored sort of tone. “Hey, Reg! Call the boss-man and tell him she’s awake. He’ll want to talk to her.”

“That he will,” came a new voice. Your head turned toward the opening in the collapse and saw a man in a white button up and pressed slacks walking in, flanked on either side by burly looking men who you assumed were his guard.

“Ghallagar…” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes at the man you had only ever seen in pictures from the original brief you were given on the case. The whole time he had been in the Kitchen, the man was practically a ghost, so this was your first time getting a good look at him.

“Detective,” he said with a certain smugness in his voice as he approached you. He held your gaze for a few moments before asking his men, “May we have the room? I need some time alone with the detective. There are buyers coming in an hour. Make sure we have materials to hide this section of the space. We don’t need them to see what I’m about to do. Bad for business.”

“Yes sir,” one of the burly men replied before turning away and gesturing for all of the men in the room to follow.

When it was just the two of you again, Ghallagar rolled up his sleeves as he said, “I bet you’re wondering why I had you taken.”

“The thought may have crossed my mind,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. What did he plan on doing to you? What did he-

A sharp slap across the face pulled you out of your thoughts. “You seem to have something I want.” Another slap in the other direction nearly toppled you out of the chair before he snarled, “And I intend on getting the information out of you.”

“What do you want?” you asked through gritted teeth, trying not to show any weakness to the man standing tall over you. You may be in the compromised position, but there was no way you were going to let this man break you. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

“Tell me Daredevil’s identity,” Ghallagar said as if it was the most simple question in the world. As if he was asking the name of the cashier at your favorite bodega.

“I don’t-” you tried, but stopped to let out a cry of pain when he sent a kick into your bruised midsection.

“You’ve worked with him for months! Trying to find me, finding the gang whose place I took, taking down that mugger together. I could go on with all of the cases you’ve figured out with his help, Detective.” Before you could contain your emotions, your eyes widened momentarily, and that reaction caused a smirk to twist Ghallagar’s lips. “Yeah, that’s right. I know your case files. I have a folder with the names of every criminal you’ve taken down since you got out of the Academy.” He circled around to stand behind you and dug his thumbs into painful pressure points in your shoulders as he said, “You got to do your homework on me, I got to do my homework on you. It’s only fair, isn’t it? And it’s also fair for you to tell me who you’ve been working with since you’ve been such a thorn in my side!”

When he said that last part, a white-hot pain seared over your shoulder as he ran a knife over the skin there. You tried to bite your cheek to muffle your scream of pain, but only drew more blood than was already trickling out of the wound on your shoulder. Taking a deep breath to control yourself only made things worse and you let out another groan of pain as he circled back to stand in front of you. “I don’t know-” you tried again, but were cut off when he shoved the whole chair over with you in it.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he shouted as he sent another kick into your ribs, causing more pain to rock your already battered body. “The way he saved you that night on the docks! He made sure to go to you! The way he held you when he saved you from my men’s van! You know who he is, and it’s just a matter of time until I get it out of you!”

“She was supposed to get back to work today, I haven’t seen her though. Not like her to be late…” was Brett’s response to Matt’s question about where you were. It was the morning you were supposed to be back after the incident at the docks, and Karen had suggested bringing you flowers. He didn’t hear you inside the building on his way there, though, so he hadn’t grabbed any before heading in to speak with a new client.

“Have you tried calling her?” Matt asked.

“Straight to voicemail. I was thinking of doing a welfare check myself here in a little bit if she doesn’t show up by noon,” Brett said with a sigh. A quiet chuckle left his chest before he added, “Don’t worry, I’ll get a hold of her, Lover Boy.”

Matt shook his head and laughed light-heartedly at the joke, telling Brett, “I appreciate it,” before he and Foggy left the precinct and headed to their office for the afternoon of case file sifting.

Running his fingers over the braille case file in front of him, Matt had been fully engrossed in the complexities of this case for hours. Foggy had already called it quits for the night and went home, but he and Karen were still there, working to find an angle they could win this case at. “What if we played up the jury’s-” came Karen’s voice, but Matt tuned her out when he heard your name mentioned in the police chatter from a nearby cop cruiser.

Officer missing after welfare check. Cameras show the officer’s last known location outside of a bodega before disappearing into an alleyway. Three days ago.

Matt was out of his office chair and hurtling toward the door before Karen could even ask where he was going, calling over his shoulder that there was an emergency that he needed to deal with. He didn’t even bother with the cane as he ran, he and Karen were the only ones in the building anyway at this hour. He needed to get to his suit and he needed to get to it now. Your life may well depend on it.

You weren’t sure how long the beatings went on for. There was no light that got into the collapsed tunnel so you couldn’t tell day from night. There didn’t seem to be any patterns on when guards entered or exited the room. There was no specific time when Ghallagar came in or out to beat answers you didn’t have out of you. And there was no use shouting. You felt doomed.

The only reprieve from the onslaught of pain was when buyers came in. When they were there, you were gagged and concealed from sight by a room divider, left to bleed and suffer in pain before more was inflicted when they were gone. Besides the pain, the only thing you knew for sure was that you didn’t have the information he wanted. You didn’t know who Daredevil was. No one did. You just worked with him on the recommendation from Captain Mahoney. That’s all. The way the masked vigilante saved you that night and held you to his chest made you feel safe, yes, but why that made Ghallagar think you knew his identity was beyond you. You wished there was some way for you to prove that you were telling the truth. Some way for him to know-

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud sound of gunfire in the front of the room. The enclosed space made everything louder and you squeezed your eyes closed in a feeble attempt to shut everything out. You were afraid of the ricocheting bullets making their way over here. Although, if one hit you, this could all be over… You wouldn’t have to endure anymore pain. There would be no more pain. And boy, did that sound great right now.

The sound of fighting got closer and closer, Ghallagar’s voice barking orders before suddenly going silent along with the rest of the room. The only thing you heard was the sound of fists hitting flesh and groans of pain from the victims of whoever was dealing the blows. Already conditioned to fear the punches of your captors, you cowered inward as much as you could, a weak and unintentional whimper leaving your throat as you did.

Within seconds of making the noise, the pounding of fists stopped and you heard a thud as a body landed on the floor, their skull hitting the pavement hard. Your heart pounded in your throat as you heard heavy footfalls approaching you and you wished the person away with all your might. Your wish didn’t come true though as the room barrier was shoved aside, causing you to tuck your head down to be as small as possible in the eyes of the unknown person in front of you.

Your name was whispered in a gravelly voice, and you shook your head in some sort of attempt to deter the person from you. Instead of another beating that you were accustomed to though, suddenly your hands were free of their confines and you were being hauled up and into the embrace of the person now standing in front of you. You were too weak to fight, but when you felt the texture of the armor adorning the person holding you, you let out a sob and tightened your arms around the man. Around Daredevil. He came to rescue you. He saved your life again.

“I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe now,” he mumbled as he held you as gently as he could. With one arm still wrapped around you, you felt one pull away before he spoke again a few moments later, saying, “Tell Mahoney I found her. Collapsed subway tunnel near 45th and 9th. Ghallagar and his men are incapacitated. Get an ambulance here, now. She’s in bad shape.”

It was as if your body instantly switched out of survival mode when he ended the call. The moment you knew that an ambulance was on the way and you were safe in Daredevil’s arms, you collapsed. Every muscle fiber in your body gave out and your joints folded under all the weight and suddenly everything went black once more.

When you began to regain consciousness, you instantly knew you were in a different environment. Rather than the sound of dripping water and gruff men speaking, there was the occasional beeping sound and soft spoken voices. You were in a somewhat comfortable bed with pillows surrounding you in an effort to soften the mattress and your hands weren’t bound behind you. There was no steady trickle of blood leaking from your body. You were in the hospital. You were safe.

Your eyelids fluttered open when you heard movement from beside you, and you realized that one of the soft spoken voices was coming from right beside you in the form of Matt Murdock praying. Looking down, you realized that one of your hands was grasped in his as he prayed, and a deep blush creeped onto your cheeks - the moment was far more intimate than any you had shared before. “Hey,” you whispered once he said amen.

“You’re awake. Thank God,” he said, the emotion obvious in his voice and smile. “You had me scared there for a few days.”

“A-a few days?” you asked, eyes widening.

“Yeah. It’s been three days since they brought you in,” Matt replied, squeezing your hand gently. “Brett and Daredevil took care of Ghallagar. He and his men are going away for a long time.”

“Good,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion as you remembered what you endured at his hand. Wanting to change the subject off of the man in question, you looked at the gorgeous bouquet of flowers on your bedside table and asked, “Did you bring those flowers?”

A bashful smile made its way onto Matt’s lips as he nodded, telling you, “I was hoping you’d wake up before they wilted. Was I right?”

“Yeah. They’re gorgeous. Thank you, Matt,” you said, voice wobbly as you spoke. “And thank you for coming to see me. I- You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Matt replied softly.

“Oh hey! You’re awake!” came the voice of Foggy as he peeked into the room. “I hate to break up this happy little reunion, but we gotta go, buddy. Client needs us, like, yesterday.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Matt told him.

During the whole exchange you were left staring at yours and Matt’s intertwined hands and got to thinking. Why hadn’t you ever just made a move with him? Before, you were convinced that he was just playing along with your flirting. That he didn’t have feelings for you like you did for him and that he just didn’t want to be rude. But now, frankly, you didn’t care about your overthought reasoning. After the last week, you realized how fleeting life was and just how lucky you were that you were still alive. So, before Matt could stand up and say his goodbyes as Foggy stepped out of the room, you leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek.

The gesture ignited pain in your battered body and a furious blush on your cheeks as you relaxed back into the mattress. The boyish grin that lit up Matt’s face made your heart flutter, and you swore it almost stopped when he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” was your instant response in a breathy tone with a wide smile on your lips as well.

The kiss was brief and gentle with both you and Matt unable to hold back your smiles as it happened. You felt rays of happiness flowing out of you and couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips when he pulled away mere moments later. He squeezed your hand once again as he said, “I’ve wanted to do that for a while. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize…”

“Better late than never,” you replied, a content smile on your lips as you remembered his soft ones on yours, already craving the next. You hoped that this would be the start of something magical with Matt.

big shoutout to my beta readers in the tuna tank for helping me out with this, especially @sunflowersandsapphires for some of the dialogue pieces as well as @justvalkyrie and @thornbushrose for help with plot points and clarity!

ps: the flirty comment with the handcuffs made me giggle so much! it happened very organically too (even though i am a terrible flirt and needed to ask for help in the server for inspo) also the bit at the end with Matt holding Reader's hand and praying?? i teared up, whoops!

as usual, likes and comments are appreciated! xo, brooke <3

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss

dividers by @firefly-graphics as always!

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock hurt/comfort #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil hurt/comfort #daredevil angst

224 notes · View notes

lemotmo · 1 month ago

Note

!!!! This This This. We cannot help them anymore. This is it. This is the entire point !!!! Surely they see this?!?!

Q. Nope sorry I call foul. They absolutely played us. They built up this big plane emergency and released just enough grainy, no context BTS stuff to imply that Tommy would be utilized, because why would you not use your canon PILOT to help land a freaking plane, and not only was he not utilized he wasn't even in the two episodes. They used him to generate the buzz but then left him out completely. Nope that's disgusting.

A. I debated whether or not to answer this and initially I was going to ignore it, but I decided this was a good opportunity to highlight the difference between show importance and fandom importance. The show didn't use him to promote anything. We got b&w photos of a hanger, a partial plane, trucks from every fire station in the 911 universe and a grainy image of someone's silhouette. That was the BTS of these episodes. You all made them about Tommy because that's what you've done since 7x4. The show has never made anything about Tommy. You all twist everything into being about Tommy so you can call foul when it inevitably has nothing at all to do with him.

Tommy has never existed as a character in his own right. His has never had a scene that was about him. Every scene and interaction has had something to do with the development of one of the core four. For Chim and Hen they needed him to be racist and sexist, so that's how they wrote him. He only changed his behavior towards them when they had done something that he felt was worthy of changing his opinion. But it wasn't about changing how Tommy saw them, it was about changing how they saw themselves. Tommy wasn't the point of anything. He was the plot device used to help them with their character growth. When it came time to do Buck's bi storyline they needed a plot device to help introduce him to that new realization. So Tommy was written as gay. He was given a few sentences about struggling to accept himself and come out as a way to explain to the audience why he wasn't gay when we were first introduced to him. The reality is though that he wasn't gay when we first met him. He's gay now because the plot called for him to be gay. That's the entire point of a plot device. They become whatever the plot needs their character to be because they are not the point. The plot they are being used for is the point. In this case Buck and by extension Eddie are the point. So Tommy becomes whatever Buck or Eddie need his character to be.

Tommy wasn't involved in the opening arc because the opening arc wasn't about Buck or whatever internal struggle Eddie is dealing with. As far as the show is concerned Tommy doesn't exist outside of that story bubble so he doesn't need to be used in any other storyline on the show. Again, that's the entire point of a plot device. They exist only to move the plot they're involved in forward. It was important that he was a pilot last season because it was a way to introduce him to Buck and Eddie. It's not important anymore. That particular aspect of him has already served its purpose. The show no longer cares that he's a pilot because they don't need that part of him in the Buck storyline anymore. He had a scene in 8x1 because it was a scene about Eddie and by extension Buck so Tommy was needed because that's the storyline he's being used for. But any scene not related to Buck and Eddie's plot will not utilize Tommy because he doesn't exist outside of that plot. I know I keep saying this, but again, that's the entire point of a plot device. He doesn't exist for himself. He only exists for the plot.

The show gave you a handful of scenes. None of them had anything whatsoever to do with Tommy. They showed him during the cruise ship rescue with Buck and Eddie. They showed him playing basketball with Eddie and Buck being jealous. They showed him going to Buck's to apologize for coming between Buck and Eddie, a scene in which Eddie's name was said so many times it's hysterical. They showed him and Buck on a first date where they ran into Eddie. They showed a coffee date where Buck says he wants to try and invites him to his sister's wedding. They showed him at the bachelor party, again with Buck and Eddie only this time they were also dressed in coordinating costumes. They showed him at the medal ceremony, but not as Buck's person when he received his medal. They showed him at the hospital where Buck basically outed himself to everyone but made a point of showing Eddie's reaction. They showed him having dinner with Buck after Bobby's accident, a scene that's more interesting to me now and I will explain why in a minute. Then his one scene in the first episode of the season. He doesn't exist away from Buck or Eddie. But you all took those scenes and made them about him. You made the first kiss about Tommy instead of Buck's clear misplacement of what his true confusion was in that moment. You took the bachelor party scene and made it about Tommy showing effort by bothering to show up and chose to ignore the entire point of the bachelor party scenes which were Buck and Eddie. You took the dinner scene in the finale and made it a flirty date ignoring the awkward point of that scene entirely.

The dinner scene from the finale is really interesting to me now that we have Oliver's interviews and the Tommy/Henren deleted scene as context. The dialogue in that scene is brutally awkward and cringe and while I still think it was wildly out of place within the episode it does make more sense to me now. Buck tried to initiate a meaningful conversation in that scene. He tried to make an emotional connection and Tommy turned that attempt into a daddy sex joke. Oliver's comments about Buck viewing their relationship through 'rose colored glasses' and the deleted scene establishing that Tommy, rightfully so, is allowing Buck to set the pace of things within their relationship is very interesting. We know that we are now 3 plus months into their relationship and with the added context of Oliver's interviews and the deleted scene that would indicate Buck is the one who is actually avoiding the deeper conversations. I think part of Buck realized during that dinner that they weren't a compatible match. But he desperately wants to make a relationship work, especially if he currently believes the thing he kept getting wrong was the gender and not the actual relationships. So as a result Buck decided to avoid dealing with things that reinforced their incompatibility and has chosen to keep things surface level deep because he knows the physical aspect is what he can offer and do well. Having the current storyline push him to the point where he will no longer be able to avoid talking about and dealing with those issues is a very interesting way to handle Buck's part of the bigger storyline. They have to get Buck to a place where he can acknowledge he has more to offer someone than sex. So I'm really curious to see how that part goes over the coming episodes. I got off track there, anon. But the reality is the show and Oliver didn't play you at all. You all chose to play yourselves by refusing to acknowledge things that were not being hidden from you. The show has been very clear and obvious with what they are doing with Tommy. Stop trying to pretend their intentions away because they don't fit your headcanons.

Thank you Nonny!

Okay, I'm just going to post this without any of my own comments, because I feel this really summarises the whole T and BT discourse. I try to always post about the show and the fictional characters and leave fandom out of it, but in this case it can't be avoided because fandom is a part of the problem.

Ali talks about 'show importance' and 'fandom importance' and that's so relevant right now.

Please remember, this doesn't come from a place of hatred, but rather a place of 'logical thinking' and 'understanding' what the show is telling us. What story they are really showing and how fandom perceptions can sometimes be deceiving.

It's a damn good read.

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

#anonymous blog I love #fandom discourse #T speculation #BT speculation #911 speculation #nonnies galore

119 notes · View notes

bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

Text

✰ 𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐘 - 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “Shall we put that mouth to better use?” — A particularly crass comment over the radio almost exposes your secret situationship with Ghost.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. Violence, murder, injury detail, slight jealous Simon, secret relationship, panties as a gag, size kink, p in v sex, punishment, soft!dom-sub dynamic, tied wrists.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

“Taking out the trash, Ghost?”

You shouldn’t have said it– It just slipped out. A reference to a ridiculous joke that Soap had made over the coms once. You can hear the Scotsman giggling over the radio, evidently finding your remark hilarious.

“You’re pushing it now, Delta,” Ghost’s gruff accent crackles across the coms, the thud of a body slumping to the floor punctuating his warning. It’s terrible, really. You watch him work through a wall of mercenaries, jabbing his serrated huntsman’s knife into the soft walls of their jugular veins and shooting them through the temple with a silenced gun while you observe from the relative safety of the CCTV centre. “It’s like I’ve got deja vu.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” you mumble, trying to move past your obvious overstep.

“You’ve been spendin’ too much time with Soap,” Ghost cuts through your quiet apology like the throats of the men that crumple to his feet. “Gonna start assignin’ you missions with Alejandro instead.”

The spluttering disbelief of the Scotsman on the line just makes you smile, shaking your head at the jealousy Simon was attempting to disguise with authority. You watch him peek over the crate he’s hidden behind, scanning for hostiles.

“To the left, Lieutenant,” you advise him to advance. He crouches his gigantic body as low to the ground as he can, flipping the knife handle in his hand for a better grip. The blood of his victims paints his hands dark on the grainy black and white footage of the CCTV cameras. Soap ceases his wordless, bumbling protests while you both hold your breaths, waiting for Ghost to take the mercenary out.

It’s a simple dispatch. Simon plunges the crimson-laden blade into the neck of the unsuspecting target and lowers the body to the floor as he scrambles at his neck desperately. You hear the choking death rattles over the radio before he falls silent.

“She’s learnin’ from the best, L.t.,” Soap continues, finally piecing his incoherent sounds into a sentence. You hear the muted scoff on the other end of the mic and can’t help the giggle that falls past your lips.

“There’s a lot more where that came from,” you smile, watching Ghost clear the courtyard. The members of Task Force 141 watch from the shadows, readying for his approval to advance and open fire on the inhabitants of the abandoned construction site that the local drug lords appropriated as a central hub.

“How ‘bout we put that mouth to better use?” Simon answers with little thought, the coquettish comment catching the attention of the others on the line.

Gaz whistles, and you hear Alejandro chuckle.

“L.t!” Soap speaks up, and you can tell that he’s grinning from the smug tone of his voice, “A little saucy, don’t ya think?”

“Careful, Sergeant.”

No one dares speak up again, the silence over the coms only broken when Ghost gives the order. Conversation is replaced with the roar of bullet spray and bodies thumping to the floor.

✰

Arousal coats your tongue as Simon’s gloved fingers shove the cotton fabric of your panties into your mouth. You whimper softly, tears welling in your eyes at the burning stretch. Ghost had thrust into you all at once, the blunt head of his cock searing up against your cervix and blooming white hot in the pit of your stomach.

“Shush,” Simon scolds you, but his gruff voice holds no malice. It’s punishment, you think, retribution for putting him in a position where your little trysts could have been found out. Of course, there’s no real blame aimed at you, but Ghost likes having a reason to penalise you, so to speak.

You choke back a sob, feeling the rippling muscles of his abdomen rear up beneath your fingertips and thrust deep inside you. He’s bruising your guts like this, settling you on top of his hips as he lies back. Wrists bound behind your back with a crystal-white zip tie, your skin blooms with a bruise as you kneel helplessly over his cock, forced to take whatever he gives.

“Got nothin’ to say, love?” The midnight black of Ghost’s mask conceals the smirk you know is tugging on his plush lips, and you can just barely make out the gleam in his eyes through the murkiness of the tears welling at your waterline. The sweet taste of your own slick soaked into the cotton of your panties gags you, and you can only manage a desperate shake of your head before Simon brutally thrusts up into you.

The ache is brutal, each savage stroke rattling your lungs and jolting your body upwards. Your nails dig into the soft skin stretched across Simon’s rock-hard abdomen, and you hear him groan beneath the balaclava fabric. His huge palms swallow your hips, digits burying into the flesh there.

“Be good for me, love,” he growls, “Nice and quiet now.”

It’s pointless, you just barely think. The cot beneath you is so rickety that you’re sure that the team will hear the squeaking of the metal frame even past the stone walls of the safehouse you all shared for the night.

A fierce snap of Ghost’s hips winds you, a squeak working past the bunched-up fabric of your panties stuffed in your mouth. Your head lolls back, eyes rolling as his cockhead punches up against something mind-numbing. It sparks white-hot plasma across your skin, tendrils spidering down your spine.

“C’mon,” he urges, the rumble in his voice almost breathy with exertion, “Stay quiet, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You can’t. As the orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach with how Simon’s cock batters something blissful inside you, needy, muffled wails of bliss worm their way up your throat despite your best efforts to swallow them down. You needn’t bother because Ghost is too far gone to care who hears, chasing his high with a strained choke of your name.

join the taglist here

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog1 @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @gummyfang

1K notes · View notes

satorkive · 1 year ago

Text

REWIND: JUJUTSU TECH—2006

“gojo-sensei, i’m home.”

megumi who just got home from school called out for his teacher. his training with nobara and itadori ended a little bit late.

he found gojo sleeping in the couch with a laptop on. he stared at his teacher’s face with dry tears streaked on his cheeks. megumi who became curious because gojo didn’t let his vulnerability out and he’s probably crying because of something he had watched.

there were various tapes scattered around the table and the laptop had the pause button. he quietly placed himself in front of the laptop and pressed the play button.

in the beginning there was darkness, but a girl their age or probably older than them sat in front of the camera.

she looked pretty. megumi thought in awe. although there was a dull look in your eyes and your skin looked like blood had been drained out of you, you looked effortlessly stunning.

“satoru, if you ever watched this tape, i’m already dead.”

megumi slowly blinked at your blunt words. oh.

you let out a humorless laugh. “i’m sorry for my… vulgar words, satoru. i…” you looked down as you played with your fingers on your lap.

“y’know how i have this weird, but strong sense of intuition that always happened when i predict? i have that feeling—the exception is, i can feel it in my soul that i would already die. in this mission. that the higher ups assigned to me.”

the spiky-haired boy observed how you took a deep breath as if you were resisting the urge to burst out.

“i’m sad because i won’t be there to witness you slaughtering them.” you gave the camera a sweet smile.

your smile dropped and you looked away from the camcorder. the grainy effect made you look more… vintage. just a memory from the past. you were once someone’s person and now you were just someone’s memory…

“i’m sorry if i wouldn’t be able to fulfill my promise to you—to never leave you behind. i’m sorry if i wouldn’t be there to wipe your tears when you cry. i’m sorry if i wouldn’t be able to lend my shoulders for you to cry on. i…” your voice cracked and tears started to fall like crystals on your cheeks.

megumi could feel the pain she’s feeling and his lips turned into frown.

“i’m sorry if i was giving up, not bothering to fight for my life because to be honest, satoru, i ask myself at night with the question: who am i doing this for?”

when the teenage boy looked at you, he felt like you were seeing him. like you were sitting in front of him, asking a simple question.

“is it for the civilians so they won’t have to endure anymore? is it for the children so they won’t have to go to war anymore? is it for the future so they would be able to live a peaceful life? or…”

“is it for the selfish elders who send children to fight for the sins they have committed?”

oh.

“why do the children have to pay for their forefathers’ sins?”

a sob broke you out and megumi could only watch in pain as you went hysterical.

it was saddening to see you—a person who clearly the world doesn’t deserve—need to sacrifice your life for the betterment of the world.

that’s how a jujutsu sorcerer works, unfortunately. you clearly don’t belong in this world. in this cruel, awful world.

“whoever manages to find this tape, i hope you will take care of my friends—satoru, suguru, and shoko. i hope you will give them the patience to grieve and to mourn. i hope you will be able to give them the care and support they deserved. i hope you will be able to see them for who they are, and not for what they are. i hope you will be able to see hope during the darkest times. and i hope you will be able to feel grateful even if your life is just a borrowed time.” you tilted your head and delicately smiled.

you let out a last giggle. “this is [last name][name], signing off. goodbye.” you pulled the camera closer to your face and gave a smooch.

the laptop went black and megumi could only blankly stare at the wall.

what a world they live in.

such a life doomed from the start and they could only wait as death came for their friend.

what a… life.

you didn’t know then, your death is the beginning of all tragedies.

#🫧 — riri’s love letters!#i love ‘toru #REWIND: by satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk angst #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader

556 notes · View notes

jennifer-jeong · 3 months ago

Note

haiii!! could I put in a request for boothill x an alcoholic engineer reader who’s personality takes a complete 180 when drunk? Like when sober they’re really quiet and a total introvert but when drunk they’re basically a party animal/super hype(the reason why they drink so much is because it helps them forget about their life problems like taxes and student loan debt, if I had to compare the reader’s personality to a character I’d say hiroi kikuri from bocchi the rock) but they’re like crazy smart when it comes to machines and stuff and even fixes up boothill from time to time

headcanons or a small fic is fine^^

HII I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I’ve just been out of the groove of writing for a bit but your request is so cute and I wanted to take a shot at it. Thank you for your request and I hope you like it!

Fluff + Suggestive | Boothill x GN!Reader A Few Drinks

CONTENT Fluff, suggestive, him flirting with you, you flirting with him, getting handsy, alcohol consumption, pet name usage, no reader pronouns used, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

WORD COUNT: 1227

It was a regular Friday afternoon in your personal workshop situated in your home on a planet not far off from Penacony and easily accessible via space anchors. The planet was mostly made up of plains, your house sat near a pond and was surrounded by grass and your tiny gardens that you filled with flowers and succulents. You were an excellent engineer working both for corporations as well as taking on smaller private contracts/projects occasionally. You were currently working on a specific cyborg’s finger joint, putting the finishing touches on the cybernetics before he came to have it attached to his robotic body.

You heard a familiar clicking of boots against the sidewalk to your open workshop door before an equally familiar greeting from the cyborg cowboy.

“Heya sweetheart, how ya been? Hows my dumb fudging finger treatin ya?” he chirped, his voice slightly grainy and robotic due to a lack of organic vocal chords.

You swivel around in your chair, giving him a small smile. “Your pinky was pretty messed up but I managed,” you replied quietly, a little anxious talking to the -handsome- man you knew killed people on the daily.

“Ah, ya always fix me up fine and dandy, I knew you’d be able to help,” he said as he walked towards your workbench.

You gave him a small chuckle at the praise and turned around to grab the fixed finger. “Thanks… now just have a seat on the-” you were cut off by turning slightly and being met with his face awfully close to yours. He had leaned over your shoulder to take a closer look at your work, his hands held behind his back.

Your eyes widened as you froze for a moment, unintentionally staring at him before looking away. He was looking at your work but when you turned away he took the opportunity to scan over your flustered self, grinning slightly at how cute you were.

You always treated him so sweetly, disregarding what he did for work because you knew about his past. How could he not find you adorable?

He pulled away to walk towards the table that doubled as an operating table when he or your other clients needed bigger fixes.

“Here?” he says knowingly.

You nod quickly before grabbing a few tools and setting up to attach the part back to his synthetic nervous system.

It was a painful few minutes of him watching you intently as you worked. He was sitting up, leaning back on his right hand, legs spread as he got comfy. His left hand was propped up into a sleeve to keep it still as you worked on it. You tried hard to not look up at him despite knowing he was staring down at you the entire time, probably with that teasing grin he always wore around you.

Once you were done and he finished paying you (with a generous tip no less), he suddenly wondered what you’d be doing since the work week just ended.

“So, whadda ya doin after closin’ up shop today? Ya ever go out for Friday happy hour?”

You whipped your head around to him at the mention of drinking before looking down at the ground, hoping you didn’t seem too eager to talk about alcohol.

“Y-yeah, I go every weekend,” you replied.

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “really? Ya didn’t really strike me as the drinkin’ type darlin’.”

You swallowed at his use of pet name.

“Yeah… it helps me get my mind off work and shit,” you shared with him, figuring it was fine to tell him about it since you already started to get to know each other pretty well during his visits. It was hard to explain, but you trusted him.

“Huh… Well, let’s fudgin’ go then!” He says, jumping off the table. “Lemme know when ya ready darlin”.”

“W-whoa there darlin’” Boothill says for the nth time after you two got to a vintage looking club in the city. You were stumbling a bit as he tried to prevent you from knocking anything over or getting yourself hurt. You kept bumping into him, grabbing onto his arms or his chest to stabilize yourself.

It was your turn to fluster the man.

After all the times he’d made you shy and bashful, him feeling your hands all over him in this context and not during some sort of repair procedure was really setting off his sensors.

You giggled in your drunken state and dragged him by his hand to the crowded dance floor. The current song was just ending and you heard the first few beats of one of your favorite songs. The crowd clearly also liked the song as you all started getting hyped. You started jumping and dancing in front of him as you held his shoulders. You even grabbed the attention of some nearby girls as they encouraged you and you did the same to them.

Boothill’s expression slowly morphed from curious shock to an endearing smirk as he laughed at your total 180 shift in personality as soon as you had a few drinks. His hands found your hips as you continued to dance all over him while he moved with the rhythm.

It was also in this moment that he realized exactly what you were wearing too, it was a pretty, skin tight top and ripped shorts, completely different from the baggy overalls and t-shirt you usually wore in the workshop.

He felt his body’s cooling system kick in a bit harder.

You noticed his eyes on you as you always did, but this time, with alcohol in your system, you decided to do something about it.

You pushed him into a nearby bar stool, forcing him to sit down and lean against the bar counter. You stood between his legs, hands on his chest as you leaned towards his face.

“Thanks for coming out with me Bootie~” you said with your eyes lidded, batting your eyelashes at him. His breath hitched at the sudden nickname usage that you’ve call him by before.

“I’ve been stressed about shit recently but this is fun” you giggle, “we should do it more often,” you add, looking him up and down, something he doesn’t miss.

He relaxes slightly, hands finding their place on your waist again as his signature grin comes out. You could tell he was still pretty flustered though, he was into it, but still a bit shy.

“You’re always looking at me like that, Bootie,” you say as you trace a finger on the underside of his jaw, making him look at you. “I don’t say it when I’m not drunk… but I hope y’know I don’t mind it,” you say with a smile and lidded eyes. Your finger trails off the bottom of his chin as he ever so slightly chases your touch.

You giggle again at his reactions to you, feeling a bit giddy knowing that he was as into you as you were into him.

You push off him to run back to the dance floor, calling out to him with the nickname you just gave him.

The cowboy adjusts his hat before blinking a few times, smiling, and exhaling the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He follows you back to the dance floor as he thinks “I’m fudged.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

#boothill x reader #boothill fluff #boothill smut #honkai x reader #honkai fluff #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #star rail x reader #star rail fluff #j's silly ramblings

146 notes · View notes

starimusprime · 2 months ago

Text

Caught

An OpLita fanfic 💜

Word count: 2,432 Continuity: TF: One

Summary: Optimus takes Elita to see the Hall of Records. They kiss. They kiss a lot.

❗️CONTAINS BIG TF ONE SPOILERS❗️

As the two walk with languid strides through the lit archives of the Hall of Records, Optimus occasionally stops to point out his favorite sections or where he had almost been caught by the guards when he was Orion.

They round a corner and he pauses, glancing back at Elita with a soft chuckle as he gestures to a bot-sized grate at the end of the aisle of shelves.

“The last time I came here, I busted through that grate with a security drone in my servos and almost died.”

"I remember hearing about that incident," Elita says. "You were always one for the dramatic exits, Orion."

“Hah. And entrances,” he adds.

A soft smile graces his face as he recalls who he had been not even a quartex ago. Hearing his old name…it doesn’t feel like it’s no longer his name. He’s still getting used to being called Optimus, not to mention Prime.

"And how many times did D-16 have to bail you out of trouble?" she asks playfully, walking closer to him.

He stops mid-stride, his gaze falling to the floor. He takes a deep breath.

“Please, Elita,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to talk about D…”

She steps closer and places a gentle servo on his arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned him... Are you okay?"

Optimus vents. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“No,” he admits. He then looks at her with a gentle smile. “But I will be.”

Elita nods understandingly, her optics softening. "Let's talk about something else, then."

He nods back. His optics return to their usual brightness and he beckons her to follow him down one of the aisles. They come to a junction with a holovid table in the center. He walks over to a shelf and picks up a holovid drive, blowing the dust off of it as he returns to the table.

“This is an old favorite of mine,” the Prime explains before gently inserting it into the table’s drive slot.

Elita watches with curiosity as he activates the table, a holographic projection springing to life in the air above it. The image is grainy but powerful: two colossal figures locked in combat, one radiant with light, the other shrouded in shadow.

A narrator’s voice emanates from the table, recounting the legendary tale as the projections of Primus the Creator and Unicron the Destroyer fight each other. Unicron desired full power over the universe, while Primus believed that balance was essential. Optimus’ optics glow a little brighter as he allows himself to be immersed in the story of Primus becoming Cybertron.

Elita watches the ancient battle play out in awe. The story is told to every Cybertronian when they are forged, so she knows the tale by spark, but there is something about seeing it play out before her that makes her spark thrum stronger. She glances at Optimus, his new, yet familiar frame reflecting the light from the holographic projection.

The holovid comes to an end and he removes it from the play slot.

“I would always watch it when I saw it,” he says as he returns it to its shelf. “It gave me great inspiration for what I still believe in.”

"The balance," she agrees, nodding her helm slightly. "You've always had a strong sense of justice."

Optimus turns to her with a gentle smile. “Yes…although, it seems it’s too strong for my own good sometimes.”

"I think it's your biggest strength," Elita says, her optics searching his. "And it's what makes you a great leader."

His optics widen slightly and his smile fades. “But I’ve only been Prime for a quartex… I still have so much to learn about what makes a good leader.”

She steps closer, her servo resting gently on his arm. “You’re doing great, Optimus. You’re still the same Orion I knew, just with a little extra wisdom now. And a really cool new name.”

Her touch is unexpectedly soothing, but Optimus shies away from her optics. He can feel his spark thrumming in his chassis, threatening to remind him of the sight of D-16's enraged face when he took the killing blow for Sentinel Prime.

“Thank you… You have also done well as my commander so far. I'm glad I chose you to be by my side."

"You've always had a knack for making the right decisions, even if you do execute them in stupid ways sometimes," Elita says with a playful smile. She takes a step back to give him space. "But tell me, how are you really feeling? This is a lot to handle in such a short amount of time."

He shakes his helm. “I am recovering. Slowly, but…I am. My frame still aches from the reformat, but it’s getting better.”

She looks at him with concern. “And…emotionally?”

He vents and shifts his weight on his peds. “I’d really prefer not to talk about it right now. I’m sorry.”

"You don't have to be sorry," Elita says softly. "We all have our burdens. I just want you to know I’m here if you ever want to share yours."

He nods, his smile returning. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

They resume walking through the archives, Optimus leading Elita through the maze with such efficiency that one might have thought he had worked there.

As they stroll, Elita can’t help but notice how the light from the archives' dim lights dances across the Prime’s red and blue armor.

“So, uh," she says with a teasing lilt, "have you ever been in love?”

He nearly trips on his own ped. His battle mask snaps over his lower face, and it takes him a second to realize it’s his new frame’s automatic response to his own face heating up. He tries his best not to show that her question has caught him off-guard, but he isn’t confident that it works.

“Uh…um…no, I don’t think I’ve been in love…before.”

Elita’s smile widens, and she lets out a light laugh. “Oh, come on, Optimus. Surely a scrappy mech like you had at least one lover?”

She playfully nudges his servo with her own, her armor brushing against his.

Optimus feels his blush deepen and he tilts his helm up slightly, trying to hide it from her prying optics. “No, I…I’ve never had that. No one ever found me attractive in that way.”

She chuckles lightly, her optic sparkling with mischief. "I find that hard to believe. You've always had a certain charm to you, even as the annoying, foolhardy miner you were. And now, as Prime, some say you’re quite the optic candy."

His engine sputters at that and he stops, looking down at her with wide optics. “Wh…what?”

Elita laughs. “You really don’t know, do you?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. He shakes his helm, his spark thrumming hard in his chassis.

“Don’t know what?”

She steps closer to him, her gaze unwavering. “The way you blush so adorably when you’re flustered. It’s charming, really."

Static gets caught in his vocalizer and he resets it, offering a nervous smile that he forgets she can’t see with his mask in the way. “You really…think I’m charming? You aren’t just trying to make me feel better?”

Her optics widen, then glow brighter with adoration. She brings her servo up to gently stroke the side of Optimus’ smooth, angular battle mask.

"I wouldn't say something like that unless I meant it," she says gently.

“Elita…I…” He takes a deep breath, then wills his battle mask to disengage. It retracts with a series of clicks, fully revealing the soft blue glow under his optics. “I don’t know what to say. I…I never thought this would be…mutual…”

"I know we've both been through a lot lately, but I think we could use a moment to just...be ourselves." She reaches up to caress his cheek with her servo. "I've had feelings for you for a little while now."

His spark skips a thrum. “…you have?”

Elita nods, her gaze locked with his. “I have. Since before your transformation. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Optimus finally lets his optics meet hers again. After a long, tense moment of silence, he slowly lifts his own servo, hesitantly sliding his digits up her jaw. His servo stops at the side of her neck, just under her audio receptor.

“Elita…”

She leans into his touch. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I needed you to know how I feel.”

He lets out a shaky breath. So much has happened in quick succession over the past two quartex, but this…this is all he can focus on. It’s time.

“I have been in love with you since the solar cycle you became my mining captain, Elita,” he confesses quietly.

She stands frozen for a moment, processing his words. Then she leans in, her servo sliding behind his neck to pull him closer.

He feels her warmth as she presses into him, his spark fluttering and engine purring. This is what Orion had always hoped for, but he had never dared to believe it could ever be real. He lets her pull him down to her, his own servos trembling as he cups her helm and tilts his. Optics closed, he gently kisses her lips, ever cautious with this act that's so brand new to him.

Elita’ optics close and she kisses him back just as gently. Her servo slides from his neck to his back, drawing him closer as she melts into his tender embrace.

His servo lingers at the side of her neck, feeling the quick pulse of her spark in her fuel line as he kisses her more deeply. His other servo drifts downward and he wraps his arm around her waist, holding her close as if he's afraid she might vanish into thin air.

Elita's other servo moves to the side of his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. His inexperience is palpable, but the way he holds her, the urgency in his kiss, speaks volumes.

Optimus pulls away just enough to breathe out, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” then kisses her more passionately, leaning into her.

Elita giggles softly at his eagerness, reaching her servo up to gently caress one of the two finials on his helm, her touch light and exploratory.

The sudden contact on his finial makes him jerk his helm away with a gasp.

“Oh, careful…” Optimus chuckles sheepishly as he tentatively rubs his overstimulated finial. “Sorry. These are still quite sensitive…”

She pulls back, looking slightly apologetic, but her gaze lingers on the prominent new pieces on his helm.

"They're cute," Elita purrs.

His blush deepens at the compliment and he smiles, shyly lowering his helm back down toward hers with a nod.

“It’s okay, you can touch them. I was just…startled.”

She laughs softly, a warm sound that fills the coldly lit metal hallway. "You're so cute when you're flustered."

She leans in and places a gentle kiss on his finial, pulling back with a curious glint in her optics.

The Prime’s optics widen at the unexpected gesture. He smiles at her, his engine purring from the gentle contact.

“What was that for?”

"They're part of you now,” she says. “I just wanted to...welcome them."

Optimus chuckles softly. “I’m sure my finials appreciate your welcome.”

He pauses, his processor lagging with the reality of the situation. Him…Elita…in the Hall of Records…alone. Flirting. Kissing. It sounds fictitious.

He resets his vocalizer again and quietly asks, “May I…kiss you more?”

She grins and nods, leaning into him as her engine purrs louder. “Please do.”

With a low rumble in his chassis, he wraps his arms around her waist and leans in to kiss her again. This time, a little more familiar with the act, he’s regained some of his old Orion Pax confidence. He kisses her deeply, pressing against her until her back meets one of the shelving units. The datapads on the shelves rattle from the light impact and one clatters to the floor, but he simply nudges it out of the way with his ped.

Elita giggles at the way he keeps his attention on her. She wraps her arms around his neck, her digits tracing the subtle grooves in his helm.

“Orion...” she purrs softly between kisses.

Optimus feels alive in a way he never has in his life. Not when he was mining. Not when he was scaling buildings. Not when he was sliding down them. Not when he was getting caught by the authorities. Nothing compares to Elita.

The weight of his new title feels momentarily lifted as he’s just Orion again, finally holding the femme he’s always loved. His servos trace the smooth contours of her armor, savoring every inch of her, as his kisses grow bolder.

Elita cautiously begins to run her servos over his chassis, exploring his new form with an eager yet respectful curiosity.

The Prime feels a warmth spread through his entire being as Elita’s servos caress his new frame. For a moment, he’s lost in the feeling of her against him, the scent of her armor, the soft sounds of their servos sliding over each other’s armor.

The clearing of a vocalizer snaps Optimus into fight or flight, his powerful engine revving and armor flaring as he turns away from Elita. It’s Jazz, the smaller silver and black bot leaning against the wall with a slag-eating grin on his face. Optimus’ thoughts scatter.

"Jazz," he stammers, "I...uh...we were...just...inspecting the archives for any signs of structural damage. Yes."

Elita's laughter rings through the hallway, a light, melodious sound that fills the space with warmth. She steps back from Optimus, her own cheeks a soft shade of blue.

"Okay, you caught us," she says, her voice playfully chiding. "Couldn't you see we were busy?"

She crosses her servos in front of her chassis, trying to compose herself. She glances at Optimus, the amusement in her gaze purely affectionate. The sight of his flustered state is adorable and somehow comforting, reminding her of the Orion she knew before he became Prime.

"Ah, I see. Structural inspection, huh?" Jazz winks at Elita, his optics shifting between the two of them. "I can't say I've ever tried that particular method before, but to each their own, right? But, as delightful as this is, Prime, we do have some serious business to attend to."

Jazz holds up a data pad, at which Optimus lets out a heavy vent before gesturing for Jazz to enlighten them.

#transformers #maccadam #optimus prime #elita one #transformers one #tf one #orion pax #oplita #tf one optimus prime #tf one spoilers #transformers one spoilers #spoilers #omg they kiss for so long how did i do that

98 notes · View notes

forggywrites · 1 year ago

Note

I been thinking about make this request,basically platonic headcanons of Miguel with a gn reader that is very young(14-15) and have a symbiote, reader meets miguel due to him as spiderman rescues reader from some bastards that were experimenting with reader for the perfect symbiosis they had, the reader is very skinny and easily scared and the symbiote is very protective over reader, miguel is also very protective over reader and theach them how to control their power,basically miguel being a mentor/father figure for the reader Who admires him and want to protect the multiverse like him(like a sidekick).

If this is so Long youre Free to ignore

I LOVE this idea!

PLATONIC Miguel x GN teen reader w/venom symbiote.

I’m trying to make this as general as possible so anyone can read it, but sorry if I make any mistakes.

CW: use of y/n, Miguel might be slightly ooc, talk of human experimentation, kidnapping, abuse, violence, medical settings, venom needs his own warning.

—————————

It was cold.

So fucking cold.

The only color on your skin was dark blotches from struggling against your captors.

You were unsure of how long you’ve been locked in this dank room.

You had barely eaten or drank anything since ending up here, so you were multiple pounds lighter than you normally were.

Your muscles had lost a significant amount of definition from only moving when they moved you.

You didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but you did gather they didn’t target you specifically.

The experiments were painful.

No matter how much you screamed or cried they never stopped.

After one of the first experiments you started hearing a voice.

The voice was deep and grainy, it told you that it was known as Venom and it came from space.

”These people took me as well… I can help you escape.”

You had ignored the voice, telling yourself it was just the trauma and isolation.

Until a particularly painful test.

Your entire body felt like it was burning, your screams were deafening.

Suddenly the restraints that held you down snapped, and you felt something ooze all over your body.

You were unable to control your actions. The lab was destroyed and your captors were all dead. Heads had been ripped off and digested by the thing controlling your body.

You watched as your much taller body escaped from the hellhole you had been kept in.

As soon as you got out the black goo dissipated, leaving your much smaller, frail body in its wake.

”You’re welcome” the voice rasped.

Your legs started to move, you ran as far and fast as you could, tears streamed down your face as you were finally free.

Before you knew it, you had ended up in a crowded city. You were unaware your tattered clothes were covered in blood.

Your tired feet tracked down the sidewalk, many avoided you, uncaring of your beaten and bloody form.

”Hey, kid-“ a hand landed on your shoulder.

Venom did not like that.

Suddenly your body was taken over once again, wreaking havoc on anything and everything.

People screamed as your monstrous form throws a tantrum.

Then you hear a thwip and your once again muscular arm gets pulled.

A man in a dark blue and red suit starts to face off with you.

His attacks were deliberate and calculated, quickly taking your exhausted form down.

You feel your head smash against the concrete and loose consciousness once more

—————————

There you were, in another lonely room. Trapped yet again.

But this time it was warmer, you were lying in a comfortable bed with tubes and wires running from your body to various machines.

The high pitched beeping was annoying you, so off came the wires as you tried to stop the noise.

But it only got worse.

A high pitched scream came out of the machine next to you, your body felt like it was on fire once again. You covered your ears as you screamed in pain.

With the noise a group of doctors and the man from before rushed into the room, attempting to reattach the monitors and calm you down.

Your arm reached out, wrapped in the familiar black goo, and shattered the machine. Stopping the noise and actions of the oddly dressed people in the room.

Venom’s goo retreated back into you, soaking back into your skin.

Everyone in the room was frozen. Not knowing what to do or how to respond to the outburst.

”Where am I?” You rasped out, your throat was dry and scratchy from dehydration and screaming.

One of the people left the room and quickly returned with a bottle of water. You gulped it down in no time, panting from the lack of oxygen.

”You’re in a secure location.” The man from before piped up, he was still wearing the odd mask and outfit.

The doctors and nurses attempted to restore what you had ripped out, but you flinched as a hand touched you.

They stopped again, not wanting more destruction.

”Please let them help you, you’ve been injured.” The man says.

You looked at the tall man in front of you.

”Why am I here?” You question him.

”You attempted to destroy the city.” He grunts

”No I didn’t! It was that thing those “scientists” gave me!” You shout, trying to defend yourself.

“I AM NOT A THING, CHILD. I AM VENOM. AND I HELPED YOU!” Venom screamed, though only you could hear him.

“What thing, and what scientists?” The tall man inquired.

”The black gooey thing, Venom. It appeared after one of the experiments the guys who took me did…” you trailed off, struggling to explain exactly what had happened to you.

The man stands for a moment, thinking. “Were you kidnapped?” He asked.

”I- I don’t really remember…” you look down, uncomfortable with all the eyes on you.

The tall man sighs and approaches you slowly, his mask suddenly dissipated before he started talking.

”I’m Miguel, what’s your name?” He had a small smile on his face, trying not to intimidate you more than he already has.

”it’s Y/n.”

“Well Y/n, I want to help you. Can you tell me what happened?”

—————————

After a long explanation Miguel told you that he needed to work some things out, so he left you under close watch by the nurses.

While he was gone you were given a small meal consisting of a sandwich, some carrots, and a cup of chocolate pudding. The doctors didn’t want you to eat too much as to not cause your malnourished body any harm, but you were still hungry.

Until you got to the chocolate pudding.

”That is amazing, I love it.” Venom says.

”it’s chocolate pudding.” You respond.

”I need more. I don’t feel as hungry anymore.”

—————————

When Miguel returned there was a pile of empty chocolate pudding cups on the bedside table and you were asking for more.

A nurse was trying to reason with you. ”Why don’t I get you some more carrots? You shouldn’t be eating so much sugar-“

”I need chocolate, that’s what he wants.” You argued.

”Hey kid. What do you mean by “it’s what he wants”?” Miguel questions you.

”Venom. He said chocolate makes him less hungry, and I was hoping if I kept eating it he’d finally shut up.” You avoided making eye contact with the tall male.

”Interesting… I did a little research and it seems that you’ve become a host for some sort of extra terrestrial being.”

“Well duh, Venom told me that already.” You give Miguel a deadpan look.

”It would have been nice to know that…” Miguel sighs. “We can start looking into removing the…”

”Symbiote”

”Right, Symbiote. We can look into removing the symbiote if you’d like.”

Suddenly the black goo emerges once again, taking over your face.

”I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE YOU SPIDER SHIT!” Venom roars and then sinks back into your skin. Leaving you back to normal.

…

“I don’t think he wants to leave…”

”Well that was kind of obvious.” Miguel sighs.

—————————

It had been a few days since your arrival at the “secure location”, which after enough bugging of Miguel, you found out was the spider society. A place where spider folk like him from hundreds of different universes came together to protect the multiverse.

You had started trusting Miguel, and he the same with you. It was odd to others to see such a cold man being so caring and protective of a child who had “tried to kill him”.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of Venom, but when he realized you had a certain knack with the alien he stopped trying to convince you to separate from him.

Soon enough you started to train with Venom, Miguel helping you along the way. Miguel taught you hand to hand combat, self defense, and so much more.

Once Miguel believed you were ready, you started to go on missions with him. You met many other Spider folk and even made some good friends along the way.

Miguel knew that Venom needed phenylethylamine (or PEA for short) to survive. And since the only places you could get that was from brains or chocolate, he made sure there was always a large stock of chocolate around for you and venom, at least until he could develop something to give you the PEA you needed in a different way.

Miguel was glad that he had gone out on patrol that day, knowing that if he didn’t, he might not have met the kid who changed his life for the better.

—————————

Thanks for reading y’all! This was WAY longer than I was expecting, but hey, I got into it. I might make some separate or more headcanons with this reader/scenario.

(Also I got my first dose of testosterone done this morning, so your boy is finally on T!!!)

426 notes · View notes

truths33k3r4 · 7 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 7 - Imprinted

(CW- Nightmares, trauma, vomiting, flashbacks)

Lotus woke with a thrashing gasp, the air in her lungs stolen by another nightmare. Her hand shakily rose to her plastron as she tried to calm her pounding heart. The echoes of the monster’s threats slowly faded from her mind, but the adrenaline and fear still loomed over her like an inescapable smaug. The dream still had its hold on her, morphing reality as it saw fit. Shadows seemed to come alive as their claws shot out from the darkness. Every wall sprouted eyes and began to close in on her. Her stomach twisted in discomfort as she fought to forget her dream, closing her eyes and reminding herself again and again that it was over.

“I’m fine… It’s… It’s done..” She choked, still trying to regain her purloined breath.

Once the ghostly chorus of the phantom completely faded, she wearily opened her eyes. Everything had returned to normal, the shadows creeping back into their crevices awaiting the next time she would try to sleep. All the eyes had vanished from the walls. The room had stopped shrinking.

Before she could slump in relief her gut twisted again, making her wince as the discomfort only grew.

That’s weird…

Lotus was fully aware of the repercussions of nightmares on her body. There were times she would wake drenched in sweat or shaking. Other nights she woke up so tense that her body physically ached, forcing her to stretch out her tight limbs and loosen up before attempting to sleep again. But this was different. Normally the discomfort would soften as she calmed herself down, the turbulence of her racing heart slowly returning to a steady beat. But this… this wasn’t normal.

The throb of discomfort only continued to grow, forcing Lotus to clutch her arms around her torso. Her stomach grew more and more tight, as the sharp pangs squeezed whimpers out of her lips. Nausea crept closer.

This isn’t good… This ISN’T GOOD.

She scrambled to think back to the last thing she ate, but came up empty. The last few days were a complete blur, smeared together in a mishmash of memories that left her with no decipherable answers.

Seems this is becoming a recurring theme in my life.

Her bitter thoughts took a screeching halt as her stomach lurched.

Panic came flooding back into her heart in an instant as she shot her hand over her mouth in a feeble attempt to contain what she knew was coming.

No no nonononono!!!

With as much strength as she could muster, she frantically pulled herself upright. She could feel the acid quickly clawing its way up her throat, cutting off her gasping pleas for this new nightmare to cease.

And as per usual, she quickly found that she had no control.

In a split second attempt to spare Leo’s mattress, Lotus jerked her entire body off the bed, landing hard onto the grainy tiles below. The impact of her fall sparked a terrible ache to ignite in her still healing leg, but the pain was quickly thrown to the back burner as the vile taste of acrid fumes filled Lotus’ mouth. Her head swayed as dizziness overtook her.

She closed her eyes in a tight wince as she shakily braced her hands onto the ground. Not a second later, her stomach’s contents disguised as stinging lava splattered over the floor, sealing her fate.

I’m sorry… I’m sorry! I’M SORRY!

The imprinted instinct to run and hide from her shame grew with each embarrassing second, but her limbs refused to carry her weight. In order to keep from landing face first into the mess, she used her swaying form to roll her body to the side. Once again, her head rang with the impact of hitting the floor, and her leg screamed at the rough treatment. Even with the remnants of acid burning her throat and nose, she couldn’t hold back crying out from the pain.

Her hands clutched onto her thigh, squeezing hard to hopefully stint the agony quickly spreading throughout the incision site. Tears began streaming down her cheeks as she pictured how pathetic she must have looked lying on the floor next to her own puke. The fact that she couldn’t listen to her instincts and hide made things so much worse.

She was trapped, pinned down, and at the mercy of the first person through the doorway.

Her fears were made real as she heard the rush of footsteps come racing towards her.

They can’t see this!! I… I can’t let them see this!!!

It’s just another mess for them to clean up! I’m being such a PAIN- They’ve been so nice and THIS is how I’m repaying that kindness?!?

By becoming a hindrance?? A pest?

What a way to say “thank you”, you charity case.

Her bitter tears burned alongside her stinging throat as she hid her face into her shoulder.

Pathetic.

The racing footsteps finally made their way into the bedroom, and Lotus’ stomach squeezed as they raced towards her.

Her mind was overtaken by the cold voices of her past.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??”

“UGH, DISGUSTING.”

“SEND IT TO DR O’NEIL, IT’S SICK AGAIN.”

More tears streamed down her cheeks as she braced for the same reprimands for what she had done. She tensed her body awaiting whatever punishment her captors saw fit.

“LOTUS! What happened?!?” Leo’s voice cried out as gentle hands were placed onto Lotus’ trembling shoulders. At the physical contact, her body let out an unavoidable flinch, bringing out a startled gasp from the oldest brother.

“Lotus.. What’s wrong?” He whispered as he drew back his hand.

“Are ya blind? She’s sick!” Raph yelled exasperatedly, but Lotus could sense little glints of concern hidden behind the fiery brother’s tone.

When she finally turned her face towards the brothers, she caught sight of Don frantically leaving the room. From what she could see of his expression, his face looked as though he was… afraid. Her sight was quickly brought back to Leo and Mikey leaning over her, asking her a multitude of questions that blurred into a cacophony of frantic voices. Once Leo caught on that she couldn’t understand what they were saying, the eldest slapped a hand over Mikey’s mouth. With the racket of panic silenced, Leo sighed and started over.

“What is going on? Are you in any pain?” He spoke as calmly as he could, though the facade wasn’t as effective thanks to the worry etched over his face and tense posture.

Lotus wanted to shrivel up and die.

Before she could attempt to cover up the fact that she was indeed ill, her body once again reminded her of who was in charge. Another searing zing shot up her leg, and she had no choice but to cry out as she squeezed tighter to the offending limb.

“Well, there’s your answer.” Raph flicked his hand gesturing to Lotus, “Come here, we’re gettin’ you off the floor.”

“Careful with her leg!” Leo warned, as Raph moved to pick Lotus up. “Hopefully she didn’t pull any of her stitches…”

Lotus’ stomach flipped at that horrifying thought.

If she had pulled some of them, Leo would be forced to re-stitch her wound. That horrible experience was one she never wanted to relive. Her mind briskly reminded her of the pain she had felt at that moment in time, the prick and pull of the needle, and the fear that had forced her body to be sick.

Please, NOT AGAIN.

Another whimper squeaked out from her as Raph lifted her up, resulting in the fiery brother looking down at her in concern. He made sure to move extra slow so as to not reignite the pain in her leg. It somewhat worked.

“Careful- Careful!” Leo hurriedly spoke as he ran to check on Lotus’ incision. “Alright Lotus, you need to hold still, okay? Don’t move- I just need to check something real quick.”

Swallowing down the urge to shudder at the familiar words, Lotus cried a silent prayer pleading for there to be no damage to her stitches.

Agonizingly slow seconds crept past as she waited for Leo to speak. To distract herself she tried looking around the room again, identifying the vast diversity of colors and textures strewn about the room; The dark crimson wall of Raph’s nook, the bright splotches of blues, yellows, and oranges on the wall underneath Mikey’s bunk bed, and the patterns adorning many articles of clothing haphazardly dropped and thrown across the room.

The distraction helped a little. Her heart cautiously returned to a normal beat, and her mind began to empty out all the panic that had plagued it. She took a slow inhale and then let it out, allowing her head to carefully lean onto Raph’s plastron. She could hear his heart beating from under the hard, natural armor, and she leaned further as she let its steady rhythm overtake her anxieties.

“Okay,” Leo began, making Lotus jolt out of her dazed stupor in an instant, “your stitches seem fine.”

If she could, Lotus would have jumped out of Raph’s arms and danced. But seeing how she was still weak and pathetic at the moment, she settled for just letting out a sigh of relief, dropping her head back down onto Raph’s chest.

“Now.. can you explain why you were sick?” Leo spoke as he gestured to the spot where Lotus had thrown up. Mikey was already finished cleaning the area on the floor with a slight grimace on his face. He gathered the used paper towels and threw them in the trash bin Don was holding.

Lotus’ brows creased as she noticed how pale Donatello looked. He held the trash bin an arms length away from himself, and his face twisted with way too many emotions all at the same time. His eyes remained strictly focused on the furthest wall as he was led by Mikey out of the room.

“Lotus? LOTUS!”

She twitched as her attention was yanked back to Leo, the eldest’s eyes drawn into tight, interrogative slits.

“Why. Were. You. Sick? Are you okay???” Leo asked with a hint of annoyance camouflaged under his calm tone.

Lotus shook her head to knock out all the interrupting thoughts clouding her mind, as Raph gently placed her onto Leo’s bed.

“S-sorry, Leo… I’m… I’m not sure why I’m sick.” Lotus’ voice was quiet and strained, trying to be careful of her still burning throat. It also didn’t help that her leg continued to pulse with deep aches, causing some words to cut off in sharp grunts or gasps. “My… NGH! My stomach h-hurts…”

“Alright- That’s okay!” Leo gently spoke, the annoyance quickly being forgotten as his question was finally somewhat answered. He held out his hands in a steadying gesture. “Do you think you were allergic to the crackers Mikey gave you earlier?”

Huh??

Lotus’ pained expression twisted again, not in discomfort but in confusion.

“W-What are you talking about? I didn’t eat any crackers.” She spoke in mild, whispered bewilderment, “At least… Not that I can remember…”

She turned her head to peer at the side table next to Leo’s bed. There was no plate or crumbs anywhere, so most likely she was never given a snack, right? Unless the dishes were taken away?.. But wouldn’t she have remembered that?

Am I missing something here????

She turned to face Leo again, but froze when she noticed his expression. His irises had shrunk to half their usual size, and his breathing caught in his throat. He joined his hands as if he were about to start praying, but his eyes remained wide open.

“...Are you telling me…You haven’t eaten anything all day?”

Lotus didn’t mean to shrink under Leo’s accidental scrutiny, but the eldest’s gaze was becoming more and more sharp by the second, and she could only withstand his “Mom glare”™ for so long.

“...Um…” Lotus squeaked under the growing pressure of Leo’s glare. She turned her gaze to Raphael in a desperate plea for support. The fiery brother refused to be helpful in the slightest, simply shrugging and holding his hands in mock surrender at Lotus’ pleading expression.

She tried to gulp down the pebble stuck in her windpipe.

“...No?...”

Leo’s head instantly dropped onto the tips of his praying fingers with an exasperated sigh.

“Mikey…~” He groaned under his breath.

“Aw, come on, bro.” Raph mumbled to himself.

Confusion still twisting her features, Lotus was grateful to finally have Leo’s glacier glare off her, but she still had no idea what he was talking about.

Her stomach twisted again, and all the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

“... I was supposed to eat before I took the pills, wasn’t I?”

Leo kept his face down as he groaned, “Yes.”

Lotus grit her teeth as she fought to keep her composure, her face scrunching into a barely contained snarl. Anger began to burn inside her, draping the shadows of doubt and bitterness over her heart once again.

Here she was in the same situation as before; A victim of careless caretakers.

Nothing has changed.

I am such an IDIOT.

“That’s why I don’t feel right? It’s because of you? Again?!” Lotus’ voice grew in volume and venom with each accusation spat. “What is wrong with you?!?! WHAT WAS IN THOSE PILLS??” She yelled, as her hands whipped to point at the side table.

Leo’s head shot up as his hands separated, rising in placating surrender.

“N-no! It… it was an accident! Mikey was supposed to bring you something to eat so you could take the painkillers, but… he got… distracted. Something kinda…” Leo began to taper off as his shoulders rose stiffly.

“...Came up.” Raph finished in a grumbling tone.

Lotus flung her arms in the air as an empty laugh erupted out of her snarling teeth. “Oh yes! A lot of something definitely came up.” She pointed to her aching stomach to prove her point.

Before Lotus could react, Raph had already stepped in between her and Leo, his arms tightly crossed, and his eyes in a piercing glare.

“HEY. You don’t know what happened back there.” Raph intervened, his low voice imitating a growl of warning, “Like Leo said, it was an accident. He’s not perfect, no matter how hard he tries to be.”

Leo’s whole body tensed after Raph’s words, the eldest’s expression flashing from fear to surprise to hurt.

Lotus unconsciously cowered at the sudden presence of Raphael’s towering form. His shadow looming over her brought back many unspeakable memories to light. She fought hard not to whimper or hide, but the fear lashing at her core stung and bled. The memories of a monster distorted her view of Raphael, smearing her reality with the darkness of her past.

“Hold still, creature.”

The searing anger burning her lungs and clouding her mind vanished as the ghost of Lotus’ past hissed all too familiar words.

“No. Get away!” Lotus cried out as she shielded her head with her arms.

She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere that was safe.

There was no haven that could protect her from the memories.

She was trapped all over again.

“I’m sorry! I’m s-s-sorry!” She whimpered into the crooks of her arms.

A beat passed as she waited for her punishment.

“Lotus… Is it alright if I touch you?” A kind voice asked, shining dim rays through the smaug of memories.

The voice was unlike any she had heard in the labs: Kind, soothing, gentle… But it wasn’t female like the good doctor. Its tones were lower, smooth like the facets of a diamond, and radiating with warmth.

Her instinct told her she could trust it.

Another beat passed as Lotus shakily nodded her head. Soon after, she felt the cool scales of a three-fingered hand land on her forearm. She winced, expecting the hand’s grip to tighten and yank her away.

Instead, it delicately pulled down her arms.

Her glistening eyes widened as the ghost before her vanished in the warm rays of the bedroom. As her last tears fell, the blurs of green, red, and blue morphed back into Raphael and Leonardo.

They looked so worried.

Leo’s face had fallen into a horrified frown, and Raph looked as though he had just accidentally ran over a puppy. Their expressions filled with concern brought a soothing confirmation to Lotus that they weren’t her old doctors. They couldn’t be.

Because they looked as though they cared.

She looked down to see Leo’s hand still placed on top of her forearm. There were no scratchy squeaks of latex, no icy grip, and not even five fingers. No one was tying her down. No one was cutting into her.

Instead, she felt a soft warmth emanate through the contact of Leo’s fingers on her skin. The grip wasn’t tight, yet it was still grounding.

It felt so foreign and so right at the same time.

Emotions began to clash inside her, her past and present fighting in a mighty battle to gain control. Distrust and bitterness clawed at the growing rays of hope. Fear and trauma bit and scratched at the faded hands of peace.

Lotus took a leap of faith.

“I’m sorry. I-... I just… I h-h-hate feeling like… like t-this…” Lotus whimpered as all the fear drained from her body, taking her strength with it. “I’m.. I’m sorry, Leo.”

The corners of Leo’s mouth perked into a kind grin as his icy irises melted with compassion. Raph simply closed his eyes and nodded his head, his expression turning stoic, but not lacking sympathy. Lotus could still catch his concern peeking through as he stayed close to her bedside.

“It’s alright, I forgive you.” Leo spoke softly, as he delicately squeezed her arm. His smile grew the tiniest bit more when he saw that she didn’t flinch. “ And I… can’t blame you for being angry. I just should’ve brought you the snacks myself. It was my fau-”

Before Leo could finish his apology, his words were cut off by Raphael gripping the lip of the eldest’s shell, and yanking him forward so they were face-to-face. Leo let out an indignant yelp at the jarring motion. Raph poked an accusing finger into Leo’s plastron, rumbling in a tone that left no room for argument.

“-You say it’s your fault again and I’ll pelt you in the head with the back of my sai.”

Leo’s face flushed in an instant as he sputtered and squirmed in Raphael’s grip.

“RAPH! Nghhh.. P-Put me DOWN!!”

As confused as Lotus was as to why the brothers were arguing, she made no attempt to ask. Even though she had gotten more than enough sleep in the last… Day? Days? Her body still ached, resulting in another large wave of exhaustion dragging her consciousness down further into the expectant darkness of sleep.

Her eyelids began sinking…

Her thoughts fizzled out like the dying flames of a candle…

Just as her eyes closed and darkness filled her vision, a chilling presence emerged from the shadows, beckoning her to follow it deeper into the black of her nightmares once again.

“-NO!” She gasped breathlessly as she forced her body to jerk upright.

Leo and Raph instantly stopped their tussling, whipping their heads in the direction of Lotus’ distress. Raph let go of Leo and they both drew closer to Lotus’ bedside, asking her what was wrong and why she was shaking.

Her answer came in a frail voice drowning in terror and hopelessness.

“I’ll…I’ll never be free.”

Aaaand that's it for this chapter!! Now you're all finally seeing more of Lotus' perspective in this story. Some of her true colors revealed themselves in this chapter, as well as some answers about her past. And now we'll all see how the brothers will handle this broken girl. <3 This was one of my darker chapters, as you just read it focuses a good amount on Lotus' trauma, and how her captors created her view on the world and herself. This will be the base of her arc in this story.

Also, you probably noticed I only posted one illustration with this chapter. This was on purpose, cause I wanted to leave room for you guys to create your own picture of the scenes that occur in this chapter. :) Whether it be through your imagination or through fanart! This also helps me to not have as much work to do per chapter, so I can get more chapters finished and posted for you all faster! :)

Hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to reblog this!

BIG THANK YOU to @poetique823 for giving helpful critiques and suggestions with editing the chapter!! :)

@writer-in-wonder, @allyheart707, @oddartistl3, @risebabyx2, @joyjoygorl

(If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, just comment down below!) :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

#tmnt #my version of tmnt!!#the strength in weakness #SIW Lotus #SIW Leo #SIW Raph #tw trauma #tw vomiting #tw panic attack #tw nightmare #tw flashbacks #hurt/comfort #Lotus isn't having a grand time #Leo and Raph are trying so hard to figure this poor girl out #it's going... swimmingly.#yup.#Fret not- I plan to make the next chapter more fluffy :)#Balance out the TRAUMA

40 notes · View notes

cmncisspnandmore · 11 months ago

Text

One Night Stand: part 4

Pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: None? slight angst? Maybe if you squint

Summary: Simon is away on a mission, but things are speeding up back at home.

A/N:....... Hi, sorry. I'm back, i'm sos sorry for the long break between parts. I'm also sorry this is a short part, i started writing it before i went on a break, and i finished it today and its kinda a flop. But i promise to do better on the next part. asdfghjkl, please stick with me, I promise i'll do better.

Word Count: 2.909

New to the series? Catch up here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

It had been almost a week since you heard from Simon. He has sent you a brief text the morning he left. It was vague, didn't give you any details about where he was going, or how long he would be gone. He had promised to contact you as soon as he could. You find yourself staring down at your phone, hoping that maybe if you stared at it long enough he would text you. But it never came.

Your knee shakes as you sit in the doctor’s office, the nurses coming out periodically to get someone from the waiting room. Your appointment was in 5 minutes, but you had been sitting there for the last 20 minutes. Nervous was an understatement, if you could describe how you felt out loud people would think you were insane. You felt like your lungs were vibrating in your chest, every organ moving at the fast pace of your heartbeat.

The nurse calls out your name as you stand on shaky legs. The world is out of focus as you walk towards her. She smiles, and leads you back to her ultrasound room, her voice muffled by the pounding in your ears. A hand touches your shoulder and it takes you a moment to realize that she was talking to you.

“This is your first?” She asks, sitting in the chair next to the bed, pulling her stool up to the computer.

“Oh.. yeah..” You lay back on the bed, and look over at her. She was wearing a pair of cartoon character scrubs. Her hair pulled up into a french twist, as she typed on the keyboard.

“Okay, well lay back, and roll down the top of your jeans, and pull up your shirt as we’ll see if we can get a good look at that baby of yours. Do we need to wait for dad?” She asks, as you lay back against the paper. It crinkles as you roll down the tops of your jeans, your body shifting as you adjust.

“Oh, no… he’s away,” heat rushes to your cheeks, red hot embarrassment coursing through your veins.

“Oh no problem lovely, we’ll make sure to get extra pictures and you can even record the heartbeat for him. How does that sound?” She asks as she picks up the wand and rolls closer to you.

“That would be lovely,”

“This will be a little cold,” she says as she squirts some of the ultrasound gel onto your stomach. The contact makes goosebumps break out along your skin, you watch the screen across from the bed. The grainy black and white picture moving around as she adjusts the wand. After a few moments a small white, baby-like blob takes over the screen.

“There they are! Look at them,” she smiles as she spends time taking measurements, and telling you what you were seeing on the screen. She takes some pictures while shes doing it, before she smiles at you.

“Okay, ready to record the heartbeat?” she asks, and presses a few keys on the keyboard.

You take your phone out and record the screen, the baby’s heart fluttering on the screen. After a moment the sound of fast paced wooshing fills the room, your eyes fill with tears. It was real, you knew about the baby obviously, but hearing the heartbeat made it real. There was a tiny person growing inside you. A part of you and Simon. You stop the recording as you wipe your eyes with one hand. The Ultrasound tech smiles and hands you a tissue, before she hands you another. “Here Love,” she smiles, “wipe that off and then I’ll be right back with your pictures to take home.”

You wipe the gel off your stomach, swinging your legs over the side as you wait. You open up the text thread between you and Simon. Your fingers tap the screen as you forward him the recording of the heartbeat.

Y/n: I know you couldn’t be here because of work, but I heard the heartbeat today. It was beautiful, they’re developing right on track. *heartbeat*

The nurse comes in and hands you two long strips of ultrasound pictures, you smile down at them. In one picture the baby’s hand is up in the air and it looks as if they’re waving. She added a little caption that says “hi Daddy!” On it and you can’t help the pang of guilt that settles in your gut.

This was Simon’s first child too. He should be able to experience everything with you. But you knew he couldn’t just abandon his post. He was needed, that much was clear, you couldn't ask him to give it up. You wouldn’t.

As you walk out of the doctors office towards the bus station, you can’t stop looking down at the roll of pictures in your hands. As the bus pulls up to the sidewalk you climb on and take an empty seat. You study the white baby-like outline as the bus pulls away from the curb, you wonder who they would look like.

Would they have Simon's light blonde hair?

Maybe his dark brown eyes?

Or would they look like you?

Maybe they would be a perfect blend of you both, with your eyes and Simon’s nose. Whoever they looked like, they would be loved. Your heart swells as you look down at the pictures, your fingered tracing outlines. They were only the size of a lemon, which was crazy to you. 13 weeks ago they didn't even exist, they were nothing. Just two cells that had yet to meet, and now they were the size of a lemon. They could move around although you couldn’t feel it yet, some babies even suck their thumb.

Your thoughts drift back to Simon… Did he know that the baby was the size of a lemon? That it could now suck its thumb and move around?

Sighing you pull out your phone and text the video of the baby's heartbeat to him, along with a picture of the sonograms. You watch as the blue text bubble sends and the word delivered appears under it. You stare at the screen, wishing that it would change to read, but it doesn’t. Your eyes burn from not blinking, as the bus pulls up to the stop by your neighborhood. You quickly tuck your phone away and step off. The brakes of the bus squeal as it pulls away, leaving you standing on the side of the road alone.

The walk back to your apartment isn’t long, it only takes 5 minutes at most. But today it felt like the longest walk of your life. You couldn't shake the feeling that pooled in your stomach when the tech looked at you, the pity in her eyes when she found out Simon wasn't there. It had done nothing but remind you that you would probably be doing most of this alone. That there was a chance Simon would miss the birth of his child due to having to be on a mission.

You haven't given it too much thought, because that seemed so far away from the present. But in reality you were already in your second trimester, and time was going to go by a lot faster than you thought it would. Your relationship with Simon was still in its infancy, you barely knew anything about one another. Sure there was the undeniable attraction between you two, the magnetic pull that caused this whole situation in the first place.

You climb the 3 flights of stairs to your apartment, your boots thudding on each step. The neighbors below you argue loudly, the crash of things being thrown jars you from your thoughts. You really hated them sometimes. It was like their entire relationship revolved around making each other mad. If they werent fighting they were stoned out of their minds, their eyes glazed over from drugs as they leant against the hoof of their beat up car. They had neer done anything to you personally but you had heard them fighting with some of the other residents. Mostly your direct neighbor to your left. She was a small old lady who would get fed up with them fighting and would call the cops on them regularly.

As you unlock the door to your apartment, the door to the left opens. The old woman steps out of her apartment with a scowl on her face as she looks at you. You pause, and clear your throat. “Can i help you Mrs. Hines?” You ask, stuffing the sonogram into your pocket.

“Those blasted drug addicts, at it again i tell ya! Throwing things, arguing all hours of the day. Outta teach them a lesson,” she mumbles as he heads towards the stairs. Her cane tapped on the floor as she headed down to the floor below. You wait until her white hair is out of sight on the staircase before you push open your apartment door. The apartment is exactly how you left it, your eyes flickering to the couch. Air rushes past your lips as you find it empty, your laptop sitting in the middle just as you left it.

You settle into your apartment, and hang the sonogram pictures on the fridge, a small smile on your lips. Settling back onto the couch you pick up your laptop and continue where you left off this morning with your article, the words flowing easily. Hours pass as you near the end of the article, your phone pinging on the couch next to you startles you. For a moment a flash of fear races through your body. Like a bucket of cold water was dumped on you, your heart hammers loudly in your chest. With shaking hands you reach over and grab it, tapping the screen with your thumb.

The small picture of an adorable ghost next to the name eases your anxiety that settled in your chest. You can't help the small smile that spreads over your lips as you read the messages from Simon.

Simon: Wow, I wasn't expecting them to look like an actual baby just yet. That's kind of insane.

You: I know.. Did you get a chance to listen to the heartbeat?

Simon: Yeah… Don't tell anyone but I may have teared up…

You: Your secret is safe with me.

There's no reply after that, which is expected. Honestly you were even surprised to have heard from him at all. He was out there doing god knows what, god knows where. Given that he had a few moments to reply to your text must mean that he wasn't fighting for his life at that very moment.

That thought gave you some comfort… Well kind of. Lately not a lot of things could make you feel at ease anymore. You never truly felt relaxed, not even after moving a few hundred miles away from your hometown. You still felt like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. For it to be your turn to meet the same fate as your family. But it hasn't come yet, and that alone was enough to make every noise, every bump in the night send prickles of fear skittering across your body. Like thousands of ants running wild along the smooth plains, making you shift uncomfortably.

The apartment complex was surprisingly quiet for 8pm, normally around this time most of the residents were arguing. Mainly the couple from downstairs, but you haven't heard anything in a little while. You furrow your brows as you look out the window. Their car wasn't there, maybe they had gone out?. The parking lot was mainly empty save for a few cars that you were sure didn't run anymore. TUrning in your seat you glance down at your phone, the screen still dark.

Exhaustion pulled at you, over the last few weeks you had been having a hard time sleeping.The constant fighting from the people below you coupled with the raging hormones made sleep hard to come by. This past week is especially hard now that the small voice in the back of your head reminding you that Simon wasn't here. He wasn't just a phone call away right now. For all you know he could be on the other side of the world, and there was no established time he would be back. He very well could be gone for months.

Taking a deep breath you grab your phone and climb into your bed, pulling the blankets up over your head as you try to block out the small pang in your chest. The small part of you that missed Simon's presence. When he was around it was like someone had closed the doors to the roaring fears inside your head. They were still there, but they were muffled and you could be easily distracted from them. Allowing your body to relax for once, after being wound tight for months.

A blush creeps up your cheeks as you remember how blissfully blank Simon was able to make your mind that night. The night that led to the unplanned but not unwelcome baby that was currently growing in your uterus. Your eyes grow heavy as your mind drifts back to that night. You missed how his hands felt, skating across your skin. The warmth of his lips on yours, the way his heart pounded in his chest under your hands.

Your hand drifts down to your lower stomach, your fingers brushing the now taught skin. A small smile on your lips as you drift off to sleep with images of Simon's dark brown eyes and blonde hair dance in your mind.

~~~~

Smoke.

The first thing to cross your mind when you stir from your sleep is smoke.

The smell was suffocating as you sit up, and blink rapidly into the darkened room. Thick grey clouds billow under the door of your apartment. The loud creaking of the building settling startling you fully awake. Outside you can hear commotion in the parking lot. Quickly throwing the blankets to the side you pad over to the window. People from the lower floors of your building are filing out, waving their hands in front of their faces as they attempt to run from the building. Thick clouds of smoke follow them, as yellow and orange light flickers across their faces.

You drop to your knees as your throat starts to burn, the air in the room becoming harder and harder to breathe in. Your knees scrape along the uneven floor boards, scratching the soft skin. Pulling your shirt up over your mouth and nose you attempt to take slow even breaths, as the smoke rises to the top of the room. As you reach the door you lift your hand and place the back of it against the door. Its warm but not hot. Taking one last deep breath you reach up hand grasping the warm door knob as you turn it.

Smoke rushes into the room, stinging your eyes as you crawl forward. The hallways is hazy but you can see the stairs at the end of the hall. They look clear of any fire, and you start to crawl there. As you reach the top of the stairs a sound behind you causes you to stop. The floor by your door creaks and groans before it splinters and falls through. Flames lick up through the hole, heat dancing across your skin. It was hot. So incredibly hot. Your eyes water, as you struggle to pull air into your lungs.

Your throat burns as tears slide down your cheeks, your lungs ache as you start coughing. Your mind becomes fuzzy from lack of oxygen, as you grasp the railing of the stairs you start to feel your way down them quickly. Your feet blindly hitting steps, a few times you almost slip on the stairs. As you get down to the second floor the smoke is thicker. You can't see your own hand in front of your face. The staircase to the first floor is engulfed in flames, they lick up the stairs as they threaten to singe your clothes.

The window in the stairwell before it shatters above you front he heat, tiny shards of glass rain down on you where you crouch on the staircase. Your body is sluggish from the carbon monoxide. This was it…

The way out was blocked and you didn't have the energy to climb back up the stairs to try the back staircase. It had only been a few minutes since you left the apartment, but it felt like a lifetime. Your body ached, your skin hurt from the heat, like the worst sunburn you’ve ever gotten. Your lungs screamed like you were being held under water, each cough that forced its way from your throat felt like razor blades.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving trails through the soot and ash that covered your face. The world is slightly muffled as you put your head on the warm concrete of the stairs. The last of your energy fading as sirens scream in the distance. At least they would find your body, maybe there would be enough to identify, so someone would be able to get back to Simon about what happened.

Simon.

Your heart aches in your chest.

What if no one ever told him what happened?

Your mind starts to go fuzzy and your eyes slide closed, sweet oblivion pulling you under.

As the world fades out you feel someone's arms wrap around you, lifting you from the stairs, their deep voice vibrating in their chest. “Bloody hell, Love. Trouble just knows how to find you, yeah?”

Next Part: Part 5

284 notes · View notes

1d1195 · 2 years ago

Text

Neighbors I

For my 🐱 anon I hope you like it. It's gonna have to be multiple parts. I've really enjoyed writing it so far!

Warning: lots of fluff and pining. Very domestic Harry stuff.

Harry was glad she asked because he would do anything for her and he was glad she felt comfortable asking for such an intimate thing. Harry knew being a single mum was a challenge like no other. He wanted her to have the world and he would help however he could.

Harry was suffering.

It had been two weeks since he last spoke to her. At first, he thought he was imagining the lack of communication. He even convinced himself that it wasn’t anything to do with him. She was busy. Her mum came to visit. She was visiting her brother. Rory was on a play date while she was at work today. Another mum asked her to babysit, and she brought Rory to play while she did.

Harry was sitting by his front window, looking out to the street and saw her adorable little home just right there. But she wasn’t. Neither was Rory. He missed them both so much and it made him think about the day he moved in and saw the sweet girl and her little boy playing in the front yard.

Harry was on his phone video chatting with his mum and sister when he pulled into the driveway. He was showing off his little house that he had gotten all to himself, and he was so proud and happy. It was going to be his place where he could be and do whatever he wanted and not have to worry about anyone else.

Except for the most adorable neighbors he could have asked for.

“Hi!” A tiny shout came from out of thin air. Harry was mid-sentence chatting with his family when he spun to see the little boy waving enthusiastically from across the street.

“Oh, Harry he’s so cute,” Gemma cooed from his phone.

Harry was so startled by the little voice he forgot his camera was showing off the whole neighborhood. “Hi there,” Harry waved his free hand as the little boy’s mother knelt beside him and whispered something in his ear with smile and she fluttered her fingers at Harry gently. He wasn’t sure what he said, but the little boy threw his hand over his mouth and he swore he saw her mouth ‘sorry’ and she must have explained Harry was on the phone to the little one once more because he put his finger to his lips to keep quiet.

“I think I have t’meet the neighbors,” he told his mum and sister with a smirk.

“Try not to fall in love with the first girl you lay eyes on,” Gemma said knowingly but the glint in her eye was saying anything but the words that left her mouth. She knew her brother was one to fall in love quickly. Especially if he was going to be in close proximity to the sweet looking girl she could only barely make out on the grainy video call.

“Or her son,” his mum replied with the same glint in her eye as Gemma. Harry had such a soft spot for children. He was good with them and adored them immediately. Little ones liked how tall he was and marveled at it. He chuckled shyly and shook his head as he headed across the street. He hung up on the only women in his life up until that very moment where the whole trajectory of his life changed meeting his new neighbor.

“Hi,” he said with a smile so bright it warmed her thoroughly—Harry looked like pure sunshine. She was still crouched beside the little one and she was lucky she had her son to distract her a bit from the beautiful sight of him.

“Hi,” she answered and wrinkled her nose at the boy in her arms. “Are you shy suddenly?” She asked the little boy and squeezed his sides making him giggle and try to hide his face against her neck. “Go on, you wanted to introduce yourself,” she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Harry also crouched down in front of the two and he stuck his hand out to the little boy. “M’Harry, what’s your name?” He asked.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “You can do it,” she whispered in his ear loud enough for Harry to hear but still just for the little one.

“I Rory,” he said incompletely and put his hand in Harry’s (it was the wrong hand which just made Harry melt a little more).

“S’nice t’meet you, Rory. This is a nice neighborhood y’got here. M’glad I got t’meet you on m’first day here.”

“This is Mommy,” he said and gestured to the beautiful girl he was standing in front of; she was young for sure. Harry couldn’t not notice she was young. Especially for how little Rory looked. It was hard for Harry to not notice every little detail about her—she was beautiful from head to toe, and it was easily the fastest Harry had ever become smitten with a girl. “She 25,” he volunteered.

“You’re supposed to tell him your age not my age, you goose,” she rolled her eyes with a smirk and squeezed his sides again making him giggle. She kept her eyes mainly on her son, but they darted over to Harry every so often.

“I free!” he said holding up three fingers proudly. “Mommy teached me,” he said and then listed off the numbers one through ten counting the rest on his finger.

“Cool lad,” he said with a smile. “You’ll have t’teach me,” he winked at him. “M’not so good with numbers,” he explained.

“One, two three, four...” he started quickly.

“Easy baby,” she said. “Don’t want to scare him off before he’s been here a day,” she winked in Harry’s direction.

“Oh, I don’t scare easy,” Harry told her seriously. He held her gaze for the first time since he walked over without looking at the little one. Rory was contentedly staring back and forth between the two putting his thumb to his mouth. She offered her name and held her hand out to him.

Harry took hold of it and wished he could never let go. Her hand felt so perfect in his. He could have cried. He couldn’t wait to tell Gemma and his mum. “Lovely t’meet you, kitten,” he murmured.

“Mommy not a cat,” Rory giggled.

“I know lad, but she’s pretty like one,” he winked at her and watched her long enough to see her cheeks turn pink at his assessment. Feeling proud of the reaction he turned his attention back to Rory. “S’like how she called y’baby. You’re not a baby but you’re cute like one.”

“You talk funny,” Rory giggled.

“Rory James,” she scolded lightly with an eye roll. She didn’t sound mad like any mother that had scolded their son before. Harry’s own mum would say she was too gentle—even if it wasn’t needed. “That’s not polite,” she said knowingly and pursed her lips at him in disappointment. “Say sorry to Harry, please,” she nodded at him expectantly.

“Sorry, Harry,” he said softly looking remorseful. His lower lip jutted out and Harry swore he saw his eyes glisten with a set of tears.

“Oh, s’alright lad,” he smiled gently and rubbed his hand up and down his little arm. Harry didn’t want to condone his actions since she told him to apologize, but it wasn’t a big deal. Harry knew where she was coming from too. “I do talk funny, don’t I?” He winked at him and gave his arm a little squeeze. “You talk kinda funny t’me too,” he stage-whispered to him and made him giggle.

Rory yawned after a minute. “Mommy, sleepy time?” He asked rubbing his eye with a little fist. Harry was in love with this little guy as much as he was in love with his mother.

“Oh yes, definitely nap time,” she said and finally stood, scooped him into her arms and gave Harry a gentle wave. “It was nice meeting you, Harry. Thanks for saying hi,” she grinned so gently and beautifully, Harry wanted to take a picture of that smile and cherish it forever. “Can you say, ‘see you around’ to Harry, before you fall asleep?”

“See around, Harry,” he repeated sleepily from the crook of her neck.

“See y’around, lad. Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” he said softly.

“Bye Harry,” she said gently.

Harry gave a wave as she retreated inside. He returned back across the street ready to unpack as quickly as possible and find as many excuses as he could to see the pretty girl and cute lad again.

“Mommy?” Rory asked tiredly as she carried him down the hall to his room. Her head was spinning with the image of the guy across the street. Harry was undeniably attractive. His hair begged to have her fingers sink into it. His eyes were so gentle and green she was sure he could have seen her swooning over him. He was tall and physically fit. It was unbelievably unfair he lived across the street. She adored her little boy but there was no way she could ever expect Harry to want to be in a relationship with someone that had a son so young.

“Yes, my love,” she hummed softly interrupting her daydream of Harry.

“What bed bug?” He asked sleepily. She giggled.

Harry spent his days working from home as a virtual psychologist. He was very lucky to work remotely, only having to go into the main office once in a blue moon. It was nice to work from the comfort of his home office and not have to worry about traffic or things like that. The clients he worked with suffered from a range of anxieties and Harry did his best to help them cope.

But maybe the best benefit was the view. From his office he could watch the sweet girl across the street.

She ran a home daycare during the day and he watched her periodically flit about the house and yard with several little ones in tow. They followed her like little ducklings, and she was so good with children it made Harry ache for something he didn’t even know he wanted at that moment. He couldn’t even hear her sing or talk to them from her view but the way she bent to their level made eye contact with them, it was so obvious that they loved and adored her. She treated them like people.

Harry liked that a lot.

Three nights a week another car parked in her drive and she was flying out the door dressed in what had to be a waitress uniform. She returned late at night—sometimes past midnight—Harry didn’t see past midnight all that often, but he saw it once or twice, so he made the assumption. Despite the lateness of the hour, she was always up and ready the next morning bright and early; she was chipper and beautiful for the little ones that liked to watch her almost as much as Harry liked to watch her.

On Sundays she played with Rory in the front yard.

“Rory!” She shouted as Harry ran by. Harry stopped in front of their yard and crouched down to snag the boy before he accidentally ran into the road. They didn’t live on a busy street; in fact, there wasn’t a car in sight, but it was the principle of the thing. He saw the way her heart took off and she looked stressed but relieved as Harry spoke to her son.

“Y’can’t run in the road, lad,” Harry told him.

“You run,” he pouted.

“M’a little older than you, lad. And even still, m’running on the sidewalk,” he said gesturing to the space beside the road. “The road is for cars, s’not for guys like us,” he explained.

He nodded knowingly. “Mommy says I get hurt,” he contended.

“Mummy’s right,” he nodded back. “She’s very smart,” he said looking over the top of Rory’s head and smiling at the poor love that was still eyeing the road as if it betrayed her.

“Baby, we don’t want to bother Harry; he’s running,” she said moving closer to him after a moment.

“I run?” He questioned, looking up at Harry expectantly.

“No, love he—”

“That sounds like fun Rory!” He stood up grabbing hold of Rory’s hand and winked at the speechless girl as Harry stepped off the sidewalk and let Rory run a few toddled paces up the road. Following alongside Harry cheered for him. “Wow, lad! Look at y’go! Can hardly keep up!” he chuckled as he pretended to struggle to run after Rory.

Rory giggled. “I fast!” He said excitedly.

“Sure are,” she called from a few paces behind. Harry turned back and smiled at her again.

All that was two years ago, though. Back when she was still talking to him, and Harry didn’t have to wonder what was going through her head. When Harry was still part of watching Rory grow and they developed their own routines as neighbors and friends. Before she decided to cut Harry out.

Shortly after moving in, she called Harry nervously. She gave him his number in case he needed anything while he was away on business or if she had any concerns about his house. He gave her a spare key telling her he just had a couple of plants in the kitchen that needed water every day. She returned the notion saying she rarely left when she had a toddler in tow, but you never know.

He could hear the anxiety in her voice. He got the feeling she didn’t ask for help very often. It would make sense given she was a superhero mum. Harry didn’t want to let her down.

“I’m really sorry to ask you this,” she sounded pained to ask him. Like it was physically hurting her to get the words out. Harry tilted his head as he held his phone to his ear. He glanced out his office window unable to see where she was in her house. “My sitter cancelled on me suddenly. Could you watch Rory for my shift? I know it’s last minute and I promise it will only ever be this one time...I just can’t call out this close to my start time—”

“Love the whole purpose of me working from home is I have a flexible job. I can watch him—he’s just going to bed soon anyway,” he promised. “I’ll be right over.”

“Really? You will? Thank you, Harry. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll pay you,” she said with so much gratefulness and relief in her voice he could hardly stand it.

“Don’t be silly kitten, I’d be insulted,” he said hanging up and taking no time at all to hurry across the street.

Rory was delighted to hang out with Harry. He didn’t hang out with men all that much. Harry was the best in his eyes. “We’ll have a little men club night,” he winked at the little boy. “We’ll play games, drink some juice, and watch an action movie,” it was an ambitious to do list before his bedtime in two hours, but she giggled at him and that was worth all the wins in the world in Harry’s eyes.

Harry watched him regularly—every Thursday after that.

Rory’s eyes lit up like nothing he’d ever seen before every single Thursday. It was obvious he looked up to Harry. He was the only regular man in their life, and he was the perfect role model. Harry taught Rory a lot of things in those short two hours before bed each week. Harry never thought of himself a teacher, but he never thought about how he learned to do some of the things Rory asked him to show him.

“Mommy says I can learn to pee standing up,” he whispered to Harry one Thursday almost a year after he started watching him. Harry smirked. He’d grown so much in just one year it made Harry overwhelmed sometimes. He spoke better than the three-year-old he met. Harry obviously wasn’t here for Rory’s baby days, but it had to make the poor girl just as overwhelmed some days. He was growing so fast.

“That’s cool lad. Guys usually do that,” Harry nodded knowingly with a smirk.

“Harry, how is Mommy going to show me?” He asked curiously. “Mommy told me girls don’t have to stand,” his little eyebrows were pinched together. Harry chuckled lightly. It was a valid concern and he wondered what it must be like to navigate such a different part of parenthood like that for the sweet girl. Harry was lucky his mum and dad were still together when he was potty training; that would have to be difficult for her and for Rory.

“M’sure your mum knows how t’teach y’anything, Rory. But if you’re not sure after her lesson, I can answer any question y’have,” he shrugged. “S’pretty easy,” he told him. He stood up from the couch and gestured in front of him as if there was an imaginary toilet there. “You just stand there and go like this,” he said and held his hand in front of his pants like he was pretending to pee.

“Oh,” Rory said his eyebrows furrowing together once more. “That looks easy.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he chuckled sitting back down. “M’sure y’can handle it.”

“Harry?” He asked quietly. Harry was searching through movie titles on the TV to find something that he thought Rory would like before bed.

“Yeah, lad?”

“Sometimes...” he looked a little uncomfortable and stared at his little legs that barely crossed over the edge of the couch. “Sometimes I don’t want to ask Mommy things,” he told him shyly. “Could I ask you?”

Harry turned and looked at him. He frowned slightly. He didn’t want to overstep his boundary as babysitter or even neighbor, but he knew she would want to know anything going on in Rory’s life. “Rory, you can ask your mum anything,” he promised.

He nodded. “Mommy says that, too,” he affirmed. He waved his hand over to Harry asking him to come closer. “But Mommy doesn’t have a penis,” he whispered shyly—like it was a secret. “I don’t know if she knows everything about them,” he said seriously.

Harry bit back the laughter that was trying to burst its way through and he nodded seriously. “You’re right, lad. But Mummy knows how t’help you,” he reminded him. “She always helps you, yeah?”

Rory nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’ll let Mummy know that if you have questions that she can’t answer, you can ask me.”

It was jarring to have Harry in her house when she got home so late from work. Harry was reading or watching TV on her couch while the little one slept soundly in his bed. The idea of coming home to Harry made her overwhelmed even when she was so tired and longed for her own bed.

If she wasn’t so tired she probably would have thought about going to bed with Harry. Fortunately, she was tired and while she thanked Harry a million times in the span of five minutes she couldn’t think about sleeping with her gorgeous, lovely, perfect neighbor. Today she was listening to the recap of the boys’ night because Harry wanted to tell her something important.

Harry relayed the story of Rory’s line of questioning that night she smirked and rolled her eyes. “That’s very funny. I’ll be sure to talk to him. Thank you,” she said gratefully. “But...if he does...have questions that I can’t answer, could he ask you?” She wondered. Harry was glad she asked because he would do anything for her and he was glad she felt comfortable asking for such an intimate thing. Harry knew being a single mum was a challenge like no other. He wanted her to have the world and he would help however he could.

“Kitten, I’ll tell him anything he wants t’know if it’s okay with you.”

She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, I really appreciate that, Harry,” she was so tired she didn’t think anything of it and leaned in to give Harry a hug.

Harry didn’t question it because it felt so natural to wrap his arms around her and have her in his embrace. Harry wondered the last time she was held by someone outside her family. He knew from the visual he had each day that there were no men in her life besides Rory, himself, and her brother. This was too nice and too sweet. She felt so warm and perfect in his arms. He was also getting tired but he was wound up in the smell of her the feel of her so quickly it made his head spin.

All at once she must have realized her position. “Uh...sorry,” she said softly and pulled away clearing her throat. She refused to meet Harry’s eyes. “I’m very tired.”

“Oh...” he hummed. “S’okay kitten...you’re pretty warm,” he shrugged with a grin. “I like hugs too.”

She nodded and still didn’t meet his gaze. “Thank you,” she repeated. “For everything.”

He remembered that hug a lot when he held the pillow in his arms thinking about how he hadn’t seen her in over two weeks. He doesn’t even know what he did wrong, and it drove him nuts. Of course, he adored her but he didn’t want Rory to think he had abandoned him either.

Apparently, Rory had been thinking the same way.

“Mumma, does Harry not love me anymore?” He asked before bedtime one night.

She sighed heavily. “Oh...baby, no,” she shook her head. “Harry loves you,” she promised. She knew that was true. Despite all her misgivings and all the things she worried about. She knew Harry adored her little boy.

“How come he hasn’t played with me in a while?” He asked.

She couldn’t tell him that she was too attached to him and it wasn’t fair to Harry that he would be a father for someone else’s baby. She was thrust into motherhood and it was the best thing that ever happened to her, but she would never make anyone—but especially Harry—be a parent before they were ready. “Sometimes grown ups are busy,” she said. “He’s always there,” she promised. “And you’ll always have me,” she smiled, ruffling his fluffy hair.

“I know that Mumma, but I like playing with Harry too. And I think he likes playing with us too.”

Little kids were too smart for their own good sometimes.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #neighbor!harry #one direction #one direction writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #neighbors

963 notes · View notes

oncewhenalongtimeago · 1 year ago

Note

Do you have more of " Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot"? It's so good that I'd like to read more about it <3

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 10

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,963

You hitch a ride with the Twins.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Dragons: Defenders of Berk, The Night and The Fury, unedited

“Okay, seriously, who’s going to watch the dragons?” Came the muffled voice of Hiccup from outside.

You shifted around, arms pulled tightly, together, rubbing against rough, frayed, grainy fabric, too busy trying to reorient yourself to pay any real attention. You were certain this was going to give you a rash.

You ignored the ruckus going on outside, a dragon attack or something, trying to shift so that you weren’t curled completely around, feet pressed against the knot holding your sack closed.

This wasn’t necessarily what you expected when the Thorston Twins said they had a job for you. You wished you had more time to react before they’d shoved you into the sack. At least enough time to ask for some air holes.

You puffed hot air against your hands, blinking roughly before, all of a sudden, you dropped. You winced as your shoulders met sand, tumbling onto the floor, tumbling out of the sack.

“Yeah, we knew you were going to make us do something stupid like this-”

You landed half on your back and stayed there, staring up at the sky for a good minute as you made an effort to blink away the vertigo.

“-That’s why we brought someone else to take my place.”

Then, you dug shaky hands into the ground, feeling sand catch under your nails with discomfort.

“Hey,” You heard the indignant voice of Ruffnut grumble, “What about me?”

“You snooze, you lose, sister.”

You pushed yourself up by your hands, making out the faces of Berk’s Dragon Riders by the dim light of their lanterns, and hoped with a vague suspicion that you hadn’t stumbled your way into another television episode.

“Hi,” You said, swiveling your head slowly in order to get a good view of all of the riders. For some reason, your eyes landed fixedly on Hiccup, who was very notably refusing to look you in the eye.

You furrowed your brows, wondering where the dragon was.

“Tuffnut,” Astrid reprimanded.

They all held simple box lanterns.

Hiccup had his shield, made of Gronckle Iron, on one arm. It reflected dim light, shining silver and white. Pristine, well taken care of and very, very new. And soon-to-be sullied, probably, too.

“Why doesn’t she stay behind and take care of the dragons?” Fishlegs suggested, “Or-or she could take my place instead.”

Their dragons convened behind them. Toothless snuffled at Stormfly as Barf tried to nip at him from behind. His scales were chipped and a dull green and turquoise. He’d probably need a wash soon.

“We’ve already been over this, Fishlegs.” Hiccup suggested, turning and squinting at him.

You shrugged and turned your eyes to the coast, listening to the sound of claws digging into sand and boots kicking it up. You kept a careful eye on cooling glass, sand red and melted into a small crater, and made a point to stay carefully positioned away from it.

You wondered how difficult it would be to swim back to Berk on your own. Not that you wanted to, anyhow.

“Do you know how to take care of the dragons?” Astrid asked, “We can’t just fly back now.”

“No idea,” You said, just as Tuffnut suggested that they did. Besides that one time during Snoggletog with Hiccup, you weren’t sure you’d ever ridden a one.

“See?” Fishlegs protested, as they quickly fell into chaos, “I didn’t want to do the exercise much anyways.”

“Well, she-she could always come with me?” Hiccup suggested uneasily, as you dug the toes of your boots into the sand, scooting back slightly as the tides swelled, “I could fly her back and meet up with you guys after you finish the exercise. Or I could go and try to find her a dragon. To fly back on.”

You hoped not. That seemed like a lot of responsibility.

“Dude.”

You sighed, completely disconnected as you stared off at the horizon line. The sea was eerily black this late at night. You wondered how things were doing back where you came from, and whether the ocean back in your world was just as cold.

“Hiccup. Really? Now isn’t the time for that.”

“She’s coming with me,” He said, tapping His prosthetic soundlessly into the sand, as if resisting the urge to shuffle.

“For what?” You asked finally, turning around as you pulled yourself from your musings.

“Do you ever wonder what goes on at the breeding ground when the dragons aren’t there? Is it just one big hunk of rock? Or do you think some of them stick around?” You walked alongside Hiccup, trying not to let your feet drag as you walked alongside him.

“Actually, I’m not sure.” Hiccup nodded shiftily, still not able to look you in the eye. His mouth opened and closed once or twice, as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

Your hands rubbed at your arms through your thin tunic as you very much wished you were back on Berk, in your bed. But your landlords had just started taking rent.

You wrinkled your nose, trying not to chatter your teeth.

“Do you want my, ah, coat?” Hiccup asked, eventually, before trying awkwardly to pull it off. It was a bit hard considering his hands were full, and so you held out your hand in an offer to hold the lantern.

“No, it’s okay. I mean I wouldn’t want to- take it from you. It’s cold. You can keep it. I can carry- oh.”

Hiccup had settled down his shield and pulled off his coat, offering it to you. You took it with unsure hands, your knuckle brushing gently across his fingertip.

“It’s fine, I have plenty more.” Hiccup said, picking up his shield. It looked like he was about to try and dust it off but thought better of it.

“Really?” You asked. You sniffed it suspiciously, feeling the fur in hand. It was a lot shorter than it had been before, nearly down to the leather and definitely singed in some parts, but it was still just as cozy.

“Well, no, but I was outgrowing it anyways.” Hiccup shrugged with false casualty, head facing away but his eyes looking back at you, just in his green tunic.

You couldn’t make out much else, especially not just by lamplight. He didn’t look like he was outgrowing it.

The fur was incredibly soft between your fingertips, though even without leaning your head in close you could smell the heavy scent of smoke and metal. Hiccup had probably left it in the forge overnight or something. You had heard the Chief complaining about it before.

“Wait, you mean you’re giving it to me? Like, giving it, giving it?” Hiccup flushed under the scrutiny. You decided to dial it back.

“Well yeah, the red-” He stammered.

“-Tunic. Right. Well, I promise I’ll return it to you after.”

“No, you won’t.” He insisted stubbornly, metaphorically digging his heels in. You wondered how neither he nor any of the other Vikings on Berk were ever cold at all.

“I will,” You stared stubbornly back, the two of you locked in a sort of staring contest until you saw Hiccup’s eyes focus on something behind you.

Mournfully, you broke eye contact, and turned to look behind you where, just over a ledge were the smoky beginnings of a fire.

“...Great.” Hiccup sighed, taking the first few steps around you.

You weren’t even sure how they got so far ahead of you two and had the time to put up a fire, but that was just as fine. As long as there was something warm.

“Oh, cool.” You said, tossing Hiccup’s coat back at him as you quickly sped your way out of his range, “A fire. Are we allowed to even have fires?”

“I don’t- you’d have to ask Astrid…”

“What happened to only dragons being able to find Dragon Island?” You mumbled to yourself drowsily, though you were sure you already knew the answer.

A lot of the smoke around the island had cleared since most of the dragons fled it, and it was a lot more accessible now that it didn’t have an armada of scales to defend it.

You wondered if coming back was at all traumatizing for the dragons. Honestly, you were surprised the island had any shrubbery at all, though you supposed that the Timberjacks might need it.

You wondered how the Berserkers discovered this island, if at all an island suddenly appearing from the mist was startling to them. Or if they were too unfamiliar with the area to notice or care. The island was in Hooligan Territory, after all.

You stood at the edge of the treeline as Dagur lifted Hiccup into the air, angrily recounting their last meeting on the island. You had a small dagger clutched in hand, though kept it vaguely out of view, waiting for either Hiccup to signal you, though he was currently enthusiastically shaking his head ‘no,’ or for Dagur to start acting just a little bit too deranged.

“And then you kicked me off!” Dagur grit out angrily, “Why are you here? Are you planning to steal my kill, again?”

Dagur ended the last bit slowly, holding out his sword, the tip of it pointing threateningly towards Hiccup.

“What am I doing here?” Hiccup asked nervously, and irritatedly, somehow, looking back and forth between you and Dagur.

You had to resist the urge to back away as your heart picked up speed.

You asked yourself what in the world had happened between the two the last time they were on Berk together; if this was supposed to happen.

You mouthed a nervous ‘What do I do?’ back at him as you took a hasty step past what looked to be the flayed skin of a Gronkle.

“You know what? I know exactly what you’re doing he-...” Dagur paused, following Hiccup's line of sight. His face scrunched up as if he had only just realized you were there. In all fairness, he probably had.

“You.”

You tried to pull your dagger- well, Hiccup’s, really- further behind you so that he wouldn’t see it, though you had very little hope as his eyes caught it, probably glinting back the light of the fire.

“Nothing! We’re doing nothing.” Hiccup said, laughing nervously and pushing Dagur’s sword down with his fingertips by the flat end as dread coiled in your gut.

“You…” Dagur began with a sneer, shoulders high. Then, suddenly, like the sky after a heavy rain, his face cleared, “You’re on a date!”

You let out a heavy sigh, which morphed into mildly hysterical laughter as the aggressive lines of his face smoothed itself out into a false, strained grim. Then you grimaced, certain you’d missed something in between then and the last time you encountered Dagur.

“A date?!” Hiccup asked, as you attempted to smother your confusion. You weren’t quite sure where he got that idea. You wondered next when his mood would flip.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you!” Dagur finished, opening his arms wide and taking the first steps forward into your direction, “I’m going to enjoy tearing the both of you apart!”

“I wish you had.” You grumbled sourly, very pointedly ignoring the last bit, afraid to poke the proverbial dragon.

You kept a safe distance from the swords and other various weaponry buried into the ground everywhere in sight around the campfire. You took a moment to stare wide-eyed at a skull, a Nadder, presumably, sticking out from a branch hanging over the clearing.

“A firecracker, that one.” The orange firelight flickered menacingly across Dagur’s face, whose eyes were narrowing again. You could see a vein on the corner of his forehead beating. You imagined it might be very easy for him to over take you with an axe, and even easier to hide your remains somewhere on the island.

“No, not really,” You mumbled, wincing, relaxing the hand holding the borrowed knife. You really did need to get one of your own.

“The two of you! Like two elements! Fire and,” Dagur looked over Hiccup, “Something else just as… Ferocious.”

You grimaced as he turned around, shifting away as best you could without being noticed.

“Fire isn’t an element.” You muttered under your breath as Hiccup shuffled his way uncomfortably back towards you. You wondered if it was too soon for you and Hiccup to leave and get the heck out of dodge.

Dagur laughed erratically, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Though, to be fair, you preferred this version of him a lot more to the version you met on Berk. He was much less aggressive this way. Or, at least, purposefully aggressive. Towards you.

“Huh?” Hiccup asked disconcertedly.

“Fire isn’t an element. It’s a reaction. I think,” You stared blankly at Dagur’s retreating back.

“So, what are you here for?” Hiccup asked Dagur as your shoulders bumped into each other. He pulled his dusty shield higher in front of you and further to his left to it covered some of you both as Dagur pulled up an especially wicked serrated blade from the dirt.

Scouring through your memories, you tried to look for something, anything to get you out of this situation. You glanced at Hiccup guiltily. You felt a little bad sometimes, for keeping all these future things to yourself. But you weren’t sure who would believe you, and it had been a whole year and you realized with alarm that you were beginning to lose a few things.

You tried not to think too much about it. The concept was frightening to say the least.

“The only thing worth being out for,” Dagur paused, “Dragon hunting.”

“What happened?” You asked under your breath, leaning sideways closer to Hiccup. You felt the tips of a tuft of his hair scratch the side of your face as you searched Dagur’s, loathe to look away as if it might tell you the answer.

You were half inclined to believe it was your little tussle back on Berk that caused it, but you were sure that wasn’t enough to inspire manslaughter, at least not to any sane mind.

“Oh, well, I said somethings, he said some things, a few words were exchanged-Most of which I probably should have kept to myself-” Hiccup mumbled hurriedly and ruefully back, speaking just above a whisper, “We really need to get out of here.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand?” Dagur scowled, turning back to you.

You felt a bead of sweat slide down your neck, noting from the corner of your eye Hiccup forming the beginning of an answer.

“We’ve got somewhere else to be!” You grinned testily, answering before Hiccup could, “Supposed to meet up with, uh, the rest of our group. A large amount of people. Training exercise. Everyone knows about it, really.”

“What a coincidence. I didn’t come alone either. You’ll have fun explaining where you and your little friends are to my armada.” Dagur stalked up to the two of you, pulling weapons from the ground as he strode.

“Gods, what is it with you and your armada?” Hiccup exclaimed, gesturing with his shield.

As Dagur approached and Hiccup’s shield became less and less of an obstacle between the two of you, you took the opportunity to kick up between his legs, not at all taking the time to watch as Dagur folded over, voice wrought with anger, “Now, that was a little-”

Hiccup engaged his shield partially, dropping it hard so that he delivered a heavy blow to Dagur’s head, and dropped his lantern right by the fire, its metal skeleton bouncing against wood and stone.

Hiccup was smart, sometimes. More mechanically inclined than booksmart, at least outright. You found that to be one of the most intelligent decisions Hiccup ever made.

“Come on!” You began, just as Hiccup began shouting for Toothless.

Hiccup sprinted slightly ahead, collapsed shield in hand as he jumped fully onto Toothless’ saddle.

You followed with a nervous laugh, a skid and a kick of dirt as you stumbled, nearly tripping as you slung your leg over Toothless’ saddle and slid close to Hiccup’s back.

Hiccup was bent forward with the ghost of a fright and a shade of awkward confidence in his voice as he urged you forwards and Toothless into the sky.

Said dragon launched very soon after, making a quick effort to catch up to the rest of the Rider’s dragons, Dagur storming behind you across the clifftops.

You turned to look back quickly, bringing your hand up to Hiccup’s shoulder in an attempt to stay stable even as Toothless flew like a rocket, splitting through the air.

Your heart pounding, adrenaline doing numbers. You felt Hiccup’s heart through his back, like some sort of war drum. You worried he might actually have a heart attack.

You felt his torso stiffening as you wrapped your arms around his middle, though he remained razor focused on the sky in front of him. On the gently curved horizon line in the distance.

Hiccup’s shoulders jumped under your hands as you moved your hands onto his shoulders. Quickly, you pressed up close to his back, so close your upper thighs were pressed to the back of Hiccup’s, in an effort to fight against the pushing wind, and brought your head over his shoulder, resisting the urge to bury your wind-bitten nose into the collar of your tunic.

Being in the sky gave you the perfect opportunity to say it. It was probably inappropriate timing, but as you found Dragon island becoming more and more of a speck in the distance, you found that you didn’t care.

“See? The Earth is round!”

#how to train your dragon #httyd #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #toothless #fem reader #female reader

119 notes · View notes