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leviathanleva · 3 months ago

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Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

Excitement for your morning coffee turns to panic when you bump into a mountainous stranger in a grey hoodie, sporting a skull mask. Sputtered apologies become a conversation in a corner of the café. And he’s so beat up, battered and bruised and scarred that you can’t help the words that leave your lips:

“Do you want to come home with me?”

[5k words ]

Chapter 1 "Caffeine Rush"

Airpods in your ears, music vibrating through your soul, you were ready for the world outside.

Sweet Saturday morning, after a week of work and barely any time for yourself, you’d decided on a treat to start off the weekend. You’d slept in late, phone alarm turned off and sleeping mask tugged on, new sheets prepared the night before because it was so comforting to wake up to the subtle smell of detergent. And once you were finally up, you’d decided fuck it, go out and get a nice steaming hot coffee in a cute paper cup from the local café, listen to Lofi or Lana Del Rey or whatever Spotify had prepared for your daily suggestions on the way, cozy up in a warm winter jacket and a thick scarf. Bless the crisp December air, it nipped at your cheeks and filled your lungs with sharp frosty air. It numbed your nose too and made your eyes water, but those weren’t as positive as the previous two affixes.

The streets were buzzing, a rare sight of the sun peeking through a blanket of grey clouds was shining down on you.

All in all, it was going to be a good day.

You waited impatiently for the light to turn green before crossing the street with a horde of nameless individuals, keeping in tandem with them.

Snow was still a no-show, you could only hope for its appearance at least on Christmas. The holidays without a fluffy coat of white powdering over everything from trees to rooftops just didn’t sit well with you, but at the end of the day, it was up to Mother Nature, not you. Anything but the ice rain you’d had the week prior; you weren’t ready to skate to the store again.

The bell above the café door shakes to life, signaling your entrance. You tuck one airpod in your pocket to listen in on the chatter in the comfy, coffee bean scented establishment, and also because you didn’t want to miss anything the cashier said. You were the anxious type after all, didn’t wanna miss a thing ever.

The heating system is blasting, cranked to the max, steam comes in large waves from behind the oak counter, be it from warm beverages or baked goods fresh from the oven, it lingers long enough for you to get a whiff before being diligently sucked away by the range hood. You unzip the top part of your jacket before getting too stuffy, loosen your scarf and take off your gloves. The staff, donned in their creamy yellow aprons, zip back and forth between tables like worker ants and you step into the line of waiting customers to keep out of their way.

The hardwood floor is licked spotless, looking down, you can almost see your reflection staring back at you. The hum of the large coffee grinder fills your exposed ear and you decide to turn off Spotify for the moment and bask in the café’s ambience instead.

The line moves, it’s almost your turn and you glance up at the display monitors listing off all the choices on the menu for today. Lattes, milkshakes, espressos, you decide on a large cappuccino, leave experimenting with unfamiliar drinks for another day when you’re feeling more courageous.

“Large cappuccino, please.” You say with a polite smile and fish out your wallet from your pocket.

Coffee is cheap here, cheaper than in most cafés and that’s one of the things that keeps you coming back to this place. It’s not easy to afford treats when you live on your own and have to pay the bills and groceries alone. However, you manage, and being able to afford a coffee or takeout once in a while is all the sweeter when knowing you owe nothing to nobody.

You take your cup and nudge your chin for the barista to keep the change before stepping away to the sidebar littered with plastic lids, sugar packets, and cheap wooden teaspoons for stirring your drink. After a brief consideration, you decide not to sweeten your coffee and only take a large lid, pop it over your cup and after zipping your jacket back up, you’re about to turn and walk out.

A walk through the park where you can sit down and enjoy your drink suggestively passes by your mind. Deciding that’s exactly what you will do, you palm through your pocket for your discarded airpods while nursing your paper cup to your chest.

And maybe it was your fault for not paying enough attention because you were buzzed to have a nice relaxing weekend. Or that you’d already achieved your first goal of the day and you were about to have a nice vibey stroll while hurrying to stuff your ears with music before you left the café. Maybe you’d jinxed your Saturday by confidently thinking it would be a swell time and nothing wrong would happen for once.

You should have known better. You should have suspected something would go wrong.

Something always goes wrong.

You whirl around with the intent of being on your way, expecting the glass doors to be in view, but they aren’t. A mountain of flesh and muscle stands before you. And your reaction time is too slow to save yourself or your coffee.

You jump, your hand flinches and the paper cup goes flying, a gasp upon your lips so loud it turns heads. You can only watch in horror as it makes contact with a wide chest clad in a grey hoodie, the lid pops off from the force of the impact and the hot contents inside go in every direction.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my freaking God.”

One hand goes up to cover your agape mouth while the other clutches at the zipper of your jacket as panic crawls up your neck and prickles your scalp.

The worst part is that your coffee wasn’t the only casualty. The poor guy had dropped his beverage to pull his hoodie off his chest the moment your scalding beverage had soaked it.

There was steam coming off it. It was boiling and you’d spilled it on him.

You wanted to die.

And he’s fucking terrifying too. Easily two heads over you and built like a truck. The intricate skull mask obscures the lower half of his face and you can’t discern if he’s absolutely pissed or just mildly uncomfortable with the large stain plastered on his top.

His eyes are sharp, trained on his ruined hoodie, crow’s feet crinkled, and you’re grateful they’re not directed at you because you were a step away from breaking down on the spot.

A stone lodged itself in your throat.

If he didn’t curse you to oblivion, he’d either break you in half, or worse, sue you.

You can’t get fucking sued. You don’t have the money to get sued.

So much for having a good day…

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” You sputter out and grab a handful of paper towels from the counter. You’re glancing up at him every now and again for fear of his patience running out. “I’m so so sorry.”

Shaky hands are tapping away at his top, soaking in the liquid as best you can while trying to keep from breaking down. Your tongue is arrested between your teeth, bitten down on hard in a self-soothing attempt. Your fingertips are stained with coffee because there‘s so much of it that it’s turning the paper towels to mush. You couldn’t care less about that or that you were practically sweating bullets under your jacket.

All you hoped for was that you hadn’t caused the poor guy a burn.

“ ‘s okay.” He murmurs in a thick British accent while watching you fuss over him with growing anxiety. The jitter in your movements would be almost comical if not for you practically hyperventilating on him.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

“No.” You whine, before you can stifle your voice to normalcy, and turn to the cashier peeking from behind the counter with watery eyes and a deeply carved frown. “No. I’m so sorry, we spilled our drinks. I mean, I spilled - ” You take in a breath to compose yourself and brush a hand over your forehead, shoulders slumping. You’re giving your best apologetic expression, practically mourning over the mess you’d made at your feet and of the man looming next to you.“ – I’m sorry. I can clean it up if you have a mop.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, miss. We’ll mop it up.” The cashier replies, bless her, and signals for one of the waiters to fetch the cleaning supplies. The friendly smile never wavers from her balmed lips; neither does the caffeinated twinkle in her eyes.

She’s most likely seen this sort of thing plenty of times, but for you, it’s a first and it’s your fault to top it off. It’s not an easy pill to swallow and despite the atmosphere being anything but hostile, you can’t help but still feel guilty.

Of course, this had to happen to you of all people. You weren’t allowed a single day of peace and tranquility.

With the main cause of disturbance taken care of, you turn back to your victim, who’s joined you in trying to dry off his hoodie. Your stomach churns at the sight, and you’re afraid to look around in case all eyes are on you two. You can’t bear the scrutiny, even though most people have probably resumed their dwellings by now.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? I’m so sorry, sir.” You ask and reach for more paper towels, pressing them against his chest more so to show you’re very apologetic and trying to fix the situation rather than actually fixing it because most of the coffee has already come out.

You glance up at him after mustering up the courage, curious as to what awaited you next. He returns your gaze with one of indifference or calmness, you can’t tell, blinks at you slowly, as if he’s just now taking your flustered form for the first time, then he speaks, more clearly this time.

“It’s fine.”

A server arrives with a mop in hand and you both step away from the mess to let them clean it up. You take the lead unintentionally and guide the stranger towards one of the vacant tables in the corner of the café, away from prying stares.

You pick the chair next to the wall that has a large ficus partially looming over the seat. Maybe with enough luck, you can disappear inside it.

Finally, unzipping your jacket because you’re about to faint from the stuffiness, you lay it on the cushioned backrest of the chair and pat it down to make sure you’d not accidentally dropped any of your belongings during the accident. You tug at your sweater to air out the thin sheen of nervous sweat that’s formed over your skin, brush off the strands of hair that have come to stick to your face and take off your scarf.

The stranger sits on the opposite chair, paper towel still to his chest and sucking out any leftover residue. The stain won’t leave your vision no matter how hard you try to rip the two separate. It’s the worry gnawing at your gut that keeps you rooted to your spot, wanting to approach but too afraid to do so.

But so far he’s been a nice guy, hasn’t said one single bad word to you.

Your mind reels with how red and irritated his skin must be, praying it hadn’t blistered up already. You have half a mind to ask him to take off his hoodie so you can take a look.

A fresh wave of panic wraps its dainty fingers around your neck in squeezes, sends needles to prick over random places on your body.

And all this time, you’ve been sputtering out apologies like a broken record, his dismissal of your regret not even reaching your ears let alone registering.

“Should I call an ambulance? Oh my God, I’ve never had to call an ambulance in my life…” You ask, mumbling the last part to yourself as the realization hits you square in the face. For a brief moment, you forget how to dial the emergency line because you’ve never had to use that number before. “I’m sorry, sir – I – I didn’t mean – ”

You continue to blabber while searching your jacket pocket for your phone. The guy might have said nothing at your suggestion, but you wanted to be safe and have your phone at the ready anyway. And you’re too preoccupied going ballistic with panic in your own little world to hear him repeatedly tell you that everything is fine and you’ve done no big deal, he doesn’t need an ambulance and that he’s fine.

“Hey!” He grabs the crux of your elbow and pulls you before him, a large knee on either side of your thighs. A startled noise crawls up your throat but you make no move to step away. You’re staring at him as your hands disappear inside his and he jerks them slightly, his voice lowering now that he’s caught your attention finally. “Relax. It’s alright. Happens.” His comfort is rough. His voice gruff and sounding more like a scold than anything. He shakes you a bit too hard, not used to handling something as delicate as you, and pulls you down enough to make solid eye contact. “Alright?”

You nod and avert your gaze away, soggy paper towels left in a pile on the table making your fingers twitch with the need to do more. Apologies simply aren’t enough, not when he’d probably need to apply ointment on his chest for a few days after your little fiasco.

Why did have to be such a hot mess all the time?

“At least…Let me buy you another drink. On me? It’ll make me feel better.” The frown is still tugging on your lips as you speak, shyly looking at him from under your lashes. “Please?”

He sighs softly at your relentlessness and shrugs before letting your hands slip from him, having kept them in his grasp for longer than he should.

“Sure.”

He leans back in his chair and readjusts both his hood and the cap poking beneath it before resting his elbows on the table.

“What did you order?” You question while fetching your wallet.

The innocent look you toss him has him forcing himself to stop staring at you like a creep. He clears his throat and rubs over his tired eyes tenderly before answering.

“Black tea with milk.”

And so you reorder your cappuccino, get him his tea and decide that a simple butter croissant as an apology is enough for the moment. Every time you turn around to glance at him, nervous that he’d simply slip away from your overbearing presence, he catches your stare without fail. Heat gathers around your ears and your lips purse unintentionally every single time and you quickly turn back to the cashier, pretending you hadn’t just been discovered ogling him.

The chair looks too small to encompass his hulking frame comfortably, the table is no different, but you guess he’s used to it by now. A man of his stature isn’t a common occurrence here. Poor thing probably has to bow to enter through most doorways and have his shirts custom-made with how wide his shoulders were. If he wore shirts at all that is.

He looks like he’s brooding when you return with the order, fingers linked together and thumbs dancing around each other.

You set the tea by his side, note the callouses and scarring around his knuckles, the roughness of his skin. Your first thought is that he’s a construction worker, it would explain his size, the biceps that are as big as your head and straining against the stitches of his hoodie, the casual clothes, and the dark circles under his eyes that make it easy for anyone to guess that he doesn’t rest enough. But then he pulls his mask down and lets it rest under his chin as he takes a prolonged sip from his drink. You note the crookedly mended nose after a trauma so potent it made your eyes water at the thought of what pain he’d endured. There’s a gash running along his thin lips, multiple ones that stand out from the light stubble peppering the lower part of his face, deep ones, ones that you guessed had needed stitches and took forever to properly heal.

Now you’re not so sure he’s a construction worker.

“So what do you do for a living?” It rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. You laugh nervously and raise a hand in a soothing motion before he even has a chance to answer. “You don’t have to tell if you’re not comfortable. I’m just curious.”

The mug of tea pauses before his lips and he gives you a skeptical look.

“Military.”

“Oh.” You blurt out and awkwardly take a sip from your coffee, nearly choking at how hot it is.

And that’s precisely the answer Ghost expected. It was a big turnoff for many people when they learned his career path, mostly because the news only displayed the bad outcomes of his work and never the good. He might have saved this entire city a week ago from a bombing and nobody would know.

It came with the territory and he half expected you to think up some lousy explanation as to why you suddenly had to go.

But you aren’t like that at all because of course, you aren’t. Why would it be made easy for him to forget you and move on with his day when you could be sweet and open and give him more reason to burn you into the crevices of his conscience instead? Why would you make an excuse and leave when you could stay and kindle the embers of his humanity and make yourself space to be a permanent memory?

That’s just his typical luck.

“Must be tough.” You muse, absentmindedly taking a napkin and wiping off the milk and tea mustache staining his upper lip, as if tending to a messy toddler. It comes instinctively and you don’t fight it until your fingers are already being poked by his stubble. “But thanks for keeping us normal folk safe.” You give his wide-eyed stare a warm smile, and tilt your head slightly to one side.

You notice the subtle way in which he moves his chin towards your hand, apprehensive of you pulling away. As if he’s fighting his demons to lean into your touch, to rest his cheek against your palm and close his eyes because he hasn’t been offered softness in so long that he doesn’t remember what it feels like anymore.

You don’t mind that his large hand reaches to try and still your wrist, aching for more delicate touches, but stops before coming in contact with your flesh, pulled back by self-deprecating restrain. You almost want to encourage him, he looks visibly altered by your simple gesture, like a dog who’d been beaten all his life and was given a treat for the first time.

“What happened to you, old soldier?” You want to ask gently, pry a little while you cup his face and let him rest on the softness of your palm, close his eyes for a brief moment of respite.

Your heart aches for him.

But then you remember he’s a stranger and the moment shatters.

The smile vanishes from your face, the warmth dissipates and you flinch back.

“Sorry.” You rush to say and crumble up the napkin in your hand before tossing it on the table and trying to brush off the suffocating awkwardness. “You had something there.” You motion to your upper lip before drowning in more coffee, hoping it will ease the discomfort.

Just what the hell had you been thinking?

And he’s not far behind you on that note. The flicker of softness dies in his chocolate browns and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth stills and dips into neutrality. The exhaustion returns to his features and his gaze flits away from you as he gathers himself back together.

“You should eat tha’ ‘fore it gets cold.”

Your eyes trail to where he’d nudged his chin and you see the butter croissant you’d purchased along with your drinks. You giggle, it turns into a light laugh when his head cocks to the side in confusion because he’s yet to realize you’d gotten it for him.

Because why would he? He’s a soldier, he gets bullets and grenades, not tea and croissants.

Poor creature, sweet scarred sufferer, with so much weight on his shoulders you couldn’t imagine bearing.

“It’s for you.” You push the small plate closer to him and flick your hand for him to dig in, treat himself on your behalf if he won’t do it on his own accord.

“What?” He reels back in his seat slightly at your words, sets down his drink and tenses up. There’s so much disbelief there that it’s almost comical.

It’s like he’d never been treated before.

Maybe he hadn’t been.

Jesus Christ, what if he actually hadn’t been?

“I mean it’s the least I can do after drenching you in coffee.” You say and press the lid of your cup to your lips, hiding the sympathetic smile from view lest he takes it as pity.

You didn’t pity the man, not in the slightest, but from the tired eyes to the worn clothes, sunk-in shoulders and need for anonymity, you guessed he’d not seen much kindness.

It was easily discernable that he wasn’t used to taking care of himself. Coming to a café to get a drink was probably the maximum self-indulgence he’d permit himself.

“Didn’t ‘ave to.” He grumbles out, voice hoarse and cutting off at the end.

“I wanted to.” You say and wave off his meager comment.

Gods, you wanted to bathe him in sugar and softness.

He tugs the plate before him hesitantly, looking over the croissant as if not trusting it or you, then he picks it up. A small bite at first, one of apprehension before the treat melts on his tongue and awakens his taste buds. He finishes it in two mouthfuls, barely chews and you’re inclined to ask if he wants another, you’re ready to feed him the whole bakery stand if he so wishes. But he declines, whether from embarrassment or mistrust, you didn’t know.

You just know he’s hungry.

You give him your name while he’s washing down the croissant with his leftover tea, just throw it out there in the hopes that he’ll give you his. And he does after heaving a sigh.

“Simon.”

“Pretty name.” You note, toss him a friendly smile that’s a silent invitation for him to say more. “Nice to meet you then, Simon.”

But your friendliness doesn’t breach his defenses a second time. He eyes you with an unreadable expression, watches you slurp your coffee while you’re left to wonder if your compliment had been a mistake.

You might have been coming off as too friendly, trying to suck up to him after ruining his top and that was the reason why you were so nice. Or maybe he thought that there was a hidden agenda behind your acts, that you’d want something in return for your kindness and that’s why he kept his guard up.

Action without a need for reciprocation didn’t exist in his world. Nobody was stupidly selfless enough to just give and not want anything in return. But you were right there, proving him wrong and he wasn’t sure that fact was a fact anymore.

Throughout his internal debate, you’re doing your best to remain casual but it’s difficult with those dark orbs boring into your soul. It’s even more difficult when the silence settles, so you decide to ramble and keep the spirits up until he feels comfortable enough to join.

It might come off as annoying, but you’re sure he’ll stop you if you’re becoming too much to handle.

You tell him about your job, a brief summary of how rough your week had been that that was the reason why you’d come here this morning to treat yourself. You tell him you’re clumsier than you’d like to admit, that you can’t imagine drinking tea first thing in the morning. You tell him that you’d love to have a pet one day, but your landlord doesn’t permit any, ask him if he has pets or would want any. Then you ask if he’s more a cat or a dog person.

And throughout the entire time, he’s staring at you with this undigestible look and you have no idea what to make of it.

The caffeine pumping in your veins helps keep your monologue going until finally he speaks up.

“Bothering you?”

“What?” You spit out, cease your rambling and scrunch your brows at him in confusion.

“The face.” He says, motioning towards his partly obscured face like it’s so obvious. “Ain’t a pretty mug to look at.”

You blink at him silently, at a loss for words at his not-so-kind statement. Your mouth parts, struggling to form a coherent reply because you’re absolutely thunderstruck that he thinks so lowly of you as to believe you’d be affected by such a thing.

Then again, he doesn’t know you, and neither do you him.

But the fact that he’s polite enough to ask while already anticipating the answer tells you that he might have had this conversation one too many times already. Or maybe he hadn’t, maybe the mean comments and ugly remarks were all in his head and he hid his face to stifle those rather than hide from other people.

You don’t know which alternative is sadder.

“No! Not at all.” You say slowly, accenting every word that comes out of your mouth, with eyes trained on his and refusing to blink in case you missed anything. “You’re handsome, really.” You dare to reach out for him and rest your hand atop his, gentle and ready to pull back in case his features portrayed any hint of discomfort with your actions. “Plus your scars mean you put yourself before me to keep me safe, right? Can’t judge you for that.”

Now he’s the one left speechless.

Wordlessly, he twists his wrist, rolls his hand around and slowly unclenches his fingers to let yours through. And your hand is so soft and warm when it slips over his mauled palm, even the skin is a stark contrast because yours is so smooth, spotless, perfect, compared to his.

He runs his large thumb over your knuckles, relishes the tingly feeling it gives him, watches intently because he’s sure that as soon as his eyes move to somewhere else, you’ll vanish and it’ll all be over. Your fingers fall against his wrist where his pulse leisurely beats, only quickening when you shift in your seat because he thinks you’ll pull away.

Manicured nails trace over the scars poking from beneath the sleeve of his hoodie and he shivers, the hairs on his arms rising. He lets you tug the sleeve back, wanting to know how far the violent marks go. Soon enough black and grey ink peeks from under the fabric and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips at how delighted you seem.

“Oh, I love tattoos…” You hum while tracing the tips of your fingers over it.

“Got any?” He asks absentmindedly, almost mechanically as all his attention is focused on the little hand exploring his own.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” You giggle, eyes closing briefly in delight as you bask in the fuzzy atmosphere.

He bites his tongue at that, decides now isn’t the time for flirty remarks, bids you too esteemed to fall for a sleazy comeback that might result in him naked in your bed. No, you were made to be courted, won over with effort and flowers and all the things he hasn’t bothered with in the past.

You were the type of woman that he avoided for fear of messing things up, someone who deserved better than him and he wasn’t ashamed of admitting that. Yet here you were, practically thrust in his arms by chance.

“Do you want another tea?” You ask because his drink is gone and what’s left at the bottom of your cup is two sips at most. And you don’t end this to end, you don’t want him to leave just yet.

“I’m good.” He answers and retracts his arm before standing. “Gonna ‘ave a smoke outside. Cheers for the tea.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it still makes your heart ache and your mind switches to turbo mode to try and think of something.

Your next question doesn’t come from a place of desire or lust. You’ve no intent of trying to get the battered soldier into your bed and use him for selfish pleasure. You’d never let yourself be so cruel.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

You ask because to you, he’s a stray in need of a home, someone to take care of him a little and nurse him back into a better shape before his next big military mission. It’s naïve, stupid really, to think a grown man such as himself can’t take care of himself.

But the way he looks tells you a sad story and you’d spoken before thinking. Now you’re left with a hot face and a fluttering stomach as he stares at you over his shoulder with something akin to surprise.

“I mean…for lunch, sometime. My treat of course.” You say next, trying to salvage the moment before it got too awkward and you were forced to go to the toilets and hyperventilate while beating yourself up internally. “You don’t have to – ”

“ – Yeah.”

And you swear you saw his eyes squint with a smile hidden somewhere behind the bulk of his shoulder.

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

#x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2

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thelambliesdown1974 · 7 months ago

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It’s August. You log onto your home computer to take an Are You Actually Annoying?? uquiz. You already know the answer. The last downloaded song on your underground microcelebrity Tidal account is YMCA by the minions. Has your dentist called you back yet? You have whole grain basmati rice from your multi cultural queer brunch stuck in your wisdom tooth hole but the amount of photo widgets of John Waters on your Home Screen makes all your apps crash immediately after opening them, including the phone. This means you can only engage in psych rock discourse with divorced boomers on X in 30 second increments. Outside a vicious rain reminiscent of terrassic era storms blurs the view out your windows. You begin concocting a post. “If I were the size of an ant I would”— back space “CSNY’s Portland polyamorous polycule is kind of like”— backspace “when Bob Dylan’s water breaks it’s just oat milk”— backspace. You watch the follower count on your satirical fujoshi 60s themed blog drop from 956 to 953 before you delete and log off. The storm windows shake. You’re just too clever for your own good.

#radio waves

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 2 months ago

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need some more information on hunter x hunter in order to write some lore accurate fanfiction + good theories? well look at that, i'm right here.

canon details about hxh that makes writing and theories IMMENSELY easier.

kurapika seems to have a soft spot for younger children, as he doesn't target any of the younger princes in the succession war (in the manga). not only that, but when he held woble (an infant) for the first time, his eyes softened.

chrollo doesn't seem to enjoy hurting women or children. the only time in the story (kurta clan excluded, we never actually see it happen + it was for a job) where chrollo harms a woman is when he steals neon's nen ability. however, he had even made sure to catch her when she fell, taking care of her at least a little bit. chrollo didn't cause any harm to gon and killua even though it could have been convenient to. plus, during his match against hisoka at heavens arena, chrollo does not control or harm any of the female spectators + the female commentator.

chrollo fools the phantom troupe a lot. in chapter 90, nobunaga states “chrollo/danchou did it again!” when phinks tells nobunaga that chrollo had fooled nobunaga. so chrollo has played trickster a few times within the troupe.

meteor city residents live in extremely small cottage-like “houses” made of wood, although much of the houses have patches. however, many people tend to place cloth over their houses, possibly to keep out rain or snow. outside of many houses in meteor city, older people sit on mats and rugs, perhaps selling something.

the most extravagant and cleanest building in meteor city is the church, which also has numerous sun symbols and signs, implying that chrollo might have gotten the sun and moon ability that he fought hisoka with from the pastor of the church (father lisores).

hisoka seems obsessive over cleanliness and always being clean. he has a total of 6 mobage cards where he is showering, and he showers a total of 4 times in the series.

chrollo is implied to have been groomed as a child by the meteor city elders. the elders imply that chrollo is the key to solving all of their problems when he is an ELEVEN YEAR OLD CHILD because of how intelligent chrollo is. phinks makes a subtle note of this when the troupe goes to meteor city to fight the chimera ants, saying that “they still don’t know what they’re doing” (about the city elders). and in a sad way, they succeeded in their grooming, because chrollo did essentially solve their child k!dnapping problem and decreased much of the crime rate in meteor city.

chrollo is the oldest of his group with sarasa, pakunoda, sheila, phinks, feitan, franklin, and shalnark (therefore debunking the “feitan is 28” myth) due to his backstory, where sheila says that “you're the oldest out of all of us, and yet everyone treats you like the ‘younger brother'”, which chrollo is visibly disappointed at.

#hunter x hunter #hxh #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #hxh hcs #hxh x reader #chrollo hcs #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo x y/n #kurapika hunter x hunter #kurapika hxh #hxh kurapika #kurapika #kurapika x reader #phantom troupe #phantom troupe hcs

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misswynters · 2 months ago

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Tickles

short drabble

featuring. ekko x reader

requested by anon

a/n. something for ekko while i work on gilded cage. also this could be see as teaser for the upcoming chapter of gilded cage! since i did promise that it will be more fluff and sweet than angst.

Tools, scraps of metal, and blueprints were strewn across the surface in what could only be described as organized chaos. Ekko sat hunched over a nearly-finished trinket, his brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusted a tiny screw. The sight of him so absorbed in his work was beginning to get on your nerves. He had been at it for hours, refusing even the smallest break.

“Ekko,” you called softly, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’ve been at this all day. You need to rest.”

He didn’t even glance up as he muttered, “Almost done. I promise.”

Your lips twisted in a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Typical Ekko. He always driven and determined. You walked up to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon, you can finish this later. Let me get you something to eat, or at least some water,” you offered, your voice tinged with concern.

He tilted his head slightly, flashing you a quick grin. “I’ll take a rain check on that, but thanks. I’m in the zone right now.” You narrowed your eyes, his refusal only fueling your determination.

“If you won’t come willingly, I’ll have to resort to extreme measures,” you teased, a playful edge creeping into your tone.

Sliding your arms around his shoulders, you leaned heavily against him, draping yourself dramatically.

“I’m not moving until you take a break,” you declared, resting your chin on his head. Ekko let out a laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly.

“You’re so annoying, y’know?” he said, though he made no attempt to push you off. Seeing his lack of resistance, you decided to up the ante. Your hands slid down to his sides, and you gave an experimental squeeze. To your delight, Ekko jolted, letting out an uncharacteristic yelp.

“What was that?” you asked, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Don’t tell me you’re ticklish.”

“I’m not ticklish,” Ekko said quickly, his voice a touch higher than usual. He tried to focus on the gadget in front of him, but you could see the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, really?” you replied, your tone dripping with mock disbelief. Your fingers darted to his ribs, and he squirmed in his chair, a strangled laugh escaping him.

“Stop it. Seriously,” he said, though his words lacked any real conviction. You grinned, fully committing to your full ticklemonster mode.

“You should’ve just taken a break,” you teased, your fingers dancing over his sides.

Ekko was losing the battle. His laugh, loud and unabashed, echoed through the room as he twisted and turned in his chair, trying to escape your relentless attack.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” he managed between gasps, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks. You stepped back, hands raised in victory.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you said, your grin wide. He glared at you, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

“You’re evil,” he muttered, standing up and stretching. Before you could reply, he lunged forward, scooping you up effortlessly. “Now it’s my turn,” he said, his voice low with mock menace.

Your laughter joined his as he spun you around, his hands finding every ticklish spot you had tried so hard to hide. The two of you ended up on the couch, breathless. As you curled up against him, his arms wrapping securely around you, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“Thanks for reminding me to live a little,” he murmured. You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.

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l0s3rd0wnt0wn · 2 days ago

Note

Imagine WB!Reader just screams. Like it’s a calm day then BOOM! A shrill scream rips through the manor. Everyone runs up to their room and once they bust open the door readers like:

“Cory posted!”

They’d be so confused and only Duke knows who Cory is bc he’s so educated!!

(Btw are we getting the Adrien x Reader😢😢???)

"SHE SO MEAN BUT SO PRETTY!!!"

(I had a dream about Adrien and Deathstroke!reader, and I was like, "Damn, now I gotta write about them lol.")

It's weird; Adrien had never felt like this before in his life. He was scared and excited, but mostly scared—like really scared—but excited. Nothing interesting happened in his life; it had always been routine: go to school, do some modeling, advertise a cologne that doesn't smell too good, then do fencing, then learn multiple languages, maybe go around the world for more modeling. Seriously, it's a lot of modeling. But his life was routine no matter what, until you came around. You were scary and exciting; it made his heart race, which is pretty dangerous—he could get a heart attack—but it was worth it for you. It's all worth it for you, a girl he doesn't even know, but to him, you're that angel that flew through his window from his million-dollar hotel in Gotham. But it wasn't really how that happened. Our boy is a little bit delusional.

"Do we really have to go to Gotham for this, Father? I mean, I could've modeled in Paris!" Gabriel fixed his glasses and stared down at his son with a scowl. He raised an eyebrow at his comment. "Adrien, we live in Paris." The young boy blushed, looking away. "Oh right... but that doesn't mean we have to," he mumbled, staring through the plane window and letting out a soft sigh. Gotham is icky and it's always raining; just the thought was making him gloomy, and so much crime happens there. It was as if Gabriel was planning on his downfall, but maybe he'll be able to crack some evil heads in Gotham. The modeling was alright; working with Bruce Wayne's sons was pretty fun, except the little one kept staring at him.

"Is he always like that?" Adrien whispered to Tim, who just laughed. "Who knows? He could be plotting your downfall," he joked, patting Adrien on the back, which didn't reassure him at all. It was a long day; he was practically a corpse on his way to the hotel. The Waynes offered for him to stay at the manor, but the glare the small one was giving him was enough for Adrien to decline. Taking a shower was a struggle; he didn't know how to work the faucet, and still, an employee opened it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Not beating those dumb blonde allegations, he stepped out of the shower looking like a wet cat. Plagg was enjoying the fanciest of cheeses, making him smile just a little.

Adrien looked out the window. Gotham was so pretty at night when you're this high up; the people down below looked like ants, and the streetlights looked like stars if he squinted hard enough. But there was something in the distance—a small black dot, and that dot got bigger the closer it got. Purple eyes shimmered, leaving him in a trance. Then "CRASH!" He fell back, hitting the wall of the hotel; glass was scattered on the floor, and wind blew through the big, human-sized crack in the window. As he looked around, he saw you getting up off the floor, a bit of your mask ripped, dark black curls sticking out of the rip. You looked down at Adrien.

"Oh, sorry, totes wrong floor." You winked and jumped right through the broken window. Adrien tried to see where you'd gone, but you disappeared into the dead of night. The only thing he could hear was the Gotham street sounds of this mad city, but God, that was exciting—and dangerous—but exciting.

"Plagg..." he said softly, looking at the empty streets below. "Do you wanna go sightseeing?"

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bookish-phile · 4 months ago

Text

Presenting my blood, sweat and tears, the sweetest bane of my existence..

i’ve done it. i wrote my book, and now I’m going to publish it. (oh my god, I’m actually saying this and it feels too real help)

I spent 7 months writing the first draft of this book with tons of breaks and very long periods of writer’s blocks.. and then another 5 months editing and revising and formatting and oh my god the process was (still is) endless. but hey, im nearly at the very end, and by january my debut novel will be out in the world (OH MY GOD HELP)

right, so anyway.

since tumblr is my favorite book community, i thought why not announce it here? im really hoping my 400 followers will back me up here because although im not here for the money i did not spend so much time juggling writing and school and just life with my head buried in google docs typing out this 150k word novel (which i somehow managed to get down to 130k because god, 150k is a 600 page book..) for no one to read it. id like some reads please 😭

so, let me just introduce this fantasy romance..

and those are the tropes and the blurb for this book (i covered the spoiler trope because, you know, find out when you read it)

you can pre-order the ebook on amazon now:

im hoping you guys will help share this post to reach more people—i will genuinely be on a happy high for the rest of my life if this book gets any preorders. help out a fellow reader here, booklr <3

the release date is currently set at january 3rd, though that might change!

reblogs are greatly, heavily, extremely, [insert more very powerful adverbs] appreciated.

thank you so much!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

(tagging a few (okay fine, a hefty amount of) people here, apologies if this bothers you!!)

@lyra-kane @viivdle @starrynightsxo (thank you three SO much for beta reading!! i can never show you guys how grateful i am!)

@never-enough-novels @reminiscentreader @thejudeduarte @jesyverse @ant-thebooknerd @his-littlefox @starlightbooklove @darlingod @thenightmareinyourcloset @catapparently @thesongofsoleil @chaiichait @tunguszka20 @x-liv25-jamieswife @cromulentreader @highladyofterrasen7 @ur-mother-is-ketterdam @dreamyreveriie @dreaming-in-daylight @mqstermindswift @arqbella @elysianwayy77 @xoxo-lenah @unch4rtedwxters @mikotosworld @catacombspooks @imsaraht @tiredpapergirl @stars-over-ice-cream @justalunaticfangirl @slarxsa @sheisntyouspam @starsandmarsbars @your-mommy-ems @hxress23 @berryzxx @house-in-the-backyard-trees @arias-archive @shattermelyhfmlblog @balladofareader @f4iry-bell @letmeliveinelfhame @lyrakanefanatic @knife-wife @123letsgobestie @hyacinth-dancing-in-rain @averyriskygamble1989

#booklr #writeblr

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krystalisedsoul · 1 month ago

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Cafe Nero

Yandere Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Summary: Illumi, having finished his job for the day, ventured into town and encountered the cafe his grandfather recommended heavily to him.

Notes: just Illumi getting butterflies seeing the reader lol

Word Count: 1154

The city breathed in the damp, metallic air of an approaching storm, its streets slick with the faint sheen of rain that had not yet fallen. Streets wound like veins through the urban body, pulsing with the life of countless strangers who moved with the aimless purpose of ants beneath a magnifying glass. Lanterns flickered weakly against the encroaching dusk, their light swallowed by the shadows that pooled in the alleys and clung to the edges of buildings like stains. Illumi moved through the throng of bodies with the ease of a shadow slipping through cracks, his presence unnoticed, his existence unacknowledged. The crowd parted around him as if by some unspoken instinct, their laughter and chatter fading into a muffled hum that did not touch him. He was a void, a silence where sound should have been, and the world seemed to bend itself away from him, as though afraid to acknowledge what it could not understand.

Neon signs buzzed overhead, their garish colors bleeding into the twilight, while the scent of street food—sizzling meat, fried dough, and spices—mingled with the acrid tang of exhaust. It was a place of life, of noise, of chaos, and yet, in the midst of it all, there was a pocket of stillness.

Illumi stood at the center of the sidewalk, his presence an anomaly in the bustling crowd. He did not move, did not flinch, as people flowed around him like water around a stone. His black suit, impeccably tailored, seemed to absorb the light, its fabric undisturbed by the wind or the press of bodies. The collar of his shirt was stark against his pale skin, and the silver pin at his throat caught the flicker of a passing headlight, a brief, cold glint in the dimness. His gloves, black and fitted, rested at his sides, their surface smooth and unblemished, as though untouched by the grime of the city.

His face was a study in calm, its features sharp and symmetrical, as though carved from marble by a hand that valued precision above all else. His eyes, dark and depthless, scanned the crowd without interest, their gaze passing over the faces around him as though they were little more than shadows. His hair, long and ink-black, fell in straight, unbroken lines around his face, its stillness a stark contrast to the wind that tugged at the coats and scarves of those who passed him by.

The device in his hand buzzed softly, its screen illuminating with a message from his client. The words were brief, devoid of unnecessary sentiment: "Payment sent." Illumi’s expression did not change, but there was a subtle shift in the set of his jaw, a faint tightening that spoke of satisfaction. His lips, pale and finely shaped, did not curve into a smile, but there was something in the stillness of his face, a quiet intensity, that hinted at the cold pleasure he took in the completion of a task.

Around him, the crowd continued to move, their voices rising and falling in a cacophony of sound. A child laughed, high and bright, as they darted past him, their small hand clutching a balloon that bobbed in the air. A vendor called out, their voice hoarse from hours of shouting, offering steaming buns to anyone who would listen. But Illumi noticed none of it. To him, the world was a blur of motion and noise, a thing to be observed but not engaged with. He was a fixed point in the chaos, a stillness in the storm.

For a moment, he remained there, his gaze fixed on the screen in his hand, the faint glow of the device reflecting in his eyes. Then, with a movement so fluid it seemed almost inhuman, he slipped the device into his pocket and stepped forward. The crowd parted around him, their movements instinctive, as though some primal part of them recognized the danger he represented. He did not look back, did not pause, but continued down the street, his footsteps silent against the pavement.

The neon lights flickered overhead, their colors washing over him in waves, but they did not touch him. He was a shadow, a void, a thing apart from the world around him. And as he disappeared into the crowd, the street seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as though it had been holding its breath the entire time he was there.

Illumi stopped, noticing a café standing at the corner of the square, its windows glowing with a warmth that felt almost obscene in the grayness of the evening. Steam curled against the glass, obscuring the figures inside, but Illumi’s gaze passed over them without interest. ‘Cafe Nero’, his grandfather had mentioned this place, the drinks and bakery becoming one of his favourites when visiting town. Seeing as he finished his work for the day and it wasn’t too late, he decided to make his way to the door.

His eyes, dark and unblinking, were drawn instead to the girl seated near the window. She was a burst of color in a monochrome world, her laughter spilling into the air with a carelessness that felt almost violent. She leaned forward, her hands animated as she spoke, and the people around her leaned in as if pulled by some invisible force. They orbited her like planets around a sun, their faces bright with the reflected glow of her presence.

Illumi did not move. He stood at the edge of the square, his stillness a stark contrast to the fluid motion of the crowd. His hands, gloved and precise, hung at his sides, but his fingers twitched faintly, as though plucking at an invisible thread. He did not know her name, nor did he care to. Names were trivial things, labels for objects that held no meaning. What he saw was not a person but a disruption, a ripple in the carefully ordered fabric of his world. She was wasteful, her energy spent on frivolities—laughter, conversation, connection—things that served no purpose, things that could not be quantified or controlled. And yet, she lingered in his mind like a splinter, small but impossible to ignore.

The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint scent of coffee and pastries, and for a moment, the sound of her laughter reached him. It was a bright, discordant note in the symphony of the city, and it cut through the silence of his thoughts like a blade. His jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of tension betraying the smooth mask of his expression. He turned away, his coat swirling around him like a shadow given form, and disappeared into the crowd.

But the thread remained, thin and unbreakable, tugging at the edges of his consciousness. As Illumi set on his journey back to his mountain, his expression did not change, but something in him shifted, like the slow, inevitable turn of a key in a lock.

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dazed-and-confused23 · 11 months ago

Text

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 6

Summary: There is only so much you can do for Cooper when the two of you are attacked, and the extra vials you carry are crushed. There is only so much you can do when Cooper’s stash runs out. The wasteland takes as much as much it gives.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings. Pretty angst filled here. Plus some kissing.

Masterlist

Part 2 -> HERE

It's been a week, give or take a couple of hours, since the group of raiders had jumped Cooper and his trader. They'd been wandering through some ruins, sightseeing as you liked to call it, when they began to crawl out of the burnt out buildings like ants. You and Cooper had worked like a well-oiled machine, but that still didn't mean that either of you was perfect.

One of the raiders had gotten the drop on you, literally flinging herself from the second flood of a building and slamming into your back, and in turn, your backpack that carried your wares inside. You thrashed about, jerking back and crushing the woman against the concrete wall, trying to shake her off. You smacked her again against the wall, and finally, she lost her grip and fell to the floor.

Cooper had shot the raider before she had time to get up, gore splattering the wall, and then the fight was back on. The two of you were exhausted by the time the fighting was done, and after a bit of well deserved looting, Coop had made a small fire in one of the more preserved buildings and you began to sort through your wares.

While the ghoul sucked down a vial, you had found the crushed medical case, heart shattering when you'd opened it to reveal your sizeable stash of chems destroyed. Fear had gripped your heart, and you shifted through your shattered stockpile and found a single surviving tube.

You'd looked at your ghoul, who looked relaxed across the campfire. The two of you were deep in the wasteland. At least a two week journey to the next town, and it would be a gamble if they sold the chems Cooper would need. You'd swallowed harshly and called his name, voice cracking.

"Cooper. We've got a problem."

His gaze had sharpened, his eyes skating over your form and looking for any kind of injury. When he found nothing, he raised a brow, confused, but still weary of your fearful expression.

"What's wrong, Darlin'. You look right as rain to me," He rasped and reached for his canteen, taking a swig of water that he immediately choked on when you lifted up the single vial. He stands and crosses the fire, crouching down and shifting through the broken glass himself.

"When did this happen?" He demands, and you cast your mind back, thinking hard.

"That one raider. She jumped on my back. They were probably crushed in the fight," you say and hand him the surviving vial, "That's the only one I found."

Rage and fear war within his chest, and Cooper stands, kicking a rock as hard as he could, a snarl on his lips, "Fuck!"

Now, a week later, Cooper hardly had the strength to move. The caughing had started two days ago after he'd sucked down the last chem. He lagged behind you, shoulders drooping and hat covering much of his face as he focused on putting one boot in front of the other. The clinking of his spurs was your only comfort.

Another two days passed, and Cooper couldn't go on. His strength sapped from his bones as he lay across from you, posted up on an old bed in a dusty motel. You kneeled by his side, fingertips tracing his jaw and up his cheekbones. You sniffled heavily, and then leaned in to kiss his brow.

"Ain't gotta go cryin' over me, Darlin'," Cooper murmured and closed his eyes, wishing that he could feel the press of your lips against his flesh better. A tickle licked his throat, and he turned away from you to hack, spit flying and a wheeze echoing through the room when he flopped back in the bed.

You ignore his words and fish out a bottle of water to hand him. You watch, concern coating your features as he hand trembles, and Cooper ends up splashing himself. You hold it steady after he sighs heavily and hands the bottle back.

"Promise me that you'll still be here when I get back," you say after you've taken the water back and stowed it away. You've got a plan, and you'll be much faster by yourself, now it was the hard part, and that was leaving Cooper behind.

Your ghoul sighs and gives you a look. Coop thinks that the two of you have had a good run, and if this is how he's gotta go, then so be it. He just hates that the last thing he'll see is you crying.

"Baby girl. I can't make you a promise I can't keep," He rumbles and forces himself to sit up, giving his girl a weary grin and taking your hands in his own. He presses his lips to your knuckles, one at a time, "You can't let some old man like me slow you down."

You force back the tears that threaten to fall. Coop never liked it when you cried, and you would do your best not to now. You would save this stubborn bastard if it was the last thing you did. Using his hold on you, you tug him down and in for a kiss, so sweet and full of love that the ghoul's clutches you back before he has to pull away and cough harshly.

"I'll be back before you know it, Cowpoke," you say, and at this point, you don't know if it's to assure him or you. You push yourself to your feet and fix your pack, bending to kiss Cooper one last time, memorizing the rough feel of his lips against yours.

Cooper pushes you away after a moment, a fond smirk playing on his lips, "Get outta here, cowgirl. I'll stay right here."

You give a decisive nod and then march away from him, exiting the motel and starting in the direction of the closest town. You had a ghoul to save.

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #x reader #the ghoul x reader

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loveshotzz · 1 year ago

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My name’s Elvira, but you can call me tonight

steve harrington x eddie’sbestfriend!reader

Hell N Back

summary: A flash flood warning, a week of cancelled plans, and the night Steve Harrington shows up at your front door.

wc: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ mentions of weed smoking (r), thigh riding, fingering, oral (fem receiving) and you know I can’t get enough of making Steve cum in his pants.

A/N: thank you all for your patience with this one, and thank you for reading 🥹♥️

🎃<- chapter two | mini series masterlist

It felt like it had been raining for days, the downpour never ceasing until there were flash flood warnings lighting up the bottom of your TV screen by the end of the week. You hadn’t seen Steve since Tina’s party, every plan that your group had getting canceled by the clouds that never seemed to want to leave Hawkins.

Heavy droplets hit your window in the living room in sporadic patterns, the wind outside making the howling noise you’ve only ever heard on your favorite horror movies. The flicker of your candles dance along your walls, mixing with the warm glow of your string lights just like that night, and for once you don’t try and stop the thoughts of him that threaten to consume the rest of your evening.

Laying bundled up on the couch in a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized sweater, the black and white sci fi movie The Empire of The Ants plays on your TV while Elvira’s bubble gum sweet voice cracks lewd jokes over the B rated film. The Halloween Macabre special was your only saving grace this week, that and the thick fuzzy Jack O Lantern socks on your feet gifted from Robin.

You giggle to yourself at a joke about her boobs in particular, the half smoked joint on your coffee table makes it easy to wonder if Steve would have thought it was funny too.

Jesus Christ.

You huff a little, pulling the throw blanket closer to your chin, eyebrows furrowing in a pout.

How did this happen? When did this happen?

Before you have time to think too hard about it, lights flash behind your blinds dancing across the exposed glass in the opening from outside. You keep your eyes trained on it until they cut and the darkness from before takes over, shrugging it off to it being your neighbor coming home from work. Shuffling your feet under your blanket, you burrow yourself further into the cushions finally getting the level of comfort you’d been searching for since the movie started, but it only lasts a couple of minutes. Three melodic knocks rattle your front door, scaring you out of your fleece cocoon and onto your carpeted floor.

“God dammit!” You grunt, pushing yourself up and tossing the blanket on the couch, “Fucking Munson.”

It’s only when you get halfway to your door that you realize it’s definitely not Eddie or he would have let himself in with the spare. Your footsteps stop as you remember that this is actually how every single horror movie starts out. It’s almost as if whoever it is can read your mind, and a familiar voice calls out from the other side.

“It’s Steve!”

Relief floods your system, and your shoulders slump as your heart rate starts to calm, but then the realization that Steve Harrington was on the other side of your door unannounced just kicks it back up again. Especially when you look down at what you’re wearing.

“If this is weird or you have someone over, I can leave!“ He talks loud enough to be heard over the rain, but it still threatens to drown him out.

“No!” You don’t mean to yell when you answer, clearing your throat, you try to play it off when you continue, “I’m coming, sorry I’m coming!”

Taking a deep breath you pad the few extra steps to your door, straightening your shoulders before your fingers wrap around the handle. There’s a silent count to three before you actually open it.

The sound of the rain you’d only heard muffled from behind your window grows tenfold, making you wince at the difference at just how hard it’s still coming down. A chilled mist hits your exposed skin from the wind, sending a shiver down your spine and you’re met face to face with a very wet version of the boy you were just thinking about.

“Jesus, Steve! Why didn’t you call?!” You scold, stepping aside to let him into the warmth of your apartment. Shutting the door quickly behind him, a flash of lighting illuminates half the night sky followed by a low roll of thunder.

“I know, I know.” He gives, running a hand through his soaked hair pushing it out of his face. His smile almost looks victorious when he shows you the whites of his teeth. “My power went out.”

His Hawkins Community College sweater clings to parts of his stomach and chest, the worn heather gray cotton turning dark. The water makes the blue denim on his legs even tighter than normal, sticking to him like a second skin and you have to actively stop your eyes from lingering as he drips a mess onto your floor. His white sneakers squish, completely drenched down to his socks and he still somehow looks handsome as ever.

“Robin lives like two blocks away from you.” You arch your brow, flipping your lock to stop anymore horror movie cliches from happening, only for the string lights in your living room to flicker as you do. The energy in the air is laughing at you.

Steve’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of the rosy pink they were from the cold of the storm, and that’s when you notice the shopping bag.

“Did your power actually go out?” The corners of your mouth twitch, crossing your arms across your chest. The bottom hem of your sweater lifts higher up your thighs and Steve licks his lips, following it.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he huffs out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What a weird lie, right?”

“Kinda,” you giggle, eyes catching the colorful packaging of the popcorn and Red Vines inside the plastic in his hand, the knot in your stomach tightens knowing that he’s been thinking about you too.

“I just felt like if I had called I wouldn’t-“ he coughs looking anywhere but you, “I heard from Eddie that Elvira’s Halloween special was on tonight and I just thought, you know we had kinda talked about it before-“

“Do you want to get out of those clothes?” You cut him off, making his eyes snap up wide. “I mean, wow, that came out a little forward.”

It’s your turn to laugh awkwardly.

“Eddie just leaves stuff here all the time, I clean it obviously or it’d make my place reek.” You try to explain in an attempt to break the tension and it works when you get that lopsided grin that makes you go shy. “I’m sure I’ve got some sweats and a shirt that would fit, I can throw your wet clothes in the dryer if you want?”

Steve’s shoulders relax, nodding, pushing back that loose strand that drips falling over his forehead.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

——

When Steve hands you his wet clothes through the crack of your bathroom door, it makes your brain stop working for a second. You catch a glimpse of his bare back in the mirror, littered with more moles and freckles that would make the sky hidden behind the clouds jealous. With thicker thighs than your best friend, it makes the cotton of the sweatpants that hang low on his hips stretch tight over his butt. The dark patch of chest hair that’s always just been teased comes into full view right in front of you and your throat goes dry. Why did it look so soft?

Steve catches you staring, the tips of his ears dusting red before mumbling a mess of sorry’s shutting the door again. You shout an awkward apology of your own, soft thumps on your carpet as you hurry the wet clothes to your dryer. Silently scolding yourself to get it together, feeling the heat rise from your neck to your face, even warming your ears. God, he looked even better without a shirt on.

“You’re good, everything’s chill, you’re totally fine it’s just Steve.” You whisper under your breath, tossing the clothes into the machine with a wet plop. The last part has you rolling your own eyes at yourself, throwing in a couple of dryer sheets for good measure.

Your nerves make you want to keep busy, so you start rummaging through the bag he brought in the kitchen. Butterflies taking flight in your rib cage when it’s everything the two of you had picked out that first night. You bite your lip to hide your smile, opening the popcorn to put in the microwave when you hear the soft click of the bathroom door opening. His feet sound heavier than yours on the carpet,and you make sure to have your back towards him when he finally enters the kitchen. Plugging in the minutes, the loud beeps of your microwave only add to the tension that hangs thick, almost suffocating you in the air.

“I mean, everything fits… I guess.”

He breaks the silence right as the low hum kicks on and you watch the small bag start to spin on the glass plate. You collect yourself quietly before turning around, not expecting the sight you’re met with to send you into a fit of giggles. Slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop it, you take in the faded black Iron Maiden shirt you gave him.

You realize now with him standing in front of you that it's a size too small for the King of Hawkins, probably one of Eddie’s old one’s from high school. The worn fabric fits tight over his chest, making ‘Eddie’s’ face stretch distorted over his pecs. The sleeves look ready to burst at the seams, and the bottom hem refuses to meet the top of his sweats. Revealing a little sliver of his tan skin and the beginnings of the thick happy trail you’ve shamelessly thought so much about.

It’s the cutest you think he’s ever looked, besides that one summer he worked at Scoops Ahoy.

“Hey! That doesn’t make me feel very good.” Steve chuckles, his cheeks becoming a permanent shade of red for the night.

“No, no, you look cute!” You try to get out, but the snort he gives you in response makes you giggle harder. “I promise, I wouldn’t lie to you!”

The way your lips twitch when you say it makes his eyes roll, but even with a shake of his head, the smile on his face gives him away. He can’t be mad, not when you just called him cute.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” He runs a hand through his hair that’s already started to dry, curling in wisps behind his ears. The gold that kisses the tips shimmers in the low light of the kitchen.

The unexpected first loud pops of the kernels stop any other words that sit on the tips of your tongues, making you both jump at the sudden outburst.

“Why don’t you go warm up on the couch, since you decided to come over for a date during the storm of the century and I’ll bring the snacks out.” You try to keep your tone as even as possible, refusing to meet his eyes after saying the ‘D’ word, busying yourself again with grabbing cups for some hot tea.

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat from across the room in the moment of silence that follows. Not even realizing you're holding your breath until you feel the heat of his palm against the small of your back and it exhales through nervous lips.

He smells like the rain that won’t stop pouring outside with notes of cedar from his cologne. There’s an undertone of the lilac from your dryer sheets. He’s spring in the middle of autumn, leaning in close to your ear.

“Only if I get to be the big spoon again.”

The way your cheeks push up, and your lashes flutter against the tops of them when he makes his intentions clear, he thinks he’d drive through a hurricane to get to you.

——-

When you get to the living room he’s lying where you were earlier, doing his best to get comfortable, but the size of the shirt has him pulling at the sleeves to get them to loosen up. Muttering under his breath, your giggle is what catches his attention. Big chestnut eyes look up at you, and all the annoyance on his face drains with a smile he can’t contain.

“What? It’s literally cutting off my circulation.” He laughs sitting up, his hair now completely out of control. “You sure this is Munson’s?”

“Yes, but I’m starting to think from, like, junior year.” You try to hide your grin when his jaw drops in disbelief.

“That explains a lot,” he scoffs

You watch him lean forward to grab a handful of the popcorn, the fabric restricting him again, and both of you hear the faint sounds of a tear. His eyes lock with your in a dead stare making you throw your head back in a full bellied laugh. Rib cage tightening just like your chest with the realization of how much you actually like him.

“I’m glad you’re having a good laugh, you’re lucky you’re so pretty, I’ll tell you that much.” He grumbles reaching forward for the popcorn again only this time is successful, probably due to the rip, and something shifts in the air when his words sink in.

“Sometimes it gets me out of things.” You grin, a little shy just for him.

“I’m not surprised in the slightest.” He licks the butter off of his fingers, pink lips wrapping around the tips as he leans back into the cushions. He watches how it makes your thighs press, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

“Are you gonna keep hogging the couch or are you makin’ room for me?” You fake annoyance gesturing toward the way he's manspread on the cushions, doing your best to try and cover up how flustered you feel, but the way his eyes seem to light up tells you it isn’t working.

Shifting himself back to lay on his side, he lifts the covers with raised eyebrows and the kind of shit eating grin you want to kiss off of him.

“I was just waiting to see if you were gonna stand the whole movie or not.”

You make him snort when you roll your eyes, and he tries to play it cool when the smell of your apple blossom body wash fills his senses as you take the small space he’s made for you next to him. Swallowing hard, you leave a little bit of room between you, the nerves in your stomach starting to feel like an Olympic gymnast is competing for the gold. The heat of his breath fans against the back of your neck, his own insecurity making it come out a little shaky having you this close again. The tension breaks when he goes to wrap his arm around you and another sound of a rip hits both your ears.

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles over your fit of giggles, his face turning a deeper shade of red that you can’t see. “I swear I’m not trying to take my clothes off but this is not working honey.”

His laugh puffs across your skin, making goosebumps rise when he shifts to sit up a little bit. Turning your head, you meet his anxious eyes over your shoulder.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you shirtless Harrington,” you tease, your own face heating up in memory of the view you got minutes ago in your bathroom.

“It’s not, like, going to make you uncomfortable or anything right? I swear this isn’t like a move - not that I don’t want to make a move -“ The boy looks panicked, his signature tell of running his hand through his hair coming into play.

“Steve, it’s fine, take it off” you giggle, “It’s clearly a size too small.”

He huffs out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, rosy cheeks deflating before a toothy grin spreads across his face.

“Okay, yeah, al-alright.”

You turn your attention back to the TV to give him some ‘privacy’, your heart going into overdrive when you see the fabric drop to the floor in front of you. The couch shifts under his weight as he lays back down, and for a second you think you can hear his heart over your own. Tentative hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging into your softness when he pulls you in, the warmth of his bare chest seeps through the thick fabric of your sweater and your body melts against it. You feel the way it makes him relax behind you, a stubble covered chin hooking over your shoulder while your feet tangle with his. A content hum, leaves from between his lips next to your ear, the tip of his nose nudging behind it as he snuggles closer and it feels like he’s breathing you in.

“Mmm, so what’d I miss?” His voice comes out a little sleepy, and you hate the way it makes your thighs press. You wonder if he could feel it.

“So basically this woman cons people to buy houses on this island,” you start, stuttering when you feel the tips of his fingers under your sweater that sits rucked up to your waist, “And when they get there someone had dumped human waste creating these giant ants that hate humans.”

“Oh that’s…interesting,” he tries, making you laugh and it has him smiling into the crook of your neck.

“It’s ridiculous, it’s okay, that’s why she’s making fun of it.” You grin, running your fingers down his forearm, finding his hand that's made a home on the curve of your tummy to give it a reassuring squeeze.

He takes the opportunity to keep you there, intertwining your fingers and pulling you even closer. The sound of the rain against your window gets heavier, and the roll of thunder gets louder. The flicker of your candles makes the storm raging outside seem relaxing from the inside, and you can’t believe he drove all the way over here in this, just to cuddle with you on the couch. Somehow trying to burrow yourself into him even deeper, the wiggle of your hips when you readjust makes the air shift.

Your sleep shorts and the cotton of his sweatpants don’t hide what his jeans did. His grip on your hand tightens, and he bites his tongue to stop the moan that's begging to slip out when you do it again. His nose nudges harder behind your ear, exhaling a huff through it that makes you shiver.

“Honey,” it comes out as more of a plea than a warning, his lips that you’ve yet to feel against your own ghosting against the sensitive spot on your neck.

The feeling of how much he wants you pressing into the small of your back is what gives you the courage to turn around in his arms, ready to finally do what you’ve wanted since the last time you found yourself here. He lets your fingers slip through his, always keeping his palm against your skin until it sits on the small of your back. Both of yours land on the dark patch of hair on his chest that's even softer than it looks, slowly sliding them up till the pads of your thumbs trace his collar bone. With your head resting on one of his arms, his other pulls your bodies flush together before his thigh finds space between your own sliding you close enough for your noses to brush.

His half lidded eyes meet yours, and your breath catches in your throat when you see how they darken. He takes his time, letting his hand roam on its way from your back, fingers tracing up your ribs before the warmth of his big palm envelopes the already heated skin on your cheek. His gaze flicks down to your parted lips, licking his own while his thumb traces the pout begging him for a kiss.

“Please,” he whispers ,not knowing he beat you to it.

The connection is soft at first, just your top lip brushing against his bottom but it’s enough to make every inch of your skin come alive. A low groan rumbling deep from his chest, vibrating against your hands. He meets your eyes one more time down the slope of his nose before he closes the distance with nothing held back anymore, kissing you in a way that makes you feel like you’ve never been kissed the right way before. It’s like he knows just how to make your toes curl when they slot together, the tip of his tongue wasting no time when you sigh giving him the opening he needs. The blunt ends of your nails dig into the warmth of his skin, leaving half crescent moons over his pecs that’ll be hidden by the thick chestnut hair that covers them.

Your tongue meets his eagerly, cedar and rain making you dizzy when the top of his thigh adds pressure to the heat between your legs. Your noses bump, teeth scraping together while his hand leaves your cheek to squeeze at your hips encouraging the small roll they start to do on their own. The mess in your underwear only gets worse letting you move against the hard muscle with ease, your fingers weaving in the soft hair at the nape of his neck when he flexes it for you. He growls low when you give the roots a gentle pull at the same time your teeth tug at his bottom lip, his self control to try and be a gentleman slipping away.

“Jesus Christ baby,” Steve gasps, the new nickname making you smile when you give him a softer kiss loving the way it makes his skin flush.

“You started it,” you whisper, watching the way his cheeks push up before he chases you for another one, which you gladly give, letting your lips linger when he hooks your leg over his hip.

Close as close can get.

“Me?” He tuts, letting his hand slide up your thigh before squeezing at the curve of your ass, glancing down to see how you still roll against him “I don’t think so, you’ve been trying to take my clothes off since I walked through the door.”

He throws his head back with a laugh when you scoff, and you pretend to push him away only for his hold on you to tighten. His lips connect anywhere but yours as you play hard to get, trailing a wet path to your neck, teeth nipping at the spot that gets a sound from you that has him kicking up in his sweats. So he does it again, and this time he can’t stop the grind of his hips that meet yours when he gets you saying his name the same way.

“And what do you think you’re doing now?” You try to tease but it comes out too breathy to be taken seriously, especially when he starts to suck where his teeth just grazed.

He grins against your skin, nosing his way up your jaw before meeting your eyes again, something softening in the gold inside them that shines through the abyss.

“You want the truth?” He asks, bringing his hand up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb tracing the small bags under your eyes with a gentle touch and all you can do is nod.

“I just want to make you feel good, god - it’s all I’ve thought about for so long. Just wanna treat you right, take things slow,” his thumb drags across your bottom lip watching the way your eyes glaze over at his words. “Take you out to nice dinners, watch all your favorite movies, hear about your day, but really what I want to do right now is make you cum on my tongue.”

“Steve,” his name comes out broken, the roll of your hips becoming more pointed, and the swelling in your chest makes you feel like you’re ready to explode.

“You want that pretty girl?” He whispers, leaning close so his lips brush against yours, his eyebrows furrowing when you grind a certain way, your clit catching his tip.

“Y-yeah,” you whimper, eyes big and pleading, turning into putty from his sweet words.

He gives you a kiss that’s more gentle than the rest, before sitting up on his haunches letting you fall into the empty space on your back. A big hand wrapping around your ankle, moving your leg out of his way so you’re spread with him in the middle. Leaning forward, his fingers curl around the elastic band of your sleep shorts, giving you one last look from under his lashes before tugging them down your thighs, throwing them on the floor with his shirt.

“Shit - baby.” He groans, running a hand through his hair when he sees the effect he really has on you. “Better than my dreams.”

All the blood rushes to your cheeks from his affection, as gentle hands run up your calves when he starts to lean forward, fingers curling under your knees to lift them over his freckled shoulders. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you start to feel shy exposed to him like this for the first time. A kaleidoscope of new feelings settles deep in your gut when his hot breath hits your core, thighs tensing that the pads of his thumbs try to soothe.

He looks up at you, from between your legs pressing a soft kiss to the place where your hip meets your thigh, making your back arch.

“You okay?” He whispers after another kiss, only this one on the inside of your thigh.

“Yeah, just nervous,” you giggle, feeling the warmth on your cheeks with your hand. If anyone would have told you that you’d have Steve Harrington between your legs begging to taste you a year ago, you’d have laughed in their face.

“Want me to stop?” He rests his cheek right where he kissed, looking content just to be doing this.

“No.” You smirk, reaching down to run a hand through his hair that was just begging for it, pushing back the stray that falls over his forehead.

He smiles, closing his eyes leaning into your touch for a minute before he turns his head, lips meeting your soft skin where he starts a path to where you want him most. You feel his breath and it sends a shiver down your spine, the tip of his nose spreading you apart first. He applies the kind of pressure against your bundle of nerves that makes you gasp, letting his tongue follow, collecting what you’ve already given him.

“Oh my god, Steve,” you whine, when he flattens the pink muscle doing it again, groaning loudly at the taste of you.

“So fuckin’ sweet, god, honey,” he mumbles against your cunt, replacing his nose with his lips, sucking your clit in a greedy way that makes your eyes hit the back of your head.

His fingers dig hard enough into the meat of your thighs, that you’re sure they’ll be bruises in the morning. The tip of his tongue tracing your entrance that flutters around him, threatening to suck him in and he can’t help himself, giving your body what it wants. Both your hands find their way to his hair, tangling your fingers in his honey colored locks searching for purchase when he starts to taste your walls, creating a steady rhythm that has you rocking against his face for more.

“Yeah, you like that?” He grunts, extending his tongue as far as it can go, drool and slick starting to drip down your thighs as he starts to lose himself in you.

“Uh-huh,” is all you manage to get out, jaw going slack at the way he feels like he’s eating you from the inside out, like he’s thought about this longer than a few weeks.

One of his hands lets go of your thigh while he starts to focus his attention back on your clit making you gasp when you feel the thickness of his finger press itself against where his tongue just was. The stretch makes you keen when he pushes one knuckle deep with ease, distracting you when he pushes the second one in as he starts to suck on your bundle of nerves.

“God - baby,” he gasps, when your walls take the third knuckle in by themselves, and it’s only then you notice the way he’s rutting against the couch in search of his own friction.

Your head pushes back into the cushions when he curves it, hitting the spot that only you’ve ever found on your own, and it has you babbling, your hips rolling up greedily for more which he gives you when he adds a second finger. He sets a pace that has your lashes fluttering against your cheeks after he lets you adjust to feeling so full.

“Come on, I can feel it, you’re close huh?” He asks against your clit, making you shudder, nodding your head when he starts flicking it with a wild tongue.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” you whine, eyes closing tight, the band inside of you going taut, your hips grinding against his face without abandon as you try to take his fingers even deeper.

The sound of his name leaving your kiss bitten lips like a prayer makes a moan rumble deep from his chest, and it vibrates against your cunt, giving you just enough extra stimulation to make it snap. Vision going white behind your eyes, your body tenses while your mouth opens in a scream that falls on deaf ears when nothing actually comes out.

“Honey, honey, honey,” he babbles, his hips stuttering while his tongue refuses to stop despite the way your body shakes.

You murmur his name in a daze, trying to push his head away as you reach the verge of overstimulation and it takes him the third shove for him to finally listen, addicted to the way you taste. Feeling empty when he pulls his fingers out, your body betrays you trying to get them to stay. He kisses the inside of both of your thighs, smirking against your skin when your legs twitch because of it, slowly sliding his body up the length of yours. Skin flushed, and lips shining, you’d be embarrassed if he didn’t look like he just won the lottery.

His nose nudges yours before his lips steal a kiss that you eagerly give despite feeling so spent. Your fingers finding their way back into the hair at the nape of his neck, a smile tugging up the corners of your mouth when you feel the warmth of his own release in the cotton of the sweats.

“I hope you have another pair of pants for me.” He laughs, embarrassment making the tips of his ears turn red, the warm color only deepening when you grin and you realize you have more than just a crush on Steve Harrington.

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington thoughts

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eternal-sunshine-222 · 2 months ago

Note

Oie, Sunshine

If you're not too busy, could you write something about Patrick Hockstetter? The idea would be to show him in a relationship with a girl who is completely the opposite of him, but still keeping his personality true to the character.

I was thinking of something where she truly loves Patrick and cares about him, despite him being... well, him. She would be a kind and affectionate person most of the time, someone who tries to take care of him both emotionally and physically, doing her best to please him and win a little of his attention and affection. She would be emotionally fragile, passionate about animals (never ask Patrick what’s in the fridge 💀), and she would have a black bunny as a pet (yes, a very specific detail, kkkkk).

Please. :3

I love detailed requests, thank you so muchhh!!! Book acurate Patrick is one of my favorites by far. And him with a girl completely opposite of him??? I love it!!!

INFATUATED - PATRICK HOCKSTETTER X READER

Characters: Patrick Hockstetter, fem!reader, Henry Bowers, Victor Criss, Belch Huggins, The Losers Club

Warnings: cursing, mentions of dead animals, mentions of death, mentions of decay, mentions of gore

She was new in Derry, which meant she was also ignorant. Ignorant to all things bad and evil, ignorant to all things Patrick Hockstetter. But being new also meant that she was the sole focus of everyone in the small town.

She had gorgeous eyes, resembling the brightest jewels there ever was or will be. Her clothes were of the most fashionable and pristine fabrics you could find, coming in multiple variations of her favorite colors. You could tell just by looking at her that she had a bright and caring demeanor about her, and an even brighter future.

Patrick Hockstetter, in this sense only, also had his entire attention on this new girl, this new conquest, this new...infatuation. Yes, that's what it grew to. An infatuation.

He watched her for hours, days, weeks, and eventually months. Peeking into her classes while skipping his own. Skipping out on hanging out with Henry Bowers and the others, though he didn't make any excuses to them all. He didn't need to. Henry knew not to come in between Patrick and his "interests" as he liked to call them. Because once Pat had his eyes set on something he did not stop until it was his. And boy were his eyes set.

At first, Patrick's thoughts were only about how he could corrupt her innocence, how he could ruin her. Maybe he'd show her his pencil case, full of flies and beetles with their wings and legs torn off ruthlessly. Or maybe his refrigerator in the middle of the woods, filled with dead and decaying animals, many of which he'd killed himself.

'No,' he thought. 'Can't do that.'

Overtime as he watched her he saw how much she cared for those around her, and not just people either. She cared for the birds that sang in the trees, whistling out to them every morning as she left her house. She cared for the ants in their hills, careful not to step on them and crush their home. She even cared for the slugs in the rain, moving them off of the sidewalk and into the cool wet grass so they didn't get squished by someone's shoe or tire. It was during one of these occurrences of him watching her leave her house for school that he decided to approach her finally, ready to conquer.

This lovely girl, filled with nothing but love and life, had exited her house in a rush, school books gathered in her arms and slightly scuffed up loafers on her feet. She was late for school. Patrick knew of course, wondering himself if she would even be leaving her house today, though he knew she would be going at least somewhere if not school. He'd seen her getting dressed in her room, peaking inside from between her open blinds.

It was while she was exiting her front door that she tripped, dropping everything while her legs kicked backwards knocking the front door open wide with a bang. Out dashed a small black void, faster than The Flash himself. It ran towards Patrick who had just rounded the corner of her house in his dirty jeans and destroyed boots. He stumbled back as the now seen rabbit tried to scale his leg. If he hadn't have known that it was hers he would've punted the furry little thing right then and there. Instead, he picked it up carefully and walked it over to her where she was on her knees on the slightly wet concrete from the rain the night before, stacking her books back up in her arms.

She hadn't even noticed her furry little friend had escaped until she had reclosed her front door and turned around, coming face to face with her. A small yelp left her mouth and she almost dropped her books again, not expecting to come into contact with her now eye level pet. She looked up at Patrick with wide eyes.

'She startles easily,' he thought to himself, a small smirk making its way onto his chiseled features. His smile only widens when he sees her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

"He yours?"

She doesn't answer back for a few seconds, entranced with this boy she'd never seen before holding her dear rabbit. When her eyes refocus she sees Patrick still standing there, an eyebrow now cocked upwards the slightest bit.

"Oh! She, but yes." She leans over carefully and sets her textbooks down on the step to her front door. When she turns back around he's already handing the sweet fuzzy creature back to its owner.

Patrick waits outside for her as she takes her back inside. When she reemerges she's got colorful bandages on her scraped up knees from her fall, the dirt and pebbles cleaned out of them. He makes a scoff noise at the sight of the Tom and Jerry figures on them, though she doesn't hear him.

'Of course she'd have band-aids like that.'

He's so caught up in staring at her that he hasn't realized that she's already walking down the sidewalk towards Derry High School, only noticing when she calls back to him. Now it's his turn for his cheeks to turn pink. Involuntarily of course.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, only the soft clunking of Patrick's boots on the concrete heard, until she speaks up.

"Thank you for catching her. She's so fast, I would have never been able to catch her without your help." She peeks up at him from her spot beside him, arms clutching her books a tad bit closer to her chest.

Patrick just nods and puts his hands in his pockets, glancing down at her quickly, though in his mind he's practically jumping with joy.

'She's practically at my feet already.'

She's quiet the rest of the way to the school, the only sounds leaving her being her soft breathing and the few short whistles she gives to the birds like always. Even though she's late she still takes her time doing what she usually does.

Before the two of them can enter the school Patrick reaches out and grabs her arm harshly. She doesn't flinch like he expects her to from the tight grip he has on her. Instead she just looks up at him curiously.

"Patrick." He only says his name.

She smiles at him with her lip gloss coated lips and she gives him her name though he already knows it. They then travel indoors and he walks her to her class, leaving only when he can see that she's seated.

~~~

Being a member of The Bowers Gang has its perks. People leave you alone, they're scared of you. Even the teachers won't bother to do anything but give out detentions and lower their grades. But of course it also has its lows, one of which being the shit talking that happens about you to the new students. Patrick is no exception.

The end of the school day arrived fairly slowly for Patrick's new obsession. She had wanted eagerly to see if she could catch up with him again after school, maybe walk back home with him since he seemed to live out that way (he definitely did not, the complete opposite actually). But just like this morning nothing went how it was supposed to.

She hadn't even stepped one foot outside of her last class of the day when someone grabbed her arm. She knew it wasn't Patrick. His grip was rougher as were his hands, covered in callouses from who knows what. Maybe he did yard work or was an artist or maybe he even played guitar or something. All she knew was that she liked the feeling of his hands on her. They felt...new.

These hands were a lot softer and when she looked down she saw clean cut nails and pale skin with small freckles dotted around the knuckles. Following the freckled skin upwards she was met with the sweet face of a girl maybe a couple years her junior. Her eyes were a bright yet simultaneously cloudy blue, a flaming piece of hair dangling down over one.

Before Derry's newest resident could utter a word to this strange little girl she spoke quiet and fast, urgency in her voice.

"Stay away from Patrick."

She frowned in confusion. What was so bad about Patrick? He was so sweet to her this morning. Sure, he was quiet but who didn't love a little mystery? She voiced these thoughts to the mystery girl with the red hair.

"He's not who he seems. It's all an act. Trust me, he's evil." The girl lets go of her arm and leaves without another word, no name or anything.

She watched the younger girl walk down the hallway and get lost in the crowd of others before turning and walking the opposite way herself, looking back only one with a frown still on her face. But it seems that luck actually is on her side today unlike what she had previously thought. Standing by a blue Trans Am parked down by the road is Patrick with three others, though he looms over them all as the tallest. His back is to her and he can't hear her soft steps in the grass as she approaches but the others see her and signal to each other.

The softness of her fingertips graze Patrick's arm and he's quick to react, turning around quickly and pushing her up against the tree by her throat. When he recognized her face he's hesitant to let her go. Her reaction isn't what he expected at all. Her eyes are calm and a small smile plays along her lips, books still clutched against her test though just a tad bit tighter than usual. Patrick furrows his thick brows and lets her go easily.

She doesn't react at all really, as if the action hadn't even happened. She just stands and looks up at Patrick with wide eyes and a small kind smile on her face.

"Hello, Patrick."

He hates to admit it but he loves the sound of his name on her lips.

"I figured, well, since you walked with me here today that maybe you'd want to walk back with me? Maybe come inside for a little bit?" She digs the tip of her shoe into the damp grass, not too caring of the wet mud smudging over it.

Henry, Belch, and Vic can all be heard sniggering at her invitation, wondering who this chick is and why she seems to be inviting Patrick fucking Hockstetter to a tea party. They're even more surprised when Patrick accepts with a smirk pulling at his lips.

It soon became a normal occurrence for Patrick and her to venture to and from school together. He did it so much in fact that he had barely seen any of his friends aside from during what was supposed to be their classes. Hell, he spent so much time with her that he actually started to develop a somewhat friendly relationship with her rabbit.

The first couple times he had come into contact with the small furry creature he had grimaced anytime it came near him. These were the kind of animals he kept in his fridge in the woods, decayed and slaughtered. Animals - alive animals, that is - were never his forte. He couldn't stand the furry ones. If he had to choose he'd definitely prefer something scaly and badass looking. But over time he grew to actually care for the fuzzy little bastard - he never called it by its name, referring to it as only that.

~~~

It has been a few weeks since her and Patrick have started their routine and she couldn't have been happier. He was so sweet to her in her mind, and he was although it had all been an act at first. But just like with her rabbit he had slowly gained feelings for her just as she had with him. The moment he realized was a rough one for them both.

Both teens were relaxing in her living room, her little black rabbit darting all over the room. She was down on her haunches playing with her furry little companion, loud laughs erupting from her perfect lips. Patrick stared at her, a large smile on his own face. She looked amazing, so perfect and precious. These thoughts pushed themselves into his brain and once they did his smile faltered before dropping completely.

'Fuck.'

Patrick stood up suddenly, startling both her and her rabbit who darted under the sofa. She stood up from the floor and looked into his darting eyes with worry.

"Pat? Is everything okay?"

She reaches forward with short, pink manicured nails to gently touch his arm as if to comfort him but he jerks out of her reach wildly, almost stumbling from the force of his own actions.

"Don't touch me," he says lowly. "I gotta go."

With those last words he stomps toward her front door and slams it behind him, rattling the frame. She stands, confused at Patrick's behavior. Her rabbit crawls out from under the sofa and the two girls make eye contact.

"What do you think that was all about?"

It's days before her and Patrick talk again. She walks to school by herself for those days, almost late on the first because she was waiting for him to show up. Her mood sours over the course of these few days, especially because of the attention she's attracting now that Patrick isn't with her. Normally these people would leave her alone or at least act nicer to her because of her association with him alone. But now they all seem to be making fun of her, calling her daft for believing that he actually liked her and all sorts of other nasty things.

It's during one of these confrontations that Patrick shows up. She's almost in tears from the words these kids are saying to her. They're obviously younger, Freshmen maybe. And, boy, do they have the audacity. They aren't necessarily saying anything bad, just making her extremely uncomfortable.

Her back is against the lockers. She's caged in in the empty hallway with two boys surrounding her, laughing at her reaction to their words. The loud clunking of boots can be heard from around the corner. She thinks at first that maybe it's a teacher but once they get closer she recognizes the pattern and her heart rate speeds up. Her suspicions are confirmed when she sees Patrick's tall lanky figure appear.

The two make eye contact and his jaw clenches at her teary eyes. If anyone was going to make her cry it would be him. Only him.

Patrick stalks over to the boys and yanks them away by their shoulders, one of them stumbling to the floor and another into a set of lockers. He says nothing, just sending them a look that sends them scurrying off in opposite directions. Once they're gone he turns back to look at her, a softer look upon his face (as soft as he can get anyway). She sniffles and rubs her nose and cheeks with the back of her sweater covered hand, the other hand holding her books close to her chest as always.

They stare at one another for a moment before he takes ahold of her hand and roughly pulls her into his chest, resting his head on top of hers. She releases a heavy breath that she didn't know she was holding and relaxes into him.

"Thank you," she mumbles into the fabric of his shirt.

He says nothing, only pulling away and leaning down so they're eye level. And then he kisses her as gently as he can. Patrick has never done this, kissed someone without plans to fuck them. And he had to admit it was one of the most pleasant feelings in the world, kissing her.

She stands there in shock with flushed cheeks after, to which he smirks at her.

"Okay?"

She nods wordlessly, still staring up at him, before swallowing thickly and finally speaking.

"Does this mean we're dating now? Like, boyfriend-girlfriend?"

Her head cocks to the side as she asks this question and he laughs at her but nods nonetheless.

~~~

Once the students in the school find out that she and Patrick are dating she's treated nicer than she ever was before. While they never approach her themselves they do play nice if she does. She doesn't quite notice their behavioral change. Instead she's focused solely on Patrick and showing him exactly how much she loves him. She thinks it's obvious that he never got the love he needed when he was younger and what better time to start giving it to him than now?

Gosh, this took me so long! Writers block is horrible and paired with many other wips, my goodness! I hope you like it. I'm thinking of making this a two parter. Let me know what you guys think <3

#patrick hockstetter #patrick hockstetter x reader #it 2017 #it x reader #patrick hockstetter fluff #owen teague

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eastbubble · 10 months ago

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Was wondering if maybe we could get something with ghost x reader who’s outrageously terrified of thunderstorms and calls him sniffling and holding back tears asking if he can come over and then screaming as a very loud bang of thunder booms ? If not that’s okay! I love your work anyway🩷🫵

hello anon, i’m not sure if you wanted me to write this in a smutty way or just a fluffy one but i tried my best >_< i changed the story up a tad if that’s okay. thanks for the request ! <3 and sorry for disappearing ! school and sports r taking up my time. ><

you never really thought that a relationship had any benefits besides having someone to come home to, but when your relationship with simon began you had to realize that this whole idea in your head was completely wrong. he wasn’t just a person to come home to.

maybe because you two still didn’t live together. so you technically couldn’t come home to him.. but you almost lived at his place by now. he was for sure so tired of you calling him in the middle of the night, asking him to come over because of something so silly, something so stupid. spiders in the corner, ants infesting the house, no wifi, bad tv signal, or the worst (in your case); a thunderstorm.

you were listening to the sounds your phone made as you called simon with shaky hands, your finger on the red circle as you were sure he won’t pick up this time. you’ve annoyed him like this so many times before, there was no way he would be willing to help you after all of these — or so you thought. you kept a tissue to soak your tears up with close to your eyes, your vision already blurry from the crying you had done earlier.

“baby? what’s up?” his voice was tired and grumpy, it sounded like he just woke up, but you knew that couldn’t be because he never really slept before 4 am. he never did. “everything okay over there?” slight concern. the only thing you could make out of his words was some worry and that’s it. thank God that he didn’t sound like he was mad.

“si. ‘m scared.”

“huh? what is it? ‘s someone there?” he spoke through the phone. “talk to me, baby.” his voice was a little gentler once he heard your silence on the other end of the line.

you sighed almost silently, making sure he didn’t hear the sniffle that you just let out. you felt like a dumb little kid for crying over something like this, but when you heard the faint sound of a thunder bang you immediately knew that you had to speak up. you actually had someone that was worried for you, waiting for you to say something. “just this.. fucking rain and the whole, um.. the whole thing that comes with it.”

“the thunderstorm, you mean?” his feeling of relief was louder than the wind outside. it was like some kind of weight had been pushed off his shoulders. “don’t tell me it’s that again or-“

“it is. i’m sorry to disturb you.. especially at this hour, but..” you sighed softly again, feeling slightly threatened by his last sentence. you knew you had no reason to be worried or scared but the way he worded what he wanted to say sometimes sounded like he was mad at you (you were so wrong!). “could you please come over. please.” it didn’t sound like a question, just a request.

he audibly sighed. oh, he was annoyed!

“i’ll be there in 10. i suppose you’re in bed so.. stay under the blankets, okay?” what a rhetorical question. you wouldn’t survive climbing out of bed when it sounds like the world in ending outside. you couldn’t even roll the blinds down to make the thunders less visible, there was absolutely no way you would step foot outside your bed at a time like this.

and just like he promised, ten minutes later he was already entering your home with his own keys, making his way towards your bedroom as he immediately lay on top of you like a weighted blanket that was alive. he wrapped his arms tightly around you, holding you close to his chest while you still lay under him, completely motionless as he was practically squeezing every last breath out of you. “si..!”

“i’m here, ‘s okay luv..” he mumbled, his voice raspy as he finally let you go. he rolled onto his back and gently scooped you up into his arms, making you fight back a bit and you two ended up in such a position where you were just laying flat on top of him. he chuckled lightly as he felt like he already succeeded — it seemed like you immediately forgot about the thunderstorm outside as soon as he arrived and grabbed you.

the rest of the night was basically the same thing on repeat. soft little movements, your bodies moving in unison everytime either you or him made the silent suggestion to shift positions. he always kept his large palms close to your ears in case a loud thunder were to interrupt the long cuddle-session. the whole thing was just about holding each other close through the whole night and not letting go.

soft little murmurs of how sleepy you are were the only things to be heard now, alongside the loud sounds of the icy rain hitting your window. well, summerime weather is weird.

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

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sasuhinamonth · 1 year ago

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SASUHINA MONTH 2024 Prompts and Artist of the Year!!!

Fellas.

It's time!

Welcome to 2024! In June, we'll be hosting SHMonth2024! Thanks all for following along with us during our journey! Your patience and enthusiasm keeps us going, and we appreciate all of you!

As always, let's start with our Artist of the Year for 2024!

Mods of the SasuHina Month Event work hard to not only keep up to date with the happenings of our little part of the fandom, but we also carefully consider all our beautiful SasuHina creators! This year's Artist of the Year is always creating beauty with their works, and we want to shine a light on that!

Everyone, please congratulate Pongalia for her hard work and for being this year's SasuHina Artist of the Year!

Our dear artist always brings awe to everyone who sees her art! As you can see above, she makes the most beautiful, capturing art! Her talent is inspiring, and she's known across the fandom for her beautiful shading!

Please visit her X/Twitter to show her some love! She deserves it for all her hard work and passion!!!!

Now . . .

The time has come.

As a quick reminder, this years theme is Opposites Attract (very fitting for these two, if you ask us). SasuHina Month 2024 is happening in June, so (hopefully) you all will have some time to think and plan!

Thanks all for joining us!

We present to you: The Prompts of SHMonth2024!

Day 1

Beginnings & Ends | Inicios y Finales

New & Old | Nuevo y Viejo

Day 2

Silly & Serious | Bobo y Serio

Fail & Succeed | Fallo y Éxito

Day 3

Shy & Bold | Tímido y Audaz

Few & Many | Poco y Mucho

Day 4

Summer & Winter | Verano e Invierno

Humble & Proud | Humilde y Orgulloso

Day 5

Create & Destroy | Creación y Destrucción

Crying & Laughter | Llanto y Risas

Day 6

Friend & Enemy | Amigo y Enemigo

Empty & Full | Lleno y Vacío

Day 7

Pearl & Onyx | Perla y Ónix

Dawn & Dusk | Amanecer y Atardecer

Day 8

Hidden & Seen | Oculto y Visto

Loud & Quiet | Ruidoso y Callado

Day 9

Kind & Cruel | Amable y Cruel

Past & Future | Pasado y Futuro

Day 10

Angel & Demon | Inicios y Finales

Rain & Shine | Lluvia y Brillo

Day 11

Lost & Found | Perdido y Hallado

Color & Grayscale | Color y Escala de grises

Day 12

Cat & Dog | Perro y Gato

Tea & Coffee | Té y Café

Day 13

Glass & Stone | Vidrio y Piedra

Yin & Yang | Yin y Yang

Day 14

Early & Late | Temprano y Tarde

Far & Near | Lejano y Cerca

Day 15

Sweet & Bitter | Dulce y Amargo

Bright & Dim | Brillante y Opaco

Day 16

Apart & Together | Separados y Juntos

Deep & Shallow | Profundo y Poco profundo

Day 17

Smooth & Rough | Suave y Áspero

Admit & Deny | Admitir y Negar

Day 18

Freeze & Melt | Congelado y Derretido

Water & Fire | Agua y Fuego

Day 19

Love & Hate | Amor y Odio

Fast & Slow | Rápido y Lento

Day 20

Give & Take | Dar y Recibir

Adult & Child | Adulto y Niño

Day 21

Innocent & Guilty | Inocente y Culpable

Doubt & Trust | Dudar y Confiar

Day 22

War & Peace | Guerra y Paz

Yes & No | Sí y No

Day 23

Neat & Messy | Ordenado y Desordenado

Capture & Release | Capturar y Liberar

Day 24

Flowers & Weapons | Flores y Armas

Oblivious & Observant | Inadvertido y Observador

Day 25

Hot & Cold | Caliente y Frío

Rise & Fall | Ascenso y Caída

Day 26

Tall & Short | Alto y Bajo

Single & Married | Soltero y Casado

Day 27

Thoughtful & Selfish | Considerado y Egoísta

Forget & Remember | Olvidar y Recordar

Day 28

Magical & Ordinary | Mágico y Ordinario

Absence & Present | Ausente y Presente

Day 29

Attack & Protect | Atacar y Proteger

Always & Never | Siempre y Nunca

Day 30

Before & After | Antes y Después

Departure and Arrival | Partida y Llegada

#shmonth #shmonth2024 #sasuhinamonth #sasuhinamonth2024 #sasuhina #sasuhinamonth prompts #shmonth prompts

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persephone11110 · 8 months ago

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rain is a good thing

Jake‘Hangman’Seresin x Reader

Chapter 1 : Astraphobia

warnings: astraphobia(means fear of storms), mentions of storms—raining, mentions of bleeding—blood,protective jake seresin, YOUR HONOR THEY STILL LOVE EACHOTHER

Chapter Summary: Two things Y/n hates—one how loud the thunder and rain is outside and two how much even as an ex Jake Seresin still knows her like the back of his hand.

author note: I realized that chpt1 sucked really bad and so I decided to rewrite chpt 1 AND IM SO SO SORRY TO ANYONE WHO READ IT!!!, I just re-read it and its not good at all— i wrote like it was 2+1 and not a chapter. Instead meeting Jake in chpt 2 like I originally planned hes gonna be here chpt1— erase CHPT1; A Trip Down Memory out of your mind PLZ

WC: 1K

Previous | Next

Series Masterlist

—

Jaw clenched, you stood at your bedroom window looking out the windows staring at how angry the clouds looked— you were glued to the spot as the EAS that was broadcasted more than couple minutes ago made the agonizing thoughts you had about outside worse “Remember Y/n its normal for it to rain during the summer because its so hot”. Dr. Michaels voice was in the back of your mind reminding you to stop spiraling.

Glancing back at the clouds from the rain you finally decided to walk away. Lying flat on your back, you attempted to close your eyes, If he was here he would lightly chastise you—for laying on the floor. That one day your going to get stuck on the floor, stuck in a human shaped star position. Reading did always take your mind off the real world, you enjoyed putting yourself in character.

You groaned as you got up from the floor your back loudly cracking, unkindly reminding you aren’t in your a teen anymore. Did you fall asleep while reading because the book was perfectly laid on your stomach while, the cup of juice you brought from the kitchen was knocked over. “Thats just great Y/n now you actually have leave the comfort of your bedroom”. You murmured to yourself— aggravated with how clumsy you were.

Sighing, you rubbed at your temples as you looked at the red mess behind you— would it be bad if you left the sticky mess right where it was?

Ants, those tiny ass insects scared you. How could something so small cause so much destruction?

As both sides of your brain fought with you smartly decided to go to your kitchen to grab napkins.

The sound of a lighting strike outside your apartment caught you by surprise making you drop the cup filled with on the kitchen floor. You hate when this happens-your vision was already becoming blurry and hand started to slowly tremble, you swallowed hard listening to the sounds of rain drops smacking into the window.

“Just get up, and focus on something else”a thought enters your mind. Using the strength you have , you decide to try and pick up the glass shards around you, not l thinking of the prickly feeling in your fingers, or the smell of blood coming from your hands. Just focus on something else Y/n you repeated to yourself.

Should’ve stayed somewhere safe Y/n— your back was doing that weird tingly thing again. It felt like something crawling under your skin.

Maybe Dr.Michaels was still in her office?

Your eyelids heavy with tears, you grab your phone out of your pocket. You drag your trembling fingers over the screen typing in Dr. Michaels emergency number-listening to the phone dial out, you lift the phone to hear waiting for her calm voice to be on the other side.

“I can’t answer your call right now, however please leave your name, number and message— I’ll get back to you as soon as I can”.

“Please help me, I’m so scared.. I’m so scared”. A sob escaped from your mouth, your entire body rattling with fear.

Thunder rumbled through the sky, the rain sounded like bullets hitting the window and you were pretty sure you getting closer and closer to death.

You didn’t attempt to move again not knowing if you got up would your feet fail you. The thunder got worse and the sounds of bullets turned into a heavy pour, you leaned your body aganist your kitchen counter-using it as a bed and a chair.

The sound you heard next wasn’t thunder getting louder or a tree branch breaking because of the wind. At first you ignored it, hoping if you didn’t acknowledge it wasn’t real.

But apart of you wandered what was making the awful loud sound. What is your imagination?, were you having a nightmare?

The sound was getting louder and louder, you finally realized somebody was at your door-knocking.

What crazy ass person would risk their life?, who wants to get sick in the middle of summer?

It be rude to let the person stand outside even longer, making yourself get up you fall into the counter while getting up.

“Sweetheart”.

You fell into his soaking body not caring about the wetness. A sound of relief falls out of your mouth, you eyes squeezed shut not wanting to see the angry clouds.

“C’mon darlin don’t want you getting sick”. Jake tightly wrapped his hands around you-gently pushing you back inside. “Shh, follow my breathing Y/n”. Somehow your sitting on the couch and Jake sitting on the table infront of you.

“J-Jake”, you whimpered. “Scared”.

“I know sweetheart don’t listen to outside just listen to my voice”. Jake grabs your hand and pulls it to his heart. “Your alive darlin, just your mind playin tricks on you again”.

Finally your breathing back normal, your mind kind of still foggy.“Jake why are you here w-with me?”.

“You called me darlin”. Jake rubbed at your knuckles,“As soon as I heard your voicemail I left Javys and drove like a bat out of hell”.

You leaned your head aganist Jakes bare chest, unable to make eye contact with him—blushing with embarrassment you’ve could swore the number was Dr. Michaels.

“You called me Y/n, you called and I answered as simple as that”. Jake hums a tune from a Nina Simone song that you can’t remember right now, “I got you darlin”.

Taglist :)

@chocolatefartstrawberry , @buckysteveloki-me , @dontletthemtakeyoualive, @kellyls04

#top gun #top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader

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waklman · 2 years ago

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Sweet Nothings

summary: you start to feel insecure in your relationship with bradley.

warnings: negative self talk. this blog is 18+.

word count: 1.4k

this is dedicated to anon who sent me down the bradley and babybear x taylor swift hole this is for you!!

something ‘bout you masterlist.

Late at night—when Bradley had too many beers running through his bloodstream, he’d whisper little reassurances in your ear. I like it when you take care of me. I love how silly you are. I want you forever. I love you. It was like he just knew you needed to hear it every so often. The pilot would be barely conscious whenever he said it—draped over your body like a weighted blanket, fighting against his doubled vision, just to drunkenly quell your insecurities.

And it wasn't often that you felt insecure—but it’s not like it didn’t happen either.

You had always been conscious of the fact that your relationship with Bradley was different—different from ones he’s had before, different from other couples around you. It was different in the way you drove the Bronco while he sat as a passenger. It was different because you called him girly pet names that should be meant for you instead. It was different because you were the one who held the umbrella when it rained on you two. It was different because you didn’t have a collection of tight sundresses, or own a pair of those tall stilettos everyone your age wore, and you never put on much makeup for that matter. It was different because he was dating you. You were different.

And because it’s been so long since Bradley went out with his team for drinks, the reminder of how different you were, started to feel suffocating. You found yourself wishing that he’d come stumbling home, cheeks flushed from alcohol just so you could hear him whisper sweet nothings to you, in his drunken state.

Weeks have passed since he last took a sip of beer. And over those past few weeks, the voices that rung into your head, in the form of all your ex-boyfriends' compiled complaints—started to grow louder and louder by the day. You knew it wasn’t fair to Bradley that you took up old criticisms you got from the past and pitted them against him, but it started to sound so true.

Bradley wouldn’t want someone who acted like you. What Bradley would want is someone who was more serious. He wouldn't want someone who deflected with humor. He’d want someone normal—someone who could wear those flowy skirts that you couldn’t even imagine slipping your legs through. Why would Bradley want someone who owned the same stupid pair of levi's as him? Why would Bradley want you?

So it dawns on you tonight, right as you’re sitting in his lap watching the film, A Bugs’ life in your living room—that maybe, he changed his mind about this—about you.

“Babybear, why are you cryin’ so hard—he found where he belonged!” Bradley lightly laughs, giving the back of your head a soft pat as you bury your face into his neck.

That ant might’ve found where he belonged, but you didn’t. You didn’t belong anywhere. You didn’t belong with him.

Bradley allots you some time to process the ending of the movie. But as your sobs show no sign of stopping—he starts to feel uneasy. No one should be crying this hard at an insect who felt left out.

Letting out a breath, Bradley starts to sit up from the couch, with a solid arm wrapped around your middle. “You gonna let me carry you?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Rather than replying, you push your face deeper into the curve of his neck, trying to stifle your weak cries.

“Don’t you start wrestling with me, alright?” He lightly teases, before fully standing up straight, with you hung around his waist.

Walking away from the television that’s still playing, he turns the corner to step into your bedroom. Bradley bends his knees to fit through the door-frame. You had whined the last time he didn’t do it, causing the back of your skull to make contact with the head of the door.

It’s almost like drunk Bradley is taking over now, knowing exactly what to do with you as he carefully peels you from his front—making you sit on the edge of the bed.

Kneeling before you, Bradley lifts his large hands to cup your face. “What’s bothering my favorite little brain,” he asks softly, extending a thumb to bat away the fresh tear that slips down your face.

His favorite little brain. How could he even like that part of you?

You grit your teeth together, trying to keep another sob at bay. Though, looking into his eyes doesn’t help, he doesn’t look a bit annoyed. Not like your ex boyfriend did when you got like this. Bradley’s being so patient with you.

Taking a shaky breath, your bottom lip quivers—which Bradley pets over with his thumb. “…Do you ever wish I wasn’t like this?” The rotting question finally leaves your mouth, and Bradley feels like he got shot in the chest.

His face is marked by hurt, dropping his hands down to your waist. “Babybear, what are you—”

“I don’t—” you start to cut him off, lowering your gaze down to your lap. “I don’t belong,” you hiccup. “I feel like—I don’t belong with you,” you pathetically confess.

At your words, Bradley’s worst fear comes alive.

“…Are you breaking up with me?” He asks calmly, keeping his voice low—so low that he can’t even hear himself over his racing heart.

You shake your head no, allowing temporary relief to wash over him.

Bradley slightly pinches your waist through the t-shirt you’re wearing, hoping you would squirm from the ticklish feeling. But you don’t.

Tilting his head, Bradley tries to catch your puffy eyes—but you refuse to look at him. “I open the doors for you at restaurants,” you start, voice shaky. He nods his head, “Yeah, you do,” he agrees. “I pull out the chair for you.” Bradley hums.

“I do stuff that other girls don’t,” you sniffle. “That’s right baby,” he answers, palms massaging your side. “Aren’t you embarrassed of me?” You lift your eyes back to his face, watching him through a layer of tears, “Do you ever wish I wasn’t like this?” You ask again, throat tight.

Bradley darts out a tongue, licking over his lips as he comes up with an idea.

With ease, he picks you up by the waist, holding you up in the air until he slips into the bed. Then, he drops you onto him like nothing, forcing you to lay flat against his chest, cheek pressed against his steady heart.

Running a hand under your shirt, Bradley grazes the pad of his fingers up and down your spine. “Can I tell you something?” He asks, staring up at the ceiling.

You nod against him, heart still heavy. “I can’t imagine you any other way,” he starts, heart beginning to pound under your ear. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“You could be dressed like a clown and I’d still hold your hand, and kiss your pretty face, right in front of everyone.”

“You’re scared of clowns.”

“I know,” he softly laughs. “But if they looked like you—if they were just like you, I would want to marry every clown I see.”

“Thats—that’s not right. You can’t marry them all,” you frown.

“You know what’s not right? That you think I could ever get tired of you,” he rings the conversation back.

“If every other lifetime—I’m a clown or an ugly ant living in a colony—but you’re still there with me, carrying me around like I weigh nothin', forcing me to wear tiaras to get you to laugh, making me forget how it feels to be alone. I'll ride it out with you.”

Though his speech was intended to make you laugh, you continue to cry instead—stuffing your face into his chest, soaking the fabric of his t-shirt with salty tears and sticky snot. “Hey—c’mere my little clown,” he tickles your side, making you painfully break out into laughter.

You squirm, unable to escape his wiggling fingers. “Ah—Please—It tickles!” You complain, voice still hoarse.

“That’s right, clowns are supposed to laugh!” He barks, flipping you over.

With you caged underneath him, he stops his attack. Leaning down towards your ear, he whispers a familiar string of words, “I like it when you take care of me. I love how silly you are. I want you forever. I love you.”

Your eyes burn, shooting wide open. “You were sober!”

He laughs into your ear before pressing a gentle kiss to your earring. “You make me feel s’shy. How am I supposed to say all that if I’m not pretending to be drunk?"

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @s0uz4s @bradswolfe @swiftsgirlfriend @mannsachds @strokesofstokes @coconut152 @angelbabyange @shanimallina87 @ohgodnotagainn @atarmychick007 @Olivia21blunt @s-u-t @hangmanscoming @geraltsaxii @wkndwlff @sammyrenae68 @bradshawed @roosterbruiser @gracelyn-writes @bubblegumbeautyqueen @angeliccks @zombiedeathsworld @blueoorchid @averyhotchner

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley x reader #bradley x you #rooster imagine #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster fluff #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun rooster #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic

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