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leviathanleva · 7 days 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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bookish-phile · 1 month ago

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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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dazed-and-confused23 · 8 months ago

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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

Text

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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sailoryooons · 2 years ago

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Request: Alpha Yoongi x omega reader. Werewolves. Smut and fluff. Dom Yoongi and sub reader. Starting with non-sexual dominance like her kneeling at his feet. Then, kind of a fear/primal chase in the woods as foreplay. Smut. And then aftercare with nesting.

❀ Pairing: Alpha Werewolf!Yoongi x Omega werewolf! F. reader

❀ Summary: Your alpha wants to go on a hunt through the woods. Who are you to deny him?

❀ Word Count: 8,727

❀ Genre: A/b/o, werewolves, supernatural, established relationship

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: I have never used the word scent and smells this much in my life please forgive me for I have used it a million times, alpha/omega dynamics, Yoongi chasing through the reader for fun, light predator/prey play, sexually explicit content including unprotected sex (f. receiving), breeding kink, mention of ruts, oral sex (f. receiving) not a lot of foreplay, a ton of being in subspace and hormone drunk, reader is pretty much a pillow princess/borderline free use for Yoongi, a lot of slick and soft dom Yoongi/sub reader, hint at aftercare and nesting

❀ Published: April 11, 2023

❀ A/N: Hi okay so I re-wrote this like three times because every time I did it, I wasn’t getting what I wanted out of filling this request, but I think I finally have something that I am happy with! It went in a little bit of a different place, but I hope that you like it! I am super unused to writing werewolves and a/b/o and I had such a good time dipping my toe in - it’s something I want to write in the future where I have some room to world build and go crazy on word count hehehe. Enjoy!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Milestone Event Request Fill |

Trees flash by you as you run, hands pumping at your sides, heart thundering in your chest. A pack of rabbits startle as you run by, bolting into their little dens. The earth is damp beneath your feet, still saturated with morning rain. You almost loose your footing more than once as you spring over a fallen tree, dry-rotted and full of ants.

The pine trees are packed tight, shafts of moonlight painting the forest floor in spotlights of silver as you run. The low-hanging branches catch you on your flight, needles stinging your skin but not drawing blood. Still, you snarl as a branch cracks under your barefoot, sending a sharp pang through your sole.

You don’t stop, moving blindly toward the south of your territory. You don’t look over your shoulder to see where he is - you don’t need to. Even with a small head start, Yoongi is far faster than you are, and you swear the land changes at his command, putting tangled vines where you don’t remember them being, adding a hole to trip you up as you sprint through the trees.

Yoongi isn’t magic, of course. He cannot change the lay of the land any more than you can, but he walks among these trees and hills every night. Plus, you’re frantic in your runaway, your human instincts bluring, somewhere between wolf and person.

Run, little omega, Yoongi had whispered, pupils blown out, scent heady and hypnotizing. You’d only just come through the door to find him standing in the living room on the edge of pre-rut. Run and don’t let me catch you.

Except Yoongi is going to catch you. You can hear the squirrels in the trees chattering angrily at him as he crashes through the woods behind you. He doesn’t have to be quiet - he is the top of the food chain here, he has nothing to fear. And neither do you, really. You’re a predator too, a wolf born and bred in these woods.

There is only a single thing you are prey to and he is laughing manically behind you as he hunts you down.

Movement to your right catches your eye. Yoongi’s trying to cut you off, coming from the west of the woods to intercept you as you scramble south. You snarl and change direction, swerving southeast to put distance between the two of you.

“Ah, come on, omega!” he hollers behind you, voice closer than you expect. You move faster, desperate to outrun him.

This far south of your house is a ravine. You know that if you slide down the side and run east, you’ll end up in Jungkook’s territory. A place your’e definitely not allowed to go, especially right now. You throw caution to the wind anyways, making a line for the ravine, singularly focused on making the slide down.

You never make it, Yoongi slamming into your side and knocking you off your feet. You scream as you go down hard, but not hard enough to do more than jar your bones. Yoongi takes the brunt of your fall; you pressed against his chest, his back hitting the ground hard before he rolls.

Gasping for breath, you claw at him, scraping to move from where he has you pinned. He laughs, catching your hands in one fist and slamming them above your head. His grip and the sound of him snarling your name has you snap to attention, going boneless.

Yoongi is panting heavily against you, filling your space with his scent. Your eyes flutter as your chest heaves, trying to catch your breath. Every inhale has your sense flooding with Yoongi’s scent: pine and sage, edged with something heaver and muskier.

Alpha near rut.

It makes your head spine and for a second, your vision of him goes a little blurry. He lets go of your hands but you don’t move. He knows you won’t, pinned under the heavy weight of him as he straddles your waist, sitting on you.

Blinking the heaviness from your eyes, you look up at him and it feels like the world stops.

Yoongi’s round face is framed by dark, black hair. It’s a little damp with sweat, clinging to his brow bone. His feline eyes are sharp and wild, pupils dilated with the frenzy of the hunt. A single, dark scar mars his right eye. You used to feel a pang of guilt looking at it, a reminder of what being an alpha had cost him.

Now, though, you think of it fondly. You’ve traced it hundreds of times with your fingers, know every smooth and knotted surface of the injury. Yoongi is beautiful with and without it, lips glossy as his tongue darts out to wet them.

“You smell so good,” Yoongi growls, leaning down. You hold your breath as he leans toward your neck, nosing the scent gland there. Stars burst behind your eyes and you shiver underneath him, let out a whimper. He laughs, the sound low and scratchy in your ear. “Could smell you all the way from the house.” Yoong’s hands runs down your hips, skirts your thigh, and slips between your legs. He presses his fingers against your jeans. “Could smell this perfect little cunt for miles.”

A high-pitched whine leaves you as Yoongi presses harder, fingers providing the barest amount of friction. The ache between your legs is growing painful, your stomach twisting in arousal in response to the smell of him, the touch of him. An omega responding to their alpha in pre-rut, nearly on the brink of instrictual frenzy.

Forming coherent thoughts is difficult, especially when you’re mind is in a state that’s more wolf than human. That’s the struggle with werewolves, toeing the line between human and animal. Instinct and choice. Your body does not choose to respond to him on a chemical level, but you don’t mind. It’s Yoongi. Your Yoongi. Your mate.

“I told you not to get caught.”

You huff, irritation stoking you. He mouths at your throat over your gland, making you nearly pass out. “You’re faster than I am.”

“That isn’t true.”

Yoongi distracts you with a wet, hot lick over your mating mark. You let out a loud moan, not even trying to hide it this time. He laughs as you squirm under him, silenced when he growls your name. “Is that true, omega?” He asks, mouthing at your jaw. You can hardly understand his line of questioning as your thoughts and feelings blur. “Am I really faster than you?”

For a few moments, you don’t respond. Everything feels heightened, the sound of Yoongi’s voice buzzing against the corner of your mouth as he brushes his lips across your skin, not kissing you exactly. You’re hyper-aware of the smell of him, threatening to drive you into madness. Feel the way his hips press to against yours.

“Omega.” Yoongi’s voice is final.

“No,” you admit. “You’re not faster than me.”

“So you let me catch you?”

“I thought about it.” Yoongi nose bumps yours. Your eyes flutter shut as his mouth barely touches yours and you speak against his lips, “But then I decided I wanted to win.”

“And you were running to Jungkook’s hmm?” You wince and he hums, knowing he’s right. “Bad omega. Little wolves running into another alphas territory while they’re being hunted isn’t a very good idea, huh?”

“Would you have followed?”

“Of course I would. You’re mine. I would follow you into a fucking fire. Little Jungkookie’s territory is nothing.”

It’s a simple declaration, but you know what it means for an alpha to boldly claim he would enter another wolf’s territory, to break a line of demarcation. You can’t help but smile, leaning your head upward to press a kiss to his lips, hungry and tired of running from him.

Yoongi lets you, though you feel the shape of a smirk through the sweet taste of his mouth, warm against yours. Yoongi sinks his hips heavily against yours and you moan into his mouth, spurring him further. Your hands remain where he left them, outstretched above your head as he licks into you, no longer content to let you kiss him the way you want.

His kisses consume you. He takes your breath away, hand leaving the apex of your thighs to snake up your front, loosely gripping your throat. You feel dizzy. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t do anything but rest his hand at the base of your neck, fingers pressed lightly to the sides of your throat.

It’s comforting, having him smother you like this. You get lost in the wet tangle of his tongue, your skin burning up from the inside out. He rolls his hips into you, but it’s not enough. You need him, a fire sparking to life that burns hotter than you can manage.

A feverish need comes over you. Yoongi senses the shift. His kisses turn to bites, teething gently at your skin as he works you out of your clothes. You still haven’t moved your hands and when he glances at them, he grins.

Your eyes are only for him, shrouded in darkness as he pulls your pants down, then your shirt. Your eyes are sharp in the dark, able to see the rippling muscle of his arms and shoulders. The dusty nipples, the swells and planes of his chest and stomach. See the way his gaze is fucked out when he’s barely touched you, shuffling down your legs, hands skimming and grabbing the soft meat of your thighs.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes dragging from the wet smear down your thighs, to your hands above your head. You whine under his gaze and he grins, feral and sharp. “So obedient for me.”

“You like hands above head until you say so.”

“I do.” Yoongi bows low, grabbing your legs and hiking them over his shoulders. Your world spins, feeling his breath on your cunt as he makes a low sound in his throat. “Fucking wet, just how I like it.”

Yoongi licks a sloppy path up your pussy and you gasp, head digging back into the grass. It’s almost painful, the need for him pulsing between your legs. He hums, sucking at your clit hungrily. Your toes curl and you hide your face in your arm, the urge to squirm away from the stimulation strong.

You’re an exposed wire under Yoongi’s tongue as he eats you out, messy and wet. He laps at your hole, eager to taste you, nose pressed against your clit, teasing. You whimper his name, thighs clenching, fisting your hands together as you fight to remain still. It’s nearly impossible, this stillness he’s asked of you. You want to reach down and thread your fingers through his hair, want to dig your nails in and scratch, want to pull him close and shove him away.

The sounds he makes are obscene, alternating between sucking loudly and flicking his tongue against your throbbing clit. It’s pleasure-laced pain. You want him to fuck you, to sink into you as deep as he can until you can’t do anything but take it. But you like this too, the way Yoongi’s tongue works your clenching hole.

A high-pitched keen leaves your mouth. He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded as he sticks his tongue out, making a show of licking your cunt top to bottom. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth as you mumble his name, speech slurred.

“Hmm?” he asks, grunting against you as he works you closer to an orgasm, which hovers in the distance. He looks up at you again, sees the tears lining your eyes. “You can touch me,” he murmurs, saying the world between lush licks between your folds. “Greedy omega.”

And so what if you are greedy. Yoongi gives you everything you want. He makes a grumble about it, rolling his eyes and sometimes acting like it’s a little inconvenience, but you know he loves it- loves this. Loves letting you get away with things when you ask sweetly.

Yoongi’s hair is silky and a little sweaty as you run your fingers through it, nails scratching at his scalp the way he likes. His moan is muffled against your pussy and you wriggle beneath him. It feels so good, your stomach in knots. Your limbs begin to tingle and you feel that tight, squeezing feeling in your core, clenching hard.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Dig your nails into Yoongi’s scalp and he growls at the pain. You think your breaking skin, nails turned into claws, limbs shaking as your orgasm tightens and tightens until it feels like you can’t breath, like the world is going to crack in half.

And then it breaks. Your orgasm floods out of you in a rush, your muscle spasming so hard that you scream. Heels digging into the dirt, fingers tangled in Yoongi’s hair, head whipped to the side, cheek pressed into the ground and eyes squeezed shut so hard you see colors exploded behind your eyelids.

Heavy-limbed and feeling drunk, you drop your legs open a bit. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips, flipping you over. You don’t have the strength to hold yourself up, hands buckling under you, face pressed to the back of your palms. He says something that you can’t hear, your head still swimming in the clouds.

Every one of your joints feels melted, unable to lock together to support your weight. It doesn’t matter. Yoongi does it for you, lifting you up so that you’re on your knees, thighs spread wide. Air cools the wet mess on your legs. You realize you’re dripping past your knees.

Yoongi’s palms feel like fire on your flushed skin. He wraps and arm around your waist, pulling you back to his chest, the other looping under your arm so he can grab your neck firmly. This time, he does squeeze, fingers placed perfectly on the sides of your throat.

Everything around you feels like cotton candy fuzz, fluffy and sweet. Your head lolls back, resting on his shoulder as his teeth find your shoulder, nipping your skin. Behind you, his cock slides gently between your folds, making you hiss.

“Gonna fill up this pussy,” Yoongi murmurs. “Gonna fuck you full, yeah?”

You nod your head. “Yeah.” The word slurs on your tongue. “Please, want it.”

“You’re already fucked out from just my mouth, omega.”

“So?”

He chuckles darkly. His cockhead catches your clenching hole and you whine, hands going to clutch the arm on your waist and holding your throat. “Have you no decency, hm?”

“No. Yoongi please, it hurts. Please just - please.”

“Shhh.” Yoongi places a warm, wet kiss on your jaw. “I’ve got you. You know I’ve got you?”

Words are too hard, so you nod. Yoongi places another sweet kiss on your cheek before he shuffles and thrusts into you, smooth on the upstroke. You gasp, breath knocked out of you as he slides to the hilt. Yoongi’s cock is thick and though you’re soaked, the stretch is intense, your walls clinging to him in a vice grip.

Behind you, Yoongi curses. His hand tightens, and it gets just a little bit harder to breath. Slowly, he retracts before snapping forward again, stroke slow but hard. He groans, focused on setting a leisurely and smooth pace. Every thrust of his hips makes his cock hit deep, punching the air from your lungs. With his fingers pressing against your throat, it gets harder to take in more air, making you light-headed, the forest spinning.

It feels so good, this blooming pleasure inside of you. Every time he hits your soft spot just right, you feel closer to madness. Yoongi squeezes your throat tighter. His skin is warm and sweaty, sliding against yours, the friction making your eyes roll back.

Yoongi’s teeth scrape your shoulder. Sink in just a little, not enough to draw blood, but you feel the sting. It’s good, pleasure-laced pain. And then he’s telling you to let go, to come around him. You deny your alpha nothing, eyes fluttering shut as you squeeze tight tight tight.

“Fuck,” Yoongi snarls. You come so hard he has to stop thrusting, your pussy clenching around him with everything you’ve got. You’re not breathing, air stuck in your lungs, blood rushing in your eyes, stars behind your eyes. “Breathe,” Yoongi pants, letting go of your throat. You suck in a sharp breath of air, flooding your lungs. “That’s it. You can take it, yeah? Can take it til I fill you up?”

“Yes, alpha.”

It’s a mumble of words. You’re not even sure if it comes out right. Yoongi holds you to him, doesn’t mind that you're boneless. Your fingers thread his where his hands grip you, squeezing as your head cradles against his neck. You nose him there, drawing all sorts of feral sounds from him as he chases his orgasm, driven to the edge while you scent him. He comes with a loud sound, maybe your name or something else. You’re not sure.

Yoongi smells like home. Well - smells like earth and come and sweat and trees and pheremones. But his smell is there, pine and sage. Wild and gentle. Earth and cleansing. You love the smell of him, you have since you met him.

“Rest.” Yoongi’s voice sounds faraway. “I’ve got you.”

Weightlessness takes over. You don’t remember moving and you don’t remember Yoongi pulling out of you and picking you up. You’re drunk off his scent, hormones throwing you over the cliff and into a deep lake, where you float aimlessly. Comforted.

Soft sheets slide against your skin. You turn your face and breathe in, smelling Yoongi everywhere. It’s warm and you smell you too. Rosemary and mint. Your scents linger together, making you feel at home. Loved. Safe.

Something jostles you a little. You slow-blink an eye open, realizing you’re at home, tucked into the corner of your room you like to use for nesting. Blankets of Yoongi’s are piled eye and there are shirts and hoodies that belong to him. Some shirts that belong to you. Things that remind you of the two of you, that feel like you both.

Yoongi is tucked behind you, breath puffing against your ear. His eyes are closed when you curve your head to look at him. “Sleep,” he rasps, not opening his eyes. “And thank you for the hunt. I’m not done with you. But I’m tired.”

You smile and close your eyes, drifting to sleep in the safety of Yoongi’s arms.

#yoongi smut #suga smut #bts yoongi #yoongi fanfic #alpha yoongi #yoongi x reader #omega reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfic #bts smut #werewolf au

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sasuhinamonth · 9 months 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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eastbubble · 8 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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persephone11110 · 6 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

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Series Masterlist

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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

Text

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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farfromstrange · 9 months ago

Text

‘I Love You In Every Universe’

Chapter One: I Bet On Losing Dogs

Masterlist | List Of Installments

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Mutant!Reader

Summary: The day you lost Matt, you lost everything. There is no moving on from what Spider-Man put you through, and you plan to execute your revenge.

Warnings: ANGST, Major Character Death, blood, suicidal thoughts, mutant!Reader, evil Peter Parker, 18+ because of darker themes, multiverse (No Way Home Era), slight AU

Word Count: 5.8k

A/n: FINALLY! This took me way too long to edit. Today, we’re setting the scene for future installments, but you’re not getting all the details, even if the first 3000 words of this are somewhat a flashback. So, if you think that there is too little dialogue for a Prologue, that’s probably why. This chapter is integral to the future installments.

Read Me On AO3!

The world was silent when he died—an endless pit of nothingness, and above a sky full of stars.

You don’t remember if it was raining. The moon was hiding behind a thick cloud, and the stars were burning, but you can’t remember if you were drowning in a river of tears or if it was the sky that broke that night. Everything else about that night, you remember quite vividly.

Hell’s Kitchen had become a battleground. The city lay at your feet in shambles; Wilson Fisk had become mayor after you tried hard to stop him, and the world fell apart. But it was his second in command, Peter Parker, who gave new meaning to the word ‘notorious’. Spider-Man infested your home like a parasite, slipping through your finger like dry sand. He knew what he was doing. He and Fisk held the city in the palms of their dirty hands, slowly crushing it like mealy little ants.

When you met Matt Murdock, it was years back when things were still better, yet they were never perfect. He found you broken at the side of the road—or that was what it felt like, anyway.

From the start, you have always been different. In a world where everyone wanted to be someone, your uniqueness painted a target on your back. Your nature was misunderstood by most; they either wanted to be you, or they were vying for your inevitable downfall.

You stood out of every crowd. The target on your back remained no matter how hard you tried to turn yourself into a shrouded mystery. Eventually, you had to start running. You operated out of the dark like a criminal—a vigilante, and a mind-reader who could set the world on fire if she only tried hard enough.

For most of your life, you were hunted. Scientists wanted to run experiments on you, tie you to a gurney, and study your brain until they understood how your abilities worked. Freaks wanted to sell you for millions to equally disturbed individuals.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were merely a scared child who grew into a terrified teenager who didn’t know any better: dead parents, dead everything, and a mind built to read those of others.

Back then, your only instinct was blatant survival, so you ran. You ran fast and you ran far, an orphan so many would have rather seen dead than operating in the dark, but oh, you had to become something to feel like you were worth something.

When you landed in New York, beaten and alone with a bone-crushing fear of the future, the Devil found you, taking you home with him. He saved you. He picked up your pieces, glued you back together, and wrapped you in a protective glaze. All the heartbreak you’d endured, and the trauma you’d suffered getting there seemed worth it whenever he held you in his arms.

You were Matt Murdock’s world, and he was yours. He showed you heaven and hell; he saved you from the purgatory you pushed yourself into and got you settled with a one-way ticket to paradise. After all these years, you finally found your salvation in a person.

He was your broken Catholic boy with a heart made out of gold. The universe didn’t deserve him, and yet he gave the world everything he had. He sacrificed his soul to God and his city. He prayed, he begged, and he fought hard for what he believed right at the time.

Matt saw himself as the Devil; embodied him, too. Though in your eyes, he was an angel with an invisible halo only you could feel in every fiber of your being. His thoughts, his heart, and his soul; he gave it all to you.

You cherished him with all you could give him. It wasn’t much, but he loved you more than anyone had ever before. You were more than a mutant, more than a broken girl at the side of the road, and more than a potential test subject. With him, you finally learned what living was like—what it was supposed to feel like to be human.

The world tried to clip your wings. They took away your voice and your ability to breathe. Matt brought you back to life. He was not the love of your life; Matt Murdock was your soulmate. You lived for him. You existed for him. He was your heart, your soul, and the reason for your survival.

It wasn’t healthy, how dependent you were on him. He made you see colors you couldn’t see with anyone else. You loved him fiercely. You loved him in a way that was pure agony. And you loved him in a way that you knew would screw you up forever.

It didn’t cross your mind that you could ever lose him. To you, Matt Murdock was immortal. He was the man you could see yourself growing old with.

You got married in a small ceremony at the courthouse—it wasn’t just for love, it was also convenient, but he forever tied himself to you as you tied yourself to him with a golden wedding band—and you talked about maybe having children one day. A mini-you and a mini-him in your little farmhouse in the suburbs. For that, he would have left Hell’s Kitchen once it was safe enough to do so.

It was a foolish dream now that you think about it; you were foolish to think that happiness would ever be in the cards for you, but then he kissed you again, good morning and good night and in between, and all you could see was a sea of roses.

He walked through fire (sometimes literally) for you and came back on the other side, hardly always unscathed but always alive, and always with a smile on his chapped lips. He crawled home to you even when he was broken. He crawled home to you when he was full of adrenaline. And he crawled home to you when he thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t anymore, both mentally and physically. He knew he could always come home to you, his best friend, his lover, his confidant, and soon enough, his wife.

You stitched his wounds and kissed his scars to breathe new life into him. You brought him back from the edge. You gave him something to live for. He told you that you saved him, and hearing that after getting on your knees every night, thanking him for the same thing, did something to you. It healed you from the inside out.

You kept him alive the same way he did you. You stood strong together against your enemies every night, fighting as a team. He taught you how to fight, and you taught him how to connect. Matt didn’t know what it was like not to push someone he loved away, but you made sure he understood. He connected to himself; he connected to his past, present, and future with you, and that made him a better man.

You lost and you won, but at least you had each other to fall back on. You did it together. You did everything together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Husband and wife. Lady Red and Daredevil.

The fragile little yet oh-so-big thing you had was raw, vulnerable, yet the most tragically beautiful love affair you could have possibly had the pleasure of calling yours. And pleasure, you had plenty. Love, you had plenty. You had everything until everything was ripped from your bare hands—until the very thing sustaining you shattered on a white cloth, spilling crimson blood everywhere, and what you swore could only be pried from your cold, dead hands slipped away in a moment in time.

You both died, in a way, but it was Matt’s body you held as he took his last breaths in the dead of a hot summer’s night. You can’t remember if it rained, but he was certainly drowning in your tears.

“He’s going to kill you,” you warned him. “Parker and Fisk are out to destroy you. If Spider-Man sees you with your guard down, he won’t hesitate.”

Matt slid his skilled fingers into his pair of leather gloves. They were worn down, but they smelled like him. You could feel the unease sizzling in the pit of your stomach—a parasite.

“I have to do this,” he told you, his voice laden. “The bastard is ruining innocent lives in my city. I can’t stand idly by and let it happen.”

You weren’t fighting, but the statement still hung deafeningly loud in the room, hanging itself from the ceiling with a noose that was threatening to take you down with it.

“He challenged you because he knows you’d do anything—”

He cut you off, “He’s underestimating me.”

You stared into his eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much. The dark cloud was heading straight for you, but he couldn’t sense it. “You almost died the last time you came face-to-face with him,” you tried again.

“So did you,” he said. “Fisk is nothing without Spider-Man behind him, and those two have done enough damage already.”

“Matt, please—”

“I have to, sweetheart. This is the only way.”

“There is always another way.”

He shook his head. “Not this time. The city is about to fall. If I let them win, there is no coming back from this. You know that.”

“At least let me come with you then,” you said. You begged him to listen, but he wouldn’t see how worried you were. “We’ve been through hell together. We can fight this war together, too.”

“No,” Matt insisted. “He will see an easy target. You mean too much to me. Spider-Man is gonna use you to get through to me. I can do this. You just have to trust me.”

“I trust you. It’s him I don’t.”

“I’m gonna talk to him, and if I have to fight him again for the whole fucking world to see, so be it.”

The words slipped you before you could stop them, cutting through the air like a sharp-edged sword. “What if you die trying?”

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“I don’t want to lose you!” you cried.

You had not cried in front of him often before that night, but your walls cracked, and you broke.

Matt cradled your face as he whispered, begging you to listen, “You won’t. I promise. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The invisible string pulled you tighter together. Fear, anger, and desperation; he felt so many things—so many things running deeper than the ocean—but you swallowed them.

“I’m not okay with this,” you murmured.

“I know. Here–” he guided your hands to his face, “Feel me,” he said.

You remember gasping when the floodgates opened. “I always feel you.”

You stroked his delicate cheeks. He was here, home with you; why couldn’t he stay like that forever? Why did you have to let him go? Past, present, and future began to blur.

I love you. He tuned out all other thoughts so you could hear him.

He was praying. He was hoping. Only a handful of times had he felt this way. You were so tightly interlaced that you could feel all of him without even trying, but that night, you tried. That night, he tuned out all of his self-deprecating thoughts. He allowed the silence of your connection to engulf him—for the city to disappear, and he allowed you in.

I love you so much. Do you hear me? You’re everything to me. I love you.

Those three words weighed heavy like bricks on your heart.

“Remember, three knocks,” he said aloud. “Don’t open for anyone else.”

“Three knocks,” you whispered in agreement.

Three knocks like three words: I love you.

You read his mind, swallowing the words, but a big part of you wanted to spit them back out. You didn’t want to hear it. The universe was sending you a warning sign.

Matt exhaled. He cupped your hands in his. The connection deepened, the string pulled tighter, and you became one. That night was the first night you saw glimpses of the future, and you didn’t want to accept it. You were such a fool to think everything could ever be fucking alright, both for you and for this magnificent force of a man you chose to call home—because home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling, and often enough, it’s a person.

He nuzzled his nose against yours. He kissed you. Softly, gently, passionately. You kissed him like you knew it would be the last time.

“I love you,” he repeated.

The red flags waved, but you looked away. “I don’t want to say it back because you have to come back to me,” you confessed, “and this feels too much like a goodbye.”

He forced you to look at him instead. “Say it back, baby.”

“I love you,” you caved.

You shouldn’t have. You should have put up more of a fight.

I will always come back to you. Cross my heart. He crossed his heart, but he hoped too much to die. Perhaps in not saying it out loud, he thought the truth would hurt less.

You refused to believe it until time had run out. You refused to cave until it happened. And when it happened, the city, for the first time since you’d arrived there, went completely quiet.

You followed him. Of course, you did. After a few hours of pacing the floor, you followed him. He was still in your head. You heard him from across the city, his thoughts loud and clear, and you could feel his pain like an inferno lighting up the night sky.

When you arrived on that godforsaken rooftop though, you could only watch in horror as Spider-Man lifted the love of your life toward the sky. He wouldn’t accept your bargain. You offered yourself instead of him, but no; Peter Parker was not in the mood for bargaining.

He lifted Matt toward the sky, and he drilled the dagger right through his chest.

“No!” you screamed again.

Silence.

His blood ran through your fingers like quicksand, and sitting there, cradling Matt’s chest to yours as his heartbeat slowly faded into oblivion, you knew the end was near. The world could be so fucking unfair. You both died, but it was only his heart that stopped. You lost him that night, and your entire world stopped in an instant.

You liked it better when he was angry with you. When he was loud, when he was laughing, even when he was just being sarcastic. You liked him better when he was alive. He turned into a ghost in your arms, forever and all eternity, and you fell face-first into the abyss.

Maybe it was raining that night. Maybe you were being buried under the weight of your guilt and the never-ending flow of your tears.

“I can’t…” you sobbed, tracing his cold cheek as the rain fell around you. “I can’t feel you.”

His heart stopped beating, and the invisible string pulverized. You watched it as it went with the wind. Without him. Without you.

You screamed until your lungs gave out. Then, silence settled in.

The night was quiet when he died; nothing but a sky full of stars and the endless black pit of death above and below you.

The blood and his missing pulse weren’t the worst part, by far; the worst part was that you could no longer feel him, and that thought won’t ever not haunt you.

You were certain that night. When you lost him, and you screamed your heart out, praying to a God you’ve never believed in, you swore to yourself that you would avenge him.

You were going to kill Peter Parker, and nothing in this world could ever stop you from watching this miserable motherfucker bleed to death.

The bed shakes violently as you awaken. Dreams, so many dreams. Your nights are far from peaceful. They haven’t been for weeks. Months. What day is it? You don’t remember.

Nightmares follow you like hunters after a fox. Your pajamas stick to your skin, and you’re sweating even though it is spring, and spring doesn’t have hot enough temperatures for you to be sweating quite like this. When you pull the comforter away in a sudden panic, the wetness seeping into your skin, there is nothing but white. No blood, no tears, just gaping emptiness in the farmhouse.

You pant heavily, dragging your nails across your skin. Your fingernails are tinted a charcoal black. In your heart, there had once been a bright red glow—like a ruby crystal sustaining your soul. You used it to channel other people’s thoughts. You could read them, you could hear them, and you could feel them. That Ruby has gone out now though; it has turned into a black smoke threatening to overtake anything it comes in contact with.

The sun isn’t strong enough to break through the gray clouds. As you step out into the garden that stretches around your home, a gentle wind brushes through the bare branches of the dead trees. The wood is starting to splinter, turning hollow as sickness after sickness runs rampant through nature.

You trace a finger over the poison ivy that has grown over the tombstone. The green fades, turning into a rotten brown. It dries out, and it dies right before your eyes, as do the roses you have been keeping in a vase ever since you laid a finger on the last bouquet.

He liked the smell of roses, but you hated the look of it until Matt died, and suddenly, everything looked and smelled like a field of roses, reminding you of him. He was your daisy, your sunflower, setting fire to your freezing soul. He was sunshine, you were midnight rain. He liked to claim differently, but you wouldn’t let him. You may have been his sunshine, but out of the both of you, he shone the brightest.

The poison ivy dies, and if you even manage to kill a plant with the word ‘poison’ in its name, what does that say about you? What has become of you; plotting a stranger’s death and killing the nature around you as you dive into books about mind-reading and dark magic to understand who you truly are? Dark magic sounds like a story out of a piece of fiction, but it’s far from that.

You’ve known of your ability to manipulate the human mind ever since you discovered the creature hidden within you, the one who could touch another human being and see their thoughts so clearly. The one time you tried to manipulate someone, you caused them indescribably agony. You ruined their life. You broke them. You made them complicit and took all they were away from them, turning their fragile mind into ashes. That day, your fingers turned charcoal for the first time.

If you try hard enough, you can kill him—Peter Parker. He took your husband and your city, now sitting in his ivory tower, overlooking the damage he’s done. He killed everyone and everything, even Wilson Fisk. He has taken the people of Hell’s Kitchen hostage, but no one has dared to make a move just yet, not since their beloved Daredevil disappeared off the face of the earth. With him, his Lady Red went as fast as she had come.

You don’t want to fix what Spider-Man destroyed; you can’t get back what he took, nor do you want to, and the city doesn’t mean anything without Matt in it.

You have to be the monster to kill another monster, only then you can join your husband in his tomb. Didn’t you vow to stay together, even in death?

The city can burn, for all you care, but first, Peter Parker has to die.

You scratch at the dirt in the engraving of his name. Matthew Michael Murdock. 1982 — 2023. Beloved husband and hero.

You hate this. You hate that his grave is in your backyard, but this was the only place you knew his corpse would be safest. No one can touch him here, and you can talk to him, pretending you can still feel him. If you focus hard enough, you can still hear his voice in your head, telling you to move on.

How could you though? How could you abandon all you’ve been through? You can fight, you can win or lose, but nothing will ever be the same again. And it is far from worth it to stay alive when he isn’t. You’ve made your decision; whether or not you’ve come to peace with it, that’s another story entirely.

“Tonight is the night,” you murmur to the gravestone. Of course, you don’t receive an answer.

Lately, you have been swearing to yourself you wouldn’t cry anymore, that there are no more tears left to shed, but every day, you end up crying anyway. It’s an endless cycle of despair.

You wipe your cheeks, untangling the chain that holds your golden wedding band close to your chest from around your neck. Gently, you guide it to your lips and press a kiss against the ring.

“I love you,” you whisper.

For when you meet again in another life.

You dig a small hole into the dry dirt where, six feet under, Matt is resting now. He always told you he would end up in hell when he died. You were never particularly religious before you met him, and when he struggled with his faith while you were together, you believed even less in an all-merciful God. Now though, with Matt gone and the world on the verge of falling apart and crushing you under its weight as you approach the biggest challenge of your life, the thought of ending up in an eternal life of nothingness after death—the thought of there being nothing but mindless darkness, no body, soul—scares you too much. Imagining the pits of hell or paradise with the love of your life, and reuniting with him, is a prospect you would rather see when you close your eyes than a world on fire.

The necklace lands in the hole, and you cover it up. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of your ring before, but you won’t risk carrying it when you do what you are about to do.

Tonight, Peter Parker is going to show himself to all of New York City as the new mayor in all of his Spider-Man glory. He begged for you to come out, and he told the city he would be merciful in prosecuting you for the crimes you committed in the past alongside Daredevil. When you come out tonight though, you won’t surrender yourself. You will use the platform he is giving you and you will fight as you reveal him to Hell’s Kitchen and show the world who he is. You will tell Matt’s story, even if it’s the last thing you do.

You have been burning for him for the longest time, and the flame is about to go out with a bang.

That night, you put on the red suit Melvin made for you years ago before he lost his mind for what might be the last time. It has holes from where the moths dug their teeth into. The piece around the waist is starting to fade in color, and the leather is worn out, but it reminds you of simpler times. Better times. The black of your fingertips matches the lining of your outfit, and that’s all you need to feel the power sizzle deep within you.

You don’t have to remember the weather report because you can feel the rain soaking your skin through the fabric. The air smells salty, and it tastes the same on your cracked lips. Tonight, you will be Lady Red for the last time. Until the bitter end, you have sworn yourself. Matt did the same thing. You have to do him proud.

You make your way from that little farmhouse—your broken red castle—to the familiar streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Destruction surrounds you. The news didn’t do justice to what Peter has done to the city you once loved. But no one loved it more than Matt Murdock.

Your fists clench at your sides. Oh, you want to tear this man limb by limb and feed him to the dogs.

It starts with a low rumbling beneath your boots. You don’t pay much mind to it at first. You hide out on a rooftop across the courthouse. The spotlights are on, and he’s standing there at the podium, looking as though he is so proud of himself for ruining so many lives. You don’t usually experience joy when hurting people, but you will savor watching the life drain from Peter’s lifeless eyes.

Your hands clench around Matt’s batons. The metal is heavy but flexible. You click your nails against them. Every move needs to be meticulously calculated, but tonight, the barons will remain in the holsters on your thighs. You won’t need them. You won’t need anything but your bare hands.

You’re going back to your roots tonight.

The ground moves slightly, only a few inches. You could have missed it if you weren’t crouching to get a better look at the world below you. You catch yourself on the ledge, a frown finding its way on your face.

“What the f–” you shake your head. Since when does thunder shake the ground?

You seem to be the only one who notices, or Peter Parker is better at brainwashing his decibels than you expected. He was born to be a dictator. His presence turned your fairytale into a dystopian tragedy.

“Tonight,” he says into his microphone, “is the last chance for Lady Red to reveal herself for a lesser sentence. A new era is on the horizon. I am your mayor, and I am Spider-Man. Without me, you would be nothing. Daredevil couldn’t save you. Wilson Fisk couldn’t save you. But I can, and after tonight, we will start anew. For this is the era of real heroes as we rebuild this city from the ground up, and we turn the City of New York, including Hell’s Kitchen, into its own world. Starting with the arrest of the criminal who is Daredevil’s accomplice Lady Red. I hope for her sake she will show herself tonight. If not, we will find her, and she will suffer the full extent of the consequences of her actions. That includes the Death Penalty.”

You land gracefully, catching yourself with your hand on the asphalt. The crowd parts with a gasp, and you finally stare into his eyes.

After he drilled that dagger through Matt’s heart, he told you, “You will always be a monster, never a God.”

You deserve nothing, he thought. It has stuck with you since that night. Growing up, it was the only thing you heard. You were nothing but trash. A disgrace. A monster. What will they say when they see that you have finally become what they feared so much?

You will burn down whatever is left of the world, including him. God knows you want to.

Magic pulsates in the atmosphere like a growing spell in a small shoe box. The air vibrates, and the ground shakes again. This isn’t your doing, but the sudden charge that fills your veins as adrenaline sustains you. Your eyes glow red. This is who you were born to be.

“I heard you were looking for me,” you declare.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you. “Ah, just like clockwork,” he murmurs. “Are you going to make this hard on all of us or are you here to finally surrender yourself?”

You purse your lips, playing with the energy between your fingers. “I came to destroy you.” Each step toward him on the big marble steps feels like a mile, and the crowd starts to move further back, dispersing in an attempt to save themselves. Most of them are eager to watch though. What has he done to them?

“Destroy me?” Peter laughs, addressing the crowd again, “You see who you’ve been calling a hero all this time? This mutant? Look at her!”

All eyes are on you. They’re whispering. They’re speculating. Their thoughts overlap in disarray, and you’re drowning in a sea of judgment. They are trying to tear you down like sharks. You’re leaking blood, and God, they are angry. But it’s not you they’re angry at.

“You call me a mutant,” you say, “but wasn’t it you who was bit by a radioactive spider?”

His smile fades.

“You are Spider-Man, no?”

“You are a wannabe hero with unregulated powers,” he snaps. His voice roars through the speakers, and the mood in the crowd starts to shift.

The ground vibrates again, stronger this time. You can’t be the only one feeling the quakes, but everyone else seems unmoved. They’re too focused on both of you to notice anything else, and you should do the same. However, the energy doubles and you are closer to bursting than ever. Something is happening, and you have no control over it.

Peter sneers. “You’re a failure,” he calls your name, “just like your husband!”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your eyes darken. “If you want to enforce the death penalty on me, Parker,” you growl, “why don’t you do it yourself?”

Peter taps his chest, and his suit transforms into shades of black and spider webs. At that moment, panic erupts. People start running, but you tune them out.

The air begins to smell sour. Burnt. It is so high the pain consumes you whole. He doesn’t have to touch you to bring you to your knees, but looking up, you realize that it wasn’t Spider-Man who infused your ears with such a high frequency.

Someone is uttering a powerful spell, you can hear his voice in your head as he thinks of several names all over the place. Time passes by in a flash. Hours, days, weeks, and months. The universe falls out of control. The beeping picks up and you sink deeper into the ground.

You swear then and there that the sky starts to rip in two. The sky resembles a nasty cut on your forehead, a pair of hands ripping the cut further apart, causing the blood to pour out in rivers.

One of the cuts swallows you. With a scream, you fall through several rollercoasters passing by violet stars.

The cut is a portal; one moment, you are flying through the sky at the highest possible speed, and the next, you hit the ground hard.

It’s not raining anymore. The sun shines down on you, and the heat creeps up your skin like tiny ants. The pain finally releases, but your head is still spinning. So many feelings, so many voices, and so many thoughts threaten to overwhelm you.

Not even an LSD trip hits that bad. You lazily open your heavy eyes to find not the courthouse but the New York skyline right before you.

You look down at your shaky hands. The charcoal is gone. The power in your veins feels different, all-consuming, but in no way bad. You take a deep breath. Even the oxygen tastes different.

The world stops spinning, and you finally take a look around. A car honks, an SUV heading straight for your wobbly frame.

You’re in the middle of a road. What is it? A freeway.

Oh, shit!

You jump aside, hitting the sidewalk with a loud thud.

“Watch out, bitch!” the driver shouts out of his window.

Where once used to be the courthouse, you are met with a street in the middle of downtown Hell’s Kitchen, New York. Stores line the side of the street. Tourists, foreigners, and those who are native to the city pass by you, and their gasps and whispers sound so different from the automatic voices Peter Parker raised them to be.

“Oh, no,” you breathe out. “Oh, no, no, no!” The air is getting thinner.

“What are you thinking about, hm?” he asked into the darkness of the room.

His heartbeat aligned with yours. His calloused fingertips traced your bare skin. You were in heaven. Beautiful, sinful heaven.

His jawline appeared even sharper in the colorful lights from the billboard outside. His skin glowed white—paler than usual, even. You could stare into his eyes forever, such a beautiful hazel with hints of forest green. Perfect eyebrows, perfect lips. They bowed at the top, so kissable.

He pressed them to your bare shoulder blade, down your spine. The butterflies danced crazy in your tummy.

“You’re distracted,” he hummed again.

You chuckled, looking over your shoulder at the beautiful man in bed with you.

“Can’t help it when I’m with you,” you remember saying.

Matt offered you his signature smirk. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I quite like the view.”

“And when I do this?” He trailed another finger down your sensitive spine.

You shuddered. “That, too.”

He did it again. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Thinking,” you said.

“About what?” he asked.

“A book I read.” You paused to turn on your back. “About the multiverse.”

It was a surprising change in subject, and he raised his eyebrows in a rather amused way. “The multiverse?”

You nodded. “We know way too little about it. There could be more of me and more of you out there, and we don’t even know it,” you told him. “The multiverse… there is a chance it could be real. And that alone is terrifying because if it opens and we’re not prepared, chaos might ensue.”

He propped himself up on his elbow next to you, listening to the calming sound of your voice. It was always his favorite thing to do.

Matt used your voice as his podcast; it was his favorite, too.

“Can we jump universes?” he wondered.

You shrugged. You didn’t know, at least not at the time. “Maybe,” you said. “But I’m not a scientist, let alone good at physics, so… let’s just go back to kissing. I’m much better at that.”

He laughed, but he did not object. At least with kissing, you both knew what you were doing. So, he brought his lips to yours, and the multiverse disappeared in a Bermuda Triangle of pleasure in your mind. Lost but not forgotten.

Maybe.

But as you sit there, sliding back against the brick wall in the closest alley, you realize that you downplayed the probability.

You were going to kill a man, but instead of blood on your hands, you are now cursed with the knowledge that the ‘maybe’ of your once-thought-silly pillow talk has always been very fucking real, and you have nowhere to run in this strange world you have fallen into that is New York City, Earth-616.

Where do you run when you can go anywhere, just not home?

Tagging: @nk1023 @sarahskywalker-amidala @ignore-mp3 @imonabitchparade @familyvideowithsteve @eyelessdemon

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #angst no happy ending #daredevil #daredevil x reader #mutant reader #i love you in every universe #charlie cox

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heliads · 1 year ago

Note

I’d like to request a platonic Finnick x female reader one-shot. The reader is Finnick’s twin sister (younger by 10 minutes) and won the games the year after he won the games. Katniss and Peeta meet the reader and Finnick on the victory tour that takes place after the 74th games. The reader isn’t part of the 75th games, but she is part of the rebellion that takes place after the 75th games. Before Finnick dies, he tells the reader he loves her and asks her to look after Annie.

hello thornyrose

'supposed to be us' - finnick odair

masterlist

Your nightmare is dark and dangerous. It clings to your mind like bathing in an oil slick. You can hear ghosts shouting and screaming. A boy from your district begs you for mercy, but you don’t give it to him because you saw him trying to poison your food supplies mere hours earlier. There is no justice in the Hunger Games. The one who lives is not always the one who deserves it.

Even after your eyes open, you can only stare upwards into nameless dark, petrified that a single movement will set the other tributes upon you in an instant. For a moment, you don’t know where you are, and then the dream lifts and you’re only certain that you aren’t stuck in the place you just were. This is not the Arena. The Arena was never quiet. Even when the Gamemakers cut the sound of chirping insects and rustling leaves so they could hear your heartbeat and the shallow beating of your lungs as you waited for death to come your way.

District Thirteen is quiet, and that is where you are. Your Hunger Games ended nine or ten years ago. You have not been in the Arena again, even if your brother has.

Your brother.

Finnick Odair is a household name. To you, though, he was never the golden Victor of District Four, the pretty boy with the trident, the peacock. Finnick is your twin brother, older by ten minutes. He’ll never let you forget that. When you watched him in the Arena for the first time, all you could do was hope that you’d hear him remind you of it even one more time.

As it turns out, you got your wish. Finnick won the sixty-fifth Hunger Games at the young age of fourteen. He came home shell-shocked but doing a quite good job of pretending otherwise. He talked to you and your parents and made sure none of you saw him break down whenever the Capitol came to claim him again. He never told you what happened whenever the Peacekeepers spirited him away from you, but you found out anyway when your name was read in the Reaping one year later.

They saw it was Finnick’s fault that you ended up in the Games. It’s easy enough to fudge the name chosen in the Reaping Ceremony, even if the Capitol always pretends it’s a total twist of fate. Finnick was acting up. He didn’t want to be a body in warm sheets that didn’t belong to him. He protested Snow sending him to strangers’ beds one too many times, and as a warning, you ended up in the Games one year after Finnick won his. Finnick never fought the orders again.

You cannot tell who blames each other more for their troubles, you or him. It is not either of your faults that you ended up with the blood of twenty-three tributes on your hands, nor that Finnick hasn’t been wholly Finnick in a very long time. He is your brother. Things happen in Panem that no one will speak on. Not even family.

You were supposed to die in the sixty-sixth Hunger Games, of that you are almost certain. The Gamemakers certainly threw more than the typical amount of twists your way. It felt as if every mutt in the Arena was designed to hunt you first before any other tribute. Rain snuffed each fire you made. Ants spoiled your food. Other tributes were directed towards your camp. Still, you managed to pull through. As a District Four Career, you had been receiving training in preparation for the Games since you were young, but Finnick had made sure to help you in advance just in case something like this happened.

As it turned out, he was right to worry. Your Games were close, but when the final cannon sounded, you were the one standing bloodsoaked and exhausted on an empty battlefield. After that, even President Snow couldn’t kill you off. You and Finnick, beloved twin Victors of the Capitol, were as untouchable as District gets.

Look where that got you, though, dragged back to the Capitol each and every year to remark on the Games and mentor a new couple of kids to their death. District Four tributes have a good chance at winning, so you were able to help a good few along. Annie Cresta, to be specific. You watched as they fell for each other. It is supposed to be a simple thing, watching your siblings fall in love. For Finnick, it was a victory akin to winning the Games.

You can still remember one dark evening, the first time you and Finnick were home after you’d won the Games and were finally alone without one of Caesar Flickerman’s cameras shoved in your face. He’d sworn to you then and there that he’d never fall in love. Finnick didn’t want anyone else to be used as a sacrifice to get him to play along with the Capitol’s rules. He’d been forced to watch you compete in the Hunger Games as a punishment for disobedience. Never again would he allow himself another weakness.

Annie grew on him, though. She has a way of melting down people’s barriers. Annie reminds you of salt water on a rusty latch; give it enough time, and even the hardiest locks will be worn down to ash and dust eventually. Finnick needed her more than he needed his walls to stay strong. After some time, he allowed himself to indulge in the sheer joy of needing someone and being needed by them, and after that, he was better.

There had been a brief time of relative peace in District Four. There is no peace in Panem, not really, not even when the weapons have been laid down and the Peacekeepers are posted at every door to stop the fighting. We send our children to die. We save some of them, but not all. Never all. You and Finnick and Annie and Mags do your best. It is never enough.

In between the Games, though, in between the Victory Tours and scheduled press appearances, you make your own kind of peace. You talk with your brother late into the night. You learn more about Annie, and she learns to trust you like she trusts Finnick. There are people who understand your life after the Games, and there are those who don’t. As it turns out, you don’t need the world as a Victor, just two people. You give them their space so they can imagine what it is like to live a life without fear or terror, and when you need them, they reach out to you. You are not alone, you are never alone. Except for when you want it.

And, when several years have passed, you watch the seventy-fourth Hunger Games and learn about a girl they call the Mockingjay. You haven’t seen someone like Katniss Everdeen in a very long time, if ever. You observe her closely on her Victory Tour with Peeta Mellark and make sure to speak when you run into each other during her stop in District Four. There’s an earnestness to the two of them that you can’t help but appreciate. You consider their strength for a while, and then you contact someone in the Capitol you’ve grown to know during your many mentorship runs and tell him that it’s time to act.

Plutarch Heavensbee has been involved in the rebellion for a very long time. He won’t tell you how long, not exactly, but you can guess that his start date was far before your name was even pulled from the Reaping, before Finnick’s. He confessed that he’s been eyeing you and your brother for a while now, but he’s been waiting for the proper impetus. Watching the District response to Katniss, you tell him that it’s now.

Plutarch agrees, and begins to give you specific tasks to further the goals of the rebellion. It’s small at first. You deliver secret messages to a certain Beetee Latier when you’re near District Three. You also speak to Haymitch Abernathy at the opening ceremony of the seventy-fifth Hunger Games under the guise of exchanging mentorship tactics. Slowly, carefully, plans are laid.

This is also due in part to the fact that you are not Reaped for the third Quarter Quell, although your brother is. There are many surviving Victors in District Four, and you immediately complained to Plutarch that Finnick and Annie were both Reaped even if Mags stepped in, but there was nothing the Head Gamemaker could do. He told you that it would have been more suspicious if the rebellion had meddled with the Reaping and likely given them away too early.

Still, that doesn’t settle any apprehension in your gut as you have to prepare your twin for yet another round in the Arena. Although he was careful to disguise his expression the moment his name was called for the Quarter Quell, you saw the brief flicker of desolation in his eyes. Finnick doesn’t want to go back there any more than you would. All you can do to save him is ensure that the rebellion’s plan works and you can pull him out before too many Victors are killed.

If you were going to confess something, it would be that you value your brother above all else. Yes, the rebellion’s plan is important, but at the end of the day, you are there to save your twin. Finnick made you promise that you’d watch out for Mags and Annie both outside and inside of the Arena, but you disregarded both of those oaths in favor of focusing on him. You get Finnick supplies and sponsors when he needs them, you make sure to talk the Gamemakers out of siccing any truly terrible mutts on him. More than the usual, of course.

And, when the Arena is breached by the rebellion and it comes time to get the Victors out, you tell them to go for Finnick first. This means that they don’t have time to get Annie. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the look on Finnick’s face when he realized that Annie was still in the Capitol after he was rescued and brought back to the underground colony of District Thirteen. He’s glad to see you alive, of course, and he was about to stage a fit before he knew you were safe, but you don’t know if he’ll ever forgive you for not getting Annie as well. It’s not as if you had any choice, the Peacekeepers came for you immediately, but the fact remains that Annie is as good as blood to you and you left her behind.

You make up for it eventually, of course. While you join an attack party to break into the Capitol and bring back Annie, Peeta, Johanna, and the other captive Victors, Finnick stays behind to act as a distraction. You heard later the sorts of terrible secrets he had to offer from his time in the Capitol. Finnick had done his best to shelter you from all of it, and you can only hope to return the favor someday, and more than just pulling him from the Arena.

You never get the chance. Yes, seeing him reunite with Annie after your mission was a success felt better than winning your own Games, but the happiness didn’t last forever. Soon enough, you and Finnick fought your way back into the Capitol along with Katniss, Peeta, and other highly trained soldiers in an effort to end the war once and for all.

Only one Odair made it back.

It wasn’t Finnick.

Should it have been? You’ll never know for sure. The memory of his final moments will stay with you forever. Your group had been running through the underneath of the Capitol, pursued relentlessly by bloodthirsty lizard mutts. The fight had ended with a dead end, a ladder up to the surface. Finnick had insisted on being the last one up because he had always been the hero, the good one, the savior. Right before he was able to make it, the mutts charged and pulled him back down. You had heard his screams and known there was no way you could save him, not this time. Katniss had detonated the tunnel to bring him a quick end. It was merciful. You wish you had died instead of him.

It is a terrible thing, losing a brother. Since Finnick was older, he has been around quite literally your entire life. You are now older than he ever was. It is far more devastating than it sounds. Living that kind of agony is like nothing anyone can ever describe to you. There is only pain in endless waves. As time goes on, you have more space between each rush of hurt, but then you remember the way District Four sun shone on his hair and turned it to gold, or how the two of you learned to swim together, or the smile on his face when he married Annie and everything goes to pieces again.

Before Finnick died, he had told you that he loved you and asked you to look after Annie. You do so to the best of your ability. Neither you nor Annie want to spend time with others all that much after the war. You retreat back to a small house in District Four where nobody comes looking for you, asking you to kill again. Annie has a baby boy. You see Finnick in his face every day. At first, this is agonizing, but then you realize that it would be worse to forget the precise shade of Finnick’s eyes than to be piercingly reminded of it every time you see your nephew.

It becomes a sort of game you play, looking at the little boy and remembering each bit of Finnick that you can. There was a certain way he would run, all efficiency, and a precise method of articulating each syllable in your name. The first time Annie’s son says it, you have to excuse yourself to another room to cry. After that, it’s easier. The game becomes more one of happiness than sadness.

It destroys you sometimes, the life Finnick should have led. The memories make it bittersweet. But, as a friend of yours once said, there are worse games to play.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#finnick odair #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair imagines #hunger games #hunger games imagines #hunger games oneshot #platonic finnick odair #sibling finnick odair #the hunger games #the hunger games imagines #the hunger games oneshot #hunger games finnick #hunger games finnick imagines #hunger games finnick oneshot #finnick odair x sister reader #finnick #finnick imagines #finnick oneshot

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wosowrites · 2 years ago

Text

Her Clumsy Girl (Katie McCabe x Reader)

Warnings: none

A/n: this is so cute. also what do you guys think of the instagram pic thing i did.

Prompt: in which you’re a machine on the field but when you’re off the field you’re the clumsiest person ever

Arsenal had started a new video collection for their youtube channel. Every month, they gave a go pro camera to one player to film little snippets of their life on and off field to then be turned into a youtube video. Fans were obsessed with it. The first month, Beth Mead and Vivianne Miedema had it, the second, Kim Little, and this month, fans were begging for you and Katie to have it. So, you agreed. Jonas gave you the camera on monday after training, and you immediately started filming on your way home.

You and Katie had been together for a year, and despite Katie’s fierce and slightly argumentative personality on the pitch, you had never had a fight. Off the pitch, she was a real sweetheart. For you, however, on the pitch, you were tactical, strong, and you would weave through players as though they were pilons. And off the field, you were so clumsy you could have tripped over an ant.

"Hey guys!" You said, fumbling with the camera and trying your best to place it on the dashboard. "Damn it!" You giggled as the camera fell again. You finally managed to set it up where it stayed still and where you and Katie were both in frame. "You’re hopeless." Katie said, keeping her eyes on the rainy road. "Am not!" You poured, turning your attention back to the camera. "Anyways. Training just ended so that’s why we’re looking sweaty and disgusting. So, we’re going home to shower and change and then we’re going out shopping for the afternoon. I need new-" You started saying. "Want. You want new shoes." Katie cut you off. "Shut up, Katie." You said to her.

You cut the camera, knowing you shouldn’t film too much because the videos were only ten minutes long.

"This vlog is going to be chaotic, babe." Katie said, smiling at you before turning her eyes back to the road. "It will not. I guarantee you I can spend the month without you getting a single clumsy moment from me on camera." You told her. "Oh you are so on. What do we win?" Katie asked. "Hmm, the winner gets to take the looser on a date. The winner plans everything, and the looser pays for everything." You pitched. "Sounds good to me."

You lost the bet three hours later.

You had gone home, showered and changed. The rain had stopped and it was now sunny and warm in London, and you wore a black cropped tank top with black trousers and beige loafers. Accessories were always the way to go with you, so you wore rings and bracelets as well as two necklaces. You loved showing off your tattoos, and Katie loved seeing them.

You got back into your car to go to the shopping outlet, deciding to stop for coffee. You set up the camera when you were parked in front of the coffee shop.

"Okay so we’re getting coffee now, and we’re gonna see who has to go in and get the coffee." You said to the camera before turning to Katie. "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" You said at the same time. Katie won and you groaned as she celebrated.

"I dont like you." You told Katie as you opened the car door and walked into the shop. Katie filmed you walking into the shop. "She’s so hot. And she loves me very much don’t be fooled." Katie told the camera, flipping it back to show her face.

You ordered two coffees, a shaken oat milk espresso for you and a matcha for Katie. You started walking towards the door, seeing Katie filming you through the clear doors of the car. You walked towards the door and pushed it with your hip.

It was a pull door.

You spilled your coffee all over yourself, and you look up to see Katie barking with laughter as she films you. You groan loudly and walk out of the shop, your outfit soaked with coffee. Katie sits in the car, laughing her head off at you. You open the door of the car and sit in the seat. "I’m-im suprised you didn’t try to push the car door!" She giggled.

You tried to look at her sternly, but you ended up laughing too. Katie turned off the camera and you handed her her coffee. She leaned in to kiss you, wiping the coffee off your neck. "I love you." She told you as she pulled away.

You groaned as a response.

"What do I do? Im soaked." You said, looking down at your wet shirt and pants. "Well, lucky for you, after having dated you for a year, I know how to prepare for all your little quirks." Katie said, reaching into the backseat. "What does that even mean?" You asked her, watching her suspiciously. "It means…" Katie started, finally grabbing what she was looking for. She pulled out a bag of clothes from the back. "I change it for every season. Right now. We’ve got… a mid length white tee shirt, a brown crewneck and jean shorts. I know this is a boring outfit and not to your standard so I threw in these random sunglasses." Katie said, pulling out your favorite Y2K sunglasses with silver stars on the side. "Katie! I love you and thank you for this but… i’ve been looking for those shades for like three months." You giggled, taking them from her and putting them on you. You fixed your hair and looked at her. "How do I look?" You asked. "Amazing. Let me take a picture." Katie said, pulling out her phone. "Lovely." She said as she took the pic.

"Okay now let’s take the countryside road so we can park on the side and let you change you clumsy girl." Katie said, pulling out of the parking space. "Oh and by the way, when should we do our date? I already have ideas." Katie said.

You just groaned again.

You were now in the backseat of the car, changing quickly when Katie pulled out her phone, taking a picture of you as you buttoned your jean shorts. You flipped her off, and she snapped another picture. Katie filmed you with the go pro as you got out of the backseat and walked back to the front. She had been kind enough to share her matcha with you.

You sat criss cross in the seat as she filmed you. "Time to explain what happened, y/n," the irish woman said in a sing songy voice. "I spilt my coffee and I had to change clothes. Now give me that." You took the camera from your girlfriend and started filming her. "Look how cute she is!" You squeezed her cheeks making her roll her eyes and laugh. You placed the camera on the dashboard. "It’s all a lie! She’s secretly a-" You couldn’t finish your sentence as when you were adjusting your position, you hit your head on the roof of the car. "Fuck!" You groaned, holding your head with one hand and Katie’s matcha with the other. "Okay." Katie said. You looked over at her and gave her a ‘really?' look.

katie_mccabe11

had a little accident and needed to change, eh y/n?

@y/n.y/l/n: katie people are going to think i peed myself.

katie_mccabe11: @y/n.y/l/n: you did.

@y/n.y/l/n: @katie_mccabe11: KATIE I DID NOT

A month later

The video was out, and the amount of clumsiness on your part had the gunners, players and fans alike going crazy.

"It’s okay baby, as long as you don’t fall on your face on the field, you’re okay." Katie said.

Your next game was against Man United, the field was wet and as you ran by yourself, you slipped and fell on your face. You hit the ground in frustration as you heard laughs from the field. Ona Batlle helped you up. "Don’t worry about it. I know a thing or… twenty about falling on my face on the field." Ona said kindly. You smiled at her and kept playing, knowing your team would give you shit for it later, but not wanting it any other way.

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #arsenal fcw #katie mccabe #ona battle #woso couples #this is woso #woso fanfics

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suigetsusunny · 2 months ago

Text

Temporary Whispers Of The Heart ⊹₊⟡⋆ | Sosuke Aizen X Reader

Chapter 2 | No Scrubs

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The saccharine taste of jasmine tainted your tongue as you brought the porcelain cup up to your lips. A sugary scent filled your nostrils, and you hummed, satisfied that your tea was sweetened to your taste. You gazed out of the shoji doors of the Captain's quarters, enjoying the alluring scenery of the dusk sun tinting the sky a gentle amber as it submerged into the horizon.

“You may as well eat a jar of fresh honey, rather than wasting my precious jasmine tea for your… sugar overload.”

Aizen quipped, scoffing as he sipped his own cup of jasmine tea, deficit of sugar before placing it back down on the small coffee table you two were chatting at.

“And you expect me to say that wouldn’t be delectable?”

He rolled his eyes at your declaration, causing you to chuckle into your cup as you tossed aside the courtesy of speaking to an actual Captain through your teasing.

“I’m making jasmine tea to suit your tastes, I would prefer to hear some words of thanks. I’m sure you’re well aware of my actual affinity for hibiscus tea…” Sosuke murmured, kindly sliding a plate of red bean mochi towards your cup until it clinked from collision. You hummed eagerly in approval, greedily stuffing it into your mouth, savouring the gentle sweetness that bursted into your tastebuds. You shifted from your position on the floor being a polite kneel to sitting on your behind, knees held up to your chest. You tilted your head, gazing back at him whilst your tongue trailed the leftover powder on your lips.

“I’ll keep it in mind, Mr. Aizen.”

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A soft reflection shone your features onto it as you stared into the porcelain cup, admiring the intricate golden design adorning the rims of the cup.

Attempting to train Sosuke Aizen had somehow been more arduous than trying to find a needle in a haystack. The enigma had somehow always been dissatisfied or had something to say about the Soul Society, his never ending criticisms serving as some deeper form of torture. The dense silence accompanying the office only grew thicker, occasionally broken by the pitter-patter of the rain outside.

It was devastatingly just you and the man in the office, as you two were considered executive soul reaper officers, your timetables did not give way to many holidays unlike the other reapers… Death stops for no one, as that cunning man Shunsui once stated.

A knock on your door, once again. You groused, reluctantly arising from your comfortable chair to swing the door open. “The computer has ceased functioning again.”

You raised an eyebrow at Aizen's statement, discerning his arms confidently crossed and a complacent look on his face. At least nobody else was in the office to watch the humiliation you had to endure trying to have a mutually intelligible conversation with him.

“Did I not just train you how to use it? How did you mess it up already…”

“You are aware I haven’t been in the human world nearly as long as you have recently to adapt to this technology, right.” He grumbled, his tone asserting his authority and irritatingly pronouncing you underneath him.

You simply rolled your eyes at his sassiness. “You cannot learn yourself instead of clinging to me like a newborn? I’m sure The Sosuke Aizen is capable of figuring it out himself.” You snapped, muttering curses under your breath that you had to interact with him. It felt like ants crawled under your skin every time your ears were forced to hear his belligerent yet smooth voice.

“Do you think I’m willingly asking you for assistance?” He calmly fired back, following his statement with a mocking huff.

“You’d think a man who’s attained the status of a God could work a simple computer.” You scoffed as you trailed behind him, halting at his desk within his office to investigate the buffered screen.

You stared intently at the display, leaning down to hold the mouse in your grip, clicking it incessantly to somehow get the screen to work. You weren’t too familiar with human world objects either despite your heritage, yet still you refused to look weak in front of that man. You slid a hand behind the thick, cream coloured monitor and slammed your palm against it roughly. Aizen gave you a slightly startled and humoured look as you tried to get it to work by… hitting it.

“Resorting to physical violence is not a trait I thought you had in you.” He jested, a slight curl tugging at his lips.

You adamantly avoided his comment, focusing predominantly on the task at hand. After shutting the computer off and giving it a bit of a ‘massage’, the rusty tech seemed to crackle and switch on again.

“Just press this power button to shut it off and on if it acts up again and slightly give it a push.” You muttered, exhaling in relief that at least something was complying with you today. You swung around to leave, facing your office through the gap in the doorway, about to exit the scene. Before you did so, you slightly turned your head to the right, ensuring your side eye pierced deeply into his hazel irises.

“You may have known who I was before but you don’t know who I am now, Mr. Aizen. ”

You let the sour statement roll off your tongue harshly before swiftly strutting back to your office. You rubbed your temple with your palm, your head starting to ache at the sheer amount of frustration you felt around him.

Ordering more modern soul pagers, sending Zanpakuto requests, organising Kido training timetables and areas… As of recent, working for the soul society had become… oddly mundane. You hadn’t gotten a request to deal with a threat in a while now, the competence of newer Soul Reapers proving to be more than sufficient.

You pushed in specific buttons on the telephone nearby, leaning back on your inky leather office chair as you rang Urahara’s store about the new transfer of employees to the Karakura district building. As you played with the cord and dwelled on your past, the line abruptly picked up.

,,Hello? Oh, Shunsui-chan? Is this your new company phone number? Fancy fancy I see~’’

You fumbled in your seat, the legs you had kicked up onto your desk immediately slamming back down on the floor as you sat up, not expecting the man himself to pick up instead of Ururu. Speaking with Urahara was still largely a foreign concept to you. After all, he was the partner of the sister you weren’t in contact with anymore… You let out a deep breath, settling your racing heart as you spoke once again.

“Hello, Mr. Urahara. This is Y/N. I am calling to check in the new April intake of employees that you had organised. Could you please forward me their contact information ASAP?”

The line went oddly silent, sounds of shuffling and stumbling reflecting on the feedback that blared throughout your ears.

,,Hey..! Y/N! So nice to hear from you again, how have you been? I heard you were working in the human world now... isn't that great? How have you been finding it-’’

“It’s good. Could you please just send me the files.” You attempted to retain a collegiate demeanour, fiddling with your pens and clicking them incessantly. God, I’m acting like a child.

,,...Of course. I’ll send them through now.’’

You hummed in approval as you perceived the email notification pop up on your screen.

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

,,Bye! Oh and, also-’’

Shit…

You had slammed the phone down onto its dock reflexively as he bid farewell, accidentally cutting off his sentence. You contemplated calling back, yet you were still unsure as talking to him felt like a thousand needles piercing into your back-

Ring!

You picked up the phone once more, Urahara’s hoarse yet jovial voice booming through the device.

,,Sorry to bother you once more! But, are you attending that higher-ups dinner thing in a few days? It’s being organised by the new Gotei 13.”

You tilted your head to the side, puzzled. A dinner..?

“Oh, I haven’t heard of that. I’ll check the mailbox now.” You stated to the cheerful voice that blasted through your eardrums.

You contemplated your answer to the blonde, aware that you would have to probably see your sister again.

“I’ll go.”

A boisterous gasp and a slight giggle followed your statement.

,,I’ll be looking forward to it~! Bye now!”

-beep.

What have I gotten myself into…

You slid back the sleeve of your blazer to discern the time on your analog watch. Sure enough, it was already 5pm, as you could tell from the shuffling outside your room indicating Aizen’s unfortunate existence. You tucked your belongings meticulously into your beige messenger bag, slinging it around your shoulder as you left your office.

A familiar gait ensued further behind the clacks of your heels, causing you hasten faster to press the elevator button before the steps caught up to you. After what seemed like a millenia, the lift arrived and the doors finally decided to part, causing you to rush inside and slam the button to shut them before Aizen caught up to you.

Unfortunately, a familiar vanilla scent rose throughout your nostrils as you reluctantly looked up to see the man standing in front of you, staring passionately into your eyes with his deep, brooding, sepia ones.

Aizen gazed at you profoundly as he took a step forward towards you, causing you to take one backwards. You backed further into the corner as he continued to step forward and close the gap between you two, until you could feel his warm breath erecting goosebumps on your cheeks. The brunette raised his arm to the side of you, his pointer finger gravitating far closer to your face than you would have liked.

Your heart raced, heat flushing across your entire body as your eyes continued to lock longingly with his, roaming to gaze at the lone sepia lock drizzled onto his face from the rest of his neatly tucked hair.

“What… What do you want…?” You finally mustered out, your heart uncontrollably beating at his increased proximity. He’s still so…

“The elevator floor button...

You’re blocking it.”

Oh.

Eyes widened larger than saucers, you hurriedly moved aside, muttering a rash apology under your breath. I am the epitome of idiocracy. Aizen proceeded to push the ground floor button, setting himself farther away yet adjacent to you in the lift as it proceeded with its descent. Embarrassed was probably the most softest way to describe what emotion ran through your entire body right now. How did I get so foolishly excited over that… Imprudent, half witted… absurd excuse of a Shinigami. The only thing you could even compare your flippant behaviour today would be a child…

As the elevator completed its descent, the doors parted once more to allow the both of you to spill out and seperate out of the building. You glanced at Aizen momentarily on your path to the car park, pausing your flustered thoughts to ponder where he was supposed to even stay in the human world. You then discerned a stern Hisagi emerge from a sleek black Mercedes, the reaper slapping on another pair of handcuffs onto Aizen and sealing his hands behind his back securely before nudging him to step into the car from the door left ajar. You give a gentle grin and a wave to the familiar face as his head still bobbed above the car door, his eyes seemingly noticing your figure in the distance of the car park as he suddenly ceased his movement. Shuuhei removed his sunglasses after seeing you, giving a wide grin as he waved merrily to you before another driver in the car seemed to nudge him to return inside so they could leave. The two of you hesitantly bid a silent goodbye before he stepped back into the car, driving off.

You recalled the invites sent for the gathering Urahara spoke to you about, causing you to make a U-turn to visit the office mailboxes. You scanned through them as you entered the building again, searching for the one designated to your floor. You slide out what seemed like four invites and held them against your chest before slipping them into your bag. You left once more, wincing at the gush of wind that decided to dishevel your hair as you walked outside.

A sudden call incessantly buzzed in your pocket, causing you to hurriedly fish around for your cell phone and find out who the perpetrator to the call was. You flip open your phone, letting out a sigh of relief after discerning the caller id. You picked up the phone, lifting it to your ear as you greeted your friend amicably.

,,Y/N! Look to your left!’’

You whipped around to see your closest companion Rangiku, leaning on a hot pink mazda as she clicked her tongue at you. You chuckled under your breath as you snapped the phone shut, sliding it back into your pocket.

“Look at this baby! Isn’t she beautiful? God, I really love human world tech!” Matsumoto chortled, admiring the way in which her fuchsia vehicle sparkled in the dusk sun.

“Gosh, it’s even prettier in person, Ran…” You mumbled as you stared in awe at the gorgeous car, taking in all its stunning features. Rangiku signals for you to come in as she unlocks the car, a minuscule yet cute beep following her pressing the button on her sparkly magenta keys. You gazed around the vehicle after taking a seat and meticulously shutting the door, knowing how hard the poor girl worked to purchase something like this - and the curses to your entire bloodline that would follow had you done something to it - you tried your best not to damage it. Before you could shower it in more compliments, the strawberry blonde turned to face you suddenly with a sincere look in her eyes.

“Do my eyes deceive me or did I see you walk out with… Sosuke Aizen?” She inquired firmly, a tinge of worry in her tone.

You groan, finally in an environment comfortable enough that you could slam your palms to your face and loudly grouse into them.

“Don’t remind me. I have to work with the degenerate now because of Shunsui.” You slowly slid them off your face, turning to see Matsumoto’s reaction. She winced, eyebrows furrowed with worry and fury.

“That’s so scary?! How could he just do that?! Put you with someone like that… That must be torture, I’m sorry Y/N.” She pouted, and you pinched her cheek gently between your fingers as you felt guilty seeing her solemn expression.

“I’ll be fine. It’s my duty.” You give a sincere grin back, reassuring her by patting her shoulder. She didn’t seem convinced in the slightest, yet she let it go for your sake. “There you go again, rambling on about your duty… You really haven’t changed.” Rangiku scoffs before setting the car into drive, shoving her foot onto the pedal to accelerate. Before you could respond, you were thrown back into the seat from the reckless way in which Rangiku sped off. You could hardly have a comprehensible conversation with her from the consistent near-death experiences greeting you almost every 2 minutes.

“Ran!? Oh my god be careful- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” You yelled thunderously, flinching backwards as you braced yourself for impact.

The blonde slammed the brake pedal before she was about to get T-boned by crossing a red light. “Sorry… still getting used to all these rules..!” Matsumoto giggled as she poked her tongue out childishly, causing you to mentally facepalm at her stupidity. “I doubt this car’s lasting more than a day…”

Before long and after a lot of gossip from her Kido training, you two had arrived at your apartment. Miniscule yet cozy, though nothing compared to your Captain quarters when you used to live in the Soul Society. Rangiku remained in the human world often to do Kido training with the novice soul reapers in Karakura as per her orders, so being the close companions you were, you both mainly took care of each other. It felt good to have a good friend whilst you navigated this place pretty much alone.

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Rangiku burst out in laughter, the pungent smell of saké wafting towards you and seizing your nostrils.

“No… No fucking way… Oh, goodness Y/N, I’m actually going to pee myself.” She chortled, causing your humiliation to spike by tenfold.

“How was I supposed to know!?” You berated, irritated at her never ending cackling. After you had told her about your encounter with the enigma, she was only able to respond with cacophonies of laughter and many failed attempts to not topple over from amusement and the sheer amount of alcohol in her system.

“I deplore that piece of shit but holy hell, that’s so funny… I want to hear more! I’m so excited to hear more!~” Rangiku's chortles boisterously reverberated throughout the compact apartment, causing you to hush her before you received any more complaints.

“I can’t do it! I can't hear this asshole spit any more nonsensical shit at me Ran. For the Soul Kings sake, save me. I can’t.” You rested your head onto your arms, leaning down on the table cluttered with several bottles of saké. A drunk Matsumoto snickered at your oddball of a metaphor, a stupid grin lying on her face.

“Wait… Y/N…”

Rangiku’s attitude abruptly changed to a sincere one, her cerulean eyes piercing through you.

“Don’t tell me… You still-”

You cut her off before she could finish the brainfart of a statement you knew would follow.

“Over my dead. Deceased. Rotted. Mouldy. Fossilised body. God, no.”

A playful smirk tugged at her lips as her grin stretched wider than a cheshire cat. You scowled at her, avoiding eye contact as she cheekily tried to fluster you with her teasing looks. As you turned away, you discerned the time, noticing the clock strike midnight. Her gaze followed yours and both of your moods immediately dissipated from the observation, causing you to sit in a solemn silence.

“Should we talk tomorrow, Ran?” You queried in a soft voice as you stared at her sorrowful expression.

“Can I stay over tonight?” She sighed, twiddling with her fingers. You nodded keenly, shifting across the floor to sit beside her. You discern the gentle tears that fell from her reverent sky-blue irises, travelling gradually down her porcelain features.

“Gosh, I know it’s pathetic… It’s been so long.” She mumbled, bringing a hand up to brush the tears away with the back of her hand. Your own eyes began to water as you tucked both your arms around her, letting her lean into you and sob into your chest. Gentle tears slid down your own cheeks, your sorrow exacerbating as her sobs grew rougher and more painful.

“You’re not pathetic, don’t say that.”

After a while of comfortable silence, Rangiku shot up abruptly, shuffling around to grab her bag and search through it. Finally, she found her desired item… A large bottle of alcohol. She slammed the azure bottle onto the low coffee table you two were sitting on the floor at, unscrewing the cap and pouring herself a shot.

“I brought it this time.”

You sighed before rotating the bottle towards you, staring intently at the label before you poured yourself a shot alongside her.

Pure Gin.

Today was the anniversary of Ichimaru Gin’s death.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

happy reading ! and as always, comments and thoughts are always appreciated :-)

sumi <3

#sosuke aizen #aizen x reader #aizen sosuke x reader #rangiku matsumoto #rangiku bleach #gin x rangiku #enemies to lovers #office romance #hisagi shuuhei #aizen #gin ichimaru #kisuke urahara #bleach aizen #bleach tybw spoilers #bleach fanfiction

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