#*fucking just...runs Branch over with angst*
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Hey
Hey guess what I just thought of :>
Once Grandma Rosiepuff died branch only wore Floyd's vest which is why it left with him when he escaped the troll tree
It's because he never took it off
(He also totally had nights where he just missed his brothers so much and didn't sleep and just laid in bed curled up into the vest crying...totally)
#*fucking just...runs Branch over with angst*#*beats up the trolls franchise with angst*#repeatedly#trolls band together#trolls 3#dreamworks trolls#trolls dreamworks#trolls movie#trolls floyd#floyd trolls#baby branch#trolls branch#branch trolls#brozone
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it's cool, we're just friends? - cl16
pairing: college!charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends with benefits!)
summary: in which you and a guy in your class are friends with benefits OR you and your friends with benefits might be more?
warnings: smut under the cut! thigh-riding, throat-fucking, p in v sex!, no condoms (bad!), badly translated french (pls correct me), angst, pining, NOT PROOFREAD!!!!
word count: 4.8k!
author's note: so i ALMOST scrapped this entire thing because i wasn't sure how i felt about it so if it sucks, i understand LOL. i had a lot of fun writing this and can see myself writing a lot of scenarios for them like before there was this many feelings involved? like maybe a spring break one shot for them, when they hooked up for first time ;) PLEASE let me hear your thoughts and any comments you have. I love hearing from you guys xoxo
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THE WEIGHT OF his eyes bore into the back of your skull, a palpable presence as you immerse yourself in the lecture before you. It’s almost become a ritual at this point: a magnetic pull compels you to glance his way, and there he is, a smirk stretching wide across his face, as if he holds the upper hand.
In that fleeting moment where your eyes meet his verdant gaze, a fierce intensity ignites within you. It’s as if a wildfire unleashes, consuming you with an unbridled mix of desire and exasperation. Your stomach tightens with a fervent ache, betraying the absolute irritation you feel at his ability to rile you up with one look.
Internally, Charles wrestles with the urge to gaze at you as though you’ve strung the stars and moon just for him. Yet, outwardly, he remains steadfast, unwilling to reveal his vulnerability when it comes to you. Instead, he masks his emotions behind a practiced smirk—a façade. And the blushing reaction you give him almost every time, only enthuses him more.
“Arrête!” You half-shout, though it emerges more as a whispered urgency amidst the large lecture hall.
Charles leans in over his desk, his lips hovering dangerously close to the shell of your ear, a proximity that sets your heart racing with a rapid intensity.
“Est-ce que je te verra ice soir?” Will I see you tonight?
You kept your head straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the warmth of him being so close, resisting the allure of his voice.
“Peut-être.” Maybe.
At the front of the lecture hall, Professor Bernard stands tall, his expression grave as he prepares his common ‘you guys are smarter than this’ speech about the recent exam grades. He highlights the alarming fact that more than half of the class received a 70% or lower. And true to his reputation as the kindest professor, he extends an olive branch by offering retakes to those who seek improvement before dismissing the lecture.
You gather your belongings, ready to make your exit, when suddenly, a heavy arm wraps around your shoulder just as you cross the threshold of the door.
You? Aced it. Charles? Not so aced it.
Which you knew meant you were helping him study as usual.
-
You watch as Charles runs his fingers through his disheveled locks, each movement betraying a hint of frustration and determination. His lips form a subtle pout as he fixates on the study material you laid out before him, his furrowed brows highlighting the depth of his concentration.
“Mon chou, je ne pensais pas que tu m’avais invite pour ça.” I didn’t think you invited me over for this.
With a gleam in his eyes, he wiggles his eyebrows playfully as he collapses on the many pillows of your bed behind him. The papers scattered across the bed threaten to take flight, but your swift reflexes saved them from soaring away into chaos.
You narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, but the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrays your amusement at the situation.
“Tu dois étudier.” You need to study.
Charles stares at the corners of your lips, his eyes not straying once from them even as you spoke.
“Embrasse-moi d’abord.” Kiss me first. He nearly begs; his face almost completely covered by the hood of his sweatshirt as he laid on his back beside your cross-legged figure.
“Étudie.” Study. Your words were firm, yet you could feel your resolve slipping under the intensity of his gaze, as it traces a path from your lips to your eyes, igniting a warmth that stirred whenever he was near.
His arm reaches up behind your neck in a swift motion, too quick for you to even see it coming. His fingers grabbing the nape of your neck in a tight grip as he brings your face down to his, your body toppling over his in an unnatural position from his force. His lips collide with yours instantly, and the squeal you elicit gives him easy access to slip his tongue into your mouth.
He groans softly against your mouth, something about how sweet your mouth tastes. The moan that escapes your lips and melded into his mouth drove him absolutely crazy. The grip on the back of your neck didn’t loosen as he held you to him, giving you no opportunity to pull away from him.
Your tank top cladded chest was pressed against the side of his body, embracing you in his warmth. You press a hand to his chest, attempting to push yourself up, but he groans against your lips in detest before loosening his grip on your neck.
“Est-ce vraiment necessaire.” Do we have to? He begins to pepper kisses all around your face, his fingers dipping under the straps of your tank top, tracing intricate patterns of the soft skin beneath.
You slip your hand under the warmth of his hoodie, his toned muscles flexing under your cold fingertips as you trail your hand up his chest and slip one leg over him, straddling his thigh. His skin was so warm. Almost like a furnace.
He sucks in a breath, as if your touch hurt him, but really, he craved it. He wanted you everywhere. The tight leggings that adorned your body did little to prevent Charles from feeling the heat and arousal of your pussy against his thigh. A smirk widened on his lips almost instantly. He knew he had you right where he wanted you.
He could sense your contemplative thoughts by one glance at your eyes. As if you knew he needed to study, but you needed this more.
You could barely concentrate the minute Charles sprawled onto your bed earlier, his legs spread and shorts riding up to expose the muscles of his thighs. It was even harder to think with the way his soft green eyes look up at you, and the way his fingers felt on you.
His hand trails from beneath the strap of your tank top, your hardened nipples more than visible through the thin fabric of it, to the front of your breasts.
“No bra?” His thumb rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger above the fabric of your shirt. “Planning on getting fucked, hm?”
Your hips rut against his thigh almost instantly in response to his words. The feeling of his thigh against your clit, causing a soft moan to slip. It was then, that Charles seemed to lose all restraint as his hand grasped the side of your neck and squeezed lightly, his thumb resting in the center of your neck. He flexed his thigh, his eyes gleaming at the sight of your blown out pupils.
“Regarde-toi,” Look at you. He edged you on. “Just wanna ride m’thigh, yeah?”
Your hips move in their own rhythm, unable to stop. It just feels too good. You nodded repeatedly as you lean over, pressing your chest to his, as he claims your lips once again. His hot, tongue sliding against yours as the stubble of his facial hair scratches your chin.
You struggle, losing the rhythm of your hips until Charles slid his hands down to your waist, guiding your movements. “C’mon mon chou, tu dois travailler pour ça.” You have to work for it.
“We should study.” You mention, the pace of your hips not stopping. As if your body has a mind of its own.
“Nous sommes.” We are. He argues, his fingertips squeezing into the skin of your hips even more. “Now, keep rubbing that pretty little pussy on me.”
-
“Oh, what about her?” You point to the pretty brunette that was currently leaned against the wall, a red solo cup in her manicured hand, as she was deep in conversation with a few other girls that you haven’t seen before.
Charles sighs heavily, rolling his eyes just slightly. “Why are you pawning me off?” He cracks a smile, his elbows gently hitting your side.
You let out a small laugh before bringing your own cup to your lips. The liquid of your drink resting on the top of your lip as you finished a sip and turned to look at Charles. “M’not!” You shrug your shoulders. “Elle est jolie and keeps looking at you thinkin’ no one’s noticed.” She’s pretty.
He wouldn’t know about the ‘pretty brunette’ you claimed was there. He didn’t know about any other girl that was here. His eyes haven’t left your figure the entire night. Since you stepped in the entrance of the house he was by your side, it was like his body knew you arrived.
“Peu importe ça, m’gonna go dance.” Whatever. You stick your tongue out at him, earning a deep laugh, and saunter off to find one of your friends already on the makeshift dance floor in the living room of the house.
Charles leans casually against the wall, his eyes tracing the contours of your radiant smile from afar. Despite himself, a soft grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he takes in the sight of you.
“Are you sure you’re not together?” One of his friends, Alex, teases, leaning in close to Charles and handing him a red solo cup, its contents mostly frothy beer foam from an evidently lazy pour. “I was thinking of asking her out.”
Charles’s gaze drift from the frothy mess in his cup to Alex’s expectant face, a furrow forming on his brow. It wasn’t the foam that troubled him, rather, it was Alex’s words that unsettled him. How was he supposed to respond? We aren’t together but I think I’m in love with her?
Charles clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to speak his truth, as the words “have at it” slip past his lips with a forced nonchalance. With a hollow smile, he raises the cup to his lips, swallowing the acrid liquid with a newfound eagerness that masked the bitter taste of envy and longing festering in his chest. As Alex made his way towards you, Charles couldn’t help but feel a pang of anguish, knowing that he was relinquishing his chance to confess his feelings, drowning them instead in the depths of a cheap beer.
-
“Mmm, tu es tellement douée.” You’re so good.
You weren’t quite sure how you ended up in this scenario. All you remember is being dragged away from a game of beer-pong with Alex, his fingers gripping your wrist so tightly it could’ve left marks, and shoving you onto your knees as soon as he shut the bathroom door.
Dwelling on the how’s and why’s seemed inconsequential now. Especially with his cock buried deep down your throat like it is right now, and especially with the praises that slip past his lips.
Charles lulls his head back with a loud groan as he flexes his hips into your mouth, giving you little to no opportunity to breathe. No opportunity to speak. But you didn’t care. You would do anything to please him.
“Tellement putain de jolie, mon dieu.” So fucking pretty, my God.
“Bet you’re soaked under that dress, hm?” His grip on your hair tightens. “Got you all wet without even touching you.” His laugh is deep and mocking. You feel your thighs clench, like it was an automatic response. “Only I get you like this, yeah?”
You press your face forward, not even needing his force as you take full enjoyment in the feeling of him in your mouth.
“So eager, mon chou.”
You moan at the feeling of his smooth cock against the walls of your throat. The vibrations of your moan, immediately sending him over the edge. His white, hot cum spills down your throat, filling you up, before he pulls out. A long string of saliva follows, your eyes completely teary.
He lifts you from your knees, the cool tile of the bathroom floor no longer your support, his thumb gently resting on your chin as he studies you for a mere second. Taking in the streaky tears under your eyes and your swollen lips. He could already feel the blood rushing back to his cock.
“Bet you’re leaking all over yourself, yeah?” You catch the smirk that pulls onto his lips before his lips crash down onto yours. His teeth nibbling on your bottom lip for a brief second before he’s pulling away, pushing you up onto the bathroom sink counter as he stands in between your spread legs. “All achy?” He cocked his head to the side a little, like he knew something you didn’t.
It was so fast, you weren’t even able to ask questions before he leaned forward, his fingers slipping into the lace of your underwear, pushing them aside, and pressing his hot tongue to your soaked core.
You swore you’ve never moaned so loud in your life as you just did in this moment. At the feeling of the kitten licks on your clit, at the feeling of him shoving two fingers into you, finding that spot he knew you loved most almost instantly.
Your fingers franticly reached into his tousled locks, pulling his hair probably harder than necessary, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he moaned right into your pussy. Like he couldn’t ever get enough of you. Like he would stay licking you for forever if he could.
“Mon dieu,” My god. You squeal as your head lulls back against the cool mirror behind you and bite your lip trying to conceal the moans.
You look down at Charles, his eyes already staring at you, his green eyes completely darkened now. It makes your stomach do a multitude of flips. Your attempt to squeeze your legs shut from the pressure building in your stomach, but Charles grips his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh, holding them open.
A series of knocks are heard on the bathroom door which sends you into a total panic to which Charles yells “Va te faire foutre!” Fuck off!
Your body squirms against Charles’ mouth and the granite of the countertop, but he holds you in place as if to say you’re not going anywhere until you soak my mouth.
He ate you out like a possessed man. Your chest is flushed red as the speed of his tongue picks up, sending you into overdrive. It wasn’t until he sucks harshly on your clit, the pressure of it, has you leaping over the edge into your orgasm. You came hard enough that your body arched, your fingers clenching his hair, pulling hard.
Charles doesn’t come up right away, he licks and licks until you’re pushing him off you. Both of your chests rose and fell in rhythm with each heavy breath, the lingering echoes of the lively party beyond the door gradually seeping back into your consciousness. It felt as though you had just descended from a faraway realm, returning to the bustling reality surrounding you.
His lips glistened, coated in you, as he stares at you completely fucked out on the bathroom counter. An unmistakable smugness in his expression.
His heart clenches as he drinks in the sight of you, so many emotions swirling in his chest. As you stretch your lips into that smile he loves so much, he feels a swell of warmth flood his senses, a tender ache stirring in the depths of his soul.
“Qu’est-ce qui te prend?” What’s gotten into you?
Not that you were complaining at what just happened. If anything, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted a repeat right now.
He nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, one hand leisurely slipping into his pocket, while the other moved to grasp the door handle. With a patient stance, he awaited your readiness before even considering opening the door. “J’avais juste besoin de toi,” Just needed you. He whispers, his voice carrying a tender resonance, emphasizing the depth of longing.
And then he’s swinging the door open, guiding you both back to the party.
-
“Je pense que nous devrions arrêter.” I think we should stop.
The words felt heavy in your throat as you said them, your hand clasped in Charles’ hand as you sat across from one another in the campus coffee shop.
Charles chuckled softly, taking a leisurely sip of his drink, but when be caught the seriousness in your expression, his laughter faded. His eyebrows knitted together, a pang of pain igniting in his chest and spreading like wildfire.
You watched as he leaned his head back against the booth, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if unable to meet your eyes.
“Que veux-tu dire?” What do you mean? He met your eyes again, and you noticed a subtle shift in their hue—they were slightly darker than their usual shade of green.
“Je ne pense pas que ç ava marcher.” I don’t think this is going to work out. As you uttered the words, a queasy sensation churned in your stomach, making you feel like you were going to be sick. Similarly, Charles felt a wave of nausea wash over him upon hearing your words, his own stomach in knots.
Just looking at him had your eyes burning, but you refused to let the tears fall. Despite the overwhelming love you felt for this man, you couldn’t ignore the reality that it was unlikely to progress beyond the messy situation you found yourselves in. What were you supposed to do? Be friends that fuck for the rest of your lives?
You couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. No, you’ve been thinking about this for so long, but cutting it off was just too hard. Cutting him off was too hard.
As you watched him slowly retract his fingers from yours, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose while he blinked, a fiery ache within your chest grew.
“We’re friends, always, right?” You asked, offering him a soft smile, though inside, your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest. You reminded yourself that this was necessary. You needed to go on dates. Not that he was exactly holding you back. It just felt wrong to go on dates while sleeping with another.
“Right,” he responded, his expression devoid of a smile. “Friends.” He nodded slowly, as if carefully considering the weight of the situation before him.
“Est-ce que je peux demander ce qui a déclencé cela?” Can I ask what brought this up? His fingers tapped restlessly along the edge of the table, betraying his impatience as he awaited your answer.
Meanwhile, you sat twiddling your thumbs in your lap, occasionally stealing glances at them. Why did this conversation feel so unbearably difficult?
“Quoi?” What?
“Est-ce que j’ai fait quelque chose?” Did I do something?
You shook your head instantly, a small blush forming on your cheeks. “I just,” You began, but felt flustered as you took a pause to look back down at your fingers and then him again. His eyes made you feel hot all over, the way they never strayed from your face whenever you spoke to him, the way they dropped to your lips every so often as if he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you. He couldn’t.
“I just think I need to go on dates.” You nervously smiled.
“You think?” He scoffed, throwing one arm over the top of the booth, and resting it there as he fell into a relaxed position. His eye twitched slightly, as he flexed his hand and clenched it like he was holding himself back.
You’re not sure how to respond. You had anticipated this conversation to be brief, perhaps along the lines of “I think we should end this,” followed by his immediate agreement. But apparently, that wasn’t the case. You could feel yourself growing flustered the longer you sat here. Why couldn’t he just simply agree, no questions asked.
You nodded, with slight hesitance. Did you really want to end it with him? No.
He shrugged his shoulders, pulling a little smirk on his face as he usually did. “Très bien.” Fine.
And that was that.
-
Charles decided that he had it up to here when you strolled into the house party, lips shiny with gloss, and you hand held in none other than Alex’s. It was as if you were trying to torture him. Like you knew that he loved you and you just wanted to hurt him a little more.
He’s watching, you can feel his eyes burn into you as you turn your head, pretending to listen to Alex as he rambles on about some story. You don’t let yourself glance over to Charles until later in the night, when he’s leaned up against the kitchen counter, a half-empty beer bottle gripped in his hand, eyes already on you.
You felt your stomach do a multitude of flips from the eye-contact, that you even almost pulled your hand from Alex’s. Like you were caught doing something wrong.
You quickly realized that you had little to no self-control, especially when it came to Charles. With his hair pushed back and the linen shirt half-unbuttoned, allowing the toned and taut muscles of his stomach to peek through, it almost seemed as though he wanted to make it even harder for you to resist. Like he wanted to punish you for not choosing him.
He had you right where he wanted you, sort of.
“Shh,” Charles nips at your earlobe, eliciting a mewl from you as he presses you against the mattress of his bed. “You want everyone to hear what a whore you are, hm?”
Another string of moans leaves your lips as he thrusts into you, the pads of his fingers gripping the front of your neck tightly. His eyes fixed on yours, the pace of his hips was slow, but so deep.
“Tell me,” Charles began, his tongue trailing along your collarbones and up your neck until his mouth hovered over yours. “Still wanna play stupid games with me, jolie fille?” Pretty girl.
You whined as his hips picked up in pace. “Ouvrir.” Open. You did so without a second thought, only to be met with a string of saliva meeting your tongue. Charles groaned as you swallowed his spit, eagerly.
“Still wanna pretend we’re just friends?” He could feel your walls trembling as her hand snaked its way to the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers. It was a tangle of tongues and moans.
“Does he fuck you as good as me?” You couldn’t handle the way he was talking to you, staring at you, touching you. “Gripping me like you’re gonna come.”
You shook your head repeatedly.
“That’s it,” His voice was gentle in your ear. “So good, mon chou.”
Your breaths were jagged and heavy as he took you harder and harder. “Rub your pretty little clit for me, yeah?”
Your body was shaking as you trailed your fingers down, fingers playing with your clit. Charles rested on his knees, his eyes staring at his cock being swallowed by your pussy, and the way your fingers toyed with your sensitive clit. He groaned at the sight of his cock coated in you.
It wasn’t long before you careening forward with a cry, your body arching off the bed, as you came around his cock. Charles fell forward over you, an arm on each side of your head, as he cocooned you. His hips didn’t let up as you sobbed out, your toes curling.
Charles could feel his resolve slipping at the feeling of your soaked walls clenching him. He threw his head into the crevice of your neck, the rhythm of his hips faltering as you wrapped your legs around his waist, allowing him to thrust even deeper than before. He rolled his hips, pumping into you with such a fervent rush.
“Mon dieu,” His groans were soft in your ear. “You feel so good.”
It wasn’t until you moaned in his ear, begging for him to come in you, that he lost all control. A deep moan, pressing his hips down against yours as he held you down, pumping his cum deep into you.
For a few moments, it was silent. Just the sound of your heavy breaths as Charles collapsed to the side of you. You both felt oddly at peace, even with the thumping of the house party music heard from the other side of his bedroom door.
Charles stood up, grabbing a towel from his bathroom, before bringing it to you to help clean you up. Something primal filled his chest as he stared at you sprawled on his bed, his cum dripping out of you.
It was the last swipe of the towel when he finally spoke.
“We’re not friends.” He stated. He was sick of teetering around the topic. He was sick of seeing you with other guys at his house.
You opened your mouth to retort, but he held his hand up, essentially silencing you.
“Stop pretending you want any other guy’s cock.” He stood before you as you sat up on the edge of the bed still naked, hands clenched at his sides in a fist. You began to stand up, your face turning red with anger, not because of his words but because he was right.
You grabbed your dress that was in a pile on the floor, slipping it on in a hurry. “Je dois partir.” I need to go. You began, “Alex me cherche probablement.” Alex is probably looking for me.
It was then that Charles raised his voice, if it weren’t for the loud music, you could’ve sworn the entire house would’ve heard.
“J’en ai tellement marre de ça!” I’m so sick of this! He runs his fingers through his hair, pacing the room back and forth. You felt your words caught in your throat as you stood still, your eyes following his every movement until he stood before you, his hands gripping your waist.. “Je t’aime!” I love you! He laughs after he says it, like he’s so pathetically in love with you and you have no care in the world for it.
“I cannot handle seeing you with another man.” He rambles off. “I cannot handle seeing you showing up here, to my home, holding another man’s hand.” He seethes, bringing his thumb and pointer finger to pinch the bridge of his nose as he breathes in, attempting to calm himself down.
“I know you love me.” His fingers grab your hand, pulling it up to his chest and holding it where his heart beats. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at him, his eyes reflecting a wild intensity, his hair disheveled hair adding to his untamed allure. Sensing your vulnerability, he gently cupped your face with his other hand, offering you a tender touch. You leaned into his comforting embrace, as if seeking solace in his presence. With a silent nod, you pressed your head against his hand, a single tear escaping down your cheek, bearing witness to the depth of your emotions.
“I’m so sick of seeing people with what is mine.” He urged. “You can’t be someone else’s, not when you are already mine.”
“Charlie,” You drew in a deep breath, locking eyes with him, drowning in the depths of his green gaze. Every fiber of your being resonated with love for this man, an unshakeable devotion that consumed your soul.
“S’il te plait.” Please. His voice was a whispered hush as he begged. “Put me out of my misery.”
He opened his mouth to continue, but you didn’t let him. You stood on the tips of your toes, leaning forward to press your chest against his as you pressed your lips to him. His arms immediately wrapping around your waist as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of you in his mouth again, his cock already hardening for you.
You pulled off him, “Really?” He let a small laugh escape his lips as he pulled your mouth back onto his for a small peck.
“I’m a man in love.” He grins, like he has nothing to be ashamed about.
“Je t’aime.” I love you.
Charles tenderly pressed his lips to the side of your neck, his tongue tracing delicate patterns along the velvety skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Répète-le.” Say it again. He whispers, his voice husky with desire. As his lips continue down their intoxicating dance on your neck, his fingers trail the straps of your dress, gradually easing them down your shoulders with a tantalizing touch.
“Je t’aime.” I love you. He placed a small nip to your neck, eliciting a small squeal, as he lifted you up and carried you back to his bed.
“M’so in love with you,” He presses a kiss to your lips. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop.”
#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc#f1 imagines#f1 x reader#charles leclerc angst#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc fic#f1 imagine#f1 one shot
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Breathe: Part 2 (Final Part)
Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Two-Part Fic
Read Part 1 here.
Summary: Bucky shows you what it's like to not be able to breathe. It's how you make him feel every time you risk your life, after all, it's only fair for you to feel the same way for once.
Warnings: profanity, enemies to lovers type vibe, oral sex (male receiving), maybe breath play??, dirty talk, fingering, mutual pining.
Word Count: 3.1k
A/N: I've been super busy over the last few weeks and truly haven't had the time to write, even when I've had the motivation to. With the things I've experienced this month I'm honestly on the brink of branching into writing angst. To briefly trauma dump, having someone scream and beg you to save a life that is hours beyond saving can really push a girl to write angst. Anyway, I should be able to write a lot more in the coming weeks and I'm excited to interact with you all again.
If Bucky was thinking straight, he wouldn’t have the image of his flesh hand fisted in your hair flashing through his mind right now. He wouldn’t be thinking about kissing and sucking along the side of your neck as your hands work to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. If he was thinking straight, he sure as hell wouldn’t be about to give you exactly what you asked for.
Show me what it’s like.
What what’s like?
Not being able to breathe.
The tense exchange is on replay in his head as he looks at you with a hardened gaze. The tip of your index finger grazes over the skin of his lower stomach, just above his belt, as you stare back at him. Why did you ask for it? He can’t help but wonder within himself, why did you ask for some filthy variation of his cock in your mouth? Does it have anything to do with him? Or is he simply the only one around to give you one last adrenaline rush before you’re benched indefinitely? Does he even care?
Your fingertips slip more fully under the hem of his shirt and you trace one of his v-lines with the same finger that was previously lingering along his belt. Bucky takes a deep, steady breath as another image flashes through his mind. He imagines his hand tangled in your hair as you hollow your cheeks and take every fucking inch of his cock into your goddamn mouth. In this moment, he doesn’t care if you’re only willing to suck his dick in want of an adrenaline rush or whatever the fuck else is driving you right now. All he cares about is showing you how you make him feel every single time you rush out into the field, ready to get yourself killed. All he cares about is showing you what it’s like when your lungs are starved of air and you can’t catch a full breath. He’s going to fucking show you.
“Take it off.” Bucky’s voice comes out low and commanding in a way that has tingles running down your spine in an instant. As bold as you felt when you asked him what you asked him just a moment earlier, you find yourself suddenly unsure.
“What?” Your hand falters against his skin. Does he want your hand off? Bucky senses your hesitation and his flesh hand quickly finds yours and guides it back down to the buckle of his belt.
“My belt. Take it off.” Again, your hand falters. Bucky isn’t thinking at all when he lifts his own hand and lets his palm conform to the curve of your jaw, when his thumb gently brushes over your cheek. He has every ounce of your attention now. Your hands start working on autopilot, pulling the end of his belt through its loop and undoing the buckle with ease. Bucky’s thumb continues circling against your cheek, his eyes lingering on your face as you undo the button of his pants and grasp the zipper between your thumb and forefinger. “You listen so well when your life isn’t on the line.” He says, almost disappointedly. But then again, if you listened to orders in the field like everyone else, the two of you probably wouldn’t be where you are right now. When you start to tug his zipper down, he quickly places a hand over the back of yours and stops you.
Your fucking eyes. The way you’re looking at him right now, with that damn innocent look in your eye like you’ve never touched a man’s zipper before, is doing unholy things to him. Bucky can feel his cock hardening to an uncomfortable degree, and he knows you can feel it too with where your hand is resting right now.
“Maybe you should take advantage of that.” You whisper softly. Bucky narrows his eyes at you.
“Of what?”
“How well I listen when my life isn’t on the line.” A small smile plays on your lips and Bucky finds it simultaneously infuriating and undeniably attractive. His eyes coast away from your face and down your arm, all the way to where your hand rests beneath his on his zipper. He catches sight of the hair tie you removed from your hair earlier still tight around your wrist. Letting his hand fall away from yours, his signature smirk takes over his features.
“Tie your hair back.”
You never knew Bucky Barnes held so much power over you.
He can’t stop staring at you, studying you as you do exactly what he asked. As you tie your hair back, he can feel the tension growing all around him. He takes it on himself to pull the zipper of his jeans down, but he doesn’t dare to do any more than that. He wants you to do it yourself. He wants to see your hands, that are so small in comparison to his own, doing everything he tells them to. Bucky’s eyes fixate on the skin of your neck, and though he has a plan in mind that doesn’t involve his mouth on you, he can’t help it. In an instant, his flesh hand tangles in the hair that you’ve just tied back and he’s pulling you closer. Every soft drag of his lips against your skin sends more and more heat straight to your core. His tongue darts out from between his lips and wets your skin before he dares to let his teeth join the equation. The first mark he leaves on you draws a sharp gasp from you. The second mark earns him an irresistible whimper. But the third? With the third mark to your neck, you moan his fucking name.
When Bucky lets go of his grip on your hair and moves his seat away from the steering wheel just a moment after the first moan that he heard fall from your lips, you both know you’ve reached a place of no return. When you tug his jeans down a little further and slide one hand into the front of his boxers, something in the air snaps. Your hand wraps around his length, barely able to contain the entirety of his girth, and his head falls back against the headrest of his seat.
“Shit.” The hushed profanity tumbles past his lips as if he didn’t even mean to let it out. Without freeing him from the confines of his boxers, you give his length one stroke. Fuck. He’s big. He’s so big that you think you might’ve underestimated just how easy it would be for him to show you what it’s like to not be able to breathe. You stroke him from base to tip again and feel his precum gathering against your palm. When you do it a third time, his head snaps forward and you feel his hand in your hair again, tugging your head back so you’re forced to look him in the eye. “I can’t fucking stand you.” He says pointedly as your hand continues to move at a torturously slow pace along his shaft. You circle your thumb around the head of his cock and feel him shudder in his seat.
“I can’t fucking stand you either.”
“Then why the hell is your hand on my cock?” He taunts as his stare pierces somewhere deep within you. You say nothing in response, but you stroke his length from base to tip again, slower this time. “You can’t stand me but you’re going to suck my dick, aren’t you?”
Bucky notices the way your grip around him falters, the way you squeeze him a little tighter before your hand slightly loosens around his shaft. He can fucking smell your arousal soaking into your panties. He’s a pleasantly surprised when you decide to take initiative and tug the waistband of his boxers down enough to free his cock. It springs up against his lower stomach and you watch in awe as he pulls his shirt up enough to showcase his toned abs and keep precum from wetting the fabric.
“Oh my god.” You breathe the words out slowly as your eyes take in the reality before you. Just like you thought, he’s big. You could tell when you had your hand on it, but seeing it right in front of you? Even in the dim light of the supermarket parking lot, you can tell you might be in over your head. While you’re thinking you might be in over your head, Bucky’s thinking about how he’s going to enjoy holding your head down.
---
“That’s it, take another deep breath for me.” Bucky says, smoothing back your hair as he memorizes every single inch of your flushed face. You wet your bottom lip with your tongue and maintain eye contact with him as you do just that. You inhale a deep, steady breath just as he guides your head down again. His thick cock slides between your parted lips, glides over your tongue, and nudges against the back of your throat for the third time. “Fuck, just like that.” You still have a couple of inches left to take but you resist, your eyes fluttering closed as you gag around his length. Who would’ve thought choking on Bucky Barnes’ dick would be so fucking pleasurable? “All of it.” Bucky says lowly, pushing your head down enough to make you take the last two inches. He bottoms out in your mouth and a groan is ripped from his chest, making his shaft vibrate against your tongue. You moan around him and he suddenly curls his fingers into your hair and pulls you back. You’re ready for him to say something infuriating, something that’ll make you want to punch out his perfect teeth but deepthroat him all at the same time. It’s what he does best honestly.
“If you keep pulling me back, we’re going to be here all night.” Even with the taste of his precum on your tongue and his hand fisted in your hair, you’re talking shit. Bucky studies you with a menacing gaze, his eyes traveling over the features of your face slowly as he chooses his words carefully.
“I told you that I can’t fucking breathe when you do stupid shit, and you asked me to show you what that feels like.” He reminds you, narrowing his eyes. You nod in response. “Squeeze my thigh if you can’t handle it.” Before you’ve even processed the instructions, Bucky’s pushing your head down again and forcing his cock into your mouth. This time, he’s forceful and needy with it. He’s doing exactly what he said and showing you what it’s like to not be able to breathe.
Up and down Bucky drags your head by his grip on your hair. Up and down along the length of his sizable cock, reveling in the feel of your tongue against his shaft and your throat tightening around whatever he gives it. Your lungs are burning. Your eyes are watering.
“You feel that? That burning in your chest?” He asks, pushing your head down again and holding it still this time. “That’s how I feel every time you try to do shit on your own, every time you risk your life for no goddamn reason.” He holds you there for another second, until he feels a tear drip onto his upper thigh. When he lets you up for air this time, the look on his face is a mix of lustful and gentleness. He wipes your watering eyes with the pad of his thumb, admiring the fucked-out look on your face as you fight to catch your breath. “You take me so well.” Bucky coos. At this point you might as well not even be wearing any panties, because you can feel your wetness soaking through to your jeans.
When you’ve just nearly caught your breath, Bucky gives you a small nod before guiding you down again, gentler this time.
“Your head is spinning, isn’t it? The lack of oxygen makes it hard to think straight.” He’s right. All you can focus on is the wetness between your legs and the way the head of his cock keeps triggering your gag reflex in an unexpectedly enjoyable way. Does he know you’re enjoying this every bit as much as he is? Does he know that you’re wishing he’d done this to you when you were on your knees in that upstairs office earlier? As your head spins and the taste of his still-dripping precum lingers in your mouth, you imagine what it might’ve been like if those men had busted into the room when you were on your knees for the man with the vibranium arm. You squeeze your thighs together and surprise both yourself and Bucky when you nudge your head forward, letting your nose brush against his thigh as you take impossibly more of him into your throat. Bucky lets out a guttural groan and presses his head back into the headrest once more as he fights to maintain control over the situation. He’s just about to let you up for air when he hears a strangled whimper and then feels your body shaking over his lap. He’s quick to take his hand off of your head, thinking you’ve fully run out of breath, but you don’t sit up like he’s expecting. Instead, you start bobbing your head up and down, sucking his dick like it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do. “Shit, baby.” Baby? You’re deepthroating him of your own volition now, taking in as much of his length as you can and then backing off, doing that over and over again as he trembles in his seat. “You’re gonna make me cum if you don’t let up, shit.” He groans, cautiously letting his hand rest on the back of your head again.
Bucky isn’t the one starved of oxygen and yet he finds himself unable to think straight. He doesn’t realize he’s tugging the tie out of your hair until it’s done. He doesn’t even realize he’s sliding your hair tie over his own wrist, his subconscious mind planning to keep it as a souvenir. What he does realize, is that you’re as close to your own orgasm as he is. It’s why he doesn’t think twice about sliding his flesh hand from your head, down your spine, and into the waistband of the back of your jeans. His touch doesn’t surprise you, but it spurs you on. His fingers dance over the wet fabric of your panties, testing the waters as you suck his dick with a newfound fervency. When he pushes the pointless fabric to the side and plunges a single finger into your cunt without warning, you take as much of his length into your mouth as you can and then you fucking swallow around him.
“Fuck, you like sucking my dick, don’t you? Look at you swallowing my cock, taking all of it so easily.”
Bucky adds a second finger to your dripping cunt, sliding them in to the hilt as you clench around him. When you moan around his cock, he can’t stand it anymore. He’s quick to pull his fingers out of you and grip your hair tightly, pulling you off of his cock. You take a deep breath, hating that he stopped you but thankful for the chance to breathe normally for a second.
“When you moan like that…fuck. I almost—”
“How am I supposed to swallow your cum if you keep fucking pulling me off?” You ask, your annoyance evident in your tone. Bucky’s eyes widen but his grip on your hair remains the same.
“Is that what you want to do? Swallow my cum?”
“Bucky…” You let his name roll off of your tongue in a whisper as you lean in close to his face and wrap one hand around his throbbing hard-on. “Let me swallow.”
---
All Bucky can think about is the way you kissed him. The way you swallowed every drop of cum he spilled into your mouth and then sat up and pressed your lips to his, the way you dragged the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip before sinking back into the passenger seat has been burned in his brain for the last three days. For the last three fucking days.
He stands with his back against the cool metal of the elevator wall, staring down at the black hair tie on his wrist. He hasn’t taken it off once, he can’t.
You sit in front of your vanity, running your fingers over the fading marks on your neck. Is it wrong to wish he’d left you with some kind of permanent reminder of that night in the car? Is it wrong to hate that the marks he left will be gone soon?
---
You were supposed to be meeting with Fury. You assumed that meant Fury alone, until you found yourself seated right across from Bucky Barnes. You’re two feet away from the man that had his fingers inside of you three days ago, two feet away from the man whose cum you swallowed like it was a cold drink of water on a hot summer’s day. You hadn’t expected to interact with him again after that night. You were benched, after all, your partnership indefinitely suspended with you being taken out of the field.
When Fury walks in moments later, breaking the thick tension that was beginning to suffocate you both, what he says changes the dynamic entirely.
Not only is he putting you back in the field, but he expects you and Bucky to spend a week undercover in the lowest place on Earth: Madripoor. A week together.
When Fury leaves the two of you sitting in the conference room, the tension returns at full strength, swirling around the room and threatening to suck the air out of your lungs. It comes to a head when Bucky’s about to speak, about to say anything he can think of to break through the thick cloud in the atmosphere. He leans forward and rests his arms on the table, opening his mouth to say something, and that’s when you see it. Your hair tie from that night, wrapped around his wrist. His eyes follow the line of your gaze until you’re both looking at the seemingly insignificant piece of elastic.
But it isn’t insignificant.
Bucky Barnes is wearing your hair tie on his wrist, and he has been for three days now.
When your eyes meet again, that familiar warmth begins to build low in your stomach.
Tie your hair back.
He’d said it so authoritatively and you’d listened so willingly. Neither of you is aware that the other is thinking about the same thing.
The next time Bucky wants your mouth around his cock, he’ll be tying your hair back himself.
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#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x you#the winter soldier#winter soldier
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Pairing: Fem reader/Bakugo Katsuki.
Tw: Mention of injuries.
Some angst with happy ending.
You turned on the TV, lately it was the only thing that could get you out of your head after you (mostly you) and your (ex) boyfriend decided it was better to go separate ways. Gladly, you sat in awe when you watched the main character of your favorite reality show (a guilty pleasure that only Katsuki knew about). You were very attracted by the fights, the plots, the drama, and the challenges.
The male character was about to kiss his enemy, the one and only that sabotage his new cabain made of leaves and branches when the Tv went all black, then the news started.
The helicopter was flying above a big villain who was making the hell of a mess downtown. Dozens of heroes were fighting with their quirks and abilities, trying to put it down, but it seemed like the fight was just in the beginning, and that monster was the kind that need a lot of time to knock down.
"Shit" you whispered to the TV when familiar faces started to appear.
You didn't miss Kirishima's red hair. The man himself was being held by his classmate and friend Todoroki while they slid on ice. Kaminari was there too, putting his electronic devices everywhere near the villain.
Your eyes were darting all over the screen. If you could enter to it to see further, God knows you would. You were looking for him, searching all over the place, discharging everyone who didn't look like him. It was hard. Everything was happening so fast that you were missing everyone you laid your eyes on.
"Dammit, please don't be there, please don't be there..."
It was selfish and unrealistic. Even if he wasn't on duty (like you), he would've run to the scenario, that is why he chose a place near his agency, to be there when he's needed.
Emergency messages started to ring on your electronic devices, the authorities called to an immediate evacuation to the zone.
You were far away. Bakugo made sure of that when he made you look for a place near the coast rather than downtown. You told him that you would be so far from him, and he said he didn't mind taking the subway or calling for a cab.
You were lost in your thoughts when you spotted him, but suddenly the helicopter ended the transmission when it got hit by the villain, and everything went blury. In an instant, you grabbed the television in despair like if holding onto it with that strength would make everything appear again.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck"
That's it, fuck the alarms, fuck the commission, you were going in.
You were aware that at least twenty heroes were there and a few more were about to arrive but you couldn't care less, you needed to see him.
You ran to your closet to find your gear when the Tv started the transmission again. You spotted him again, Deku was on his back, laid on the floor with Uravity on his hands. The cameraman zoomed, and it seemed like she was brutally injured but still breathing. Your heart started to beat so fast. He was the first in line, and you knew that his hands were starting to hurt just for the look he had on his face and the little twitch on his left eyebrow.
The back-ups started to appear one by one, some of them on foot, other through the air. Mina bathed the villain in her acid, and it made him go down on his knees. That was a huge help for the ones that couldn't fly. The sparks that you know too well appeared close to the screen. While Bakugo ignited his hands, Deku and Todoroki immobilized the Villain while Sero caged him with his tape, Creati appeared out of nothing and started tossing granades that exploded against the villain's body, penetrating through the thick layers of his skin. The villain fell right after.
Everybody cheered, they have reporters in different places along the city, recording the reaction of the people who were gathered watching the fight.
On the other hand, the heroes...
They. Were. Beated.
And you were on your knees right in front of the TV, processing everything that could've happened but didn't. Tears started to fall down your cheeks.
You hated what you were feeling. You didn't want to be that kind of person. The kind that realizes what could have lost once you can't have it anymore. He was a fucking person for God's sake and you played with him just because you were scared and now you were mourning something that didn't happened.
You wanted to be there every time he gets home all messy and full of scratches, you wanted to sooth him, to hold him and let him know that everything will be okay, you didn't want to experience anything like this again, not being all alone.
Instead of your gear, you fetched your keys and started to hyperventilate.
What would you say when you see him?
What were you going to do if he hates you?
What if it's too late?
You wanted to apologize for being a coward. You wanted to tell him that you loved him. You wanted to be his again.
You hated yourself for the time you lost with him, but you would hate yourself even more if you didn't try.
You avoided the news and social media. You knew that at least the fourth part of the heroes ended up hospitalized, but you were optimistic. Your guts told you that he was safe and sound in his place, and you wanted to believe that for his (and your) own good.
The time you spent on the cab was infinite. You have done the same path at least a hundred times, but the traffic was horrible because of what happened, and the shortcuts that the drive had to take ended up being even longer.
In an hour or so, you were on the entry of his building. You were bold enough to assume that he would go to his place instead of the agency. Didn't know if that was the most clever thing to do knowing him like you do.
The man on the entry desk greeted you like you never stopped coming, and that was like a pat on the back to keep going. You made it to the elevator even though you hated closed spaces like that and used to avoid them when you were all by yourself. But you lost an hour on the way here. You weren't wasting any more time.
The bell on his door was broken, and he didn't want to fix it because it was too annoying, his words, so you knocked, one, two, three times.
The door opened, not even a minute after the third knock, and Katsuki came into sight with a towel on his hand and his hair wet. He loved to come home after a rough day and jump to his beloved shower.
"Hi" you said, short of breath.
"Hey" He greeted like he wouldn't believe like you were there.
God. This was the first time you saw it after the breakup. First time in a month, and he looked exactly the same as the day you met him.
"I took the elevator," you explained, looking back to the metal box.
"Yeah?" He looked right above you and leaned in the door frame." It didn't seem like it"
Your chest was rising and falling fast.
"Are you going to...
"I'm sorry, I'm the most stupid person you will ever meet." You interrupted him, and he stared at you trying to figure you out like you were some kind of puzzle.
Silence. He stared at you in complete silence. It was a bad idea after all.
Everybody knows him for being this mess of a person who always says what's on his mind no matter if he's being an asshole or not, no matter if he has earned some kind of trust with you, no matter if you even met him. So, being quiet like that wasn't a good omen.
You shook your head, and your right hand went straight to cover your face. You were an idiot, but you couldn't help it. At least you tried.
Your hand didn't even get to touch your face when he wrapped around his fingers and pulled you to his chest.
The warmth that you felt was immediate.
"I fucking missed this" he said lower, just for you to hear.
"I fucking missed you" you complete while your nose scrunched against his chest. The smell and softness of his t-shirt invaded your senses. "I know I can live without you but I don't want to do it anymore"
You looked up, and he was looking down to you. His lips were firmly shaped in a line, but his crimson eyes were full of hope and happiness.
"Yeah, cut that shit, you ain't going anywhere any time soon," He whispered.
You let a laugh out and noticed the little scratches he had all over his face. He noticed how your eyebrows knitted together and showed you a grin.
"Don't ruin the moment," He warned you jokingly.
"I'm sorry, man, but I will," Kirishima emerged out of nowhere and pointed at you. "THAT was manly, not like you, Bakubro, weeping all over the agency with her number on your phone screen, but too coward to hit the button, she just crossed the entire town to say that she's sorry. SHE EVEN TOOK THE ELEVATOR! Do you know how's the traffic out there? Mina is still on the cab she took thirty minutes ago, and she was just four blocks from here.
"Shut up shitty hair, no one asked your fucking opinion" He separated from you to face his friend but never let go. His arms were still on your back, tracing patterns up and down.
"It's not an opinion. It's a fact," shouted Kaminari from the room upstairs.
#bnha bakugou#bakugou smut#bakugo smut#bakugo x reader#bakugo headcanons#mha bakugou#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#mha bakugo katsuki#mha#mha x reader#my hero academy fanfiction#my hero academia#katsuki bakugou#katsuki bakugo x reader
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Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)
AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER
PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)
WORDCOUNT: 12.0k
WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue.
Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end.
All he can see is your body.
You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh.
But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs.
Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me.
It was him, though, wasn’t it?
He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.
But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.
“I…” Simon’s voice fails him.
His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line.
Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking.
“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder.
You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.
Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward.
“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.”
The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse.
This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade.
There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked.
Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water.
But a mortal could.
Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it.
Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out.
“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver.
Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing.
Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds.
Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.
He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.
But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.
Oh, you should have stayed away.
His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing.
There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment.
Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds.
Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.
This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too.
Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you.
With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him.
He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well?
Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you.
From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.
“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”
He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens.
Until it answers.
Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone.
—
This place isn’t real.
You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave.
You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps.
It doesn’t feel right to speak.
If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here.
You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking.
He even knocks on the door.
It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.
You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory.
But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…
You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale.
Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him.
“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.”
Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast.
All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault.
You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold.
“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.”
Simon stares.
“How much?” You sigh and shake your head.
“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you.
Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath.
“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”
“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you.
Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?”
“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.”
“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other.
You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before.
“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose.
“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?”
You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”
That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking.
“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it.
You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon.
But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.
So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst.
What were you missing?
The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster.
“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.
If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.
Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it.
The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it.
He didn’t have control.
You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides.
“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter.
“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.
The thought didn’t bother you.
You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.”
Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.
“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”
“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”
“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone.
You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”
“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?”
“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?”
Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim.
You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why.
Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level.
You liked Simon Riley.
“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.”
“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”
Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship?
He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched.
“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting.
You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks.
“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.”
Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms.
Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank.
You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.
“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him.
“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat.
Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it.
Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast.
You blink. “Mr. Riley?”
“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.”
You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.
It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife.
It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up.
But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—
There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.
A spark alights in your heart.
“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling.
Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood.
The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant.
Now or never.
You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness.
So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles.
Only you’re not touching the handle.
Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened.
The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors.
A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts.
“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close.
You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints.
He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”
He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside.
Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.
It jerks with a bang of metal.
Locked.
“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?
Your eyelids blink.
The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right?
You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this.
Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.
“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!”
Souls?
You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”
You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.
There was no way you were making it to the forest.
In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready.
Hell, you’d already died once.
But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear.
Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.
“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”
Seven feet, five, four, three—
A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.
The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets.
In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.
You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this.
Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping.
Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away.
Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect.
“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil.
The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once.
The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.
Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away.
Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back.
“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again.
Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.
You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again.
A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—
The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you.
You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here.
Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls.
Because that was what it was.
The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you.
Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.
That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other.
A Fated Pair.
The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can.
Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.
His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here.
Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands.
He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin.
Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps.
—
You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands.
Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.
Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth.
The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip.
You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…
You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself.
While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not.
Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s.
He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on.
Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger.
The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war.
Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens.
Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping.
Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that?
The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch.
You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool.
A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle.
Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred.
“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.”
The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward.
Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall.
“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.”
There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees.
“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.”
You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know.
“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.”
If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.
You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”
Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter.
“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus.
You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts.
You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath.
He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks.
“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.
“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”
A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten.
“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do.
So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.”
Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.
The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm.
When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes.
By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here.
There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face.
“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside.
You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having.
He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.
Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he?
Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another?
Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up.
“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”
He grunts and is already lifting you.
Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking.
“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.”
You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly.
As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much.
He’d explain it all when you were better.
So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.
—
You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.
It was where he met you, after all.
He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him.
Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion.
As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.
When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different.
You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners.
There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well.
New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size.
There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone.
Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat.
An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.
Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs.
Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place.
No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.
Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.
Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps.
So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly.
You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses.
Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction.
His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.
“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this.
The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut.
Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear.
You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails.
Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you.
He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears.
You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso.
A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach.
“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips.
The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat.
You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height.
The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.
“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.”
Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air.
You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils.
Simon’s face is above yours.
“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.”
Literal or a metaphor, you care not.
You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?
The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw.
If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned.
“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”
“I know,” he growls.
You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse.
At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates.
Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back.
“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”
Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear.
The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now.
You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.
“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.”
Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.”
His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins.
There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all.
With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters.
“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls.
Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form.
Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles.
“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds.
Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.
“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?”
“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs.
The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core.
Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way.
The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white.
As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm.
“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.”
He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently.
“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.”
“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!”
“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch.
Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze.
“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath.
Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting.
You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.
“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees.
You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you.
“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs.
Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs.
“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.”
You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too.
Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.
Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace.
Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light.
All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second.
Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder.
Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath.
Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp.
“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response.
“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly.
In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn.
Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything.
“You should get some more rest—”
“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”
Simon watches you, jaw loose.
“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness.
“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation.
“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”
Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you.
The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low.
After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more.
This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you.
Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?”
Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you.
You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.”
“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you.
You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against.
Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over.
“I’m sure, Simon.”
“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”
“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.
“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up.
You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.
Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control.
“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat.
“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?”
There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.
“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”
The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch.
You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh.
“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?”
The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core.
“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”
Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”
He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right.
When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair.
The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that.
“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.”
You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.
Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open.
The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in.
Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him.
“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate.
“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”
“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.”
He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter.
“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”
You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides.
Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death.
Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.
“I’ll always find you.”
In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.
#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty#cod mw22#x female reader#call of duty x you#mw2#ghost call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod mw2#modern warfare 2#mwii#mw x reader#cod x female reader#female reader#cod simon ghost riley#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#ghost cod#ghost mw2#cod mw ghost#cod simon riley#call of duty smut#cod smut#smut
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AND I LOVE HER !
ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
tags. omg.. fluff and that’s it im sick, age gap, like brief mentions to sex idk, slight angst
note. don’t know what happened to me! ignore typos/mistakes this isn’t edited :3 rbs n feedback always appreciated omg im embarrassed ngl this is just leon feeling guilty as always
“Okay, and so we get bored, right?” You tell him, perched on the bathroom counter, peeling back your false lashes to reveal– you guessed it, your natural layer of lashes which look identical to the fake pair. “Like, there wasn’t a lot to do, I mean it was snowing, we couldn’t leave campus, we couldn’t even leave her bedroom, right?” Leon gives an Mhm to show you he’s listening and totally not dozing off to the sound of your voice. Sorry, babe, sometimes it just puts him to sleep. The same way white noise does. “We go on Bumble - you know what that is, right?”
“Oh, yeah, obviously,” Leon scoffs, when in fact he doesn't know what that is.
“So, yeah, we're swiping, swiping, not a single right, right?” Another Mhm from his side, you’re using a cotton bud to remove your eye makeup, the black smears and becomes streaky on your skin. Cute, that’s how you look after a nice, hard fucking. His mind wanders far away to the sanctum that is his bedroom, the room on the opposite side of the hall. “And so Ashley, you remember her, right?”
“Rings a bell,” It rings no bells, not a single one, the only Ashley he knows is ex-First Daughter Ashley Graham. “The short one?” All your friends are short, he makes a purposely vague guess to hide his disinterest. Leon would put more into this conversation if he wasn’t five seconds away from conking out on the closed toilet seat.
“Yeah, that one, her fucking boyfriend pops up!”
“From where?” He asks, genuinely concerned for your wellbeing, was the freak hiding out in his girlfriend’s dorm room, under the bed of some shit?
“On Bumble?” You shoot him an odd look through the mirror, “Anyway, his profile says some shit about an open relationship, that his girlfriend wants a threesome, like, all this shit.”
“That’s awful.” He gets the gist, the dude is a cheater, still has no clue what a Bumble is.
“I know, and he’s ugly, that’s the worst part, she’s out of his league.” You hop off the counter, running the tap to wash your face in that ritualistic manner. Scrub, splash, wipe. Shit’s obsessive, Leon’s only ever ran his wet hands over his face, uses his thumbs to get the gunk out the corner of his eyes. “She was totally upset,” You say, lathering your face in foam, “She wouldn’t stop crying, and don’t, like, tell her or anything, babe,” You rub circles on your cheeks, the soap bubbles up, the tap has been running five minutes too long.
“Wasn’t planning on it, babe.” Leon tips his head back to soothe the tension in his neck, when you cup your hands and splash water into your face, droplets splatter on the counter.
“Good, well, to tell you the truth, she was pissing me off,” A few more minutes of what looks more like a facial massage than a wash and you’re done, “Like, he was never even nice to her, he made her pay for dates, and she was really crying hard, Leon, like, snot and everything.”
“Lousy guy.”
“Yeah, and so we find a place that’s open on the map, like, a convenience store, I mean it was like gas and groceries, but it was so fucking shady, babe,” You pat your face dry with a towel, hanging it up on the rack, “And, like, we try to get an Uber, or like literally any cab at this point, but no one wants to drive in that weather, you saw what kinda clothes I took too!”
Oh, Leon did, and he did the right thing and warned you that tie-up tops and mini skirts so mini they could be classified as belts would do nothing for you. Well, they do everything for your figure, but nothing against the least windy of winds. Like a shaky orange leaf clinging to the weary branches of an autumn tree, those scraps of Lycra would go flying, leaving you topless and bottomless and defenceless without a Leon to take care of your sorry ass.
“So, I’m like so sure I’ve got frostbite as we’re walking, but it’s five minutes away, we keep going, none of us had an ID by the way, not even a real one,” The second part of your routine involves applying lotion so thickly, it secretes enough palm oil to give back to those Amazonian orangutans, solving the deforestation issue one nighttime routine at a time.
“Babe,” Leon says in the tone of a disappointed and slightly exasperated father who wants nothing but the best for his daughter while being emotionally distant all at once, because he just has that kind of voice, “You can’t be doing that, it’s dangerous, could get in a lot of trouble, and it’s bad for you, y’know?” His liver cries out in disbelief as it has been subjugated completely by his alcoholism, “You don’t need drinks to have fun, you just need your friends.” His words pass through you. Leon has changed the world through his Special Agent status, he’s saved it time and time again, what he has not done is change your world like he suspected he would with that half-assed motivational speech.
“So, Ashley, the bitch, she shoves me in front, and all the girls are like oh, you go up, you look soo much older than us, which is so fucking rude. Like, I know I look it, everyone says it to me, doesn’t mean she should say it. So, I go up, and babe - I swear to god, he doesn’t even ask, like, he just kinda looked at my tits and scanned the bottles.” You use your hands a lot when you speak.
He blinks at you bare-faced, and it all comes falling down, on top of him like gigantic Jenga blocks that he himself misplaced. “You’re a baby,” Leon tells you. Not in the way most older men do when they talk down to young girls - to make them feel like even younger girls. It’s not to put you in your place, after all, it is Leon that needs to be put in his place more than anyone. He says this with the utmost sincerity as he spirals head-first into a frantic epiphany of sorts. He’s fucking a baby. A baby with a heart-shaped ass and a penchant for clothes that cover a single nipple at best.
“No, I’m not a baby, I’m just not old,” There’s a lack of hardened lines on your face, not quite baby-faced, but visibly young.
“Yeah, okay, baby,” Leon pats your head, rolls his shoulders back to relieve him of an ache, “I’m going to bed.”
“So am I.” Your lips jut out, “I was going there first actually.” Holy Mother of God, you’re a kid. Don’t do this to him. Usually, Leon likes his women menopausal, Norman Bates would agree, that’s insensitive, rather Mrs Bates would agree. It’s just that when you’re forty-six, fucking older women goes into grandma territories. Women his age are beautiful, but half of them settled down over ten years back, the available ones are career women that keep him on his toes, and he doesn’t like that. Being kept on his toes is too much, his back hurts and he wants to rest. The other half come with kids, Leon would rather scoop out his brain with a tea spoon than come into close contact with a child. The appeal wears off either way because Leon wants them to be older than him, but he’s not twenty anymore so the older women won’t be forty and stern and beautiful in the way worn out housewives are, they’ll be sixty and senile.
“Were you now?” He keeps the bile down in his stomach where it should be, takes you to bed, fucks you into the mattress one last time, kisses the mole between your breasts and leaves the following morning. What drug was he on the night he met you? Leon doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know if he’s still on it, or if dating younger women is a side effect of it.
The car windows are frosted over when he makes his way out without a de-icer in hand, it melts slowly as he sits in the driver's seat with his head bowed, drooped on top of the wheel. Leon pats himself down, feeling for his keys, he gets out, into the elevator and returns to face the front door. He slots his key into the lock and enters the apartment because it is his apartment, not yours. He’s so used to walking out on people that he walked out of his own home. Selfish tendencies that surely stem from some fucked up part of his brain.
“Leon?” You’re stood there in the doorway rubbing your eyes, “Did you go out?”
“Yeah, babe,” He grunts when you take your seat on his lap, the weight is pleasant, grounds him, “I went out, just for a minute, had to take a call, didn’t wanna wake you.”
“I woke up the minute you got out of bed.” The softness of your skin on his is dizzying, sleep-swollen lips coming to kiss his scruffy face with all the tenderness of a young adult woman, that’s a lot of tenderness, they feel a lot. Heart might not be on your sleeve, but it leaks out of you in the most insignificant moments, it’s in every single word you say to him. “You’re not very quiet, Leon. I don’t know who hired you, they should reconsider.”
Smiling, he cradles your close, takes your tit in his hand. Love is stored in these things. That’s why your heart is in the left one, not on your sleeve. “Was I that loud?”
“Yeah, I heard you stub your toe, and you were like fuck, fuck, fuck! for a good minute,” You recount, “And then I heard you talking to yourself in the bathroom, and you were brushing your teeth, you kept making those gross gagging noises, my dad does that too.”
“Trying to get it all out.” Leon shrugs, his chin rests atop your head.
“Get what out? Your uvula?”
“No, stupid, just, I don’t know, stop asking questions.”
“Okay, whatever, and then you walked out still talking to yourself, and then you were looking for your keys, moving furniture,” That he was, “Sounds like you scraped up the floors,” That he did, “Then you found them and they kept fucking jingling, then you shut the door really quietly, and I was like where is this loser going. Hey, Leon, you know I can see your car from here, right?”
You’d seen him. Seen him throw a sulky manchild tantrum in his car. How embarrassing. “If I’m being honest, I didn’t know that.” He admits.
“Well, I saw you sitting in there, I know you didn’t go to the store, I know you’re lying to me, but it’s okay,” You kiss his Adam’s apple, your nose tucked into his neck, “I know you didn’t mean it.”
“I didn’t— I didn’t mean it,” Leon confirms, he holds you tighter to him and thinks that you're more mature than he’ll ever be. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” It comes easily to you, and he wishes to do the same, “You can talk to me instead of, like, trying to drive away from your own apartment, that’s pretty weird, Leon.”
“I know, I’ll talk to you,” He won’t, and you know that, and he knows you know that, but it’s okay, it takes time for this sort of stuff, “I love you,” Leon says again, his lips meet yours, swallows up the response on your tongue, he eats your love.
#leon s kennedy x you#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy imagine#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x reader#resident evil x reader#resident evil fluff#leon kennedy fluff#leon s kennedy fluff
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okay but an equally angsty idea for a pt 2 for a bed in your shape
it’s been awhile and kai’s relationship didn’t work out.
he regrets losing his best friend and realizes maybe there was feelings there, him and reader run into one another somewhere, he starts reminiscing and asks if reader ever thinks about their special place and reader hits him with
“it’s just a field”
a life in your eyes ⋆ 𓈒 ✧ 🎑 ˊ𓂃
part two to a bed in your shape — requested by anon, enjoy! ♡
pairing: huening kai x afab!reader
genre: angst, smut, fluff-ish (kinda if you squint), childhood bestfriends to strangers to lovers, slice of life, blonde!kai, kai is an asshole at some point, mentions of taehyun x reader, references to strawberry blond by mitski
synopsis: it’s been almost two years since your childhood bestfriend kai left you in your sacred shared field alone and your friendship ended. now the girl your friendship ended over is out of the picture and you saw him again for the first time since that field. try as you must, you just can’t stop the undeniable pull you’ve always felt towards each other.
warnings: drinking/alcohol, reader wears a dress at one point, unprotected sex (wrap it!!), somewhat public sex? (there’s nobody around), mostly soft-ish sex, petnames (baby), creampie, oral (f. rec), some praise
word count: 7k┊part one┊masterlist
author's note: anon your brain is so big and i love you ♡ i literally took this and ran with it so i hope you enjoy!! the context of this is kinda off, so make sure you read part one to understand all of it! this was fun to write, i haven’t wrote a super angsty fic in a while so i hope you all enjoy! all feedback and reblogs are welcome ♡
tears fell from your eyes as you followed the gravel road home, blurring your vision. the sky outside was darkening; the once vibrant bright blue turning into wisps of pink and orange against a dark backdrop. you tried hard not to let yourself break into pieces, but it was inevitable. it felt like you had just lost everything all at once and now you sat alone, empty.
you held the picnic basket limply in your arms. you guessed it was a good thing you had it with you. the walk back to your childhood home wasn’t a particularly long one, maybe around ten minutes, but now it felt like an eternity. you shivered as the passing cool wind flowed over your skin. you wished this day never even happened. wished that you would’ve just smiled when kai told you he was going to bring his new girlfriend to the field that was sacred to you. wished that you never had feelings for him to begin with.
the gravel road branched out onto one of the empty main roads of your town. you followed the white lines, your head turning from side to side as the day turned into night. you still couldn’t believe that kai would leave you there all alone. couldn’t believe that he would pick some girl who he only knew for a few months over you—his childhood bestfriend. that thought only seemed to break your heart more.
kai fucked up. he realized that as soon as he peeled away from the field, knew that once he saw your heartbroken face he had passed the point of no return. but his anger and his pride had blinded him. ‘some girl?’ she was his girlfriend, not ‘some girl.’
“fuck!” kai shouted, coming to a dead stop just before the main road. his hand hit his steering wheel, hard. kai debated on whether or not he should go back to you. put aside his pride and open up his eyes to see your feelings right in front of him. it was just a field, kai honestly couldn’t see what the big deal about it was. so what if he brought his girlfriend there?
after a long moment of consideration—and it was a very, very long moment indeed—he decided to drive back to the field. the sky was getting darker by the minute and he couldn’t just leave you to walk home alone in the dark. he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if something were to happen to you and it would’ve been all his fault.
kai turned the car around sharply and sped back down the gravel road and back to the field. he jumped out the car, searching for your figure amongst the grass but saw nothing. kai’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and guilt sunk into him deep. you were gone. you were gone and nothing between the two of you will ever be the same ever again.
you wouldn’t lie and say that you never thought about kai. you did. it's been almost two years and you still think about him everyday. he was your best friend, after all. you saw him in everything; the beautiful sunsets, the morning dew on the blades of grass, the freshly baked goods and the deliciously made sandwiches. you couldn’t escape him.
it didn’t help that all of your friends were also his. you constantly heard about him, even if your friends tried to not talk about him around you after noticing how separate you and kai were from each other. you guess if came with its pros as well as its cons. without your mutual friends, you never would’ve known that kai had broken up with his girlfriend. the very same girlfriend your friendship ended over.
from what you’ve heard from your friends, the breakup was disastrous. in fact, their whole relationship was seemingly disastrous from the very beginning. “are you sure you want to hear about this?” your friend, beomgyu, asked you seriously. “i know the two of you don’t really hang around each other anymore…”
you nodded, you had to know what happened for your own peace of mind. you had to know what everything ended over. beomgyu sighed, but told you anyway, “apparently she was one of the paranoid types—you know, the ones who always think you're cheating when you step out to go to the store or something? from the beginning she was really insecure that kai was seeing someone else, even though that wasn’t true.”
your brows raised. kai had never spoken about any of that when the two of you were still friends. “yet they lasted almost two years?” you questioned. beomgyu scoffed slightly and shook his head as he thought about it. “i know, that’s the thing. he was trying to break it off with her from the very beginning but she would always find some way to tie herself around him. then, he found her in bed with her best friend’s brother!” beomgyu exclaimed, pointing a finger down onto the table as he spoke in conjunction with his words.
a small gasp escaped you as your eyes widened. “so she was projecting?” you asked though you already knew the answer. beomgyu nodded as he sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. you shook your head as your phone went off. you briefly checked it and looked back up at beomgyu, “of course she was… i gotta go gyu, i’m meeting with taehyun. you still coming to yeonjun’s party next weekend?”
beomgyu stood with you as you grabbed your things. “you know i’ll be there! bye y/nie, tell taehyun i said hi!” you smiled at him as he pulled you into a hug, telling him goodbye in return. you rushed out the café and to where taehyun was outside waiting for you with a smile.
you didn’t get to take two steps towards him before your arm was being grabbed at. spinning in the direction, you furrowed your brows in question. what you weren’t expecting was to come face to face with kai after almost two years. “y/nie…” kai breathed.
glancing over to taehyun, he wore a look of confusion on his face that probably mirrored yours. you looked back to kai with an eyebrow raised. how dare he address you like you were still best friends? “kai,” you responded curtly. kai flinched ever so slightly, like he didn’t realize that you weren’t a figment of his imagination.
“h-how are you?” he then asked. you loathed looking at him. loathed how your eyes took in every detail of him and memorized it until all you saw when they closed was what he looked like. loathed how you noticed that even after almost two years his hair still turned golden in the sunlight. you hated him. “fine. look, not to cut our conversation short but i have to go,” you spoke fastly, wanting the conversation to end as quickly as possible.
but most importantly, you loathed how as soon as you laid your eyes on him all your feelings for him came rushing back like a tsunami. you hated how you still loved him, even though now you were with someone else. you jogged up to taehyun and pressed a kiss to his lips. “let’s go,” you murmured, willing yourself not to look back at kai as you moved to get into taehyun’s car.
it didn’t surprise you when you and taehyun didn’t last. you couldn’t help but feel bad about it because you knew it was your fault. you started to become absent in your relationship, too busy noticing kai. that’s all you seemed to do ever since you first saw him again. all you could see was how he avoided you every chance he got. it’s been months and your head has once again been clouded by him.
your being itched to go back to the field, but you refused the call. it wasn’t your field anymore—it wasn’t anything to you anymore. the once painterly hills wouldn’t afflict the same calmness in you as it once did. not without kai. you knew it deep in your heart.
thankfully, you and taehyun ended on good terms. “i just feel like you’re distracted, y/n. like your heart isn’t in it. your mind seems elsewhere and until you bring yourself back to earth, i think we should break things off for the both of us,” he had told you. you weren’t even sad, you were relieved, and that caused guilt to eat away at you.
now you were at a party being held for your friend soobin, completely unaware that kai would also be there since he’s soobin’s friend too. when you walked into the house, your eyes had immediately connected and you quickly looked away as you ducked to some corner. “shit…” you mumbled to yourself as you grabbed a drink. how could you forget? they were his friends before they were yours after all.
you downed your shot and walked over to soobin to tell him happy birthday, avoiding kai who stood a couple steps away from him. soobin pulled you into a hug as he thanked you with a big smile. the party was already in full swing when you arrived and a lot of people were already tipsy. you grabbed another drink to nurse through the night as you found an empty spot on the couch to sit on.
the cake was brought out about an hour later and everyone gathered around soobin to sing to him and watch him blow out his candles. through the crowd your eyes lingered on kai and the way the smile on his lips never disappeared as he watched his friends celebrate. you took another sip of your cup—which was now almost empty—as you made your way back to the couch, deciding to skip out on the cake.
a laugh slipped from your lips as you watched your drunk friends sloppily cut the cake and hand it out to people. they were barely able to stand on their own two feet, let alone handle sharp knives. not that you were faring better yourself. your eyes were getting more and more bleary with each sip you took and it made you wonder just how strong the drinks were.
you felt the couch dip next to you. blinking slowly, you turned to see who the culprit was and your eyes widened after a moment of processing who was next to you. kai gave you a lazy smile, very clearly drunk. “hi y/nie!” he smiled. before you could reply, he added, “why aren’t we friends anymore? i still don’t understand it no matter how hard i try. i just know that i made you sad.”
kai’s face turned solemn and he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers like he used to do when you were kids. when you were upset as kids, kai would intertwine your hands with his and let you rest your head on his shoulder. he would then tell you that everything would be okay because one day you would grow up and become adults and nothing would be able to stop you.
as much as you wanted to move away from him, you weren’t in your right mind to think clearly. “why don’t you ask your girlfriend?” you spoke, sharpness edging its way into your words. you knew that they had broken up, but you still wanted to see his reaction. kai just laughed, “i would if we were still together! haven’t been for months. you don’t have to worry about her anymore. it can just be me and you again like it always should’ve been!”
you took your hands from his, ignoring how cold your hands felt without the warmth of kai’s. “it can’t just be ‘just me and you’ again kai. you can’t just ignore me for two years and then come back because you have no one to pine over you anymore.” kai furrowed his eyebrows, “it’s not like that, y/nie.” you shook your head in return, “it is.”
“it isn’t,” kai stated firmly, or as firmly as he could while drunk and with slurred speech. “you don’t know how much i missed you these past two years.” you scoffed at him unbelievingly. missed you? it sure didn’t feel like it when he was avoiding you at every possible turn. “you missed my company, not me,” you shot back.
“i. missed. you,” kai said, separating each word. he moved to look into your eyes to ensure you got his message clearly. “did you miss me?” he asked—more slurred, as he took another larger sip from his cup. you rolled your eyes at him. “don’t ask me stupid questions,” you replied. kai smiled widely at you from the brim of his cup.
you took the cup from him and sat it on the end table near you. he really didn’t need to be drinking anymore. “you’re way too drunk. who’s taking you home?” you asked as you turned back to him. you hated how you still cared about his wellbeing after he clearly showed you he didn’t care about yours. kai slumped back onto the couch in your direction and stared openly at you. “nobody, i drove here by myself.”
sighing deeply as you ran a hand down your face, you shook your head at him. “you are so stupid,” you muttered loud enough for him to hear. kai chuckled at you, the smile lingering on his face after. you turned to him, “you’re walking home, i hope you know that.”
“as long as you walk with me,” kai replied without missing a beat. you rolled your eyes at his insistence. you rolled them once more when you told him you would. “i can’t in good conscience let you walk home alone like this. if i’m walking with you, you better say your goodbyes now.”
kai wobbly got to his feet at your words and the two of you separately went around the room saying goodbye to your friends. you were now helping him down the steps of the porch, his tall body practically completely over your shoulders. “and then step—yeah, you got it,” you said as he safely got down. he was lucky you weren’t as drunk as he was.
as the two of you walked down the road that led in the direction of his house, kai was obviously eager to strike up conversation. “so you did miss me?” he smirked over at you, his shoulder nudging slightly into yours more from the fact that he couldn’t walk straight. “i missed my best friend. you were my best friend,” you deadpanned. “were?” he repeated back to you. you stopped and looked at him, completely serious. “were,” you replied and continued walking.
“i’m sorry for hurting you y/nie,” kai spoke softly. you chose to ignore him and kept at your pace. he was two years too late. your heart has already broken and been put back together. and even then, the cracks still shown.
after a moment, kai suddenly asked, “do you ever think about our special place? our field? do you still go there?” it took everything in you not to scoff and explode in anger at him. now he wants to acknowledge how special the field was? “i think about it all the time,” you replied somewhat coldly. “and i went there twice since i last saw you there.”
“you did?” he turned to you and asked. there was a gleam in his eyes. you nodded, “taehyun and i went together when we were first dating. it really is ‘quiet but meaningful’ and ‘absolutely perfect’, you were right.” just as quickly as you saw the gleam in his eyes it left at the mention of his friend. “you took taehyun there?” kai asked. he couldn’t hide the hurt in his voice with how drunk he was. it gave you little pleasure to hear it.
you looked him dead in the eyes as you spoke your next words. you wanted him to see the expression on his face when you tossed his own words back at him. wanted to see the hurt in his eyes like he saw the hurt in yours. “what’s the issue? it’s just a field,” you voice was quiet as you watched his face fall and his eyebrow furrow slightly. his sad expression wasn’t as satisfying as you expected it to be. if anything, it just made you feel shittier.
the two of you reached kai’s house in silence. it wasn’t his childhood home you knew so well, but it was on the same street as it. you only knew where he lived because taehyun had to drop something off to him while he was with you.
you helped him inside and to his bedroom. you turned your back to him when he started to change into pajamas. “so…” kai started, finally breaking the silence. you heard the rustling of clothes behind you. “you and taehyun then…” he trailed. you inhaled deeply. “not anymore,” you exhaled, leaving it that. “oh,” kai said quietly.
you heard the bed creak and heard kai say that you could turn around. you did as told and put a hand on your hip. he was now in his bed halfway under the covers as he looked at you. you gave him a nod before turning to exit. “you can’t leave. it’s dark outside and you’re drunk. you’ll have to walk home,” kai rushed.
“it wouldn’t be the first time i walked home alone,” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. this is why you didn’t like to drink as much, your filter completely disappeared. “i wasn’t there then, so let me be there now. stay with me,” kai stated as he extended a hand towards you. you shook your head at him, “whatever. fine, but i’ll sleep on the couch.”
a small smile made its way onto kai’s mouth. “don’t be ridiculous, this wouldn’t be the first time we shared a bed,” he laughed a little. you shook your head again, flashes of his words rang through your mind. “don’t be ridiculous, i could never see them that way.” you felt a pang in your chest.
“it’s fine, really. besides, my clothes smell like alcohol.” you couldn’t let yourself get into that bed with him. if you did, you knew you would forgive him instantly, you were already on your way to it just from being near him for so long. you don’t know how long you could take his sulky expressions. it was his fault you two were in the position you were in, so why did you feel so bad about it?
kai pointed towards his dresser and your eyes followed in the direction of it. “take them off and wear some of mine,” he insisted. you sighed deeply. he wasn’t going to let this go. “i’ll look away,” kai added. you shook your head once again as you made your way towards his dresser and opened it. grabbing one of his shirts and one of his sweatpants, you sat them on the edge of the bed and shrugged out of your clothes.
all you couldn’t think about as you put his clothes on was how screwed you were. you were wearing his clothes, enveloped in his scent, and you were screwed. “done?” kai asked and you replied with a measly, “yeah.” he patted the bed and you shut the lights off before climbing in it.
you made sure to put some space between the two of you as you laid next to him in the darkness. you still saw the outline of his figure and felt his heavy gaze on you. “i’m sorry for letting someone come between us,” kai apologized, his speech still slurring. “i regretted it everyday.” you didn’t want to start an argument, so all you said was, “let’s not do this right now.”
“i missed you so much y/nie. i didn’t know what to do without you,” kai continued. you looked at his outline. “go to sleep, kai,” is all you said. you saw him shake his head at you. you tried your hardest to keep your mouth shut.
missed you? didn’t know what to do without you? that meant nothing coming from him and it would continue to mean nothing until he put his money where his mouth was. he could spew all this drunken gibberish all he wanted, but you didn’t believe a word—refused to believe a word until he said it back to you sober.
“i love you,” kai suddenly slurred, knocking you completely out of your thoughts. you stammered hard over your words. “i love you, love you,” he then clarified. heat rose in your face and you knew that if you were to feel your cheeks that they would be hot to the touch. “you don’t know what you’re saying, kai,” you said slowly after gathering yourself.
you didn’t want drunken confessions if what he was saying was real and not from his delirious state. you wanted romantic, dramatic. you want a confession that would steal your breath away and promise a love everlasting. you didn’t want this, no matter how much your heart raced at its potential.
“i do, y/n,” he said barely above a whisper, words suddenly clear. he was so close to you now that you felt his breath on your cheek. his lips just barely missed brushing against yours and you desperately wanted to close the gap. instead you pulled away from him, putting more distance between the two of you.
you shook your head at him, “go to sleep.” with that, you turned away from him and shut your eyes tightly. he didn’t get to do this. he didn’t get to suddenly waltz into your life like nothing happened and spit drunk love confessions. you refused. pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind, you forced sleep to overtake you.
your head was killing you when you woke up and you barely remembered what happened last night. you certainly weren’t expecting to be tucked into someone’s chest with their arms wrapped tightly around you. slowly, you looked around the room as your memories came back to you one by one. you stilled as you realized just whose arms you were in and flicked your gaze up to kai’s face.
his eyes were on the ceiling and you could see the confusion in his face as you watched the gears in his brain turn and turn to figure out how he got here. he must not remember a single thing. vaguely, you could feel him absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair like he would do when you were kids.
it was then that reality slapped you across the face and you realized how this must’ve looked to him. you were in his bed and in his clothes—things that haven't happened in years—after a night getting drunk at a party. he must think that the two of you had sex.
gathering up all the courage you could muster, you swallowed thickly. “kai…” you trailed off quietly. his eyes snapped to yours, widening slightly. the awkward tension in the air was unbearable. you slowly began to sit up and he unwrapped his arms from around you.
“we didn’t have sex… if that’s what you’re wondering,” you muttered awkwardly. “you were really drunk and i walked you home. you insisted that i change my clothes and stay with you. then we went to sleep.” you rubbed at your temples a little, trying to relieve yourself a little of your headache.
you stood up onto your knees, the blanket falling off of you, “i should get going…” kai’s eyes immediately trailed down your body and at the fact that you were wearing his clothes. his eyes then snapped back up to yours as you moved towards the edge of the bed. he grabbed your wrist lightly, causing you to look back at him. “stay,” kai said softly.
excuses were on your tongue but kai spoke again before you could. “at least until your headache goes away. i’ll walk you back to your car,” he added. your gaze flicked down to his hand at your wrist and back to him. slowly, you started to nod without realizing it, “okay.” kai gave you a small, shy smile as you sat back onto your knees.
he let go of your wrist and you both sat there for a moment in silence as you looked at anything but each other. you cleared your throat, “i’m guessing you don’t remember anything?” kai laughed sheepishly and shook his head a little. “not a thing,” he replied.
this was so awkward. you couldn’t tell him of last night’s events. of how he basically clung to you and told you he missed you and loved you. but at the same time, you didn’t know how long you could keep it inside of you.
“i’d rather not know if i did something embarrassing,” kai said as he climbed off the bed and to his feet. you echoed his actions. kai turned to you, “come on, let’s get you some medicine.” you nodded as you followed him. you looked outside to try and see what time it might be, but could only tell it was somewhere between morning and afternoon with the daylight.
kai took you to his bathroom and dug in the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen. once he acquired it, he shook some out into your open palm and got some for himself. you then followed him to his kitchen where he got the both of you some water.
everything felt so casual between the two of you when it wasn’t. there was too much between you. so many unspoken words and feelings ready to be brought to the light. “are you hungry?” kai asked you, already turning to dig for something to make. you swallowed thickly, words stuck in your throat. finally, you managed, “kai, we have to talk…”
he kept his back to you as he made ramen, “i know we do, but does it have to be now?” you sighed and sternly said, “kai.” he turned back to face you. “eat first. please, y/n,” his voice was quiet and almost desperate, like once you left his house he’d never see you again. and maybe he wouldn’t. maybe the two of you would go back to avoiding each other’s existence while at the same time acknowledging it— forever skirting around each other.
“fine,” you sighed as you slumped into the dining room chair. after a few moments, he sat a bowl in front of you and sat opposite of you. the two of you ate in quiet, but surprisingly comfortable silence. once you ensured he was finished, you looked at him expectantly.
kai swept the messy blonde hair out of his face before settling his gaze on you. “where do you wanna start?” he asked you. you thought about it for a moment. you knew you both should probably start from the beginning, go all the way back to the day he left you at the field, but you needed to know how much he knew of last night. “do you remember anything from last night?” you asked him.
“bits and pieces,” kai replied. “i remember walking home with you, but not anything that we may have talked about. everything from there is really fuzzy—god, what was in those drinks?” you chuckled a little and a smile formed on kai’s face. “why, did i say something weird?” he asked jokingly.
the lingering smile on your face faltered and you looked down to your noodles as you decided to take a bite of them instead of answering. “let’s start back at the field when you stormed off,” you spoke after eating. “you left me alone there. don’t get me wrong, i can understand why you were angry, but you left me alone there, kai. you refused to see my side of things.”
“i know, and nothing will change what i did,” kai said, his eyes falling to the table. “i realized too late that i fucked up. when i went back to the field you were already gone.” your heart pounded in your chest. he went back to the field?
“i shouldn’t have let my emotions cloud my judgement. that field was our sacred place, you were right. i should've seen that it wasn’t ‘just a field’ and i should’ve seen the hurt in your eyes earlier when i stripped it of its specialness,” kai looked up to you and searched your eyes.
you held steadfast onto your emotions. you wanted everything laid out onto the table, everything swept out from under the rugs. “was it worth losing me? cause i can tell you one thing,” you looked him directly in the eyes, “it wasn’t worth losing you. losing your best friend and the person you love most in this world in one swift motion over a girlfriend wasn’t worth it.”
kai’s eyebrows raised in shock at your words and he opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it. “don’t act like you didn’t know about my feelings for you. maybe you didn’t know then, but there’s no way you don’t know now,” you said, tucking your hands under the table to hide their slight shaking. you continued, “i have to know. was she worth it?”
“no,” kai said immediately. that wasn’t enough for you. “why?” you asked him. he gave you a nonchalant shrug, like it was the most obvious and plain information in the world, “she wasn’t you. she never was.” your mouth went dry and your words died in your throat. you knew that the potential of him loving you more than just as a childhood best friend was raised due to his drunken confession, but to hear him say it so straightforward while sober fully set ablaze the feelings for him you tried so desperately to hide away.
kai continued, “she wasn’t worth losing you, not in a million years. i knew that as i stupidly drove off, when i stayed with her for almost two years and all we ever did was fight over you, and i knew that as soon as i saw you again at that café. she wasn’t you.” you inhaled deeply as the two of you stared at each other for a moment, trying to ground yourself in some way.
you closed your eyes briefly. so much has changed in such little time it overwhelmed you. “what about when you told yeonjun you could never see me that way? at your birthday party?” kai’s brows furrowed as he tried to remember what you were talking about. you saw the gears turn until it finally clicked in his head. “we weren’t talking about you, y/nie… we were talking about the girl he was trying to set me up with. i told yeonjun i wasn’t interested if it wasn’t you and he told me that i needed to confess,” kai replied.
“and now that i’m right here in front of you?” you asked softly, quietly, as if you were scared of his answer. the corner of kai’s mouth tilted up, “would you forgive me if i don’t let you go?” you couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face and the butterflies in your chest. he was always the cliché. “always,” you responded, face breaking out into a small laugh.
you then smirked at him slightly, “you owe me a walk.” the both of you stood to put the dishes in the sink. once you were done, kai trapped you against the counter. he leaned in close to you, “and another picnic.”
humming, you placed a finger to his lips and pushed his face away. kai smiled and took a step back to let you free. “don’t push your luck,” you chuckled.
somehow on the walk back to both you and kai’s cars, he convinced you to let him take you to your field after you both went home and got cleaned up. “come on, y/nie! i told you i owed you another picnic! let me pick you up,” he whined slightly as he blocked your car door.
you rolled your eyes but agreed anyway. “good! i���ll see you in an hour!” kai quickly pecked your lips before running off laughing like a maniac towards his own car. “your pushing your luck!” you called after him, shaking your head as you got into your car.
so here the two of you were, sitting on the same picnic blanket the two of you would always use in the middle of your sacred field. you both didn’t have time to make anything, so you stopped at the store and grabbed whatever your hearts desired from the shelf. your picks were spread out on the blanket around you.
the sun was starting to set as it turned the sky purple. you took the last bite out of the sandwich you picked out as you looked up at the clouds. “that one looks like a dinosaur!” you exclaimed, pointing to the cloud. kai scooted closer to you until his chest was just about pressed to your back and your cheeks were touching. he followed your finger upwards, “that’s clearly a flower.”
you turned to look at him, a slight pout on your lips in protest. “like you are,” kai smiled and you playfully rolled your eyes. “lame,” you dramatically drawled out. kai laughed, “oh yeah?” you nodded with a smile, squealing a little when his lips suddenly pressed to yours.
pulling away, you looked at him with wide eyes, “at least take me out to dinner first!” kai laughed more as he pulled you onto his lap while kissing you again. the sundress you wore rode up a little as his hands trailed to your hips. the kiss between the two of you was getting real heated real quick and you broke away to give your burning lungs oxygen.
you and kai’s foreheads were pressed together as you breathed heavily. wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him again deeply. you grinded down onto him as the sudden need for friction clouded you and kai groaned. his hands on your hips tightened.
kai was then laying down onto his back on the picnic blanket, pulling you down with him with your kiss. he broke away, breathless, and looked in your eyes. his hands were on your ass now and he gently nudged you forward. “sit,” he breathed. your eyes widened as his hands moved towards your thighs that were around his torso. “please,” kai added.
his breathless desperate plea could’ve sent you over the edge alone. you sat up, pressing your hands to his chest as you moved to take off your underwear. you discarded it somewhere beside the two of you as you moved up his body holding up your dress. once you got around kai’s neck, you stopped to look down at him. his eyes were too busy focusing on your now exposed pussy.
“fuck, baby… you’re so wet for me already?” he asked as he grabbed your thighs and moved you more towards his mouth. you didn’t get the chance to reply before his lips was sucking on your clit. you let out a loud gasp as you doubled over, back arching as you grasped the picnic blanket. “that’s it, let me hear you. be as loud as you want,” kai said as he briefly pulled away.
he made quick work of you with his tongue. you would’ve thought that he was a starved man and this was his first meal in months with the way he ate you out. your legs trembled as loud mewls escaped your lips. kai held you steady, his fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs, as you let out a breathy moan. “k-kai—“ you started to warn him but him swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit halted you in your tracks.
you leaned back as you felt yourself cum on his mouth. you tried your hardest not to squeeze your thighs together and instead grabbed at the fabric at kai’s shoulders. breathy moans spilled from your mouth and kai’s tongue helped you through your orgasm. once you were finished, kai licked a strip up your pussy with his tongue, causing a shiver to run down your spine.
breathing heavily and with weak knees you moved down so that kai could sit up. his whole lower jaw was wet with your release, causing it to shine in the setting sunlight. you kissed him hungrily and your hands reached down to unbuckle the belt he was wearing. kai laughed against your lips at your eagerness, “you want my cock that bad?”
kai’s voice was low with an edge of playfulness in it that made you want him to strip you completely naked and have his way with you. his breath fanned across your ear and all you could do was nod as you pulled the belt from the loops around his jeans and threw it to the side.
you could feel just how big he was from the hardness trying to escape his jeans. and you weren’t wrong when kai got up to pull down his jeans and boxers. your eyes widened slightly, but you weren’t one to dismiss a challenge.
you had practically climbed kai like a tree, his soft laughs filling your ears as you climbed on top of him. you needed him, desperately. especially in the past two years with little to no contact at all with him. you were in the middle of lining the tip of kai’s cock with your entrance, fully ready to sink completely down onto it with the help of the white liquid still dripping out of you, when kai grabbed your hips to stop you.
“don’t rush,” he said. you could tell he was fighting the urge to not fuck into you with how strained his voice sounded. “go down slowly,” he added. you did as he told you to do and sunk down on him inch by inch. the stretch took you by surprise and you had to grab kai’s shoulders for support.
after a moment of you adjusting to him—more you preparing yourself as you already felt the tip of him pressing into your sweet spot—you gave an experimental roll of your hips. it was like you were suddenly blinded by pure bliss and you were sure you were hurting kai with how hard your nails were digging into his shoulders. “mmm, baby. you feel so good. keep going,” kai said with his eyes screwed shut tightly.
you moved from your knees to your feet and readjusted kai’s cock inside you before connecting eyes with him. you rolled your hips towards him as you bounced up and down on his hard cock. kai’s hands were on your hips, helping you move them with the rhythm you created. his whimpers sent fire to the pit of your belly as you continued to ride him.
kai brought his lips down onto yours sloppily and you wrapped your arms around his neck to bring him closer. your moans and whimpers intertwined with each other as you both inched closer and closer to your climax. the noises filling this field from the two of you was downright sinful, but you couldn’t help but become even more turned on from the sound of you bouncing on his cock.
you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the finish line and no doubt kai could feel it from how much you were clenching around him. kai’s head fell to the crook of your neck, his nose leaving goosebumps on your skin as his mouth found your ear. “don’t stop… please… please keep going…” he trailed breathlessly. “i want you to cum for me.”
it didn’t take much longer for you to fall into his chest as you dripped warm cum down his cock. that must’ve finally broke kai as he pulled you down onto his chest as he laid back and positioned your hips so he could fuck up into you. “j-just a little longer, baby,” kai cooed at your whimpers. the speed was so rapid it left you trembling again and had tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
you buried your face in kai’s chest, thankful it muffled your loud moans of pleasure, as you listened to your skin slap against his lewdly. you felt kai start to twitch inside you and suddenly his warm cum was filling you up to the brim, dripping out of you from around his big thick cock. you wanted to help him with his high no matter how sensitive you were, so you pushed up from his chest and started rocking your hips as best as you could.
when you couldn’t take anymore—and when kai’s hands were on your hips forcing you to stop—you fell back down onto his chest. you look up at him and ran your hands through his golden hair to get it off his forehead. kai’s eyes were closed and there was a ghost of a smile on his face like he was in heaven.
after a moment of catching your breath and looking up at the sky, you weakly commented, “the sunset is so pretty.” kai’s chest vibrated as he laughed. “not as pretty as you,” he smoothly replied. you smiled as you rolled your eyes, “that was so corny.”
you sat up and pulled yourself off of him, missing how much he filled you up. kai grabbed some of the napkins you had gotten from the store and began cleaning you up. there was a goofy smile playing on his lips. you sighed playfully and looked down at him. “what?” you asked, fully expecting him to say something cheesy.
kai’s laugh filled your ears, “now this place is really sacred and special.” you jaw dropped at him, which only made him laugh harder. “kai!” you exclaimed, slapping his shoulder as heat rose in your cheeks.
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hii !! i saw you reposted the 150 writing prompts, could i request a johanna mason x fem with the 20/21 prompt ?? thank youuu :))
thank you for request! sorry this took me a bit:(
Would've, Could've, Should've
Johanna Mason x Fem!Reader
warnings: angst, language(ig?), poorly written, not proofread
word count: 2279
a/n: i'm sorryyy this took awhile :( i'm not feeling good at all
prompt: "if you die, i'm gonna kill you." ; "i fucking hate you."
--
"you know, i can handle them," you mutter under your breath, your sprint reducing to a jog, and then eventually, you find yourself coming to a standstill. your energy, once abundant, is now diminished, barely allowing you to stand.
beside you your girlfriend is just as winded. the two of you had just run away from Katniss, chased relentlessly by the careers. you need to figure out how to get back to Katniss, back to your mission.
"enough with this fucking nonsense, we need to keep going, to lead them away," Johanna grumbles, her tone laced with irritation, clearly fed up with your plan.
"Jo, just listen to me for a moment," you plead, your voice strained. "we can't keep this up forever. at some point, they'll either give up and target the others, or they'll catch up with us."
Johanna's response is immediate and fierce. "then we fight back. i won't leave you here all by yourself. i don't need your protection, y/n." her words come out as a fierce growl, a testament to her determination.
"i won't fight them alone either. i'll keep leading them away, while you make sure Katniss and Peeta are safe," you insist, holding her by the shoulders, maintaining eye contact. you can see the protest forming in her eyes, but before she can voice it, you shake your head. "no arguments. just go. i’ll see you in a minute." you press a quick kiss to her cheek, a silent promise.
after what feels like an eternity, she finally nods, "alright, alright. i'll circle back." her eyes scan the dense forest, ensuring you're both still safe.
"i promise, everything will be okay," you assure her, your voice gentle as you let go of her shoulders.
she nods again, her eyes never leaving yours. "listen to me, y/n," she says, her hands cupping your cheeks before moving to the back of your head, her fingers threading through your hair. her forehead presses against yours, her gaze intense. "if you die, i'm gonna kill you," she murmurs, her eyes flickering around yours.
a small chuckle escapes your lips, "wow, how romantic."
she rolls her eyes at your quip, pushing away from you, "be safe," she murmurs, stepping back.
responding with a mock salute, you grin, "yes, ma'am."
as she quickly disappears into the forest, moving in a slightly different direction to avoid the careers, your grin fades. the true gravity of the situation dawns upon you, and you press your back against a massive tree nearby, forcing yourself to slow your rapid breathing.
suddenly, a figure emerges from the shadows, charging towards you. you spin around immediately, scrambling up the tree you were leaning against. just as you begin to ascend, Brutus appears from behind the tree, his hand shooting out to grab your ankle.
your heart pounds in your chest as you cling to the branch above your head, struggling against Brutus's firm grip. Enobaria now stands at the bottom of the tree, her grin wide, showing off her sharpened teeth, as she watches the struggle unfold.
a scream tears through your throat as the rough bark digs into your palms. you try to pull yourself up, kicking your feet in a desperate attempt to free yourself from Brutus. suddenly, another hand grabs onto you, effectively pulling you down from the tree.
pain explodes through your body as you hit the ground, knocked flat on your back. the impact leaves you gasping for breath, the world around you fading as you lie stunned on the forest floor.
your eyes widen in sheer terror as you gaze upwards at the two menacing figures looming over you. their faces are painted with almost sinister grins that send a chill down your spine. you gasp sharply when Enobaria's hand shoots out, gripping a fistful of your hair with a force that has your head tilting back abruptly, leaving your throat vulnerable and exposed.
"no!" you cry out in panic, writhing beneath her as you desperately try to break free from her vice-like hold. "stop! no!" Your screams reverberate throughout the dense jungle, echoing ominously around you.
the last thing that your eyes register before everything goes black is the horrifying sight of her razor-sharp teeth and eerily unhuman-like eyes. she leans down towards you, her fingers still entwined in your hair, unyielding and relentless. suddenly, a deafening blast erupts through the jungle, sending the two older tributes flying away from you. the shockwave hurls you against a tree, the impact rendering you unconscious.
--
when Johanna finally opens her eyes she’s met with the blinding glare of artificial light and the gentle hum of a hovercraft's engine. the distant sound of Katniss's frantic yelling jolts her into full wakefulness, and she quickly sits upright, yanking off the oxygen mask strapped to her face and pushing herself up to a sitting position. she glances down at the space she was just occupying, her eyes landing on Beetee, who lies next to an empty slab. behind him are two more slabs, one of which she had just been lying on, and another one that is unoccupied.
Johanna furrows her brows in confusion, but decides to push her questions aside for now, focusing instead on reaching Katniss.
as the doors slide open to reveal Johanna's presence, every head in the room turns to look at her. Finnick's eyes soften instantly upon seeing her, a reaction that leaves Johanna puzzled.
"they left them!" Katniss is practically shrieking at Johanna, her voice shrill with panic.
"what?" Johanna's voice comes out flat, almost raspy. she turns to see Katniss, her body being restrained by Haymitch.
"y/n and Peeta! they left them!" Katniss wails, squirming in Haymitch's hold. "they left them for the damned Capitol!" she turns to Haymitch once more, her eyes wide with pure rage. "you promised me! you promised!" her voice rises to a desperate scream as she fights to free herself from Haymitch's grasp.
Johanna turns to look at Finnick, who hasn't moved an inch from his spot since she walked in. his eyes are filled with unshed tears, and Johanna knows instantly that Katniss is telling the truth. "Finnick," she says, her voice barely above a whisper as she fights against the wave of disbelief threatening to drown her. "you didn't." she starts to march towards her best friend, rage bubbling up inside her.
"Johanna, it wasn't a choice we were allowed to make," Finnick says, his voice laced with regret and sorrow. but his words only serve to fuel Johanna's anger.
just as she is about to reach him, a sharp sting pierces her neck. a syringe is plunged into her skin, and within seconds, her world fades to black as she loses consciousness.
--
the very moment you awaken a blinding array of lights immediately assails your senses as you gradually regain consciousness, much like Johanna. you find yourself in a sterile, white room, filled with a subtle, nearly imperceptible hum. unlike Johanna, though, you are harshly restrained to a cold, metal table. unlike Johanna, you are far from safe.
it doesn’t even take you a minute to comprehend your location—your predicament.
the Capitol has you. they had gotten to you before the others had the chance to reach you.
you were painfully aware that their mission prioritized keeping Katniss and Peeta safe. they were willing to sacrifice anyone, as long as the faces of the rebellion remained alive. a profound pit begins to form in your chest at a new thought. Johanna.
before you can further your worries about your girlfriend, the mechanical sound of the door to your bleak cell being opened shatters your train of thought.
you muster the strength to look at the figure entering your room, putting on a steely gaze—a facade you had been taught by the very woman you were worried about. the necessity of pretending not to care, to not show fear, to act as if you have nothing to lose, to refuse to give them the reactions they crave. they aim to strike fear into you, but you can't let them see the depth of your terror.
two men stride into the room, a peacekeeper following closely behind, who takes his position at the door. one of the men sports a near-sadistic grin on his face as he hovers over you, “what do you know about the rebellion?” he asks, his tone suggesting he fully expects you to withhold any information.
as the man in the pristine white coat talks with you, or rather speaks at you, the other man, dressed in blue scrubs, begins to wheel in a metallic cart. the contents of the cart are obscured from your view, but your heart picks up its pace as you can only guess what it contains.
“i’ll ask you once more,” the man in the white coat says, lifting a shiny silver tool from the cart, holding it against the harsh light as he speaks. “what do you know about the rebellion?”
“nothing,” you respond defiantly, almost baring your teeth like a cornered animal.
both men exchange a glance, cheshire-cat like smirks forming on their faces before the man in white turns back to you, “if you say so.”
before you can even process his words, the cold, silver scalpel plunges into your bicep. you clench your jaw tightly to suppress any screams of pain. don’t let them know it hurts.
--
“i wish they were dead,” Finnick breathes out, his declaration causing Johanna’s head to snap in his direction. he is seated, his head held in his hands, a vacant look in his eyes.
“don’t say that,” Johanna mumbles, pushing strands of hair from her face.
“it’s true, i- i wish they were dead. i’d rather they be dead than have to endure anything the Capitol is doing to them,” Finnick confesses, lifting his head to look at his best friend, his gaze appearing lost and disoriented.
“we’re gonna get them,” Johanna asserts, crossing her arms over her chest as she shifts her weight from foot to foot, “Katniss is working on it, she is. we’ll get them back, they’re safe.”
Finnick raises his eyebrows towards her, his face furrowed in confusion, “are you not afraid for y/n?”
Johanna scoffs, “excuse me?” her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “obviously I’m afraid for my girlfriend, Finnick! but she’s strong, she’ll— she’ll be okay.” the brunette's voice falters as she repeats the last bit, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself more than Finnick.
--
six weeks.
it took an excruciating six weeks to extract you and the others from the iron grip of the Capitol. six weeks of uncertainty, of dread, of pain.
those six weeks were a living hell for Johanna, filled with the overwhelming fear that the only person she’s ever truly loved might be forever beyond her reach. she was tortured by the guilt of leaving you behind, of failing to protect you when you needed her the most.
the question haunted her relentlessly - why didn’t she just stay? why didn’t she stand by your side instead of running back?
Johanna is with Katniss when Haymitch comes to her with the news they had all been waiting for - the captives had been brought back. it is a moment filled with a strange mixture of relief and apprehension.
without a second's hesitation, the two women sprint to the hospital room. Johanna arrives just in time to witness the emotional reunion between Annie and Finnick. but her eyes are searching for someone else in the bustling room that is suddenly just too loud, too crowded.
and then she sees you - lying in a hospital bed. your skin is unnaturally pale, your eyes dark circles of exhaustion, your body noticeably thinner from weeks of captivity. you are covered in cuts, bruises, and other open wounds that tell the story of your suffering.
your gaze shifts from the nurse, who is attaching your IV, drawn by the intensity of the eyes that are watching you. when you look up, you lock eyes with Johanna.
she sucks in a deep breath, her heart pounding against her rib cage as she takes in the sight of you. she quickly makes her way over to you, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts and emotions.
as soon as the nurse leaves your side, she takes her place, seating herself on the bed next to you. her hands immediately find your cheeks, her eyes scanning your face, trying to take in the differences.
“i’m alive,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, as you watch her reaction.
her eyes pause, meeting yours once again. “yeah, yeah you are. you did so good, sweet girl.” she whispers back, pressing her forehead against yours in a tender moment.
you hum in response, “don’t go soft on me now, Jo,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.
the brunette pulls back, rolling her eyes with a faux exasperated scoff, “can’t even have a nice moment? let me love you, asshole.” she grumbles, her words causing a soft giggle to escape your lips as she interlaces her fingers with yours.
“i fucking hate you,” she grumbles the words, a familiar banter between the two of you.
“i love you too,” you reply, shifting over in your bed to make room for her. she remains silent as she carefully positions herself next to you, mindful of your injuries.
a soft, uncharacteristic smile graced her features as you snuggled up to her the best you could, “i’ll never let you go again, my love, i promise.” she murmurs, sealing her promise with a gentle kiss to your hairline.
#johanna mason x reader#johanna mason#the hunger games#thg x reader#finnick odair#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#finnick odair x reader#katniss everdeen x reader#peeta mellark x reader
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do not move | nakamura kazuha
summary: when you both each meet other for the first time, you think: strength in numbers, she thinks: deadweight
pairing: kazuha x reader
themes: zombie apocalypse au, blood, death, murder, gore, graphic violence (if you're squeamish, beware!), lone survivor kazuha and lone survivor reader, angst, fluff, [-------] side character
wc: 6.2k
a twig branch snaps, and you immediately duck behind a bush. heavy breathing and exhaustion burning your muscles. just outside of the city, you try and get some cover from the raiders running around the streets; they've been setting everything on fire. even the smell of fire still invading into your nose.
moving down the eerie neighborhood is tough, especially with a limping leg and a heavy backpack. you risked your life for those rations --only to get chased out by those raiders. they chased you like you were prey, and you walked out alive (mostly) with a bullet in the calf and a running trail of blood.
you press your ears into the ground, making yourself as small as possible. praying that it's simply a deer, a hopeless dream. deers have been nearly all hunted. but you hope the burn in your lungs stops soon, and you cling to yourself, willing the pain away long enough that whoever is nearby leaves.
"clear, no sign of life." you hear a low voice shout nearby. the raiders were still looking for you, going as far as to chase you even outside the city. you know what lies ahead if you get caught. so you bite down, shoving your teeth into your bottom teeth, trying to numb the pain of that bullet.
you stay crouched there for another ten minutes before you even decide it's okay to lift your head off the ground, raiders had no morals, their signals could be a trap and you wanted to take the extra precaution.
and then you army crawled away to a fence, thanking the heavens that you ran fast enough to get into the suburbs. the trail of blood is still worrisome. grabbing ripped rags from your bag, you try your best to tie them around the wound just enough to stop the bleeding.
"fuck fuck fuck." you bite into a stick nearby as you wince and tie a final knot. securing your leg. laying yourself up against a wall, and breathing through the pain, wincing every so often until you feel the pain subside to a low numbness.
you haul yourself up to a house, it's oddly pretty, even with it's dilapidated roof and furniture all thrown out the front lawn. you think you would've bought the house before d-day. and with a heavy grunt you drop into a couch. it's been torn apart, but as long as it does it's job you don't care.
the pain is still throbbing and it just looks bad. you cover the windows with fabric lying around and press a wooden board against the door. and with one final breath, you flip your switch blade open and dig straight into your calf, screaming into a spare shirt and digging the bullet from out of your leg. muted screams so hard that you think you might've bursted your own eardrum, and pain so bad that you shake until you drop back onto the couch.
the bullet is out, flung across the floor and blood all over. you feel like passing out, but you spit out your shirt and wrap it around the now open wound, bleeding profusely on the wooden floor. with sweat all over your forehead and pain so severe you feel your body shake until you pass out.
you knock out cold.
--
"up." you wake up to the noise of a woman, her lower face is covered with a bandana and she has a long blade pointed right at your throat. if you moved a centimeter closer, that blade would no doubt pierce your jugular. "i said up!" she shouts at you.
you throw your hands up as you try to get yourself up, it's so painful to even sit up half your body. but you manage to have your back leaning against the couch. she stares at you with sharp eyes, eyes that no longer gleam in the light.
you stay as still as possible, waiting for the woman to do anything really, anything that won't end with you beheaded on this rotting old couch. she stares at you, blade never moving a centimeter. she glances around you, seeing the blood all over the floor, backpack open with supplies all spilled out. the pant leg that you have scrunched over your knee, and most of all the blood soaked shirt tied around your leg.
"bite?" she says, and you can see how in a second, she could decide whether you live or die.
"no. bullet. raiders." she nods and scans around the room, that blade still very much at your throat. she looks back down at your backpack, filled with old dog food.
"split 80/20. i let you live." she demands.
"split 50/50, i give you the better half." you negotiate back.
"i don't think you understand how this works, you give me what I want, i don't slice your neck open." she continues, pointing the tip just enough that it pricks at your skin.
"split 50/50, and i give you medical supplies." you counter. she stops and thinks for a bit.
"you're bold, even with a sword at your neck...fine." she says, and drops her blade, you relax a bit but then she points it right back at you. "show your weapons."
you move to slowly bring out the small revolver and pre-made molotovs tucked in a smaller bag compartment. her blade never leaves your throat. you unload the revolver, two bullets dropping to the ground, before you sit back on the couch, "happy?"
she doesn't comment. you lean forward, letting out a grunt as you pick up the two bullets, reloading it into the revolver, tucking it into your belt.
"ah fuck." you groan as you check on your wound, it's become an ugly purple, brusing all around and sensitive to the touch. you breath heavily and wince at the touch.
"did you sterilize it?" the woman's voice is strong and clear, no sign of hesitation.
"no. passed out." she nods and digs through her own bag, pulling out a molotov. "i'm going to douse it, bite down on something." you nod and grab another shirt from your bag, watching as she pours the liquid over your wound, you scream out like a wounded dog, and nearly fall over.
"needle and stitches?" she asks you. you nod and point into the small compartment of your bag. she pulls out the small sewing kit in your backpack, grabbing old sutures and tying it around the needle.
"bite." she orders. you shove your teeth hard into the shirt, as she begins sewing up the wound, jagged from the switchblade. the pain becomes so unbearable you pass out even sooner.
--
waking up to the sun in your eyes, you find yourself still on that same rotting couch. your body is hot, running like a furnace. you glance around and everythings out on the floor: dried blood, your switchblade, that bullet across the floor and your revolver.
you groan as you sit up, now your leg is sore and heavy, your face is hot and burning up. but the door is ajar, you scan around and half your food is gone, along with the suture kit.
"fuck." the woman's abandoned you. taken what she needed and crept out before you could even say bye. she holds up to her bargain, 8 cans of dog food became 4, and you still have your revolver on you.
"damn her." you start getting your items back in order.
--
the weather's getting colder, and you only have that workman jacket around your shoulder. the wind gets harsher as the days go by, the sight of falling leaves and pine cones littered the ground. you kneel behind a tree, eyes trained on a lone buck.
he stops eating grass to look around, before dropping his neck back down for more grass, and before his next bite, he drops instantly. body falling to the floor with an arrow through his head. a clean and sharp shot.
you drag yourself up, tucking the bow into the side of your backpack, and limping towards your fresh breakfast/lunch/dinner for the next few weeks. smiling at the labor finally paying off, stripping down sticks until they become sharp points to pierce through skin.
as you walk across the meadow to retrieve your prize, you start to hear distant galloping behind you, causing you to duck and turn around; before you know it, you're grabbed by the arm and thrown onto the back of the horse. you immediately grab onto anything you can hold on, that being the waist of the rider.
"woah."
"shut it, we're being chased." the woman kicks the horse into higher gear, and you both speed off into the woods, you turn you back just in time to see a group or horseback riders with lit torches chasing you across the meadow.
you try not to think about the lone buck that should've been yours.
--
you get off the horse and immediately start throwing up on the ground, shaken by the sudden movements and jostling around. the woman pays you no mind though, securing her horse to a branch and staring at you.
"i don't know how you've survived this long." she starts. pulling out carrots to feed her horse, the horse happily munching on his lunch.
you're still puking, but just the insult is getting you riled up. "i survive just fine."
"those raiders would've sacrificed you by now." she says and crosses her arms.
"no, they wouldn't." you counter, and she sighs before untying the horse, and leading it away. you follow behind it. "...but thank you. for saving me. twice."
you try to not let your pride get the better of you, considering this women lent a helping hand in your darkest moments.
she doesn't say anything back and continues walking through the forest. you trail behind her for what must've been thirty minutes before she speaks up.
"it was a trap, that lone buck." she goes on. "no zombies, and a lone buck in an open meadow. you should've known better." she says to you. you're immediately enraged.
"how would i know that?" you are tired of these insults.
"you should have." she just says, and it ends there.
"since you know so much, you should teach me." you say. she laughs at that.
"no, i survive alone." the way she says it is firm.
"listen, everyone could do well with a partner, i could share knowledge that you might not, and you can share the infinite wisdom that you seem to have." you're tired of traveling alone with no one having your back, maybe you can get her to work with you.
"no. i survive alone." she continues.
"oh don't be like that, i gave you four cans of dog food." you try and make a joke, remembering how she left you weeks ago.
"no, i let you keep four cans of dog food and let you live, there's a difference." she counters.
"let's not get into the technicalities, you ever heard of the phrase of strength in numbers?" you smirk, trying to get her to understand reason.
"strength in numbers is foolish if im surviving with deadweight." she says firmly, shaking her head at the idea.
"i am not deadweight! i cook up a mean meal of dog food and peas." you explain.
"yeah no, not happening." she says with finality.
you huff but continue walking with her.
--
"stop following me." it's been about an hour.
"you can't tell me what to do." you sound like a small child throwing a tantrum.
the woman sighs and continues walking with disdain. you're still sticking so close by her. both of you reach a small tucked away cabin. it's been expertly covered in moss and dirt to blend into the background. she walks away from the house a few meters away and ties her horse to a tree.
"woah, sick place." you comment, amazed by the well thought out hideout, it's truly a place you wouldn't have thought twice to really look into.
"thank you." she walks in, and taps her foot on the right side, and suddenly there's another opening, underneath the floor.
"woah, wait, the house isn't even the actual hideout, its underground?" she says nothing, you follow her down the stairs to the basement.
"you are seriously too trusting, walking right after me into a basement. i could've lured you into a trap." she says to you as she begins restocking her items. rows and rows of weapons, rations and even a hydroponics system in the room.
"nah, you wouldn't kill me. you would've done it when you found me on that couch." you say, admiring the amount of work he has put to make this place work. it's quite cozy, small camping lanterns in all different shapes laid around the dark room. the room's also filled with carpets.
"carpets?" you mention, it's odd that there's so many carpets overlapping each other.
"muffles noise. sometimes people walk through upstairs, but i make it so that even if they stay for long, i can move freely down here without them hearing."
she's clearly thought this place through, she has everything that she needs down here to survive. it's wonderful really, then a question pops into your mind. "why do you go outside then?"
"what?"
"why do you leave this place if it's so safe?" you ask. she seems more than equipped to survive here in this base. you glance around, looking at the plants that she's growing, amazed at how they're all turning out so well. so much for saying you could cook up a mean meal of dog food and peas.
she doesn't bother answering. instead pulling together jerky and greens from her hydroponics. handing you some, you decline and open your can of dog food, as much as you would like to eat it, her evasiveness is making you weary.
"so, do i get to know your name?" you ask as you shovel the can into your mouth.
"you can call me z."
"okay, z. that's a cool nickname." you chuckle, "what is it short for? zebra, zack?" you joke to yourself, she shakes her head no and continues eating her jerky.
you don't bother her anymore that night.
--
"morning z! what are we doing today?" you haven't felt so safe sleeping in years, feeling well rested and ready to take on the world with your trusty partner. z's busy cleaning her weapons when you wake up.
"nothing. i let you stay the night, you need to leave." she says calmly, wiping her dirty rag into a bucket of water. you frown at that, confused with her hot and coldness.
"dont be like that! strength in numbers remember?" you say, sitting near her, she groans at that.
"stop saying that."
"why? strength in numbers. strength in numbers. strength in numbers." you joke.
"stop it! you aren't chaewon!" she shouts at you, shoving an arrow near your neck. it's oddly familiar, the aggression from when you first met her is there.
"who's chaewon?" you ask.
z just leaves the room, leaving her half cleaned arrows on the workbench. you hear a door open and close, and now you're contemplating following after her. you choose rather to let her calm down, when she calms down maybe you can apologize.
you sigh and look around, feeling bad for being invasive, but you really didn't know. looking around you explore her place more, seeing a locker filled with clothes, and a giant map on a corkboard. pins all over the states, with detailed notes of specific locations. a lot of them were lookout points for raiders.
tucked under the map is a white square, you pull it off the corkboard, and see a very faded photo of two girls. one that you can recognize as z and another girl smiling with a bob. tagged below the image is kz & cw.
you begin to examine more of the notes, a lot highlighting names and times. it seems that z has been trying to find patterns of when raiders are patrolling.
with a sudden door opening, you grab a knife immediately from your waist as you see z rush back inside, finger to her lips as she grabs you away from the corkboard.
"silent." she whispers directly into your ear. you two crouch on the ground and nod. after waiting a couple minutes you hear it. the sound of footsteps getting closer, rustling leaves outside. z nods and uncovers a small machine under the carpet.
she takes one of the ends of the machine and puts it close to her ear. you stay as still as possible as she starts jotting down notes. she grips her pen harder as time goes on. and you stay still, watching her.
--
you find out much later there were raiders out visiting the house while you dozed off. both of you were sitting against the wall waiting for the people upstairs. z has been formulating a plan the whole time. meanwhile, those raiders treated upstairs like their temporary hideout for a couple hours.
after you wake up, and z gives you the all clear to talk, the first thing she asks is, "how good are you at taking out people?"
"the best." you smirk. it was always your speciality, being able to slip in and out of places before anyone could notice, and by the time they did notice, you already had twisted their necks.
"strength in numbers?" she asks wearily.
"strength in numbers." you confirm.
"then i need your help, i need to rescue someone." she goes on. you nod, and she grabs the map off the corkboard. and unfolds a smaller map, one with the layout of a building. "but i don't know if i can trust you."
you gasp, "how could you say that?" you dramatically ask her.
she rolls her eyes at that, "i need a guarantee from you."
"like what?"
"something to ensure you won't ditch me when things get rough." she says, thinking of things to trade.
you take off your pendant necklace, gently placing it in her hands. "this was from my late mother, i'd rather be chased by runners for the rest of my life than to lose this." you state seriously, she nods at the vulnerability and slips it onto her neck.
then z takes off the bandana that's been covering the lower half of her face the whole time. "this is a gift, from the person we're rescuing. i also would rather be chased by runners for the rest of my life than to lose this." she hands you the black bandana, and you tie is around your face, just like she has.
when you look back up, you're shocked at just how beautiful the woman is, even with her lean muscular build you knew she was pretty, but seeing the rest of her face uncovered, she's drop dead gorgeous. face sculpted from the gods.
"what?"
"nothing." you comment, "fill me in on this plan."
"okay, we go in like this..." z starts laying out the steps.
--
you haven't visited the city since that one grueling day, leaving your leg with a bullet. now that you're back you're shivering in anticipation, this city has definitely left its horrifying memories in your mind. with z by your side, you feel a little safer, though.
the outskirts of the city are deadly quiet, filled with car crashes and littering barrels of trash. walking closer into main street, you start to feel your hair stand up on your skin. it's terrifying, being back when you tried so desperately to leave this horrifying place.
"where's the patrol?"
"we have exactly 5 minute 25 second window before patrol comes back." you hear it loud and clear, 5 minute and 26 seconds, you are dead meat.
she then starts picking up the pace, running between alleyways with her head ducked low, always pausing between corners and big obstructions in between the streets.
with the cold wind, you hear howling through open buildings with their glass windows broken through, the sound of fire crackling in barrels and most of all you hear raiders in the distant, cheering and screaming.
"2 minutes left." she says. you follow behind her, quick on her trail. she soon ducks completely behind a building. digging through her backpack for trap mines.
"listen to me, trap mines: detonate with proximity. we need distractions. raiders are extreme in not letting things getting through their grasp, you know this well enough." she says and hands you trap mines. z gives you the signal and you both split. she heads straight for the back entrance of the building while you go around the side entrance.
raiders are shuffling around, trading posts. you crouch close to the ground and place a trap mine close to the door, waiting for a raider to walk close. you crawl backward into safety, reciting the plan to yourself.
a loud boom blows up at the entrance, and you can hear the horrifying scream of a man being blown to pieces, and other voices running after him.
"we're under attack!" the sound of the raider's feet is closer, all rushing towards the entrance with the trapped mine. in the distance, you hear another mine go off, z's mine based on the direction of the sound.
"another?" a raider shouts. then you hear some footsteps fall away. you sneak around the front of the building, examining the situation, most men have spread to the side and back entrance, disregarding the front.
you slip through the front with the open window, you try and step over the broken glass to minimize sound. and soon you creep towards the stairs. a man stands before you, handgun in hand and peaking around for intruders. you dig a shiv right into his neck before he even gets a clue.
dragging the body away, you put on his jacket and hat, grabbing his gun and checking for bullets, a full magazine. you feel lucky, feeling a knife in the jacket you stole. you tuck that into your shoe. you need all you've got to save whoever chaewon is.
the raiders are now patrolling through the entrances, you find yourself able to slip into different levels of the building until you reach the fifth floor, where supposedly chaewon was supposed to be.
when z filled you in on the situation, you piece together that chaewon is z's older sister. she and z used to survive together, going from groups to traveling alone. never sticking by a group for too long. z had explained that chaewon wanted to leave the raiders after she found out that they sacrificed people that they caught just for fun.
it was horrifying; they joined the raiders in hopes of getting protection by being in a large group, but she couldn't stand by and watch innocent survivors being taken out just for the fun of it.
z wanted to leave too, until they both got caught, the raiders let z get away if they let chaewon get sacrificed. so z's been figuring out a plan to break her free, and it seems tonight was supposed to be chaewon's sacrifical night.
you shivered just hearing it, you knew nothing about chaewon but you knew you would never want her to be sacrificed. you can see it, the line of tortured souls, all being watched by the raiders, it seems that their idea of sacrifice is making them fall from stories high into an enclosed space of zombies, all ready to bite these people to shreds.
you line up close, thinking of a way to get them riled up and away from chaewon. you grab a molotov from your bag, along with a gun. with a careful aim, you toss the molotov on the floor, startling the raiders. they're all trying to examine the disturbance, with quickness, you throw another molotov. setting some raiders on fire. with their screams piercing your ears, you grab your gun and start shooting them. the confusion and commotion of the fifth floor is also startling the tortured survivors, they start running towards the stairs.
you're busy trying to find whoever chaewon is while also shooting the raiders. you hear the signature sound of z's long bow, taking out raiders, some even falling straight into the zombie pit. you can't see her but you know that she's here now.
"chaewon!" you shout, and a shorter girl stops, her eyes go wide. you spot her, the girl that looks so familiar to that polaroid back in z's base. her hair is longer, face bruised up. she's sporting a black eye and she's got a weird limp. you grab her hand and drag her away from the commotion, z continues to aim at the raiders.
by the time you are able to get her out of the building, more raiders are showing up. rushing up the building, you grab chaewon's hand and turn to her. "we run now." you tell her.
she nods and like how the raiders chased you out those weeks ago, you run as fast as you can, pulling chaewon along. with the limp, it's harder for her to run but you know even trailing behind for a second could be instant death.
z's plan was this: she wanted revenge, wanted to kill all those raiders for what they did to chaewon. for making her become their sacrificial pawn, so she told you to take chaewon to a safe place. and then she would let hell rain on those fuckers.
you finally spot the theatre, the rendezvous point where you were supposed to keep chaewon safe. the girl is startled, you're wearing her sister's bandana, but you aren't z. and when you finally are able to lock the door, chaewon collapses on the floor, breathing so heavy, and loud. you calm yourself down too, leaning against the door sinking to ground.
"you aren't zuha." she says between breaths.
"who's zuha?" you ask, confused by what she means.
she points at your bandana. "that is kazuha's bandana, i gave it to her." she says, confused written on her face.
"oh. z?" you ask. chaewon is confused but nods. "z is probably a codename she gave me then."
"you met her then!" chaewon sits up and moves closer to you, tears sprouting in her eyes. "is she alive?"
"yes." you reply back, chaewon probably has no idea if kazuha is alive or not. that must be terrifying, letting your sister have freedom, not even knowing if she actually survived outside.
"she uh, made this plan, for us to rescue you." you explain, going into depth about how you two met. also how she is letting you help save chaewon.
"kazuha's a hard person to convince, you must've gotten under her skin." chaewon responds, listening intently about the whereabouts of her sister.
you agree, fishing out food and water for chaewon. she must be starving, you think. chaewon nearly cries at the sight, downing water like she was in a scorching desert. you let her have at it while checking your timer. kazuha told you that if she doesn't return in thirty minutes, that you should take chaewon to the base, and that she probably has died.
you're not going to let that happen; forget that stupid plan to get revenge alone. you're going to go back for her. with a stretch, and drinking your own water bottle, you get ready to set back out. chaewon looks at you in bewilderment.
"where are you going?" she asks while biting on jerky.
"back, i'm not letting her fight those raiders alone." you say, checking your handgun for bullets. chaewon looks at you and nods.
"strength in numbers." she says to herself.
"yeah, strength in numbers." you smile, hearing the familiar phrase. you hand chaewon a handgun and some molotovs. "three knocks, that'll be the signal that we're coming to the theatre, any other knock, that's not us." chaewon nods and checks her gun.
"good luck back there, please bring my baby sister back safely. i'm counting on you." even though this is the first conversation you've had with chaewon, you feel inclined to listen to her words.
"swear on my soul." and with that you exit the theatre.
--
with blood on your face, and the jacket that you stole, you rush into the building. most of the raiders are circling around the ground floor, grabbing an auto rifle, you open fire like you never have before, using the cars around as coverage. with a rage you never felt before you go batshit crazy, slicing down raiders left and right. you don't even feel anything anymore, just with the goal of finding kazuha.
the raiders are all falling by your hands. you rapidly fire at whoever dares to separate you and kazuha. you pick up guns that's been left by now dead raiders. you can hear a distant scream of a woman's voice, sounding like kazuha's voice. your blood runs cold, you rush upstairs, taking out the raider's best you can. at some point you get tired of waiting and just grenade them.
the quicker you can reach her, the quicker you can save her. you rush up to the fifth floor where all the commotion went down. you hear the sounds of raiders all shouting. and with a quick glance, you can see them cornering kazuha.
"you never should've come back kazuha, chaewon let you free, by being a sacrifice to them." the man talks as he points below. he smirks, "you want to trade places with your sister? fine by me."
the man and the rest of the raiders start walking kazuha to the edge. you rush behind two raiders. shiving them each and approaching the rest of the raiders. grabbing a metal sheet you use it as coverage as you rush the rest of them. letting out all your strength, you push the rest of the raiders off the edge, falling to their demise. the man that was speaking to kazuha dodges the attack. you find yourself nearly falling off the edge, but kazuha grabs you in time to pull you back.
so now you two face him, kazuha's gotten pretty beaten up, her arm's messed up and her feet's dragging. so you put yourself in front of her.
"let me handle it." you tell her. she's too tired to protest, after just nearly falling to her demise. you keep her behind you pressed against the wall as you approach the man with a switchblade, he's smirking like he has the upperhand. until you smash a bottle over his head and run at him to tackle him down.
he's pushed his knife back against your blade, and you're fighting with every ounce of strength in your body. pushing the blade closer and closer towards him. he makes a quick movement to toss you off over him. you roll over and he jumps to shove the knife at you, to which you dodge. pushing with all your might to push him off you. you launch yourself forward, stabbing the blade into his neck, blood gushing out all over you. he screams and gasps at the impaling. he makes a final attack against you, slicing your face. you let out a scream but don't let go of the knife in his neck.
soon he falls over to the side, his body going limp when kazuha shoots him in the head. a loud ringing noise running through your ears, you latch onto your face. the gash long and running deep over your face.
kazuha's quick to rush to your side, trying to hold your face with her one good arm. she rips off fabric from her shirt to wrap around your face, as you cry out loud. sobbing at the excruciating pain. the man is dead, and you're thankful you saved kazuha.
--
you gave yourself twenty minutes before getting up. kazuha's been trying to set her arm by herself. you lightly tap her and hold onto the loose arm. you hand her your loose switchblade for her to bite it as you set it back into her socket. she screams into the metal blade. and you're quick to make a makeshift sling for her arm. working with one good eye and pain searing through your body.
she cries at the sight of your face and the blood staining her shirt. this battle wasn't an easy one, but you're grateful that both you and kazuha survived. she keeps crying even as you tell her it's okay. you wrap her good arm around your shoulder as you both slowly make your way out of the building.
after a good while of sobbing to herself, she turns to look at you again. "chaewon?"
"she's safe, put her in the theatre like we talked about." you try as move your face as little as possible. kazuha nods. her limping as she puts her body weight on you like a crutch. even though you're so deep in pain, and the adrenaline is finally wearing off, you're glad you went back for her. you know you would never be able to live with the guilt that she died.
the rest of the walk is silent other than wincing here and there and ragged breaths.
you tap three quick knocks at the theatre door, and you hear the sound of a board being moved behind the theatre. when it opens you see chaewon pointing a gun straight at you. as soon as she recognizes you, she puts it down, ushering you two inside.
"chaewon!" kazuha throws herself at her sister, crying into her. letting out relieved tears at the sight of her sister after so long. chaewon's trying to examine kazuha's injuries, but the girl won't even separate herself.
the two girls hug each other for a long while, just crying into each other. you board up the entrance to the theatre. feeling the exhaustion hit your body completely as you sit down by a chair. as much as it hurts, you smile at the two girls.
finally, you knock out cold.
--
you awake to the two girls speaking to each other in hushed tones. it seems that they're talking about the raiders, how chaewon was kept captive until tonight for her sacrificial night. chaewon cries as she thinks about how she hasn't seen sunlight in weeks, being fed slop and kazuha cries but listens intently.
you try and move yourself up, sitting in the chair. chaewon looks at you, and smiles.
"hi, glad you're awake." chaewon says to you. kazuha also turns to look at you, sobbing when she thinks about the deep gash on your face. you smile back at the two, still feeling the pain of the attack.
"i stitched your face while you were asleep." chaewon says, and she stands up to remove the shirt covering your face. trading it for a clean and new cloth. "he slashed over your eye, i think you won't be able to see out of your left eye anymore." chaewon comments quietly. she gently wraps the new cloth around your face. you nod, the truth of the matter settling in.
"i'm sorry!" kazuha cries out, the guilt of being the reason you lost your eye is hitting her hard. you shake your head no, you would never blame kazuha for what he did. "it's not your fault kazuha, i wouldn't blame you. i had to save you. no matter what."
kazuha cries harder, and you walk yourself over to hug her. calming her down and telling her everything is okay. as long as you still had each other you don't care how many limbs you lose.
you three get ready to finally be away from this cursed city.
"thank you for coming back for me."
"strength in numbers kazuha, i wouldn't ever think of leaving you behind."
--
it's been a couple months since saving chaewon; you've gotten closer to the two sisters. you find that behind the coldness, kazuha is actually a lovely woman. a woman hardened by the loss of her sister by her side. every day, you spend time with the two girls happily. and now you wear an eyepatch, claiming that it makes you look cooler. kazuha rolled her eyes when you made that comment.
meeting kazuha changed the trajectory of your life forever, you're happy to find a semblance of a family with these two girls. especially when kazuha makes your heart race as you get to know her.
sometimes when chaewon isn't looking you sneak a kiss for kazuha, the woman always goes rigid like a plank whenever you do this. you giggle everytime, while chaewon is always confused what happened.
kazuha also had a hard time with expressing affection, so she would always say that you should ride with her on her horse. you know it's because she likes keeping you against her at all times.
sometimes you think chaewon knows what is going on between you two (she most definitely does) but just plays dumbs. like she's waiting for you two to come clean. you don't give her that satisfaction until much later when chaewon catches you kissing kazuha before she sets off for a supply run.
chaewon simply smiles when you see you've been caught. and you smile because it feels like you have gained a family through meeting kazuha.
--
a/n: ive been wanting to write a tlou (the last of us) piece for sooo long. i am not a med student, so if there's any medical inaccuracies...let's just move past that. i made this piece less zombie centric, and more plot driven. anyways, stay safe and stay healthy everyone!
#kazuha#nakamura kazuha#le sserafim#le sserafim x reader#le sserafim x you#kazuha x reader#nakamura kazuha x reader#kpop imagines#le sserafim kazuha#kim chaewon#neoplatinum
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Regime - one || myg
Summary: Everything is dull. Your job, your hobbies, your downtime: everything is just dull. That is, until your workplace is raided by the anti-capitalist organization run by the notorious Agust D.
Pairing: Ringleader!Yoongi x NewRecruit!Fem!Reader
Genre: Anti-Capitalist Gang au, Found Family, Smut, Angst
Series Warnings: anti-capitalism! mental illness, some gang violence, unaliving, smut, hella angst, drug/alcohol usage, very fowl language
Warnings: y/n uses all the self-defense, quite literally bites a chunk out of someone's hand, everyone has a gun, there are a few hostages, Yoongi kicks someone in the face, y/n very casually holds a gun to someone's head, references to y/n's childhood being... interesting (relatives' drug usage briefly mentioned), Yoongi's tries to manipulate y/n for like 2 seconds, y/n definitely has depression, someone gets murdered, Yoongi almost exclusively goes by Agust, References to Nick being hella shitty, what the fuck is going on with Kevin?
Wordcount: 3.2k
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It was odd.
The parking lot of your job being completely empty had only happened on one other occasion that you could recall; that was because it was Easter, and everyone had gone home early.
But today was different. It wasn’t a holiday, and there should have been plenty of work to get done; yet there was no one. Not a single car in the parking lot. As you drove past, you turned your attention to the side of the building, where security parked. You pulled into the space beside the empty car of one of your coworkers, Nick.
But it’s ten minutes until shift change; first shift should still be here. Did Nick let them leave early for some reason? Aside from yours and Nick's, there was only one other car in the entire lot. A black SUV parked haphazardly beside Nick's car; and it was still running.
While all of this might scream “danger” to others that would have seen it, to you, while it was weird, that's all it was: weird. It’s a relatively small company; one where there were so few employees that they were all friends. Everyone knew everyone and they often all liked to fuck with one another, maybe this was just some kind of prank.
While the company was small, it was also one that had no problem fucking over its employees when it comes to their paychecks; even whenever the company execs wanted to come in and check the place out, they certainly never would’ve listened to any complaints about pay.
You cautiously walked up to the door and punched in the pin before you opened the door and stepped in. As you closed the door behind you, you realized that you walked into something you definitely wished you hadn’t.
Tied up in the middle of the floor was the owner of the building, and the one who ran this branch of the company, Kevin, along with the guy supposed to work your shift with you, Nick. They were completely surrounded by men in black, all of them with guns pointed at the two men's heads. Kevin looked like he just got into a fight and lost; blood covering him, his nose crooked while Nick had a swollen lip. In front of them, there was just one man, but as soon as your eyes had adjusted to the dark building, all of them were looking at you.
Seconds after you walked in, your arms were pinned behind your back and a hand covered your mouth. “Just make sure she doesn’t go anywhere for a second, I have to deal with this asshole before I talk to her,”
While as a security officer, you hadn’t been formally trained in any kind of combat, you did grow up with uncles. A lot of them, and they would all get varying levels of high and various substances and decide that you needed to know how to defend yourself.
So while the man that spoke, the one standing in front of Nick and Kevin kicks Nick in the chin - no doubt knocking out a few of his teeth - you stamped down on the foot of the man behind you and bit a chunk of flesh from his hand clean off. He screamed, letting go of you so you could turn around and knee him in the groin as one of your hands took the gun out of his side holster and held it to his head.
You stood beside him, facing the group of people with one hand holding the gun to his head while the other was up, level with your head to show you weren't armed more than what they could see. You spit out the chunk of flesh that you still had in your mouth, mostly for dramatic effect, and slowly moved your free hand down to wipe the blood from your lips.
Everyone was staring at you, even the boss was staring at you with a kind of intensity that would’ve been hard for anyone to withstand. “You can finish whatever you were doing, I’m not going anywhere, I just don’t really like people touching me,” Your hand was back up next to your head, but no one moved. All the men just looked back and forth between their boss and you, and Kevin and Nick both looked like they’d just been saved.
The one that just kicked your coworker, the one you presumed to be the boss, started walking toward you. He moved slowly and carefully as he pulled each of the weapons he had on him, showed them to you carefully, before he threw them down on the ground. He pulled one last weapon from the inside of his boot, a small pocket knife, and threw it to the ground, too, as he stopped a few feet in front of you.
“I’m unarmed, and so is he. I would appreciate it if you put the gun down,” He spoke calmly, eyebrows raised and hands up. While it was hard to think of where he’d be hiding a seventeenth weapon, you also wouldn’t put it past the man that just pulled sixteen weapons off his person to have a secret compartment in the bottom of his shoe.
Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him, his face covered with a ski-mask like the rest of them, only his eyes visible to you; dark brown pools of honey that bore into you, but they weren’t as harsh or intimidating as you would’ve thought someone like him to be. They were soft, almost gentle as they moved back and forth between yours.
“You might not be, but they are,” You looked over at the men that surrounded your coworker and boss, his gaze following yours.
“They’re not going to do anything, you’re not the target here; they are. Just put the gun down and we can talk,” You looked carefully at him, then at the people behind him, before you slowly raised the hand with a gun in it, before crouching down slightly and slid it across the ground, making sure it was well out of reach of anyone before you stood again.
“Kay, come get Mars and clean him up for me, everyone else, don’t let them move a muscle,” He was facing his men as he spoke, but turned back to you once he’d finished. “You probably know this place better than I do, so I’ll let you lead the way,” You looked over to the door to one of the conference rooms briefly, before you looked back over to him, Kay already collection Mars from off the ground beside you.
“That room there would work fine, I’ll meet you in there but I need to get my water out of my bag,” He looked you up and down skeptically, about to say something before you cut him off again. “It’s just to rinse your friends hand out of my mouth, I’ll leave the bottle out here,” He paused slightly, then nodded once, stepping toward the door you’d just referenced to. You moved slowly as you got your water from your bag, rinsing out your mouth thoroughly before you took one last gulp and swallowed it. You put the bottle back down and headed into the room.
“You can have the chair, I’ll stand,” He gestured to the only chair in the room as he leaned against the table across from you. You crossed your arms and leaned against the door.
“I’m good with standing,” He nodded briefly before he took his mask off, revealing his admittedly handsome face to you.
“My name is Agust, I’m the leader of the group of people out there with your coworkers. We’re here because Kevin, the owner of this branch has been stealing from his employees to pad his own pockets-”
“And why’s Nick out there?” You asked, trying not to let your anger show too much, but your not sure how successful you were judging by the look on his face.
“Nick’s here because when he pulled in, I had my guy out in the parking lot run his tags and we found him to be… a really shitty person, to put it mildly,” You swallowed thickly, feeling almost a sense of relief that your suspicions were right, and you weren’t just overthinking about him.
“Yeah, that checks out,” You nodded, looking down at your feet as you let your arms fall, sliding them into your pockets. “So why are you here? Kevin likes to fuck over his employee’s, sure, that’s shitty, but what’s in it for you?” He looked you up and down again, as if trying to gauge whether or not you were worthy of knowing this information or not.
“I’ll tell you, eventually, but I have a few questions of my own first,” He crossed his arms as he stood straighter.
“Like?”
“Your name, for starters,” You laughed slightly, extra air flying out of your nostrils as you smirked lightly and cocked your head to the side.
“Ah, so I’m supposed to believe that you had someone run Nick’s plates but not mine?” It was his turn to smirk, his head falling slightly as he nodded.
“Alright, Y/n. Let’s get really into it, then,” His demeanor changed, the once kind eyes now seemed to drop their facade, his face bore a cocky smirk and his overall presence was that of a leader. Someone calm and collected, even when his initial plan was swept off it’s feet; he still knew exactly what his next step would be. “Why are you pretending you don’t care about Kevin fucking over his employees?”
Your own attitude changes slightly as he forces you out of your facade the same way you did his. Your shoulders dropped slightly as you felt all the color drain from your face. You cleared your throat a stood up a little straighter, trying to mimic his own attitude. “Because I’d like to know a little more about you and your organization; I already knew Kevin was a piece of shit, I don’t need you, or anyone else to tell me that,”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked you up and down again. There was something about the way he was looking at you, as if he was trying to see into your mind, see what you were thinking. “Why would it matter who I am if I want to bring someone like him to justice?” You sighed as you changed your stance slightly as you tried to think of a way to explain.
“It matters because all you’d have to do to get me on your side is tell me what Kevin’s done, how long he’s been doing it, and what you plan to do about it; and I’d probably agree with you based purely off my emotions rather than if I actually agree with you or not. But if I know who you are, what you and your group are capable of, and what you plan on doing in the future, I can judge you based on logic; wether you’re inherently shitty or not.” A knowling smile seeps across his features, an almost proud look as he listened to you speak.
“And why would I want you to agree with me, princess?” You scoffed, although you were far from offended; knowing the game he was playing.
“I’ve seen your face and I know that you’re the leader; not to mention the chunk of DNA that belongs to your friend still wedged between my teeth, and how it got there. Either you have to find a way to get rid of me, or recruit me,” He looks impressed as he steps down from the table and takes a small step toward you.
“Let me re-introduce myself. My name is Yoongi, and I’m the leader of an anticapitalist organization. We steal from the rich, especially the ones that make a game out of fucking their employees out of the money they worked hard for. I don’t want to get rid of you, as you put it, because that’d be a waste; but I don’t want to recruit you just because you took a chunk out of one of my best man’s hands - or because you took his gun from him like it was nothing, or because I know you have plenty reason to want to fuck over the same people that have fucked you and your family,” He paused, taking another small step toward you, now standing less than a foot away from you.
“I want to recruit you because you’re scared shitless right now,” His voice was much lower, a serious tone filling the space between you as the smirk was gone from his face. “You still don’t know if I have a weapon on me, or if I’m going to let you out of here alive, or if we’ve hurt any of your friends or coworkers. But here you stand, speaking to me as confidently as someone that knows they’re more powerful than me,” His eyes bore into yours as if he could see your entire life laid out on a platter with just one glance.
“So, Y/n,” He took a step back, arms crossed over his chest confidently as he looked at you almost sweetly. “You’re not who we were after, and I don’t find you to be a threat to us. So, you’re free to go, if you want. You don’t have to worry about us following you or keeping tabs on you; you can just go home, go on with your life and forget this ever happened.” He paused, looking you up and down. "Or,” He leaned back against the table, one leg crossed over the other.
“You can come with us,” You stood silently for a moment, eyes only leaving Yoongi when he finished speaking. You pushed yourself from the door and took a few steps over to the window and looked out of it, taking in the world as you had been seeing it for the past several months, before you closed your eyes, drinking in the inky black that the cover that your eyelids provide.
You’d noticed that everything looks different throughout different phases of my life; as if there are filters over your eyes that change the colors and shadows in accordance to how you’re feeling. Some memories are all cool-toned, some warm. Some memories look yellowed, like they’d been tea-stained while others seemed more vibrant and vivid than anything else you’d ever seen.
For the past couple of months, everything’s been dull. The world’s almost been in grey-scale as you try to find a purpose; try to find something to do with yourself. Nothing looks or feels like it used to; but for the first time in months, you are scared. You’re terrified. You smile as you relish in the feeling, the first true, raw emotion you’d felt in months.
When you open your eyes, there’s color in the world again. The trees dance in the wind with various shades of red and orange and brown; the sky beyond them littered with soft purple hues as the sun was already beginning to set into the autumn sky.
“What happens if I decide to go with you?” You turn to look at him as you finish speaking, a light smirk on his lips before he turns to face you.
“You come back to our base with us, we show you around, show you the ropes, and figure out how you’d best assist us. Then, if you decide you want to leave, you can. If you still want to have your job here and go back to your home and just help us out on the weekends, you can. You can also live with us and work with us full-time; but no matter what, I’d be sending you home tonight. This is something you need to think over.” You nodded again, still trying to take everything in.
“And as far as Kevin goes, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” You shook your head and raised your hands, stopping him from saying anything further.
“I don’t want to know anything about what he did,” Yoongi nodded as he looked at you almost empathetically. “But, I’ll uhm, I’ll go with you,” His facial expression softened lightly as he smiled at you.
Your relief very quickly changed when he reached behind his back and pulled out yet another gun and out the barrel right next to your head and pulled the trigger, shooting through the wall behind you. The sound was deafening but you didn’t flinch, your eyes never leaving his as his smirk grew wider yet.
“Wait here, Princess. I’ll come back to get you in a few minutes,” He pulled the mask back down over his face before he opened the door and stepped out, all eyes suddenly on him. “She had a real fucking mouth on her, didn’t she?” Yoongi sauntered back over to where his captives were tied up, gun casually swinging in his grasp as he walks.
“Kept talking about her mom; something about her still being alive if only she’d gotten her benefits like she was supposed to,” He kneeled down in front of Kevin, using the barrel of the gun to point at him. “That sound familiar to you, Kev?” Kevin was shaking, eyes wide as they bounced back and forth between the gun and Agust, who was only smirking at the terrified face of his captive.
“Cat got your tongue? Nick?” At his lack of response, Agust moved the gun from Kevin to Nick, the barrel now only inches from his head. “Do you know anything about that?” Nick shook his head wildly, eyes clenched shut as tears spilled out of them.
It pissed him off how scared they acted. He had a gun to their heads and they just bawled like babies; as if they hadn’t done the same thing time and time again to others. Kevin took money away from people that needed it. Money that he definitely didn’t need; and in doing so, he took away not only financial stability, but the lives of the people that depended on that money.
And while Nick didn’t steal from the poor like Kevin did, that didn’t make him any less of a piece of shit. He’d been accused of many crimes in his life; including attempted manslaughter, statutory rape, and several different domestic violence charges, but he’d never been convicted of any of them. There was never even a trial, just complaints dropped the day after they were filed, along with several very large transactions coming out of his obscenely rich father’s bank account.
So watching them sit here and sob when their lives were threatened, knowing fully that they’ve put others in this very situation with their greed and ignorance enraged him. August pressed the gun to Nick’s temple and pulled the trigger, blood spraying all over Kevin's face in the process.
Kevin screamed, loud sobs filling the warehouse that only pissed him off more. “Shut up, would you?” The gun was back under Kevin’s chin, his sobs silencing almost instantly as the gun forced him to look up. “I’m not going to kill you,” He took his time pulling the gun away from Kevin, eventually putting it into the waistband of his jeans before he carefully stood, his gaze already on the door you were behind as his men pulled Kevin up and dragged him out to their car. “Not yet, anyway.”
Taglist: @scuzmunkie @bangtan4everr @angrydonutzonkpickle @secfir @useryoonmin @idkjustlovingbts
#bts#bts fic#kpop fanfic#bts x reader#yoongi#bts angst#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#suga#agust d#bts suga#bts yoongi#myg#min yoongi#Yoongi fic#yoongi fanfic#yoongi fanfiction#yoongi angst#yoongi x reader#yoongi x you#bts x you#bts au#yoongi au#bts mafia au#bts mafia series#ringleader!yoongi#gang leader yoongi#kpop writing#bts writing#bts smut
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so scarlet (it was maroon)
in which eddie gets everything he dreamed of - except you. based off of "maroon" by taylor swift.
→ warnings: smut, severe angst, hurt/no comfort, 18+ minors dni
→ pairings: rockstar!eddie x fem!reader
→ wc: 11.3k+
→ a/n: don't mind me, just trying to see if tumblr will let me finally post this. this is cross-posted from ao3 (and wattpad)
ao3
"When the morning came, we were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf 'cause we lost track of time again. Laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closest friend"
“You’re fucking with me,” Eddie sits up to stare at you, lit joint still dangling between his ringed fingers and the last of his latest hit lingering in a ghost of white smoke on his lips.
“I’m not,” you laugh at his reaction, tilting your head forward just enough for where you were sprawled out on his bed to get a better view of him, “I’m scared to take cold medicine now.”
“There’s no way you got high off of the recommended dose!” he cackles, shaking his head in disbelief, a hand coming down on your shin to ground himself. You watch his shoulders shake with laughter, how his curls come down to curtain around his reddening cheeks and his reddening eyes, how his doe eyes are pinched shut and crinkled in the corners.
A map of a million lifetimes, branching out from the corner of those eyes. A million lifetimes, a million possibilities, a million futures. And every single one of them begins and ends with Eddie.
If you stare for too long, you’re going to say something you regret in your high, so you sit up as he had in order to snatch back the joint, “Stop babysitting. Aren’t you the one who’s always chastising me on ‘puff, puff, pass’?”
He feigns offense, mouth wide open and face scrunched up adorably so, as you take a delicate hit. The smoke enters your mouth quickly, wasting no time as it barrels down your throat and curls into every crevice of your lungs. Your chest aches slightly at the intrusion.
His eyes never leave yours. He watches the glaze continue to intensify over them as you slowly exhale. His thumb begins to trace gentle arches over the bare skin of your leg as his warm palm shifts upward, inching until it’s over your knee and resting on your thigh. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”
“Learned from the best.”
“That you did, sweetheart. That you did.”
He holds his free hand back out for the joint, and your fingertips brush as you return it to him.
“So what? Was it better than this kind of high?” he teases before bringing it to his lips. They’re pursed in preparation, and you only lose your concentration for a moment before remembering to answer him.
“I dunno, Munson. You’ve got some good shit here but… Dayquil might be giving you a run for your money,” you mock, tilting your head and leaning in closer to him. He’s grinning again, looking up through shy lashes before he takes his hit.
This time he doesn’t exhale immediately into the cloudy air of the room. Instead, he takes you off guard as he shifts on the bed and pulls you closer. Soon enough he has you in his lap, draping one arm around your waist as he takes the hand not holding the joint and gingerly grabs your jaw.
You already know the drill. You’re familiar with the process of his shotguns as his fingers tap your cheeks and you let your mouth fall slightly open, leaning to meet him halfway. He still doesn’t exhale, not until his lips have grazed over yours lightly, teasing before he finally seals the two of you together. The kiss is messy, as it always is with him; your tongue can’t differentiate between the taste of him and the taste of the smoke as he presses the kiss deeper. You’re not even sure you breathed in enough to capture any of it, but none of it feels like a waste as he’s biting your bottom lip, hands pulling your hips impossibly close. The joint is eventually discarded on one of the ashtrays on his bedside tables as you lose yourselves into each other. His nose presses itself into flat against yours between hot breaths.
“We can’t-” you pull back, a trail of saliva chasing you before Eddie follows, capturing you in another kiss that you pull back from, “The joint-” another interruption with another desperate kiss, “The incense-”
“The incense will be fine, baby,” he insists, pouting slightly, “It’s not going to burn the house down.”
He kisses you once more, wasting no time to fall backwards into his pillows and dragging you with him. For a moment, you’re straddling him, hovering over him, but he quickly turns and presses your back into his sheets before he’s rolling over on top of you, caging you in. You don’t mind it. You never mind him taking up your space, your breath, your mind.
A hand comes up to rest on your neck as you take a moment to press both hands into his chest, forcing distance. His eyes snap wide open, and they’re shining like a dozen moons at once, even with his pupils blown out.
“And if it does? It if does burn down the house?” you whisper, hands beginning to wander, one finding its way up and around the back of his neck, toying with the curls in its path. The other smooths over his shoulder, prepared to pull him back in impossibly close even without an answer.
He’s looking down at you with all the love in all of Hawkins, in all of the world, as he smirks and answers, “Then I say let it burn.”
"And I chose you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon."
Within a year of graduation, Eddie had made it very clear he wanted to get out of Hawkins. Corroded Coffin had been slowly but surely crawling their way to popularity outside of Hawkins, and when the moment was right, he came to you with an offer you couldn’t refuse.
“Come with me. Move to New York. I know, it’s insane, but-”
“Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely. Was it ever really a question, Eddie?”
He was it for you, and so when he’d been prepared to beg you on his knees to move with him, it had been a no-brainer. You packed up all your belongings without second-thoughts, said goodbye to the town that never really deserved either of you, and started your life in a big city.
The apartment was small and impossibly cramped, but the first night you two arrived, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if it was in the dingier part of town, or that you two were going to be penniless the next several months as you barely scraped by with rent. The moment you walked into that one-bedroom apartment, you knew it was yours, and you knew with certainty then that you had done it - you had escaped the bleary town and come out the other side.
“Holy shit,” he sighs as he places down one of the last few boxes you’d brought with you amongst one of the several piles littering the living room. You’re sitting on top of one particularly sturdy stack of boxes, the top one serving as a seat most likely filled with your books from home.
“Yeah,” you breath, looking around, completely stunned, “Holy shit.”
Eddie turns in a full circle, almost as if he was drinking it all in, before he faces you once more. His face is a blank slate only for a second before the serendipity and sudden gaiety takes over his features. He’s unexpectedly running in your direction, arms wrapping around you and lifting you off the boxes as you squeal, swinging you around effortlessly.
“We fucking did it!” he cheers over your giggles. When he finally finishes spinning you, letting your sock-clad feet find stability on the hardwood floors, he still doesn’t let you go. He only pulls you into his chest tighter, “We did it. We’re in New fucking York.”
You smile brightly, pressing your cheek painfully against his t-shirt, nodding as you echo, “We did it.”
The moment pauses as he pulls away as suddenly as he had picked you up, still radiating happiness.
“Hold on, wait here. I’ve got an idea.”
He jogs over to one of the stacks of boxes at the entrance of the kitchen as you just laugh, “Not like I’ve got anywhere to run off to, Munson.”
“You better not!” he calls over his shoulder, digging for whatever his brilliant idea was.
You disobey him indirectly by wandering across the living room, steps slow and careful as you approach the large window offering a lackluster view. All you could see, for the most part, was the large brickwall of the neighboring apartment building. It was old and faded, scattered marks of paints from clear graffiti at random intervals. The city had clearly tried to wash away the few remnants of whatever art the random city vigilantes had covered it with, but the reminders of what once was remained. A nod to the fact that sometimes, no matter how hard you try to wash away things, their legacy lingers stubbornly.
You don’t even hear Eddie setting up one of his old boomboxes with a favorite mixtape of the two of yours until it begins to play from the speakers, probably a bit more loud than you should have if you were attempting to be considerate neighbors.
But neither of you cared.
When you turn, you find Eddie approaching you steadily to the beat of the song playing. He takes a step with each beat, swaying his hips in clear exaggeration.
He’s only several paces from you when he holds out a hand, grinning like a fool as he says, “Dance with me, sweetheart.”
You take it, immediately. There’s not a trace of hesitation as you let the boy who held the sun in your eyes drag you across the barren living room, not even dancing to the beat but growing dizzy with love regardless. You let your own happiness mingle with his. As he spins you for the hundredth time, dipping you low and dramatically, you imagine that this is it - this is as good as it could possibly get. Because you’re with your boy, and you two are dancing to your own beat as the mixtape ends, and there couldn’t possibly be a more perfect person than him.
He brings you back up to him as he stands up straight, and not a word is passed as lips crash together. An eager kiss, all teeth and revelations and silent promises of forever. It’s saccharine sweet as his tongue passes over your lips, begging for more closeness. Your chests are so tightly pressed together that with each breath he gasps in, you’re forced to exhale.
“I love you,” he mutters, pulling back momentarily and staring into your eyes. His arms cradle you so carefully, as if scared that when he lets go, you’ll completely disappear from him, “I love you so goddamn much, it hurts. I can’t believe this is real.”
“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar,” you reassure him, “Now shut up and kiss me.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he mutters, already so close to you that his lips brush against yours before he’s back on you, hot and heavy.
You’re not sure how exactly it happens, or who first starts encouraging the steps taken towards the hallway, but you end up with your back against the wall as Eddie leans completely into you. You both feel drunk on each other, giddy on your current reality. After a particularly harsh tug on his hair, in sync with a yearning squeeze on your hip, he whispers ‘jump’ into your kiss. Hands find the back of your thighs, molding them into his knuckles as he carries you into the bedroom.
The room is only filled with a few artifacts: boxes of both of your clothes, Eddie’s prized guitar propped up in one of the corners, and a mattress on the floor only covered in a comforter and no sheets yet. The afternoon light is golden as it flutters in through the open window, the sounds of the city muted by your breaths.
He’s impossibly gentle as he lowers the two of you down onto the mattress, careful as he lets you unwrap your legs and flop back. Even with his carefulness, you find your own eagerness causing your movements to be too rough, bouncing back slightly and bumping noses with him. You both take a break to laugh.
“Careful, you klutz,” he warns, balancing himself up on his forearms as he looks down at you in adoration. You don’t respond, instead lifting yourself to capture his lips in yours, pulling him down. Your teeth clash with his as you both continue to giggle into the open-mouthed kiss.
He gives in, hands roaming as they slip below your tattered shirt you’d worn for the occasion of moving. His warm hands find home on your chest, squeezing softly and thumbs flicking your already pebbled nipples in order to pull gasps from you. He lets his head drop to your neck, his messy curls tickling your nose as he presses wet kisses down your jugular. Each kiss is in sync with the heavy beating of your heart.
He stops when his path leads him down to your collarbone, sucking and nipping before releasing blooming skin to glance up at your face, twisted in euphoria. “This is real, isn’t it?”
His voice is so soft, you almost don’t hear him. But you look down at him, a boy made of contradictions - of sunshine and moonlight, of passionate and tender actions - and can only smile in serenity.
“Yeah, it is.”
It’s the only encouragement he needs to continue his worship, leaving no patch of supple skin unkissed.
"The burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me, and how the blood rushed into my cheeks. So scarlett, it was maroon."
It could have been hours later or days when you’d finally tired yourselves out. It took an impossible amount of willpower, but eventually, you two had untangled yourselves from each other, leaving the warmth of your comforter to continue unpacking.
Or rather, you were unpacking. Eddie had taken to stretching out on the bed, back propped up on the bare wall behind him with his guitar in his lap, strumming mindlessly as he watched you begin to pull your clothes from one of the boxes. You took your time, smoothing out any wrinkles that had formed during the move, focused as you hung your shirts on hangers and put them away into their home in your new shared closet.
Eddie pauses whatever song he had been practicing when he catches sight of a particular shirt you pull from the box.
It’s a white t-shirt. Nothing impressive, but what piques his interest is the splotch of once-red-now-maroon painting the center of the fabric. It’s faded, feathered at the edges, but he knows the story behind that stain all too well.
“You really kept that shirt? Even after I ruined it?” he chuckles, shifting his guitar off his lap, scooting towards the edge of the bed.
You hold it up, laughing as well, taking in the stain that refused to wash out, “Yeah. Sentimental value or whatever,” you tease, looking down at him. You take his breath away like this, in nothing but his Judas Priest shirt that barely reaches your thighs, nothing but underwear on underneath, hair in tangles from your previous activities. But you’re glowing, a glow that he’s been lucky enough to witness on multiple occasions, and it takes everything in him to keep his hands to himself, “Never really wear it, though. Guess I should get rid of it, huh?”
“No,” he answers you far too quickly, “Never. Keep it forever. We can frame it, hang it in the hallway.”
You know he’s not serious, but the thought still makes you smile. You’d never really get rid of it, far too attached to the memories it held, even two years later.
Another Harrington party. Another sea of almost-adults getting far too drunk, far too rowdy. You’d been to your fair share of them, but they never really got easier.
There’s an excitement in the air you can’t place. Maybe it was from graduation, still nearly six months away but on the horizon nevertheless. Or maybe it was simply from the holiday - Halloween. Whatever it was, it buzzed through the air and across your chilled skin.
Your costume was last minute. A half-assed attempt at a pirate costume. It had been thrown together with things you could already find in your closet, for the most part - one of your more flowy white t-shirts, black jeans you’d taken scissors to the knees of in an act of temporary rebellion, heavy boots originally bought for hiking. The only real clues as to what you were had been aiming to disguise yourself as were the cheap eyepatch and doltish pirate hat you’d bought when shopping with your friends for the occasion. But you’d long forgone your eyepatch as the alcohol impaired your vision well enough without the loss of use in one of your eyes.
The hat was a cheap velvet-texture, deep maroon in color and an extravagant black feather barely holding on by the factory glue used to secure it.
Your friends had long since abandoned you. One of them went off with a jock who had caught their eye, the other getting dragged into a very serious game of beer pong. It hadn’t bothered you too much - it had left you to your own devices, nursing a cup of whatever punch had been spiked in a dark corner of the kitchen. You watched your classmates trail in and out for their own dose of alcohol without much interest. Until he walked in.
He was glued to the side of the host himself, Steve Harrington. You overheard a couple of scolding sentences coming from Steve’s lips, something about ‘cutting him off’ and how he needed to ‘compose himself’. It was entertaining, at the least, to watch the boy fumble with himself.
“C’mon, you’ve got to have more whiskey around here somewhere, pretty boy!” he whined, leaning into Steve as he lost his balance momentarily.
“No, Eddie! I mean it, you’re cut off! Now stay here or so help me God-” Steve appeared irritated, but was far more patient than you would have been as he carefully guided his friend to lean on the counter across the room from you. He left the room in a hurry, and you snickered under your breath as the predictable happened right before your eyes - once Eddie was left alone, he immediately began to pilfer for more alcohol.
It takes him a second, to your amusement, before he reappeared from the lower cabinets he had crouched in front of, letting out a loud ‘Aha!’ with a bottle of red wine in hand. He wasted no time in digging through multiple drawers as if it were his own house before he found a corkscrew, and the entire time, your eyes continuously flickered to the entrance of the entrance, waiting until Steve returned and would catch his friend red-handed (literally).
He never did, though. Eddie has enough time to begin struggling with the cork, curses and mutters falling from his lips as you watched on. You’re only pulled from your watchful gaze when you hear a loud pop, and hear a triumphant ‘Fuck yeah!’ from the boy.
Maybe you thought you should intervene, considering you were clearly not as far gone as Eddie, but you weren’t quick enough. You’d walked up behind him, about to announce yourself and stop him, when he turned suddenly, a red cup in hand that was nearly overflowing with red wine.
Eddie hadn’t expected you to be so close, hadn’t even realized he wasn’t alone in the kitchen. Immediately, the cup collided with your chest and the red wine sloshed down the front of your shirt.
You gasped, jumping back slightly, as he cursed, “Oh, shit! Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Wide, brown eyes found yours, looking sincere in their apology.
He looked around before grabbing a random kitchen towel, unfortunately also a starch white, and began to try and dab at your shirt clumsily.
“No, no, it’s okay,” you insisted as you felt your cheeks begin to burn. He continued to attempt to rectify the matter, clearly panicked. You have to eventually grab his wrists, pulling him and the now-ruined towel away. He looked back up.
It was almost like slow motion. His eyes met yours and you felt time stop. Your fingers stay pressed into his wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse, for far longer than necessary.
“It’s fine,” you said once more, finally prying your grip from him. You might have been a little too drunk to care, and you’re sure that sober you would be disappointed in the comfortable t-shirt now being collateral damage, but for now, it didn’t matter.
“I had no clue you were there. I’m- Fuck, I’m drunk. I’m an idiot. Sorry,” he slurred, looking down at you.
You shrugged, playing it off, “Shoulda announced myself sooner. Don’t be sorry, it’s a problem for sober me.”
You really had liked that shirt. It was a shame.
“You know, if you really wanted more alcohol, they still have punch left,” you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder, in the direction of the crystal bowl on the counter you had just been leaning on.
Eddie’s face scrunched up in disgust immediately, “Ew, God no. That shit’s way too sweet.”
You bit your lip to fight laughter, “And wine is any better?”
“It can be, when shared with someone as pretty as yourself,” he has a shameless, flirty grin on his features, raising his eyebrows suggestively at you. You broke, laughing softly and shaking your head.
He had a point. The punch wasn’t very good.
“Alright, then, mister ‘you’re cut off’. I suppose I’ll join you in your antics,” you turned to the sink, dumping the remnants of your punch before turning back to him and reaching for the bottle of wine he still held.
His hand flew out of reach, tsking immediately, “Nope. Allow me.”
It wasn’t a good idea, but you let him take your now-empty cup regardless. He put it down on the counter and focused intently on filling it, nearly emptying the wine bottle as he topped it off just as full as his own had been.
“Jesus, you’d make a shitty bartender. You’re definitely overpouring right now.”
“Hush,” is all he replied as he finished the task at hand, setting down the empty bottle once he poured the last few drops into his own cup, attempting to make up for what was now soaking your shirt. It had started to dry, becoming cold and uncomfortably sticky, but you were too distracted with the boy in front of you to care. “M’lady,” he finally handed back the cup, looking far too proud of himself for not making another mess.
“Thank you,” you teased, giving a messy and exaggerated bow, careful to not spill the wine.
Once your glass is back in your own hand, his began to fumble into the pockets of the leather jacket he wore. It led to him spilling some more of his wine onto his own shirt this time, and you considered how lucky he was that he was wearing black.
“Here,” you gave him no choice as you gingerly took the cup from his hand, freeing him up to find whatever it was he was so desperate to find in his pockets. You take the moment to glance over his costume: he was wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. On his face, a pair of small, circular sunglasses were perched haph-hazardly on his nose, the lenses a barely opaque red. You noted the obnoxiously long necklace swinging against his chest, a large silver cross at the end, “What are you even supposed to be dressed up as?”
He yanked a pack of cigarettes successfully from his pocket, grinning like a fool, “Ozzy Osbourne. Duh.”
“Duh,” you mimicked, handing him back his cup of wine before turning more serious,“From Black Sabbath, right?”
His eyes lit up. “You know Sabbath?”
“A little bit,” you shrugged, but that was enough for Eddie.
He slung an arm around your shoulders, cheesy grin and all, as he rattled the pack of cigarettes against your ear. “Say, you smoke?”
You didn’t, but for him, you did. “Yeah, yeah. I could use some fresh air anyways. Lead the way, rockstar.”
"When the silence came, we were shaking, blind and hazy. How the hell did we lose sight of us again?"
“Eddie, you have to call them back and tell them you’ll do it!”
“No! I can’t!”
“You can and you will.”
The fight had started over Eddie’s casual mention of a phone call he’d had earlier that day. It had been six months of New York, of bliss, of living in a pattern of waiting. Every day, you were both waiting; waiting for the next show Corroded Coffin would book, waiting for the next chance he’d have to send off yet another demo to another record label, waiting for the shimmers of what could be his big break. It had been comfortable while it lasted - the two of you were still wrapping your head around having your own routine. Of having something that’s yours.
The phone call today was the end of that waiting game.
The management of a slightly larger band, extending an offer to Corroded Coffin - they wanted them to be the opener for their next tour. It wasn’t an overly large one, it hardly spanned over three months and most of the venues were painfully small compared to what you believed Eddie should be playing, but it was an offer. Gigs, travel paid for, an opportunity for exposure right at his fingertips.
He had told them no.
“I’d have to leave. I’d be on the fucking west coast until December. I’d miss your birthday!” Eddie continues to argue. The two of you were standing in your living room, finally filling out. Shelves had collected framed photos, small knick-knacks that partially came from you and partially came from Eddie. You finally had a couch. It wasn’t a nice one, but it was a couch and it was yours. Something that belonged to both of you.
“You’d be playing shows! Selling merch! Gaining fans! This is your chance. Who cares if you’re not here for my birthday? We can celebrate over the phone, who cares?” your voice was breaking from frustration, not understanding how Eddie isn’t more excited. Instead of the joy you had expected to find on his face when he revealed the news to you, all you could see was fear. He was petrified. You finally drop your voice, taking on a soothing tone as you step in front of your boyfriend, taking his face in shaking hands, “Eddie, I’ll have other birthdays. But this? If you don’t do this… there might not be other tours.”
You could feel tears building up, some from exasperation, but most for the boy in front of you. This was his chance. He was your entire world, and you couldn’t let it pass him by.
He has tears mirroring in his own eyes, searching your face frantically, “I… I don’t want to be away from you. Not right now, not when we’re just figuring all this shit out.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you tearily laugh, “Where would I even run off to, huh? No, stop this bullshit - don’t be an idiot. You go pick up that phone right now and tell that band they have an opener, and a damn good one at that. Right now.”
He’s frozen, leaning his cheeks into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. He just wants to live in this moment. He doesn’t want to think about the enormity of the decision in his hands - he just wants to stay here, in your arms, in the space you two had come to call home.
When your thumb swipes one of his escaped tears from his cheek, he caves. His voice is a ghost of a whisper. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll go call them. But- But when I get back, we’re celebrating the hell out of your birthday, do you understand me? Fuck Christmas, Jesus has had, like, thousands of birthdays. When I get back, all I care about is you.”
You believe him. You believe him with your entire being, never once worrying about him missing something as trivial as the celebration.
“We sure will. Now go on, rockstar. Catch your big break.”
He finally smiles for the first time since he broke the news.
At the moment, all you saw was a world full of beginnings for your boy. This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for, and you couldn’t have been happier for him. The rose-colored glasses never gave you the chance to see it was the beginning for the two of you - the beginning of the end.
"Carnations you had thought were roses, that's us. I feel you, no matter what."
“I miss you.”
Those three months couldn’t have dragged on slower if they tried. But Eddie kept good on his word; every night, like clockwork, he called you. The two of you would take about anything and everything: he’d tell you about the latest crowd that included people who seemed to actually enjoy Corroded Coffin’s set, you’d tell him about the takeout you had for dinner after nearly burning your shared kitchen down, he’d mention the names of cities you could only dream of visiting, and you’d indulge him in theatrically stories of your latest customers from Hell at the small dinner you waitressed at.
“I know you do. I miss you too, Eds,” you sigh over the line, curled up on his side of the bed, even though it had finally stopped smelling like him. Long gone were the scents of late night cigarettes and woodsy cologne, replaced by a nauseating sweetness of your own shampoo and perfume. You hated it, but you’d never let him know that. Not when he seemed to actually be so happy. His breakdown over the offer seemed to fickle now, as it was clear he was enjoying himself. He was living out his dream. Something neither of you had fully processed yet.
“Hey, just two more weeks, right?” you whisper, eyes staring into the shadows across the room. Two more weeks. Fourteen days, and he was all yours once more.
It was your birthday. And it had been the most lonesome to date - a few coworkers had convinced you to go out for drinks after closing up the diner, but the entire time, you had just been anxious to get home and prepare for your phone call with Eddie. Just as the two of you had said, you had committed to somewhat celebrating over the phone.
“Do me a favor. Go into the kitchen real quick,” his voice instructs over the line, and you perk up slightly.
“What? Why?”
“Just trust me, sweetheart.”
You do as he asks, making your way out of the bedroom and down the hall. The apartment is dark, and a bit cold, but you don’t pay it any mind as you make your way to the kitchen.
“Okay, I’m in the kitchen. Now what?”
“The drawer to the left of the fridge. Open it.”
“Our junk drawer?”
“Yes, the junk drawer,” his tone is teasing, never growing irritated with your endless questions, “Open it.”
You hadn’t really touched the drawer since Eddie left, normally only discarded random pens and junk mail filling it. But you're shocked when you find the drawer more organized than you remember it - and in the center of it is a pack of candles.
“Candles?” you ask softly, a smile playing at your lips as your free hand reaches down to grasp the package. You flip it around in your palm, heart warming at the notion, but still feeling confused, “Babe, I appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t exactly have a cake, or even a cupcake, to put these in.
“You don’t? Damn it. If only I had thought of that,” he hums in a teasing tone, making you lower the hot phone from your ear and glare down at his caller id that illuminates the screen, “Well. What a shame. Hey, do you know the time by chance?”
“Munson, I’m gonna kick your ass,” you mutter, turning to look at the clock over your oven, “It’s 7:59. What’s your game here?”
He doesn’t answer, leaving you further puzzled, instead mumbling what sounds like to himself, “Three, two-”
“Why are you counting down?”
“One.”
A loud knock echoes through the apartment, causing you to jump.
“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” you hiss over the line, gripping the candles impossibly tight.
“Go answer the door.”
“If you’re on the other side of it, I’m kicking you straight in the-”
“It’s not,” he interrupts, “I wish it was, sweetheart. It’s not. But just trust me, yeah? One last surprise, promise.”
You grumble your entire way to the door, still holding the package of candles as you stop in front of your front door. You pause, taking a deep breath.
“That doesn’t sound like you’re opening the door.”
“Give me a second. Jesus, for all I know, you hired a hitman and I’m about to be brutally murdered when I open this door,” you bite back, and you can hear his guffawing laughter over the line. Your chest burns, wishing you could hear it in person instead, imaging the glee on his face in the moment.
“Not a hitman. That’s for after we have life insurance, baby,” he drawls, and you finally muster the nerve to reach out and twist the knob. You swear you can hear chattering on the other side of the door.
It takes you some struggling as you refuse to let go of the candles, but when you finally swing the door open, you gasp.
There in the threshold stands your friends from Hawkins. Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, and Johnathan Byers. It’s clear that Nancy and Steve are mid-argument when you open the door, but Robin stands there, proudly showcasing a birthday cake in front of her, shit-eating grin on her face.
“Surprise!” she yells, capturing the attention of the rest of the gang that you and Eddie had left behind. Everyone faces you now, beaming, as you immediately go teary-eyed.
“Oh my God,” you gasp out, dropping the phone and candles to the floor, in shock. Steve steps in first, chuckling as he pulls you into a hug. It’s only then that you notice the bouquet in one of his hands, cellophane crinkling from how tightly he’s holding you. He shuffles the two of you out of the way just enough so that everyone else can enter.
“Your face! God, Munson was right, that was so worth it!” Robin barks as she steps up to the kitchen table and sits down the cake. She’s the next to hug you, yanking you out of Steve’s grasp and nearly crushing you, “Happy birthday,” she whispers happily into your ear, swaying the two of you as she continues to embrace you. You catch sight of Steve over her shoulder, wearing a look of amusement, chuckling and shaking his head.
Jonathan is the one with half a mind to pick up your abandoned phone and candles at the sound of muffled yelling over the line. He wastes no time, putting Eddie on speaker.
“Hellooo? World’s best boyfriend here, remember me? Wow. Can’t believe you’ve already forgotten me. Guess I’ll go fuck myself.”
You laugh as Robin finally lets you go, reaching up to swipe away the tears of jubilation.
Nancy rolls her eyes. “She’s in shock. Give her a second, Munson.”
Jonathan continues to hold your phone as you’re passed into Nancy’s arms and then his. Each whisper their own soft ‘happy birthday’, rubbing your back gently until your focus is back on the phone.
“Edward Munson-”
“Ah! There she is! She lives! And remembers me!”
“Fuck off,” you half-sob, half-laugh. It may not have been as good as him standing there, on your doorstep and embracing you, but it was damn good, “You’re so dead when you get home.”
“Dead? Wow. Weeks of planning only to meet my demise,” he sighs dramatically, “I suppose it’s a good way to go. At the hands of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Beat that, Harrington.”
“Way to stay humble,” Steve chimes at the mention of his name, still grinning. He suddenly remembers the flowers in hand, suddenly thrusting them in your direction as he says, “From Eddie, by the way. He told me if we didn’t get you flowers, he’d castrate me.”
“And I meant it! That’s still on the table if you guys don’t make this her best damn birthday ever.”
“I’m sure he would,” you sniffle, reaching out and gripping the flowers. Your heart cracks slightly, not knowing how to tell him that despite how absolutely endearing the surprise had been, it’d be impossible for them to make this your best birthday.
He wasn’t here. It could only make the top of the list if he were here.
You feel no resentment, though, as you bring the flowers to your nose, smiling until your cheeks ache. “Red carnations. Pretty,” you hum, lost in the moment.
There’s a beat of silence before Eddie’s voice rings out across the room.
“Carnations? Harrington, I said red roses. You’re a dead man walking.”
"And I lost you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon."
Once Eddie returns home, it’s just as he promises - he almost doesn’t even make it through the door when his lips find yours at 3 AM, his suitcase thrown off somewhere to the side of your entryway. He’s too busy to care about anything else but you at the moment.
“Fuck,” he gasps between kisses, “I fucking missed you. God, I missed you.”
You’re silent as you nod in agreement against him, just eager to feel his touch once more. You’d waited three months too long for this moment, ever since he first left through that door for the tour.
“Needy, baby?” he teases, just as breathless as you are when the two of you finally pull apart, him kicking the door shut behind him. Your hands are grabbing weakly at the lapels of his jacket, too eager to be embarrassed, “God, always so needy for me. Just how I fucking like you.”
He’s always talkative, even during sex, but you have no patience for it tonight. “Shut up.”
“Aw, now that’s no way to greet your boyfriend you missed, is it, baby?” he eggs you on, looking down at you and your swollen lips with a wicked grin.
You open your mouth to snark back, but he refuses to give you the chance before he’s picking you up, lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder.
“Eddie!” you shriek, but laughter laces the protest. Your hands grip the back of his t-shirt as he begins to walk down the hallway, and you start to kick your feet out of defiance, but a sharp smack sounds through the quiet apartment as he playfully slaps your ass, putting an end to the kicks.
“Yeah, you better warm up those vocal chords,” he chuckles. The moment you’re back in your bedroom, he’s quick to toss you onto the mattress, finally mounted on a frame. The comforter flares around you, your head sinking into a pillow as Eddie is quick to remove his jacket and shirt, climbing up the bed between your legs, “Gonna have you chanting my name like a goddamn prayer, sweetheart.”
He removes your pajamas as he has a thousand times before, but it still doesn’t feel fast enough. You find yourself squirming, trying to help him pull off the flannel pants and t-shirt you’d stolen from his side of the closet, but he stops all movements immediately.
He shakes his head, hovering above you, his hair like a curtain around the two of you as your top lip brushes his bottom one and his mint breath fans over your face. “Slow it down for me, yeah? Wanna enjoy this,” he murmurs.
You obey, stilling below him save for your chest, rising and falling rapidly with waiting breaths. He finally dips down, his pick necklace tickling your collarbones as his mouth covers yours.
A culmination of three long months is spent into the kiss. All the restless nights, long phone calls, endless yearning. You can tell that he had missed you, longed for you, just as much as you had him.
It’s languid, the way your body reacts to each of his touches. As far as it was concerned, no time had passed. He does as he had said, taking his time, savoring each kiss he presses down your throat and over your breasts. He’s memorizing each crevice of you, every soft curve he’d dreamt of for 91 days.
Your squirming resumes when his hot breath reaches your navel, but he doesn’t scold you, bringing his hands to your hips and pressing them down into the mattress. “Let me show you just how much I missed you. Let me take care of you, baby.”
He’s enjoying it, the sound of your whines a better soundtrack than any of the music that had damaged his eardrums during the tour. His fingers dance over your bare skin, skimming right over the band of your underwear and tracing lines down your thighs. It’s agonizing - the waiting is terrible.
Terribly worth it, as it turns out.
When he finally decides to speed up his teasing, bringing a finger to brush across your clothed slit, you gasp. Your hands twist into the sheets at each side of you, but he isn’t having it.
“Now that’s not where those belong,” he mumbles, a hot breath over your panties sending shivers down your spine. He’s quick - his fingers suddenly hook into the waistband, and he’s pulling them down and off over your ankles with an eagerness finally matching your own. He throws them aimlessly to the bedroom floor, joining the rest of your discarded clothes recklessly. Neither of you care - you won’t be needing them the rest of the night.
He settles into the mattress, a leg thrown over each of his shoulders before he grabs your hands and guides them to tangle into his hair. He’s still taking his time, sucking his way up your inner thighs and leaving flowering bruises in his wake. Once he reaches where you want him to most, where you’re aching for him so pitifully, he pauses.
He repeats his earlier words, “God, I’ve missed you.”
He takes you by surprise as he dives right in, tongue flattening and licking a long stride up, starting at your entrance. His nose bumps over your clit before his tongue begins to dance circles, painting a secret language between the two of you over the sensitive bundle of nerves. One of his hands joins him, middle finger circling your entrance slowly before he presses in. He sets a pace quickly, pumping the finger a few times, tongue working magic, before he adds a second one. They curl with intention, pressing into the spongy spot of your walls that he knew like the back of his hand. It’s the exact spot that makes your back arch off the bed.
He pulls back his mouth, fingers continuing to pump and curl vigorously as he looks up at you dreamily. He eases one of his arms over your hips, pressing down, holding you in place.
He’s a dream. A goddamn dream. He’s finally here, looking up at you, grinning like a Devil as he watches you unravel at his hand.
“So pretty. Always so, so beautiful, but especially like this,” he says more to himself, but you hear him, a moan falling from your lips. His mouth returns to you, lips latching onto your clit, sucking harshly.
“Fuck,” you breathe into the still air of your apartment room, not caring if the neighbors hear but your chest too heavy to grow much louder, head fuzzy and all-consumed by him, “Eddie.”
He was right. His name falls from your mouth in pants, chanting to him as if he were your God.
It only spurs him on, fingers working expertly as he alternates between sucking and lapping at your clit. You can hear how wet you are for him, how close you are before the knot forms in your abdomen.
“Oh my God- Oh, fuck. Right there,” your hips buck involuntarily into his face, and he loosens his grip on your hips, letting you, “I’m gonna…G-Gonna…”
“Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he encourages, fingers curling harshly, “Cum on my face, baby. Do it.”
He puts his tongue back to work, You force your eyes open to catch sight of him, buried in your pussy, admiring how pretty he looked from this angle. The sight of his tousled curls, twisted tightly in your grip as you yank mercilessly, is all it takes for you to finally come undone.
A broken prayer, repeated over and over as a warmth rushes over you. Your vision goes white, eyes tightly screwed shut, toes curling and thighs clenching over his ears. It doesn’t phase him, continuing his assault until he’s sure you’ve come down. You have to tug on his hair, more intentional this time, to pull him away from you due to how sensitive you grow.
He rises, letting your legs fall limply against the mattress as he wears a boyish grin on his slick lips. Slowly, he makes his way up to you, back to the virtues of patience as he takes his time to finally kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a bitter sort of sweetness, as he cradles your face.
“You good?” he gently asks against your lips. You can barely move, nodding lethargically.
“So good,” you croak, a smile breaking out. Your eyes crack open to see him looking down at you with pure adoration, “I missed you.”
You start to run your hand down his chest, reaching the zipper of his jeans before his hand stops you.
“No, not yet. We’ve got plenty of time for that. Just wanna hold you right now, baby,” he nearly pleads. You can’t deny him, not with his eyes shining like that, so you allow him to fall into place on his side of the bed before you curl up against his bare torso.
The two of you stay that way for what feels like hours, his arms wrapped around you as he traces out constellations on your bare shoulder blades. Just outside of your solace, a bubble you’ve trapped yourselves in, you can hear the faint call of the city. Honks from cars on the street, shouts from pedestrians, the occasional siren. It’s all background noise to this moment.
“I have something for you,” he suddenly whispers as you teeter on the edge of sleep. You hum in response, lifting your head lazily. He pats you gently, signaling for you to let him stand before he walks to his discarded jacket by the door. When he returns to your side, he's gripping a small, white box, tied with a scarlet ribbon.
“A gift?” you ask, excitement helping wake you up as you sit up quickly, “For me?”
“For you,” he affirms, taking a seat beside you. Your knees bump as your hands fumble to take the box from him. A soft glow from one of the restaurants on your street floods between the curtains and into the room, a soft neon pink illuminating your features as you carefully unravel the red ribbon.
As the silk falls, you hardly can contain your excitement before lifting the lid off the box.
A necklace.
Your eyes trace over it, already fawning with appreciation for your boy, but then you catch sight of exactly what the necklace is.
“Your mom’s ring?” you can’t hide the emotion that shakes the timbre of your voice. It cracks into a million pieces.
At the end of the delicate silver chain, sits his mother’s ring. The one you hadn’t even noticed missing from his barren right hand.
“Happy birthday,” he whispers, pulling you in and pressing his lips into your temple. You’re still too stunned, too overcome with a million and one feelings all at once.
“Eddie… I- I can’t… this is-”
“I want you to have it. I think she’d want you to have it, too,” he insists, taking the box from your grasp and lifting the necklace from its cotton cushion, “I know it’s not a lot, but I just… I wanted to get you something that let you know how important you are to me. Something for you to always have as a reminder that I’ll come back to you. You’re it for me, sweetheart. This is- this is real to me. The kind of real that lasts forever.”
You can tell he’s growing emotional, too, as his feather light touch brushes your hair to the side, bringing the necklace up around your neck and clasping it securely. When the ring falls to its new home at the base of your neck, cool against your skin, you can feel tears falling. He’s quick to swipe them away, his own watery irises peering into yours.
“You’re everything to me,” he says this with vindication. With such assuredness it terrifies you, burrows into your bones and claims you.
In this moment, you know he has forever stained you. There was no washing this mark he has left you off - there would forever be a piece of your heart occupied by the brown-eyed boy in front of you.
All you can do is lean forward, hands gingerly threading through his bangs as you push them back to plant a kiss on his forehead. A crimson blush spreads across his cheeks and neck at the act of tenderness.
When you pull back, he immediately lifts his fingers to the necklace he’s just gifted you, fingers careful but determined as they tug you back to him, kissing you with everything in him. He pours his soul, his body, and his heart into it.
“I love you,” you exhale against his swollen lips.
“And I love you.”
You believe him, because he believes himself. That’s the thing about endings - no one sees them coming.
"The mark they saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones, the lips I used to call home. So scarlet, it was maroon."
The next year proves you right. After that tour, Corroded Coffin became a phenomenon. A record deal falls into the boys’ laps quickly, multiple one-off shows selling out locally before the news finally comes that they are officially in the position to record their debut album.
The two of you celebrate with cheap wine, but it’s as sweet as champagne in your contentment.
The recording of the album is brutal. Night after night, you attempt to wait up on Eddie, eventually falling victim to drowsiness before he would wake you with his arrival from the studio in the early hours of the morning. You never minded, only happy for his warmth as he crawled right into bed with you, collapsing into you and letting the world melt away.
Long gone are the days of struggling paycheck-to-paycheck as the boys’ can hardly keep up with printing enough shirts for their shows, merchandise selling out in the handfuls.
You catch sight of a young girl wearing one of their shirts one day in the grocery store, and can’t help the flood of pride that overtakes your chest. Your boyfriend, your Eddie, was finally having all of his dreams come to fruition; the world was finally seeing him as the rockstar you’d nominated him as since that first night.
You can tell that it’s tiring. Eddie is exhausted by the time the album is finished, but you can also sense the satisfaction he felt at finally completing it. When the first demo arrived, he wasted no time in electing you to be the first to listen to it. It was an entire ordeal - the two of you ordered your favorite take-out, curling up on your couch and pressing together as the same boombox that had played that mixtape on your first night in your home now plays his songs.
Your reaction was exactly as he had expected, as he had hoped for.
You had always been his number one cheerleader through it all. With each new song, you were gushing to him with admiration and reverence. Pointing out lyrics that tugged particularly taut on your heartstrings, praising the guitar solos and vocals he’d worked tirelessly to perfect. You don’t leave a single stone left unturned, claiming this was your new favorite album.
“Careful, sweetheart. You’re really stroking my ego here,” he warns, but his smile shines as brightly as your own.
“Eddie, this is… this is… it’s fucking incredible!” you cheer, completely at a loss for words. You weren’t exaggerating - to hear all of his hard work paying off, to have watched him grow from covering Metallica in a stuffy garage to this left you starstruck. You were in absolute awe.
He blushes, playing with his hair and bringing it up to hide his emotional reaction.
The album could fail. It could become nothing more than a whisper in the night, but the fact that you liked it was all that mattered to him.
You look at him earnestly, taking his cheeks in your warm and soothing palms, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eds.”
And you were. You continued to be. The album was a hit.
It climbed the charts with ease, just as you expected. Local alternative stations played it on loop. You were sure to hear it at least once during taxi rides, and had even heard it playing softly over the speakers at the gas station on the corner by your apartment complex. Eddie had been with you, and took pleasure in getting to inform the cashier that it was his song playing, his band was on the radio.
It was New York, so the cashier couldn’t have cared less, but it made you glow with pride.
But with a hit album came a new slew of responsibilities for the band, including a headlining tour.
The night that the band’s manager called Eddie, informing him they were set to start planning the tour, he’d run into the room, so frantic you were worried something bad had happened.
“Holy shit!” he yells, causing you to shush him once you recovered from the scare he’d caused you. He ignores you, grabbing you off the bed, lifting you up and spinning you, just like the very first night, “Holy shit! We’re going on tour! A headlining tour! I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar!”
Once you process his news, you become just as animated in his arms, “What? No fucking way!”
“Yes fucking way!”
“Oh my God!”
“I know!”
You hear banging on the wall from the neighbors, probably shouting at the two of you to quiet down, but neither of you can contain your excitement.
“I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar, baby,” he laughs deliriously, placing you back down so that you’re face-to-face with him, “A rockstar.”
“You’ve always been a rockstar, pretty boy,” you giggle, cheeks sore with elation, “The rest of the world is just finally getting the memo.”
The planning takes a while. Part of you is grateful, selfishly drinking in and enjoying the time you have left with him before you’re sure he’ll have to leave for an extended period. The names of cities you had never had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with once again enter conversations, talks of how far and wide the band would travel becoming Eddie’s favorite topic.
You’re proud of him, you really are. But reality seeps its way into the crevices.
What starts as the possibility of a brief, three month tour - something the two of you had already faced and defeated triumphantly - quickly turns into six months. And it doesn’t stop there. Six months could become eight, easily, with adding in a few pit stops to radio stations to guarantee continued radio-play. There’s talks of signings, of meet and greets, of music festivals. The more time given to planning, the more time given for the band’s popularity to grow even more.
The entire thing expands without consideration, lifting Eddie right up with it, right out of your reach.
The night before he’s set to leave for tour, your anxieties are getting the best of you. You had helped him pack, going over the list of necessities with him three times too many. He had everything he needed, packed tightly into a suitcase - everything except you.
That night, you sit on your side of your shared bed, watching Eddie pace with excitement. You feel guilty that your own anticipation can’t quite match his. All you can think about is how long he’ll be gone: eight months, two hundred and forty five days. Five thousand, eight hundred and eighty hours. Over three hundred thousand minutes. You’d done the math.
“Fuck,” he sighs, finally throwing himself down onto the bed beside you, “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
You can’t bring up your insecurity, your fears, to him. Not when he’s so happy. Not when he’s finally getting everything he’d dreamt about for so long, worked so hard for. No, it would be selfish to share your unease at the time and distance about to spread between the two of you.
Besides, you had done it once before. Not on this scale, of course, but you convinced yourself it would work out all the same. He would call as often as he could. He’d be coming home to you. It would pass - it would work out.
“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar.”
An echo of the past. A time that felt so far away from the two of you now. This time around, as you say them, you don’t feel the same joy coating your tongue.
Your tone is supportive, so Eddie doesn’t taste any of the disdain. Later that night, as he’s kissing you, hips rolling to meet yours in a sacred promise, fingers intertwined in yours as you pant each other’s names back and forth, he still doesn’t taste it. All he tastes is euphoria. And he brings you right to it with him, over, and over, and over again.
Euphoria tastes metallic by the end of it.
He leaves bruises painted up and down your neck, covering your collarbones and chest like an art piece hanging in the Louvre. You can’t help but wonder how long it will take for his marks to fade, for the physical reminder that he was here and in your arms to disappear from your grasp.
As he makes love to you, it begins to feel like a goodbye, because it is.
He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it does.
The first month follows similarly to how his first tour did. Nightly phone calls, whispered love confessions and discussions of each other’s day. For a moment, you convince yourself that all of your fears and anxieties had been silly. They almost recede from your mind completely, fading with his love marks on your collarbone.
But then it begins.
Phone calls become less frequent. Every night because every other night, until they’re eventually weekly. At some point, you only have the privilege of hearing his voice over the line monthly. It is a slow burning fire, turning everything you had built with him to ashes. Conversations that once could drag on for hours turn to ten minute discussions that end in him rushing off the phone, someone on the other end of the line demanding his attention more urgently than you did.
You can’t even fight it. You need him, but they need him more.
You know you’ve lost him when he stops saying he loves you. It’s subtle, you don’t even believe he’s noticed, but one night’s phone call is cut particularly short, and the end arrives.
“Hey, baby, I’m sorry, but they need me for soundcheck,” he says, the line staticky with white noise, making it hard to hear him.
He’s never felt farther away, and they’re not even on the west coast leg of the tour yet.
“Oh,” you whisper, disappointment gripping your lungs, “Oh, that’s fine! Go, they need you.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. You miss hearing that in person, that soft laughter in the shell of your ear over inside jokes and one too many glasses of wine. “Rockstar duties and all. We’ll talk more later?”
“Of course. Go give ‘em, Hell,” you keep your tone light, but the tears have started to build up across your waterline, “I love you.”
The line goes dead before you can even finish your sentence. The dial tone echoes back to you, and it doesn’t matter how hard you strain, no words of affection can be deciphered in its deafening ringing.
That’s when you break.
The flood comes, tears racing down your cheeks as you roll over and clutch the pillow that you’re not even sure was once his. The bed no longer has a clear boundary, a side that belonged to him and a side that belonged to you. It’s all muddled together now. You’re not even sure you’d recognize the smell of his cologne now.
A heart has never broken so quietly. The sobs are there, but no sounds escape your mouth as you whimper. You had always known it would be hard, everyone had warned you, but you had always assumed you could take it, because Eddie would be by your side, hand slotted with yours as it was the two of you against the world. But now you stood in the storm, and the space beside you was eerily empty. It was all a bit much. A gaping hole forms in your chest that night, gory as it bleeds scarlet red for a boy a world away, and you know that there is not a single bandage in the world to heal it.
He doesn’t call back after that, and the hole tears larger.
There’s a few texts here and there. But none of them ever say the three words you so desperately crave from him. You feel like strangers.
After two months of radio silence, save for two text messages from him, you’ve made up your mind.
He never calls, so you never tell him. You gather what belongings can be called solely yours, which isn’t many, and you write a letter in your cowardice. You find an apartment on the other side of town. There’s a nice job waiting for you, something that pays better than waitressing.
You leave your key on the kitchen counter beside a vase with wilted carnations.
"I wake with your memory over me, that’s a real fucking legacy (it was maroon)."
Six months later, the ache never fades. He calls. When he returns from tour to find an empty apartment, cursive letter calling it quits, he calls. You almost consider changing your number at one point.
There’s a flood of text messages. Small letters on a shining screen filled with all the words you needed to hear so many months before. All of the things he should have said, now revealed too late.
You don’t reply, because if you reply, you’ll change your mind.
You tell yourself it’s for the best. That in order for him to achieve what he’d wanted, he couldn’t have someone back home weighing him down. You were a road bump on his path to everything he was destined to be, and this was for the best.
At some point, he gets the message. You wish he hadn’t, selfishly so, but he does. The phone calls stop. The text messages don’t light up your phone at midnight anymore. You keep up your end of the lease on your once-shared apartment, sending checks to pay your half of the rent until the lease agreement has ended. You have no clue if he moves. Returning to that side of town would simply hurt too much.
A new normalcy is found. It is a lonely one, but it is one all the same. Sparse phone calls are still exchanged with your friends from Hawkins, but none of them ever bring up Eddie. You’re sure they know, that he had told them, that they had witnessed the aftermath (if there had been any). They were always his friends first, though, and so when the calls dwindle, it doesn’t surprise you.
It’s a year later when someone mentions his name to you. You had kept up well enough with Corroded Coffin, the last remnants of your past life being something you couldn’t get rid of. You knew they were thriving; they were in the talks of releasing a second album, and going back on tour soon. His name is mentioned when a coworker brings him up.
They ask you if you want to attend the Corroded Coffin show with them next week. They have a spare ticket and would prefer to not go alone.
You lie and say you have plans.
But the only plans you have on that bustling night are the ones spent in your apartment. Your one-bedroom apartment is in a nicer part of town, better views out of the window now. When you pull back the curtains, you don’t find a brick wall forever tainted by what once was - you can see the entrance to a music venue that’s sign currently advertises tonight’s show.
CORRODED COFFIN, ONE NIGHT ONLY - SOLD OUT
You avoid the window at all costs as you get yourself ready for bed that night. Neighbors had already off-handedly warned you it would be a noisy night, claiming you’d feel as if you were at the show yourself based on proximity. On your way home from work, you bought earplugs.
But the night grows older, a chill in the air as the clock strikes ten, and you can’t help it. You’ve been laying in bed for hours now, earplugs in, only feeling the faint thrumming of intense bass for less than an hour when you finally stand up. You approach the window timidly, scared of what you find. Maybe a ghostly reflection of him, standing in the street, holding up a boombox playing a mixtape of your favorite songs.
It’s a bitter hopefulness that is full of childish dreams.
When you stand in your window, curtains pulled back and earplugs finally disregarded on your nightstand, Eddie Munson isn’t standing on the street. All that is there is the neon glow of a red sign that shatters crimson shadows across your cheeks.
He’s not on the street. He’s too busy on the stage inside, being the rockstar he had always been destined to be. The one he could be now that you had let him go.
All that you see as you look out the window is your own tired reflection, donning nothing but a wine-stained t-shirt and a delicate, silver chain around your neck, a ring you couldn’t bring yourself to return resting heavily between your collarbones.
"That’s a real fucking legacy to leave."
reblogs, likes, and comments appreciated! <3
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfic#oooo look at me trying to post this several months later#and at 2 am no less#i'm just in a silly goofy mood and curious#will it post? will it stick? will it get me thrown in shadow jail?#time will tell!#also i made that divider myself i'm very proud of myself#formatting is bad but hey#it is what it is!
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In Your Arms
Pairing: Finnick Odair x Male Reader
Requested: Yes
Request(s): “I heard you wanted HungerGames and came running 🏃♀️ Alright so it’s after the book series and Finnick and reader are finally living the life they want and obviously Finnick is alive and well because fuck that he deserved so much better. Finnick isn’t on his capital diet and he has a little fat on his body and reader loves it and always touches it but Finnick gets insecure because he thinks reader hates it.” + “Can I request a finnick x male reader with angst and comfort where they comfort each other after the quarter quell?”
A/N: Combining these two requests since they seemed like they could fit together well
—--
For the first time since the revolution, Finnick wakes up alone. He is cold - the damp sand at his back has long since lost its warmth - and freezing water laps at his legs as he jolts upright. His first instinct is that he’s back in the Arena - that something, someone, is coming after him. He scrambles to his feet, sand sucking his feet down in a way that feels claustrophobic rather than the way it normally grounds him and the cold rain plasters his hair to his face.
Thunder booms in the distance, the sound echoing the canons that haunt his nightmares and sending him further into his panic. He’s jerky, out of practice in a way that he can normally take comfort in but now only serves to make him feel all the more on edge. He could see shadows flickering in his peripherals, tree branches and whispering grasses coalescing into hunters, other tributes just out of sight and beyond his perception though just close enough for him to feel like a fish being hunted by a heron.
As he struggles to regain his balance he realizes that he is alone, the indent you had left in the sand beside him long abandoned. His heart stops in his chest, feeling suddenly like he’s had the air kicked out of him - if you were gone, did that mean you were…? No. No, you couldn’t be. If you were dead-
“Finn?” Your voice snaps Finnick out of his spiral almost instantly and he whirls to face you, a massive smile breaking across his lips as he stumbles up the beach toward you.
“Where were you?” He gasps, tucking his head into your shoulder as he throws himself into your arms, unable to even pretend to care as he knocks whatever you’d been carrying out of your grasp.
His nerves start to settle as you clutch him close to your chest, arms curled tight around him. “I’m sorry,” the words rush out of you quickly as you realize what he must’ve been thinking, “I’m sorry Finnick. I woke up and it looked like you were cold so I went to get blankets from the cabin. I meant to be back before you woke up and then it started raining and it took me longer to get back-” You trailed off as you took in his state, pulling back just far enough to look at him, “God, you’re freezing. C’mon, Finn, let’s get you home and warmed up before you get sick. I’ll come back for the blankets later, when it’s not raining.”
Finnick allows himself to be tugged along after you, stumbling over the slight hills in the sand as he follows you back to your shared cabin at the other end of the cove. He’s still a little out of it as the front door swings shut behind the two of you, but he has enough presence of mind to toe off his shoes and follow you into your bedroom.
“C’mon love,” you say, digging through his dresser to find him some dry pajamas. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
He blanches at that, suddenly far too aware of the way he’d changed since the Games. His wet clothes clung to him, sticky with water and plastered to the soft stomach and curves that’d formed in the years after the Hunger Games had been ended. He knew that you liked knowing he was comfortable and felt safe enough to relax, but he couldn’t help but feel less worthy of the attention, especially with the way he had been treated in the years between his Games and the Quarter Quell. He eventually follows your request, tugging off his soaked shirt and holding it in front of his chest and stomach subconsciously.
You turn back, eyes narrowing as you notice his defensive body language. “You okay, Finn? You seem… tense. Is it still the nightmare?”
He shakes his head, slowly forcing himself to approach you, dropping his shirt as he gets close. “‘M’okay.”
You step toward him, cupping his face in your hands fondly. “Sweetheart, I’m here for you. You know I love you, right? And whatever you’re dealing with, I’m here to support you.”
Finnick hesitates, but presses into your palms and closes his eyes after a moment. “I don’t feel strong enough for you anymore.” He can feel the way your hands start to shake where he rests against him and he knows that you must be heartbroken to hear what he had been thinking. “I just- I don’t know if I could protect you if something happened and I don't look-” his voice breaks a little as he voices his insecurity.
You interrupt him with a fond eye roll and a tender kiss, “You look like the love of my life,” you murmur quietly, pressing soft kisses across his cheeks and forehead. “And I love that you are safe and don’t need to be fighting ready unless you want to be. I love who you are, Finn, not just how you look and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if that’s what it takes for you to know it.”
Finnick feels like crying - to have gone from being treated as little more than a toy for strangers’ pleasure to being so wholly loved in just a few short years was a little overwhelming to think about, but he knows that he couldn’t be happier if he were anywhere else and he wouldn’t want to be. He is more than happy to be here, safe and loved and willing to carve out a new place for himself in the world with you. He knows that there is nowhere he would rather be than in your arms.
#finnick odair x male reader#finnick odair x male!reader#male reader x finnick odair#male!reader x finnick odair#hunger games x male reader#hunger games x male!reader#hunger games x reader#hunger games reader insert#x male!reader#x reader#male!reader insert#male reader insert#male!reader#male reader
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AUGURIES OF
LOVE & DYNASTY
The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #4 —
—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—
Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader
A/N — Another little smut trial for you guys and the pup/family dynamic, most of all I'm testing out my strengths and weaknesses and what my limitations are; and if they can maybe be improved on. GN smut is rather tricky for me to really get into the groove of if I'm being honest. That doesn't mean I'll stop writing for GN entirely but I may have to find a work around.
Not only that but I fucking LOVE writing the angst, hardened wolf most of all with Wanda. Fuckin' love the angst and shit... so soft stuff like this is kinda a small bone in the mix but my main go to is the more hurt and angst genre, that and the tension, the build up for me is just *chef kiss*. But little a/n rant over. Enjoy!
WORD COUNT — 2.9k
READER DISCRETION — fluff content — wolf family and pups — pregnant Wanda — SLIGHT SMUT 18+, MINORS DNI* — clawed fingering — sliver of breeding or pregnancy kink? — remote location — minor and implied torture and stuff (left to reader's interpretation) — mention of scars — profanity — use of Y/N — named pups — I think that's it?
SUMMARY — Another morning rises over the snowy peaks. Your home in the wilds is peaceful and undisturbed. This winter, your first litter of pups are eager to begin to live as the young wolves of your dynasty. Meanwhile, Wanda happily carries your second litter.
Your very heart beats in time with the earth, each heavy footfall of the paw echoes beneath. Your blood runs alongside the rushing current of rivers. The chill of snow sinking under your weight feels familiar in contrast to unclean pavement.
Sunlight bleeds over yonder just beyond the snowy mountain peaks. The amber glow of its rays paint an overlay over the blue and black tinted landscape littered with white. Branches above shiver in the breath of winter and birds chirp amongst each other, calling out in the early morning. You stalk the hidden and unmarked path now all knowing of where it leads you. When another breeze sweeps across the river beds below, its chill runs along the fur of your back with a hollow greeting.
Still, you continue to walk at your own leisure, enjoying the pleasantries of the wilds offered to you. Sanctuary is a place where one feels safe, away from the harms of the world beyond. Everywhere you have been there have been many great dangers. It was high time to return home to that sanctuary and your loved ones with you.
Your fur is dotted with a feathered dusting of white flakes, the shift in your weight occasionally shakes your coat to a near-cleansed appearance. Your long tail sways in motion to your movement, every so often lifting when a pair of small, sharp teeth graze it in hopes to play.
The pitter patter follow behind you with adoring loyalty and familiarity, your station the highest ranking, one earnt of respect and reverence since day one.
But still, there remains the habit of play. To take in the world around them, piece by piece; gathered in their clutches of their curious, short muzzles.
In your journey to scout out the territory you take a minute to admire the scenery, a specular luxury granted to you for your unwavering protection to the land. You stand atop the lifted rise of dark stone layered and moulded together by the force of nature. A perfect spot to use as a vantage point.
Your cluster of pups, the first litter of many to come, whine and yelp together in their time of playing, small paws scraping across the hardened surface. Keena and Leo engage one another in a mock fight. Their teeth pulling and tugging each other by the scruff and ears, Leo barks in retaliation when Keena becomes a little too rough.
With a snort, Keena wanders closer to you whilst Leo is entertained by his other siblings. Curious as Keena was to find whatever it was that grasped hold of your attention, there is still much to see, to smell and explore. She devises a plan and bows her body in preparation, tail wagging from side to side when your lips curl up in warning. A rumble bellows from the cavity of your large chest, steam clouds across your dark nose.
Keena’s plans are disrupted and with a tucked tail, she submits and sits between the pillars of your front limbs. Not too long are the remainder of your pups under your protective stature but with a summoning huff, you beckon them to follow after you.
They’re still new to the changes of their wolf bodies, uneven on their paws as they keep their best of balance, tricky as it might be. You sure don’t make it look easy but the grace of your form inspires them to not give in. They’re determined to share this side of their bloodline with you.
To be as steady as you, as dangerously graceful and practised as you.
The sun shines higher now and the world has grown a tad bit warmer, if only a little. That doesn’t mean your pups still endure the cold without sacrifice, shivering with a series of pitiful whines of complaint. But they have the heat of your body to thank for warming them during the trek back home, their small bodies lined down your back, nuzzling further into the thicket of your winter coat with content sighs.
They fared better this time around before the tiredness in their bodies wore them down.
You near the wooden refuge you call den and with a newfound surge of eagerness, your pups leap from the towering height of your back and race for the front door. Keena is the first to change back and pound her small fists on the door with utter demand that the door be opened, yet unable to reach the doorknob herself.
When you reach the pile up of your offspring waiting impatiently at the door, having now shifted back into the second skin not covered in fur, you reach forward and push the door open for them. Relieved to be out of the cold they charge into the house and down the stretch of hallway.
“Mama! Mama!” They bark and yell, the beckoned person answering their cries exits the kitchen. Her green eyes meet them with a light akin to a lighthouse, bright and burning in the lone distant night to call them home.
Her wide smile stretched open to reveal the row of pearly white teeth assures them that their mother’s love sparks ever true, no matter the time nor place, that their eagerness for her attention remains just the same as any other.
“My pups,” she greets softly. She bends down to meet them, arms warm and inviting to her embrace. Leo snuggles tightly against her chest when Keena tugs at the nape of his neck. “Careful! Our siblings are in her tummy.”
Truer words had never been spoken by one of your young ones. The second litter of your dynasty resides safe and snug in the large bulb of Wanda’s womb, nursing them until their eventual birth into the pack.
“Did you enjoy yourselves?” Their mother asks them, focusing one each of their round, devoted eyes that marvel her loving gaze. She made each of them feel equally special. They nod and hum, undoubtedly smiling from ear to ear as she entertains them.
You linger back in the hallway to simply take in the picturesque of it all as your pups recount their adventure with you this morning. The smile of your wife is oh so sweet, a sculpted visage of unmatched beauty to beat against your brutality.
Often you do as you’re doing now. Sit back and observe your family. The intimate nature of mother and pups is always a favoured sight of yours, how tender she caters to them and how they bask in the wonderment of their mother; the woman who gave them life and brought them into the world through darkness and pain.
She endured the months of labour for them. Forever, a mark of her true strength and courage and pure love.
All you simply do is admire and love her in return, despite it being incapable of comparison. She carried the first litter without complaint or regret and she’s a soldier for the second litter. Unfazed by the barrage of kicks and movement within the womb, pups fighting for room amidst their growth.
Truly a marvel. A woman who you happily call wife and mate. Your arms fold over your chest, the corners of your lips tilted up as you continue to observe from afar. That’s when Wanda’s eyes finally meet yours and that hunger within the glaze of green ignites your own. You growl deeply under your next exhaled breath.
‘The moment I get you alone…’
Wanda smirks at you with a cheeky glint you know well, but her attention is stolen by your pups once again. She rises to her feet, hands held to her large bump, she beckons the pups to sit at the dining table. You don’t miss the flash of scarlet warning you that your presence is mandatory.
With a submissive shrug to her silent order you follow behind. But you pause just as you pass one of the frames, reflection faint in the glass. Your eyes scan the faces of those you left back in the city for your remote life with Wanda in the wilds of your sanctuary. They were not forgotten nor were they truly left behind in the past forever. You plan to visit them sometime and vice versa, but plans become muddled and complicated in the matter of saving the world.
A feat that took its hefty toll on you. Never one to consider yourself the type to retire, it was for the best. There, the wolf was caged to fight, moving from one fight to the next it seemed or to be confined in a cell; seen as an animal unworthy of complete trust.
The ring of skin around your neck is still marred in its process to heal. For how much longer is undetermined but the pain tied to it left you no choice but to resign yourself to the wilds of home.
And Wanda would come with you.
Now here you are, sitting around the table together as Wanda fixes you both your morning coffees while your children devour their plates in record time, their mother scolding them to chew their breakfast. Keena’s face had already been stained with the sticky substance of syrup from her pancakes, Leo and Tymon opting to race each other while eating their cereal and the youngest of their litter, Peeta munches on a piece of buttered toast.
You never really had an appetite in the winter morning - if you didn’t count Wanda that is - you often kept to a simple coffee to be your wake up call. Wanda’s lips meet your hairline for a quick, affectionate peck, hand sliding your mug onto the table. But you have other plans. With a husky growl you pull her into your lap.
“Y/N!” she yelps in surprise. Her laugh fills the room as a joyful prophecy. Your pups cannot contain their own comings of laughter as well at the loving sight of their parents sharing in one another’s orbit for a short moment.
Wanda swats at you with a hand but you remain adamant she stays in your lap. “I have dishes to wash up,” she argues only for you to shake your head, nose nestling her mark. “We can do that together afterwards. Let me hold you a while.”
How can she resist your wolfish charms? You purr in your victory when Wanda gives in, knowing just how much she loves it deep down; to be held in your protective arms and your exploring hands wandering over the curve of her bump.
You feel the pups kick and push against the wall of her womb to greet your hands. Their desire to touch grows stronger by the day, it was due to happen any day now.
Wanda sighs softly and you join her in watching your pups eat together, talking amongst themselves for their planned activities for the day. Wanda’s hands fall over the top of yours and her fingers dance over the cool surface of your wedding band.
The overly large size of her winter sweater leaves the skin of her shoulder exposed for your lips to ghost across it, causing a shiver to run the length of her spine.
“You’re getting me excited,” she whispers to you and your smirk, fangs speaking over the bottom of your lip. “Good. Just how I want you, Honey.”
Wanda pushes her body against yours in the midst of her battling desire, the action screaming desperation. And you weren’t one to refuse your wife - your mate - her pleasure. After all, she was carrying your pups. Your successors.
Your dynasty.
“Tell me what you want, mate,” you say against her lips. The kiss is heated and messy, tongues mingling together in the hot throw of combined passion. She whines softly and the sound causes your hips to jerk forward.
“I want you…” you devour her words with a hungering growl. “I want you to touch me, please…”
There it was. She misses your touch. Exactly what you wanted to hear. Parting your lips from the kiss you chuckle, the sound dark and dangerous in your infatuation with the woman under you.
“Good girl.”
Your fingers brush up her exposed thigh, her little maternal dress doing things to your wolf brain that made it go haywire with unbridled, primal desire. With a groan you push aside the damp fabric of her panties and use your thumb to circle her clit.
The quiver in her legs a telltale sign of her weakness for your touch, leaving her to turn into putty and you’d only just begun. “Is this what you wanted, mate? You wanted my fingers to be buried in you?” You taunt.
“Please.” She continues to beg. You tilt you head, obvious in your torture to hear her beg for more, for what she craved.
“Please what?”
“I want your fingers inside me, oh fuck, please!”
Shit, her sounds are music to your ears. You use two fingers to smear the slick of her arousal along her awaiting entrance, her hips grinding with enthusiastic vigour.
“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby. So needy for me.”
She mewls in response to your fingers teasing her cunt. She wants to feel your fingers stuffing her full, ploughing her tight tunnel until you’re all three knuckle deep fucking her. She wants to cum around your clawed fingers, to feel that dangerous and sharp coil that leads her right over the edge of bliss.
The pools of her euphoria by your ministrations await her.
“Let me feel your claws.”
“Oh, Sweetheart,” you drawl lowly, “I love it when you ask for the claws.”
You waste no more time. You push two fingers past her folds, her walls wet and welcoming and hot; tightly wrapped around your clawed digits. She moans sharply and her head leans back into the pillow. You thrust your fingers at a steady pace. You ensure that you reach the very end of your knuckles to reach as far as you’re able, your claws gently scrape her spongy walls, dragging moans from deep within her core.
Wanda moans again when your fingers brush that sensitive, deep spot, her hips buck up to meet the next thrust of your hand in hopes of reaching it again. You chuckle again at the pure, chaotic need in her eyes that plead for you.
“You want to cum around my fingers, mate?”
“Y-yes!” she can feel it in her core, the rubberband ready to snap with her climactic high. “Please, Y/N, please let me cum.”
“Go on, Sweetheart. Cum for me.” Her mouth falls apart just as she does around your thrusting digits, her teeth sink into the plush bottom of her lip to conceal the volume of her pleasured cries. Her fingers ring the sheets in an iron grip until she’s threatening to tear them apart.
You whisper soft praises against the skin of her cheek with a smirk. Nobody knew the gorgeous visage of her face when she came, only you and that was a sight you’d treasure to the end of time. Nobody else would bear witness to the way her body silently begs for you, how she grinds and thrusts her hips in response to your electric touch.
She breathes in deeply through her nose while you slow your fingers down, dragging her high out that little bit longer until you bring a complete stop. Fuck, how her swollen form looked utterly beautiful in the sunlit curtain of day, eyes clouded in their post-sex state, you slide a hand over the curve of her belly.
“You look so beautiful like this,” you sigh with a wistful look, “so full of my pups.” Wanda can see the excitement grow in your eyes, that glow of amber unable to be hidden when your desire becomes well known.
“Your pups,” she says in agreement. You hear the lust in her tone, the want for more evident.
“Oh, little witch.” Wanda could’ve sworn she could cum again just from hearing your husky, lust-laced voice use the nickname. You lean over her until she is pinned between you and the bed; the two greatest comforts she could ever know.
She smiles shyly up at you. “So fucking beautiful, so round with my pups. Our second litter.” She moans softly and her hands run through the mused length of your hair as you ravish her neck with love bites. The sensation tickles but once your teeth graze over her mark, her legs quiver together before they lock around your hips, already pulling you down to where you both connect so perfectly.
“Fuck, I need you.”
“And I’ll give it to you.”
Before you can begin to tug down the waistband of your pants does Wanda stop you. Your amber hues glow brightly in interest to her sudden need to halt the sensual operation. You hum to her softly to urge her to continue.
“I… I thought maybe we could try something a little different,” she says, biting her lip harder this time. Okay, now you’re fucking curious. “What is it?”
She takes a moment and you see the hesitance in her eyes. She’s reconsidering saying anything but you lift her unsure eyes to meet yours. You offer a kind smile, one that she knows she can trust without fear, that you are on her side; always.
“Whatever it is, I’m game.”
That’s all the remaining push she needs from you to ask.
Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)
TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —
@alexawynters
#marvel#female reader#gn reader#male reader#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda x werewolf! reader#wanda x reader#werewolf reader#wanda x werewolf! reader smut#wanda x you#wanda x y/n#wanda maximoff fluff#werewolf#marvel mcu#treehouse taglist#the dark demeter writing catalogue
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Brozone Diner thoughts
Honestly i am a really big fan of the fact brozone diner is little angst, don’t even get me wrong i love AUs that are heart wrenching as hell but i also love just running to my own AU and it being pure family fluff with a few crumbs of issues that they handle together.
John Dory is definitely an animal guy in my head and their pet dog Rhonda helps John Dory a lot like. Emotionally. John Dory needs his alone time but still like having his animal companion with him so Rhonda just helps him get through harder days!
I also like thinking about how it was before current brozone diner like. I think John Dory’s perfectionism was something prevalent and Bruce and Clay definitely got the brunt of it 💀 they’re not a boyband so i had to figure how to work it in a diner AU which made me think that John Dory felt validated in receiving 5 star reviews and having regulars. I work in a family business as well and oftentime when im taking a regular’s order, they’ll just ask for my mother who knows exactly what they want and how they want it which I imagine is what also went on with BrozoneDiner. John Dory probably compromised a lot of orders to keep customer satisfaction and made basically new items to keep regulars coming. When Bruce and Clay started working and they didn’t know the customers like John Dory did, and John Dory probably mega stressed when they were just newbies in the family business because of how often they would make first job mistakes. I think Bruce and Clay did resent him for his perfectionism but didn’t resent him as much as they did in Trolls 3 original storyline cause for every mistake they made, as much as John Dory would obnoxiously scold them for it, John Dory always protected them from angry customers and shit. A lot of this AU is based in my almost 10+ years working in family business and there are times i fucked up and i was pissed for being screamed at for simple mistakes but my parents who yelled at me are also the same parents who made sure no customer would yell at me and i think that would help settle some of Bruce’s and Clay’s frustrations with John Dory since John Dory didn’t really ruin something fun for them like a boy band; John Dory is literally just trying to provide for a family of 6 (Rosiepuff lived with them until she died but she was too old to be working, mostly just oversaw the kids as John Dory worked) They don’t break up and have a reunion in this AU but I imagine Bruce’s and Clay’s issues had to be resolved with time and less of a direct confrontation 💀💀💀 i think they did confront John Dory about it eventually after a few years floyd was born but i dont think it blew over into any extremes like JD, Bruce, or Clay running away or anything. I think John Dory finally relaxed after Bruce and Clay had become adults and Floyd and Branch were on their steady way to a decent future; i think at that point John Dory would have already grown accustomed to the routine of taking care of his younger brothers + handling and managing a diner and by that time Bruce and Clay were experienced in working in the diner and helping ease his worries a lot by contributing to the diner. ORGSUSHDH I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS AU FOR DAYS I HAVE A GOOGLE DOC WHERE I TALK ABOUT ALL OF THE BROTHERS’ PERSPECTIVES GROWING UP AND IM STILL WORKING OUT THE LOGISTICS OF THIS AU CAUSE I STILL WANT IT TO BE REALISTIC BUT IM GONNA SCREAM I LOVE THEM SO MUCH
i will not lie when i say a lot of my hyperfixation is directed towards john dory and honestly as much as i try to distribute the drawings i do of BrozoneDiner evenly between the brothers you can very much tell that the AU is john dory centric 💀💀💀
But yeah the crumblike amount of angst in this AU is basically just. Normal real world problems and the diner when it was first handed down to John Dory 👻 other than that i do intend to keep this AU as fluffy as my brain desires and my brain loves familial interaction and silly family business banter.
Anyways i’m so happy people have enjoyed this au as much as i do and any questions/requests are always welcomed! (i need to talk abt this au sosoosos badly i think abt it way too much)
Also this is my first time using tumblr how the fuck does the askbox work i wanna do like a “ask the brothers” thing but i have noooooo fucking clue into anything abt tumblr
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Hey, I’ve really enjoyed reading your imagines. Would you be up for writing one where either Dean / Solider Boy / Beau, I don’t mind, has done something to upset/piss off the reader and goes out his way to make it up to her and then it’s all fluffy? I’m definitely in the readers position right now and hoping that’s what’s happening! Thank you.
Hey lovely anon!
Ooh this is interesting. So you didn't exactly ask for this, but this is where my mind went. I really enjoyed doing an imagine called "How Dean, Beau, and Ben would react to seeing your breast reduction scars."
So I'm going to do this one in that style...
Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader
Tags/Warnings: Angst, arguments, hurt/comfort, fluff
Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Ben would make up for pissing you off.
Dean Winchester
Readers of Devour Me will recognize this scenario...
Dean can be an asshole sometimes. He knows it, but that side of him tends to come out along with his protective side.
He gave you...what you would consider a "firm suggestion" on a hunt. In his mind, it was a warning you were meant to follow: hang back.
The vampire nest was bigger than you guys expected.
You jumped in to save the woman they were keeping chained...but she was already drained dry. A vamp caught you, but before you could swing your knife, hot teeth sank into your neck.
Your scream rang through the air, tearing from your throat.
Dean's machete soon followed, killing the vampire and saving you in the process. He hid the depths of his worry. His fear, when he heard your scream, saw the monster bearing on you.
He buried the true depths of that turmoil and later holds you while Cas heals you. You thank him with a sigh and look up at Dean. Before you can apologize for ignoring his warning, his words simultaneously cut you to the bone and spark a blaze:
"I hope you learned your damn lesson," he says.
"Excuse me?" you hotly reply.
"You fucking heard me! When I say 'hang back,' I mean it. Hang the hell back."
"I've been hunting long before I met you, Dean."
"Yeah, well. Color me surprised that you've made it this long."
And that sparks the knock-down drag-out fight you and Dean have in the dirty, blood-splattered barn in the middle of nowhere. Even Sam and Cas are uncomfortable in the midst of you and Dean as they deal with the bodies of the vamps.
You don't let Dean touch you that night, even though you two still share the same bed. You sleep turned away from him, curled in on yourself.
He doesn't know how to make you understand. The sight of you with blood covering your neck and shoulder, running down over and under your shirt...
He hates it more than anything.
Even in the morning, the memory of your scream rings in his ears.
You've woken up before him, leaving your side of the bed empty. He wanders into the kitchen and finds you with your cup of coffee, stirring the creamer in for far too long. He watches you for a moment. He sees you're lost in thought. Maybe your eyes are a bit haunted.
He hates that too.
"Hey, sweetheart," he greets. His voice is still a deep rumble, but his gentleness is an olive branch.
You recognize that, and your own features soften. The truth is, you're too upset and spent to be angry anymore. You really just need him back.
He guides you into his arms, presses a kiss to your forehead, and sighs.
"...Look, I'm sorry," he says. He's grateful, even for this moment. Because it means you're safe, with him.
"I'm sorry too," you reply. You squeeze him tighter and bury your face in his chest. "I love you."
Dean hesitates. His heart clenches, both with warmth and the fear of what could have been. He lets out another deep breath as his fingers soothe through your hair.
"Love you too."
Beau Arlen
Don't let that adorable scruff fool you. Beau has his moments, just like everyone else...
You don't want to feel like the jealous "other woman." Because that certainly isn't what you are.
You and Beau have been dating for a while now. You know this is something special. He is special. A big-hearted man who leads by example, and makes his daughter a priority in his life.
You admire that more than anything. You've come to love Emily as well...
However, he's been consistently cancelling on you. Dates you'd planned, dinners you'd made, "office picnics" at the precinct that got rain-checked more than the goddamn weather channel.
It seems like any time you and Beau try to carve out a moment for each other, it gets waylaid by something that "just can't wait."
Sometimes it's due to the demands of his job (which you understand).
But more often, it's because he seems to drop everything to heed his ex-wife's requests, large and small. From moving boxes in downsizing her house, to picking up her dry cleaning.
Carla always laces her requests (demands) with something understandable, like dropping off Emily at school. As a lawyer, she's smart like that.
But you're smart too, and you see her game.
She's slowly but surely wrapping Beau around her finger, and it's driving you insane.
"Can't you see she's manipulating you?!" you finally ask him. Your hands gesture widely, your brows are knitted together, and so are Beau's. His mouth is pressed in a line.
"The hell do you mean?" he asks.
"Exactly what I'm saying," you retort. "She asks you to jump, and you say, How high, darlin'?"
Part of him wants to smile at your exaggerated Texan approximation of him. But mostly, he's irritated.
"That's not true! I'm just trying to do right by her. She's the mother of my kid--"
Your hand presses against your forehead.
"I know that, Beau. Of course I do," you say. Against your will, your deepest fears take hold. They make you feel ugly inside for thinking them, let alone saying them.
"But...either she wants you back, or maybe you want her."
Beau's frown deepens. "What? What're you talkin' about."
He tries to grab your hand, but you evade him. You cross your arms to give you the excuse you need to hold yourself together.
He blows out a frustrated breath and shakes his head. "She left me, remember?"
"Things change. Feelings change," you say hotly. Your eyes run over his face, as if trying to search his heart.
Beau finally understands just what you're thinking. He softens.
And then his expression firms.
"Not for me," he says.
He reaches for you. You allow him to grasp your elbows. He steps closer into your line of vision until his broad frame is all you can see, but you refuse to look up at him. Not until his curled finger prods under your chin, raising your face up to his.
His face lacks the jovial nature he usually carries, with a side of teasing that usually drives you crazy and lightens your heart in equal measure.
No. Right now, he's serious. His thumb grazes your cheek.
"Sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."
Your eyes are lowered, with unshed tears swimming in them. Until Beau presses his lips to your cheek. Your eyes close, and you take in the tenderness of his touch. The smell of his cologne.
When you next open your eyes, he's smiling softly down at you. It leads you to smile a little.
"It'd be nice if you didn't cancel on me so much then," you can't help but mutter, a bit petulantly.
Beau's smile slips a bit. "I sure am sorry about that. And I'll talk to Carla. But uh..."
The rest of his good humor fades. "She mentioned something about taking Emily back to Houston."
Your eyes widen. Your hand moves to grip his wrist. "What?"
"I guess I was just...tryin' to butter her up a bit. If she settled in that new house, had everything she needed, maybe she'd stop thinking about leaving," he admits. "I want her to do what's best for Emily, but...I don't know if I can take it if she's in a whole other state."
You bite your lip. You try to soothe him with your fingers carding through his hair. You pull him into your embrace, and the roles of comfort reverse.
"You do need to talk to Carla," you say. "But I want to help, in whatever way I can. You just let me know."
You can't see it, but Beau smiles as he holds you a fraction tighter.
"You already are."
Soldier Boy (Ben)
Ugh, this (lovable) bastard...
There are a lot of opportunities to piss you off, and Ben has a habit of taking them.
He's protective, misogynistic (though you're surely trying with him), and doesn't give two shits about modern social protocols like tolerance and respect.
Nor does he give a fuck about being "nice" or "pleasant" if he doesn't want to. (And he never wants to.)
When he pisses you off, however, you have to pick your battles.
You're as patient as you can be with him, knowing all of his idiosyncrasies and foibles as well as you've come to learn them.
But when he nearly snaps a man's arm off for grabbing your ass in a musky club, you have to draw the line.
(Ben settled for jabbing the man in the face, hard enough to toss him back into an entire row of glasses. You'd winced at the man's scream of pain as glass shattered into his back.)
When you send your boyfriend a look, he's both unfazed and unapologetic.
"What, would you rather have that greasy fuck pawing all over you? No one's gonna have the balls to cop a feel right in front of me, unless they want 'em shoved up their ass."
You make a face of disgust, roll your eyes, and angrily storm out of the club. Ben follows you, now getting just as irritated. He grabs your arm and turns you around.
"What the fuck is your problem?" he demands. You raise a brow.
"Not everything is an affront to your manhood," you reply testily. "Are you really protecting me, or is it just your petty pride that another man would dare touch what's 'yours?'"
You turn to walk away from him, but he grabs you again. This time by the hand. He barely resists the urge to yank you back.
No, Ben waits for you to choose. To turn back to him. You're frowning in your anger, but even he can see the thread of hurt deep down. The fear that his motivations are only selfish.
His jaw ticks. But he sighs through his nose. "Come 'ere."
Reluctant though you seem, you take a chance in drawing back into him. His arms circle around you, with those heavy hands splaying across your lower back. He cages you securely against him and looks down you. His eyes are a fraction softer.
"You are mine," he says. "I'm not gonna let these cocksuckers forget it. Because I've got plenty of enemies who'd do more than just touch you."
It sucks to be reminded of that fact, but it's the cold reality. Still, you soften, seeing the sincerity in his eyes.
He's trying to send the world a clear message: he won't tolerate bullshit, of any kind. Least of all with you.
That, you can appreciate.
And you lean up to press a sweet kiss to his lips.
Knowing Ben, it doesn't stay sweet for long.
AN: Whew! 😮💨 Lots of angst diverted into hurt/comfort and fluff, there.
Do you guys like these Dean/Beau/Ben "reacts?" Let me know! 😉
Dean Winchester Imagines
Dean Winchester Masterlist
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#ask me stuff#how they'd make up for pissing you off#How Dean Beau and Soldier Boy/Ben react#dean winchester#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x female reader#dean winchester x you#beau arlen x reader#beau arlen#beau arlen x you#beau arlen imagine#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x you#soldier boy/ben#soldier boy#soldier boy imagine#supernatural#spn#big sky#the boys#zepskies answers
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Let's Stay Together.
Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader
Words 2112
Warnings Some strong-ish language and some angst and fluff.
This fic is a request from @fantasywritersstuff and I loved the idea but really struggled to make Travis behave like an asshole! But I think I've done alright with this one!
"Hey!! So I have an idea for a request for Travis ! I say him and the reader have a really bad fight/argument and he says something really mean and instantly regrets it and tries anything to get reader to forgive him and in the end they make up !!"
Your eyes scanned over the script on the laptop screen in front of you. Your agent had sent over some scenes for a role in a new movie that the producer and director wanted to see you for and you were intrigued. You had made a name for yourself in your teenage years, starring in Disney movies, usually musical based and after a short break from acting to focus on a singing career, you were keen to delve into more mature characters.
As you read the last few lines, you heard keys jingle by the front door and when it opened, Travis walked in with his practice bag, slightly red-faced and sweaty.
"Hey baby!" He shouted through to the lounge.
You craned your neck in his direction, "Hey! I'm in here."
He made his way to you, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of your head.
"How was practice?"
He slumped down on the sofa next to you, "Crushed it, baby. You know me, catching shit and running it to the end, man."
You smiled and rolled your eyes, returning to your laptop screen, "Same old, same old?"
"That's right." He shuffled closer, "Whatcha doing?"
"Carl sent me a movie script to look at."
He raised his eyebrows, "Oh yeah? What is it?"
You began to type a response, "It's an action, spy type thing. The role they want me for is the femme fatale sort of woman. It's pretty sexy, actually."
He rested his head on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck, "I don't mind helping you practice for that.'
You giggled, "I'm sure you don't."
"So, you gonna do it?"
You twisted your mouth, "Maybe, I don't know. I'm asking Carl who else is involved."
"Sounds interesting, baby. You'd kill it." He rose from the sofa, "You thought about what you want for dinner?"
"No, not really."
Travis grabbed his phone from his pocket, "I can order takeout if you want?"
You smiled up at him, "Yeah, sure!"
You were just about to close your laptop when the sound of an email notification chimed. You opened your emails to see a reply from Carl.
After tapping it open, you laughed, "Oh Trav, you'll never guess who I'd be acting opposite?"
Travis stared down at his screen, "Shoot."
"Tom Brady."
There was a silent pause before Travis turned his head to you, "No way. That's crazy."
You breathed another laugh as you read from the screen, "Yeah. Apparently he's branching out into more acting and he's playing one of the male leads."
Travis furrowed his brow, "You can't be serious?"
"Yeah, that's what it says." You pointed to the screen.
"No, I mean you can't be serious about doing it?"
You jerked your head back in confusion, "Why not?"
"Because it's Brady. Babe...I can't watch you getting all freaky with some guy I used to play against. You can't do it."
"Why can't I?
You watched him as he paced the floor, "Because I don't want to see that."
"Since when do you tell me what I can and can't do?"
He stood still for a moment, holding his hands out in front of him, "I told you, I don't want to see you getting fucked by Brady."
You tilted your head to one side in defence, "There isn't even a sex scene, and even if there was, It's acting, Travis."
"It's stupid!" He raised his voice.
"Excuse me?"
"This whole, acting comeback thing that you're trying to do is so stupid. Why can't you just be happy the way things are?"
You closed your laptop quickly, "My job is stupid?"
"Yeah." He breathed as he ran his hands over his buzzed head, "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant-"
You picked up your laptop and quickly got up from the sofa, "You're an asshole, Travis."
"Baby...Y/N, I didn't mean-"
You cut him off by slamming the bedroom door shut. You could feel the anger rising in your chest and shakiness in your hands. The one person who you needed to support you was Travis. You had supported him through his years playing football but you were bored of being the trophy wife. Staying at home whilst he was away for games, cheering him on in the stands, being on his arm at events. You wanted more and your passion had always been acting.
You stepped out through the doors on onto your balcony area, holding onto the rail and breathing the fresh Missouri air deep into your lungs, desperate to calm down. You stared off into the trees, watching them move gently as you bit down on your bottom lip. You didn't turn around when you heard footsteps behind you, you weren't ready to speak to Travis yet. Instead, you continued to glare straight forward, tightening your grip on the cool metal in your hands.
Travis cleared his throat, "I ordered dinner...your favourite."
"Okay." You said plainly, with no expression in your voice.
There was a moment of silence before you felt Travis' hand on your waist. You twisted away from his touch, hearing him sigh with disappointment behind you before his footsteps signalled that he had left the balcony.
You took another deep breath, filled with hurt but also a feeling of surprise. You had been with Travis since college and married for 3 years. He knew that after a disagreement, all you needed was space. The fact that he followed you outside and attempted to touch you was confusing to you.
"He must really be sorry." You thought to yourself as you turned on your heels and walked back into the house.
As you paced towards the kitchen to make yourself a drink, you noticed that Travis was nowhere to be seen. You peered out of the window to see that his car was also gone. You shrugged your shoulder slightly and opened the fridge, reaching for some orange juice.
As you were flicking through Netflix, the front door opened and Travis walked in, holding a huge bouquet of flowers. You looked at him briefly before turning back to the TV screen. The sofa dipped as he sat down next to you, almost waiting for you for acknowledge his presence. The tension was thick and when Travis cleared his throat, you turned your head slowly towards him.
"Y/N, baby. I am so sorry." His eyes pleaded, his hands held out the flowers.
You gave him a soft smile, "Thank you for the flowers. But it doesn't fix what you said."
"What does then?"
"I don't know." You stood up, taking the flowers from him and disappearing into the kitchen.
______________________________________________________________
The rest of the evening had been exceptionally awkward. You had avoided Travis as much as possible, staying away in separate rooms of the house and when you went to bed, he didn't come with you. Instead, you noticed that he had stayed the night on the sofa. The morning sun shone on his face as he slept, a blanket pulled up to his waist and a cushion under his head.
You continued with your Sunday morning as usual, brewing a pot of coffee and making pancakes whilst singing to the radio. You were halfway through Is This Love by Bob Marley, dancing with the pan in your hand when Travis appeared in the doorway.
"Are any of those for me?"
You picked up two plates from the cupboard above your head, "Sure."
"Does that mean that you've forgiven me?"
You shot him a look.
He held his hands up in defence, "Baby, please. Listen to me?"
"Honestly, I don't know what you can say to make all of this better, so we'd both be wasting our time."
Travis took hold of your hands, pulling them away from the pancakes, "I love you so much and I am a jackass for what I said. Honestly, you are the best thing that I have in my life and I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe jealousy...I don't know. But what I do know is that I will support you in whatever you do."
"Travis, the pancakes are gonna burn."
"I don't give a shit. I will do anything for you to love me again."
You rolled your eyes, "I do love you, that won't stop. I'll always love you. But I can be pissed at you...which I am."
Travis lowered his head just as a song began playing on the radio that made him look back up at you.
"I, I'm so in love with you."
You tried to hold your face straight as he began to sway his hips as he sang.
"Whatever you want to do, is alright with me."
You could feel your lips curling upwards when he pulled you closer, "'Cause you make me feel so brand new, and I want to spend my life with you."
You hid your slight smile by looking at your feet but Travis used his finger to lift your chin, "Our wedding song. Man, what a day that was. You looked even more beautiful that I could ever imagine. I couldn't stop staring at you all day and all night. I just kept reminding myself that I am the luckiest guy in the world. And I was certainly the luckiest guy that night."
You placed your hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down so that your lips were close to his ear, "You'll have to do better than that, big guy. Enjoy your burnt pancakes."
______________________________________________________________
You smiled at Donna, as she returned to her seat next to you at Music Hall Kansas City. Travis and Jason has gotten their Mom up as a special guest for the New Heights Podcast Live Show and she grabbed at your arm.
"Did I do okay?"
"Are you kidding?" You beamed at her, "You were awesome! Did you hear them? They love you!"
The crowd were still cheering as Travis stood up, the microphone held tightly in his right hand.
"Okay, Kansas City. I need y'all to help me out with something now." His left arm was outstretched towards the audience, "You all know my smokin' hot wife is here tonight."
The crowd went wild again as you felt your cheeks burn slightly.
"And your boy Travis has been a jackass."
The noise continued as he hung his head.
"Uh oh!" Jason shouted into his microphone, glancing over to you in you seat, "What did you do, Travis?"
"I said something stupid, man!"
"Is your mouth getting you in trouble again?" Jason asked from his seat.
Travis rubbed the back of his neck, nervously, "I'm in the doghouse, man. So, KC! Can you help me to get back in the good books please?"
You turned to Donna who was grinning at you. The crowd were still cheering so loud that your ears were ringing.
"Oh baby, let's...let's stay together." Travis closed his eyes and sang into the microphone.
You giggled as he began to dance around the stage and the crowd started to join in.
"Lovin' you whether, whether, times are good or bad, happy or sad!"
Jason accompanied by clapping along and Donna placed her hand onto your back, urging you to get onto the stage. Travis held his hand out and beckoned to you. You widened your eyes as you rose to your feet, with help from Donna.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh yeah! Whether times are good or bad, happy or sad!"
You stepped onto the stage, the lights blinding your right side. You smiled at Travis and watched as he continued, urging the crowd to join in louder.
"I, I'm so in love with you. Whatever you want to do, is alright with me." He closed his eyes again and gripped the microphone with both hands as he attempted the high note.
You laughed loudly and walked towards him.
"'Cause you make me feel so brand new, and I want to spend my life with you."
Once you were face to face with him, you placed your hands on his strong jawline, singing back to him.
"Let me say that since, baby, since we've been together.
Ooh, loving you forever, is what I need. Let me, be the one you come running to, I'll never be untrue."
You pressed a kiss to his lips, without tongues but still just as passionate. His arms snaked around your waist and he lifted you off the ground for a couple of seconds, the crowd reacting with loud cheers.
Once he had lowered you back down onto the stage, he lifted the microphone back to his mouth, "We did it KC!"
______________________________________________________________
I found it so hard to be mad at him...and to stay mad at him! I kept imagining his sad face and I kept melting!
I hope this was what you were wanting? And keep the requests coming!!
Taglist @kkrenae
#travis kelce x reader#travis kelce imagine#kelce x reader#nfl imagine#original story#travis kelce fic#travis kelce#nfl fluff#travis kelce fluff#kelcemenow requests
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