#*explosion overhead*

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 5; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

-

Give him blood and he’ll give you something new to chew on.

Except that isn’t the way it goes. Not this time at least.

He tries to talk Ghost out of it, but it falls on deaf ears. Blatantly ignored. The car barrels down the motorway under the cloak of night, a swell of stars overhead as the city falls farther behind. Radio shut off. Johnny thinks if Ghost had his way, the radio would’ve been pulled out entirely, just wires and an empty, black cavity in the dashboard, but it’s a rental. 

And no one wants to deal with the paperwork involved in damaging military property. Not even Ghost.

Ghost won’t so much as glance over at him. Unaffected as ever, as if they didn’t just fuck. Johnny’s stomach hurts when he thinks about it. Even without her knowing, he’s broken his girl’s trust. Not for the first time; maybe not even the last. His guilt echoes not only that he let Ghost make him come, but that he liked it—that the buzz in his bones says do it again, please god, again, please let me come, I need to come, touch me, please—

He thinks about his girl, then turns to Ghost again.

In the pit of his stomach, Johnny knows this is wrong. In his rational mind, he knows it. If he were in a better place, he wants to think that he’d make a real attempt to change Ghost’s mind, maybe get him to turn around at the next gas station, but he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in his belly at the prospect of seeing his girl again after a week of nothing. 

The silence has been eating away at him. Bits of his brain flaking away, moth-eaten. Checking his phone again and again to no new messages, getting the same voicemail message whenever he calls. Something flutters high in his chest, an itch he can’t scratch; it tells him to take off in the middle of the night, drive all the way back home and pound on her door until she’s forced to answer it, forced to talk to him face to face.

Again and again, he tries looking at it from her perspective—tries to empathize with her. What he would’ve done in her shoes had she allowed a coworker to grab his dick in front of a crowd of strangers. It’s more than fair, he thinks. His own shame leaks out of his pores in the middle of the night, sleeping on top of the covers because he sweats right through the sheets. 

And yet, he keeps butting up against his own anger. Talk it out with me, yell at me, he growls into her voicemail, anger growing as the days pass one by one. 

It’s the road that alerts him to their arrival into the city more than anything. More cracks in the asphalt, the car rattling over sewer depressions and potholes in a way that says home sweet home. Usually it’s a source of comfort, like seeing the silver lining on grey clouds or the iridescence in an oil spill, purples and greens catching the light. Not now. Now the road winds like descending into the underworld, each turn coming with a sinking feeling. 

They park down the road from the flower shop, tucked just out of sight. A cool breeze wafts over his hot face when he steps out of the car. It nearly rocks him back. When he glances up, his heart stutters at the sight of her bedroom window, sealed tight now. Only cracked open during their sleepovers, when Johnny runs a bit too hot at night for them to sleep comfortably with the window closed. 

“Should I…do ye want me to give her a call to wake her up?” Johnny asks tentatively, shutting the car door softly so as not to make a noise. 

Ghost shakes his head. “We’ll let ourselves in.”

Johnny’s picked hundreds of locks in his time; he’s jimmied open doors with crowbars, set up explosive charges, used a good old fashioned ram from time to time—no stranger to the trade—but it feels decidedly uncomfortable with Ghost at his back, staring down at him as he breaks into his own girlfriend’s apartment. 

“This is a bad idea,” he grumbles, turning the pick in the lock until he hears a familiar click inside. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, just raps his knuckles against the back of Johnny’s head. A silent get a move on. 

Her apartment looks the same but different when they enter it. His muscles remember the layout though. The pink couch in the living room with two dimpled pillows on either side, the footstool by the door, the stand with her shoes all piled in neat little rows, the vase on her kitchen island with a fresh new bundle of flowers, fragrant when he dips his head to take a whiff. He’s loved flowers ever since meeting his girl. 

Ghost doesn’t try to muffle his footsteps for once. He rummages through her cabinets and drawers with all the finesse of a first time burglar looking to get caught. It smacks of intentionality. Johnny’s worked with him too many times in the field to know that if Ghost wanted to disappear into the darkness, he would. He’d be the thing creeping silently through the shadows, tread lighter than air, close enough to touch but never see. 

So it’s more than deliberate when he noisily shuts a drawer. Baiting her out. 

It’s no surprise when Johnny hears her creep around the corner from out of her bedroom. He’s tucked in the shadows of the living room, just out of the light, so he sees her first when she comes silently down the hall, whole body trembling with fear, the bat she keeps beside her bed drawn over a shoulder. Even her hands shake around the grip.

Of course she yelps when Johnny says her name, stepping out of the shadows, swinging wild. He winces when the bat smashes into a lamp, shattering it on impact. 

“Fuck!” she screams, scurrying backwards into the wall behind her. Several framed pictures rattle against the wall, nearly knocked off their hooks. 

“Noisy, isn’t she?” Ghost grumbles from the kitchen, tossing a bored glance over, unbothered by the commotion. He undoubtedly heard her creeping down the hall as well. 

“What the fuck?” she gasps, chest heaving when she breathes. Her eyes dart from Johnny to Ghost’s massive form in the other room. Poor nervous thing. She must recognize Johnny’s voice saying her name even through the panic because her lips droop in a frown, more confused than petrified.

“Hen, it’s jus’ us—nothing to worry about,” Johnny coos, hands stretched out in front of him to show he means no harm. 

It gets her to lower the bat, but only just, the slightest dip that has him darting forward to pry it gently from her hands. The ceramic shards on the floor will have to be swept up later, but he’s relieved that at least she didn’t step on any of them. 

Up close, she’s just as pretty as he remembers. Pretty as pie. How could she not be? In the glow of youth still, not like it's been a decade since they last spoke face to face—only a little over a week. A sight for sore eyes, even though Johnny’s narrow when he stares down at her and thinks about the week of his texts and calls going unanswered. His jaw undulates, rage held back by the thin thread of her scent that wafts under his nose, making him lean into her. 

Breathe in and out. 

“Us?” she repeats, brow furrowing.

She glances over at Ghost again, the man still ambling around the kitchen, at home in her little one bedroom apartment like he visits her frequently. Like it’s his as well. 

“Aye…Ghost wanted to come—Simon wanted to apologize…for the other day,” Johnny explains. 

“You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night…so Simon could apologize for sexually harassing me?” she says, the disbelief smacking in her words. 

“Hen, it's no' nice to say it like that—” 

“No time like the present,” Ghost says, not ashamed in the slightest. “Heard you weren’t taking Johnny’s calls. Might not’ve had to do this if you’d picked up.” 

Johnny doesn’t believe a word of that, but there’s no reason to call him out on it now. 

He can see her wrestle with a trifecta of emotions competing for first place. Anger, embarrassment, and then, a smidge of worry holding up the rear. Aware of the fact that she woke up to two grown men, one practically a stranger, breaking into her apartment under the guise of having a conversation. His heart aches at the thought. The lion’s share of the blame rests with him, but still it’s her that suffers for it. 

“You…you shouldn’t be here,” she rasps, flinching when Johnny lays a hand on her waist, towering over where she’s still cowered against the wall. Bat gone now, defenceless. Her pupils narrow to a pinprick. He almost tuts, poor thing. Scared out of her wits. 

It feels so good to touch her though. Soft and yielding. 

“‘Was Simon’s idea, hen, but, ah—” his breathing picks up when his fingers tighten on her waist and she squirms “—I was goin’ crazy thinkin’ ye were pissed for what happened last week. Couldnae get a wink of sleep—kept closin’ my eyes and seein’ your face. Nearly broke me.”

“I am pissed at you,” she snaps, temper getting the better of her.

“I ken, I ken,” Johnny coos, ducking his head until his lips graze her temple. “Simon’s sorry—we came all the way here so he could tell ye to your face, but fuck, hen, I’m sorry too—shoulda said something instead of standin’ there like a fuckin’ dolt—”

“You should’ve,” she interrupts, still fuming mad, an iceberg melting right in front of them. It makes his cock pulse.

“—Aye, hen, I’ve no excuse, none at all. Shoulda told Simon to fuck off and keep his hands to himself—”

“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost says warningly, finally stepping into the living room. He fills out the archway imposingly, almost forced to twist his body on an angle to step in. 

Her eyes cut over to Ghost, narrowing, lips pursing. Johnny’s heart jumps in his chest. It’s one thing to see his girl again in the flesh, but to see her all righteous and on the verge of an argument—he could bend her over the back of the couch now, sink into the plush, delicate folds of her pussy, reacquaint himself with deep, languid thrusts. Heaven after not getting his cock wet in a week.

He flinches when he thinks about the last person to touch his dick. 

“So you’re sorry?” she says to Ghost, her disbelief clear. Difficult to see why she wouldn’t find it hard to believe that the man that shamelessly grabbed her ass in broad daylight in front of a group of his colleagues and her boyfriend would now choose to apologize. 

Johnny knows the answer is no when he sees the way Ghost’s eyes rove over her body, taking stock of her little cotton pajamas and her bare feet curling against the cold floor. Ghost tilts his head to the side, eyes travelling back up to meet hers. “Sure I am, bird. Don’t I look sorry?”

Neither of them answer that. Arguing with Ghost feels different, like inviting in danger. Moving too suddenly in front of a hungry dog, jowls loose and salivating for a bite. 

He takes a step closer. “Complete pillock, wasn’t I? And now Johnny’s getting the silent treatment ‘cause of it. Just couldn’t bear another second of him moping around base on the verge of tears.” 

Johnny frowns at that. His girl frowns too, but there’s something more to it. He wouldn’t blame her for not accepting Simon’s apology, if he could even call it that—nothing about it rings sincere, more like words spoken softly to call a kitty over—but questioning it feels worse somehow. Like detonating a bomb at two thousand feet above ground. 

“…Okay,” she says instead, voice trembling a little. “Apology accepted. You guys can go home now.”

“Bird’s forgiving, huh, Johnny?” 

Johnny preens despite himself. “Aye. She’s a good girl, Lt. Told ye so.”

Ghost nods. “That’s right. A good girl who’s gonna let us make it up to her ‘til we have to report back in forty-eight hours.”

“Wait, you can’t—” she starts, then cuts herself off when Ghost’s eyes flash.

He can’t help the way he shudders at the helpless look on her face. Downturned eyebrows, pretty lips slack with disbelief, just the slightest hint of a whine building in her throat that dies when it dawns on her that nothing short of calling the cops will make the two of them leave. 

And she’s a good girl—would never call the cops on him. His perfect girl. Sweet as pie. 

Johnny falls in love a little bit more when she presses her squeezed fists against her eyes and exhales. “Fine. I’m too—I’m going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Ghost doesn’t react to her acceptance. It’s taken as a simple fact of nature—he says something and it happens. He speaks the world into being. 

“I’ll take the couch,” he grunts, finally sitting down to unlace his boots. He looks comically large on her little couch—it’s more than likely that his feet will hang off the end, if not everything from the knee down. 

Johnny already figured as much. No point in them driving all the way back to base when they both have the next two days off duty and there’s a perfectly serviceable couch for Ghost and the other half of her bed for him. He thought they’d have to convince her a bit more or strong arm her into it (a putrid thought; he’d rather have sweet talked her into the idea), but his girl always manages to surprise him in the best way. 

On that thought, he looks over his shoulder towards the bedroom door, cock throbbing again at the thought of getting to hold his girl’s body against his. Touch starved dog. Mangy mutt, tongue lolling out at even the possibility of a pet. 

Ghost must notice the object of his gaze because he sets him straight. “You can take the floor, Johnny.” 

His tone brooks no argument. When Johnny whirls around, the words already on his tongue, she’s my girl, I’ve already slept in that bed ten times over, the sight of Ghost’s bare face, the mask now off, dangling in his hand like some scrap of fabric, makes him lose his train of thought. It’s not often he’s granted the luxury of seeing Ghost’s face—wide, clean shaven jaw, buzzed blond hair, old burn marks like a half-moon around his eye, nasty old scar slicing through his lips—and to see it now, here, makes something in him give. 

Saturnine man with a wolf’s appetite. Ravenous. 

It burns him that his girl looks slightly relieved at having the bed to herself. Irks him. Makes his jaw clench on a mean remark, half tempted to spit out something cross. Just because things have gotten complicated, now he’s not welcome in her bed? After the week he’s spent toiling, trying to make amends? Pleading desperately over the phone, stewing in guilt and heartache—Johnny knows she’s a good girl, but if he finds out that she’s replaced him with someone else in the week since they last saw each other—

Even the thought makes him see red.

He watches her as she turns around to retreat back to bed, more than a little displeased. 

“Give Johnny a little kiss before bed, why don’t you, bird?” Ghost lightly suggests. Not a suggestion. 

She freezes mid-turn. His expression dares her to put up a fuss. Johnny again nearly clucks his tongue, troubled on her behalf. Her spitfire nature is snuffed out easily under that stare. Grown men with experience in the field wither under Ghost’s stare. It’s no weakness of hers that she acquiesces time and again to his demands, glancing up at Johnny from under her eyelashes before shuffling over, pressing the lightest of kisses to his cheek. 

“Better than that,” Ghost grunts, unimpressed. 

His poor darling. Humiliated now. No skin off his back though. Johnny’s heart pumps double time when she presses her lips to his; soft petals that spread when he slips his tongue into her mouth, too eager after a week of nothing. Touch starved. Desperate to sink into her, lap his tongue over her lips and the roof of her mouth and press her jaw open to spit messily in her mouth. Take it, hen, every piece of me.

She rips her lips from his and dances away when he tries to get his hands on her, eyes wide, casting one last glance over at Ghost before hightailing it back to her room. 

He barely resists going after her. Only Ghost’s stare roots him in place; his voice in Johnny’s head that rumbles, heel. I’ll tell you when to go.

He still doesn’t know what it says about him that he angles himself towards it. Bows his head to it. Moth to a flame that shocks him to the bone when he touches it.

Ghost tosses him the second pillow from the other end of the couch and takes the only blanket for himself. No matter. Johnny’s bivouacked on snowy cliff sides, chilblains blistering his toes for weeks; nights spent camped in torrential downpours, his tent on the verge of collapsing; windswept baysides chilling him to the bone. He can handle a pillow on a hardwood floor. 

The ebb and flux of an ocean in his ear, and then Ghost’s voice from the couch: “I’ll take first watch.”

Whole body falling loose as if snipping a cord tethering him to the world. 

“I’ll clean up the lamp in the morning,” he mumbles, vision already blurring. Ghost hums low in his throat.

He falls asleep with Ghost’s voice in his head, his girl’s taste still in his mouth.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #soap/reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader

[mhedemag]

At MHE-DEMAG, the wholesaler of overhead cranes parts suppliers, we have a full range of cranes in stock, ready to ship anywhere. Our service is second to none, and everyone will leave happy with their choice when we come to install your crane, whether it be totally new or the re-fabrication. To know more details visit the site!

#overhead crane parts #explosion proof overhead crane #Electric Overhead Travelling Crane

[romansmartini]

maybe i should rewatch succession [car crash] [explosion] [fire erupting across town] [babies crying] [wilhelm scream] [six more car crashes] [police chopper flying overhead] [a woman falls to her knees and begins weeping PLEASE NO GOD NO] [news reporter: “we come to you live from the scene of-”] [guy in the chopper over a loudspeaker: “ma’am, we’re going to need you to-”] [wilhelm screams again]

#succession

[buryustogether]

in the lap of the gods

aziraphale x f!reader x crowley

summary: it’s 1941, and aziraphale is about to perform on the west end stage. he needs an assistant, of course, but you can’t stand the outfit you’re required to wear. your angel and your demon show you just how much they love it.

word count: 3k

warnings/tags: smut and fluff, reader wears a slutty outfit, threesome, thigh riding, semi-public sex, body worship, crowley’s a horny bitch, war violence, bombs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of guns

“I really don’t see why this get-up has got to be so… revealing,” you said. “I look like a harlot.”

“Well,” came a voice from behind the thin paper of the changing screen, “I suppose it’s to entice the strapping young soldiers out there. They do seem to enjoy a bit of… should I say… adultery?”

There came a second voice from further in the room, coiled and slick like a serpent. “Or,” he drawled, “it’s for easy access.”

“Crowley,” chided the first voice, disdain dripping from his tongue.

You gave a silent huff as you adjusted the skimpy little outfit the manager of the West End theater had given you, tugging at the thin material that barely covered your breasts and the thin strap that snaked between your legs. It was a glittery, near-elastic piece of pazazz that was sure to earn you more than a few glances and whistles this evening… something you promised you wouldn’t let get to you. If not for your reputation, for the pair of men on the other side of the changing screen that encased you like a butterfly trapped in a jar.

If you inhaled deep enough, you were still able to smell the smoke that clung to Aziraphale and Crowley’s suits, permeating the air and poisoning their natural musks that you so loved to inhale. You had spent the better part of the evening, as you followed them through London streets and around a magic shop, picking pieces of rubble and dusting traces of the explosion from their backs and shoulders. The bomb had shaken you to your core despite being miles away when it had happened, tucked away safely in the passenger seat of the Bentley.

“Crowley,” you had said as your demon had parked his car between the shadows of two tall, sturdy buildings that still stood against the smoke and destruction of the bombs. “What are we doing here? There’s still planes overhead.”

“Just sit tight for a minute, love,” he’d replied before climbing from the Bentley. “It seems our angel’s got himself in a heap of mess.”

The explosion had rocked the ancient church in the distance like a match igniting a stick of dynamite; fast, and hot, and loud. You waited so long you considered getting out and running to search the site for your lovers before they had come strolling around the corner through the dark, dusting themselves off and murmuring quietly beneath their breaths.

“Aziraphale,” you had said when you climbed from the car to greet them. “What on earth have you done?”

“Good evening to you, as well, my darling,” he had said, then lifted your hand and placed a loving kiss upon your knuckles. “Just got myself a bit caught up. Nothing to worry your head over.”

Crowley had harrumphed slightly as he dropped himself into the driver’s seat once more. “Get in, you two. I’ve got an appointment to keep.”

An appointment had led to forty broken bottles of whiskey. Forty broken bottles of whiskey had led to Aziraphale becoming a magician, and that had led to buying a very real rifle with very real bullets. And the rifle, and the bullets, and the broken bottles of whiskey, and everything else had led to you finding yourself here behind this changing screen, examining the costume of a magician’s assistant who, really, was only there to look pretty and smile when the light panned over her.

Crowley had told you it would be a bit of fun, was all. Aziraphale had assured you no real harm would be done.

Had you not loved them both more than you needed air to breathe, you might have considered saying no, begging your angel to not get up on that stage, dropping to your knees and begging your demon to miracle up a few more bottles of liquor to make up for the whole thing.

But, oh… you loved them far too much.

“Are you about settled, my darling?” came Aziraphale’s voice from deeper in the cramped little dressing room. “It’s ten ‘til, and I would rather not further anger the madame of the theater any more than necessary.”

“She’s a loony old bat,” came Crowley’s quip. “A few minutes won’t hurt her.”

You took one last look down at yourself - at the feathered headband in your grip; the exposed tops of your legs and the plump ‘V’ of your upper thighs that led to their apex just covered by the elastic; the heels that glittered in the dim light; the curves of your breasts, just barely held in place by the haltered neckline of the costume. You looked ridiculous.

With a long, deep breath you felt in your sternum, you placed a hand on the edge of the changing screen. “Don’t you boys poke your fun at me,” you warned them. “I know how I look, I don’t need you both reminding me.”

You pulled back the screen and stepped out, avoiding their eyes as you fiddled with the headband. You expected Crowley to bark out bouts of laughter, for Aziraphale to politely cover his mouth and look away to hide the rosiness of his cheeks as he held back a few giggles. But there came none of that. Instead, you were only met with silence. Hesitantly, you glanced up to meet their gazes.

Crowley and Aziraphale, for once in their eternal lives, looked rather lost for words. You didn’t take too many moments to soak in the way the demon tilted down his shades so he could peer those yellow eyes over the rims, nor how the angel’s back had gone stiff and he clutched his magician’s hat to his chest so tightly his knuckles paled. Instead of entertaining their amusement, you scoffed and clicked over to the vanity illuminated with golden bulbs; funny. Almost all the Watson bulbs had been grinded down for the war efforts. You supposed the West End had a bit of advantage in their supply when it came to things like glass and elastic.

“Yes, yes, gape all you want,” you snipped as you leaned forward to examine your reflection in the mirror; Christ almighty, you looked like a common slut. “Neither of you know how humiliating this is.”

At once, your angel jumped into action. “No, dearest,” he said as he came to stand beside you at the vanity, gently discarding his hat on the countertop. “We’re not poking fun at you, not in the slightest. We’re… well, you simply look…”

You eyed him from the corner of your vision.

“Incredibly doable,” came Crowley’s pitch from where he’d spread himself across the old couch tucked against the wall.

Aziraphale sent him a rather stern glance as you felt your chest drop slightly into your belly. You fixed your reflection with another stare. You looked like a prostitute, all your private planes and surfaces on display for everyone who even glanced in your direction. There was hardly a chance they enjoyed seeing their girl pimped up like this; was there?

“What he’s attempting to say,” said your angel as he reached out a soft, well-manicured hand and rested it respectfully on the middle of your back, “is, well… you do look rather ravishing, is all.”

“Oh, stop it, the both of you. You’re being mean.” Shouldering off his touch, you reached for a bit of the lipstick resting against the vanity and tried to stop your hands from trembling as you pulled off the cap and screwed it up. In all honesty, it still flustered you a bit when they showered you in affection; which they did often. How was it possible that an angel and a demon, in love themselves, who had seen the beginning of the earth and all the beautiful men and women in it, had fallen for you, a mortal, a little bit of soul within this planet full of it?

It didn’t quite make sense to you, but in the moments like these, when you felt yourself growing weak against their words, you cast the thought aside and let sense run rampant.

“After all this time, and you still don’t believe us when we say something nice?” clicked Crowley, reaching up to take the brim of his hat and rest it on the arm of the couch. He tilted his head at you in the reflection of the mirror, his gaze just out of sight behind his shades. “Come here.”

You looked to Aziraphale before blinking a few times, smearing your third layer of lipstick across your mouth. “The show will start soon,” you heard yourself say hesitantly. “I have to go out and announce him to the audience before…”

“Come here.”

Your demon’s sudden drop in tone sent a pang of both anxiety and arousal racing through you like fire dancing along your veins. You set down the tube of lipstick, hearing it clatter slightly from the shaking of your hand, and twisted around on your ridiculous heels to face him. He sat there on the couch, legs spread like he owned the world and arms stretched across the back of the seats like he was waiting for his two favorite people to arrive at his sides. He waited chin held high, finger tapping impatiently on the back. Aziraphale said nothing as you trailed from his side and approached the demon; when he spoke like this, it affected the both of you in the same way.

Crowley adjusted his legs when you came to him, allowing you to tentatively straddle his thighs until your hips were flush against his. A look back in the mirror told you your ass was hanging out of your skimpy little get-up, the leotard-like shape doing nothing to protect your modesty. Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying it quite nicely. You felt long, slender fingers touch your chin and guide your vision back to your demon. With his other hand, he reached up and pulled off his shades so that he could meet your gaze, yellow, slitted eyes boring into yours.

“You really ought to start taking our word for things, love,” Crowley said, and you shivered when his voice retained its deep baritone that only saw the light when there were two things at hand; imminent danger, and the promise of depravity. “‘Cause when we say you look good…” He leaned forward until his thin lips were level with the shell of your ear, his breath fanning across your skin. “We bloody well mean it.”

His hips shallowly bucked up into yours then and the rough material of his trousers rubbed at your clit perfectly through the thin elastic of your costume. You were unable to keep a soft, breathy murmur from escaping your lips at the sudden jolt of feeling, your hands flying up to balance yourself on his broad shoulders.

Behind you, you heard Aziraphale take in a small breath at the sight. He nervously shuffled his weight on his feet, glancing to the door that led to the stage. “Crowley,” he said in what should have been a warning, but it was far too soft to be taken seriously. “Now is… now is certainly not a good time for this.”

Crowley pulled another sound from you, this time a moan, when he held your hips in place and bucked again. “Well, it’s like I said,” he replied, tilting his head so he could look up at you as your hair fell into your face and your eyes began to roll back. “A few minutes won’t hurt them.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Besides, our girl’s nervous. Come and lend a hand, calm her a bit. You know how she likes it.”

You felt your face flush with heat from embarrassment, but you were slowly losing your will to care as Crowley leaned down to attach his lips to the base of your throat. His forked tongue laved across your skin like he was trying to memorize your taste, teeth nipping and fingers tightening around your waist. You were hardly able to notice when a second weight dipped the couch beside him, and your demon patted your thigh to get you to move. You knew just what to do; you always did. Feeling yourself beginning to grow slick between your legs, most assuredly ruining the gusset of this ridiculous outfit, you swung your legs over to kneel across both Crowley and Aziraphale’s thighs, which were pressed together where they sat so close not an inch of light could have separated them.

Aziraphale’s warm hand reached out to gently cup your chin, his thumb brushing lovingly across your jaw. “Forgive our earlier stutter, my darling,” he said, then leaned forward to press his plump lips to the point where your clavicle dipped. “I assume by now you know the effect you have on us.” He kissed you again, this time upon your bare shoulder. “Especially when you present yourself in such an outfit.”

Just a sigh escaped your lips, Crowley’s finger ran along your side, pulling a short yip from your throat that he quickly swallowed by fitting his mouth over yours. From there, they moved like they shared one mind, like they knew you inside and out because, really, they did.

The couch creaked quietly as Crowley dragged your barely-clothed cunt over their thighs, earning them a drawn-out moan like a symphony to their ears, and Aziraphale’s grip came up to hold the back of your neck steady as he pressed kiss after kiss to anywhere he could reach; your throat; your chest; your shoulder; your arm. They moved you about like their own little doll, so familiar and fine tuned with your reactions they knew they would happen before they did. Sparks erupted like flint on stone within the pit of your belly when, eventually, Crowley pulled you forward at a slightly new angle and your clit caught wonderfully upon a hitch in Aziraphale’s trousers. You tilted your head back and released a long moan, barely able to keep yourself up when you were suddenly worked to hit that spot over and over again.

“Ah…!” you mewled as Aziraphale nipped ever so softly at the exposed skin of your shoulder. Your arms trembled as you struggled to keep your hold on their shoulders. “Oh, right there, boys, right there. Keep going, please don’t stop…!”

Crowley’s lips tilted up into a crooked smirk, slitted eyes drinking you in like a forbidden liquor he’d been dying for since he first heard of it. “I hardly think you need to go out there at all, angel,” he said to Aziraphale beside him. “We’ve got our own show right here.”

You worked your hips along with Crowley’s push and pull, offering more and more of your skin to your angel for him to mark and lavish, feeling yourself approach that cliff they so loved to drag you off again and again. You never feared the fall; you knew they would always be waiting to catch you before you hit the bottom.

Small, whimpered noises escaped your throat as you chased your released upon their thighs, your clit rubbing and catching perfectly against their trousers like this was exactly what they were made for. Lips were showering your skin with love and affection. Hands were anchored securely to your waist. You were held so intensely, so beautifully, that it only took a few words from the tip of Crowley’s tongue to send you reeling toward your end.

“Come on and sin for us, love.”

Your orgasm came hard and fast, racking your body with trembles and twitches you couldn’t control, with bursts of color in your vision like fireworks, like guns firing off beside your ears with smoke that would blind you for days. You felt your release stain the fabric of their pants, and it was the last thing you really minded before all but collapsing against the pair. Hands, arms, mouths caught you securely, rubbing along your back, holding you tight, gently kissing along your face. You felt them pull away for just a moment to meet each other for a deep, passionate kiss before returning to smothering you with adoration.

It was an idyllic few seconds, the quiet that came after an explosion of a moment such as that, before there came a sharp, rattling knock against the dressing room door. “Pick up the pace, Mister Fell,” came the voice of the madame of the theater. “We’ve got an audience waiting, and the war’s not getting any better these days!”

You groaned softly, nestling your face into Aziraphale’s neck as he stroked your hair and called in return, “Ah, yes, of course. We’ll be right out!”

You wanted nothing more than to not go up on the damned West End stage, to smile and twist in your glittery costume and tease the soldiers in the audience like you hadn’t just gotten your world rocked within an inch of your life. And yet… everything came to an end. You whimpered again when your angel gently shifted you off of him, placing you temporarily in Crowley’s hold, before getting to his feet and gently snapping his fingers. You felt the dampness across your demon’s thigh fade into nothingness, along with the slick between your legs. Your hair righted itself to its former do, and the smudged lipstick across your mouth was once more perfected. When you lifted your head, however, you noticed Crowley had elected to keep the messy imprint of your lips across the corner of his mouth.

He noticed you looking and gave you a sly, crooked grin. “I like to wear my trophies,” he said before pulling your head close and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Come along now, gorgeous. Don’t want to keep the fans waiting.”

Shakily, you got to your feet, struggling momentarily to stand on your heels. While your heart slowed its racing pulse and the heat gently ebbed from your cheeks, Aziraphale lifted your feathered headband from before and tucked it securely over your hair.

“There’s our darling,” he murmured, smiled softly down at you, then tilted up your chin to press a light, though nonetheless loving kiss upon your swollen lips. “Are you ready?”

You took a breath, straightened yourself out, and nodded your head. “I am now, I think,” you replied.

“Perfect,” said your angel. “Because I’ve got a bullet to catch.”

#good omens #good omens smut #good omens aziraphale #good omens x reader #good omens crowley #good omens fanfiction #good omens x you #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale x you #crowley x you #aziraphale #crowley #crowley smut #Aziraphale smut

[promptfairy]

❥    𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒    [   𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂    ]   .

designed for ships, but can be used for a variety of relationship types. change gendered language/add context to your needs. happy roleplaying !!  ♡

❛  it feels so good to be bad.  ❜ ❛  it really makes me wonder if i ever gave a fuck about you.  ❜ ❛  give me something to believe in.  ❜ ❛  i don’t believe in you anymore.  ❜ ❛  i wonder if it even makes a difference to try.  ❜ ❛  so, this is goodbye.  ❜ ❛  one day i’ll wake up & it won’t hurt anymore.  ❜ ❛  it’s like i can’t even feel after the way you touched me.  ❜ ❛  you’re everything that i want, but you don’t want me.  ❜ ❛  am i a regret, yet?  ❜ ❛  was it worth what it costed?  ❜ ❛  you make me nauseous.  ❜ ❛  you’re overrated.  ❜ ❛  when i think of you, i just want to throw up.  ❜ ❛  all my friends say that you’re toxic.  ❜ ❛  why does love suck?  ❜ ❛  love hurts whether it’s right or wrong.  ❜ ❛  i can’t stop, i’m having too much fun.  ❜ ❛  you can’t save me, baby.  ❜ ❛  you never call or listen to me anyway.  ❜ ❛  where were you tuesday, october tenth?  ❜ ❛  how is your jacket covered in blood?  ❜ ❛  how was the party? did you have fun?  ❜ ❛  i fell in love with the warning signs.  ❜ ❛  the only time i feel alive is when i’m touching the warning signs.  ❜ ❛  if you tell me to stay away, i’m gonna dive in again.  ❜ ❛  my favorite color is red like the flags you fly overhead.  ❜ ❛  well, i should have known.  ❜ ❛  didn’t you see it coming? didn’t you see the signs?  ❜ ❛  i’ll break your pretty face.  ❜ ❛  bite your tongue & choke yourself to sleep.  ❜ ❛  you can hold my hand if no one’s home.   ❜ ❛  do you like it when i’m away?  ❜ ❛  you’re a pond & i’m an ocean.  ❜ ❛  all my emotions feel like explosions when you are around.  ❜ ❛  i am a wreck when i’m without you.  ❜ ❛  was it something i said to make you feel like you’re a burden?  ❜ ❛  tell me, is it worth it?  ❜ ❛  she’s a lady & i am just a line without a hook.  ❜ ❛  do what you want as long as you stay here.  ❜ ❛  you’ll change your name or change your mind & leave this fucked up place behind, but i’ll know.  ❜ ❛  if you ever try to leave me, i’ll find you, [name].  ❜ ❛  i’ll be the bad guy, now.  ❜ ❛  i couldn’t be there, even when i tried.  ❜ ❛  seasons changed & our love went cold.  ❜ ❛  i knew that this was doomed from the get-go.  ❜ ❛  you thought that it was special, but it was just the sex, though.  ❜ ❛  it’s only me; what have you got to lose?  ❜ ❛  you should take it as a compliment that i got drunk & made fun of the way you talk.  ❜ ❛  you should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong.  ❜ ❛  you’re so cool, it makes me hate you so much.  ❜ ❛  you’ve ruined my life by not being mine.  ❜ ❛  you’re so gorgeous, i can’t say anything to your face. ’cause look at your face.  ❜ ❛  i’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.  ❜ ❛  if you’ve got a girlfriend, i’m jealous of her. but if you’re single, that’s honestly worse.  ❜ ❛  you’re so gorgeous, it actually hurts.  ❜ ❛  you make me so happy, it turns back to sad.  ❜ ❛  there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have.  ❜ ❛  guess i’ll just stumble on home to my cats. alone … unless you wanna come along?  ❜ ❛  you look so happy when i’m not with you.  ❜ ❛  i don’t know why i run away.  ❜ ❛  take me back, ’cause i wanna stay.  ❜ ❛  i kept my distance ’cause i know that you don’t like when i’m with somebody else.  ❜ ❛  i couldn’t help it; i put you through hell.  ❜ ❛  i realize that it’s much too late, & you deserve someone better.  ❜ ❛  i’m not the best at breaking up.  ❜ ❛  i like my alone time, but i want somebody to hold.  ❜ ❛  i get what i want. i keep it for a minute. then i let it go.  ❜ ❛  i hate it when you’re there for me, but i like it when you hit the spot.  ❜ ❛  i don’t do fake love, but i’ll take some from you tonight.  ❜ ❛  i don’t expect you to understand.  ❜ ❛  i’m ready to die holding your hand.  ❜ ❛  i can’t hide how i feel about you inside.  ❜ ❛  i’d give everything up tonight, if i could just have you be mine.  ❜ ❛  i’d give up everything for you.  ❜

#sentence starters #sentence meme #rp starters #rp meme #rp prompts #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #roleplay prompts #small text is no longer a thing on this blog bc tumblr makes it impossible to format long lists like this with the stupid #character limit rule so enjoy this normal sized text <3

[andypantsx3]

fruit first (ask questions later) | k. bakugou

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Gender Neutral Reader

length: 3.6k

summary: When the grocery store you’re in becomes collateral in a villain attack, pro hero Dynamight comes to your rescue. When you become armed with a handful of oranges, however, someone may need to come to his rescue…

A short, mostly fluffy nothing for the prompt Bakugou + oranges. Part of the Willow’s House server Meet Fruit collab, where I took “meet fruit” extremely literally. Thank you @willowser for letting me in even though my dumb ass signed up late!!

tags/warnings: sfw, fluff, sexual tension, gender neutral reader

You were in the produce section when it happened.

The season was creeping into summertime now, the weather outside hot and humid and perfect for fresh produce–stalks of crunchy asparagus, fat ruby-red tomatoes, and tiny little berries nestled in their containers like a fistful of jewels.

You had admittedly been getting a little over-indulgent, your basket already straining against the skin of your forearm, heavy with more fruits and vegetables than a single person might feasibly consume before they went bad. But you were heady with visions of summer salads and fancy grain bowls, cool and leafy and refreshing, a balm against the sweltering city heat.

You’d just been adding a couple oranges to your basket when the first sign came.

It started as a rumble from far off, like the sound of slow-rolling thunder.

It echoed through the store, the bass buzzing through the shelves, making them hum. The lights flickered for a moment, their fluorescence dimming. A few of the people around you glanced up curiously, but nothing else in the interior of the store changed—no screaming, no crying, no running.

At first there was nothing to indicate that you might need to abandon your groceries in a pique of terror.

That was, until another boom sounded just overhead. And then the ceiling was suddenly ripped open with violent force.

A hunk of the steel frame was pulled back like the tab on a sardine can, the caging screaming in protest, and a shower of plaster rained down around you, breaking apart in slabs. An enormous, hulking figure peered through the hole, then dropped into the aisles before you, shaking the floor with his heavy landing.

Behind him, several other figures skittered into the building, one woman climbing down the wall like a lizard as a few others dropped in through the hole. A man suddenly popped into existence a few feet away from the orange stand with a crack like a gunshot. You startled, stumbling backwards, knocking into the oranges and sending a wave of them plopping to the floor.

There was no mistaking who these people were.

Villains. An entire crew of them.

All at once, the shoppers around you scrambled for cover, letting out a cacophony of shrieks and screams. You backed away, only for your foot to catch on an orange, rolling your ankle.

A bright stab of pain lanced through the joint, and you went down, hard, banging your elbow on a nearby display. You caught the floor with your rib cage, crushing an orange under your hip, your basket screeching across the floor next to you.

It knocked the breath right out of you, and you gasped, just as a blade of energy went singing overhead, slicing through the shelves and sending explosions of fruits and metal into the air. They rained down around you, a chunk of shelf framing tipping over and slamming down on your leg, fruits and vegetables slapping across every inch of your body.

Screams went up from the far side of the store, and you bit back a yelp of pain, tears forming in your eyes.

“Grab as many civvies as you can!” a deep voice barked out. “Hold ‘em like a shield and get moving to the next location!”

Your whole body iced over in fear, your ankle and leg screaming in protest as your limbs locked up. Footsteps echoed in every direction as the group of villains split up, hunting down their civilian targets. You hoped wildly, desperately that no one had seen you go down behind the citrus display.

Your hopes were in vain, however. Bootsteps rounded the corner, and the man who had appeared from thin air bent over the shelving pinning you down.

He was tall and wiry, with a face like a weasel and a thinning crop of dark hair. A malicious grin split the sides of his face as he took you in, yellow eyes flickering over you. “Hello sweet thing,” he cooed.

Your stomach flipped in despair as he prowled closer, oranges rolling away from his boots. Your hands scrambled at your sides, fingernails digging into the floor, as you tried to drag yourself backwards, away from him.

He cackled, high, reedy and excited, stalking down the aisle between two fruit stands. Two steps brought him right to you, and he leaned in, smiling widely. He reached out his long, straggly fingers, grasping for you—

And then he promptly blinked out of existence as a furious explosion crackled into life right where he had been. The brightness seared your eyes, blinding you, and a scorching heat scalded your face as a deafening boom rattled your teeth.

You snapped your eyes shut reflexively, but the light and heat was gone as soon as it came. The pad of boots approached you over the ringing in your ears, and you blinked open your eyes. Behind the spots that dotted your vision was a familiar face—one you’d seen on TV dozens, if not hundreds of times.

Bakugou Katsuki, alias pro hero Dynamight.

The first, wild, reeling, nonsense thought you had was that he was so much more handsome in person.

Red eyes glowed like scarlet embers through the dark of his black domino mask, and a scowl sat angrily but prettily on his plush mouth. He had scratches raked across one high cheekbone and down the line of his strong jaw, and his hero uniform had endured something worse, torn in several places, baring the bulge of one enormous bicep, and the trim line of his waist at one side.

The sight dazed you almost more than the flash of his explosion had, and Bakugou turned his scowl down on you, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling across his forehead as he did.

“You break anything, extra?” He rasped. His voice was lower, too, gravelly in a way that apparently didn’t translate well over TV airwaves.

You gaped for a moment, then quickly corralled yourself as his scowl deepened. You tried shifting your leg under the shelving, a fresh wave of pain lancing through you. “Um, my ankle I think is no good—I’m not sure if it’s broken—”

You were interrupted by a sound like a gunshot, splitting the air right in front of you, and then the teleport villain appeared just in front of you. He lunged for Bakugou, and you caught the flash of a blade in the fluorescent lighting. A reflexive scream tore out of you, trying to warn Bakugou—

But Bakugou was faster. He whipped around, a terrifying smile splitting his mouth, an explosion already crackling in his palm.

The teleport villain flickered out of sight again, just in time for Bakugou’s explosion to rip apart the air where he had been, splintering several of the displays around you and blasting a shelf of crackers and jelly apart. You could hear the glass and cracker bits raining down like chunks of hail.

Bakugou quickly turned back to you, eyeing you evaluatively. “Stay down, extra, and don’t fuckin’ move. I’ll take care of this asshole.”

You nodded hurriedly, shifting under the shelving that had you pinned. You managed to wedge yourself into the rough wood of the citrus display at your side, as if you could disappear into it if only you pressed hard enough.

Bakugou turned his back to you, one arm out as if to block anyone’s line of sight to you. The lines of his broad shoulders were tense under the white-hot glare of the store lights, and you noticed another gash in his uniform along one shoulder blade, exposing a peek of his back muscles.

Bakugou was moving almost before you even heard the next teleportation crackle, spinning to aim an explosion to his right. He launched himself after it with a vengeance, only to blow right through another display as the villain winked out of existence again. It seemed like he was fast, possibly too fast…

And then that gunshot noise again–and the villain was right next to you. In one impossibly fast movement Bakugou rerouted himself with a searing blast that ripped the tile right off the floor. In less than a second he was screaming down on the villain with all the speed and fiery fury of a falling comet. He aimed another shot right where the villain was standing—

But the villain disappeared again.

Bakugou neatly dodged you with another explosion aimed at the ground, the hot wind of it throwing you back against the orange crate. He somersaulted over the display just as another crack sounded behind it, and you could hear another explosion tearing through yet more of the produce.

And then another growled swear from Bakugou told you the villain had vanished again.

Your heart beat double time, wondering anxiously how bad this match up was. Bakugou was the number two hero, and you’d always assumed he’d be well-matched against any type of quirk. You’d seen a million broadcasts of his takedowns, quick and purposeful and scarily precise, with one of the fastest takedown averages on record.

But it was clear this villain was slippery and all together too quick. You didn’t know how Bakugou was supposed to catch someone who could disappear within milliseconds.

You thought probably the only chance could be to unleash his full power. On the news, you’d seen him send entire buildings crumbling. If he wanted to, he could tear this entire storefront down, set the entire inside on fire and catch the villain no matter where he teleported to in this space.

But instead you were in the middle of things. Bakugou had to aim, had to hold back lest any debris hit you, had to angle himself around you to protect you, all while the teleport villain had no such qualms.

It was possible Bakugou wouldn’t be able to catch this guy under these conditions–and you were the impediment to blame.

You heard Bakugou’s explosion rip apart another display in the distance, and that gunfire crack of the villain disappearing. Heart in your mouth, you cast around you for something, anything that could help him.

If only there was something to even the odds…

And then you found it. Your gaze landed on the spill of oranges at your feet. Fat, round, heavy and hard. Perfectly projectile shaped.

Now that…that was something.

You quickly gathered as many of them as you could, your ankle twinging in protest when you leaned across the shelving that had trapped it. You scooped the oranges up in an armful, depositing them in your lap, grabbing the largest and hefting it aloft just as another gunshot sound echoed in front of you.

The villain flickered into view right in front of you. You drew your arm back, whipping the orange at him with all of your might. But then like a lightning strike, Bakugou was there, explosion in hand. The villain flashed back out of sight, flames raking the store behind him, nearly blinding in their brilliance.

In another millisecond, the orange caught Bakugou on the thigh. You could hear the hard thump of it against the muscle even over the crackle of Bakugou’s explosion. It sent Bakugou slightly off course, and he had to aim another shot at the ground to catch himself before landing on his feet.

Instantly he whipped around to glare at you, smoke rising off his hands. “Oi, brat, what the fuck’re you throwing shit at me for?”

Your mouth dropped open belatedly, shocked that you’d just beaned the number two hero with a navel orange.

“Oh shit—” you gasped out. “I didn’t mean—it was for him—”

Bakugou’s mouth opened, but then another crack sounded across the store, the teleport villain undoubtedly in sight again. Bakugou threw a shot at him again, but you could tell it had missed by the way the villain materialized again just behind Bakugou.

Before you knew what you’d done, another orange was already in flight. Instead of turning to hit the villain, Bakugou was forced to duck before the orange went right through where his head had been. You heard it hit the floor as the villain was gone again, bouncing into a roll.

“Fucking—! Brat, knock it the hell off!” Bakugou growled, his red-hot glare searing your skin. “Or I will cram those things so far up your—”

Another teleportation crack cut him off, and he launched an attack over your head. The heat scalded the top of your head, blowing a flurry of fruits off of the citrus display.

Good. More ammo, regardless of what Bakugou said.

Except, well, this time you would try to aim better.

It was another few heart-pounding minutes before you got your redemption shot, Bakugou and the teleport villain chasing one another all over the grocery store in the most anxiety-inducing game of cat and mouse you had ever witnessed. You could hear entire sections of the store becoming victim to Bakugou’s quirk, hear the sharp cackle of the villain’s laughter and Bakugou’s angry swearing.

And then came the moment.

The gunshot noise that heralded the teleport villain’s quirk exploded in the air right in front of you again, and it was then that you unleashed a volley of fruits–whipping one as hard as you could as you unleashed several more across the floor. A heel materialized just over a rolling orange, and then the rest of the villain—and you watched with malicious pleasure as his ankle buckled and he went to the floor just as hard as you had.

That moment of stunned surprise was all Bakugou needed. He was there in a single second, an explosion catching the villain and blowing him straight across the floor. He hit the side of another display with a sickening thud. Lettuce spattered him in a shower of leaves, plastic bagging fluttering in the aftershocks of Bakugou’s explosion.

Bakugou was on the villain again instantly, and you caught the silver flash of quirk suppressing cuffs as Bakugou buckled him to the shelves, snarling a victorious stream of swear-laden insults. The villain was unresponsive, clearly knocked unconscious by the force of Bakugou’s blow.

In under a minute, Bakugou was striding back over to you, his boots echoing heavily on the tile.

“Watch where the fuck you’re throwing shit next time, brat,” he snipped at you, even as he bent down, hands going under the shelving that had you pinned. His bicep corded with effort, and the metal screeched as it was lifted, clanging to the tile as Bakugou threw it off of you.

You watched it fall, dazed. Bakugou squatted down next to you, catching your ankle and pulling it carefully to him.

You blinked, surprised by the gentle touch, eyes following Bakugou as he leaned over your injury, poking and prodding carefully. His eyelashes dusted the tops of his cheekbones, long and golden and a little too pretty for a man.

“I–ouch–I got him though,” you said defensively.

Bakugou’s scarlet gaze flicked up to your face, and a weird zing went down your spine. He really was so gorgeous in person, you had to admit, even beat to hell like he was now.

“Got me too, you fuckin’ brat,” Bakugou said. Strangely, his expression went clearer as he spoke, however, like he wasn’t even that mad about it. His fingers pressed delicately at the inside of your ankle, just beneath the jut of bone.

“Well you were in the way,” you groused, though you knew your second throw really had been a little poorly aimed. Bakugou snorted.

“...Got a good fucking arm on you though,” he allowed after a few more seconds of prodding.

It startled a laugh out of you, and a surprising hint of a grin cut across Bakugou’s own mouth, white and straight and viciously pleased.

“I—thanks,” you said, strangely flattered. “I think.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bakugou said, red eyes wandering over you. Then he went back to poking around your ankle, and you tried not to watch his arm flex as he shifted through the motions. “‘S fractured but not broken, I think,” he declared when he was finally satisfied.

“Oh,” you said, “Well that’s better than I thought.”

You shifted uneasily, wondering what the process was now that you’d been diagnosed. You’d never been in an attack before. Did you just sit here and wait for a paramedic to come to you? Or, could you ask Bakugou to help get you up to hobble out of the store?

You’d just decided to sit tight when Bakugou decided for you. A strong hand wormed its way under your thighs as another swept around your back, and then you were being hefted into Bakugou’s arms in one smooth, upsettingly easy movement.

Embarrassingly, your thighs clenched, even as your arms reflexively went around Bakugou’s neck.

You could feel a prickle of heat flaming across your face as he looked down at you, those scarlet eyes picking across your features. “Gonna get you to the paramedics, brat, they’ll fix your shit right up,” he said, so close now that you could feel his exhalation on your collarbone.

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “I—yes, that sounds good—thanks.”

Bakugou nodded, shifting you more securely against him, and then picked his way across the rubble, holding you tight. You tried not to revel in the feeling of his arms around you, aware this was an entirely inappropriate train of thought to have during a rescue. Especially when you’d hit the man with an orange.

It was a disappointingly short journey—you were outside in nearly a minute, and it was only another few seconds before Bakugou set you down on the back of an ambulance. A young, friendly paramedic bustled over and Bakugou relayed your condition in a brusque growl.

Surprisingly, however, he lingered close as the paramedic assessed the condition of your ankle and applied his quirk—a green light that made every nerve in your leg hum in response, but instantly took away the pain in your ankle. Then the paramedic wrapped you in compression bandages to keep it set straight.

“Ice it when you get home and keep it elevated when you sleep,” he advised you in his spritely tone. “I’ve got a regeneration quirk so you should be all healed up by the time you wake up, but you’ll want to keep off of it as much as you can in the meantime.”

You thanked him, and were surprised when Bakugou thanked him too, although much more briskly.

Then Bakugou turned back to you, red eyes catching yours again. You found you couldn’t look away from him, as shy as you were suddenly feeling out in the daylight. A few seconds ticked by, and you could feel your ears going hot as Bakugou looked you over.

“So. You want dinner or what?” Bakugou asked finally, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes got momentarily stuck on the tear in his sleeve, the way the divot of muscle peeked through in the afternoon light.

Then you gaped up at him when you caught up with what he’d said. “Do I—dinner—with you?”

Bakugou looked down at you, a smirk curling his lip as if he’d just realized where your attention had been. “Yeah. ‘M off shift after I give this report. Thought you might want a thanks for the assist or whatever. But if you’re gonna be fuckin’ squirrely about it, then—”

“Yes!” You gasped out, almost before you even realized you’d spoken. A thrill like lightning sang down your spine, electrifying all your nerve endings. Bakugou Katsuki—pro hero Dynamight—had just asked you to dinner?

Of fucking course you were gonna say yes.

Your brain swam, still unsure you’d heard him correctly, but then he leaned in, an arm coming up to catch the side of the ambulance van just beside your face.

“Good,” he said, another viciously pleased smile cutting across his mouth. Something hot crawled into your stomach, and you suddenly realized dinner might be only the tip of the iceberg Bakugou was steering your ship towards. “Gonna have to have a word about your aim, though,” he said, his gaze searing. “Don’t think you’ve gotten out of it just because I like you and you got that teleport asshole too.”

The low, raspy way he spoke was heavier with promise more than reprimand—and it sent another swarm of shivers over your skin.

Bakugou’s eyes caught it, a reply even clearer than if you had spoken. He grinned victoriously, pushing off of the ambulance to stalk over the police presence that had started to amass just beyond the sidewalk, presumably to give his report.

“Stay right here, brat, I’ll be back for you,” he promised, and you grew roots in your seat.

And then you watched him stalk off, staring in disbelief after his broad back. You couldn’t believe the number two hero had just asked you to dinner. And after you’d accidentally beaned him with an orange!

All you’d done was go to the grocery store in anticipation of produce, and you’d walked out with the promise of a date instead.

A ridiculous loop of orange you glad you decided to go grocery shopping? echoed wildly in your brain, a sign of the sheer ridiculousness of your situation. But yeah, you thought, as Bakugou leaned in to speak to a police officer, those scarlet eyes cutting unmistakably back towards you.

You really, really were.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo fluff #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #meet fruit collab

[ilguna]

☼ between life and death (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick saves your life on the first day of the games, asking you to be his ally because he wants to keep his eye on the biggest threat in the arena.

warnings; swearing, fighting, blood mention, death, death mention, gore.

wc; 8.9k

–

The platform moves slowly to bring you to the surface of the arena. 

You tilt your head back, squinting through the darkness as your eyes adjust to the sudden light. You find large trees hanging overhead, blocking the sun. The further you come out of the ground, the more you’re able to see.

A strong breeze pushes the hair out of your face for you. The golden Cornucopia sits tall in the middle of this small meadow. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the Gamemakers put the tributes so close together before. This must’ve been their only option.

You shuffle on your metal plate to look behind you, being careful to not set off the explosive connected to it. You’re met with a thick forest, a smile creeps at the corner of your lips. You couldn’t have asked for anything better, this is exactly what you were hoping for.

This is less about the placement of the Cornucopia, and more about what surrounds it. In a forest like this, so tightly packed, it’ll be easy to lose someone in them. The bushes and tall grass clumped together at the base of the trees offer concealment for prying eyes. And with how small the meadow is, it makes for an easy escape for an intruder. 

Like you, for example. 

You would be with the Careers, only they didn’t want you in the alliance. It has something to do with your young age. You promised them that you’d be useful, but they were more worried about your maturity. They didn’t care about your score, they were focused on your ability to shut up and do what you’re told.

You aren’t interested in being bossed around. You’re not their errand girl. You tried to appeal to them by making your tribute partner tell them about your ranking back home in the academy, that you are the top of your class, all the way up to the seventeen year-olds. When they weren’t interested, you didn’t push your luck.

You don’t care that much about being with them. You’re pretty confident that you can win this by yourself. They’ll just have to watch their back. If you wanted, you could attack them one night. It doesn’t have to be today, it probably won’t even be in the next week, but when you’re ready, you could strike like a python, and be gone in the weeds.

They could get lost in these trees trying to find out. It can’t be that hard to get turned around.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games begin!”

With the announcement, you turn back to the Cornucopia. You have sixty seconds to figure out what you’re going to grab, and which direction you’re going to run in, after.

In the meadow, hidden in the flourishing grass and the bright flowers, are a number of items that could help you win. The further away from the mouth, the worse it is. Which means they don’t have any weapons out here. If you want them, you have to get in close, risk the danger of running across other tributes.

If you were anyone else, with a low rank in the academy and an even worse training score, you wouldn’t consider it. Your age alone is a death certificate here. However, you are neither weak nor unskilled. That’s why you’ll be joining them in the bloodbath.

What you want is a backpack, and a weapon you can actually use, at the very least. Swords are usually too heavy for you to use, but something similar, like a machete, will work. It’s not as thick, the Capitol doesn’t make them out of pure metal. Just the blade, and the handle.

The tributes that surround you, are what you’d consider nobodies. It’s further down the line, do the faces become vaguely important. The four other Careers are spread healthily apart, two of them being behind the Cornucopia all together. This means you only have two to worry about fighting.

If you’re quick enough, you won’t have to do that entirely.

You bounce on your toes slightly, moving side to side as you watch the time tick down. In ten seconds, the gong will sound and it’ll be a free for all. You have to remember that your goal is to get in and out with what you want. You’re not worried about getting kills under your belt, that can be done later on. 

You can feel your heart like a drum on the inside of your chest, as you take deep breaths to prepare yourself, leaning forward. You’ve got this. There’s no question about it. This is what you were trained for.

The exact second the gong sounds, you’re the first off of the platform. You sprint for the green backpack that’s leaned up against a box on the right. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see two other people that have the same idea as you. 

Unfortunately for them, you make it there first. In one fluid motion, you get your arm through the strap and fling it onto your back. You jump over the box, heading a few steps further in, swiping a knife and a machete. When you turn around to make your escape, you’re met face to face with your tribute partner.

You intentionally slam your shoulder into his stomach, a new tactic you learned to get taller people away from you. It works for those who aren’t expecting it, but he’s seen you do the trick a hundred times in the mock Games back home. He wrestles you to the ground, already pulling at the backpack.

“Damn it, Hunter!” You shout, “Get off!”

“I told you not to come here.” He tells you, as if you’re some child. “I told you we’d kill you.”

“You’re not doing anything.” You draw your knee up to put between you two, slashing at him with the knife. He dodges it, giving you more room to swing your leg up and kick him back.

You scramble to your feet, almost tripping in the process. You take a step to run, and he grabs the only foot on the ground, yanking it. You fall flat on your stomach, face screwing angrily.

That’s it.

You can hear him behind you, you squeeze the knife in your hand. You didn’t want to kill him, but if this is what he wants, then you insist. You push up to your knees, twisting around, blade out to make a wide cutting motion. He grabs your wrist, you spring up, swinging your arm under his armpit and behind his neck.

Once again, this takes you down to the grass. He manages to get the knife out of your hand in the process. You fall on top of him, hand in a fist, barreling down at his throat, never minding his face. He tries to catch you, but he misses. You land the punch, feeling the area cave.

He chokes, eyes wide. You jerk forward, grabbing the knife only a foot away. You pin his wrist down with your foot, drawing the knife back, and slamming it into his neck. Before you’ve even removed the blade, blood begins to pool in the area. You yank it out, search for your machete, which is closer than you thought it would be.

You retrieve it, glancing behind you to see that the other tributes are caught up in their own struggles to pay attention to what you’ve just done. With that, you turn to the forest behind the Cornucopia, running into the trees. 

The entirety of District Two just watched you murder the one person that’s supposed to be on your side. As well as every sponsor that had their bets placed on your older counterpart. And not to mention the academy, where you were trained and specifically told not to harm your tribute partner because it makes you seem aggressive and greedy.

There’s nothing you can do about it now.

When you think you’ve cleared the first mile, you set a slower pace for yourself to run, wanting to put as much distance as possible between you and the Cornucopia. When the bloodbath is done, the Careers will take an hour to collect themselves, and then they’ll set out to find whoever they can.

Or maybe they won’t, they’re down to three. If they had four, you’re sure they’d be more comfortable. With Hunter being dead, and them outcasting you and the boy from Four because of your ages, their abilities are limited. They’re not as big of a threat as they could be.

It might mean that they’d be willing to recruit new members. You’ve seen them do it in the past. You’re not sure they’d come crawling to your feet exactly, but you’d be an option because of your training. However, if they saw what you did to Hunter, you’re a different sort-of target.

They have so many people to worry about in here, that it could be days before they finally come after you.

That’s one of the perks of being fourteen, you suppose.

It’s hours later when the first cannon comes through, signaling the deaths from the bloodbath. It’s always baffled you how long the fights drag on there. It felt like you were there for only a couple minutes, and yet, it could’ve been up to thirty. Just you and Hunter wrestling on the ground.

You come to a stop, the muscles in your legs aching. You breathe deeply in through your nose, and out through your mouth. The cannons fire one at a time, with enough space in between for you to think. This year, it goes on until it reaches ten. One of those deaths is by your hands.

You swing the bag off of your shoulder, sliding behind a tree to crouch and dig through your goodies. You pull it out one at a time: a pack of crackers, a bag of dried meat, a small bottle of iodine, a firestarter, a plastic bottle with a cap for water, a decent amount of rope, and a thin sleeping bag.

You rest your elbows on your knees, biting your cheek while you stare at your new belongings. This is a very good start, almost too good to be true. You carefully place everything back into the bag, as well as the knife, because you have your machete to use if need be.

You zip it up, pulling it onto your bag. 

With miles put between you and the Careers, you feel comfortable enough to walk for the rest of the day. You continue straight, keeping an eye out for any other tributes that might have traveled in the same direction. It’s a waste of energy, though. These trees are placed tightly together, anyone could be hiding out here and you wouldn’t know until you’re practically on top of them.

You were hoping that the forest would thin out the further you go. You should’ve known better. When you get what you ask for, there’s always a catch that comes with it. You can’t complain, you’ll take whatever you can get.

You hum an upbeat tune from home, usually used to taunt others. Last night, when you were talking to Hunter about a possible secret alliance with him, he shot you down. He tried to tell you that you would die in here, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of the first to go.

It’s funny how karma works, isn’t it? He’s the one that had to be airlifted out of the arena, not the girl that should’ve lost the fight. He’s the one getting his throat stitched to make him presentable for his family at home. He’s the one that’ll be lowered into the ground in a box in a couple days.

While that happens, you’ll still be kicking and fighting every second of the day.

The ground begins to slope upwards. At the bottom, you look up the hill, and see that the top isn’t that far away. It’ll give you a good vantage point, maybe you’ll be able to see over the trees you’ve been in for the past four hours.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead, watching it glisten on the side of your hand before rubbing it on the side of your pants. The hill becomes steep and irritating—the dirt is loose and you slip several times—but it’s worth it once you’ve reached the top.

Well, you had the right idea for the most part. Except, the way you just came is completely hidden by branches and leaves. You can’t even make out where the Cornucopia is, which is practically unheard of. No matter where a tribute is in the arena, the golden horn is almost always visible, or easy to find.

You’re not heartbroken over the Cornucopia, in fact, you forget about it the second you turn around and see the other side of the hill. There’s more trees, of course, but these woods aren’t densely populated, you can actually see what’s over here. And your eyes lock on the river that runs on the far side of the arena.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, squinting at the water. It’s far, if you had to guess, it’s somewhere around fifteen miles away. It’s going to be a long walk, one that you’re not entirely sure you can make today. If you ran, it could probably take less time, but you’ve got tonight to worry about, and all of tomorrow. 

If you tire yourself out today, you’ll be screwed. You shade your eyes, looking up to find where the sun is positioned. There’s a good six hours until sunset, you can spend half that time going in the direction of the river, and the other half finding a safe spot to sleep. That way, by the time the Fallen plays, you’ll be someplace safe.

With that plan in place, you begin down the hill, still humming to yourself. It’s lively on this side, it’s not nearly as quiet. The birds chirp to one another above you. The bushes will rustle each time a rabbit darts in and out. You won’t have to worry about hunting animals, at least. They’re keeping relatively close to the water source, which is good news.

The problem is that the other tributes, especially the Careers, will pick up on this. You weren’t planning on setting up a permanent camp anyway, but it’s definitely out of the question now. Once you get in close tomorrow, you’ll spend the rest of the day finding an area that looks boring enough to skip over searching.

It’s during this part of the walk, do you really begin to feel hot. You swing the bag off of your shoulder, unzipping your jacket and stuffing it into your bag. The relief is immediate, the breeze is able to properly caress your skin, cooling you down. The sunlight is still relentless. With these trees being further apart, shadows aren’t consistent. You walk in the shade as much as you can, and cross your fingers you won’t end up with a nasty sunburn.

The next two hours are easier, when you aren’t thinking about how you could go for a cold glass of water. One of the many treats that you were sure to appreciate in the tunnel before they brought you to the surface. She asked you what you wanted, it could be any food you could think of, and you asked for a glass of water.

Mostly for hydration, knowing that you’d be sweating it out in an hour, but also because it’s a habit of yours. No matter how hot or cold, indoors or outdoors, while you’re training, when your skin feels like it’s on fire, water is the one thing you ask above all.

You hope the stream is cold for you to enjoy. You’ll have to collect it, put the iodine in and wait. In that time, it could become warm, unless you let it rest in the river while it sanitizes. It won’t be perfectly cold. Beggars can’t be choosers, though. You know this.

By the third hour, you’re more than happy to start the journey of finding a place to sleep tonight. There’s a sufficient amount of sun to cover you while you wander, eyes searching the trees and nearby hills for any hiding spot to explore. You’re hoping for more than what the eye can see.

You come up with nothing.

So, you continue in the direction of the river, knowing that there’s another couple hours of daylight. If you can’t find anything in that time, that means you’ll be out here with the animals and the Careers, which is basically the same thing. If they find you, they’re not going to hesitate when it comes to tearing you apart. Regardless if they know you killed Hunter or not.

The trees get thicker, but you don’t stop and consider them. They need to be able to hold your bodyweight, and the branches aren’t ready for that. Besides, it would take one look up, and they’d be able to spot you. They need more foliage.

You stop humming when the sun sets, your cheery mood beginning to dampen. The light is gone, the night creatures are coming to life. You grip the machete in your hand a little tighter, telling yourself that you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re prepared.

It isn’t until the Capitol anthem plays, do you stop to listen and watch the death recap. The Capitol seal is bright in the sky, you want to be able to see who’s dead, yet this opportunity to see is too good to pass up. You start walking again, stealing glances at the sky.

The first face to appear in the sky is Hunter, now every tribute knows that they’re down a Career member. It’s not normal for them to lose someone on the first day, this will tank their credit and plant seeds of doubt in people’s minds. They’ll be underestimated, just not enough for tributes to start attacking them.

If tributes have been paying attention, then they’d also realize that they’ve been a small group since the beginning. They casted you out almost immediately, you were left to study and show off on your own. It was a pain, but it worked out in the end, you managed to score a nine.

The next face to show up in the sky is the girl from Five, meaning that districts Three and Four survived. At home, you’d be able to see exactly how the tributes died, as well as what they placed because of it. The next morning, you’d have training at the academy, where they’d go over each death and you’d have to come up with a way to survive, and then reenact it with another student. 

As morbid as it sounds, it works.

Both of the tributes from Six are dead, Seven made it out. The boy from Eight, both from Nine, neither from Ten, both from Eleven and just the boy from Twelve. It’s a pretty average group, you’re not all that surprised. The Capitol seal appears again, with a musical flourish, and then it’s gone and you’re plunged back into darkness.

You sigh.

However, you’ve traveled faster than you thought, because it’s less than an hour later, do you hear the sound of rushing water. Your pace picks up, you break through the trees, finding a small path along the bank of the river. You can’t help the laugh that erupts from you.

This wasn’t the plan by any means, you can’t bring yourself to care, though. You pull the bag off of your shoulder, going to unzip it to grab the empty plastic bottle, when something slams into you. The machete is gone, landing a few feet away. 

You twist, swinging your fist before you’ve even seen who it is that’s taken you down. They catch your wrist, pinning it down at a painful angle, leaning over you. It’s a girl, her dark hair creates a curtain around the two of you. There’s a sickening grin on her face.

“Where’s your friends?” She asks.

She isn’t very perceptive, is she?

As much as you’d like to pretend they’re around, if you called for help, it could alert anyone in the area that you’re here. If she does end up injuring you, the last thing you’d want is for someone to come around and finish you off. You’ve got to do this quietly.

“Around.” You smile when you say the word. “What about you? Do you even have any?” 

This isn’t the girl from Twelve, she’s skinnier, you could flip her over in a second, same thing goes for Three. And the girl from Eight is blonde, which stuck out for you because they’re usually dark haired. This is the girl from Seven, it explains the strength she has to pin you down and the body mass. She’s not fat, it’s muscle.

Maybe taunting her isn’t the brightest idea, but you really can’t help it.

“Around.” She mocks you. 

You bite your tongue, wanting to say a number of nasty things to her. “Oh really, why isn’t he with you? It’s safer to pair together when you’ve scored so low.”

She ignores the job, “Why aren’t they with you?”

You narrow your eyes, is she really going to mock you? “Because we’re scouting the area. We all agreed to meet back at the river, it’s only a matter of time before they come around.”

“Right,” She says. “They’d let the little girl go off by herself? How old are you? Thirteen?”

“You don’t believe me?” You ask her, “Fine.”

You draw in a deep breath, opening your mouth to scream for help, when she clamps a hand around your throat, squeezing. It’s painful, but you can’t help the smirk on your face, fingers grazing the machete above you.

“Shut up.” She snarls.

You grasp the handle, and you’re about to swing it at her neck, when a splash of hot liquid hits your face. Her hand loosens, as she leans back, looking down. You follow her gaze, and find the head of a spear sticking out of her stomach.

Blood. It was blood that got on your face. 

You shove her off, now that you have company, you need to work quickly. You get to your feet, hand sweeping the backpack off the ground, and tossing it out if the way. When you turn around, you’re met with the other outcasted Career. 

The boy from Four.

He comes out of the darkness, heading right for the girl from Seven. You take a couple steps back, fixing the machete in your hand. He keeps his eyes on you as he reaches forward, grabbing the handle of the spear, and yanking it out of the girls back.

Like you said, you weren’t the only one to get pushed out of the elite circle. The two of you are the same age, both being too young to be invited. Although, it won’t put him as far behind as it has you; he’s got everyone wrapped around his finger. Whether or not he’s done it intentionally is a mystery that you don’t care to solve.

From the moment he was reaped, the Capitol has been buzzing over him. Half of the tributes wanted him as an ally, too. The issue is, the ones that matter don’t want him. The older Careers want to win, and they can’t do that if they have the potential of being dragged down.

You don’t think he cared very much, though. He didn’t pursue them in the same way that you did. Once his partner told him to get lost, he went his own way to train for the Games. He scored a nine, the same as you. He is far from being innocent.

“I think we should be allies.” He says, taking his eyes off of you long enough to stab Seven. A cannon booms.

“And why’s that?” You ask.

“You’re a threat,” He tilts his head with a smile. “How is it that you managed to score so high without showing anything useful? I want to keep my eyes on you.”

His reasoning is flawed. If you were him, you’d want yourself dead. It’s the only way to ensure that you stay alive. A tribute down means one more tribute that you don’t have to worry about later on down the line.

You can’t help but believe him. Why else would he go out of his way to save you? If he wanted, he could’ve killed you in the middle of this interaction at any time, and you wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. 

The idea isn’t bad, either. You both have scored well, you won’t have to worry about carrying a bulk of the burdens, or protecting him against any tributes you run across. And he does have a lot of sponsors backing him up, which is a factor that you chose to ignore during training. You hate taking people for who they are at the surface or what they have on their side. You want to see their worth.

And this boy may be worth more than you think.

“Fine.” You tell him, his smile widens. “We aren’t friends.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He dips the spear into the river. “My name is Finnick.”

“(Y/n).” You tell him, lowering the machete, taking a few steps away to grab the backpack. 

“I found a cave.” He tells you, motioning up the stream, “A little ways from here. I was going to grab water, but I don’t have anything to carry it in.”

“I do.” You unzip the bag, tossing the plastic bottle at him. “Is the cave concealed?”

He catches it, “Yes, they won’t be finding us in there.”

This might work out.

—

“Let’s go over the plan one more time.” You say, tying your shoes. 

“Sure.” Finnick says, he’s standing by the entrance of the cave, weapon in hand. 

The spear lays discarded on the far side of the cave, no longer useful to him. He told you that you could have it, but you turned it down, preferring the machete. He upgraded from it sometime last week, when a sponsor sent him the trident he’s holding in his hand now.

You almost screamed when you saw it, because you’ve never seen a gift so expensive get sent into the Games. You’ve seen sponsors actively keep up with the tributes they have bets on, up until it’s too expensive. They always send small things, nothing that could ever add up to something as large as a trident.

What threw you more was how unaffected Finnick was by it. He didn’t seem to care, he even said something about the spear working just fine. You had to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, because you would’ve killed to get something half as good from a sponsor. And you were going to strangle him for being so ungrateful.

Yours have been sending food, which was greatly appreciated the first few times, but you’ve moved on from that. Hunting here isn’t nearly as big of a pain as you thought it would be. 

“We’re going to leave for the Cornucopia in an hour,” You begin, “When we get there, we’ll light a fire that they’ll be able to see. They’ll come after us, and we’ll split them. You want both of the tributes from One, and I’m supposed to take your district partner.”

“Yes.” Finnick says, “And when they’re dead, we’ll meet back at the Cornucopia to regroup, gather, and come back here.”

“You’re sure you can take two tributes at once?” You ask. “They’re older than us.”

“I’m going to net the boy and fight the girl. I told you, I’ve got this. Just worry about fighting Amaryllis.”

You make a face, “Is she really that bad? She doesn’t look like much and she scored an eight.”

“It was on purpose, remember?” Finnick sighs. “She doesn’t care about sponsors. If it were up to her, she would’ve scored lower. It’s part of her plan if she ever got reaped.”

You hum, letting him know that you’re listening. You’ve tried a couple times to get him to switch with you. You’d rather be the one to take the One tributes, even if that’ll be the most difficult task, but Finnick can’t stomach the idea of killing Amaryllis. It’s something about knowing her younger sister, and not wanting to cause problems.

When you told him that you were the one to kill Hunter, and it’s not that big of a deal, he shut you down. He told you that there’s a difference. You want to win at all costs, if that means tearing down everyone in your way, then so be it. For him, he’d rather die than lay a finger on her.

In a way, he called you heartless. He doesn’t realize that you didn’t go out of your way to kill Hunter. It was the only option you had. You weren’t going to try to escape the Cornucopia again, because you knew that Hunter would pursue you. You killed him because it had to be done. He would do the same if Amaryllis was the only thing standing between his life and his death.

“Right.” You say. 

Since agreeing to be his ally, you’ve come to learn a lot about Finnick. Some of it being out of your own curiosity, or maybe because he told you during a vulnerable moment. Other times, it’s because of the behavior you’ve picked up on.

You’ve started to trust Finnick’s judgement regarding situations, because of it. He pays close attention, finds details that you never would have thought about. A few nights ago, you two had hunted down the boy from Seven, because he’d been stomping around the area.

Finnick saw the cuts on his hands and arms, the way he’d been limping. Once you killed the boy, Finnick led you to a cliffside, one that you could only pass if you climbed it. You were sure that no one would be stupid enough, but Finnick was convinced. And he was right. For the first few feet up the cliff, it was normal. The further you look, there was dried blood smeared across the sharpest rocks.

You thought that would be the end of it, knowing where he’d come from, how he’d managed to hit his hands and arms. You’d assumed that Seven hurt his ankle from falling or jumping down. Either way, the area was safe again, and you wanted to go back to the cave.

This is when you found out that Finnick has little to no regard for his life. Despite seeing the injuries that Seven had gotten from this cliffside, he wanted to see if there was anything at the top that you two could have. You tried to tell him that it was a bad idea, and before you could stop him, he was starting up the wall.

In his defense, it wasn’t that bad of an idea. Seven had a sponsor gift or two, which Finnick tossed down to you at the bottom. It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled a stunt like that, you were surprised that he kept doing it, though.

Him wanting to take on both Career tributes from One makes sense, when you think about that. It’s more dangerous to take two tributes that genuinely scored ten, versus Amaryllis, who’s just by herself. You have to give him some credit too, he has the tools to be able to do it without batting an eye.

That net that he has is made out of the rope you’d gotten in your backpack from the Cornucopia. When you gave it to him, his face lit up, and the first thing he did was weave it. It’s proved useful so far, it’s how he was able to kill the boy from Ten and the girl from Three.

So, as much as you’d like to make Finnick switch with you, you can’t do it. You understand his feelings towards Amaryllis to a certain extent. And since he’ll be able to take out the One tributes the easiest, you have to let it go. After all, you do trust his judgement.

When the sun has finally set outside, you and Finnick gather your belongings and leave the cave. It’s well-hidden, no one seems to be interested in venturing this far away from the center, wanting to be able to raid the Cornucopia each time the Careers leave. 

As for you and Finnick, you haven’t gone back since the first day, and it’s been almost three weeks. There hasn’t been a need to, you both have the weapons you could ask for, and you have an endless supply of food coming from your sponsors. The only reason why you’re going now, is because the pool of tributes have narrowed.

The Careers are going to split up any day now, and it’ll be harder to keep track of where they are that way. This is why you started brainstorming ideas on how to kill them. You’ve gone through a lot of plans, many of which you never ended up telling Finnick, because they were dramatic and stupid. You want something straight-forward that’ll progress the Games without the Gamemakers interfering.

There’s eight tributes left in the arena. You and Finnick waited long enough to let the Capitol do their family interviews, because it’s a favored tradition. If everything goes according to plan, you’ll kill the rest of the Careers, leaving five. You and Finnick, and three nobodies that shouldn’t be too hard to find out.

You’re assuming that the two of you are either going to hunt down or wait for them to die on their own, but it’s never been discussed. Actually, neither of you have even talked about what happens when it comes down to the final few. You two are going to have to split eventually, and that means having to kill each other.

In fairness, you haven’t thought about it much, yourself. You’ve decided to focus on the present, getting over the hurdles before thinking about how it will end. It was a good choice to ally with Finnick, the problem is that you’ve come to like him a lot more than you intended to. You were supposed to strictly be allies, you weren’t supposed to end up making a friend out of him.

As bad as this sounds, that will not stop you. Finnick is not enough for you to give up your life. You have your family back home to take care of. Your reasons mean something, too.

Still, if you end up winning this, you’ll never forget about him.

The hill doesn’t take that long to reach. At the top, the two of you take a breather, you’ve got a long couple hours ahead of you. The Cornucopia isn’t visible in the daytime, but especially not now with how dark it is. 

You point in the general direction you’d come from the first day, which is slightly diagonal to the right. “It’s about three hours that way, I believe. What way did you say you took?”

Finnick motions to the left. “That way. I ran right into the woods for a while, and then I went left and kept in that direction. There’s a valley between the cliff and the hill, led me a mile or two from the river.”

You nod. “Let’s just go straight from here, the Cornucopia will be on our right side.”

Finnick leads the way down the hill, he offers his hand to you to help you down the first steep steps. When he lets go, you follow behind him wordlessly. From what you’ve discovered, Finnick was on the left side of the mouth of the Cornucopia, while you were directly facing it. There’s a good chance he saw you fighting Hunter, but you think he might’ve mentioned it if that were the case.

When you told him that you killed Hunter, it was a couple days later. He was asking you if you were upset from losing him, because you hadn’t said much since agreeing to be his ally. That’s when you said that you were the one that ended his life, and no, you weren’t upset over his death.

He was surprised, you thought it was because of the news you delivered. Now that you’re thinking about it, you think he might’ve meant if it was because you killed him, not the other way around.

There’s obviously been some miscommunication, you wonder if that changed the way he thought of you or not.

The night wears on you, the longer you walk for. You can’t help yawning, wiping underneath your eyes, trying to wake yourself up. You knew you’d regret suggesting to do this in the middle of the night. You can’t back out now, though. Even if you did stop to sleep and wait for tomorrow night, you wouldn’t be comfortable. You’re too close to the Careers for your liking.

You push through, and make it there an hour and a half later. You manage to spot the top of the golden horn through a patch in the trees. You and Finnick stop walking, realizing how close you’d gotten by accident.

“We’ll set a fire over there.” You tell him, looking to the left. 

You follow his steps, and once you’ve walked five minutes away, the two of you begin to snap branches and place them in a pile. When you’ve got a good amount started, you dig through your bag to find the firestarter. You thought it’d be useless, considering you never felt safe to use it. It’s coming in handy now.

You crouch down, looking up at Finnick. “I’ll try to take Amaryllis back to the Cornucopia.”

“And I’ll take them further this way.” He nods. “We’ve got this.”

“I hope so.” You say.

In a quick motion, you scrape the flint rod against the flat piece, watching as sparks jump off, straight at the wood. It takes you two more times before a flame has started. You blow gently, watching as it grows, eating away. You reach into your bag, pulling out your knife, and tightening the backpack on your shoulders.

Finnick offered to take it, you didn’t want to risk his life like that. Besides, you’ve grown attached to the bag, and it’s carrying valuables. He’ll end up ripping it while fighting. You’re just going to throw the damn thing out of reach to make it easier.

You get back to your feet, backing away from Finnick. He’s going to be the main bait, standing where the Careers can see them. You’ll throw the knife at Amaryllis, and she’ll turn her attention to you. You and Finnick will split, kill them, and then go back to the cave.

This is going to be easy.

The flame grows higher with each passing minute, until it reaches its peak. It’s right around the same time you hear the running, the sound of multiple people coming in your direction. You prop the machete up against the tree, fixing the knife in your hand.

Sure enough, they come through the trees wildly, not caring if they were to scare away the rogue tribute. They’ll just chase them down. The first person to bound out is the boy from One, holding a very long sword, deathly sharp. His counterpart follows, with Amaryllis coming out last, slowing down.

Finnick’s on the other side of the flame, net in one hand, trident in the other. From where you’re hidden, it looks like he holds all the power here. His age doesn’t matter. He’s the one that set the fire, he’s the one with the expensive weapon, he’s the one that will be taking them down. They mean nothing.

“What are you, stupid?” The boy sputters, sharing a laugh with the girl next to him. Amaryllis doesn’t find the humor, shaking her head. “This is why we didn’t let you join, you would’ve killed us.”

“I’m going to kill you, anyway.” Finnick says, expressionless.

“Oh—” The girl starts, Finnick turns sharply on his heel, taking off into the darkness. 

They jerk forward to chase after him. You draw your arm back and whip it forward, letting go of the knife. It slams into Amaryllis’ back right shoulder, she shouts, hand reaching for it as she turns.

You smile, swiping the machete at your side, and beginning to run to the Cornucopia. From what you could see, she didn’t have a weapon with her. An odd choice, maybe she left it by accident.

She chases you, that’s all that matters. She’s fast, too. You thought that the tributes from Four were supposed to be excellent swimmers, not runners, too. You manage to stay ahead of her, breaking through the trees and bushes as you reach the meadow. 

Just like you said you would, you swing the bag off of your body, throwing it out of the way, turning to face Amaryllis. She continues to barrel at you, disregarding the weapon in your hand. You swing upwards at her, she barely moves her body in time to avoid the blade.

You try for her stomach, but she pulls a knife out of her belt. Your blade clashes with her small one, and the momentum is enough to send your machete into the air. You let it go, punching her in the face with your left hand. The pain in your knuckles is immediate, her head snaps to the side.

You grab her wrist, wanting to get the knife. Her free hand locks around yours, you place your other hand on the back handle of the knife. The tip of your boot hooks around the back of her foot, and with one sudden pull on that foot, she falls back, pulling you on top of her.

The knife—which you were hoping would stab her on the landing—misses, sticking into the dirt, all the way down to the hilt. Amaryllis throws you off, you land on your back. As you’re getting back to your feet, you see the machete. You reach to grab it, and a slicing pain goes through your palm.

“Fuck!” You scream.

The knife is now lodged in your hand. You grip your wrist, squeezing tightly, teeth grit. What do you do? Do you take it out? You can’t just leave it in, can you? You look to Amaryllis, and find that she’s run off to go inside of the Cornucopia. Likely to find more weapons to puncture you with.

You can’t leave it. You’ll start bleeding, but you can’t let it slice your hand up entirely. You take a few quick breaths, and pull the knife out of your hand. It’s a blinding white pain, you fall back onto one of your knees, leaned over, tears forming in your eyes. When you look at the wound, you can see the dirt and grass sticking out of it.

You’re going to be sick.

The sound of wind whistling makes you hit the ground without thinking first. The sound fades, you look over your shoulder to see Amaryllis with a spear, tilting her head at you. You throw the knife back at her, sweeping up the machete in your left hand to head into the Cornucopia before she can retaliate.

“How old are you again?” She asks.

“I’m going to kill you.” You tell her.

“You must be Finnick’s age, if he trusts you so much.” She says. “He couldn’t kill me himself?”

“Shut up.” You tell her, swinging at the spear. She tries to block, you yank it from her hands, slashing at her side. You get her pretty nastily, it’s deep.

The two of you go back and forth, with her switching weapons frequently, and you trying to take her down with the machete. She gets you a few more times with the knives she can get her hands on, but her aim isn’t perfect. She misses most of the throws, and it has something to do with the fact that you got her good shoulder.

At home, they teach you to fight with both hands. District Four must not think it’s important.

You get her cornered in the back, and instead of saying anything to her, you simply swing at her throat. She must’ve anticipated this, because she charges forward, not caring about dodging. For a second, you think that she and Finnick must come from the same family tree with the blatant disregard for their lives.

And then the hidden knife in her hand slams into your stomach, right as you stab her through the throat. She pulls up on the weapon slightly, blood dripping out of the corner of her lip. You stumble back. She can’t move, the other end of your blade is stuck in the golden Cornucopia, still soft from the day’s heat.

You reach to touch the wound with your good hand needles jabbing into your abdomen when you move the knife by accident. You cry, face twisting in pain. You sit on a box. You shouldn’t take it out, but Finnick will be here soon to regroup, he can stitch you then. 

There were two cannons during your fight with Amaryllis, and they were far apart enough for you to think that it had to be the One tributes. He killed the girl, made it back to the male tribute almost ten minutes later, and then killed him, too. 

Removing this knife sets your body on fire. The black spots eat away at the corner of your vision, the knife slipping from your hand. You try to catch yourself on the wall, but your knees are jelly. The dizziness wins.

You wake up on the ground, somehow holding yourself up with your good hand. A cannon blasts, you glance over your shoulder to look at Amaryllis, and the bloody mess that you made. Her entire front half is soaked in blood. Her eyes are on you.

“(Y/n)!”

It’s Finnick, he’s close. You try to get up, and then fall back to your knees. You can’t let him see Amaryllis. It’ll be awful for his mentality. It’ll be better if you lie, and you think you might do that about the wound on your hand.

You rock forward, using a box to get to your feet. On the way out of the Cornucopia, you grab a new machete. You have your bad hand on your stomach, taking shallow breaths to keep it from hurting too bad. Your hand is throbbing. You aren’t going to be able to hide it from him.

When you get to your backpack, you unzip, bringing out your jacket to wear. While you’re zipping it up, Finnick comes out of the trees, trident in hand. He looks worried for a moment, but he slows down.

“(Y/n)! Did you do it?”

“Yeah.” You force a smile. “It’s done. What about you?”

“Both of them are dead. I left the net because I couldn’t untangle his body.”

“We’ll make a new one.” You wave him off, “Let’s get going.”

“Where’s her body?” He asks.

You press your lips together. “It’s inside of the Cornucopia. I don’t think you want to see it, Finnick. I tried to keep it clean but I couldn’t.”

He nods, “Okay.” he jerks his head to the side.

“You lead the way.” You tell him.

And with that, no question as to why you’ve got a hand beneath your jacket, or why it’s darkening in color, the two of you start back to the hill. For the first hour, you think that you can handle the pain, it hurts but as soon as you get to the cave, he can wash it out and properly assess it. You think you’ll even be able to use the healing cream that the sponsors sent him when he got hurt from the cliffside.

It grows increasingly obvious that you will not make the six hour walk. Finnick asks about your hand, and he stops to use some of the drinking water to rinse it out. You make up an excuse about getting cut, that’s why you decided to put the jacket on. He doesn’t seem to care.

Once you reach the hill, you try to ask him if you can go through the valley instead, not wanting to go up the hill because of the pain. He gives you a look, not taking you seriously. You follow behind him, taking your time because you think you can ignore the pain and push through.

At the top, you’re hit with a headrush.

You shudder on the ground, fingers squishing around in the bloody wound on your stomach. When you look down, you see that it’s begun to spread onto your pants, staining them the same maroon color.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick asks, “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing, I just gotta—” A sharp pain hits the area, you grunt, biting into your lip, hard.

“Let me see.” He tells you. You try to dodge his hands, but he’s serious. He grabs the zipper, yanking it down.

With the help of the moonlight, Finnick gets an eyeful of the wound you’ve hidden for the past three hours. Like a vampire, it’s taken over a liter of blood. At the sight of it all, the lightheadedness gets worse. You struggle not to vomit.

“Oh my god,” He looks at your face. “You told me it was a cut.”

You force a smile.

“(Y/n), this isn’t funny. Why didn’t you say anything at the Cornucopia?”

“I thought it’d be fine.” 

He looks behind him, in the direction you came. You’re sitting right in the middle of the six hours. No matter what way he goes, it’ll take him a while to get there.

“You thought this would be fine?” He asks you, shaking his head. “Are you kidding?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” You shoot back, a spasm of pain makes you take in a sharp breath, closing your eyes. “Just go, Finnick. Now’s the time.”

“The time for what? I’m not going anywhere.”

“We’re down to five.” You look at him. “We can split up. Or better, you can kill me.” You reach out, grabbing his arm, smearing blood on his tanned skin.

His face twists. “You want me to kill you?”

“This is what you wanted. This is the whole reason why you became my ally.”

Finnick’s shaking his head dramatically, “That’s not true. I lied to you, I thought you knew that.”

You close your eyes, trying to remember the conversation you had with him. It’s not coming to you. You can’t focus. “Whatever.”

“(Y/n), you were the only one in that gymnasium that ignored me. You didn’t care about my sponsors or how I looked.” He tells you.

“Then leave me.” You squeeze his arm. “If you can’t kill me, then go.”

“I can’t do that.”

You sigh.

“Can’t you see? You’re the only one I trust here.” Finnick tells you. “You had plenty of opportunities to kill me. And you stayed with me instead. I can’t do this without you.”

He’s not going to listen. You swallow thickly, “Fine.”

“Okay,” He tries to pull away, but you don’t let go. “Let go so I can get you on your feet.”

“I can’t make that walk, and you’re not going to be able to carry me.” You say. “So, go get some water and the healing cream. I’ll stay here.”

Finnick’s eyebrows draw in. “That’s not happening.”

“What’s your big plan, then?” You snap, “Listen to me, I can’t move. Just go, I’ll stay here. We have no one to worry about.”

He stares at you, thinking about it himself. “I’ll leave you my shirt and jacket, and you can put it over the area. That’ll help slow the blood, right?”

“Right.” You agree.

He takes off the jacket and his shirt, coming to place them beneath yours. You place a hand on top of the lump of clothing.

“I’m going to be quick.” He tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.” You murmur. “Thank you, Finnick.”

“Don’t thank me, not yet.” He grabs his trident. “Just hold on, okay?”

You can’t say anything else, because he’s already started running down the hill. You close your eyes, resting the back of your head on the backpack. He didn’t grab the plastic bottle for water. He probably won’t even notice.

You reach up your shirt, pulling the clothes out, letting them fall next to you. In the academy, they teach you many things, including when to come to terms with the fact that you’re not going to make it out of the arena alive. In special occasions like this, where you’ve escaped a fight or accidentally severely injured yourself, you can have hope at the beginning, but too much can kill you.

This is why you don’t hold on to your life.

You let it get taken from you, one aspect at a time. The idea of winning the Games, seeing your family again, becoming an infamous victor. The hardest one to let go is Finnick, who’s running for his life to make it to that cave in time before you drift away.

You hold onto one idea, which comforts you during your last breaths.

Your actions tonight will be the reason why Finnick wins the Hunger Games.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x y/n #finnick imagine #finnick fanfic #finnick x reader #finnick oneshot #finnick x you #finnick x yn #finnick x y/n #thg #the hunger games #angst #requested

[thefirst-ofus]

The silence in Katsuki's dorm room was thick enough to chew. The only sound was the soft hum of the overhead fan and the rhythmic groans escaping his lips as you worked on his arms.

It had been another brutal training session, pushing his quirk to its limits and then some. Now, his arms screamed in protest, burning like a thousand tiny suns. But instead of his usual complaints and threats, Katsuki lay there, eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched. He knew you were taking care of him, and for once, his pride wasn't putting up a fight.

Your touch was gentle, your fingers kneading the muscles, thumbs working on the pressure points. He could feel your quirk working its magic, a slow, steady drain of his pain that didn't sap his strength. It was a secret they shared, a language of touch only they understood.

You moved from his arms to his shoulders, your fingers tracing the old scars like familiar constellations. He flinched at the touch of one, a jagged reminder of a nasty fall during their childhood.

"It's okay," You whisper, voice soft as a feather. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He scoffed, but there was no bite to it. He knew he was a walking hazard, especially after a day like today.

Your touch continued its journey, navigating the map of his face, tracing the high cheekbones, the sharp jawline, the scar that bisected his eyebrow. He almost growled when your hands reached the burn mark on his chest, a souvenir from that time he'd overheated his own damn body.

Then, your fingers were in his hair, gently massaging his scalp. The tension he didn't even realize he held melted away like ice under a summer sun. He could almost hear the crackle of electricity fading from his skin.

"You know," he mumbled, his voice thick with fatigue, "you shouldn't be doing this for me."

"Says the idiot who used his quirk till his arms felt like they were gonna fall off?" You countered, a playful lilt in your voice.

He couldn't help but crack a grin. "Well, someone's gotta make sure the damn King can still throw a good punch."

You snorted. "You're such a dork."

But the playful jab was laced with something softer, something honest. They'd known each other since they were snot-nosed brats, and somewhere along the line, their childhood friendship had blossomed into something more.

He didn't need fancy words or grand gestures to know you cared. It was in the way you'd always have his back, even when he pushed you away. It was in the quiet understanding that passed between them without needing to be spoken.

It was in the way you could calm his inner explosion with a touch, a whisper, a shared laugh.

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. Your eyes, like molten gold, held a tenderness that made his chest ache in a good way.

"Thanks," he muttered, the word rough on his tongue.

You smiled, a slow, genuine smile that lit up your whole face. "Anytime, Kats."

And as you sat there, his head in your lap, your fingers still playing with his hair, the silence no longer felt heavy. It was filled with unspoken words, comfortable companionship, and a love that crackled like electricity, yet felt as soothing as a summer rain.

He was Bakugo, the King of Explosions, always loud, always proud. But with you, he could just be Katsuki. Just your Katsuki. And in that quiet room, under the soft hum of the fan, that was more than enough.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #x reader #mha #mha x reader #fluff #first post

[k-n0-x]

༺ ♱✮♱ ¨:·Something Stupid- Chapter 1·:¨ ♱✮♱ ༻

A/N- Hey everyone! I hope you guys are doing well. This story is a longer series of Lucifer Morningstar x reader where you’re Adam’s third wife. This story will have roughly 10 official chapters, but there will be shorter fillers which will be labelled as [previous chapter number].5. 

I also made a playlist in honour of this fanfiction :D

Navigation

Enjoy! <3

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🦢♕✶💫☾🥀꧂ 

As you use your wings to sweep down to the sultry streets of Hell, you frantically look around for any stray troops, for them to tell you everything. Anything. 

“Where is this gods be darned hotel,” You think to yourself, along with other incoherent and unfinished thoughts.

But it all connects back to one hanging thought in the back of your mind.

Heaven is a Lie.

What happened to all that “Killing is bad” and “Murder is sin” bullshit that they preached?

This is a genocide. 

All of these demons, from young to old, didn’t do anything wrong, (well atleast, not in this moment)

Is it that hard for Adam to see? 

He’s been feeding you these utter lies this entire time? This news was a bombshell on you at the meeting when that lovely young girl, Charlie was pitching her idea.

Speaking of bombs, a piercing and explosive sound emits from the other side of the city.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

As you traverse the debris of the crumbling city, you spot two familiar faces amongst the face of fire.

One of which that you despised ever since that meeting.

Lute.

The other had her back faced towards the lieutenant. Her horns protruded from her scalp and her long blonde hair billowing in the breeze, unaware that Lute was about to strike. 

“LUTE, NO!” You put yourself in the face of the Angelic weapon, your wings disarming the troop general to avoid her striking down Charlie.

“Y/N? What in the actual living fuck are you doing here?” 

“I should be the one asking the questions here,” You point an accusing finger into the general’s chest. 

“Where’s Adam? I need to have a serious discussion with him. If you see any other troops, tell them to stand down,” 

“You’re not my bos-”

“I said. Stand. The. Fuck. Down. NOW!” You stare Lute down, and she glares at you back. 

She doesn’t say anything, but you could see her biting her tongue.

You turn to Charlie.

“Charlie, come on, we gotta go!”

“But, I- I don’t understand, why are you he-”

“Just trust me on this one okay? Go and make sure no one is in imminent danger. I will handle my husband myself,”

The Princess looks up at you, eyes flooded with admiration, trust, and hope as you soar back into action.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

You swoop in and out of  shattered buildings in fruitless attempts to find Adam amidst the screams and battle cries of both Angels and Demons.

“Adam? ADAM?!” You screech into the crimson sultry sky. 

Another explosive pierces through the sky from not far where you were barely a minute ago.

“Ugh, Lute I swear,” You mutter under your breath and your attention is quickly turned to two shadows attacking each other. You look overhead and see two figures; one of them is adorned with a priest’s garments (obviously, Adam), and the other… well…

Does not have a definable shape whatsoever. 

One moment, it has taken the form of a bird, and the next it has the figure of a snake.

One thing never changed though, a sporting white top hat stayed gracefully on his head in each form.

This ever changing specimen seems to be teasing your partner. 

“Adam? Haven’t seen ya since Eden,” He maneuvered between all of Adam’s punches.

“Gotta say, it really seems like you’ve let yourself go,”

Adam scoffs. 

“You, Lucifer, judging me? You’re the most hated being in all of gods be damned creation!”

Ah, that makes much more sense now.

The shape-shifting demon, finally setting on a figure, with a smirk, almost nonchalant expression on his face.

Dodging the First Man’s bolts of angelic power, Lucifer still doesn’t relent with the tomfoolery.

“Well, your first wife didn’t seem to hate what I had to offer,” He places his index and middle gloved digits between his lips and drags them downwards, his snake tongue between them.

Ooof, that’s gotta hurt.

Well it definitely did. On Lucifer’s end that is for sure. One of Adam’s blows finally managed to hit him, knocking him backwards, and inadvertently knocking you out of your trance.

Fuck, you were supposed to be stopping this.

“ADAM!” Your husband turns to face you, looking from the ground, dumbfounded.

“Y/n?! What the actual fuck are you doing down here?”

“Why is everyone asking me that?!” You draw in a breath, irritated.

Just get to the point.

“Tell your little army to stop. Playtime’s over,”

Adam descends down to you, with disagreement written all over his face.

“Nah,” He smirks.

“What the FUCK do you mean ‘Nah?’ What are you, 10?” 

“Yeah, 10 inches deep in you,” 

Your face distorts into a one of disdain. Marrying is probably one of the worst decisions you made.

“You don’t need to make this any harder than it needs to be,” Then it clicked. An utterly vile, but devious idea struck your mind.

“Dear Adam,” you hum, layering on the most seductive voice you can. Both Adam and Lucifer look at you, both confused at your quick change of tone.

Well this is going to be the most embarrassing 30 seconds of your life.

Alas, you carry yourself with a more fluid demeanor, as his eyes follow you. Though as stupid as he is, he isn’t going to fall for your tricks that easily.

You snuggle up to him, your hand gently caressing his upper thigh, reaching right where the source of all manhood was. Stroking not only his dick, but his ego as well, which you were really going for.

You whisper in his ear. 

“Come back home darling~ you need some time to rest, hm?” You let your fingers circle around his tip. “I’ve been waiting for you for a while now~”

He smirks. Bingo. 

“Fine, but I’ll be waiting for you at home, love,” He says with a wild grin.

“Lovely,” you say through smiling teeth.

Though behind that smile, there is absolutely nothing worthy of mentioning.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“Well, I sincerely apologise for my husband’s behaviour. Honestly, I would have stopped him sooner if I found out,” You bow to the group of demons.

Utter despair is written on the entire group’s faces. 

“What’s the matter? I know your hotel has been blown to bits, but at least everyone here is safe,” your tone is uncertain.

“Right?”

Charlie is the first to pipe up to speak.

“Sir, Pentious- he-,” Her voice cracks.

“Oh honey,” you turn to try and comfort her with your wings, though abruptly interrupted by a threatening cough from Lucifer, who was behind you.

You want to comfort the Princess of Hell, but you decide against it and turn to face the group. 

“I just want to say, before leaving, that I am on your side. I know Heaven is the real enemy and I will try to aid in any possible way, though right now I have to be going,” You look at each demon in turn, Lucifer for last, as he gives you a once over, as though you’ve intrigued him in some way.

“Well, erh, farewell. For now?” You give Charlie a tentative squeeze on the arm, and give Vaggie an acknowledging nod, which was returned.

As you spread your wings and soar back to heaven, you come to the realisation of what you’re gonna have to do when you get home.

Or rather, who…

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🐣♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

Word count- 1,229

#fanfiction #writers on tumblr #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #fluff #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #charlie morningstar #angel dust #hazbin hotel lute #angst #lucifer magne #lucifer smut #Spotify

[florence-end]

Wake Up Call

Azriel x reader

Request: Could you write a story where reader has a nightmare and Azriel hears her screaming for him then the mating bond snaps for him.

Summary: You have been having nightmares every night since the battle against Hybern, and more often than not you wake up having winnowed to Azriel’s door. You don’t know why your subconscious always brings you here, until one night you cross the threshold and wake up to hazel eyes looking back at you.

Warnings: slightly graphic description of battlefields, an almost-panic attack

You woke up just in time to see the familiar surroundings of your bedroom disappear into darkness, and a large oak door appear before you. Luckily you were just about conscious enough to avoid slamming into it although your feet landed with quite a considerable thud. The sounds, sights and smells of battle faded away with every second you took to gather yourself and remember that it was all a dream but your heart continued to race beneath your ribs, sweat gathering on your brow. Because it had all been very real and you knew the memories would haunt you for a long time.

On the other side of the door, Azriel stood as still and quiet a statue, not even allowing his shadows to ebb and flow as they usually did. He wasn’t sure why you winnowed to the hallway outside his bedroom more nights than not, but the first time, when he had thrown open the door in alarm due to the scent of your fear, you had been so utterly mortified that he didn’t want to embarrass you by discovering you again. He’d spoken to Rhys who explained you struggled with nightmares more vivid than most of your found family, but couldn’t offer an explanation for why you always appeared at Azriel’s door.

You weren’t sure yourself why your subconscious mind brought you here before you could fully pull yourself out of your night terrors but you were grateful every time that Azriel didn’t seem to know you were there after your pathetic half mumbled excuses the first time.

As your heart rate slowed and you got a hold on your powers, you winnowed back to your bedroom for a bath. Azriel heard you leave and went back to bed, feeling just as guilty as every night before.

Twenty four hours later, the nightmare returned but something was different.

The war is raging on. Hybern’s forces are decimating Prythian’s armies. Fallen allies are lying all around you and you can’t move fast enough to help them all. The Illyrian legions swarm the skies overhead.

You hear Nesta screaming for Cassian who lands next to her just before an explosion of power is unleashed from behind Hybern’s line, obliterating every winged warrior above the battle ground. You thank whatever gods are listening that Azriel is safely at the camp as you watch in horror. It’s only then that you see the blue siphons amid the falling bodies.

No, it can’t be him.

You run towards where the siphons should have landed, getting more and more bloody as you wade through the field. Once you get there, you know immediately. That familiar dark hair and tan skin shrouded by swirling shadows.

Those glassy unseeing hazel eyes.

You woke with a gasp and find yourself looking into those same eyes, now alight with panic and concern.

“Don’t be scared, you’ve winnowed to my bedroom. You’re safe here and it was just a dream,” Azriel soothed, his voice soft and deep.

Instead of finding yourself in the hallway, he was right. You had winnowed straight into the shadowsinger’s bedroom and found yourself sprawled on the luxurious carpet as he hovered above you.

You immediately averted your eyes as you sat up, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. It must have happened while I was asleep, I know you like your privacy and would never want to barge in like this. You were probably sleeping when I just appeared. Gods this is so embarrassing, I’m going to go,” you rambled as you tried to gain enough control of your shaky legs to get to your feet.

“Woah sweetheart, it’s okay just take a second. I’m not upset, I was actually waiting for you,” Azriel admitted as he rested his hands gently on your shoulders to keep you in place.

“What?”

“Usually I just wait by the door for your scent to go back to normal and then you return to your room but it’s nice to see you’re alright with my own two eyes this time,” he explained, moving to sit down across from you.

You were so mortified by this point that you didn’t think you’d ever be able to look him in the eye again. Your breathing was still too shallow and you could feel a panic attack rising as the adrenaline from your nightmare refused to leave your system.

“I promise everything is fine but you need to take some deep breaths, sweetheart. Can you look at me please?” Azriel pleaded.

You forced yourself to look up into his wildly handsome face, and as your eyes met, it was like everything stopped.

Your heart rate slowed, your breathing calmed, your racing thoughts ceased to exist. The only thing you could think, feel, remember in that moment was the warm golden thread that buzzed to life, irrevocably connecting your soul to the male in front of you for the rest of time.

“My mate,” Azriel whispered, his hand pressed to the centre of his chest.

Neither of you spoke for some time after that, adjusting to the flood of emotions running up and down the bond. You realised at one point that you were holding hands with no recollection of when that happened but you knew that Azriel’s skin against yours felt more right than any touch you had felt in all your life.

Eventually you let out a yawn, and despite your attempts to stifle it, your newfound mate couldn’t stand the thought of you being in any way uncomfortable. So he scooped you up and placed you on his ginormous bed. Crawling over you to his side before pulling you into his chest, he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. “Everything is going to be okay now,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m going to look after you.”

You burrowed further into his warm body, trusting his words entirely.

“No more nighttime winnowing though, if I find you outside Cassian’s door I might get jealous.”

“Guess I’ll just have to sleep here then so you’ll know if I disappear,” you joked through another yawn.

“You won’t find me complaining,” he whispered back.

The last thing you feel before drifting into a restful sleep is a dark wing draping across your body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t know if I like the writing in this one but I hope it’s kinda what you had in mind! Thank you for your request🫶

#acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x you

[anastasiareyreed]

two years have already passed...

today, two years ago, all of Ukraine woke up to explosions, sounds of flying fighter jets, gunshots and screams of terror. today, February 24, is the anniversary of russia's invasion of Ukraine. full-scale invasion, escalation of ten-year genocide. I can't explain the feeling when I first saw wounded people, when I first heard a rocket flying overhead aimed at a residential building.

it is emotionally difficult to comprehend all the terrible events that happened during this time. everything I'm trying to cover here as soon as I get my thoughts together. and everything that I don't have enough strength for...

Bucha massacre

Mass burials in Izium

Mass execution of Ukrainian prisoners in Olenivka

The tragedy of Mariupol

Defense of Azovstal

Bakhmut Fortress

Ecological disaster in Kakhovka

The tragedy of Hroza

Tens of thousands of Ukrainian children forcibly deported to russia

Torture of civilians

The battle for Donetsk Airport

The Ilovaisk Tragedy

russian manipulation and propaganda

burning Ukrainian books, destroying Ukrainian museums and entire cities, torturing people for tattoos connected to Ukraine. forced re-education of children and adults who are forced to learn the russian national anthem, worship portraits of putin every day and receive russian documents in order to receive water and food in the occupied territories. daily shelling and casualties, daily struggle for survival and freedom, which russians want to take away from us.

all the terrible cases of execution of Ukrainian soldiers: beheadings, castration, amputation of limbs, execution of prisoners. burning civilians alive, raping women, men and children, torturing even animals, even little mice. tons of photos and videos that I don't want to add here because even the slightest glimpse of all those images breaks my heart and causes me to have a panic attack. however, you can find it all freely available on the Internet by simply typing in keywords.

instead, I would like to show photos of rallies in support of Ukraine, which took place today all over the world. to find out where each photo is from, see the alt text for them.

despite the fact that in russia they celebrate the war, Ukrainians, who were forced to flee from the war, gathered at rallies around the world, together with residents of the countries that gave them shelter. the civilized world expresses sympathy and grief, with calls to provide arms to Ukraine so that we can defeat russia as soon as possible and return peace to our lives.

it's sad that more photos can't be added to show as many cities as possible that came out to support us today. but I've been looking at all the photos and videos of the rallies all day today and I have tears of gratitude in my eyes. thank you all for continuing to stand with Ukraine!

#stand with ukraine #russia is a terrorist state #help ukraine #support ukraine #save ukraine #stop russia #fuck russia #russian agression #russian invasion #russian culture #russian art #russia #russian terrorism #ukraine #signal boost #rally #russian war crimes #war in ukraine #war

[stressfulsloth]

Thinking about Disco Elysium and stars. Something about communal experience and simultaneous isolation, hope and idealism, fear and beauty and terror and burning. The inherent horror in the vast romantic starscape of the sky, the melancholy and loneliness inherent in the untold distance, a communal experience of something too enormous to fathom. Stars bear witness to humanity, to the millions of tiny people crawling on the face of Elysium. They watch the people, and the people watch back, and make up stories about the stars. Stars symbolise love, hope, something unreachable and unattainable.

The way that the light of the stars reaches every single being in Elysium, from human to phasmid, but no matter how far it reaches it is still a cold and distant glow, always on the verge of going out. A moral brilliance, a holy light to strive towards, something always at risk of burning out, but there's a dichotomy too. A duality between the stars as brutal unfeeling observers, moralists even, like the aerostatics flying overhead, tiny dying lights that watch impassively over every terrible thing in the world, and the flipside; stars as the burning kernels of hope, furious burning flames that parallel Harry and his golden-orange forest fire nature. Stars as the light of communism, the star-and-antlers. They're hope and dreams- a million years in the stars. Rockstars and superstars. The light of a brighter future (however short-term that future might be) coming towards them at the end of the tunnel. It makes me think of Sacred and Terrible Air and the light pollution in Vassa- ending light pollution as the world ends. "You may laugh at this, but in the evening, when the big world in the distance swells into a bloody maelstrom, families come out into the street in Vaasa and are insignificant together. Only distant explosions disturb the deep peace of the winter night, its flawless starry sky. Everyone watches, heads tilted back." The stars are a shared experience. Something that everyone watches, insignificant together, when there's nothing more that can be done. Light in the face of darkness, community in the face of inevitability. Togetherness. The stars are there in the church with the ravers. They're there watching Harry and Kim together. Insignificant together. In dark times, should the stars also go out?

#i'm collecting quotes for another thing and i just like all of these together idk #disco elysium #de rambling #my brain is so full of cotton wool rn so sorry if this is. garbled sddjjdsk #long post #i am really sorry for the incessant longposts #sacred and terrible air spoilers #pjõl spoilers #i guess? also very much oversimplifying there #i just. idk. i have feelings about that bit #it's the team ibex translation btw #stars manage to encapsulate both moralism and communism lol- inaction+distant observation versus fire and passion and feeling

[mhedemag]

An overhead crane is a type of industrial lifting equipment used to lift loads over a head. These cranes are commonly used in factories, warehouses, construction sites, mines, ports, etc. There are many different types of overhead cranes manufactured by various companies. Mhe-Demag offers the best quality overhead cranes suppliers & manufacturers with unique features and benefits. Visit the site for more info!

#overhead cranes #shipyard crane suppliers #overhead crane parts #explosion proof overhead crane

[mentality-project]

Carry Me Home

Morpheus x Fem!reader

Pushing your way through the crowded bar, you welcome the brisk night air as you stumble onto the streets of London. Blowing off steam with your favourite coworkers at the end of the week had been much-needed fun, but now you were ready for home. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your favourite scenes from the night replay in your head, your hands burying into your coat pockets to keep warm. You hum to the tune of the song stuck in your head, the crowds thinning out the closer you get to home. You notice the change in atmosphere five minutes later than you should have, the sound of a raven's caw overhead bringing you back to the present moment.

You hear them before you see them, the rowdy laughter and loud explosions of curse words giving away their position. A glance at the reflective shop front across the street tells you there's three men behind you. Fuck. It could be nothing, but even so...you'd rather not find out. Your feet pick up the pace, but despite your best efforts they sound louder. Closer.

The raven's caw pierces the night air once again, causing you to flinch but you don't stop walking until you barrel into a wall of black. Two hands grab the back of your elbows to steady you, your wide-eyed gaze snapping up to your captor. Relief floods your nervous system at the sight of the familiar stern face.

“Morphy-baby~ I need a ride! Would you be a dear and take me home?”

“You are intoxicated.”

“Maybe~”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“More than enough.” You are oblivious to the withering glare Morpheus sends towards the drunken trio of men before whisking you off to your apartment. --- "Whoa, headrush!" you giggle as you stumble in the hallway as the sand dissipates, "Don't think I'll ever get used to that." Morpheus' gentle grip on your forearms helps you still your clumsy feet, your tipsy giggles falling silent as you get lost in the galaxy of his eyes. Your lips curl up in amazement as you grip the lapels of his coat, "You have such pretty eyes, Morphy...", your smile falters as the next unfiltered thought crosses your mind, "it's not fair."

You don't notice the way he huffs through his nose, disgruntled with the unwanted nickname that has been bestowed upon him.

"You are drunk."

"Yes~ I am~!" your singsong voice is shameless.

"You should be in bed." "You're not the boss of me," you pout up at him.

The Dream Lord says your name in that hypnotic voice of his that sounds like a seduction and a warning rolled into one, and just like that, your defiance shrinks away. "But I'm not even...sleepy..." the yawns that interrupt your protest betray you. "Is that so?" Dream's eyes glint with amusement in the darkness. "Okay, okay, fine! I'll go to bed, but only if you carry me." Morpheus stares down at you while you blink up at him. You had never dared to be so petulant with him before. But then again, he had never encountered you drunk. You yelp when he scoops you up into his arms, kicking your heels off as Morpheus heads for the stairs with you in tow. He is carrying you like you're nothing.

"Oh Mylanta~ Morphy~ you're actually carrying me to bed."

"You insisted."

"Well, yeah...but I didn't think you'd actually do it." King of Dreams is silent and you wonder what's going on in there - long-suffering sigh or an internal scream. It's only when he heads for the doorway to your bedroom that you start to squirm in his arms, "Wait, wait!"

Morpheus raises his eyebrow at you, arms still wound tight around your body. You point to the bathroom. "I need the bathroom. Gotta wash my face. Sleeping in makeup is a sin."

The midnight-haired being obliges you as he carries you into the bathroom, setting you down in front of the sink before he perches on the edge of your bathtub to watch you work. You go in on your eyes and lips with a bottle of liquid remover and cotton balls, following up with some facial wipes. You frown at your reflection while you're on your fourth wipe, unable to ignore the nagging in your head that argues that since you've gotten this far, you really ought to wash your face properly. Your hands are slathered in cleansing balm before you realise that you forgot to tie up your hair.

"Hold my hair back, Morph?" Morpheus is silent as he stands behind you to oblige you, and you watch his reflection in the mirror as he smooths your hair back with both hands before gathering your locks in one hand.

"Cheers, dear." you murmur as you rub the melted balm over your face.

You rinse and repeat with cleanser before following up with moisturiser. A few moments of silence pass when you turn to face Morpheus, blinking up at him.

"I need to pee." you announce before shoving the unsuspecting Endless into the hallway and closing the door behind you.

Morpheus has no time to react and you crack the door open like an afterthought as you peer through the gap. "You're still tucking me in, right?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

The door shuts again, soon followed by the sound of the toilet flushing, then running water. The door flings open and Morpheus is greeted with the sight of you brushing your teeth. You mumble around your toothbrush, using your free hand to guide Morpheus' hand to your hair. He gets the gist, because by the time you're standing in front of the mirror, he's holding your hair in a ponytail again. He lets go as you turn to face him.

"I need a shower, but I'm too lazy."

Morpheus lifts his hand and you're captivated by the stardust that swirls around you. When it lifts, you're in your favourite sleepwear and feeling more squeaky-clean than you ever have in your life.

"Did you just -" you cut yourself off as you run your hands along your arms, through your hair and sniff the collar of your shirt, "did you just glamour magic me clean?"

"Yes."

"How amazing." your voice is hushed as you breath out.

"What was that?" you're oblivious to the amusement that tugs at Morpheus' lips.

"How amazing!" you repeat louder, looking up at Morpheus with wide eyes.

"Will you go to bed now?"

"Yes!" you grin as you put your hand on Morpheus' shoulders before you jump up to wrap your limbs around him like a koala, "I'm ready!" The huff of his breath almost sounds like laughter as his hands grip your thighs, turning on his heel to finally carry you to bed. You gasp as he sets you down and pulls the covers over you.

"Ooh, you're tucking me in~"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"I love it." you grin up at Morpheus before patting the spot next to you, "come here, Morph."

Morpheus sits next to you and you shake your head as you pull the blanket out from under him, "No, lie down. I don't want you sitting near my face. What if you fart?"

"(Y/N), I am Endless. Endless do not -"

"Lie down, please!" you smack the bed as you raise your voice, feeling quite pleased with yourself when the Dream Lord complies.

You shimmy over to his body, throwing your leg over his as you lie your head on his shoulder, curling an arm around his chest.

"This feels nice," you smile as you close your eyes.

Morpheus doesn't respond, but a few moments later you feel his hand rise from your shoulder to stroke your hair and it makes you melt into him even more.

"Ohhh...I love you." you mumble into his coat.

"What did you say?"

"I love you. Please don't stop doing that." your eyes refuse to open as you feel yourself drift further and further into sleep with each stroke.

"Sleep well, (Y/N). I will meet you in The Dreaming."

#the sandman #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus x reader #not my gifs #dream x reader #dream of the endless #netflix the sandman #dream of the endless x reader #lord morpheus

[licorice-tea]

Don’t Fall In Love With Me (Yet)

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: strawhat!reader, gender neutral reader, feelings and fluff (my faves🤞🏽), so much tension, no resolution of that tension… yet😏, lowkey “i hate everyone but you” trope, very brief mention of some canon typical violence, but no actual violence <3

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: lalalalala i love law😇 i actually wrote about twice as much as what’s here to begin with, but i felt like it was too long for one post, so i might upload it as a second part later if anyone wants that! as always ty for the love, and i hope you enjoy! (did i write this instead of finishing part 3 of my Zoro mini series? perchance. (that will be up soon though!))

Part 2

It’s a day like any other on board the Thousand Sunny- calm waters, music, occasional shouting, and just one abnormality. Law, captain of the Heart Pirates, is a guest on board the Strawhat Crew’s ship in the aftermath of Dressrosa. And despite their hospitality, he finds practically everything about life on board their ship to be draining…

Every potentially quiet moment is interrupted by the crew’s shenanigans.

For starters: the cook and swordsman argue over every little thing, and most of their arguments escalate into fights. The navigator is actually a petty thief or a con-artist at best, and her double, the sniper, takes it upon himself to cause dangerous explosions at least once a day. The musician is an incredibly loud pervert, though the shipwright is somehow even louder and more dramatic. The archeologist is alright- she’s quiet, but Law finds her constant observation more eery than comforting. And the captain is still somehow convinced that his doctor could be used as a source of “emergency food.” Then there’s you; the one who brings whatever you’re working on at the time up to the deck so you can work in the sunlight, wears your weapons like they’re accessories, who only takes breaks from working to visit with your nakama, and always offers a charming smile when you catch Law staring… which happens multiple times in the course of the day.

Law is often irritated, rigid, and cold- so different from your own optimistic and nonchalant demeanor. At breakfast, he doesn’t talk much. Just eats his meal and thanks Sanji before excusing himself to go pour over anatomy books from the ship’s library. He does so for hours, not once joining the Strawhat Crew on deck or even taking time to explore the ship on his own. Nami frequents the library, as well, but she’s taken to drawing maps in her room or on deck since their guests arrival. When night begins to settle overhead, he may return to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, before going right back to his work.

At first, one might have been inclined to think Law didn’t like y/n at all. They can often see his gaze trained on them form from the corner of their eye, but chooses to ignore it sometimes and address it with a smile others. He almost never speaks to them if possible, only offering a nod or a mumbled response to whatever they says. But, he goes out of his way to sit by them at mealtimes and to find himself in the same narrow hallways as them, so that their arms brush. Those are the moments he obsesses over in his mind while he dozes off from his textbooks- the feel of their skin against his, and their kind acknowledgements- always void of harsh judgment.

It’s not just the lack of cruelty in essentially eveything they do, to Law; it’s the presence of love. Love for their nakama, their work, people and places they barely know, even him. He doesn’t recall ever having met someone so full of love that goes beyond superficial kindness- because they can be sarcastic and moody at times- besides perhaps Corazon.

And to y/n, there’s just something about Law that peaks their interests. Maybe it’s the feeling of having someone new around, or something even more indescribable and foreign to the pirate.

Zoro is asleep in the men’s cabin tonight, so y/n is keeping watch. It’s the usual arrangement for the 2 night owls of the crew- when Zoro has truly exhausted his body, he sleeps below deck with the others, and y/n has no trouble staying up through the night.

They turn on some quiet music on their speaker, a must have for any music lover. For a while, they just watch the sea and sky. Nights at sea are like a blackout. But, there is no need for light with strong eyesight and the even stronger moon and starlight.

So it’s no surprise that they see, just out of the corner of their peripheral vision, the top of a white and black speckled hat bobbing up and down as it moves toward the kitchen. Y/n’s eyes widen ever so slightly and their breath catches in their throat. The guest makes them feel silly, in a way, for not being able to discern their own feelings toward him, nor his toward them. They get so caught up in their thoughts about him that eventually they give up. Y/n shakes their head, mentally chastising themself for even being embarrassed or flustered in the first place. And with that confidence boost, they decide to go talk to him.

Next thing they know, y/n is standing before the kitchen door with no plan in mind for what they’re going to say to their crew’s ally. They open the door, but he doesn’t look up from the coffee brewing on the stove.

Y/n clears their throat to announce their presence, and Law whips his head around to see who it is. They offer a friendly smile and a little wave.

“Hi.” They speak softly, as if afraid to break the peace of the night.

A beat passes with no response from Law. Internally, he wishes they hadn’t walked in on him at this moment. The light from the overhead lamp catches in their eyes, and he feels entirely too seen. Not in the way he feels seen by someone like Robin, though, whose constant observation makes him feel uncomfortable; like one wrong move and he’ll have hell to pay for. No; y/n sees him and he’s scared that he might start spewing nonsense to avoid revealing his feelings. And suddenly his cheeks are on fire, and everything is quiet, and all he can focus on is the stars in their eyes that he tries so desperately to look away from.

They tilt their head, likely in concern, and he pulls himself out of his thoughts to mumble, “Hey.”

“Cant sleep?” y/n questions, their starry eyes (as described by Law) flickering over the coffee pot on the counter and back to him.

Law shrugs, then pulls his hat lower over his eyes to hopefully hide his warm face. “I wasn’t trying to sleep.”

“Hm…” they hum in response, “Want to keep watch with me then? If you aren’t busy.”

He thinks they’re just being friendly, like always. When they first met, Law was confused. It made no sense for someone so mild mannered to have a bounty of well over 500 million (now almost double that amount in the time that’s passed), though he didn’t doubt that looks could be deceiving. But even in the midst of battle, of which the two had been in several together, they refused to take kill shots or anything of the sort. So he was still unsure of how they had earned such an impressive reward for their capture. Still, they clearly had a high regard for life, and he had come to learn that they truly were just that kind hearted, not to mention witty and generous. And judging by the “Sora: Warrior of The Sea” sticker he’d noticed on small a journal they carried, which was one amongst many; a bit of a nerd, too. All of these things and more had made Law secretly impartial to them. Or at least, those were the reasons he has listed in his mind to make sense of these feelings.

So he nodded, much to their surprise, and mumbled again “Sure.”

The curve of their smile opens up into a grin, and y/n leaves while fully expecting Law to follow (whenever his coffee was ready.) Which, he does.

#part 2? #one piece x reader #one piece x you #fanfic #one piece #law x reader #x reader #law fluff #trafalgar law #law x you #straw hats #straw hat pirates #straw hat reader #teehee #i love writing fanfic😇 #new hobby😈

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Bucket List - Bucket Moments || CL16

Warnings: fluff WC: 1.2k Main Story || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments || Five Years Later

1. Sleep under the northern lights

Charles found another blanket in the storage box and draped it over your shoulders as he joined you in the clearing. 

“Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” You asked the question quietly, fearful that your very voice could disturb the peace of the night. Overhead, green and orange light danced to the music of the universe that you could almost hear. 

“Every day,” Charles whispered too quietly for you to hear. Swallowing the lump in his throat he recorded the northern lights illuminating the wonder on your face. You were mesmerised as you reached for the colour like it was a ribbon you could catch if you were quick enough, but it slipped through your fingers. 

“Make an angel with me, Cha,” you giggled as you tossed the blanket aside and fell back into the snow. Charles fell down beside you and waved his arms like you made him do whenever he took you skiing. “I could stay frozen here forever.”

“Me too, mon ange.” 

8. Go to India for the colour festival  

“Don’t you dare,” Charles warned as you filled your fist with a dark blue powder. “Amour!”

You bent in half with the burst of laughter that cut through his faux annoyance and his own laugh joined yours. His white shirt was splattered with the colour of his biggest competitor and you grinned as you took a photo, sending it to Max. A burst of powder hit your front and you gaped at the explosion of red clouding your vision before it cleared to reveal Charles’ smug face. 

“That’s better,” he hummed as he pulled you into his arms, the colours of the rainbow dusting your face as he dipped his head down to yours and kissed you. “None of those Red Bull colours for you, mon ange.”

A peal of laughter sounded as you were pushed apart and Lorenzo ducked between you, a burst of yellow hitting Charles and raining over you. “Sorry, chére!” Arthur apologised as he bolted off again, chasing the eldest brother. 

Charles wrapped his arms around your waist as he stepped up behind you, watching his brothers race through the energetic crowd to find Joris and Pierre. His soft laugh warmed your cheeks as the three guys made an absolute mess. “Snow fights will never beat this.”

Your eyes widened with an idea. “Imagine colouring the snow balls!”

“Except yellow,” Charles pointed out, chuckling as your nose wrinkled at the idea.

“No, definitely not yellow,” you agreed. “But it would be funny to prank them if you did…”

Charles turned you in his arms and smiled fondly as he wiped away some of the coloured powders from your cheeks. “I love that mind of yours.”

“Just my mind?”

His eyes trailed over your shirt that was no longer white and his pupils darkened by the second as he bit his lip and continued to survey you with a look of hunger. Slowly he dragged his eyes back up until he reached your face again and released his plump lip from his teeth. “Yes, just your mind.”

He rocked back on his heels with a loud laugh that came from deep in his stomach and you gave him a little push against his chest. “Cha!”

Your feet disappeared from the ground as he picked you up and your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he looked up at you in awe. “There is not a single part of you I don’t love, mon ange.”

12. Teach Charles to cook

Charles would rather go swimming with sharks again, and he had not enjoyed that. He knew it would be a hell of a lot better than what you were about to make him do though. 

“I look stupid,” he complained as he placed the toque on his head. 

“You look stupid?” you laughed, pointing to your own head. “I have a hairnet on and I don’t have hair. So put your big boy pants on and let’s go, class is starting.”

You had debated trying to teach Charles to cook yourself but after a few mishaps and burned tea towels you decided you needed professional help for the task. This culinary school for beginners promised that it could teach even the most incompetent cooks to master the basics and most importantly, pasta. 

Thankfully putting Charles in a class setting made him focus and take note of the instructions. You could always count on him to become the teacher's pet and by the third lesson you watched with pride as he kneaded the pasta dough to perfection. 

“Can you dust a little more flour please?” he asked as he held the dough up.

“Yes, chef,” you saluted as you took a handful and scattered it over the bench. “Oh, you’ve got a little something on your cheek.”

“Can you get it?” he turned his cheek towards you as you tossed the rest of the flour at him. “Non…run.”

You turned and squealed as he grabbed a handful of flour and gave chase. “You’re going to get us expelled!”

He ignored you as he herded you into the huge pantry and you armed yourself with an egg in each hand. “We have ourselves an old-fashioned standoff, huh?” he teased. “It’s a good thing your aim is terrible.”

Charles moved first, showering you with the flour, and you launched the first egg. He deftly dodged it by jumping aside but it put him right into the trajectory of the second and it splattered over the chef’s jacket he wore. He looked down at the bright yolk and slimy whites that dribbled to the floor before looking back at the door where the chef was standing with a red face. 

“Both of you, out of my kitchen now!”

You tried to keep a straight face as you shuffled through the mess without slipping over and rushed to grab your handbag. “I can’t believe you got us expelled!” You burst into laughter as you exited the building and raced Charles to his Pista in the parking lot. 

“Me?” he laughed as he caged you between the car door. His eyes sparkled with amusement and he couldn’t help stealing a kiss when your happiness was as pure as it was in that moment. “Since I ruined our dinner plans, what would you like to eat? And please don’t say pasta or I will take you over my knee and spank you.”

“I mean, don’t threaten me with a good time,” you winked. “How about cake? You are already wearing half of the ingredients.”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction