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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 5 months

Text

Break it first

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 2

Prompt: Came back wrong

Rated: M

CW: Mind control/brainwashing; Possessive behavior; Referenced character death; Aftermath of trauma; Aftermath of injury; Kidnapping

Tags: Kas!Eddie Munson; Dark Eddie Munson

Notes: So, I already had a fill for this prompt, but then @house-of-the-moving-image showed me this stunning piece of art and my brain broke like Steve's. We both have a bunch of other fills coming up for this challenge, quite a few of them collabs, and I'm so, so stoked to share!!! ❤️

He still remembers how fragile Steve looked.

They were in the boat house, Steve and Eddie. The others had gone out for supplies, but Steve had insisted on hanging back. Eddie hadn’t protested, even though the thought made his heart rabbit.

The second they were alone, Steve let himself slide down the wall and curled into a ball on the floor, face hidden between hunched knees, shaking hands clawing at his own temples.

“Hey, man!” Eddie jumped in alarm. “You okay?”

Steve took a while to reply.

“Fine,” he claimed, but his smile was a tense thing in a too-pale face. “Just headaches. Been getting them a lot. Robin thinks it's 'cause I got knocked around a few times too many."

Eddie quirked an eyebrow, pulled a strand of hair in front of his face. "That … happen often in your line of business?"

And Steve told him.

About fighting monsters with nothing but a nail bat. About Billy Hargrove. About Russian torture chambers and the headaches and the nightmares and the ringing in his right ear that never really went away. He looked so young, so beautiful, so broken. Eddie wanted to scoop him up and put him back together and hold him close so that nothing would ever hurt him again.

But he didn't.

Instead, he watched.

Watched how Steve squared his shoulders and put on a brave face for the kids. Watched as Steve threw himself to the front lines so that others wouldn’t have to. Watched as Steve got choked and torn apart, that golden skin painted in new scars, and told everyone not to worry, he was fine.

Eddie watched and Eddie didn't do a thing.

Because Eddie was weak.

Eddie was a coward.

It's a good thing he's dead.

Steve is still the one to throw himself into danger first. That's good. It makes it easy to catch him alone.

"You still have the scar on your neck …"

A flick of his wrist and the bats scatter into the clouds. Steve curses, scrambles to his knees, gropes for his fallen weapon- and freezes as he cradles his face in both hands, tilting his head up.

"... Eddie?"

"Not quite," he hums, sharp claws carding through soft hair. "I have his body and his memories, that's all. The name's Kas. I've been dying to meet you, sweet thing."

Those caramel eyes go wide. Steve tenses under his hands, tries to scramble away. That's okay, to be expected. He tightens his grip. Steve gasps as the vines on the ground wrap around his wrists and ankles.

"What are you-?"

"Sssh…" he brings their foreheads together, softly, slowly. Lets his mind wiggle inside the boy's, just a sliver at first, so he won't notice. Finds a crack, fine as a hairline, slips inside. Waits. "He was so in love with you, y'know that? It ate him alive, watching you sacrifice yourself over and over again. Seeing you suffer. Being unable to help, being unable to fix it."

Steve's mind flutters like a frightened bird as he encases it with his, gently, carefully. His arms twitch in their restraints, trying to break free.

He smiles. Always the fighter, his sweet boy.

"Dont worry," he coos. “I’ve got it all figured out now sweetheart. I’ll fix everything, promise."

"Eddie, wait-" Steve's mind flails. Realizes it's trapped, panicks, tries to break free-

And he pounces.

Steve struggles, briefly, but he doesn’t stand the ghost of a chance. He's human, and humans are weak. All it takes is a little pressure, and the tiny crack opens wide, welcoming him in.

Steve screams.

"I know, sweet thing, I know," he coos, curls himself around the boy's spasming body as he digs in deeper. "It'll only hurt for a moment. You'll feel so much better after."

He sees them now, the scars on that beautiful mind, the traces left by years and years of hurt. Sees how to fix them, sees what Eddie could never have seen. What Eddie was too soft, too cowardly to understand.

Sometimes, to fix something, you need to break it first.

And he does.

Tears at the cracks of that mind until it comes apart at the seams, shatters the fragments into so many tiny shards, grinds what is left into fine, fine dust. Steve screams and sobs and begs him to stop until his voice breaks. By the time the dust is ready to be molded back into shape, he is silent, bar for the occasional whimper.

He tells the vines to release their hold, cradles the limp body against his chest. He hums softly and kisses the tears from under the boy's unblinking eyes while he completes his work. He takes his time. This needs to be perfect.

"You with me, darling?"

Steve hums against the crook of his neck, so softly he nearly misses it.

When he looks down, those pretty eyes are blinking up at him, wide and wondrous like those of a newborn.

He chuckles. It's true in a way.

"Feeling all better?" he asks, claws softly tracing the shell of his boy's right ear. "Ringing should be gone?"

Steve doesn’t reply, just slips his eyes shut and nuzzles closer, every movement slow and sluggish.

He coos.

"Aw, sweetheart. You must be exhausted, that was a lot to take." He gently scratches at Steve's scalp, revels in the little sigh it gets him. "Don't worry. From now on, nothing's gonna hurt you ever again. I'll make sure of it."

Steve stirs a little at the soft press of lips against his forehead. His lids flutter, but they don’t open.

"That's it, honey, you rest. Let's take you home now."

By the time he has adjusted Steve's weight so that he can stand and start walking, his boy is fast asleep.

All of my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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nsharks · 1 year

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part four —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.8k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. lowkey cannibalism implication. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: i'll try to get the next part quicker. my grandma wasn't doing well this past week but she is all good now~

Your fingers are decisive. You slot an arrow on the bowstring and release. It drives through the air with a silent whirl. Your aim is far from the best— it buries into the man’s shoulder rather than his skull.

The revolver falls from his grip and skitters across the ground. Your lips part to warn Blue, to tell her to pick it up before he can, but now his eyes point wildly in your direction.

An inhumane snarl rips through him. He is withered by hunger, aged beyond his true years. Matted hair and leathery skin. Still, he moves quick. He doesn't bother picking up the gun. Something animalistic drives him towards you. You find yourself unable to breathe. This isn’t what you expected. You fumble for another arrow, but as you try to get it on the string, it slips from your hand.

You are fucked.

The realization splinters your bones with adrenaline. It takes only a few blurred seconds for him to reach you. A weight greater than your own shoves you to the ground and your bow is knocked out of your grip. A human stench fills your nose as your arms flail around to keep a snapping mouth from reaching your cheek, your neck, your nose. Close combat is not a skill you’ve mastered. You have rarely needed it. Range weapons and retreating have been the tactics to shape your survival so far.

You can’t hear much besides his growling. You think you hear Blue shout. Blood pulses thick in your veins. You can’t think. A knife— you have that, but it’s in your coat pocket. His body is pressed against it and moving an arm to grab it could be enough for your fragile defense to crack.

It feels like you are being attacked by a dog, one with ribs that poke out and teeth that flash viciously.

Only when he pulls out his own knife does an idea occur to you. There is still the wooden arrow sticking out from his shoulder. It nearly pokes you in the face from all the movement. You wrap a hand around the base of it and snap the wood. You stab the splintered arrow into the first part of him you can reach - his torso. It doesn't stop him. Crazed eyes narrow. His blade goes for your neck but you block it. It cuts through the sleeve of your coat, earning you a gash to the plush of your forearm instead.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and tears prickle. Where is Blue? Maybe she could get—

The man is on top of you, and then he isn’t.

The weight is lifted, and the snarling ceased.

Through stinging eyes, you make out the shape of a dark shadow against the grey sky. There is an abrupt sound - the crack of bone. A snapped neck. The man’s head is bent haphazardly to the side before it rolls forward, limp and silenced. You breathe heavily through lungs that hurt.

A growl.

This is one you are familiar with.

But the arrival of it offers, for the first time, a sense of relief.

Your gaze slides over the form of broad shoulders and thick arms that toss the dead body to the side with ease. With the view from where you lay, Ghost looks even taller. Blue is dwarfed by him as she approaches his side, her eyes widened with concern more than fear.

She must have called for him. Or maybe he heard the snarling and rushed over.

Although you are the one laying on the ground, freshly attacked, she is the one he checks. Ghost touches a gloved hand to her cheek, moving his eyes to sweep over her.

“You alright?” he asks, firm yet gentle. “Did he hurt you?”

She gives a dismissive shake of her head. Then, it is she who bends down to help you up. It is a feeble attempt with only a child’s arm as your crutch. Your body feels like it’s been pillaged of energy. The wound on your arm is not nearly as bad as what their caltrops did to you, but it is enough to make you choke in pain.

“Fuckin’ hell," Ghost mumbles, before he gets the job done right by scooping you up. Only for a short moment are you in his strong arms, before he plants you on your feet.

"Did you know him?"

You press your palm over the gash, applying pressure over the oozing blood. Through tight teeth, you utter, “No.”

“Were there other camps in your area?”

You stand there bleeding, and he is interrogating you?

“I-I think so. Yes. One or two.”

He speaks under his breath, more to himself than to either of you. “Maybe he had to run, too, huh? Crazy fuck.” He roughly taps a boot to the side of the man’s body, inspecting it without care for its corpse. He glances around the trees for a short moment. Then, he looks back at you.

“Can you walk?”

It is less caring and more practical.

Can you?

“Yes,” you tell him, nodding lazily. Your eyes roll to the ground, having to watch each step of your boots to keep them moving steadily.

The walk back to camp is silent. Before you leave, Blue fetches the fallen revolver in the snow and gives it to him. Ghost discovers only one bullet in it. He carries the bow for you. You keep hold over the gash, hand soaked red.

At one point, a small hand brushes against your free one until her father grabs it and tugs her back to his side.

Everything feels like a blurred dream. Your brain decides to block out any thoughts of who that person was and where they came from. More importantly, what he could’ve done to you or Blue.

By the time you’ve made it to the cabin, you can’t recall what time of day it is. The boarded windows block out most light except a few stray strips. Ghost turns on a dim lamp.

To your surprise, he instructs you to sit on the couch and disappears for a moment before returning with his medical kit, which you have been a patient of once already.

This time, you are awake for it. Blue stands near the couch. He pulls a stool beside you. You shuck off your coat and roll up your soaked sleeve to reveal the gash that runs from the middle of your forearm to the knob of your elbow.

You know it could have been worse. If the blade had nicked bone, you’d be howling right now.

“Wet a cloth for me, Blue.”

She does so.

You twist your shoulder to offer the wound to him. Rough fingertips dab the damp cloth to the area and you roll your lips. You try to look at the wall to distract yourself, but find your gaze shifting to your nurse. He is a pragmatic one. All you can see are ashen lashes that line firm, shadow-cast eyes. Warmth rolls off his body in billows.

He puts the cloth down and rummages around for a needle and one of the rolls of black thread.

Before he can pierce the first stitch, his daughter’s soft voice stops him.

“Ghost,” she murmurs to break the silence. She walks over to the kit and grabs a small tube. Antiseptic, you believe. “You… You forgot this.”

His eyes lift from your arm and he looks back at her. There is a silent language they share. You’ve acted as a witness to it a few times now. You are not fluent in it, but with the way Blue’s brows furrow together, you have an idea of what he is trying to remind her of.

He is willing to offer the stitches.

You’ve spotted at least two rolls of the stuff.

But the antiseptic isn’t for you this time.

None of their medicine is for you.

“It might get infected,” she argues against his stare, her voice congealing into something firmer. She studies him.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” he tells her lowly.

“She saved my life, Dad.” She grips the tube in one hand. With the other hand, she rubs the heel over her eyes. “That guy went after her because she… she protected me.”

You stare at the shorn rug, finding a distraction in the worn threads of red and blue. This conversation thickens the air.

Blue continues, words pushed out in a ramble now, “I didn’t even see him there. I wasn’t,” and her eyes drift to the floor before she admits, “I wasn’t aware of my surroundings, okay? But she saw him and she helped me. That is why he—”

“And how many times have we helped her?” he interrupts harshly.

He is either unconvinced of your role as a savior or doesn’t particularly care, not when it means sharing vital resources. He hadn’t witnessed the whole thing. It all happened so fast.

“We can help her more,” his daughter insists. “We can make sure she doesn’t get an infection.”

Ghost’s voice travels a notch louder, “Then that is one less time we can make sure you don’t get an infection.”

You can remember this type of tone - your own father used it a few times on you as a kid, but never did it carry the weight of life or death. Your arguments usually involved doing your homework or eating an extra sweet after dinner. For Ghost and Blue, most of their disagreements are about survival and mercy.

He turns to face his daughter fully. “Do you understand?”

“I just think—"

“Look at me,” Ghost says. There is no room here for her to bicker with him. “Do you understand?”

She meets his gaze under lashes that flutter hesitantly, casting shadows across her pale temples. With a swallow, Blue quietly answers, “I do.”

She puts the ointment back.

He stitches you up.

You bite your palm to keep silent.

Sleep evades you.

You jolt up against the floorboards when you hear the shed’s door creak open.

“Just me.”

With the light of a small flashlight, her eyes glisten. You sit up, spine sore. You didn’t eat dinner tonight; you hadn’t managed anything during your short-lived hunt, and you didn’t dare to ask for food. You didn’t think it was a good idea to further test Ghost’s generosity.

“Hey,” you give her a small smile. “It’s late.”

“I know.” She carries something in her other hand - a lumpy pillow. She sits down on the floor of your shed and you scoot your legs over so she can have space. “Ghost said I could give you this. Something to sleep on.”

“Oh, thanks.” You can’t help it, the words leave dryly: “He’s so generous.”

A look passes over her illuminated face - something apologetic, something wary. She looks down at the pillow in her hands and runs a hand over the fabric.

“I asked if you could sleep inside now,” she says quietly, sighing. “He said it’s a bad idea. You could steal our stuff and whatnot.”

“That’s okay. The pillow will help a lot. And—” you wave a hand around, “Kind of like my own hotel room here.”

“Maybe we could decorate it.” Blue looks around. “At least, in the spring when the flowers come back. There are these really pretty white ones by the pond."

You want to tell her you’re not sure if you will be here that long. Instead, you tell her, “Maybe.”

“I wanted to say thank you,” she then says. Her hair is still in the braids, but a few wisps have slipped out. Blue toys with one of them thoughtfully. “You really did save my life today, huh?”

“You’ve saved mine before."

Probably more than once.

She nods. She seems deep in thought, and the color of her eyes appears less youthful than usual. You really didn’t need to think twice about protecting her. A child’s life - her future - means more than whatever awaits you, anyway.

“Ghost always says that the only person you can trust is yourself,” she mutters into the small space. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s right. I think that being careful with who you trust is smart.”

“Do you trust me?” whispers Blue.

“A little bit.”

You can’t trust her fully. She still has a higher power to answer to, despite her innocent intentions.

It is then that Blue flips the pillow over. Her hand slips under the faded, cotton case of it and reaches for something hidden inside— what you now realize to be the cause for the lump at the bottom. What she digs out and reveals to you in the palm of her hand has your breath catching in your throat. The tube of antiseptic.

“I can’t,” you choke after a beat of silence.

Moisture dallops the rims of your eyes. You don’t know why; this kind gesture feels foreign, inviting a strange weight to your chest.

“Blue... thank you, but I can’t.”

“You can,” she says and begins to untwist the top. “You had my back, and I have yours. I don’t want your arm to get infected.”

But your hand reaches to cover hers, halting the removal of the top and pushing the tube closer to her chest, away from you.

“Ghost will notice,” you explain. “And then you will get in trouble and he will make me leave, alright? Thank you, but I can’t.”

“Just a little,” she insists in a hushed voice. “He won’t notice if I put it right back.”

With great reluctance, you move your hand away and let her continue. Even just a little could be enough to save you from a nasty infection, and it’s not like you have antibiotics. If you did get an infection, you’d have to take the treacherous journey to a pharmacy and hope that there is still something left on the shelves. You’re not confident that you are in strong enough shape yet to survive a trip like that.

You shrug off your coat.

You’d rinsed out your shirt and dried it by the fireplace before retreating to your shed. Lifting up the cleaned sleeve, you reveal the gash sealed with sutures. The ridge of it is a swollen range of ugly mountains against the rest of your unblemished forearm.

With soft fingertips, she dabs some on. You swallow and offer another thank you.

When she is done, you lower the sleeve and rub at your damp eyes.

“I will put a liiiiittle more on tomorrow night, too. Just a little,” she tells you, and the youth sparkles back in her irises. She gives you the pillow. She puts the tube in her coat pocket this time. Not as great of a hiding place but you hope she knows what she is doing.

Before Blue leaves you to sleep, she tells you:

“I trust you a little bit, too, you know.”

a/n: more sweet papa ghost in the next one i promise :)

taglist: @cool-0-n @savagemistresss @morganvoorhees @dinsverdika @cated18 @lolszass @jeswiii @all-good-things-have-an-ending @alternatealt @uvoiid @underatreedrinkingtea @ramadiiiisme @crissteetee67 @lexi-zsy09 @spikespiegell @littlezarp @rebel-soldat @4headkissess @mckenzieriley69 @moxxiestar @palomaxaxaxa @msjaeger @galacticstxrdust @anubiseqq @l-0-v-3-r-z @kakashiislut @a-queen-blr @random0lover @hehatesmati @ghost-with-a-teacup @konigbabe

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #zombies #zombie apocolypse au #cod #call of duty #fanfiction

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peterparkersnose · 1 year

Text

Folded

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: attack description, clicker attack, nightmares, anxiety, wound description, angst, denial of feelings, alcohol mentioned, swearing, mentions and descriptions of gun use, near death experience (if u can’t handle the game don’t read)

HAPPY LAST OF US DAY!!!

a/n ive played tlou 3x and tlou2 2x (going through my second round rn) so shut up pls i dont want any of the ‘you only like joel bc hes pedro’ fr come on ive been playing this game since i was 12. (i’m not like other girls 🥵) jackson joel just does something to me mmmm. wrote this nov 18 ‘22 saved for today

Don’t forget 9PM EST on HBO Max

summary Y/N gets attacked by a clicker during an intense time with Joel

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read time: 12 mins 28 seconds

You could feel the air escaping your lungs at a dangerous rate. The rifle at your side slammed against your thigh as you kept running. The thick forest was just as you remembered it; wet, cold, and dark.

You were outnumbered. Mostly runners, but you spotted a few clickers. The brush on the forest floor wasn’t helping. Your heavy breathing and the sloshing of your boots against the snowy ground were making too much noise.

Where the fuck was Ellie?

3 bullets. Rifle was empty, spent that on some sharp shooting up the hill on some runners you and Ellie found in the town. How stupid were you? Those were an easy kill with a knife. But your childish games on who could get the best headshot left you empty.

Your heart dropped as the rock formation appeared. It was too high. It covered the forest like the earth split into two. That is when you came to terms, and you had to come to it quickly.

You were going to die.

Soon enough, the first runner appeared. Easy kill. One down, maybe 7 to go?

Where the fuck was Ellie?

The next one came. Two down. Three at a time now? A fucking clicker followed them? You wished the brush was tall enough to hide in.

It was useless fighting off three runners at a time with a clicker on their heels. This was it. Death.

The stone wall was cool against your backside. You hugged your knees to your chest as you pulled out your handgun.

At least the clicker would have a good meal.

Shot- one down. Shot- another. The clicker sped up. Shot, wounded but not dead. Quick slice with the knife. Dead.

The shrieking screams of the clicker engulfed your senses as the monster came running at you. It’s flailing arms we’re the last thing you were prepared to see.

You felt the hands on your shoulder. Dead hands of a monster, unspeakable to most. The hands grabbed your shoulders, but no bite came.

Just blinding white noise and a splatter on your face.

You had convinced yourself you were dead. You would never see anyone again. You had died the same death as your father years prior. The death that left you alone.

“Dad?” you managed to mutter out.

The white noise turned into ringing as two hands held your shoulder and shook you.

“Y/N? Y/N please, are you okay?”

Ellie.

“Maria I found her! Here!”

Cloth material wiped over your eyes and they opened. Ellie, splattered with blood stood in front of you with the most panicked look you had ever seen on the girls face.

“Your okay!” she yelled at you, wrapping her arms around you.

Sitting besides you two was the headless clicker that should have killed you.

***

You should be dead. Get this horrible life over with. Dead with your father, with the mother you never knew. Living a life without this disease, these creatures. Free of pain.

When you woke up in the medical wing you were pretty sure almost the whole town was there. You felt like an item on display at a museum. Looking over all the eyes, you most definitely were not searching for his. The whole reason you volunteered to go out with Ellie that day instead of Dina. And of course, he was not there. Why would he be?

“She’s awake!” someone yelled from the crowd. Every eye in the room seemed to fall on you at once. The nurse pushed past the group of people and went to your side.

“For heavens sake! Get out!” the nurse yelled to the group of onlookers. “Give her some goddamn space.” you heard from the crowd as people started to walk towards the exit.

Everyone wanted a look at the girl who survived a clicker attack.

“Hey,” she said, slowly approaching you and sitting on the chair next to your bed. “Ellie!” you exclaimed, embracing the girl tightly. “What happened?” you asked Ellie, releasing your grip on her and settling back into the bed.

The bond had been there since the day you met her. You always remember the look of the scared little girl on the back of Joel’s horse when they first entered Jackson. The bond you two had helped her grow into the person she is now. Ellie had always described you as an older sister. But Ellie was always there for you, and you for her. She was your best friend, platonic soulmate. And a damn good shot.

“I killed it,” she said bluntly. “I-I came at the right time it was about to bite you and- you should have seen it Y/N my shotgun did a number on that thing.”

“A-am I infected?” you asked, looking down at your body for the first time. Your tank top was still on, your jacket was missing. Your jeans were covered in dry blood and smelt of pine needles.

“It’s been three days. You got some pretty nasty scratches though. Sick looking if you ask me. Scars of a warrior.” she added, referring to her tattoo.

And that’s when you saw them. The claw marks were sewn shut on your left shoulder. Your eyes widened as you began to panic. You began to squirm and the pain set in.

“Hey, hey calm down. She took care of you. Best nurse in town, I made sure.” Ellie said, grabbing your good shoulder and stroking your arm to calm you down.

“The doctors said if your vitals stay stable for the next few hours you can go home. Dina and I cleaned up the place for you,” Ellie smiled, stroking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What have people been saying?” you asked, holding her hand tightly in yours. “That your a hero. You cleared out that building and we found a stash of food that’s going to last for… well, probably a good year. That’s amazing Y/N! They found baby formula for JJ- tons of it. You were right it was the old warehouse.”

A small smile rose to your lips but Ellie could tell what you really wanted to hear about.

What Joel had been saying.

And Joel hasn’t said much. Tommy had told him a brief description in passing of what happened when it was happening. He figured you were dead when they sent out a rescue wagon for you. He even watched as Maria’s horse lead in your body. Ellie was sitting with you in her arms screaming for a nurse, your whole left arm was covered in blood. What was visible of your face was white as a sheet and you weren’t moving. Joel had to silently give up the inkling of what could have been. Hell, you were the first girl who he even considered after his divorce over thirty years ago. It had to end one day and he had to silently agree with it.

“I don’t…” Ellie began, following with a sigh. “Y/N, don’t get yourself worked up over it. It’s not worth it.” Ellie began, knowing her friend too well. “Did he even come and see me?” you asked, looking to Ellie’s eyes. She couldn’t look into yours. She closed her eyes for a quick moment and shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

“Am I a fool?” you asked her. “I’m not sure,” she replied, weary.

The whole reason you went with her instead of Dina was because of Joel. You most definitely could not face him that day after the previous night.

He had knocked on your door a little after nine. He noticed a change in your demeanor today when he came in the room while teaching the some of the kids how to shoot. He wanted to make sure you were okay. Joel felt like he had some responsibility over you to make sure you were always okay because of what happened.

Joel was the one who was with your father when he died.

Sure, he was older than you. You weren’t sure exactly, but he was younger than your father by many years. The attraction from your end started when you saw him drunk off his ass during a celebration dancing with Tommy in the bar. It was the most unconventionally attractive thing, but it flipped some switch in you. When your dad died he taught you how to perfect your aim and kill efficiently. Never crossing any line because you were his dead friend’s daughter. And you were so close to Ellie. Ellie wasn’t too fond of your crush that you confided in her, but she grew to love the idea. Her family.

He came and visited you a little after nine. You were about to slip into bed before you heard the knock on your door. The night was cold and your pajama pants and thin tank top was not cutting it. You invited him inside. He had brought you a tiny gift to lift your mood; a bottle of gin. Your favorite. And you two drank at least half of that bottle of gin. You talked about everything from your father’s death to the time Tommy accidentally washed his clothes with Maria’s pink bra and still has an abundance of pink clothing to this day. The gin was most definitely speaking when you told him how you felt.

And he left.

“Let it go for now- okay? We’re gonna get you out of here and back home.” Ellie reassured you. Nodding your head, you fell back into the cold bed and closed your eyes just wishing it could all go away.

Home was empty as it could be. The bottle of gin sat on your coffee table. Your bed was made for the first time in years. Your work station was organized and all of your pens and art supplies were cleaned. You had remembered when Joel gave you those pens, he found them one day and thought of you. Your rifles now hung on your wall. Definitely was Dina’s idea, but you liked it. A tiny gift wrapped in a beige paper with a tiny bit of twine around it sat under your newly mounted rifles.

“Woo hoo. Christmas.” you said to yourself sarcastically. Kneeling down, you opened the package.

Bullets.

For safe keeping, ~Maria

Of course it was from Maria. She always played the mother you never had when she wanted to.

The immense feeling of sleep hit you like a brick wall. I guess being attacked by a clicker and living was a strenuous activity. All you wanted now to do was sleep. Unmaking the nicely folded sheets, you melted back into your bed. The sun was setting in your window and the horses were coming in for the day. You could hear them trotting past your window. You wondered if Joel was just feet away. It was what now… Thursday? You couldn’t remember if he still did the Thursday shift or if he switched with someone else. Who cares, sleep was creeping up slowly and the thought of Joel set you out cold.

The forest was blacker than usual. Without a doubt, you recognized where you were. Running again. All you seemed to do was run now these days. Taking a brief look back while you ran through the forest, you stopped as you realized a whole hoard of clickers were just at your heels. You didn’t have time to react. They were on you ripping your flesh off your body. The dream never seemed to end. You felt each bite and tear of your flesh until-

“Y/N!” Maria screamed, shaking you awake and still being mindful of your wound. “Fuck!” you screamed, sobbing into her arms. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” you continued, squirming in bed as she held you.

Your door was wide open and it was now pitch black out. The screams alerted security, and they called for a search of the town. Tommy quickly found the source of the screams and sent Maria in.

Standing outside your door was Tommy, peering in on the sight of his wife with you.

“Gather people. She needs to be watched.” Maria commanded Tommy as she held your shaking body. Too many people had left their homes now to look at the scene and disrupted the peaceful night.

Ellie sat with your head in her lap, slowly stroking your hair trying to get you to fall asleep. “Don’t worry. Nobody in this town will let anything happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The whole previous night you didn’t sleep. You stared at your wall and just thought. And that whole day you delved yourself in drawings you hadn’t finished or poems you had the inspiration for. Took a shower. You looked through your closet and picked out a fresh outfit. You tried all the little things that usually worked on your old self, but your old self was gone.

That bottle of gin sat on your coffee table and haunted you throughout the day as well. You didn’t have the heart to throw it away, or the mindset to drink it. So there it sat. Pitiful.

You were at a loss for words. No words could describe the immense amount of pain re living that memory caused last night.

Ellie began to hum a tune. It was sweet and reminded you of something innocent. Your eyes began to get heavy. “You ready?” she asked, fluffing up your pillow. Reluctantly, you shook your head yes.

The absolute end was there and tiredness finally seeped in. Distraught sleep left and peaceful sleep took its place.

Ellie dimmed your lamp and smoothed the covers on your bed. It reminded you of the time you took care of Ellie years ago when she was sick. “Sweet dreams,” she said, giving your forehead a brief kiss.

Mumbling was heard outside your door, but you didn’t care.

The field was beautiful. Finally, peace. The flowers stemmed beautifully and the sun shown down on your face. Your hands ran through the fresh green grass. Laying in the rays, you suddenly felt the field get smaller. Sitting up, you realized the sun had disappeared and the field was getting smaller and smaller by the second. The sudden edge of a forest was getting closer and closer. And then with one blink you were back. The forest erected around you. You were back.

“No, no…” he heard from your house. Joel’s interest peaked from the grounds left in his coffee mug to the silent struggles in your bedroom. He lifted himself off your porch chair and looked through your window. You were writhing in bed.

“Ellie!” you let out the first yell. It was so loud that it startled Joel to his core and began a flight of panic. Joel didn’t hesitate to burst your door open. “Ellie don’t leave!” you yelled again.

“Hey,” he said softly, patting your shoulder. A loud groan of pain came from your lips. Joel’s heart sank as the feelings on guilt he felt for letting you go on patrol that day set in once again.

“Y/N!” he whisper yelled, yanking your body over to face him. Your eyes shot open. Ripped from the dream into another one.

You looked him up and down. This wasn’t real. It was another dream. Tears welled up in your eyes as you shut them tight, praying you would wake up somewhere else.

“It was a bad dream,” he whispered, resting his hand on your thigh. His thumb patiently rubbed your thigh as your breathing sped up. Your legs matched up perfectly, knees facing him. Your face was buried in your hands that were now grasping at your eyes.

“Stop it,” Joel hissed, grabbing your manic hands tightly. “This isn’t real,” you cried out, sobs following it.

His heart seemed to break into a million pieces when you started to full on cry. The last time he dealt with a crying girl it was Ellie. Wait- no, maybe it was Sarah. He honestly wasn’t sure, but it was most definitely years ago.

“Everything is alright. I know how it is. I-I didn’t sleep for a few days after my first clicker encounter. Those things are nasty fuckers.” he said, his hand returning to your thigh trying to soothe you. He was clueless on what he was supposed to do.

At this point, you realized you weren’t dreaming. He was here. His hand was on your thigh. He was sitting on your bed. You were in a tank top that cut a little too low for your liking.

Your teary eyes looked up and met his. He hadn’t moved his gaze off of your face. He gave you a soft reassuring smile.

Joel cursed himself for letting his feelings creep back in. This was wrong anyways, he felt sick any time he thought about you. The pit of his stomach couldn’t handle it much more, he had pretty much forgotten about you (as much as he would like to admit). But when Tommy assigned him second watch of you that night, he just knew it had trouble written all over it.

“Go back to sleep now. Pretty girls need their beauty sleep.” he said, instantly regretting it.

That line worked on Sarah, but in a whole different way with a much different meaning. He wanted to suck back in the words as fast as he said them.

Letting a tense breathe go, he steadied himself on your bed frame and made his way to the door.

He had made his way to the door as you spoke.

“Joel?”

His hand stopped his motion as it rested on the top of your door frame.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning around.

“W-will you stay? Just for a little bit.” you said, stuttering as you realized how large his body was compared to your door.

He paused. “I suppose.”

You moved your legs so he would have enough room to sit next to you. You heard his knee crack as he sat down on the low rise bed. His legs sat upward as he leant a hand behind your legs to steady himself.

“I’m sorry.” you said. It had to be said, what better time than now? “I don’t want to hear your apologies.” he huffed. “It was inappropriate.” you spit out again. “No- Y/N, stop. Please.” he asked. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. Every time I sleep I go… back there. I can’t.” you whimpered. He sighed, groaning and wiping his brow.

“What would you like me to do about it? I can’t do anything.”

“Stay.”

Joel was left confused on how your calmness met his angry tone. He knew you well, he was surprised you weren’t screaming in his face. You didn’t take shit. You were being patient for once in your life.

Oh, how you’ve changed since the attack.

“I’m here. What more do you want from me?” he asked. His tone had extra edge of anger to it that was fueled with a faint passion.

In the darkness, you reached for his hand. It was coarse and dry, with many various scars and callouses you could feel just with a slight touch. He instinctively pulled back a bit, but gave in within the second. Wrapping your fingers with his, you places his hand back on your thigh.

“Y/N I-”

“The thing you were doing before on my leg. It was nice.”

“Oh,” he said, defeating the original thought from his head. His thumb began slowly moving in circles once again.

You were showing him what you needed.

He watched as your sad face closed your eyes and sighed. You felt safe for the first time in days.

Joel felt the pit in his stomach widen and fully consume him. The girl who practically raised Ellie from when she arrived; his dead friend’s daughter; one of the best damn killers in all of Jackson; Y/N. God, he was in so much trouble with his morals.

“I’m too far deep in this shit,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

Your eyes fluttered open to see him. “What?” you asked.

“I can’t…” he said, beginning to shake his knee up and down. “What?” repeated yourself in a confused tone.

His strong body swept over yours. He grabbed your shoulder ever so softly and perched you in his arms. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

No initiative had to be made besides the movement of your lips against his. Your hand wrapped itself in his hair, playing softly as he held your back strongly. A slight moan came from his lips that he instantly regretted when you accidentally tugged ever so slightly on his graying strands of hair. For the split second that you two separated gasping for air, he pulled you tighter.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been fighting this,” he whispered on your lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you sighed, staring back at his scruffy face.

Joel came back to his senses. He felt different. He could never go back to the same person he was a minute ago. His world revolved around something new. No more obsessing over patrol and how to appease Tommy. No more worrying over how Ellie could handle herself. No more worrying about his aching joints and the fear of getting older. Something new became the center of his universe. He had folded.

The girl laying in his arms who now rested her head against his chest.

“You really need sleep darlin’,” he sighed. You sighed in resistance.

“You want me to stay?” he asked, looking down at your exhausted face.

“Please.”

You moved over in your bed as he made himself comfortable. Joel never realized how much larger he was than you until he slept with you in his arms.

You layed on his chest as one arm wrapped around your shoulders. His hand rested comfortably on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” you whispered. He placed a small kiss on your head. Your arms wrapped around your stomach, making yourself more comfortable in his embrace. The only sound in the room was your soft breathing.

“Go to sleep now. Your safe with me, my sweet girl.”

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @jmillerswife

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phoenixinthefiles · 4 months

Text

Genuine

I apologize it took me almost 2 months to write bcus I hate discussing feelings that much Warnings: v self indulgent like this some self-discovery type stuff

@vhstown (also lmk if you wanna be tagged or something)

Your book slipped from your lap as you laughed and failed to catch your breath.

Hobie, the source of your amusement, started at you stale faced. Unfortunately for him, this only made you laugh harder.

“Wait,” you gasped out, still trying to catch your breath.

He continued to sideye you as he spoke, “Yeah it’s hilarious, nearly drowned in the Thames, but as long as you’re amused.”

You managed to contain your giggles enough to get your breathing under control and you leaned on his shoulder looking up at him with your best innocent look.

“I’m so happy you didn’t die, darling,” you said, trying your best to copy his accent.

He rolled his eyes at your antics but you could see the small smile he was failing to hide.

You grinned mischievously and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Hobie Brown, punk extraordinaire, trips into the River Thames mid performance; sounds like a headline. Oh wait…it is one.”

You cackled at your joke, but stopped when he pushed you and you nearly fell into a candle.

“Hobart Brown! I could’ve burned myself.”

“Thought you would’ve laughed it off since you find near-death experiences amusing.”

You snickered and shook your head, “You are so dramatic.”

“Nah, you’re just heartless.”

“Don’t you know how to swim?” you asked.

He glared at you instead of responding.

You gasped, “you don’t?”

He scoffed, “‘Course I do, but I was fifteen and pissed out my mind.”

“So you flailed around like little girl? sounds like a serious lack of survival instincts to me.”

He lunged for you and you reared back, putting your hands up in surrender.

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry I’ll leave you alone.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but he sat back down.

You smirked and muttered, “for now.”

His head jerked back to you and you gave him another innocent look.

He just shook his head at you again.

You watched him for a moment before remembering what you were doing before you nearly laughed yourself to death.

You had rambled to Hobie a week ago about wanting to make a reading nook where you could sit with a blanket and read your favorite books.

After you complained about being bored earlier in the day, he invited you to hang out on his boat and the two of you spent about two hours finding all of his books and making a fort.

It was cramped, and the height of the stacked books made you slightly claustrophobic, but it was still cozy. And it’s not like you hated being close to Hobie.

The candles were his idea, even though you told him it was a fire hazard.

You found your book you dropped, and dusted it off before finding your spot to pick up where you left off.

You found your focus shifting from the book to the conversation you two just had.

Everyone has been embarrassed at least once in their life, It shouldn’t have surprised you like it did.

Hobie was human, humans get embarrassed.

But still…

“Can’t read your mind.”

Hobie’s voice interrupted your thoughts and he turned towards you.

“Hm?” You asked.

“You got a question. Can tell by the way the your looking,” He tilted his head and gave you a lazy smirk. “It’s easier to tell when people with smaller brains are gearing up for a question, their brain can’t really contain it.”

You roll your eyes. You did have a question, but the reason he knew that wasn’t because your brain is small.

Not everyone can be genius.

“Ok. Why are you living in a boat if you had such a mortifying experience with water? I mean personally, I wouldn’t-

You’re cut off by your own laughter as you leap up and dodge him as he lunges for you again.

You’re fast as you dart away, but his legs are longer and he’s much more agile. You almost knocked a candle over trying to get up.

Should’ve ignored his suggestion for those.

He catches up to when you run into the door leading out to deck, bumping your hip harshly into the frame.

He saves you before you can faceplant into the many plants and flowerpots he has cluttering the deck.

You groan as you try to catch your breath, trying in vain to rub out the sting in your hip.

Hobie doesn’t aid in your efforts at all. He digs his long fingers into your ribs as you laughed breathlessly and tried to dodge his fingers.

He doesn’t let up when you trip over your own feet trying to back away from him.

He smoothly slows down your fall, somehow managing to keep a good grip on you even though his fingers are constantly moving and you’re squirming like hell. Stupid guitarist hands.

Speaking of, the rhythm he’s strumming into your ribs is akin to the song he was playing earlier…

“Ok,” you gasp, “I give up I’m sorry!”

He doesn’t let up at all.

“Nahh, it’s a bit late for that, where’s all that energy from before huh?”

“It’s gone” you grit out, still tying, in vain, to squirm away.

“Hobie pleaseee,” you beg. Well it was more of a wheeze.

He continues spidering his fingers up and down your ribcage, pretending to give thought to your plea. “Don’t know if I can do that love, still haven’t heard a good apology.”

You whine and squirm a little more but eventually give in.

“Ok, ok I'll apologize," you gasp out and he leans back, finally.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sure the performance was amazing and the dive just amplified it. Y’know the unpredictable nature of punks and that?”

He snorts and stands to his feet, pulling you up to stand in front of him.

“Your apology was still rubbish, but you recovered in the end.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned into his chest, still panting like a dog.

He wraps his arms around you pulling you even closer, softie.

You finally regain control of your lungs and took a deep breath inhaling the scent of leather and scented smoke wafting off of Hobie, you probably smelled the same considering the candles.

He rested his chin on the top of your head and you knew he was probably still waiting on you to ask your question from earlier.

“I was surprised that you got embarrassed.” You muttered out, feeling a bit stupid as you did so.

He pulled back slightly and gave you a confused look. You sighed and pulled back further turning to lean against the very short railing wrapping around the deck. Yet another hazard, if he wasn’t careful he might fall off this boat.

“I know it’s kinda dumb, but I was surprised. I mean embarrassment kinda requires you to care what people think and you being you…” You trailed off.

He nodded and tilted his head back and forth a few times before responding, “I don’t care what they think, but feelings don’t really respond to logic.”

"No they certainly don't," you mumble.

You can't really describe the tightening in your chest and the pressure in your brain, and you don't really want to.

Unfortunately for you...

Hobie knocks his knuckles against your forehead, wordlessly communicating exactly what he emans.

You roll eyes and take another deep breath before you respond.

"You wear everything on your sleeve; everything about you screams-genuine. And sure you've got a lot of other things going on but you don't...hide. I just don't understand it I guess. Not everybody does that and-

"I don't hold a grudge against you for it."

You're not surprised at the interruption, more at the fact that he read you so well.

You grimace and look away to gather yourself before you speak again.

"I-I know that but sometimes I worry."

He hums and pulls your hands into his, fidgeting with the ring he made that rests on your middle finger.

You're grateful for the distraction and direct your eyes down to your connected hands as you continue.

"I don't wanna say the wrong thing, and you not even be able to get what I mean because I can't...show it."

You shrug and let your hands fall out of his, subconsciously closing yourself off while you try to breathe through the straining in your sternum.

He places his hands on your shoulder and gently rubs his hands up and down your arms. It's not that you need to be warmed up, but the action calms you down and breathing becomes much easier.

You look up at him and he gives you that stupid smirk of his.

The one that made you fall in love with him.

"I've known you for a while now doll; you think you're closed off and cold, but you're not. You're a lil' emotionally stunted-"

You roll your eyes, while his twinkle.

"But I don't fault you for it. What's the point in being the same anyway, weren't made for it y'know? You're plenty expressive; I can see it in your eyes, in your body language, in that little lip twist you do when you're trying to be nice."

He brings you closer to him, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other one the railing behind you.

"You've let me in, I'm not going anywhere."

You give him a small smile and he matches it before tilting your chin up and leaning down to give you a kiss.

You return it and your smile widens when you pull away.

It drops in the very next second when you hear thud from inside the boat and the distinct sound of fire scorching paper.

Your eyes widen and you push away from to run back inside.

You bump your hip on the door frame again but you ignore the pain and scramble to put out the fire that's singed your book.

Luckily, you caught it before it could really spread and only the corner of the book is burnt.

Hobie snorts from the doorway and you turn to glare at him.

"Well I've got a idea of what you're feeling now."

You huff and shake your head, " I told you it was a fire hazard."

He shrugs, "It was pretty. 'Sides you've got quick reflexes; you caught it in time."

You smirk and toss the book to the ground, better to not have anything in your hands when you run.

"Yeah I do, they're really quick. I definitely wouldn't have have tripped off a boat and forgot I knew how to swim."

As soon as you finish your sentence you take off, and damn him for being a giant because he's right on your heels.

i did it 😭😭😭✊🏾

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown fic #atsv hobie #spider punk #hobie brown #fromphoetou

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solarsa1nt · 3 months

Text

𐚁֙࿐ LOVER GIRL

uraume x fem!reader

Tags — fluff , king (queen) of curses reader , simp reader , established uraume/reader

Notes — this takes place during that one scene is s2e22! also, i use they/them pronouns for uraume!

"Yuu-chan, look! Look! Look!" Y/N orders her vessel abruptly, leaning forward on her throne so hastily she's almost sent tumbling down the pile of skulls; E/C eyes lit up with sparkling excitement.

"Huh?" Itadori pauses, surprised to hear the queen of curses suddenly speaking to him— her having been completely radio silent since she gave Itadori back control earlier.

Y/N blinks open the second set on eyes on Itadori's face— still looking through the main golden set to watch their lover with rapt attention.

Their brief meeting earlier in the ruins of what used to be Shibuya unfortunately had to be short, but Y/N hadn't expected the monk to show up again so soon.

"Yuu-chan! Look at my lover! Aren't they just the coolest?!" Y/N admires, resulting into a sputtering cough from their vessel— eyes blown wide in shock at the queen of curses admission.

"Itadori?" That kid from the Kamo clan (Y/N truly didn't bother to attempt to remember his name), who was standing next to the vessel, questions; unsure of what caused Itadori's sudden look of shock.

"Sorry, uh..." Itadori trails off, opting instead to speak through his head towards the curse rather than flail about trying to come up with an excuse.

'You had a lover?' Itadori questions, the disbelief in his tone making Y/N frown.

'Haah? Why do you seem so surprised?!' Y/N huffs, leaning back against her throne with her eye twitching in annoyance. 'And I have a lover! They aren't dead!'

'Why would anyone want to be with—' Itadori starts to reply but gets cut off.

'Finish that sentence, brat. I dare you.' Y/N scoffs, still looking through Itadori's eyes at their lover as they and that curse with the blood technique fight.

'Anyway! Isn't my lover just the strongest?! Heh~ just look at them!' Y/N laughs to herself, a blush spread across her face. 'They're so pretty!'

Itadori's lips part slightly in sheer disbelief at hearing the lovesick tone dripping off Y/N's voice— sounding completely besotted with the white-haired monk.

'Maybe I should've gotten a ring for them while I was free... Yuu-chan! Gimme control! I need to get something nice for my love!' Y/N demands, mentally hitting herself over the head for not getting anything for Uraume earlier.

'Now is really not the time!' Itadori counters, still in shock about how infatuated Y/N sounds.

'Hmph! Whatever, you're no fun!' Y/N complains, sinking back onto her throne with a childish huff.

Itadori goes to say something— likely a snarky comment, knowing how the brat is —but Y/N cuts their connection off with no more than a lazy wave of her hand.

Maybe once I wring control over this brat's body, then Uraume and I can go on a date~ Like Yuu-chan did that one time! Y/N fantasies, smiling to herself giddily at the idea. Then we can—

Ah. Wait. A frown tug's on Y/N's lips, remembering the demolished state of Shibuya. Fuck.

Maybe she shouldn't have leveled an entire prefecture...

© 𝓢OLARSAINT 2024 ─── all of my works belong me alone! do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or spread any of my works in any other social media platform. these have only been reloaded on my own accounts on ao3 and wattpad

#uraume x y/n #uraume x you #jujutsu kaisen uraume #uraume #uraume x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #uraume fluff

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fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma · 5 months

Note

Hi! I'm literally obsessed with Zukka and every time I see your art, I die and resurrect about seven times, cause it's SO GOOD!! 😭

I wanted to ask, what are your most 'unconventional' or odd Zukka headcanons? If you have any 😅

If not, maybe just your favorite ones? Or some original ones? 👀

shuhudhideaiun you’re so sweet thank you and of COURSE I do but like. I also would like to list my favourites and originals bc some of them are so so adorable n fun.

Unconventional

-sokka fidgets. like a lot. but the way he does is by biting his nails so zuko bought him beads and necklaces and just jewellery in general so he could play with that instead of destroying his fingers.

-zuko has like no spacial awareness at all (he’s literally blind in one eye) so sokka always has a hand on his back or arm to make sure he doesn’t crash into anything 😭

-zuko has trouble staying on top of his work and is constantly complaining about needing a clearer schedule so sokka just, invents highlighters and comes to zuko one day like: here you go babe now you can colour code your schedule 😊 and zuko’s like: what the fuck

Favourite

-one by my wonderful friend @motheryves: sokka can sing but pretends to sing badly in front of his friends to annoy them

-another one by my friend @kiki-strike: a long post which you can find if you scroll through my ask tag about zuko’s relationship with his scar and how sokka finds a way to be tender and gentle with him (like, touching it) without freaking him out. (seriously this is such a tender sweet head canon and I still think about it to this day.

-not sure where it came from but the hc that sokka and zuko can’t take showers together because one setting is in the pits of hades and the other is the literal icy tundras.

Original, but less odd

-sokka is a sleep wrestler and at first zuko thinks it’s because he’s just. like that. but after sokka starts talking in his sleep about ‘I need to save them.’ ‘I’m strong enough.’ then zuko’s like: oh. oh his failure complex is on even in his sleep. so next time it happens he wordlessly just pulls sokka close and strokes his hair until he’s still. (it takes Sokka a few weeks to figure out why he’s suddenly sleeping so well.)

-the first time sokka says I love you is when they’re lounging in zuko’s chambers and it’s late there’s dim candlelight and zuko is laughing at something stupid sokka said. so sokka tries to say I love you but gets whacked in the face with a bottle (zuko flails) so when he gets to the sick bay and zuko is tending to his bruise saying shit like ‘I’m so dumb I’m so sorry’ sokka just, blurts it out. (a true display of zuko being authentic zuko, not hiding behind a cold unfeeling mask, but always looking out for others and caring for them. that’s the zuko who sokka loves, so he told him then.)

-the first time zuko says I love you is when sokka is painting, and he comes over to bring him tea and sokka gets startled and just, spills his tea all over himself and his painting and he stands up too quickly to get a towel so he slips on the spilled tea on the floor and now he’s ass first on the ground just laughing, wide and unapologetic and that’s when zuko says it. (a true display of sokka being authentic sokka, not trying to prove his worth or be more of a man or be anything other than himself. that’s the sokka that zuko loves, so he told him then.)

#atla #zukka #zuko x sokka #asks #my asks #headcanons #zukka headcanons #wipes brow whew #that was a lot #but this was fun thank you for the ask :))

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like-a-diamondinthesky · 5 months

Text

curly fries | s.c.b

-> the first i love you m.list

pairing... bf!changbin x gn!reader tags... fluff, established relationship, beach shenanigans cw... a slightly cringe and unfunny joke that im only a little proud of

you don’t know what he’s about to do, but if the devious glint in his eyes is anything to go by, it’s going to be something loud for sure.

wc... 880 words a/n... thank u xi my love for helping me w this 😽 i've had this prompt in my files for months and i finally got around to writing it, i hope you all enjoy!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Seo Changbin is beautiful.

Maybe it’s the way his natural hair curls into bouncy, raven locks. Or how his loose white button-up flows in the wind that blows gently against you, enveloping you in a warm breeze under the golden sun. Perhaps it’s his honey skin glowing as radiantly as the smile he constantly wears on his face when he’s around you—the same smile his bubbly personality urges you to reciprocate. You can’t be sure, really. It’s hard to pinpoint what makes the very incarnation of beauty beautiful.

Changbin’s hearty laugh snaps you out of your daze, his eyes twinkling as he looks at you.

“Baby, if you keep letting your food dangle out of your mouth like that, a seagull is gonna come down and swoop it up.” Teasingly, he points at the curly fry hanging out of your mouth, forgotten from the moment your hand had let go of it and slowly fell during your Changbin-induced trance. “Something on your mind?”

You blink once. Twice. Three times. Shoving the fry in your mouth, you shake your head.

“There’s nothing you’re thinking about?” Changbin probes, tilting his head in disbelief. “The way you’ve been staring at me—for like a whole minute, by the way—like I hung all the stars in the sky says otherwise.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Was just thinking about you and how you look so handsome today, I mean you’re always handsome, obviously, and wow, it’s quite hot, no?” You fan yourself with your fingers as heat rushes to your cheeks, though the flail of your wrists does absolutely nothing to help. “Well, I suppose it should be hot. We are at the beach after all, and you know it’s sunny so—”

Fondly, Changbin reaches out and tucks your windblown hair behind your ear. This halts your rambling, drawing out a shy smile as your boyfriend looks at you, admiration swimming in his pupils.

“You’re so cute. I love you.”

What.

Your eyes go wide. Your hand, previously reaching for another fry, stops dead in its tracks, going limp at your side.

Collecting yourself to the best of your abilities (which in this current state, were not a lot), you manage to sputter out a very elegant, “Huh?”

“I love you, silly. Say it back?”

You scan your boyfriend’s face. His gentle smile and sincere eyes warm your heart. He’s patient as he waits for your reply, but you can’t keep him waiting. Of course not.

Reciprocating his smile, you tell him, “I love you, too, Binnie.”

Changbin’s lips morph into a grin, and he leans over to press a sweet peck to your mouth. He jumps up from his beach chair, reaching his hand out, inviting you to take it in your own.

“Come on, let’s walk along the shore while there aren’t too many people.”

Though you lace your fingers with Changbin’s, a pout appears on your face and you make no move to stand. “I don’t want to get up yet. Can you carry me instead?”

Changbin crouches down and kisses your pursed lips, giggling when he feels the corners of your mouth pull into a smile. He brings his free hand to your face, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb. Similarly, he mimicked this with your intertwined hands, rubbing soft circles into your knuckles.

“Of course,” he breaks away from the kiss, gently pulling you up from your seat. “Hop on, bun.”

Gingerly, you climb onto your boyfriend's back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he secures his hands around your thighs. He makes his way to the shoreline, leaving you bouncing gently with each step he makes.

“Hey, if I’m giving you a piggyback ride,” Changbin flashes a cheeky smile over his shoulder, "wouldn’t it be called a dwaekkiback ride?”

You roll your eyes, letting out a breathy laugh at the stupidly endearing joke. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, you loooooove me!” He picks up his pace as he trudges on the wet sand, screaming into the air, “You love me!”

“Binnie, be careful!” You laugh as he runs along the shore with you on his back. “You’re gonna trip and fall—”

Unceremoniously, Changbin loses his footing on a small mound of sand, falling and pulling you down with him.

Rolling onto your backs, the two of you share fits of giggles as the water comes up to brush your toes. Changbin sits up and skips further into the water, turning back to meet your gaze. You don’t know what he’s about to do, but if the devious glint in his eyes is anything to go by, it’s going to be something loud for sure.

“I love Y/n L/n!” Changbin announces proudly.

Loud is an understatement.

A few heads turn at Changbin’s boisterous voice, but you pay them no mind. Your attention is directed solely to the man professing his love for you to the entire ocean. You prop yourself up, digging your palms in the sand behind you. Matching his volume, which was a challenge in itself, you yelled to the water, “I love Seo Changbin!”

As you stand up to join your boyfriend by his side, splashing in the shallow water, a seagull squawks in the distance, happily munching on an abandoned bowl of curly fries.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

taglist: @kflixnet @jinnixxn @elllisaaa @captainchrisstan @laylasbunbunny @starsandrqindrops @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @forlix @mires-empire @quesweebs @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @hanstarrs

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

#k-labels #changbin x reader #stray kids x reader #changbin #stray kids #stray kids changbin #seo changbin #seo changbin x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #changbin fluff #skz x reader #skz changbin #・₊✧ written in the stars

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the-kr8tor · 9 months

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This is my first time doing this 👉👈 but can I please request a Hobie x reader fluff where reader and him went to the beach (probably using his boat lmao) and reader comes back all sun burnt. Sunburn + how much hobie likes physical touch cannot go well together I imagine lmao

Hi hun! Thank you for requesting ❤️ I love your prompt sm, it's so adorable 🥰 hope you like it!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

"Ow ow" you hiss out, waddling back inside Hobie's houseboat. He's been gone for a bit, answering a distress call from his two-way radio, taking a pause on your little beach vacation, you hope he's okay.

Taking Hobie's houseboat to the beach was a spontaneous decision. You briefly mentioned to him that you haven't been to the seaside in a while, missing the cool breeze and the salty water.

So here you are, burnt to an almost crisp, from your face to your legs. You fell asleep on a lawn chair, waiting for Hobie to come back from being Spider-Man. Oh man how you deeply regret shutting your eyes, you swear it was only for a few minutes. You lift your left arm checking the time, you wince when your watch grazes your tender skin, deciding to just take the watch off, you see that it left a mark on your wrist, a huge difference to the rest of your skin.

"Fucckk!! nooo!" You screech out, already dreading what your skin would feel like in a few days, especially when it sheds. You stop in front of Hobie's fridge, littered with various magnets, concert flyers and your little doodles. You open it, carefully avoiding the door from touching your skin, the cold air helps, you try not to grab an ice cube and place it on your warm skin, but you know it does more harm than good.

You wish you brought your trusty aloe vera cream with you, instead, you settle with hydrating from the inside, gulping down a bottle of water, little droplets falling on your chin down to your chest.

Hobie whistles out, he's as tall as the door, arms easily resting on the top, nonchalantly leaning on the doorway "should've came back earlier, if you told me you're gonna put on a little show" he hasn't noticed your inflamed skin with the lights shut off.

Hobie runs towards you, arms stretched In Front of him, eager to hug you. Your eyes widen, he bounds towards you, it's too late to stop him, his arms embrace around your tender form, leather vest scraping on your warm skin.

"Wait! Hobie! Ow!" You yell out, pushing him off with your palms. You instantly feel guilty from pushing him.

He immediately lets go, thinking he might've poked you with the spikes on his suit "shit, you alright?" No ounce of malice in his voice.

"I'm sorry" you say meekly, flailing your arms so that the slight breeze calms your angry skin.

He notices the pain in your voice and your weird flailing, "don't be, what's wrong?" Hobie asks, concerned.

You close your eyes briefly, the pain slowly subsiding, but a dull pain still throbs on your skin.

Hobie reaches out to you, but you quickly move away from his touch, he retracts his hand, sadness creeping in, is it him? What did he do now?

As if you can read his thoughts, you quickly put a stop to his thinking "I'm sunburnt, Hobie" you press the nearby light switch, showing your inflamed skin.

He sighs, relief flooding his senses "well shit, lovey, what happened?"

"I fell asleep while you were gone?" You say it like a kid waiting to be scolded, because you did exactly what he told you not to do while he was away.

Hobie puts his hands on his hip, oh you're definitely gonna get a talking to. "On the chair outside, I bet?"

"Mm-hmm" you nod, face apologetic.

"Even though I practically bathed you in sunscreen?"

"Yeah"

Hobie guffaws, he can't help it, with your face looking like you broke his precious guitar, and the fact that you still got sunburnt despite lathering you a few hours ago with a lot of sunscreen.

"It's not funny" you say dejected, wincing when your frown pulls at your skin.

Hobie breathes out, calming his laughter "Alright, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he reaches out again for a comforting hug like he's used to, but he brings back his arms when he remembers your aching skin.

He misses your touch already.

"You laughed at my misfortune" you pout, winching again when it tugs at your warm skin.

"Love, you're the cause for your own misfortune" He teases, mimicking your voice at the last word.

"But Hobie, it hurts" you try to tug at his heart strings. You stomp your foot, huffing out.

Hobie thinks you're so adorable right now, despite your little tantrum.

He chuckles, closing his smiling mouth immediately when you scowl at him.

Hobie closes the small distance, his hands hovering over your face, careful not to graze your sensitive skin.

"I'll take care of you, yeah?"

You look at him through your lashes, "you'll get my aloe vera cream from my flat for me?" Batting your eyelashes for extra effect.

"That and more" he wishes he could kiss you right now.

You notice him staring at your lips "I'll give you a hundred kisses when I'm better"

"Just a hundred?"

"A thousand and one then" you smile despite the pain.

"I'll take it" He can't wait for you to heal.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider man across the spider verse #atsv x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv hobie #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #fanfic #fluff #hobie fluff

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jimmyssnuggs · 4 months

Note

Can you do a Gabe imagine pls? Can it be a childhood friend's trope pls?

For as long as you could remember, Gabe Perreault had been a constant in your life. You had met in first grade, the curly haired boy coming up to you, with your tiny pigtails, and insisting he sat next to you. What came next was a friendship that had only grown stronger as each year passed.

You went to every hockey game of Gabe’s that you possibly could, and tagging along on each other's family vacations.

You weren’t sure when things shifted, but ever since you had arrived at Boston College for freshman year, something had been different. A good, but also scary different.

Seeing girls flirt with him makes her sick now. A year ago, she would’ve given him a thumbs up and a smile as encouragement, but now she can’t stomach it.

——

It’s a Friday night, and instead of going out to a party, you’re sitting in Conte Forum, watching Gabe’s hockey game, just like every weekend they have a home game. You’re his so-called ‘Good Luck Charm’, deemed when the one game you didn’t go to ended in a loss for Boston College.

Ever since then, you were to be present at every Boston College hockey game, with Gabe’s jersey on, per order of him, Ryan, and Will.

You make your way over to the locker game to see Gabe, like every time. Media is done, and Gabe should be walking out the door any minute now.

“Y/N!” Ryan shouts, running over to you. You spot the familiar brown curls walking behind him, and your stomach flips. “Did you see my goal? It was so sick, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was cool.” You respond halfheartedly, meeting Gabe’s eyes. Ryan shoots you a knowing look, but you swat him.

“Gabe-o!” You shout, throwing your arms around him. His arms go around your waist, steadying the both of you. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “You looked like a rockstar out there!”

“Thank’s Y/N/N. You brought us good luck, just like I said you would,” His arms are still around your waist, and the butterflies are multiplying rapidly. “The team and girlfriends are going to the bar tonight, you in?” He looks down at you, and you look up at him.

“Sounds fun. I should probably change out of this though, put on something nicer.” You point down at the jersey.

“Oh, you don’t wanna wear my jersey to the bar?” He mocks fake hurt, his million dollar smile spreading across his face.

“I don’t think this exactly screams ‘bar attire’, so I’m gonna have to say no.” You giggle.

“Fair enough. We can swing by your dorm and then head over.”

“Perfect.”

——

The bar is crowded, and Gabe has a tight grip on your hand, in order to not lose you. He’s deep in conversation with Ryan, while you are talking to Ryan’s girlfriend who’s leaning up against him.

You chose not to drink tonight, instead having a diet coke with lime. Someone needs to make sure that everybody finds a safe ride home tonight.

Gabe is not drinking either, figuring you’re gonna need help with rounding up everyone and getting them back.

“Have you told Gabe you liked him?” Ryan’s girlfriend speaks a little too loudly. She’s drunk, and you can’t blame her. Ryan’s eyes widen, and you squirm out of Gabe’s hold.

“Oh, um, look at the time. I should go.” You all but sprint out of the bar, ignoring Gabe’s shouts behind you.

“Y/N, Y/N, wait!” He shouts, but they fall to deaf ears.

“Gabe, go back to the bar. Your teammates need you,” You yell back, not losing your fast pace. But Gabe is faster, and he lifts you off the ground, despite your feet flailing around. “Put me down, now!”

“Sorry, can’t. Not until you stop yelling at me.”

“Please, spare me the embarrassment. You can never speak to me again, just don’t laugh at me.”

“Was she telling the truth? Do you like me?”

It’s a heat of the moment decision, but you decide it’s now or never. Surging forward, your lips meet his, and his hands fall to your waist, pulling you oh so close. It feels like magic; like a years worth of lingering feelings finally coming to a crash in the best way possible.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, it does.” He goes in for another, hands still on the small of her back to keep them both steady. It feels right, and nothing else could make either of you happier.

#gabe perreault #gabe perreault x reader #boston college hockey #bc hockey #boston college #ryan leonard #will smith #boston college eagles #bc eagles #bc eagles hockey #q writes

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discworld-heritage-posts · 4 months

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What do you think you add? Do you think you make a poignant post better when after scrolling down through it we see someone saying it's "official"?

I'm choosing to interpret this ask as a genuine question (albeit one that's been worded a bit rudely) instead of a hate anon, because I wouldn't want to tarnish people's dashboards with hate anons.

Now, to answer your genuine question... The "Discworld Heritage Post" tagline I add to the end of posts has as much validity as I have authority to bestow it: none. Do I think my tagline makes posts better? Of course not! And I certainly don't think I make them official, (and neither my url or my pinned post claim that I do so).

I don't know what reasons other people had to start their own Heritage Posts blogs for other fandoms, but I will gladly tell you mine: I got into Discworld. I discovered the Discworld fandom in Tumblr. And, one day, while scrolling down some Discworld related tags, the idea just popped into my head. After checking that there wasn't a Discworld Heritage Posts blog already, I decided to make one.

I personally follow a few Heritage Posts blogs, and my reason to do so is probably the same as to why many people follow this blog: I wanted to see that kind of content. Tracking tags and being up to date on the most popular posts of a fandom is doable, but doing so for the dozens upon dozens of media I'm into is impossible, so I like to follow some Heritage Posts blogs to get some of those posts directly into my dashboard (it's also worth mentioning that sometimes, some iconic posts are made when people comment stuff on them, and those don't appear in the search tags, so following blogs that post about a certain fandom is the best way to come across some of those collaborative posts, because otherwise you'd rarely get to see them). So yes, I created a blog that, had it already existed, I would have liked to follow. Also, while other blogs with this gimmick usually limit themselves to reblogging, let's call them the "greatest hits", I've said since the beginning that I didn't care about how many notes something had. Be it cool art or a funny or insightful post, if I like it, I send it to my drafts.

However, none of those reasons are the main reason why I made this blog. The main reason is that I did it for myself. After exhausting all the content that showed up in the Popular Posts tab, I couldn't help but think of all the gold and treasure that wasn't there, buried and hidden due to the way Tumblr's search engine works. If you're familiar with the Discworld concept of "lies-to-children", that's what the "top posts of all time" is in Tumblr. A 20k post from 2016 will not be there, but a six month old post with 400 notes will show up. Surely there had been amazing Discworld posts and art posted in 2015 and 2013, but I wasn't going to find most of them unless I expressly went looking for them. And this blog was the perfect excuse to do so. As of replying to this ask, there's nearly 600 posts sitting in my drafts, and if I didn't have this blog I would have never discovered 90% of them. And those are the ones I've seen. I still have dozens of places I haven't searched.

I know that if I reblog a month old post with over 2k notes, a lot of people in the fandom will have already seen it. However, a 2k notes post from 2014, or a drawing with 40 notes from 2012 is something that is less likely to have hit people's dashes recently, or at all. When you come across the "Discworld Heritage Post" tagline in a post, please don't picture me as an uppity monarch performing the Tumblr equivalent of a knighting ceremony, or a stuffy museum curator deigning a piece worthy of being included in an exhibition. Picture me as a kid enthusiastically jumping and flailing my arms around while yelling "holy shit guys check out what I just found!!", because that's how I feel running this blog.

Ultimately, whether one of my posts does better or worse is indifferent to me, because they aren't my posts, or memes, or drawings. I'm just the intermediary. That being said, of course it's not indifferent to me, because more engagement means that was a post many people hadn't seen before, or had forgotten about, and one of my goals was to run a blog that would allow people to find those hidden or long forgotten gems.

When all is said and done, Heritage Post blogs are just another one of Tumblr's gimmicks. If we're not your cup of tea, you're free to ignore or block us. If you want to reblog something and don't want the tagline, you can reblog it directly from OP (or from another reblog if OP has deactivated their account).

#long post #THAT BEING SAID #I've seen people being very exited about something they made showing up in this blog and calling it an honor and stuff like that #and to those people I say: I see you and your lovely tags and my heart warms when I read them #i might not have any real authority besides a self imposed gimmick in a nearly defunct social media platform #but if seeing your stuff here makes you happy and proud those feelings are valid and I want you to treasure them #a lot of things only have the meaning we ascribe to them and my tagline might not hold any official meaning #but it does mean something VERY IMPORTANT:#that I saw your post and I loved it and I reblogged it to make sure other people could also find it and love it #I need to come up with a tag for asks don't I? ok how about #asked and answered #dhp's asks #discworld

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outtoshatter · 4 months

Text

Author spotlight for today is @sugareey-makes-stuff ! They joined the sterek/teen wolf fandom in 2022 and already have so much stuff to choose from!!

Bite sized stories:

Dancing Shadows from Behind | T | 500 tags: urban legends, demons, spark Stiles, alpha Derek Summary: Derek pulls Stiles closer to his chest as more shadows appear. Stalking, taunting and dancing around them. Ready to strike again at any moment.

[Or: Derek has no idea what to do when the Pack is trapped by daevas. But something ignites a Spark, and that's enough.]

Pink Lemonade | T | 600 tags: road trips, adventure, slice of life, established relationship Summary: “Stiles?” Derek murmurs, watching him closely. Almost hesitantly, as if Stiles might bolt at any second.

“Holy fucking—oh my God,” Stiles blurts out instead. He most definitely flails while staring at Derek in awe. “Why have you never told me about this place before?”

[Or: Derek surprises Stiles by taking him to one of his favorite spots for an early morning picnic.]

Memories Bring Back You | G | 200 tags: developing relationship, reunions, fix-it, post-movie Summary: It’s surreal to see Stiles flipping through the pages of his precious journal, soaking in every single word and drawing he’s documented over the years.

“You’re a dumbass, Derek,” Stiles declares plainly.

[Or: Derek tells Stiles how he really feels about him after all these years apart from each other. Because it's written down on paper now, and it's about damn time.]

It's Enough for Now | G | 300 tags: autumn, cold weather, sharing body heat, monster of the week Summary: “You know, I could get another blanket,” Stiles points out, breaking the silence. “Or let me grab my hoodie from the couch—”

“It’s fine,” Derek interjects in a low voice. He tugs the blanket gently, pulling Stiles closer. “Stiles…”

[Or, Stiles and Derek end up sharing a blanket after coming back from the pack's latest supernatural adventure.]

Over 1k:

[Art]Molten | E | 27K with Wolfspurr tags: friends to lovers, canon divergence, mutual pining Summary: "Stiles, is that you?"

He recognizes that voice. He doesn’t know why he’s hearing it here though, in whatever cold, dark cave he’s found himself in. The owner of that voice is supposed to be miles away, back home in Beacon Hills. Unless Stiles is the one that’s ended up further from home than he could possibly have predicted.

"Derek?!"

[Art]Brewin' up Love | E | 30k with wanderingeyre tags: alternating POV, getting together, fluff & angst, the pack ships it Summary: The Pack runs Moon Tower Fermentarium, a popular brewery in Beacon Hills, and they are a refuge for supernaturals that need it. Stiles is happy to be Scott's Emissary and loves being the head brewer. His life is great. If only he could get over his feelings for Derek.

Derek finally feels like the Pack is settled and he is proud of what they've built. He doesn't need anything else. He has Stiles in his life as his friend and that's more than he deserves. If he wishes for more in the dark of night, that is between him and the moon.

OR The one where the Pack owns a brewery and Stiles is on fire with the puns. Also, there is angst.

The Walls Came Crashing Down | T | 4k tags: canon divergence, hurt Stiles Stilinski, hopeful ending Summary: “Stop thinking so hard, or you’re going to bleed.”

Surely it couldn’t be—wasn’t his Pack supposed to be duking things out with vampires right now? But a very solid and reassuring hand squeezed his own. Grounding him. Holding on, as if to drain away his pain.

There was only one person who always did this whenever he got hurt.

“Derek?” Stiles whispered, his voice raw and scratchy.

[Or: A mission goes horribly wrong, and Stiles finally figures out where he stands with Derek.]

Feel You Breathing | E | 8k | 3 chapters tags: porn with feelings, unresolved sexual tension, writer Derek, bartender Stiles Summary: Derek: So, you need a distraction.

Stiles: Maybe Stiles: It’d be better if you were here to help me with that. Stiles: ;D

[Or: Sexy things start late one night when Derek gets a text from Stiles and escalate from there. A few secrets are revealed along the way.]

Made from Scratch | T | 2k tags: alpha Derek, spark Stiles, family feels, fluff & angst, teasing Summary: Derek missed Stiles. He hadn’t realized how much…until now. Something had to change. But where did he even start?

[Or: That one time Derek makes dinner for Stiles, thanks to inspiration from a family recipe and some nudging from Cora.]

Go check out all of sugareey's fics on their AO3 page! Don't forget to mind the tags, leave a kudos, and maybe even drop a comment!

#sterek #sterek fandom #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #author spotlight #sugareey #spotlight saturday

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eleanor-bradstreet · 10 months

Text

Take Me Instead (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x gn!Reader Modern AU Rated/warnings: T - language, robbery, gun use, blood Word count: 3k

Summary: You and Anthony find yourselves in the middle of a bank robbery on an ill-fated day.

Author's Note: This is a belated birthday gift prompted by the fabulous and talented @broooookiecrisp and a game of prompt roulette that gave me: sad, Anthony, "take me instead". I hope you enjoy my dear 💙 Kudos also to @sorryallonsy who found the perfect header image!

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was something you saw in movies, not something that happened in real life, and certainly not to you. When the doors to the bank were pulled shut by three men who then dropped to their knees and started opening their duffel bags, your immediate thought was that they must be maintenance workers of some kind. Then when the sound of a gunshot tore through the marble lobby you froze with panic, unable to react at all. But you didn’t need to because Anthony instantly wrapped himself around you and pulled you to the floor as other patrons started to scream.

“Stay down,” he urged, his voice the only steady thing within the chaos. Though he was curled over you, you could both look around to see what was happening. The men at the door had risen wearing ski masks and holding assault rifles. A fourth man, the source of the fired shot, held a pistol in the air at the teller window. There were ten or so people in the lobby, all of them instinctively cowering. All the staff of the bank seemed to have disappeared and you guessed were hidden in their own corners. Directly across from you a woman huddled under a counter clutching a boy who looked about nine years old. He was still but his eyes darted wildly.

At the shouted insistence from the four imposing men everyone fell into an ominous silence. You realized you were trembling with fear and adrenaline only when your husband squeezed you tighter. The warm weight of him against your back felt like the only thing keeping you from flailing with panic.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispered into your hair, his voice tight. You gave some semblance of a nod. You needed to stay focused in the moment, to do what he told you, to think of a way out, to at least get descriptions of the criminals. But all your mind would do was berate you for ending up in this situation. What were the odds that you would be in this bank at this precise moment? You and Anthony had been downtown, due to meet his brother for lunch at the cafe across the street when you remembered you still had money in your bag from your recent trip abroad. You were just there for a quick exchange, likely the first time Anthony had ever set foot in a bank for a purpose other than closing a multimillion dollar transaction. But he had tagged along, playfully pawing at you while you waited in the queue. Then hell broke loose and now that chance errand may have rerouted the course of your lives. It lit a spark of anger within your fear.

“Where’s the manager?” barked the man at the window. Unlike his companions he wasn’t compelled to hide his face. Red-haired with a scarred and stubbled face and broad build, he seemed to be the leader.

Everyone stayed silent. No one moved.

He seethed as he surveyed everyone lying on the floor. Then in a few brisk steps he was hauling the little boy out of the woman’s arms as they both screamed. He brandished the gun to make her let go, then held the boy in front of him with the weapon angled to make his intentions clear. “Where’s the fucking manager?”

Before you could react, Anthony pulled away and started to rise to his feet, moving toward them. “Hey, hey! Let him go.”

“Shut the fuck up!” So focused on the scene in front of you, neither of you had noticed one of the other men moving up behind, but he suddenly appeared beside your husband, flipped his gun and cracked him in the jaw with the butt of it. You bit your tongue to keep from screaming as Anthony staggered and fell back to one knee. “Stay down!” The man struck him again on the shoulder so that Anthony pitched to the floor, lying perpendicular between you and the robbers, just out of your reach.

You watched him spit a patch of blood onto the marble then wipe the crimson from his split lip with a swipe of his thumb. Your brain was static, a roar of furious and terrified cries that you were just managing to keep at bay. He turned to you, his deep eyes reading yours and you knew he could tell. He gave the barest hint of a nod. Reassurance. Strength. Insistence. You needed to stay quiet. You treasured the fact that you were able to read each other’s thoughts through your eyes alone, but you could never imagine that facet of your love would prove so vital.

The leader chuckled then continued to wave his pistol threateningly toward the boy who had gone pale, looking desperately back at his mother. “I’m going to need someone to help us into the vault or else things are going to go poorly. Do you understand?”

Across from you the mother crouched, looking ready to pounce at a moment’s notice but emitting a stream of quiet whimpers. She never blinked as she watched her son.

Footsteps broke the horrible silence and all eyes turned to a small middle-aged woman who appeared in the doorway of a side office. She walked forward slowly, hands raised in the air and shaking, but she spoke clearly.

“I’m the manager. I’ll take you to the vault. What…what do you want?”

She halted feet away from the men and the leader lowered his gun but never let go of the child. “We want access to the deposit box for one Jack Featherington.”

Your blood ran cold. Featherington? You knew the family. Longtime neighbors and friends of the Bridgertons. But you didn’t know a Jack. The chances of multiple unrelated Featherington families seemed slim. Who was he and what could he have that they wanted?

“You can’t…you can’t open it without his key. That’s how it’s designed.” The manager explained, tremulous.

The leader smirked. “Oh, we are well aware of that. Jackie boy has been evading us and we need some leverage to rat him out.”

Just then the wail of sirens could be heard narrowing in around the building and you felt a fraction of relief. Someone had managed to ring a silent alarm, or make a call, or someone outside had heard the commotion. Help was just beyond the doors.

“Right on schedule.” The leader smiled, dragging the boy to walk with him as he moved to the center of the lobby, explaining his plans with all the fanfare of a carnival barker. “Alright ladies and gents, here’s the good news. We aren’t interested in hurting anyone.” You heard Anthony snicker as he licked his lip. “We’re going to let you go.” A low murmur of surprise rippled across the floor. “All you need to do is tell all the news cameras and the good officers of the law outside that we need their help finding the lying Lord Jack Featherington and his keyring. Understood?”

You were breathing fast, trying to process what he said. You would be let go. This was just a spectacle, a bargaining chip in some grander criminal scheme. You weren’t targets, you were useful collateral. Maybe you could even help the police by contacting the Featheringtons. It would be over soon.

The leader moved back to the manager. “Okay, you’re staying to let us in and…” He paused, thinking as he looked across the lobby once more. “Well, we need an insurance policy so I think you’ll stay too.” He wrapped an arm around the boy’s neck, grabbed the manager with his other hand and began to pull them both toward the back hall. For the first time the boy screamed, kicking his feet as he struggled against his captor. His mother wailed.

“Let the boy go!” Anthony roared, rising to his knees.

The second man snapped to face him. “What did I tell you?” You barely saw the slight tilt of his weapon, barely heard the high pitched pop, but then Anthony fell back clutching his side and your lungs knew before your brain did that he had been shot. You screamed and the sentiment was echoed by the other hostages. As you crawled to your husband’s side you were deaf to the fact that the leader was shouting furiously at his colleague. All you could see was the stunned look on Anthony’s face as he sat up and pressed a hand just above his left hip, bringing it away bloody.

Your heart beat double time, every sense heightened as you took his hand in yours and saw the light reflecting off the wet smear on his palm the same way it glinted off your wedding rings. You sat next to him, hands roving aimlessly, clueless as to what you should do. “Oh my god, Anthony… no…”

“It’s alright,” he said quietly. “It just grazed me, I’ll be alright.” He tried to flash you a winning smile but you saw the grimace underneath it. You weren’t a doctor but judging by how fast the dark stain was spreading across his shirt, you knew he was lying about being grazed.

Seeing him wounded somehow organized the panic in your brain. You were still frantic but you were going to make a plan. You were going to get him out alive. “We have to leave,” you whispered urgently. “They’ll let us go. We have to get you to a hospital. I won’t let you die…”

His brows darted up with concern and he leveled his eyes on you. “Hey, hey, look at me. I’m not going to die. We’re going to get out of this and it will be the maddest story we ever tell. You understand?”

You saw how the love still overcame the pain in his features and hot tears started to mount in your eyes. You would find a way out together. Of course you would. You nodded, chin trembling.

The felons seemed to resolve their spat and the leader turned back to address the room again. “Now that we’ve got that settled, you lot stay down. We’re headed to the vault and taking these two with us. They get released when we get Featherington’s keys. You tell them that, yeah?” Once again he started to drag the manager and the boy down the hall.

“Stop!” Anthony shouted, pressing a hand tight to his wound.

The man who had shot him rounded on him for the final time, growling. “You motherf…”

“Take me instead.”

His words hung in the air for a moment. So simple. Spoken so calmly. Everything within you sank. “Anthony, what?! No…” You whispered frantically, gripping his arm.

“Oh, fuck off.” the man scoffed, moving to tower over you both with the gleaming metal of his weapon hanging inches above your head.

Anthony looked up at him with steely resolve, undaunted. “Take me. I’m worth more than every other person in this building combined.” His eyes flicked to the side then he added quietly, “No offense.”

The thug snorted. “What are you, Duke of Sussex?”

“Viscount. And I run a company. A large company. Look.” Hissing in pain as he moved, he reached into his blazer and produced his card, handing it up with bloodied fingers.

At the back of the room the leader had paused, watching curiously. “What’s it say?”

“Anthony Bridgerton. CEO, Bridgerton House Enterprises.”

The way the leader’s eyebrows raised, you knew he recognized the family name and the pit of dread burrowed deeper into your stomach. “Fucking hell, looks like we bagged a silver tuna.” A smile broke out across his face to rival a cheshire cat.

Now Anthony was removing his watch, gasping as he struggled with even the smallest movements. He held it out to his attacker, further incentive to accept his offer. It was his Omega De Ville, an obscene six-figure wedding gift from his friend Simon. “Here, take this,” he rasped. “You could buy a bloody house with that. Take me and let everyone else go safely.”

“No!” You pleaded aloud, holding tight to his arm. You didn’t care anymore if you upset the man floating a rifle over you both. You’d rather be killed or dragged away with your husband than have him do this. Even though you knew he was right. Even though you knew he was doing this to save an innocent child, to save you, to save everyone. Your heart wouldn’t accept it.

“Yes.” Anthony affirmed, not even looking back at you. He still addressed the criminals. “I won’t struggle. I can’t struggle now that you’ve fucking shot me. And if you wanted national attention… Taking me will get you global. All the bargaining power you could ask for. Whatever you’re getting out of Featherington, you could double it with the ransom my company will pay.” He was using that tone, that suave confidence that wooed all his business partners and had wooed you. You of all people knew how irresistible it was. You loved and hated him equally in that moment.

The gunman stared, dumbstruck. He turned the watch over in his hand, seemingly impressed, then called over his shoulder. “Boss?”

It didn’t matter how many prayers raced silently through your heart, you already knew how this was going to play out.

“Grab him.”

You sprang forward, flinging your arms around him and finally allowing yourself to weep. “Anthony…no…” He had only been yours for a year. One year as your husband. One year of a life he filled with bliss. It was not enough. You couldn’t let it end now, and not in this way. You would offer yourself in his place except no one had the leverage he did and that was precisely why he was doing this.

He pulled back and brought a hand to your cheek. You could feel the warmth of his blood streaking your skin. “I will see you again, do you understand?” His voice was low and you could hear the slightest tremor in it, a fear he would expose only to you. “This is just temporary. The police know what to do and we’ll both be alright.”

“I can’t leave you,” you insisted, tears running down your face. But you knew you were overruled so you tried to memorize everything about him in that moment. The precise shade of his brown eyes, the callused tips of his fingers as they brushed your skin, the warmth of his breath, the flecks of grey in his beard. An enduring memory that would be replaced when you held him again.

“Stay with my family,” he choked. “I will see you again. I love you.”

“Alright, alright…” The robber rolled his eyes then clapped a hand on Anthony’s shoulder, gripping into his clothes and starting to drag him back toward the leader. He gasped and fumbled to stand as he was pulled along but always ended up falling back, clutching at his side. The red-headed man shoved the boy toward his mother who threw herself around him and sobbed. It was as if the ability to cry was predicated on having your loved one in your arms because as soon as Anthony left your grasp you went silent, keeping your eyes on him as steadfastly as his were on you. The leader seemed pleased with the trade off and ushered the quivering bank manager to walk in front of him down the hall, keeping his gun pointed at her back while his cohort dragged Anthony at the rear. A parade of fear headed toward an uncertain end.

They rounded a corner and were out of sight, leaving a trail of blood behind them. You were frozen, blank, your body refusing to leave even though your mind knew you should. But once again someone came to your aid. The mother, one arm locked around her son, wrapped the other around you and dragged you to your feet. You knew she was whispering gratitude and reassurances but you had fallen deaf. The remaining two men with guns herded your band of hostages out the front doors and quickly locked them behind you. You vaguely registered the crowd gathered around the building - a police barricade, ambulances, news vans, a sea of onlookers. After stumbling down the steps with the woman and her son you were swarmed by people in uniform. Someone draped a blanket over your shoulders while an EMT began wiping the blood from your hands and face.

“It’s not my blood,” you insisted, finding your voice again as your senses slowly returned. “They shot him. They shot my husband.” You grabbed the nearest police officer and turned them to face you. “Please, he’s in there now. You have to help him! At the very least ask if you can send in medical help. He’s bleeding and…”

Then you heard someone shouting your name. Frantically, repeatedly, growing closer. You spun to see a man struggling and held back by a pair of officers. Benedict. He had been waiting for you both across the street and had no doubt seen the chaos erupt. You ran to them, hastily explaining he was your brother-in-law. The officers relented and you rushed into his arms, the two of you clinging together so tightly it was hard to breathe. He felt like an anchor to your sanity, a reminder that not everything in the world had gone unrecognizably sideways. Anthony’s words echoed in your mind, “stay with my family”, and you knew it was the only way you would have the strength to face this trial - together.

You leaned against Benedict as officers and EMTs circled you, taking your story, bombarding you with questions and confirming the details over and over. They promised they would get Anthony back. They promised he would be alright. They promised they would work to end this soon. But their promises held little weight next to the one that would haunt your every moment until it was fulfilled. If Anthony had promised you would see each other again, you were going to hold him to his word. He had kept every promise he had ever made to you. All you could do was trust he would keep this one too.

No tags for prompt roulette, just for dedications and co-conspirators 😜

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #gn reader #modern au #whump and angst #angst

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thebigoblin · 3 months

Text

play stupid games

tags: Established Relationship, Alpha Derek Hale, Attempt at Humor, Cheesy, Fluff, Derek Hale is a Softie, Implied Sexual Content

a/n: inspired by a reel on instagram. and the title is from Taylor's song "Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince."

read on ao3

The tabs opened on his chrome browser make no sense. Not one bit. But he supposes that's just a representation of his own mind, and his morbid curiosity, and whose fault is that, really? No one's. Perhaps his mom's — but no more than it's his dad's to have given him his obsession with everything non-sensical. His dad just has to find patterns, and really, maybe his entire problem is that he is the combination of two very weirdly specific people.

What was he working on, again?

He squints at the tabs. There's too many of them, the edges stuck together so close it's like one long continuous tab instead, but he can see the lines between them, even if deciphering which tab is what is proving difficult. He could have used separate windows, but oh no, all sane ideas come to him after things are said and done.

Seriously, what was he working on?

"What are you working on?"

"What the fuck!"

The sound of another person in the room, so close to his ear, hot breath on the left side of his neck, has him jumping and flailing on his desk chair.

Rough and familiar hands grab him so that he doesn't brain himself against the floor by falling right off the chair, and he curses, because this is his life.

Once he's sitting straight, he glares up at the smirking asshole beside him. "Fuck you," he says, with feeling. "I'm giving you a bell for Christmas!"

Derek's lips tick upwards, like ha ha, that's funny. Funny that Stiles thinks he could get away with that. "My birthday gift has to be something good, then."

"I'll show a good gift!"

"That's what I am saying, Stiles."

"Ugh, you're fucking annoying." He's still glaring up at Derek, the angle not kind to his neck, so he looks back down at the screen. Derek just moves closer, a line of heat against his side that has Stiles' anger nearly melting off, but no! He'll persist.

Distraction. Yes. That is what he needs, so he clicks his mouse rather aggressively and moves the arrow to one of the tabs randomly. The title of it hovers over the tab as he does so, and Stiles wonders what could have prompted him to look at a YouTube video of making a DIY skirt from old clothes.

"You would look good in a short red skirt." Derek says this right into his left ear, his lips moving along his skin, from the top of his ear to the bottom of it, and because he's obnoxious, Derek bites his earlobe, too.

"Go away!" He slaps at Derek's chest, but his boyfriend only laughs at his half-hearted attempts. "Nuh uh, you're distracting me and I- I have work!"

"What work?"

Stiles doesn't really remember.

"You forgot, didn't you?" Derek just laughs some more, his hands wrapping around Stiles' shoulders, and Stiles pouts. "Search something for me."

"You have your own smartphone and internet, Distractingwolf!"

"But I also have you," Derek states this, a smile in his voice, and hey, it's true.

Stiles rolls his eyes and mutters, "Sap," before asking, "What?"

"I want to check something, but there's a condition."

Stiles cocks his eyebrow, just like Derek does. He's been spending too much time with Derek, and it's because of shit like this: Derek likes to climb the side of the Sheriff's house, get inside the Sheriff's barely-legal son's bedroom, and spend time either glaring at Stiles, pushing him onto surfaces like the door and walls and the bed and kissing him, or making him do random internet searches that 99% of the time happens to be information of a new supernatural creature they have to deal with.

Point is, Stiles has been spending too much time with Derek, and he loves it a fucking lot.

"Condition, huh? You getting kinky on me, Sourwolf?"

Derek moves around his chair so that his bulging biceps and sexy, veiny arms — that he knows are there below the leather jacket and the henley because he's seen his boyfriend shirtless, even if unfortunately they haven't wandered down to pantless situations — brackets him between the desk and the chair. The movement also pushes his chair further towards the desk, just a little, and Derek's chin rests on top of Stiles' hair.

"Maybe." Stiles' whole body shivers at the thought of it. They haven't had sex, but Stiles yaps about it, thinks about it often. Wants to take Derek in his mouth, wants Derek to have his way with him. He wants, and wishes, for Derek to be inside him — pound him so hard he forgets what life is, just for a moment or two or more. He's seen the alpha strength, and it's too much. Perfect. "Stiles."

"You can't blame a guy for wanting to have sex with his hot werewolf boyfriend," he retorts, huffing at the reprimand. "I can wait until you are ready, and I will, but I can think about it, can't I?"

Derek doesn't answer him, just puts his hand over Stiles' on the mouse and moves it the way he likes it. Stiles wants to be that, a ragdoll under Derek's ministrations, and nope, he can't pop a boner right now. He wants sex, but he respects Derek. But he's also a healthy ninetenn-year-old young man, and there goes his dick in his sweatpants, chubbing up like a balloon being filled with air.

Derek opens up a new window and goes to Google, his free hand coming to rest on Stiles' thigh. Stiles' breath hitches.

"Stiles," Derek's voice is low, his sex-voice. They've never done handjobs, or blowjobs, or any real dick-on-dick or hand-on-dick or mouth-on-dick action, but they have done phone sex, and about 50% of Stiles' brain, at this point, is filled with how Derek sounds when he's turned on, commanding. Close to coming, post-pleasure. Stiles knows this voice, too.

"You don't have to do anything you're not ready to," Stiles says, and he means it. Derek's head dips down and he kisses Stiles on the neck, a silent acknowledgement — Derek knows Stiles won't force him. It's okay.

"You always say 'hot werewolf boyfriend.' Not just 'hot boyfriend.' Why."

"Inflection, alpha, that's a thing." Derek pinches his thigh, and Stiles lets out a small sound at the sudden action, then grins. "You are a hot werewolf." He turns his head, pulls with his own free hand, his left hand, the one not trapped beneath Derek's on the mouse, and has Derek's head turn towards him. He kisses him, sure once, sure twice, and third time just because. Derek's eyes are intense on him as he pulls back. "I like all of you. I'd shout it out of the rooftops of all the buildings in the town if I was allowed to, Derek."

Derek smiles, and Stiles' heart beats triple time in his chest, which suddenly feels too small for everything Derek makes him feel.

They stare at one another for one more moment, and then they turn towards the screen, the cursor having moved on the screen, evidently because of their absent grip on the mouse. Derek takes his hand back and Stiles misses the warmth, but he dutifully leans forward to type in Derek's enquiry of the evening.

"Stiles, kiss me if I'm wrong, but Dinosaurs still exist, right?"

Stiles' hand spams on top of the keyboard.

He waits for the punchline to come.

When it doesn't, he gets up, turns, flails at his dork of a boyfriend, who is grinning at him, cocky and full of shit, and punches him in the chest.

"I take it back. I don't want anybody to know you belong to me. Fuck you, Derek Hale."

"Actually, I asked for a kiss, and only on the condition that I'm wrong."

"Oh, you're so, so wrong, you jerk, and you're gonna pay for it."

Stiles has now pulled the uno reverse card and boxed in Derek against his bed. Derek cocks his eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah, oh. You're gonna kiss me, like, a 1000 times! That was the worst pick up line ever, what the fuck, who is teaching you these things?!"

Stiles pushes Derek onto his bed and starts peppering kisses on Derek's forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, and of course, his lips. After a while, Derek flips them over, and they cuddle, and then they lazily make-out until their lips are swollen and red.

Derek is asleep after that, and thank god for his dad's out of town police conference, and Stiles falls asleep, too.

And that's how Stiles completely forgets about his presentation due on Monday, which is a day after.

(Derek helps him with it, and they spend the whole of Sunday making out, cuddling, and trying to out-do each other with worse and worse pick-up lines. Derek wins, because apparently he is the king of those, and Stiles just falls in deeper, his chest feels even smaller, and his feelings for Derek just seem like something he can't possibly have, too precious and important and so, so much).

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fics #sh.writesonmain #i loooove this one so much #wrote this in the very early am's lol #i miss writing daily but ms. muse is elusive #AND ALSO HELLO? WE ARE GETTING TS11? I'M HYPED AF #anyways #sh.rambles #gonna go post this on ao3 also #gimme a few mins

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buckymorelikefuckme · 23 days

Text

spice up your life

jake jensen x fem reader

words: 1k

warnings: none i don't think?? maybe a tiny bit of secondhand embarrassment. otherwise this is just fluff! but let me know if there's something i should tag pls.

a/n: i've had a beloved girl group stuck in my head all morning and this was my outlet for that. sorry not sorry for yet another jakey story. that's my baby and i love him. no proofreading whatsoever, just vibes!! any and all mistakes are mine, feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated ♡ xoxo

On this blessed weekend morning (afternoon, actually, but that’s not important) you’ve just finished your shower. You’re dressed in a tiny tank-top and a matching pair of panties, your hair wrapped in a towel while you sit on the bench at the end of your bed and rub lotion into your freshly shaved legs. The Spice Girls are blasting through your bluetooth speaker and you’re happily singing along without a care in the world.

“Say you can handle my love, are you for real?” you croon, wiggling in place of dancing until you’re done with the lotion. “I won’t be hasty,” you wail louder, “I’ll give you a try. If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye.”

You stand with a bounce, alerting the room at large that you’ll tell them what you want, what you really, really want. As you put away your lotion, you shimmy your chest and shake your hips. You even stop for an extended dance break.

“Slam your body down, and zig-a-zig ah! If you wanna be my lover,” you finish with a flourish, giggling.

The next song starts playing and you let out a gasp of delight, reaching for your hairbrush and using it as a microphone. You set yourself up in front of your mirror, using yourself as a makeshift audience and doing what you can remember from the choreography.

“Slam it to the left, if you're havin’ a good time! Shake it to the right, if ya know that you feel fine!”

You have a split second of thinking that you should probably calm down, since you just showered, and working up a sweat because you can’t help yourself from putting on a one-woman show would be very annoying. But… it’s the Spice Girls. It’s next to impossible to not dance and sing along. At some point, your now damp hair has fallen out of the towel, and instead of using your brush for its intended purpose, you continue singing into it. When you start getting almost too warm, you make yourself stop flailing around and actually brush your hair.

You pull it up into a messy bun on top of your head when you’re done and skip out of your room to the kitchen, taking your speaker with you. You’re feeling kinda hungry, so you go about fixing up a sandwich for yourself, still warbling away with whatever song that plays.

Since it’s early spring, the weather is still relatively cool out, so you’ve got your windows open to let in the fresh air and natural light. It never crossed your mind that perhaps your audience of one was actually an audience of two. However, when you’re in the middle of singing through a mouthful of your sandwich, you just so happen to glance out the window in your living room.

“All that joy can bring, this I swear—“ You freeze, eyes growing wide, cheeks bulging with food, and heat crawling up your neck when you lock eyes with the tenant across the courtyard of your apartment complex.

It’s just your luck it turns out to be the new guy—the cute, nerdy, beefy one. He’s equally wide-eyed behind his glasses, mouth open a little in surprise. You squeak and dart out of his line of vision, mortification consuming you as you lean against the wall and groan. What a fucking first impression to make. Prancing around in next to nothing and stuffing your face like a goddamn squirrel. Jesus.

Your music is still blaring, though, and you've kind of lost your groove, so you hastily scamper back across the kitchen to jam your thumb on the button to lower the volume. Even with the song continuing to play, it feels much too quiet now. You try to finish your sandwich and act normal and not like you were just caught parading around in your underwear. Very pointedly, you do not look out the window again. If you can't see him, then he can't see you. Seems logical.

Except… You sigh dreamily. Oh, man, he's so cute, and he looked even cuter with that dumb look on his face. You try to fight it for as long as you can (which is, to your shame, not long at all) but your gaze drifts back over to the apartment across the courtyard. You're not sure if it's excitement or dread that swirls in your stomach when you see he's still standing there. He waves, sending you a lopsided smile, and you find it impossible to prevent yourself from smiling back.

“Nice moves,” he calls out of his own open window.

“Thanks, I try my best,” you reply with a bashful laugh as you approach the windowsill.

“We should tango together sometime,” he offers, immediately flushing after.

You see his mouth move as he whispers tango? under his breath, an incredulous expression on his face as he shakes his head. You cover your growing grin with your hand.

He scratches at his jaw and shrugs. “Or, you know… any kind of dancing.”

“I just do whatever comes naturally,” you flirt, tilting your head coyly.

“Right, yeah, makes sense,” he agrees with a lot of nodding.

Good grief.

“If you came over,” you start, raising your eyebrows significantly, “I could show you.”

It looks like he short circuits for a second, standing perfectly still as he processes what you just said. He suddenly jerks back to life and points a finger at his chest.

“Jake.”

You laugh and mimic the gesture, saying your name in return. Jake grins as he repeats it, soft and pleased, like he's trying it out on his tongue.

“So, I’ll just…” He trails off and waves in the direction of your apartment with a question in his eyes.

You tell him your unit number, then bite your lip to tamp down on your smile. “See you soon, big guy.”

Jake giggles, high and nervous, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, see you soon,” he replies in a gruff tone.

You cover your mouth again to stifle your own giggles, wiggling your fingers in a wave. He starts backing away from his window, his shoulder knocking into the doorway because he isn't paying attention to where he's walking. With a salute that he appears to regret instantly, he hurriedly leaves, the slam of his door echoing across the courtyard.

Okay, so, maybe your day took a turn, and you might have to shower again anyway, but it's so worth it.

#eye???????????#idk just take it #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen fluff #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen fic #jake jensen #how many more times can i type his name before it summons him in real life

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rascal-xo · 1 year

Note

Hear me out ghost walking in into the reader holding soap in a leg head lock while laying on their stomach and taking selfies 😭😭😭😭😭😭

War and Cookies | Soap MacTavish x Reader |

Summary: Johnny is tonight’s big loser…

Warnings: Incredibly cheesy 😭 not proofread

Tags: @glitteryeggalmondherring @fiveshelmet @madamemelancholysstuff @myguiltypleasures21 @pukbadger @emmaadlerrichtofen1

A/N: I wrote this after taking the most delectable nap so I hope you enjoy 😤

Gif Credits: @shadow0-1

"MacTavish, you son of a bitch!" You gasped, unable to believe the atrocity that just unfolded. Johnny had just stolen the last chocolate chip cookie from out of your hand, as you sat at the break room island minding your business.

The audacity! Fuelled by a mixture of shock and a quite frankly hunger, you sprung into action, determined to reclaim what was rightfully yours.

You weren't about to let him get away with this. Determination fueled your movements as you leaped forward, reaching out for the tantalizing treat. But Soap was quick, darting to the side and leaving you grasping at thin air. “You’re gonna have to be quicker than that, Lass!” He called out.

Finally, you saw your opening. Soap made a swift turn into the open training room, his attention momentarily diverted as he checked over his shoulder. Seizing the opportunity, you lunged forward, tackling him to the ground with a mighty grunt.

You both crashed onto the padded floor, limbs flailing in a whirlwind of chaos. Laughter erupted from both of you as you wrestled for the precious cookie. “Just give me the cookie Johnny and no one has to get hurt here.” You coo, holding his arms over his head. Oh so close to the precious cookie.

Johnny, pinned beneath you, laughed heartily, his chest rising and falling with each chuckle. "Oh, Y/N, you're not getting it that easily!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

With a sly grin on your face, you swiftly maneuvered your body, using all your might to put him into a headlock.

Soap's eyes widened in surprise as your arm wrapped around his neck, and he sputtered, "Hey, wait a minute! No fair!"

"Fair? This is war, MacTavish!" you exclaimed, trying to keep a straight face while asserting your dominance. "The cookie will be mine!"

As you neared the cookie, your fingers trembled with anticipation. It was so close, yet still out of reach. Soap, determined not to let go but instead do the unthinkable.

You stared at Soap in disbelief as he took a large bite out of the cookie you had just fought so hard to reclaim. Your jaw dropped, and your eyes widened in shock. "Johnny! You... you ate the cookie?"

Soap grinned mischievously, crumbs sprinkling down his chin and chocolate smeared onto his face. "Oh, I guess I did," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Couldn't resist, you know?"

You couldn't help but burst into laughter, realizing the absurdity of the situation. “What? something on my face?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I have got to get a picture of this.” You spoke in between laughter.

Still chuckling, you kept Soap in a gentle headlock, restraining his movements while you fumbled for your phone in your pocket. With determination in your eyes, you managed to retrieve it, ready to capture the hilarious moment.

"Hold still, Johnny," you said through your giggles, angling the camera on your phone. "This chocolate-covered face of yours deserves to be immortalized."

Soap, his face a comical mixture of confusion and resignation, tried to wipe the chocolate off his face with his free hand. But you held him firmly, ensuring that the evidence of his mischievous cookie indulgence remained intact.

"Just a little more, and... got it!" you exclaimed triumphantly, snapping the selfie with Soap in your headlock, his face adorned with chocolate smears. Both of you burst into another fit of laughter, the joy of the moment echoing through the room.

But just as you were about to review the picture, a familiar voice boomed from the doorway, interrupting the mirthful scene. You both sprung your necks up in shock seeing your Lieutenant in such a manner.

He stared down at both of his soldiers on the ground with zero emotion, one in a headlock and the other straddling the others neck with a phone to their face.

“L.T!” You exclaimed. Soap tried to contain his laughter, miserably failing.

Ghost held up a hand, stopping either of you from speaking any further and turned around, walking right back out of the room.

“He looks like he’s seen a Ghost.” Johnny laughed, doubling over as soon as you released him.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x female reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x y/n #soap x you

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