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[highpatia]

like real people do | god of war: ragnarok

cherished memories between lovers — bliss upon two souls (kratos/reader + heimdall/reader)

content. fluffy fluff, canon violence and a few mentions of story spoilers?

author’s note. back from the dead with like my worst work yet! but i will be writing more for gow so pls 🙏🏻 requests 🙏🏻

shuffled glances under the moonlight, strands of winter breeze dance along your woollen garb— you wonder if the lack of clothing on kratos’ body envelopes him in cold. his posture makes you think indifferently, shoulders tense but no shakes rack his form. it almost makes you cold just looking at him, the way he is sat so far from the burning fire. you close your eyes for a moment, to rest them briefly from the frost. listening to the flames crack against the logs, the wind howls like a predator, but you know the earth is no enemy.

a few moments pass before you here an all too familiar grunt. as he stands, kratos rolls his shoulders back. the groan in disapproval but he doesn’t cease movement. he walks further into the cave, closer to you. stepping over the hide of an deer you’ve lay down to dry, he settles next to you.

you hum in greeting, eyes still closed, kratos once again, grunts in acknowledgment. you almost want to laugh at his standard way of speech, but you can’t bring yourself to. minutes pass before you lean closer to him and rest your head upon his shoulder, though, due to his abnormally large stature, you only make it to his upper bicep. a faint snicker leaves him as per your failure but you pay no mind. even in the coldest of winters could you find warmth.

where heimdall could read you from the language of your mind, you’d always believe you could read him from the language of his body. shoulders taut and sat behind his head, that cleary meant he was bothered apprehensively and or irritated. posture slump but still higher than others meant he definitely thought so, you see that one most when he was teasing many.

but this one was new, and you didn’t really know what it meant. shoulders sunken and a posture so relaxed that if it was you, he’d mock you about it. a book sits in between his hands, too neat for it to be from the public library, it must be one of his own.

you can’t help but feel a slight jealousy in your bones, why are all the books in the library so aged and tattered, you think that at least aesir would care for the scripts of knowledge. you hear a scoff come from his direction and it breaks you out if your thoughts. the gold of his teeth glimmer as he grinds them against one another, you panic at the idea of angering the odinson but another unfamiliar feeling shoots up your spine, it’s exciting.

“you don’t suppose that the reason why the books inside the local library are ruined is because of you mere mortals? or must you blame gods for all destruction.” he says, the pitch of his tone is playful but it still keeps you uneasy. “though..” he trails, forefinger brush the top of the next page of his book, violet eyes glancing between the words. “i dare say that you could browse my collection one day, if the lack of perfection bothers you that much.” you think from the silver of his tongue that he once again is just jesting you, but his shoulders still appear to be low to his physique.

#.my writing #.gow #gow x reader #god of war x reader #god of war ragnarok x reader #gowr x reader #kratos x reader #gow kratos x reader #heimdall x reader #gow heimdall x reader #gow fanfiction #god of war fanfiction

[highpatia]

losing dogs | the hunger games: tbosas

reaper ash/reader — angst, hurt no comfort

content. mentor!reader therefore capitol!reader (ew) just really sad again, it’s so easy to write angst for thg, it can be viewed as romantic but i can’t say that’s what i really had in mind, idk if reaper is ooc or not lol

author’s note. 2 posts in one day that’s crazy and they are both angsty too, i promise i’ll write some fluff next 😭 (1.463k)

One of the first things you noticed about Reaper Ash was his hands. Calloused fingers decorated in small scars, the faint blemishes contrasting against his dark skin. Unlike yours, they were noticeably worked.

You didn’t know much about district eleven other than the fact that they handled agriculture. Plants like fruit and vegetables. Orchards lined the land like lodging in the Capitol, you wondered how much purer the air was there.

Whilst gazing at his hands in slight admiration, he sat unmoving. Like a statue in a museum, chained to his peculiarity. Verbatim-like analogy as he was truly handcuffed to the table. The metal clung tight around him, worry brewed in your gut that it might just rub his wrists raw.

It had been a long hour, you’d imagine the time is soon to be up but you really can’t form the words to say. How were you supposed to converse with the boy about to be sent to his likely death?

A short moment goes by before you look into his eyes. They are piercing— like a winter’s frost. A chill runs up your spine but you hold composure, fearing that he may see your vague dread.

To progress with the impromptu exchange between mentor and tribute you at least need to gain an apt sense of trust. Gaining faith and of course, sponsors, will only heighten the chance of him winning.

“Listen” you pause, clearing your throat. “I really need you to-” quickly you are interrupted by Reaper slamming his hands onto the tabletop that separates you. Immediately you cower, a deep flinch raking your body. He’s lent forward now, closer to you.

You urge the reaction to lean all the way backwards like flight syndrome, but instead you bite down hard on your tongue. You can feel the eyes of your peers and other tributes on you for a moment, it makes you feel sick. You can taste metal, blood in your mouth from the wound— wondering if it would taste the same as the handcuffs.

Your mind stays preoccupied as the guarding peacekeepers start directing you and your pupils out of the building.

The day continues as normal, but you can only think of Reaper Ash. How differently would you two interact if you met in different circumstances? The thoughts embrace your head like hunting snakes, they coil and squeeze.

Such brooding led you to the enclosure in the dark of night. The majority of the tributes are resting but you can’t imagine that they’re heavy sleepers. So you stay stealthy, practically tip-toeing towards the brass bars. You scan the yard, the faulty street lamps as your only light source, it’s hard to make out anything really. Soft hands wrap around the bars as you lean towards them, not too close just in case.

Naively you ignore any warning signs and whisper his name. It’s quiet but still raises goosebumps on your skin. Nothing. You whisper again before you hear a small scuff of shoes against concrete. You look over to locate the noise and see Reaper stood up now. Relief flushes you for some reason as you gesture to him to come closer. He does so and you remove one of your hands from the set of bars.

He now stands in front of you, eyes still harsh but now more tired. You flash a small grin before delving your now free hand into your jacket pocket. Pulling out an ivory-shaded handkerchief. It’s wrapped around a small pile of food. Crumbly biscuits, a single finger sandwich and a few strips of cured meat.

The wrapping comes undone as you move it to his direction. He looks at it for a moment before furrowing his brows.

“It’s safe. I promise, I snuck it away at lunch.” Your tone is hushed, like your coddling a small animal, fearing that it may run away from you. He slowly reaches out for the food, almost scared that if he moves too quickly you’d snatch it away. But you don’t, the bridge of his shoulders falls down a little.

“You can share it with the girl.” You mutter, looking over his shoulder. He does so as well to see the curly-haired sleeping on the concrete ground, there is a crease in her brow and a pained grimace on her face. He looks back at you and nods slightly.

“In the morning I’ll bring you more, when the camera is rolling you can give her some” you pause while brushing your hand against your cold cheeks. “It will help you get sponsors that might aid at your chance of winning. People will purchase water and food and then I can send it to you in the arena.” Reaper didn’t say anything back. It felt weird talking about this but there wasn’t much else you could do.

You murmur out short goodbyes before walking away. Unbeknownst to you, he watches as you do so, crimson coloured skirt moving in the breeze.

It was painful to watch. Children lined in a circle around the arena, some were sobbing. The ache gnawed at your bones as the alarm rang out, it was like they all went mad as soon as it happened. Bloodshed was grisly, and you couldn’t do anything but watch. Reaper was quick to charge towards the centre, right to the rubble, right to the weapons.

He picked up one of the swords and lurched it back and forth into the back of another tribute. Blade held tight in his hands that you once admired. He ran back to Dill, in the moment you didn’t know if it was out of protection or blood-hunger.

Observing the hunger games wasn’t exactly normal to you. Your mother was quick to guide your eyes away from screens whenever it would play out, now you knew why.

The remaining tributes all seem to run down into the basements. A part of you was relieved at the fact, but another dreaded seeing Reaper killed on the dim recordings.

A few hours go by before you see him or his tribute partner, hours not spent calm. You quickly recognize the head of curls stumbling over to the lone water bottle that had been previously put there by Lucy Gray, the songbird; you wonder if she managed to tamper with it somehow.

Dill kneels down beside it and opens the cap. The sickness in her lungs makes her whole body shake as she tips the bottle towards her mouth. Only a small sip before she lies down on the floor.

Reaper appears again and you sit up straighter, he calls out to Dill while walking over to her. He checks over his shoulder all too often when he finally makes it to her.

He shakes her gently before flipping her over, then you notice the stream of blood poured out of her nose. She lays there dead as Reaper mourns her, screaming. You feel sick again, like the first time you saw him.

A minute goes by before he lifts Dill’s lifeless body and walks her over to the other fallen tributes. He does the same to the ones across the arena, laying them gently on the ground before walking over to the Capitol flag hanging. He rips the fabric off its hinges.

Caws of outrage sound out in the stadium as students alike throw curses at the boy, you stay seated, eyes unmoving from him.

He spreads the flag over the bodies, a make-do graveyard. Reaper turns to the camera placed over top of the centre of the ground and spreads his arms out.

“Are you going to punish me now?” He questions; an act of rebellion. He repeats the sentence, only louder now. It’s quickly cut off and the screen is now plastered with Dr. Gaul’s face. She makes a statement but you're not listening.

You don’t know when the screens go back to the games, you can’t bear to watch. Only when the tank is dropped off by a helicopter can you bear to look up again. Reaper is sitting, kneeling in front of the makeshift gravesite.

Then, the young girl Wovey steps out from the rubble pile. She walks over to the tank and starts speaking. Questioning if it’s over, if she can go home. You swallow any grief as Reaper calls her name. Like clockwork, the glass of the tank starts cracking before it explodes.

Masses of multicoloured snakes are quick to move towards the last people, enveloping them. Screams ring out as the remaining tributes run away. Reaper doesn’t. He stays kneeling, eyes closed.

You watch as it happens, you are curious if it is painful. As the snakes shroud around his body you want to choke. After all, his blood will forever stain your hands.

#.my writing #.tbosas #tbosas x reader #the hunger games x reader #hunger games x reader #reaper ash x reader #reaper x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #reaper ash

[highpatia]

glances short | the hunger games: tbosas

sejanus plinth/reader — hurt/comfort but mainly hurt, angst, goodbyes

content. angst, spoilers?

author’s note. another short fic but oh well (0.690k)

You’d never forget the warmth his gaze felt on your skin. Like an early summer morning, the sunlight beaming on your waking figure. You were quick to keep it hidden in your reminiscence, like it would be effortless to strip it away from you.

The late nights that were spent together, you’d sneak into his bedroom from the cracked window. Embracing one another in the wake of night, skipping pages of worn books. You knew it was risky from the start. A cloak-and-dagger type of relationship, hidden by bedsheets and sheer glances to one another.

“A small ceremony, maybe in the forest or on the coastline. Just you and me, maybe my parents but they’d never let it be so quiet.” He whispered against your hair and he held you tight to his body.

You laughed quietly, hands rolling over his forearms in comfort. “Then, we’d run away. Far away from the Capitol, maybe to district two, back home.” The words lingered on his tongue like he was tasting them for the first time, never would you think he wanted to go back there.

You hum in agreement before tilting your head back, looking at his face. Sejanus’ eyes held contentment as he looked back into yours— but a modest hint of trouble, like he was expecting you to laugh in his face at the idea of fleeing. As you both had a life here in the Capitol. It wasn’t perfect of course, but you’d be sparse to find it anywhere else in Panem.

Ignoring the weight in your gut you tilt your head further before leaning in and pressing a small kiss to his lips. It was quick but it still painted a subtle red to his cheeks. “I’ll go wherever you go, Sejanus. I promise.”

You were told that messing with the Plinth boy would most likely get you expelled, but you were willing to be caught in the maw of the Capitol’s fat cats if it meant you’d be there with your boy.

He was kind. In one way or another, too kind. He didn’t fit in with his peers, they thought of him as district scum. If you were any greener, the same ideas would have run circles in your head. But you knew he was as kind as he was gentle, always dreaming of making a difference, altering the course of life.

So when you found yourself with dewy eyes looking at him in distress, you knew he wouldn’t change his mind about it.

“It’ll be over before you know it. I’ll come back home to you after my service and then we’ll wed.” It was like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “Just like we talked about.” His hands were trembling as he held your tear ridden face.

You lifted your hands to the top of his head. They’d shaved Sejanus’ hair for the field, as childish as it was you couldn’t help but feel grief for the lack of his soft tresses. He choked out a laugh before grazing his calloused thumbs over the surface of your face, brushing away the fresh tears.

He lent forwards and knocked his forehead against yours, eyes closed. He kept himself close to you for a moment, just revelling in the joint intimacy between the two of you. A few minutes went by before the bell rang out, indicating that the train was about to depart. It made your heart drop as small sobs began to escape you again, Sejanus silenced you with a kiss and gripped your shaking hands in his.

“Promise me you’ll wait, please.” His voice was quivering, as you separate, his now open eyes glossed over. “Promise me you won’t forget about me.” He says while removing himself from your figure. You blubber out promises as he lets go of your hands and begins walking over to the train door.

You stand unmoving, like you were stuck in a forever nightmare. As he looks over his shoulder to see you while stepping into the carriage, you can’t help but dredge that this is the last look you’ll ever share.

#.my writing #.tbosas #tbosas x reader #the hunger games x reader #hunger games x reader #thg x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #sejanus plinth

[highpatia]

daisies | the hunger games: tbosas

lucy gray baird/reader — fluff drabble

content. cute blurb with lucy gray, no triggers that i’m aware of?

author’s note. i’ve been struggling with writers block lately (shocker) i’m kinda tempted to do requests but idk if anyone would lol 🤷🏻‍♀️ (0.366k)

Songbird tunes fill the summer air, but it’s not birds that are singing. Lucy Gray, district twelve’s very own balladeer, lying legs crossed on the meadow flora. Spots of forest grass coat her honey skin, morning dew in shining pearls.

Her head is resting on your lap, chocolate curls coil over your thighs. As you place another small daisy in her hair, you can’t help but admire her as she lays there singing to you. It was always a great comfort to you, her voice.

It was reminiscent of early mornings, canary tunes to waken you from slumber. Capitol interval did rid you of that serenity, it just so happens that birds are fearful of demand and often, gunshots.

It was only the mockingjays that lingered on, imitating life itself— as if it was an act of rebellion.

But you couldn’t bear to cradle the act of protest, not when with Lucy Gray. Though she was anything but a conformist, her soul was wild tranquillity. She wasn’t exactly close to the heart of the mayor, or anyone really in the region, but she would always be to you.

No amount of revulsion she conjured would change the fact that you’d always love her.

You were torn out of your daydream shortly after her singing turned to humming. Glancing down to your lap where she laid, her eyes were now open, looking back into yours. As you lock gazes, a warm smile envelopes on her face, you can’t help but mirror her.

Lucy Gray lets out a small chuckle before brushing the back of her hand against your cheek. Her thin fingers glide over the surface of your face before stopping at your chin. Thumb and forefinger grasp just under your jaw, the palm of her hand resting against your neck.

She’s silent now as she watches you, eyes bouncing back and forth between your eyes and lips before lingering back on your smile. For a moment, there is nothing. The typical forest sounds now drowned out, it even feels like the breeze stopped. Just two loves, serene together in the woods.

You’d spent a thousand lifetimes dreary in district twelve if it was with Lucy Gray.

#.my writing #.tbosas #tbosas x reader #hunger games x reader #the hunger games x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader

[highpatia]

one too many coriolanus snow fanfictions, not enough of literally any other character.

#.rambles #tbosas #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #i’m still eating up the coryo fics tho #guilty 🤷🏻‍♀️ #need me some jessup and reaper pls 🙏🏻 #i guess i’ll just have to write them myself

[highpatia]

jealous | mortal kombat 1

johnny cage/reader — fluff, bodyguard!au

content. gn!r, r wears a suit 👀, a little suggestive? jealously duh, television references, reader is a lil delusional for a bit #mecore

author’s note. ofcourse i had to write a fic for my sassy man first 🤞🏻think I used the word ‘quickly’ too much 🤔 (2.262k)

You must’ve looked like a great fool stood there. Shoulders broad and hunched like an anticipating soldier ready for battle. If someone looked close enough they probably could envision the leaking malachite-like muck oozing from your very build— jealousy is a green-eyed monster as one would say.

From where you stand firmly, arms parallel to the unnoticeably grimy wall of this supposed “nationally-favoured” nightclub where apparently the biggest stars come to mingle and drink their woes away— you can’t help but stare. The man of the hour, Johnny Cage, surrounded by sleazy greeds searching for a pay rise and eager half-dressed bawds sucking up to him for whatever. You can’t help but stare as he so easily talks off any man or woman ready to use him for all he has, you can’t help but feel ill as they practically cling to him like leaches but you force yourself to remember that this your job to watch him keep him safe, from a distance of course.

The conversations don’t quite reach you from where you are but the loud laughter and jestering keeps your gaze suspicious. The relaxed posture and half buttoned up dress shirt prove to you that he’s relaxed. Coy smiles and a flirty tone of voice, you’d be inclined to think that his eyes are supporting a similar look if they weren’t disguised by his silvered specs prove that he may just enjoy this type of attention.

An intrusive feeling brews deep within your gut. It boils with blood-flavoured envy and lathers itself with desire. Unfamiliar thoughts bubble, its taste alike to sour grapes. It burns your chest and you can help but want to heave them back out again before consumption. But there is something about it. You know deep down that if you keep chewing, there is an addictive sweetness to the centre.

It isn’t until you feel a hand laid upon your left shoulder do you realise that perhaps you appear too zealous in your nature of guardianship. You look to the culprit of the interference and are greeted with a distantly familiar face, the club's bartender. Regardless of the recognition you can’t seem to put a name to the face, Lloyd, Moe? Another thing foggy in your mind as you only have one focus. He hands you a glass. It’s filled about halfway with an amber shaded liquid inside, a near perfect shaped ice sphere in the centre. You look at him ungratified.

“I can’t drink on the job. You know that right?”

He smiles. Perhaps you’d consider it warm if you weren’t so tense. The bartender is a common face you see when visiting the club, you’d be accustomed to believe that he’s the only one that works here full-time.

“It wouldn’t kill you to relax for a moment dear”

He jests, if it was a gentleman any younger than him you would’ve struck him right in the middle of his wrinkled nose.

“But it might kill him” you respond swiftly, lacking in emotion as you still hold onto the glass

“Gods above, he’s one of the best martial artists this world has ever known. If anyone tried it, he’d be the first to know.”

“Better safe than sorry, or fired.”

He laughs silently at your quip, greying hair brushing over his forehead as he turns his head to face the toast of the town, or globe to be literal.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you're jealous” He ponders, you can’t see his face fully anymore but you can picture the ever-growing smirk. Pulling a stunned choke of breath from you.

“Shouldn’t you be tending to your bar, old man? I’m in no need of banter as I work.. and no, it’s not jealousy, you are mistaken, old man.”

The rapid response of foul words and slight shake to your tone practically prove the question true. You look to him desperately as if to convince him false of lies— but he doesn’t face you again, but it still feels as if he’s laughing right into yours. The bartender then gives you a subtle nod before stepping past you and down the small set of stairs, then you are left to your running thoughts again. As if transfixed by your own perspective, you bring the glass up to your lips and take a swig of the alcohol inside.

Like fighting fire with fire, liquor burns just right in your gullet. Its wood-like essence reminds you of a toasty warmth only one could bring, no matter how much denial you face.

Looking over to face the superstar again you notice that his head is turned to face in your general direction, the almost obnoxious smile that was plastered on his face only moments ago was now replaced by a near flirty grin. Shaded glasses still rested against his eyes, you can’t help but feel he was looking right at you. As your heart begins to race, you fidget around. You sit up abit more from your previously slouched position and grapple onto your cuffed sleeve, playing with the stray thread that had become unwoven. As if he could see right through you, his smile turns more cheshire, like he had just caught you in the act. You ignore him diligently— or instead the ever growing fluster in your cheeks, instead focusing on the buttons of your cuffed shirt.

It isn’t until you hear the saddened whines of harlots and hurried murmurs of desperate businessmen do you realise that he is walking straight towards you.

“Alright! Drinking on the job? That’s not like you at all Costner”

You're quick to stammer out reason but he is quicker to shut it down with a wave of his hand, the brass ring that he wears shines under the dingy lights.

“I don’t know about you but I am beat! You ready to go home or do you request another beverage?”

Like most often his tone is joking, but you can’t help the flush of your cheeks and the sputtering of breath before giving up and just nodding your head in agreement, it’s probably just from the alcohol you think. He laughs and says nothing as he plucks the old-fashioned from your clammy hands before knocking back the rest of the drink himself. After he finishes the drink, your drink, he leans down towards you.

“Let’s get outta here yeah?” He doesn’t even give you time to respond before he turns around and guides you out the front entrance. Comparable to a lost puppy, you follow posthaste.

Back at the mansion you begin to feel more at ease, like a metaphorical weight had been lifted from your shoulders. The mansion was somewhat familiar to you as you’d only been in it a few times, but it still brings a sense of security to you.

There is an almost proud lick of pride that swells in your chest as you lounge on the ruby shaded sofa in the dimmed living room, dress tie slightly loosened.

Johnny pads back into the living room with two liquor-filled glasses in his hand, identical to the one the both of you shared in the club. He hands one to you before sitting down next to you.

He groans before rolling his neck around, you can't seem to lie to yourself and think that it doesn’t do anything to you. As you look at him you notice that his sunglasses are no longer on his face and silk dress shirt seems to be unbuttoned even more that what it was before. You gulp silently before taking a small sip of your drink.

He leans back while looking up at the roof, you replicate the actions and do the same. Ripples of the pool water dance on the roof, matched with golden hues of the sunset calm your prior anxieties as you sink further back into the couch. It’s quiet for a few minutes, occasional clinking of melting ice from your glasses.

After another few silent moments, Johnny huffs before sitting back up, you automatically do the same as if transfixed by his actions. He smirks again before turning to face you.

“You wanna go swimming?”

You freeze. Your boss, the man that you have been protecting from the past several months, has just asked you to practically get naked with him.

“I- what?!” You splutter, if he couldn't tell you were nervous before, he definitely can now.

“Yeah! Come on, it'll be fun, I never get to use this pool anymore.”

That’s a dirty lie, every time you’ve been here he’s either just gotten out of the pool or “planning” to get in. You try to work up the courage to speak but all words are stuck in your throat as he places his glass on the coffee table before standing up and further unbuttoning his shirt.

It feels as if your heart was about to beat out of your very chest as you watch Johnny strip down from the corner of your eye. He stops at his underwear but you still feel completely perverted as you do so, but also can’t help but feel that’s exactly what he wants you to feel. As he walks over to the pool he looks at you from over his shoulder and cheekily laughs at your avoidance to look at him. You can hear the splashing of the water as he walks down the shallow steps before jumping in the rest of the way.

Whilst searching for excuses, your brain is too busy battling itself for any reason to run straight out the front door and never face this man again, or just giving up and joining him right now.

Your thoughts are hastily stopped when he hums to catch your narrowed attention. You turn slowly to see him as he moves around in the water. Sun kissed skin now painted with small water droplets, the sunset causes rays of orange and yellow to shine on his muscular chest. He looks at you expectedly, eyes shining with a look you’ve never really seen before. Maybe the alcohol really has gotten to you because you're quick to scoff jokingly before standing up and begin to leisurely take your clothes off. He laughs pridefully as if he was in a movie roll, like a knight after he has just won a great battle. He turns towards the other edge of the pool before leaning out over the railing, not before catching a quick glance at you.

As you swim over to him, you can’t help but admire his physique. Back taut with defined muscles like one of those ancient statues of gods that you’d see in museums. The way the singular droplets of water run down his spine, you can’t help but feel jealous— for all the right reasons.

“What happened earlier, at the nightclub?” He questions as you move to lean over the edge with him.

“What do you mean? Did something happen?”

He scoffs and turns around so that his back is leaning up against the railing. “No. Nothing happened, I mean, you were looking all mad when we were there.”

“Oh” you pause, clearing your throat “I was just thinking I guess, about the job” you try to joke for once but it seems as if he’s not amused.

“You think about the job, while on the job?”

“Well, no. I was just thinking about what I normally think about, like scouting out the exits, seeing what kind of people are around—”

“Hey.” He interrupts, shortly.

“I- I don’t know? It was when you were sitting there with all those people, they cling to you like leeches, like those girls? They were practically throwing themselves at you and.. it was just embarrassing” You try to laugh off your own words but it’s cut pretty short.

He’s silent again. Honestly, it’s the quietest you’ve ever seen him. A short moment goes by before he starts chuckling to himself. You sat there confused as he does so.

“Were you- were you jealous?” He asks, the infamous smirk plastered back on his face.

“What? No, I wasn’t jealous” you laugh to yourself as you turn around as well.

He’s quick to move again but this time he corners you in, trapping you between the edge of the pool and himself. Now you are sure he can hear your heart pounding against your chest.

“Come on tell me the truth” he urges

You can’t seem to say anything as he slides his hands along the bannister of the pool, edging very close to the middle of your bare shoulders. He blinks slowly, eyes peering into yours almost sensually before quickly glancing at your lips. You can’t seem to find any palpable lies to convince him, or yourself.

The tension in the air is suffocating, it’s left you speechless.

There is a hesitation when he looks down to your lips and then back to your eyes, you read it almost instantly. The wavering is quickly dismissed as you both are instantaneous to close the distance between you. His mouth crashing into yours in a heated kiss. One of his hands flies off the railing and onto your waist, somehow pulling you closer to him. Your shock is unrestrained immediately as you wrap your hands around his neck. The kiss is messy, teeth clattering against each other, desperate as you both are. You have to pull away first, shallow breaths are forced out in urgency. For a moment, that’s all you do, just breathe.

“Yeah. Maybe I was a bit jealous.”

#nawt edited #.mk #.my writing #johnny cage x reader #mk1 x reader #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader

[highpatia]

that dog won’t hunt | call of duty: modern warefare

simon “ghost” riley/reader — Wild West!au (1880’s) not-so-cute meet cute but also enemies to lovers 👀 maybe a part 2 MAYBE.

content. non-canon, time period correct sexism (fem!reader), alcohol, violence, bounty hunting?

author’s note. was originally gonna be a erron black fic but changed it halfway through lol (1.374k)

The whiskey burns in you the same way it would a furnace. Molten liquid kindles your gullet like a well-weathered smithy— eloquently so. Not very often would you find yourself leant over a frequented bar top, with an old fashioned sat barren in your hand. You’ve never travelled so far out past the desert, long hours on the road under the hot sun were just grovelling for a quick rest at a settlement. The small town of Armadillo was your stopping point, it was fairly empty excluding a few elderly locals— it seemed vacant of any further problems.

Pushing open the saloon doors you quickly took notice of the occupants inside. Four middle aged to senior gentlemen sat in the corner playing a calm game of poker, one man sat at the bar chatting with the bartender that was polishing a glass, a woman draped over the edge of a stairwell watching for easy game to satisfy her needs and lastly another young looking boy sat playing a gentle tune on a piano.

Sauntering up to the bartender, with only a soothing glass of whiskey in your mind— you fail to make notice of the concealed figure of another occupant in the saloon.

Flagging down the bar hand, you repeat your order to them in a gruff tone. Throat taut with hours of lacking use, you cough to clear your voice. The barkeep smirks while pouring your glass.

“You’ve been travelling long? We don’t usually get new customers here.”

Tossing over a coin as payment, you scoff humorlessly. “You don’t know the half of it, I’ve come from up north through that late storm.”

He grimaces, moustache pulling upwards as he slides the lucre towards his apron before pocketing it. You quickly down the liquor with a subtle wince before urging the bartender with another coin to refill the glass which he does so diligently, movement behind you emerges and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Quickly you tense up in case of harm of the sort but ultimately subsides as another gentleman scooches up beside you.

It’s evident that he is quite drunk as stumbles to stand up right before gesturing to the server for another drink. As the barkeep turns around to prepare the drink, you briefly look at your latest companion. It appears it’s one of the younger men that you saw earlier playing poker, his face is clearer now— and it’s not pretty. Unfortunately he takes notice of your staring and turns to face you. He blinks slowly, cat-like as if he was trying to make out your face in his head before opening his riotous mouth.

“Have we met before? Ya look familiar”

Your face stays stoical but unease builds up inside your gut. Have they got you on the lam out here too?

“No, I’m not from around here at all— I haven’t even been this far south before.” You state, technically it’s not a lie but this varmint doesn’t need to know that.

“Are ya sure? I mean.. ya look real familiar, have I bedded ya before?”

Your face contorts with disposition, of course that’s where his mind goes to— adequate in amour-propre means you lack dignity in others.

“No, I’m not in that line of work, sad to say, perhaps you're confusing me for someone else” You try to move the conversation beyond your apparent.. identity. Just as this bonehead is about to question you again, the doors of the saloon retch open. Faint creaking of the floorboards grows louder as well as metal rattling of spurs sync along with steps of another dweller. They draw closer and you unconsciously start to feel distress again.

As the other individual that was sitting quietly at the bar leaves, another sits down alongside you and your buzzing fool. The new bar-goer pulls out a revolver from a leather holster tight across his thigh before sitting, you can hear the hide crease as he does. He drops several coins on top of the bar table before speaking.

“Whiskey. Neat.” He speaks slowly, a gravelling husk-filled voice. He has an accent that is much to foreign to here. You turn slightly to see him, access this apparent danger that is causing your heart to race.

He wears a mask that covers the lower half of his face, a Stetson hat that covers his head. Casual attire and a blackened vest with a multi-coloured bandana wrapped around his neck. Covered practically head-to-toe you wonder if he also is a distant traveller like you, but then— what if he’s followed you here? As you fight mental demons in your head, the fool sitting next to you turns his attention to the new man at the bar.

“Why ‘ave ya got that mask on? You hidin’ from someone mister?”

You can’t help but flinch as the drunken idiot speaks, you contemplate reaching over and grabbing the gun sat atop the table and shoot him in the head, and then your own.

“No. It’s for work, protection.”

“Ah, and what is it you do for work that requires a mask and guns mister?”

The dunce snorts after his question, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever said.

“Casual work. Bounty hunting.”

The air goes still, you even think the young boy playing piano stops suddenly that’s how quiet it is. Instantly your throat goes dryer than it was before your drink, and you regret ever stepping in this miserable bar. You look quickly for means to escape, perhaps through this backdoor— as soon as you locate it at least. In your mindless thoughts, the man you failed to notice when walking in makes himself present by laying his grimy hand atop your already tense shoulder. He leans in over you and places a smudged piece of paper in front of you. It reads your name, and a large sum underneath, along with a poorly drawn portrait of yourself.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to take this one off your hands Ghost. You understand, I'm sure.” The voice trails out behind you, the grip on your shoulder getting tighter.

As “Ghost” turns to face this new character that has found themselves at this practically now empty bar as everyone with a right sense of mind has slipped out quietly to ensure their lives, the drunkard once again opens his mouth.

“That’s where I recognised you from dolly! You’re a wanted girl you are!”

In a sense of distraction, you quickly try to stand up and make a run for it— only to run towards another man standing behind you, holding a shotgun. It appears that you were also distracted enough to not consider that these bounty hunters did not have backup of any sorts.

Stunned by your attempted escape, the second unnamed bounty hunter quickly jumps to turn around and grab you again but in time meets his demise as “Ghost” quickly grabs his revolver and fires it straight into the back of the other man’s head. The second attacker receives the same treatment as he was also caught off guard by the first gunshot.

You scream before you can think for yourself, eyes now shut tightly as blood sprayed over the already grimy walls— now fearing for your life even more.

For a beat, nothing happens. Just the two gunshots ringing out. The fool, once again is the first to break the silence by a loud guffaw of shock, of course the death of two men in front of him was enough to sober him up right. He turns to face Ghost from his seat and slaps him on the shoulder— almost proudly.

“Good on you bounty hunter, protecting those in need!”

He stands suddenly, stretches his arms up over his head in mock surrender and begins stumbling towards the front entrance. You watch in shock as he does so, this fool treating this situation as if he does it every week.

“Don’t be a git now Soap, I’ll come fetch you from the sheriff’s tomorrow morning once you sober up” Ghost says while holstering his weapon. He steps up over the fresh corpse and over to you.

“We should probably get on out of here doll, I saw the back door when I walked in.”

#.my writing #.cod #nawt edited #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader #cod fanfic #x reader #call of duty fanfic

[highpatia]

paige ౨ৎ any pronouns, seventeen. helios’ shine & urania’s star. currently craving: farleigh start ❦ — majorly inconsistent writer.

masterlist. rules & guidelines. fandom/character list.

most recent. like real people do — god of war: ragnarok

upcoming.

©HIGHPATIA 2024. no reposts, translations or copies.

#do not reblog

[highpatia]

author’s note. me when friends-to-enemies-to-lovers and miscommunication trope (0.750k)

“Was thinkin’ about you out there in the frost” he confesses, with lousy grace. It surprises you almost, John Marston was not one to grant you closeness— much less courtship. He lays stiff on the rickety cot, it’s drapery caked with years-old dust. It creaks under his weight as he manoeuvres himself to lie down comfortably. You offer a quick scolding hum of breath, to avert him from re-opening any wounds.

“Why’s that? No concern for yourself as your bein’ attacked by wolves?”

“Well not then, but when I was laying there alone n’ cold. I was tryin’ to think about what you’d be thinking about.”

“For what reason? You thought I was scared?”

“A little. I was thinking how’d you react if I was found dead, would you be sad? Would you beg for forgiveness? Or would you continue like I wasn’t even here in the first place.” He doesn’t really think that, not really. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you— and it appears to be working.

You scoff and stand up from the tottering stool, your face screwed up with aversion. It’s practically routine now. Ever since John Marston vanished from the camp that rainy-winter night, you haven’t really forgiven him since— considering the fact that he left a woman bearing his child to raise it on her own. But with Abigail’s pregnancy, you knew she wouldn’t always be alone. Of course she had you and the rest of the gang members for support, she didn’t need John. But you did, even when you didn’t want to acknowledge it. John’s disappearance left you gutted like a thanksgiving pig. Sure, Abigail’s pregnancy hurt your pride but the reality of John clearing off like he was offered salvation from living hurt your soul.

John acts as though he majorly understands your inner turmoil, and you hate him for it. He lays there beaten, fresh wounds ripped open his face and he stares wilfully at you. Subsequently branded by one of nature’s beasts of prey, he still acts like a reigning gladiator.

You assess him quickly, he is physically vulnerable right now but you can’t keep disregarding the truth. Pulling your woollen shawl closer to you, you step back and begin walking to the door.

John splutters, eyes now wide with shock as you turn back to him in confusion. As if your departure is causing him more physical pain, he groans out like he has no words. In an act of apparent desperation, he declares an ultimatum.

“Wait!”

To wait for John Marston is to wait for the earth to orbit the sun ten times over.

“I ain’t tryin’ ta make you mad, I’m just trying to.. figure out what’s wrong— what I did wrong.”

His confession leaves you star-struck, you can’t help but laugh in shock. Not under any circumstances, not even for riches or liberation would the wanted outlaw, John Marston think that he did something wrong. And that he was trying to do something about it.

“What you did wrong? What didn’t you do wrong Marston. You ran off! You left Arthur, you left the woman mothering your son, you left me! I never thought you’d come back and then you did and act like nothing happened, you expect everyone to fall over for you and do nothing for it!”

To hear a pin drop is silence, and you definitely brought it. Due to your accidental outburst, your now not-so-secret secret was revealed— and now finally, he understands. He now understands so well that it blinds his commonsense. He sits up hastily, as if you’d be snatched from him if he was cautious with it. The bandages wrapped around his torso strain against his movements as he stumbles to you. In quick thinking (or lack thereof) he positions his calloused hands on your reddened face and pulls you lips to his unyieldingly, not too harsh to force you into it— he leaves enough space for you to back up if need be. Yet you can’t bring yourself to do it, he is gentle. The most gentle you’ve ever seen him, it frightens you almost. Like he’d reach around and stab you in the back if it was his goal, but he doesn’t— he would never.

He pauses and pulls away, you almost want to chase after him but holding yourself back you look at him expectantly. He hasn’t smiled ever since his injury, but he does now.

“I’d always come back to you.”

#.my writing #.rdr #rdr x reader #rdr2 x reader #john marston x reader #rdr fanfiction #red dead redemption x reader #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 john #john marston #write a small fic and then leave for like a month #see u in late september✌🏻

[highpatia]

yes he is evil and yes, i would treat him good.

#.rambles #twd x reader #rdr2 #cod #anime #micheal myers #dio brando #twd #jjba #anime x reader #sukuna #vladimir makarov #cod x reader #rdr x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #negan smith #slashers x reader #slashers #dutch van der linde #attack on titan #jjk #thomas hewitt #dc x reader #gotham #pyramid head #only a little delulu #like this much 🤏🏻 #i like ‘‘em with enough mental issues to cause a writers strike

[highpatia]

currently thinking about a military-esque “meet cute” with gaz. maybe you’re a liberation fighter in the deserts of urzikstan, combating the russian occupation alongside formerly captive troopers— or maybe you’re restraining attacks from drug cartels and corrupt pmcs with deserted squaddies. either way— kyle garrick is true militant, loyal like a dog. sure he often sticks out like a sore thumb, a fresh-faced stripling, armed to the teeth. he is no more devoted than a grizzled veteran. but his misplaced temper is no different then to those who have been shaped by war.

regardless, your shared introduction isn’t a ordinarily known romance. kyle garrick stands proud amongst his fellow soldiers and captain, he is proud to represent his force, but you can almost see right through him. it’s almost as if your looking through a mirror— because in actuality, you are not very different from him. the feeling of courage and assurance is powerful, it’s easy to get high off— but you will still always feel that lingering sense of solitude.

so when you lock eyes with the sergeant, postures straightened high and broad like your both trying to armour yourselves with the truth, there is a recognition between you. maybe you can share that journey together.

#.my writing #.cod #cod x reader #kyle garrick x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty fluff #this is what happens when I try to fight writers block #it’s not working in case you couldn’t tell