#probably far longer than I should but still trying to hold out hope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suashii · 8 months

Text

୨♡୧ SEPTEMBER 9TH — itoshi rin x reader. sfw. fluff. happiest birthday to my forever boy! can't believe i've been obsessed with him for a year ❤︎

september ninth. you’ve made a habit of circling the date on your calendar—drawing party hats and flying scribbles of confetti on it—for the past couple of years now. you make a big deal of the day but the man you’re celebrating doesn’t share the sentiment.

if anyone walking down the street beside you two looked at rin, they’d never guess that it was his birthday. there’s no excitement radiating off of him, not even a hint of a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. as far as he seems to be concerned, today is just another day.

rin has never been big on his birthday but you do find it a little strange that he hasn’t mentioned the occasion once since you met up with him this morning. you have an excuse for neglecting to tell him happy birthday earlier in the day, having planned a small surprise for the man who claims to hate them, though, you’d like to be sure it won’t interfere with a prior engagement of his.

“what are you doing when you get home?” you nudge rin’s shoulder with your own to punctuate the question. you hope it comes off as a casual conversation starter rather than an attempt at prodding for information.

“don’t know.” he usually ignores your antics, though this time rin mirrors your action, gently bumping his shoulder against yours. your lips twitch with a threatening smile at the rare reciprocation. “probably just eat dinner and watch a movie.”

it sounds like his typical routine when the two of you part ways for the evening. on one hand, that clears you to go through with your plans. on the other hand, it feeds your growing curiosity. has he really been navigating today as though there was nothing even relatively special about it?

again, you try not to give away too much by pushing the issue while still learning more. “nothing else?”

“no.” his feet continue on their path but the man turns his head slightly to look at you. teal eyes bore into yours like they’re looking beyond the surface, deep into your mind. it’s difficult to tell if he’s onto you. “should i be doing anything more?”

you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. “i guess not.”

a moment passes before you’re no longer the subject of his gaze, his eyes looking forward once more. a tiny sigh of relief pushes past your lips, like his stare was a heavy weight that was lifted off your shoulders. “hey, can i join you for the movie?”

“knock yourself out.”

you grin at his words, though you didn’t think he’d decline your request. rin may seem outwardly unfriendly but, deep down, he has a soft spot and you’re one of the few people capable of reaching it. you’re about to tease him about the juxtaposition between his cold delivery and its underlying kindness when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

you and rin are stopped at the crosswalk waiting for the light to signal your turn when you pull out your phone. the screen lights up with a photo of the two of you; you with your tongue stuck out and rin holding up bunny ears behind your head. just looking at it brings back memories of the day and how much of a hassle it was to get rin to pose with you. despite his resilience, it worked out in your favor in the end and gave you your favorite picture with him to date.

you quickly remember why you brought your phone out, eyes dragging down the screen to read the notification banner. it’s a text reminder that the gift you ordered for rin is ready. you’ve been anxiously awaiting the message all day, hoping it wouldn’t arrive when he was looking at your phone. you discreetly glance up at him to see if he caught a glimpse of it, but his eyes are carefully watching the crosswalk lights.

“shoot, i forgot i have to go pick something up,” you blurt out, shoving your phone back into your pocket. your announcement gains rin’s attention and his eyebrow quirks in question. you don’t quell his curiosity, instead pointing your thumb over your shoulder in the direction you’ll be heading. “i’ll be over your place after—don’t start the movie without me!”

rin watches you rush off. he doesn’t have much time to wonder about how odd you’ve been acting before the crowd of pedestrians around him begins to move and he’s carried away with it.

you severely underestimated how hard it would be to single-handedly pull off a surprise party for someone you spend practically every waking moment with. there isn’t enough time in the day for everything you need to do. the sporting goods store and bakery are farther apart than you anticipated and it’s only after you’ve retrieved rin’s gift and cake that you realize you don’t have wrapping paper or candles. by the time you’re on your way home to prepare everything, the sun is beginning to set.

“all done!” you clap your hands together before resting them on your hips as you survey your work. the cake is still safely packed away in its box, a small pack of candles sitting on top of it. the present you bought for rin is neatly wrapped in the owl-patterned paper you couldn’t resist getting when you first saw it in the store.

you’re sure you look a little frazzled after running around to put everything together but if you take the time to freshen up, you’ll be even later arriving at rin's place than you had originally planned. and, in all honesty, you’re too excited to wait any longer. rin surely won’t care if a few hairs are out of place on your head.

with that final thought, you gather up everything and start on your way to his apartment.

the knock pattern rin has come to associate with you sounds from the foyer, indicating your arrival. he was almost sure you had gotten caught up with whatever you ran off for earlier as it’s much later than he was expecting you. still, he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that his heart felt lighter in his chest upon hearing the familiar noise.

there’s a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue when he reaches the door, though it dies there when he’s met with your image after pulling the door open.

with a smile that reaches your eyes, you hold up the cake carton by its handle and exclaim, “happy birthday!”

rin stands silent, still, before you. if it weren’t for his somewhat parted lips and slightly raised eyebrows, you’d think he didn’t hear you. something about the look of surprise written on his face cements your sneaking suspicions from earlier.

“oh my god.” you lower the cake to your side, brow furrowing with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. rin has never been big on his birthday but you didn’t think he cared this little about it. “did you seriously forget that it’s your birthday?”

rin presses his lips together and relaxes his eyebrows, returning to his usual, calm expression. it’s true, today’s date slipped his mind. he isn’t sure why you’re making a big deal out of it, though. because all he can think is, “it’s not like it’s anything sp—”

“ah-ah-ah! don’t you dare finish that sentence.” if you could hold up a finger to shush him, you would. your hands are full at the moment so you settle for letting yourself in, gently pushing past rin and haphazardly kicking your shoes off. your eyes meet his as you look over your shoulder. “there’s still a few hours left in the day so we’re spending the rest of it celebrating.”

you leave little room for argument and while rin isn’t particularly excited by the idea of his birthday, he’s willing to play nice—only because you put so much thought into it. so, without resistance, he closes the door and follows you over to the couch.

you’ve set everything on his coffee table by the time he plops down next to you. his eyes are drawn to the rectangular box wrapped in the paper printed with cartoon owls. you must notice his lingering gaze because when you speak up, you tell him, “go ahead, open it.”

rin’s movements feel slow and awkward as he reaches for the present. if he had to guess why, he’d put his money on the fact that you’re watching him so intently. the box is weighty in his hands. his fingers carefully peel up the tape in an attempt to preserve your wrapping efforts. the name of a brand rin recognizes is revealed once he gets past the decorative wrap. he lifts the box’s lid and beneath the thin tissue paper he pushes past is a pair of cleats—the exact pair he’s been thinking about upgrading to for a while now.

“you always have the tab open on your laptop so i figured i’d just buy them for you,” your voice sounds from beside him. rin turns his head to face you and is met with your sparkling smile. leave it to you to be so attentive. he supposes you always have been, but something about your show of it now makes his cheeks warm up. to hide the impending pink sure to blossom on his face, he turns to set the shoebox behind him.

when the warmth subsides and rin is sure you won’t have any reason to poke fun at him, he meets your gaze once again. “thank you. i appreciate it.”

you nod, a small smile still tugging at your lips. rin’s voice sounds the same as it always does; neutral, maybe even aloof, but you know he means his words.

“okay, time for cake,” you announce, repositioning yourself on the floor and reaching out to open the box. pressing down the flaps reveals the bright green matcha cake topped with fluffy cream and fresh strawberries. “could you get a knife and some plates, please?”

rin nods and makes his way to the kitchen while you begin to strategically place the candles atop the dessert. once you finish your simple design—a little smiley face, you use the light he keeps on the coffee table for his scented candles to light the ones on his cake. right on time, rin returns. he sets the dishes beside the box and takes a seat next to you on the carpet.

“happy birthday, rin,” you tell him again, deciding to spare him the embarrassment he would most certainly feel if you chose to sing. “make a wish.”

in the past, rin would simply blow out the candles to satisfy the crowd—no wish involved. he’s always found the tradition a little childish but now, looking at the enthusiastic expression you wear, there is something that rin really wants. maybe it’s silly to leave it up to something so baseless as a birthday wish, but rin still thinks the thought before blowing out the flames.

you clap and cheer at his action which earns a real, genuine smile from rin. it encourages you to ask, “gonna tell me what you wished for?”

he shakes his head. “isn’t that against the rules?”

“you got me,” you admit through a laugh, carefully grabbing the knife to cut rin a piece of cake. as you slice out a triangle, you go on. “well, whatever it was, i hope it was good. you shouldn’t waste a birthday wish.”

rin still isn’t entirely convinced of the magic of birthday wishes, but if there is any validity behind it, he definitely didn’t put it to waste. because he wished to spend his next birthday the same way—with you.

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: blue lock #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #bllk x reader #rin x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you #rin drabbles #bllk drabbles #blue lock drabbles #rin fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #bllk imagines #blue lock imagines #bllk scenarios #blue lock scenarios

226 notes · View notes

rose-pearls · 1 year

Note

finnick odair x fem!reader fluff/angst

maybe reader was sold off similar to finnick and they bonded over the trauma of it and in the 3rd quarter quell they have a little sweet moment where readers like "i just dont think i can do it anymore'' and finnick comforts them and they cuddle a bit

Thank you for your request! I definitely got carried away with this but I hope you like it!

The Capitol was in full celebration after Peeta and Katniss’s win, the two lovers destined to lose each other miraculously survived. Deep down you knew this was going to help with the revolution that you had all been planning, but faced with it know you couldn’t help but feel scared.

You let out a sigh as you watch the people continue their celebration and decide to turn around and get something for your aching shoulder. The last tribute of district three had died not too long ago and yet here you were again, being sold off to the highest bidder. The couple you had today wanted to try some things you never wanted to think about, but you still had to heal your wounds before sunrise, because god help it if someone saw you with bruises that they gave you.

“Let me guess, the Levan’s tonight?”, a voice asks behind you as you get your ice pack out and you turn around to see Finnick in a similar state as you.

“And you Heavensbee?”, Finnick hums and sits down on the barstool, wincing as he sits down.

“How did you guessed it?”, he asks sarcastically, and you can’t help but sigh at his words.

“How did you?”, you know it isn’t a question that you need to ask, Finnick had been in this far longer than you had, and he knew practically everyone.

Finnick thanks you silently as you give him the ice pack and the both of you sit down in silence, hearing the capitol still celebrating in the background. The two of you often got together after seeing clients, Finnick had helped you into the business when you had to start, and you would be forever grateful for his help. Beetee was nice but he didn’t manage to be there for you when you needed him, when Snow was selling you. Johanna had been helping you too, but she often needed some time alone after her appointments which you understood. Finnick had just always found a way to calm you down and you had gotten closer to him, missing him when you were in district three.

“Things are going to change, aren’t they?”, you can’t help but whisper after a moment and Finnick looks at you with a soft smile.

“They are. We better get ready for it.”, he says, and you simply nod at his words, you know that you should get ready for something to arrive in response to Katniss’s rebellion.

“We better get some sleep, got a long road back tomorrow.”, Finnick says after a moment, and he puts the ice pack back into the freezer before turning back to you.

“Be careful. I’ll see you in six months.”, he says before kissing your forehead and holding you for a moment.

“See you in six months Finnick.”, you can’t help but look at him for a few seconds more, trying to remember every single bit of him before you don’t see him anymore.

“Don’t be a stranger!”, he yells over his shoulder as he leaves and you can’t help but laugh at his antics, knowing that Beetee had been woken up by his yelling.

Johanna arrives shortly after, and you spent the rest of the morning together before you all need to leave towards the train station to go back to your districts.

District three is cold, even more now that snow has fallen, and you can’t seem to warm yourself up but that is probably because of the announcement tonight.

Snow was going to give his annual speech before the games, and he would be revealing what the third quarter quell was going to be. You had a bad feeling; you didn’t know why but you just felt like you were going into a trap.

Beetee was in his own house with Wiress to watch the announcement and you were joining them a bit later, you just couldn’t get yourself to leave the frozen lake in front of you. The anthem started and you knew that was your cue to get back to the village, Beetee and Wiress were already sat down when you arrived, and President Snow was ready to talk.

The speech was long and quite boring if you were paying attention to it, but you weren’t you just wanted to know what was going to be in the envelope. Then finally he took the envelope and you felt breathless at the sight of it.

“For the Third Quarter Quell the tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors.”, the words rang through the room for a good minute before Wiress let out a deafening scream and left the house. Beetee looked like he wasn’t surprised, but you felt like the walls were closing in on you, there was one chance out of two that you were going back into that hellhole.

Finnick.

He was definitely going back into them; he was the Capitols favorite; they were definitely going to rig this to get him there.

Johanna was the only female victor from district seven so she will also be going back into the arena. Most of you were going back in there and only one was going to get out of there.

“Hey, listen to me.”, Beetee’s voice got you out of your thinking and you look at him, frightened by the prospects in front of you.

“We can’t send Wiress in there, you know it I know it.”, you knew what he meant, Wiress was kind, but she would get crazy in there even more than she is right now.

“If they call her name I’ll volunteer.”, you whisper, feeling like you were signing your death. Beetee looks at you with a sad smile, but you look at him determined.

“We better get back into shape.”, you tell him, and he nods quickly.

“You need to, I was never one for the fighting and such things. I’m going to try and figure out what could help us in there.”, the two of you talk a bit about what you need to do when Wiress enters the house hysteric and Beetee takes her to the kitchen to calm her down.

The image of Snow is frozen, and you can’t help but feel the anger come up at the sight of him, he wanted a war he was going to get one.

The training had been hard, watching what you were eating and getting back into shape in about a month. You wondered if the other victors were doing the same thing, probably well, but you tried not to think too much of them particularly Finnick.

The reaping day had arrived faster than you would’ve wanted it to come and here you were back on stage with a deadly silent Wiress.

“Ladies first.”, your escort moves towards the bowl where only two names were in and starts dramatically moving her hand around before taking a slip of paper that was going to seal your fate.

“Wiress.”, she says after a moment, and you feel sick in your stomach as you see Wiress looking around stressed.

“I volunteer as tribute.”, you say loudly and Wiress turns to look at you, but you are already moving to stand at the place you stood 7 years ago. The district is murmuring, and the escort needs to talk multiple times before the crowds calm down.

“For the male tribute. Beetee.”, you knew it was going to be him but still it felt like a punch in the guts. Beetee had been your mentor and you were now going into the games with him.

The two of you get taken to the train station and as you board the train like every year you feel a sense of dread, not ready for what’s to come.

The Capitol is ready for the games, having built everything back up from the ground just in time for their biggest Quarter Quell. The building is large, but you don’t have time to look at is closely before you are taken to get ready for the first ceremony.

It’s the same ritual every year and yet you can’t help but wince every time they take hair away, saying that your skin should be as smooth as possible. The make-up is still over the top but at least your dress is better than the last time you had to go into the chariot. Beetee is already there when you arrive, and you see Finnick in the distance talking with a sexier Katniss Everdeen then before. You feel a twinge of jealousy at his flirty smile but quickly dismiss it, there was no time for feelings.

“Don’t you look delightful.”, Johanna says sarcastically, and you can’t help but snort at her words before turning around.

“Not as much as you, trying to fit in with the trees? Peeta could probably give you tips on camouflage.”, you can’t help but snigger at your words as you see her scowl, probably murdering her stylist in a hundred ways.

“Well, at least it shows off my assets.”, she says with a smirk, and you can’t help but agree with her, she always had a beautiful body.

“Haymitch not paying attention to you?”, you say with a smirk, and she quickly glares at you, but you ignore it to pay attention to the horses.

“Couldn’t give a shit if the old man pays attention to it or not.”, she says haughtily but you can see the flicker in her eyes.

“Sure, I believe you.”, she shoots you one last glare before turning around towards an approaching Finnick and letting out a loud whistling.

“Guess we didn’t get the memo that this was a batting suit show.”, you can’t help but chuckle at her words and Finnick playfully glares at the two of you.

“Don’t be jealous that you can’t rock this, Jo.”, the latter snorts before putting him on the shoulder and leave us to go and talk to Beetee.

“Silver really is your color.”, he says after a moment of looking at you and you feel the blush on your cheeks at his words.

“I don’t know what to think of your outfit.”, Finnick laughs softly at your words before looking around to make sure no one is listening.

“Don’t forget the meeting tonight.”, his words are careful, and you quickly nod, reassuring him that you will be there for the meeting later that night.

The bell rings to signal everyone to get into their chariots, Finnick kisses your cheek quickly before leaving you there stunned. Beetee ushers you into the chariot and the show starts, you try to prepare yourself for the show and after a second or two you slip back into the role.

The training center is brand new, and you can already see some victors training, trying to show off their skills while you pass them by, but you pay them no mind.

“You know if you were going to do a striptease you could have told me.”, you say at Johanna who was busy with her axe. The woman turns around with a wide grin and you look at her with a smirk.

“I’ll tell you next time.”, you can’t help but laugh at her words and after a quick chat you leave her to her training taking place at the gun stand.

The training is as boring as it was years ago until Katniss starts using her bow and arrow and suddenly everyone is looking at her in awe. You don’t know how to feel with her, she has an emotional range even smaller than Johanna, and that is saying something. Plus, she doesn’t seem to want to work with anyone else, but Haymitch had said that he would be working on that.

“The girl on fire strikes again.”, Johanna says sarcastically next to you as you both watch the group of victors watching the girl.

“I don’t know why, but I don’t trust her for the moment. She is far too unpredictable.”, Johanna hums in agreement and the two of you leave towards the lunch space before the rest of the victors join you.

Beetee gets the news later that Katniss and Peeta are choosing to not get any allies for the moment but that she was interested in getting him and Madge as allies. Which means you have to try and get the two of them out of the blood bath. But first you have to concentrate on your training scores and interviews.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but that girl is stubborn, and she will not change her mind. So, Johanna and Blight will get partnered up with the two of you.”, Haymitch says while pointing towards Beetee and you before turning towards Finnick and Madge.

“Finnick will try to win her trust at the blood bath.”, Finnick looks at him confused and you feel the same way, Katniss had clearly shown that she wanted nothing to do with anyone else.

“I know that I am charming but how will I do that?”, Haymitch sighs for a moment before looking at all of us.

“Effie got into her head that we needed something gold to show that we are a team, I will get a bracelet that she will have clearly seen. I’ll give it to you the night before the games and you will show it to her before helping her. That way she knows she can trust you.”, Finnick nods in understanding before looking at you and smiling reassuringly.

“Now get ready for your interviews.”, all of us start to leave until you are left with Haymitch, Johanna and Finnick who seems to take his time.

“This is going to be a shit show.”, Johanna mutters under her breath and you can’t help but agree at her words.

“Listen just get them out of there and then we will try to be there in time.”, Johanna nods her head, but you can see the anger in her eyes.

“I need to get some air.”, she leaves quickly, and you smile at Haymitch and Finnick before joining her, needing to be with a person that seems to understand your angst.

Peeta is a genius, but that was something you already knew. Throwing into the mix that there was a baby is a genius move but it won’t be enough to stop the games. Johanna had said goodnight before leaving and Finnick had hugged you tight after reading his poem to the entire nation. You didn’t know for who it was, you secretly hoped that it was for you, but you knew you couldn’t think of that right now.

This was your last night, and you couldn’t sleep, the thought of going back in there was just too much to find sleep.

Beetee and you got ready together and you saw each other one last time before seeing each other in the arena. With the clothes on you try to get yourself into the best mental state but as you enter the tube you feel a familiar sense of panic.

However, the moment you see the arena you feel even more scared than you were ever before, this arena was something completely different and it was filled with victors. No one was safe.

The blood had fallen down on all of you and after hearing the canon of Blight in the distance you tried to keep going forward, a limping Beetee holding on to you while Johanna was leading the way. You had somehow managed to find the beach and trying to get the blood out of your eyes.

“Johanna! Jo-”, you hear your name after Johanna’s and turn around to see Finnick running towards you.

You don’t have the time to realize that it is really him before he brings you into his arms, holding you tight. The two of you hold each other for a moment before he leaves the hug and turns towards Johanna. You take Beetee towards the water and starts washing him up while Johanna tells Finnick everything.

There was something that was bothering you, something that you couldn’t quite catch about the arena that you were supposed to. Beetee was just looking towards the Cornucopia as if it had all the answers.

“Beetee, there is something that we aren’t catching, aren’t we?”, the older man looks towards you with a knowing smile before turning back to look at it.

When he is finally cleaned up you take him back where his cable is and where the rest of the group is talking. Katniss doesn’t look pleased to see us, but Peeta has a kind smile on his face as we arrive.

“So, how was your trip down the jungle?”, you quickly ask and Finnick gives you a forced smile that leaves you looking at him questioningly.

“We had some ups and downs, had a couple of mutts attacking us, a weird fog that burned our skin.”, Peeta said, and you nodded along trying to keep everything in mind.

“Did you stay in the same place all the time?”, Peeta looks at you weirdly for a moment before turning to look at the middle of the arena.

“Judging by the point of the cornucopia, we started right there but I think we left the woods right where we are now.”, so they had travelled, and a couple of things had happened one after the other.

“Did you travel clockwise?”, Johanna asks before adding left to right, but suddenly you get it.

“It’s a clock! Johanna!”, she looks at you for a moment confused but you turn towards the others.

“Around the cornucopia everything is divided into sections, right?”, the group nods along.

“What if the arena was also divided into sections and every time something happened it was at a precise hour?”, Beetee starts nodding along to what you are saying, and the others start to realize what you are saying.

“Holy shit.”, Johanna says and turns around to look at the arena in front of you.

Finnick is smiling proudly towards you, and you can’t help but smile shily back at him.

“How about we talk about every single thing we had in the arena and stock up on some weapons?”, the whole group agrees, and you leave the beach to get some weapons, trying to restock on what you need exactly.

“Watch out!”, Johanna yells and you duck down to see a knife hitting the spot where your head was, Gloss is smirking behind you, but you just shoot him down.

Johanna is fighting Cashmere and you catch sight of Enaboria and Brutus but before you can react the platform starts moving.

“What the hell?”, you can’t help but explain and suddenly it starts turning around. You hold on to the structure itself and you see Johanna holding Katniss but just as it starts turning even more you see Katniss being unable to hold any longer and fall into the water. That wasn’t good, you were supposed to save the girl.

The platform stops turning and all of you rush towards the girl getting out of the water.

“Well, now we definitely don’t know where what is anymore.”, Beetee says, and you can’t help but sigh in defeat.

“Why don’t we go and get some water?”, Finnick suggests, and you can’t help but agree, feeling like your throat is like parchment paper.

The jungle isn’t reassuring, and you are a bit unsure to let Finnick and Katniss go just the two of them, but Peeta asks you some questions about district three and you decide to stay to answer them. The four of you are talking until you see Katniss coming back looking like she was followed by something but as she arrives, she is unable to pass the wall. You see Finnick in the distance and you feel sick at the sight of his pale face, the stress and pain overwhelming him.

It feels like hours before they get to leave that place, Katniss is in Peeta’s arms, and you try to talk to a shaking Finnick.

“Hey, you are out of there.”, you whisper softly and Finnick nods slowly, his eyes firmly shut.

“I’ll go and get us some water.”, Katniss tries to stop Johanna, but the woman turns around with a hard look.

“Don’t worry there is no one left that I love, they can’t use anyone against me.”, she says before leaving to get water. You know you should probably go see her, but Finnick is holding you tightly, so you stay.

The six of you go back on the beach and you see Johanna and Katniss finally talking for once.

“They seem to finally get along.”, you laugh a little at Finnick’s words before turning around to see him.

“How are you doing?”, he sighs as he looks at the water before turning back to you.

“Could have been better, I lost Mags.”, you feel sick at the words, and you quickly bring him into an embrace holding him tight in your arms. He hugs you back just as strongly and you stay that way for a moment.

“The birds.”, Finnick seems to hesitate as he stops the hug and turns back towards the water.

“They were screaming like people we knew and loved.”, Finnick says after a moment and you sigh, only the capitol would do something like this.

“I don’t think I can do all of this anymore.”, you whisper and Finnick looks at you surprised, but his eyes are full of understanding.

“I don’t think I can either.”, the two of you stay there in silence for a moment, watching the ocean.

“We’ve lost everything, ourselves, our families, then we had to go sell our bodies and if it wasn’t enough here we are again in the arena.”, Finnick sighs at your words and you shake your head.

“Sometimes I wish that I had died in that arena back then. Maybe it would’ve been far much easier.”, Finnick looks at you sadly and you can’t help but sigh as you think of your next words carefully.

“But then I remember that I never would’ve met you, and that would’ve been a shame.”, Finnick looks surprised at your words and the sudden spur of confidence that you had disappeared as you turned back towards the ocean.

“The birds, they were replicating your voice. Begging for me to help you.”, you turn around in surprise at his words and Finnick looks pained before chuckling under his breath.

“They knew exactly who to use to drive me crazy in there because-”, Finnick hesitates for a moment, but you hold his gaze, looking at his sea green eyes for a moment.

“Because I’ve loved you for years. I fell in love with you through the years more and more and I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.”, you feel breathless at his words, tears in your eyes at his words.

“And if you don’t feel the same way I understand I just-”, you don’t let him finish, you bring him into a loving kiss that portrays all the emotions you feel towards him and after a second or two Finnick kisses back. He holds you like you are the most precious thing on the planet, and you hold him as close as possible.

The two of you only separate when you need air, but you are smiling at each other like idiots.

“You know I’ve always wanted it all, saving everyone, a family, and all of that. But now I just want you.”, you whisper and Finnick smiles at you lovingly.

“Can’t get rid of me now.”

“You are stuck with me Finnick Odair.”, he laughs softly before bringing you into another kiss. You know that you are in an arena but still, you hold him close and let yourself bask in the attention and touch.

“Not that I’m not happy that the two of you got your head out of your asses but we have a plan.”, Johanna yells and the two of you break apart to look at her smirking face.

“We are never hearing the end of this are we?”, Finnick says while laughing and you join in his laughter.

“No, she will hold this above us for the rest of our lives.”, he laughs at your words before helping you get up to join the others.

Everything in this arena is hell and life after getting out of here will be even more difficult but as you feel Finnick’s hand in yours and you see the rest smiling and talking you know that there is something worth fighting for.

#finnick odair x you #thg finnick #hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair #finnick x y/n #hunger games finnick #finnick imagine #the hunger games

570 notes · View notes

gabessquishytum · 4 months

Note

So! Idea! We've got a Sex-Neutral/Sex-Positive Ace Dream who has been trying to work more on improving his writing for sex scenes. He's had sex before. It was... fine? But he realizes, as he's trying to write it, he has absolutely no idea how these limbs should be working or if things would even feel good.

So he tries watching porn and reading other works as research. And it helps! But he still feels like his writing lacks something. Authenticity, he suspects. So, he asks a good friend of his that he trusts (Hob) to act out this scene with him so he can make adjustments to his writing as needed.

Hob, who has been pining over his friend for far longer than is probably healthy, agrees cause he's pretty sure this would be his only chance. And if he goes a bit off-script and lets his hands and lips linger a bit too long or holds Dream a little too close, a little too tight? Who's to say?

Dream's pleased enough with his findings. He's still not sold on the intense desire people have for it, but it was fun enough. And Hob's rather skilled as well, so that helps with his research.

Dream also asks him various questions as well. He'll be writing on the couch, Hob's sitting in the chair beside him, when Dream asks him to describe being horny. Which is an experience. Hob struggles through it and pats himself on the back for not immediately outing his feelings for Dream in the process.

Their "research" continues a few more times. Dream's rather enjoyed the time spent with Hob like this. He especially likes their chats just lying in bed, content and worn out from whatever sex scene Dream needed to visualize. He also realizes he quite enjoys the sight of Hob in the throws of pleasure. He likes knowing that he put that look on him and made him feel good. It's in the middle of the night as Dream is watching the gentle rise and fall of Hob's chest that he realizes he loves this man.

Eventually, Hob can't do the "casual" sex anymore. His heart can't take it. He confesses his feelings for Dream, who is initially shocked, but very, very pleased, tells Hob that he loves him as well.

They still do plenty of research together, but now it also encompasses quiet mornings in bed and dates to museums or art galleries and Dream's favorite: falling asleep on Hob's chest while his hair gets played with.

Actually screaming at the idea of Hob acting out sex scenes for Dream. I know that he totally would.

Poor Hob, though. He’s already dying every time he reads one of Dream’s books. He can’t help trying to squeeze out every drop of information in the fictional characters about what his friend might like in a partner. Or in bed. Once or twice he’s wondered if Dream’s make love interest characters could be a little bit based on him? But he quickly represses that thought! It’s a totally different ballgame (hah) when Dream asks him to actually bring those sex scenes to life, though!

Hob wants to make Dream happy as a writer, of course. But also wants to give him pleasure. And he wants to show Dream how good he is at sex, so maybe Dream will fancy him more… it’s all very complicated. Mostly he just loves Dream, and loves having sex with him for sure, but ultimately his ole romantic heart can’t take it any more.

The news that Dream loves him too nearly has Hob falling out of bed in shock. For all that he’d hoped, he never believed that he’d be good enough for his perfect friend. Dream wryly points out that he is far from perfect, but Hob still disagrees.

And yes, the brunet golden retriever boyfriend in Dream’s books may or may not be based on his ACTUAL boyfriend. And YES! Hob really can do that thing with his tongue that Dream wrote about. He does it frequently.

But most of their long and happy relationship stays firmly behind closed doors, where they can love each other and be weird happy gremlins in private <3

#kydrogendragon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

99 notes · View notes

umeoniii · 1 year

Note

Can you do lesbian fluff (or smut) for the aot girls????

lesbian relationship hcs w aot girls

nsfw & sfw

w: annie, mikasa, sasha,

annie:

☆ very introverted obvi, but she can actually be very extroverted w her s/o

☆ prefers cute dates at food places like bakeries or sushi restaurants

☆ loves when her s/o makes her sweets

☆ for gifts i feel like she writes things, like letters or poems maybe even a song (probably too embarrassed to sing though)

☆ not the most affectionate but when she is she’s a lot, like a lil puppy dog

☆ sleeps a lot, she sleeps all over her s/o

she falls asleep on their lap, shoulders, stomach i feel like she’s a really sleepy girl

☆ likes hearing her s/o’s stories and adventures

she likes giving her input and opinions

☆ wears ur hoodies maybe bcs she likes the smell, maybe bcs their comfier, maybe bcs she likes bugging you

☆ gets flustered when you even show that you think abt her

☆ actually anything you do makes her flustered deep down

☆ takes turns w u giving back massages

☆ forcefully takes you w her to the gym

you don’t even have to work out but she still wants you there

☆ she lets you touch her abs, even though she finds it odd

♡ she’s more dominant BUT she can be more subby depending on how she’s feeling

♡ loud

♡ likes scissoring

♡ when she is feeling submissive she likes when her s/o eats her out

♡ owns a good amount of sex toys, she bought them really for you

♡ very great stamina

♡ can last a few rounds before getting overstimulated and tired

mikasa:

☆ little spoon when sleeping

☆ very introverted even with her s/o

☆ likes quite and secluded dates, like a picnic

☆ likes when you take photos of her but she doesn’t like for the whole world to see them

☆ makes things for her s/o

something as small as cookies or as big as a crocheted sweater

☆ type of gf who would share a milkshake willingly

☆ super cuddly and warm

☆ remembers lots of things abt you, some things you’d render “useless”

like you had a hamster named zunie in 5th grade

☆ has a playlist of songs that make her think of u

☆ let’s you pick out her outfits sometimes

☆ keeps all the plushies you’ve ever bought her

♡ sub

♡ whimpers and whines

♡ holds you very tightly

♡ sometimes she lowkey gets all somber and sad during sex whispering stuff like “please don’t leave me ever”

♡ sex is very intimate w her

♡ squirter

♡ when she is giving to her s/o she literally eats pussy like a starved woman

sasha:

☆ naggy loud gf

it’s very sweet though

☆ shows her s/o a lot of love…. a lot

she gives you wet kisses and blows raspberries into your tummy

☆ you guys alr know she likes dates at restaurants but i feel like she’d also like people watching, feeding ducks, or the movies. she likes fun stuff

☆ never a dull moment with her

☆ sleeps wildly, sometimes you just gotta sleep on the couch. she probably snores too.

☆ she’s the type to post all pictures of you for the world to see. ALL

☆ makes slideshows on stuff like why she thinks you guys should buy a roomba

☆ forces u to do couplely things like match outfits

☆ buys corny cards for holidays

“you’re purrfecf for me! love, sash”

☆ play wrestles

takes it way too far. she jumps off the couch and tries to body slam you

☆ if you have bigger boobs just know she’s not gonna leave em alone

she lies on them to sleep and she always just touches them and gropes them

she makes “jokes” about you breastfeeding her and calling you mommy (it’s not really a joke)

~ ♡ def calls you mommy in bed regardless of chest size

♡ with all the eating she does she’s gotta be able to eat pussy

♡ vv whiny

♡ sub

♡ cant last longer than around 2 minutes

♡ will literally touch herself right next to u in bed while you’re sleep

♡ puts whipped cream on your body and licks and eats it off

a/n: i am SO sorry this took so long, i literally got stuck and was gonna try and make this one super duper long but i gave up on it and finished it last .°(ಗдಗ。)° . i hope u enjoy it n’ if there’s another character u wanna see u can request it! <333

609 notes · View notes

spadesolace · 5 months

Text

the idea of yoo - 1.1. alone with yoo (half-written)

previous | next

words: 1.5k

warnings: a bit of homophobia, discussion about religion, implied cheating

the sun shining through a small window, your eyes twitch as the sunlight hits you perfectly. in your line of sight, sight adjusting through the bright yet also dim room. it smells a bit rugged, similar to yeonjun’s perfume he had made you and rei smell before his date, bed is a bit harder than your usual one at home, and you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes. in the corner of your eye, was the table tennis - you’re at the choi household.

slowly sitting up, looking for your phone that yeonjun had placed on his bedside table, along with some medicine, water, and hangover drink. underneath was a note with messy handwriting.

hey, when you wake up i would be at rehearsals for tomorrow’s dance battle. left some medicine so drink it right away. yeonie

as you hastily drank the medicine and pick up the hangover drink, ready to leave and get some proper meal. the sound of footsteps and chatter was making its way towards your destination. vaguely, you could make up yeonjun’s mom’s voice and yoo jimin.

“yeonjun is at rehearsal, but you can leave that here on his-” his mom sees you by the bed, wearing your coat and getting your stuff, along with hiding some of the letters that you’ve written for yeonjun’s recipe to food critics to try, and letters from jimin.

“yeonjun’s japanese friend, didn’t hear you come in.”

“just dropping off some notes.”

“jimin is also drop-” the faint breaking of glass was heard upstairs, making yeonjun’s mom rush back upstairs.

the last time you were alone with jimin was when you bumped into her in the hallway, the start of it all. it’s a bit awkward, looking like you spent the night - in which you did - but also it seemed like you’re dating yeonjun. deep inside, you’re thinking how pretty jimin is despite it being so early in the morning.

“hi.” she breaks the tension, a small smile plastered on her face.

“hi.” your breath is taken away; standing in front of a girl who you considered could have been sculpted by aphrodite.

“are you and paul-” then you remember, she’s not here for you.

“OH GOSH NO! he is totally 100 percent into you.”

“you know about… us?”

“that’s what the notes and books are for, he wanted to do some extra reading.” jimin seemed amused by it, partially because no one has been that thoughtful to learn more about their interests and hobbies.

the awkward silence slowly crept back, part of you wanted to leave, no longer wishing to take part in this. the girl you developed feelings for is talking to a guy who you helped in writing the letters for, making an image of him in her mind.

you deceived jimin.

you deceived yeonjun.

they fell in love with the image you had made to deceive both of them.

all you could hear coming out of jimin’s mouth was self-deprecating words regarding her first impression during their first date. nothing made sense anymore, nothing held you back.

“you could never be an idiot. yeonjun wouldn’t think of you that way.” you still held back, not wanting to expose yourself. there is the desire to leave and run away, forget this entire thing happened.

“i should probably get back home.” picking your bag up, noticing jimin was holding onto a piece of paper.

“this- its- its nothing really, something i made during the trip.” still she handed it over to you, lyrics; you assume it to be lyrics of a new song she wrote.

“i like one of the lines from the second verse… lonely yet hopeful.” giving it back to jimin, smiling shyly about to leave her in this man cave that is yeonjun’s room.

“he’ll love it.” i love it.

“yeah…”

“i should get going.”

“can i come with?”

you don’t know how it happened, how you’re walking in the middle of an abandoned train track kicking a stone as you pass by the abandoned cart, no longer filled with writings. there’s another one, not that far off that you and rei go to when you need a change in your routine.

“you’re not scared?” stopping in your tracks, slight confusion evident in your face.

“no, i’m used to this route. a change in scenery.” jimin hummed as the stone you were kicking seemed to have merged with the rest of the pebbles.

“you wanna get out of here?”

it feels surreal, you’re in jimin’s car, listening to the radio mostly 90’s music playing, windows down and the wind blowing your hair. months ago, you couldn’t believe that jimin knew who you were, yet here you are.

“where we going?”

“my favorite secret place.”

you stopped in the middle of a forest, a part of you sort of feared where this was going because who would bring someone to a forest if not to kill them? or maybe you’ve been watching too much true crime that rei has been so adamant in you watching it with her. when you saw the clearing, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to be killed by the girl you like. it’s just a hot spring, and it worried you when jimin started unpacking her duffel bag, only to pull out a small radio. you’re just stuck in this place with her, turning your back at her when she started removing her sundress. you’re not sure if she removed her undergarments but just the idea that she’s probably skinny dipping makes your face heat up.

jimin turns around as your gaze looks everywhere except for her. you looked at her back for a bit, toned, smooth, and her hair despite being wet already it stil remained smooth and silky. so, you stripped, not fully. she only turned back to face you when she heard a bit of water splashing. an embarrassed smile was evident as jimin takes in what you’re wearing.

“oh i almost forgot.” you thought it was from the heat from the hot spring that made you feel this way but confirming that jimin is indeed naked walking around the area and setting up the small radio. you submerged yourself underwater.

“there’s no cell service here, nothing could reach us here.”

“so if you kill me, completely leave me here to decompose and scream, no one would come to rescue me?”

it was a lighthearted joke, one that made jimin laugh as she dipped back into the spring and you still avoided looking at her body. things were going well, talking about interests, family, religion, everything under the sun as you played around in the water.

“i don’t think i’ve hanged out with a girl and not talk about boys before.”

“oh… sorry.”

“no, no… it’s nice, actually.” you nod to her statement, maybe this could be a way to help yeonjun out.

“yeonjun’s nice.” jimin looks at you, pondering. she can’t put a finger on it but she tries to explain her emotions.

“he’s... confusing.”

“how?”

”when i’m with him, i feel... safe. he’s a sweet guy, don’t get me wrong. then he writes these things that feel... not so safe.” you tilt your head as you process everything, you wrote those things, the letters, the messages, everything - you wrote it.

“not safe?”

“makes me wonder, think about things - all this time i was set on this idea of marrying jeno but then here comes yeonjun when i asked god for a sign. god doesn’t know either or he’s not telling.”

“i don’t believe in god.”

“that must be so nice.”

“it’s not…” you slowly submerged yourself into the water, jimin still observing you, everything feels weird. “it’s lonely.”

“i wished i knew what i believed in.” you tune everything out, listening to jimin’s rant about jeno already planning their future wedding, her asking a sign to god if that was what love is. simply accept it and be grateful. but the letter appeared the following day, the letter you wrote and what started this whole thing.

“silly, right?” you shake your head as you swim closer to her.

“no, its not.”

“but you know what’s silly?” everything moved so fast that your oversized shirt was removed from you, a triumphant smile but easily replaced by her laughing.

“did you layer?” now, you’re left with your undergarment and a black tank top.

time went by so slowly, you’re talking to her about life, love, religion, while floating on your back next to her listening to a radio playing old songs. the current song playing was your mom’s favorite song, waiting for the best part, the climax as she would say.

“my mom also told us that every song, movie, story has a best part.” patiently waiting, letting it pass and enjoy each other’s presence and the song you heavily associated with your mom. a part of you wants to reach out to jimin and hold her hand as the song continues on.

“was that it?”

“you asking or stating?”

the best part - is when you actually hold onto jimin’s hand as you float like otters. the song playing in the background as the lyrics perfectly encapsulate what you feel for her. words can’t express your feelings - pain from knowing the girl you like is straight and seeing your only friend but also happiness from getting such a small moment together that you’ll cherish till you leave this little place called kwangya.

you may not believe in god, but if falling in love with yoo jimin is a sin. call me a sinner, then.

taglist [CLOSED]:

@1luvkarina @beawolfbealionbeyou @pandafuriosa60 @txtbrainrot @rinapomu @limbforalimb @yoontoonwhs @noascats @thefckghost @petruchiosstuff

#aespa x fem reader #karina aespa #aespa smau #aespa x reader #aespa karina #aespa #karina smau #karina x reader #karina imagines #karina #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin #the idea of yoo smau

110 notes · View notes

cstlez · 8 days

Text

T. KAULITZ X READER

warnings! : angst, explicit language, implied smut and use of y/n!

;

The sound of the bell rang in your ears, you winced as you heard the squeaks of shoes rushing out of the classroom, students quickly heading to the last period of the day.

You stared down at your phone debating if you should walk up to him again.

Ever since he got back from touring he stopped talking to you and it was draining you inside, you missed him.

You missed him.

You knew whatever it was you had wasn't serious, to him anyway; but your heart wanted it to be, You knew it wasn't his fault as the whole system was something you set up in the first place.

You fucked up that night, you knew it, you just didn't expect him to take it the way he did, it'd been nearly three months, and he was still as distant as ever.

Hardly a simple sentence left his lips when he talked to you.

Not even a simple text, he wasn't the same, whatever you had, was close to nothing now.

You walked behind him as quickly as possible, you finally gained the courage to speak to him. Your body shivered, and your heart raced, why did you care so much?

You walked beside him tapping his shoulder gently, he was completely unfazed. “Tom, wait up!" You called out looking at him, his height making you have to tilt your head up just to look at his face, he continued to walk, his strides slowing down slightly,

"Hm? Oh hello y/n." He uttered not even meeting your eyes. You swallowed dryly still striding behind him.

"So. Do you wanna meet? At my place, or something." You mumbled, hoping to at least get a glimpse of his eyes.

"Oh. No thanks." He spoke. Still not meeting your eyes, he quickly, turned back to Bill, who turned back to you, his eyebrows furrowed, you merely shrugged,

You’d do anything to just spend a second with him again, you only ever met to hook up, that's how it worked between you two, from the very beginning to the end,

The thing is, last time you met, you got carried away, your heart knew something you didn't, and it didn't end well.

—

Your heartfelt palpable, every groan that left his lips made you want to turn yourself into him even more, he was addictive, every single part of him.

His moaning drove you insane, it didn't matter how much you denied it you knew deep down that he drove you insane in the best way possible.

“Tom— I’m so close.”

You felt your body twitch, gripping his dreads with all the might in your body, he planted a small kiss onto your jaw, making you blush internally and externally, it felt gentle and sweet, he was being gentle for a moment, and that made you want more than just a fling.

“Hold on for a little longer.”

His voice sounded scarce, making you want him to claim you even more,

“I can't- Tom I can't—”

He hushed you, aggressively searching for his high and before you knew it you were climaxing, your moans increased intensely, and you both finished together, riding out your high slowly,

In a hushed whisper, you gripped his body tighter, “I love you.”

Before you could react, he'd completely removed himself from you, you sat there, looking at him in confusion.

“I should leave.”

“What?”

—

You gulped, you rushed up to him yet again, holding onto his backpack trying not to be left behind due to how fast he was walking.

You stared at him. Before murmuring a new sentence. "Tom, can we please talk?”

He slightly licked his lips, his eyes not even meeting yours, he let out a sigh, and before he spoke the warning bell rang.

"I'm late for class.” He muttered, you sighed, knowing that he probably wasn't even paying attention to you. Holding back embarrassment and tears, you waited for a moment, watching him and Bill walk into the classroom.

It sucked even more because he was in the same class as you. You were debating transferring because it was too much to just watch him knowing that it wasn't the same anymore.

He sat at his desk which wasn't too far from yours, except that his back was facing you.

You gulped away tears as you blinked rapidly knowing that all the time spent with him was truly nothing now because he could barely even look at you now.

It was killing you inside.

You stared at him for a quick moment, before unlocking your phone.

You opened your chats, your face dropping even more realizing that the last time he even responded to a text was a month ago.

Mop head

It's okay if you don't want to hang out with me yk, you can say no.

read at 1:38 pm

You scoffed looking up from your phone you realized the teacher was starting the lesson

You put your phone in your pocket, still glancing at Tom from afar, you swallowed dryly looking away and turning your attention to the teacher speaking.

"You all have a warm-up! It's in your Google Drive! You have fifteen minutes to complete it." The teacher spoke, rather loudly.

The students nodded and opened up their laptops. You sighed pulling your laptop out of your backpack.

You looked back up, your eyes meeting Tom’s. He pointed at his phone, signaling you to check it.

You shook your head, looking away from him. But out of the corner of your eye, you could tell his jaw had stiffened up.

He turned back around. Focus on your work as you did the same.

You typed out a response on your computer, finishing a couple of minutes before the given time. You gave in unlocking your phone.

Tom

It's okay if you don't want to hang out with me yk, you can say no.

read at 1:38 pm

It's just weird now y/n.

Oh come on, now your ignoring me?

y/n?

answer the phone.

y/n?

read at 1:43 pm

Shut up.

What?

You're the one acting desperate.

Tom, you've been dodging me for months.

it's not my fault okay?

stop being an asshole Tom.

It's not gonna get you anywhere. You've changed.

read at 1:48 pm

Fucking asshole. You thought, though you did miss him, and all you wanted was for him to just treat you like his again.

Even if you weren't his from the start.

you didn't want him to treat you like a stranger.

You looked up from your phone, finally listening to the teacher. As he explained, the assignment.

You guessed the teacher was out of it, as he just gave you guys a couple of pages of work and once it was finished he'd just tell you to use your phones or something.

As he passed out the packet you kept noticing Tom glancing at you every couple of seconds.

You glared at him. Trying to come off as tough. But you just wanted to break down.

You sat at your desk, closing your computer, and you grabbed your mechanical pencil clicking the end rather often.

You started to write on the paper. You know, the basics, date, period, name.

You stared at the paper, starting to answer the first section. You just worked on the first problem and all of a sudden the empty seat beside you was now occupied Tom.

"What do you want?" You asked, not meeting his eyes as you fiddled with the edge of the packet. Nervousness spreads through your veins.

The tears forced themselves to spill.

"Can we talk?" He asked. Probably looking at you as he spoke. But you avoided his words and eyes.

"No. You've had your chances." You spoke. Rather surprised at how coldly your sentence was spoken.

He scooted closer to you, touching your forearm as he began to speak again. "Come on n/n-" you cut him off by shoving his hand off you.

Even though you wanted to deny it. You missed the warmth of his hand more than anything.

"Don't call me that. We're nothing, you made it clear that night." You muttered.

You turned your attention back to your paper, moving on to what was now the third question.

He sighed, now facing the side. He continued, over and over again before speaking again.

"Come on. n/- y/n. Come on. Talk to me." Tom mumbled looking at you. Hoping you'd at least look at him.

"Leave me alone Tom." You muttered, not even turning to look at him. He sighed. Walking over to his desk yet again.

You watched him through your eyelashes as he sat in the chair, Bill nudging him.

They turned to talk, you knew it was about you,

You continued to watch him, and soon tears began to spill from your eyes, your chest rising as you tried to catch your breath.

You put your head down. Probably soaking your packet with tears, for an unrequited love that wasn't even worth it.

You felt your phone going off again. But you continued to ignore it as more tears fell from your eyes.

You sniffled, crying into the sleeves of your hoodie, just wanting to get more of the sadness over with so you wouldn't deal with it later.

You suddenly felt a hand on your back and you quickly sat up swaying the hand away, you gulped, your eyes meeting his.

"Tom just leave me alone. I'm begging you." You mumbled, staring at him as he stared at you in shock.

"Why are you crying?" He asked, staring at you with sympathy, but all you could see was pity.

And man did you fucking hate pity.

You scoffed shaking your head, "It doesn't matter. Okay?” You raised your voice, making him flinch and making about half of the people around you notice.

You stood up leaving everything except your phone,

Mop Head

I haven't changed at all.

y/n.

answer the phone

Stop acting like I'm not here

y/n. Answer my texts.

sent at 2:01 pm

n/n. I just wanna make sure you're okay. Where

are you?

y/n.

y/n, I have your backpack, and things.

I'm worried n/n.

read at 2:13 pm

Leave me alone for a couple of seconds.

y/n

where are you?

Why would you care? Leave me alone.

I'm not joking where are you?

I'm looking for you.

Shut up. Leave me alone. Quit pretending to give a fuck. You're the one who stopped talking to me. So just stop Tom.

y/n I do give a fuck.

read at 2:17 pm

You sighed, slumping down on some lockers in a random hall, you knew he would find you eventually.

Or maybe a teacher would find you first, and tell you to go back to class, or even ask you what was up.

You gulped, staring at the ground as you continued to cry, you didn't even know why you were crying.

Maybe it was because you wanted to hate him, but in reality, you just missed him.

Or maybe you were crying because you were angry.

Or who knows? Maybe even everything happening. But deep down, you knew that you were crying because you never expected to lose him,

You cried softly as you heard the squeak of shoes, and before you knew it you heard a very familiar voice.

"Shit, I've been looking for you everywhere," Tom mumbled as he slumped beside you.

"Hey. Don't cry." He mumbled, he tried to grab your face with his palm but you shoved it away.

"Just. Leave me alone." You muttered, as he sat beside you, "No." He mumbled looking at you, his eyes were filled with guilt and worry.

"Fine! Then I'll leave.” You muttered rather loudly as you yanked your backpack away from him, you began to walk away leaving him stranded in the hall.

You knew he wasn't following you as you could no longer hear your name being called out, nor the sound of shoes squeaking.

#tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #tokio hotel #kaulitz twins #angst #implied smut

45 notes · View notes

pisupsala · 2 months

Text

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 19 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 8.8k

Library

Chapter 19 - It Had to Be You

“Do you feel… strange?” Emil phrases the question awkwardly. “Since the war, I mean.”

You pause and look up from the mushroom you had been inspecting before popping it out of the ground with your knife and placing it in the wicker basket on your arm. You nod.

Strange is a good word for it. You just don’t know if the world has become estranged or you.

It’s late autumn and still pleasantly warm. The sun is low, but your heavy white cable-knitted sweater is still a bit too warm. You haven’t spoken to Emil since you marched out of the hospital last June, so you were surprised when you received a letter from an estate in the northern mountains with an invitation to visit. It had your old address on it, but your downstairs neighbor forwarded it to you.

“I can’t be in the city anymore,” He admits with difficulty, eyes trained firmly on the forest path before you. His stance is casual, hands in pockets of his dark green pants, in stark contrast to his near-wavering tone. Emil left the army abruptly, and this is the closest he’s come to admit as to why. The tranquility of the forest and the smell of pine and moss are soothing. “It’s too… busy. Too many people, you know?”

“I understand,” You reply softly. Too many people, no oversight, and blocked escape paths. “I don’t feel like I really have a place anymore.”

“Yeah…”

Silence falls as you walk, looking around for more mushrooms. It’s only the two of you and the sounds of the forest.

“Are you still waiting?” He doesn’t elaborate. There is no need to. Your hand automatically moves to the pocket of your gray slacks. The metal of the bracelet is cool and familiar.

“I’m not sure if I’m waiting or just stuck,” You admit, smiling sadly. You should have given up by now.

For years, you thought everything was on hold temporarily, and you’d return to your life, classes, and books after the war. But you came to the realization you are not that person anymore. It’s a version of you that stayed behind on that dreary September day in 1939; you just didn’t realize until everything and everyone else returned. And now you’ve lost that; you no longer know where your place is. You’re not even really sure of who you are anymore.

The only time you were reminded of the person you once were, which made you believe that you still existed, was with Bradley. He so skillfully unwrapped you to the barest essentials. But when you go looking now, there’s nothing left – like it was only a fleeting illusion that existed between the two of you, a flash of a chemical reaction before it all went up in smoke.

It’s like you’re in stasis. Again.

“Do you still hope?” There is no bitterness or accusation in the question.

“Hope?” You croak out. Of course, you still hope. It’s just becoming harder to believe by the day. The world has changed, and Bradley has probably changed with it. You don’t think you could blame him—not really. Not after what you’ve become. You blink rapidly a few times. “It mostly hurts.”

It’s a more honest admission than you would typically make. But who else could yet tell?

“I’m sorry,” Emil mumbles, aimlessly kicking a pine cone down the small path.

“Times have changed. For the better, I might add,” You shake your head with a chuckle as you move your wicker basket to your right hand, balling your left hand in a fist, trying to stop it from shaking. “And people changed with it. That’s okay.”

You slow down your pace, looking at Emil. “It has to be, you know?” You say urgently like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

“I suppose we both got left behind in more ways than one,” He sighs before meeting your gaze. “I always believed you, of all people, were destined for more, Anya.”

“Maybe some version of me was,” You chuckle dryly, playfully bumping him with your elbow, holding out the basket to him. Emil takes it without argument. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime?”

He laughs, a small, genuine laugh. Finally, you’re unsure if you can forgive Emil for planting those seeds of doubt in your head about Bradley. Maybe one day you’ll be grateful. Perhaps you never fully believed what Bradley told you, and you’re mad at Emil for voicing what you had been too afraid to confront. But whatever he said, whatever you sniped in return — he’s still your friend. Brother in arms.

“You’d be content with just being a housekeeper?” He asks, almost incredulously. Just a few years ago, you would have been offended by the question—because of course not. You were going to travel the world and become a diplomat, a writer, an explorer. Now, you only count the steps from your home to the tram stop.

“Are you content with just being a gamekeeper?” You counter without malice. Emil doesn’t react. “Maybe we both deserve some peace, in whichever form.”

“I hope you find your peace, Anya.” Emil looks at you sadly. “You more than anyone.”

Peace.

The city is cleaned up quickly, but the splatter of blood, the agonizing screams, and the explosions have become indelible in your mind's eye. It’s like a ghostly shadow wrapping around the bustling city. Maybe Emil could see it, too. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t stay.

Was the city like this before the war? Were you part of that crowd? Why can’t you go back?

You’re moving through life without purpose, just getting by. It’s enough.

Right?

You live a quiet, frugal life. You dutifully add to your monthly savings, but it’s a slow undertaking. Your salary is okay, all things considered, but traveling to the United States is expensive — and you’d need to get to a port city first. And that’s just travel. You need money for hotels, food, and a visa — it makes your head spin when you think about it. It’s that sliver of a dream that keeps you going. So you just keep your head down.

You don’t question Mrs. Parker’s particular requests; even though you figured out pretty quickly, she puts a lot of stock in seeing hard work and effort over results. You don’t question why Mrs. Parker appears craftier than her husband, the ambassador. You especially don’t question why the ambassador and his wife sleep in separate rooms. You clean them all the same.

And then there is Loretta. Beautiful, young Miss Lo. She came with silken blonde curls, bright green eyes, and trunks of dresses from exquisite fabrics on a gap year. You don’t question that she seems more interested in parties, men, and dancing than anything else. But you recognize the insatiable hunger recognition: being great at your work. And Miss Lo is excellent at being fun, young, and beautiful. And not a single man in the long parade of officers and dignitaries visiting would disagree.

Deep inside, you know you don’t question it because if you did, you’d have to see the lingering envy in you for what it is. So you just keep your head down.

Almost a year passes. You’ve hemmed and re-hemmed more dressed than you count, scrubbed more stains from delicate fabrics than you care to identify, sweeping piles upon piles of ashes from the marble floors.

If anything, you are an excellent seamstress now, especially considering how awful you were at most handwork, like knitting. Miss Lo caused you plenty of practice, and your roommates were gratefully making use of your offer to mend and tailor what they needed. But you’ve had enough of your dresses that needed tailoring — raising necklines, adding collars, and sometimes even adding new sleeves. Anything that would keep prying away from the scarred skin that your ever-longer hair could not hide.

You’re in stasis.

It’s May again. It’s a year since the war has ended, and it’s a beautiful day — warm, with a gentle breeze swaying the blooming trees. In a few days, you turn 27, although you’ve not celebrated your birthday… well, since Eva last baked you a small cake. That’s four years ago now.

It still hurts. It’s like every memory is now overgrown with thorns, the edges irreparably singed by the fire. Eva. Your parents. Bradley. It still hurts, and it will probably never stop hurting. Like your shoulder aches and hand shakes after a long day after a long day of work. Like your head is always buzzing, the ceaseless noise in your ear painfully keeps you awake. You long for the morning you wake up and finally accept that this is it. None of them are coming back. You will never be whole again. When waves finally wash you away, and you’ll see them again. Like in that dream, on that beach, when for a moment nothing hurt.

Standing at the back of the tram, a bucket full of beautifully arranged bouquets wedged between your foot and the wall, you are entirely focused on the leather-bound booklet in your hand, tapping the back of the small pencil against your lips. You try to scratch the itch in your brain by doing crossword puzzles. Your dad bought you all those newspapers, after all.

Maybe you’ll even get good at doing crosswords, finally.

You don’t need to pay attention to where you are going; you’ve taken this route hundreds of times. You know where you are just by a glance from the corner of your eye. You recognize the shape of the buildings, the way that the sun hits the street, the gait of the tall figure walking out of the train station -

You swing your head around so hard your forehead rams into the window with a dull crack. You see stars for a moment, colors melting into each other in strange shapes. When your vision returns, the tram has already turned a corner. Ignoring the stares around you, your hand flies into your pocket, dropping your pencil. It rolls away between the legs of the other passengers, but you pay it no mind. You are trying to catch your breath. The metal loops around your fingers, but it scarcely brings you comfort.

Your bored brain must be hallucinating; the cruel sun must be playing tricks on you; your poor heart must be dreaming.

Because of the tiniest second, you could have sworn you saw Bradley walk out of the station.

***

Dear Captain Bradshaw,

I am writing to you in response to your repeated inquiries to the International Red Cross about Anna Sokolova, born December 25, 1919, in Prague. No person matching that name and birthdate has been found in our records of wounded, dead, or missing in Czechoslovakia. The IRC has also been unable to confirm Ms. Sokolova’s current whereabouts with any local authorities due to a lack of records.

I hope to have sufficiently informed you. Please understand that at the time of writing, our resources are stretched, and we regret to inform you that we cannot further assist you on this case.

Bradley must have read the letter a hundred times before crumpling it up in frustration and jamming it into the side pocket of his duffle bag. It’s all coming down to this last-ditch attempt. Getting to Europe was actually surprisingly easy — Cyclone seemed more than pleased that Bradley had decided to follow his advice and take a desk post in Nuremberg. By the end of January 1946, Bradley was making his way back across the Atlantic.

However, getting a liberty pass was more difficult, especially a week pass for international travel. Bradley had called in about every single favor he could, signing on to stay an additional month in Germany, ultimately getting Mav to pull some strings for him. It’s May by the time he finally boards a train east, restless in his seat, looking out the window, waiting for when he will eventually see something he recognizes. Something, anything, will make all the puzzle places fall in place again and show him a path to you.

Bradley desperately hoped that everything would fall into place when he got off the train. That he would remember.

But in the back of the large black car that was waiting for him, zipping through the city, everything is just a blur.

It makes him uneasy. Nervous.

It’s like that moment of take-off; the second the wheels leave the carrier runway, there’s nothing but dark water beneath him. In that fraction of a second, his stomach drops — what am I even doing here?

Meeting his hosts does little to calm the mounting anxiety he feels. The ambassador’s residence is a grand villa surrounded by a beautiful garden overlooking the city. In the distance, the river glitters happily in the sunlight; the fruit trees are in fragrant bloom, colorful bunches of lilac in pink, blue, and purple color the city. The ambassador himself is almost unremarkable in stature as well as demeanor. Mrs. Parker appraises him with a sharp look and a too-kind smile. The daughter bats her eyelashes a little too hard for it to be genuinely demure; her perfectly sweet smile is a little too well-practiced, not a wrinkle on her pretty dress, not a hair out of place.

Behind them stand two maids in matching dark dresses and white aprons, with blank, borderline bored looks. After exchanging pleasantries, one of the maids leads him wordlessly up the grand staircase. Red carpet on marble. Gold latches on the windows.

It all seems very… formal, considering Bradley is not here on business. But when he received his travel visa, it came with an invitation to stay. It seemed rude to decline. Now Bradley is starting to regret not doing so anyway. Something about the house and these people is making him uneasy. It’s making his head hurt like he’s even more out of place here than anywhere else in the world.

Walking into the large sunny guestroom, a fresh flower arrangement in the vase on the dresser, Bradley closes his eyes for a moment. You once said May was your favorite time in the city because you liked how everything bloomed. Breathing in deeply, trying to gather his thoughts, floral notes hit his nose. There’s something familiar in the air.

He can smell your soap.

Bradley drops his duffle bag; it crashes on the carpeted floor. The smell, the tiniest hint that lingers, is making his stomach lurch like at take-off. God, it’s like your ghost is in the air, dancing around him, evading him every step. Bradley screws his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists. He wants to remember.

Every route you showed him.

Every street corner he kissed you on.

Even that goddamn small room tucked away behind the hidden servant's entrance.

Your steps echo around him, running up the stairs, coming closer and closer. Suddenly, his heart was beating so fast, and his breath was coming out, heaving, somewhere between panic and elation. Before he can pinpoint where the footsteps are coming from, they disappear. A door closes. Silence.

You are haunting him.

***

Eyes closed, blouse sleeves rolled up, cigarette dangling loosely between your lips, you’re lounging on the old, creaky wooden chair outside the kitchen entrance. The empty bucket sits at your feet. Your new red and blue plaid coat hangs from the chair. It’s quiet. The sun feels pleasant. Behind your closed lids, you see the shadows of the trees move in the breeze. Inside, you hear the cook pottering around the kitchen, whistling.

It’s such an odd day. Despite the gorgeous weather, you have that foreboding feeling, like when a storm is brewing — not a cloud in the sky, but you feel how the air pressure suddenly drops. Your forehead still stings.

It’s ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. Eva would have already set you straight. If not for her, your mom would have. You thought you saw Bradley in a flash, in a flicker of shadow, and your heart soared with such force that you nearly knocked yourself out, falling over to catch another glimpse of his ghost. How incredibly pathetic.

The pit in your stomach is there again. The consuming darkness expands through your flesh and bones again. You managed to keep it at bay all this time, simply not admitting it was eating away at you. But the split second of your dream leaking into reality broke the dam.

Men like Bradley don’t wait for a girl for three years. They don’t need to. Men like Bradley sure as shit don’t settle for jumped-up little schoolgirls that dropped out of college. Why would they? And men like Bradley, you swallow heavily, have no use for a broken and burned body like yours. You have nothing to offer him.

You knew this. But it was your mistake to make, you tell yourself again. You thought you accepted that. Logically and rationally, it shouldn’t hurt like this. Your hand sneaks into your coat pocket again, the tip of your finger just brushing against the nameplate. It brings you no comfort — instead, you feel so much more aware of the pit in your stomach.

What would Bradley say if he knew you still had it in your pocket? He would probably make fun of you and tease you for falling for him so hard, still pining despite your constant protests as if he would remember. He never gave it to you to keep. He flung it at you. You just never gave it back, and Bradley never asked for it.

You screw your eyes shut tighter for a second, exhaling deeply. It’s Sunday, your day off, and you should be enjoying yourself. Not pondering the maybes of life long passed. Moreover, you shouldn’t be at the residence today — you’re only here to drop off the flowers for the guestroom because the florist forgot to deliver them. Which you did, and then you bolted through the servant’s entrance to the back of the house.

So why do you hear someone calling your name?

You wonder how much longer you can pretend not to hear and just bask in the sun a bit longer. The rapid footsteps approaching spell the end of your moment of quiet. Sitting up, rolling down your sleeves, and brushing the carefully styled curls back into place, framing the left side of your face.

“Annie!”

You wince. You hate that name.

Smiling broadly, Julie comes bursting out of the house. Her red hair is like a flame. Unceremoniously, she sits herself down in the doorway, legs stretched in front of her, toeing her neat black lacquered shoes off.

Automatically, you hand her your cigarette holder and a box of matches, which she gratefully accepts.

“Don’t sit on the floor, Julie,” You say in way of greeting. “You’ll get your dress dirty.”

She ignores you, stretching languidly.

“Did you take a peek at the new house guest?” She asks instead, a devilish look on her face.

“Do I ever?” You reply, ashing your cigarette absentmindedly. You ensure everything runs smoothly behind the scenes: the rooms look beautiful, not a crinkled sheet or speck of dust, magically laundered clothes each morning, fresh flowers. But it’s not your job to serve drinks or dinner.

It was hiding away in the shadows that once protected you. The shadows that wrapped their branches around you, through you, rooting you into place.

“He had Miss Lo on the ceiling with one look,” she continues, giddy. “This is promising to be such an entertaining week!”

“Oh please,” you close your eyes again, leaning back. “Nothing will happen. Miss Lo will simper, fawn, and complain, Mrs. Parker will loom over every step we make, and then the ambassador and his guest will probably burn a hole in the smoking room curtains again.”

Julie snorts.

“I get her, though,” she adds thoughtfully. “Miss Lo, I mean.”

You shoot her a skeptical look.

“What, you never have a little daydream about one of those handsome officers sweeping you off your feet?”

“Me?” You gesture vaguely at your face. “Hardly,” you lie.

“Especially you,” Julie continues, undeterred. Your mouth sets in a hard line. “You pine.”

“I don’t,” Annoyance is seeping through your voice.

“Yeah, you do. When you think no one is looking, when you’re working, it’s like your eyes glaze over. You’re pining for someone,” She’s pointing her index finger at you playfully. You roll your eyes.

“You know you could just tell me, right?” She presses, a little too eager. “You’re inviting all the gossip because you never tell us anything,”

“It’s annoying when Miss Lo does it, but it’s rude coming from you, Julie,” You cut her off sharply. Your head still hurts, and your ear feels heavy like it’s full of water.

You could talk about Bradley. There is no reason to keep it a secret anymore — the danger has passed. Once, you were waiting for the time when your great wartime romance would only be a story lovingly recounted over too many wines.

You could talk about what happened in those final days of the war. You were hardly the only one that came home broken in more ways than one. You thought that one day you’d look back at everything that happened, everything that you did, and feel some pride.

But it just hurts. And that hurt is all you have left. It’s yours to suffer because you convince yourself it’s the only way you are sure everything that happened was real: the good and the bad.

“You’re doing it again, Anya,” Julie takes a long drag from her cigarette, mercifully dropping the horrid new nickname bestowed on you by Mrs. Parker. You shoot her a long-suffering look.

“You know what they say, right?” Julie says calmly, legs stretched before her, languishing in the sun. “The best way to get over a man is to get under another one.”

You start laughing, despite yourself. You don’t know what has suddenly gotten into you. Maybe the shadows had become too cold and lonely for you to handle.

Maybe you finally allowed yourself to break free from your stasis.

Maybe you really stopped believing Bradley would ever come back to you.

Maybe you are ready to admit you never truly believed it in the first place.

The music is too loud. Your head is spinning — not from the collision, but from the white wine spritz going down too quickly. Why are you in a club on Sunday night? Why is it so busy? Someone is talking to you. You can see his mouth move, shaping the words, but you cannot hear his voice. It simply disappears in the wave of dissonant sounds. Julie is dancing. You see flashes of her red hair twirl in and out of sight.

It’s the creeping realization that you shouldn’t be here.

The room moves in strange waves. Fingers wrap around your chin. You want to stumble back, but your back is against a wall. Were you here the whole time? Nervously, you brush your fingers through your hair, ensuring the curls framing your face's left side are still in place. Another hand brushes them away again. You wish you could melt through the wall. The puffs of breath against your skin tell you he’s whispering something in your ear.

“Leave me alone,” You try.

You can’t hear your own words. You can’t hear the fucking words. Panic is bubbling up now. The grip on your chin is painful — you jerk your head away, throwing up your arms to create a shield between yourself and the hulking mass hovering over you. It doesn’t have the intended effect. The moment you think you’ve made an escape for yourself, he closes in on you more.

The hand threading through your hair yanks your head back painfully. You are sure that you screamed out. But it’s like the sound disappeared into the void. Maybe you only screamed in your head. His lips crash roughly into yours. Every action elicits a reaction — whenever you pull away, he pulls you back in closer.

It’s like a switch flips in your head. For a few seconds, the surge of adrenaline sharpens your vision again—the wave of noise stills. You stop struggling.

You know where you are.

Your wine glass is on the table, on your right-hand side. Your fingers sneak towards it, gripping the stem tightly. You have one shot at this. He is taller than you, heavier. You don’t stand a chance in a fair fight.

That’s okay. You won’t fight fair.

Shattering the bell of the glass on the side of the table shocks him enough to break off the kiss. The shock changes to wide-eyed horror when the sharp edge of the wine glass is pressed against his jugular. You use the moment to switch positions. It’s almost comical how meekly the man allows himself to get pushed against the wall.

You want to say something clever. But it’s like your tongue is paralyzed.

This is your chance. You need to get out before people start noticing you are poised to stab someone in the neck.

Stay in your shadow.

You are halfway down the street in the pitch dark night when you realize you are still holding the broken wine glass. The fine shards have made your fingers bleed. You stumble to a halt. The world is spinning uncomfortably again.

Why are you holding that glass? Where is your coat? Your purse?

Fuck. Fuck.

You don’t care about the coat. You don’t care about the purse or anything in it. Everything is replaceable.

A broken sob escapes you.

You care about that fucking bracelet in your pocket. It’s the one thing you can’t make yourself leave behind. You let out a scream from frustration. A window slams shut somewhere.

Why can’t you move on? Why are you allowing Bradley — fucking Rooster — who is not even fucking here, that you haven’t seen or heard from in the three years, who spent the better part of two months sweet-talking you into bed with him when he could have fucking died, who fucked with you, your head and heart so thoroughly in just six short days, and you let him, why are you still allowing him all this power over you? Why can’t you just let him go already?

You will yourself forward, but your feet won’t move.

You’re in stasis.

Tears streaming down your face, broken wine glass in your bloodied hand, you are sure you look as unhinged as you feel. Turning around, you march back to the club.

You will get back what’s yours.

You will get what was promised to you.

And you’ll do it your fucking self.

***

Looking at the picture he tore from Life, Bradley tries to determine if the church spires in the background are the same ones he’s looking at now. Has he been here before? Did you ever take him through this part of the city? It’s frustrating how little he seems to remember and how hard it is to recall the things he was so sure were branded onto his brain.

That place, the villa, was messing with his head. Something there was putting him on edge like he had to be on the lookout the whole time. It was almost like he was expecting to turn a corner, open a door, walk into any room, and find you there. He barely made it through the one night there before the anxiety became too overwhelming, and he packed his bag and checked into a hotel.

It settled some of his anxiety, but it didn’t help Bradley remember anything. Instead, he snaps a picture of the church. He got a new camera so he can play the part of tourist fully, but he mostly hopes someday, somehow, something will click in his brain again, and he’ll find his way to you. As of today, he has five days to find you in this maze of a city before he needs to get back to Germany and finish his assignment there. After that, there is no telling how long it will be before Bradley gets another chance to come to Europe.

He has to find you.

“Rooster!”

Alarmed, Bradley turns around, stuffing the picture back into his wallet. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or annoyed at the person calling his name.

“Bradley Bradshaw, as I live and breathe,” Jake Seresin saunters to Bradley, grinning widely. Bradley closes his eyes for a moment, cursing. Of all the people in this city, he had to run into Bagman. A Bagman that looks and smells like he just rolled out of a bar, no less, his RAF uniform jacket unbuttoned, tie loose, cover askew.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Jake asks, attempting to fix his hair by running his hand through it several times, just making it stick out worse. “Did you miss me so much you came to see me on my home turf?” He adds arrogantly, still smiling like the devil.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Seresin,” Bradley retorts flatly. “I didn’t come to see you, and right now, I’m not sure I want to be seen with you,”

“You’re such a stick in the mud, lieutenant,” Jake drawls sarcastically.

“It’s captain,” It shouldn’t feel so good to Bradley to lord his rank over Hangman, who is still a lieutenant. But of course, Hangman only responds with a deliberately poorly executed salute to Bradley.

“I know a good watering hole near here,” Jake says offhandedly as he searches his pockets, only to pull out an empty carton of cigarettes, crush it, and stuff it back in his pocket — if it’s supposed to be an invitation, it sure as hell doesn’t sound like one. “You can buy me a drink and tell me what you’re doing here.”

“It’s 11 in the morning, Hangman,”

“When in Rome and all that,” He waves Bradley’s protests away.

Bradley hates the idea. Absolutely hates it. But what if. What if Bagman, of all people, could actually help him?

“Fine,” Bradley tries to sound indifferent. “I’ll buy you a drink, but you have to help me with something,”

The broad smile on Jake’s face at the mention of Bradley needing his help has Bradley convinced that this is all one big mistake.

Bradley still thinks Jake is arrogant and annoying at best, but he begrudgingly appreciates him tagging along. Jake seems to be at least somewhat genuinely interested in helping him, and he cleans up quite well. Bradley needs a guide and someone who speaks the language, even when that guide is more interested in catching the eye of as many girls as possible in his flashy uniform, adorned with medals for bravery and the highest orders of service. It’s not that Jake didn’t fairly deserve those—Bradley still thinks he’s an absolute madman, both in the air and on the ground. A madman with his heart in the right place, however.

And he can hardly blame Jake for using his uniform to charm the local ladies—Bradley has done the exact same many times. But he’s only looking for one lady to charm again.

“I’m sure even you thought of this before, but are you sure you have her real name?” Jake asks conversationally as they walk across the bridge over the Vltava.

He has four days to find you. Yesterday Jake was of relatively little actual help, and somewhere, it pains Bradley that the first and only person that he has spoken to about you, is Jake fucking Seresin. Bradley couldn’t tell Jake all the details, but he put together the details. He thinks that by now he has seen every part of the city in the last two days, but he still hasn’t found you.

“I know her first name is Anna—everyone consistently referred to her as Anya, though,” Bradley replies, looking around. A little tug in his heart. Carefully, he thinks he sees something familiar when you connect the first two pieces of a puzzle. Bradley remembers the bridge, with the golden ornamented columns at either end. He remembers your teasing smile as you helped him practice the pronunciation. He walked past it with you so many times, the national theater behind them.

“Yeah, people do that here.” Jake shrugs. “It’s a common nickname to a very common first name, though.”

“As for her last name—I know for a fact, her initials are A.S.” Bradley continues. “She gave me her handkerchief with her initials embroidered on it and a little bird. Sokol, for falcon.”

“Sure, her last would be Sokolova.” Jake interjects, bored. “But,” he continues, lighting a cigarette. “Have you considered that, even if her initials are A.S., she could have a different first name? Alzhbyeta, Alitse, Anastasia, Alena—I mean, if I had to pick a cover name, I would probably pick the most bog-standard first name in the whole country, too.”

Bradley knows Jake is inferring it will be next to impossible to find you. They walk along the colorful buildings along the water—Bradley feels like he’s walked this route a million times in his dreams, and the moment he waited for is finally here. He knows exactly where to go without being able to explain which turn to take.

“I grew up near here.” Jake suddenly pipes up as he walks next to Bradley, looking around the stately buildings. “My mother still lives around here,”

“Anya said she grew up here too.” Bradley’s heart is beating loudly. Maybe asking Hangman for help was a good idea after all. “Do you think there’s a chance you might have known her?”

Jake shrugs, eyeing the girls walking down the opposite side of the street. Bradley describes what you look like; you were in your sophomore year in university in 1939.

“She could be my age,” Jake admits flatly. “But there were at least five girls named Anna that could roughly fit your description in my cohort in high school—if she even went to the same school as I did. And I don’t remember what they went to college for.”

Jake is not the most encouraging companion, but Bradley’s heart still skips a beat as he sees the familiar street. It’s all slotting into place now. The row of yellow, white, pink, and green. The statues look down at the entrance. He speeds up his pace, Jake jogging behind him.

Bradley quickly scans the names next to the doorbells before moving on to the next one, Jake hot on his tail.

“Bradshaw, listen.” Jake puts a hand on his shoulder, face concerned. It’s strange to see him so serious suddenly. “I grew up in the next building over,” He gestures at the yellow building at the end of the block. “I don’t remember a family called Sokol living in one of these buildings.”

“Fuck.” Bradley mumbles as he pulls out your handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket. He traces the stitching of your initials. Was it really all a ruse? Did you never truly believe he’d come back for you? Were you just playing out a role in the end?

Jake glances down before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Can I see that?”

Bradley hands it to him wordlessly, tucking his hands in his pockets. Did he not tell you enough times? Did you forget or simply stop believing? Did you never believe him in the first place, and were you only happy to dream with him? The fact that he had spun so many girls so many tales over the years this might finally be his comeuppance.

All the dark thoughts he had tried to keep at bay have broken through. He would be crazy not to consider that you might not have gotten married in the meantime or still living in the same place. You were never going to wait for him. Why would you? He knew he was right when he saw your real smile, and you could see everyone wrapped around your little finger, and you did the same thing so effortlessly with him. And he’s more and more sure you could have a devoted husband now, maybe a baby. And you’re happy. Without him.

You never told him your last name. You really didn’t mean for him to find you after the war.

“Bradshaw, I cannot believe I have to tell you this.” Jake sounds like he’s holding in laughter, breaking Bradley out of his reverie and thrusting the neatly folded fabric back into his line of vision. “This,” He jabs at the embroidered corner. “Is not a fucking S with a little bird,” He bursts out laughing.

“Wai- what?” Bradley forcefully grabs the handkerchief, looking at it intently, like it now contains some new information.

“Did she tell you it was an S with a little bird?” Jake asks, barely able to contain himself.

“No, no…” Bradley is sunk in thought. “I just… I just thought Anya was awful at embroidering.” He mumbles.

Jake absolutely loses it at that, doubling over in laughter. An old lady looks out of her opened window, staring both men down judgmentally. When Jake finally stops laughing, he tries to catch his breath to explain how this could be funny.

“So, it’s not an S,” Bradley asks impatiently. “Then what — Hangman, get a grip! — What is it?”

“It’s a Sh,” He replies simply, rubbing his face and giggling. “It’s a completely different letter.”

Bradley stands rooted to the ground, speechless, as Jake keeps laughing.

“You know what would be even more hilarious?” Jake is leaning his forearm against the building, hand covering his eyes with his hand as his shoulder shakes from laughing. “If this whole time, you had been actually talking about Anna Shafrankova, my neighbor who tutored me in high school.”

“They say it’s a small world,” He takes a deep breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. “But man, that would actually be really weird.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Bradley throws himself against the wall, closing his eyes. He feels the sun shine warmly on his face. The gears in his head turn, overheating. He tries to desperately remember every bit of information you shared with him, sometimes offhandedly. As a child, you were scared of ghosts and explored the passageways between buildings with other neighborhood kids. Jake must have been one of them. The arrogant classmate who went to flight school and then disappeared. Was that also Jake?

“Was she scared of ghosts?” Bradley ventures carefully. Suddenly, Jake’s laughter evaporates, and he’s looking at Bradley with astonishment. “When exploring the buildings, as kids, she told me she was scared of the ghosts haunting the servant stairwell,”

“What the…” The look on Jake’s face is confirmation enough. Bradley is sure of it. They are talking about the same person: you. This means, embarrassingly, that Bradley now actually knows less about you than he thought. Those identity papers had been fake.

“Was her birthday on Christmas?”

Jake actually looks confused for a moment. “No,” He ventures carefully. “I’m pretty sure it was sometime in summer — we used to go swimming in the reservoir lake and build camp fires for her birthday, so definitely not in winter.”

Those papers had been very fake, indeed. It’s both a relief and a setback.

“Come on, let’s see if old Shafrankova is home,” Jake announces, clapping Bradley on his back. “After that, you can buy me a drink or ten, and I want an invitation to the wedding.”

Bradley follows Jake in a daze to the green house – you always took him out of another exit, so Bradley never knew which building you lived in. Or which apartment for that matter?

“There’s a different name on 2B now.” Jake comments. “But maybe she left a forwarding address.”

Jake is playing up his natural charm to the lady of the house, who is blushing furiously, answering his questions. Bradley looks around. You never talked much about your home or family. The apartment is light and spacious, with high ceilings and hardwood floors. It’s ornately furnished. What was it like to grow up here? You always seemed humble, never complaining about the conditions you found yourself in, from sleeping on the floor to eating old dry bread. But to live here, surely your family must have been well off, solidly middle-class.

You were well-educated; that should probably have been a hint of your background. But Bradley thought you were just determined. Because you had proven time and time again in the short time he knew you that you had determination and discipline in spades.

“Come on, let’s go.” Jake motions him out, and the lady of the house waves at them with a dreamy look in her eye.

“What did you learn?” Bradley can’t contain his curiosity.

“She didn’t leave a forwarding address,” Jake grumbles. “The lady said Shafrankova sold everything and disappeared.”

Jake hesitates suddenly, eyeing Bradley wearily.

“She said that she only saw Shafrankova once.” He says, choosing his words carefully. “She said she looked… scarred.”

Bradley stops mid-descended on the stairs.

“Scarred, how?” He asks sharply. The vision from his dream, blood gushing from your head, the smell of burning flesh, your face contorted in a voiceless scream, flashes through his head.

Jake shrugs. “She didn’t elaborate. She only said it was a waste of such a lovely face.”

Bradley feels the blood drain from his face. Someone hurt you. Someone came after you. His mind keeps flashing back to when he looked out the train window. What if he wasn’t misremembering? What if it was really someone dragging you off the platform by force? What if you had been arrested? Locked up?

What if that dream really had been more than just a dream?

He tries to find solace in the idea that you aren’t dead. That picture in Life, with his bracelet, must have been you, and if the new tenant saw you, you must have survived the uprising. But you got hurt. And he’s getting the sinking feeling it’s because of him.

“I need to find her.” He utters, panicked.

“That’s the idea,” Jake replies in a bored tone again. “But let’s figure out a plan first. I know a good bar near.”

Dragging his feet, Bradley follows Jake down the street. All the progress they made today was for naught in the end. He is no closer to actually finding you; he only knows where you are not. Time is ticking, and tomorrow, he needs to spend the whole evening as a dinner guest of the ambassador.

“Hey, cheer up,” Hangman turns to look at Bradley with that exact shit-eating grin that never spells anything good out of his mouth. “If you don’t find her by Saturday, I’ll happily introduce you to another Anna,”

***

Mrs. Parker likes to see effort over results. Even though the windows in the smoking room are squeaky clean — the room hadn’t been used since it was cleaned just a week prior — she won’t be satisfied until she has seen you scrub everything and sweat on your brow. She is always particular, but now she is doing it to punish you.

A searing headache and repeated nightmares that kept you bedbound until yesterday. You couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t stay awake. You just lay there, tears streaming down your face.

And from what you had heard, the houseguest suddenly left without a real explanation. It’s not your fault, but Mrs. Parker needs to get rid of her frustration somewhere.

You hate washing windows. You hate it even more when someone hovers over you. But dinner is in an hour and a half, and Mrs. Parker is getting nervous. You don’t bother to ask if important guests are coming; they are all important. Decorated, distinguished, loud, and drunk.

The big windows of the smoking room on the second floor open outward into the beautiful garden of the villa on the hill, the city sprawling below it. The sun is low, and the blue sky slowly colors pink and orange. You wish you could take a moment to enjoy it rather than scrubbing nonexistent dirt from the window sill and listening to Mrs. Parker going through what appears to be a nervous breakdown as she zooms through the room.

“Annie, make sure that there is fresh ice here before dinner ends,”

“Yes, ma’am,” You reply lightly.

“Annie, this tablecloth has a gray sheen; please replace it and rewash it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” You reply dutifully as you strain to reach the top of the window with your cleaning cloth.

“Annie, Annie, these flowers look like they are wilting. Are you sure they are fresh?”

You look over your shoulder at the vase Mrs. Parker is holding. Wilting is a strong word.

“I’ll replace them with fresh cuts before them men arrive after dinner, ma’am,” You assure her, although you doubt they will notice the difference or care.

“Oh, Annie, I need to go check on dinner,” Mrs. Parker dramatizes. She grasps you by the shoulder as you stand by the open window, the long sleeves of your dark work dress awkwardly rolled up, sweat prickling on your forehead, and sopping cloth in your hand, slowly dripping onto the hardwood floor. “You’re the only one I can trust,” She implores you. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

She’s asking you like she’s not paying you to do this.

“Of course,” You smile politely. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am.”

You sigh deeply when you hear the door click close, returning to the open window. You plop the rag back into the metal bucket on the window sill, wiping your hands on your apron as you look out over the garden. The blooming colors, the sweet smells — it’s really at its most beautiful right now. The apple tree is so full of blossoms it’s almost completely white. The rose bushes have come in beautifully again in pink, red, and yellow. The lavender is abundant.

When you hear the high-pitched giggle, you step back from the window, averting your gaze. Miss Lo is strolling through the garden with tonight’s guest, showing him the lush surroundings and stunning view. You busy yourself with changing the allegedly grayish tablecloth and taking the perfectly fine flowers out of the vase.

You can hear Miss Lo’s melodic voice, although you cannot make out any words. Envy is searing through you like a red-hot iron. Today, you just can’t take it. Resolutely, you march back to the window, expressly not looking at the two figures slowly walking down the garden path in the sunset. As you reach the window latch, you plant your left hand on the window sill to keep yourself stead.

The windows are so unnecessarily large you have to strain to reach far enough — your fingertips barely touch the handle. As you put more weight on your left arm, leaning forward, you feel the pain building in your shoulder.

Just a little further.

Finally, you get a grip on the handle, but it’s like a bomb bursts in your left shoulder. Your elbow buckles from the sudden wave of pain, colliding with the metal bucket that you stupidly left on the window sill. Time almost slows to a crawl as you grab your left arm, pressing it against your chest to stop it from violently shaking, and you watch in partial fascination, partial horror as the metal bucket is no longer standing on the window sill but rather tortuously slowly is sailing down to the patio.

You scrunch up your face and hold your breath in preparation for the screech and clang of the metal against the stone, still standing in the window, looking down at the inevitable chaos below you.

The impact echoes, drawing out your mortification. You close your eyes in frustration.

The high-pitched girlish scream is several orders of magnitude louder than the bucket hitting the stone patio.

Shit. Fucking shit. Miss Lo.

Hesitantly, you open your eyes, still frozen in the open window. You don’t see the bucket and the soapy water sloshed over the stones. You don’t see Miss Lo in her evening dress and glittering jewelry, her face etched in horror, clinging to her companion. Everything has disappeared, melting away in the background.

Because on the garden path leading up to the house, in a resplendent white Navy uniform, looking right at you, is Bradley.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. Bradley pulls his arm away from Miss Lo, shaking her off almost rudely. He’s still staring at you like he’s just seen a ghost. As he takes one step forward, you take a step back. With one last look, you start running.

In the war, you left small parts of yourself scattered. A version, a part of you, stayed on that square in front of the university between the bodies of your classmates. Another part of you broke off in that mountain cabin when you first aimed a gun at another person. Bradley chipped off and pocketed so many bits of you, and oh, how gladly you let him. Finding Eva’s murdered body in the stairwell of your apartment cracked deep into your soul. When you shot Jan, you didn’t feel anything; you were already so broken, but more bits of the person that you once were died there that day. The explosions, the bodies, the blood, the shots—they cling to the wreckage of your former self.

As you stand at the top of the stairs, tugging your sleeve down out of habit, you’ve never been more acutely aware of how incomplete you truly are. There is nothing but debris left of the girl Bradley met that day in that barn. You are surprised he even recognizes you.

He is looking up at you in wonder from the bottom of the stairs. Hurriedly, clumsily, he grabs his cover off his head, holding it in his hands almost nervously, unsure what to do next. The black pit in your stomach is still there — you are so afraid that the look of wonder will disappear forever when he sees you up close. Despite your heart beating as much in fear as in excitement, your feet start moving down the stairs of their own accord, going faster and faster. Every broken piece of you rattles like broken china with every step, the sound becoming deafening the closer you get.

Bradley is running up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. His brain is going a mile a minute: you look exactly like he remembers, but also different. Still beautiful, so much more beautiful than in his memories. Your hair is different than he remembers— longer for sure, but he could swear you used to wear it parted to the right rather than the left. The long-sleeved, high-collared, dark charcoal dress looks severe on you in the light summer weather.

You almost crash into him as you race down the stairs. You grab onto his uniform jacket to steady yourself, your face automatically moving to his, only just stopping yourself short. His scars have faded, although you can still see the raised ridges on his skin. There is no way he cannot see yours now. His arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him. His warm hazel eyes roam over your face, unreadable. You hesitate, averting your gaze.

Maybe you’ve changed too much. Maybe there’s really nothing left of the person Bradley once knew. He can probably see that now. Maybe this Bradley is not the one you remember anymore. His fingers graze the damaged skin along your hairline. Swallowing dryly, you look up at him.

He’s smirking at you, eyes twinkling.

How you hate that cocky smile. How you’ve missed it. Seeing it again, feeling him again, is so overwhelming you feel your poor heart might give out. You tighten your grip on him, pulling yourself closer, as if you’re scared he’s going to turn to smoke in your arms, or, worse, push you away.

But Bradley moves his face closer to you, his mouth only a fraction away from yours. You can feel his warm breath on your face. You can feel his heartbeat under your fingers.

“Do it, you coward,” He whispers.

He sees the flash of anger in your eyes. How dare he use your own words against you? But it has the intended effect. It’s all you need to hear. You kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck, barely giving him a moment to recover from your ferocity, slanting your mouth against his, begging him to let you deepen the kiss. Bradley allows you without hesitation, easily catching your weight as you fall into him. Your body still fits so perfectly against his.

This is what it should have felt like, Bradley realizes. Coming home, finally closing the long chapter of war. He had been chasing this feeling: the benevolent calm, the warm intimacy.

Home is where the heart is, and that was always in your arms.

note | good things come to those who wait. Also, this chapter has some of the earliest scenes that I actually wrote over a year ago, and those were the exact things that kept me awake the whole night when I came up with this story. Which is more than a year ago, actually. God, I hope the payoff is really going to be worth it hahahaha. Thanks for sticking by me, still. There was actually a full chapter of material before this, titled Blue Skies. But I cut a lot of stuff out to start moving the story a bit faster, mostly because I really want to write this finally!

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

74 notes · View notes

stellamancer · 10 months

Text

pairing: fem!reader x merman!satoru gojo

contents: more varying levels of anxiety from the reader, mentions of food and eating, satoru gojo is an absolute menace

notes: part ii! um, got a little delayed because i wanted to write a kiss scene... and also because i was fretting over characterization, over reader’s characteriztion, over gojo’s... he’s really hard to write i think. nuances, you know? hoping i did a good job. also somehow this chapter is?? longer?? than the last?? i’m surprised tbh. anyway, please enjoy.

word count: 5.5k (who the hell am i???)

previous chapter || masterlist

You think you might have made a really, really big mistake.

Last night, it didn't seem like a mistake, rather, it seemed like the right thing to do. Who knows who could have found him? What they would have with him? To him? It was better to have brought the merman home than to leave him to an uncertain and possibly cruel fate. You did the right thing; you were certain of it.

At least, you were until you woke up, greeted by the merman's smooth voice and his blue, blue eyes. Ever since then, it’s just been one thing after another with him.

Don't you know that merfolk need the water to be at a specific temperature?

Don't you know that the water needs to be at a certain salinity level?

Don't you know that thing you're keeping him in is far too small?

It's only been for a couple of hours, but you're already completely exhausted trying to keep up and accommodate his needs. To be honest, it's actually kind of overwhelming and you can't help but wonder if this is what it's like for people who adopt animals just because they think they're cute or something.

Not that you would call the merman cute.

Especially not after he’s spent all morning basically mocking you for not knowing anything about merfolk. You didn’t even know they were real until last night, so how could you possibly know the optimal ambient water temperature for a merperson? But you're trying, and hopefully that counts for something. Which is why you're standing in the doorway of your bathroom, holding a platter with a single, whole, raw mackerel on it, its dead eyes boring into your very soul.

Originally, you were going to grill the mackerel in question and have it for breakfast, but you’ve been so caught up in doing this and that for the merman that you haven’t had the time to eat, much less cook. It’s fine. You and Minori planned to meet up at that cafe off the beach that she likes, so you can just eat there even if you think their food sacrifices flavor for the sake of looking disgustingly photogenic.

Speaking of that, you should probably start getting ready soon. You’re supposed to meet up in a little over an hour, and you feel a little gross, still in the clothes you wore last night, plus you have no doubt that you absolutely need a shower, but before you can do any of that, you need to feed the merman.

His gaze zeroes in on the platter in your hands, realizing you heard him earlier (as if you couldn't— he's so very loud). He seems to perk up at the prospect of eating, but it doesn't last long as a frown settles across his features. You gulp. It feels like you're in for yet another merfolk lesson.

Finally, he asks, "Is that supposed to be… food?"

You nod slowly.

"For me?"

You nod again.

"I can't eat that."

"Wh-why not? What's wrong with it?" You almost demand. In hindsight, you should have asked, especially since Mr. Merman's seemed eager to point out every misstep you've made so far. You were so sure that the mackerel would have been acceptable that you didn't even bother. It makes sense for a merman to eat fish right? What else would he eat? Seaweed? Is he maybe vegan?

"It's dead," he tells you and though his tone is plain, you can see the amusement dancing in those beautiful blue eyes of his. "Fish are best live— squirming as you bite into them, their blood squirting—"

"Okay!" You squeak, interrupting his rather grotesque description. It’s way too early for any kind of gory stuff. "Okay! Got it!"

Well, that settles that; he’s definitely not vegan.

He grins, clearly finding enjoyment in your discomfort, and you try to tell yourself, again, that you did the right thing. You're trying your best, but the fact that it doesn't seem to be amounting to anything is frustrating. The merman's constant jabs and jeers at you and your efforts certainly aren't helping.

Neither is the distinct feeling of intense hanger that's starting to claw at you.

Maybe you should have a snack before you meet up with Minori.

The merman tilts his head, and you think maybe he's trying to look innocent, his eyes big and wet, his lips barely puckered. But the mischievous look in his eyes betrays him, making it clear that his aim is just to continue messing with you. "Oh, but—"

"Unfortunately," you interject again, exasperation seeping into your tone. You can feel your hanger about to violently consume you as you hiss. "I'm rather uneducated when it comes to merfolk food culture."

He just stares at you and it feels strange that he has no quip to counter you with.

Shit. Was that a bit much? You regret your words as soon as they're out of your mouth. Despite the merman's behavior, he doesn't entirely deserve to be on the receiving end of your ire. You really should have asked about his diet. And maybe gotten yourself a bite to eat while you were getting him that fish. It's not as if you didn't know you were hungry.

You take a deep, deep breath, hoping that fresh oxygen in your lungs can keep you sane for just a little bit longer. "Sorry. Just… is there— is it really completely inedible like this? If you really want it warm or something, I can cook it for you really quick."

He seems to consider your words, and you hope his response will be favorable. "...No, it's fine like this, I guess."

Relief saturates you as you exhale. You hadn't even realized you'd been holding your breath. "I promise I'll get you something better later, it's just I… kind of don't have the time right now."

The merman hums and holds his hand out expectantly. You're not sure if you should just give him the whole platter or just the fish itself; you opt for the former as you cross the length of the bathroom to give him his meal. Then you look away. He's either going to swallow the fish whole or bite into it, and frankly, you don't know if you can stomach the sight of either.

It sounds like the latter though. You start to step away, seeing this as the perfect opportunity to get ready, but that would have to start with a shower and while the shower is completely separate from the tub it is also right there. The thought of giving the merman a show while he eats is absolutely mortifying, especially when you consider how unnaturally handsome he is. Maybe you should leave a little early and swing by the bathhouse to shower there…

“Got plans?” The merman’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“Uh, yeah.”

"A hot date?" he probes, sounding like he's snickering.

Your face feels warm and you whirl around to face him, catching a peek of a bit of the mackerel's tail hanging out of his mouth. "No, I'm meeting up with my best friend."

Last night doesn't count. You barely even spoke with one another. Not that you could since she—

"You don't seem all that excited about it," the merman remarks, his eyes watching you curiously, looking impossibly bluer than before.

You open your mouth to refute the claim. To tell him that the reason you don't seem excited isn't because of Minori but because you've spent your entire morning running yourself ragged because of him. But it’s not quite true, so you don’t. Try as you might to ignore it, Minori's recent behavior still weighs on you, awkward and uncomfortable. You hold your tongue and instead say, "That's… not true."

The merman's expression is indecipherable, his icy blue gaze fixed on you. It feels like he’s seeing right through you, silently calling you out on your weak excuse of a lie.

Feeling the conversation is over, you turn back around and take another step to leave, but then the merman speaks again.

“So, you know,” he starts, his tone adopting a flirtatious edge. “I’d be happy to teach you about merfolk culture. I’m pretty good at it, if I do say so myself.”

Your entire body goes rigid and you glance back at him, in mild disbelief. “At… teaching?”

He grins at you, as if he’s happy to have your eyes on him again. Is he starved for attention or something? The merman winks as he responds cheerfully, “Yup!”

You gawk at him. “Like how you’ve been ‘teaching’ me all day?”

“That’s right! You’ll be an expert in no time.”

You doubt that. His teaching methods leave a lot to be desired; you’d even go so far as to say he’s actually a garbage teacher. You consider telling him this, but decide not to because he really seems legitimately proud of his skills (or lack thereof). “I don’t know…”

“Come on! It’ll be lots of fun!”

You doubt that even more. “Based on everything you’ve ‘taught’ me so far, I’m honestly not even sure if I can adequately take care of you here…” You pause, then add, slowly more to yourself than the merman. “Maybe when I get back I should call the aquarium…”

It would be better, you think, to return him to the sea where he belongs. If anything, he seems well enough, and he hasn’t made any mention of any injuries that would keep him from going back. You don’t know for sure, but being in the aquarium would probably be better than your parent’s luxurious bathtub.

“An aquarium?” he exclaims and his voice is louder than usual, causing you to jump just a little bit. “You’re not serious, right?”

“Uh, well—”

“They keep a lot of different aquatic creatures there, don’t they?” the merman says before you can say anything.

“Yeah, but that means the facilities are bigger and so you’d—”

“They probably wouldn’t be able to give me the same kind of personalized care that I could get from you.”

“Maybe, but I’m sure they’d—”

“Besides,” he interrupts again, his voice even louder as if he’s trying (and succeeding) to gain dominance over the conversation at hand. “They’d probably keep me there for the rest of my life! They might even experiment on me!”

Wide eyed, you stare at the merman. Your initial thought is that the family that owns the aquarium wouldn’t do that, but you don’t know, someone else who works there might. Merfolk are supposed to be myths, legends, so it’s not completely outside the realm of possibility that if you were to dump him off at the aquarium that he’d become someone’s research project.

"You wouldn't do that to me, would you?" he pleads, staring at you, his baby blue eyes blown wide, wet with what you think, in the back of your mind, are crocodile tears, his lower lip quivering as if he’s a frightened child.

“I…” you start, trying to think of something, anything to say. There’s no doubt in your mind that the merman is guilting you. But you also know that he has a point, there’s no way to ensure that he’ll be treated humanely if you hand him off to someone else. Your stomach churns at the thought of scientists cruelly poking and prodding at him with needles and scalpels as if he were a lab rat. No matter how annoying he’s been, he wouldn’t deserve that.

After all, isn’t that why you brought him home in the first place? To protect him from such a cruel fate? If you were just going to hand him off to someone else, you should have just left him on the beach.

Slowly, you shake your head, “No… I wouldn’t.”

Pleased, the merman beams at you, his expression now the complete opposite of the pitiful look he was sporting just a moment ago. Despite his cheer, you still feel uneasy and you don’t think it’s because you’re hungry.

The reason becomes obvious when the merman speaks, as if your body was giving you a premonition, trying to warn you. “That settles it then! Guess we’re roommates now!”

You stare at him blankly, your thoughts stuttering at his words, struggling to comprehend them as if they were spoken with a foreign tongue. What did he say? What did he say? When your brain finally processes them, translates them into something you can understand, you nearly screech, the words flying out of your mouth before you can even think about filtering them. “Roommates? Who said anything about roommates?”

The merman’s eyes narrow into a smoldering gaze and you distantly wonder if he's just trying to show off the range of emotions that he's capable of. His voice drops an octave, purposefully sultry and seductive as he says, "Well, if you'd like a different kind of arrangement—"

"Shut up!" you finally snap, ignoring the electric feeling running up and down your spine at the mere sound of his voice. You don’t think you’ve snapped at anyone before, much less a stranger, but to hell with that and to him too. All morning he’s been bossing you around and while you’ve been doing you best to acquiesce to him, he keeps messing with you as if you’re his own personal toy. Maybe it really is the hanger, having consumed you, body and mind, by this point, but regardless, you’ve hit your limit with him. “We absolutely cannot be roommates! Don’t you have to return to the ocean, anyway? Won’t you turn into seafoam or something if you don’t?”

He starts to laugh and you glare at him. It probably sounds stupid, but you think you’ve heard something like that before, but then again it’s not like you actually know anything. The merman waves his hand dismissively, his lips curled up in amusement. “I know what you’re thinking and no, it’s nothing like that.”

"Okay, but that doesn't answer my question."

He gives you a noncommittal shrug. “Yeah, eventually.”

You wait, because you know there’s got to be more to it than that. Is he just doing these dramatic pauses for the fun of it? He shoots you a mischievous grin, almost confirming it, as he adds, “Should be fine as long as I go back in the next hundred years or so.”

You nearly choke on the air. One hundred years? He can’t be serious. You take a deep, deep breath before speaking. “Sorry, but I don’t have one hundred years to be your roommate— I don’t even know if I’ll live that long. I’m only going to be here for the summer, and then I’m heading back home to Tokyo.”

That should be enough to deter him. At least that’s what you think, but you also think that the merman might like proving you wrong. His smile shifts only just slightly, the glimmering in his eyes reminding you more of the sky than the sea that he calls home. “For the summer then. We can be roommates until you go back to Tokyo.”

You scowl, wracking your mind for some kind of counterpoint, but it feels like you’re fighting a losing battle in trying to argue with him. He takes your silence as a chance to attempt to further convince you. “Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the only one here, right?”

You don’t say anything so he continues.

“Aren’t you lonely here all on your own?”

His question hangs in the air, unanswered, as you remain silent.

The truth is you’re used to it— to being lonely. You’ve been living on your own in Tokyo for long enough to be comfortable with the silence that comes with solitude. It’s no stranger, and sometimes you could even consider it a friend. But there’s no denying that maybe, just maybe you’d been hoping there would have been a little more time between your arrival and your parents’ departure. It’s fine. You’ll see them when they get back.

Besides, you still have Minori.

You can still hang out with her. Go eat at little cafes where you’re meant to take pictures of the food rather than enjoy eating it. Or have sleepovers where you chat about anything and everything. How she’s got something going on with Hayato. How weirdly nice Shinomiya is. How different life in Tokyo is compared to here. And maybe spending time with her will be enough to take the place of the silence, the loneliness that you’re grown accustomed to. It’s fine, you tell yourself, almost viciously. It’s fine because you still have Minori.

Minori, who’s supposedly your best friend.

Minori, who, you suppose, is acting strange around you.

Minori, who you’re supposed to hang out with in about an hour.

“We can’t be roommates,” you repeat, through gritted teeth as you reach up to massage your temple in exasperation. You don’t have time to deal with this right now: you need to get ready. “I don’t even know you. I don’t even know your name.”

The merman opens his mouth to respond but just as he starts to speak, you can feel a vibrating in your pocket. Soon after the sound of your ringtone fills the bathroom, echoing off the walls. You shoot him a look, silently telling him to be quiet as you reach into your pocket to grab your phone. Your stomach feels like it’s doing gymnastics, flipping and folding into itself, uncomfortably, painfully. It’s amazing your phone is still alive, having gone all night and almost all morning off the charger and you catch sight of how much the battery remains— nine percent. But that’s not the most important thing right now.

It’s Minori that’s calling.

You turn away from the merman, gulping as you swipe the green answer button on the screen. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Her voice is strained, hoarse, like she’s gotten sick or spent all night screaming.

“Are you okay?” you ask, more a formality than anything. You know the answer, but you’re still concerned.

“No, I—” She coughs. It sounds almost forced. You ignore it. “I… kinda drank a little too much last night…”

Somehow, you’re not surprised. You bite the inside of your cheek as you try not to frown. “It’s okay. We can reschedule.”

“...you sure?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “You don’t feel well and… we have all summer to hang out.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“Okay,” Minori rasps out, then she adds, almost an afterthought. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Really.”

You could almost swear you hear another voice in the background, one that sounds almost familiar but you ignore it. You ignore it. You ignore it.

“It’s fine,” you repeat. “We have all summer.”

“Right.”

“Just get some rest, okay?”

“Mmhmm… bye.”

“Bye.” The line clicks first on Minori’s end. Your hand drops to your side limply and your phone almost slips from your fingers.

You don’t know how to feel.

On the one hand, she really might have drank too much. You remember seeing a few coolers filled to the brim with booze last night. It’s not impossible that, after you’d left, people, people including Minori, might have really gone to town with the drinking. She definitely could have gotten a hangover from drinking too much.

But something else in the back of your mind insists otherwise, it whispers that there’s something else going on. Her behavior is too suspicious, and it’s getting harder and harder to fight off the notion that she’s doing this on purpose, that she’s avoiding seeing you, avoiding talking to you.

And that hurts.

But what hurts more is that you don’t really know why.

Is it just because you were really bad at talking to her when you were in Tokyo? Or is it something else? You could message her and ask, but you’d rather ask her in person when you can. If you can.

“Satoru.”

You startle at the sound of the merman’s voice, turning toward him. You almost forgot that he was here. He’s watching you curiously, expression unreadable. It makes you a little uncomfortable, like he’s dissecting you.

“What?” Your voice is almost inaudible.

“Satoru,” he repeats and you notice his tone is almost gentle now. “That’s my name.”

“...just Satoru?” you ask, unsure. You actually have little doubt that it’s his name, but it feels a little… too close, too personal to be using his first name when you barely know him.

The merman gives you a wry smile as he dodges your question. “You know, it’s impolite to not offer your name after someone else gives you theirs.”

He’s not wrong, but still you hesitate. You feel like there’s some unspoken significance in giving him your name, like once you do, you’ll be setting something into motion that you won’t be able to stop.

It’s just a name, just your name.

Satoru’s eyes glimmer as you offer it to him and he repeats your name back, as if he’s testing the feel of it in his mouth. Something in your chest stirs at the sound of it, a little voice in the back of your head smugly telling you that it was right, but you ignore it.

With a satisfied hum, he says, tone shifting into something more cheerful, “With that out of the way, there’s no reason we can’t be roommates now, right?”

You stare at him wide eyed. It’s completely beyond you why he’d rather spend his time here, in your parent’s bathroom over being in the big wide ocean, but it’s clear that he has no intent on giving up. Between Satoru keeping you busy all morning and Minori canceling your plans, you don’t really have the energy to fight him any more anyway.

“It’ll be fun, I promise,” Satoru insists with a smile. This one is different from the others you’ve seen from him so far and you wonder if he’s trying to take a different approach to convince you.

Not that he needs to any more; you’re already resigned yourself to your fate.

“...only until I go back to Tokyo, okay?” you relent, squeezing the phone in your hand so hard it might break. This might be a mistake, agreeing to let this merman, to let Satoru stay here for the summer, but it’s fine.

It’s fine.

Satoru beams, bright and triumphant as he echoes. “Only until you go back to Tokyo.”

One trip out of the house to the bathhouse and the store is enough to reduce the discontent you feel from whatever is going on with Minori to just a frustrating buzz in the back of your mind. You know it won’t fully go away until you and Minori actually talk about it, but with the way things are going, who knows when that will be?

Besides, you feel like your hands are going to be too full attending to Satoru to dwell on anything for very long.

You heave everything you got at the store onto the counter. Even though you’d gone just yesterday, the sudden appearance of another mouth to feed demanded another trip. Despite Satoru’s offer to teach you about merfolk culture, he wasn’t particularly helpful when you asked him (this time) what kind of food to get him. Seafood, he’d told you with a snicker, and when you probed for something more substantial than that all he said was to surprise him.

His teaching methods really do leave a lot to be desired.

You did what you could with what little he gave you. Naturally, you bought seafood, two more whole fish, and then some other things, some of them a little… unconventional. It’s fine, though, you made sure to get things you could eat just in case Satoru doesn't like them. And if he doesn't maybe that'll teach him to be a little more specific next time.

"Hey! Are you back?" Satoru's naturally loud voice echoes throughout the house. He must have really good hearing if he heard you shuffling in the kitchen, though you did slam the door pretty loud when you came back in earlier.

"Yeah!" You holler back.

"Perfect! I'm hungry!"

Of course he is. But then again, it's been a bit since he ate that mackerel earlier. Your stomach rumbles in agreement with Satoru. After Minori had called, your hanger and appetite had basically disappeared, but now it seems like it's recovered. Your stomach grumbles again, and you consider eating before bringing Satoru his food, but…

Since you're "roommates" now wouldn't it be better to eat together?

Sharing a meal with Satoru sounds like a mistake, but if he gets too annoying you can just get up and walk away. Nodding to yourself, you grab the things you'd bought to eat and some of the things you'd gotten for Satoru to try and head for the bathroom, stopping by the storage closet on the way.

You find what you're looking for— your mother's bed and bathtub trays— with relative ease. Hopefully, the bathtub tray will sit comfortably on the tub, even with Satoru's massive body in it, if not… you can probably both share the bed tray. You grab both trays and, while it's a little awkward, you manage to carry them both into the bathroom.

Satoru's lounging in the tub, since there's not really much else he can do, his long arms and even longer tail hanging off the edges. You feel bad, even though your parents' luxury tub is huge by human standards, it really is too small for him. Maybe it'd be fine if he could bend his tail the way people bend their legs but you don't know if he can. When you enter, Satoru tilts his head toward you and shoots you a lazy grin. You freeze, remembering again, how stunningly handsome he is.

And then he ruins it, by opening his mouth, eyes on the bag in your hand.

He starts to pout. "Did you bring me another dead fish?"

"They only sell dead fish at the store." You say while you set up the trays as little makeshift tables for you both. Luckily, the bathtub tray fits— just barely— but a win’s a win in your book. When that’s all done, you start to pull everything out of the bags. Satoru watches curiously as you separate your stuff from his. Belatedly, you realize you’ve only really brought him snacks and nothing actually substantial.

“So, what have we got here?” he asks when you’re done.

“Uh, well,” you point at each item, telling him what it is as you sit down next to the tub. “Dried shredded squid, some different kinds of seaweed snacks and dried anchovies.”

Satoru hums and picks up the bag of dried anchovies and examines it, turning it over in his hands. Is he wondering how to open it? You’re about to reach over and show him the notch in the bag that he needs to tear, but he gets to it before you do and rips the bag open. It’s a little impressive that he figured it out on his own. You watch as he reaches his hand in and gingerly pulls out one of the fish. He turns it over in his fingers, looking at it before popping the whole thing in his mouth. You hear the absolute barest crunch as he chews on it.

When he’s done he chucks another one in his mouth as if it were a potato chip. “Not bad.”

You beam, maybe it’s not a glowing review, but still you’re glad to have finally, finally gotten some kind of stamp of approval from Satoru.

He glances at you and his lips ease up into a mischievous smile as he plucks yet another anchovy from the bag and holds it up to your face in offering. “Would you like one too?”

You eye the anchovy anxiously and bite your lip, not sure what to say. Do you tell him? Or do you just bite the bullet?

“What’s with that look?” Satoru asks, pouting. “Do you humans not eat these?”

“Uh…”

The pout becomes more pronounced, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Did you really give me something you wouldn’t eat? How mean.”

“...you said surprise me,” you finally grumble. “I’ve only ever used those in making soup stock— I’ve never eaten them like that.”

In an instant Satoru’s frown is gone as he latches onto the last thing you’ve said. He leans forward excitedly, his eyes shimmering with some kind of predatory joy. “Is that so? That would make this… your first time too?”

He does that thing with his voice again, and your brain goes offline for just a millisecond before booting back up. “Don’t make it weird.”

Satoru smiles, unaffected by your deflection. He waves the anchovy in front of you. “Well? Gonna try?”

You stare at it. It’s not like you’re opposed to it, so why not? It’s Satoru’s first time trying anchovies like this, so in a way would it be fair. You’re drawing the line at letting him hand feed it to you, though. Leaning a little bit back, you take the fish from him and toss it into your mouth. Just as you expected it’s a little crunchy, but more than that the taste is intense and salty, but…

“It’s not bad,” you remark, echoing Satoru’s sentiments. He grins and starts to eat them in earnest, few at a time. You pull at the plastic of one of the rice balls you got for yourself so you can dig in. After a couple bites, you notice out of the corner of your eye that Satoru’s looking at you again. “Mmm?”

“What do you have?”

You swallow what’s in your mouth before you explain. “Just some rice balls and a fruit sando.”

“Why does your food look better than mine?”

“Uh,” you pause, trying to think of how to word it, “My stuff is more… complex, I guess?”

Most of what you got for Satoru is pretty simple, consisting of only an ingredient or two. He huffs, obviously off-put by your answer, and leers at you like he wants something. Then he says, petulant, “I want some.”

You’re almost startled at how straightforward he is about it. Almost.

“I… just wasn’t sure if your stomach would be able to handle more… processed human foods,” you explain. “If… if you really want, we can share. I-I just wouldn’t want you to get sick from something you ate, you know?”

Satoru’s eyes widen slightly at your words, but then he waves his hand almost dismissively, “Nah, it should be fine.”

You’re not so sure, but if he says so. “Okay…”

“So, what's that?” he asks, gesturing to the rice ball in your hand.

“It’s a tuna mayo rice ball. The other one I have has salted salmon.”

“I see.”

You think about the best way to go about sharing the rice ball. Would it be better to just flat out give him your salted salmon rice ball? There’s really no way for you to break off a piece of your rice ball to give him to try without basically breaking the entire thing apart.

Before you can decide on a course of action, Satoru ends up deciding for you. He leans all the way forward, getting all into your personal space so he can take a huge chomp out of the rice ball in your hands. You almost drop the entire thing in shock, and Satoru is either completely unaware or doesn’t even care as he leans back in the tub, grinning with a wicked amusement as he chews.

“That’s pretty good,” he remarks, licking his lips. Your eyes are unfortunate enough to pay a little too much attention to the action.

It takes you a moment to recover and you hand him the rest of the rice ball and say. “Okay, well, you can have the rest of this one and I’ll just have this one to myself.”

“I thought we were sharing?”

“We are,” you insist. “You’re eating that one, and I’m eating this one.”

“But I wanted to try the salted salmon one, too.”

“I… I will get one just for you next time I go to the store, okay?” you offer, hoping that will deter him from invading your personal space again and sinking his teeth into the other rice ball.

It doesn’t.

You’re so lucky that the fruit sando is sliced in two pieces.

next chapter (coming soon) →

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #nikuniku fics #sots fic tag

199 notes · View notes

swanimagines · 2 months

Text

CHAMPAGNE KISSES | NIKOLAI LANTSOV

Summary: Boring parties can always get some spice by taking a step back to have fun with your secret prince lover.

A/N: My new neighbor is a Paddy doppelgänger and looking at Nikolai gifs is now awkward for me to be honest 😂

Nikolai Lantsov had attended a fair share of parties during his lifetime - being a prince kind of required it. Gossiping with people, making small talk and feigning interest in their mundane lives. It wasn’t like he didn’t care of Ravkan people, but parties always had these posh upper class people who didn’t know anything less than expensive champagne with every meal, personal cooks, big manors with a dozen rooms they never visit and diamonds in every piece of jewerly. He would have much rather spend time with people who knew what actual life was, not being born inside a fancy bubble. But parties like these were mandatory to attend, so here he was, a glass of champagne in his hand.

He let his gaze wander around the hall, and saw you making your way towards him. He smiled a little at you, nodding as you settled yourself beside him and sighed.

“Hate these parties,” you grumbled. “And yet, my parents always drag me with them. It’s my duty as the heir of the family name, they say.”

Nikolai chuckled at your comment, finding comfort in how his secret lover felt the same way as he did. It wasn’t like he didn’t know it, but your words still made him feel better. “I know exactly what you mean. Same for me. Duty, duty, duty. It gets old after a while.”

You scoffed, tapping your fingers on your arm before a smirk spread on your face.

"C’mon," you said, "you need a reason to get out of here and I have one."

Nikolai raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what would that be?”

You giggled playfully, your hand grasping Nikolai’s as you started to pull him with you. “It’s a secret.”

“Lead the way, then.” Nikolai replied and you left your champagne glasses on one of the drawers as you ventured away from the ballroom. Soon, you were far enough from peering eyes, in a secluded corner and the moment you stepped there you spun around, pulling Nikolai in for a kiss. He had known to expect it, of course, and his hands found their way to your waist as he deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of your lips on his.

When you pulled away, Nikolai smirked at you. “So, this is the secret? You wanting to make out with me?”

“When I wouldn’t?” you mumbled, still staying close enough so your noses brushed together.

Nikolai chuckled again, his hands still on your waist. “No complaints from me.”

You kissed him again, this time with more passion than with the last one. This kiss lasted longer too, and you felt Nikolai’s hands roaming up and down your sides. Eventually though, he pulled away, leaving you trying to chase his lips for a moment.

“We should probably get back before someone misses us,” he told you, breathless from all the kissing you had just done.

“Yeah, probably,” you sighed, disappointment clear in your tone as you forced yourself to pull yourself away from his embrace, smoothing out your clothes and trying to settle your hair to look like it looked pre-kissing.

You wished it would be easier, not to be his secret lover, but a real one, acknowledged, being able to hold his hand and look at him like you wanted to look at him publicly too. But your family name wasn’t regal enough for a prince - Nikolai’s parents wouldn’t agree on it. So you were stuck like this, for now at least.

But Nikolai swore that one day, he’d find a way to make you his, with or without his parents’ consent. Some day, you’d be his, seen by Ravkan people like he saw you. He just hoped that day would be soon.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse imagine #sab #sab imagine #sab x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #gn reader #my works

54 notes · View notes

winchester-girl67 · 4 months

Text

Wild Hearts (Part 4) - Postcards From Dean

Summary: Postcards from Dean to Y/N; sent over the years they were apart.

Masterlist

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Square: Postcards @j3bingo

Word Count: 743

Warnings: underage, age gap (reader is 16-22, Dean is 20-26), language, slow burn, long distance relationship of sorts, pining, maybe a little angst, time jumps, fluff

A/N: This part was written for @j3bingo go as a collection of AU postcards from Dean to Y/N.

_____

A few of your favourite postcards from Dean - from the six years you were apart.

___________________________________

Hey Y/N,

What do you write on a postcard?

Dean

P.S. I picked up a stack of these at a rest stop on the way to Sioux Falls and I thought you'd like some old school snail-mail. I'm aware that your parents and the mailman will probably read this too, so... I'm sorry I got your daughter into trouble and now she has- what, ten hours of community service left? But, she's kind of a badass and saved my life so don't go too hard on her.

P.P.S. And to the mailman: Not cool, dude.

___________________________________

Dear Y/N,

Sam told me to start these with 'Dear' instead of 'Hey', I kind of like the way it sounds so I let him be right for once. Bobby and Jody are pretty cool, they won't even let me pay rent so we can save more money. We'll have a place of our own in no time now.

xo Dean

P.S. I hope the 'x' is okay, if not I blame Sam. If so, it was all my idea. You can't tell but I just winked at you.

P.P.S. It's my birthday and Jody made me a cherry pie! It was so good, I had every intention of saving you a piece but now I'll just have to learn how to make one for you instead. Can't wait for your phone call tonight so I can tell you all about it.

___________________________________

Dear Y/N,

It took a little longer than I thought but we just moved into our own apartment! It's closer to Sam's college but we can still visit Bobby and Jody with a short car ride.

xo Dean

P.S. Think you'll come visit me on your gap year?

___________________________________

Dear Y/N,

It snowed today! And I'm making pasta tonight. You can drool over it via video chat later. I wish we were in the same time zone so you could ring in the new year with me too.

I’m missing you a lot lately, xo Dean

P.S. I'm sending you a big fat kiss. You can put it where you want it. X

P.P.S. To the mailman: Get your mind out of the gutter. She's a lady!

___________________________________

Dear Y/N,

I'm seriously craving Donna's mocha ice cream right now. I think it would go great with Jody’s cherry pie recipe. Don't knock it till you try it!

xo Dean

P.S. Sam hasn't stopped playing that playlist you made him for studying. I swear you have the worst taste in music. I'm going to make you a playlist tonight.

___________________________________

Dear Y/N,

I think I like the mountains on this postcard best, we should take a roadtrip there together, maybe next Valentine’s day?

x Dean

P.S. I don't like airplanes.

P.P.S. But I'm going to take you to all the places on these postcards some day.

P.P.P.S. I hope you're still pinning these postcards to your wall so you can hold them over my head some day.

___________________________________

Dear Y/N,

I'm sorry.

xx Dean

P.S. If I could have one superpower it would be the ability to control the weather.

P.P.S. Getting snowed in would be a lot more fun WITH you.

P.P.P.S. Maybe my superpower should’ve been teleportation! Damn it, is it too late to change my answer?

___________________________________

Dear Y/N,

I just dropped Sam off for his first year of law school. I feel old. Luckily, he got another scholarship though, so I don't have to worry about paying his tuition. Kid's a major nerd.

x Dean

P.S. I'm actually in California! The salt air here makes me think of home, of you. You feel so far away right now. I'm not even looking at the same ocean. That sucks.

P.P.S. We haven't talked in a while and I know that's mostly my fault, but I wanted to give you a heads up. I'm coming home... Soon.

___________________________________

Dear Y/N,

Did you notice there's no stamp?

Always yours,

xoxo Dean

P.S. I was going to tell you to meet me where I first kissed you but that's a hell of a walk. So meet me under our streetlamp. The one where you put ice cream on my nose the first night we met.

P.P.S. I hope you come, I can't wait to see you. But I understand and no hard feelings if you don't.

_________________________

Part 5

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33 @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28 @backseat-of-deans-67chevy

SPN: @hobby27

Wild Hearts: @justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers @vicmc624 @ladysparkles78

106 notes · View notes

sallage · 3 months

Text

Red

The Unexpected Fight Series

Part 3

Warning: This is a tickle fic! - Crossed boundaries and ignored safe word.

Summary: With a renewed sense of determination, Bakugo prepares for his first round of training with Kirishima. Set up like an interrogation, Bakugo must try to withstand the pressure and make it through the full 20 minutes without giving in or giving up.

Pairing: Lee Bakugo, Ler Kirishima

Words: 4,372

Reading Time: 17 Minutes

A/N: So I lied and posted this earlier then I said I would which technically is still super late. I’ll admit I did not proof read this so it might be sloppy but I finished it and wanted it out there haha.

I'm going to sound like a broken record but I'm probably never going to be fully okay with the stories I post. I'll always be wishing I could either pump more into it, be more descriptive, stay true to characters, or add more dialogue. There will always be something I wish I can do or change, but then I wouild never post anything.

Anyways I hope you all enjoy! LOL