#thunder only happens when it's raining story

[bits-and-babs]

Your fics are amazing! Would you ever write about König?

𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐃 — 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆

synopsis : rumours of an elite soldier have the base reeling. murmurings of 'monster' and 'freak'. what happens when you come face to face with the beast, only to find he's nothing like the whispers cautioned?

pairing : könig x f!reader

warnings : 18+ mdni. war, violence, graphic gory imagery, self-conscious könig baby, little bit of hand kink, basic bitch smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, size kink, tight fit, sugar-sweet teeth rotting smut. this feels so basic… but I was struggling. please note, kilgore is a name previously linked to könig. I have used it as a codename 🙂

könig masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Warfare training preps for the inevitable—those moments you need to fire a weapon and how to camouflage and navigate enemy territory without detection. These inescapable horrors are 'another day in the office' by the time you enter the field, the prickling chill of fear driven out of your system. Whistling RPGs are not dissimilar to the scream of your Drill Sergeant's commands, the cold, hard ground of a dilapidated building no more uncomfortable than the standard-issue barracks mattress you would ease your wearing bones into after training. 

Fear, beaten out of each man and woman that slipped on the uniform, held no commonplace in the military. Weapons, the call to war, brutality and sirens did little to raise the blood pressure. 

Whispers held far more weight and struck unease into the hearts of even the most desensitised of fighters. 

It was inarguable that each military in every country, at any time, had its own 'boogeyman'. Notorious fighters with absurdly large kill counts consisting of three digits that inevitably earned a bounty for their head, funded by the enemy—elite warriors who acquired a legendary reputation that ultimately became horror stories. The Ghost of Kyiv, The American Sniper Chris Kyle. These military cryptids kept their enemies awake at night, baying for blood and begging for the piles of bodies they left behind to stop growing. 

After years in the SAS, you were beginning to think that there was no such thing. Each soldier was prolific, brutally efficient and inarguably the best of the elite forces. It was only upon entering Task Force 141, a genuinely mean feat, that you began to hear the unshunnable, hushed whispers of Kilgore. 

“Did you hear about Berlin?” 

“Kilgore? Yeah, heard he blew away a whole Al-Qatala cell.”

“Twelve of ‘em. The hostages were traumatised.”

These mumblings had persisted for months, consistently updated with crazy tales of whole garrisons blown to smitheries by this massacre-happy hulking mass of pure military precision. You, like the rest of 141, elected to ignore the gossip. This was a battlefield, filled with elite soldiers, not a school playground. 

                            ✰

Austrian mud splatters your camo-clad shins as you sprint through the forest terrain, your heart lurching in your chest as your rain-soaked fingers almost fumble your gun to the sodden ground. It’s freezing cold, the gush of rain edging on a flurry of sleet as lightning cracks above your head. Clothes soaked through, the moisture and icy wind form something of a ‘Pact of Steel’, working together to deep freeze the marrow of your bones. 

As you slip in the mud again, heel skidding across the slick soil, you realise how dire the situation truly is. Separated from 141 during the firefight, you’d navigated north. You continued running for the safe house once discovering your coms had been dispatched by a stray bullet— that certainly would have ripped through your heart and dispatched you instantly if not for the layers of plastic settled over it. 

Thunder rumbles in the clouds above, the boom reminiscent of a distant air strike. Slurried earth gives way beneath your feet as you push on. Exhaustion gnaws at your joints as you scramble for safety, bested only by the adrenaline that buzzed in your ear like a vicious drill sergeant. “Move it! Do you wanna die?! Well fucking move!” 

You can hear their boots in the mud, the advancing Al-Qatala mercenaries chasing after you and shooting blindly at your heels, competing with the distance and dense foliage. You’re like an injured fox, feverish bloodhounds nipping at the end of your tail— what could they do with an SAS hostage? How much leverage would it buy? 

Bullets whistle by your feet, the proximity of some enough to set your hair on end. They’re closing in, jowls dripping with slobber as they attempt to close their teeth around you. Just a little mor—

Crack. 

Chaos erupts behind you, the thump of a body and a flurry of shouts. Panicked voices overlay each other in different languages, Urzik and Persian. You scramble for cover behind a treetrunk, the bark cutting at your palms as you brace for incoming fire. 

"Kilgore!" Someone shouts, and your blood runs cold, eyes wide as they dart around the foliage for the legendary soldier. The whizzing of high-powered bullets persists, dropping Al-Qatala mercenaries into the mud beneath them. You hear the yelled orders, Urzik fighters urged to retreat.

You're unsure if one fails to hear the directive over the din of warfare, but you hear the advancing feet of the mercenary advancing on your position—the squelch of the mud beneath the rubber sole of his combat boots. You scramble with your weapon, checking the gun's safety and readying for a one-shot shoot-out. 

When a bullet shreds through a victim's head, the sound is reminiscent of a watermelon being cracked open. It's a sickening crunch. A wet spray of warm blood cuts through the downpour of rain, splattering across your face. Some of it is solid, brain matter and shards of cranium. 

It's not silent by any means. The rain continues to beat against the floor, pattering in the puddles that had formed in sole-shaped prints in the soaked earth. Cracks of thunder sound in the distance, and the droplets drum against the leaves in the forest's canopy. However, the sounds of the firefight cease. 

"You can come out," a voice calls to you. Accented; Germanic. You hesitate for a moment, once again strengthening your grip on the gun you'd clung to. Your lungs strain with the sudden intake of breath, ribs crushed beneath your tac-vest. "Ghost sent me." 

Easing your head out from behind the tree trunk, you marvel, somewhat horrified, at the gigantic, hulking build of the man who stood in the clearing. Fallen enemy combatants surround him, a blanket of corpses draped across the turbid forest floor. A black veil covers his face, and his equipment litters his tac-vest. 

You'd be lying if you said you were unperturbed by the sight. Instead, fear lurches in the pit of your stomach, and you freeze in place. It's only when your eyes catch the crystal white slicing through crimson on the patch sewn into his shoulder that the airy voice, which certainly doesn't match his enormous frame, brings you a sense of safety. 

"The safe house is ahead. We could get you warm–– clean you up?"

                            ✰

Staring into the bubbling pan of water settled over the small fire, you relish in the warmth that creeps across your chilled body. Still, you're soaked, the damp clinging to the threads of your clothes. The scent of iron still assaults your nose, the water that you pick off the fire cautiously heated enough to scrub the blood from your face. 

Kilgore, who informed you upon entering the safehouse preferred to be called by his name König, had seated himself in the corner of the large, relatively empty room. He looked ridiculous like this, attempting to compact his body into the crevice. You don't doubt it's an attempt to ease the nervous energy bleeding through your pores, your hands trembling as you attempt to dip the rag he had gifted you into the hot water. 

"Did..." You swallow thickly, glancing up at the Austrian, "Did you tell the Lieutenant where we are?" 

"Mhm-hm," he nods slowly, his jade eyes watching you from beneath the face veil. They're sharp and bright, contrasting so strongly against his uniform's muted and inky shades. "He's planning evac." 

You scrub the gore from your face, wincing as you feel the shards of bone scrape across your face. König's eyes bore into you from the other side of the room, watching you struggle to remove what was left of the grime the rain had failed to wash away. 

"I've-... Heard a lot about you," you speak to him, attempting to cross the vast space he had consciously put between you. His green eyes gaze at you, unblinking as he watches your expression. König is trying to read you, trying to comprehend how you feel. He's cautious, trying not to push you outside of your comfort zone. 

"About Berlin?" He asks, and his voice is so soft that it reminds you of a child attempting to speak after being reprimanded by their parents–– wary of a second bout of raised voices. 

"Yes," you mumble, dipping the crimson rag into the water before laying it across your skin again, "About Berlin." 

König hums softly, casting his eyes to the aged, wooden floorboards. The woodlice have chewed through them, moss growing in some parts. You can see he appears uncomfortable, his knuckles white from the fists that form in his lap. 

"I didn't mean to scare anyone," König admits in a whisper, catching you off guard. His shoulders sag slightly, and you see him pick at loose threads in the knees of his camo trousers. 

"N-No... I meant to say how courageous it was," you point out, watching his fidgeting hands still suddenly, "You risked your life for those hostages... saved them singlehandedly. No one else would have done that." 

Hesitant silence settles between you both, König considering your words carefully as he stares at his lap. You can't see his face, the veil concealing all but his eyes, though you're almost sure he's stunned by your comment. It takes him a moment to discern his next step, but he finally lifts his body from the wooden chair he'd pulled into the corner. It creaks with the shift in weight distribution, floorboards straining as he walks across the space towards you. 

"You also saved me," you point out, watching him kneel before you, "Faced a whole cell..."

König steals your words from your mouth when his huge hand settles around the bloodied rag in your palm. He doesn't speak at; first, silence hanging between you once again as he dips the cloth into the water. Then, he soaks it until it drips, droplets pinging off the surface, and wrings it out. His dorsal muscles ripple beneath the backs of his palm, veins a ballpoint colour and standing out against his pale skin. 

"Ghost asked me to," he mumbles, carefully holding the damp fabric and slowly reaching for your face. He gives you time to pull away–– you don't. 

"You could have ignored him," you whisper, suddenly breathless with this proximity. He still towers over you, even balanced on his knees, head and shoulders slumped over you. You can see the ocean green of his eyes clearly, the halo of brown flecks that cover the circumference of his pupil. His eyelashes flutter when he blinks, so pretty and oddly feminine. 

The pressure of the cloth against your skull is so delicate. König appears to be afraid of hurting you, gently brushing away the flecks of blood in your hairline. He shakes his head gently, considering your kind words. "What kind of man would I be, Leibchen?" his voice is airy, tone flimsy.

Those stunning eyes take a moment to gaze into yours, searching for your answer. Instead, all you manage is a weak shrug. 

"Were... Are they afraid of you?" You whisper to him, struggling to find the words to broach a topic that appears to affect König so profoundly. It's his turn to answer wordlessly, offering an equally frail nod. 

König takes your chin ever so gently in his hand, his palm almost eclipsing the lower half of your face, and turns your head in search of further blood-spatter. He sweeps the makeshift face-cloth over your skin, focusing on removing the grime altogether. 

You'd heard the cruel rumours, the whispers of 'monster' and 'freak'. This König you'd met couldn't possibly be the same they uttered about maliciously. He held a child-like kindness, the brutality of the job seemingly doing little to chip away at his humanity. The same couldn't be said about the others. 

"König," you whisper his name softly, watching as he continues to focus on clearing up your skin. His soothing touch smoothes across your temple now, removing some mud speckles. "Don't listen to them."

You can see his eyes soften, once again turning to yours as you reach to fiddle with the edge of his veil. Upon tracing the border between the pads of your thumb and forefinger, you find that it's t-shirt material, the zigzag seam stitching rough against your touch like barbed wire. "They haven't seen you like I have." 

Those eyes gleam with amusement, little crows-feet creases forming in the corners. He's smiling, and your heart stutters against your chest. 

"That right, Leibchen? I've had a mask on this whole time."

The gentle teasing lilt to his tone makes you lightheaded, urging you forward with your frankly ridiculous plan. You begin to lift the edge of his veil upwards. You take it slowly, his pupils dancing across the bare skin of your face as you reveal the point of his chin. His skin is equally as pale there, barely exposed to sunlight.

König doesn't stop you as you continue to lift the fabric from his face, exposing the curve of his lower lip. The skin there is soft and plush, little creases in the flesh making your heart thud awkwardly against your ribs. Finally, you stop at his cupid's bow, so soft and subtle it's barely there at all. 

You can feel his gaze warming your skin as you trace his lips with your eyes. Hesitation holds you still, uncertain about the final step of this stupid plan. König, as ever, doesn't push you. Doesn't even breathe. When you lean forward, the tip of your nose brushing his own that still lay beneath the cloth, you hear a sharp yet gentle inhalation. It triggers goosebumps across your forearms, butterflies battering the pit of your stomach. 

Soft. His lips are so soft when you mould your own to their shape. König's veil tickles the skin of your face when you kiss him, and you feel his gigantic hands settle on either side of your neck as he begins to return your affections. They swallow you, and your pulse leaps against his palm. 

König smiles, and the kiss turns toothy and a little lopsided. You can't help but giggle nervously, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as he presses gentle pecks to the edge of your mouth. Despite his massive, intimidating frame, each action is deliberate and soft. 

"... Are your clothes still wet, Schatz?" He's breathless despite his seemingly put-together appearance, his nose bumping yours as he interrupts your answer for another fragile kiss. "We could get you out of them." 

                            ✰

Your standard-issue military t-shirt slips and falls from the cot's mattress as König gently pulls your hips towards the edge. His fingerprints have already bruised into your thighs despite his attempts to be gentle. When he'd begun to panic, you told him not to worry–– he'd already bruised up your neck with his teeth and lips; what was a couple more?

Butterflying your legs out for him, König groans softly as you expose your glistening cunt for him. You're shy, covering your face with your hands as his fingers massage the soft, malleable flesh of the inside of your thighs. 

"Schatz," he whispers, and you peer through the gaps of your fingers. König gazes down between your legs, green eyes gleaming as he positions his cock between your folds. "So beautiful." 

It's ridiculous, you think, staring down between your legs. König is huge in every sense, the shaft of his cock thick and veiny and drowning out the seam of your sex as König shifts his hips forward to swipe the length of him across your weeping cunt. You can't help your mind running away with itself–– surely he needed a weapons license to carry that thing-?

A weak chuckle sounds above you, and you crane your neck to catch his eye. "I will take it slow, Schatz, I promise you."

You believe him. He had been so delicate with you this whole time, laying you down gently on the bed, careful when removing your gear and your clothes not to let the material snag on your nose or chin. 

König's hand disappears beneath the face veil, spitting into his palm before he smoothes it over the head of his cock. He groans, eyelids fluttering beneath the mask as he drags his hand over the length. It's a pretty sight, you think, such a colossal man shuddering in bliss. When he sweeps his cock through your folds again, he carefully taps the tip of his dick against your clit to illicit a whimper. 

"Mhmm, gentle. I promise you," he repeats, inching the tip of his cock down until it settles at your entrance. The soles of your feet find purchase on König's hips, and he massages your calves gently as he begins to inch into you at your nod of approval. 

Oh, Christ. 

König stretches you the moment he sinks inside. There's a delicious burn, one that has you lifting your hips with a whimper as you equally try to escape and dive into it. He's wheezing, eyes glued to where your bodies meet as he watches you flutter around his size. 

"Ha-So tight, Schatz," he groans loudly, stopping when you firmly grip the bedsheets. He notes your expression of slight pain, the tears welling in your eyes as your body attempts to accommodate the intrusion. König seemingly can't help the flurry of apologies that fall from his mouth as he leans over you, settling his thumb against your clit in an attempt to ease you open. "Here. I want you to feel good, Engel." 

The tremors in your thighs rattle against his hips as he circles your clit slowly. It's blissful, the sticky, warm arousal that blooms through your abdomen as he teases at the sensitive nerves. You arch your back against the mattress, moaning out his name breathlessly as he continues to inch his cock further into you. You barely notice when he finally settles the rest of him inside, wailing softly when it twitches and knocks something earthshattering inside you. 

"O-Oh fuck––" you choke on your curse when König shifts his hips forward, jutting into your cervix and winding you suddenly. You probably look ridiculous, eyes rolling back into your skull as you claw at the vast expanse of his chest. You drag pink lines down the pale skin, drawing blood to the surface, but it does little to phase König this far along.  

"Good, Liebling?" He murmurs, continuing to assault your clit. You can barely form a coherent sentence in response, drooling around a string of 'yes, yes, yes'. It's all he needs to find comfort in advancing, easing the length of him out of your weeping cunt before driving it back in at an achingly slow pace. 

You want to slam your fist against his pectorals and insist he go faster, but you're not sure you're ready for it when he slides into you balls deep. It's as though he's settling among your lungs, filling you so good that you're seeing static in your line of vision. 

The sound of a desperate groan from above barely brings you back down to earth, noting how he's staring at your face. His pupils are blown wide, almost devouring the green of his irises. It takes you a moment to realise you're drooling, his slow and steady pace already pushing you to a mindless edge. 

"Oh-" you moan, digging your nails into his abs. They ripple beneath your touch with each deliberate thrust, and König hisses at the sharp sting and the crescent moon indents they leave behind. "F-Fuck, König- Too much-!"

"It's too much?" He wheezes, eyes searching your face. You desperately shake your head, terrified he'll pull away from you despite the inching arousal building at the base of your spine. Wrapping your legs around his hips, your heels press into the small of his back and hook him in place despite your protests. 

It sparks something feral in the hulking man, his hips surging forwards and jolting you up the mattress. Your breath escapes you in a squeak, arousal soaring and buzzing thickly in your abdomen as König mumbles in German, his soft voice coming out all gritty under the strain of his exertions and bliss. 

"Mhmmm- fuck-" you babble, eyes rolling again as you lift your hips to meet his. He sinks impossibly deeper, and your breath stutters as you feel the telltale tug of your orgasm. "Oh God- König, I'm-"

"Tell me," König whispers, rutting up inside you. He doesn't bother to inch out of you now, repeatedly battering so deep inside you that you struggle to inhale as your orgasm approaches fast. 

"Hngngg- hah-ah- I'mgonna- c-cum-" you choke with each sudden thrust, his thumb quickening its pace against your arcing clit. Perhaps he shifts his hips slightly or reaches even deeper than before, but he brushes against something utterly debilitating, and you cum with a loud shriek of his name. 

It bursts through you with blistering heat, your fingernails sinking deep into the curves of his bicep as you brace against the waves of bliss that crash over you. König keeps fucking into you, your walls squeezing tight around him as his thumb persists in its assault on your throbbing clit. Tears stream down your face, and König can't hold on much longer as you strangle his cock. 

"Hah-Shit-" he slurs, his voice barely reaching your ears as he buries himself as deep as you can take him. He cums with a haggard moan, body trembling as his cock spurts inside of you. There's so much of it, too, leaking out of you before he even manages to move. 

Both of you take a moment, both stunned by the overwhelming ecstasy. König doesn't bother withdrawing from your heat as he slumps beside you, turning you on your side to face him. He offers no words, burying his face into the crook of your neck and holding you tightly. 

Your chest heaves as you suck in oxygen, skin prickling with heat as König encases you in his massive arms. You don't need the sheets, his body-heat burning hot beside you as you press your skin to his.

No words need to be said, you think. König had offered his feelings in the form of his reverent touches and delivered his thanks for your kindness in the delicate kisses he'd pressed to your lips as he carried you into the bedroom. 

As you lay in the dark, settled into König's side, you trace your fingers over the curved scars, the bulletholes that have healed over against his ribs. They rise and fall beneath your touch, lungs expanding and deflating with each breath. It's a sobering moment, the thrumming of his pulse against your palm reminding you of his humanity despite the whispers at the base that had insisted upon his bestiality. 

You realise those who speak cruelly of him and ruin his self-worth don't understand their impact. To them, he's a cryptid–– his very existence called into question. They hadn't seen him with their own eyes, only heard the mind-boggling tales of his startlingly impressive missions and monstrous size. 

They hadn't felt his heart, the way it fluttered against your touch when you'd offered compliments. Hadn't experienced the soft plush of his lips pressing into your own in heartbreakingly sweet kisses. He was no monster. 

And when Lieutenant Riley came for you the following day, choosing to ignore the marks left on your skin and the way you hesitated before climbing into the helicopter to offer the Austrian a gentle wave and a promise that you would return, you began the mission to rewrite his story. To change hearts and minds.  

It didn't take long at all.

"Did you hear about Kilgore?"

"I did! He saved a member of 141. Incredibly brave–– I heard the situation was dire."

"She spoke very highly of him. Said we could count on him."

"I certainly wouldn't mind fighting alongside someone so dependable and courageous." 

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[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 24

Warnings: slight angst, weed and alcohol consumption, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of unrequited feelings, love triangle. not proofread

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: You take Robin's advice and take some time to yourself in hopes that it will help you figure out your feelings.

Word count: 5k

A/N: If any of you mind the Eddie x reader in this story, you might want to stop reading cause there will be more Eddie x reader from now but also, still a lot of Steve x reader, as well.

series masterlist

-

Chrissy is watching you with curious eyes as she leans against the counter in Robin’s kitchen, she is snacking on the raspberries that Robin had gotten for her. Robin is mixing the cocktails that you have wished for. 

The Cure is playing in the living room, you are sitting on the couch, crossed legged with a magazine on your lap. The rain is paddling down the windows, distant thunder rumbling in the sky. This summer has been a hot and rainy one. 

Robin looks over at you, watching the way you change positions and lie back, holding up the magazine as you hum along to the song. 

“How long will it take her? What do you think?” 

Robin looks over at Chrissy, eyes skipping down to her lips as she pops another raspberry into her mouth. 

“What do you mean?” Robin asks, blushing when Chrissy catches her staring. 

Chrissy looks down at the counter, hiding her smile. She might not ever get over the very visible effect she has on Robin. 

“For her to call Eddie.”

Robin snorts. 

“Well, I told her that she needs time to herself.”

“She really does but there is no y/n without Eddie anymore,” Chrissy chuckles.

“Seriously,” Robin mumbles. 

Chrissy furrows her brows, eying her slowly, “I mean, it’s not a bad thing. Eddie is good to her.” 

She nods. 

“Yeah, well, she needs to figure out her feelings and who she wants.” 

Chrissy frowns.

“Robin, I don’t think that she wants anyone, right now,” she mumbles, shaking her head at the taller girl, “even if she has feelings for Eddie, it doesn’t mean that she will get into a relationship with him now, she’s not ready and he knows it, that’s why he hasn’t made a move on her yet.”

Robin and Chrissy are aware of Eddie’s feelings – everyone is, everyone except for you. 

Anyone can see the way he looks at you. The way his eyes light up whenever he sees you, the way his cheeks flush a deeper color whenever you lean closer to him or take his hand. The way he looks so much happier when you’re around.

“It’s not just Eddie, she still loves Steve and one of them is gonna end up with a broken heart,” Robin mumbles as she reaches for the straws in the drawer. 

Chrissy frowns at her, “you’re acting like she’s leading them on, Robin. It’s not like she’s messing around with them both. As far as I know, Steve was the only one she kissed and that was only one time. She’s not even hanging out with him unless we’re all there. I don’t think that he’s ever getting a second chance.” 

Robin sighs as she puts the straws into the drinks she just finished making. 

“I get it, you care about all of them but nothing is happening between them–”

“Nothing is happening yet. You didn’t see what I saw.” 

Chrissy rolls her eyes, she reaches for Robin’s hand, squeezing it tightly as she looks at her. 

“Robin, you’re the best, my favorite girl ever, you know that.” 

Robin’s heart skips a beat and a smile tugs at her lips as she looks down at the pretty blonde. 

“But you need to leave them be. I can assure you, she would never hurt anyone on purpose, lead them on or mess around with them both. She’s not that kind of girl. She needs to figure out her feelings, yes. But she needs to do it on her own, I mean, we can be there for her and give advice but that’s all, nothing we will say or do will change the way she feels or thinks. We all know that she has feelings for them both and that fucking sucks because yeah, one of them will end up hurt if she has to choose between them but that’s not something that she or we need to worry about now. She is not even looking for a relationship and she’s certainly not looking for one with her ex-boyfriend – I mean, maybe in the future but not right now. Besides, I don’t think that he deserves her, not now, not ever.” 

Chrissy looks at her with slight disappointment in her eyes, something that makes Robin shrink back a little. Robin has been more protective over Steve’s feelings than yours, it’s something that upsets her a little. 

“I know he is your new best friend or whatever but, she is still your friend too and she’s been through a lot, don’t forget about what he did to her. The fact that she even took him back as a friend is more than he deserves. If I was in her place, I would’ve never even given him that chance.” 

Guilt crosses Robin’s features and Chrissy knows that she had talked some sense into her. 

“And don’t forget that it was Steve who made moves on her. He kissed her. She didn’t kiss him, she didn’t give him false hope, she also never gave Eddie false hope. So, let her deal with her feelings, let her feel – even if she ends up kissing them both or even hooking up with them both, it’s not your problem.” 

She is right. Robin knows that she is but all she wanted to do was to keep her friends from hurting. 

“Now let’s just drink these cocktails and have some fun,” Chrissy says, smiling at her. 

Robin nods, “yeah.” 

Chrissy steps closer, putting her hand on Robin’s shoulder, she inches closer and presses her lips against her cheek, kissing her. 

It’s not the first time that Chrissy kissed her cheek but it makes her heart explode every time. 

“You’re a good friend to them all, Robin. But you need to let them figure it all out on their own.” 

Robin is too busy freaking out over the little kiss to come up with any words. 

Chrissy moves away, hiding her smile as she looks down. She takes the bowl of raspberries and one of the drinks. 

“Let’s go.”

“Y-Yeah,” Robin squeaks out, she closes her eyes when the blonde walks out of the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she takes the other two drinks and follows her out.

You sit up when the two girls finally join you in the living room again. You close the magazine and throw it on the little table. Robin sits down next to you, handing you the drink she made. 

You wrap your hand around the cold glass, taking it from her hand. You notice her pink cheeks and how she tries to hide her face behind her short hair. 

“Took you two long enough, what were you doing in there, making out?” You tease her causing her to blush even harder. 

She turns to you with wide eyes, hitting your arm, softly. 

Chrissy giggles, staring at Robin. 

“So, what kind of cocktail is it?” You ask, looking down at the pink drink. 

“It’s a pink mojito,” Robin mumbles, rolling her eyes at the smirk on your face. At least you look a little more relaxed than you did earlier. 

“Ooh! That sounds good!” You smile, looking between the two blushing girls, you hold your glass up, “well, cheers, girls!” 

Chrissy smiles at the excited look in your eyes as you eagerly take a sip of the drink. 

“Cheers,” Robin chuckles, flashing Chrissy a smile as she wraps her lips around the straw. 

Your eyes widen as the sweetness hits your taste buds. You place your hand on Robin’s shoulder, turning towards her, excitedly.

“That’s so good, Robin! What the hell are you doing at Scoops Ahoy? You should be working at a bar!” 

She chuckles, giving you a proud smile, “thanks.”

“You could be a bartender.”

Robin shrugs, patting herself on the shoulder as she takes another sip. 

“A really hot one too,” Chrissy comments, causing Robin to almost choke on her drink. 

You can’t hold back your laughter this time. You look at Chrissy, who is giggling at Robin’s reaction. You would be lying if you said that you are not impressed by Chrissy’s ability to flirt without turning into a blushing mess. She used to be so shy and awkward, now she seems more confident and happier than ever. It makes you happy to see her like this. 

When you turn back to Robin, you almost burst into laughter again. Her cheeks are glowing. 

When you first met her, you were a little intimidated by her, thinking that she was a little mean because of the way she would tease Eddie sometimes. You thought that she was someone who is very sure of herself and knows what she wants and how to get it. But it turns out that she turns into a shy, stuttering mess around the girl that she likes. You watched her flirt with Chrissy and fail miserably, something that makes Chrissy adore her even more. 

“You good, Robin?” You ask, wiggling your brows at her. 

“Yes, I’m fine! I’m gonna need a few of these tonight,” Robin mutters under her breath, staring down at her drink. 

You know she expected something else of this night, something like you spilling all your true feelings to her but instead, she is the one getting teased. 

By the look on her face, you already know that, that is gonna change soon. 

Robin looks at the smile on your face, the one that doesn’t even reach your eyes. She knows what's going on in the back of your mind. A part of her wants you to just let all your guards down and spill all your feelings to her but the other part wants you to just let loose and have fun. 

“Drink up, girl. I got some more cocktails for you to try.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” 

It’s been a long time since you had spent time with them alone, a girls night was long overdue. There are certain things that you can’t talk about with Eddie or Steve. Only as your mind finally relaxes after a few drinks, do you realize just how much you missed them. You missed Robin and her rambles or how she tries to make you laugh with stories about her work days with Steve. You missed Chrissy, it’s been a while since you had been with her, since you had gone shopping with her or had a girls night like this. You have been so in your head, dealing with your own thoughts and feelings that you haven’t even been aware of how much you’ve neglected your friendship with them. 

Neither Chrissy or Robin have ever pulled away from you. It was you who pulled away from them. Not because you didn’t want to be around them anymore but because you wanted them to have the chance to be alone and get to know one another without you standing in between them. And, it wasn’t just that. Chrissy’s past feelings for you made you worry about how Robin would feel about you and your friendship with them both. 

Heather is rarely ever around anymore. It’s not something you blame her for. You know what it’s like to be in love and wanting to spend every moment with that person. You just miss her and your girls night with her.

The smell of nail polish and alcohol and the vanilla scented candle all mingle together, normally, you would have had a headache already had you not been so tipsy. 

Chrissy is trying not to mess up your nails as she carefully applies the black color to your nails, all while giggling after a few too many drinks. 

“I swear, you’re gonna mess this up, Chris,” you say, giggling as she shakily holds the applicator. 

“I’m not gonna mess it up! I’m a pro!” She flicks her hair back. 

You snort. 

“I told you not to do it drunk!” 

“I am not drunk, do you see me struggling?” She tilts her head, giving you a pointed look as she gestures to your left hand.

You hold it up, squinting your eyes as you look at the colored nails. Not a single drop of black is painting the skin around your nails. You are impressed to see it done so perfectly, considering how the girl was giggling the whole time as she applied the nail polish. 

“Wow, that’s actually impressive.” 

“Told you, I’m a pro.” She gives you a proud smile. 

You hear Robin in the kitchen, preparing another round of drinks. You watch Chrissy, a smile tugs at your lips. She looks content, her skin is glowing and she is wearing a constant smile on her face. 

She is happy now. 

How have you not noticed how sad she had been before she met Robin? 

How have you not realized why she hated Steve so much?

How have you not figured out how she felt about you? 

You had always been so focused on him, on your feelings, on your pain. You never noticed what was going on around you or who you were hurting. 

She did so much for you. She was always there for you. She was there when you cried over him. She was there when he kept hurting you. She was there when he broke your heart. 

Could you have done the same for someone you were in love with? 

You have spent so many nights wondering what could have been if you and Steve had never crossed that line, if you just stayed friends. 

Would you have to watch him fall in love with Nancy? 

Would you have to watch him get hurt?

Would you have to watch him get his heart broken by her over and over again?

Would you have to pick up the pieces over and over again when he’d crawl back to her only to get hurt again? 

Would you have to watch him get his heart completely crushed when she’d leave him for someone else?

Would you have to watch him love her even after what she did?

Could you do what she did? 

Could you pick up the pieces and be there for him while loving him so much? While he’d love someone else?

Your smile falls and your heart sinks a little when you think about the way she felt. 

“Hey,” you whisper. 

She looks at you through her bangs, “hi.” 

“I’m sorry.”

Her brows pull together, she eyes the sad look on your face. She leans back, letting go of your hand so she can put the applicator back into the little bottle. 

“What are you sorry for?”

“I was a pretty shitty friend for not noticing how you felt, back then.” 

Her eyes soften, a sigh falls from her lips. She shakes her head at you, “no, it’s–”

“It’s not okay and I’m just really sorry. You were always there for me and I was only ever focused on my feelings.”

Her blue eyes flash with understanding. She is not mad at you, she could never be. 

“Well, I would be too if I was in your place. You really loved him and he really hurt you. I don’t blame you for how you felt or how you dealt with your pain. He was the one for you – hell, if I imagine myself in your place, I’d probably forget about everyone around me! I would just pack my stuff and run away just because I wouldn’t be able to look at her!” 

“Would you?” 

Her shoulders slump and a sad smile tugs at her lips, “no, I could never leave you and Heather.” 

“And Robin.” 

“She’s the heartbreaker in this scenario.” 

“Oh,” you nod, giggling before you realize what she just said. Your face grows serious and your eyes widen, “o-oh!” 

Her eyes flash with amusement when she watches the realization cross your features. 

“You’re in love with her? Like, you’re in love with her! Like, she is ‘the one’, the one?!” You say in a hushed whisper. 

She nods, unable to hide the smile on her face. 

You squeal as quietly as you can, clapping your hands together as a bright smile appears on your face. 

“Oh my god, Chrissy!” 

You throw your arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. 

“Careful with the nails!” She says, panickedly before she falls into a fit of giggles when you squeeze her tightly.

“This is so exciting, Chris. Oh, I’m so happy for you– wait, are you two together? Please tell me you are, you are so cute together, oh my god, I’m gonna cry.” 

You feel her body shaking a little as she pulls back from the hug, still laughing at your reaction. 

“Yeah,” she whispers, “but it’s still a secret!” 

“Since when!? How? Who asked who? I need to know everything!” You whisper. 

She grabs your hands, grinning from ear to ear, she opens her mouth but before she can tell you anything, she gets interrupted by Robin who comes back with more drinks, cheerfully humming along to Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac. 

She halts in her tracks, looking between you two, “what are you two whispering about? Some gossip you can’t share with me?” She jokes. 

“Oh no, y/n was just about to tell us something.” 

“Huh?” 

“Oh, really?” Robin asks, smiling when she notices how carefree and relaxed you look, for once. 

Chrissy presses her lips together, trying not to laugh when you keep smiling despite not knowing what to say. 

“I-I uh, I just, I love you guys so much. You’re my best friends.”

Chrissy smiles at you and so does Robin. 

“We love you too,” Robin chuckles, “is that the alcohol speaking though?” 

You shake your head, “no, I really do love you, you’re both amazing and I appreciate you two so much.” 

Robin’s gaze softens, she gets down on the ground next to you, “alright, group hug, please.” 

You and Chrissy laugh a little as scoot closer to her, throwing your arms around Robin’s shoulders.

“Careful with the nails!” Chrissy scolds you when she realizes that they haven’t fully dried yet. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh.

-

Five days had passed since you had last seen Eddie. You have never spent this much time without him, you and him have been inseparable from the moment he stepped into your life. 

Robin told you to take some time to yourself, to spend time with her and Chrissy or to just be by yourself because apparently it’s something that you desperately need. Some alone time. So, that’s what you did. You took some time to yourself. You got your hair done. You went shopping with Chrissy after work on Tuesday, you went out for dinner with Heather on Wednesday and on Thursday you fought to urge to visit Eddie at work. 

You had already caved on Tuesday and called him late at night. He sounded sad when he picked up the phone, until he heard your voice. You had spent two hours talking to each other, both wearing smiles on your faces as you laid on your beds and talked like you haven’t seen each other in forever. 

And then you did the same on Wednesday and Thursday. 

Tonight, you are at Heather’s party. 

You are wearing a new outfit, you did your hair differently and let Heather do your make up before you helped her prepare everything for the party. You didn’t feel like coming, you didn’t feel like spending your Friday night like this. But, Robin, Chrissy and Heather all convinced you to come. 

You would rather be somewhere else. 

Now, three drinks in and a few drags from Argyle’s joint, you feel sadder than ever. Instead of having fun on the dancefloor, you are in the garden, laying on one of the pool loungers and looking up at the stars in the sky, thinking about Eddie and Steve. 

A cold bottle of beer resting in your hand. The music from the house, the chatter and the laughter filling the silence out here. 

It’s been a long time since you had spent this much time by yourself or with just your girls. Robin wanted you to confront your feelings but, it’s not something that you had done this week, at all. If anything, you had done everything to avoid it.  

You keep running and running and you don’t know how to stop. You are afraid of what you are feeling. You are afraid of what would change if you would finally acknowledge your feelings. 

You don’t want to acknowledge them, you don’t want to risk losing something great. 

In the past few days, you have spent a lot of time thinking about what it would be like, if you and Steve tried again. 

Would things work out this time? 

Or would you ruin everything beyond repair this time around? 

What would it be like if you let your feelings for Eddie in? 

Would you ruin yet another amazing friendship? 

You sigh, closing your eyes as you shake your head at yourself. You finish the rest of your beer before you get up, swaying on your feet a little. Only now, do you realize how tipsy you really are.

“Shit,” you mumble, placing your hand on your forehead. You squint your eyes, staring down at the grass, your vision blurs a little. 

You certainly can’t drive home like this, but it’s all you want. You want to go home. You don’t want to be here. You walk around the house, not bothering to get back inside and tell your friends that you’re leaving. 

-

Eddie had a lot of bad days, though the past few ones have been one of the worst. His life had gotten so much better ever since you had stepped foot in it, you gave him something that he never had much of before; happiness and love. Though, the love was more platonic on your side, he never minded it, it’s more than he had ever gotten before. It’s something that he always felt privileged to have. 

Who would have thought that he would ever get the chance to have someone like you in his life, in the first place? 

Now that you’ve been gone, he got a taste of what his life would be like if you left again. And he hates it. He can’t stand it. The thought of you leaving makes him feel so lost and sad. 

You’d take his heart with you and you would never even know it. 

It was bad enough when you had called him on Monday, telling him that you’d be busy with Robin and Chrissy later that night and had to cancel your plans with him. He knew that Robin was the one who got in between you and it angers him a little. 

She is doing it because of Steve. 

‘Take a step back, Eddie. I don’t want you getting hurt.’ She had said to him the day at the lake. Except, she doesn’t really care about his feelings anymore. Eddie had done nothing to indicate that he was planning to make a move on you. You are still vulnerable. You are not ready for another relationship and you haven’t given him any big signs that you are even interested in him. Besides, you still love Steve and you might not ever stop loving him. 

That’s why he would never think of making a move. He would rather stay your friend than lose you because he cannot keep his feelings to himself. It was bad enough when he had lashed out on you after he found out about the kiss. 

If you had to choose between Steve and him, he is certain that he would lose. 

Eddie looks down at the notebook and the song he had finished writing this week. At least, his sadness had inspired something. 

A knock on the door startles him a little, he furrows his brows as he looks up at the clock on the wall, it’s almost 12am. He gets up, closing the notebook before he makes his way over to the front door. 

He opens it with a frown on his face. 

“What– y/n?” 

“Hi!” You say with a cheerful and very drunk voice. You are swaying on your feet a little with your hands behind your back. “I got something for you,” you smile, excitedly. 

“You – what? Sweetheart, what the hell are you doing, walking around at night?” 

You don’t seem to care about the seriousness on his face. Instead, you reveal the ‘surprise’, holding up a bat plushie in front of his face. 

“I saw this and it reminded me of you, so I got this for you – well, I actually stole it from the gas station after I went inside to buy doritos,” you mumble, as realization crosses your face and you start frowning, “I forgot the doritos, fuck!” 

Eddie’s eyes soften, the worry still stays in his features but he’s more focused on the cute pout on your face and the bat that you had gotten for him. 

He takes your hand in his, pulling you inside the trailer, “c’mere.” 

“Are you okay?” He asks, eyeing you up and down, he notices the new outfit. 

“Yeah. No, I mean, yes, I am okay. But, the party was boring and I-I missed you, Eddie,” you say as your shoulders slump and you look up at him with sad eyes, still holding the plushie. “I missed you so much.” 

His heart flutters in his chest, his gaze softer than ever as he looks down at you. 

“I missed you too, sweetheart.”

Your eyes light up and you smile, holding up the bat, “I think I might have to keep him so I don’t have to miss you anymore.” 

Amusement flashes in his eyes and he laughs, “I thought you bought – wait no, stole him for me! Jesus Christ, sweetheart. I’m a bad influence for you, you’re out here stealing plushies.” 

“I just needed to have him! He’s my little Eddie.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head at you, “you’re so weird.” 

You pout at him and that alone causes his stomach to flutter and his heart to beat a little faster. He will never not welcome the feelings you leave him with. The effect that you have on him is unlike anything he had ever felt before. Eddie was always afraid of this, of falling for someone, because he always knew that he would end up hurt, that love means pain. But with you, he doesn’t mind what it will be, even if it ends in pain and heartbreak for him, he doesn’t care. You will never know. 

He stares at the happy look in your eyes as your eyes flicker back and forth between the bat and him. The glitter on your skin glistens beneath the golden light in the living room. Your skin looks so soft, your hair so shiny from whatever you had put in it. The smile that lingers on your lips makes his heart flutter so strongly. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

Your brows knit together, a bigger smile appearing on your face, “thank you.” 

You step closer to him and he watches with curious eyes. You inch closer and closer, until you’re right in front of him. You throw the bat on the small table and then, you wrap your arms around Eddie’s middle and hug him tightly, taking him by surprise. 

He chuckles, trying to hide the fact that he is freaking out, right now. 

You’re always affectionate, just not like this. 

He wraps his arms around you, moving his hand through your hair. He smells your shampoo, your perfume, the hairspray in your hair but also, the weed and the alcohol. 

“How much did you drink tonight?” He asks, mumbling into your hair as he leans down. 

You press yourself further into his chest, tightening your grip on him, “not that much.” 

“Right,” he chuckles, “that’s why you stole a plushie and are so cheerful – I’m still mad at you for walking through town, by the way. It’s dangerous.” 

“I’m fine, aren’t I?” 

“Yeah, but you still should’ve called me. I would’ve picked you up.” 

“I wanted to get some fresh air, and some doritos,” you frown. 

“We’ll get you some tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay,” you sigh, pulling back to look up at him, “can I stay over tonight?” You ask, before you hold your hand in front of your mouth, yawning. 

He smiles at you, “of course, come on. Let’s get that make up off first.” 

He takes your hand in his, giving it a squeeze as he leads you into his bedroom. You take a seat on his bed and tiredly lean down to take your shoes off but he tells you to sit back. He kneels down in front of you, pushing your hands away. He wraps his hand around your right ankle, placing your foot on his lap, his fingers graze your skin softly and you suddenly feel more awake than ever. He slowly loosens the strap around your ankle. His brows are pulled together, a concentrated look on his face. 

All you can focus on is his touch and the way it makes you feel. The way something more blossoms in your chest as you feel his hands on your skin. 

When he is done, he looks up and you quickly look away with a blush on your cheeks. He gets up and walks over to his dresser, opening the first drawer, he picks out a shirt. 

“Alright, you get changed and I’m getting those makeup remover thingies,” he mumbles as he hands you the shirt. 

You giggle at the confused look on his face. 

He gives you a smile before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. 

You get up and take your jewelry off first. Placing the rings and your necklace on the little nightstand. You take your top off first and then your skirt, throwing both items over the chair in his room before you put his shirt on. Instantly feeling much better in it. 

You sit down on his bed again and lay back on the pillows, closing your eyes for just a moment before you already feel the tiredness washing over you. 

“Uh, don’t fall asleep on me now, sweetheart,” Eddie says as he walks back into the room. 

“I’m tired,” you whine. 

“You can sleep in a few minutes,” he chuckles as he sits down beside you. 

It’s not the first time that you are wearing his shirt, but every time he sees you in his clothes, he feels his heart skip a little faster. 

“Come on,” he whispers, reaching for your wrist to pull you up. You groan but let him pull you up. You open your eyes, looking at him tiredly. 

“So, tell me, what did you do tonight?” He asks, brushing your hair back. “Besides being a little thief?”

You giggle, leaning into his touch when he cups your cheek. He takes out one of the wipes. 

“Well, I smoked a little weed and then I watched Chrissy and Robin being all flirty with each other.” 

“What’s new?” He laughs as he begins to remove your makeup. 

You sigh at the feeling, loving how gentle he is. 

“And then I was just by myself cause I didn’t want to talk to anyone.” 

“No?” 

You shake your head, watching him. You eye his hair, the curls that never seem to look bad, you stare at his soft skin, at the beautiful brown eyes that always give you so much comfort, the ones you could stare into forever. Your eyes flicker down to his lips and for a moment, you let them linger, letting your mind go to places that Robin tried to keep you away from. You look at his nose and wonder how it can still look so perfect after all the fights he had been in. 

Eddie is so beautiful. 

Your eyes move down to his neck, to the chain hanging around it, to the tattoo that peeks out from underneath his shirt before your eyes move back to his, you watch the way he stares at your lips, you feel the way your heart races in your chest. 

“Eddie?” You whisper. 

His eyes meet yours. 

Unbeknownst to you, his heart is racing like crazy. 

“Yes?”

You look down at his lips again and suddenly, you feel the urge to feel them on yours. 

“You’re really pretty.” 

His eyes widen, he freezes, halting his movements but still cupping your cheek. His cheeks heat up. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, blushing. 

“And so sweet, you’re always so good to me.” 

“You deserve it, y/n,” he whispers. He tries to hide his nervousness behind a smile. 

You don’t say anything else after this. You just keep smiling at him, staring at him the way you did before as he continues to carefully take your makeup off. But, something shifts in your eyes and something puts a shadow over the happiness in your eyes, your smile begins to fade the longer you spend too much time in your thoughts. 

Eddie knows exactly what or who you are thinking about at this moment and it makes his heart sink a little. 

You might find your way to him late at night. 

But Steve will always be the one that lingers. 

At least, that’s what Eddie believes. 

But then, you say something that might change everything forever. 

“I wish I met you first, Eddie.” 

-

next chapter

only tagging friends and mutuals

@taintedcigs @hellfire--cult @littledemondani @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @succubusmunson @trashmouth-richie @xxhellfirebunnyxx @nemesis729 @take-everything-you-can @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @chrissymjstan

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff

[harrysonlylover]

Checkmate ( Part 1)

Summary: Two rival assassins are sent out to complete a mission during which they bump into each other. Questions will be asked, and history will make an appearance.

So dear reader,grab your mask and summon your sharp wit.

Trope: Assassin! H / LHH

Warnings: mentions of knives, guns, violence, blood, physical fight.

Wc: 10.5k

A/n: why not…? I love Darkrry, so enjoy. @keepdrivingkisses sent me a video of Mr & Mrs Smith and then i got to work hehe!!!

Main Masterlist

Author’s POV

The truth is you’re going to die.

It doesn’t matter if your life flashed before your eyes, if the sky was dark and cloudy, or if it was predictable because you spilled your coffee that morning.

Death could happen in the most bizarre ways, on the train home, while you’re asleep, or even sitting peacefully at home. It is inevitable and once it is decided there is no going back.

Although it arrives suddenly, without warning or a chance to bid your loved ones goodbye, it can also be planned, calculated and you very much would be aware.

In this case, you would be someone known and a threat to someone else with a reputation. Usually, bodyguards will flood your houses, follow your every step, and hire security teams.

Once your head has a price, you will be found.

The how’s and why’s are irrelevant, what is asked for will be done discreetly and without catching attention from the wrong people. This job is not for the FBI or even some counterintelligence agency. In fact, they’re the ones who are not supposed to ask questions.

Assassins have been feared since monarchy days, the number of kings or descendants that died at the hands of an assassin is countless. It remains to this day, the most efficient way to eliminate someone that harms your good.

Thankfully, not everyone can order assassins around or even have their contact, but don’t forget that they are normal people, with normal lives and you could sit down for a coffee with one of them while they clean the blood off their hands at night.

This isn’t about who’s the target, because they will die anyways. This is the story of two assassins, that you better watch your back from, and maybe lock your doors really well.

Never mind, I wasted your time. They will find you.

3rd Person POV:

The rain poured down heavily, hitting the pavement with loud thuds enough to make both the living, and the dead uncomfortable. The weather has been holding some tension for a few days now, so the wrath of Zeus is hardly a surprise.

It will remain this way for a while; the children will run home ready to hide in the safety of their warm nests, drink the hot chocolate their parents prepared, and hug their plushies at night, not forgetting to shudder slightly with every thunder.

The adults will let out a sigh of relief and use it as an excuse to call in sick from their miserable job, perhaps surrender to a movie night with a cheap bottle of wine.

Rain is an accomplice in murder. Once it appears, normal human beings will cocoon themselves in the safety of their homes. As for others, well they do anything but stay at home.

In a hotel room, in the heart of Paris, a girl is pacing around and quietly unpacking her suitcase, which is oddly lightweight. There are only a few people who pack light.

The white duvet is untouched, with no hints of any wrinkle. She had just arrived, and she knows better than to rest or even lay her head. Rest is for the weak.

The first thing she spotted when she unlocked the room is the crimson red object, perhaps not with her eyes but you could call it a sixth sense. She didn’t give it much attention nor grab the tightly sealed card next to it. Instead, she let out her towel from the suitcase and headed toward the bathroom.

The water must always be lukewarm. A hint of warmness to relieve her muscles, and a bit of coldness for the sting and maybe to increase her blood flow.

She doesn’t stare at the mirror for long, they are quite useless. Glass is unnecessary and merely a distraction method. She knows quite well that she is magnificent, and the validation will always be provided by her, not a man nor a patriarchal object.

The nature of her job rendered her to remain fit and lean, working out is the only routine that could never be altered from her schedule. Though, this isn’t the reason she adores her body. It’d be the same for her whether she was curvy or slim. She simply doesn’t give a fuck.

Fortunately, a loser of a man once crossed her path in a bar and was on a date with a plus-size woman. She happened to sit near them and they seemed to be hitting it off until the (might she add gorgeous) woman took a bathroom break, in which he found the opportunity to call his best mate and tell him how ‘ugly she is’ and that he ‘doesn’t date these types.

She was feeling good that night, so she decided to be kind and was satisfied by pouring a very small amount of potassium monoxide into his drink. She didn’t stay enough to know what happened, neither did she care. However, she did make sure to set up a nice date for the girl.

She smirked proudly at the memory as she walked nude toward the bed and began applying her rose lotion. Having to constantly travel and move locations did not stop her from indulging in self-care or pampering herself with luxurious products. After all, the money she gets already bought her a house and a car, so why not splurge?

After a quick stretch, applying hair oil, and styling it she finally shifts her attention to the item hung on a closet that she won’t use, along with the white envelope lying next to it, and the message she received on her burner phone which she heard its chime even whilst being under the water.

The hanger held a long silk dress, burning crimson red and showcasing the collarbone area with an unnoticeable slit near the thigh. It was obvious that it was made of real silk paired with matching crimson satin heels, and both items originating from Prada. Although it is a silk dress, it does not hug her body, nor fits a party. Instead, it is quite baggy and for a formal occasion. Just next to the discarded envelope, a red mask with feathers is placed.

She reached for the envelope and revealed the letter designated for her.

The blood will trail crimson red

Unbeknownst to my guests

 In spring, poppies will spread

So come here and catch heads

She couldn’t help but allow the corners of her mouth to twitch. Her boss has always been extra, but she’s tolerated him for years. She burns the letter and then checks the content of the text he left.

1st Arrondissement, Place Vendôme

8:00 PM. Will send the location in an hour.

You know your target.

She sat down and ate her Salmon with Brussels quietly watching the clock tick loudly as it strikes 6:00 PM. The rain is tainting the windows and the echo of the thunder lingers even with the glass being shut.

Her eyes focus on the rain droplets sliding down the window and she wonders if it will persist for two more hours.

If it does, it’d be better to stay home and not wander around in the streets. Poppies are deadly.

Paris, 7:30 PM

After her quick dinner, she had enough time to kill, literally.

She unpacked her special bag and followed through with her routine that must always be done before every job. Her collection of knives was staring at her, their shiny metal mirroring her face.

She was still standing in her corset and panties. She abandoned bralettes ages ago and opted for corsets to form some sort of protection on her chest area, they also don’t bother her like bralettes did.

As for her underwear, it was a gift from one of her old female bosses.

‘Men are predictable and always aim for your panties, so do let them touch’

The fabric was made to specifically hold a heavy object but without grazing her skin. She has to admit how smart of a move it is to create such clothing. Her stiletto knife always accompanied her right in her lace underwear.

But one is never enough for her, a garter belt on her thigh will have to do, she can’t risk placing it on the side where the slit in the dress could reveal it. So she opts for her right thigh and tightly secures two push daggers in it.

She wore her custom dress quite quickly, along with the satin heels but her bag was still staring at her. Maybe a gun wouldn’t hurt? For fun?

Thankfully, she always lubricates and cleans her guns after the mission, so she doesn’t have to waste time before one just to clean it up. She placed a cartridge at the top then pushed it down and back and inserted the top of the magazine into the magazine well at the bottom of the frame with the bullets facing forward, then pushed upward until the magazine is fully seated.

A click sound was heard, and it was more satisfying than the screams of her targets. She put the safety on and then stuffed the gun in her corset, making sure it was in an easy-access position.

Her hair was already styled right after her shower, but she decided to go for a smoky eye look with dark red lipgloss. She didn’t have to look in the mirror to know how pretty she is.

If only looks could kill.

She locked the lower layer of her case that carries her equipment with the code panel that is barely noticeable and covered it with the top layer having luxurious makeup (with maybe some of it being equipment disguised as beauty products). She locked the bag overall and placed it in a cupboard that hotel workers probably don’t even know of, but these are the perks of being trained to observe.

She checked the burner phone for the location and cursed the dress code that is stopping her from going there using a motorcycle. She took the feather mask and placed the burner phone in the pocket of the dress before leaving her room and locking it well.

Place Vendôme , 8:15 PM.

As soon as her heels set foot in the spacious vintage venue, she deleted the location text from her burner phone and wrapped the ribbons of the feather mask around her head. She arrived at exactly 8 PM, her professionalism allows nothing less.

However, her impatience does have something to say about the delay of her mission. According to the file she studied before her arrival in Paris, her target is a businessman called Arthur Lorray. She closed her eyes allowing her visual memory to take over, to recall her target’s info. Her mind focuses sharply on the document she memorized back in Amsterdam.

Arthur Lorray, 58 years old, Male, American, blue eyes, scar on his left cheek, 5’9 feet tall, 90 kgs, can be found around a group of women.

Mission: lure the target to a safe quiet place and eliminate him then use the window to escape.

Murder witnesses if found and leave no trace behind.

Payment: 2 million $

Her boss left her this information in a sealed file while staying at a hotel in Amsterdam, Henry is also a businessman and she never asked why he is demanding the death of these people. She assumes it’s some men’s shit about power and authority.

Now, where does the issue lie?

Her target Arthur is nowhere to be found. The ball hasn’t even started yet, and now that she takes a good look around her it’s quite the event. She feels as if she stepped back in time to an 1800s-themed ball, all the women are dressed in fancy lace and feather gowns, with masks covering their faces. The men are wearing old suits with ruffles and weird-looking boots.

The chandelier is probably worth around 3 million $ alone, it’s decorated with shiny crystals that are reflecting on the marble tiles. The hall is spacious with high ceilings, and some of the walls hold a lantern with fire in it to convince the guests that they actually traveled in time.

The walls are adorned with luxurious gold leaves, and Renaissance paintings in the center of the ceiling with high columns as if built by the Romans. All these details provided the illusion of an imperial event unbeknownst to the guests that are mingling and grabbing one glass of champagne after the other.

In the middle of the hall, a man is sitting on a leather bench slowly killing her ears by playing the piano as his friend plays the violin, if not for the violin player she’s pretty sure the first guy would’ve brought back the great depression era.

It is obvious that the guests are just starting to arrive, trying to find the people they know then giggle and complain about the masks. It is her job after all, and she must wait if it requires, but men tend to sit on her nerves.

She fetched a glass of Dom Pérignon, to appear as if she’s blending but she doesn’t drink on the job, nor does she like it in the first place.

It won’t be hard to detect her target, it is quite easy to spot a herd of businessmen and differentiate them from the normal middle class or at least non businessmen.

They would be gathered around each other like a stock of sheep, making misogynistic jokes with their hands wrapped around their newest arm candy. If Arthur already has a woman with him, it will make it harder for her but never impossible.

She could feel that a man is about to approach her for flirting, so she quickly walks the other way and roams the entire hall both in search of her target and to escape the company of a boring male.

She keeps her eyes on the guests and takes note of her boss that is standing near other businessmen. Now, of course, she will not approach him nor should she. In missions like these, her goal is to eliminate whom he asks for, it is a rarity that he requests protection.

He has bodyguards but she’d protect him if she must, however maintaining a distance and no contact is the preferred method.

The cold glass in her hand is starting to leak melting ice on her palm from how long she’s been holding on to it. She pretends to take a sip from it and discards it on a nearby table.

The hall is now beyond full and echoing with laughter and chatter, if Arthur did arrive it’ll take her more time to find him, and that she doesn’t have. She spots a staircase leading to a 2nd-floor balcony with the hall she’s in being the view.

She discreetly and innocently climbs up the stairs, paying attention to the two knives and one gun placed in sensitive areas. Once she finds a good location, her eyes behind the mask begin roaming the guests.

Albeit the loud chatter and obnoxious laughter, she was still able to pour her focus into the crowd. Her irises spotted a man with a physique the same as indicated in Arthur’s file, he shifted his face at just the right angle for her to catch the scar that the mask is barely able to hide.

Gotcha, she muttered under her breath.

She slowly and carefully went down the stairs and headed gracefully toward the eastern corner of the hall. Though there was some sort of feeling or even instinct that settled in her stomach. Her target was so close, but she felt as if something wasn’t right.

She stopped in her tracks and instead decreased her pace. There was something that she can’t pick up but at the same time, she can’t risk delaying her mission when she’s already got a hold of her person.

Assassins could never trust their instincts, but she never admitted to anyone the number of times her instincts had saved her.

‘Rule number fucking one: never do instinct bullshit. Assassins use their brain and skills unless you don’t plan on living for long.’

In situations like these, she’s reminded of her mentor’s words during her training as an amateur. She stops in her tracks once she catches a whiff of a dangerously familiar scent.

Tom Ford, tobacco vanille.

It could be the scent of any man here but combine it with her hunch and she’ll have a problem on her hands. She takes a deep breath and shifts her eyes to check that her target is still in place, and to see if there are any signs of trouble.

“Hey watch out!” Despite her quick reflexes, she barely turned around before a bulky man bumped into her, making her shift her body and stand in shock as the smell of the perfume intensified.

The man continued to walk without a care in the world, and if she doesn’t make him turn around, she’ll never have her peace of mind.

“Fucking dick! Do you have eyes?!” He stops in his tracks at her tone and quietly turns around tilting his head in annoyance.

His hair was long and shoulder length, his golden mask didn’t help in hiding his forest-green irises. He offered a hint of a smirk, and his eyes immediately drop to her forearm, right below her elbow, and fixate on her poppy tattoo.

Harry fucking Styles.

Her rival assassin, commonly known as Azrael; angel of death.

“I believe you were in my way, flower.” His voice was low but deep, enough to confirm her suspicions and make her body go on alert mode.

A red fucking code.

She begins walking backward, feeling uncomfortable with the situation. He started following her just as she turned around and walked the other way.

It is never a good sign to have another assassin present during a job, whether they’re sent for your target or another. But he isn’t just any assassin, the names Poppy and Azrael go way back.

Poppy started crafting a plan in her head and tried to come up with answers as she diverted him from her and lost him in the crowd. The only obstacle is that she’s one of the very few dressed in red. Mainly, the colors blue, gold, yellow, and dark green are the most prominent. Besides, this isn’t the first time she’s played hide and seek with him which motivates her to hide her tracks.

In situations like these, her boss becomes a priority. For all she knows, Azrael could be sent here to harm him. She fishes out her burner phone and quickly types a text message to Henry’s phone number.

Another is here, call your security team.

She watched as his facial expression changes once he read it, and she doesn’t linger long enough to check on her target. It could all be discussed later on, but the fact that an assassin is in the same room as her is a red fucking code, let alone being the most ruthless assassin with a reputation that precedes him.

Although it is not a smart move, she waited until Henry was escorted out of the building by two teams of security, not batting a lash at the murmurs of the crowd that only persisted for a few minutes before they got back to partying.

Her job here is done.

Arthur Lorray is still breathing, and she can’t help but feel her blood boil.

The thing about Assassins is that they’re solo ravens. They may have partners, but never anything other than an assassin. Knowing her nemesis she’d assume he’s alone. Now that her boss is no longer near him, she has nothing else to do.

But she can feel him, and her body is betraying her. She can sense his perfume, his smirk behind the mask, his curls brushing on his face, and she can certainly feel his presence behind her back.

“Checkmate Poppy.”  He whispered in her ear causing a shiver to run down her spine. His hot breath was so close to her neck, prompting goosebumps to spread all over her skin.

She didn’t turn around, nor move an inch. His face was settling near her neck, with his mouth close to her earlobe. She remembered the instructions in her file and how she was supposed to escape through a window which makes her believe that it was an easy route. She eyed the staircase while turning her head backward gently to give him her death stare.

“Oh, how I’ve missed running after you.” He chuckled as he allowed his eyes to roam her angelic face.

Meanwhile, she had her eyes set on the waiter coming towards them with a tray of expensive champagne. She discreetly stepped on his long ridiculous coat making him fall forward and drop the tray on the ground, splashing Harry and some guests in the process.

It was her cue to escape, but he doesn’t want to let her go.

Just as her heels set forward, his hands followed by grabbing her arms and pulling her backward to his chest. “Sorry folks! My wife is a bit clumsy.” He sent them his charming smile making the women swoon and the men mutter under their breaths. With his hand tightly wrapped around her torso, he fished out a heavy stack of bills reaching up to thousands of dollars and gave it to the waiter before patting him on the back.

Poopy was fuming. She could escape if she wants to, and they both know that. Not by some silly distraction method or out of the window. For fucks sake she is one of the most requested assassins. Well, she and Harry are.

She’s not in danger, he wants to play his sick game of a cat chase just like he always did. She could aim at his weakest spots that she memorized, or even use her one of her push daggers to the side of his larynx and sever the carotid artery and jugular vein.

But she has to admit. She missed having someone to push her buttons and challenge her.

The crowd slowly dissipated and forgot all about the commotion the deadly pair caused. One thing about his grip is that it’ll leave marks, he was even covering her entire torso by just wrapping his arm around it. He’s trying not to think about how despite his physique, she can still beat his ass if she wants to.

So why resist Poppy Princess?

None of them had time to make any move. It’s a bit ironic to see the two most dangerous assassins get pushed to the middle of the hall because Mr. I can barely play the piano decided to announce a dance.

She should’ve killed him when she first entered, she thought.

“Oh darling reminds me of our honeymoon.” He mocked with a sick smile planted on his face. His sarcastic comments have begun and she’s not sure for how long she can handle him before shooting him in the leg, or even better his crotch.

It is quite a shock to see him after so long, there was always unfinished business between them. A grudge, a scar, or even something more. How would the guests act if they knew that they are in the presence of good old dangerous foes?

They were forced to put on a mask, different than the one they have on. Fleeing to an isolated place was not a choice, not when almost the entire hall gathered to dance with almost no space to leave. He was definitely not going to allow her to dance with someone else.

“Long time no see Azrael.” She finally spoke as they stood in position for the dance. They both bowed down to each other, not forgetting to raise their eyes and offer a sharp stare.

Their eye contact competition has started.

The annoying musicians began performing Waltz No.2 by Dmitri Shostakovich and it was everyone’s cue to commence waltzing. Poppy and Azrael held hands before standing next to each other as they extended their opposite legs, his left arm behind his back while she spread hers.

They then straightened their postures as she placed her left arm on his right one that is touching her shoulder blade while joining the opposite sides of their hands before beginning to sway to the right.

“I was indeed beginning to wonder where you’ve gone. I thought someone else earned the pleasure of killing you.” He replied to her previous comment as his eyes burned into hers from behind the mask.

“No, I can’t possibly die when I still didn’t kick you in your crotch.” He made her spin around with his hand before getting back to their position.

She can feel his touch burning deep into her skin and settling in, let alone the music that is intensifying, or his eyes that are not parting from her or looking out for bumping into the others.

“Oh please just say you want to take a look.” His voice didn’t have to be so raspy when he was basically in her face and attached to her.

They began swaying to the left, their feet in sync with each other as they danced in circles around the room while the symphony kept playing. It was legendary, only if some knew. A Dance with the two masters of death, as if they’re tiptoeing and having fun with others’ lives. A deadly rhythm indeed.

Their chemistry and deadly stares grins behind the mask, and body language would be enough to pull at the strings of the violin tearing it apart to shreds as they watch everything around them get destroyed except for them.

“How’s that scar I gave you?” She mused aiming to humor his sarcasm.

“Amazing. I look at it every day wondering when I can give you a similar one.” He tried not to chuckle recalling the scar on his rib that he maybe likes a bit too much.

“How about never?” She violated the rules of the waltz by getting dangerously close to his face just for her to whisper in his ear.

They changed their position as she extended her arm to the side of his neck and him to her waist before they danced around in a circle. They switched to the right and joined palms not tearing their eyes from each other.

“Why are you here Harry and how did you know where to find me?” She decided against digging her nails into his skin as they got back to the previous dancing posture.

“I can find you when I want to.” He replied providing her with both a truth and a lie. He really can find her if he wishes to and so can she. He fought the urge to do so many times just to see her pissed off. However, he had no idea that she’ll be here. He just came here for his mission.

He makes her spin one more time before claiming his tight grip on her. He can see the confusion and anger in her eyes, how she was trying to pull information out of him but if anything he knew since the moment he laid his eyes on the deadly flower that trouble is in this very room.

“Oh, so you want to play this game, Harry? Like old times?” She sneered making him let out a chuckle at her fierceness that he always admired.

The music piece was now nearing the end and it’s such a shame they didn’t get to properly indulge in the dance, except that if they did some tables might get wrecked and they’d leave with bruises just like always.

“What was the score? Refresh my memory petal.”

“Who’s counting? We did a number on each other, it’s time for another game.” She didn’t elaborate any further and instead bowed down one last time like all the dancers in the room before leaving the hall and bumping into his shoulder.

He glanced behind him and saw her taking the stairs as she turned around to give him her deadly stare that he knows even if she has a mask on. She was not running away from him nor hiding.

It was an invitation.

With a proud grin on his face, his legs instantly followed her persisting fragrance immune to the women attempting to ask him for a dance or a chat . His eyes were set forward, not blinking nor angling his head an inch.

The second floor was empty and discarded as if it was left especially for the two of them. He strolled nonchalantly eyeing the closed doors for a tiny gap, her perfume became stuck to his clothes and hair as if it were aiming to distract him from her.

“Come out wherever you are Poppy, let’s have some fun.” His voice echoed in the empty corridor as he continued to look for evidence of her presence.

 Even the deadliest assassins leave trails, it depends on whether it was intentional or not.

His eyes landed on a red feather delicately resting on the marble tiles near a slightly open door. Was it an invitation or a clumsiness on her part?

His hand itches as it slowly pushes the door eliciting a loud squeak due to the age of the wood. The light is dim inside the room, but it is enough to display the magnificent interior. The walls are similar to the ones downstairs but with more gold, and the room is free of furniture except for the occasional flower vase or antique sword.

He barely takes one more step before his body is pushed against the nearest wall with a knife positioned at his throat. Her perfume is making him dizzy in a new way, and he should know better than to fall into her mouse trap that easily.

But in these moments, he wasn’t Azrael the ruthless assassin. He was just Harry.

“Really Poppy? From behind the door?” He let out a deep chuckle that she felt go through her body as the only thing separating them now is her sharp stiletto knife.

“I want my answers and I’m going to get them.” There was no hint of sarcasm in her tone nor humor.

The sharp edge of the knife is digging into his neck, one tiny shift and she’ll draw blood and he smirks at the thought. Little minx.

Her mask is now gone and he’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but what he can do is stare at her eyes as if she has some sort of magic like a siren. The surprising news is that he’s doing the same. His irises are just so different when the light is dim as if they need to shine more or grow darker.

One of them needs to make a move, and it’s Harry’s turn to move the chess piece.

It happens so quickly that it manages to shock them both. He blocks the knife with his palm allowing it to barely penetrate his skin and draw a small amount of blood then throws it to the ground as it lets out a loud thud.

He turns her body around locking a tight arm around her waist and searches for any other weapons she might carry. He pats her instead of letting his hand wander around her skin until he’s met with something on her thigh.

“You brought knives to a gunfight?” He tsked breaking his tough façade, switching to his cocky personality.

“I like it messy. Now what are you doing here?” She gritted through her teeth as she was visibly angry. Harry was more interested in the way her chest is rising and falling, it was so intriguing to watch especially when he usually does it before stopping the rising. But her. He could get paid to watch it.

“We could stay like this all night. Never minded some fun with knives.” His threat is verbal and reassures her that he will not let down his guard.

The tension here does not lie just between two assassins who are curious as to why they’re found in the same room, but also in their history of banter, chasing, and the sexual tension that lingered as their shadow.

Poppy’s chess piece moves.

She uses her heels to press on his crotch earning a pained wince from his lips, it was almost like a moan going right into her ear. His grip gets loose around her waist as she pushes his body away and heads towards her beloved knife that is discarded in the center of the room.

She can feel him about to approach her as she picks up her knife so she reaches for one of the push daggers from her garter and aims it in his direction without looking. She had to check on her knife after all. Priorities?

When she finally raises her head and takes a look, her eyes fall on his figure pinned to the wall due to her push dagger that penetrated his suit and cut off a piece of fabric and some of his chocolate hair.

He’s smirking as if she didn’t just risk his life, he finds it quite amusing. The hair strands and fabric fall to the ground as he twists the push dagger between his fingers while strolling toward her.

“You like it messy Poppy, don’t you? I’ll give you messy.” His tone was dark and threatening but it’s nothing she can’t handle.

He hides the dagger in his pocket and takes off his ripped jacket discarding it to the ground. They stand facing each other like two chess pieces. The Rook and the Queen.

“I’m not leaving here until I get my answers.” She warned as they both moved around in a circle eyeing the other’s body language.

“And my hair took time to grow flower.” His forest eyes dug deep into her soul.

He attacks first aiming at her collarbone but she ducks down and twists his arm before punching him in the face. It is not enough to cause deformations to his pretty face but his anger is so worth it.

He saw her smile for the first time tonight, and isn’t it wonderful that he gets to wipe it away? He goes after her and uses the dagger he claimed to cut through her dress right where the slit is so that her entire thigh is shown.

He has to admit that the sight of the garter on her thigh and her bare legs could kill him without any weapons but he needs to stay focused.

“Oh you little fucker” She moves a hair strand from her face and goes for her next move before he can blink.

She takes out her gun from her corset, turning off the safety blindly before shooting in his direction but not at him. He has no time to react as the vase that he didn’t notice behind him takes the bullet and blows up into pieces, one of them slashing slightly through his cheek.

Everyone’s too engrossed with the festivities and dancing that they did not hear the gunshot, not that it was loud anyways since it has a silencer.

Harry brings his hand to his cheek and realizes that her aim was more than perfect or else.. she could’ve made him get plastic surgery.

“It’s a shame, that was a nice vase.” He pouted pretending to be sad and hurt.

“And so was my dress idiot.”

“Do you remember that one time in Vienna when you called the FBI on me?” He asked with his hands behind his back, he was aiming to strike and she’s going to let him.

“My favorite memory.” She laughs as if he reminded her of a pleasant vacation.

“Oh Fuck you, Poppy.” He reveals a gun from behind his hand that aims at the ground between her feet.

“The old man at my hotel can aim better.” She riles him on knowing damn well why he aimed there and that he can shoot a gun with a blindfold around his eyes.

“Just tell me why you’re here Harry and we’ll both be on our way.” She would never admit being defeated but their little game has become tiring.

 The rook and the queen are in the center again observing the damage they inflicted. They upgrade their game by going in blind and standing in front of each other with guns pointed at the others’ hearts.

The metal of the gun is pressing into his skin despite being clothed, he had discarded his mask earlier on and he shared the same move by digging his gun into her chest.

It wasn’t about breaking the skin barrier or transmitting electric touches. What their eyes are sharing is far more intimate, it comes off as a threat, a prayer, a plea, and an announcement.

Checkmate.

“Yield petal.”

“Never.” There goes that stubbornness, like a moth to his flame.

Then, the rook moves.

Harry smashes his forehead into hers, enough to make her dizzy but never not a concussion. She stumbles backwards pressing her hand to her head as her anger takes over her again. He launches forward and slightly lowers his level to wrap his arms around her torso and throw her over his shoulders.

“I have questions too Poppy.” He breathes out shutting his eyes momentarily, and for the first time ever he disliked his job.

He barely managed to walk a few meters forward before he felt her tight grip on his neck despite her body dangling off his shoulder. She used the grip on his veins to push her weight upwards and make him stop in his tracks.

Harry is quite heavy, with biceps that need a custom suit and legs that can lift a whole body single-handedly. Unfortunately, his stamina and strength are immune to Poppy, she is smaller and possesses less physical strength but what she just did is beyond cleverness.

After balancing herself she flips his body forward with one of her favorites: a punch. She exploits gravity as an ally and pushes his body to the ground as he falls with a thud.

She strolls over to him dramatically, her heels clicking on the marble ground as he balances himself using his elbows. As soon as she’s near his body she raises her leg and presses her heel into his chest to stop him from getting up. He simply lifts his gaze feeling too enchanted by her, not caring about the pain that he feels due to the sharpness of her heel.

She expects him to flip her leg or use one of his moves that’ll give you a good time in the ER, but instead, he locks eyes with her and slowly inches his face forward before leaving a lingering kiss to her ankle accompanied by his devil grin, more like an angel of death.

“The last move is always mine Harry.” She panted in an attempt to stay balanced after barely escaping his grip from dizziness.

The grin widened as it spread across his face but even then, his lips didn’t leave her ankle. The moment he placed his mouth on her skin she felt electricity going through her body starting from her leg up to her brain.

With one fallen chess piece, the queen detaches herself from the rook giving him one last glance before walking away. You must never turn your back on your enemy but in the case of Poppy and Azrael, they know each other too well that trust managed to bloom between them on the walls of rivalry.

And at this moment the trust whispers loudly in the room: game over.

Harry’s eyes are shut and his nostrils are flaring, his mind is too lazy to get up from the ground, but he can. He can go after her and play round after round but he knows better than to have hope because they will not utter a word to the other.

Then it happens.

She stops in her tracks, her breaths shallow and wary as she angles her head slowly to the right casting a look from her peripheral vision. He shares the same look on his face as he reluctantly stands up.

A chime went off in the room, or perhaps two chimes?

There is unspoken knowledge between them as they both take out their burner phone and check the source of the chime. It indeed was two chimes, their interest in the content of the message exposed them.

Now, the one thing that follows in terms of danger after two assassins are in the same room is two assassins receiving a text at the same instant in the same room.

“Forgot to pick up your new flowerpot?”

“Do you have a hairdresser appointment?”

The sarcasm cannot last for long, the signs are all there. Something is off about this entire evening and while this sense of trepidation usually belongs to their targets, they find themselves on its other side.

“Your target is Arthur Lorray isn’t it?” He takes the risk and waits for any indication in her facial expression.

“And yours is Henry Davis.” She replies tilting her head as her mind tries to uncover this twisted puzzle.

If not for a certain thought in his mind, for his blind trust, her odour, or even a small reckless part of him he wouldn’t have acted the way he did. He wouldn’t have approached her and revealed the contents of his message.

Something flashed in her eyes, though he could never read them. But it could only mean two things: death or paradise.

“I got the same message.” Different bosses sending the same message?

Poppy, be present in a room at the end of the corridor on the second floor in 5 minutes.

He got an identical message but addressed to ‘Azrael’.

This is wrong in so many ways, she observed as her boss was accompanied by two security teams with her own eyes and now he’s asking her to meet him in a room in the presence of the target he had asked her to eliminate.

This has never happened before and nor were they trained for it.

It could be a setup for all they know.

“Stay behind me, Poppy. I don’t like this” Harry warned as they exited the room they were in.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She scoffed even though she knew how valid his warning was.

“Can you not be feisty for once?” He sneered in her face as some of his curls fell on his injured cheek.

“You’re bleeding.” She ripped a tiny piece from her dress that he had already ruined earlier and pressed it to his place of injury.

“Careful or I might think you’re falling in love.”

“Maybe if you let me punch you again.”

Their banter stopped right as they spotted a door at the end of the corridor, they could see how the guests are still very much clueless while On the hills of Manchuria played in the background.

They look like an absolute mess as if they just survived a hurricane. Her dress is barely covering her body as her left leg is completely exposed reaching up to her hip and the loose threads can give you a hint of what happened.

His blazer is nowhere to be seen, his white down button is wrinkled and he has a piece of her dress pressed to his face. If they descend and mingle in the hall, not only will they cause a fuss but also terror.

He doesn’t get to tell her anything before she turns the doorknob and pushes the door. They’re met with a well-decorated room filled with antiques and vintage furniture of gold and white. A chimney is lit for the ambiance and it wasn’t hard to spot the only two figures in the room pouring expensive Bourbon.

“Ah, there you are!” Henry is standing in the middle of the room while Arthur relaxes on the sofa with his arms spread.

The looks on their faces are priceless. There is no one else in the room that might attack them. However, Harry is making sure to check the room for anything that could be out of sorts like a camera or so.

“What the fuck is this mockery?” Harry’s body tenses and his fists are clenching as he stares back at the two men.

“Please Harry take a seat we just want to discuss business, no funny stuff.” Arthur spoke nonchalantly as if he wasn’t supposed to be dead.

“We’re very much comfortable like this.” Poison dripped from her mouth as she tried to figure out what all of this could be.

“Oh Poppy don’t be cross. You’ve known me for years! Don’t you trust me?” Henry says as he hands Arthur his glass of Bourbon.

“Trust is a dangerous thing.” She began walking towards them despite Harry’s disapproval.

Poppy is very witty. She never accepts a client before researching them from the moment they’re born till the present and it isn’t your typical Google search. She stalks them, plants bugs, spies... whatever she finds suitable for her peace of mind.

Henry was like any other businessman and he never caused her any trouble. Except for today.

“Are you aware that we can kill you in two minutes if you don’t explain right this instant?” Harry threatened with his eyes and placed his hands in his pockets.

“Exactly! The use of ‘We’” Arthur chuckled as he put down his glass on the antique table in front of him and stood up.

Harry can feel that Poppy is about to whip out her gun any second now so he gives Arthur his famous glare as one last warning.

“Me and Arthur are not competing against each other. You weren’t supposed to kill us and well our plan went sideways. You really should take a seat.”

Poppy despises all this unnecessary speech; she prefers getting to the point. She felt Harry’s arm below her waist beckoning her to rest on the sofa, which she did reluctantly.

“We wanted to offer you a business deal, yet we both knew that you’d refuse to discuss business at an event like this so we sent you here for a job that went wrong.” Although not everything was clicking, Harry and Poppy relaxed as this cannot be a setup.

“We didn’t expect you to bump into each other, we were intending on getting you here before one of you strikes but we forgot how professional you are.” Henry explained as he enjoyed his drink.

“I was shocked by your loyalty Poppy; your warning caught me off guard. I had to fake fleeing away and I can tell you and Azrael had some fun.” Henry and Arthur held back a chuckle, but were they to blame?

Poppy and Harry were a sight, the damage reaching their clothes and body or even face and hair in Harry’s case. They needed a fresh shower, a first aid kit, and a change of clothes.

“What kind of business did you want to suggest?” Harry’s deep voice echoed in the room and nothing could be heard except for the burning of the wood, the occasional gulps, and the faint music from the ball.

“As I mentioned before me and Arthur are not rivals but we have some tough competition, which you were handling individually at first but then shit went down like security systems crashing down, assassination attempts, you name it.”

They can feel it. They know what the deal is but they’re pushing it to the back of their head.

“ The point is… we want you to work as partners and kill whoever we consider a threat to us.”

And here it goes.

“Fuck no!”

“Absolutely not”

They both shouted at the same instant, their bodies tensed and Harry’s jaw was clenching. This suggestion is their worst nightmare, it is known that Assassins work alone, besides the history these two share does not help.

“Listen! Assassins will soon be after you not just us. We are aware that you work alone but this will catch everyone off guard. You’re the best of the best, imagine the power you’d have if you teamed up.” Arthur stood up and the desperation in his tone cannot be masked.

“Send an army my way, I dare you. None of the shit you said fazes me.” Harry might’ve gotten a boner right there and then at her words.

“You might say that but it’ll get so much harder, if you team up it will be in your favor and ours. Plus you’ll get paid double.” Harry and Poppy gave each other a side look before glancing at Arthur and Henry who desperately want them to become partners.

“Why should I put up with him?” Harry did not say one word, he simply offered his charming grin, with his body leaning forward and hands joined together over his knees. There was almost no gap between him and Poppy, and her scent was making him dizzy again.

“You’ll get paid double, easier missions, less time more efficiency…”

She might not be very keen on the idea but she isn’t entirely opposed. It is evident through her face and he knows that if she truly didn’t want it, she would’ve walked out the moment they proposed the idea.

Arthur and Henry are dying for her approval. Harry isn’t picky with his jobs and he can’t say that he’s not intrigued by the idea of working with her. He can already imagine a few scenarios…

“Fine. I’ll be the lead in this, I want two copies of each file, a team of security and spies along with a ride in every mission for precautions. New identities and passports, you know the drill, Henry.” She stood up as soon as she finished talking not batting an eye to her new partner whose opinion she did not ask for.

Arthur lifted his body up and clasped his hands together as a thank you to Poppy while Henry was already pouring another drink in celebration. For a moment they all noticed how Harry has been mute since he sat on the sofa.

“You’re in Az ,right?” Arthur raised his eyebrow in doubt.

“Whatever the lady says.” He shrugged and got up, swiping a hand through his long hair. His cheek is slightly bleeding and the tension between him and Poppy just got worse.

“No handshake?” Arthur smiled at Poppy and extended his hand to her which she eyed with doubt.

“I don’t shake hands with businessmen. One line out of the way and I’ll have your head hung in your office.” And with that, she walked towards the door.

“Take him with you to break the ice,” Henry suggested making her stand still sending a glare towards them.

“There are hundreds of hotels -“

“But you’re partners now!! Go on order anything too my treat.”

“I have enough money to buy the hotel asshole” She didn’t wait for any further comment before leaving the room and listening to Harry’s footsteps that followed.

Don’t ask her how they arrived at her hotel room, how the eyes of strangers judged them for their looks, or how she’s thinking about stabbing him because he’s already relaxed on her bed.

An exit was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, it was another one of her good luck incidents, or else she would’ve terrorized all the guests. Their ride was a motorcycle. Yes, you read that correctly.

The same vehicle she craved to use to get to the event, was waiting for them outside. It belonged to Harry and naturally, he did not allow her to drive it. He gave her his helmet and jumped on the vehicle without one and instructed her to wrap her arms around his torso which she did right after mocking him and throwing curse words.

Upon their arrival at the hotel reception, he asked the employee for a ‘honeymoon suite’ before Poppy dragged him by his arm to the elevator with an irritated expression.

He did not hesitate to immediately relax on her king-size bed. Harry knows a thing or two about her, and if anything gets her more infuriated than losing a physical fight it would be banter and mockery.

They share a fueled history that goes back to their teenage years, as baby assassins. They grew up in the same institute that recruited orphans and trained them to be professional assassins for the government. Poppy and Harry were one of the very few that managed to escape and work solo.

They were inseparable, a pair of crows who only stuck together. That is until the years of innocence fled and the years of rivalry arrived. There would be only one place for who’s worthy, a place that they fought for yet ended up fleeing from.

Even then, they would always be connected. Bumping into each other whether on a job or in public, hearing the other’s name at an event, or the usual interaction which is fighting every time they come across each other.

She can’t help but think about the past in the light of the twisted turn of events. When was the last time she sat down with him like this so peacefully?

“When you were fourteen and pretended to be asleep at night only to sneak to the rooftop together and stargaze.” Her mind spoke to her.

She let out a huff and looked down at the men’s clothing the hotel sent before grabbing them and throwing them at his face.

“Get up and shower, I want to use the bathroom too.” He stretched his limbs to taunt her and walked really slowly to the bathroom before yelling ‘Don’t miss me’ and locking the door behind him.

The sound of the shower became distant as her mind traveled to memories she buried long ago. She took a deep breath ,retrieved her bag and began cleaning her tools. A groan left her lips when she realized that one of her push daggers is still with Harry who is taking his sweet time in the shower.

The now clean gun fell from her hand as her guard went down and the memories invaded her brain. His scent was suffocating her, not his tom ford perfume despite it being addictive. She can’t even explain it without looking mad but Harry has a scent of his own, his skin releases an odor that only she can catch.

She took off her ruined dress and discarded it in the corner, then stood in her corset and panties in front of the mirror. Mirrors are her enemy yet she needs their help in this moment. She twists her arm as the glass reveals the Poppy tattoo.

He gave her that name. Told her that she can be delicate yet a symbol of death at the same time. In institutes you didn’t earn a name, you earned a number but this name was her little secret with Harry and she couldn’t resist having it inked to her skin years after their fallout.

“Poppy?” The name immediately caught her attention opting her to turn around and forget all her worries at the sight of him.

A white towel was wrapped around his hips, but it was tiny. She can spot the steam from the hot water on his skin that is glistening and has become a tattoo shop. The towel is sitting so low on his hips where a fern tattoo lays. His hair is wet and if she didn’t know him, she’d think he’s a prince.

Don’t stare at his biceps Poppy!

Oh god, his V line. He had a small waist that morphed into a toned V line holding a small part of the fern tattoo and revealing a trail of trimmed hair.

His knuckles were beginning to bruise and the cut on his cheek needs some medical attention but he didn’t seem to care as his eyes tried to decode Poppy’s shaken expression.

“If we’re out of hot water I’m going to stab you.” She walked past him right into the bathroom and even though he had some good comebacks up his sleeves, he was too entranced with her strolling in just a corset and tiny panties. And her skin… so flawless even after an eventful night. He had to close his eyes before images of the bruises he would leave on her body came running to him.

He never imagined that he’d be in a room again with her, acting so civil and being okay with her presence, he also can’t imagine how this would be the reality for a while.

They are partners now. Harry knew that history would repeat itself.

Even though he pushed the previous thoughts about giving her bruises away, his mind trailed again to her body. His ears were too interested in the sound of water and he wondered how her skin would be after a shower.

Was he acting a bit primal? Perhaps, but spare him a minute to comprehend the shift in his life.

He spotted her bag on the bed left unguarded for him to check. Funnily enough, he knows it and is aware of the layers it has because he may or may not have broken into her apartment throughout the years on her birthday and left her a Poppy flower in this bag.

Still, she never changed the code number for the bag which is the number of the room they shared in the institute.

He still has her dagger tucked in the edges of the towel, if he had left it in the bathroom, she would’ve taken it. He can see how she cleaned her gun and he decided to do the same to his. He then placed it on the bedside table and changed into the shorts the hotel provided. Poppy is still taking her sweet time in the shower so why not annoy her a bit?

He unfolded the lower layer of the case, revealing all of her beauty products, and began searching for something he might use. He picked out an expensive hair serum and poured a generous amount of drops on his wet hair before placing it back in her bag.

Poppy came into the room a few minutes later eyeing him up and down with a robe hugging her body. He’s not even sure how that is considered a robe. It’s too fucking short.

The tension is through the goddamn roof.

She pulled out a body lotion from her bag and let out a small sigh once her eyes fell on his face. She turned around towards the bathroom before coming out with a first aid kit.

“Come here, your cheek needs cleaning.” It isn’t a deep wound; the human face has a large number of veins so if her skills weren’t perfect, he’d be in the ER.

“Look at you Poppy getting so delicate.” She responded by pressing a cotton full of hydrogen peroxide to his place of injury and yet he didn’t flinch once.

She raised her leg placing it between his thighs to get in a comfortable position and focus on cleaning him. But her smell is too much for him and her soft skin is right in front of him.

He inched his face just enough to press his mouth to her knees feeling her shudder. Poppy didn’t jerk herself away or move, she continued to clean his wound with her hand delicately holding the side of his neck.

The silence between them was comfortable unlike being around other people. When they didn’t have a knife to each other’s throats, it would be just like this. Except that this is their first time in a decade.

She placed a small bandage on his cheek, smoothing her fingers over it even though she was done there. There’s something in her eyes that tells him she’s feeling nostalgic and his thumb rubbing on her leg isn’t helping.

She allowed herself to stare at his emerald irises with her hand still situated on the side of his neck. He gave her a soft look as if he was saying, ‘It’s me, Poppy’.

Would it be so bad to fold?

“You can order food service if you’re hungry.” She stepped away from him pretending to busy herself with packing her case when she needs the products.

“Don’t avoid me. We’re partners.” She can feel him walking towards her slowly.

Being around him and talking so normally made her heart ache and think back to when they were kids. He was her first love. He broke her heart many times after that but perhaps not enough as the yearning keeps tugging at it.

“I missed this…” Her back was so close to his chest and his breath is sending shivers throughout her body.

She didn’t offer him any response as she turned around to face him, raising her siren eyes to look for a hint of deception. Instead, she found the eyes of a sixteen-year-old Harry who was eager to give her his first kiss.

“You were fighting with me less than an hour ago. Do you expect me to believe this emotional show of yours?”

She might as well twist a knife in his heart.

“It was my job and it never stopped me from missing you.” The words flowed smoothly out of his lips, it’s not that he had them memorized but his heart was faster than his brain.

“And your job ten years ago? What was it!” Her fists were clenched and she wished his eyes didn’t make her so weak. She’s not sure if she could hold the eye contact any longer.

“To protect and care for you.” His strawberry lips offered her a confession that was so effortless to say.

She wasn’t particularly upset or even furious about their relationship. Growing up with him was irreplaceable. Even when they parted ways and slowly became foes, they never inflicted serious damage upon each other. It was a simple game for them, to bicker and fight, maybe leave some scars as a memoir but they never got sentimental again. To hear him telling her about his yearning all these years made her knees and heart weak.

Her lips morphed into a pout, her siren eyes gave him a look of regret and he can feel the tears that are threatening to fall. She was never one to communicate and some things stay the same.

Like his infatuation.

“I’ve been waiting years for this Poppy.” He brought himself closer to her so that his forehead rested against hers with their eyes piercing into each other.

“To be my partner? For me to order you around?” The corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

There she was. His little devil.

“No. This.” His voice grew deeper as his skin lit up on fire upon coming in contact with hers. He buried his face in her neck taking a long deep breath while his fingers travelled along her waist.

Their bodies forming a sort of intimate contact while breathing in each other’s scent was more dangerous than any natural disaster.

Even their pheromones can no longer be tamed.

Rain is an accomplice in murder, and on this night the target isn’t a human. It’s an emotion.

Hatred.

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[sleepyangelkami]

THUNDER STORM (d.d)

a/n: eeeeeek!!! new character alert!!

pairing: daryl dixon x fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend travels through alexandria on foot even though the amiss of a thunder storm is unfolding, just to make his way to you, his precious girl, terrified of thunder and lightning.

warnings: crybaby reader, anxiety/worry, crying, rain, thunder/lightning, stormy weather, use of good girl (non-sexual) petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 💚

words: 2,094

the storm was getting bad, really bad.

you watched from the window of your home, sitting cross legged on the window seat and anxiously tapping your fingers against the window sill. your teeth had clamped down on your wobbly bottom lip as you watched the clouds dissipate and reappear, covering the town of alexandria in a new sleek coat of rain.

you wondered where everyone else was, hoping and praying that everyone was inside their houses, safe.

nothing bad really happened in alexandria before rick grimes and his group came. then again, nothing happened at all in alexandria before they came. they gave life to the people, hope, something to look forward to, a future.

you weren't an exception of that hope.

some would say that you're soft, possibly the softest girl in all of alexandria. you kept to yourself, pretty sun dresses and bows, always smiling at the people you passed.

but there was only one person who you felt truly knew you. that was your perfect boyfriend, the man who'd do just about anything for you, worshipping the mere ground that your dainty feet stepped on.

that man was daryl dixon.

he was feared. he was known. everyone had heard the stories of the walkers he'd taken down, the people he'd shoved out of the way. he was one of the ones the people of alexandria feared the most at the beginning, however they soon learned that he wasn't as rough as his accent made him out to be.

the sound of your door swinging open was enough to have your head whipping around in a flash, enough to give you a pain in your neck. your fists had balled over the little pink throw that had gathered around your legs.

however, the fear soon dissipated like the clouds as your eyes caught the glimpse of daryl dixon standing at your door, drowned wet and soaking. though, he soon began to rid himself of his jacket.

"got here as soon as i could." his gruff voice came out. "what are you doin' over there? c'mere." though he was already helping you up, tenderly grasping your arm and leading you away from the window seat.

you followed his instructions, seating yourself on the bed as he peered out the window himself. "is the patrol back yet?" worry evident in your honey-voice.

the man could merely grimace. in the apocalypse, everyone sort of became a liar, it was a force of habit to protect themselves and something about daryl dixon is that he was a well good liar when he wanted to be. however, in all the time he's known you, he's never been able to lie to you. perhaps it was because of those doey eyes that looked up to him or that naive head and heart he knew you had. he couldn't lie to you because he knew just how easily you'd believe him. "nah, they should be back before morning, though." his eyes softened as they glanced over your face, your own eyes looking down and appearing distant. always worrying about everyone aside from yourself. he sighed before kneeling down in front of you. "'m sure they're fine, sweet girl, probably jus' holed up somewhere, didn't wanna come back through the storm. okay?"

you knew those eyes.

daryl was quiet, mysterious. but with you, he could talk for days on end. and that meant he liked to listen too, especially to the sound of your sweet voice. he needed you to answer him. "okay." you mumbled, your voice a little shaky.

his lips turned up as he stood and reached his head down to press a chaste kiss against your own forehead. "good girl." he mumbled before turning back 'round to the curtains that were still slightly open. "why don' we throw on a movie, get nice 'n cozy in bed, yeah?"

he could tell by the look on your face that you weren't exactly pleased.

you hated the rain, the wind, everything that came with bad weather. you hated when your socks got wet when you passed puddles, you hated the way the mud smeared around after the rain, you hated the sounds of the stormy weather from outside. you loved the way daryl knew all this.

"c'mon, angel, a little rain ain' never hurt nobody." shutting your baby pink curtains closed. you gave him a look, knowing that on countless events, people had in fact, been killed due to the rain. he merely sighed. "you know what i mean."

he knelt in front of the dvd player. “now wh’s it gonna be? disney or the muppets?” 

you did adore the muppets, you loved the way daryl found himself chuckling at little pieces of it, finding joy in his own way in the little movies and shows that they played out. but right now? you so desperately needed the comfort of the movies you grew up with. “disney.” you answered, your voice small. “definitely.” 

he could only smirk. “as you wish.” 

daryl never made fun of you for your fascination for cartoons and picture movies like them. you liked them because they reminded you of what was before, how you grew up and the things you enjoyed doing before all this. there was a sense of nostalgia that hit deep in your gut and weirdly enough, you liked it. you liked watching the pictures move and allowing your mind to drift to when you were young. and daryl adored that pretty smile on your face or the way you laughed at the same cheesy romance joke you’d heard a thousand times over. he’d only roll his eye with a small chuckle but deep down he could feel his heart begin to race. something reminding him that there was still a form of innocence in a world full of chaos. 

“daryl?” you called from the bed. now that the movie was beginning, the rain didn’t seem as loud. and daryl had awful hearing as it was so he always played the movies loud for you both to hear it. you swore it would drive your hearing down the same road as his. 

“mhm?” a rough hum as he used the controller to skip past the pre-recorded ads on the dvd you owned. the swan princess, a movie you adored ever since you were a child, and daryl knew this.

he knew everything there was to know about you. 

you’d seated yourself beneath the blankets, your jammie covered legs finding even more heat in the white and pink sheets. everything about your room was girly. “how’d you get here?” your head tilting at the man. 

he merely stood, sniffling quietly and tossing the remote elsewhere so he could kick off his boots. “i walked.” he answered so casually, as if it hadn’t been a big deal at all. and to him, it truly wasn’t, he’d faced worse things than walking in a little rain. besides, he wasn’t scared like you were, he didn’t worry like you did. the rain didn’t effect him.

but you on the other hand, had never seen the dangers that daryl faced or the monsters he’d looked right in the eyes. a little rain scared you alone let alone with daryl walking in it. “you walked?!” your voice all accusing and full of both shock and concern. 

daryl began stripping himself of his button up shirt, finding one of those black tee’s he owned lying around your room somewhere. “yeah.” he chuckled, voice all gruff. 

“daryl.” you scolded, though how could you really scold when you sounded like a fresh pot of homemade jam. you sat up on your knees on the bed, brows pinching together. “‘s so dangerous, anything could have happened.” 

any other situation and you would have been staring at the way he dragged his jeans down his knees. “gotta keep the wife happy.” he joked despite the fact that you were not his wife (yet, that is.) 

but you were just staring up at him with those doe-like eyes. they were full of concern, full of worry. anything could have happened to him. “daryl.” is all that came out from your mouth though your voice showed your evident distaste to his recklessness.

he merely waved you off, though. daryl never could see his own faults. “wasn’t gonna let my girl sleep through a storm alone, no way.” he found his way to the bed, now clad in a shirt and dark sweatpants. “so be happy you have me.” he smiled up at you with that infamous grin, the one that made your heart flutter.

biting down on your bottom lip, you shook your head. “of course i’m happy to have you―” you’d never pass up an opportunity to see daryl dixon, your beloved boyfriend. 

“then leave it at that.” but his words weren’t condescending or in any way angry with you. they were soft, gentle, as he always treated you. like a porcelain doll ready to smash at any moment. “c’mon, you missed like, half the movie.” finding his own ways beneath the covers.

a smile tugged at your lips as you glanced down at him. “it barely started.” 

and before he knew it, it ended.

he didn’t know when or at which point in the movie you’d fallen asleep but by the time the end credits rolled around, your eyes were shut closed, lips pressed together as you practically dug yourself into his thick arm. his second arm was wrapped around you, keeping your icy skin somewhat warm. 

the only warmth either of you had was the body heat that you shared with one another.

the storm wasn’t going to get any better, daryl was well aware of this. and he hoped for everyone else’s sake that the patrol team were, in fact, holed up in a shelter, waiting for the rain to stop before coming home. 

when the soft breaths hit his arm gently, he knew you were passed out asleep. and despite the loud rain and wind from outside, he still found himself shutting off the tv, incase it woke you from your slumber. 

and then, the first clap of thunder hit. 

you woke with a strangled whimper, instinctively pushing yourself closer to the man. a coo and a shushing sound fell from his lips unconsciously, his hand settling on the back of your head, pulling you in. there was something so comforting about his shushing and his touch but when the first lightning strike hit, you could only whimper out again. “daryl.” his name once again falling from your lips because when you didn’t know what to say, that was all you could think. 

“i know, baby, i know.” fingers toying with your hair and his separate hand gently running up and down the tenderness of your upper arm. 

your legs wrapped around him, hands practically clinging to him. he was your safety net when things began to go south. when your brain turned to scrambles, he was the one holding you together until you were ready to pick yourself back up again, if you could even call it that, he was always doing all the work for you.

and in the dead of night, the darkness of the room completely and utterly consuming you both. you whispered what you thought you’d never have the courage to. “I’m scared.” voice cracking as hot tears filled your eyes. 

what a terrible thing to admit?

the fear of the dead getting inside with broken walls due to the storm, the fear of god help us the lightning strike hitting your house. you could never be sure, never and perhaps that was why the fat tears began to roll down your cheeks. 

but, as always, daryl was ready to pick you back up again. “‘s okay.” his usually gruff voice so tender and soft. “ain’ nothin’ gonna hurt you. not while i’m here.” and he meant that, truly and wholeheartedly as his thick fingers began to wipe away the stray tears from your cheeks. “too pretty to be cryin’, angel.” 

“‘s jus…” 

“scary.” he finished. “i know.” he knew but he didn’t know. he hardly felt fear as it was let alone like you. he was met with another whimper and a clap of thunder. “i got you.” his arms holding you so close. “‘s okay, i’m right here. i got you.”

and somewhere, between the heavy rainfall, the thunder and lightning and all the rest, the peaceful arms of your lover was enough to soothe your tear filled eyes back to sleep. 

main masterlist/daryl's masterlist

a/n: i have daddy issues, if you can't tell

#daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x you #daryl dixon x you #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl imagine #daryl dixon imagine #daryl drabble #daryl oneshot #daryl smut #daryl fluff #daryl angst #daryl dixon drabble #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon angst #the walking dead #twd #twd x reader #twd x y/n #twd x you #twd imagine #twd fluff #twd angst #twd oneshot #daryl the walking dead

[cobaltperun]

Woe out the Storm (10) - Crying Lightning

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 4.4k

-Uninviting, but not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are-

“Are you going to tell me what happened two nights ago?” Wednesday’s question made you lower the book you were reading.

You sighed and got up from your bed. The lights in Wednesday and Enid’s part of the room were already dimmed as Wednesday set up candles and whatever else she needed to hold a séance. “I got attacked,” you knew better than to try and keep silent. Frankly, you were surprised Wednesday didn’t bring it up sooner.

She just turned to look at you, obviously not impressed by your very detailed explanation.

The look in her eyes made you look away as you leaned against the wall in her part of the room. “I went to mayor’s office, I thought I could dig up some information on all of this in the archive. Maybe figure out how all of this connects? Crackstone, the Gates family, that message burned onto the lawn, that monster, it can’t all be a coincidence, and then when I typed in ‘Fire will rain’ I felt that…” you still didn’t know how to describe whatever or whoever you saw.

“The one that attacked you,” Wednesday spoke up, causing you to nod.

“Can’t you give up? I don’t want that to happen to you as well and I’m not dumb enough to think it was an accident,” you finally looked at her again, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she’d let this case go. But she didn’t see that. Those eyes. The chill… it felt as if you were one moment from dying, as if your entire existence was left to the mercy of the one who attacked you.

No. Attack would imply actual effort. You didn’t even see it coming, you were effortlessly, utterly defeated and outclassed in every possible way.

Your dad was stronger than you, faster than you, had better range and control over his lightning. Being a raiju meant you were more dangerous than most outcasts, but as far as other raiju went, you weren’t even average.

You could still follow your dad. You could still understand and somewhat quantify the difference between the two of you.

You couldn’t even comprehend the difference between you and the one who attacked you.

“I’m not going to give up just like that,” yet Wednesday remained stubborn.

“Why do you even care about Nevermore in the first place?” you still couldn’t understand why it mattered to her to stop the school’s demise. She hated this place when she came here, saying she was forced to be here, she planned on running away and now she wanted to save it?

Wednesday paused for a moment. “It’s a challenge, I’m not backing away from one. You are free to stop involving yourself with me. In fact, I would prefer it if you did that,” she began lighting the candles and from where you were you couldn’t see her face.

Well, that stung. It stung way more than you were willing to admit to yourself. It wasn’t like you needed Wednesday’s approval, but her all but telling you to leave her alone just like that didn’t leave you entirely unaffected. “Right, I’ll leave you to,” you motioned to the candles and the Ouija board with the name ‘Goody’ written on it. “this,” maybe she just wasn’t in the mood.

Well, if that was what she wanted, maybe you really should give her some space. So, with that in mind, you went outside through the window and zapped to the roof. It was a nice, slightly cold night, with clear skies, meaning there wouldn’t be any storms tonight. Hell, you might even spend the night there.

You didn’t think you were delusional. In fact, you thought you had a fairly acceptable read on people, even ones as closed off as Wednesday. She cared, in her own way, and maybe she only showed it when you couldn’t see it, but she did. She stayed by your side the whole night, and for Wednesday that was huge. And the dance, and letting you keep her knife, and all the other small ways you managed to catch her showing you she cared.

You frowned, glaring at the stars and the Moon. Tomorrow was thirteenth, Wednesday’s birthday, and somehow, something just shifted between you two and there was a rift you weren’t sure how to deal with. Wednesday preferred being alone, sure, and you figured she wasn’t used to caring about people. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but a part of you thought that maybe, just maybe, she was trying to push you away because she wasn’t sure how to deal with those emotions. Or maybe you really were being delusional and were coping with the possibility that Wednesday plain and simple didn’t care and that she found your presence in her life annoying.

But she showed she cared. Thing said she cared!

You couldn’t help but groan, closing your eyes in frustration.

Why was she so complicated?!

~X~

Annoyed.

That’s what Wednesday was right now.

A surprise birthday party? A complete waste of her time, though an impressive subterfuge by whoever came up with this plan. Why were all these people here, anyway? They were Enid’s friends, well, most of them, she was sure Xavier was there because he liked her for whatever reason.

Still, she should have realized something wasn’t right when she saw the magazine cutouts used for the message. She didn’t pay enough attention to all the possibilities.

You not being there threw her off. Since it was Cracstone’s crypt going there would mean taking the boat and you wouldn’t approach that much water to save your own life, let alone for a surprise birthday party. So, despite Thing missing and suspicious invitation, she assumed you’d be there as well if her birthday was the reason behind the invitation.

Perhaps that was the logic behind your absence as well. That you being there might tip Wednesday off. Or perhaps she was giving whoever thought of this too much credit and you simply refused to face your greatest fear just to attend a party you probably knew Wednesday would despise.

Either way, her time was wasted, she was pushing you away successfully, and while that should have made her happy it was actually making her feel very irritated, and people she couldn’t care less about expected her to celebrate her birthday with them. If Enid absolutely had to throw her a surprise party, couldn’t she have done it in your own room, with just the four of you there. Wednesday might have even tolerated that enough to cut the cake.

Writing on the crypt caught her attention. “Wait, that’s Latin,” she knelt on one knee to take a better look. “Fire will rain, when I rise,” she translated.

“Okay, that’s not really a wish,” Enid said, but Wednesday was already too focused on the phrase to consider that. Maybe this wasn’t a complete waste of time after all.

“The first part of that was burned onto Nevermore’s lawn, it can’t be a coincidence,” she reached forward, touching the stone with the tips of her fingers and then it happened. The same sensation as her other visions overtook her and she found herself on the ground.

“Crackstone is coming,” she heard as she opened her eyes and realized she was in front of a gate she didn’t recognize.

“Goody,” she recognized the woman behind the gate and now that she wasn’t focused on other things happening in her vision, she realized it was almost like she was looking in a mirror. The only actual difference was the blonde hair. The height, the face, the resemblance was undeniably disturbing.

“You’re the Raven in my bloodline,” she spoke and disappeared. “Wednesday,” she appeared next to Wednesday.

Wednesday turned to her, finally she could ask what she wanted. “I was told you could teach me how to control my ability,” maybe that way she could at least predict when a vision would happen.

“There is no controlling a raging river. You must learn to navigate it without drowning. Time is not on our side,” she turned to the gate. “To stop Crackstone, this place you must seek.”

No teaching then, the dead were as disappointingly insistent on wasting her time as the living. “Do you always speak in riddles?”

“Do you always seek simple answers?” Goody replied immediately.

That irked her, for more than one reason. “Like using a raiju? I won’t do that,”

“You have no time for other solutions. Raiju is your best weapon,” there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation, just because Goody more than likely used her raiju. Not even her mother telling her many believed Goody was in love with him persuaded Wednesday to understand Goody.

She wasn’t in love with you, yet she refused to use you, to put your life in danger. “Y/N isn’t my weapon,” she wasn’t budging on this, she was adamant on standing her ground on this, no matter how unreasonable it would sound to Goody.

“She will be, when you realize this is bigger than one life,” driven mad by her desire for vengeance, Goody couldn’t stop herself, she couldn’t stop even if stopping meant she could keep her raiju by her side.

Wednesday glared, not only did Goody say she couldn’t teach her, but she also spoke as if Wednesday should just throw you into danger and Wednesday wouldn’t do that. No matter what Goody said.

“Do not grow attached to your raiju. The path of a Raven is a solitary one. You end up alone, unable to trust others, only seeing the darkness within them,” Goody warned her.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she could already only see darkness in most people. And being alone was the best outcome for Wednesday.

“It should,” she vanished as if she was made of smoke. “Use your raiju,” her last words echoed and Wednesday despised how Goody went from saying ‘a’ raiju to ‘your’ raiju.

~X~

Wednesday’s attempts to push you away seemed to be failing miserably, as you casually approached her first thing in the morning with a long black box in hand.

“Hey, birthday girl,” you offered her a cheeky grin, confidently striding over to her table. At least you didn’t wish her happy birthday or open with the song, though being called ‘birthday girl’ was nearly as bad.

“Don’t call me that,” she warned, causing you to raise your hands in mock surrender.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you set the box on her table and took a step back. “I know things have been a bit, awkward, I guess, between us, but it’s your birthday, so I figured we can set it aside?” maybe she misread your confidence, because now that she properly looked you in the eyes she saw a hint of weakness, an uncertainty you were trying to cover up.

Doubt.

Her attempts were working, it wouldn’t take much longer to break your resolve.

It still didn’t feel as good as she hoped it would.

“Thank you,” she still thanked you as she carefully took the box, feeling the weight in her hands, it wasn’t too heavy, it was definitely lighter than it looked, so likely something that couldn’t be packed in a more convenient package. She glanced at you once more before opening the box. When she saw what was inside it not even she could hide her surprise.

“I did take one of your own, so I figured this was only fair,” you rubbed the back of your head sheepishly as she pulled the knife out of the box. It was a work of art, its weight perfect and handle perfect for a firm grip regardless of the intended use of the knife. The sheath was made of leather, light gray with black stripes. Wednesday pulled the knife out of it and slid her fingers across the side of the blade. The pitch-black steel looked sharp and the handle, decorated with light gray stripes, similar to those of a tiger, looked as if it was personalized. Was it one of your own knives? Wednesday knew you had your own collection, because you used them to zap around so you naturally developed an interest in knives, at least that was how you explained it when she asked.

“Was this your own knife?” she asked.

“It felt like the only gift worth giving,” you still wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and you clearly weren’t going to explain any further, so Wednesday didn’t push, at least this time.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, setting the knife next to her typewriter.

You smiled, as if realizing how sincere her gratitude was, and took a couple of steps forward before crouching down and resting your forearms on her table. “Okay, I’m not going to ask you to confirm this, but I’ve been thinking, and I think you are dealing with something in your own way, and I might be wrong, but I feel like I should give you space.”

Somehow Wednesday’s cold dead heart sped up, hammering nails into her chest from the inside so hard she nearly looked down to see if nails were really coming out of her.

“I’ll give you all the space you want, but I’ll be right there,” you pointed your thumb behind you, toward your part of the room. “So, if you need or want me to go somewhere with you, I will,” you paused, or finished, but it sounded like you were just pausing. Still, you got back up so maybe you were done. “Just, if you think it might be dangerous, please let me come with you,” you requested, your gaze so soft Wednesday was now absolutely certain nails were about to pierce through her chest.

She needed to put a stop to this, because she had no control over what was happening between you two and that disturbed her, and not in a good way.

“Oh, yeah, uh, I shouldn’t say this, but heads up, Enid’s gift is… something, yeah, let’s go with that,” you chuckled uncomfortably, and that was the only warning Wednesday would get. Granted, it was more than enough for her to mentally prepare, but nothing could have prepared her for what Enid called a snood.

Not even her composure kept her jaw from dropping.

She wondered what kind of threat or blackmail you managed to use to avoid wearing one too, since the blonde werewolf clearly complained about you refusing to wear your own.

~X~

Wednesday Addams was a constant source of worry and you were just fully realizing that. “Did you just say she was in the back of mayor’s car when he got hit by a car?” you repeated what Enid just told you with your head clutched between your hands. How could one person go through so many things? That would probably remain a mystery to you.

“Wednesday!” Enid exclaimed when Wednesday came back, looking like nothing happened. Like there was no need to worry about what she saw. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m perfectly fine, in fact, it was on my bucket list,” of course it was. She met your worried gaze just for a moment and then made her way to her table to, soon enough, start her writing time. You figured you could give her some time, just like how she gave you some time after you were attacked.

You knew it wasn’t entirely fair to make a fuss about Wednesday sneaking out, when you did the same thing. Still, you were a raiju, in theory you could have dealt with almost anything, or at least escaped if needed. Wednesday was, aside from her vision, almost a normie.

So, you decided to give Wednesday a day to process every thought she had regarding what she saw.

You didn’t expect the next time Wednesday would speak to you would be while she was in the bathroom, calling you to come inside. And then, just as you stepped inside, the world went black.

~X~

You woke up to the feeling of excruciating pain as your body instinctively held the lightning in from bursting through. “Damn it, Wednesday!” you yelled, feeling the anger rise as you realized you were tied up in a bathtub filled with water. At least she placed you there in a way that didn’t allow you to drown.

She should have. Because you were going to be beyond angry when you got out. That is if you could. Sure, you could probably damage the ropes, but Thing was right there, guarding you and making sure you weren’t capable of bursting through with lightning. He was too close for a burst of lightning to actually work and set you free without hurting Thing in the process.

“Thing, buddy come on, get away so I can get free,” you pleaded, gritting your teeth as the pain increased. You were submerged up to your chest, and it was getting increasingly more difficult to stay in control over your lightning. If it continued like this you might actually shift right in the bathroom. Thing, however, refused, leaving no space for arguments as he confirmed his loyalties were primarily to Wednesday.

“Wednesday when I see you again,” you didn’t intend to give her space like this! How could she even do this to you?! Knowing full well what leaving you in water would mean for you! Insistent knocking on the window made your eyes widen. Maybe this torture could end.

“Wednesday!” Xavier called out, clearly from within the room. Usually, you’d complain about his nerve, but now you really didn’t care.

“Xavier! Get over here and grab Thing for me!” you yelled back and took a couple of deep breaths to make sure you were still in control over your lightning as he came in with his eyes covered. “You kinda need your eyes, and I have my clothes on, you dumbass,” you rolled your eyes, no longer having patience for any of this.

He opened his eyes and rushed outside the bathroom right away. You were expecting too much. “How did you even end up in that situation?!”

“Wednesday happened to me!” you snapped at him, glaring at Thing since he was the next best option with Wednesday gone for now. “Thing probably knows where she is, so go ahead and deal with that, just get him out of the bathroom,” you demanded.

You could hear Xavier taking deep breaths before rushing in and trying to grab Thing. Thing easily dodged him, but Xavier remained persistent and a few minutes later you could set yourself free. Now all that was left was to deal with Wednesday.

Thing gave in and revealed to Xavier Wednesday’s location, and you couldn’t help but glare at Thing. Seriously? Xavier got to know and you didn’t?! “I’m going after Wednesday. Do you want to come with me or-“ he stopped talking the moment he saw your glare. “I guess not. That’s fine! I’ll leave you alone!” he raised his arms, surrendering as he back away as quickly as he possibly could.

Xavier left you alone, knowing better than to stay close to you right now, especially since you were seething. Pushing you away was one thing. This? This was a whole other thing. You nearly tore your clothes off before grabbing a towel to dry off. And then you sat down at your table, your anger not fading even a fraction by the time Enid came back into the room, clearly distraught.

“What happened?” you were honestly surprised with how calm you sounded.

“Wednesday happened! She took me and Tyler to the Gates mansion and the monster was there! We could have died, Y/N! Tyler got hurt! Wednesday doesn’t care, she just wants to solve her mystery!” Enid cried out, and any other time you would have comforted her, you would have tried to calm her down, this time you just left the room, nearly slamming the doors behind you.

~X~

Somehow, Wednesday managed to avoid getting expelled, and she managed to avoid getting Enid and Xavier into trouble. It was a close call, and Tyler could have died, but she was one big step closer to solving this case. That was all that mattered, and she’d figure out how the mansion got cleared of all the evidence so quickly, she just needed to sit and think about it.

“Wednesday!” she froze near the top of the stairs. This was the first time she heard you that angry. Thing warned her you would get angry at her over what she did, she just didn’t realize just how angry you’d get. She didn’t see this kind of anger even when you faced Rowan.

Wednesday guessed your eyes were red and she was… wrong. They were flashing between red and orange.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” you stopped right at the top of the stairs as Wednesday climbed up the rest of the way.

“I was making sure you were giving me space,” she wasn’t going to show weakness to you. She wasn’t afraid, but she didn’t feel good either.

You snorted at that, clearly not happy with that response. You turned away from her, perhaps not even able to look at her with how angry you were. “It that how you call it? First you put me through pain and nearly forced me to shift and now you put Enid in danger! Both of you could have died!”

“No one died and-“ before she could finish her sentence you spun around and pointed your finger at her, nearly jabbing her in the chest.

“No! This is where you shut it! You’ve seen what that monster did to Rowan, you’ve seen what happened to me, yet you chose to take a normie and a werewolf that can’t wolf out with you to a place that is clearly connected to this entire mystery of yours,” you stopped yelling, but your words were still laced with so much rage you didn’t even need to yell for Wednesday to feel it. “And you might as well be a normie as well, since all you have are those visions. Why am I even trying, you won’t listen to me no matter what I say,” you took a step back, getting closer to the stairs. “You know what? I’m done. You win, Wednesday,” you pulled out the knife she threw at you, the same knife you decided to claim as your own and pushed it toward her. You waited just enough for Wednesday to figure out what you meant and wrap her fingers around the handle. “At least try not to die.”

You turned around, intent on going down the stairs. Against her every instinct, against her dislike for being touched or touching someone, she reached out and grabbed your hand. “Where are you going?” didn’t you hear the rain?

“To my shed,” at least you were still answering her questions even if the way you glared back at her made her uncomfortable.

“It’s raining,” she couldn’t look at you, yet she couldn’t let go of you either.

You pulled your hand away, yanked it out of Wednesday’s hold and for a moment Wednesday dared to think she would have preferred it if you electrocuted her. “Don’t,” you warned and you didn’t need to finish that sentence. She got the message loud and clear, she shouldn’t even think of interfering. Not after what happened tonight.

The words she should have said remained stuck in her throat, as if someone wrapped them in a barbed wire and forced Wednesday to swallow them. “Wait,” it wasn’t enough, you were already halfway down the stairs by the time she managed to force even that one word out.

And it was just the start. Not even ten minutes later she was left entirely alone. After you, Enid left as well, not as angry as you were, but upset nonetheless.

Wednesday couldn’t blame her. She didn’t ask for friends, but Enid became that to her regardless. And you… it felt different with you, it felt different than anything she ever felt before, and it was a powerful feeling she couldn’t even begin to handle.

For the first time in her life being alone didn’t feel so good and Wednesday curled up against the window, right at the middle of it. She shouldn’t feel like she was feeling right now, she should have been fine with this, happy that she got what she wanted, at least with you.

Enid leaving hurt as well, even if the kind of pain wasn’t the same, but that hurt as well. Wednesday realized far too late that somehow, the two of you tore your way into her heart and now your very absence hurt her. Thing came up to her shoulder, offering a comforting pat. Telling her that he was right would have hurt less than his compassion and reassurance that both you and Enid would come back.

Wednesday pulled her knees to her chest, hiding her face as she curled up as much as she could. The rain hitting the window, and lightning in the distance made her cover her ears. You were out there in the storm and it was all her fault. Abruptly, Wednesday got up and went to your part of the room, hoping that some distance from the windows would let her ignore the storm outside.

She wasn’t entirely sure how it got to that point, but in one moment she was standing in front of your bed and then she was taking her boots off, leaving them next to your bed and lying down, not even in her usual position. She just curled up once again and clutched your pillow.

She should have been honest with you, she should have told you about what her mother told her, she should have told you she wanted you to stay.

Somehow, she kept doing everything she shouldn’t have with you, or in some way connected with you. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed, but she did it anyway, and she didn’t wake up even when Thing pulled your thin blanket over her. And there, completely alone yet more surrounded by you than ever before, she remained for the rest of the night, her senses and emotions overwhelmed.

A/N: Four chapters in roughly a week? Honestly, I’m very happy with that. Please tell me what you think about this chapter, I’d really like to know if you think I’m making Wednesday seem OOC? Especially with the last scene.

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #enid sinclair #jenna ortega x reader

[meatonfork]

Thank you so much for fulfilling my platonic TF141 dreams!!, you can't imagine how bad i need a platonic relationship with them and how hard it's to find similar content for god's sake you're a true saviour 💗 If your RQs are open can i ask for a teenage/young adult reader (17-21)? Where the reader was a hostage before they got rescued by the TF141 and for some reason the reader has to stay with them temporarily for their own safety? I can see the reader bonding with them like some kind of family after the reader was closed off bc of Thier trauma, I also imagine the team giving the reader some kind of code name as a way to make them feel welcomed 💗

thank you for this idea! so lovely, i hope this is up to your needs! :’)

———————————————————————————————————————

Found Family

pairings: platonic 141 x grim

warning: hostage situation, grim is scared of big storms, usual cod violence

summary: the story of grim’s call sign, and how they joined tf141

———————————————————————————————————————

you were only 17 when you enlisted. you felt an obligation to your, now dead, family to serve. to help protect others.

you later found it to be one of the best decisions ever made. pretty smart if you asked yourself.

but, at the time you were constantly overlooked because of your small stature.

for about a year, you never had a call sign. just your last name. it never really bothered you, until now.

now you were caught in a stupid safe house after a task force had to come get you after being captured mid-mission.

they were all nice, except the guy with the skull mask. he didn’t talk much.

a large storm had stopped the team and yourself from being able to leave the area. your next best option was some safe house that ghost knew of.

trekking through the woods in a huge storm with minor injuries- cuts, scrapes, and bruises, was the last thing you wanted to do. but, you really didn’t have a choice.

“what happened to you, kid?” price’s voice was raised so you could hear him over the wind.

“fuckin’ teammate threw me back towards the enemy. got caught.” you were pissed, and your tone made that clear.

price nodded, letting out a hum.

“you got a call sign yet?” soap’s voice cut in this time.

“nah. no one bothered to give me one.” you shrug, but it secretly bothered you. you were the only one in your squad without one.

“you’ll get one soon, don’t worry.”

you nodded and continued following ghost.

a loud clap of thunder made you jump. you lost your footing, but ghost’s large hand quickly snapped out and grabbed your arm.

“you good?”

“yeah. hate storms.”

“we’re all scared of somethin’.” his tone wasn’t comforting, but you tell he was trying to be.

“yeah, i know.”

you finally made it to the safe house, quickly rushing to the bathroom to change out of your soaked clothes.

walking out, you saw everyone sitting on a couch, also changed. you joined them, sitting in a chair, making yourself comfortable.

gaz quickly spoke up, “how you feelin’ now?”

“warmer. definitely war-“ another clap of thunder interrupted you.

“you’re good, just a storm.” he offered a reassuring smile, but it didn’t do much to calm your nerves. your small hands unconsciously started to shake.

“let’s come up with a call sign, yeah?” soap could see your nerves from a mile away. hell, if he tried hard enough he could probably smell them.

“uh, yeah. sure!” you smiled softly at him, tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“you got any strong character traits? embarrassing stories?”

“uhhh… no.” you frowned. “i mean, im pretty small, obviously, but i don’t want to be known for it. you lot can already see it.” your voice wavered slightly as the storm continued raging. rain beat down on the windows like a continuous line of drums.

“yeah, that’s reasonable. hmm.” this time gaz tried making names for you.

this continued for a long while, usually ending in laughs at how ridiculous their ideas were.

ghost even chimes in with ‘bee’ because you were so small, but seemingly could hold yourself, but your distaste for them quickly shut that down.

“oh! one time, on a mission, my squad ran into some real trouble. we couldn’t get backup, it was too compromised. we were stuck in this warehouse, the enemy had us cornered. only me and one other teammate were in the room. we got split off. anyway, he was injured bad. like, on the verge of death, bad.” you were talking animatedly. hands moving about and face scrunching. the boys sat quietly. this was the most you’ve talked, having been too nervous all night.

“he couldn’t do much to help us. i was just a rookie, little experience, but enough to get by with backup. when i saw at least five men coming up to us, i panicked. i guess i just stopped thinking. i blacked out, don’t remember much. but when i clocked back in, my partner looked terrified, yet amazed.” your voice was growing softer.

“there was blood everywhere. i couldn’t tell what was mine or their’s. all he said was, ‘jesus. that was fucking grim. you good?’ i think about it quite often.” your movements slowed, and your eyes glazed a bit.

“damn, kid. i think i found a name for ya.” ghost finally chimes in. a chuckle left price.

your small figure, curled in a ball, looked at all the men. most held amusement. amused that someone that small had the ability to take out so many men.

“glad to meet ya, grim.” soap’s smile was large.

“nice to meet you lot, too.” you gave one back.

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a/n: thanks for reading!! hope you enjoyed <3

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost #simon ghost riley #soap #john soap mactavish x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #john price x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #cod #cod mw2 imagine #grim au

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

It's Who We Have | Part One

Summary: Who knew the little girl in the green coat would change everything? | Word Count: 5.7k~ | Warnings below the cut!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Taglist | Series Masterlist

A/N: The coat story is based on a real story that happened to me when I was in primary school. Also the age of consent in the UK is 16, and this chapter does mention being intimate at that age. If this bothers you, you're welcome to click away. Primary School = Ages 7 to 11, Secondary School = Ages 11 to 16, Sixth Form = Ages 16 to 18

Warnings: bullying, underage drinking, angst, mentions of sexual intercourse (reader is of legal age), Billy being a general twat

It started with a rain cloud.

It was at a time when he was still excited to be in the passenger seat of his Mum's old Ford Focus. When his enthusiastic little feet still didn't touch the bottom of the footwell. His curious, wide blue eyes watched the world go by, following the shadow of the car as it zipped by the older kids, who were trusted enough to walk to school by themselves.

Year 4 was no particularly exciting year. At the tender age of 8, Billy was highly introverted, but a perpetual watcher of other people as well as his immediate surroundings.

He noticed the little things that other people didn't, like how electricity hummed in the walls of his bedroom, how the space between the grass was worn down into a man-made path and how, on the dot, every night at 8pm a man walked past his house grunting down the phone in a low baritone, swinging his suitcase at his side with every wide step.

His parents noticed how perceptive he was when he'd slip away upstairs as he heard the metal click of the gate with Lana's late return home. Knowing that an argument was about to ensue between his sister and his dad.

His mum, intent on breaking up and being the buffer between two extremely large personalities, often neglected her quiet little boy upstairs. But it wasn't entirely her fault.

Lana, a teenager through and through, intent on creating hardship wherever she happened to be with her actions and words, was incessantly butting heads with both of them.

He could hear the low rumble of thunder even over the revs of the car. His mum always drove in too low a gear.

His mum laughed lightly when Billy looked up at the dark, looming cloud hanging over his school as rain smacked against the windscreen.

"Ooh dear. Good job you've got your raincoat, eh?", she smiled, turning her steering wheel to slide into the school car park.

"What did Miss Warren say it was called?", she prodded.

Billy could barely see his mother over the high collar of his coat.

"Cum…ulo…nimbus", he recalled from memory sweetly and quietly, making his mum's crow's feet tick against her eyes as she smiled.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, darling. It's just a new school year".

His mum's soft pat on his head didn't comfort him.

Though the same people would be there, it would not be the same teacher.

Miss Warren had seen how quiet Billy was and nurtured the few words she could get out of him. He remembers her fondly. How she had curly chestnut hair that one might describe as unruly, and always had a floral scent about her when she'd kneel next to him and ask if he could recite the last sentence of his book to her.

It was the only good thing about school, he thought.

Year 3 had been difficult. He didn't do well when he was forced to socialise.

Other children had thrived in regularly seeing others. Forming friend groups, squealing with delight on the playground and the girls giggling and whispering to each other about who they were going to talk to that day.

He held his mum's hand loosely at the gate, where the headmaster was filing the children of all years and ages into the main part of the school.

She knelt beside him, zipping up his coat as the rain pelted against the concrete.

"I'll pick you up after your club, okay?" 

Billy nodded once, disappearing past the threshold of the school with a downwards gaze and a comically large bag hunched high on his shoulders.

It started with a rain cloud.

He knows now that it was silly, the reason his now best friend entered his life.

When he first saw her, she was on the verge of tears, standing to her feet and looking down at herself completely covered in mud. Her lips quivered, looking at the group of established friends with horror as they rushed away, their shoes smacking on the wet ground.

He hadn't realised he'd stopped until she took a sharp breath in, clearly trying not to cry, looking down at herself. 

Her small hands tried to push the mud off her green coat, but only served to smear it around. He could hear her shudder her breath, frustrated, and began to whine with increasing volume. Her book bag, once blue, was completely sodden.

And on top of all that, rain continued to hammer down on them, which only made her more upset.

Billy fiddled with his hands nervously, looking around immediately for an adult, to no avail. Thinking with terror, that he might have to approach her. 

It wasn't even because she was a girl. For they were at that tender age where it didn't matter. That they were just children, trying to figure out how to exist in a world that seemed brand new everyday.

He hiccuped on her own breath with tears as he stood before her.

"Are you okay?", he asked nervously.

She could only shake her head, her eyes full of fear, her face and hair completely wet through.

"My mummy's going to be cross with me", she replied feebly, looking down at her coat, though waterproof, completely smeared with earth.

At the time, Billy thought, he couldn't argue with that logic that she was so upset at the thought of what her mum would think when she came home, covered in half-dried mud, having been pushed by the rowdy Year 6's.

He also thought, that he hadn't seen her last year, and that this was the first experience she'd had in her new school. And that he, if in her position, would be no different. Snivelling and crying before they'd even taken the register.

He grimaced as he picked up her book bag, slick with earth and without thinking twice, took her cold, wet hand and led her with him to the toilets before registration started.

Billy's big eyes flitted between the signs for 'boys' and 'girls' when presented with the toilets.

He decided to spare her the embarrassment, and took it upon himself to lead her into the girls toilets, despite the heavy blush on his face.

Seeing the inside of the girls toilet, while not much different, felt utterly forbidden.

But all he could think about right now, was the little girl he'd led in, and how to make her look presentable, and to get her to stop crying.

He used what felt like a tonne of blue hand towels, wetting some to get the majority of mud off her and the rest to dry her coat, seeing the rich green colour beneath again finally.

She still sniffed quietly, rubbing her tired face and choking on her breath every now and then. He gave her one blue paper towel to dry the remnants of her tears, the tissue rubbing painfully on her skin.

But ultimately she let him help her.

And Billy couldn't remember feeling as useful to someone as he did right now.

Once her book bag was clean, he gently handed it back to her. And she finally lifted her reddened eyes to him, her lips still quivering slightly, or perhaps she was cold from the onslaught of rain.

"That's better" 

She nodded at him, looking down at herself to see her coat was now only slightly dirty.

It was almost unnoticeable, her tiny, meek 'thank you'.

He held her hand in solidarity as they entered the classroom together. Coming alight when he told her where she could hang her coat up and sitting beside her, in line with the girl, boy, girl boy rule their new teacher had put in place.

It took her a few hours to warm up to him. To everyone really.

But he saw her again the next day, his feet swinging excitedly in the passenger seat of his mum's car at the prospect of seeing her again. The clouds Billy was scarcely able to pronounce were now gone, a light grey overcast instead on the early September morning.

Her coat was clean, a bright green as it was the day before.

She still seemed nervous as he bounded up to her, his curious eyes searching hers.

"Was your mummy angry?" he asked.

She looked down at her shoes, shifting her weight, not wanting to reply.

And Billy had his answer.

He watched her lift her head to meet his eyes again, her hands wringing together nervously and her voice all quiet.

"Can I sit next to you again today?"

Billy had grown out of hand-holding by Year 6, realising that he, as a boy, and her, as a girl, were supposedly from different worlds.

But it never felt like it.

Secondary school was daunting for all Year 7's. But Billy, tall for his age and towering over everyone else, felt more self conscious than usual that he stuck out so much.

His sandy blonde hair flopped against his forehead. Another measly early September, confined to a classroom to be patronised and talked at for several hours, passing the time only by making colourful cover pages in their exercise books.

"Billy!"

He couldn't help but laugh as she ran through the school gates to him, looking quite different in the secondary school uniform than he saw her last, which now felt like a lifetime ago.

Realistically, he only saw her the other week as they walked home together from the corner shop. Then, she'd been in jeans and a jumper.

Now, in her school mandated skirt and blazer, he thought she looked more like a young lady now than ever. And briefly, it terrified him.

The prospect of getting older.

The idea that they might drift apart.

He brushed her waved tendrils from her face, exhausted from the effort of running with her cheeks all flushed, with that squishy appearance that many associated with Year 7's.

If anyone didn't know then both, they'd think they were in different years.

"Got 'em?", he asked with a lazy smile.

She rolled her eyes, rifling around in her bag, "Um, yes? When do I ever disappoint?" 

He laughed as she ripped three Starbursts from her packet and piled them in his hand, "Only three? Thought we were mates".

She gave him a look, popping one into her mouth, "You are my mate, hence why I gave you three".

They walked together, collecting their timetables for the term ahead, rolling the sweets around in their mouths.

"I don't get these room numbers", she mused, "have you got science in S27?"

"Yeah, Mr White".

"That's alright then, I'll just follow you".

"Don't follow me, I've got no clue where I'm going either".

She smiled widely, "guess we'll get lost together then, eh?"

He let out a puff of air in laughter, tugging lightly on her ponytail in soft teasing, "bad luck to be late to your classes on the first day, ya know".

"Well then they should have a map", she pouts, smacking his arm lightly.

Looking back, he wasn't surprised how close to her he felt. For as pre-teens edging that fine line into puberty, when everything is confusing, new, scary and exciting all at the same time, he saw her more often at school everyday than he did his own parents.

She was a constant.

Most days they'd walk to school, spend break times, lunch times, and even the twilight hours after together. Always chatting mindlessly about whatever teenagers did talk about.

It was difficult to address though, that the older they became, the more the powers that be were intent on separating them.

Girls and boys weren't meant to be friends.

They were meant to like each other, hold hands, blush and kiss each other.

They were meant to have different classes, teaching different things. Boys were taught how to keep themselves safe from STIs, and the girls were taught about their monthly cycles, though many of them had started already, as well as how to prevent pregnancy when they were on the cusp of exploring their intimate, sexual selves. With hormones raging so hard that they couldn't think straight.

They were separated for PE. Even in the subjects they were offered to take.

It felt like everything was against them.

And in this forced separation, Billy was then forced to make friendships in other boys, as shallow and surface value as they were.

He felt as if he'd been missing out on this part of growing up, as he sat against the wall at lunch listening to his mates harp on about mindless teenage things. Like who was going to lose their virginity next, and if their parents would find out if they found out they'd swiped a packet of fags from their mum's handbags.

It wasn't like they didn't talk anymore.

There were the summer holidays, where more often than not, he found himself on her doorstep, asking her Mum if she could come out.

And she always delighted in seeing him. Even if it had barely been 24 hours since the last time.

But with the highest of highs, came the lowest of lows. And September would inevitably roll around again.

He sometimes saw her on school grounds between classes, having done the same thing and forced herself to make a group of friends. Though it was as clear to him that she didn't have anything in common with them, and just smiled and nodded at anything they said in an attempt to not show on her face how lonely she was.

She was solitary in nature.

And when he glanced at her across the assembly room, where the foldout chairs were lined up so everyone could eat, her eyes were distantly looking at her hands clasped in front of her, idly picking at her cuticles. Her friends were turned away from her, chatting with wide smiles and booming laughter to themselves. Making plans and giggling at inside jokes, all while her sandwich laid untouched rolled in cling film in front of her.

He thought, she must have been able to sense someone was watching her, as she moved her head. But never looked at him.

While Billy's friend group stayed with the usual characters, hers evolved. And every few months it was a new cast of people.

He saw she made the effort, and really tried, but that with every passing day, her energy wavered and eventually they'd grow bored of her and pretended as if she didn't exist other than to fill the empty seat beside them.

But he still walked her home, even if she said she didn't want him to. In silence if need be.

Eventually he began to notice, more so now than ever, that she was really a woman in disguise. That she was wiser than he thought she was, more grown up. That she thought about the future ahead of her and was careful to take calculated steps in order to get there.

At the fair age of 16, Billy, his features set into crisp lines, hardened by puberty, his muscles sitting wiry on his skin and taught without really having to try, realised that he had done her a huge disservice by merely accepting this forced separation with a stiff upper lip.

That she needed someone true and gentle, honest and no-frills. Something her girlfriends were unable to give her. 

That she wanted someone to try for her friendship.

As he had all those years ago.

They began to take the long way home, through the gap in the hedges, into Cranstead Fields, the tall grass tickling their legs through their uniform.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" she asked suddenly, pulling her hair tie out. Billy's eyes ran over her loose hair for a moment before replying.

"No, why?" 

"Because we barely talk to each other in school anymore", she replied, unable to hide the bitterness from her tone.

He had to accept that her words were true. They rarely crossed paths inside the school gates, and their conversations in between were shallow and empty, void of all authenticity and emotion.

It wasn't enough to have acceptance from one teenage girl, apparently.

But he didn't appreciate being called out so callously about it.

"Yeah, well I've got my mates".

She laughed through her nose, "Yeah, saw you smoking behind the bike sheds. Gonna get you killed one day, you know".

He furrowed his brows at her, "Smoking?"

"No, your mates"

She laughed at his confused expression, "course I meant smoking, you wolly".

There was a silence between them as they brushed past the white painted lines on the field, where a football pitch had been drawn.

"I don't mind you having mates Billy. I just miss you".

"Really, cos it seems like you do mind", he bit back. And he watched her raise her gaze to him quickly, "just cos you don't have mates doesn't mean I can't".

Her lips hung in shock that he could say something so cruel.

And that he carried on.

"Do yourself a favour and do what other girls do and get a boyfriend or somethin'. Save you hanging about with me moaning all the time".

He didn't feel bad about it until the moment she disappeared past her mum at the front door of her house, intent on being away from Billy's harsh words as quickly as possible.

"Tell your mum I said hello, love", her mum smiled.

But as soon as the door was shut, even the thick double glazing couldn't muffle the loud, destructible tirade of her mum's anger.

And he felt the hot whips of panic at his neck, that he'd done and said something wrong.

And yet, despite that, never said sorry for it.

Billy thinks now that he remembers the most from this part of their friendship because the most happened.

But he realises now that it's because of guilt.

It follows you, like a kind of trauma through your life, without the repercussions of the person you've hurt.

And god, he watched her get hurt a lot.

After that, she didn't even really try. She flourished in solitude, keeping herself company wherever she could while Billy and his mates reaped the benefits of being young and dumb. 

It was also when he appeared. Like a fucking virus. Always finding people when they have their guard down and their hearts low.

Even though they were in the same year, he had this air of arrogance about him that he thought he was much older, more sensible, and could be taken more seriously.

And with the absence of Billy in her life, she accepted any chance of feeling wanted with open arms.

She wanted to feel important to someone.

Billy would never forgive himself for that.

He simply watched from afar, not realising how invested he was, more often than not from the bike sheds as the boy who was trying too hard wound his web so tightly around her it must have felt comforting for her to some degree.

To be choked by affection, to some, is a kind of affection.

After Easter break, having not spoken to her directly for some months now, Billy had realised something had changed.

The boy who had wound his web tight, seemed to do so with plenty of others too. As boys of his age were known to do.

She'd rush out of school so quickly, staring at her feet, that often she was the first one out the gates and Billy, even if he'd wanted to, couldn't keep up.

He knew where she was going anyway.

He was assured when he saw her leaning her head on her arms crossed over her knees, under the large chestnut tree at Cranstead Fields.

She heard him approach, and turned her head away, sniffling quietly.

He swallowed over the lump in his throat as he sat beside her, not speaking.

And a long, long moment passed. As if all that time apart had lessened that trust, and it would take more than a mere moment to patch it back up.

"Is it him?" he asked.

Her clothes rustled as she nodded. Her breath hiccuping in her chest the same way it did when he saw her all those years ago, covered in mud.

"What happened?"

She wiped her face with her sleeve, a bit of makeup coming loose.

"What do you think happened", she bit back, annoyed and heartbroken all at the same time.

He briefly forgot, that for girls it sometimes felt like more, like so much more, to give yourself to someone for the first time.

Only to have the trust squashed as quickly as it was to slam a book shut.

She sucked in a breath as he stroked her back comfortingly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

After a moment, she raised her eyes to him, all red and puffy, her face all hot from crying.

And he felt his heart break for her.

Behind this girl, who was suffering in heartbreak, believing that her first love and first time had now been entrenched in misery, he caught a glimpse of the girl she had been, when they were inseparable.

He tutted, "Come here".

He bought her head to his chest softly, his hand drifting to her shoulder to encourage her to hug him, to let it all out.

And she did.

She hugged him tighter than she ever had before. 

A teenage boy part of him felt embarrassed. But another, fought to stay here like this with her.

Until eventually she said pitifully, "I don't want to go home".

And he realised that it wasn't just the boy she was upset about.

Luckily Billy's mum delighted in having her around at his, even offering that she could stay if she wanted to, as Lana was away at uni and wouldn't be using her bedroom til the summer holidays.

And though he could see his friend was tempted, she mostly refused, knowing that at some point she'd have to return home. To what version of her mum, she didn't know.

But it didn't mean she never took them up on the offer sometimes, when things were really bad.

Yes, he got teased endlessly by his mates.

But it didn't matter. Because he felt like he had her back.

Sixth Form proved to be a happier time for both of them.

It felt more free, laid back than the shackles of secondary school. Hindered by school uniform and calling the teachers 'sir' and 'miss', here it was all backwards they thought.

The prospect of free time to a bunch of excited teenagers, on the cusp of adulthood, was exciting.

He felt like it was just like old times.

They sat together in the common room in their free period, sharing the cheapest thing they could get from the canteen, which was four flimsy slices of toast. That and an orange Fanta from the vending machine.

They'd both somehow formed into new people over the summer holidays between Year 11 and Sixth Form, wearing different things every day and giving each other a glimpse into their truer personalities.

At first, it was just two of them.

And eventually four, then six.

A solid friend group. 

She had two girls at her side most of the time, Libby and Ami. The first blossoming Billy would ever witness of his friend into womanhood would be the way she formed these friendships so naturally, in contrast to the shallow ones she'd had in secondary school. Which now seemed so long ago.

He had his own mates of his own sex. Ami's twin brother Abi, Harry (who's real name was Barry but never told anyone) and the most recent addition to the group, Paddy.

It was a friend group of the truest intentions. They laughed, joked, and were never far from one another. Many nights they spent at Cranstead Fields, huddled under a tree, passing bottles of WKD around and some horrendous smoky whiskey Paddy had managed to steal from his dad's liquor cabinet.

But there were special moments where Billy and her would just sit and observe, nursing a bottle between them.

"Bet you Libby and Abi are necking each other off by 1", she smirked, gesturing with her head to them as they sat together across the grass, Libby inching herself onto his lap with every swig of alcohol.

Billy laughed, "I don't think I need to bet on that", he replied, pushing the hair off his forehead as it touched his eyelashes.

"You need your hair cut", she smiled.

He gave her a look, "Who do you think I'm trying to impress?"

"I dunno", she shrugged, "you never tell me who you've got your eye on".

He pushed the WKD into her arm and she took it, smirking as she sipped it.

"I suppose…there's a girl a year up…", he murmured.

"See! I knew it!" She exclaimed, "Wait, Year 13? Who? Tell me".

He rolled his eyes at his friend's curiosity, "Rebecca".

He laughed when she scrunched her nose in disgust.

"Her? She's been out with a few Year 12's, hasn't she? Proper little cradle snatcher".

Billy laughed, louder than he anticipated, and when he opened his eyes again, his friend was already looking at him. Her eyes all glazed over with the amount of alcohol she'd had already.

"Leave off. You asked", he grins, blinking quickly once he feels his head clouded with dizziness.

"Well", she passes the drink to him, "I wish you luck, you'll need it".

They briefly look back to Libby and Abi, who are now embroiled quite blatantly in kissing one another, Libby nestled in his lap and her hand at his jaw.

In the distance Paddy kicked a ball around with Harry, as Ami watched between them, not an ounce of sexual tension between them.

Their knees touched and both quickly looked at each other, as if horrified that they hadn't realised how close they were.

It was dark in Cranstead Fields, but she felt she could see the way his eyes reflected the distant street lamps, how they seemed to fit over her face, and how he pressed his lips together and swallowed nervously as he moved a piece of her hair from her face to tuck safely behind her ear.

Was is the alcohol? This weird feeling in both of their stomachs? The airiness in their heads?

Was it only now that he saw that she had nice eyes? That he could see the contours of her collarbone, and the curves against her skinny jeans?

That his friend, was a young woman.

He only remembered sighing against her lips, turning his head to the side as he pressed against hers. How small she seemed compared to him.

She tasted of cheap vodka, but then again, so did he. And he wasn't entirely paying attention to the taste of her, but to the feeling of her.

It wasn't either of their first kisses. But it certainly felt like it.

He felt his chest go tight as her hand moved to the front of his hoodie, holding the fabric in her palm, as his tongue parted her lips.

When they pulled away, he still felt her presence on him.

Her hand slowly slipped from his chest, her eyes looking at him with trepidation, her lips kiss-bruised and swollen. Both of them looked at one another, unsure what to say, and trying form words over the whirring and melting feeling of drunkenness in their brains.

"I, uh…I should be getting home", she said quietly. And Billy nodded, now drunk on another feeling that had taken root deep in his chest.

He saw her off at her doorstep, hands deep in his pockets, not knowing whether what they'd done should be addressed or not. Or whether their brief kiss was the result of simply having too much to drink too quickly.

She had her answer though, when Billy turned up to Sixth Form the Monday after, hair trimmed, with his arm loosely around Rebecca's shoulders. He spoke to her closely, making her laugh and stroking her hair behind her ear, as he had done to her the Saturday before.

Though they remained close. Remained friends. There was an air of something unsaid. 

Something that appeared whenever she saw him with her. Pressing his lips against hers, threading his fingers into her long, perfect hair and keeping one hand perpetually around her thigh.

When Rebecca, or Becky as Billy lovingly called her, finished her A-Levels to move onto Middlesex University to do Psychology, she felt horrible that she was relieved she was gone.

Felt that she had him back, even if it was only sometimes.

She knows now, that nothing good lasts forever.

She thought he'd be happy for her, when she got her UCAS email that she'd gotten into her first choice of university in Manchester.

But he always managed to surprise her.

"The fuck are you going to uni for? And so far away as well, you don't even know anyone there", he almost barked the words at her, not wanting to admit that his heart was hurting at the way she looked so wounded at him.

"So what? It's the course I wanted to do and-"

"And what? You just gonna leave me here doing fuck all, are you?"

"You can do what you like, Billy!", she shouted back, matching him now in frustration, "I'm sorry that I am pursuing what I want to do!"

Don't leave me behind.

Please.

"What about your mum? Hm? You just gonna leave her on her own?"

She scoffed, "my mum doesn't give a fuck where I am half the time, you know that".

"Yeah, I'm feeling like I don't really know you at all lately", Billy muttered under his breath.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean? I wasn't going to just forget about you. I'd come visit and-"

"You know what, forget it. Do what you like, I don't give a shit".

She stood there, taking his words like hits. Each one hurting more than the last, opening the hole inside her wider.

She thought, he must not know what he's saying. She never knew Billy to be this cruel, apart from in secondary school.

But he was young then, he was smarter than that.

Wasn't he?

Her eyes filled with tears, blinking quickly, taking a step back from him like he'd burned her.

She tried her best to remain strong on her face.

"Just because I don't want the same things as you, Billy, doesn't mean it's pointless".

When Billy just stood there, mouth half agape, like everything had just caught up with him, she shook her head.

"Keep in touch, if you can be bothered".

She said it as coldly as she could, not looking back as she walked away from him, quickly wiping her cheeks. With each step, the pit widened in her chest. Feeling as if the string that had inextricably connected them since that fated day in Year 4, was prone to snapping irreparably.

His words rattled around in her head the entire journey to Manchester. How horrible they were. And how a person she'd considered a friend, could speak to her like that.

After everything that had happened between them.

Moving to a new city didn't feel like starting over. It merely felt like burying something at the bottom of the garden, the grass disturbed, and having to look at the patch of earth as a reminder of what once was.

It was hot again in London.

Billy stared at his phone for most of the evening, waiting for a text from Becky, to tell him that she was moving back in, or that she'd thought things through and decided not to move out.

No such text arrived.

"Put your fucking phone away or I swear to god I am funnelling this pint down you, like it or not", Paddy laughed as he slid into the booth, sliding one pint over to Harry and the other to Billy.

"He's still moping", Harry smirked, which earned a glare.

"Becky again?" Paddy prodded.

Billy sighed, clicking off his phone and turning it face down, "None of your fucking business".

"Woahh! No need for that, is there? C'mon, get it down ya" 

Each of them took a healthy sip of their pint.

"You too, don't be on your phone!" Paddy nudged Harry, trying to get a peek at his phone.

"Fuck off"

Paddy grinned, "Aw, is it a girl?"

"No, it's fucking Abi, you twat".

"S'alright, we don't judge, do we Billy?"

Billy grinned over the rim of his glass in response.

"He coming?" Billy asked.

"Yeah, apparently with Libby", Harry replied, thumbs moving quickly over his screen, "we'll facetime Ami later, when she's awake".

Both Billy and Paddy's eyebrows raised as they looked at each other.

"Together?" Paddy prodded, but Harry only shrugged.

The local pub was mostly empty, with most people outside trying to catch the last bits of sunlight, and getting mauled by mosquitos in the process.

For the most part, Billy watched Paddy and Harry with a smile on his face at how they teased each other talking about trivial things like football and what the hell was going on between their two old friends who kissed in Cranstead Fields all those years ago.

It was a good distraction.

But being with them, made him think of her.

Paddy leaned over, eyes on the door of the pub, "there they ar-oh shit".

Billy furrowed his brows, "What?"

His friend was about to open his mouth again, but it was interrupted by Libby poking her head around to the booth, "Hello! Oo, it's like the gang back together, isn't it?" she smiled.

At her side, Abi, who slid his hand around Libby's waist.

Billy opened his mouth to say hello.

But then he saw her.

And his mouth went completely dry.

He saw her eyes scan the opposite side of the booth, smiling at Paddy and Harry first, and he swears his heart drops into his stomach as she shifts her gaze to him.

The smile on her face falters. 

But not completely.

She catches herself halfway, and it resurfaces.

He can't help the way he studies her as well, like she's a whole new person. Wearing a summer dress with a denim jacket hung on her shoulders, hair down. Her features have matured, but she continues to keep that glimmer of mischievous youth in her eyes.

It was like seeing her for the first time.

"Mind if I sit?"

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics | @watercolorskyy

Billy Washington Taglist: @fan-goddess @assortedseaglass  @chainsawsangel @xxxkat3xxx

#billy washington x y/n #billy washington x oc #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington smut #billy washington fanfic #billy washington fic #billy washington x you #trigger point billy washington #trigger point series #trigger point fanfic #trigger point bbc #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #billy washington fluff

[dungeonpuppykai]

|| Back To Him ||

Description: He was flawed, but so was she. 

Pairing: Dark!Enhanced Witch Hunter!Steve Rogers | Dark Witch!Female Reader.

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Steve Rogers. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Dub-con just to be safe, stockholm syndrome, possessive!Steve (if you squint idk it's 3am), mentions of blood and death (not reader), degradation, angst, broken!reader, no mentions of body type or ethnicity but Steve is bigger, age gap (Steve is older), dumbification, slapping, panty sniffing, p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling, back scratching, squirting.

Note: More unedited than my life. Basically monster reader getting fucked by captor Steve. I needed to get this out in one go or I would never have finished it. So here's to doing this instead of studying for my upcoming exam! English isn't my first language. Feedback is much appreciated 🩷

MASTERLIST

Steve felt a slight burn in his lungs as he willed his legs to push harder, feet thundering against the withered leaves littering his path to his destination; her. He hated how slow everything turned each time this happened. His body screamed for him to stop, heart fighting against it's cage, cold droplets of sweat trickling down his forehead. But he didn't stop. He refused to stop. Instead, the witch hunger blinked his eyes, ignoring his physical turmoil that was the consequence of his unprepared marathon, focusing on his path, the only chant in his mind being the place a fellow witch hunter had informed him of being the victim to her unbiased wrath. 

Hold on, Doll. Just hold on. Despite being enhanced by the potions of the very creatures he hunted and torched, his body struggled to battle against his will to make him stop. But Steve didn't. 

He couldn't. 

. . .

"Please, please, please, Miss! I just had a child!" The man in front of her begged, holding his hands in a prayer-like way as he shook on his knees in terror, bowing his head as tears rained down his face. "Please, please…"

She smiled, her silver irises contrasting against her otherwise coal hued eyes. The man clenched his jaw to find some control for his shaking when her floating body lowered itself to come closer to him. Not so much that her feet touched the ground, no. Just enough to come in close proximity with his kneeling form. 

A chill ran down his spine when she bent forward and took a long and rough sniff. "Hmmm~" her voice was dark, deep and gravelly. "You need not worry. I will honour you by eating her heart out and quenching my thirst with her sweet blood~" Y/n cackled as the man broke out into sobs, shaking his head profusely as he incoherently begged out pleads but to no avail. 

The chaos of flame, smoke, blood and bone around them was a personal fun fair to the overpowered witch ironically victim to her own strengths as she rose back up in the air, twirling in it as people shrieked and cried, running around them. 

"Hm~" Y/n hummed after a while of enjoying the sounds, her blissful expression morphing into one of boredom as she curled her lips outwards. "Boooooring~" a quick dismissive motion of her hands was followed by everyone around her flying around her into thin slices of blood and flesh with so much force that they sprayed all over her, accompanying their kind on her skin. 

The young witch walked on the air, hands wrapped behind her back as she hummed like a little girl playing with her friends, searching for survivors as she grinned in delight, her canine/like teeth gleaming like pearls in the sun.

"There you are!" Y/n clapped her hands in delight when she found a group of people hiding in a ditch. "I could smell your fear from miiiiiiles away~!" She chirped like it was nothing but a harmless game of hide and seek among friends. "Now," tilting her head to the side, she smiled as one of her hands raised in the air. "The fun part-" her words came to an abrupt stop as she felt something grip one of her feet, pulling her downwards. 

"Hm?" The witch snapped her head in the direction of the mysterious force, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when she saw a blonde man almost twice her size calmly pulling her towards him on the ground, hand on her calf now. I know him. "But from where?" She wondered aloud, both the inherited and self acquired powers bubbling inside her like molten lava. 

"Come on now, doll." His voice was as deep as hers, no trace of the fear she loved so much present in his bright blue eyes. So human. "Come back to me" Y/n suddenly forgot her basic instinct to slash first ponder later. "That's it, that's a good doll." Steve's coaxing was ironic to say the least. For she looked nothing like the name he called her. 

Must not hurt him. 

The witch didn't know why, but the same thing played over and over in her foggy head like a mantra. Must not do anything to him. It wasn't like it would be fun anyways. 

Because he was not begging. He was not scared. Not even close. 

Steve clicked his tongue once he had finally eased her on the ground in front of him slowly and carefully. "Look at yourself, bunny. You are not allowed to go out to play alone, remember?" He knew she didn't. Not yet. Not in this state. But this was the way. The trick. It was a sequence he had perfected over the years since he first caught her during one of her rampages.

Y/n had looked so beautiful in her rotten glory. So radiant under the silver moon of that night, her hair swaying along the cool winter breeze, skin decorated by the raining snow as she slow danced by herself in the air amidst the havoc that she had caused by flooding the village with blood that night. Oh, how beautifully the red on her skin had contrasted the snowflakes clinging to her. The young witch was basking in the chaos and smiling to herself as she chewed on a piece of flesh, humming that sweet melody he had loved from that night on. One that came with a price everytime. One that he had to suppress in order to protect the universe around them. Each time he would have to choke his own hummingbird dead to silence to rescue the universe from the brute wrath it accompanied. 

But it rose from the ashes like a phoenix. Every single time. 

"Pretty eyes" was Y/n's only resolve after she tried to find strength within herself to do something but felt herself paralyzed under his soft gaze that she knew was everything but. A giggle escaped her as her index finger reached out for his eyebrow, another one accompanying the first one when he lightly smiled in response to the girl tracing his features out with the claws she had for hands. "Nice man?" She wondered aloud, voice suddenly childish. Vulnerable. 

Exactly how he had moulded her for himself all those years dating back to the night he had caught her along his hunting party. 

"Now I have to kill all these people because of you, doll." Small cries arose from the group that had been watching the scene unfolding in front of them in horror.

No one could ever find out that the great Steve Rogers could, indeed, not completely control the occasional power outbursts of the witch he had for a house pet. Where her lack of experience and training with the powers she had been blessed with by birth as well as the ones she had developed by doing small spells and tricks would overcome her conscious, blinding her humanity as the smell of fear, melodies of pained screams and thundering of strained hearts replace every other thought. 

And that was why she needed her owner, the witch hunter, both her captor and savior, Steve, to bring her back to him every time it happened. To remind her of all that mattered. All that was worth killing the dark sorceress every time she mustered enough energy to attempt a take over. 

It had been easier said than done. But he had centuries to perfect her for himself. What was lifetimes to many around them were mere moments to the two. The world was theirs if they wanted it. Y/n as the brainless executionist while Steve held her leash. But they only took what they wanted, leaving the world to its own devices for the sake of amusement as the hunter made it a point to keep their true identities unknown except to those in his order. 

"I can do that for you~" Y/n giggled as she waved her hand in the air and silenced the people trapped in the ditch. She could not exactly recognize him. But she knew not to hurt him. Her power drunk mind did not even go there. Instead she poked at him in curiousity, narrowing her eyes at him before licking her lips as she tried to make sense of her thoughts. Something impossible for her in this state. 

Years of conditioning can do that even to the most powerful of witches at their most supreme. Especially young and impressionable ones. 

"Dumb bunny" Steve clicked his tongue again as he suddenly pushed at the girl's chest, earning a gasp even in her horrifyingly elevated state. She fell on her ass against the crunchy leaves with a thud. Must not use powers against him. She wanted to scream and ask why. But instead, Y/n maintained her position on the ground, letting him kick her legs apart as he slowly lowered himself on his knees between them. 

"You fuck me?" The girl barely form coherent sentences against him, monstrous eyes blinking up at him like those of an innocent doe, dumbly tilting her head to the side as her upper body rested against her elbows. 

"Dumb bunnies like yourself need to be fucked back into the pathetic little places, remember?" Steve was calm as he spoke to her in a mentor-like voice, undoing his pants before curling the bottom side of her panties that she wore under her blood stained sundress between his fingers before ripping them off. 

"I am dumb bunny?" Y/n's gravel-like voice was in stark contrast to her tone. 

"One that gets wet every time she slaughters a village, apparently" Steve sniffed the torn fabrics in his hand before he put them aside, gripping the witch's thighs before pulling her closer. She blushed under the blood covering her face, biting her lip as she stared at him through 'shy' eyes. "You're lucky you have me, you know?" Aligning himself against her trained entrance, the man controlled the waver that threatened to take over her voice. 

The trick was to appear stronger than her. Unaffected and better. As if she was nothing if not for his mercy. 

Exactly like he had taught her. 

To the point where his 'teachings' eventually started to bleed into her hazed mind during these occurrences. 

The young witch hadn't always been this compliant. 

"Because no one else would ever love an abomination like you" were the words that acommaonied his first thrust into her tight but welcoming walls of flesh. "Tsk, you're so pathetic. Going around hurting people like a mad hound." His words were harsh and condescending as he worked his hips, pushing her dress up to reveal her breasts that had bruises of his passion littering them. "You disgust me as you would anyone" Steve's words were brutal. They always had been. 

But they were exactly what Y/n needed. 

What had sheltered her away from a pyre for this long. 

The thick intrusion in the witch's pussy was too much for her to form any words. Not even incoherent ones. Her elbows had given out and she was writhing against the ground now, moaning in pleasure as her claws gripped fistfuls of the dead leaves underneath her, back arched. Steve felt an icy shudder run down the back of his thighs. She was gorgeous in her nudity, glowing under the sun despite being covered in particles of flesh and blood.

"Yet I am so kind. Showing you the benevolence you do not deserve by still giving you shelter, asylum and food" and poison your senses with the craftings of my personal witch. "And what do you do, huh- look at me!" The hunter's voice raised a few octaves as he gripped her jaw to position her face to look at his, slapping her cheek to get her to open her eyes that she had shut in pleasure. "You try to run away from me like an ungrateful bitch?!" Steve pinched her nipples roughly before swatting one of her breasts with the back of his hand, pairing it with a proper slap when his hand boomeranged back. 

"More, more, more~" she hissed out in an animalistic way, the silver in her eyes shining brighter as the black around them seemed to get even darker. "More, more, more- so good~!" 

The man chuckled, shaking his head at the slut he had made out of her. If the girl whom he had trapped all those years ago were to see this right now, she would not believe it. It was how stubborn and egoistic she had been that made the sight before him even better, the knowledge that he had managed to make a puppet out of what had been predicted as the end of the world made him go faster, the skin atop his spine covered in droplets of cold sweat. 

"Say please" Steve growled, taking his cock almost all the way out before slamming it back in, toying with one of her tits as the other held her head in place by her hair. She seemed to be drunk on the pleasure, dark and silver eyes dazed as her red mouth let out lazy and broken words that drowned in her own moans. "Tell me how much you want it and I might consider" a small whine left her when he slowed his hips down for emphasis, enjoying the warmth of her pussy as he waited for her to comply. 

"Give me" he wasn't surprised. The man knew he had not broken her down completely yet. 

"Not when you demand like that, doll." A protestant sniff left her nose as she narrowed her eyes down at him.

"Give. Now!" The hunter slowed his hips down even even more. 

"Not with that attitude, I won't." Steve went to pull away. "Tsk, some things are just shameless. Demanding and bratty like they have any rights" he could barely finish his sentence before she jumped up on him, straddling his thighs as a loud moan escaped her due to his cock that was barely in at this point suddenly pushing all the way back inside her as the tip collided with her sweet spot. 

Other than the rough and quiet exhales of breath that were forcing their way past his lips, Steve was mostly unbothered as he twirled and pinched one of Y/n's nipples, kneading one of her ass cheeks by his other hand while she braced herself by his strong shoulders, chasing her orgasm as loud noises of skin slapping against skin filled the air. 

"You're truly pathetic, you know?" His blue eyes bore into her monstrous ones as he maintained his icy demeanor. "Fucking yourself shamelessly upon a man who could care less about even touching a shadow birthed heretic like you" Y/n did not reply. She wouldn't have been able to even if she wanted to. Instead, she just moaned through her open mouth as she fucked him like an animal, tits bouncing up and down as she felt a tangle of warm knots forming in her abdomen.

"That's right, keep at it" Steve grunted now, feeling himself getting close due to how inhumanly fast the witch was sliding back and forth on his cock, her wetness allowing pleasant access to his ballsack inside her wet cavern. "Such a cock starved imp. Doesn't even care what her dead coven will think if they saw her riding the cock of the man that killed them" nothing but desperate, pained and frustrated grunts left her. 

But she just couldn't cum. 

It wouldn't come. 

"Have had enough of your high cloud yet?" Steve raised an eyebrow, knowing she couldn't cum unless he let her. 

Because if she did, his personal witch would be the next one on a pyre. One whom he had given secret asylum in exchange for personal hexes and crafts.

Y/n's eyebrows furrowed as she seemed to contemplate for a few moments, crying out when she failed to bring herself to an orgasm. "Please…" Was the only thing she could let out. "Please…" The stiffness of her demeanor dissipated a little, so did the unnatural colours in her eyes. "Sir…" Steve couldn't help but smirk. His favourite method of grounding her always worked. 

"Good doll~" she was back on ground before the next breath, her captor on top of her as he trapped her smaller hands above her head, the other hand reaching for her vagina as the hunter cupped the vertical curve between the witch's legs, rubbing circles on her clit by his thumb. "See? Being a good bunny for your Master isn't so bad."

Y/n cried out loud enough for the trees to tremble with the vibrations of her banshee-like shriek, body violently spasming as it tried to break free against his hold on her arms, back arching as she squirted her orgasm out. 

"Thank you, sir! Thank you! Oh, thank you!" The witch cried out, voice not as deep anymore as it came back to her usual one, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure while her teeth nibbled at her lips. Her eyes were almost back to normal and so were her 'claws'. 

"There she is" Steve easily overpowered her now that the worst was over, whatever was still possible being restricted by his firm hold on her wrists which denied her hands any moment. The hunter knew she wouldn't and couldn't hurt him. But a last accidental surge of power might just level the village which would bring people asking questions. "There is my good bunny~" he started to empty his load into her, thrusts slowing down but not halting as she squirmed from the overstimulation, pouting up at him. 

"W- Was I a bad girl again, sir?" Y/n's eyes were finally back to the ones Steve adored. Even if in his own tainted way. She wasn't exactly an angel either. So they made it work. Or rarher, he did. "Hmmm-!" She tried to move her hips away in discomfort as she felt him fuck his seed deeper and deeper up her walls, well aware no consequence would follow.

Unless he wanted it to. 

Letting go of her hands as the hunter knew the witch would keep them in place herself now, he pushed strands of hair clinging to her sweaty face away from it, stroking them as he lazily moved inside her now. Her eyes were sad. 

Oh, he had broken her so good. 

All for him. 

"What d- did I d- do?" He wanted to scoff. The wretch knew exactly what she'd done. She wasn't fooling anyone with her innocent voice and doe eyes after deliberately not taking the potion that delayed these episodes. 

"Nothing a few days in the dungeon won't fix" Steve secured his promise with a chaste kiss against her lips, cupping one of her cheeks before stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. "Nothing I can't fix." 

#steve rogers #steve rogers smut #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve smut #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve x you #marvel #marvel smut #marvel x reader #steve rogers x smut #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers smut #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x y/n

[unclewaynemunson]

There is thunder in our hearts

Eddie used to love thunderstorms. He loved it when he could feel the heavy electric tension in the air, when the skies got that dark shade of gray expanding over the horizon; he loved the anticipation of what was about to come. But most of all, he loved it when the clouds burst: the moment the skies broke open and the pouring rain, accompanied by the rolling thunder far away but swiftly coming closer, would sound like the opening chords to his favorite song. He loved running outside, standing in the dirt with his arms spread out wide, the taste of the water on his tongue and the rain washing away everything that didn't matter. He'd see other people sprinting from their cars to their houses and he would quietly laugh at them because they were missing out on the single most magical thing that nature had to offer.

Eddie used to love thunderstorms. Until that one time when the skies went gray and the thunder started roaring and all he could think about were bats crowding the air above him, long tails wrapping around his neck, claws and teeth tearing into his flesh, tears in Dustin's eyes...

He ran outside like he always did, hoping that the feeling would pass, hoping that the rain against his skin would remind him of exactly how alive he was; but no such thing happened. Wayne had to follow him into the storm and carry him back inside. He wrapped him in a blanket and made him a cup of hot cocoa and it took Eddie twenty minutes until he managed to stop crying and almost two days before he felt like himself again.

Ever since that happened, he stopped going outside during thunderstorms. Instead, he curls into himself now, as far away from the windows as possible. He plays his music at the loudest possible volume to not have to hear the thunder and he closes his eyes to not have to see the lightning. Sometimes, Wayne is there with him. He never asks, never pries; he simply keeps him company and hands him a blanket in case he feels the need to hide himself further away. He does what Wayne does best: letting Eddie know that he is safe by merely existing next to him, a quiet and calming presence who tells him stories in an attempt to distract him, his soft voice barely drowning out the sounds of the storm.

But Wayne isn't always there when a storm hits. He's often at the plant, or Eddie himself is at work, or with his friends. And it's fine. It isn't like that first time anymore, when he collapsed in the middle of a big muddy pool in front of the trailer and could see nothing but red skies or hear Dustin's screams ringing through his ears, the scent of decay filling up his nose until Wayne got to him and pulled him back into the present. It's not that intense anymore; he can blink those memories away and focus on the music or the voices around him instead. Even though it may still speed up his heartbeat and make his breathing uneven, he can keep functioning.

Or that's what he thought. Until he's in the car with Steve and a storm takes them by surprise and there's nowhere to hide; no way to get away from the window, to bury himself underneath a blanket under the pretense that he's cold, to do anything to take his attention away from it all. And maybe it's also because Steve is sitting right next to him: Steve, whose arms carried Eddie out of the Upside Down, the same arms that are now folded in front of his chest in the passenger seat of Eddie's van.

It's just heavy rain, at first; Eddie can handle rain, he's not a complete coward. But then he hears the rumbling thunder in the distance and his fists clench around the steering wheel and he almost forgets how to breathe. He starts pushing random buttons on the broken radio in the hope that it'll magically have repaired itself and start blasting Judas Priest to save him. Nothing happens, though. Of course not. And the rain only gets louder.

'Eddie,' says Steve, letting his name dance off his tongue in the last echoes of the thunder. Only a few months earlier, Eddie would've loved the sound of that, would have wanted to record the melody and play it on repeat forever.

'Hm?'

'Are you okay?'

Before Eddie can even start to answer that question, another deep rumble echoes through the skies while the rain starts beating even harder against the roof and the windows of his van.

'Eddie,' Steve repeats, more urgent this time. 'I need you stop driving. Right now.'

And Eddie immediately obeys.

'What's happening?' Steve asks as soon as they're standing still. His soft brown eyes wander over Eddie's face, attentive and worried.

'It's the goddamn storm, man,' Eddie explains in a choked voice.

Understanding dawns over Steve's features right away.

'Want me to drive you home?' he asks without missing a beat.

But Eddie shakes his head. 'I can't - can't get out. Of the car.' His mind takes him back to that moment when he collapsed in the middle of the trailer park - he can't do that again. Not anywhere, but certainly not here. With Steve.

'Okay, well, there's no way we're gonna keep driving like this,' says Steve. 'Let's wait it out, alright?' He doesn't talk to Eddie any differently, still seems practical as ever. Probably what years of experience with the craziest fucking supernatural shit does to a person, Eddie supposes. It's Steve at his core: act first, think later. Make sure everybody is – or feels – as safe as can be, the rest is secondary.

The thunder has come closer and a forked bolt of lightning flashes through the gray expanse of the sky. Eddie can't help but flinch at it.

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt and promptly starts climbing between the two front seats towards the back of the van. If Eddie was in any better mindset, he would probably have appreciated the view he is given much more.

'C'mon,' Steve says when he's sat on the ground, offering a hand through the two front seats. 'This seems like a good place to hide.'

Eddie has no choice but to take it. He ends up right next to Steve in the small space in front of the backseats, crouched down in a slightly uncomfortable position. Steve reaches further to the back to get the ratty old blanket that lies there and wraps it over both of them.

'Does this feel safer?'

Honestly, Eddie doesn't know. 'A little bit, I guess,' he mumbles, because that sort of feels like what the correct answer should be.

'You wanna talk about it?'

'Not really,' he admits.

'That's fine too,' Steve answers with a slight shrug. 'We can just sit here. Or do you want me to distract you?'

'I dunno.' It sounds quiet, with the way the big raindrops keep clattering onto the van. 'Wayne tells me stories, sometimes.'

''Bout what?'

'The olden days.' Eddie tries to use one of his dramatic voices, get things back to normal again, but the delivery doesn't land all too well. 'Shit he and my dad used to do. How my grandpa would get mad at them.' He pauses for a moment. 'Apparently my grandpa was scared of storms, too. And my dad. It runs in the family; that tends to happen when you're a farmer and a whole year worth of income can be destroyed by one single storm.'

'When I was younger,' Steve starts to tell, 'I was scared as shit of storms, too. I'd always make those huge pillow forts in the living room, put as many layers between me and the storm as I could.'

Eddie can picture it clear as day: a little version of the guy sitting next to him, with chubby cheeks and shorter hair, hauling a whole bunch of cushions and blankets around to make himself feel safe. It helps him take his mind off what's happening on the outside of the van.

'Sometimes my dad would crawl in there with me,' Steve continues. 'And he would wrap his arms all around me – like this – one more layer, y'know.' He shuffles to haul Eddie into his arms. They're warm against Eddie's own skin, and it is indeed comforting, so Eddie doesn't complain.

'Try to relax, okay?' Steve says. 'I'm right here, and I'll stay here with you for as long as you need. I won't let anything happen to you.' He tightens his grip and urges Eddie to let himself fall against Steve's chest. Eddie has no choice but to sway the way Steve wants him to and lands with his head right on top of Steve's heart. The fabric of his dark green polo is soft against Eddie's cheek and the sound of his heartbeat gets added to the symphony of the storm. He tries to focus solely on that heartbeat, complemented by Steve's breathing, Steve's voice – it makes it easier to drown out the sounds of the storm.

'I hate that this had to happen,' Eddie quietly admits. 'It used to be one of my favorite things in the world, standing outside in the pouring rain. Made me feel alive more than anything else.'

'It sucks,' Steve agrees. He raises one hand to put it on Eddie's head, softly stroking over his hair like he's a cat. 'After the first time we fought it,' he continues, 'when we, you know, pieced together what must've happened to Barb... I couldn't swim anymore. I was terrified of my own backyard. Nance helped me get through it, told me I should face my fears head on. She went to the library and got a whole bunch of books about phobias and traumas and kept talking to me about “exposure therapy.” I was skeptical about it at first, but it actually helped.'

Eddie chuckles darkly. 'Wanna know what happened when I tried to face this shit head on?'

'What?'

'I fucking lost it, man. Went out into the storm like I always did, and just – it was like I was back there. I lost my goddamned mind and Uncle Wayne had to pick up the pieces.'

Steve hand keeps stroking over Eddie's hair while he wraps the other one around Eddie's nervously fumbling fingers.

'We can try it together,' he says. 'We don't have to do it right now. Just... whenever you're ready. If you want to.'

Eddie nods. He isn't sure if he'll ever be ready, but at least doing it with Steve seems less daunting than doing it alone.

Another thunderclap, louder than any of the previous ones and accompanied by a bright flash of lightning, makes Eddie jump in Steve's arms.

'Try not to pay attention to it,' Steve says. 'It's gonna be over before you know it.' And then he starts humming. He even starts rocking Eddie in his arms. It should make him feel embarrassed, Eddie thinks, like he's a fucking child. But it doesn't. It helps him to let the sounds of the raging storm fade to background noise, finally taken over by the symphony that is Steve.

By the time the storm dies down, Eddie is pretty sure he must have fallen asleep at some point, because somehow he imagines that Steve presses a gentle kiss against his temple.

#this has been sitting in my drafts for literal months #and i finally managed to kill off this part that i loved but was too out of place #so i have extremely mixed feelings about this :') #tw ptsd #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fruity ficlet

[ay0nha]

When shall we meet again in thunder, lightning, or rain? | S.G. (I)

SUMMARY: You avoided addressing him directly, not quite due to fear but rather apathy. It took coaxing for you to even allow him to stay and now, without thought, you unknowingly beckoned him closer.

PAIRING: Satoru Gojo x Fushiguro!reader (Megumi's aunt/Toji's sister)

WORD COUNT: 2.2K

WARNINGS: Found family vibes atm, slight enemies to lovers, reader and gojo figuring out their dynamic through emotion constipation, angsty convos and feelings, canon-typical things, kid megumi, rushed ending, etc.

A/N: This took longer than I thought, but I want to take my time and really put effort into this one, so I hope you all enjoy. BIG shout out to @benzywenzymeowmeow this wouldn't have happened without your help. Much love. Again, based on/inspired by @stsgooo's post (here!). Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts.

COMMENTS ENCOURAGED. PLEASE.

prologue part ii

The bliss was idyllic.

Your wrist balanced on the windowsill as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The cool air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive—human. 

Your senses were perked. 

The city outside kept you attentive as your head rested back. The day was long, but hearing the taxis carrying bubbling people made it worth it. You imagined how some were on their way to find warmth in their home while others were dressed for an endless night of laughter.  

You loved how you contrasted the city; your living room was empty and quiet. You could no longer hear Megumi’s shuffling feet above you. The tranquility was still a fresh oddity. The new life created was a semblance of happiness. You traded hyper-vigilant nights for bedtime stories, cooking meals only for the kids for family dinners, and Gojo’s scarcity of communication for peaceful nights like tonight.

The privilege that came with Gojo’s name made your stomach churn. It was simple at first, pushing Gojo into a subconscious level. However, the task became daunting; an ache emerged from so deep within that it took months for you to realize he was responsible. 

You were overdue for an interruption. You answered the door after the third knock. 

“Gojo.” The cigarette dangled from your lip and bobbed with every syllable. “Megumi’s asleep.”

“Already?” Gojo feigned surprise; his intentions were obvious that he wasn’t here for your nephew. “It’s only—

“Midnight.” You sucked in a crackling breath. With pointed eyes, you took his presence in. On your breath out, the smoke clouded his face, “What do you want?”

“I didn’t know you smoked.” He used your question as an invitation, pushing past the threshold. He was always amused learning more about you, able to store away the details for later torment. 

With a chastised drag, you smothered the tobacco on the closest thing. “I don’t.”

There were reasons habits quickly morphed into vices, something immoral and wicked. You turned to smoking when you were young, disappearing seamlessly into a crowd that did the same. It grew into something that was seen as an extension of yourself—something nervously born only to be counterintuitive. 

You had gone to the store tonight for something so trivial that you struggled to remember what it was. The itch on your palm was a distraction from it all as you pointed for the pack behind the counter. It seemed like the right thing to do to combat stress, especially as you purchased a cheap lighter to follow through. 

It hadn’t been a comfort you thought it would be, but it was the only way you knew best to preoccupy yourself. You weren’t used to such repose surrounding you. You felt—safe. 

Now, each push forward felt unreliable and fuzzy. You didn’t like the way you felt so exposed. 

“Megumi’s getting stronger.” You couldn’t stand the idle silence, mainly when its weight rested on your shoulders. “The other day, this place was flooded with rabbits.” 

Gojo’s laugh flittered against the walls, challenging the warm breeze that swept through the place. It was apparent you hadn’t settled into the home completely; it was still devoid of personality and belonging. 

You hadn’t realized how each of Gojo’s visits revealed more. Something about seeing dishes in the sink and mail littering the counters lightened him. It was a simple indication that he was finally doing something right. 

“He’s a clever kid,” Gojo said lowly as if the neighbors would hear. His voice followed you even when you resumed your sedentary position, “He’s holding back, though…” 

“Isn’t that a good thing for you?” You were critical. You barely lifted your wrist, making a vague gesture of importance. “...and your so-called destiny…”

The constant friction between clans failed to excite you. It served as a reminder that those below them would most feel the repercussions. The day would come when the six eyes would meet the tenth shadow, and you would be left to clean up the mess. 

“It could be...” He answered so casually. You knew it’d be a lie if he promised you anything different. “...but that doesn’t mean Megumi shouldn’t reach his full potential.”

“How noble,” You cooed. 

Silence settled after the soft scoff to your chide. Often, you sat in silence, something Gojo was still learning to adapt to. If he had it his way, you would sit in rapture in his company. Yet, it was far more welcome than before. 

But the obvious question was still floating between you. 

Gojo could have entertained you with lies of being nearby. However, what drove him to your doorstep was a new sensation. It started in his chest, an unassuming feeling that he ascribed to staving off sleep. There became lesser justifications when it infiltrated every extremity. 

It had only become unbearable when missing posters began to overlap, the various faces becoming warped from exposure. The curses responsible were low-grade, but Gojo couldn’t ignore the threat even then. As they drew closer, he employed crows to line the telephone wires. Yet, he could only keep his distance for so long. 

“You’re stalling, Satoru…” 

You avoided addressing him directly, not entirely due to fear, but instead apathy. It took coaxing for you even to allow him to stay, and now, without thought, you unknowingly beckoned him closer. 

“Tired of me already?” His smirk could be felt. 

“Something like that…” You sighed. “If you’ve come here to hide more of those things—” You sat up, reaching for the dingy box that stored a gifted cursed object. “—don’t.”

The object mocked you daily, occupying space it wasn’t meant to atop the living room’s end table. Although it was sealed deftly with layers of protection, you were convinced whatever was within was alive—living and breathing to torment you. The house felt heavy with something that breathed down your neck, and praying, you turned to face it. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Playing coy wasn’t a strong suit for Gojo, not when he’d already hidden another cursed object just above the door frame. 

You hadn’t thought your paranoia was shared despite its contrast. For you, the odds were that harm would find you, and you’d be vulnerable to it all. However, Gojo could handle anything but never fared well with things threatening his control. His thoughts would begin to loop, slowly morphing into images that haunted his nights. 

It drove him to unassigned missions based on rumors of the whereabouts of cursed objects. The more he found, the deeper he placed them into the bones of the building you slept within. It took time for you to catch on, only finding these items when you cleaned, behind old books, in forgotten drawers, or in places just out of your reach. 

“Look—” Gojo started again, denying you the chance to argue. “Megumi’s getting stronger; you said it yourself.” He paused, treading carefully. “There will be a time when you wish these were enough.” 

—

Time passed fiercely. 

Megumi grew at a pace you could hardly keep up with. His sleeping figure was becoming too heavy for your hip, your dexterity failing as you felt for your keys. Then, you felt the weight shift on the opposite side of the door. 

Your struggle ended when it opened. 

“What are you—

“Shh—” Gojo held a finger to his lip, a smile imminent under it. “You’ll wake him.”

With your arms tucked under Megumi’s legs, you held him tightly to your chest as if the person before you was an intruder. Gojo watched as you slowly regained your composure, shoulders reflecting relief and the indent between your eyebrows evaporating.  

Even over the rim of his opaque glasses, Gojo knew better than to think his presence was welcomed. You readjusted your sleeping nephew lightly, frowning as you pushed past Gojo. You felt his footsteps copy your own, closely as if teasing the thought of bumping into you. 

The home was warm as if Gojo had been there for hours. Perhaps he was; you’d lost count of how long you’d been out. Especially as your arms grew tired and the river’s humidity still clung to your skin. 

“It’s late, Satoru…” You murmured over your shoulder. Your body melted from the exhaustion it carried, leaving droplets of yourself as a trail. “Whatever it is can wait…”

Gojo had always been blunt, frequently tactless in his childish rapport. However, he stood before you uncompromisingly as if your absence was a grave mistake.

“The door was unlocked—” His opaque glasses could shield his annoyance, but his words dripped with accusation. “—you weren’t here.” 

Your hold on Megumi remained secure. “He’s been having trouble sleeping.”

Megumi exchanged sleep for taming shikigami. He was diligent in understanding the world of jujutsu. You expected that alone to intimidate him, but he was already above it all, jaded about the idea of becoming a sorcerer. 

Although young, behind Megumi’s neutral expression was immense introspection. Despite his disposition, his morals weren’t laid bare yet, but he knew he wasn’t that person. That alone was enough to weigh him down.  

As his mentor, Gojo failed to notice. His focus was on your oversight. “Someone—something could have—”

“It was just a walk,” You sighed. 

The lights streamed in from the street you’d just wandered on. It cast shadows against the mess of the place. Your stress unravelled into the discarded, forgotten jackets sprawled on random chairs. 

Every surface had some mark that Gojo indulged in. They told stories he could piece together; the stains of coffee on the counter attributed to your tardiness. He could picture how you hurried before school, toast in your mouth as you fitted Megumi’s school tie and ruffled a free hand through his unruly hair. 

“He’s fine.” You promised with resignation. Gojo blinked back to the present, ignorant to how you misinterpreted his wistfulness for further criticism. “The walks help, I think.”

“You realize it’s the middle of the night, right?” He scoffed, pedantic with his dry laugh. “All my efforts, just for you to dangle yourself—

“Come on…” Your hum was half-hearted, looking at Megumi. “Lately, your efforts seem to be only convenient for you.” 

Walking away from the conversation, you did your best to keep busy. You were afraid that if you stopped moving, your world would collapse. If you stopped moving, time would consume you. 

The Zenin clan didn’t take Gojo’s loophole lightly. He responded with a few years worth of nurturing Megumi; money was siphoned to you for his care, a place was already carved for him at the school, and any sugar craving was indulged. 

That left you counting the seconds you still had with your nephew. The walks calmed you, holding Megumi so closely. His arms wrapped tightly around your neck to loosen as he was rhythmically rocked to sleep. 

You weren’t afraid to walk alone. With your whole words encased in your arms, there wasn’t anything you weren’t willing to do. Even if that meant letting go at the end of the night. 

Despite uncanny perception, Gojo was blind to how crushing that felt. 

“I can’t see what he sees, what you see.” You continued aloud. Gojo was wise to hold back on an ill-timed wind-up, able to hear your admission clearly. “But I can feel what it does.”

Megumi groaned lightly, eyebrows furrowing from your chest’s vibrations. You paused, waiting for him to settle again. The night was almost over, and you weren’t sure how long your posture could support your position. 

“Let him be a kid.” You whispered. 

Gojo’s heart had dropped to his stomach, the curtains behind you rhythmically moving in a dance that mocked him. The few words made his fingers twitch. The thought of turning into his worst nightmare was comforted by a tight breath. 

If he genuinely desired to foster the next generation—to have Megumi be his equal—any unsympathetic cruelty didn’t have space to exist. Gojo’s breath deepened, filled with promise. 

Pushing the brief turmoil out, a lightness took over him. “Are you inviting me over for a playdate?”

“He may have a funny way of showing it…” You started. Megumi could be aloof and quiet, but you knew him better than anyone else. His eyes lit up even when he complained about Gojo. “...but Megumi—

“My head’s big enough already.” Gojo stalked toward you, saving you both from something neither of you was ready for. “Let’s make a deal, hmm?”

Carefully, Gojo’s hands brushed under your arms. Their coolness made you prickle, almost taking a defensive position as he offered help.

“These strolls of yours.” He mused. “Call me.” Any protest was lost; all you could do was nod. “I’m overdue for fresh air.” 

The transfer was seamless as he took the weight of your responsibility into his own arms. Megumi was deep in sleep, unaware of how the strength of his mentor was enough to hold you up as well. 

Gojo jutted his head toward your room, hold confident on Megumi. “Go get some rest.”

#q #satoru gojo #satoru #gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x f!reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo angst #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo jjk #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #jjk satoru gojo #gojo jjk #satoru jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo saturo x you #gojo saturo x f!reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru angst #gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo fluff #jujutsu gojo #megumi fushiguro #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #megumi and gojo

[angelltheninth]

Hello! May I ask for Alhaitham X reader having sex in a rainforest while there's a storm happening? Like I imagine they were on some commission and they got caught up and things got a little hot..maybe someone catches them..? It's totally okay if you don't want to write such a thing, just an idea:) have a nice day and thank u..<3

Man I hate stormy weathers, mostly cause of thunder.

Pairing: Al-Haitham x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, pure smut, outdoor sex, getting caught, warming up, storms, rain, making out, groping

Word count: 0.4k

A/N: Maybe it wouldn't be so bad with Al-Haitham. Also I have a taglist now DM me, or comment if you wanna be on it. Otherwise reblog, comment and all that good stuff and tell me what you think.

Neither of you expected the coming wind, thunder and rain that hit you on your way back to the Academy. It got cold really quickly, you were both soaked to the bone. In an effort to warm you up Al-Haitham pressed you close to him, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

You did the same to him, trying to get even closer, eventually scooting yourself up in his lap, which had a different effect then what you were going for, but now an unwelcome one.

Right now your mouths were the only real sources of warmth so Al-Haitham being as clever as he was decided it would be best to use them. Which is how you ended up moaning each other's names while your tongues battled for dominance. It wasn't easy to resist him, even in the rain once you felt just how excited he really was. Clumsily you fished out his cock, your short shirt gathering up around your hips from Al-Haitham's eager hands groping your ass and pushing your panties to the side so his cock could escape the cold of the rainstorm and into the slippery, tight warmth of your pussy.

"Ride me pretty girl. Work my cock, keep it warm for me." He didn't let you get a full word in, his mouth attacking yours almost as soon as they were separated.

"Al... it's hot..." His cock was already pulsing with the need to come, the temperature difference making you both sensitive to each other, "Will you... warm me up from the inside too?"

He knew what you were asking for, and how could he resist when you were bucking your hips against him so much, making splashy wet, lewd sounds, "Always. As long as you keep being good for me I'll take good care you too. Keep your pussy satisfied."

You nodded against his collarbone, your hands clenching onto his shoulders as you felt your releases approaching. Al-Haitham, true to his word, gave you shot after warm shot of cum, warming up your inner walls and making you almost howl in pleasure.

"Hello? Al is that you?" Kaveh's voice stopped you just as you bottomed out on Al-Haitham's cock and let out another loud moan, your pussy clenching from being so full. He wrapped his arms around you to keep you shielded from Kaveh's view as much as possible, but you could hear the grin in the other man's voice, "Here I was worried about you two getting lost. Seems like you're doing pretty well there kitten."

"Kaveh." Al-Haitham warned with a grunt, which seemed to get Kaveh to back off and let you gather yourselves and what dignity you had left but not before he made a comment about this being a funny story to make fun of Al-Haitham for in the future.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #al haitham x reader #al haitham imagines #al haitham smut #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact smut #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin smut #genshin x female reader #genshin impact x female reader #x female reader

[cosmicquilt]

Luck, risk, and godhood.

Stories under the cut.

---------- AVENTURINE KAKAVASHA -------------------

Kakavasha was said to be a young boy whose birth brought rain and fortune to his family and to the Avgins. However, all of the Avgins were murdered by the Katicans, leaving only Kakavasha alive, a side effect of his luck. He wandered Sigonia looking for any solace from the grief and pain that would always follow him. His presence brought relief, rain, and riches, and yet the boy himself seemed never to revel in his wealth and luck. One day, he disappeared off of the face of the planet. The assumed conclusion by many Sigonians is that he, tired of wandering, settled down in one place to sleep, crying until he lost consciousness. The rain he brought settled over his head like a halo, and the water flooded all around him. He drowned.

Aventurine was said to be a young boy whose birth brought fortune to his clan. However, they were all murdered by the Katicans, and the IPC rescued him from his fate as a slave. He was brought to Jade, whom he made a gamble with, betting that he could find a way to make her give him the gift of immortality. No one knows what happened in that room, but he emerged from that room a god, and was granted the name "Aventurine", indicating his newfound status as one of the economic gods. He's known for making clever deals based entirely off of gambles as a way of gaining information and progressing the goals of the Stonehearts.

--------------- QINGQUE-------------

Qingque was a clever and dedicated girl born to a very average family on the outskirts of one of the Xianzhou ships. Unfortunately for everyone else, she was only dedicated to games that combined luck and strategy; tiles, xiangqi, go, etc. She was obsessed, with her dream being to move into the city and to open up a games parlor. The people in her village sighed. "Why couldn't she be this dedicated to finances or economics," they said. Strangely enough, her dedication to these types of games was what led to her ascension. One day, when she was roping children into games of xiangqi at a restaurant, she saw a stranger; someone who was most certainly not from the village. He saw her and her games, and he challenged her to a round. The first round, he lost. The second round, he lost. The third round, he lost. And so it went, up until the eighth round, which he won. Upon seeing the results of their matches, the man laughed a laugh that sounded like thunder was tearing apart the skies, and his mortal form fell away to reveal that he was Jing Yuan, one of the generals of the Jade Emperor. He found Qingque's combination of luck, dedication, and strategy endearing and offered her immortality, which she accepted. She was placed under the eye of Fu Xuan, goddess of foresight, due to her simultaneously logical and improbable nature. She's known to disguise herself as an unassuming mortal woman who walks into game parlors and plays against the patrons, chatting with them about how the mortal world is doing, only to be dragged back up to the heavens by her pigtails whenever Fu Xuan realizes that she's slacking off.

#commissions open btw #hsr #aventurine #hsr aventurine #qingque #honkai star rail #hsr gods and goddesses au #fu xuan #jing yuan #yeah the Aven one isn’t quite as good since idk how to draw men

[malarign]

ENHYPEN masterlist

author’s favourite: 🕊️ | request: 🫧 | series: 📂 | texts: 📧 | headcanons: 🖇️ | stories: 📝| thoughts: 💭 | angst: ☁️ | fluff: 🤍 | crack/comedy: 🐚 | suggestive: 💨 | ongoing | suspended

Lee Heeseung | 이희승

that’s a c-major chord | wc: 0,8k 🤍📝

music of a forgotten pledge | wc: 1,0k ☁️/🤍📝

what happened to us? | wc: 1,5k ☁️/🤍📝🕊️

melody | wc: 0,2k 🤍📝

told you so | wc: 7,4k ☁️/🤍📝

jealousy, jealousy | wc: 1,1k ☁️/🤍📝🫧

unfair | wc: 1,3k ☁️/🤍📝

scars painted with kisses | wc: 0,6k ☁️/🤍📝

minimalistic life | wc: 0,3k 🤍📝 🕊️

rainy season | wc: 0,3k 🤍📝🫧

your lips, my lips | wc: 0,3k 💨/🤍📝🫧

never-stopping rain | wc: 0,7k 🤍📝🫧

a-z with Heeseung! | wc: 1,6k 🤍🖇️

heeseung as your boyfriend! | wc: 1,4k 🤍🖇️

heeseung as your college boyfriend | wc: 0,2k 🤍🖇️

street basketball 📂 📧

synopsis: sometimes friends can be a pain in the ass, that’s why you finally agreed to go and play with them play some street basketball, not expecting a cute player to catch your attention

Park Jongseong | 박종성

fake friends | wc: 1,1k ☁️/🤍📝

sometimes we don't get what we deserve | wc: 0,9k ☁️ 📝

cloudy skies, sparkling water | wc: 0,5k 🤍📝

cancelled date | wc: 0,5k ☁️/🤍📝

seal of my love | wc: 0,4k 🤍📝🫧

bold | wc: 0,4k 🤍📝🫧

two cats in love | wc: 0,3k ☁️/🤍📝

jay as your boyfriend! | wc: 1,4k 🤍🖇️

jay as your college boyfriend | wc: 0,2k 🤍🖇️

Sim Jaeyun | 심재윤

was this shirt always so big? | wc: 1,1k 🤍📝

sick | wc: 1,0k 🤍📝🫧

mistakes happen | wc: 0,4k ☁️/🤍📝

can you please come over? | wc: 0,5k ☁️/🤍📝🕊️

studio nights | wc: 0,6k ☁️/🤍📝

facetime doctor | wc: 0,6k 🤍📝

support | wc: 0,3k ☁️/🤍📝🫧

hairdryer | wc: 0,3k 🤍📝🫧

dispute over my love 🤍📧

jake as your boyfriend! | wc: 1,3k 🤍🖇️

jake as your college boyfriend | wc: 0,3k 🤍🖇️🕊️

Park Sunghoon | 박성훈

midnight kiss | wc: 1,2k 🤍📝🕊️

chilly mornings | wc: 0,4k 🤍📝

please don’t yell at me | wc: 0,8k ☁️/🤍📝🕊️

death by the window | wc: 0,9k ☁️/🤍📝🕊️

comfort zone | wc: 0,4k ☁️/🤍📝

jealous sunghoon | wc: 0,1k 🤍💭🫧

cheater | wc: 0,7k 💨/☁️📝

thunder | wc: 0,3k 🤍📝

due midnight | wc: 0,4k 🤍📝🫧

can i kiss you? | wc: 0,3k 🤍📝🫧

five minutes | wc: 0,4k 🤍📝🫧

sunghoon as your boyfriend! | wc: 1,3k 🤍🖇️

sunghoon as your college boyfriend | wc: 0,4k🤍🖇️

Kim Sunoo | 김선우

skincare night | wc: 0,4k 🤍📝

sunoo as your boyfriend! | wc: 1,2k 🤍🖇️

Yang Jungwon | 양정원

prank | wc: 0,7k ☁️/🤍📝🫧

thoughts of doubt | wc: 0,8k ☁️/🤍📝🫧

i only have eyes for you | wc: 0,4k 🤍📝🫧

heartbeat | wc: 0,3k 🤍📝🫧

sleepy | wc: 0,3k 🤍📝🫧

han river at night | wc: 0,3k 🤍📝🫧

boyfriend duty | wc: 0,5k ☁️/🤍📝

jungwon as your boyfriend! | wc: 1,5k 🤍🖇️

Nishimura Riki | 西村力

shoulder nap | wc: 0,6k 🤍📝

silence | wc: 1,0k ☁️/🤍📝

paint in the sunlight | wc: 0,4k 🤍📝

it’s okay, my love | wc: 0,4k ☁️/🤍📝🫧

personal stylist | wc: 0,3k 🤍📝

here for you | wc: 0,6k ☁️/🤍📝

riki as your boyfriend! | wc: 1,4k 🤍🖇️

hyung line:

butterflies | wc: 0,5k 🤍🖇️

butterflies pt. 2 | wc: 0,6k 🤍🖇️

love you unconditionally | wc: 2,4k 🤍🖇️

boyfriend | wc: 0,5k 🤍🖇️

dates | wc: 0,4k 🤍🖇️

aftercare | wc: 0,5k 💨 /🤍🖇️

admirer | wc: 0,4k 🤍🖇️

situationship | wc: 0,7k 🤍🖇️

crybaby | wc: 1,5k ☁️/🤍🖇️

make up | wc: 1,1k ☁️/🤍🖇️

your texts with them when you’re away 🤍📧

your texts with them when they're drunk 🤍📧

your daily texts with them 🤍 📧

your text with them when you’re on your period 🤍📧

maknae line:

situationship | wc: 0,5k 🤍🖇️

crybaby | wc: 1,3k ☁️/🤍🖇️

butterflies | wc: 0,3k 🤍🖇️

your texts with them when you’re away 🤍📧

ot7:

physical | wc: 1,9k 🤍🖇️

say it back | wc: 1,8k 🤍🖇️🕊️

hug me | wc: 2,6k 🤍🖇️

who they were written by | wc: 1,0k ☁️/🤍🖇️

invidia | wc: 1,6k ☁️/🤍🖇️🫧

#enhypen #enhypen masterlist #masterlist

[cobaltperun]

Woe out the Storm (4) - Back in Black

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 3.1k

-I got nine lives, cat's eyes, abusin' every one of them and running wild-

That night you came back to your room to find Enid kneeling on the floor with her fists balled up and hitting the bed, sobbing hysterically. “Enid?! What happened?!” you ran up to her, You’ve never seen her this upset unless it had something to do with her mother. Even that was back when you met her! After the first Parents weekend she had!

“My life is over, Y/N!” she wailed as she turned and more or less just rammed into you with how hard she threw herself into your arms.

You rubbed circles into her back, hoping to soothe her at least a bit as her tears stained your shirt. You weren’t entirely comfortable with people crying on you, but you figured it would be fine. “We’ll figure things out, okay?”

It was terrifying how fast she flipped the switch and looked at you, hopeful and happy all of a sudden. It made you dread her next words. “You’ll take Yoko’s place?! Thank you, Y/N!” she threw her arms around your neck and hugged you tightly. “You’re the best!”

You froze completely. Yoko’s place? The Poe Cup? The canoe race? The lake?! “No! Nope! No way! None of that!” you abruptly pushed Enid away and took several steps back. You were met with Enid’s eyes, all big, expressive and filled with tears, complete with a pout on her face. “None of those puppy eyes either! They won’t work on me on this!” you pointed a finger at her, firmly maintaining your position on this as your heart hammered against your chest at the mere thought of being close to that much water.

She bowed down her head and clasped her hands together. “Please! Y/N, my whole life depends on this!”

You blinked, unable to believe what you were hearing. “Enid there’s water involved! Sorry I don’t feel like drowning!”

Enid looked up, tears once again filling her eyes. “You won’t drown!” Enid at least had the dignity to pause for a second before saying that. “No one drowned in the Poe Cup!”

“I will! I can’t swim!” you exclaimed just as the window opened and Wednesday came in. How did she even climb up to the window in the first place?

“Wednesday, help me convince her!” Enid searched for back up in the last person you figured she would. “She needs to take Yoko’s place!”

You covered your eyes with your left hand and groaned. Enid should have known better.

“Why?” Wednesday asked.

“Yoko had a garlic bread incident at the dinner, she had a major allergic reaction which means she’s out of the Poe Cup! And I don’t have a co-pilot because Y/N won’t take her place!” Enid declared accusingly pointing a finger at you.

“Of course I won’t! I can’t swim!” you repeated, already turning around and making your way to your part of the room. You weren’t about to argue about this.

“You can’t swim?” Wednesday asked clearly puzzled by the lack of such a basic skill.

You turned back to look at her and just shrugged. “I feel excruciating pain and light up like a Christmas tree when too much rain falls on me. The hell do you think happens if I fall into a lake?” you nodded, seeing Wednesday piece it together. “Exactly. Look, if the only way I’m getting somewhere is by a boat, I’m not getting there, I don’t care if someone is about to kill everyone I care about, if I have to risk falling into any body of water they are on their own! It’s their fault for getting caught in the first place!” were you being way too dramatic? Absolutely. Were you serious? One hundred percent. Nothing could make you approach any bigger body of water. Especially not a school competition.

“Y/N!” Enid whined, desperately trying to fill up the co-pilot position on her team.

You turned to her and pointed a finger at her. “No, you hear me? It’s a simple two letter word. No!”

“Can’t you just zap to the shore if we start sinking?” was Enid actually trying to tell you a cup was the most important thing at the moment?

“I’m not even going to entertain that thought,” even if you weren’t scared of water there would be no containing the burst of lightning that would happen if you fell into the water. How couldn’t Enid see that your canoe sinking meant not only you drowning but likely her and everyone else in the water close to you?

“You and I are going to take her down tomorrow,” Wednesday suddenly said.

“Wait, you’re joining the Black Cats?” Enid was just as surprised as you were. She got way to close into Wednesday’s personal space, prompting the girl to back away a step. “You’re willing to do that? For me?”

“I want to humiliate Bianca so badly that the bitter taste of defeat burns in her throat,” Wednesday said with a sense of finality you haven’t heard from her before.

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” you commented evenly, even if you were incredibly happy Enid would stop trying to get you to join the team.

“Yeah, but mostly you’re doing it because we’re friends, right?” Enid kind of got the wrong idea.

Wednesday turned around, probably uncomfortable due to Enid’s infamous puppy eyes. “Tell me how she keeps winning,”

“It’s a real brain cramp. The past two years no other boat has made it across and back without sinking,” and Enid still wanted you in the boat. Despite knowing that. And knowing how you were with water.

“Sounds like sabotage,” Wednesday noticed, which granted, wasn’t a difficult conclusion to reach.

That got Enid thinking. “There are no rules in the Poe Cup, and she is a siren, which makes her master of the water.”

“Then we just need to beat her at her own game,” Wednesday decided.

Maybe you’d actually watch this time. In a tree, at least two hundred feet away from the lake. Away from all the water.

~X~

And you did watch, from the exact position you thought you would.

“Y/N! Come on! At least cheer from the stands!” Enid yelled up at you.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree Enid! This is as close as I’ll approach the lake!” you yelled back from your spot up in the tree. You had everything you needed, binoculars to watch the race, and a tiny version of the Black Cats’ flag stuck in the branch you were sitting on. As far as you were concerned this, roughly two hundred feet from the lake, was as close as you’d come.

You couldn’t exactly see it, but you were sure a Enid’s eye twitched at your behavior. “You’re being irrational!”

“Exactly! Now let me be!” oh you understood full well just how irrational you were being. Understanding and acting in a way that would change that were, however, two entirely different things.

Enid groaned, threw her arms up in the air in frustration and stomped back to her team. You watched as the teams got into their boats and you felt nothing but dread at the mere thought of being in one of those. Water beneath you, water all around you and the boat very likely to be sunken the only thing keeping you alive. Well, you were sure Wednesday figured out a way to win, but if it was you you’d be a panicking mess that would barely be able to row.

You watched the race, flinching when an axe swung over Enid and Wednesday’s heads. Yup. Forget drowning, you’d be decapitated from how much you’d be panicking right there. You wouldn’t even have the mental capacity to duck.

That would be an embarrassing way to die.

Every time a boat sunk, regardless of who it belonged to, you looked away. Finally, after what felt like eternity, the only ones left were Enid and Wednesday’s team and Bianca’s team. You bit your lower lip as something seemed to push their boat away from Bianca’s. Enid would never forgive herself if she lost this close to victory and, somehow, you figured Wednesday wouldn’t be much different. Especially after what she said last night and the way Bianca defeated her in fencing in her first week here.

Somehow the pushing stopped and their team managed to catch up and make Bianca’s boat sink, thus, with being the only ones left, there was no doubt who won. “Hell yeah!” you cheered, pumping your fists up in the air so hard you nearly fell off the branch.

~X~

Somehow you couldn’t say you were surprised that almost the entire school cheered for Ophelia Hall’s victory. Well, from what you could see it was more for Bianca’s loss, but still, you doubted Enid, who was soaking up all the attention and smiling back at the students, was complaining.

Wednesday didn’t look so pleased. In fact, she looked like she was in an ever worse mood than she usually was. Finally, it looked like she reached the breaking point and left the crowd.

You gave her a minute and then went after her. You could understand on some level that she felt uncomfortable given the situation. You didn’t expect to hind her sitting on the ground, leaning back against the Edgar Allan Poe’s statue.

“Overwhelmed?” you approached her carefully, ready to leave at the smallest sign she didn’t want you there.

“Unsettled,” she corrected you, but otherwise didn’t show any negative reactions to your presence.

You nodded at that, smiling just a bit at her and motioning to a spot half a dozen feet away from her. “Do you mind if I sit with you? I’ll leave if you do, you just need to say a word.”

Wednesday watched you for a few moments. “I don’t mind,” she eventually replied, so you sat there, as silent as she was. Maybe it was because she didn’t mind you were a raiju, or maybe there was just something about her, but you felt at peace around Wednesday. There was just something predictable about her. Well, maybe predictable wasn’t the right word, but there were patterns in her behavior, she was cold, but she was honest, when you interacted with Wednesday you knew exactly what not to expect and that was enough. Maybe it was the way everything about her contrasted everything about your powers. Loud to her quiet. Brief bursts of energy to her consistent and constant flow. Bright to her dark. Destruction to her creation…

Wednesday looked up and suddenly seemed to shift all of her attention to the statue. “Y/N,” she spoke your name.

“Hmm?” you tilted your head to the side, waiting for her to explain what she noticed.

“What are you doing down here?” Enid burst the bubble you two created as well as prevented Wednesday from telling you what she found.

“Hiding. People keep randomly smiling at me. It’s unsettling,” Wednesday explained as she got up and you took that as your cue to get up as well.

“It’s called having your moment! You took down Bianca Barclay, try to enjoy it,” Enid led the two of you back to the pentagon wrongly named Quad. “The girls wanna know if you wanna hang out later. Oh, come on, it won’t kill you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Wednesday replied after a brief thought.

“Great!” Enid went back to other girls from Ophelia Hall.

“So, what did you see?” you finally asked, bringing focus back to the moment before Enid showed up.

“I’ll tell you later,” Wednesday decided when she noticed Weems approaching the two of you.

~X~

That later didn’t quite come, at least not before you fell asleep, completely unaware of Wednesday's plans for that night. You were a light sleeper, you had to be, otherwise you could risk not noticing rain or storm until it was too late. So, when you heard the window opening your eyes snapped open and you carefully took the covers off. A brief look around the part of the room you could see made you notice Wednesday wasn’t in her bed. “Wednesday?” you called out, loud enough for her to hear if she was the one that came in, but not loud enough to wake Enid up.

The silence followed by footsteps heading toward Wednesday’s deck was all the answer you needed. With a sigh you pushed your body off the bed and changed into a red T-shirt and black trousers, there was no way Wednesday would take you seriously in pajamas, even if they weren’t as colorful as Enid’s.

The first thing you noticed when you rounded the corner was the book she opened on her table. “Is that the book you were looking for?” you walked over to the table and, mostly instinctively placed a hand on the back of Wednesday’s chair as you leaned forward to look at it.

“Yes,” Wednesday replied, for now not reacting to your proximity. You weren’t touching her, so maybe this was fine. She flipped the pages until she reached a half ripped picture and set the half she took from Rowan next to it.

“Crackstone?” you couldn’t help but recognize the man on the picture.

“You know who this is?” Wednesday immediately turned to you and you took a step back, realizing now just how close the two of you were.

You went and leaned back against the wall next to her desk. “You don’t live in Jericho for four years and somehow avoid learning about him. Jericho’s founding father, from what I heard he despised outcasts. Nearly wiped them out four centuries ago,” you explained, but it didn’t make sense. How was a man that lived all that time ago related to Wednesday?

“How do I learn more about him?” Wednesday asked, for a moment you felt nervous at having all of her attention on you.

“Uh, The Pilgrim World might be a good start,” you figured. “Just find a way to get volunteer work over there and I guess you’re all set. I’ll trade with you if I get it and you don’t. Though, knowing Weems neither of us are getting it.”

“Why?” there was that small head tilt again.

“She’ll probably want to keep me close, so I don’t get into trouble again this year and I don’t think she’d put you in The Pilgrim World, in case you end up causing trouble,” you grinned a bit. “Now, how about you tell me why you didn’t bring me along?”

Wednesday looked down at the picture. “This doesn’t concern you,” she stated evenly.

“Like hell it doesn’t. Someone killed Rowan, who tried to kill you, and you are my roommate, you might need a lightning beast as back up against oversized Gollum,” you replied, resisting the urge to cross your arms and take a more defensive stance.

“I don’t intend to rely on you,” okay, that stung.

“Why not?” you still asked, wondering if you could have a proper conversation with Wednesday about the topic.

“Man can will nothing unless he has first understood that he must count on no one but himself; that he is alone, abandoned on earth in the midst of his infinite responsibilities, without help, with no other aim than the one he sets himself, with no other destiny than the one he forges for himself on this earth,” your eyes widened as she said that, as if reciting her own personal rules in life.

You grinned widely, recognizing the quote. “Yet he sounds almost entirely different when talking about love,” the stoic mask broke for a few moments as Wednesday, surprised at your words, actually blinked a few times, averting her gaze from you. “It's quite an undertaking to start loving somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment right at the start where you have to jump across an abyss: if you think about it you don't do it,” you fired back with a quote, one that she clearly recognized.

“Such sentiments fit my parents, not me,” Wednesday looked you in the eyes, fierce, a cold flame burning within them.

“No, I guess it doesn’t. Which one does then? Aside from the one you just quoted at me?” you knew you were pushing, but the hint of intrigue and wonder in her eyes made you keep doing it. Made you push until you pushed too far, regardless of where that might lead you.

“Hell is other people,” a simple, short quote, and you had to admit it told you a lot about Wednesday, probably more than she dared to realize.

“Ah, I see,” you nodded, smiling right at her. “I'm going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become,” once again she avoided your gaze. “We’re saying the same thing, just with different words. I think there’s a lot of beauty in that,” you didn’t dare phrase it as a question, you just glanced outside the window before looking at Thing. He seemed uncertain of what he was witnessing at the moment. Was it a side of Wednesday he didn’t get to see often? If so, you felt a sense of pride at that.

“Perhaps,” Wednesday agreed after some silence. “I prefer to stay away from that phrasing,” there was something different in her eyes at the moment. Was the fact you went and repeatedly quoted Sartre back at her that impactful?

“Of course. You are you, nothing else would fit,” you dared to take a step closer to her, leaning against the side of her table. “Say, Wednesday,” you motioned toward the picture with your head. “What kind of life will begin on the other side of this?” you asked her.

“Bold of you to assume this will qualify as despair,” she retorted, showing once again just how well she knew Sartre. ‘Life begins on the other side of despair,’ Sartre once said and that picture looked like despair to you. A desperate situation where the fate of the entire school, filled with werewolves, sirens, gorgons, vampires, a school that had you, a raiju, still rested on the back of one girl that wasn’t a part of any of those groups.

You looked her in the eyes, losing every sense of time, it could have been a minute, or an hour. You didn’t know how drowning felt, but somehow you decided you were drowning in her eyes. In those black, emotionless eyes… Somehow, during that night, you felt as if something shifted just slightly between the two of you.

And you weren’t sure either of you realized it.

A/N: So, between being sick at the moment and my free time significantly dropping soon enough I'll try to get chapter 5 in a few days and after that, the story will have to slow down a bit. I'll try to get a chapter out once a week, but there's no way I'll be able to repeat the Lost update pace. Thanks for reading, see you next time!

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #jenna ortega x reader

[qqnxiis-blog]

𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇 ( NAMOR X READER ) PT.4

in which you find a child floating in the water and you save them only for your acts of kindness to get misinterpreted by the father who is also the king of an underwater civilization.

PLEASE READ THIS FIRST : this is a story i am writing on wattpad but my wattpad version is more in detail, slightly different and has an oc ( alora ). It has 6 chapters thus far and still work in progress if you want you can check it out with the link below or use the linktree link in my bio to access wattpad but if you feel more comfortable with x reader I'll try and get all the chapters I have currently published over here in a few days

hiraeth ( namor ) wattpad | oc version!

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4

TAG LIST :

@f1uveryys @xxmilli @ethereal-athalia @cyberficlya @complete-randomness-2 @bobateaae @lunamoonbby @kpopgirlbtssvt @lazyassfinals @ilovehobi101 @r3dc4ndy @puzzlemastersworld @namorlover @happycupcakeenthusiast @kakimakiloh @glaciuswduo @disaster-in-waiting @givemefiction2 @phoenixgurl030 @monbebefan247 @intense-sneezing

comment if you want to be apart of the tag list or set a notification to get updates when I post ! every like, share and reblog is highly appreciated, tysm 🤍

IT WAS NOW EVENING, the sun dipping below the horizon kissing the ocean goodbye, the sky a purplish-orange color adorn with a few grey clouds as Huracan and you were still outside enjoying the last bits of the day before it was time to go back in.

You had came to term with the fact that Huracan staying with you was only going to be momentarily. You grew attached to the child due to the loneliness that you felt from staying by herself for months in isolation, away from others due to your health issues.

You wondered if Huracan was also lonely and just wanted some company but your mind now questioning if Huracan has a family, what if they are waiting for him? Worried about him and in search of him, thinking of the worst things that could have happened to him. This left you to ruminate over

your thoughts as your gaze fall on the sky, that is becoming darker and darker.

There was thunder clouds looming above you due to the hot weather you experienced today, the clouds were forming and becoming aggravated with each second that passed by— this alarming you as you walk back to the tidal pool to retrieve Huracan and putting a stop to your fleeting thoughts.

"C'mon, Hura. We need to get back in." You say, watching as the boy breaks through the surface of the water— eyes sparkling with life as he listens to you instantly, emerging from the pool only to latch onto your arm, his skin turning back into a shade of blue as you both walk home.

The rain came down. It suddenly came down heavy causing you to gasp in shock when the harsh rain pelted down onto you, you turn towards Huracan to notice that he had his eyes closed— enjoying the rain water that got soaked into his skin while you on the other hand felt a shiver tingling down your spine even though the air was warm.

Knowing that if you had to stay in the rain for way too long— you would definitely get sick but watching the boy enjoy the fresh water that falls onto him , you decided to wait a few minutes because seeing his face brighten up from just the simple feeling of rain water against his skin made you realize that the simple things in life is what makes living much better, it made you feel at ease with yourself.

A bright flash of purple and then a loud crackling noise followed by a hiss came from above you and Huracan shocks you at the loud noise and the thunderstorm that has finally brewed up, the rain became even heavier causing your heart to beat faster.

"Let's get back inside, we don't want to become fried fish today." You say, laughing at your lame excuse of a joke which Huracan didn't understand fully but he did understand that you wanted to go back inside from the way your body had stiffened slightly.

He was about to agree but then the sight of a shiny, shell that was a bit closer to the ocean water grabs his attention— he wanted to get that shell so that he could give it to you, forgetting that you wanted to go back in as he leaves your side, alarming you as he runs down the bank to go and retrieve the shell.

"Huracan!" You shout out alarmed, the rain pelting down heavily, the sky above you becoming dark— the only source of light now coming from the lighting that viciously flashed from above and the few outside lights from your house.

You slide down the steep slope to get to the boy only for your flip-flop to get stuck into something and in turn crashing into the youngster causing him to also fall and let out a small yelp.

"oh gosh, Hura! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!" You cried out, you moved to his side to see that you had slightly bruised his knee cap, crimson escaping from the bruise as guilt consumes you from being so unconscious and not watching where you walked.

Huracan didn't feel much pain from the small bruise, he was about to tell you it's okay but you tore a small part of your shirt to help stop the bleeding. A small amount of blood covered your finger tips when you wrapped the small piece of cloth around his tiny knee cap, tightening the cloth around it.

A throbbing feeling around your ankle became prominent as you gazes down at your leg, to find that you had slightly twisted your ankle due to your flip-flop getting stuck onto something— that being the whole reason you slipped.

A small cry leaves from your parted lips, the thunderstorm viciously going on above them as the rain fell down. Your body was drenched in rain water, making you shiver adding more to the pain you felt in your ankle.

"Y-Y/N!" the young child cried out grasping onto your shoulders, he gazed at you to find that tears were also trailing down your cheeks with the rain water, your hands covered in wet sea sand and dabs of blood.

This made tears to form in Huracan's eyes, he was now scared and worried about you, the person that took care of him like he was their own child— he didn't know what to do to help you, making him feel even more worried and scared as the thunder flashed and rumbled.

Your body that trembled suddenly went stiff, your blood running cold— you felt like you and Huracan were being watched.

You were right.

The sound of something fluttering, similar to the sound of a rattle snake mingled with the harsh noises of the rain, lightning and the waves that crashed close by.

The fluttering sound stops , it suddenly goes eeirely quite, Huracan's whimpers go silent and before you could comprehend whether you was just feeling paranoid —something grasped the collar of the shirt you wore and pulled you harshly away from Huracan, throwing you to the other side away from him.

You heard Huracan scream your name out, your body feeling extremly numb, the world around you spinning while terror sunk into every firbe of your being.

Your neck twists to the side to see what had thrown you so viciously away from Huracan, fear laminating in your eyes, your gaze being met with the tip of a sharp spear, your body flinching away from it in terror but it was now pressed against the side of your neck in a threatening manner to slice your head off clean.

The lightning struck again, giving you a better vision of what was being hostile towards you , your eyes widening when your gaze falls on a man— his entire being radiate regality from the way his body oozed confidence to the jewelry that was adorn upon him. His chest covered in some sort of metal that was beautiful crafted, the same type of metal also adorning his biceps and wrists.

She also noticed that he had pointed ears, adorn with jewels just like the rest of him.

You shakily raise your hands, to say you was no threat or harm but this act seemed to make the man even more infuriated when he spotted dabs of blood smeared on your finger tips and then seeing blood around the area where Huracan was.

"How dare you take my son away and harm him?"

Shit. Was the first thought that came to your mind, you was right, Huracan did have someone to go back to— your thoughts being cut short when the cold tip of the spear pressed even closer to your neck that you could feel the pressure tearing slightly into your skin.

Your words were stuck in your throat from fear, you couldn't formulate a response except for a shaky breath to escape past your lips, your body trembling from pain and fear.

Due to your lack of response that made the King even more agitated, his spear was about to press into the side of your neck but tiny hands wrapped around his arm, holding it in place before he could slash at you.

"Father, please don't!" the young child cried out in his own language, this alerting the king who turns towards his son— the furious look that had adorn his face moments ago was replaced by one that was filled with worry.

"Huracan, my child. Are you alright? Did it hurt you?" his voice venomous when he says the word it , you didn't understand what they were saying but from the side glare the man had passed to you, you knew he had said something about you.

"No! Do not bring harm to y/n, she had saved me! Please do not harm her, she didn't do anything wrong. If you want to punish someone, father— it should be me, I should have never left Talokan." The boy sobs out, hearing Huracan's broken voice made your chest hurt— your eyes squeezing shut to prevent any tears from escaping as everything around you started to spin, the world around you becoming blurry as all the pain you felt physically and emotionally became blunt.

Your vision being filled with black dots that became larger until your eyes closed completely, body slumping into the sand— the fear you felt along with the pain made you fall unconscious this grabbing Huracan's attention, the boy letting go of his father's arm to rush towards you.

A cry leaves past his parted lips, his hands reached out to hug your cold body against his.

"Look what you have done, father. You killed her!" The boy says inbetween sobs, you was far from dead but to Huracan seeing your still body, no warm smile on your face and your eyes that twinkled with care and affection was no longer there— you looked dead to him.

K'uk'ulkan looked down at you. His son held onto you so gently, the rain easing down — the thunderstorm slowly clearing up.

"Hura.. she's not dead." The king says while his inner voice says  'well not yet'. He didn't trust you, this human but the way his son held onto you like his own life depended on you— he could not just kill you after he found out you had saved his son.

"You have to help her then or else I'll hate you forever." Huracan suddenly spat out— eyes shining bright with anger and saddness, his words stung K'uk'ulkan , his heart aching at the words his son spewed at him. An expression of hurt forms on K'uk'ulkan's face, a soft sigh leaving past his lips.

He glances down at your unconscious form that laid on the sand, his son's words floating around in his mind. He bends down towards you, taking in your features— noticing your skin has gotten paler and your ankle was swelling.

He was not keen on helping you, a surface dweller, he had hate for these disparage creatures but seeing how his son has become attached to you, clinging. He couldn't just kill you.

With one last glance towards your unconscious body, he looks back towards the raging ocean as he signals for Namora to come to him. He turns away and looks down at his son, his heart softening when he sees the tears on his cheeks as he sighs lightly.

'I'm only doing this for you my child.'

PART 5

#namor fanfiction #namor of talokan #namor smut #namor x reader #namor the sub mariner #namor x you #prince namor #namor fic #namor fanart #namora #namor fluff #namor x oc #namor x y/n #namor x original character #namor talokan #k'uk'ulkan #kulkukan #k'uk'ulkan x you #k'uk'ulkan x reader #mcu #mcu x you #mcu namor #marvel namor #mcu fanfiction #namor wakanda forever #wakanda forever #black panther

[kikiwritesfanfic]

There Are Two Types of Dancers

A oneshot with both Fool and Sol from the renowned @venomous-qwille story - Ghost in the Machine

I've been working on this for so much longer than I expected to pfff- I just wanted it to be perfect for Qwille and all the readers of GITM! A bar has been set with that story and I wanted to at least reach it hahah-

Fool and Sol have become my personal favorites so far (although I'm sure it'll change as time goes on and I learn more about the others). Sol was rather easy to write in my opinion. But my lordy - Fool was a challenge! A fun one, at that, but still! I'm glad I got to challenge my writing and receive some amazing constructive criticism from others as I went!

Also - this is entirely self-indulgent hahah! I just love dancing scenes and I'm too impatient to wait for the possibility of such a scene happening in the story! So here you go, and I hope this lives up to your standards Qwille!!!

Read it on AO3 Instead -> Here

Or read the oneshot under the cut <3 Enjoy!!

*****

Fool definitely fascinated you.

His odd ramblings that always either ended in your confusion or laughter were somewhat... endearing.

Something told you that he didn't spend as much time with the others as he did with you. He seemed to make it a point to bring attention to his loneliness in jest when you would show up to the storage shed looking for different things. He would pursue a conversation with you every time without fail - whether with friendly banter or mocking jests or cheeky jokes all depended on the day. But each instance would still somehow end with you staying longer than you originally intended.

This time had been no different. You had allowed him to convince you to linger and play a game or two of mahjong (although you were pretty sure he only offered the particular game because he knew it had become your favorite). He used the excuse of not letting you walk back the short distance to the house in the rain - which you didn't wholly disagree with. Without your jacket back from Sol (or a replacement, at this point), you really didn't want to deal with the chilling water soaking through your clothes again. So you allowed him to entertain you with a few rounds.

Now you rested within the nest of pillows that filled the resin chariot as light thunder rumbled overhead - watching curiously as Fool shuffled a deck of cards with practiced precision. He was humming a tune you didn't recognize - but it filled you with memories of running around with friends and stuffing your mouth full of pink fluff that melted when it touched your tongue. You made a mental note to ask him about it later, given that you didn't want to interrupt him.

"Hasn't anyone told you that staring is rude, Sweetling?" he piped up suddenly, setting the cards up for a game of solitaire. You scoffed.

"I get told by Sol practically every day." The bot's eyes upturned into crescents, amusement sparkling in the dim lighting.

"My, my, then we'll have to fix that staring problem of yours," he fired back. " It can come across as terribly impolite. Although you are rather lucky I am so gracious as to accept your presence as a most humble apology." You mocked a scoff, fighting the grin that threatened to pull at the corners of your mouth.

"I think the circumstances of my arrangements should allow me some breathing room in that regard."

Fool didn't miss a beat with his response. "Oh, so you find me alluring enough to stare~?"

"Don't flatter yourself. The others are just as interesting as you."

The bot placed a hand to his chest as he did every time you managed to get in a silly insult. "Why must you always be so very cruel," he cried, using his other hand to dramatically scatter the cards on the table as he fell backwards to the floor. You couldn't help the giggle that fell from your lips.

"Oh no, have I broken you finally?"

He lifted his head slightly to peer at you over the edge of the low table. "Finally?" he repeated, sounding somewhat discouraged. "Is that really your harrowing intention? To break me down with your beautiful voice spewing malicious language until I am nothing more but a hunk of wires and metal? All so you can woefully put me back together and claim me as your own charming creation?"

"Who knows?" you asked mysteriously. He dropped his head back down.

"Hm... Would this be the right time to inform you that I've been keeping track of your insults to compliments ratio? I think it tells quite a lot about your character."

"Oh really?" You didn't need to be sarcastic - you were genuinely interested. "And what conclusion have you come to about my 'character'?"

He sprung up suddenly - startling you a bit further into the nest of pillows. He grabbed at his baton - spinning it around a few times before settling on placing the moon side in front of his face. "You're a terrible friend. Naughty. Rude."

"Surprising." You rolled your eyes and resettled yourself on the edge of the chariot, looking down at the mess he'd created with the cards. "How ever shall I make it up to you?"

There was a pause from the jester bot as he dropped the baton from his face and smiled. Mischief sparkled in his expression. "Oh, I thought you'd never grace me with such a question, Sweetling."

Before you had the opportunity to object, you were being lifted from your comfortable resting place to stand in the clear area in the center of the shed (which wasn't very much space, honestly). "Fool," you said, irritation clinging to the edge of your voice as you tried to regain your balance.

"Hm?" he hummed, listing his head to the side in an attempt to feign innocence. "Is something the matter? You're wearing quite the nasty scowl upon that pretty little face of yours." You placed your hands on your hips.

"Fool."

"Have I told you just how much I adore hearing my name from your beautiful lips, Sweetling?" He snatched up one of your hands and brought it to his mouth, ignoring your tone. He bowed his head down and spread his free arm out to the side. "Dance with me."

Seriously?

"I don't know how to dance."

He lifted his faceplate enough to peer at you from the tops of his eyes. "Ah, and neither do I," he whispered, before standing back to his full height and emitting that musical laughter you had come to adore. He tilted his head down and gave you a cheeky smile. "But you, dearest, had so graciously promised to make it up to me~"

"I didn't promise you any- Ah!"

Fool swept you away through the door of the shed before you could protest. Before you knew it, you were standing in the backyard as light rain poured down on the two of you.

"I thought you didn't want me to walk in the rain?" you questioned, quirking an eyebrow up at the bot - already feeling the chill of the water on your back.

"Correct!" he blurted, tugging you towards him with the hand that still held yours. You crashed into his chest embarrassingly. "But I never said anything in relation to dancing in the rain," he corrected, spinning around in a circle with you pinned to his body.

"Fool! Squishy human, remember?! Easily breakable!" you exclaimed. Fool released you immediately - drawing his hands away like a child discovering a hot stove for the first time. You didn't give it much thought, though. You were too busy trying to catch your breath.

"You need to work on your breathing, Sweetling. Hyperventilating in such conditions can give you a nasty bout of dizziness," he tutted, snatching up one of your hands again. He looked at you expectantly.

"You're not going to let me go back inside until I dance with you, huh?" you questioned once you stopped heaving. His smile stretched wider as he shook his head. It must've been contagious, because you chuckled and let a soft smile lift the corners of your mouth. "Fine. But how do you expect me to dance if we have no music?"

The bot tugged you again - gentler this time. You let him spin you around and dip you down so you were leaning back in his arms, looking up into his monochromatic eyes. "Ah~ But we need no accompaniment when the sound of your voice is already music to my ears, Sweetling," he mused. Then he lifted you back up and grasped your waist. "Can't you hear it now?" he called up into the downpour. "I think my sweet is bound to sing again soon!"

A giggle fell from your lips as you watched him. He mocked a gasp and looked back down to you. "Why look at that, the music is back! Now we must dance before it disappears again!" 

Laughter overtook your body now as you joined him - dancing lively in the chilly rain. You almost didn't notice the water slowly drenching your clothes. Somehow, Fool was actually a pretty good dancer in your opinion. He kept you moving - swiftly pulling you closer to him and pushing you away with the same precision he had when shuffling cards. It was fun all the way up until you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

When you turned towards the house to investigate, you barely saw the curtains being tugged back to the closed state you were used to seeing them in. The only thing you could make out in the blur was a low, glowing blue. Maybe you hadn't seen anything. The rain was really starting to come down now, and it wasn't exactly like you were standing still.

Fool must have noticed it, too. He had slowed the speed in which the two of you were dancing and pulled you closer to him again - although this time, he brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders and then dragged his own down to rest upon your waist. "There are many a people I've danced with in my lifetime," he started. You swore he shot a smug glance towards the house, but it could have just been your imagination. You were starting to feel the chill of the rain through your wet clothes now that the two of you were merely swaying from side to side, and it was proving to be rather distracting. "But you, my Sweetling, have been the most pleasurable to enjoy such a spontaneous moment with."

A shiver forced its way through your body. "Uh, thanks?"

The bot stopped his swaying, took hold of one of your hands, and dragged you back towards the shed. "Now - if you'd so please - I believe we were just about to indulge in a marvelous game of Go Fish, were we not?"

You rolled your eyes to the best of your ability despite Fool not even looking your way. "I believe you were setting up a game of Solitaire, actually."

"Oh my, was I now?" he asked as the two of you reached the door to the shed. He held it open for you. "How very forgetful of me. I guess my distraction must have been a rather breathtaking one to indulge in for me to forget such an important detail."

You felt your cheeks warm despite your steadily dropping temperature. "I guess so."

*****

The silence between a stare can relay a million emotions even with no words exchanged.

One stared from the window. One stared from the rain.

*****

"I saw the two of you," Sol piped up, keeping his hands clasped behind his back as he watched you work from the other side of the workbench. Your brows knitted together as you tried to decipher what he could possibly be talking about. A moment of silence passed as you hoped he would elaborate, but he didn't.

And then you remembered - the pull of curtains in the kitchen window and the blur of the glowing, pale blue you saw darting behind them. At the time you thought it to be nothing but a funny reflection from the gloomy lighting, but now...

"Are you talking about when Fool and I were dancing in the rain?"

A sound reminiscent of a scoff emitted from the bot as he leaned away from the work table, dragging your gaze from your work to look at him.

"You call that dancing?" he asked, listing his head to the side ever so slightly. The faint sound of mechanical clicks and internal fans emitted from his body - making his tauntingly benign smile take on a sinister shadow. "The imbécile didn't stay in time at all, and you kept tripping over your feet." You shook your head and went back to your work.

"What, thinking you can do better?" you asked, offended by his words. He grew silent, but you thought nothing of it. You didn't have time to appease Sol's unusual sudden interest in your time spent with Fool. You had to finish this, and his questions were only going to distract you and cause some sort of mistake in your meticulous work. So you turned back to your task at hand.

That was, until your wrists were being seized by the bot. You opened your mouth to object, dropping the tools from your clutch as you were dragged away from the table and to the only free spot in the room. What the hell was with these bots and their lack of understanding in regards to personal space? "Sol, what the fu-"

"A basic waltz is simple," he interrupted. He placed one of your hands on his shoulder, grasped your other hand with his, and then rested his free hand on your waist. "It starts with a box step."

Your brain fumbled for words as he gently pushed you backwards. Why was he teaching you how to waltz? Dancing in the rain with Fool had been a spontaneous decision with a rather large lack of judgement - leaving you freezing and shivering by the time the two of you had gone back inside. There wasn't anything proper about said dance, and you especially hadn't anticipated anyone watching it take place to begin with.

"Are you even paying attention?" Sol's voice pulled you from your thoughts as you stepped on his foot.

"S-Sorry," you muttered. Why were you sorry? You didn't even ask for this!

"You're not stepping in the right direction," he said simply. "This is a 3/4 time signature dance, not 4/4. You have to focus."

He started over, pushing you backwards yet again. You let your right foot fall behind you while he pulled you gently to the left, your left foot following suit. When he pulled you forward, you were unsure of which foot to move first, so you hesitated. Ungracefully, you tripped forwards and almost smacked your head against his chest.

A light blush defiantly dusted your cheeks as he sighed. You started over yet again, and your competitive nature made itself known with the bubbling frustration in your stomach. If he said it was simple, why were you struggling so much?

After a few clumsy tries, you eventually understood the rhythm. Backwards, sideways, together. Forwards, sideways, together. Repeat. You were by no means perfectly in time with Sol's feet, but he silently continued nonetheless. The only thing that messed you up was when he brought the hand that rested on your waist up to your chin.

He tilted your face up until you looked into his eyes and were no longer staring at your feet. "Darling, it's considered rude not to look at your partner while dancing."

The same frustration from before returned as you tripped over your feet again. "But I can't know where your feet are going to be if I'm looking at you," you huffed, avoiding his gaze.

"Relax. And focus." His smile loomed eerily over you as you looked up into his eyes nervously. There had to be some kind of trick to this, right? He talked about it as if it were the easiest thing in the world, yet here you were, unable to focus on the movements of both your feet and his at the same time without looking.

You shoved your frustration back down and drew in a breath. Backwards, sideways, together. Forwards, sideways, together. Repeat.

It took longer to get your feet to move the way you were telling them to, but once you ran through the steps three full times without messing up, you smiled.

"I'm doing it!" you said excitedly, almost tripping up at the deviation from your concentration. Sol didn't praise you, though, instead informing you that there was a lot more to it than what you were just starting to get a grasp on.

"You have to turn counterclockwise with every half box," he said, pulling you to the left. You couldn't remember what step you were on, letting out an exasperated breath as you kicked his ankle.

"Gah- Why can't we just be happy that I learned the beginning and leave it at that?" you cried, attempting to pull your hands away from him. But his grip on you tightened enough to make you look up into his eyes fearfully for a moment. Memories of your first encounter with the bot danced across your vision - bringing the ghost of an ache to your wrist. He loosened his grip at your expression, but still refused to let you go.

"There are a lot of things I let slide when it comes to you. But this, I simply will not let go." You felt your mouth go dry.

"What do you mean you let a lot of things slide? You're not my parent," you retorted, narrowing your eyes to accompany an annoyed glare. There was a long moment of silence after that as he just stared at you - perfectly still as his unchanging smile sent a shiver down your spine.

But then he was pushing you backwards again, restarting the steps and ignoring your comment entirely. You gave up, simply redirecting your attention on the steps you had to implement a counterclockwise turn into. You figured that it would be easier to learn had there been music playing or even a metronome sounding off your beats, but you were too stubborn to ask.

It took an embarrassingly long time to relearn the steps with the turn. But once you started to understand the pattern, it seemed to click in your head where your feet were supposed to go and when. You held Sol's gaze a little more confidently after that - even smiling at one point at the realization that you had been going on fifteen or so rotations without tripping or hesitating once.

Sol's blue eyes seemed to flicker for a moment when you smiled, but it could've just been the dim lighting of the workshop playing tricks on you as the two of you spun around. You actually felt yourself starting to enjoy the simplicity of the dance - wondering if there was anything else you were supposed to add.

When Sol stopped and dropped his hands from you suddenly, you frowned. "Wha- Did I do something wrong?" you asked, brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought we were doing pretty well."

"I was doing well," he countered. "You were only following my lead."

You scoffed and settled your hands on your hips. "Why can't you just be nice for once and compliment me?"

There was that silence again. But Sol's gloved hand shifted as he clenched it into a loose fist, filling the quiet space with the soft sound of silk on silk. You swore you could see emotions shifting behind his pale eyes for a fleeting moment, but you couldn't decipher which ones. As the quiet stretched on longer, you felt your frustration dwindle - hesitant anxiousness replacing it.

"Nevermind," you mumbled, pushing past him to your work table. You took your seat again and felt the frustration boil your blood as you fought the blush that warmed your cheeks. There was no reason for it. Sol was just being the same bot he'd been since you showed up - cold and blunt and honest.

So why did his refusal to compliment you make you feel so... bad?

You picked the tools back up and tried to distract yourself from the sunbot as he approached the side of the work table again, hands clasped behind his back once more. You ignored him - continuing with your task. After a bit, you started to hum to yourself while you worked. The melody was familiar, though you couldn't recall where you'd heard it. But soon you became so engrossed in your work - paired with your curiosity as to the tune you were emitting - that you almost completely forgot that Sol was even in the room with you.

"Do you prefer his company over mine?"

The question startled you to silence. You held your gaze to the table, though, as his words echoed in your mind. Was he referring to your time spent with Fool? You honestly hadn't put much thought into comparing the bots with each other besides physical appearance. There just wasn't a need - they were all different to you. Far too different for comparisons.

Your lack of a response must've struck a nerve, because Sol placed both of his hands on the table and leaned forwards. As you looked up at his smiling face, goosebumps erupted down your arms as a small reminder of the lack of warmth in the workshop. A faint click, click sounded from him before he spoke. "You were humming the same dreadful tune he does."

So that's why you'd sworn you had heard the tune before.

"I don't think I can answer your question without eliciting some kind of negative response from you," you quipped, peering back down. "I'd prefer if you would just let me work."

Apparently, that was the wrong answer as well.

Sol rounded the table in an instant - spinning your stool around and pressing you back into the wood's edge as he loomed over you. A gloved finger hooked under your chin and forced your eyes to meet his - that same unnerving smile burning its image into your mind. "Oh mon dieu," he tutted, the disappointment in his tone making unease cloud your mind. It almost felt as if a slow finger dragged its way up your spine, eliciting more goosebumps across your body. "Ma poupette, what ever are we going to do about your poor manners?"

*****

A/N: I wanted to leave what happens next up to your imaginations~

But ahhhhh how did I do?! Is it good?? Or is it GOOD??? I'm literally shaking right now as I'm typing this because I'm so excited and nervous for everyone to read this rahhh-

But as always, likes, comments, kudos, and reblogs are VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!! Stay sweet, my lovelies~!

#gitm #gitm fool #gitm sol #gitm oneshot #tags? what are tags?