#PUT GUN IN THAT CARDIGAN! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinandguilt · 2 months ago

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𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐔𝐍𝐒, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐘.

remmick x male reader

summary: you're a vampire hunter tasked with the challenge of killing a generational curse that's plagued your family for decades. only when you look death in the face do you realize how out of your league you really are.

tags: oneshot, dead dove, blood and violence, angst, dubcon, pwp (porn with plot), foreshadowing, manipulation, afro-latino!reader (tejano), hurt/comfort(?), references of grief, death, kissing of a shotgun (i have no explanation for this), needytop!remmick, frottage, oral sex, biting, turning, whatever the vampire-equivalent of a feeding kink would be, pain kink if you squint, semi-public sex, oral fixation, slight dumbification (both parties but reader is fighting it HARD), dacryphilia, spit/drool kink if you squint a bit, hive mind, anal sex, blood works as an aphrodisiac for vampires, chain dangling used as honorable mention, remmick goes dumb when he fucks it's kinda scary, author is a firm believer in pathetic!remmick

wc: 7.7k

a/n: i had a lot of fun when i started writing, but i honestly hate writing endings. i contemplated how to end it for a long time before i settled for this. i think it keeps it light enough. i kept seeing lots of remmick x vampirehunter!reader which is great and all, but i kinda felt like it was boring, so i put my own spin on it. i honestly like it a lot better, but i feel like i could've done more w it. idk, lmk if you guys like it, enjoy. (also this was a bitch to edit so if you see any mistakes or gaps, please ignore it. i will avoid reading this like the plague out of sheer embarrassment. likes, follows or comments/asks are encouraged.)

⸄࿆࿆⸅ྃ⸄࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆ ⸅𓊆†𓊇⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄࿆⸅⸄࿆࿆⸅ྃ

The pads of your fingertips grazed over the last page of your calendar. September 28th. Today is the day– your day. Your chest tightened, nerves getting the better of you, like always. You were certain of how it'd go– that silver, crested shotgun in your hand, an emptied flask of holy water tucked in your belt, and the devil on his knees. Every decade, the devil would come wandering from shadows to take his pick of the litter to feed off of in Greenwood. And every decade, your family stood their ground– boots docked in dirt, gun in hand. Your grandmother would tell you stories of it as a child. About how there was a white devil pretty as sin that lurked in the shadows within the edge of the darkened woods, waiting. How he liked a challenge– liked it better when you fought back. Makes the blood sweeter, apparently. “Why can't we just call someone for help?” you'd ask her. “Those white men got good guns and trucks, I seen ‘em!” Naive, ignorant. Nostalgia tickled the back of your mind, the fond smell of her perfume flooded your nose. Like you were still there. Roses. She gently held your hands within her own, wrinkled with age. “Oh darlin',” she cooed, smile saddened as she spoke. “They know.”

Your mouth grew sour at the bitter memory. It sickened you. Ironically, those same men never failed to show up a month early when the time came to pay your dues, white-knuckling their trigger guards. Families watched anxiously from their cracked windows as they strode into town. They knew we didn't have enough each time, but they left each time with full pockets and bloodied knuckles soiled from whoever couldn't pay up. The next day, there'd be a house for sale. Since then, you knew better than to ever expect the kindness of a white man– knew better than to rely on one after they'd sent the devil to your door.

The distant muffle of conversation lures you out of your room, the wood creaking as you shuffled through the gloomy hallway. Hushed whispers slowed your footsteps, approaching the edge of the kitchen quietly. You peered into the small kitchen. “I can't,” Mami folded her arms. Her cardigan fell loose over her frame, disheveled as it draped her form. Her knuckles masked her lips as she bit away at her nails, pulling them away from her teeth forcibly. “I won't.” Nana's lips set into a thin line. “Do you really want to spend this morning being stubborn?” she asked, fingers interlocked. Her hands splayed neatly over her lap. “Today?”

Mami looked unsure, slowly shaking her head as she turned her back to Nana. “Dios nos va a proteger, (God will protect us.)” she assured. Mami didn't seem too convinced. You stepped forward out of the darkness, catching their eyes. Mami looked saddened, guilty for some reason. Nana gave a small smile, patting her lap softly. You roll your eyes, playful. “I'm too big, nana. I’ll end up breaking your hip.” She rests her arms against the chair's own. “You'll break my heart faster if you don't come here.” You sigh, long and drawn out. Too long to be taken seriously with that dopey smile on your face as you scuffle toward her. She pulls your hips down onto her lap, as if you don't weigh a thing– as if you were still that little kid playing with your wood-carved figures.

Mami doesn't bother facing you, not when you try to meet her eyes. She rests her hands on the cutting board, the blade of the knife resting at the edge of her palm. Your eyes linger over the the potted plant, wilting and withered. “You should give those some water and leave it by the window for a bit,” you suggested, voice lithe in hope to turn this into a good morning. For both your sakes. “It'll die out,” Nana nods. “There's nothing we can do, hijo.” Her words settle onto your skin wrong, for reasons you can't explain. You crane your neck to look at her. “There's always something we can do,” you insisted. “Just give it a bit of water—” Mami storms out of the kitchen, the sound of her door slamming shaking the walls. The silence after lays on thick, and Nana bows her head with a heavy sigh. “Don't worry about your mother, papi. She's just having a hard time.” she explained. You tilt your head slightly in confusion. “With what?”

“Saying goodbye.”

She tapped at your hip, not insistent, but enough for you to move off of her lap. You watched as she slowly stood, pushing off of the arms of the chair to anchor her weight and shuffle past you into the hallway. You could hear the soft knock on your Mami's door, and then waited. One second past, then two. Nana wouldn't knock again, only waited. There was a creak, a sliver of light and then darkness again as the door shut with a click. You don't know how long the two had talked, but long enough for the window to be idle as the blue morning sky faded into a warm yellow. There was a bang at the door— not of knuckles, just palm and brute force— one neither your Nana nor your Mami had hurried to answer. You stood from your chair, the seat left warm in your absence. Twisting the lock and pulling open the door, you're greeted with the sight of your tío you hadn't seen since your cousin's last birthday.

He looked tired, yet eager to see you once again. “Hey, kid. Long time, no see?” he chuckled. You pulled the door open further, smile giving faux annoyance away. “Seen enough, thank you.” He strode past you and into the house. You hadn't realized until the door opened how bright it was outside compared to the inside– dark and dreary. “Where's your mother?” You nodded toward her door, “She's been in there all morning talking to Nana. Is it...dad again?” You watched as his jaw set, his hand rising to his hat, like he considered taking it off. He hesitates, opting for scratching at his neck instead, the movement awkward and stiff. Mami said it was something he'd do often, a bad habit she hated— but a habit for what–? “Sure– yeah, of course. I'm sure she's upset about that.” he nodded, dismissive, walking past you. “Just sit tight, sobriño. We'll leave at dusk– gotta wait for the boys.”

You pushed the door shut, snuffing the daybreak's light from the room out like a dampened fire. You could hear heavy boots dragging down the hallway, the light peeking from the room. Small conversations are mumbled too low for you to hear. Your eyes distract you from distant chatter, flitting to the crested shotgun bolted to the wall behind glass. Markings had been carved into the silver of the receiver, some of flowers, some of crosses. Your legs tugged you closer, ducking your head beneath the glass to see more markings under the loading port. No, letters. No— initials. Your hand blankets your chest and over your necklace, gripping the cross Nana gave you tight in your palm. Pops' cross.

There was a drag of feet that thumped toward you, then stopped. Idle, like it'd been waiting for you to notice. You turn, meeting your tío's eyes once again. He looked exhausted. The same look he'd give to Pops whenever it came down to the nitty gritty of protecting this town— scraping together coins to get by. “You ready to carve yours there?” he asked, slicking back dark curls that fell short at his nape. He'd grown his hair out since Pops passed, stray hairs growing silver and out of place. You gave a slowed nod, nervous in ways you can't explain. Your chest felt tight again. It took him a bit to pull the thing down, nails stubborn to unhook from the wall. You watched as he struggled, unease never settling for what was to come. Finally, he pulled it free, nodding over at the dining room table. You settled back into your chair as he took his place beside you, placing the shotgun in front of you. Mami hated guns on the table. Your eyes slide over to her door, still shut and locked tight. “Eyes up, nephew.” he sniffed, brushing scarred knuckles against his nose.

His hands graced yours as you held the shotgun. Rough, worn. Your fingers trace the silver, over the carvings of flowers and leaves, down to your father's markings. His initials. M.N. — Malachi Narváez. You part your lips to a sigh without meaning to, tracing the patterns of his memory. You hadn't noticed the lingering eyes on you until your tío slapped his palm against your back, thumb brushing over your shoulder blade solemnly. “Let's put yours under his, yeah?” You nodded, gracefully accepting when he hands you a small chisel— a pinprick, really. He watches as you work at the metal, insistent. The sound of a door creaking open doesn't deter your focus, carving into the silver barrel. You lean back, proud, turning your head to meet— your mother's own. Her lips curve into the smallest smile, not meant for anyone else to see but you. Her eyes her bleary, swollen. She'd been adorned in her favorite blanket. The one you never thought would see the light of day. The one that lounged over Pops' chair. “Get ready, it's almost time.”

You nodded, pushing from your chair to grab your mudded boots by the door. “I'll check to make sure you loaded it properly.” he offered. You nod half-heartedly, distracted, shuffling into your boots. “Shouldn't I grab some more ammo?” you called out, fiddling with the laces and pulling them tight against your ankles. No answer. You could hear the pop of shell clank against the table, rolling against the wood. Your eyes linger over your tío's frame, half of it covered by the wall beside him from the distance. He whips his head around to meet your eyes with a small smile— forced, you note. “Just checkin' to make sure everything goes right.” he assured you. A lingering uncertainty swirled within your chest, but you ignored it with a wordless nod. “Shouldn't I grab some more ammo?” you asked again. He raised his head, meeting your eyes as he spoke. “Youdon't need to be loaded up on ammo,” he explained. “One shot is all it'd take.” There was a knock at the door, quiet, polite. Two shadows stood before the blurred, patterned glass, just on the other side of the door. Most likely your Pops and tíos' old friends. You sucked in a breath. Here goes everything.

Worn boots trudged into darkened woods, only led by the lantern that the ground beneath you basked in. Not even moonlight reached through the branches. Silence filled the air, the only sound echoing through the woods being footsteps overlapping. Your uncle and a few of your Pops' friends walked behind you, measured. It was tradition. No words would soothe the nerves of the hunter chosen, so no words were spoken. No songs would dull the fear in your bones— so no melody reached your ears. Minutes stretched on, silence dragging on even longer. Your breathing fell soft, blowing cold as you reached deeper and deeper. You hadn't even noticed the laterns behind you dimming with distance as you carried on. Your fingers clutched your gun, itching, waiting. Your eyes snap to the trees, to the flutter of something in the dark— an owl, you're sure. Maybe. You continued on, pace stuttering slightly. This is what you trained for. You opted for checking your gun again, every ounce of blood in your body screaming for you to— but you refuse. It's just nerves, you tell yourself.

You barely register it when you see it— a stretch of darkness stood still. Waiting. Just like they said he'd be. You halted, finger pressed against the trigger guard. The creature hadn't moved yet, didn't need to. He just stood there, as if he was waiting on you. You spoke first, voice loud as it echoed into the clearing. “You him?” you asked, and when the question fell short with silence, you spoke again. “Are you the devil?” Nothing. Not at first. Then, the figure stepped forward from beyond the shadows, languid. He said nothing, not at first, so you continued. “My Nana told me stories of a devil pretty as sin,” you noted. “You must be him.” She wasn't wrong. The man was handsome— defiantly so. The way curls settled over his forehead, the shadows hidden from moonlight cast under his brows and highlighting bright, flecks of red in his eyes that anyone could mistake for shine. Anyone other than you. His collar was loose, haint blue, in fact. He adorned a gold chain draped over his collarbone tucked beneath his wifebeater. His smile held false charm, wearing a lop-sided grin across his face, inviting. It was so... unsettling. Like staring at a wolf in sheep's clothing. He seemed entertained, cocking his head slightly. “That so?” his voice a honeyed rasp.

Your eyes fall over those fangs of his, glinting sharp in the light. “No reason we have to do this,” he reasoned, stepping even closer, his movements betraying his words. They way he approached you was downright predatory. “I mean— I don't even know yer name, darlin'.” You hesitated. Normally, you wouldn't have settled for so much small talk– you weren't here for that. But you couldn't help but feel for the man. He seemed...nice. Nice isn't the name of the man who killed your family. Nice isn't why Pops isn't here anymore. Your brows furrow.“You don't need to know my name,” you grit, bitter, angry. “You know why I'm here.” And that's all he needed. Your hands tightened over your gun. “Well, alright then.” he conceded, holding his palms up in mock-surrender. It felt...too easy. You were sure there'd be more fight. Nana said he liked when you fought back, so why isn't he? “I thought you liked a lil' challenge. You just gonna give it to me?” you asked. His grin grows, like a weed. “Just tryin' t'make it easier for you, sweetheart.” You shake away the sickness pooling in your stomach from the nickname. Right, sickness. Focus, you admonished. Your finger slipped into the guard, holding the pad of your index over the trigger. Your palm clutched the forestock, tight. Breathe in, breathe out, brace and...

Click.

The sound was hollow, barren with silence following after. The man stood in the same place as before, with that same cheshire grin. What? You pulled again, harder this time. Click. Click, click, click. You froze, as still as a deer in headlights. No. God, please no. Don't tell me... Your heart sank, blood running cold as a chill washes over you. It was loaded, right? Right? You racked. You remember doing it. You even checked after. Double-checked. Your tío had even offered to check after you. Wait. You didn't bother glancing back up at those fiery, red eyes on you. Like danger was an afterthought. Right now, your sanity was being tested. You couldn't put it together. Why would he have needed to check after you anyway...? He knew you knew how to load a shotgun, he'd help you practice cleaning it after. Your ears buzzed, his words rang in your head, “Just checkin' to make sure everything goes right.” he assured you. You knew it had to be loaded, because you could hear the clack of the shell popping from the action onto the dining table. Oh. Oh no. No, he'd never... You press-check, desperate fingers slide over the loading port.

“Pretty, huh?” his voice drawls, dipped low in molasses— thick, suffocating. Like he'd been eager to make himself known again. He strides forward, every step languid, savored. His eyes raked over your body, like sin. Your finger fumbles, hands clumsy as you desperately search your hips for ammo. Your uncle's voice whispered through your terror. “One shot is all it'd take.” And all at once, it clicked. Why his lingering eyes hovered too long. Why he was quick to hush conversation. Oh god. Oh god. Tears flooded your eyes, face wet as you sobbed, open and broken. They set you up. Your own family— your own kin. Mami's face flashed in your mind. Her swollen, reddened eyes. Her words. “I can't,” Her voice– strained. “I won't.” Nana's words— saddened, downcast, guilt-ridden. She wouldn't dare to look at you. “Saying goodbye.” Realization sank into your bones, your skin running cold from the air's chill. It hit harder than a truck. No, this was worse. Not a single bone twisted or broken, not a single scratch or scrape of skin. Just heartbreak. Betrayal. Your legs caved, dropping into the dirt— your mind was at war with itself.

“They didn't tell you, did they?” The man rumbled, and you stopped, your cries deafened. You paused, eyes slowly traveling back up to meet the man in front of you. Whatever was in your eyes was enough of an answer for him. He shook his head in some sort of mock-sympathy, “They never do. I can't lie— the look on yer faces is worth it every damn time.” He chuckles, the sound wry— like he'd been stripped of any sense of normalcy of conversation. He steps forward, measured, like he'd been approaching a scared animal. “Tell me what? Who?” you asked, defensive. You didn't miss the way he ate up the distance between you, clutching the flask of holy water at your hip like a vice. He slows, eyes flitting to the flask in your hand. His hands fall easy at his side.

“A couple decades ago, I found this town o' yers. Less people than when I first came.” he nods to himself. “Yeah...I was gon' kill every last one of ya.” he mutters to himself, eerily casual— like he was talking about the weather. Your heart sinks as he steps forward, arms folded behind himself, restrained. “But yer great-great-so-many-fuckin'-greats grandaddy convinced me to only kill one of ya every good couple of years or so. Said it'd be bad if the livestock up n' died before they could carry on multiplyin'.” What? His voice carried through the emptied clearing, nothing but you, him and a prayer between you. A hope you wouldn't die slow. Or at all. We can't all be so lucky. “Yer ancestors made a deal with me— a pact. One that's been carried on for longer than you've been alive. One that keeps me fed, and keep most of you alive.” Your mouth fell open, and he pretends his eyes didn't linger when it did. “No, that— they'd never,” you averred. “And yet here you are.” he attests. You could feel bile rise to your throat. Livestock? Like you were nothing but sheep and cattle? “Course they still had to keep up appearances n' all. Paintin' it out to be some heroic effort. Strange how you ain't even question why all them men lined up to fire, and yet you were the last to be handed that gun o' yers.” He jabbed his finger at the shotgun in your hand. A hand-me-down. Your eyes pool with tears again, sniffles growing louder, having purpose. How stupid of you— feeling purpose in a meaningless death.

You could hear your daddy's voice screaming into your blood. Get up. Did he know? The man's pace didn't slow, didn't need to. You clearly weren't going anywhere. Get up. Did they send him off to his death too? Your eyes fall over the list of initials carved into the shotgun in your hand. Oh god– all those names. You choked back bile, sobbing harder. You held a graveyard in your hand. Get up. Was it here? Did your father die here? Blood smeared over his face, unrecognizable— his chest caved in? Did he rasp your name with his last breath? Your chest heaved for air, desperate. You felt sick. Get up. Now. You shook your head slowly, eyes blurred with tears. Your body trembled, weakened. What was even the point of fighting? Stronger men had been standing in this very dirt. Stronger men had their initials left behind on the same shotgun in your hand. What was there left for you to do? The earth had shattered all around you, your resolve crumpled beneath your knees.

“Aw, don't cry darlin'. S'alright, I promise,” he cooed, kneeling before you— mirroring you. His fingers felt light, gracing the gun in your hand before his grip around it's neck tightens. You can't pull away, frozen. You watch almost helplessly as he points the gun toward his lips, pressing a light kiss over the barrel. You could hear a brief sizzle. You ignore the way your chest flutters from it. He doesn't. “Each time I stood right here— staring down a man in the face, I offered him a choice not to fear death— but to be loved by it. Yer father, and his father's father, and every man that stood where you are right now met the same fate not because they'd been damned by me— but because they wanted to— because they refused my gift to them.” His hand rests over your cheek, careful claws guided away from dredging into your skin. He lifted your chin to meet his gaze— those pools of red light washing over your skin. “You don't need t'bury yourself in death's arms unless you crave for its kiss, sweetness.” Your mind swam, all reason holding on by a thread as your head throbbing. You had cried yourself dry, and he had let you. And now here was, picking up the pieces. A question dug at your mind, recalling something your Nana said. Was the devil pretty because he was kind, or because he was tempting?

He rested his head against your own— not fearing what you'd been owed to do to him, but what you'd do to yourself if no one had been there to do so. “If you give yerself t'me, completely— I'll cherish you in ways your lil' heart isn't capable of fathomin'.” You hadn't even processed the shift in position until your back pressed against something soft, until you'd already been sinking down into the dirt, his hand cradling your head— practiced. Like baptism. You couldn't speak, didn't need to. The whisper of words you beckoned to leave your lips were answered by his own without needing you to. “I ain't gon' kill you, sweet thing,” he spoke, his voice low and honeyed. “I'm gon' turn you int'a something new,” He avowed, nuzzling against your cheek. You feel his lips brushing against your neck— featherlight, before he pulls away— like he punished himself for closing the distance between the two of you. “Only if y'want it.” he adds under his breath, The sound of his voice felt like deliverance. “Tell me you want it.” he whispers. “I– I can't,” You stammered, the words fall so easily from your lips before you could even think. Your arms scrambled for ground beneath you. You can't? Not ‘you don't want to’— can't? “My– my family said you were—”

“Your family let you live a lie,” he interjects, sharp-tongued and vehement. As if he shared your anger like a secret— like a burden. He persists, and you let him. “You fought for a lie— lived for a lie.” Your eyes zero in on the pointed claw before you, his jaw clenched. "Y'know, I– I'd lie to you and say I didn't enjoy killin' some of those men,” he granted, “But you've had enough of that, now, haven't you?” Your mouth opened and shut, wordless. He took your silence as permission to continue, “I can't say I regret what I've done– That I regret feeling their ribs crack and cave beneath my palm— regret their blood, warm as it soaked my lips or the way my teeth sank beneath their skin int'a somethin' real– somethin' raw. 'Cause deep down I knew it'd lead me to you— to my salvation.” His eyes were honest, reverent. “You will be my greatest creation.”

He settled over you, thighs bracketing your waist. Gold dangled over your face— what felt like a glimmering virtue swung above you. His claws trailed over your sweat-soaked shirt, lithe as they popped your buttons with ease. His palm mapped over your skin, supple under his touch. He shuddered, lips parting with need. He was drooling, saliva thick dribbling down over his chin. “Let me be your liberation,” A soft plea as eyes flit to your open throat. “Please.” he pleaded, broken open. You nodded, acquiescent. What else could you do? You'd been playing into some fantasy, self-assured and righteous. The ending had already been picked out for you and you just sat there and took it— hands held out for more. His hands to slip over your wrists, firm. He places a kiss to your forehead, devout. He guides his lips down, down, down over the call of your pulse. Your blood thrummed beneath your skin for him as you squirmed. You felt bare, vulnerable. Messing around with boys behind the church was one thing, but this...this was something else entirely.

“I can smell you,” he rasped, nosing under the soft of your jaw. “'Can smell the fear in your nerves— your hesitance.” He lapped at the skin, desperate. “In case you ain't notice yet, darlin', yer body ain't fightin' back.” Then you feel it. A pinch at first, the point of his fangs slipping beneath your skin before the burn grows, your skin stretching to make space for him. You writhe beneath him at the bite, his teeth clamping down. Your lips were useless, babbling sweet cries and sobs for him. “No, no, hurts, I can't do this, I can't—” He doesn't shush you, only holds onto you tighter, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder. “You can, sweetness, I know you can,” he murmurs, voice muffled. “What's mine will forever be yours.” And then, cold rushes over your wound, accompanied by the crawl of something wet. Then, quiet, his body growing rigid. “Oh, hell...”

He inhales, deep. Like a shark smelling blood in water. A shudder follows silence. And then you feel it— feel him, anchored to your neck something desperate, filthy. He suckles and god, it's so good. You whimper, soft. He groans, the sound reverberating against your skin. He pulls away, eyes rolled back in ecstasy, blood dripped from his lips like molasses. “Fuck, so good—” Your ears buzzed, almost drowning out the sound of blood squelching, pulsing from your wound. Almost. “Like heaven on my tongue.” He wasted little time opening you up beneath him, suckling, biting and lapping at your neck. “More, more, please–” he begs, dragging his mouth from your neck as he ruts against you.

“Been— shit— needin' this,” He pushes your thighs aside, crowding into the space between them like he owned it. And he did. “Starved of it like you wouldn't believe.” he chuckles, chest heaving, panting like he'd been out of breath— like he couldn't breathe without being buried in the soft of your neck. Your face contorted, twisting in agony from the ache, the burn sinking deeper into your skin— searing. You couldn't even focus on the pain alone without his filthy, needy sounds flooding your head. Was he...getting off to this? Were you? Something thick pushed eagerly against your inner thigh, deprived, heavy. Heat pooled in your stomach at the thought, something dark — hidden being pulled to the surface. Fuck. You hadn't even realized you'd been rocking your hips against him. Shame buried itself beneath your skin, face flushed.

You gasped as he fucked his hips into you—once, twice, three times— bucking into the tent of your pants. You didn't want this. There's no you did— no way you were seriously getting off to this man— no, this devil above you rutting into like desperate, heat-seeking mutt. The same devil you'd been sent to kill— the same devil haunting your bloodline for years, like cold sinking deep beneath your bones. You prayed it'd at least go unnoticed, but with the slightest drag of his hips, a moan falls from your lips like a vice— and there he is to catch it.

“Ah-ha? What's all this?” He rolled his hips again experimentally, flush against your own, eliciting a sound you didn't even know you were capable of, buried deep. You felt caged beneath him, his hands dug delved into the dirt as he relished in the sight of you— no doubt a mess. Your curls mussed, sticking with sweat against your brows, shirts raked up and pulled apart. “Knew you needed it just as bad—” he keened. “Fuck—tryin' to hide it from me, huh, sweet thing?” he tuts, tugging your slacks down from your hips, claws dragging against your skin. His demeanor changes almost completely, no longer some desperate thing ducked between your thighs, no. Something colder, certain. He yanked away the last barrier between the two of you with a hiss, impatient.

“I can me show you what sanctuary could be,” he vows, truth waiting beyond what patience could hold. “With me.” Nothing but shredded cotton surrounds your naked hips. Nothing but his lips, soaked, bathing in your skin. Blood drips from his lips— your blood as his spits onto your hole— filthy. You groan, craning your neck to watch. His eyes flit to meet yours, pupils blown into black watching you, fervent. A claw— no— two push past your lips, open, pushing onto your tongue. Your moan is muffled, drool pooling under the muscle. His attention on you, rapt as he nods— drunk on the sight alone. “Yes, yes— so good,” he praises, candid. “So, so good. Savor it.” Your lips enveloped the taste of his fingers, salt coating your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut, suckling on deft fingers, thick in your mouth. He pushes them in deeper, relishing in the way you gag— gasping for breath.

“Fuck, can't wait,” he pants. “Gotta do it now— gotta make it good for you.” He's drooling like a dog and it's filthy. You couldn't even ask what he meant before he returns to your neck, like home. His jaws shut over the expanse of your throat, over the bite he where he marked you as his. You clawed at his back, desperation eating away at you, but to no avail. He hadn't even budged. You couldn't even scream, cold rushing over you as your strength waned. You gurgled, only able to listen to the flesh tearing from your throat— to the sound of teeth gnashing flayed flesh, blood squelching, gluttonous. Your vision began to white out, and then, you felt it— something pressing into you, between your thighs— slow, purposeful.

“So fuckin' sweet for me,” he growled against your neck, hips flush against your ass. Memories flood your mind, desperate— defiant. Mami, her soft eyes as spun, Pops there to catch her, high on an old melody. Nana watching, her eyes crinkled into crescents with a small chuckle. Your tío, taking a swill from a bottle nearing empty, grounding as he kept his eyes on your little cousins, jumping to the music, giggles filling the air. You choke, eyes rolling to meet moonlight above you. You could barely stifle the sob that'd been punched out of you. This is what your life had come to— ended. A hand angles your head, baring your neck more, saliva slicking your throat— well, what was left of it. Your vision swims in darkness, and then... Nothing.

Nothing but cold. Nothing but dark. Nothing until— you gasp, lunging forward. Once again, he's there to catch you, shushing your sweet sleep-drunkened cries softly. He cups your cheeks, soothing you back down. “S'alright, 'm here, darlin'. I'm here.” Your chest heaved...needlessly. You could feel it somehow — a shift. A shaky hand travels over to the wound— to where he bit you. The flesh had still been torn open, but you felt...nothing. Nothing but hunger— raw, a primal need to sink your teeth into something. Anything to pacify the itch in your gums. Your eyes travel up to meet his, an image floods your mind of you— you staring back at him. Him staring back at you. Letters flood your thoughts, persistent. Like it was determined to be carved in your very consciousness. A name falls from your lips, the only one that matters, “Remmick.” you whisper. “Yes, yes– that's right,” He nods, pleased, his smile stretching over blood-soaking lips. “Let me feed ya, sweet thing. Y'must be starved.”

And you were. Your stomach felt hollow, empty. Go on. It ushers, the voice in your head not your own— not even your father's. His. He pushes his wrist before you, and your eyes fall over the skin, pale in moonlight. You move before you can even blink, teeth piercing his skin. He groans, within bliss. “Fuck— yes, bite down, darlin', let me feel those pretty lil' fangs o' yers.” Warmth rushes past your lips and you slurp, natural— needed. You moan, the taste fading from copper into something sweet. God it's good, so fucking good. Your hands wrapped his arm, firm, grounding. You couldn't stop, not that you wanted to. It felt so relieving. So—

Good. The voice filled, his own. “Go on. Drink me down, darlin'. Don't stop.” He watched, enamoured by your need, by your hunger. You could feel him twitch, pulsing between your thighs— to where the two of you connected. He'd been so patient, waiting until you woke to fuck into you, nice and slow— buried to the hilt. Your eyes flutter as he sinks into you, rolling back. You could drown in this feeling. He groaned— no, you— no, the both of you did in unison. So this is what he meant. A gift, born from death. Sanctuary. His eyes trailed over your lips, pressed insistently against his wrist. He moaned, and in turn, so did you.

The feeling was freeing, a lustful haze clouding all judgement and reason. “Fuckin' beautiful.” he breathed out, hips pistoning into you once again. He filled you completely— mind and body, blood and soul. You could see where you two connected, a bulge in your stomach. “Oh god—” you mewled, head dipping back with blood-slickened lips. He shook his head, amused. “Not god, sweetness, just me.” You groaned into his wrist, not wasting a single drop more. Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked, paced. He mirrored your tempo to the buck of his hips, feeling you fill him and him, you. You clenched around him, testing, and a ghost of something tight and wet enveloped your cock. Oh fuck. You could feel him fucking you, and you fucking him— sharing sweet, melodic pain as it sings into you both. He'd memorized your name, reciting it. Like a poem. He hovers over you, mouth dripping with your blood like honey falls from his lips and onto yours. And it's so good. Why is it so good?

A shared thought between you before you can catch yourself. Intrusive, you tell yourself. But a call to him nonetheless. Move faster. He indulges. He eases you back to his wrist, to where pain hums your name, but you shake your head— full, in every sense of the word. He pushes his wrist into your mouth, uncaring. He loved it. The sight of you drinking him dry—the insistent feel of his cock nudging against that gummy spot ruthlessly, your hole squeezing his cock like a lifeline— like he'd leave. Not going anywhere. He filled, never. You sob and he moans, reverent, pleased. He doesn't wipe the tears staining your cheeks. Of course not. You don't smudge a painting if you see a stray scrape of off-color. You embrace it. “Fuckin' love it when you cry for me,” he rasps. “Can feel you gettin' tighter each time.” You could see yourself in the slivers of moonlight within his eyes, sobbing and blood-slickened beneath him. Beautiful.

You lift your hips on instinct, allowing his thighs to slip beneath your ass. The movement practiced, synced. His hands fell over your hips, claws biting into your skin. He held his palm over the bump under your navel, over him. “Told ya I could make it good,” he chuckled, breathy. “All you needed, all you could ever want—” he groaned. He picked up the pace, hips snapping forward with grit and little grace. You swallow him whole, opening yourself up to take him impossibly deeper. Your voice drowns out all reason, sweet little moans and whimpers fall short from your lips. Delectable. He droned. You felt dizzy, the sky and stars spinning above you with heavy-lidded eyes. You mumbled pretty little nothings, thighs twitching and hips jerking to meet his own. You both moaned in tandem. Everything felt clearer— every memory of his overlapped your own, feelings and thoughts so clear— they felt like your own. You could see everything, and he let you. Bared. Faces, names, some you'd never meet and others— others you'd...

You'd known. Your hips slowed, stuttered. His hadn't, pressing into you like salt into a wound. Your grandfather's face flashed in your mind, smothered in dirt and blood. His hands were withered— wrinkled. He spat into the grass below, charging with nothing but an empty shotgun. Same as your father— his face was bruised and bloodied. You felt sick. If Remmick noticed, he never slowed, cock still pumping in and out of you without falter. Your legs kicked out faster than your brain could process what you were doing. “Wait—” He growled, pushing your thighs further apart muttering something incomprehensible— something ancient, something dangerous. Your consciousness slipped the words into your head like a note beneath a door. “Feum ort...dh'fheumadh mi. Chrath thu— (Need you...needed me. Craved you—)” They were muttered to himself, but shared nonetheless, like a prayer— like a ritual.

“Rem– Remmick stop it—” you gasped, feeling yourself teetering on the edge. Memories of your father's ragged breathing flood your ears. The haze had begun to fade, disgust festering in your stomach. You didn't want to see that. You didn't want to remember what he was. And that's exactly what he wanted— to give you a taste of what he is— what he's capable of. Remmick leaned down, nipping at your ear. “So sweet, god, it's killin' me.” he groaned. He licked at the shell of it, tempting, distracting. Heat pooled in your stomach, a flickering flame. “Remmick, fucking stop, you're doing it on purpose—”

The voice continued it's incantation, etching itself like a sigil in your mind. He tilts his head, empty, not quite there. Like he wasn't even aware of what he was doing— saying. “You don't want me to.” he states— not cocky, but assured. “I told you darlin,” his tongue darts between his lips, slow. Languid. “What's mine, will forever be yours.” You choke, a moan spilling from your lips as you swallow. “Fuck, wait I'm gonna- I have to—” You struggled against him, attempting to stave off your impending orgasm, pushing it down. It didn't matter. He'd fuck you through it, thrusts growing sloppy— thoughtless. “I waited long enough, darlin'.”Look at me. His voice chanted into your mind— into your soul. Look at me, he commanded again. His hips slowed, granting you focus on anything other than searing pleasure ripping through your body. Your eyes met his– his never straying from yours, pearls swallowed in black so far, you couldn't see a shred of light in them— cold.

You could see yourself through him, your lips sullied in blood and sin. Only then did he pick up his pace, fucking into you. One word kept ringing in your head— mine. You didn't look away—couldn't—his eyes compelled you to meet his own. “So pretty like this,” he rasped. “Please,” you whispered, soft pleas falling on deaf ears. “I don't want your memories—” you sobbed. A flash of hurt washed over his face, his head tilting to the side with knit brows. “Without his eyes even needing to stray from yours, his fingers laced over your cock, thumb smearing the long-neglected dribble of precum over the tip. Mine. Your cock twitched, needy. Remmick's tongue darted past his lip, slowly withdrawing back into his mouth. Mine. He could feel it— how close you were, didn't allow you to shy from him. You belonged to him. The thought was overwhelming. You tried to fight against it, uselessly.

Thick spurts of white coat the expanse of your stomach and you whine softly— but that hadn't stopped him. “Attaboy,” he murmured. Your stomach flutters, squeezing tight around his cock. He stroked you through your orgasm, unrelenting, pushing you into overstimulation. “Fuck, wait–” Your back bowed, shaky hands pushing against his chest. “Please,” you whimpered. He leans down, his body blanketing your own, so much closer— deeper than before. You could feel yourself clench around him, like the feeling was your own. You moaned, lips parting. “Remmick, please—” Mine. He was long gone, completely fuckdrunk. “Takin' it so good, just like I knew y'would,” he slurred. Only when he comes— slamming so hard into you, your sure it'll leave bruises over your ass does he come to. His come spills into you— hips bucking once, twice to make sure it stays. All mine. He doesn't even register that he came, fixated on you entirely— on the way your chest rises and falls, the way your thighs twitch when he rakes his nails over soft skin, the way your voice had fell quiet right as you came— it was addicting. You could feel it, the way he looked at you. Everything of his was yours now.

He pulls away, cock softening between your thighs. The sound he makes as his nose dips into your neck is ruinous. He groans openly, the sound broken— pathetic, lonely noises finally having an audience. “Waited so long—” he keened, voice wrecked in every sense of the word. “All I needed, n' here you are. A prayer in my arms.” He cradled you tight against his chest. Soft, careful. Like you were made of glass— easy to break. He could feel your mind stirring, small thoughts bubbling to the surface, boiling. He knew exactly what you were thinking. Still, he spoke, low and sweet— “Tell me,” Not commanding, but authoritative. “My family,” you whispered. “They...they left me to die. They knew, they all knew and—” you cut yourself off, swallowing thickly. He could hear your heartbeat, a loud, rhythmic thrumming within your chest. A melody he'd commit to memory.

“You're supposed to be dead. Or I am. Whichever doesn't matter anymore I suppose, since we both are.” There was no lithe to your words, hanging heavy in silence. You could feel him shift, reddened flecks of light drawn to you like moths to a flame. A claw dents your skin, not enough to scratch as he cups your jaw. Gentle, reverent. “For years I've grown bitter from seeing what man has done unto man,” he rumbles, a small shift in his voice. A mix of spite and something unheard of. He continues, eyes flitting away from you and to the darkness.“And for years, I've let it fester. Let myself fall privy to man's sin— to their greed, their selfishness.” A soft stroke of his thumb to your cheek. “Until I realized what man fears most—”Silence lingered as you waited for him to fill it, tilting your head slightly. His gaze was trapped, sunk into the darkness as it stared back at him. “Judgement.” he filled. “A firm hand to guide them, not of righteousness, but of cynicism.” his voice shifted into something lower, foreign. His eyes flit to you, devout. “You will be that hand, darlin'. They fear regret— fear emanation. Consequence.”

“So be their mirror, and stare them in the face.”

With every drag of your body, your strength threatened to wane. You limped forward, the lace of your boots strung out, your shirt carved open— blood sunk into the cotton. Mudded soles thump against the wood of the porch. Your hand twisted at the knob, unsurprised to find it stiff. There's a brief moment of silence, of waiting. You could see the stars swimming above you in fading darkness through the patterned glass. Then, a click. The door creaked open, unsure. You were greeted by the sight of your family, your tío with his hand on the door while Mami and Nana sat at the dining room table, peering from behind the wall. You could imagine how you looked— blood-soaked mouth, dried at your neck. It did little to cover the gaping wound. Your collar pulled loose, drenched in darkened blood. Yours, his— did it matter? You waited, eyeing the threshold. Your eyes met your uncle's, lingering. His hand jerked without it meaning to, habitual.

The door pulled back, away from you, welcoming. You strode in, feet dragging against the hardwood. Mami would've said something about the mud, about leaving your shoes at the door. Mami was quiet, her eyes wide, fearful. Your curls were mussed, humidity caught up to them all the same. You still clung the shotgun in your hand, this time careful to avoid the silver-lined carvings. You let it hang at your leg, almost dangled. You didn't bother turning your head, walking straight for the table— to where you'd first heard the clank of a shell. Your tío didn't stop you, just held the door open in fear, like the devil's shadow would follow after you. A revered guest. In a way, he was. Your eyes don't meet Mami's, never bothering to glance at her terror-stricken face. Your nails rake down over the table, until they meet the silver shotgun shells. You hesitate, feeling the heat of them before they even reached your fingertips. You scoop them into your hands, the sizzle in your hands agonizing. Mami and Nana watch in horror, understanding washing over their face. You muttered, under your breath but loud and clear enough for them to hear, the silence surrounding it deafening.

“Forgot these.”

#remmick x reader #remmick x male reader #remmick sinners #remmick #sinners #remmick fic #sinandguilt

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mariasont · 4 months ago

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DAY ONE — CHECK-IN

welcome to the official start of our beach week! today the bau is arriving at rossi's luxurious beach house — here's everything you need for the perfect vacation kickoff!

road trip tunes — maria's beach playlist

💌[click here to listen!]

what's in everyone's bags?

reader archetypes

shy!reader -> lots of suncreen, oversized cardigan, retro sunglasses, huge straw sunhat, polaroid camera (may or may not be discreetly taking candids of spencer...)

sweeetheart!reader -> homemade baked snacks, extra blankets, her favorite tumblr, her cute planner that she takes everywhere, customized friendship bracelets

bimbo!reader -> sparkly lip gloss, tanning oil, giant heart-shaped sunglasses, fluffy slides (impratical as hell), two full bags of makeup

translator!reader -> kindle loaded with international books, comfy linen shirts, minimalistic sandals, travel-size aromatherapy diffuser, pocket size trivia cards

bau team

hotch -> plain black swim trunks, spf 50, extra cash for emergencies, aspirin, noise cancelling headphones (only essentials)

reid -> clean organic sunscreen, a dozen books, waterproof playing cards, ocean-life travel guide

rossi -> premium wine selection, designer swimwear, expensive cigars, a backup wine opener, monogrammed beach chair

garcia -> themed swimsuits and matching accessories (think pineapples, flamingos, cherries, etc.), emergency snack stash, colorful floaties

morgan -> speaker, portable workout bands, extra towels, multiple water guns (don't ask)

emily -> like three flasks, thriller books, do not disturb oversized sunhat, pictures of sergio

jj -> extra hats, bandaids, portable cooler, multi purpose wipes, bug bite relief cream

BAU BEACH HOUSE SPRING BREAK GROUP CHAT

Penelope: helloooooo my sun kissed angels ☀️✨ how are we doing? status reports pls and thx

Morgan: On the road. Spencer is riding with me. Genius here is explaining ocean tides. Again. 🙄

Reid: I'll smother you in your sleep.

Reid: That is, if you don't kill us first by texting and driving.

Penelope: derek. DONT do that.

JJ: Emily and I just picked up the rental car. ETA around noon! Emily has road-trip snacks covered :)

Emily: Correction JJ brough healthy snacks. I brought road-trip essentials. AKA chocolate and caffeine.

Hotch: Dave and I flew ahead to finalize the rental paperwork and get the keys. House looks good.

Penelope: oh thank goodness, mom and dad are already there to welcome us. hotch, i trust you'll put mints on our pillows? 💖

Hotch: Not exactly on my priority list, Garcia

Rossi: Priorities aside, the house is gorgeous. Fully stocked kitchen, perfect ocean view, and most importantly a wine fridge big enough for my personal stash. We're all set.

Emily: Wine fridge? Rossi, you truly get me.

JJ: Wait send pics! I wanna see!

Penelope: im sending the airbnb link !!! prepare yourself for some serious swooning 💖🏖️ [click here to view house]

#mariasspringbreakgetaway #mariaversegetaway #criminal minds x reader

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chaotic-birds · 2 years ago

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strong for you || j.pt

Jason comes home injured, prepared to patch up and rest with you, but he soon realizes something isn't right.

❤️‍🩹 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

❤️‍🩹 Genres/AUs: Action, some angst & fluff, established relationship

❤️‍🩹 Warnings: Use of guns, mentions of killing, hostage situation, blood, injuries, reader referred to as girl

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 2.3k

❤️‍🩹 Author's Note: Just felt like writing more Jason 🥰

masterlist

Jason uses the rest of his strength to lift open the window. His panting grows louder after he tumbles inside, feeling a bit safer in his home. He doesn’t have to worry about people hearing him in pain and taking advantage of his weakened state.

He knows you’ll be by his side in a matter of seconds. He hates how he came home injured since it always worries you, but he rather be hurt here than anywhere else.

His eyes shut tightly as he tries to calm down. It’s becoming harder to breathe under his helmet. He feels suffocated. He needs fresh air.

With a shaky hand, he begins to raise it to unlatch his helmet. However, an all too familiar click makes him halt; his eyes open wide and he forces his breathing to slow so he can hear better.

It’s then he realizes you should’ve been tending to him by now. You should be easing him out of his suit as you comfort and scold him simultaneously.

He lowers his arm as slowly as he can, worried whoever it is will act irrationally if he moves too quickly. Maybe if he was somewhere else and not injured, he would’ve leaped up and snatched the weapon from their hand.

But he can’t.

He’s home. He can’t put you in any more danger.

In slow motion, he turns his head to assess the scene.

There are five men in total. Each has a rifle in their hands, accompanied by a handgun on their hips. You’re seated on one of the dining table chairs that’s been moved, hands and feet tied together. You’re staring at him with big eyes—a mix of worry and panic.

Jason curses to himself mentally.

You’re already fearful of being held captive, but now you’re fearful of his wound too.

He already knows what questions are floating in your head: How deep is it? How much blood has he lost already? Are there any more injuries?

Jason hates that he was stupid tonight. He hates how out of all the nights to have fucked up, he fucked up tonight. But that doesn’t stop his determination. He’ll power through the pain if it means you’ll be safe in the end.

You turn your head to the man on your right. He holds himself to a different status than the others. The amount of confidence this man must have makes Jason want to gag.

“I’ll give you the files if you let me tend to his wounds,” you bargain.

Macho Boss smirks down at you before moving his sight to Jason.

“Well, you’re surely an unexpected guest. Didn’t think one of the bats would come to rescue a mere civilian when there are bigger crimes out on the streets,” he observes, then glances at you. “I guess this one’s special, huh?”

Jason suspects that this guy thought he could get away with his act since he’s not committing a big crime, compared to others in Gotham. Illegal activities happen all the time here, right? Jason almost snorts at his bad luck.

Macho Boss nudges your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The cold metal touches your bare skin exposed by your cardigan, making you shiver. It must’ve fallen in your scuffle earlier.

Jason narrows his eyes at him even though his glare is hidden by his helmet. He’s grateful he etched a permanent scowl on it now. He wants your captors to know that despite being injured, he’s still got enough strength to incapacitate them.

“Please,” you grab the captor’s attention again. “Let me help him.”

“Why should I let you? His injury means he’s weak. I can’t let him stop us, now can I?” he questions, slightly mockingly.

“You can tie him up after I’m done.”

“Like hell you will,” Jason gruffs and the other person holding a gun to his head jabs him with it.

You send him a glare—signaling it isn’t the time to be snarky. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more.

“Do you want the files?” you ask Macho Boss.

“You’re going to give us them whether we let you play nurse or not.”

“Perhaps, but you’re wasting time. Why take the hard way when I’m offering to give them up so easily?”

The man hums in thought. Finally, he nods at the man to your left.

Within seconds, your ropes have been cut. You gesture to the bathroom.

“First aid is in there,” you inform and carefully make your way to the room.

One of the men follows you, gun pointed to your head. You expect nothing less.

If they weren’t here, you’d be rushing to the kit, but any sudden movements will get them trigger-happy.

Your movements are slow as you retrieve the first aid along with a wet washcloth. You make your way to kneel beside Jason. Blood continues to seep through his fingertips, creating a pool of red beneath him. You fight back the worry consuming you.

You gently guide his hand from the wound so you can begin cleaning it.

Jason watches you for a second before shifting his gaze to the others. They’re staring at you both, weapons aimed. They seem impatient and ready to fire.

“You should be making a run for it,” Jason says to you lowly. Though it doesn’t matter the volume of his voice, it’s so quiet that everyone will hear him regardless.

“And get shot in the back? No thanks,” you argue, setting the bloodied rag to the side to start patching him up.

Jason wants to reply he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d have his hands on his guns, shooting everyone before you could get hurt. But he doesn’t want them to know how much he cares about you. Perhaps that’s a fruitless wish since they’ve probably already gauged their affection from their body language.

Jason grunts when you touch a certain area. He’s been trying to keep his cool—for the sake of seeming stronger than he appears to his captors, and for the sake of your sanity.

Your eyes move to his helmet, and there’s a silent “sorry” in your expression. He can tell you’re trying to appear strong, too.

All Jason wants to do is fill these guys’ heads with lead, then snuggle you in bed.

As you continue attending to his wound, he asses his options. He could quickly shield you with his body while he took out the men, but even then, he wouldn’t be able to move and risk the potential of you getting shot. The thought about tossing you out of the window since there’s a fire escape there is strong—get you out of harm’s way so he doesn’t have to worry about you in the crossfire.

Jason’s thoughts get interrupted when you lean in. He watches quietly as you kiss his helmet softly. His lips twitch in an immediate response, but then he feels something slip into his palm.

Clever girl.

With one hand, he slips the small knife you gave him up his sleeve; with the other, he caresses your back. He hopes his action distracts the men from the quick exchange.

You pull away carefully as Macho Boss grits out, “Touching. You done now?”

“Yes,” you reply.

The second the word leaves your lips, a pair of hands are pulling you from Jason roughly.

Jason quickly begins to stand but a heavy boot stomps on his fresh wound, forcing him down again. He breathes in a sharp inhale at the impact, head tilting back and fists clenching.

“Red!” you gasp, struggling against your captor’s hold. More so for his health and safety than yours.

“Relax, love,” Macho Boss coos, but it’s nothing close to soothing. “You can’t expect us to trust your buddy here.”

Then, he turns to the person who’s pinning him down. “Tie him up.”

“You better be treating me to dinner after,” Jason huffs.

Suddenly, Jason’s hauled up and shoved into a nearby chair. His arms get pulled back, forcing a grunt out of him because of his injury. His feet are then secured.

“What a charmer,” Macho Boss scoffs. “Now, the files.”

Your gaze lingers on Jason to make sure he’ll be okay before walking to your bedroom where your laptop is.

“Put me in that room,” Jason demands as he watches you leave.

“Not a chance. You can sit pretty with me right here,” the man behind him says.

Jason clenches his fists as you disappear from view. There are only three of them in the room now. Two went with you.

Easy.

Jason shimmies the blade low enough to reach the rope around his wrists. He waits a few minutes for everyone’s focus to dim before beginning to slice at the material.

“So what’s Red Hood doing in some rando’s apartment, hm?” Capture Two says.

Jason shrugs, subtly cutting the rope as he speaks, “Would you believe me if I said I have a magical power that lets me sense trouble? Because wow… My inner crime detector was blaring.”

Captor Two huffs in annoyance. “Yeah right. You probably got cameras set up around here.”

Jason catches on to the man’s agenda: Find the location of the cameras so they can take them out next time.

“There’s even one over there,” Jason says with a nod to the left.

“There is?” the guy questions and turns.

The second he does, Jason breaks through the rope and disarms and knocks out the man behind him. Gunfire erupts and Jason quickly takes cover in the kitchen nearby.

“Fucking liar,” Captor Two growls.

Jason laughs. “Sorry, man. Let me make it up to you.”

Jason peeps around the cabinets and aims with proficient precision. Two down, one to go.

Upon hearing the scuffling in the living room, you quickly retrieve the gun that’s taped under the desk. For once, you’re grateful for Jason hiding guns around the apartment.

Before you can second guess your actions, you shoot Macho Boss in the kneecap before ducking and shooting the second man in the same place. Once they’re both down, you take away their guns in case they try anything on the ground.

Jason rushes into the room hearing the gunshots, both pistols raised. He pauses in his trek when he sees you—seemingly unharmed—standing between the two men on the ground.

The men are groaning, blood soaking the carpet he vacuumed yesterday.

“Next time come when the carpet is already dirty,” he says before slamming the heel of his gun onto his head—knocking him out. He walks to the second guy and does the same. It’s tough for him to do so since he really just wants to shoot them instead, but he told Bruce he’d attempt his no-killing rule. It’s day four, and he already feels like giving up.

“Nice teamwork,” you comment and place the guns on the desk.

Jason stuffs his pistols in his holsters before he unlatches his helmet. He tosses the item on the bed, then pulls you close until his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss.

You yelp in surprise into his mouth. Jason smiles at the sound and squeezes your body tightly against his armored one.

When you pull back, you’re looking at him with a silly smile.

“Don’t tell me all this is what gets you hot and bothered?” you tease, fingertips gliding down his chest gradually.

Jason grins and pecks your lips with a proud grin. “Can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in action.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest until he’s loosening his grip reluctantly. “You’re sexy too.”

Jason can’t resist but lean in again, although this kiss is shorter.

“You okay?” he asks, mood turning serious. He holds you at arm’s length to examine your body.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Nothing but a flesh wound,” he beams.

You shake your head and glance around the untidy room.

“Can you call Dick or someone to clean this up while we go to a safe house?” you plead, too lazy to help with the cleanup. You just want to sleep with Jason next to you.

“We don’t need him. I’ll take care of it,” Jason informs and bends to pick up one of the men.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, Jay,” you sigh, words meaningless as he throws the second body over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Give me ten then we can cuddle. I know that’s what you want.” He smiles knowingly.

You roll your eyes playfully at his light tone. He isn’t wrong, but you wish he wouldn’t exert all his energy now when he’s injured.

But this is Jason.

Stubborn ass.

Jason takes two trips to carry the men out. You rest your elbows on the window seal, watching him drag the unconscious men in a small circle with their backs to each other. He takes a chain and secures it tightly around them. You think he’s done but he pulls out a paper. You squint, leaning a little out the window.

Sprawled in black ink is:

BAD GUYS FOR PICK UP

Jason steps back to admire his work, then turns to look at you. Although you can’t see his expression due to his helmet, the two thumbs up he gives you indicate there's a smile adorning his handsome features beneath.

Chuckling, you shake your head playfully and return the thumbs up before nodding to come back inside.

Your gaze follows the tall man as he struts back toward the building. You tuck yourself inside, shutting and locking the window as you stare at the silly paper with his handwriting.

He wouldn’t be your Jason if he wasn’t mischievous. After all, it’s one of his many talents.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#jason todd #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfic #jason todd action #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you

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lalalychee-x · 4 months ago

Text

"Teenage Dirtbag— I think I'm okay"

Angst! Rodrick Heffley x reader pt 6

"She's walkin' over to me, this must be fake" romantic. + platonic

♡ Ayyeee, I'm back with part 6, this will NOT MAKE SENSE WITHOUT PART READING THE OTHER PARTS, SO DO MAKE SURE TO READ THEM! GOD THIS ONE IS SO LONG I'M SORRY GUYS IT'S LIKE 8K+ WORDS... like wtf, but this is basically Spring Dance (idk I'm British and the American school system baffles me) gone wrong and stupid garage afterparty. Welcome to part 4 of "Think I'm okay!" CW: self harm (sh) reference, the chocolate fountain thing , cheating (on You), misogyny, toxic relationships, cannon characters in this part word count: 8409 masterlist of all parts song4this: "Teenage Dirtbag" by Wheetus

-------story starts here-------

And yeah, you didn't. You didn't see him for the whole of midterms, even the music room was closed during exam season just before spring. You keep thinking about him though; thinking about how he probably skipped all his exams while staring at your phone half in regret that you never got his number.

What were you? Friends? Friends don't look at each other that way. "Just-friends" don't meet when you're about to off yourself, nor do they lay on bathroom floors with you and drown your dress in antiseptic.

You're halfway up a ladder, arms stretched above your head as you staple one last Spring Fling poster onto the bulletin board by the gym. The air smells like chalk dust, cafeteria bleach, and cherry lip gloss—yours, obviously. The sleeves of your cardigan keep slipping down as you reach, but you don't care since you're like 6ft above everyone else on this thing and yeah its a breath of fresh air from a crowded highschool gaggle.

Then you hear it.

The distinct, dragging shuffle of scuffed boots on linoleum.

You don't even need to look to know who it is. The air just feels different when he's around—denser, like everything's about to tilt off-balance.

Rodrick.

Of course it's him. Back like nothing happened. Same bandshirt from God-knows-how-many-days ago, same hair like he lost a fight with a lawn mower and still came out cocky. He's got a flyer in his hand—probably picked it up off the floor or stole it from a desk—and he's just standing there, staring up at your legs.

"Real subtle," you mutter without turning, keeping your focus on the staple gun. God, why did you say that? What happened to hi? Hello?

Rodrick blinks, mouth twitching. "I wasn't—okay, maybe a little."

You roll your eyes, stepping down off the ladder with a little thud. The moment your heels hit the ground, the weird tension drops too.

"So, what—finally got tired of ditching class and pretending you're too punk rock to care?"

Rodrick smirks. "Nah, I just heard there'd be glitter. Couldn't resist."

You pause, holding his gaze for a beat longer than you should. He looks... the same. And also like he's been living in grayscale until now.

You shove a poster into his chest.

"Here. Make yourself useful and tag along. The more the merrier."

Rodrick stares at it. "'Spring Fling: A Night to Remember'? Kinda dramatic, don't you think?"

You barely have time to roll your eyes at Rodrick's sarcastic comment before the sound of thundering footsteps barrels down the corridor like a stampede. You already know who it is. Only one pack of teenage boys is ALLOWED to be that loud, that obnoxious, and that full of expensive body spray.

"NATHAN! Yo!" one of them shouts, tossing a football down the hall like you're not literally standing in the way. You duck instinctively.

"Sorry, babe," Nathan grins, suddenly appearing at your side with an arm slung over your shoulder like a claim. His team hoots and hollers like they're in a music video, not a hallway. He's already sweaty from warm-ups, jersey clinging to his chest. You feel Rodrick stiffen next to you, just barely—arms crossed, jaw tight.

"Didn't know you were out here putting up decorations," Nathan says, glancing at the posters with a lopsided smirk. "That's cute."

You force a small smile, leaning away from his grip a little too subtly. "Yeah, well. Not all of us get excused from student body work just 'cause we can throw a ball."

Rodrick lets out a low chuckle behind you. You can practically feel the "get his ass" energy radiating off him.

Nathan ignores it, eyes zeroing in on you. "Practice is starting up soon. Come by the field? I want you to see my new plays—Coach says I might be MVP again."

You nod, "Yeah, sure."

Nathan plants a quick kiss on your cheek and jogs off, yelling something back to his team. And just like that, the hallway returns to its low buzz hum of chatter.

You don't turn around at first. You just stare at the floor, a little too long.

"Must be nice," Rodrick mutters, and when you glance back at him, he's not looking at you—just at the now-empty corridor like he's trying to burn a hole through it with his eyes. "Having the whole hallway clear out just 'cause your boyfriend walks by."

You blink. "You jealous of the hallway?"

He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours, guarded. "Nah. Just wish people cleared out when I showed up."

You snort, shaking your head. "They do. They just run the opposite direction."

"You're meant to selling this dance to me, not acting like a prick so I don't want to go." Rodrick scoffs, though there's no real bite behind it.

"Well, come if you want, just don't oh, I don't know..." You pause, deliberately to drag it out, "Knock over the chocolate fountain this time?"

Rodrick could absolutely sock you for that, but the little smirk you have on your face makes him pause and he just... can't get mad.

"Oh shut up." He groans a little, half annoyed and half relieved he's talking to you again after so many months.

Rodrick wants to die. And certainly doesn't want to go anyway.

"You're going," Susan said, arms crossed, voice firm in that I've had three kids and I will not be tested tone.

Rodrick flopped dramatically on the couch like his bones no longer worked. "Why? Why would I willingly walk into a school function where they play Pitbull and judge your shoes?"

"Because it's a dance, Rodrick. A school dance," she emphasized, moving to block the TV screen so he'd actually look at her. "You're a senior. This might be one of the last chances you have to make a real memory before you graduate and start... whatever it is you think you're going to do."

"I have a band, Mom," he groaned, trying to peer around her, nochalantly shrugging at whatever she says. "We were gonna go mess with someone's car again. You know. Real memory-making stuff."

Susan didn't move. "Your band can wait. Besides—" she tilted her head with a mom smirk—"I heard someone's been skipping a few too many classes lately. Maybe this is your chance to show you're still involved."

Rodrick looked personally attacked. "Who told you that?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I have eyes, Rodrick. And the school sends me emails. You'd know that if you checked anything besides your phone."

"Unreal," he muttered, sitting up halfway. "I don't even have anything to wear. What do you want me to do, show up in my Slayer tee and jeans that smell like pizza rolls?"

Susan smiled too sweetly. "I bought you a shirt. It has buttons."

He stared at her, betrayed. "A button-up?"

She patted his shoulder, already walking toward the stairs. "You'll live. Be ready by six. And Rodrick?" she paused at the top, eyes twinkling.

Rodrick groaned, his hands hitting his leg in annoyance as he peered down at her from his room.

"Maybe try brushing your hair this time."

He groaned again, flopping back down with a dramatic thud, staring at the ceiling like the world was ending. A button-up. And worst of all—he had a weird feeling he might run into you.

And that terrified him more than Pitbull ever could, enough that he had to redo his buttons like five times because he kept attaching them on a diagonal.

Okay, maybe it wasn't pure horror that was making him do that, maybe it was because he genuinely can't button up a shirt because the last time he wore one was when he got kicked out the church for showing up without pants.

He's so damn useless.

The bedroom looked like a boutique got drunk and exploded. Dresses clung to door frames, half-zipped garment bags draped over chairs, and the scent of heat-damaged hair and Bath & Body Works body mist made the air humid and nostalgic.

"Somebody find the lash glue!" someone yelled, probably Madison, because she'd been pacing around in nothing but a towel for the last twenty minutes, clutching a tube of Baby Lips like it was a mic. You should know because she was screaming at you to get out the bathroom because you took too long covering your scars with thick layers of foundation; I guess foundation doesn't stick to glitter very well.

"I'm not going if my eyes are naked. I will simply perish." Trust me, no one's eyes were naked; all very much smoky eye and lip gloss.

You adjusted the sweetheart neckline of your dress in the smudged vanity mirror, trying not to flinch at the flyaway curl that refused to obey gravity. You debated whether adding MORE glitter spray would fix it... or just stick that lock of hair into a random braid. It was pissing you off, and you really did consider gluing it down with lash-glue.

Everywhere was one of the bold jewel tones; electric blue, hot pink, royal purple, or the classic black 'nd silver sparkle combo and it made your eyes hurt like you were staring directly into strobe lights.

Someone's curling iron hissed behind you. Pop music from a Spotify playlist blared through tinny speakers—something Ke$ha-y and glittery. Every few seconds, a flash went off. The Valencia-filtered mirror selfies were piling up already, each one messier than the last.

"Okay but is this dress too much?" you asked no one and everyone, smoothing the skirt down nervously. It was a poofy, hi-low dress that made you look a bit like a peacock: cut short at the front, but trailed behind you around the back.

A chorus of "nooo, you look hot" echoed without pause, followed by "Nathan's gonna lose his mind when he sees you," and then someone cackled, "or whoever else is looking."

You smiled, but didn't answer. Instead, your thumb hovered over your phone screen, checking Rodrick's story again. Nothing. Not that you were checking. Not on purpose. Not like he'd even go. Not like he'd even care, since they banned student-performances after what happened at Heather's sweet-sixteen and she threw a fit at the Principal.

Still.

You looked back at your reflection—mascara still slightly clumpy, the hem of your dress brushing your knees just right, the chunky rhinestone bracelet twinkling under the bedroom light. You didn't feel perfect. But you looked it. And tonight, that would be enough.

Downstairs, someone's mom yelled, "LIMO'S OUTSIDE!"

Shrieks. Scrambling. Perfume mist in the air like fog.

It wasn't a limo, of course, it was some jock dude's dad's convertible, Nathan in the passenger seat already manspreading like he owned the damn road.

"Shotgun's mine, losers," he called as you stepped out in your heels, balancing a tiny purse and your phone like your life depended on it. He leaned back with his arm slung behind the seat, tossing you a wink. You smiled, but it didn't reach all the way.

"Ugh, I'm sitting bitch again," Madison groaned as everyone crammed in. Someone had to sit half on someone else's thigh; someone else's hair immediately got caught in the door. There was a shriek of "MY DRESS!" before the engine roared to life, and the car peeled off into the suburban road, glitter and chaos trailing behind.

The drive felt like the start of a music video—wind whipping through carefully styled hair, cheap jewelry rattling, everyone laughing too loud, too forced. Die Young by Ke$ha blasted from the speakers, and someone yelled, "This is our night, bitches!"

Nathan reached over to put a hand on your thigh, just a casual flex of control. You didn't pull away, but you didn't lean in either. Your eyes were on the road, on the way the sun dipped behind the school gym's roofline in the distance. That weird feeling was back—like a pit in your stomach dressed in rhinestones.

The school parking lot was already packed. String lights lit up the path to the entrance, and some teachers awkwardly hovered outside like underpaid bouncers. Balloons in spring pastels framed the doorway, and you could faintly hear the thump of bass inside, like a heartbeat behind the walls.

Nathan swung the car into a crooked spot, barely braking before hopping out and offering you a hand. "Ready for prom 0.5?" he said with a smirk.

"It's not prom, babe" you muttered with a half-smile, fixing the hem of your dress as you stepped out.

He didn't hear. Or pretended not to and continued to clutch your hand as you walked inside.

The gym had been utterly transformed. Streamers crisscrossed the ceiling, fairy lights hung like stars, and the DJ booth was already pumping out some remix of a song that was barely a year old. People were crowding the dance floor, others were perched around the edges like it was some glittery battlefield.

You blinked, heels clicking against the gym floor as you walked in, Nathan's hand ghosting the small of your back.

And across the room—somewhere near the bleachers, still as ever—Rodrick Heffley stood like a misplaced shadow. Mismatched black tie. Slightly wrinkled dress shirt. Hair a little messy, but not in the usual 'I just woke up in a trash can' way.

He was here.

And he was staring right at you.

But somewhere between Call Me Maybe and an aggressively off-key group scream of Timber, you lost track of where Nathan was.

The dance floor was a minefield of sweaty bodies and sticky soda spills, and you were caught right in the middle—arms looped around shoulders that weren't yours, your own hand gripped by some girl you barely even knew from chem, spinning you like you were best friends.

"Dance with us, oh my god, stop being a priss!" someone squealed, pulling you closer. A guy in a shiny vest bumped into you hard, laughing like he didn't notice. Even suits, on guys were obnoxiously shiny with vests and open-collar shirts like some Shakespearan twink.

You stumbled a bit, catching yourself, heels wobbling on the gym floor.

"Jesus," you muttered, trying to laugh it off, but your smile was pinched. The music vibrated through your ribs.

And in the corner of your eye—through the haze of disco lights and poorly ventilated fog machine clouds—you caught sight of him.

Rodrick.

He was raiding the snack table with the confidence of someone who clearly had not been invited, tongue out slightly as he tried to stack like, six cookies on a single flimsy napkin. Dressed like someone whose mom had ironed his shirt five minutes before he left and gave up halfway through. Tie crooked. Hair not quite right.

He looked...exactly how you remembered him. Out of place. In his own world. And weirdly invincible for it. You're a little jealous.

You stared a little too long. Like you were trying to memorize him again. Then someone yelled "Move!" and a pair of shoulders shoved past you. You blinked and looked away.

Time blurred after that—chattering girls, photos with forced smiles, soda spills that smelled faintly of fake fruit, Mr. Lacey threatening to shut everything down if someone didn't stop making obnoxious sex noises by the speaker.

You needed air.

The gym doors creaked open as you stepped out, the cold night air biting pleasantly at your cheeks. The lot was mostly empty now, just the sound of music echoing faintly behind you, until—

You froze.

The convertible. That convertible.

Heather Hills sat perched in the driver's seat, her legs up, golden hair tousled like she'd just come from a magazine shoot. Lip gloss smeared in a way that wasn't accidental. And Nathan—your boyfriend—was leaned in close, hand on the headrest behind her, laughing. That quiet, smug kind of laugh.

You watched as she touched his chest, planting another fat, wet one on his lips.

And he didn't move away.

Something inside you sank slow and sharp, like someone had cut the strings holding you up.

You just stood there like an idiot, glitter catching on your lashes like it was trying to decorate the silence. You can't even go down there and confront him because you're sure if you even tried to walk down the steps in your current condition you'd tumble over and break your back.

Behind you, the gym doors creaked open again, and a familiar lazy voice groaned, "Dude, they ran outta punch, what the hell—"

Rodrick.

He spotted you immediately. Stopped mid-step, still holding his cup and a tragically bent cookie. Brows furrowing, head tilting.

"...Hey," he said, quieter this time.

Upon closer look, you realised looked unusally thick and creased with a faint outline of another shirt underneath. This dork.

And even though the air was freezing, and your heart had just cracked clean down the center, you gave him the tiniest, smallest, fakest smile in the world.

Rodrick didn't even clock your expression. He felt like something had just neuron-activated in his brain, seeing you in that obnoxiously bold dress, sweetheart neckline around your breasts and the glitter catching in your collarbones and along your shoulders like you were dipped in stars or wearing a real life Instagram filter—he swore he forgot how to breathe.

Jesus Christ.

Why did you have to look like THAT.

He felt like some part of his teenage loser brain just got sucker-punched awake, but no he couldn't discern the expression on your face.

Or maybe he did and was just, y'know...being Rodrick.

"Yo, you know they've got mini donuts in there?" he said, voice way too loud for the dead quiet outside. He held one up proudly, like the tiny thing would hide his reddening face. "I thought it was a meatball at first so I like, bit it and I was like, 'Why's this meatball sweet?'—"

"Rodrick," you hissed, panic snapping through your throat.

He paused mid-ramble, donut halfway to his mouth.

"What?"

"Shut up."

Your hand latched onto his wrist and you yanked him back toward the gym before he could even blink. He staggered a bit, mouth full, confused as hell but letting you drag him anyway.

"What the—, I just got out here! You dragging me for round two on the dance floor? Because I'm telling you now, I don't grind. That's like, against my religion or whatever."

You spun him around by the back door, ducking beneath the glowing EXIT sign, breathing hard.

Rodrick blinked down at you, finally catching the look on your face. Your shoulders were tense, hands still clenched, chest rising like something was caught there and wouldn't go down.

"...Okay," he said slowly, "either someone pissed in your punch or you just watched Nathan pull something seriously dumb."

You didn't say anything.

But you didn't have to.

Because now Rodrick's eyes flicked past you, through the cracked door where Heather's laugh floated on the breeze like a knife. And something in his face settled into that rare, quiet stillness that only came out when things weren't a joke anymore.

"...Shit," he muttered. "That's what you meant by shut up."

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurt. "No, Rodrick. I just really didn't want anyone to interrupt your story about donut meatballs."

He winced. "Okay. Fair."

Silence. Not even the fun kind.

Just the kind where the music from inside bled through the gym doors, thumping like a heartbeat neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

You had your hands hovering just above your face—not touching, not really—just... floating there. Like you wanted to press in, hide behind them, but you remembered the effort it took to get your eyeliner symmetrical and said no thanks to the meltdown. Your fingers twitched near your temples. A sigh tried to escape you and everything was annoying you even if it was unfair you said:

"...are you wearing a..." You squint, leaning in so close he swears he's going to get dusted in glitter too, examining the scratchy letters that formed a sort of V-shape, "Rammestein shirt?"

"Look, this button-up isn't even mine, its my dad's."

You pull back, laughing softly and he thinks its music (not his screaming-metal type but more like a catchy pop song) to his ears, especially after seeing you so disraught only a moment ago.

"That's so fucking stupid."

Rodrick stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, holding back a grin that you knew the band, but was still calling him stupid.

"I dunno a single word in any of their songs. German sounds badass though."

You roll your eyes, "Did you fail German back in middle school? Or did you try taking Spanish instead?"

"Neither. I can't read shit in English, why would I know Spanish?" Rodrick deadpans, clutching his tiny donut and cup of punch.

You smile, your lips suddenly feeling stupidly sticky with lipgloss and everything you were wearing was suddenly a sensory issue.

He scratched the back of his neck like his skin suddenly didn't fit right either. He watched your glitter catch the light and decided this was the most painful crush he's ever had.

Yeah, he's gonna admit it, he has a crush on someone else's girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, in the near future probably, but it still felt weird because he's self-aware his ego isn't that inflated to pull someone else's girlfriend.

God. Yeah. He had a crush.

Not just a "oh, she's hot" kind of crush either. Not the kind he used to have on some older chick from a magazine, or even that stupid, overhyped thing with Heather Hills because she had blonde hair and nice legs. No, this one was personal. Sharp-edged and humiliating. It made his stomach knot and his face burn and his tongue trip over itself anytime you looked directly at him for more than three seconds, even if most of the time you looked at him like a piece of shit.

And it sucked.

Because you had a boyfriend. Quarterback dude with abs and a car and one of those faces that parents love, even when he's a dick. And Rodrick wasn't gonna pretend he was some noble guy about it either—he wanted to hate the guy just for existing, but also...didn't feel like he was even in the same league. Not with the band tees, the sarcasm, the chronic inability to ask for anything without sounding like a joke.

Still.

He watched the glitter on your shoulders flicker like starlight. Heard the way your laugh cracked like glass earlier when you were trying not to cry. And it hit him. Hard.

Yeah, no way out of this one. Rodrick Heffley had a full-blown, pathetic, slow-burning, feels-like-getting-punched-in-the-gut crush on you. And losers with crushes do stupid things.

"Wanna dance?" he blurted out, because clearly his mouth didn't have the same filter as his brain tonight.

You stared. Hard.

Eyes over your manicured fingertips dolled out with heavy press-ons, blinking slow.

His confidence wavered fast, like a kid realizing the slide is way taller than it looked from the ground. "I mean—not like, grind or anything. I got kicked out of church but I still feel like Jesus or something is watching me," he added quickly, joking but also kind of wishing the floor would eat him.

You just kept staring.

Then—

"...You're such an idiot."

And you dropped your hands and let out a breath that might've been a laugh. Maybe. Almost.

But you didn't walk away.

Didn't scoff or shoot him down or roll your eyes like he half-expected. Instead, you just kinda... melted. Like all the fight had slowly drained out of you and left behind something soft, something sad and open. Your hands hovered awkwardly near his arms before settling at his shoulders. Close. Closer than he thought you'd ever let him be.

Rodrick blinked. Panic set in—but only for a second—because holy shit you said yes. You were dancing with him.

Or, well, trying to.

Because within five seconds, he'd managed to step on your toe and nearly elbow someone behind him in the ribs. His hands were hovering somewhere between your ribs and waist like he was holding a bomb. His knees bent weird. His head was doing something strange.

You stared up at him like you were watching a toddler try to walk.

"The fuck are you doing?" you blurted, half-laughing, half-offended. "That's not how you—what even is that?"

"I dunno!" he whisper-yelled, defensive already. "I panicked! I've never slow danced with someone before, okay? I thought it was like...swaying or some shit!"

You couldn't even be mad. You just snorted and leaned your head forward, bumping into his chest lightly. "You're such a dumbass, take that shirt off you look far too...hot."

You had to pause at the double meaning in that; yeah, maybe you did have a thing for Rodrick but you felt like you had nothing to lose now.

"What, right here—"

"Like, warm! You're literally overheating," You tug him to the side, waddling backwards in your sparkly shoes and start to unbutton his far-too-large dress shirt behind the desserts table.

Rodrick let you drag him like some half-reluctant, half-thrilled mannequin, his boots scuffing awkwardly across the gym floor as you pulled him behind the dessert table, all glittery and glowing and far too determined.

"I mean, who wears flannel over a band tee to a dance?" you muttered, fingers already popping open the buttons like you were defusing a bomb. "It's like ninety degrees in here."

"I didn't know there was a dress code," Rodrick grumbled, standing there all stiff with his arms half-raised, heart thudding hard enough to make him dizzy. "Also, rude. This shirt's vintage."

You gave him a flat look as you yanked the flannel fully open. "It's a worn-out Rammstein tee with a mustard stain on the hem."

Rodrick looked down. "Battle damage."

You didn't dignify that with a response. You just slid the flannel off his arms and tossed it somewhere behind the punch bowl, huffing. But you didn't step away. Not yet. You stayed close, fingers lingering a second too long on the edge of the tee like you were thinking about something you shouldn't think about.

And Rodrick? Rodrick was fighting for his goddamn life.

You looked like that—like this—and your lip gloss was catching the light and your dress was hugging your waist in a way that made his brain static. And for once, you were touching him, tugging at him, focused entirely on him.

So yeah. He took the moment to admire you. A little too long. A little too obvious. Eyes trailing over your neck, the curve of your collarbones, the shimmer along your jaw.

"You done gawking?" you said, quirking a brow.

Rodrick cleared his throat. Loudly. "Yeah. No. Maybe. Shut up."

"Too many maybes, I'm going to flip out." You groan, fiddling with his buttons, "I mean, maybe I'm some slut who dances with the first guy she sees after her boyfriend cheats on her since well, you're a fucking loser and I'm a hypocrite huh?"

The words just started tumbling out your mouth, tightly-laced with frustration, before you could stop yourself.

Rodrick's mouth dropped open. Like his brain had blue-screened. Just static in his skull, completely unprepared for the self-destruction you just spit out. He blinked hard, hands twitching at his sides like they wanted to hold you but didn't know how, didn't know if they were allowed to.

"No—wait—you're not—I mean, you're not like that, you're..." He made a strangled noise. "You're cool, like really... like you're just—fuck—you're wonderful, okay?!"

It came out like he was having an allergic reaction to sincerity. Like the word "wonderful" had to be ripped from the back of his throat.

You just stared at him.

"...you just call me wonderful?" Your voice cracked half in disbelief, half in... something else. Of all things, he picked something corny like that? Talking like an almond mom?

Rodrick immediately turned red, like he'd been caught naked mid-thought. "I—I didn't mean it like a grandma way, I just—like, you're—shit, you're so much sometimes, I mean it in a good way, I swear—"

You blinked at him, wide-eyed. And for a second, just a second, the ache in your chest loosened. Just from how sincerely bad he was at saying something nice. And how hard he was trying anyway.

You laughed.

Not a cute, closed-mouth laugh either. An actual, full-on, open-mouthed cackle that made your lipgloss smear just slightly across your top lip, catching the light in a way that made Rodrick's already-fried brain just fully implode. Your shoulders shook, eyes crinkling, and he could feel the way your fingers tugged at the last button on his shirt—pop—and it all felt way too intimate for something happening behind the dessert table at a high school dance.

And then it happened.

In his dazed, flustered haze, he shifted his foot—just slightly—bumping into yours as you leaned closer. You both tilted, a shared gravitational pull, and—

CLUNK.

The table jerked. Something metallic creaked. The both of you turned just in time to watch the chocolate fountain wobble like it was trying to decide its own fate. You didn't breathe. Neither did he.

Then, in slow-motion doom:

CRASH.

Chocolate. Everywhere. Cascading like a sticky waterfall of regret.

You both froze. Silent. Horrified.

"...Shit," Rodrick whispered, eyes wide, hair sticking up from stress like static. "Was that... expensive?"

What is this stupid sense of deja vu?

The room exploded.

A collective gasp. A shriek. Someone yelled "MY SHOES!" from across the gym like it was a war crime. The scent of cocoa thickened in the air, hot and dramatic and very visible. A freshman slipped trying to escape the blast zone. One of the chaperones shouted something about liability. Phones were already out—flashes popping like gunfire.

Rodrick's eyes were wild.

"Okay—nope—nope," he mumbled, grabbing your wrist before you could even form words, yanking you behind him with all the coordination of a guy who'd only ever sprinted to avoid doing chores. "We're leaving. I'm not getting banned again."

"Wait—again?!"

But he didn't answer. He ducked under streamers, sidestepped a trail of melted chocolate like a landmine map, and beelined for the back door like a man with zero dignity and zero intention of getting caught. You stumbled after him in your sparkly shoes, glitter flashing with every chaotic step.

The gym doors slammed behind you. The cool night air bit your skin. You both half-tripped, half-tumbled down the concrete steps like some low-budget romcom crash cut.

You swear you meet Nathan's eyes as he perks up alarmed at the commotion coming from inside—of course, with Heather's dress half undone beside him in the front seat.

You knew you could never do that with him; not with your scars because you're so sure someone like Nathan would pull away. Maybe that's why he went for a valley girl like Heather who's only got "first-world problems". Not the kind of problems where you think you should kill yourself every other day.

Not that it mattered right now, because they passed across in a big, glittery, half-naked blur.

The parking lot was dark and half-empty, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as but its not like you stopped there and he dragged you across the ashphalt.

"RODRICK!"

You barely manage to keep ahold of your tiny purse as he practically shoved you in the back. You hit your head on a stray cymbal on the floor.

Rodrick finally crawled into the cab of his van, settling into the driver's seat with relief, unaware you're sprawled like a ragdoll. "Hide in there," he panted, "...they won't know."

That was the least of your worries right now. Your heart was thudding in your ears, god you want to punch him. He sensed a disturbance in the force and he slowly turned around, peeking into the back and staring right at your irriated, glittery, smudged face.

He smiled a bit nervous, "Uh.."

"You have made me snap my heel."

He looked concerned, brows furrowing, "What like a broken bone?!"

"No," You say, shuddering like you're trying to compose yourself, "My fucking SHOE."

He winces with an apologetic expression that makes your anger melt.

"Just step on it." You slowly get up, groaning at the ache in your back.

"What? Where you going? Because last time I pulled up to your house, you got your ass beat."

You sigh, crawling FROM the back into the passenger seat with immense difficulty, legs first, "Ugh, well, where are you going? My parents aren't expecting me back until like 11. Let me stay out since it was Nathan."

Rodrick's mouth goes dry as you push past him and setting down into the passenger seat, your massive poofy skirt taking up half the space in the front cab. You looked like one of those CUPPATINIS dolls with skirts so big and round they would turn into a teacup when you flipped them inside out.

"Uh, home..."

You stare at eachother.

Rodrick clears his throat, his hands gripping and shaking on the wheel, "Is it too early to invite you over?"

You note the crack in his voice and let your arms flop down into the sea of organza around you. Your voice comes out small, whispered almost, "...no, that would be great."

Rodrick had to bite his lip to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. Not that you didn't see it.

The van rumbled to life, coughing like it had chain-smoked a pack before prom. You settled into the seat with a sigh, your sparkly skirt ballooning around your legs like some kind of cursed prom-themed marshmallow. Rodrick had to keep peeking over the tulle just to see the gearshift.

The radio buzzed to life without either of you touching it—blaring loud, thrashing rock from some crusty band he probably thought was underrated genius. You braced for the usual impulse to eye-roll or snap at him to turn it down, but... you just laughed instead.

Rodrick side-eyed you with suspicion. "You didn't just—laugh?"

You shrugged, chin resting on the edge of your seatbelt. "You've got a whole chocolate crime scene on your shirt, I'm not exactly in a position to complain."

So the rest of the drive passed like that—quiet, charged, and awkward, with guitar riffs filling the space neither of you had the guts to fill. You'd occasionally catch him sneaking glances, drumming fingers on the wheel like a nervous habit. Your leg brushed his once on a turn and neither of you moved it.

By the time the van slowed in front of the Heffley house, you were starting to feel the buzz of adrenaline wear off. The porchlight was on, buzzing gently. Rodrick put the van in park and turned to say something just as the front door slammed open.

"GREG, I SWEAR TO GOD—"

"RODRICK?!"

The screaming overlapped. A blur of plaid pajama pants and bare feet skidded to the threshold, Greg looking like he'd aged a decade. Manny barreled into view right after, shrieking like a banshee with a Nerf gun in hand and chocolate smeared across his face.

You blinked. "Is he—does he have a sugar problem—"

"Don't engage," Rodrick muttered grimly, already opening the door. "He feeds off attention."

Greg stood frozen in the doorway like he'd just been hit by a brick. His eyes ping-ponged between Rodrick—disheveled, flushed, still chocolate-stained—and you, standing behind him in a glitter-covered prom dress that had clearly been through war. Like, literal war.

"...What," Greg said slowly, "is that?"

Rodrick groaned. "She's a girl, Greg. Ever seen one before?"

"No, why is she here? You look like you mugged a bakery and she looks like she was dragged backwards through a limo."

"I was not—" you started, trying to smooth down the giant puff of your skirt, which had now collected an impressive bouquet of twigs and cupcake frosting. Greg just stared, slack-jawed.

Manny screeched again and shot a Nerf dart right into your cleavage. You flinched and tried to fish it out and Rodrick had half the mind to do it himself but he'd look like a perv. Rodrick grabbed it from your hands instead and threw it back at him with surgical rage.

Greg finally came to. "Wait—are you bringing girls home now? Like to the house? What the hell is happening, did someone swap your brain out or something?!"

Rodrick spun on him, wild-eyed, palms out. "Greg, shut up! Don't say anything to Dad—please."

That was all it took. Greg's brows shot up so far they nearly vanished into his hairline.

"Ohhhhhh," he said slowly, eyes widening with glee and horror at the same time. "You brought a girl home, and you don't want Dad to know. Oh, he's gonna kill you."

Rodrick looked like he was about to throw up.

"Greg, please."

"...What's in it for me?"

"Greg—I'll give you twenty bucks and I'll do your chores for two weeks just please shut up—"

You stepped around him and blinked at Greg, arms crossed over your sparkly, sticky chest.

"Listen, I just watched my boyfriend cheat on me and the heel on my shoe has snapped, I'm not in the mood."

Greg's mouth clamped shut, mumbling something to Rodrick,

"I thought you were one of those dudes like, up for hire like a male prosti—"

Rodrick smacks him in the back of the head. And you hope you didn't hear that correctly.

Rodrick exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Okay. Okay. Cool. Let's go before anyone else sees us."

You followed him in, glitter trailing behind like fairy dust, and Greg just stood there, staring after you like Rodrick had just brought a literal alien home.

You limped across the hall, one sparkly heel in hand like a war trophy and the other still dangling off your toes, threatening to break apart with every uneven shuffle. Your other foot was bare and probably sticky from the frosting you'd stepped in during the Great Chocolate Fountain Escape, but you were too fried to care. You just followed Rodrick through the narrow hallway past the kitchen and down into the garage.

It looked exactly like something out of a teenage garage band fever dream.

Old, cracking band posters lined the walls—some peeling at the corners, some held up with duct tape and what looked suspiciously like chewed gum. A rusting drum kit sat in one corner, half-covered with a flannel shirt that was either drying or being used as a dust cloth (who knew). Empty soda cans and crumpled fast food bags littered the floor around the amp cords, which tangled like snakes on the concrete. A crooked whiteboard on one wall had half-faded notes like practice tues?? and call Bill abt gig??? scrawled in Rodrick's barely-legible all-caps.

A makeshift couch made from what was probably three different pieces of furniture sat crooked beneath a flickering basement light, cushions long worn into a cratered shape by hours of teenage boy lounging.

You blinked at it all for a second before flopping down onto the couch with a soft "ugh," your skirt puffing out like a broken parachute around you. Your glitter left an instant trail on the old corduroy cushions.

Rodrick stood awkwardly in front of you, scratching the back of his neck and shoving some guitar picks off the seat next to you with his foot. "Uh...yeah. This is the garage."

You gave him a tired look. "No shit, Sherlock."

He cracked a weak smile. "Sorry. I just—uh—don't usually have girls in here. And they don't wear...you know." He vaguely motioned to your massive glittery dress.

You smirked, holding up the snapped heel. "You're welcome for the fashion upgrade."

Rodrick snorted and sat down beside you—close, but not too close—shoulders brushing for just a second before he shifted a little like he didn't trust himself not to combust. His knees jutted out wide, his band tee slightly wrinkled, hair still messy from running and a little glossy with sweat.

"Want water?" he asked after a beat. "Or like...a popsicle? That's all we got."

You smile. That sounded really good.

You both ended up sitting there—half-dazed, half-recovering from the sugar crash—sucking on those cheap neon freezer pops from the back of the fridge like kindergarteners at recess.

Rodrick had a red one. You had blue.

There was nothing but the low hum of the mini fridge, the distant muffled sound of Greg yelling at Manny to stop biting things, and the occasional squeak of the garage door shifting in the wind. Your knees were curled sideways on the couch now, dress cascading down onto the floor, heels abandoned by the amp like a glitter crime scene.

"These always make my throat weird," you muttered, voice raspy as you sucked on the end of the plastic tube.

Rodrick looked over at you, lips stained crimson and already half-dissolved popsicle in hand. "Yeah. It's like you're eating frostbite."

You laughed, your voice a little choked. "Why do they taste like window cleaner?"

"'Cause they are, probably." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and immediately winced when he saw the bright red smear he left behind. "Shit, I look like I just kissed a clown."

You stuck your tongue out at him, stained bright blue and freezing cold, like a cartoon character. "You look like one."

"Oh, real mature," he grinned, half leaning into your space now. "Say that again, smurf mouth."

"Smurf mouth?" You let out this tired, high-pitched giggle, cheeks glowing even in the dim garage light. "You're one to talk, blood mouth."

He blinked slowly, letting the silence hang for a second before cracking a smile so wide it made his nose scrunch. "This is the dumbest afterparty ever."

You nodded, sucking the last bit of blue juice from the corner of the tube. "Afterparty while the actual party is still going. Shit's sad but I kinda don't wanna leave though so it must be something."

Rodrick shrugged and stared at the half-melted popsicle in his hand, the red streak dripping down his fingers and soaking into his palm.

You were both just sprawled out now—melting, basically—like a couple of discarded action figures tossed onto a couch. The couch springs poked through a tear in the side, and Rodrick's bare socked foot was resting dangerously close to a pair of drumsticks crusted in god-knows-what.

The popsicles were finished. Your lips were tingling and throat felt weirdly numb, but your body was relaxed in a way it hadn't been in weeks.

You glanced sideways. "Hey...that your electric?"

Rodrick followed your gaze to the chipped black guitar leaning against a busted amp, duct tape hanging off one corner like it was trying to hold the instrument's soul together. "No it's Drew's spare." He tilted his head, squinting at it. "Still technically works."

You hummed, eyes dragging over the fretboard. "That's like the one I played that night, huh?"

He blinked. Then gave a sharp exhale through his nose. "You mean the night you emotionally obliterated me with, like, three chords and a death glare?"

A lopsided smirk formed on your gloss-smudged lips. "I was going through it."

Rodrick picked at a loose thread in his jeans, mock casual. "You wanna play again? I mean—I can, like, back you up this time. Or, y'know...hover awkwardly while pretending I know how chords work."

There was a beat. Then a short laugh from you, almost disbelieving.

"I don't even remember how."

"Good," Rodrick said, eyes flicking to yours with this soft, crooked grin. "You'll fit right in."

Rodrick plugged in the guitar with a dramatic flourish like he was in some kind of budget movie trailer, then immediately fumbled with the amp knob because it made a loud crackkk sound and nearly blew both your eardrums out.

You laughed so hard you doubled over, your poofy dress spilling over your knees like a deflated balloon. One of your press-ons popped off earlier while opening the popsicle wrapper, and you'd gotten fed up trying to save the rest. So now you were unceremoniously biting them off with your teeth, balancing the last one between your molars like some kind of petty act of rebellion.

Barefoot and exhausted, your skirt gathered around your lap like a quilt, you watched Rodrick make a face at the buzzing static coming from the amp.

"Okay," he muttered, pressing buttons he clearly didn't understand. "That's, uh...a noise. That's fine."

You just grinned at him. "You're such a pro."

Rodrick gave you a side-glance, but it was laced with this boyish pride he couldn't quite mask, and he perched the strap over his shoulder. "Alright. What do you wanna hear, Your Majesty?"

"I dunno. What do you think?" you said, tossing your chewed-off nail to the floor and shaking out your curls like a messy queen on a throne made of old amps and pizza boxes.

The minutes blurred as you picked up the guitar and he slumped behind his drumkit. Between messy rhythm, out-of-tune strings, and you humming nonsense lyrics to nothing in particular, it was the most alive either of you had felt in weeks.

Eventually, the music tapered off. Not because you ran out of energy—though, to be fair, your eyelids were getting heavy—but because the moment didn't need anything else.

Rodrick flopped back dramatically onto a pile of bedsheets, the guitar sliding from his chest with a soft thunk. "I'm dead. You killed me. Congrats."

You peeled your dress off the floor where it had pooled and curled your legs to the side. "You've been dead. You're like... undead. A walking cringe."

He groaned into his arm. "Shut up."

But when he peeked at you through his messy fringe, something soft flickered in his face—like he was still reeling from the fact that you were here, in his garage, glitter and all, sitting right beside him on the floor in silence.

Not that the silence was awkward.

It settled over you both like a warm blanket, heavy but comforting, punctuated only by the soft hum of the amp still idling in the background and the occasional creak of the garage walls cooling with the night. Outside, you could hear the faint bark of a neighbor's dog and the distant whoosh of a car driving past.

You sat cross-legged now, your dress poofed around you like a wilted flower, toes peeking out. Your lip gloss was half-smudged, your makeup fading in that kind of raw, human way that made you look even more real. More you.

Rodrick turned his head toward you from where he laid, the back of his wrist under his skull, and just stared for a second too long.

You noticed. Of course you noticed.

"What," you said, barely more than a whisper, lips quirking up like you were about to tease him. But you didn't. You just looked at him. Really looked.

And he swallowed.

"I dunno," he muttered, voice rough and caught in his throat. "You're just...here. In my garage. Like it's normal or something. And it's not."

You blinked. "Why's it not?"

He sat up a bit, propping himself on his elbow. "Because. You're...like..." He gestured at you vaguely, his hand flopping uselessly. "That. And I'm me."

You didn't say anything for a second. He was still staring, and you didn't break eye contact. It was like neither of you could. There was a buzz in the air, but not like the amp—this one was electric. Right beneath your skin.

Then softly, you said, "You're not just you. You're..."

You trailed off. Because you didn't know what you were going to say. Or maybe you did, but it was stuck behind your teeth.

He was leaning in before either of you realized it. Just a little. Just enough to feel the shift.

His hair was falling in his eyes again. His breath tasted like cherry popsicle and cheap soda, and yours was barely held together behind glossed lips, parted slightly because you were frozen. That little breathless moment, like someone pressing pause right before something stupidly irreversible.

You leaned back on your palms ignoring it the best you could, dress folding around you like a crumpled cupcake wrapper, your chest rising slow under the sweetheart neckline. Your lips were glossy again, faintly smudged with the remnants of red dye, and your eyes—though tired—were fixed on Rodrick with this glimmer of something he didn't think he was allowed to name.

He blinked slowly. "...Are we doing this, y'know like...? Because I wanna know if I should admit I haven't done this before or if that would just embarrass myself."

Your laugh was so small it could've cracked. "I—I don't know."

He was really focused on your face, but he had no idea where to look.

Nothing everything down to the way your lashes casting little shadows across your cheeks. He didn't even think—you were this close. Your hand twitched toward his, fingers brushing his wrist like a test, feeling the bumps of healing scars under your hand.

"Don't," you said suddenly, sitting a little straighter. "Don't look at me like that. I'm gonna get confused."

His brows creased. "Confused?"

"Yeah. Like..." You trailed off, eyes darting between his. "Like maybe I'm supposed to feel something. Like maybe you do."

Rodrick's throat bobbed. "And what the hell do I do if I do?"

Your noses were nearly brushing now, your breath hot with sugar and artificial cherry. His eyes dropped to your lips for a second, then to your eyes, to your chest to anywhere because yeah he didn't know what he was doing despite the big game he talks. If anything, your head tilted just a little.

And right when his mouth nearly brushed yours—

"RODRICK! YOU LEFT THE MILK OUT!"

Greg.

Rodrick flinched so hard he nearly fell backwards, knocking over a pile of empty soda cans.

You just sat there, blinking in disbelief.

"...Was that a jump scare?" you mumbled.

Rodrick groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Kill me. Just actually kill me."

You laughed softly, breathless, flopping back onto the rug. The kiss didn't happen—but god, it almost did. And now the air buzzed with it. Like electricity crawling up your spines. But also with relief because you're not sure what you would have done if it did happen.

"I DID NOT LEAVE THE DAMN MILK OUT."

Greg cleared his throat really loudly and you paused.

"I SAID YOU LEFT THE MILK OUT."

Rodrick's eyes widened. His mouth parted, breath catching, and he turned sharply toward you like his body made the decision before his brain caught up.

"Shit." He was up in a second, grabbing your hand—not harshly, not rough, just fast. "You gotta go. You have to go."

"Rodrick—"

"No, I'm serious," he hissed, low and urgent, already guiding you toward the back of the garage, stepping over guitar cables and a torn drum pad. "My dad's back. You can't be here. He'll—he'll lose it."

You didn't need him to say it. You already saw it in the way his voice shook, in the little tremble in his fingers as he fumbled with the old, creaky side door near the tool shelf, where the scent of oil and old wood hung in the air.

You hesitated. "I can't just leave you here."

"You have to."

There was this split second—just one—where you wanted to fight it. To grab him and scream 'come with me then,' to drag him into your glitter-hairspray world with your own blood and scars, and tell him you'd protect him too.

But you weren't at that point yet. Neither of you were.

So you slipped your broken heel into one hand, and the other he still held like it was a lifeline, and you let him lead you out the side door into the cool night air.

He didn't kiss you goodbye.

He just looked at you—really looked at you, again—and whispered. "Uhhh, I'll find you, promise."

He paused just as he ushered you out, with a sarcastic half grin, "Maybe we can continue where we left off, yeah?"

And then the door shut. Just as the familiar bass-heavy bellow of what you assumed was Frank Heffley's voice echoed from somewhere in the house.

You didn't protest to stay. Because you were barefoot outside on their driveway and you were wondering yourself how you were going to get home in the dark in a dress like this. And explain to your own parents what had happened.

click for part 1 click for part 2 click for part 3 click for part 4 click for part 5 click for part 6 click for part 7 click for part 8 click for part 9 click for part 10 click for part 11 click for part 12

♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you! Please do leave requests!

#lychee<3 #lychee's sillies #x reader #rodrick heffley #rodrick x reader #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #dowak #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick rules #2000s emo

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moondustwritesblog · 1 year ago

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shaw pack headcanons

darlin would hug sam’s pillow whenever he would go to clan meetings. he would come home to them sleeping, hugging it and just looks at them looking so peaceful until they would turn in their sleep facing away

david likes donuts, the expensive kind. when angel came home from a business trip and have a box full of them, they thought it would not be even touched. that mf was half empty the next morning

angel: i thought you were going to work last night?

david: i was

angel: by eating my donuts?!

david: i got hungry

angel: david!

sam likes looking at darlin when they’re doing domestic things and they would always catch him. he would make excuses. they won’t mind it. and it has actually become a habit (or maybe because it’s a nice contrast to whatever other things that sam would need to look after them for and them not even noticing while doing it but that’s just me)

darlin, folding the bedsheets: you’re staring, cowboy

sam: can’t help it, you’re wearin’ my flannel

darlin: it’s our flannel now

angel likes wearing sweaters, baabe likes wearing cardigans, sweetheart (milo and david) likes wearing leather jackets and darlin (and sam) likes wearing flannels

asher likes wearing hoodies but not the one with the shaw security logo on it. he feels like his still at work

angel likes how to train your dragon and asher likes the loud house

under the cut due to weapon mention

if the listeners would wield a weapon, angel would be on explosives, baabe on bow and arrow, stealth on guns and darlin on knives (and they would be like that character who would take a while to actually unload all of it in a comical way no matter how big or small it is)

david: tank, knives on the table. now.

tank: ugh, fine *takes one out*

david, raising a brow: is that all?

tank: give me a minute *takes out all of them, some not even supposed to fit in their clothes or pockets* there

david: you finished?

tank: oh, almost forgot *puts either the biggest or the smallest knife in existence on top of the others, overflowing the table* now, i’m done

the pack: what the fuck-

#redacted david #redacted angel #redacted asher #redacted babe #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted sam #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redacted shaw pack #redacted audio #redactedverse

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respectthepetty · 6 months ago

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Perfect 10 Liners' Wardrobe Department Deserves a Raise!

Every episode of Perfect 10 Liners, I write that the people behind the scenes deserve raises, but episode fourteen really solidified why because this show has always had wild shirts like Kong's "I'm an excellent driver"

But look at what shirt Gun is wearing as he tries to convince his friends nothing is wrong even though he is breaking down. It's a smiley face, and I'm pretty sure the text under said "Good."

And of course Faifa's "Gentleness Shows Strength" shirt was obvious since it is exactly who he is as a character as he is always gentle with Gun and his strength when dealing with Yotha.

But while Newton was talking to Yotha about Yotha being the bravest of the brothers to attempt love and not being selfish with Gun, Yotha's shirt said "Treat Yourself Well" over his heart.

And at the same time, Gun was making future plans with his mom to meet Yotha as his shirt warned him to "Focus on Staying in the Moment"

In past episodes, the shirts have also told us what about the boys, like when Gun fell asleep at the table in his "RELAX" shirt but woke up to Yotha sitting with him which prompted Yotha to share his feelings with Gun in his "HUMAN" shirt.

And like Yotha's shirt telling him to "See the Future" as he looked at Gun.

Or Gun's shirt stating that he is "Happy Every Day"

But this episode's shirts continued to narrate Gun's declining mood as he tried to put on a fake smile, like this one said "you're going to be okay" after Yotha refused to eat with Gun.

And finally, when Gun ran to the bathroom to cry when Yotha said he wasn't sure if he loved him, Gun's shirt said "MOOOOD"

So dearest wardrobe department, I see you out here giving the characters the shirts that go along with their stories and tell us there emotions and thoughts.

Like Arm's "Always Forward, No Turning Back" shirt when Arc asked him if they could have sex, and he responded by kissing him back.

I SEE YOU and I hope you spent your paycheck on the nicest things, that your cardigans never snag, that your glasses never smug, and I pray that you know you are doing your job so damn well.

Don't settle for a pizza party. You deserve a raise.

#perfect 10 liners #THEY DESERVE A RAISE #whoever these people are have been holding it down for all these episodes #no misses #the cast is all of GMMTV and yet there has been consistent color coding #and the clothing is supporting the story!#whoever is in charge is running the tightest schedule and is probably screaming into a walkie talkie all day #bless you all #the clothing is speaking to me #and it's saying Gun is falling apart!#I SEE YOU CREW!

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kakashixhatakesxwhore · 1 year ago

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The Cardigan

Pairing: Hokage!Kakashi x f!Reader

Summary: You put a chunk of time into your husband's birthday present this year, but... your surprise gets revealed early.

W/c: 1.4k

Warnings: Swearing, sexual element toward the end, reader's lowkey a housewife

A/n: My first piece in a little bit, so lmk how y'all feel about it - also, this is the lead-up to the actual Kakashi-birthday post I wanna do. This is the cardigan I was using as a base.

Masterlist💿

Things seemed so goddamn bright every time you looked away from the hook and yarn in your hands, and your fingers burned from the friction, while they cramped harshly.

The time in your day that you would usually reserve for reading, eating, showering, or doing itsy-bitsy chores, was now spend on the crocheted cardigan. Of course, you still kept-up with larger chores, otherwise; and you just ate, read and showered with your husband, when he finally came home after his long work days. It wasn't that he minded, but you knew he was getting suspicious around what you spent the day doing.

It was all for a good cause; your husband's birthday.

For three weeks, you had worked on this present - working like there was a gun to your head, in the day; stashing it like a precious diamond, in the night - and it was finally becoming perfect.

There was no room for mistakes in this cardigan - you were not going to let your husband accept something poorly made. Everything had to be perfect; from your stitch tension, to the pocket placement, to the measurements. Sure, he might just wear it around the house, but you put every ounce of effort you had into it.

As you put the final pin through the soft, navy blue cotton, piercing through the massive piece of cardboard you had found in the back corner of a candy shop, you hoped Kakashi would honestly like the cardigan.

Would he put it on immediately, or just let it be forgotten as he hugged you? Would he appreciate the cardigan for how nice it looked, or because you had spent so much time on it? Would he-

"Honey, I'm home!"

Fuck.

Fuck, no, no - what time was it? Like, half past three? Since when does Kakashi get to leave his office before five?

"Sweetheart?" Kakashi's velvet voice was a little softer now, but still loud enough for you to hear from the bathroom as you threw your piece of cardboard into the bathtub, coming to a kneeling position abruptly.

You could heard your husband taking off his sandals, and you mulled over your options.

Quickly, you put the damp towel, that you had just used on the cardigan, over it. You rose to your feet and pulled the shower curtain closed, listening to nothing, but knowing Kakashi was coming.

You couldn't hide from him, and you could never hear him coming.

"There you are, honey bunny," he hummed in satisfaction, standing in the doorway of the bathroom with no fanfare. "I thought you were taking another nap."

"No," you replied gently, coming over to your masked husband as his arms reached out to hold you.

"So, what are you doing in the bathroom, then?" He chuckled, gripping your hip with his left hand while his right wrapped around the dip of your waist.

Turning him around inconspicuously, you smiled up at him and popped up on your toes. You placed a kiss to the fabric covering his nose, then to his cheek, using his broad shoulders as your stabilizer. With a slight shake of your head, you fibbed, "Cleaning."

"Now, I know your lying," Kakashi said with an amused lilt, coming to a halt in the doorway.

Schooling your features into a look of confusion instead of excited-anxiety, you huffed, "I beg your pardon?"

"You're only short with me when you're mad, or you're lying," he explained, pulling you closer to his body. "And you're clearly not mad."

"I'm not being short with you," you defended futilely, trying a last-ditch effort to get your husband to ignore the bathtub, though he was backing up, and backing up... "Darling, I'm just tired, from all the cleaning, swear. C'mon - let's get a pot of tea going, and you can tell me all about your day, yeah?"

"Yeah, after I see the sparkle of the tub faucet," Kakashi insisted, getting all the way to the tub despite your efforts to pull him away.

His hand raised to the shower curtain and your hand came to his wrist. Kakashi looked into your eyes, and you looked into his, pleading, "Don't. Please, don't."

A look of consideration goes over Kakashi's face, but you both knew that the jig was up.

He was never known to change his mind after it's already made.

He pulled back the shower curtain and you tried moving to cover his view. It didn't work, as his hold on your waist was still present and vice-like. You both stared at the black towel, poking up in odd places, while cardboard edges stuck out from under.

"What..." Kakashi looked at you as he leaned down, hand extended to reveal your little secret. You gave him a weak smile, just nodding toward the covered present, giving him a silent permission.

In a swish of black as he stood, the blue cardigan was revealed, and a short gasp fell from Kakashi's lips.

The majority of the cardigan was navy blue, with white hemming and sleeve cuffs. The pockets were white granny squares with blue hearts in the center. It was made of drunken granny stitches, though they weren't properly blocked yet, so it looked a little wonky. Loose yarn ends hung out of the cardigan, yet to be sewn into the stitches.

It was perfect, but it wasn't done yet.

But, as you shyly looked at your husband, you were shocked to find his eyes with a watery gleam.

"Darling," you grinned, turning closer into his hold, which he tightened instantly, almost unconsciously. Kakashi's eyes were pasted to the cardigan, sitting in the tub, and your nerves started to build. "Do you... like it?"

"Do I like it?" He laughed with a certain rasp.

With a sniff, Kakashi pulled his mask down with his free hand and started blinking like a crazy person. A grin from either ear was etched onto his face, his lips parting and closing gently, over and over. His head stuttered as he tore his eyes away from your handiwork, sniffing again like he was an emotional aunt at a wedding. He nodded, first slowly, then with a rapidity, turning his head to look at you with a broad smile on his beautiful lips.

"You made that, for me?" Kakashi asked, his voice cracking slightly.

You nodded bashfully and Kakashi's smile deepened impossibly. His freehand came to the side of your face, cupping it gently as his thumb ran across your cheekbone. Glossy charcoal eyes searched yours, seemingly going straight to your soul, and you couldn't help but blush just a tad.

An uncontrollable laugh bubbled from his throat and Kakashi brought you close, hugging you flush to his warm body as he murmured, "I love you; I love you, so much."

"It's not done yet," you mumbled into his chest. "It'll be perfect on your birthday, so you'll have to wait 'til then."

"How can I hold out for three whole days, when I know I'm under the same roof as this bit of personalized artistry?" He chortled, squeezing you once before you brought you away. "You've been working on this cardigan, all this time?"

You shrugged a little, replying, "For the last few weeks, yeah."

"Oh, I've been so worried," Kakashi sighed happily, his head ducking away for a brief moment.

"Worried about what?" You asked with a small chuckle.

He shook his head, looking back into your eyes with a smile, "Worried about you; you've been so cagey. I figured you were hiding something, but..."

"But, what?"

"But, I was scared of the answer," he exhaled. Kakashi drew a sharp breath, shaking his head again and gesturing toward the cardigan. "But, now I've just ruined the surprise you've been working so hard on."

"Oh, please - you haven't ruined anything," you giggled, lacing your fingers behind your husband's neck. "I'm just glad you like it."

Kakashi looked deeply into your eyes and grinned, "I like it so much. You're incredibly talented, sweetheart, and I consider myself beyond lucky to be the one you choose to spend your talent on." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "I don't deserve you, my sweet darling angel from the stars." Ghosting his lips over yours, Kakashi murmured again, "I love you, so fucking much."

Smiling like a fool, you pressed your lips to your husband's, feeling his smile grow into the kiss as well. You couldn't handle all of the praise, not when a beehive seemed to have broken open in your stomach.

Collapsing onto the bathroom floor, you and Kakashi spent close to an hour on the tile - indulging in the pool of love that swelled within both of your hearts; expressly deriving pleasure from the other's bliss - not even a meter from his birthday present that you had worked callouses into your hands to make.

You were excited for his actual birthday, if this was merely an amuse-bouche.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi fanfic #hatake kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi sensei #kakashi naruto #hokage kakashi #naruto fanfiction

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mauveflowers · 1 year ago

Text

Since someone asked for them and I already have them compiled here’s some SHJ/HYJ moments that live in my head rent free.

Novel spoilers under the cut.

Yoojin doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep properly because of the Mist King appearing and his Fear Resistance rank being lowered. He asks SHJ to let him sleep in his bedroom. To which SHJ says he's never had guests there.

Yoojin gets carried off by Riette in her dragon form and locked in a castle tower. SHJ jumps through the balcony window pretending to be the "prince" rescuing the "princess." Afterward SHJ laments to Yoohyun that the "princess" didn't even give him a kiss.

When Yoojin is letting SHJ use the double attack skill SHJ uses Yoojin's damage nullification like a human shield, except he's tossing him around in such a way that they look like they're dancing.

Because of that time Yoojin gave SHJ a lifetime’s worth of hot pink yarn SHJ repeatedly teases Yoojin with pink stuff. There was a privately owned Sesung jet that he had painted pink inside and out just for Yoojin to use.

During a kidnapping event Yoojin goads the audience to put their special items up as collateral for his value as an item. SHJ puts his Seeker's Chains up for bid no hesitation.

Yoojin uses a fragment of SHJ as a foundation for creating a monster. He treats this monster like his own child. The monster even calls him "Dad." In child form the monster looks just like SHJ.

Yoojin overexerts himself helping SHJ. It leaves Yoojin temporarily blinded. When SHJ realizes he can't see he offers him one of his own eyes as compensation.

During a stay in Sesung's hospital Yoojin puts pink lipstick right on SHJ's lips. He gets mad that it looks good.

Yoojin is under the influence of another hunter’s skill and can’t consciously control his actions. He kidnaps himself and SHJ intercepts them. Initially SHJ uses his Seeker's Chains to restrain Yoojin but Yoojin takes off Grace. Even under the influence of a skill Yoojin still places his bet on SHJ that he will do anything to make Yoojin stay, even physically harm him. Much to Yoojin’s horror SHJ actually releases Yoojin and begs him to pick up and put Grace back on. In the end Yoojin gets away and SHJ can only watch him go.

SHJ and STW are busting a criminal organization that was responsible for previously kidnapping Yoojin. They take care of all the people involved because of unrelated outside events but SHJ tells STW that he was leaving these guys at large despite knowing their involvement because he was saving them for Yoojin. He said he was preparing a whole trip for Yoojin to decide what to do with them as a "Partner learning experience."

Yoojin is injured by his kidnappers. During a farce of a dinner party Yoojin falls when getting up from the table. Someone catches him and Yoojin knows who it is immediately despite them wearing a disguise. From all the times using double attack skill Yoojin knows it's SHJ because the way SHJ holds him feels "gentle and sturdy without swaying."

Later that night SHJ has to report Yoojin's status to STW. He is incredibly angry at the way they were treating him and says he really had to hold himself back from tearing the whole place apart right then and there.

After coming out of a dungeon Yoojin doesn’t have most of his clothes because he was wearing dungeon clothes (they disappeared after the dungeon was over.) In a panic he throws on the only thing he has which is Silekia’s Wings, but he’s not wearing any pants. He has to settle using a pink yarn cardigan that SHJ knitted him to cover his bottom half.

He also has to ride Peace afterward side saddle while SHJ rides behind him. Yoojin still doesn't have underwear on at this point. (Sorry Yoojin.)

Yoojin wants SHJ to leave a simulated dungeon first, but the only way to leave is to be "defeated." Yoojin puts a gun under SHJ’s chin and pops him one, no hesitation.

Yoojin is hosting a banquet. He has to pretend that he and SHJ are not familiar. In front of everyone Yoojin takes a whole bottle of wine and dumps the entire thing on SHJ's head. SHJ is casual about it for a minute before he drags Yoojin onto the table and also pours a bottle of wine on his head.

Yoojin purposefully used a rosé wine that he knows is to SHJ’s tastes but SHJ takes a red wine that he knows Yoojin can’t stand and dumps it on him anyway.

The two of them light their cigarettes over a burning flower. Chapter 474.

#i know i missed some but there are just SO many can you blame me.#anyway they are obsessed with each other to an unhealthy degree #everyone around them has to watch this shit play out and pretend it doesn't bother them #shj #sung hyunjae #hjy #han yoojin

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lostsyren · 10 months ago

Note

Lol, this almost happend to me with my ex so it gave me a request idea of it happening between them: Sofia sneaks over to Rafe’s place wanting to surprise him. Rafe thinks there is an intruder/robbery hearing noise. Surprise meeting around a corner in the house and Rafe hits her (not domestic violence in that way, because obv he would never hurt HER, mistaken identity thinking it’s a dangerous situation) – Super regretful attentive Rafe who is super lovey and feels bad <3

── .✦ surprise

{summary: sofia decides she wants to pay rafe a surprise visit, but little does she know, rafe hates surprises}

{a/n: hi lovely thank you for the request and story time, I hope you like it and I hope you’re ok from the scare!}

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Being let off work early had given her this idea. Sofia knew that Rafe wanted to see her, but she had to decline, due to her night shift at the club. So when her boss had graciously let her go home, Sofia thrummed with excitement at the prospect of finally being the one to surprise Rafe.

It always irked her how he’d sneak up behind her– silent, despite his lanky frame– and loop his arms around her waist causing her to bristle in shock. Or how he’d suddenly yell out in the dark while they’d be sitting nestled on the couch with a horror movie he put on. Sofia would scream and Rafe would laugh, bundling her up in a hug as the nerve-inducing soundtrack screeched in the background.

So that’s the reason she ended up pulling into the driveway of his house, sneaking in through the side door she knew he never locked, under the cover of darkness.

She wanted to get him back.

Rafe was a home– she could tell by the car and the bike both parked up in the front. Usually in the evening he’d be in the study, probably arranging another property deal.

Sofia padded quietly across the wooden floors, her lips caught between her teeth as she tried to still her breathing. She didn’t really have a plan, just to pop up when he least expected. So she drifted noiselessly through the empty rooms, eyeing the yellow light spilling out of the study.

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He didn’t even realise how dark it had had gotten, nighttime settling undoubtedly on the skyline. Rafe let out a small groan, his eyes straining from the lurid laptop light. Shuffling out of the leather chair, he stood up and headed to the kitchen, ready to finally eat something. He wanted to go get dinner with Sofia tonight but she had work, to his dismay. He hated when she wasn’t with him– the thought of those asshole golfers and cardigan wearing yuppies chatting her up at the bar made him sick. Rafe ignored how he started off as one of those assholes. But that was different, he told himself. He was different– Sofia even said so herself.

Rafe wondered how her shift was going as he exited the study, about to pull out his phone to text her, when he noticed the side door from across the open plan space slightly ajar. The sound of its hinges rattled as it was knocked about by the breeze filtering in. He hadn’t left it open…that meant someone else had opened it. Goosebumps splayed across the sensitive skin on his nape. They could be in the house.

The gun. Shit. It was upstairs. Rafe’s eyes frantically scanned his surroundings, searching for a sign– a dark figure in the corner, a set of footprints, an askew painting. But everything looked the same, as much as it could’ve done in the shadow painted room.

That’s when he heard it. The faintest sound of footsteps above him. Someone was upstairs.

With all that he had experienced–the violence, the bloodshed– Rafe’s brain conjured up equally violent and bloody scenarios of a dire home invasion, a grisly robbery, a sinister payback. God knew he had enough people who hated him to do something like that.

So he approached the stairs with a wary stride, eyes manic and fists balled. The image of the gun laying in his drawer was in his mind. Get the gun and he’d be fine– that’s what he told himself.

So he made a dash for the bedroom. But his frantic steps slowed on hearing a small creaking sound emanate from the slit in the door. They were inside.

Rafe approached the bedroom, his heart galloping in his chest, adrenaline pumping across his veins.

All the heady rush of emotions and hormones slammed into him like a truck when he saw the door peep open, a shadow cutting across the sweep of moonlight.

Rafe just swung his arm instinctively.

His first feeling was confusion, when he heard the little squeak of a scream the ‘intruder’ let out. It only became even more confusing to him when it wasn’t a 6 ft burly guy who keeled down in pain, but a 5’4 wisp of a person.

It took a second for his brain to whirr and piece together what had just unfolded.

“Sofia?”

Rafe’s mouth hung wide open, confusion quickly bleeding into distress.

He’d just…he just hit Sofia. Rafe felt sick, a frigid chill prickling across his skin.

Sofia’s hands flew to her face, her dark curls falling softly into her eyes, so he couldn’t see her expression. She had swayed backwards slightly, catching herself on the door frame.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

Rafe scampered toward her, bending down to hover his hands over her face. His fingers carded through her hair, trying to see the damage he’d done.

“Ow,” she whimpered, the sound making his heart vault into his chest

Rafe tried to gently move her hands away, to see her eyes scrunched shut, a bright red mark on the left side of her face.

“Are you ok? Sofia?” He asked, voice breaking, threatening to erupt into tears.

He felt horrible, all the things people would call him (monster, psycho, killer) had gushed forward and inundated him once again. He was reminded of the reason why he was heading to the bedroom in the first place– to get the gun. Imagine if he had shot her? The image of Sofia looking at him, betrayal etched across her features, blood blossoming from her chest, flashed across his mind making him nauseous.

“I’m fine,” she laughed softly, “just trying to get my vision back.” Sofia smiled up at him through her eyelashes with an impish grin, tone humorous.

But he still spiralled into panic, his hands cupping her face, his body bent down to level with hers.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, bringing his lips to the skin he’d hit, that burned an angry crimson. Rafe brushed a litany of kisses across her cheeks, her brows, her jaw, trying his best to kiss it better, to reverse what had just happened.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against her smarting skin, kissing it again, “sorry,” kiss, “sorry,” kiss, “sorry”.

He only stopped when Sofia’s hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him away from her.

“It’s ok Rafe, it was a mistake. I just wanted to surprise you, sorry for scaring you ok?” She said with wide, imploring eyes, her fingers rubbing little circles into his jaw.

Rafe tried to clam himself down, using the sweet sound of her voice to soothe him. His hands rested on her shoulders, clinging to them like an anchor.

“I’m ok, you’re ok…we’re fine Rafe.” Sofia whispered, words draping over him like velvet.

He didn’t notice when his breaths began to come out as ragged lurches, his chest jerking erratically, his throat confined by barbed wire.

Sofia seemed to notice though, his rapid descent into apprehension snuffing out the humour in her eyes and replacing it with a shining concern.

He never wanted to hurt her– the image of Sarah flailing under the water, Kie’s face strangulated and ashen, his father hunched over, bleeding out to die, projected in full colour on his mind.

So he tried his best to hone in on her voice.

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She was sitting on the cold marble countertop in the kitchen, watching Rafe as he prepared an ice ice pack for her. He was wearing a sweater, the dark blue one she liked.

Sofia was still thinking about his over reaction upstairs. The way his hands shook as they cupped her face, his heavy breaths, his bombardment of kisses.

She kept trying to tell it was fine, that she knew he didn’t mean it, that she knew it was an accident.

But Rafe continued to radiate with guilt. She could feel it even now, with his back turned to her, rolling hot waves of regret emanating from his body.

He walked over, ice pack in hand, almost at equal height with her sitting on the barstool and him standing. Fingers brushing against the her hair, he curled the strands behind her ear, placing the ice on her inflamed skin.

They sat in silence, Rafe focusing on the ice pack and Sofia transfixed on his eyes.

“I won’t sneak up on you again, I promise,” Sofia teased, trying to alleviate the suffocating tension. She ghosted her fingers over the veins of his hand.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Rafe said, voice uncharacteristically serious. He was usually so playful and cocky, but his lips had no smile and his eyes were deep with a stony gravitas.

She wanted to make a joke, something along the lines of ‘well you can’t be too happy, you just hit me in the face’ but she didn’t want Rafe to start feeling bad again.

“Me too,” she smiled instead.

Setting the ice pack down on the counter, Rafe let out a heavy sigh.

“Hey baby, don’t worry ok?” She soothed, her hand resting on his shoulders, squeezing hard.

“I hurt you Sofia. That’s not nothing.” His words were rasped, as if it hurt to say out loud.

Sofia’s eyes flickered between his, her other hand inching up his arm.

“You wanna make me feel better?” She said, voice low and sultry, trying to coax Rafe out of his dread state.

He definitely picked up what she was putting down, his mouth opening slightly as his eyes drank her in.

“Sofia…” he began, tone almost chastising as he tried to step back.

But Sofia’s grip on him tightened. “Shhhh answer the question Rafe.”

“Of course I do.”

“Well then, let’s go upstairs then, shall we?” She murmured, standing up to wrap her fingers around his wrist, tugging him slightly.

She turned around to lead the way, before she felt Rafe’s hand drop from hers. Sofia was about to turn around to face him before she felt his big arms wrap around her waist, hoisting her up into his embrace.

Gasping in shock, her hands flew around his neck for support.

“Changed your mind?” Sofia teased, eyes crinkling in a smile.

“Need to show you how sorry I am,” he said voice low, bringing his lips to kiss her cheek.

“I’ve already forgiven you Rafe.” She said softly, against his jaw.

Rafe didn’t look at her, his face in the crook of her neck, almost in repentance. “I haven’t forgiven myself yet.”

Sofia didn’t know why, but that made her heart break. She traced her fingers over the planes of his face, making him look at her. Her fingertips were feathering and gentle, her touch inviting. She slowly leaned up to brush a kiss over his closed mouth.

She felt Rafe hesitate at first, his body freezing, before his lips dissolved into the kiss, a heady concession of muted passion.

As he continued to pepper kisses across her skin: her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, he moved across to where the couch was, gently laying her down.

The house was quiet and empty– the only sound that could be heard was Rafe showing Sofia just how sorry he was, the night bringing more surprises than Sofia thought it would.

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#outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe and sofia #sofia outer banks #sofia obx #rafe x sofia #drew starkey #fiona palomo #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe and Sofia fanfiction #outer banks season 4 #obx4 #༊*·˚syren

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sarcasticsweetlara · 7 months ago

Text

If The World Ends We Go Together

Hunger Games au! District 7 Rebel! Jihoon x Female District 7 Rebel! Reader

Summary: Jihoon and you knew how to survive together, it was simple and steadfast, all throughout the years since your childhood to the harvest of tributes to the beginning of the Rebellion. You meant to keep it that way, even if it meant ignoring your feelings, but how long can it last as the dangers around you make you question how you could ever live without Jihoon?

Warning and Contents: Suspense, friends to lovers, both Jihoon and Reader think being in a relationship will put them in danger. Fluff. Reader is taller than Jihoon. Reader has aphasia (mutism due to damage to the brain language centers) and Jihoon and her communicate mostly through sign language. Jihoon with an axe; Bisexual! reader (if you are biphobic then dni), Reader with dark skin, appearances of Park Sunyoung of F(x) and Seokmin, Minghao and Seungkwan of SVT. Blood, non graphic flashback of a beating as a child, fights with guns and knives, hunting, Jihoon and reader hunt a bear together; burnings, almost drowning, and not accurate mention of CPR.

- xxx - oral dialogue

"xxx" sign language

*xxx* written notes

{xxx} flashback

Word count: 11,251

Image credit to: @vitaminkyeom

This is Part of the SVT CATCHING FIRE COLLABORATION

Playlist: Born to die - Lana del Rey; Ruby - Woozi; Cardigan - Taylor Swift; Snow on the beach - Taylor Swift; All my love - SVT; Dust - SVT Vocal Unit; What Kind of Future - Woozi; Die with a smile - Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars; Cinnamon Girl - Lana del Rey; Find you - Ruelle; War of Hearts - Ruelle; Margaret- Lana del Rey

MY MASTERLIST

Epilogue

You would never say you were a doctor. As much as you knew how to avoid certain herbs in case someone tried to poison you, how to brew concoctions and remedies, you could never truly diagnose someone.

That’s why at this moment, you were mad at Jihoon.

He had brought over to your shared home/office whose space could barely fit two people, a little girl whose bleeding left eye needed a specialist not a mere learning herbalist of medical plants.

- She needs the care Y/n, I wouldn't ask you if I wasn't sure you can handle it - while you were flattered by his words it also conveyed a little self-doubt given you barely knew how to keep people alive and how to heal some ailments, but you guessed you would have to act quick to help the poor child who did not deserve at all what happened to her.

And that’s how you found yourself going over the books you had stolen from a rebellious doctor killed by peacekeepers.

The book seemed to have more than 1000 pages and even if you were not an expert on how to treat eye ailings you really wanted to help her.

Finally you landed on the page you needed and tilting your head while turning to look at Jihoon you signaled for him to lay the girl on the small bed of your room that actually only fitted two persons so you had to move carefully to not startle her and not drop your herbs while you took your time analyzing the words to understand them better.

You put the bottles you were carrying on Jihoon’s hands and squeezed his hands turned fists to assure him of how important they were… and of course they were since inside of them were many ingredients essential for this specific concoction; sitting on your small desk you began chopping ingredients one by one signaling for Jihoon to put them back in place, then a while after giving your new patient a glass of water for her to drink as you put all of them together on a pot letting it boil with half a cup of water, adding on them a drop of another bottle you turned to look at the girl again but this time you saw the look on Jihoon’s face as well, he was staring at your little patient in an aloof way as if he was remembering something.

You couldn’t help but grimace. You knew what Jihoon was reminiscing, you woke him from his stupor touching his shoulder and indicating with a nod for him to take a seat by your side, as he sat, you moved to gently open her left eye and drop with a small dispenser two drops of the concoction you prepared.

"I'm here" Jihoon blinked and you made sure he looked at your eyes as you admonished him. "You are fine, I am fine" your hands were steady and your eyes never left his, your gazes were locked untilJihoon blinked again and sighed and let his head fall in the air.

"I know" he lifted his head as he signed "It's just" his hands were trembling "it's so unfair, she's only a child!" He signed quickly, which indicated how frustrated Jihoon felt.

"But you helped her" you squeezed his hands "she will be fine" Jihoon finally relaxed his posture and squeezed your hands back as he gave you a small smile. Jihoon didn't like touching people, but with you it was different, it always was.

It was fair to say that since meeting Jihoon and his father who worked as lumberjacks, your best friend Sunyoung and you were amazed by Jihoon's skills with the axe and soon the three of you became friends, while Sunyoung preferred to watch his axe skills and learn how to climb trees and create traps, and Jihoon knew how to defend himself with an axe you learned how to brew remedies.

It was hard for Sunyoung and you to read and be aware of your surroundings since at a young age you both had been beaten by a peacekeeper which ended up costing your abilities to speak and to keep balance and fully comprehend reading and writing, but soon Sunyoung and you learned how to ground yourselves through touching things, while Sunyoung always carried leave bracelets and anklets to ground herself by touching them you did the same but with a small chunk of wood. You would never admit it but it was one of the parts of the log Jihoon had once cut (also because you had fallen and spent a long while trying to get up as you felt you no longer had equilibrium).

You used it as a necklace and below your clothes, so that no one would try to take it from you.

"What do you think?" Sunyoung asked you as both of you were in her cozy room preparing to head out for work and Sunyoung was discarding what to wear that would not make the peacekeepers pay her any mind, right now she was wearing a new leather jacket she most likely had made for herself while you laid on her bed playing with her covers. As you pretended to ponder Sunyoung gave you a small pout which made you chuckle and in the end you gave her thumbs up in approval.

"It's good, you outdid yourself this time" Sunyoung grinned and with that you headed out towards the forest, you worked as part of the lumberjacking industry and helped move the wood logs to the factories. Since people older than 18 were no longer able to present as tributes, and therefore couldn't get more food according to how many times you wrote your name in the baskets, you had to work for Panem now to buy a little bit of food, though only the Capitol and the Privileged Districts truly ever got the gains of the labour.

Once you got to the forest you caught a glimpse of Jihoon as he was flexing his biceps to finish cutting a tree, before he could see your flustered expression you turned around to take the first logs to the factory as Sunyoung smirked at you teasingly while you rolled your eyes at her antics .

“Don't get lost admiring Jihoon’s muscles, focus on earnings money right now” she playfully moved her fingers “after all you can always see them when you two are together” that last statement which made you smack her arm as she cackled and your eyes popped up for her implication.

“Jihoon and I are just friends” you declared

“Best friends who want to kiss each other” Sunyoung attacked

“That's not true, and you better focus on your work if you want us to go back home without any punishments or beating” your hands were firm as you gestured with your eyes to the peacekeepers who were always eager to give punishments.” You warned her as the peacekeepers were looking at you

“Okay mom” she scoffed.

It was not as if you never fell asleep hoping to one day feel his lips on yours, of course not.

As you kept doing your part of the job: transporting piles of logs to the factory around 10 to 20 times per a day, you noticed the peacekeepers growing restless as they kept getting close to all the workers.

- I NEED YOU ALL TO LISTEN NOW! - One of the peacekeepers shouted when you were amid your 18th takeover making you still - There will be a curfew tonight, so when you are finished go back home immediately! There will be no considerations!- You looked around the area to catch Sunyoung but she beat you to it as she touched your elbow and then your shoulder.

"Don't worry about me, I will take the shortway, focus on going home soon". You wanted to argue and tell her you would take her but then her roommate Minghao approached you.

- It's okay Y/N, we will leave together, I won't leave her. -

Once you finished Jihoon and you got on his car to go back home and as soon as you arrived the two of you nodded, the agreement to bar everything and keep an eye on your weapons and the door, you held your revolver while Jihoon angled the rifle to fit between his toned arms... And wait, until the frequency in the radio finally changed. News about the Rebellion.

The rebels had found new ways to communicate indoors as protests and actions were done outside.

- We will mobilize from district to district- an off and cracky voice mumbled.

- You all need to keep this secret so listen carefully, start the journey towards District 13, grab maps to guide yourselves and take everything you need, but beware any peacekeeper, be as discreet as you can, District 13 will receive us as refugees, they have the power to end the Capitol from within, if we burn they will burn with us.-

Jihoon and you looked at each other, you would need to act carefully from now on.

The next day, as you were with Sunyoung you were tense, you felt as if the surveillance had increased by the amount of peacekeepers watching over you. There were 5 more than the usual 3. But even then, that didn't stop you from getting to quietly retreat further into the forest and find Sunyoung who was sitting in a wood log across Minghao, Jihoon and Seokmin. You waved at them and they returned it while Sunyoung acknowledged you with a nod as she turned to look at you.

"Did you listen to the radio last night? Many rebels are heading towards District 13 to join Katniss Everdeen" Sunyoung exclaimed. "We will need to leave in a few days - Seokmin looked around to see if there was someone close to you." The other day I heard a group of rebels who plan on making a trap to kill peacekeepers this week, it's risky but the distraction will buy us time to escape.

"It will" Sunyoung chuckled while grinning. "I helped creating it, it will give them a surprise in the mines"

"We can do this" Minghao signed, expanding his hands widely. "but we need to be discreet and gather everything we can, as soon as possible."

"I say we do this in a week, that will give us time once the trap is set."

"What do you think of this Jihoon?" You walked towards him to touch him with a wood stick as Jihoon looked at his shoes while leaning against a tree, he lifted his gaze to meet yours holding his head high to look at you and then sigh.

"We need to bring weapons with us “

...

As you had promised it, a week later the journey towards District 13 was set off. You were going to take different routes, Seokmin, Sunyoung and Minghao went together, with Jihoon and you then following 2 days after. It had been decided like that so you could cover for them in your shifts and deviate attention.

"Take care" were the last words Sunyoung said to you after hugging you tightly and leaving in the dawn.

After the trap set in the mine lands peacekeepers were less than before and that was an advantage and Jihoon and you started the journey then. However the already set beginning was delayed when the peacekeepers saw Jihoon getting into the forest when he wanted to get rid of the traps and beat him up, taking him to jail, he was only able to communicate with you by using the radio he always hid in his jacket.

-Y/n, in short words I'm in prison, they caught me when I was trying to destroy the traps, I need you to get me out of here. - when you listened to his words back at home you were horrified, remembering how creative the peacekeepers could get when it came to punishing citizens.

So here you were, sneaking into their District prison at night one week after he had been captured, wanting to memorize the place and know its weak points. You had managed to get in through a cord and a window and slithered until you saw the back of a peacekeeper. Slowly you got close to him and hit his head with a baseball bat, after taking his gun and his keys you looked for Jihoon, not minding the whistles from the other prisoners and when you saw his hair your waved your hand that was carrying the keys to him making him aware you were here for him. After opening his cell and hugging him you two went back home where you were attending to his wounds. As he hissed when you were cleaning a cut in his cheek you felt a little dizzy so you had to exhale and touch the edge on the little raspy gray sofa you were on to calm yourself.

“Sorry”

“Don't be sorry, I would still do it” Jihoon refused “if anything I'm sorry for worrying you.” he apologized

“Don't say that, I actually liked getting to hit a peacekeeper and taking his gun.” You chuckled at the sweet memory earning a laugh from Jihoon as well.

“You know with me escaping they will be looking for us, right?” he asked after some minutes but you two already knew the answer.

“Then we have to get everything ready for tomorrow.”

And that is how the next day you two sneaked through a barb wire border to avoid being seen by the peacekeepers. You were carrying a map and a dagger in your backpack alongside other tools, like binoculars, books, needles and lighters, while you were no warrior you knew a stab could be lethal and with Jihoon's guiding you at least knew how to hurt someone who tried to harm you, and he was carrying an axe alongside the gun you had stolen. Which was useful when you used one of the bombs Minghao designed to get rid of the peacekeepers of the border of the district.

The rebellion had started as all of you had seen how Katniss Everdeen had won the 74th Hunger Games alongside Peeta Mellark and displayed an attitude and compassion that soon became the symbol of resistance: Hope, in the form of the mockingbird.

The rebels had begun communicating through radios and in one moment, District 13 was able to communicate back and give instructions on what to do to defeat and overthrow Snow as well as indications about what to expect before the coup could be started.

Both Jihoon and you admired Katniss, after having to bury your last relatives due to starvation and the abuse of the peacekeepers, he was all you had left, and you wanted to protect him as much as possible. Even if you sometimes disagreed it was worth it as Jihoon had become your rock after all the years you spent together.

"Here you go" Jihoon gave you a piece of meat he had brought after hunting and you set a fire to heat yourselves as the autumn was starting to fade into winter. "It's deer meat, I hunted it, you should have seen me" He said with a smug smile.

"Show-off" you chuckled as you munched it and he laughed.

"Did you bring your concoctions?"

"Of course I did," you scoffed. "How else are we going to survive? I also brought my books in any case"

"That's good"

As you got up, you got dizzy and almost fell but you touched your shins with a hand while your dominant one went for the leaf necklace, tapping it three times to regain balance. Jihoon slowly showed you his hand, when you recovered you lifted your gaze and thanked him as he finally reached out for your hand and laid the dagger on your palm, squeezing your other hand which made you fluster but you hoped it would not be obvious with the little light of the sun in that moment that your cheeks had a garnet tone now as you lowered your gaze and walked hastily past Jihoon while he set the fire off and you continued marching.

As what you thought were 2 weeks passed you could conclude that the sky view was beautiful, getting to see the blue sky and the high mountains with no stop was a blessing and Jihoon and you frequently ended up admiring it, back home no one had the time and even less the idea of looking up to the sky, and even if the circumstances were not the best, you loved sharing these moments with Jihoon as you also admired his profile during the afternoons.

"How do you think the others are?" He asked you one night as you both stared into the fire lit in front of your mini camp.

"I hope they are okay, though probably Seokmin and Sunyoung must be talking a lot for Minghao" you said giggling at the thought of the two golden retrievers talking non-stop. Jihoon laughed and smiled at you as you settled into a quiet atmosphere, the flames were the only sound in the forest, letting you see the crisps in the air which made Jihoon's skin shine and in Jihoon's mind it made your russet skin glow as well.

You never admitted it since you were always focused on protecting the both of you, but you harbored feelings for Jihoon, it was love, which made you even more alert to any risks. You never thought about the possibility but the fact you two were doing this journey together made you realize even more how much you wanted to protect Jihoon.

“The sky looks beautiful this evening” Jihoon’s fingers emulated an explosion at his statement and it was true, it was a combination of orange, red and pink, secretly he thought that the colors in the sky made you look like an angel but that was a thought for himself as the red tones in the air and the forest gave you an air of a fairy in his mind.

“It is” you agreed, looking above as well and then your gaze shifted to look at him.

"Have you thought about what we will do when we get to District 13 Hoon?" You asked him with shaking hands hoping he doesn't see how you've suddenly gotten nervous.

"I guess" His fingers get fidgety "We can finally join the Rebellion and fight against Snow." You mentally palmed yourself at his answer, though you agreed with the plan, you meant what would happen with your lives after that.

"Yes, but what else will we do once everything is done?" Your eyes are focused on his. "We can get to live freely" He says after a while. "We could build a new house and have all the things we always wanted" you gestured quickly. "Create the garden you wanted and plant new kinds of plants." Your heart is beating fast as you look at him and gulp. "That would be nice" he says calmly as you keep staring at each other.

"We could still keep our weapons, just in any case" he chuckles, his eyes still on you. "Of course we can"

"And ... " He pauses, his lips trembling "get a new fresh start"

"You are right, for you and I" you wrapped up as you got closer to the fire to get more heat for your hands.

...

Three more weeks passed as you traveled when you came across a river whose current waters were flowing swiftly and gushingly fast in what seemed to be the border with District 9, and you had to think about how to cross it without damaging the radio Jihoon was carrying.

"You could keep your backpack and jacket above the water and in any case it gets wet then we put it into rice" you stated which made Jihoon hesitantly agree.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh

"Ready?" Jihoon asked as you both were about to dive into the cold water.

"Readier than ever" and then you jumped, the water splashing on the surface and then Jihoon jumped as well.

‘Splash! Splash!’

The current was strong, you could not deny it, and it was hard to advance but you could not give up just now, as you kept yourself floating on the backpack you turned to look at Jihoon who was focused on his own task and then noticed the zipper of his jacket on the backpack that contained the radio was open and you lowered your head to see that indeed the radio was flowing down the river, which made you discard your own backpack to dive further into the water to retrieve it.

Swimming below water was not easier either, but you had to try and were close to catching it but as soon as you got it in your hand pulling it close to your chest you let out a breath which made you swallow water prompting you to cough and sink more into the water, you tried to swim above but your strength failed you and you could feel more air leaving you; you cursed yourself for failing Jihoon and not being able to keep going and were closing your eyes when a gush of water came in your direction. Jihoon. He had stopped swimming when your backpack collided against him prompting him to look for you and then realize his jacket was open and the radio was missing.

As soon as he spotted you he grabbed you from your shirt and impulsing himself with strength but care as he swam the both of you above the water and towards your backpacks, tying them tightly to support your weight upon them closing the jacket zipper, your limbs were longer than his which made him keep a distance to not end up drowning the two of you; once you were finally on the other side and finally on the District 9, dragging you to lay on the soil he made pressure on your chest to make first aid and expel the water from your lungs, as well as doing mouth to mouth resuscitation which he was not sure about but thought maybe could help.

Jihoon sighed in relief when he saw your chest rising up but frowned when he saw your lips and nails were turning gray, and he then remembered that was a sign of hypothermia from what you had told him once, so he was quick to pull you out of your cold damp clothes and covering your body with blankets after he started a fire to keep you warm. Jihoon would not let you leave him, he would protect you.

As Jihoon pulled your clothes from you he turned around to respect your privacy and tried to do it as quickly as possible to then place you in the two warm blankets. The newly begun fire was warm enough for now but then he would need to go for more logs. Good idea to bring his axe. However, he wanted to make sure at first that you were okay as you had fallen unconscious after being able to breathe. While sleeping you looked peaceful, from your parted lips to your eyelashes and garnet cheeks and the glow of your russet skin. Admitting to himself that he was in love with you was already hard enough, Jihoon didn't want to lose more people he cared about after his dad had been murdered by peacekeepers for daring work when there had been a curfew years ago; you were the only thing he had left and didn't want to lose you over feelings he was not sure would truly work out in a relationship and then you two drifting apart and dying away from each other.

No, Jihoon was completely fine with denying his feelings if that meant you two stayed together alive.

...

{Jihoon and you had met when you were both kids, you were 7 and he was 5, and it seems your very first encounter had already determined what your future dynamic would be.

You had stolen a slice of bread from one of the peacekeepers who had actually taken it from your friend Sunyoung and had hit her in the head leaving her unconscious for a week and from thereafter mute.

Your plan was simple, you wanted to distract him by sending a dog to chase him while you took the bread. But you never counted with him coming back so quickly, in your defense you would say the 7 year-old you barely knew about the running time of an adult thus you were surprised when he yanked you by your hair to the floor before you could even truly go away, at the end of the day you learned how he had left Sunyoung unconscious as he hit you with a metal tube over and over again.

Sunyoung and you gained more scars for life and you knew you had to always check every detail now. It was during your unconscious days that Jihhon came into your life. Jihoon and his father worked as lumberjacks and he usually sold log charges to people, and when he gave a charge to your father he saw the state you were in, all sprawled over your bed in the living room, seeing you like that stirred something in Jihoon's heart and that led him to teach your dad how to place the logs in a way the fire would keep itself and draw heat towards your sleeping silhouette; that had been the same advice he had given to the family of Sunyoung before, when her parents had told you about the kind boy who helped keep Sunyoung warm during her most vulnerable moments had melted your heart, just like Jihoon did when your parents told him why it was you now who was unconscious.

When a month passed after you woke up and Sunyoung was visiting you with her parents, Sunyoung and you were seated resting and when your mother called your name you noticed there were 2 people with her, she told you Jihoon was the lumberjack who helped both of you to survive your unconscious slumbers each one, when Jihoon tried to give you a writing of his working technique he frowned at seeing neither Sunyoung nor you were truly reading, to you it was like the letters were there but could not actually make any sense of it, therefore Jihoon opted for teaching you through watching.

- This is what you have to do -Jihoon said while placing a log of wood on the grass of the yard of your house, as he tilted his head he looked at Sunyoung and you.

- You might need to step aside - as Sunyoung and you looked at each other you did as he told you.

CHOP

The wood log was now split in two logs, they had cuts on the edges from where Jihoon cut it, your eyes were widened in surprise, you had never seen something similar, and to you it was the coolest did ever which made you give Jihoon the widest smile you could master making him smile in the process as well.

Since that day Jihoon and you became friends and made the promise you would always keep each other safe, which eventually made the two of you develop feelings for one another.}

‘Crack crack crack’

The sound of a fire aroused you from your sleep and made you shift your weight on your left side, making you groan when you could no longer fall asleep and reluctantly open your eyes slowly, frowning when you saw the night sky and the forest and hear owls tweeting, you turned your head to the right side and then saw Jihoon asleep on his own mattress across the fire, as well as the radio put in a rice cup and your clothes drying themselves in the branches of some tree which startled you once you became completely self-aware at the realization you were only covered by a blanket and that must likely Jihoon had to do it, which then made you cover your face with the covers. Great. Now how would you look him in the eyes after this?

If Sunyoung was here she would never let you live it down by teasing you. You thanked whatever deity was up there for at least sparing you that shame.

But not enough since the deed was already done. What bothered you was the fact of how embarrassing the situation was and that you nearly could have put Jihoon at risk, it was not like you weren't grateful but you just wished the circumstances for you lying like this had not affected him.

A shiver in your back interrupted your thoughts though making you hold the blanket tighter and then you saw how there was a gray tone to your nails, you then realized Jihoon had acted quickly to keep you warm. You cheesily thought it worked as more warmth settled on your chest then. He really took care of you.

You really were lucky to be here with him, and with that new warmth on your chest you fell asleep again.

Once the dawn broke you felt a hand stroking your right cheek making you drowsily open your eyes as Jihoon's warm fingers quickly left your skin.

"Sorry" he fidgeted and quickly drifted his stare away making you chuckle.

“It's okay” you stretched a little and then remembered you needed to put new clothes on and moved your hand through the soil beneath you to catch his attention and when he did you gestured for him to pass new clothes to you.

“Yeah, sorry, I will turn around so you can change”

As a headache was beginning to form you focused on the tweeting of the birds and how the wind felt against your hair and skin while putting your clothes on, once you finished you got out of the blankets and finally stretched all your limbs which had been a little numb in the end groaning as your kneecaps rattled.

As you walked towards your wet clothes Jihoon turned around and grabbed your wrist earning himself a questioning glare from you down to his face as you felt his warm skin against your cold one and he picked up your fingers extending them enough so you could see your nails still were gray. You had hypothermia.

“We can not leave yet, you need to get warm enough to recover”

You tried to protest but Jihoon lifted a hand making you stop.

“You almost drowned and I had to resuscitate you so you could breathe so if I say we need to wait for you to recover then we do it.” He declared and above his deep stare you felt yourself complying, even if you did not want to admit it. And he felt the need to make you understand because he had been so scared, you almost died leaving him alone and that was an experience he did not want to repeat.

“But what will we do then? Our arrival will be late, our friends are waiting for us.” you exclaimed.

“That doesn't matter” he rebuked “You need to be healthy and I will not risk it” it was then that you knew Jihoon was being serious. “We will stay here until you are healthy enough”

Easier said than done.

While Jihoon could use your books to look at the plants and see the instructions on how to prepare remedies he was not an expert at cooking but during 3 weeks he did what he could which you thanked him for as he made the efforts to do this for you.

“Hoon” you signed the shortened version of his sign “I think we could try to keep going, I've gotten better” which was true, your nails and lips were no longer grey “we can keep marching and in any case stop to see a doctor in District 9.”

“I'm not sure y/n” he rebuked

“But I am sure Jihoon” you insisted, “we could find some more herbs, the entire district is big enough to hide and take care of ourselves” you pleaded looking into his eyes that it was fine and that you desperately needed to keep going. Shutting his eyes and exhaling Jihoon finally gave in and let himself fall into your arms and as you rubbed his back you deepened the embrace not wanting to let go of him.

“Okay, but I’ll let you know if something goes wrong then I will say I told you so” he scoffed as you grinned at him. Jihoon may not admit it but he loved watching you smile, maybe that's why Seokmin and Minghao always pointed at him when you did it.

And that's how you two started marching again in search of wheat, edible fruits and somewhere to stay while you measured the unguarded areas of the District.

“I think we can get to sleep in an abandoned house, what do you think?” You inquired

“That is if we ever get to find an abandoned house first, we need to simply find an abandoned alley” was his answer which made you roll your eyes.

You walked and walked, only stopping to pick some fruits “you never know, Hoon” you told him when he stared at you questioningly.

And you kept leading the way, it was not that boring, actually it was nice to look at the sky and walk side by side in silence and admire how the sunlight made the trees look redder and more abundant.

“The sunset looks beautiful, don't you think? You exclaimed with your back in front of him, and Jihoon held his breath, he couldn't see your face but looking at how your figure was embraced by the light and the breeze made his face heat. An adorable view, even more adorable when you turned to look at him.

“Yes, it looks beautiful” he signed quickly at you. Your eyes were connected and you could feel like you were drowning in his chocolate eyes, feeling as if they took the air from you.

“It is” you straightened your relaxed position “for the meanwhile we can start another fire to sleep here” it was an abrupt change of topic but you needed it.

“Sure” Jihoon answered, scolding himself for blurting out like that.

…

The next day after Jihoon slept on Heejin's couch and you on the floor, you inspected the map to guide yourselves in where to go now as you were eating breakfast on the table.

-You should go northeast - Heejin's voice woke you up from your focused state making Jihoon and you looked at her as she walked down the hall, she had seen you from the end of the hall struggling to understand the map while Jihoon rubbed your back and gave you water.

-If you are going to District 6 then you should march to the northeast, it's the least watched part of this District - She mentioned

-How can we be sure?- was Jihoon’s answer-question which made you frown at him.

-Just like I was sure I would trust you to stay with me, also, I have friends there who could house you, it's a green colored house with an apothecary, it's in a mountain next to a river, you would be arriving there in 2 weeks - Jihoon had to admit that was a good answer.

In the end Jihoon and you agreed to listen to her and started marching.

“She was cute” you told him once you spent 1 hour walking

“I think she was average” Jihoon quickly signed, dismissing your flattering of the woman.

“Okay, I guess we all have different opinions, but don't worry, you are handsomer than her if that's what worries you.” You chuckled as you saw Jihoon’s arms flexing as he stopped for a while to tie his backpack tighter, but at your words Jihoon suffered a shortcut at you thinking he was handsome. Jihoon knew he was an attractive guy but seeing you think the same hit harder than ever before.

You turned around when you saw he was not walking next to you, finding he was looking at you perplexed.

“I mean” you nervously shifted “you don't need to compare yourself to anyone, and trust me when I say you are handsome not only because I'm your friend but also because you are very handsome, stunning and strong” you felt you were digging your own grave as you just rambled in front of him hiding your face with your hands, uncovering it when you heard Jihoon's steps and semi-lifting your head.

-Thank you, you are kind y/n and I do believe you.”

At his words you gave him a small smile and hugged him, as his tiny frame was wrapped by your arms he felt himself smiling as well by how affectionate you were and the fact he loved having all your attention for himself.

When you separated from him you quickly composed yourself.

“Sorry, but also thank you for everything Jihoon, like saving me from drowning and having taken care of me.” you looked at your shoes.

“It's okay, I would do it again if I had to.” Jihoon would always make you swoon more than anyone else.

As the days passed you finally found yourselves in front of the house of Seungkwan, Heejin's friend.

Though Seungkwan was not amused with the idea of sharing his house.

-I'm not into sharing my things so keep your hands to yourselves and follow my rules: 1. You eat when I cook 2. You will share the guest room 3. You will help me with my plants while you stay here, that's the only way you will get wheat to survive once you leave. - even though it didn't amuse you either to follow so many rules you knew you had to follow them if you wanted somewhere to sleep plus food.

“Don't worry, it'll be over before we notice” Jihoon tried to comfort you when Seungkwan went back to his apothecary he noticed your distress over having to stay for more time than you anticipated at first but it was necessary if you wanted to survive the winter so you would stay here for at least 1 to 2 weeks.

“It’s okay, I guess this is a chance for me to learn how to harvest, right?” You mentioned, trying to lighten up the mood.

Entering Seungkwan’s apothecary was nice, there were so many kinds of plants, drawings and concoctions in his shelves, and many plant books in his battered table.

-What are you doing here?- you got startled at the sudden voice of Seungkwan but quickly grabbed your notebook to respond to him.

*I'm sorry, I just was curious about your apothecary.*

-Well go be curious somewhere else unless you seriously like apothecary- his words were blunt and dry but you beamed shrugging at the last statement.

-Do you really like plants?- Seungkwan questioned in surprise and you nodded with a smile.

-Ok then you can observe - Seungkwan hummed - but don't touch anything.- He warned.

-I won't - you typed down and resumed your activity of trying to identify the different kinds of plants around you, and tilting your head you tried to focus on the words on the book to comprehend what it said about harvesting and health. You truly would learn how to harvest now.

2 days later Seungkwan let you borrow one of his books and sows after pleading for hours with the condition of returning the book once you were done.

…

Spinach, radish and carrots were aplenty in his greenhouse, and if Seungkwan was going to give you some of his harvest to survive then Jihoon and you would return the favor by helping him harvest more, and of course you would take this opportunity to learn more about harvest and make concoctions.

-Remind me to always travel with you from now on- Jihoon whispered amazed at how many pots you had already sowed.(5 which in your opinion was low).

“No, this is nothing.” You replied unsure

-Are you kidding me?- He blurted out -this is awesome! You do have a green thumb y/n- simple flattery.

-He’s right- now it was Seungkwan too -you are doing well, your boyfriend is only telling the truth- Boyfriend? Did Seungkwan think Jihoon and you were dating?

-What?- Seungkwan asked when he saw how the two of you froze in your tracks -I thought you two were a couple, aren't you?- he arched an eyebrow

Why couldn't you answer? It was simple, you were not a couple, just friends.

-Well then, you two are just very close friends, never mind- and with that Seungkwan focused on his other pots to your left.

-So, uh, - Jihoon cleared his throat “This is a good job” He told you even though his eyes were not meeting your eyes.

“Thanks Hoon” you also didn't meet his eyes.

As more days passed you could slowly see the growing of the plants which delighted you, and in turn delighted Jihoon too.

Seungkwan was perceptive about your bond being a really close one, if it was one way or another he was happy for the two of you.

Later on after you ate dinner Jihoon and you were out in the forest hunting, as winter got nearer every day you would need coats to endure the cold weather.

“Hunting down a bear will be enough” you were nervous about doing this, but you needed to do this and Jihoon was here so you had faith he knew what to do.

Jihoon was crouching on the ground where he set a trap with goose meat and fish.

-Alright, this will attract them.- He stood up and walked further from the trap with your gun in his hands.

An hour passed before Jihoon and you heard a growl in the distance which made you both tense in awareness, and then the bear slowly got close as he smelled the goose and fish (Jihoon identified the bear as a male) and grunted, however he soon felt something was off as he lifted a big paw and growled once again coming close to where Jihoon and you were standing, Jihoon was ready to shoot if it came to it signaling for you to move away so you would not get hurt, but then the bear lifted himself in his rear paws and his growl made Jihoon slip and dropping the gun which alerted the bear eliciting more grunts and growls as he put his paws back on the soil and ran towards him but you whistled calling his attention and waving to him as you ran further from him making snarl and growl at you giving Jihoon time to take the gun and stand up once again shooting the bear in the back before he had the chance to attack you, however the blood still got to splash on your clothes which left you shocked staring at Jihoon.

-Do not ever do that again- He scolded you as you only could breathe out your relief.

Back at Seungkwan's house you received another lecture to both of you. To Jihoon for not paying attention to where his feet were standing, and to you for having been so reckless in drawing a bear’s attention towards you.

“I'm sorry but back at the moment I didn't know what else to do” you rambled and Jihoon was the one to translate to Seungkwan as you were in front of Seungkwan's house with the body of the bear.

-Be more careful next time, I don't want the death of 2 people in my subconscious. - Seungkwan bemoaned as he saw you two skinning the bear making him gag in disgust.

-Do not worry, if it ever happens again when we are with you we will be more careful then - Jihoon blurted out.

-Thank you, now don't make me regret having you guys here- Seungkwan mumbled as he entered his house to sleep the thought of your hand skinning the bear away.

That night after you went to sleep the events that occured that evening did not leave you alone, images of the bear getting to and slashing at Jihoon did not sleep at all, prompting you to wake up after you dreamt with the bear. From your position on the floor you saw Jihoon sleeping, and you sighed at seeing he was okay, he was still alive. You knew Jihoon was skilled in shooting but the experience of this day of seeing him face such a beast had shakened you but it seemed he was okay.

However Jihoon was not okay, he stirred in his sleep and woke up when he could not forget the memories of you putting yourself in danger to save him, he had hunted plenty of times before but this time he got so worried about you getting hurt that he did not fully register where his feet stood nor checked if the material was secured enough, and as he woke up he noticed you were up as well and sighed waving at you and you let out a breath you were holding.

“I'm glad you are okay” Jihoon said

“Me too, I will never doubt your skill with a gun ever again” You replied

“Wait, did you ever doubt me?” He questioned your reply, astonished.

“No” you quickly reassured him “but today made me see you can handle anything. I just got worried, but I'm glad we got to hunt today” Jihoon chuckled and you did as well.

“We make a good team, you can not deny it”

“True” Jihoon acknowledged it “let's just plan out any scenarios from now on, don't you think?”

“Yeah” You breathed out, taking in his face, you leaned your body towards him and Jihoon cupped your face, and in a matter of seconds his soft lips were on yours, you were breathing into each other and your lips engaged in a chase for each other, Jihoon gave you repeated small pecks and you caressed his cheeks. When you pulled away you stared into his eyes and smiled at him which he returned.

The next day however, Jihoon and you were happily pretending the kiss never happened, and were acting as if it was any other day and in a silent agreement you would never talk about it again dismissing it as a result of the adrenaline of the day. It was not because of feelings.

As the days passed soon Jihoon and you had gathered everything you needed to keep going, which meant it was time to say goodbye to Seungkwan.

-Thank you for receiving us and having left us sow plants to compensate for what we took from you- Jihoon was translating for you to Seungkwan as you thanked him for everything he had done for you these days. -Oh, and also thank you for not kicking us out after you saw us skin a bear- Jihoon snickered as Seungkwan scoffed.

-I’m still traumatized, you two owe me therapy, you know- Seungkwan whined but even then he could not hide his smile -Also, of you two are going where I think you're going then take this- he took from his pocket a mockingbird pendant handing it over to you - you are gonna need it- you couldn't say you were surprised Seungkwan was part of the Rebellion and that you two were part of it as well, clenching your fist you put it into your backpack, its meaning bigger than you could ever know about.

-Wait but- Jihoon grimaced - do you not want to come with us? - He questioned

-I have a duty to protect my parents’ house and my District, I do not judge you but my fight is here- Seungkwan answered and his answer made sense, he needed to protect his home.

-Either way, thanks for everything Seungkwan, it was a pleasure- Jihoon sincerely thanked him.

-It was an honor to have you here, minus the bear of course - you would miss his sass.

…

Jihoon and you had advanced enough now to get close to the train station of District 9 which transported wheat to the center of District 6. The plan was simple: you would have to jump to the train while it was moving.

Its reigns were moving quickly as the smoke of its motors flowed through the air.

“I go first” you commanded. Running backwards and then forward to gain impulse to then jump, your backpack softening your fall in the empty wagon. “NOW YOU!” You expanded your palms in the air quickly for Jihoon to do it now who was running and at your command he leaned into the side running and jumping towards you, his legs thudded as he fell, breathing hard but then relaxed letting his body rest besides you.

As the train moves, Jihoon and you opt to stay in silence and enjoy the rest from all those stressful days, aware you need to let off part of the pressure you’ve been feeling.

Jihoon and you were laying next to each other, his head resting on your shoulder as he slept and you looked at the view and his face, smiling at how peaceful he looked right now.

…

As the days passed, Jihoon and you were finally in District 6.

Now you would have to remain low, not drawing any attention towards you, so Jihoon and you were using hoods to hide your faces.

Unlike District 9, you would have to remain away from the people as there were so many factories that were guarded by peacekeepers, thus, you needed to lay low to survive while you were here and bought water, seeds, batteries, knives and two tents to sleep in with the little money you had and then go to the forest to sleep there.

“I have an idea” Jihoon informed you that evening while you two ate dinner in front of the fire. “One of us can sleep while the other one watches if a peacekeeper is close.” It was a great idea, since that way you could take care of him and vice versa while the other one watched over your little camp.

When your second turn of watching over the camp happened it seemed mostly calm, until you heard the snapping of branches in the distance, as well as circumference cuts in your radio.

‘SNAP SNAP’

You quickly turned around trying to make the minimum sound possible looking at all sides of the forest, turning off the radio and hiding it under a bush, and taking your dagger and two knives with you, the gun would make a lot of noise, as you saw from if Jihoon's tent was open you quietly sighed after seeing it was closed, and you got further into the forest trying to see where the sound was coming from.

‘SQUEAK SQUEAK’

Now you heard and saw some squirrels running around, and they rarely did so during winter. There was definitely someone else in the forest. You crouched trying to look where they were with the binoculars you were carrying. To your far right side you saw three peacekeepers, you looked at Jihoon's tent again and you knew you had to distract them from getting to him.

Quietly you went to where the fire was lit and grabbed a log, hissing in pain when the heat burned you but still kept it in your hand, leaving cinders fall when you were more into the forest thus drawing the attention away from Jihoon, once you were away enough, you whistled and hummed the mockingbird song and drumming in a tree to then move next to another one and do the same again and again; it took less than ten minutes for you to hear the sound of a gun.

‘CLICK’

Holding your breath and using your binoculars you attacked him, launching your dagger at his throat, the sound of the slash spreading through the air, treading carefully you took your bloodied dagger from his throat and his gun as well draping it around your shoulder, going for the next two.

…

‘SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK’

Jihoon shifted his weight on his mattress

‘SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK'

‘HOO HOO’

Jihoon stirred over his covers until he sat after having his precious sleep disturbed and rubbing his eyes as he got out of his tent, growing alarmed as he saw you were not there. Sure, as it was your turn watching over the camp you would have to walk around but he saw that the radio was flipped over a bush and turned off. Worried, Jihoon took his axe and tried to follow for any hint you might have left behind.

Indeed you did after he saw footprints in a corner to his left, but getting close to them he saw the size and width of the footprints were not similar to yours at all and when he turned around he saw a peacekeeper pointing his gun at him. And then he shot but Jihoon moved quickly running and hiding behind a tree. Breathing and gaining courage Jihoon screamed to his right side

-AAAGH!!!-

But Jihoon actually moved to the left and threw his axe aiming at a forest hoping to scare the peacekeeper, which he did and when he turned around Jihoon took his axe back and pressed it into the head of the peacekeeper. Jihoon breathed hard as he removed his axe and from the peacekeeper’s head and groaned when a little bit of his blood fell over his shoes. Great, Jihoon would have to wash them now. But now you were on his mind, Jihoon needed to find you, and with that thought he turned to his left side to keep looking for you.

…

The heat of the log was still burdensome and you feared the fire would eventually burn your head but you tried to ignore it as you were looking for the other two peacekeepers, your binoculars helping you see in the darkness, as you lowered your head you saw a liquid body on the soil, crouching to touch it you felt the iron smell that was now on your index and medium fingers: blood.

Looking ahead for a body you found a dead peacekeeper with a nasty wound on the head but as you looked at the edges you saw that it must have been the result of an axe. Which meant Jihoon killed him.

…

Jihoon got tackled to the ground as a peacekeeper had found him on his way to a nearby river hoping to find you. Jihoon had caught the peacekeeper off guard kicking him on the shin and was able to elbow him and take his gun, but his foil had grabbed him from his knees and tackled him and in the struggle Jihoon let go of his axe; smart move, Jihoon would have to give him that, but at least Jihoon was able to throw the gun into the frozen river, cracking the ice and falling into the water which made the peacekeeper yell at Jihoon in rage.

-AAAHH!!- And he then overpowered Jihoon grabbing his neck and squeezing it with astounding strength making Jihoon choke, feeling his vision go blurry but then a slash cut through the air landing in the side of the torso of the peacekeeper making him scream in pain. Jihoon then saw how the peacekeeper launch himself at you, making you let go of a gun and a lit log, but you responded by taking the log with your bare hands and pressing it into the peacekeeper's chest, rolling him over to the ground, though even then the peacekeeper was able to kick you in the stomach but you were also able to stab him with a knives in his shoulder blade.

As you were fighting Jihoon got up and with the strength he could master went for his axe and plunged it into the peacekeeper's back and then lifted him him up dropping him off into the ground and plunged the axe again into his head, his blood splashing into both Jihoon’s face and your face.

Letting go of his axe, Jihoon helped you get up and you covered his frame with his arms, embracing and smelling his hair and you tried to both explain and apologize for the situation.

“There were three of them, I'm so sorry Hoon, I should have been more aware” you sobbed but Jihoon shook his head. “No, no, don't apologize, we are fine now okay, we both are fine.” And with that you two hugged again.

The next day after you woke up you were cleaning your wounds in the river, though the contrast of the cold water with the burnt skin of your hands made you hiss in pain. You needed to do it but it was agonizing, it was then that Jihoon got into the river, taking your hands into his and letting the water do it's work as he let your head fall into his shoulder as you breathed in and out; once the pain subsided you let him bandage you and your stomach fluttered when he kissed your hands.

You looked into his eyes and melted at his eyes watching you with adoration and love, his left hand went to your cheek and then he stood on his toes to kiss you, expressing his love and longing for you with each peck, bite and caress of your lips; after Jihoon pulled his head to breathe you kissed his cheek which made him chuckle.

“I love you Jihoon, I always have” You confessed

“Me too y/n, I can't believe I let this go on unsaid for so long, I don't want to imagine a world in which you are not there, I'm afraid to lose you one day.” He signed in flowy movements.

“You won't” you promised, hugging him and letting his head fall onto your chest.

3 Weeks later you finally made it to District 13, your relationship with Jihoon having evolved, no longer concealed by dreams or avoidance you just let it be.

-S, S, M, Y/n and I are here.- Jihoon muttered to the radio as well as sending the Morse code of arrival.

-Got it J, we will go for you- Seokmin's voice flowed through the air, you missed hearing his voice.

1 hour and a half later an elevator from the earth lifted itself, revealing to be carrying Seokmin and 2 soldiers.

-Hi guys, sorry I got late, but needed to bring security and the procedure to come for you.- His smile was bright and it was nice since it was like seeing the sun in the winter and Jihoon seemed to share the feeling.

-It’s okay Seokmin, after all, we need to catch up, don't we?- Jihoon muttered and Seokmin’s eyes traveled to your joined hands with Jihoon, the surprise and glee in his eyes pouring out through his expressions.

-I agree Jihoon, I agree.- Seokmin beamed

However after Coin proved to be just as corrupt as President Snow , the Rebellion was torn if it was right to keep living in District 13 but Katniss Everdeen made a speech about the importance of the spirit of resistance and to live the life our lost loved would have wished for us.

And thus, Jihoon and you chose to stay in District 13 and live together in a better house. Soon Jihoon got to work as a civil engineer and bioengineer, flattering you when he said he got inspired by you with your knowledge, whereas you had become a healer and owner of your own apothecary, assisted by Jihoon and Sunyoung.

Sunyoung had teased you endlessly when she learned about Jihoon and you, having mentioned how she always knew it would eventually happen and that she expected to be your maid of honor in the wedding flustering you.

Jihoon and you were finally able to accept you could survive together if you were in a relationship and finally be able to simply live and give yourselves a better life because of it, and even considering the option to adopt a child in the future.

“We are happy, aren’t we?” Jihoon asked you one day when you were out in the forest, after it got treatment for sowings, enjoying the feeling of the sun now it was spring.

“We are Jihoon, more than we could ever be before” you told him smiling and as he returned your smile you kissed him, enjoying the feeling of being with him and finally being able to love yourselves freely without fear.

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leviathanleva · 8 months ago

Text

Sugar Bomb

Pairing: Findlay 'Hazard' Docherty x Fem!Reader

Description: Hazard takes it upon himself to secure dinner for everyone one evening. Out of the kindness of your heart, you volunteer to help out only to find out he's gotten you a treat along the way.

[2.1 k words]

Chapter 6

It was a night like any other, calm, and relaxing, everyone was sprawled around the living room, doing their own thing while waiting for Hazzard to come home with take-out. Your stomach growls in anticipation, but you ignore it with ease and return to the mini-game on your pad, poking away at it until dinner arrives. Legs crossed, one foot dangling in the air, bobbing up and down casually; you’re sprawled on the couch like it’s nobody’s business, this was the life.

Phonk is playing from the speakers, turned low so Susie could focus on some last minute document forging. The smell of charred metal is in the air while Touch-Up twiddles with a small addition to Hazard’s gun. There’s a storm raging outside, freezing cold rain which makes you worry for the well-being of your favorite Scotsman. Deaf thunder comes through the music every now and again, makes you shift further into the sofa.

In truth, you could have whipped up something for the phreaks, but everyone had agreed, much to your displeasure, that you slave over them too much and need a break. Hence why Findlay was currently out scouting for your next meal while you sat back and molded into the cushions with a half-empty can of soda on the coffee table.

The gate screeches open and you instantly perk up.

BoomSlang is about to stand from her armchair and leave to help with the groceries when you motion for her to stay put.

“I’ll help him, you just chill.”

“Thanks, babe.” She smiles at you sweetly and returns to tweaking one of her countless weapons as you make your way to the hallway.

It’s a cold day and you tug your cardigan tighter around yourself to fend off the chill trying to nip at your skin. Your slippers drag across the floor as you make your way to the front door. The light at the entrance flicks on and you can’t help the upward tug on your lips as you make your way over.

“Fin?”

“Aye, daftie.” You hear him before you see him, along with the rustling of plastic bags and paper boxes brimming with grub. “The hunt went well.”

“I’ve no doubt.” You giggle and round the corner, then stop to take him in in all his glory.

He’s wiping the soles of his cybernetic boots on the mat, caking it with mud, and shaking droplets of rain off his leather jacket before hanging it up. His hair is a wet mess and the front of his tee is soaked because he refuses to zip up that damn jacket no matter the weather outside.

He looks chilled to the bone, you make a mental note to turn up the heater once you make it to kitchen and have him sit to warm up before dinner.

“What’s that for?” You point to the pink cupcake secured in one of his hands, it seems to be taking all his self-restraint just to not accidentally smush it.

It’s a pretty little treat, chocolate base wrapped in a frilly red cupcake mold, topped with baby pink frosting and edible glitter. Maybe it was your prolonged hunger that was drawing you to it, but it was as much of an eye candy as it would be satisfactory at the bottom of your belly, you were sure.

Was it someone’s birthday again?

“Is for you, luv.” Findlay states proudly, grins down at you and offers you the pastry that looks minuscule pinched between his fingers. “Li’le birdies like pre’y pink treats,…right?”

You couldn’t smile any wider as you took it from him and offered countless words of gratitude. You were ready to tear up at the gesture, but you’ve cried enough in the past few months so you decide to keep your tears for another occasion.

“Yes, we do.”

You’re staring at the damn thing like it’s the most precious treasure in the world and it warms him to see you so pleased, aside from your expression feeding his gentlemanly pride.

“Glad you like it.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, chuckling at the childish glint in your eyes before picking up the take-out bags from the floor.

“We can share it.” You say sweetly and raise a finger to his mouth before he has a chance to protest. “I insist, you little twit.”

You usher him down the hall and scurry to turn on the kitchen heater on full blast. The room has been uninhabited since early morning when you made coffee, so it’s only fair it’s freezing cold and the windows have frosted over. You leave the cupcake on the kitchen counter and holler at the rest of the gang that dinner will be ready in ten before fetching a towel for Hazard’s hair from a cabinet in the corridor.

“Here, handsome.” You toss the cloth over his neck and give his large upper back a pat before returning to your precious edible treasure. “Dry off before you catch a cold.”

The bread knife goes through it like butter and you’re already watering at the mouth by the feeling, not even being able to imagine how heavenly it would taste.

You turn back once the cupcake is split and see the Scotsman still has the bags in his hands, not knowing where you want them put. You’d half expect him to just set them anywhere and tend to drying himself off, but he was standing in the middle of the kitchen like a lost pup.

“You want your half now?” You ask and rest one hand on the table next to the treat before licking the leftover frosting from the bread knife. You’d thought he’d jump at the opportunity and practically thrust the take-out in your hands before wolfing down his share, but no, he still just stood there.

He was up to something…

If you hadn’t blinked you could have almost caught the little lightbulb coming to life above his head. He nods then, determined to execute his makeshift plan you were blissfully unaware of.

“Ye.”

You motion for him to take his half, but he doesn’t budge, instead he smirks and raises his occupied hands slightly.

“Hands are full, bonnie.”

“So what?...You want me to feed it to you?” It was supposed to be a joke and you do giggle as you say it, but the unchangeable expression on his face makes the grin die on your lips. “You’re kidding…”

When he doesn’t respond or laugh off the mock offer, you scoff. Your hands come to rest on your hips and you shift your weight from one leg to the other.

“You’re a big baby, you know that?” Despite the scolding tone you’re already picking up the bigger half of the cupcake, intending to walk up to him and do as he’s asked, but when you turn around he’s already standing right behind you.

Eager much…

You want to wipe the frosting all over the smug smirk plastered on his mouth, then lick it off, yet your features shift to soft adoration and you reach up, standing on your toes. You cup his cheek gently and bring the treat to his lips. If he truly wanted to be babied, you were fine with providing, even if he thought he was a big shot for lying to you about being unable to eat his share by himself.

He has to remind himself that his hands are very much occupied and he can’t just slide the bag handles on his wrists and encase your waist in his hands.

Right, very busy hands, no way of doing anything with them at the moment…

Right…

He opens his mouth and takes the treat, scarfing it down with ease, leans in when you try to step away and go wash your hands. His tongue comes in contact with the tips of your fingers, and he licks the frosting off, being thorough in his mission. His eyes never leave yours as he does so, laps at you like a dog, seeming to find more satisfaction from your flesh than the edible glitter clinging to your digits. The sharp ends of his canines graze your nails, his lips press into your skin – warm, soft, tantalizing.

You swallow back a whimper, can’t move an inch, you’re rooted to the spot, squished between him and the table. Rain drops trickle from his hair down his forehead, his whiskey orbs are burning holes into your very soul.

The heat from his tongue gliding over your fingers has your entire body overwhelmed with goose flesh and you shudder before mumbling out weakly.

“Findlay…”

“Aye?”

You swallow a lump of excitement and anxiety caught in your throat, then speak softly, making sure your voice doesn’t travel outside of the kitchen.

“Why do you torture me so…?”

He chuckles at that and succumbs to the urge to lay one hand on your hip after sloppily slapping the bags of food on the dining table behind you. He squishes the supple flesh there, and makes you squeal in the process.

“Payback for yer perfume, hen.” He hums, a deep, husky rumble that reverberates in your core. He leans closer, finally letting your hand free only to lower his face to yours. You can feel the cool steel of his nose piercing gently grazing your cheek. “Mah sweet wee hen…”

His lips are so close to yours that you feel his huffs collide with your breaths, can smell the sweetness of the cupcake on his tattooed tongue. You could lean in right now, just an inch closer and your mouths would be sealed together, no telling what would happen next.

How wonderfully painful all this was…

“Is dinner ready yet? Susie said she’s sick of my whining.”

You lurch back at JackDaw’s voice. And just like that, the spell is broken, the room comes back into focus. The door to the kitchen has been open this whole time, someone could have walked in on you two. You wanted to bury yourself alive at the implication.

“Ah, almost lovies!” You call back hastily and slip between Findlay’s fingers, take the leftover bags from his other hand, and set everything on the counter to plate. “Tell the others two more minutes!”

But your torturer isn’t done yet. He comes behind you as you shakily prepare everyone’s meals, presses a hand against your tummy, pulls you back into him, and rests his chin briefly against your shoulder, the tip of his nose drawing against the skin of your neck.

“Fill mah plate good, aye, hen? I’m starvin’.”

You nearly collapse on the spot with how flustered you are, have to resort to gripping onto the edge of the counter to keep steady as Hazard slowly pulls away. You listen for him, hear a chair screech and glance back to see him sitting in his usual spot while toweling his hair casually.

He’d be the death of you. The fucking death of you. You were sure of it.

But what was stopping you from indulging?

The fact that you refused to be a part of a fling, that’s what. You didn’t want casual, you didn’t want just sex, you wanted him for as long as you drew breath, even if that sounded a bit overdramatic in your head. You wanted to be in it for life, just as he’d told you when you’d first met, if you’re in it with him, you’re in it for life. But whether that sentiment extended to his romantic life was a mystery to you.

And it wasn’t a question to just throw out there when nothing was going on between you two besides the occasional pushing of buttons. Or maybe something was going on and you were blind to it, it was never certain when Hazard was involved.

You didn’t know why he hadn’t just asked you out, why he constantly teased you and treated you so lovingly yet refused to take the next step and kiss you. What was stopping him? Was he worried your friends would disapprove? You doubted anyone would object. But then what was the issue…

You watch him as you portion the food – lazy, unbothered, confident, the man you love so deeply yet can’t find the strength to risk it all and just confess.

You were a wuss, a fucking coward. You wish things were different.

He notices you staring at him over your shoulders, grins that famous grin of his, and gives you a wink as he leans back in his chair. You’re ready to die when he pats his thick thigh, silently offering you a new seat on the table for the night. You avert your gaze and focus on the food in your hands.

For sure he’d be the death of you.

<<< Chapter 5

Chapter 7 >>>

Masterlist

#x reader #findlay docherty #hazard x reader #overwatch hazard #hazard #hazard x you #overwatch x you #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch x reader #overwatch 2 #overwatch

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