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spider-stark · 5 months

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INFINITELY YOU

part three // spitfire

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, minors DNI

WORD COUNT - 4.5k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker // tobey!peter = pete

On the walk back from Peter Pan’s, it seemed as though Parker had managed to entirely escape the sputtering awkwardness that had ensnared him the night before.

And, after countless city blocks of listening to him babble about absolutely everything and anything, you realized that there was one very striking similarity between him and Peter.

Both boys had a fervent interest in all things nerd.

“New Hope takes place nearly two decades after the rise of the Galactic Empire, meaning that Leia is only nineteen when she's kidnapped and forced aboard the Death Star! Which is like, absolutely insane, right? Seriously! Imagine being nineteen years old and stuck inside of something that has the potential to obliterate an entire planet!”

Shoving open the lobby door to your complex, Parker hardly even waits for you to hum your agreement before continuing his retelling of the Star Wars film.

“And at the exact same time, Luke is finally beginning his Jedi training! Which, honestly, nineteen is actually super old for that, but-”

Moving towards the stairs, Parker close on your heels, you cut him off with a question. “Too old? Nineteen is hardly even an adult,” you argue. “What age do most Jedi start training?”

“About four or five, so obviously Luke was way behind,”

Not even a full three stairs up, you come to a grinding halt, leaving Parker to bump into your back. “Four?!” You cry out, wide-eyed as you spin around to face him. “That’s insane!”

Parker only lifts his shoulders, clearly not understanding the reason for your horror.

Furthering your point, you add, “There’s nothing ethical about taking a bunch of little kids and training them to be weird, intergalactic warriors!”

“It’s the best way to train them!” He lifts his hand defensively, explaining, “The earlier they start training, the less likely it is that the kids will have formed an attachment to their families! That way they learn to act out of logic instead of emotion!”

For a heartbeat, you’re rendered entirely speechless by the absurdity of his claim, left to stand with your mouth agape as you blink at him.

“That sounds like emotional abuse,” you finally huff, shaking your head. “Actually, scratch that—it doesn’t sound like emotional abuse, it just is!”

“It’s not abuse-”

You hold a hand up, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Give me one good reason why a group of adults should withhold love and affection from children if they aren’t abusing them.”

“Uh, how about the fact that love is basically what made Anakin turn to the dark side!” Parker scoffs, clearly unwilling to recognize how insane the notion he was pushing actually is.

“Or maybe Anakin turned to the dark side because he was indoctrinated and traumatized by some stupid space cult!”

The expression on his face is downright laughable.

It was as if you had just reached out and slapped him across the face. His jaw went slack, his mouth hung open in blatant offense. As a sputtering noise falls from his lips, trying and failing to come up with a good rebuttal, you smirk.

“Exactly,” you boast, taking his inability to speak as a sign of victory.

Twirling on your heel, you continue up the stairs, nearly all the way to the top before you finally hear him come stomping up behind you.

“The Jedi Order is not a cult!” He finally shouts after you.

Already traipsing through the hallway, fiddling with your keys, you sing-song, “Whatever you say, bug-boy.”

Reluctant to admit defeat, Parker continues grumbling under his breath as you unlock the door, spouting something off about your lack of respect for George Lucas.

“Look,” you tell him, pushing the door open, “if liking Star Wars matters this much to you, then I’ll gladly watch them with you.” A wry smile plays on your lips as you turn to look at him, standing in the doorway, “Maybe watching them will be enough to change my opinion on turning kids into galactic slaves.”

Eyes narrowing in a playful glare, he’s only able to hold the expression for less than a few seconds before a laugh causes him to break character. “I just can’t believe that Peter hasn’t made you watch them already,” he admits. “I had you watch them so much that you could probably recite the scripts from memory alone!”

His amusement dies off as soon as he finishes the sentence. Despite having been the one to bring it up, the mention of his world seems to cast a sullen shadow over him, ruining his sweet, boyish smile.

Curiosity instantly claws at you, begging you to ask him why his world seemed to have such a negative effect on him. Or, rather, why his version of you seemed to have such an effect.

This had happened last night too, when you had asked him if the two of you were friends in his world—and it was because of this that you assume that you’re somehow the common denominator in his discomfort.

Still, you don’t let yourself ask him about it. For as much as you’re starting to like Parker, you don’t know him nearly well enough to try prying into his life.

Not yet, at least.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to force me into sitting through them in this world, too.” You tell him sweetly, sweeping an arm out to gesture inside of your apartment, inviting him. “It’s not like I’ve got any plans for the rest of the day.”

You couldn’t even remember the last time you did have plans. Life had been so quiet since that last night with Peter and Mj—the night when everything went so horribly wrong.

Parker sucks in a breath through his teeth, a hand coming to rest against the back of his neck. “I should probably get back out on the streets,” he reluctantly says, sounding more like he was convincing himself of that than you. “But, I don’t know, maybe we can take a rain check on it, yeah?”

Disappointment washes over you, sudden enough that you’re sure it shines through on your face. It takes a shocking amount of willpower to stop yourself from trying to persuade him to stay, wanting to remind him that two other Spider-Men were already running themselves ragged in pursuit of the villains—so why did he have to go, too?

You had grown used to his constant talking, having found solace in the chatter that kept you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay so that you wouldn’t have to be alone; so that you wouldn’t have to risk thinking too long about Doctor Strange or the multiverse or constants or Peter.

The thought of admitting any of that out loud, however, felt incredibly humiliating.

“For sure,” you force a smile, trying to ignore the many thoughts swirling in your mind. Then, eyeing the slightly too-tight Ramones shirt that he’d stolen from you, you add, “But shouldn’t you at least come in and change?”

His nose wrinkles slightly as he shakes his head. “Nah—I think this city has more than enough spider-people swinging around it right now. I figure we might actually benefit from one of us patrolling on the ground-level, y’know? Maybe I can ask around for any giant lizards or blown light bulbs.”

It’s hard to tell if the last bit is meant to be a joke or not, but you laugh anyway if only to avoid knowing why you should be worried about lizards and light bulbs.

“Sounds like a plan,” you second his idea. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then?”

A surprising sense of joy lights his eyes at the sound of your hesitance, unfitting of the simplicity of the moment, but charming nonetheless. He grins—a wide and endearing sort of grin—as he takes a step back, “I won’t be gone long,” he promises before reminding you, “lock the door behind you, alright? And if you need anything-”

He pauses, patting the pockets of his jeans only to remember that he didn’t bring a phone with him to this universe—and that, even if he did, there likely wasn’t a wireless plan good enough to support multiversal travel.

“If you need anything, call 911.”

“Got it,” you laugh, watching as he stumbles backwards towards the stairwell, cheeks red with faint embarrassment.

Turning to go inside, you can’t ignore the warmth that now blooms in your chest.

You could definitely get used to having him around.

A peculiar sensation prickles at your skin, curling along your spine like icy fingertips.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The usually comfortable atmosphere of your apartment had shifted. An eerie tension fills the space, a near-suffocating feeling that has the very walls holding their breath, humming a tune of warning as you inch further into the living room.

Your stomach twists as the sharp tang of exhaust fumes fills your nostrils. By the couch, a faint breeze rustles the curtains of a window, wafting in the nauseating scent of the city street below—a window that hadn’t been open when you left earlier.

A mere foot or so away, you notice that the picture frame Parker had been fiddling with before is now lying on its face, having been knocked off the end table and abandoned. Atop the table, you notice that the lamp is sitting askew, its base just inches from tumbling over the edge and joining the frame.

Someone had come in through your window—and it didn’t appear as though stealth had been very important to them, given that they had clearly stumbled into the table upon their entrance.

Adrenaline floods your senses, your spine stiffening as you take a series of slow, quiet steps.

Moving towards the corner, you carefully reach out a hand to grab the metal bat propped against the wall. The bat had been an unlikely housewarming present from when you first moved in, given to you by Peter’s mentor and your own reluctant renegade, Tony Stark. For nearly two years now it had sat in this corner, unused and gathering dust—until now.

You wrap your fingers tightly around the base, wincing slightly as the rubber grip pulls at the still-healing flesh on your palm, making you curse yourself for not properly bandaging the wound last night.

But you’re used to pain—and so you’re easily able to bite back against it as you ease through the living room, checking for any sign of the intruder's presence.

As you walk, gripping the bat like your life depends on it, you can’t help but hear Tony Stark’s voice echo in your mind.

If you’re gonna live alone, then you should have some sort of protection—he had told you, gently placing the cool steel into your hands for the first time, a ribbon tied sloppily around it—not that you need it.

Satisfied with your search of the living room, you start easing towards the hall. You’re good at sneaking around, having had a lot of practice at it—every movement you make is calculated, every footfall so purposefully gentle that it’s nearly silent.

Quiet as you were, you could do nothing to ease the sound of your blood thrumming wildly in your own ears, your heart pounding against your chest.

The incessant beating worries you—because you know that there are people in the world with the unnatural ability to hear such things. Peter, even with his enhanced hearing, had to be close to someone in order to hear something as soft as their heartbeat; but you had heard rumors that there were others who could hear a pulse from miles away, others like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

The thought makes your blood run cold, though you try to push the worries from your mind. From what you know, the Devil doesn’t have a habit of breaking into apartments, nor was Queen's his usual jurisdiction.

No—what you were dealing with had to be no more than an average burglar!

An average burglar who, somehow, scaled up the side of a building to break into your apartment…

Alright—you think, approaching the end of the hall—perhaps it’s a not-so-average burglar, then! Still better than the Devil.

Peeling one hand from the bat’s handle, you curl your fingers around the doorknob to the guest room, Parker’s room. You ease the door open slowly, trying to keep the old hinges from crying out as you peer into the space.

The sweet scent of vanilla is the first thing that hits you, contrasted by the subtle bite of vetiver.

Parker—the room smells of him, even though he had only been here for one night.

On the bed, the quilt is rumpled and thrown about, pillows strewn about. The doors of the armoire are wide open, a few old shirts hanging over the edge of one of the shelves, no doubt from when he went digging through your clothes in search of something to wear.

The room was messy, but empty.

Your shoulders sag, half-a-breath loosing from your lungs. The relief is short-lived, however; as by the time you edge back into the hall to turn towards your own door, you’re overwhelmed with dread.

If whoever broke in was still here, then this was the only place they could be—save for the bathroom, though you seriously doubt any burglar would have much interest in scouring through your toiletries…

Easily, gracefully, you twist the knob, the metal yielding quietly to your careful touch.

The curtains are tightly drawn, eradicating any trace of sunlight and leaving the room cloaked in shadows. But, even in the darkness, you’re able to see the rough outline of a figure sprawled out across your mattress.

For a split second, you think of Parker’s advice to call 911, the weight of your phone suddenly heavy in your back pocket.

You think of how you should follow that advice.

You think about how fast you could run—if you would be able to reach the front door before they could catch up to you.

But then you stop thinking, disregarding all logic and reason as you take a step into the room, as if drawn in by some invisible force.

Remaining mindful of your surroundings, you slowly approach the edge of the bed. Squinting in the darkness, you try to study the body laid out atop your comforter. Watching the steady rise-and-fall of their chest, it suddenly hits you that, whoever they are, they’re asleep.

Slinking around the corner and coming to stand at your bedside, you’re finally close enough that you can see them in spite of the absence of light. Crimson and blue spandex clings tightly to their arms as they cling one of your pillows to their chest, and you feel your entire body sag with relief as you loosen your grip on the bat.

So this must be Peter 2.

The fabric of his mask is bunched up and resting along the bridge of his nose, which is somewhat smushed against the pillow he’s holding, no doubt leaving him to breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and your perfume.

Lower, you can make out the subtle contours of his jawline and the curve of soft, pink lips. Higher, you’re met with the impassive stare of then white lenses sewn into his mask.

The lenses shield his eyes from your view, and a curious feeling begins to tug at the furthest corners of your mind. Take it off—it seems to whisper, compelling you to move in closer, your shins pressing against the side of the mattress—take it off.

You grit your teeth and try to ignore the feeling, try to ignore the velvet-voice slithering through your mind; begging you to look at him, to touch him, to notice him, to-

Pain shoots along the side of your temple, likely in response to the sudden tightness in your jaw. It distracts you enough that you’re able to shake the strange feeling long enough to regain your focus—even if the remnants of it still linger.

You shouldn’t be interested in him—you should be pissed at him.

Not only had he broken into your house, which was already bad enough, but he had also climbed into your bed and made himself cozy! The absolute gall, the audacity he must have, has you allowing the tiniest sliver of rage to ignite inside of you.

Both hands still gripping the bat, you lower it from where it rests against your shoulder to swiftly jab its head into his stomach.

A cough sputters past his lips as the impact pushes the air from his lungs.

You’re actually shocked that you landed the blow—in truth, you had expected his spider-sense to kick in and detect the incoming hit, waking him with just enough time to dodge the shot. But, apparently, his instincts had made the mistake of assuming that you were of no threat to him.

“Morning sunshine,” you chime, your feigned cheerfulness set off by a sneer.

He’s scrambling into an upright position, knees sinking into the mattress as he presses a hand against the sore spot you’d created on his stomach. “What the fu-”

His voice is hoarse—from sleep or pain, you’re not sure—and he doesn’t finish the curse spewing from his mouth once his head shoots up towards you, as if finally registering the sound of your voice.

“I don’t know what things are like in your world,” you muse, swinging your bat back to rest against your shoulder, “but in this one, breaking and entering is considered a crime.”

He’s still catching his breath, and while those damn white lenses covering his eyes give so little emotion away, you assume that he’s going to apologize. It’s what Peter would do, and Parker, too.

But not him.

“Your friends said I could stay here,” he defends himself. Taking another deep breath and extinguishing the burning in his lungs, the lower-half of his face transforms into a defiant smirk. “It’s not breaking and entering if you were invited.”

“And did they tell you to sleep in my bed, too?” You shoot back, brows rising in annoyance. “Word of advice: next time you’re invited to stay in a total stranger’s house, maybe try not to repay their kindness by crawling through their window.”

He mocks you without missing a beat, “Word of advice: you live in a shitty neighborhood—if you don’t want people coming through your windows, you should try locking them.”

“Ah, right! Cause the average person is definitely willing to scale the side of a building for the prospect of an unlocked window!”

“You’re a pretty girl in a dangerous city,” he drones, lifting a shoulder as he meets your sarcasm with purposeful calm. “You’d be surprised what people would be willing to do for a chance at getting you alone.”

The insinuation sends a shiver down your spine, but you mask your unease, flashing a smile that’s more predatory than sweet. “Aw,” you coo, “so you think I’m pretty?”

He returns the expression, skillfully avoiding your derisive question. “I think you’re irresponsible—and a little cocky.”

“Better to be cocky than a felon,” you remark. “Just spare my neighbors the acrobatics show next time, would you? Maybe try knocking on the door like a normal person! Preferably when you’re not dressed like… that.”

It’s not that his suit wasn’t nice, because it was. But it lacks the advanced Stark-tech that makes Peter’s suit so uniquely sleek, meaning that it was likely safe to assume that no one in this world would mistake this boy for the real Spider-Man.

Unless they were to catch him scaling up the side of your building…

“I tried knocking.” he sounds exasperated, as if you are testing his patience. “You weren’t home.”

You snort a laugh, wondering if he truly believes that is all the reason he needs to break into someone's home.

“Then you should’ve waited until I got home,”

“I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I was too tired to wait.”

“Then you should’ve slept in the alleyway with the rest of the strays,” you hiss at him, fingers tightening around the bat as your frustration builds.

The sheer ferocity in your voice gives him pause, stunning him into silence.

Then the corner of his mouth begins to twitch upwards, lazily grinning at you as if he actually enjoys the verbal onslaught.

You can tell that he’s watching you through those white lenses, and his tongue darts over his bottom lip, you feel your breath catch in your throat. “Fine,” amusement dances in his tone as he raises his gloved hands, “fair enough.”

For a moment, no sound comes from your parted lips, leaving you to stand there gaping at him until you remember how to speak. “Fair enough?” You echo, shaking your head slightly. “That’s all you’ve got? No apology?”

He moves, forcing you to take a step back as he shoves his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s not as tall as Parker, but he still stands an inch or so higher than you, making it hard to not feel intimidated as he stares down at you, your own face staring back from the reflection of his lenses.

“Better not push your luck, Spitfire,”

He’s baiting you—he has to be! Using a stupid nickname to get under your skin, to try and prod further at your short temper. And it’s working—god, you hate how much it’s working!—because you find yourself contemplating putting his superhuman durability to the test by whacking him over the head with your bat.

“By the way,” he says before you have a chance to act on your intrusive thoughts, pointing at your hands, “you’re bleeding.”

As if his words switch a flip in your head, you’re suddenly aware of the acute throbbing in your palm. You loosen your grip on the bat, letting it clatter recklessly to the floor as you hold your hand out to examine it.

Unsurprisingly, the rubber handle managed to tear open the barely-healed cut on your palm, courtesy of your too-tight grip on it. You hiss through your teeth, watching as blood oozed from the cut, dripping down towards your wrist.

Slipping past you, the boy only half-manages to stifle his laugh. “You should probably take care of that.”

He’s already slipping out into the hall by the time you regain enough awareness to follow after him, gritting your teeth against the pain.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“To the other room,” he calls over his shoulder. Once he’s standing in front of Parker’s door, he spins back around to face you, his snarky expression still in-tact. “Where I’m hoping you won’t follow me.”

Everything about him causes your blood to boil—his grating voice, his insolent attitude, his stupid soft lips.

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” You exclaim, your voice strained with pain as you try to wrap your hand in the lower half of your shirt.

It takes no-time for blood to start seeping through the thin material, and you certainly don’t look intimidating like this—the lower half of your abdomen on display as you try to apply whatever pressure you can to the wound—but you don’t care.

“I don’t have to let you and Parker stay in my house—I’m doing it because I’m nice, alright? And, so far, you’ve been nothing but a dick!”

The thin fabric of his mask shifts, brows furrowing at the mention of Parker. Unlike Peter, however, he doesn’t bother commenting on the nickname. “Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe you. Especially since you’re the one calling me names.”

The levity in his tone makes you want to scream—what was his deal?!

You press harder against your bleeding palm, your breathing turning shallow. You’re not sure if it’s frustration or pain or what, but you feel like your head is spinning. “Look, I don’t know you, alright? But this? Isn’t gonna work,” you bark at him, chin lifted defiantly as you stare into his mask, unrelenting. “If you plan on staying in my house, then you’ll get your shit together—got it?”

His head tilts, curiously watching as you continue your frantic speech.

“No crawling in through my windows or sleeping in my bed or smarting shit off! And take off that stupid mask!” You huff, shaking your head. “Or, I don’t know, pull it down the rest of the way! Just do something because you look stupid like that!”

The words are spewing from your mouth like a torrential downpour, fueled by the rage swirling in your stomach and the throbbing in your hand and—

He laughs, a genuine laugh that isn’t born of derision, and you feel your racing thoughts slow to a halt. “You should work on your insults,” reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs his mask off. “Because that was pathetic.”

It’s no longer just your thoughts that have slowed, but the entire world. Everything around you feels like it has come skidding to a stop—leaving you staring up at him like a dumbfounded idiot.

He’s beautiful—a commonality among Peter’s variants, it seems.

He’s smirking, an infuriatingly charming smirk that lets you know he has no intention of listening to your demands for him to silence his quick wit. But you’re not focusing on that—no, you’re focusing on the features that had been hidden from you this whole time; his dark hair, tousled from removing his mask, falls in a chaotic halo around his face, contrasting the vibrance of his eyes.

His eyes.

They leave you breathless, and you hate it. Colored with the deepest cerulean you’ve ever seen, his eyes feel like staring into the depths of a crystalline ocean. You can almost feel yourself getting swept up in their tides, feel them enveloping you in a feeling of familiarity, as if this wasn’t the first time you had been pulled into their ebbing waters.

“Have we–” your mouth has gone dry, your voice cracking. “Have we met before?”

It’s a ridiculous question, and you recognize that even as it’s spilling from your lips. You couldn’t have met him before—not when the two of you weren’t even from the same universe!

He seems to be thinking the same thing, and you’re already preparing to take the full force of whatever smartass comment he’s about to fling at you. “I’ve met you,” he says simply, taking you by surprise. Then he inclines his head towards your still-bleeding hand, “You should patch yourself up before you stain the carpet.”

You look down at your hand, at the hem of your shirt, soaked in blood.

“But just so I know,” you look back up, his body half-turned towards the door, his fingers resting against the knob, “if Peter and Parker are already taken, then who does that make me?”

You have to force yourself to take a breath. “What did I call you in your world?” He’s silent for a moment, staring at the floor and chewing on his lip. Then, pushing the door to Parker’s room—their room—open, he smiles.

“Pete.”

a/n - ayyy, pete's finally here! and, ofc, lots of other little important details sprinkled around as well.

also, i really wanna say thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this story so far! it truly means the world to me to read all of the nice comments and to know that you guys are interested in this story! so, again, thank you 💖 as always, please comment/like/reblog and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

part four, titled "blooms of subterfuge", to be released april 29th

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anarchiii · 2 months

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Worlds apart-5 —ACOTAR x TOG AU

Part five | warnings: practically none | Azriel x Celaena Sardothien

Summary; Pain and suffering one after the other, Azriel decides that maybe he’s not meant for this world, but maybe he is meant for another…

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Azriel’s POV

“Where are we going again?” He questioned, trying not to look at her too long, she sighed, “Azriel, for the fourth time, we are going to the Royal Library. Does your world not have libraries?” She said, Azriel had explained to her earlier than he was from somewhere called ‘Prythian’ not ‘Erelia’ or ‘Wendlyn’.

Celaena had taken it surprisingly well to finding out that Azriel was from a completely different universe and had just simply said; “very well, then, I’ll get you back to your world if that is what you wish,” he hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he didn’t particularly want to go back right now, or if he was even welcome there anymore. And he didn’t know if her willingness to help him was her way of saying ‘I’m going to help you go home so you can leave me the hell alone’ he hoped that wasn’t the case. He has grown quite fond of the golden haired-spitfire.

“So you are certain we will find what we are looking for?” He questioned, she turned her head to look at him, frowning at him under long, dark lashes, “I did not say anything of the sorts, this future research and discoveries is purely based on luck, don’t get your hopes up.” She said blatantly. Azriel had never met someone like her, someone so witty, beautiful and snappy but also kind and compassionate, not to mention her apparent love for the dramatics, it was so. . . Her, if that made sense.

He sucked in a breath as they walked through the huge doors to the library, mountains of books and shelves immediately coming into view, there were a couple scholars and librarians walking around but they did not take notice of them, their day filled with reading and cataloging books.

Celaena was frowning again, this time at a librarian sitting behind his desk, the man’s eyes narrowing from behind his glasses as he noticed her stare, Celaena let out a growl that seemed more Fae than Human but kept walking, Azriel didn’t dare ask what that was about. She was scary enough as it was.

They kept walking down halls lined with books upon books until the lights started fading, and dust started appearing everywhere they looked, she kept walking, though.

Azriel took the time to map out the library and all the people in it, so far, there was only one exit, not a good thing, Celaena seemed to be thinking the same thing, they seemed to do that a lot, but, as they say. Like calls to like.

Celaena’s POV

“Stop looking at me like that,” Celaena said, not bothering to turn around from where she was searching bookshelves in one of the many catacombs, thankfully, it wasn’t the same one she has visited before, she shuddered at the memory of that. . . Beast.

“How do you know I’m looking at you? You have your back turned to me!” Azriel hissed, for an apparent esteemed warrior, he was quite touchy.

No one had mentioned what had happened in the bed last night so she didn’t bring it up, it didn’t mean she didn’t think about it though, “aren’t you a ‘Spymaster’ or whatever, shouldn’t you know?” She questioned, earning a grumble in response that had her chuckling, it made him more human, which was better for her. And her nerves.

Two hours, two hours they spent down her, and found absolutely nothing, it’s not like she was expecting a book on world-walking but it would’ve been nice to find something down here, Azriel seemed to be thinking the same thing as he ripped off his hood and plopped down onto a dusty chair, she half expected it to break under his weight but no, for a male of his size. He apparently wasn’t that heavy.

Celaena went back to searching the shelves when a cover caught her eye, it was the Walking-Dead, how did it get down here? She pulled the book out and opened it, nothing, well—not nothing. But not what they were looking for.

She kept flicking through the pages, looking for something, anything, when a familiar voice broke through the air of silence, “what the fuck! Celaena?” Dorian yelled, she whipped her head around, Azriel at her side instantly, “uh, uh,” she started panicking. Oh Gods. Dorian was going to get them killed! “Uhm. . . It’s not what it looks like?” She made up a hundred excuses in her head but didn’t get to use any of them as Azriel hit Dorian in the back of the head with the hilt of her dagger, “oh fuck, Az! Oh Gods, this is how I’m going to die!” She started pacing around the room, “it’s fine, it’s fine!” He said at last, “we just need to take him back to our room, easy,” great, that’s a great plan. They would drag the unconscious Crown prince of Ardalan through his own library and through his castle into technically his room, easy!

“I’ll grab his legs! You grab his arms! And for Mala’s sake, put your hood back on!” She yelled, not caring about her volume.

Thanks to what luck they possessed, they managed to drag Dorian through the castle and into her room, they dumped the prince onto the couch in the game room and Celaena went to grab a cloth to clean up the blood, the blood, running through her bedroom she nearly ran into someone, oh Gods, not just someone. . .“Chaol!” She shrieked, she was so screwed. . .

The End.

-Taglist

@aelincaddel

@azrielslittleslut

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

#sjm universe #fantasy #books #sarah j maas #acotar #sjmaas #throne of glass #a court of thorns and roses #azriel shadowsinger #sarah j mass #sjmass #sjmaas multiverse #sjm fanfic #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #fanficton #azriel x celaena #acotar x tog

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thetravelingtyper · 2 years

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Reaper (GN! Tall Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley) Spitfire Moment 2

You and Simon have a moment and Simon has a few skeletons on his mind.

Warnings: Some angst, talk of character death, happy ending. Possible OOC of characters

Part 1, Part 3, Masterlist

A/N: These moments are not in any particular chronological order so details are given in each description. Takes place before the events of COD MW2 2022. In this universe, the 141 had Soap knowing Ghost already.

(Deeply inspired by Woman by Mumford and Sons, Seriously if you want my emotional experience please listen to that on repeat while reading!)

A flash of lightning lights up your living room. Then it goes out, then a rumble of thunder like a wave. Christmas lights blink, threatening to go out, but they just resume their programmed pattern. You sit on the far side of the sofa, leaning against the arm with legs crossed as you sit sentinel. You are a silent guardian in the night as your partner sleeps.

Ruffled blond hair is soft under your fingertips, and you scratch lightly at Simon’s scalp as he grumbles something incoherent in his sleep. Ghost had entered your apartment, but the warmth of your soul let the reaper find rest. As a hardened machine, Ghost cut down enemies and bolstered allies alike, and yet the hardened cusp of a man was made whole with love here at this moment as he slept.

You reach a free hand behind you to the table, your scrying fingers brush hard plastic and you pick up the other half of your sleeping lover. As if sensing a call, Simon shifts, his loose arms pulling into himself a bit, but he does not awaken; instead his head turns and digs a little bit deeper into the pillow in your lap. He reminded you of a big dog trying to fit into a tiny dog bed, this thought leading a smile to your face and your eyes shift down to him for a moment. You pull his mask forward, holding it above his sleeping form, now taking your hand from his scalp to run it over the skull plate.

At one point you had been unnerved by Ghost. Despite your height, it was his way of carrying himself that allowed Ghost to tower over you. And yet your good-humored nature had won out when he had treated you with respect.

---

You were part of a United States Marines Covert Unit, the end of a long undercover mission had brought you to London for R&R as your Captain put it. The woman had given you a long look and then sent you for an extended break. Something about a ‘fisher friend’ over the ‘Pond,’ someone she thought you would enjoy. So with your few traveling possession bundled together, you took a late flight.

For some reason you were restless, and the moment you got off the plane you headed to your destination, a brick-built pub. Your Captain had told you to meet her contact in the next few days but you had nothing to do.

Pushing into the pub you found a warm and rustic space. Hardwood tables, cushioned stools, and a good old chap running the place pulled you in quickly. The bartender and, as you found, the owner liked to keep the place open late.

“For those lonely wanderers, you military?” You nodded at the question and he gave a knowing nod, then gestured to a space behind the bar.

“Feel free to stay a while, you look like ya could use a drink and some company.”

You give the man a smile and set your carry-on and backpack down. You appreciated the hospitality and as you took a seat at the bar you looked around.

There were a few regulars, older gents who had a few too many waiting to leave, you look to the back, and a couple of ladies were playing pool. What you assumed was the older of the two was hovering at her partners’ back, and the younger shot her a smile. Your heart warmed at the clear affection, your eyes moved on. At a table across from them sat a tired student, textbooks, laptop, and the use of the outlet signaled their hasty work. The poor kid looked ready to fall asleep, but as they kept nodding off they jolted awake and then went back to frantic typing. You grimaced, remembering those days in your 20s.

You did a final look about the room, eyes scanning the corners, assessing the structure of the room, and catching the shadows in the more closed corner. Then a glint. You pulled yourself up, a clink of glasses as the bartender busied himself prepping you a drink. A smile curled up on your face, you were a little startled but you had caught your watcher, you sent the figure a nod.

Hidden in a far-cornered table sat a man in all black, the only signal that he was there at all was the skull printed on his balaclava. Your training crept up your spine when you first clocked him, but the surroundings and atmosphere told you that somehow he wasn’t a threat. And with his position, you felt that, in a funny way, he just fit in, every old place like this had a skeleton in the closet.

The bartender finally turned back to you and noticing your raised eyebrow turned to the silent corner. You crack a smile:

“Got a skeleton in your closet?”

This catches the man off guard, then he lets out a loud bellowing laugh. He has to set the glass down to brace himself on the bar. His laughter catches the patrons' eyes, but they turn back to their actions. It’s infectious and with your energy (and frankly slight delirium after a long flight) you begin to giggle. You lock your legs on the stool to balance yourself, a glint in your eye lighting up. The bartender catches his breath and then asks you what you were drinking.

“A rum and coke please,” you move to pull out payment and the man waves you off.

“You are the first person to notice him, this is on the house. Don’t mind the man he is a good customer and a good patron.”

He makes your drink and doesn’t offer any more information, and you don’t push. If a man in a mask is in a place like this chilling in the dark corner like Batman at, you glance at your watch, 1 something in the morning you respect his dedication.

The next two hours are spent with two drinks and a long conversation. He busies himself as the other patrons leave, the men getting rides and the student finishing with a sigh of relief. As the women pass hand in hand you and the bartender both smile. He asks what life is like in the states, where you went to school, and how the force was. You stay within nonclassified limits of course but you spin him (slightly) exaggerated tales. Sometimes he turns around to reorganize things and in these moments you feel eyes on the side of your head.

The resident skeleton is apparently nursing a glass, the amber liquid catching the light, but it is his eyes you catch as the light shifts. Umber eyes glint through a mix of eye black and pale skin. You hold his eyes, back straightening naturally under his observation. You wonder if he was military, seeing his position and the mask. As the bartender returns to you, you nod and raise your glass in a toast and offer. He makes no movement so you shrug and turn back to the bartender with an easy and engaged smile, behind your back Simon’s head tilts in consideration.

3 o’clock comes with a slight warmth in your veins, you pull your arms over your head in a stretch as tiredness finally catches up to you. Your conversation had turned from your experience to why you were here. And you offer the best reply you could while maintaining some secrecy.

“My service mom basically sent me over to be babysat.”

The bartender raises a brow but doesn’t push, instead, he offers an amused grin while glancing at your face and the clock. You get his idea and nod,

“I’m staying close just…” you still and turn, the man pauses in his approach a foot or two from you. He seems a little surprised to be caught but makes no movement, he then recovers and approaches the stool next to you. He looks down at you with a silent question.

“Be my guest.” You smile warmly, his actions were a bit endearing, it reminded you of your friend’s german shepherd. As a puppy, the dog would stalk your friend, and the moment she broke the stare the dog would pounce.

The man sits with a tight figure, he is covered except for, as you see now, his hands. They are rough with scars and calluses and the glint of a chain around his neck with dog tags under his shirt answers your earlier assumptions. He is bulky, well-tuned, and muscled for combat, and you find yourself happy you don’t have to see his bad side. His eyes turn to yours under your observation, brown eyes bright and aware despite the skull and the silence of his figure. His eyes trace your form, then after passing over your belongings, they focus on the impression of your hidden dog tags. He tilts his head.

“American, sir, if the accent didn’t already give it away.”

You offer it up then turn back to your drink. The bartender watches a little baffled, then watches Simon, an unlikely patron for a long while. He didn’t know the man that well, but he came to be able to read the man, especially with his other unit members came in. The men in hats liked beer and cigars while the Scot was a loud but grand time. Simon gives you a long look, evaluating, and then…

A glint of glass hits your peripheral vision, and a pale hand of a reaper raises his glass. You turn, blinking down then up at him, he lifts his head, and you smile. You raise your glass to clink lightly against his and, turning to clean the counter the bartender smiles. He heads to the other end, cleaning and sorting glasses and utensils. Simon watches him leave then turns back to you. You watch him with an amused grin, shoulders looser, and general air happy.

“Where are you staying?” his voice for some reason doesn’t surprise you as it comes out more like a grumble than anything else.

You raise a brow, while the man in front of you was, interesting, you didn’t feel unsafe. You went with your gut,

“There’s a small inn a few blocks down, Captain booked me a room.”

This caught Simon’s attention, he had a hunch.

“I know it. I’m in for a few days,” he watches you stifle a yawn, “walk you?”

The offer surprises you, but you finish your drink as the bartender returns. You consider it and give him a nod.

“Sure...?”

“Simon, Simon Riley.” His name is firm and your lips quirk, you offer your name in reply. It confirms his suspicion and as you gather your stuff Simon takes your carry-on for you.

He had been surprised when you noticed him, but listening in on your stories and your easy nature, even around him, had caught his interest. And as he opened the door for you and gave a nod to the barkeep a small grin rose under his mask.

---

Simon had actually offered good company, the walk had led to a good conversation. In the following days before your meeting you had been offered an outing for tea and groceries by the man, he had shown you the area. And the night you had gone to the pub to meet with your captain’s friend you found Simon sitting with what you would find out was the 141.

You had locked eyes, chuckled, and then offered “what is this, army recruitment?”

The following amused grin on Captain John Price’s face and the baffled expressions on the others' faces cemented your character. You approached the table steadily and introduced yourself with an induced American drawl. Soap grinned at you, welcoming you with a drink instantly. Gaz looked between you and a grinning Price:

“This is the new recruit? They look like they are on vacation.”

“I was, apparently ‘mom’ was loaning me out, good to know the Captain hates me.”

Price’s voice was warm and well-humored,

“Aye, consider it a promotion, right Lieutenant?”

Simon’s brow raised under the mask and he turned to regard you. There was a familiar calm, then a quick flash of something. You took it as a good sign and dropped into the seat next to him, and the rest became history.

---

The white of the skull shell comforted you with its seriousness. While you loved the man asleep in your lap with all your heart, you did not shy away from Ghost. He had risen up from the darkness that lingered around Simon and was a shield against the world. And yet, as he fell further and further in with the 141, parts of Simon shone through.

You press the mask against your heart in a silent thanks, a bit goofy but you were sentimental. Eyes closed, you took in the residual smell of cologne, sweat, and gunpowder. At this point in your life, so deep within the arms of war, even while at peace the smells settled your soul. In the darkness behind your eyes, an easy light shone through as long arms wrapped themselves around your stomach.

The rain outside pelted coldly, but warmth simmered in your heart. Brown eyes sat closed but Simon hummed, hands traveling. You chucked down at him, still grasping his shadow in your hands, hesitant to disconnect the two in your mind as it was indeed Ghost you had loved first before the unmasked man beneath you.

The ink of his tattoos danced in the street lights from the window, a flash of lightning, Simon lifts up from your grasp, pulling his arms to his chest. You fear for a moment but stifle a giggle when he just flips his long body over to his stomach to settle further into your lap like a cat. He lays for a moment before propping himself up with an elbow, his face turning up to you.

Eyes linger over you, his mouth tugging up, you wore one of his shirts, the buttons at the collar, it is loose and showing your collarbone, and a silver chain. His eyes travel down, then they catch his infamous mask. His voice rumbles out, somehow even lower from sleep, and it sends a tingle up your spine.

“What are you doing Love?”

His sleep-husked voice asks. You don't answer. Instead, you pull a hand from the mask to caress your lover's face. Scars are raised on the smooth skin under your fingers. His stubble is rough and he leans into your hand like a cat. You trace up, thumbing a cut on his brow, then hitting his hair he drops back down into your lap. You can’t stop the smirk, his head turns on the pillow looking out into the room, refusing to acknowledge your smug smile as he leans into the pillow. This man was a cat. You run your hand actively through his growing-out hair.

“You can’t escape the question.”

“I’m not baby. I was just admiring an old friend.” You huff a laugh as his arms can now easily circle your waist.

He mumbles incoherently into the pillow as he embraces you like a tired toddler.

“What, Ghost is really cool, you know a friend tells me he’s really hot under all that gear,” you pause a moment thinking, “actually leave the gear on.”

Simon groans, now fully awake, he pulls back and pushes himself up further. In a short sleeve shirt, you can greatly admire his arms as he moves his long legs around shifting to sit so that he is mirroring you. He now sits crisscrossed in front of you.

“Sleepover?”

He gives you a pointed look. You grin.

“Love, we won’t be sleeping if you keep being cheeky…” it rumbles out and he reaches a hand towards you. You hug his mask tighter, head shaking and pulling back from him.

“Nope.”

A blond brow shoots up. Simon sits straighter then he sees you glance down at the mask holding it to better examine it. The heartfelt smile on your face makes him freeze.

---

You had been shot. Gunfire finally fizzled out as the team got the hell out of dodge with the intel. You laughed wetly, hot tears of pain blinding your sight into a fuzzy haze. A mohawk passed and you reached a hand up. Soap’s voice filtered in and out of coherency.

“Shit, hang in ther…”

Firm hands pressed to your side and your face as Gaz held pressure to the wound, his dark skin a reprieve from the white lights of the burning sun. A hat presses on your head, your eyes search.

“Hold on to this kid, I expect it back.”

Price covers your eyes from the sun with his hat as Ghost drives as fast as he physically can without jostling you. You had made it back, rushing into the truck as fire rained down from above. What was supposed to be an empty compound was filled with enemies and shoddy intel. Soap and Gaz had been on the other side of the compound and had bested you by a lucky minute. You all heard the echo of a rifle before the blood seeped out from under your gear, you froze and then crumpled forward. It was Soap who had yanked you into the truck and Ghost had taken off like a bat out of hell.

“Shit, Ghost careful!” in his panic, Soap’s accent thickened as he cupped the back of your head, Price’s hat tilted, threatening to tumble. You gasped out a hard breath, in your delirium you tried to reach to fix it, but your hands lay still, limply splayed out. Soap caught the movement and his heart broke, his jaw clenched and he gently moved your shoulders and head down further into his lap. He tilted the hat better on your head, hand shaking when you smiled hazily,

“Thank you Soapy…” the words tumbled out with a shaky giggle.

"Spitz" the deep voice cut through your delirium for a moment, you pulled your legs up trying to shift. Gaz curses,

"Keep 'em still Johnny!"

"Hey L.T.," your voice cracks, "you think Cap will take me back? Like a trade in…" you give a chuckle.

Technically you were on 'loan' as your captain had told Price. Well extended loan, as you never officially 'joined'.

Simon, under Ghost, clenched the wheel tighter as the truck crested a hill. Price remained grimly silent, having already called for medical evac, the safe house was 30 minutes out, Simon drove faster.

“Ghost?” your questioning tone squeeze his heart.

“We are not returning you Spitz.” Hearing Soap’s nickname for you from your commanding officer made you giggle.

“You sound funny.”

Gaz did his best to staunch the bleeding at your abdomen,

“Shit, Captain we need to hurry!”

You suddenly jerked at the pressure, hand lunging for Soap’s arm. Your eyes dull a little and your voice breaks,

“I’m scared Johnny.”

Price spins around at this, eyes shooting from the road, he leans over the back seat.

Your eyes dip and Soap starts shaking your cradled head.

“Hey, hey, look at me!” You can barely understand him through the ringing of your ears and your haze.

You can make out the sounds of a chopper and the truck skidding to a stop, but warmth has embraced your mind as shadows start to take you. Doors slam open with a crash. You close your eyes, then a jab, and awareness fights through.

“Fucking hell, you are not fucking dying on me!”

Your eyes shoot open, a flash of clarity, then the rush of searing pain. You almost scream but instead bite down on leather.

“You are going take your tongue off! It’s ok I’m here!” The reaper stands over you.

Actually, now your limp form is in the air.

Ghost has you in his arms rushing to the chopper, unseen the others follow, truck abandoned. But the face of death stares down at you. The injection wakes your body but your mind still drifts and your eyes unfocus on anything but the skull plate and deep brown eyes.

You reach a hand up, bumping then finally finding purchase on the mask. His breath comes out jagged with hidden emotion as he runs effortlessly with you. Eyes turn back up and you whine at the loss of his face, he lunges up into the helicopter.

“You will be fine Spitz,” Ghost mutters as the others jump in and slide the door shut. The bird takes off and Price is yelling directions while Soap and Gaz pace, but…

Ghost is a wall off from the chaos as he holds you, the medic rushes him, a light in your eyes, testing fingers. Ghost lowers you to the floor, Soap rushes through Gaz’s call. Price’s hat tumbles off, and Soap braces his hands under your head as Ghost sets you down.

Blackness finally catches you but you latch on, mentally and physically, to the reaper’s face. Ghost just kneels closer, listless for a second as you pull him closer by his head. His arms brace on the sides of your head, careful not to hit you. His shoulders, padded in black, block you from view as the medic rushes for supplies. Soap is the only witness as Price holds Gaz back from crowding you.

The skull with surprised human eyes is a breath away from your face, but you don’t register Simon at this point. You weakly caress the skull, and Simon's breath stutters.

“You’re…not scary” you giggle haggardly and Soap has to clench his jaw and turn away. But Simon is caught in your grasp, watching you pass into shadows, but yet, your eyes then see his.

“hi.” it comes out breathy as your heart slows. The medic returns and on the other side of your body he cuts through your gear. You don’t feel anything but blissful warmth from here.

You pull Simon's head even closer, his mask plate knocking into his forehead as your eyes engulf his.

“You’re no-t scary Ghosty,” you press your lips to his masked cheek then pass out, head going limp in Soaps hands with a ghastly smile on your face.

Simon freezes and then is yanked back by Gaz and Price as the medic tears through your vest to resuscitate, Soap is cradling your limp head with tears streaming down his face.

The time passes as a blur as Simon dissociates and Ghost takes over, keeping vigil.

---

Six days later you awaken back on base, hooked up to an IV. You pull the breathing tube out just as Soap wakes up and starts burning you alive with Scottish slang. His voice is rough with tears as you watch him like a deer caught in the headlights. Gaz pokes his head in with a brightening smile as you start cursing at Soap in return.

Price’s hat hovers over your head as he corrals both of you with stern, but relieved eyes. You grasp for his hat with an excited squeal. Under heavy meds, you are slightly fuzzy but aware of those in the room. You make gimme gimme hands and it lands in your lap. Soap bites a shaky smile head turning to clear his tears.

Your mind buzzes, even in your hazy state, Bandages wrap your sides like gloves and the air is stately and chill through the hospital gown. The sheets, while warm aren’t enough. A tingle in your mind, you blink, then your eyes automatically turn towards the door.

Silver dog tags on black glint, but your eyes capture your reaper. You try to shift up but Soap moves forward:

“Ey no ye don’t.” You don’t turn to him but try to pass him Price’s hat in a bribe. Gaz sees it and loses it, wheezing into a strained crying laugh as he falls back into a chair. Well-meaning and previously collected, it's Gaz who is emotionally snapping. Relief tears its way through him as his hands clenched together and he rests his forehead on them, his shoulders shaking silently. Seeing you ok finally lets his calm, masked exterior release break. Your eyes dip towards Kyle and Ghost enters. The Lieutenant passes Gaz, hand in a fist knocking his shoulder in a calming moment. Umber eyes shoot up to Soap, the Scot nods and he takes the hat with a murmur of thanks to you. You watch head cocking as Soap takes Gaz and the two head into the hallway. Now hatless, you turn towards Price, medicine pulling a little on your mind.

“If you call me Dad kid I am making you run laps.”

Price chuckles fondly as your eyes go wide then you squint at him. Ghost approaches the other side of your bed and Simon stares down at you as you lock eyes with Price. His hatless hair is ruffled and he looks tired. You reach a grabby hand out, both weighted by medicine but also as a joke. Price raises a brow but it’s not his hand that takes yours. A black-coated arm reaches across your lap and takes your hand. Your head tilts, confused for a moment, then it turns to stare at the reaper. A black shape engulfs your vision. His infamous black jacket is laid over you. It smells of gunpowder and him, you realize as a doopy smile extends over your face. You run your free hand over it, Price smiles unseen and leaves the room, shutting the door softly.

You attempt to move your grasped hand but find it locked in place. Your eyes trace up, your Lieutenant is wearing a hoodie and is gearless, blue jeans free of his ‘casual’ holster. You lean over the side of the bed looking. He’s not in boots. You hum, mind vibrating at you for some reason. You move back and another hand moves to your shoulder, helping you gently lean back into the pillows.

“Easy.”

The voice is rough, emotion filtering in. Your eyes trace up his arm, over broad shoulders, and at his exposed dog tags, you want to reach up and grab them but suddenly his arms are gone. A frown starts to creep up on your face before gloveless hands engulf the sides of your face and neck and your head is quickly, but carefully, pressed to his chest. You blink before your arms raise naturally to wrap around his body as he awkwardly leans over. His chest is steady, but his heart beats sporadically, trying to calm itself. Simon lowers his head onto yours just holding you. You both remain this way, medicine pulls at your conscious but your heart fights it, cherishing the moment.

You pat his back and he hesitantly pulls black, but his hands remain resting on you, guarding. Brown eyes swim with emotion as his eye black is streaked. There is redness to his eyes and his brows are taunt with stress, but he still wears his combat mask but the plate is clean. His hand leaves you and reaches for the mask, offering. You grab his hand, your head cocked in question.

You shake your head, exhaling softly out your nose with a warm heart. He freezes, and Ghost finally steps back. He leans up, breathing deeply as you watch with a growing smile when you see the weight of panic and sorrow leave him. His shoulders drop and his fingers that are still on your arm rub circles. Then Simon steps forward, some shadow in his mind warming and settling into his soul.

His free hand lingers, fingers flexing. His eyes skim over you, the black of his jacket staining the white gown and sheets. His eyes scan your collarbone, your breathing steady and at peace, then they meet your face.

Your lips are smiling, dry but quirked. Up to your eyes. They shimmer as you are now aware of his presence and are appreciative. But a spark. In your mind the medicine now just makes you sleepy, body finally awake with your mind, even if for a moment. You are content with the shadow’s presence, completely comfortable with Ghost before you.

This fact finally, for the first real time, settles in Simon’s mind as he blinks. He wants to laugh, his heart racing. You notice the change and a hand comes up and caresses the mask. He stares at you, mind blanking.

A second, your mouth opens to question him.

“Are you ok?”

Nothing.

Your head cocks, smile slipping, then freezing at his eyes.

Simon just stares down, then his hands shoot up. He tears off the mask. You go to close your eyes but warm hands grasp your face, they plead with you and you open your eyes.

Simon bears his soul to you, pale face littered with scars. But you only watch his eyes as they begin to water, the mask of Ghost sits discarded in your lap as his shadow melts and Simon begins. Both are mingled into one conflicted being.

And your fingers caress both as you frown, unbothered by the being before you, your hand goes to wipe a tear but Simon ducks further and presses his lips into yours.

---

Simon blinks back and his hands take your face. Your eyes shoot up with a hum and you set the mask down.

“Jealous?” You ask cheekily.

“I love you.” His voice is solid, Ghost’s unbreaking and promising, and Simon’s deep with emotion. You sense the weight of the moment and you smile calmly,

“I love you too.” You reply.

#cod mw2 2022 #cod mw2 2022 fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #Spitfire Universe #soap mactavish #Captain John Price as dad tbh #Simon 'ghost' riley x reader #gn reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #simon riley headcanons

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yoonia · 2 months

Note

Hey Dia, I meant to add this to my last ask but have you ever had (or do you have) any desire to write a seven deadly sins AU at some point? And if you do, do you know who you would cast as who? And if it’s cool sharing with you, I have 2 different fic outlines; one I made back in 2020 and another one more recently (which is a remake more or less).

From what I’ve read in the past, a lot of times the members (as the embodiments of the 7 sins) are portrayed as being pure evil and stuff, which isn’t bad by any means. If I ever write my own fic though, I would probably do something slightly different. Like yeah, I’d likely write the members as the embodiments of the 7 sins (like other fics) and maybe they would appear evil at first, but I would also probably humanize them and then get redeemed. Another idea I’ve had in mind is writing them as separate stories with different OCs, but they would all be in 1 book and in the same universe.

As for who I would cast as each of the sins, I’m still figuring it out. Like, I’d probably cast someone with a sin that would either be the polar opposite of their personality irl, or just simply choose one that I think the members give vibes of. For example, I’ve thought about associating Yoongi with the sin of sloth because he’s known to be a hard-working person, which would make a nice contrast. But in more recent memory, now I think he gives off a lot more wrath vibes. I mean, look at his solo albums. He’s savage spitfire straight up, lol. But hey, that’s just my opinion 😉

I was inspired from a video I saw on a YouTube channel called “school of life”. If you’re curious, you should totally look up their seven deadly sins video. Even if you don’t have plans to write a fic on this au, I’d still give it a watch. It really goes deep in depth with how the 7 sins align from a psychological perspective.

Anyway, take care again!💜

(Actually, come to think of it, it’s good that I sent this ask separately because I tend to underestimate how much I tend to write when sending messages, haha…😅)

Don't worry about sending long messages haha I always love it when you come and share with me your ideas and stories since they're so creative. You know, I always love the idea of portraying the members as the seven deadly sins. I know I've read some of the good ones written in the past under this same trope.

I also love your idea about writing them as the embodiment of the seven sins but not at all evil. I think it'll be more interesting to write something more human out of this trope, since a lot what I've seen always lean towards a darker theme. Which is understandable since they are meant to be sins.

As a matter of fact, I did plan a series based on the seven deadly sins. It was published for a while (with only one story out) before I decided not to continue it. The series was called Ghostown which is now saved in my archive, and it was meant to be progressively darker as the chapters continue. I didn't specify which sins the members were in the masterlist since I was planning to do a little game with the readers and have them guess who was which, but things didn't go as planned because I've discontinued it since. Here's the overall role placements though if you're interested (under cut because spoilers lol)

Gosh, you got me opening an old draft again haha. I also only realised now that I named Jungkook's part as Dreamers...long before his song came out...and I mean looonnng ago lol

Anyway, I fully support you for writing this idea if you ever get the chance to. I also always love the concept of writing different stories in one universe. It just gives us a different kind of experience when you create an entire universe that way with interlinked stories made in it.

ps. Yoongi as wrath??? I'm seeing it. I think the character he portrayed in Hageum MV totally showed this side of him.

#💌 for dia #pinkbtsarmy #fic: ghostown #ahhh this take me back #I loved the idea but could never finish it #maybe I'll release it on my Patreon one day

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astragreenwoode · 2 years

Text

The Spitfire Curse - Chapter One

Next: Chapter Two • Masterlist • AO3 Version

Rating: Explicit(18+ ONLY)

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC(Endgame), Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC, Steve Harrington x Fem!OC, Robin Buckley x Fem!OC, Chrissy Cunningham x Fem!OC,

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Non-specified Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Drug Use, Hypersexuality, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Genre: Adventure, Thriller, Horror, Slow-Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Smut, Fluff, Slight Canon-Divergence, Fix-it fic

And a special thanks to my beta-reader @take-everything-you-can! Thank you so much for all your feedback and ideas, love!

Chapter One: Someone Who Loves You Wouldn't Do This.

Word Count: 7681

Chapter Warnings: Recreational Drug Use, Divorce, Implied Trauma, Language, Slight Smut, Domestic Arguments, Implied Mental Illness(not specified what kind)

Chapter Summary: Maeven looks back on the day her life took a turn, leading to her and her family down a painful path, and her life being relocated to the middle of nowhere, Indiana.

I used to make a joke that I was cursed. I was blissfully unaware as the clock stroke midnight and I welcomed 1983 with my friends and family the hard turn things would take. My life would go through a painful metamorphosis that wouldn’t stop for a while. Eventually, I learned that life was chaos and the best way to cope with existing was to be the calming breeze in the middle of the storm. Unfortunately, the best lessons are taught the hard way; through pain and suffering. It took becoming too acquainted with facing death and pushing through a secret dimension that is the closest thing to hell ever seen by human eyes.

For the longest time, it seemed that my life went in a loop. Too often, my livelihood would be torn apart, leaving me to struggle as I licked my wounds and tried to move on. And just when it seemed safe enough to get comfortable and happy, another knot in the chain of rot, ruin, and pain would be added. The cycle would start anew, leaving me to spiral down like blood in water circling the drain of the shower.

But despite all the bullshit I was put through, I wouldn’t trade my life in Hawkins, Indiana for the world.

. . .

February 1983

The year started off like any other. We spent those first few months in quiet anticipation of the new goals we had set for ourselves. My Dad made a vow to not work overtime at the University of San Diego as much so he could be home for dinner and kiss us goodnight. My Mom made a vow to work hard and earn a promotion in her job at the bank. Max made a vow to compete in a local skate contest and wanted me to join her. I made a vow with my friends that we’d collaborate for the Newport High Arts Festival.

None of those resolutions ended up being met. Max and I were too occupied by whatever pulled our parents apart to accomplish them.

That February, a week after I won a prize in the science fair and two weeks after Max’s twelfth birthday, we left the house for school with a deafening silence between us. My little sister and I fast walked toward the bus stop gripping each other’s sweaty hands like a vice. I clenched my knuckles tightly around the shoelaces of my skates slung over my shoulder as Max nervously tapped her nails on her skateboard clutched in her other hand. Normally, we’d have skate-offs to see who could reach the bus stop first. It wasn’t one of those days; Max needed her sister, and I needed mine.

Dad was supposed to drive us that morning. He even promised he’d get up early so he could make breakfast and watch the morning news with us and Mom. These things used to make up our regular morning routine, but Dad hadn’t been able to join us and be present the way he did before for at least the past six months. I couldn’t tell anymore, and I couldn’t remember exactly the last time I saw him awake before school. He would either be too tired after getting home from work or passed out from drinking too much.

I was looking forward to it so much that the excitement caused me to wake up before my alarm clock went off. But when Max and I came downstairs all packed for school and eager for breakfast, we found him passed out on the couch with the T.V. still on and a cluster of beer bottles on the table.

That morning, our Mom and Dad had their earliest and most intense argument that we’d yet seen. The last thing we heard as I pulled Max along with me out the door was my mother yelling “Sometimes, I wonder if you even care about us at all!”

Up until now, they had usually been in the next room or so over trying to muffle their yelling between the walls. This was the first time they knowingly fought in front of us. I was in such a hurry to get us out of there that I didn’t turn the doorknob three times before locking it like I always do.

We started walking slower as soon as we couldn’t hear the screams anymore and loosened our grip on our things and each other.

“Sooooo. . .what classes do you have today?”

I laughed at her timing and felt relief at the break in the tension that hung heavy in the air like a storm cloud. But as soon as I noticed Max’s lack of sarcasm in her tone and that she wasn’t laughing with me, the weight on my shoulders returned.

I didn't blame her for not wanting to talk about it. But we had to do it eventually. The elephant in the room was growing unruly and anxious. It threatened to tear the house apart.

“Are we seriously not gonna talk about what just happened?”

“You tell me," Max grumbled, staring at the ground as we continued walking. "You haven’t said shit this last month or so.”

I wasn't blameless in ignoring the situation. But up until this morning, I didn't think the tension between our parents would lead to this.

“It’s not like I don’t want to, Max. I’m still trying to process what Mom yelled back there.”

“Yeah. . ." she scoffed. "She’s sure one to talk, huh? It’s not like she’s never been passed out drunk on the couch instead of paying attention to her family, right?”

“You’re not wrong," I wheezed out at her.

Before getting her job as a bank teller, Mom had been working as a nurse at the busiest hospital in San Diego since before she married my Dad and had me. But the E.R. got busier and busier. The HIV crisis turned it grim. Mom and Dad ended up losing a few of their close friends from back in the 60s. It hit both of them hard, but Mom was the one who had to witness the disease rotting people from the inside out first-hand.

At first, her drinking wasn't anything serious; just one bottle every night at dinner to help take the edge off. But then, my uncle tested positive, and it was all suddenly so personal. He went so quickly before we even really got a grasp that it was happening. It tore Mom apart, losing her baby brother so brutally.

“Dad was there for her through her crap. Why can’t she do the same?” Max let go of my hand and wiped the sweat off her palms before gripping her skateboard in her arms. I wiped my palm, too.

“Hey. Be nice. She’s trying. It definitely wasn’t always easy for Dad to keep his shit together for her," I pointed out, lifting her chin gently to meet her ocean-blue eyes, a shade or two lighter than my own.

Mom was able to get sober with our and Dad's help, but she couldn't be a nurse anymore. The whole situation made the mention of the word "hospital" leave her sick with melancholy.

“Okay, fine. I guess you’re right. But it’s not just her, y’know? Ever since Dad came back, he’s been. . .different.”

As things were just getting back to normal, Dad was called back by the Army to help fight in the cold war. He was an engineer who helped fight in the Vietnam War and was absent for the first year and a half of Max’s life. After he played his part and came back home, he was different in the best way. Throughout our childhoods, he no longer took like for granted and spent his days making up for the time he wasn’t here with us.

He didn’t go back to fight in the Cold War for too long, but that short time made a big difference in his personality. I didn't know much about what happened to him during his time fighting overseas. All I knew was that he was awarded a lot of medals for his service. Too often, Max and I would look at them and ask him what they were for. Max didn’t understand what all of them exactly meant, which Dad was grateful for. He wanted us to stay kids for as long as we could. But he couldn’t stop me from theorizing what orders he had to follow for him to earn those medals. My favorite was his Purple Heart.

He was even able to bring back his partner home to us; a retired military dog named Bullet. He got along nicely with Lucy, our other dog, and Nutmeg, our cat. They were immediately the best of friends. I could tell Bullet's presence kept Dad calmer.

“Yeah. He’s quieter," I said. But Max wasn't satisfied with me boiling it all down to that word.

“Quiet? Try distant," she snapped, the vibes in the February air turning sour. "I’m pretty sure he forgot it was my birthday this month."

My stomach sank. I remember when Mom was once too drunk to remember my birthday. It broke my heart. But Dad wasn't like that. He was different, right?

“He did not. He got your new board, didn’t he?”

“I heard them talking a week before my party. Mom had to remind him.”

If it was possible, my broken heart then shattered for my baby sister. I was angry. I couldn't believe Dad would get so bad that he forgot the day he had to coach my mom through childbirth in his parent's house. But that didn't necessarily change anything. He still kisses the picture of our family in his wallet three times a day for good luck. That had to count for something.

“You don’t believe it right?”

“Believe what?”

“What Mom said before we left the house," I reminded her. I was still trying to process the fact that those words came out of my Mother's mouth. They were laced with hatred, and I was angry at her for letting us leave the house knowing they echoed in our heads.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.” As soon as Max's broken voice said that, my shattered heart burned up and the ashes blew in the wind.

“Hey. Don’t talk like that." I pulled her arm and stopped us a block before her bus stop. I crouched down slightly to be at her level, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Dad didn’t stop loving us, okay? And he never will.”

“You don’t know that.” Max started choking up a little, fighting to hold back the tears.

“Yes I do,” I told her, reaching my hand up to cup her cheek. But before our skin could touch, she smacked my hand away.

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not defending him, Max. I just think there's something else going on," I said, pulling her along to reach her block. I felt her pull me back before I had the chance to look both ways before crossing the street.

“What, Maevey? What else could possibly be going on that he’d rather drink than come home on time to eat dinner with us?”

“We didn’t see him for months before he came back to us. I don’t know exactly all that happened when he was overseas, but I can’t imagine all of it was pleasant for him."

I was starting to lose my patience as I debated picking her up before crossing the street. But her friends were gathered at the bus stop. They didn't need to hear this.

“How are we supposed to know what happened if he won’t talk about it?”

“There's probably a reason he isn’t talking about it, Max. I don't think who he was forced to kill and the brutal war crimes he may have witnessed are ideal conversation topics."

Her face went from mad to concerned, and I could breathe easier knowing she understood a little more than before.

". . .I didn't think about that."

"It's okay, Squirt. C'mere." I pulled Max into a hug. Her embrace squeezed my ribs, but I didn't care. I wasn't too tall, but I was tall enough that her head was tucked comfortably under my chin.

"If they get divorced, do you think they'll split us up, too?" She mumbled into my coat. My heart was now completely gone from my chest. I looked both ways before eagerly pulling her along to cross the street and turned to face her again as soon as we were safe on the other side. She pulled me to the side behind the bushes, so the other kids at the bus stop couldn’t see or interrupt our conversation.

"They're not gonna get divorced, Max. Okay? And they sure as hell aren’t splitting us up. They've gone through rough patches before. This one isn't any different from the last ones," I explained, reaching out to hug her again. She pushed back a little too aggressively, but I couldn't bring myself to care. She needed to feel her feelings and I didn’t blame her for not wanting to be touched.

"Don't do that! Don't act like you know everything's gonna be fine!” Max yelled. “You don't know that, Maevey! You can't know that!"

Her breathing started to quicken as she began to hyperventilate. Like I had done a thousand times before, I put my hand on her shoulder and coached her

"Hey, don't yell. Just calm down, Max. Look at me, okay? Breathe. In. Out. Thats it.” As soon as her breathing was stable again, she pulled me back into the hug she denied herself before.

She was right. I didn’t know what was gonna happen. I couldn’t tell the future. I may read tarot cards all the time, but it wasn’t an exact science. I couldn’t guarantee what would happen to Mom and Dad. But I could guarantee that no matter where this whole fiasco would go, I’d have her back; we’d have each other.

"Everything's gonna be fine, okay? We'll get through this. We always do,” I murmured into the top of her head as her bus came into view.

"Promise?"

"Promise,” I said, pressing one last kiss on her head. I momentarily locked our pinkies together like we had done a million times before. She pulled back as we heard the high-pitched sound of the bus hitting its brakes.

“I'll see you this afternoon, okay? I have Farming Club today after classes,” I explained as I guided her toward the line of children. “. . .so I'll be home at 5 instead of 3. We'll do something fun after dinner."

I could tell she was still worked up over Mom and Dad and annoyed once again by my packed schedule. But she agreed anyway. She needed the distraction. We both did.

". . .okay."

I tussled her hair and gave her one last quick hug. "Alright, Squirt. Gotta go. Love you."

". . .I love you, too. . ."

As I moved on my way to where I usually catch my bus, I heard my sister call back to me one more time.

"And I'm not a squirt, Maevey!" I turned toward Max to see her head poking out of the school-bus window. I let out a laugh. Ever since she could talk, we’d hold our own little competitions to see who could have the last word. We had lost count by now, but we didn’t care about that anymore. We liked the rush in our blood we got from the heat of the race.

"Compared to me you are, Squirt!"

“You’re not even that tall!”

“Bye, Max!”

I wouldn’t know it until later in the day, but when I told my sister everything would be alright, that would be the very first time I ever lied to her.

. . .

Every time I left Farming Club, I left with a little more dirt under my nails and a few more animal scratches. I had many passions; from music to skating to books to art. But I knew I wanted to work with wildlife and the outdoors since I was five years old. That was the day I made friends with a gentle raccoon and brought it inside the house. I named him ‘Oscar,’ because he loved trash. Later that night, my Dad gifted me with a field journal and helped me make my first entry on raccoons.

Mom is the reason Max and I loved the beach so much. She was the reason we loved bright things like the sun and rainbows. I took on her love of arts and crafts. But neither Max nor I was as girly as she would’ve liked us to be. Dad passed his love of science and research onto me. Max adopted his love of comic books and handy skills. We both inherited his stubbornness and rebellious spirit.

But I never thought his rebellion from my Mom’s nagging would end up like this.

That afternoon, I tied my rainbow laces tightly on my light-teal skates on the bus taking me home from club. As the door opened, I held onto the handrails on the steps and jumped from the top step and outside the bus, sliding my hands down on the way to support my weight on my wheels. All the bus drivers I had nagged me to stop that lest I hurt myself. They all eventually gave up. When a Mayfield is determined, good luck trying to dissuade them.

Like I had done in my life routines a million times before, I skated down the road back home. I nailed turning on the hard curves of the neighborhood that Max and I had conquered growing up. Ever since I was little, I loved repeating myself. I thrived on routine and found comfort in everyday repetitions. It took me a while before I became comfortable with accepting changes big and small. I still counted in groups of two or three. The sequences brought me a sense of control and comfort.

No matter how far I had come in going with the flow and controlling only what I am able to, I never wanted my little sister sitting on the curb of our driveway to escape my parents’ screaming match to become a part of my routine. We had spent the last couple of nights eating dinner outside on the back porch, skating until the sun went down, and watching the sunset before the sky filled up with stars. This was the first time during our parents' fighting that I saw Max cry.

She was sitting on the curb next to our mailbox with her board in one hand and the other stroking the top of Lucy’s head as she lay down with her head in her lap. Bullet was standing guard with Nutmeg between his front legs, cleaning her face with her paws. As soon as our pets saw me, they perked up to welcome me back home.

“Hey, guys. Hey.” I gave them each a friendly pat on the head before I skidded my skates to a halt and stood on my toe stops before kneeling down to cup her face in my hands. Max didn’t even seem to notice for a moment until I wiped her tears off her cheek. Before I could say anything, she desperately wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my shoulder.

“Max, what’s going on? What’re you doing out here?”

“They’re fighting again.”

I could hear the muffled yelling coming from our childhood home. Whatever went down in there while I was at club, it wasn’t anything good.

Enough was enough. I wasn’t going to allow my sister or myself to be spectators in the middle of their shitstorm any longer. After I aggressively unlaced my skates and let my backpack carelessly drop on the lawn, I stood up.

“Stay here,” I told Max. Only Nutmeg followed after me. I marched toward the house with anger lit in my veins the same way gas would light when met with a match. The freshly watered grass soaked through my socks and chilled my feet. It helped me keep calm and grounded.

As I reached the front door, I focused my hearing on my parents’ conversation. Nutmeg rubbed on my legs and meowed at me to pick her up.

“You can’t keep doing this, Norman! You can’t keep making promises and breaking them when it’s convenient for you! You can’t keep fucking up and then come crawling back to me like that’s somehow going to fix everything! You need to do better! Be better! You need help!”

My breathing quickened and shallowed as I hugged Nutmeg closer to my chest. She nuzzled her face into my shoulder as she sensed my growing anxiety, but her actions did nothing to stop it from spreading in my lungs and head. I heard my Mom scream before; sometimes she would get frustrated parenting me and Max. But I’d never heard her like this before.

“Do you honestly think that's what I’m doing, Susan?! Do you think I’d rather drink until I black out instead of coming home to you and the girls?! I’m sorry that I’m hurting you, but I’m not going back! I’m not gonna be interrogated by a shrink just so they can punch my crazy card again and throw me in a padded cell!”

I knew very little about my Dad’s mental history. I figured it had something to do with what he saw during his time in the military.

“Maybe you should! Maybe you are crazy, Norm! I feel fucking crazy watching you rot for over a month! I’m not gonna watch you do this to yourself! I don’t deserve to see that, and neither do our girls!”

Maybe Mom was right. Maybe my Dad was crazy, but that didn’t mean it was okay to talk to him like his state of mind made him a bad person. I never saw either of them as bad people, but that was starting to change. Slowly, but surely, my sweaty palms wrapped around the doorknob and I turned it one, two, three times before I opened it.

“Do not bring them into this! Do you realize how hard it is keeping my shit together in front of them?! You should! You did the exact same thing to us! Don’t act like you haven’t! I am trying my best to be better for them! For both of them!”

“Well, your best isn’t enough, Norm!”

“STOP IT!”

They were so caught up in the heat of the moment that they didn’t even notice me open the door until my outburst. Nutmeg jumped out of my arms and pranced up the stairs. I had never seen either of my parents look so broken before, Not even after Mom lost her brother or when Dad had to bury his father. It was scary, to see this side of them.

“Mae-Mae. . .I. . .I didn’t know you were back, yet.”

Mom wiped the tears from her cheeks and stifled her breaking voice.

“Yeah, clearly,” I said, slamming the door and shaking the house around us. Somehow, it felt louder and more intense than when they were yelling.

Mom sat in the chair by the fireplace and turned away to pull herself together. Dad let out a heavy sigh, running his hands through his hair before adjusting his glasses.

“Maevey, I know how this looks. I know I haven’t been. . .present for a while-”

“Yeah, no shit, Dad! Neither of you have!”

“Excuse me?” Mom practically leaped from her chair. “I have been making you dinner, doing your laundry, and driving you to and from all your little clubs! You will not talk to me that way!”

Here we go again; right to the Martyr role.

“Yeah, but when was the last time you’ve actually been here, Mom? Huh? Do you even remember what clubs I’m in? Do you even remember what I won the science fair for last week?”

Both of their eyes widened like this was the first time they were hearing about this.

“Honey, you were in the science fair?”

“Seriously, guys?!”

They were there; both of them. But I was so caught up with everything else happening that night. I didn’t realize in the midst of everything that Dad was so antisocial that he just stayed on the sidelines and occasionally come to my booth. Mom only came up to my booth once, going around to congratulate the other kids on all of their hard work instead of my own.

They both took off after I won the blue ribbon, leaving me with a hollow ‘good job, Maeven’ before going back to fighting in the school parking lot. Why couldn’t they put their fighting on hold? Just for one night? They were so preoccupied with their sudden hatred for each other that caring for Max and I had become a chore, rather than a necessity. My parents might’ve been there, but they weren’t there . They weren’t present.

Mom rubbed her hands together, fiddling with her jewelry as she looked for the right words.

“Mae-Mae, we-”

“Don’t you ‘Mae-Mae’ me, Mom!” I pleaded with her, looking up at the ceiling and wondering what it would feel like to spontaneously combust just to escape this conversation.

“Max and I have been putting up with your shit, both of yours, for all our lives! But, this? This takes the cake.”

“Maeven, I know it's been hard seeing us fight, but I promise you, we’re working through it, okay? You and Max don’t have anything to worry about.”

It always came back to this point. We had this conversation many times in the last few months. I was tired of going around in circles. I was tired of them acting like we didn’t need to know what was happening to their marriage. I wasn’t a kid anymore, and neither was Max.

Before I knew it, I combusted. The brutal words mixed with the finger-pointing and dramatic gestures came out without warning. I probably looked like I was having a classic teenage girl tantrum; I didn’t recognize myself. It was as if I was floating outside my body, no longer in control and puppeteered by the past month of built-up frustration.

“Oh, bullshit! This is not ‘working through it, guys! This is chaos! Now will you just fucking fix your marriage or get a divorce all ready so Max and I don’t have to suffer anymore?! Jesus H. Fucking Christ!”

By the time I was given control of myself again, it took me a moment to realize what happened. It was the first time I had blacked out, and it would be far from the last time. I didn’t remember going back outside to sit next to Max. It was a scary sensation, but my body, heart and mind were hyper-focused on other things.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

At the sound of my sister's voice and the feeling of my hands absentmindedly running through Bullet’s fur, my thoughts suddenly weren’t so loud.

“You kinda spaced out there for a moment,” Max said, her hand joining mine to double Bullet’s reassuring pats. I wasn’t sure whether it was more soothing for us or for him.

“I’m fine,” I murmured, tilting my head back to look at the night sky and letting the soft breeze cool down my heated cheeks. I almost wished Dad would come out and sit with us to look at the stars as if it was just a normal night.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.”

I mentally slapped myself. Earlier that day, we had preached to each other about how sickened we were to be in the middle of Mom and Dad’s fights. It felt so hypocritical of me; to blow up like that while knowing Max could most likely hear my yelling, too. Until I felt the sudden urge to start breathing again and sniff, I didn’t even feel like I was crying.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have exploded like that, God, . .I’m just like them. . .No, I’m worse.” My voice was broken up. I sounded so pathetic. Max scooched over and leaned her head on my shoulder. I moved my arm around her as she slipped hers along my hip.

“No, you’re not,” she said, still recovering from her own crying fit from before I came home. “They had it coming.”

I breathlessly let out a laugh as ‘Call Block Tango’ crawled its way into my head. Never before had I felt so relieved and yet so angry. It was as if I just finished a long hike in the mountains and finally let my shoulders rest and stretch without a backpack on. But as I packed up my camp the next morning, I was painfully reminded that I still had a long way to go.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that. I just. . .I didn’t know what else to do. . .”

“Do you really want them to get a divorce?”

At this point, I didn’t care what happened to them. I couldn’t picture what I wanted for us in the future. I just wanted all this bullshit to end.

“Yes? No? I don’t know, Max. I just. . .I just want the fighting to stop.”

“Yeah. . .me, too,” she sighed, letting her shoulders fall as she tilted her head up and her eyes met mine.

“Do you still believe her?” I asked.

“What?”

“Do you still believe Mom when she said Dad doesn’t love us?”

Max pondered for a moment, her eyes focusing on the way my evil-eye necklace sparkled in the sunset barely shining over the neighborhood. She had the same look in her eye she got when planning her next move in a family game of Monopoly.

“No. I don’t think I even did before.”

“Good. Mom still loves us, too. Y’know that right?”

“Yeah, I know. . .I mean, God knows she tells us all the damn time.”

As much of a hard-ass our Mom could be, a day never went by where she didn’t tell us how much she loved us. Dad made sure to remind us, too, but had fallen out of practice the more time he spent away from us. He didn’t see us enough to tell us.

“Why don’t they love each other anymore?”

I knew that wasn’t true to a degree. Mom and Dad were no longer fit to be partners, but that didn’t erase the life they built together. Max and I were living proof of that.

“I wish I knew, Squirt.”

People fell out of love all the time. It happened every day. It just wasn’t as preached as much as the ‘happily ever after’ narrative. The divorce rate was currently skyrocketing ever since ‘no-fault divorce’ was legalized in the mid-70s. Until then, domestic violence wasn’t considered a valid reason for divorce. It wasn’t a bad thing that it was finally able to those who really needed it and then some. I just never thought my family would need it, too.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right?”

“Whose fault is it, then?”

Max’s question wasn’t one that could be answered simply. She was just starting puberty, just starting to learn that the world wouldn’t be simple from here on out. People shouldn’t be so romanticized. People were. . .complicated, to say the least. I guess that was why I preferred to find comfort in the study of flora and fauna. Everything else in nature made sense but humans.

“No ones, Max. They didn’t want to hurt each other, it just. . .happened.”

I barely believed my own words. I knew their fighting had nothing to do with us. But I also knew how easy it was to feel like it was your fault when you were stuck in the middle of it all.

“They seem to want to hurt each other right now.”

“Because they’re scared. I don’t blame them. I’m scared, too.”

“Yeah. . .what’s gonna happen to us?”

I was so naive to think everything would always stay the same, to think that my family was untouchable to tragedy. The only thing I was certain of was that I wasn’t going to let the impending divorce break what my sister and I had with each other. All I could do was give her a hug and be as truthful with her as she could handle.

“I. . .I don’t know. I’m sorry. I wish I did.”

The divorce didn’t break us. Everything that followed afterward did.

. . .

19 Months Later

No matter how difficult it was hauling her entire life across the country, Maeven was probably the only one who saw the move to Indiana as a good thing. Of course, Susan and Neil were the ones who wanted it the most from the beginning. They had a chance to start a whole new life together, far away from the painful troubles and annoying inconveniences in California; far away from Norman Mayfield and the threat he posed to the newly blended family. Neil didn’t like the idea of being challenged that way. And he absolutely loathed the thought of his bride’s ex-husband still having a big influence on his new family

Susan wanted this for her daughters, too. The Mayfield sisters have always had trouble fitting in, of course. They both shared a tendency to not be properly labeled by others. Maeven had so many interests to keep up with, and Max practically danced on the spectrum of being a tomboy on one side and a ‘proper girl’ on the opposite. Susan hoped the move from the big city to small-town America would possibly. . .straighten them out, as she and Neil liked to put it. They all needed a fresh start. Maeven, especially.

The nineteen months that followed her parents’ divorce were a blur of unhealthy coping mechanisms, illegal activities, soul-crushing trauma, and a lot of therapy and pills. Her good clean reputation as an eccentric honors student had mutated into one carved with violence and pain. Repeating her Junior Year at Newport High after everyone witnessed her at her most vulnerable and angry felt like a death sentence. Maeven saw the move to Indiana as a clean slate, a blank canvas; a chance to find peace and start over where nobody had to know of her past sins.

Besides, she no longer felt like she belonged in California. There just wasn’t a place for her there, anymore. It was her home for such a long time, but it no longer felt that way. It now felt tainted and ruined, just like she had become. Maeven no longer felt like herself, and was convinced that she had to find herself again no matter where the road took her. All she knew was she wouldn’t find what she was looking for in California. Plus, the increase in population made her want to crawl into a hole like a wild animal and wait or all the chaos to die down.

Of course, Billy and Max objected to the move. Both of them had their own lives to live in California. It wasn’t fair to just uproot them without asking how they’d hypothetically feel first. It wasn’t fair to force them to uproot their lives so their parents could live a fantasy they never wanted a part in. The whole charade gave them another reason to hate each other; something they didn’t want but couldn’t help once Susan and Neil made up their minds. But Maeven? She had nothing that tied her there, apart from her friends, Dad, and pets; all the things Susan and Neil convinced her that she didn’t need in order to be happy.

The newly blended Hargrove/Mayfield family spent the second to last week of September moving east across eight states and directing a team of movers to move furniture and boxes into their new home. The house on Cherry Street was a few miles away from downtown Hawkins; a nice, upper-middle-class neighborhood tucked amidst the trees. Maeven was excited to explore the woods that lay across the street from them and discover the creatures who inhabited it. She could already picture herself finding a particularly interesting tree, plant, or creature to fill her sketchbook with. The cicadas were still chirping, so they’d probably be the easiest to sketch. If she was quiet and lucky enough, maybe she’d cross paths with an owl or fox.

In between helping with moving boxes and furniture, Maeven and Max skated on their new driveway and around the neighborhood despite their mother’s protests. Billy dropped the sisters off closer to town in his Camaro after Neil practically forced him to. As they explored downtown Hawkins, they managed to find an arcade connected to a video rental place. Seriously. How bad could this place really be if it had an arcade?

Max spent the next two hours working her magic, adding her name to the top of the scoreboards on each game she had already beaten back in California. Maeven snuck around to the alley behind the building to smoke a couple of hits of a joint before going back inside to lose herself amongst the 8-bit shooting noises. She shoved her face with strawberry Fanta and cool-ranch Doritos, buzzed on sugar, carbs, and weed as she hyper-focused on topping the Galaga scoreboard with IRNMVN.

The first week exploring their new home felt like heaven to Maeven. It was really the first time she truly felt at peace in over a year. Despite the abrupt adjustment from city living to small-town America, and the strange vibe she felt from Hawkins, she found her new home comforting and charming.

The last nineteen months of Maeven’s life had been a hazy blur of school scandals, bullying drugs, fighting, and police mixed with pills, mental institutions, isolation, and trauma, just to name a few. It all blended together to make up a cocktail of ups and downs, misery and pleasure. She was once on the honor roll at Newport High School, well on her way to becoming the Valedictorian of her class. Now, Maeven would have to repeat her Junior Year at Hawkins High. Indiana was a chance for her to start over; a place where no one knew of her or her past sins.

She was tired in every sense of the word; physically, mentally, emotionally. All she really wanted was not to be the center of attention like she was before. Maeven just wanted to be normal for a while, even if she wasn’t. At the very least, she wanted to be as normal as she could be. All she had to do was follow a very specific set of rules; put in place to build herself back up.

(1). Don’t be a slut

(2). Act like the smart, athletic girl she was inside

(3). Be herself, but also blend into the crowd. Don’t stand out too much,

(4). Don’t be Weird.

(5). Don’t let them find out what happened to you in California.

The last rule was easier said than done. But Billy would help her just like he always did. He was always there for her.

Maeven and Billy knew each other long before their parents started dating each other. They were classmates since sixth grade but didn’t really talk to each other until High School when Maeven started going through her rebellious phase after her parents got divorced. After all the fighting and verbally humiliating the bullies and jocks, and the snarky attitude she had with both teachers and students during class, Maeven caught Billy’s attention.

He approached her at a party, one of the last weekend ones before the end of sophomore year. She was relaxed in a lounge chair by the pool, smoking a joint and staring up at the stars. Billy unintentionally startled her before asking if he could share with her. She accepted. In between passing the joint to each other, they talked about anything and everything they could until the cops came to shut the party down. They didn’t really have any other choice but to scatter off together.

Amidst all the panic, Maeven climbed inside Billy’s Camaro and they sped off together. They probably should’ve gone home, but somehow ended up going on a long drive to a point on the mountains that looked out over the vastness of San Diego. Although they never told each other, both of them secretly wished the night would never end. The longer they talked, the tighter the tension grew before it turned into a warm tenderness they found in each other’s bodies, hearts, and minds. Billy and Maeven stayed awake together until the sun started peaking over the horizon that early Sunday morning. He made sure to savor the moment, brushing the sweat and weed from her lips to taste her one more time before she walked into her friend’s house.

Up until that night, Maeven had never seen Billy as anything more than an asshole; he was a showoff and a bully, and proud of it, too. But he could also be charming and soft when he wanted to. And for some reason, he felt safe enough to be so around her. The fact that he complimented her sudden new ability to ‘kick ass and take no shit and look super hot at the same time.’ And apparently, her ass looked really good when she skated. Maeven thought she had all the jocks properly pegged, but she noticed how Billy’s baby blue eyes had a dark sadness behind them. He was carrying a pain in his heart and soul all too similar to the one she had just taken on; his parents were divorced, too. Although, the circumstances of his situation were much worse than hers.

His mother abandoned him when he was eleven, not able to deal with her husband’s abuse toward her anymore. Before his dad started raising his fist at her, Billy’s mother was a gorgeous, loving mother to her son. In some odd way, Maeven reminded him of her. Despite the freckles and the wild red hair, she was bright, warm, and full of unconditional love, according to his fond, yet fading memory of her. He ended up being a pleasant surprise.

Of course, Billy wasn’t someone Maeven would’ve normally hung out with. She felt like he got her. They felt like they got each other. He looked at her like she was the only other person in the world. She loved his sun-yellow mullet that reminded her of a lion’s mane and could rarely ever stop herself from weaving her fingers through it. He didn’t mind in the least. Billy didn’t care about Maeven’s quirks and fidgets or cringed at the gap between her teeth as he kissed her. He made her feel safe; a special feeling of safe that she hadn’t felt since her dad moved to San Fransisco.

The fact that he knew the exact right way to make her scream his name as he fucked her hard into the cushions didn’t hurt, either. He was fast and hard-edged like his Camaro; he meant business. Maeven was Billy’s dirty little secret, and he was hers. And they liked it to stay that way. But once they officially became family, things got a whole lot harder.

Max was suspicious from the start of how close they were. Billy didn’t seem like the kind of person Maeven would be friends with. He could be a dick, and she was definitely frightened of him and what he could do. She was already forced to witness him burning a dead cat and berating her on a daily basis, among other things. Maeven had yet to find out that he was the one who broke the arm of one of Max’s best friends in San Diego. Then again, Max wasn’t really certain she wanted her big sister to know. And despite everything, Billy was really growing on her. She liked the idea of having a big brother, even if it might take longer for him to properly fill the role and all it entailed.

Maeven took every precaution to make sure Max didn’t know about her relationship with Billy. Her little sister was already dealing with her life being uprooted and relocated away from everything she knew and loved. Finding out her big sister, her idol was fucking their new step-brother would be heartbreaking. She didn’t need more chaos in her life. Once Maeven found out last November the Neil dating her mom was indeed Neil Hargrove, she immediately broke things off with Billy. Obviously, they didn’t stay that way. And after what happened to her last New Year’s Eve, she needed him more than ever.

By the time the movers finished unpacking, the sun had set far west enough so that the sky was both warm and cool at the same time. As Maeven sat next to the woods across the house to smoke, the cicadas’ chirps rang throughout the late summer hair. Susan and Neil were fast asleep by now after an exhausting day of the finishing steps of their moving process. They were way too braindead to throw a tantrum over Maeven smoking to help with her anxiety and sleep disorders. She knew neither Billy nor Max would tattle on her. Neither of them cared. In fact, Maeven made sure to put her blunt out whenever her sister came within six feet of her. They wouldn’t narc on her for a drug ten times less harmless than what she used to use.

Despite all the painful detoxing that she went through while in recovery, smoking pot had always remained Maeven’s best vice. The very act of it made her feel like she was drifting in a warm ocean, safely guarded by a pod of orcas and whale sharks. Weed was a hell of a lot better than snorting cocaine or popping pills like candy. How bad could it really be for her if it grew from the fucking ground? Besides, she knew better now than to even think about doing drugs that hardcore.

Before she left for Indiana, Maeven’s best friend and former dealer, Madison, gifted her an altoid tin filled with her legendary hand-rolled joints. They were famous around Newport High for how fat they were and how big of a buzz they gave the smoker. The matriarch of her family owned an off-the-grid farm in the heart of the Emerald Triangle. Norman Mayfield was a good friend of theirs and didn’t care if his daughter wanted to self-medicate at his house in California. After ashing her joint with the toe of her boot one, two, three times for good luck, Maeven went back inside. The voices finally managed to quiet down in her head enough for her to feel like she could get to sleep easily. Her stash wouldn’t last forever, though. Even if no one could replace Madison, she would have to investigate and find Hawkins’ resident dealer soon.

Maeven secretly envied everyone else in the house and their bodies' ability to rest without needing any extra help. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept without the assistance of 40mg of melatonin, some tea with honey, and a joint or two before bed. Thoughts of wanting nothing more than eternal sleep always lingered in her mind.

Her new room was barren of any personality save for the muted blueberry floral rug and her quilted bedspread with warm technicolored squares covering her full-sized bed. How soft the mattress was as she threw herself down face-first was all that Maeven had the energy for. She didn’t even bother trying to get under the covers properly. It was too warm that evening to curl up like that, but the breeze blowing softly through the open windows felt so nice on her bare skin.

Not feeling Nutmeg curl up on the bed by her feet or on her side was still strange. Maeven didn’t know if she’d ever get used to that, Nutmeg was with her Dad, along with Bullet and Lucy, back in San Francisco. Of course, Maeven and Max wanted to bring their beloved kitty with them when they moved. But Neil would never allow it. And after the incident with Billy setting fire to a dead cat’s corpse without hesitation, Max convinced her sister that she was safer in California. Maeven could understand the anxiety that moment must’ve given her, but Billy would never kill an animal in cold blood like that. Would he?

She didn’t even realize until the mattress dipped to her right and felt him curl his body to fill against hers that Billy managed to sneak in her room unnoticed. His sudden presence made Maeven flinch, but she melted back into his almost immediately as he ghosted his stubble-kissed lips against the nape of her neck to coax a giggle out of her.

“Hey, Dollface. . .” he whispered into her hair, sending a shiver down her back.

“Hey, yourself, Big Guy. . .” she mumbled, shifting in place to face him through her sleepy, probably bloodshot eyes. Billy pulled her tighter against him, gently gripping her knee to hook her leg around his hip.

“You feeling alright? Can smell the pot on you,” he asked, stroking Maeven’s bare thigh.

“I’m good, Billy, just needed to chill.”

“And you didn’t invite me?” he playfully accused, pressing his lips to hers as if to get a secondhand high off the taste of pot lingering on her mouth. Or maybe just because he trembled at the comforting taste of her body

“I thought you were sleeping. The house was so quiet,” she laughed, burying her hands in his golden-yellow locks. Billy’s hand traveled to her shoulders, tenderly kneading against the knots. Maeven let out a slight hiss.

“You’re so tense, Doll,” Billy whispered, nuzzling his face in the junction between her neck and shoulder, tickling her with his beard.

Maeven already knew where he was hoping this would lead. She knew him too long to not notice his telltale signs of arousal. She could already feel his erection growing as he rutted against the front of her underwear. He knew that smoking weed could make her libido rise quickly, always making sure to try and seize the open opportunity to relieve each others’ stress.

“Yeah, heavy lifting for a week will do that to you,” Maeven innocently answered, but Billy wasn’t one to easily pick up on hints.

“Think you can stay quiet for me, baby?” His hand on her thigh crept upward to squeeze one of her ass-cheeks

“Nuh-uh. Keep those hands to yourself. It’s too hot.”

“Mmm-hmm. . .and we can make things even hotter.”

As delicious as his offer was, she couldn’t. Maeven wanted nothing more than to lean into his sinful touches and let the overwhelming intrusive compulsions win. But she was tired. And even if an orgasm could help her with her insomnia, she had been doing so well compartmentalizing her dark thoughts and compulsions.

“Sorry, Big Guy. I’m too tired. . .too sore.”

His hands stopped just above the waistband of Maeven’s sleep shorts before profoundly sighing. Billy was the one out of both of them who actually liked to give in to their impulses, but he always stopped when she wanted him to.

Whenever Maeven blacked out, she had the tendency to obey every intrusive thought that poisoned her mind. She often entered a fight-or-flight state of mind, like a wild animal being hunted. In those moments, she wasn’t a person any longer. She was a monster; the one they always told her she was.

Billy sat up on Maeven’s bed and leaned over to the wooden side table, grabbing something she didn’t see him bring in before.

“Brought ya some water, thought you might be thirsty.”

He offered her now full water bottle that she didn’t even notice was missing from her room. Maeven sat up and took it, not realizing until just now how parched she was. She ended up drinking down half her bottle, just in case Cottonmouth got the better of her later in the night. Ever since she was hospitalized for dehydration, Maeven didn’t mess around when it came to water.

“Ever the gentleman,” she thanked him, closing her bottle before leaning over Billy to put it back on the table. She suddenly felt extraordinarily drowsy and dizzy, closing her eyes to escape it as she leaned on Billy’s torso for support.

“You sure you don’t need a massage, baby?” he asked, tenderly rubbing the small of her back.

She rolled her closed eyes at him, not wanting him to be right and also not fully trusting him to curb his lustful appetite. But Maeven would be able to sleep better without her body being so pent up.

“. . .okay, fine,” she murmured, rolling off of Billy and onto her stomach on the bed next to him so he could get better access to her back. Almost as soon as his hands started loosening the knots in her shoulders, Maeven moaned into her pillow as she felt her mind drifting away.

“That’s it, Dollface. Just let me take care of you,” were the last words she heard from Billy as his hands traveled down her body, sneaking their way across her hips.

When you look at someone you think the world of through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags are practically invisible. But Maeven wasn’t able to see them until it was almost too late for her.

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who showed love on the preview for this chapter! It's uplifting and refreshing knowing that people are actually interested in my work. Let me know what you think about the first chapter, what you like, and what you might wanna see.

Thumbs up to those who can name the songs where all my chapter titles come from. If you wanna be added to the tag list for this fic, let me know down below!

The Spitfire Curse Taglist:

@yaidothat

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starkleilafavoritereadings · 2 years

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My reading list: favorite authors and series divided by fandom/character:

My main account ( @starkleila ) and materialist

Suggestions and reading list updated constantly: (some are 18+ so not suitable for minors) follow for reading suggestions

The Originals (klaus, elijah, mikaelson family)

@l-r-christian

@rere-the-writer

@xxwritemeastoryxx

@wholoveseggs

Bucky Barnes

@itsapeterthing

static verse masterlist by @theconstantsidekick

Top Gun Maverick (hangman, rooster, iceman, maverick)

Jake seresin:

@topguncortez

Always Darling universe by @cassiemitchell

Better Man Universe by @sweetlittlegingy @sweetlittlegingylibrary

To keep and to hold universe by @ohtobeleah

Killers by @roosterscock

Spitfire Universe by @gennyanydots

The Good, The Bad, and The Working on It series by @crazyk-imagine

@youlightmeupfinn

@call-sign-jinx

@footprintsinthesxnd

@callsign-phoenix

@youlightmeupfinn

wipeout by @wkndwlff

Rooster:

@topguncortez

Chaos universe by @ohtobeleah

Songbird series by @cassiemitchell

@call-sign-jinx

@youlightmeupfinn

Iceman:

@topguncortez

@youlightmeupfinn

@ROSE-PEARLS

@youlightmeupfinn

Maverick:

@topguncortez

@youlightmeupfinn

@ROSE-PEARLS

@youlightmeupfinn

Daemon Targaryen

Sweet girl series by @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

Saera series by @hurhenyratargaryen

troublemaker series by @my-on-and-off-writingstuff

dad!daemon x mom!reader au masterlist by @frankcastleonlyfans

Steve Harrington

The Boxer!Steve Collection by @rollergirl24-deactivated2022111 @reborn-rollergirl

@footprintsinthesxnd

Hopper!Reader by @marwritesgood

Henderson!reader by @stevie-petey

Tim Bradford

@fluentmoviequoter

@xxchumanixx

Five Hargrreves

@ohmyitsfaith

#daemon targaryen x you #jake seresin x reader #steve harrington x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #steve harrington x you

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startrekfangirl2233-fic-recs · 2 years

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Fic Rec Masterlist

Hi, I'm Star. I’m 27 and go by She/Her pronouns. I will block any minors who follow me or interact with me through the ask box or in my DMs. I will also block any blank blogs that follow me or interact via ask box or DMs. This blog is for adults (18+) only. DNI. You’ve been warned.

I know, I know. This sounds is Deja-vu. This is very nearly word-for-word what it says in my pinned about me page in my main blog startrekfangirl2233. I started this side-blog to showcase and share some of my favorite content created by others on this site.

Fandoms You’ll See Me Interact With

Stray Kids

BTS

Top Gun: Maverick

Star Trek

Star Wars

Marvel Cinematic Universe

DC Extended Universe (mostly Batman/Bat-Family related)

This is going to be the Master Masterlist for some of my favorite fanfics and recommendations.

Please, please give the account masterlists for the folks I've tagged a thorough perusal. I'm only tagging my favorite content. Most of the people on here are multi-talented and write amazing things!

*** Most of what I link for Star Trek will be AOS unless otherwise indicated ***

James Tiberius Kirk

S'chn T'gai Spock

Leonard McCoy

Nyota Uhura

Hikaru Sulu

Pavel Andreivich Chekov

Montgomery Scott

Couples/Throuples:

James Tiberius Kirk x S'chn T'gai Spock

James Tiberius Kirk x Leonard McCoy

James Tiberius Kirk x S'chn T'gai Spock x Leonard McCoy

Montgomery Scott x James Tiberius Kirk

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace

Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Reuben 'Fitch' Payback

Javy 'Coyote' Machado

Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky

Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell

Couples/Throuples:

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Javy 'Coyote' Machado

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Robert 'Bob' Floyd x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky x Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell

Dagger Squad Ensemble:

That Pilot Shit Series by @forasecondtherewedwon (AO3)

Series containing an assortment of pairs of pilots from TG:M

Spitfire Universe by @gennyanydots

Connected stories between the Dagger Squad members and their significant others.

#star's fic recs #star screaming into the void #star screaming about star trek #star screaming about top gun #star screaming about mcu #star screaming about dc #star screaming about kpop

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stcverogers-reblog · 1 year

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CURRENT TOP GUN READS

ROOSTER

Where do you go?

NAVY READER

Callsign Cherry

are we still friends?

Oops

Pick Your Battles

BARTENDER READER

Steady

THE F&F UNIVERSE

You know I hate it when you cry

COLLEGE BRADLEY

The Trial Run

BOYFRIEND BRADLEY

Something ‘bout you

I ain't worried bout it

MC BRADLEY AU

But this is love I just can’t live without

BASEBALL BRADLEY AU

Take me out to the ballgame

ROOMMATE BRADLEY

And They Were Roommates

EX BRADLEY

old habits die hard

Always Been You

Mamma Mia

medicines

PRESIDENTIAL BRADLEY AU

Red, White, and Rooster

CHEF BRADLEY AU

mise en place

HANGMAN

SINGLE DAD JAKE

AMELIA

SINGLE MOM READER

The Good, The Bad, and The Working on It

Roses and Thorns

Better Man Universe

NAVY READER

Scared to love you

A Diamond in the Rough

Little Wonder

Puzzle Pieces

NEW GIRL JAKE AU

The Douche Bag Jar

EX JAKE

What To Expect

Home Is Where the Heart Is

DAD JAKE

let me go

Flyboy

Opposites Attract

Worlds Collide

the seresin family

Spitfire universe masterlist

Perfect Accidents

HUSBAND JAKE

Sweet Nothings

BEST FRIEND JAKE

Silver Springs

real friends

Sleepy baby

The Only Thing

BOYFRIEND JAKE

more hearts than mine

sunsets and fighter jets

The Invisible Woman

Maroon

Dream of Me

Church Encounters

Beyond the Hills

Out of Bounds

Mr Seresin and I

Met you at the sea

Contract Spouse

Bad Medicine

Bigger than the whole Sky

Learn to Fly

I will always be here for you

all you had to do was stay

The Comeback Kid

pulchritudinous

Diamonds, Candlelight, and a Question

One New Voicemail

BOB

The Killjoy

My Type

Team Prime

40s BOB AU

Letters to my love

ROYAL BOB AU

Royal Flush

MAVERICK

SINGLE DAD MAV

EMMA

CYCLONE

NAVY READER

When Duty Calls

Cyclone

COYOTE

NAVY READER

Your love is the love I need

If it’s worth your time

OLYMPIAN READER

Ridin’ the Waves

#claire's current reads

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bxwitched · 2 years

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Come Fly With Me - Part Two

Warnings: 18+ only, minors do not interact! Angst, sexual tension.

Character Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: After you find yourself in a spot of trouble, a favour from a friend lands you in the classroom at Top Gun.

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: And Part Two is here! As always, feedback, shares and likes are all appreciated! You can find my Masterlist here.

You hurry into the hanger clutching a manual, pad and pen to your chest and you cringe when you see that all of the other pilots are already present. Your anxiety spikes further when some of them turn in their seats to look at you, both confusion and recognition clear on their faces.

You want to blame your late arrival on the recent change of time zones, to excuse yourself, but you know that it's a lie. In reality you had spent the whole night tossing and turning only to oversleep for the first time in years when your busy mind finally let you rest.

All of the seats are taken bar from one at the desk right in the front row, next to a man with familiar looking head of short blonde hair. You can feel the other's eyes on you as you make your way down the line of desks to the front, you feel like the new kid at school but you remind yourself that it's just because you're an outsider.

From what you'd observed at the bar the previous evening, most of them have been stationed together before, already firm friends, whilst some of them have even trained together at the Naval Academy.

You round the front of the desk and your heart drops into your stomach, the universe must really hate me right now, you think. Hangman is surprised to see you too, judging from the way that his mouth falls open and the toothpick that he's been playing with drops from between his pearly whites and onto the floor below.

"Excuse me." You gesture awkwardly to the chair beside him, empty except for his backpack. You're hoping that he understands what you're trying to convey with as little conversation as possible and at last his short-circuited brain seems to right itself. He leans across and tosses the backpack under the desk quickly, even going as far as to pull the chair back for you.

You sit down stiffly and stare straight ahead, silently praying that your superiors arrive and draw his attention away from you. Failing that, the floor of the hanger opening up and swallowing you whole would save you from the uncomfortable encounter.

A glance out of the corner of your eye tells you that he's still looking at you, studying you as he leans back in his chair and inserts a fresh toothpick between his lips. Clearly the man has an oral fixation.

You let out a breath of relief when the Vice Admiral and Rear Admiral finally arrive to give you your briefing, you stand to attention and settle back down when they dismiss you. It's a routine introduction, nothing that you haven't done a hundred times.

What is unusual, however, is the look of shock, followed by regret on Hangman's face when your assigned Captain - Maverick, joins the Admirals at the front of the class.

His head tips downwards and he tries to shrink himself down in his chair, you choke on a snicker when he pinches the bridge of his nose with a pained expression. You'll have to ask the others what's made him so embarrassed after your introductions.

Maverick looks over at the two of you then and you tip your head in a silent apology, the blonde next to you grits his teeth and mimics your apology with a tense smile. Maverick simply looks on in amusement.

You listen eagerly as the Captain Mitchell begins to list off your assigned pairs for training;

Phoenix and Bob,

Payback and Fanboy,

Rooster and Coyote,

Hangman and Spitfire,

Your mouth drops open once more and you barely contain your sound of protest.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" You sink down in your seat as Maverick eyes you with a questioning look, you swallow deeply and shake your head.

"No sir, sorry sir." Hangman smirks at your side and you rest your head on you hand, you check that none of your superiors are looking before subtly flashing him your middle finger.

You bid the woman you now know as Phoenix goodbye, choosing to make your way back to your room instead of following the others to the Rec Room. You ignore the tall blonde as he trails after you in the corridor.

Despite the constant blast of the base's air conditioning the sweltering California heat has won out, you've sweat right through your flight suit and the fabric is sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You're in desperate need of a nice, cold shower.

"Hey, hold up now!" You still when his hand wraps around you wrist, his grip gentle but firm enough to stop you from walking away. The rough skin of his palm is warm around your flesh and you glance down at his hand before meeting his eyes again.

"You didn't tell me you were a pilot, darlin'." He's reverted back to that cocky demeanour from last night, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he studies the curves of your body in your olive green suit.

You offer him a shrug, looking him over with indifference. You can't deny that he looks good in his own suit but you won't tell him that. You shrug your hand out of his hold and he reluctantly lets you go, instantly missing the feeling of your soft skin underneath his fingers.

"You didn't ask, Lieutenant. Is there something that you wanted?" You raise a stern eyebrow at him in question.

He laughs, it's deep, warm and you curse inwardly when your stomach clenches at the sound. He's moving into your space but you don't step back as his form crowds yours, just barely touching, so close but at the same time not close enough.

He leans down slightly, his eyes alight with mischief as he stoops his head closer to your ear. You fight the shiver that threatens to run through your body when his hot breath fans over the skin of your neck.

"You know exactly what I want."

Your heart rate jumps and you feel your stomach flutter at his words. The man is arrogance on legs and it's maddening, as is his shit-eating smirk that he wears, but it does rile up something deep inside of you. You raise your chin defiantly, levelling him with a hard glare.

"I know the game that you're playing." He arches a brow in amusement.

"What game is that, sweetheart?" You fold your arms across your chest, not breaking eye contact with him.

"You think that you're the best pilot, but you need everyone else to think it too. You want to make this training a competition if only to out-do everyone else and win it." He tuts at you slowly and you bristle.

"There's just one thing wrong with your thesis, honey."

"And what's that?"

"I am the best pilot." He flashes you a panty-dropping smile and you shake your head in anger, on anyone else it would be endearing but with his personality you want nothing more than to slap it off of his face.

"We'll see about that." You take a few steps backwards, your exasperation obvious in your expression.

"Phoenix told me how you got your moniker, Hangman. Don't be as arrogant in the air as you are on the ground, you'll get us all killed."

With that you turn around and walk away, leaving him in the middle of the hallway with an uncertain look in his eyes.

Part One

Part Three

@luckyladycreator2

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holdingforgeneralhugs · 3 years

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Headcanons Masterlist

Hello dear tumblr friends💓 I'm making a separate masterlist for my headcanons to tidy everything up and such!

Asking a lady out *

Boys show affection through touch *

Speirs, Luz & Nixon with sick reader *

Forehead touches *

Babe falls in love *

Boys fall in love with shy reader *

Boys propose *

Dinner dates and vacations with Dick Winters *

Buck picking you up at a bar *

You drink Bill under the table *

Dick and Lip being domestic *

The boys with an Italian reader *

Boys in an argument *

Sweet Joe Liebgott *

Supportive Dick Winters *

Dick Winters Fluff *

Lipton attempts to flirt *

Friends to Lovers with Buck *

Fluffy/protective Bull *

Fun with Malarkey *

Boys fall in love with a spitfire reader *

Kisses with Dick Winters *

Domestic boys *

Reader proposes to the boys *

Cuddles with Liebgott *

Domestic life with Speirs *

Nixon Fluff *

Boys pick you up at a dance *

Babe finally asks you out *

Boys with an Asian Reader *

Boys take care of you on your period *

Bill's sister falls in love with Lieb *

Kisses with Speirs *

Kissing Headcanons with Roe and Liebgott *

George Luz with shy reader *

Kisses with Nixon *

Grant and Luz with Awol s/o reader

Luz, Lipton, Roe - reader who picks their nails *

Quarantine with the boys *

Winters, Luz & Liebgott - woken up by their kid*

Winters, Nixon, Malarkey & Lipton as dad's *

Guarnere, Luz & Perconte with tall reader *

Nixon, Roe & Webster with anxious reader *

Boys with angry reader *

Winters, Speirs & Nixon - rejected by reader*

Winters, Speirs & Nixon - reciprocated feelings*

Winter, Speirs, Nix and Gene - Jealous *

Guarnere, Malarkey, Bull - Jealous *

Nixon, Speirs & Liebgott - Modern University*

Darts with Babe *

Nixon & Speirs hide their love for you*

Boys with short reader *

Guarnere and Toye with short reader *

Christmas with Winters and Nixon *

Liebgott, Nixon, Winters - Holiday fluff *

Great Easy Snowball fight of '43 *

Christmas with Bull *

Luz, Lieb & Shifty - Baking Gingerbread*

Stuck in a snowstorm with the boys *

George Luz with the mistletoe *

Great Easy Snowball fight of '43 *

Boys buy Christmas presents for reader *

Malarkey and Fiance with his family *

Boys meet your family for Christmas *

Babe & Luz Lunar New Year *

Winters, Luz & Shifty meet your family *

Tooth-Rotting Malarkey fluff *

Friends with Martin *

Roe, Guarnere & Luz - reader with insomnia *

You give speirs forehead kisses *

Boys with s/o who defends them *

Liebgott, Luz & Webster - plus sized reader

Speirs, Winters, Luz & Liebgott - unrequited love *

Speirs, Nixon & Toye feel bad about a fight *

Speirs & reader with social anxiety *

Luz & reader celebrate German surrender *

Toye, Speirs, Luz Jealousy *

Luz, Liebgott, Malarkey SOE agent *

Speirs, Lipton, Roe & Malarkey forehead kisses*

Winters, Lipton, Roe, Luz - treating wounds*

Boys unrequited love with reader - Protective*

Lieb, Bill & Tab - Stand up for Reader*

Nix, Winters, Luz - Reader Messes Up*

Bill, Chuck, Tab & Bull - Angry Reader *

Winters, Nixon & Speirs - Love Languages *

Winters, Nixon, Speirs, Liebgott & Roe - Crying*

#band of brothers fandom #band of brothers #hbo band of brothers #bob #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #headcanon #headcannons #band of brothers headcanons #holdingforgeneralhugs #headcanons masterlist #easy company

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gennyanydots · 2 years

Text

Matching Wits

How Jake met his wife. Part of the Spitfire Universe. Can be read alone.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x f!reader

Masterlist

Spitfire universe masterlist

Warnings: threats of bodily harm (not to either main characters) and a knife.

“If you even try to talk to my friend again let alone touch her, I swear I will pull the knife out of my bra and shove it so far up your ass I’ll be able to see it out your mouth.”

Jake’s shocked to hear something like that come out of such a beautiful mouth. He’s sure as shit glad it wasn’t directed at him though. He doesn’t know the woman who just said it, but you didn’t look like you were kidding around. Jake’s been very impressed by the way you’re staring down the man you threatened in front of you even though you looks almost a foot shorter than him. You’re refusing to back down. Good for you. He’s proud of you.

“Whatever, she’s a bitch anyways,” the man grunts out before turning and walking away, making sure to run into your shoulder as he walked by.

The feisty little lady that Jake’s been watching put both middle fingers up at him and yells, “I’m sorry about your small penis!” then you turned and pulled your friend into a tight hug. Jake nearly chokes on his beer trying not to laugh at the penis comment.

Jake had been assessing the situation from his seat at the bar, in case he was needed of course. His mama would pitch a fit if she found out he had watched that man hurt one of those girls while he did nothing about it and he’s nothing if not the good southern gentleman his mama raised him to be. If you two had needed saved from that man then Jake would have been the first in line to step in but he clearly wasn’t needed at all. The girl with the knife had it all under control.

Jake was watching the scene unfold from the corner of his eye. Didn’t want to get caught watching the drama, which he was only watching in case back up was needed, definitely not because he wanted to hear all the smart remarks coming from your mouth. Jake’s always been drawn to women like you. The sassier the better. He likes a challenge. And yeah he knows all about that ‘you’re attracted to women who remind you of your mama’ shit and he knows his mama is a bit on the sassier side but he’s pretty sure that you could whoop his mama even on a good day.

And maybe it’s less being attracted to women like his mother and more he watched his parent’s relationship and he wants to emulate that for his own future. He watched as his father helped his mother through hard times, making sure to never put out her fire, just to dim it when needed (Mostly for safety reasons). He watched his mother put up with the fire in his father which rarely came out. He watched his father soothe his mother’s worries. He watched his mother drop everything for his father when he needed help. With that kind of an example why wouldn’t Jake want something like that?

Not that Jake was actively looking for anything right now. Jake was busy as hell at The Naval Academy. He had another year to go after this one and then off to Pensacola he goes.

He had come out tonight with a couple of his buddies. They had an overnight weekend leave so they thought going out drinking was the best way to spend their time. Jake had only been at the bar to grab the next round of drinks for them all before the whole show happened and there was no way he was going back to his buddies before he knew the two girls were safe and sound.

When Jake calls the bartender over for another round he asked if he could put the feisty girl and her friend’s next drinks on his tab, which the bartender was happy to do and then got him the drinks Jake had asked for. Jake thanks him and heads back to his friends who were playing pool.

“What took you so long?” Ryker asks.

Jake shrugs, “Some guy was being an asshole to some women and I didn’t want to walk away until I knew he was gone.”

Charlie chuckles, “You wanted to be their knight in shining armor?”

Jake shakes his head, “Didn’t need to be. The one told him she was going to shove her knife up his ass so he ran away.”

Charlie and Ryker both laugh at that then went back to their game. Jake only half pays attention to his friends, instead choosing to lean against the nearest wall and drink his beer while he surveys the bar. He liked to keep an eye on things wherever he is. Always assessing his surroundings.

He thought Charlie had come to stand beside him but ended up being really confused when he saw Charlie step up to the pool table to take his turn to shoot. Jake quickly glances beside him and shouts in surprise, “The fuck did you come from?!”

“Over there,” you, the feisty woman from earlier, say as you point to the table your friend was still sitting at.

“Jesus Christ woman, announce yourself better next time,” he says with a huff.

You grin, “Naw, this was way too funny for me to announce myself. Think I’ll keep doing it.”

Jake rolls his eyes, “Glad I could be your entertainment for the evening.”

“Glad I could be yours earlier,” you say with a laugh.

“What are you talking about? I was very subtle about that. How’d you even know?” Jake asks.

“You mean the subtle way you blatantly kept turning slightly and watching? Real subtle.”

“I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything,” Jake says with a shrug.

You reach up from the bottom of your shirt and shift around a bit before pulling a pocket knife out and flicking open the blade, “I had it under control.”

Jake snorts a laugh, “You’re not holding it right. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“How am I supposed to hold it then?”

Jake takes the knife from you and shows you how to hold it before gently handing it back with the handle facing you.

You try, “Like this?”

Jake nods, “Better. The other way, if something accidentally caught on the closing mechanism you were going to chop off your finger tips.”

You make a face, “Ouch. Thanks for that.”

Jake nods at you.

“You know neither of us needed a man to buy us a drink…” you trail off.

“I can’t imagine you needing a man to do anything for you.”

“Except apparently show me how to hold a knife,” you say with a laugh.

Jake laughs too, “Yeah, except that. But now you’re all set. No need for a man. You’ve achieved greatness.”

You roll your eyes at his antics, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Jake nods, “Part of my charm?”

“Is that what you are? Charming?”

Jake grins, “When I want to be.”

“Oh yeah? And right now you want to be?” You say with a smile.

“Maybe, check back in with me in like ten minutes and I’ll let you know,” he says with a shrug which makes you laugh.

“So, what’s a girl have to do to make you want to be charming towards her?”

“Helps if they’re cute.”

“Okay, check that one off the list,” you say with a grin. “I am very well known for being cute.”

“How do you know that? Did you put out a survey?” Jake asks crossing his arms while raising an eyebrow.

You nod, “I did. Went door to door with a clipboard and everything.”

Jake chuckles, “Well I can’t argue with data.”

“No you can’t. So, what else?”

“Big fan of attitudes.”

You grin, “I’m two for two. Look at me go.”

“You don’t say,” Jake says with a wink.

“Is there anything else or are you about to charm the pants off me?” You ask with a giggle.

Jake moved to stand in front of you then held out his hand to you. You gave him a funny look. He nodded towards his hand while looking at you expectantly so finally you put your hand in his. He gently closed his hand around your’s before sharply pulling you towards him so you were pulled against his chest then wraps his other arm around your waist, still keeping your hand in his. He starts to gently sway to the music that both of you can just barely hear. He bends his head so his mouth is near your ear and starts to hum along. The two of you stay like that for a minute or two and then the song changes and Jake slowly dips you then stands you both back up and pulls away from you.

“How was that?” He asks while grinning, knowing full well that he did good.

“Yep, yeah, I would say you’ve sufficiently charmed the pants off me. Good job,” you say while you feel your face heat up.

Jake chuckles.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket and you pull it out, “Well shoot. My friend is ready to go home and I’m her ride.”

Jake nods, “Well I did my job so I guess you’re free to go.”

You go to your phone contacts and hit new contact and hand Jake your phone, “But that was just once. Definitely not enough data to back up your claims. Should probably do it again.”

Jake laughs and enters his number under ‘Prince Charming’ and hands you back your phone, “Hope to hear from you soon, darlin’.”

“I’m sure you will. Bye Jake,” you give him a little wave and he smiles and waves back. You head off to the table you left your friend at.

Jake turns back towards his buddies.

“Knife girl?” Ryker asks.

Jake nods and glances towards the direction you went off to and sees that you’re walking out the door, “Pretty sure I’m gonna marry her.” Later as Jake’s laying in bed scrolling on his phone he gets a text that says, “Are you data? Because the only pattern I recognize is how hot you are.”

#jake seresin x reader #jake “hangman” seresin x f!reader #hangman x female reader #spitfire universe

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cantstoptheimagines · 3 years

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Masterlist (Fandoms that start with M)

FAQ | Masterlists Guide | Fandoms | Requests | Schedule

Marvel Comics (MCU, PS5 Miles Morales, PS4 Spider-Man, Spider-Verse)

Imagines

Blue Shirt (Garfield!Peter Parker)

Emergency Contact (Garfield!Peter Parker) | Part Two (Coming Soon)

Love Like Her (Garfield!Peter Parker)

Friendly Neighborhood Escort Service (Garfield!Peter Parker)

Another Me (Holland!Peter Parker)

Footprints (Holland!Peter Parker)

Hey, Neighbor (Holland!Peter Parker)

Reminders (Holland!Peter Parker)

Celebrity Crush (PS4!Peter Parker)

Now You Tell Me (Steve Rogers)

Maze Runner

Imagines

Don’t Be Suspicious (Gally)

RBF (Gally)

All the Single Boys (Newt)

‘Meets World’ Franchise (Boy Meets World, Girl Meets World)

Imagines

Lost and Found (Core Four)

Closer (Eric Matthews)

Home (Katy Hart, Maya Hart, Shawn Hunter)

Always There (Riley Matthews)

Confessions (Shawn Hunter)

Just One Date (Shawn Hunter)

New Kid in Town (Shawn Hunter)

Sixteen Dreams (Shawn Hunter)

Spin the Bottle (Shawn Hunter)

With Me (Shawn Hunter)

Headcanons

Dating Them Would Include (Cory Matthews)

Dating Them Would Include (Eric Matthews)

Dating Them Would Include (Shawn Hunter)

Dating Them Would Include (Topanga Lawrence)

Mermaids Universe (H2O: Just Add Water, Mako Mermaids)

Miraculous Ladybug

Imagines

Nail Polish (Luka Couffaine)

Sway (Luka Couffaine)

Picture Perfect (Nathaniel Kurtzberg)

Headcanons

Dating Them Would Include (Luka Couffaine, Nathaniel Kurtzberg)

Preferences

Discovering Their Secret Identity (Kagami Tsurugi, Luka Couffaine)

When You Get Akumatized (Kagami Tsurugi, Luka Couffaine, Zoé Lee)

When You Get Snowed In (Luka Couffaine, Nathaniel Kurtzberg)

Prompts

Tea Prompts (Luka Couffaine)

Tea Prompts (Nathaniel Kurtzberg)

MTV’s Scream

Imagines

Loving You (Audrey Jensen)

My Babysitter’s a Vampire

My Hero Academia

Series

Just Friends (Katsuki Bakugō) (Texting AU)

Imagines

Confidence (Eijiro Kirishima)

Cuddle for Warmth (Izuku Midoriya)

Lost in the Crowd (Izuku Midoriya)

Project Mistletoe (Izuku Midoriya)

Six Pack (Izuku Midoriya)

Protective (Shouto Todoroki)

Summer Nights (Shouto Todoroki)

Headcanons

Dating Them Would Include (Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugō, Shouto Todoroki)

How They Act Around Their Crush (Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugō, Shouto Todoroki)

Preferences

First Kiss (Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugō, Shouto Todoroki)

Their Reaction to You Getting Stuck in a Futon (Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugō, Shouto Todoroki)

Prompts

Tea Prompts (Izuku Midoriya)

Tea Prompts (Shouto Todoroki)

My Little Pony (Generation 4, Generation 5)

Imagines

Similarities (Spitfire)

#cantstoptheimagines #masterlist

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thetravelingtyper · 2 years

Text

Comfort Character: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Real-Life! Fanfic Author GN!Reader

After a spoiled date, you are comforted by your version of your comfort character...

(Technically within my Spitfire Universe ;)

Part 2, Masterlist

Warnings: None, Self-indulgent Fluff

The reader is the author of the Spitfire Series, Simon here is one and the same kids: Tumblr / Ao3

Not required reads but I do mess around with Simon a lot and he is a softie...

Seriously this hit me randomly yesterday and I wrote it with speed, enjoy my loves :D

You sat tired and ruffled while hunched over your laptop, a current draft for the Spitfire Universe sat open with a blinking cursor. You sighed, hitting a mental roadblock. Music streamed absentmindedly through your unhearing ears as you snuggled further into the fluffy blanket on your shoulders.

Your date had gone terribly, they spilled both ketchup and a drink on you as they turned quickly away from their current, well, now ex-girlfriend. The ex thankfully had been understanding and you both dumped drinks on the cheater. You got the ex’s number, you remember with a smug smile. A good friend you think.

You stretch your fingers, then with eyes filtering over the dark of your apartment you spot your cat. Nebula raises an ear at your quiet shuffling blanket and gives a huff. He makes no other movement. You smile, warm fuzzy feelings erupting with love in your chest as your eyes shoot back to the unfinished fic on your laptop screen.

Within it, your insert character wraps their injured Leuitnant. Spitfire had become your metaphorical stand-in so you could sass the hell out of Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. You had started the fic tucked into a secluded corner of your University library.

You grin and continue writing.

“Who knew flying shrapnel was sharp and-”

“Shut it, Love.” His gruff voice held no bite but his hand shot up to your elbow and yanked you down to eye level.

“Be quiet or I will shut your mouth for you.” Blond hair splayed messily over his eyes, he was maskless and you smirked, nicely shirtless. White gauze wrapped its way up his scarred chest…

You exhale out your nose, head bopping to raised beats through headphones. An unconscious smirk pulls on your lips, you bite them, then frown. Eyes not leaving the screen you reach over the arm of your couch for chapstick. You find it, then open it, you raise it to your lips, then…BANG.

There is a thud against your door that causes you to jump. Nebula shoots up with a startled meow. Your eyes shoot around as you tear off your headphones, music trickling out. You shoot for the light, eyes burning as your living room is illuminated with warm yellow light.

You freeze in the silence, heart pounding in your ears as the ashy black of Nebula darts towards you like a baby, he leaps into your arms, the fat cat's long hair a steadying comfort. You calm as the silence settles into warmth. Your anxiety kicks up a little, but you ground yourself, petting Nebula into a purring mess.

Then almost as an apology, there is a steady knock at the door. Your head tilts in consideration. It was 11:30 pm and you didn’t recognize the knocking. Both of your next-door neighbors had specific patterns with which they knocked, you thought for a moment then shrugged, and you set Nebula down with a pouty meow. He followed you as you passed through the kitchen and to your front door.

While you normally had access to your peephole, sloppy painting by a maintenance worker covered it last week. You braced for anxiety as the knocking stopped, seemingly sensing your presence. But instead of nerves, you found that a weird and unnatural calm had settled over you.

You felt yourself at the edge of fate in a weird way, you blinked then it flashed away like a spark in the wind. Then a gentle whisper of a knock and your hand automatically pulled the door open.

There was no one there, your apartment light spilling into the dim hallway. You felt safe because to get to the floor with the elevator you needed a keycard, and there was a friendly but very fit ex-navy officer as your late-night door guard. You peered down the hallway, then taking a timid step you looked out. Then a black shape engulfed your vision, like a flicker, his form blinked and then stumbled forward.

Your arms opened and you lunged forward on instinct, the flickering form suddenly heavy and breathing in your arms. You yelped as 200-plus pounds of muscle fell forward into your arms, you fell back into your apartment, but a second before impact padded arms engulfed your head and you were knocked back into the crook of an elbow as a massive form engulfed yours on the carpet.

Your breath was restricted and you were warm, you realized this and your arms shot up. Well, they would have, instead, you felt blindly, your hands pinned by a jacketed abdomen, as you discovered. The body underneath was muscled and your hands dipped under a jacket to feel soft cotton.

“Hello?” Your voice comes out firm, you weren't scared more just confused. The outlandish situation suddenly turned on its head with…

“What the fuck?”

The smell of gunpowder and leather hit your nose as breaths tucked themselves into your neck, the elbow under you unwrapping and your head gently settling back onto the carpet. Your eyes slid open as the weight is lifted off of you and your heart freezes.

The man hovered over you now, a muscled arm easily propping himself up over you while his other hand caught one of yours, your mouth tumbling open when your eyes met his.

Pale scarred skin turned up in a grin, his skin clean of marked black shadow, but umber eyes melted in the warm light, your free hand shot to his chest, covered in a plain black shirt through his open jacket, a steady heartbeat pounded under your splayed fingers. His head tilted and his brow shot up with a smirk.

He seemed content to just watch your brain short circuit, but you caught Simon off guard when your raising head fell backward with a groan.

“Nope, I cannot afford to feed you. You’re fucking massive, Christ.”

Simon froze, then with a light heart, he laughed, his chest shaking and his other arm shot to brace on the other side of your head. Your stomach fluttered at the sound, a nervous giggle escaping you as your hands shot to his chest.

“Alright, I think that wine was bad…” Your words fizzled out as his heated gaze caught your eyes. His body then lowered against yours and you gave a concerning sound. It caught in your throat as he pressed closed lips to the base of your neck, his breath warm against you. You gave a nervous hum, fully convinced you had passed out while your mind flittered in fantasy. But the heavy body upon yours said otherwise, as did the chest-rumbling chuckle. His lips tingled as they moved against your skin. His voice sent sparks through your body, an open door forgotten long ago.

“I’m all real,” he lifted himself up, but only enough to stare brown eyes into your soul, a familiarly written scar on his brow called your hand.

Whatever he was about to say was cut off, confidence in his voice simmering then fizzling out as tender authorial fingers traced his face. Your tired mind filled with affection at the character above you. You felt caught in a dream as the sadness and disappointment of earlier melted away with Simon’s confusion at your touch.

You withdrew into your mind as you thumbed his brow, blond tresses of hair tickling your hand, Umber eyes shot over your face as nerves clawed their way through his chest, somehow your gaze made him freeze, but…

“You are beautiful.”

Your comment came as that of a creator, a tired but brave soul throwing itself into the abyss. The darkness of uncertainty is chased away by creation. The reflection, no your version of a character was solid under your hands in this dream and you smiled, your heart pounding as you cherished the comfort of one of your favorite characters to write.

“You were always my favorite to write, thank you brain.”

Your smile froze his heart, whatever he was going to say dying on his mind. For the entity that had become Simon at this moment, he never felt more loved. A flickering echo became a solid reality as life suddenly slammed into him, his arms crumpled but then with the threat of crushing you he caught himself with sprawled hands. He groaned and his eyes slid shut. The echo became flesh as his artificial heart pounded real blood through warmth and muscle. Memories of the character hit him as history rewrote Simon Riley into reality.

A troubled life claimed by service and forces flashed in his mind, and yet, your written reality became stone, with some edits by the Fates. Simon Riley here set Ghost aside to retire early, the other members of the 141 all off and now forever safe, records downstairs writ themselves new and Simon’s muscles tensed with the weight of life.

And yet, he noticed, the heavy weight of consciousness and then love, you still figured yourself in a dream. He then smiled as your hands traced his face. A thumb brushed his lips, then the weight of a familiar chain materialized on his neck. Its twinkle in the light caught your eye.

A silver ring hung next to a retired dog tag, your fingers then found warm metal. A weight on your chest shot you awake as you felt invisible hands tie a chain around your neck. You shot up on your elbows, Simon naturally flowing back to sit on his knees as you woke up. Your hands felt at your neck and you found a simple silver chain, but your breath caught at the ring on it.

“What?”

Nebula padded into view as reality resumed, you pulled yourself up in a daze, eyes only seeing the open door and you stood to close it automatically. A warm chuckle startled you in the silence, your forgotten music now streaming back into your consciousness, you really needed to turn it down you thought-,

Warm hands yanked you back and you tumbled into awaiting arms, the apartment door took the moment to shut itself as Nebula meowed at the new presence in the room. Simon soon was sprawling over your laying form on the couch. Your brain stuttered and you blinked.

“Wait?”

Simon chuckled and your heart was pounding, you were awake now.

“We have all night,”

He dipped his eyes to your lips, and you gave a nervous chuckle heart fluttering,

“Love.”

The lips that then pressed against yours were, very very real.

#simon ghost riley fluff #fluff #cod mw2 2022 #cod mw2 2022 fanfic #simon rily x reader #gender neutral reader #fanfiction author reader #Spitfire Universe?#fanfiction #Ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #Real life reader #self indulgent #fan fic

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pascalpanic · 4 years

Text

m a s t e r l i s t

hey, I’m Josie! I adore Pedro Pascal and his characters, so here’s my masterlist. enjoy! I always enjoy feedback or criticism, so feel free to interact, shoot me a DM or an inbox message! requests for fics or hcs are always welcome as well :)

**=NSFW/Explicit

D i n D j a r i n

Stubborn

Mirdal’ika

Mesh’la Kaab

Atin’la

He Is My Home

Sweet Talk**

The Bantha

Popping Pearls and Purple Skies

Irrational

Cooking in the Crest

Trust is a Luxury

F r a n k i e M o r a l e s

Alpha Beta Charlie- A Frankie Morales Story (not x reader)

Tiny Dancer

Prom Date

Backseat**

Before The Next Teardrop Falls

Benny’s Girl

Pilot’s Hands**

Drunk Words / Sober Thoughts / Designated Driver

Let Go**

Sunscreen

Appendicitis

Good Boy**

Spicy-Sweet

Tangled Up**

At Last

The Graveyard Shift

Fixer Upper | Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Fight Night

Miller Morales Mechanic Shop universe

Experience**

Study Buddy

J a v i e r P e ñ a

Spitfire**

Fooled Around and Fell In Love

F*ck Around and Find Out**

Hazy Vision**

Always Been Yours

Cigarette Daydreams

Caffeine Rush- Series Masterlist

Angel**

Burning The Midnight Oil

Covetous

Bottom Drawer**

Papa Peña

M a x w e l l L o r d

Winnie the Pooh Pajamas**

Lipstick Stain**

Conferences

Overdoing It

A g e n t J a c k “W h i s k e y” D a n i e l s

Just One Mission

Burnin’ Love**

‘Nilla Bean

M a r c u s M o r e n o

Sparring**

Making Moves

Tik Tok Tyranny

Sirenita

Bake Sale

E z r a (P r o s p e c t)

Twelve Hours to Pickup**

M a r c u s P i k e

Picture Perfect

Thursdays**

Begin Again | Part One | Part Two

M i s c e l l a n e o u s

Multiple Character Headcanons

Drabbles and Single-Character Headcanons

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blackjackmagi83 · 2 years

Text

You Are My Heaven (1) - Sweep Me Off My Feet

Masterlist

AO3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: A short reader insert story of falling in love with pre-winter soldier James Barnes to post-Winter Soldier Bucky.

A fluffy tear jerker that’ll make you cringe or get butterflies and blush.

*Rewritten cause original was cringe (still kind of is)*

Note:

I can't even begin with how much I've rewritten this part of the story. I have come to the conclusion that I am awful at writing 2nd person and come to the decision to not write in that form again cause *cringe*🥲 I'm still not the happiest with this version and most likely in a short time with fix it up a bit better (Maybe) but I hope you all like this version!

I am working on fixing up the other parts so look out for that hopefully soon!

Playlist listed below along with the NEW story cover ♡

Hope you enjoy! ♡

Playlist:

Can’t Help Falling In Love – Elvis Presley

Until I Found You – Stephen Sanchez with Em Beihold

Put Your Head On My Shoulder – Paul Anka

Hold Me Tight – Evan Rachel Wood (Across the Universe Soundtrack)

1942 New York City, quite the place to be at this time. The raging war grew larger each day, waiting to swallow seas of people preparing to dive head first into it. It felt like the only thing that was on everyone's mind, the papers made sure it was at the very least. Pages upon pages of updates that weren’t classified to the public, detailing on what’s to come. It only grew the public's fear more. Mothers held their baby boys closer with each coming night, dreading the date when they got called for duty and most likely to their future graves. I almost could relate to the grieving mothers. A beloved baby sister who was trying to grasp the reality that my brother wasn't going to be coming home. A reality that I was nowhere near ready for, let alone accept.

My daze came to a halt at the feeling of getting my hip bumped by another, taking a moment to realize the bubbly woman beside me was deep in a conversation that I held no knowledge of the subject.

Great, I did it again…

My head turned towards her, attempting to connect the pieces of conversation my brain was able to catch. Something along the lines of a scandal at the salon and her mother fussing over the money she spent on the dress she had just bought for herself to wear tonight–I think–but nothing else seemed to fit together enough to fully comprehend. A wave of guilt washed over me at my terrible lack of focus tonight, further sinking when I caught the gleam of excitement as she spoke, still oblivious to my fogged state.

“--Who knows, maybe even let someone take my hands off you if you get my gist?” The beaming smile ceased at the sight of my furrowed brows, piecing together the puzzle of conversation that I had missed entirely, “You weren’t listening were you?”

My face pinched as I cringed, eyes apologetic towards the bouncing blonde, “I’m sorry–”

Her hands encased my arm in a firm hold, shaking it as if to rid of my clouded thoughts, “Get your head out of the clouds already, Y/N! With the way this war is going we only have so much time to enjoy such freedom and you are wasting it on daydreaming.”

Maria, one of the sweetest people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in my young lifetime, was nothing but a stubborn, spitfire that is too passionate for her own good. So outgoing, never turning the spotlight down if it came her way but my most loyal friend since the two of us graduated highschool. Determined as a bull, she is the one who pulls me out of my comfort zone–more than I’d like sometimes–when she feels it’s needed, releasing the tension if pushed too far. A quality that was hard to find when befriending someone as shy as myself and I’ve never been more thankful.

“I wasn’t daydreaming.” Face flushing, I turned away from the pinned glare of green eyes, huffing under my breath with both annoyance and defeat, “Maria, you're lucky I even came out let alone having a man take me home tonight.”

Taking a man home was the last thing on my mind. Most men were preparing for war leaving only the memory of themselves in the form of soreness and hickies. Emotional connection wasn’t something many seeked during this time unless they sought after heartbreak purposely. Ignoring the sensitivity of my emotional state, even if I did go home with one, feeding into the temptation of lust, I would still be left with an emptiness that would never be filled. I rather sit and weep than deal with the emotional damage of loving someone romantically, knowing they wouldn’t return to me or lose their connection from months–maybe years–of distance and mental trauma of war.

“The only plans I have after tonight are a cup of tea and a few chapters from my book.” I looped my arm through her right one, refusing to meet her eyes still, “Maybe I’ll even eat a cookie before bed, just to spice it up a bit since apparently I’m such a bore.”

I didn't have to look at her to know a smirk was growing on her lips, the corners cracking as they peeked upwards. Smugness radiated off her in heavy waves, her eyes glinting with mischief, “But the unplanned ones tend to be the best and rather surprising darling.”

Should’ve seen that one coming.

A blush dappled my cheeks, further entertaining Maria at my innocence, “I guess I’ll never know.”

I’ve had experiences with men but very little if I could even count it as anything. One of the first boys I went out with had taken advantage of the less than intimate kiss, decided to try his luck at running his hands down the curves of my backside but didn’t get a chance to go further due to your brother coming into my room. It’s safe to say receiving a black eye was no invitation for a second date.

Maria pinched my side, tugging me closer as the bar grew closer, “Never say never honey, you could meet the man of your dreams tonight.”

For my sake, I beg to the heavens that I don't…

The bar doors swung open with a bang as the two of us entered, bodies painting the room with swinging dances, flirtatious chatter and an overall intoxicating presence that made my head spin the moment I stepped in. It was filled with mostly officers and women clinging onto their uniforms trying to hold onto their short summer romances. A few elderly lovers danced around them, sparkle in their eyes as if they had fallen in love with each other all over again. That's the kind of love I've always dreamt about, the most impossible love to find.

Maria's grip tightened around my hand as she dragged me across the lacquered floor, bumping into surrounding bodies that looked to have the least bit of care in the world as they pounded glasses of liquor. My eyes wandered around the room catching the glints of light shining on the stage as I was pulled through, dazed by the haze from cigarette smoke and suffocation the packed room gave.

I tugged at her arm when we took a moment to stop, Maria peeking over shoulders in further search of an open table, “Why don’t we just head back? All the tables seem to be taken.” I felt claustrophobic the longer I stood pressed against so many bodies, the sour smell of booze and sweat was beginning to make me nauseous, “We can try again another night, preferably not on a Friday night?”

Maria was less than pleased by my escape attempt, scrunching her face sourly, “No way! You’ll never get out of that retrid room otherwise. Look, there’s a table right over there!” Maria pulled me further towards the back of the bar, squeezing past lingering hands and bantering, the empty table in question appearing as if out of thin air, “How perfect is this little spot? Nice and quiet, all while getting a good view of tonight’s selection.”

I couldn’t help but to breathe a laugh at her openness, pulling my dress underneath myself as I sat in the wooden seat, my hands immediately playing with the ends of hair that shifted onto my cheek. An anxious habit that I still struggled to get rid of. I wasn't used to dolling myself up, showcasing myself into the light of curious eyes that surrounded me. I'm used to simple, blending into the crowds of New York with little fuss or worry of complications. I didn’t want to be in the spotlight, I didn’t like the attention of a thousand eyes on me, but when with Maria, that mindset gets twisted by those painted nails until all that remains is a whole new woman. Tonight was no exception. My hair is curled in brushed waves that tweaked up at the ends, the deep navy cocktail dress curving to my body without being overly tight. Maria even convinced me to wear makeup, showing me how to apply it since she is far more of an expert in the field than myself. When I appeared in front of the mirror, it was a stranger looking back at me. It felt overwhelming, looking back at the mature woman in the reflection, but the thrill of adrenaline that ran through my body had me excited for the night to come.

Maria pinched at the back of my hand, gaining my mindless attention back once again, “Alright space cadet, I’m going to go and grab us some drinks. I expect that baby tush to be sitting right there when I get back–unless afterall someone catches your interest–”

“Just get the damn drinks already.” A snort flew from my lips as I shoved her towards the bar, the sound of her laughter fading as she drifted further away from earshot.

I followed Maria’s perky figure, quirking a brow when she was stopped by a few officers leaning against the bar beside her. With a dip in her hip, the flirtatious charm turned on, twirling the short blonde strands around her finger, eyes skimming their uniforms with low lashes and her lip tucked cheekily between her teeth. The men melted into a pool of lovestruck hormones that filled their imagination with visions of her beneath their bodies, hollering and smirking with their eyes still glued to her. It was so fascinating to observe, noting the ease of skill Maria flaunted all while being innocently inviting to the opposite sex. A trait–talent–I sometimes wish I obtained.

Maria sent a kiss to each swooning man, giving a little toast with the prized beer in her hands before she made her way back to the table, an extra sway to her hips, “God I love being a woman.” Maria released a relieved sigh, cheeks warm with joy, “I will never turn down free drinks by looking pretty.” The yeasty liquid spilled from the opened top as she handed the brown glass bottle, sitting herself in the chair across from me.

The liquid was pungent, hitting the back of my throat with a sharper taste than I expected, nearly making me cough it down. But the coolness of it made me numb away from the taste, savoring the relief of heat leaving my fevered body, “One of these days you’ll have to teach me your ways with flirting. You make it look as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

Maria shook her head in disagreement, chuckling as she took another sip, “Absolutely not.”

My toe tapped at her shin playfully, “Oh, come on, I can’t be that hopeless?” Her head shook stubbornly again, mumbling ‘no’ repeatedly under her breath, “You’re the one who’s practically begging for me to have my panties around my ankles tonight. I can’t woo a guy if I’m fumbling over my words every other second.”

With a sigh, her head rolled to face me, “It’s simple Y/N, I’m selfish. If I teach you my ways you’ll never be home alone again or home at all for that matter. Even worse, you wouldn't spend any time with me! I’m not sure I could handle that. And don’t get me started on your brother who would put a target on my back if he found out you were anything but innocent. Sure be a hell of a sight to witness though.”

A heavy feeling sunk into an iron pit in my chest at the mention of my brother. I almost forgot about the deployment date but it was unavoidable, especially in a bar full of enthusiastic officers, ready to fight for their country. Avoiding it felt like a complete joke now, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, how stupid of me.”

Maria sighed as she took another sip from her beer, her thoughts morphing together something to fix her slipup, “Listen to me Y/N, I know you're struggling right now with your brother's deployment coming up but you need to keep living. Do you think he wants you drowning yourself in your room by yourself every night? No, he'd give you a shoe right in the tush and you know it! Now loosen up that frown, you're gonna get wrinkles.”

I knew she was right, but the panicked feeling only grew, settling like a diseased cell until it grew unmanageable. My cheek stung as back teeth nipped at the inside of my cheek, heartbeat drumming through my skull with quickening pulses that seemed to increase with each second passing.

The first stage of a panic attack…

Dread joined the cluster of emotions at the thought of having an attack in full bar, my lungs clawing inside my chest in a panicked plea for more oxygen. I almost gave in, my breathing pitching into near hyperventilation until the warmth of a hand wrapped around the trembling digits of my own, forcing my glazed sight to meet Maria’s. It was a soft, reassuring gaze, her fingers rubbing tenderly against the back of my hand, distracting from the panicked breaths and desperation to run out the doors.

“Y/N, I need you to do your exercises.” She demonstrated, inhaling and exhaling the way I needed to, “Deep breath in, hold for four, blow it out for another four. Can you do that for me?”

I felt my head nodding, following her instructions, the subtle relief of my breathing and heart rate slowing following soon after. The unbearable drumming dissipated and the slight shake throughout my body settled into barely a hum.

Her other hand cupped over our interlaced ones, radiating soothing heat up my arm, her eyes never leaving mine as I continued the exercise, “Good, now I want you to throw any thoughts you have out of that head of yours. I know it's not going to be easy, this will be your biggest challenge to overcome yet. Just remember you have people who will support you through it.”

I gave her a blank stare, both mentally drained and unamused by her words of wisdom, “How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?” A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, further distracting me from the episode that just occurred, “Seriously, it’s almost creepy.”

She let go of my hand, returning to its place on the bottle as she rocked backwards in her seat, a soft smile gracing her lips, “Because it’s what you have me for.”

A comfortable silence grew between us, slowly sipping at the warming beer until there were only the sharp remnants remaining on the tip of my tongue. Maria barely touched hers, just holding it in her lap as her attention was more focused on those surrounding us, her body subconsciously swaying to the music from the band.

A loud smack quivered the table, sending a jolt through my heart at the sudden motion of her hand coming down against the table’s surface, “Alright I’ve had enough of this mopey, depressing gunk.” Her hand moved to reach out towards me, palm open with invite, “Come on honey, let's go show everyone how to actually dance.”

Curls invaded my vision as my head shook, leaning away from the awaiting hand, “You know I don’t dance Maria.”

A humorless laugh flooded around me, the manicured hand slapping at the top of my exposed knee lightly, “What a load of bull that is! Come on Y/N, these boys don’t know what a fine woman they’re missing if you just sit around the whole night looking like a lost little puppy.”

Stubbornness laced my features, pushing away the empty bottle from between my fingers so I could cross them against my chest, “I most certainly can. Let’s call it, playing hard to get? Give ‘em a little surprise when they pull me to the floor.”

The blank, defeated stare shifted into one of triumph as her line of sight caught something behind me, raising her hands in mock surrender as she backed off, “If that’s how you wanna play honey then that’s fine, but I don’t think you’ll have to play for too long.”

“Elaborate please.”

She leaned forward until her mouth almost touched my ear, “An officer with the most intense blue eyes I’ve ever seen, hasn’t stopped looking at you since we sat down.” A finger pointed towards the culprit, chatting amongst a group against the wall beside the bar, “The tall one in the uniform in the middle there.”

She smirked as I launched my body around the chair, nearly making it fall over. My eyes scanned over the room, hunting for this mystery man that was spoken of but all I was met with was the classic brown and gold uniforms placed on nearly every man within a two foot vicinity. With a roll of my eyes, I met her awaiting ones, “Half this bar is filled with uniformed men, it’s a little hard to tell who from who.”

Her gaze shifted behind me again, meeting mine with a mischievous glint, “Oh trust me, you can’t miss him. Look, he’s already making his way over here.”

“This joke is starting to get old–” I followed her line of sight, lazily skimming around until I caught the blue eyes she was referring to.

She wasn’t kidding…

Six feet of muscles dressed in military attire with the most charming smile I've had the pleasure of seeing was walking my way, watching me as he walked against the crowd. My breaths held a firm hold within my throat as I held eye contact, unable to break away even when he stood only inches from where I sat.

“Good evening ladies.” He nodded his head respectfully towards Maria before his attention returned to me briefly, intimidating but welcoming, “I hope you don’t mind–”

“Maria Elkwoods, at your service sir.” She was practically glowing, radiating with both excitement and smugness. Her eyes shot to mine, clearly reading ‘I told you so’ .

A breathy chuckle passed his lips, jolting my heart into a quicker rhythm, “Maria, would you mind if I take the company of your gorgeous friend here for a moment?”

Maria didn’t need to hear another word, jumping from her seat as if it burned, “Please, I thought you’d never ask! And don’t feel the need to return her, she’s all yours for the night officer. Have fun you two.” She winked, leaving the two of us with our jaws slightly gaped and speechless, at least I was.

The officer appeared amused rather than offended, shaking his head as another chuckle escaped him, “She’s quite something huh?”

“That’s an understatement.” I felt myself joining in the light laughter until our eyes met again, catching the words in my throat sharply as I watched him as if in slow motion take the open seat beside me.

Washes of light blue clashed with dark as the color got closer to his pupil creating an intense gaze that pinned me to the spot, intensely observant and calculating. I was already intimidated but something about his demeanor made my nerves settle into something manageable, allowing a shy smile to grace my features as I held his stare, “So, officer–”

“Sergeant James Barnes, but everyone likes to call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out, patiently waiting to take mine in polite greeting.

I could tell my shyness was slightly amusing to him, certain my face was flushing as red as the stage lights currently, “Y/N Y/L/N, no fancy nickname though unfortunately. It’s a pleasure to meet you James.” The callused skin of his palms rubbed roughly against the softness of mine, tingling as my fingers danced against his in a light shake.

His hand radiated with a warmth that traveled up my arm, gently tugging my hand closer as he brought his lips against the top of it, letting them linger, “Y/N...The pleasure is all mine.”

A foreign feeling bubbled to the surface within me as I watched his lips move, my name rolling off his tongue like silk, embedding my attention fully on him to the point my eyes hurt from not moving them away. My hand was locked in a gentle hold between his still, letting his fingers rub mindlessly against my palm as he spoke, bringing the feeling close to exploding. I wanted to scream it out, all while bottling it back up to avoid something I was completely unprepared for.

“--I’m taking it you’re not much of a dancer?”

My shoulders shrugged lamely, too distracted by the tingles his touch was leaving to give a proper answer, “I suppose you could say that. More of the stay at home with a book kind of gal.”

He perked at my words, straightening his back and tilting his head with interest, "What’s your favorite book?”

Is there supposed to be an answer to that question? I don’t think there's an answer…

“Oh there's too many great ones to choose from, I honestly can’t say I have one. Do you enjoy casual reading?” I cringed internally at how badly I stumbled over the words, holding back the distaste I held for myself by focusing on the buttons that adorned his jacket.

“I’m not much of a reader these days anymore, but I could reread ‘The Hobbit’ a hundred times and I wouldn’t get tired of it. There’s just something about it that I can’t get enough of. Kind of a bit like with you right now. You just keep drawing me in and I haven’t spoken to you for more than five minutes.”

God he was charming.

There was no stopping the raging blush any longer, defeated by the smoothness of his compliments. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe when his gaze was so intensely on me, piercing into me until I cracked and turned away, internally gasping for air once my eyes shifted to a poster along the bar’s back wall.

This new sensation building within me hadn’t stopped, wanting the freedom of release and take over my senses, placing me in the back seat while it steered me through all it wanted to do. It scared me with a heart pumping acceleration of rebelliousness, addictive and never fully fulfilling. I reached for it subconsciously but went a little too late, the comforting heat that wrapped around my hand vanished as Bucky pulled away to lean back in the chair, resting them atop his lap.

I turned my gaze back to him, curious of his sudden retreat, my hand closing into a clammy ball against my side. His attention was towards the dance floor, drowning out his surroundings just as I had done moments ago. It gave me a moment to admire the details of him, taking in the velvet that constructed his hat and the wrinkle-free uniform that shaped the athleticism of his body perfectly. It made me wonder of the strength that laid beneath it, how the muscles of his back flexed–

“What’re you thinking about?” My eyes pulled up to meet those blue crystals focused on my dragging stare, “It’s me right?” Bucky teased, his eyes almost twinkling with mischief.

I felt myself match his cockiness, my body suddenly jittery, “I was just thinking that–” The feeling could no longer be contained anymore, rising to the surface with a chilling intensity and boldness. Years of watching Maria flaunt her skills had taken its mark on me from the shadows, remembering to lower my lashes in a low lidded gaze forcing my pupils to dilate from imaginative thoughts, bringing forth the target with increasing desire. Resting a hand beneath my chin while leaning forward to show equal curiosity and reveal another advantage that hung in a small opening at your breasts, “--you should take me out on the floor and swing me around till I can barely feel my legs.”

It came out as if I held no control, the flirtatious and slightly suggestive remark surprising not only myself but Bucky as well. My eyes moved towards his mouth, his teeth grazing his bottom lip as a smirk began to form.

Scorching fire shot through my hand and soon after my body, in a mix of tingling anticipation and adrenaline, as it was pulled up to rest against his chest, “Shall we then?”

I felt everything let go as he spun my body around the dance floor, sweaty bodies flushing against us like a wall, never removing one of his hands from my waist. The atmosphere made me feel drunk, high even. An occurrence that held no explanation, but it was heaven. It felt as if I was internally melting, unfamiliar with the hotness running throughout my insides, feeding into the adrenaline that pumped heavily through me. The sound of the music pulsated through my ears until they rang, the instruments picking up into a lively jazz that flowed through my veins with its rhythm. It all clouded my senses with a thick curtain, becoming more dangerous as my vision remained lost, the only judgment of direction being the hands that curved up my spine as they dipped me towards the lacquered floor. The possibilities of those hands gave me a ravishing hunger, craving to feel them drape along the rest of my body with as much passion as this moment. It was the most intimate experience you ever felt.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance?” His voice was morphed, dripping like honey through my ears.

A gasping laugh flowed from my lips, allowing his hand to twirl and pull me back against his chest, his heartbeat pounding against my own, “It’s no fun to give all your tricks away.”

Just as it rose, the music that made everyone’s veins pump with the beat of the trumpet and saxophone had ended with the bang of the drums, dropping the curtain along my senses into a clarity that made me dizzy.

Reluctantly, I drew away from him, allowing a space the length of my arms to form between us, my legs shaking from fatigue with each step, “Well, I certainly will struggle walking to work tomorrow so I guess you’ve accomplished my wish Sergeant.”

Bucky tugged back at my hand, stopping the distance I kept attempting to make from growing further, “Just that little jig and you’re already done? Come on gorgeous, the night has barely begun. I know you have more in you than that.”

The lively jazz music had settled into a swayful piano and soulful tone from the singer, pulling the remaining couples closer in a dance of intimacy. My heart ached to join them but time was ticking and I wasn’t sure if I accepted, if I would ever leave from between his arms.

“I have to get up early James-'' I played with his fingers in an attempt to unravel them from between mine–with little success–remaining stubbornly intertwined, “Has anyone told you you’re annoyingly persistent?”

A playful smirk laced his lips as his head shook, “You don’t know the half of it darling.” His grip along my right hand loosened enough to slide down my arm, placing it to sit along the back of his neck, the other still interlaced with his left, “One more dance is all I’m asking for.”

The distance I had succeeded at making, shrunk as my body flushed against his chest, hearts connecting in equal beats as if they were bonded, “One more and you’ll have to carry me home.” Our eyes locked, hypnotized by the power they held so strongly when connected.

I guess Maria was right…Maybe I did meet the man of my dreams tonight.

His head dipped to nestled at the top of my curls, smiling against the frizzed strands that loosened from their hairsprayed hold, “I can accept that.”

My head moved to rest along the curve between his neck and shoulder, allowing my eyes to close as our bodies swayed in a small circular pattern. It was blissful and serene, breathing in the mixture of his natural scent and cologne, sending me further against him in relaxation, radiating an energy from each other that felt so wholesome. Was I dreaming? Floating along the floor like clouds, in a slow waltz with a man that looked at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the room.

I could live in this moment for the rest of my life…

“Could’ve fooled me with those moves you pulled before.” Bucky's lips were dangerously close to my ear, voice dripping like honey within it, “I never seen someone dance like that.”

I chuckled against his chest, shyly hiding my face within it, both reluctant to move from the comfort of it and because of the pink that returned to my cheeks, “You surprised me yourself you know.” The lights had dimmed, caging his sweat slicked face in an illuminating glow, meeting the intense blue orbs once more, trying desperately not to drown within the depths of them, “No one’s swept me off my feet quite like you have.”

Pearlescent teeth flashed down at me, soaking in my admiration, ”I guess we’re both full of surprises then Y/N.”

My cheeks twitched, the permanent smile plastered to my face aching but I couldn’t stop it even if I tried, “You don’t even know the half of it James.”

Bucky pulled my body impossibly closer with a delicate squeeze against my back allowing me to fully wrap my arms around his neck, his forehead lowering until it rested along mine. I could feel the thin layer of sweat that built up on his brow, a bead slipping from under his hat every so often as his body began to cool, the scent of beer fanning my face in light waves as his lungs regained full breaths, “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?”

There weren’t any hairs to twirl along the back of his neck, buzzed too short but I still rubbed the shortened hairs fondly, my voice grasping playfulness as a brow raised suspiciously, “And how many times have you used that line Sergeant Barnes?”

“Only as many as you want me to.”

Hesitantly, his nose nudged against the tip of mine, silently asking for permission. Our eyes locked, lids dazed with exhaustion and admiration, “And if I want something else?” There was no hesitation accepting his invite, barely letting each other's lips touch in an innocent kiss.

His breath fanned over the sensitive skin of my lips as they hovered centimeters apart, coated lightly with the lipstick I wore, “You can have as many of those as you want too.”

This must be what Maria always talked about when you find someone who sends butterflies to your belly. The kind of feelings that make you hungry for more of that person, wanting every touch and smile, their voice playing in your ear for days. Only images of them flooding your memory with reality and imaginative scenes. That is how I felt as Bucky looked down at me, holding me as if I was molded to him like a piece of art, the missing link to a puzzle he desperately sought for.

Maybe this was the chance worth risking for…

The skin along his jaw was rough against my palms from freshly shaving, sliding them up to his cheeks to pull myself back to his lips, greedily craving them with a ravishing desire. Bucky mimicked my passion, fisting a hand deep into the curls at the back of my head while the other cradled my lower back.

Intoxicating was the best way to describe it, dragging me further into the depths of the paradise that was James Barnes and I wanted so much more. It was a kiss that made me lose sensation of my surroundings, full of new desires that enthralled me to explore and discover the man beneath the uniform.

My fingers danced along his jaw as I broke away, staring up at him with absolute certainty, “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Part 2

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