#Ember Loyal

[lemonyelixir]

#art #forgotten god au welcome home #forgotten!god au #oc #eddies loyal follower #ember oc

[incorrect-niche-quotes]

Fox: I have an idea... but I'm gonna need your permission.

Tea: Why would you need my permission?

Fox: Because if I mess it up, I don't want it to just be my fault.

#source: star trek #what was that thing he said about a familiar being loyal to their asha #the bone witch #tea of the embers #tea pahlavi #fox pahlavi #incorrect bone witch quotes #incorrect quotes

[salvagedsouls]

tag dump three!!

ft. muses!! will be added to as necessary.

#( setting schematics | tag dump ) #( adoring actress | angie martinelli ) #( little lovebug | bee barnes ) #( the loyal soul | bucky barnes ) #( more than meets the eye | dum dum dugan ) #( truest heart | frigga ) #( flag buried | jack thompson ) #( secrets inside | james ) #( own damn sword | maria hill ) #( the name is agent | peggy carter ) #( steps of silver | pietro maximoff ) #( blue jay flying | riley tyler ) #( never said pilot | sam wilson ) #( under a big shadow | sharon carter ) #( golden embers | sofyra hæðannabarn ) #( not a perfect soldier | steve rogers ) #( storms in his veins | thor ) #( certified something | tony stark )

[kingkatsuki]

But like literally imagine Kirishima or someone knowing Dragon King Bakugou is still a virgin, so as an offering they bring him you.

You’re a vicious little thing really, trying to fight these huge hulking men with no weapons but your bare hands. Your nails already caught the side of Sero’s face as he’s sporting some pink scratches that look more like the claws of a kitten than anything else.

And it isn’t like you have anything left to fight for— your friends, family and village are gone. Reduced to nothing but burning embers from the flames of the King’s loyal dragon.

But here you are, displaying the fight that is still very much alive in you as Bakugou stares down at you in a mixture of confusion and admiration. Smirking at the marks you’ve left on Sero’s face as you struggle against Kirishima’s hold.

And he just doesn’t know what to do with you?? Like this big, strong, powerful hulking man doesn’t have a clue.

#dragon king bakugou #he’s gonna drive me insane today I’m sorry #cause we always write so much about him but like is this guy really having sex??? #maybe with wenches or someone at the whorehouse idk #if there’s even a whorehouse #but surely he’s a virgin until he meets you #he’s gotta be

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok but what if

What if Ghost was a knight (again) and then there's a spoiled, presumptuous lady who's bored (again)

She's the kind of princess who was dearly loved because she was a girl. No one knows why, because everyone knows girls are a liability. But she has been treasured and sheltered all her life, she always got everything she wanted, and now she's stupid enough to fall for Simon who has lived a life full of war and torment and who is not the kind of stray dog you would want to feed.

Our poor lady doesn't know she's playing with fire when she's toying with her father's (Price?) most loyal soldier: a brooding, tall, broad man who got his knighthood after this campaign or that. This outlander, Simon, catches her attention because he rarely speaks and never smiles, but makes her smallclothes wet because he has an ill look about him: a broken nose and a thin lipped, downturned mouth. This sir is looking everyone from under his brow like they're mere children in his eyes. The only time she's heard him speak is when he's barking orders in the courtyard.

She teases and teases and teases him: flirting every chance she can get, giving him soft brushes that barely remain within the bounds of propriety. She bestows heated stares that linger a little too long, she licks and parts her lips when they walk past each other in the cold, dimly lit corridors of the castle. He never returns any of her flirts.

Except the stares.

She can feel his eyes on her even when she's not looking. That coal-like stare is fixed on her wherever she goes: it's hot and cold at the same time, like embers that are kindling under long-forgotten ashes.

He's interested… But only in a way that a hungry, beaten, suspicious dog is interested when it's staring at a meaty bone, trying to decode if it's a treat or a trap.

He finally has enough one day when she dares to smile at him: softly, knowingly, like a whore in a tavern.

The gauntlet closes around her neck like an iron collar. She can smell the horses and the sweat and the dirty leather as the man she has dreamed of seizes her and pushes her back against a wall.

"Is this what you want? Hm?"

She finally hears him speak: dark, gravelly, and borderline exhausted from all the games she plays. Were he to hold her a little more tightly, she would call it a choke, a soft and slow strangling. The intensity is enough to make her heart flutter and her stare escape somewhere to the grey stone wall. There's no way she can meet that heated stare, now filled with flames and lust.

The knight she used to fantasize about is about to snap. The stoic, cold man is about to lose control at any given moment, and she's about to lose her maidenhood along with that shattered self-control.

He presses his whole body against her: leather and steel and hardened muscle, all that rough, well fed, thick flesh forged in countless battles is pressed against her frame like she is nothing but a flower. Her woolen dress is a poor shield against all the hard ridges of his armour, the pommel of his sword digs into her side painfully, but she pays it no mind. There's something equally as hard and demanding pressed against the apex between her legs. She's forced to rise to her toes from the way he drives his swollen cock up her cunt, and even if there's layers and layers of clothing between them, she can feel the heat of him.

"'S not a good idea to tease a starved dog," he snarls while watching her lose her confidence. All of it, because it was only ever a charade. A silly daydream of a silly young woman, just an attempt to distract herself, a pastime game that happened to turn into a dangerous obsession.

And he growls. He actually growls like a hound when she's suddenly so weak she can't even provide him with an answer. It's a dark rumble that meets her chest, a hot, slow breath that passes across her frightened skin. She feels like floating: his cock raises her from the ground as he tries to fuck into her through their clothes. The ironclad hand has never even seen mercy as it turns her head to the side for him to have a good sniff of her neck and hair.

"Sir," her lips tremble; her whole jaw is making it clear that she's about to cry soon. There's not enough stones on the wall for her to count if he decides to take her here. "Simon…? Please, sir. I'm a virgin…"

#cw: dark content #meeting on the turret stairs but with more dubcon #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #knight!ghost #medieval au #sansan vibes

[sinkovia]

The idea of losing you

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Angst, Mentions of suicide, Violence, Blood.

The mission had been intense, with bullets whizzing past and adrenaline pumping through your veins. You and Ghost were working together, taking down enemy operators one by one. Amid the chaos, you called out for Luna, your loyal German Shepherd, who had just finished killing an enemy operator attempting to flank your position.

With a simple command, you beckoned her over, and she trotted to your side, her ears perked up and her gaze locked onto you, awaiting your next orders. Ghost was at your side, urgently calling for reinforcements as you watched from a distance. The tension in the air was thick as you both knew that this mission was far from over.

The faint sound of approaching aircraft grew louder, and you looked up to see an ominous sight—a squadron of fighter jets streaking across the sky. Then, it happened in a heartbeat. The building where your brother was located, the very same building you had just passed moments ago, was engulfed in a fiery explosion.

Time seemed to slow as you watched in horror, the world around you muted by the deafening roar of the explosion.

Your heart shattered as the realization hit you like a tidal wave. Your brother, who had always been there for you, your rock in the tumultuous sea of your life, was now gone. The airstrike had claimed him, ending his life instantly. Beside you, Luna whined, as if echoing your grief. She felt it too; she sensed his presence vanish, and in her own way, she mourned the loss.

For a brief, agonizing moment, the mission, the gunfire, the chaos around you all faded into the background.

Ghost's firm grip on your shoulder pulls you back from the brink. He turns you to face him, and his eyes convey a stern determination. He knows you're hurting, but he also knows that there's a mission to complete. In that silent exchange, Ghost encourages you to hold on, to push through the pain. The mission is still in motion, and you can't afford to lose yourself to grief, not now, not here. With a deep breath, you muster the strength to nod, acknowledging Ghost's unspoken command.

In the days that followed your brother's funeral, your life had taken a downward spiral. Grief had consumed you, making it difficult to eat or sleep. You had distanced yourself from the team, retreating into solitude as you grappled with the loss that weighed heavily on your heart. Your teammates understood, giving you the space and time you needed to process your pain.

Through those dark days, Luna never left your side, her presence was the only thing that seemed to tether you to reality. She stayed by your side, a silent companion that understood your pain better than anyone else. On one sleepless night, you took Luna for a walk. The night air was cool against your cheeks, carrying a faint scent of pine and earth. Luna trotted beside you, her warm presence a comforting reminder of the life that still existed, despite the overwhelming grief that clouded your heart.

As you wandered deeper into the quiet night, you stumbled upon Ghost. He sat on a bench with a cigarette in hand. His gaze was fixed on the mountains in the distance. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, the soft ember glowing in the dark. You approached him, Luna at your side.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, your voice a fragile whisper in the stillness of the night.

He glanced over at you, his eyes reflecting the dim moonlight. "Be my guest," he replied, his tone a mix of weariness and understanding. You took a seat beside him, the night air cool against your skin, and for a moment, you both sat in silence, staring at the mountains in the distance.

The weight of the world seemed to press down on your shoulders, but here, with Ghost beside you and Luna at your feet, you found a moment of respite from the relentless storm that had become your life. Finally, Ghost broke the silence, his voice tinged with concern that he couldn't conceal.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes shifting to study your face in the faint moonlight.

Ghost wasn't one to readily express his feelings, but his worry had been gnawing at him ever since you started pulling away from the team. He would never admit it to you, but your absence had left a void, and he missed the sound of your voice, the liveliness you brought to the group. Your presence had, in its own way, always been a comfort to him, a reminder of life beyond the shadows of his past.

You grounded him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

You took a deep breath, you decided to be honest with him. "To tell you the truth, I thought about ending it. Several times actually, with one quick bullet to the head. But I realised I couldnt give up, Luna needs me." You softly patted the top of her head and smile as she looks up to you. Ghosts eyes never left you, his gaze scanning over your features, lingering when he noticed the deep bags under your eyes.

"My brother gave her to me after our parents died. She’s all I have left of him. She was just a puppy when she was thrown into this hellish world of war. I can’t leave her behind. Im trying to pull myself together for her sake. Shes the only reason I havent given up."

Ghost listened, his gaze never wavering from you. He saw the pain in your eyes, the weight you carried, and he didn't know what to say. But when you looked at him, he met your gaze with sincerity. Breaking the silence, he spoke gently, his voice a calming presence in the still night.

"You're not alone in this, Y/n. The team, we're all worried about you. We care about you, and we're here for you whenever you need it."

Ghost's gaze remained on yours, his eyes reflecting the concern and genuine care he felt. "Don't push us away, we care about you more than you might realize."

Don’t push me away… I care about you more than you realize…

Words he would never dare speak to you.

"Thank you, Ghost" Your smile, though faint, warmed his heart.

The horizon began to shift, the first soft rays of the rising sun peeking over the distant mountains. Together, you and Ghost sat in the comfortable silence of the early morning, Luna at your feet, as you watched the sun rise.

A couple days after your talk with Ghost you were thrown into another mission. You were meant to infiltrate a building, and the team had split up to cover more ground. Luna was at your side as you cautiously opened a door, not anticipating the nightmare that awaited on the other side. In a fraction of a second, the situation went from under control to utter chaos. Luna leaped into action, her training taking over as she swiftly neutralized the enemy in front of you. But you failed to realize that it wasn't just one target; there was a group of them inside.

Two of them emerged from behind the door, pinning you to the floor before you could react. You struggled against their weight, your heart pounding in your chest as the situation escalated. Panic surged through you as you saw one of them raise their weapon, aiming it at Luna. The deafening gunshot pierced the air, and you watched in horror as Luna was struck, the bullet tearing through her leg. She cried out in pain, collapsing to the floor beside you, her once vibrant eyes now filled with agony. You screamed out as two men began kicking her.

"Please stop. Please dont do this!"

You were mere inches away, your arm slipped from the mens hold on you. You outstretched your hand, fingers trembling as you desperately tried to reach her, to offer any comfort you could. But they were quick to grab your arm, pinning your hands behind your back. All you could do was watch helplessly as she lay there, her gaze locked with yours, a silent plea in her eyes. The pain and guilt gnawed at your insides, the anguish of being so close yet utterly powerless to save her.

"Luna please get up."

You watched as one of the men took the pistol from his holster aiming it at her head.

"Im begging you shes all I have left please dont do this. Please just let her go."

Luna who had been looking at you the entire time lets out a low whine. All you can do is look at her.

"I'm so sorry" was all you can say before the deafening gunshot pierced the air.

The rest of your team burst into the room, and in a flurry of gunfire, they took down the enemy operatives. Ghost hurried to your side, but the tears continued to fall silently as you stared at Luna's lifeless body. Ghost positioned himself in front of you to shield you from the lifeless form her. Gently, he lifted you, cradling you in his arms, and carried you away from the room, heading towards the medevac.

Ghost had been there for you every day, his presence unwavering after the loss of your brother and your Luna. He remembered the words that had echoed in his mind, how Luna had been the last thing keeping you from ending your own life, and that thought scared him to the core. He couldn't bear the idea of losing you.

So, he checked on you constantly.

He would bring you tea at random times of the day, ask you to training sessions , and do anything he could to prevent you from being alone for extended periods. You looked okay, you had accepted every cup he brought thanking him with a small smile, joined him for training sessions, watched movies with him and the team in the rec room. He knew you were faking it, putting on a facade to shield him and the team from your pain.

Then, one day, you finally told him that you were okay.

"I'm okay, Ghost. I'm trying my best to pull myself together. It's just... a lot, you know?"

Ghost nodded, "I know," he replied, his voice gentle. "And I'm here for you, always. Dont forget that."

Ghost, ever the soldier, wanted to believe you. He wanted to believe that you were strong enough to overcome the grief and trauma that had engulfed you. But deep down, he had a nagging feeling that you were still hurting, that you weren't as okay as you claimed to be. He knew that healing from such profound loss took time, and he wished he could do more to help you through it.

You guys had just finished watching a movie in the rec room, the two of you were walking back to your rooms. His room was right next to yours, he stopped in front of his door. The nagging feeling in his heart was screaming out to him to not leave you alone. His mind flashed back to you laughing at the movie with Soap. You had made a joke that Soap thought was hilarious.

He thought that maybe you were trying your best to be okay. So he turned saying goodnight to you before stepping into his room and closing the door. He couldnt fall asleep, he had been tossing and turning for an hour. His mind wouldnt let him rest, he was worried about you. Something had kept screaming out at him to knock on your door and check on you and so he threw the covers off himself.

He opened his door and walked over to yours, he raised his fist to knock on your door when he flinched.

The sound of a gunshot made him flinch.

"Y/n?!" he tried opening the door but of course it was locked. He started to ram his shoulder against it until he finally broke through. He saw you laying on your bed, your eyes were open.

They were far away.

In your hand was a gun.

And you lay in a growing pool of your blood.

Ghosts breathing was labored as he looked at your eyes, you had been crying in your last moments. If only he had come sooner, if only he had listened to the gut feeling that screamed out at him the second he left your side. His eyes went to the small piece of paper in your hand, he carefully grabbed it, slowly opening it. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes read over the letters.

Im sorry Simon.

You noticed how hard he had been trying. Your conversations with him were always one sided before your brother and Luna's death. He was always the one listening, he never bothered to start conversations, never bothered to make plans, never offered you tea, never went to the movie nights.

He had tried his damn hardest to make sure you would be okay but it still wasnt enough.

#cod #cod x reader #ghost cod #writers #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley angst #ghost angst #cod ghost #task force 141 #simon x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #angst #cod angst #ghost x reader #ghost x reader angst #cod 141 #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod mw3 #simon ghost x you #cod community #cod modern warfare #simon riley

[ghostboneswrites2]

Safer

Summary: After the fall of the prison and a brutal assault, Daryl cares for you.

NOTE (please read): A mutual requested this a while ago. Took a long while to write, and tbh I considered turning the req down given the premise and my firm stance on writing graphic SA which you can find here. However, they explained to me that they are a victim of a violent s*xual assault, and they expressed it would be healing in a way to have a story where they were cared for by their comfort character. After some consideration, I decided to go for it. I'm sure a lot of us have been victimized by people who couldn't control their urges, or those who lacked respect for our boundaries, bodies, and consent. Myself included. So, this story is for us, to those of us that can stomach it. 

DISCLAIMER: There are no scenes of graphic SA, only the aftermath. While I will not be telling any descriptive scenarios of being assaulted, I do want to clearly express that this is a generally heavy story and it may not be suitable for all audiences. Please consume responsibly.

**I will not be tagging anyone on the taglist due to the content of this story**

18+MDNI ||  WARNINGS: non-graphic allusions to SA, violence, mild nudity descriptions, generally heavy content so I can't say it enough: TW!!!

Banner from: cafekitsune

IF YOU READ BEYOND THIS POINT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. I have made great effort not to trigger anyone, and to give all readers an opportunity to turn away if this story is not suitable for you.

        Daryl's vision was blurred as he blinked himself to consciousness. It took him some time to gather his thoughts and recognize his surroundings. His wrists and ankles were bound together, his mouth gagged with a cloth that tasted of sweat and filth. He stared up at the treetops towering over him. It was dark outside, save for the dim light of a dying campfire a few feet away. He lifted his head from the forest floor and looked down past his feet. Lumps of sleeping bodies under raggedy blankets and torn sleeping bags rested around him. His heart raced as his memories crept back in; of you, screaming his name, of him fighting off the group of men who caught him off guard, of twigs snapping and a searing pain over the side of his head. Was that why his face felt so sticky? Was it dried blood?

        His eyes strained in the fading light of ember and ash. Where were you? He noticed a crumpled form at the foot of a tree. Her breathing was shallow and her clothes were torn, pants not even pulled up over her bare behind. That much, he could see. His throat tightened. His eyes watered. What the hell had he let them do to you? How could he have let this happen? He had to get you out of there, and fast. If they hadn't killed him yet, that was surely on their agenda.

        He began to squirm and writhe against his restraints. Whoever tied him up had experience. Just as hopelessness began to set in and cloud his judgement with fear -- real, genuine fear -- he noticed a reflection in the leaves. Just a few feet past his boots, a man was curled up on his side, snoring lightly in the calm breeze. His back was turned to Daryl, and behind him set a grungy backpack with a blade sticking out of the smallest pocket in the front. He glanced back  to you, shivering on the ground, unsure if you were awake or unconscious or simply passed out from the exhaustion of prior events. 

        The sight of you in your disheveled mess was all her needed to kick him into gear. Carefully and hastily, he scooted himself down toward his only chance at redeeming his status as a loyal protector of the weak and vulnerable. Ideally, he'd be able to accomplish this in silence, but he was not in an ideal situation. His circumstances were heavy, laced in sweat and angst. The leaves beneath him rustled as his back slid across the ground, twigs snapping or moving to the side as he made his way closer to the large hunting knife. He'd pause between each scoot, studying the sleeping men around him for any sign of movement or wakefulness. When he'd decide the coast was clear enough, he'd resume. It felt like an eternity, but he made it there. 

        His core muscles strained as he sat himself up. He realized how sore he was. He must have taken a good beating. Seemed fitting, though. He was never one to go down without a fight. He left that sort of weakness in his past.

        He guided his shaky, bound hands over to the bag. He slowly slid the knife out of the front pocket. His heart raged against his ribs. He didn't dare take a single breath until it was secured. 

        Slow. Slowness. Slowly. He repeated every variation of the word in his mind as he positioned the knife between his palms and dragged it back and forth until the rope finally severed. A silent breath of relief escaped him as he ripped the gag from his lips and worked on the rope tied around his ankles. When he was free, he stood and counted the sleeping bodies beneath him. Excluding you, there were four. 

        He considered waking you up and running for the hills, but he couldn't leave any loose ends. No, he thought of it like when your t-shirt has a loose thread. You could leave it to keep unraveling, or you could burn it at  the base and extend the lifetime of your clothes. He decided he needed to burn this string before it could unravel any further.

        Starting with the man closest to him -- the one who so graciously left his knife in plain sight for the archer -- he krept over and crouched down, plunching the blade into the base of his skull. Then, he moved on to the next, and the next one, and the one after that, until they were all a problem of the past. Until that pesky little thread could do no further damage to the rest of the shirt.       

        When the dirty work was behind him, he dropped the knife and rushed over to you. Your wrists were tied like his, but you were tied to the tree so you couldn't run. He eyed you over and gulped. With your pants not fully covering you and your shirt all ripped up, he could see the finger-shaped bruises littering your skin. There was blood on your inner thighs. Your lips were swollen and cut. His blood heated until it hit a boiling point. His hands trembled as they hovered over you. Touching you  felt like a crime, but he had to wake you. He had to get you out of there.

        "(Y/N)." He whispered as he laid a hand on your shoulder. You were shivering in the cool air, but a thin layer of sweat blanketed your exposed flesh. He gave you a gentle shake. "((Y/N), c'mon. We gotta go." He pleaded softly.        

        Your body jerked and you jolted awake. You gave him no chance to explain as you scrambled to your knees and cowered away against the tree. 

        "(Y/N) it's me. It's Daryl." He attempted his most soothing tone of voice. "C'mon, let me get ya cleaned up."        

        He outstretched his arm, offering you his  hand. Without making eye contact you made a move to take it, but you were stopped by the restricting force of the rope that kept you anchored to the tree trunk. He moved quickly for the knife he tossed to the side earlier and returned with it. Without the pressure of remaining silent, he had your hands free in seconds.

        He wasted no time helping you to your feet and averting his gaze as he slid your pants up where they belonged. He found he had a hard time keeping his mind straight and focused as your weeping filled the quiet campsite. 

        "Shh.." He cooed, keeping one hand on your upper back as he ushered you along with him to gather his things and yours. A smart man would have rummaged through the belongings of the ones he killed, too, but he wasn't concerned with making a smart call at that point. He was only worried about you.

        "It's alright. C'mon. Let's get ya somewhere you can rest. It's alright. C'mon." He felt useless as ever, repeating the same generic words of comfort as you limped along beside him. He never urged you to up the pace, he didn't drag you along or have you carry your own bag. He felt like the least he could do was shoulder the weight of survival on behalf of you both. He couldn't get the image out of his mind of ou laying there,caked in blood, sweat, and bruises. A girl like you should have been caked in perfume and makeup. You hair should have been done up nice for a Sunday brunch, not matted with leaves and dirt. Your clothes should have been pristine and well fitting, unlike the filthy torn clothes that were beginning to hang off your frame like tender meat falling from the bone. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve any of it.

        Eventually he found an acceptable spot that looked like it could have been a den for a hibernating bear. It was a big shrub by a little stream, perfectly indented to give you both enough room to crouch under its foliage. He gently set you down, dropping his bow and your bags beside him. He crouched down in front of you and scanned you, worry written articulately over his features. 

        Your eyes remained glued to the ground. Your nose was upturned in disgust but your eyes told a different story; one of pain and despair and mourning for the person you were before that night. Your frown was deep enough to leave a scar. 

        "(Y/N)..." He breathed. Your eyes slowly found their way to his and welled with tears all over again. Of all things you had -- meaning, being alive and away from those men -- there was nothing you were more grateful for than his blue eyes staring back at you. You hated the way he looked at you with defeat and pity, though. You hated that he had one more thing to worry about. Still, he was there, and he was welcome. "Let's get ya cleaned up, okay?"

        You nodded once, if absentmindedly. Your thoughts were elsewhere. You couldn't pinpoint their location, though. They were scrambled, swarming all around you, like gnats you couldn't swat away.

        He pulled an old shirt from his bag and leaned over to the stream, getting it nice and wet before wringing it out. He turned back to you and brought it up to your cheek, gently dabbing and swiping away at the dirt, grime, sweat, and blood. He moved on to your neck and hands, then he paused. You both looked down at your jeans. You knew it needed to be taken care of, and he did too, but the question was really about which one of you would be brave enough to work on the gruesome scene between your legs.

        One look at your expression and he knew it couldn't be you. But, how could it be him? He couldn't put you in such a vulnerable position. No, not him.

        That's when the lightbulb went off over his head. The stream, of course.

        "Here." He offered you a hand. You took it slowly and he led you to your feet. "Wanna get in the water?" He asked. You stared down at the serene flowing water, trickling just before your feet. He cleared his throat. "I don't gotta look."

        You almost could have laughed. After everything that had happened, Daryl seeing you bathe wasn't really a concern. Still, you had to maintain some shred of dignity, and washing those men off of you was a much needed stride toward leaving that horrid night in your past. So, you nodded, and he turned away to start a fire where you could warm up after rinsing off.

        The button was busted off of your jeans. You guessed they couldn't waste their time with something as simple as undoing a button. You let out a shaky sigh and gritted your teeth. You moved to bend over and slide your jeans down, but a searing pain shot through your insides. You whimpered. "I can't." You barely managed.

        "Huh?" He asked over his shoulder.

        "I can't." You spoke up with a tremble. "I can't get them off. It hurts."

        His throat tightened up. Had they really been so cruel to you?

        "Ya want me to..." He trailed off.

        "Please." You whispered and shut your eyes. He stood beside you and pulled your pants down to your ankles, kneeling down as he did so.

        "Grab my shoulder." He instructed softly. You did. "Left leg." He said. You pulled it out. "Now the right." 

        With your jeans off, he stood up and looked down at your face, which you his from him, avoiding his gaze. 

        "Your -- Uh.." He glanced down at your underwear. You nodded, not needing to see what he meant. He followed the same process with those and turned away as soon as he was done. You cleared your throat. 

        "Can you help me sit?" You whispered. He sucked in a breath. It wasn't that you were annoying him. Anything but that, actually. He was glad to help you in any way you needed. It was the simple fact that you needed the help that was eating him alive. The thought that those guys could hurt you in this way, to this extent, was infuriating and heartbreaking. 

        He turned back to you and hovered behind you, placing a hand under each arm to support you while you lowered yourself down into the water. Once you were sitting on the creek bed, you adjusted yourself and sighed.

        "Just, uh, watch for snakes, okay?" Was all he could say before turning his attention back to the fire finally.

        Your frown deepened as you stared down at your bloodied thighs. A plop beside you startled you before realizing it was just the old shirt he was using to clean you up.

        "Figured ya might need it." He mumbled.

        You gripped the cloth in your hand and stared at it. Blood and filth stained it. Your lip quivered as you ran it over your inner thighs, scrubbing your own dried blood away and watching it disappear in the gentle current. You hissed and winced as you cleaned yourself where you were really injured. 

        When you were done, you peered over your shoulder, where Daryl stared at the small flame. He felt your eyes on him and he looked up at you. 

        "Need some clothes?" He asked.

        "Please." You replied. He nodded once and rummaged through your bag. He could only find a semi-clean shirt, but no more pants. He pulled his own bag forward and searched for the new two-pack of boxers he'd scavenged awhile back. 

        "I, uh, didn't see no more pants, but... You can have those." He said, holding your shirt and the fresh boxers out to you.

        "Thanks." You pressed your lips into a thin attempt at a friendly smile. 

        He turned away again so you could change your shirt, but you needed his help with the boxers, which he did without you needing to ask, and without a single peek at you.

        He helped you back over to the den where you could warm up by the fire. You kept the blanket in your bag, so he made sure to wrap it around your shoulders while you sat.

        "Ain't got no food." He broke the silence after a little while. You nodded.

        "Not hungry anyways." 

        "Mm." He hummed. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

----

        By midday, you were on the move again, trailing right behind him as he stomped slowly over the underbrush so you could keep his pace. He'd stop every now and then, and though he didn't say it, you knew it was because he didn't want to overwork you. 

        By late afternoon, the sun was on the far end of the sky, casting an orange glow over the woods. 

        Daryl had barely been able to look at you, and you couldn't exactly claim any different. You two had taken a break again, sipping water and scanning around for any game or edible plants.

        "I want ya to know.." He cleared his throat, shattering the thick silence that glazed over you both all day. "I want ya to know I didn't see it. None of it."

        "I know you weren't looking." You deadpanned.

        "Nah, not at the stream. I meant -- I didn't see none of it." He clarified. He had a sneaking suspicion the reason you couldn't bare to look at him might have been the possibility of him seeing what had happened to you. He, however, just hated seeing you look so broken, knowing had he been more vigilant yesterday, none of those guys would have been able to sneak up on him. You looked at him finally.

        "I know. They hit you over the head 'cause you were fighting them."

        "Mm." He nodded. "I just... I need to tell ya I'm sorry." His voice cracked as he looked down at his hands and back up to you. His leg was bouncing anxiously and his gums must have bled from how hard he chewed at them.

        "Why?" You pushed your eyebrows together.

        "I shoulda been lookin' out. Shoulda protected ya. Shoulda--"

        "You were. You have been." You cut him off. "You've looked out for me every day since the prison. You've been protecting me since the quarry. You protect everyone. That wasn't your fault." You insisted. He just looked back down at his hands and sniffled, blinking back tears. He scolded himself for being the one to cry, when you were the one who got hurt. "Hey." You pressed on. "Listen to me. You got us out of there. You took care of them. You saved me. Then, you still took care of me. If we were still back there, they would have killed you and robbed you by now. And, if they hadn't killed me yet, I'd be wishing I was dead. I wouldn't be here without you. I would have never survived even before last night without you, and I wouldn't be sitting here telling you that today if it weren't for you."

        He looked you in the eyes as you spoke every word. It was a great relief to him that you weren't angry with him -- that you didn't blame him. Still, he felt so uneasy.

        "Can we camp here?" You asked suddenly. He shrugged.

        "Yeah. We can." He agreed. His voice was still broken.

        "Can I sit with you?" You asked. He looked confused but he still nodded, even if he was unsure what you meant.

        Ignoring the aches all over your body, you crawled over to him and sat in front of him, between his legs, leaning your back against his torso. He was stiff, unused to being so close to someone, but he didn't resist. As you settled in and got comfortable, he rested his arms by your sides.

        "You didn't fail me, Daryl. Nobody makes me feel safer."

Join the taglist || Masterlist

#tw: implied abuse #tw: implied sa #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x y/n

[diejager]

Cw DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, dark cbf!Johnny, smut, manipulation, kissing, groping, teasing, tell me if I missed any. Since tumblr removed this post a few minutes ago, I’m reporting it! I’m not sure if it was removed because someone reported it or the AI found it or smt, but I always have a back up :)

Your mother had always cooed at how close you were with Johnny, an unbroken and loyal friendship that she hoped would keep even when you grew older, changing schools and moving to find work. She thought it an innocent thing, adorable and cherishable in every sense knowing that Johnny was a strong and aspiring man, he would be able to protect you and help you in your time of need. And he did, Johnny was glued to you by the hip, following you everywhere you went and stared at you with devoted and desperate eyes. You could trust Johnny with everything, even your deepest and darkest secrets.

When you confessed to Johnny that you watched your friends kiss, the naked love in their eyes shining through, and felt a slight twinge of curiosity and envy in your heart, he showed you how it felt to kiss with love. Johnny hid you in his room, fingers curled around your hair and pulling you forwards, his lips warm and soft against yours. He kissed you with intent, a hot and churning love that had you whimpering and clinging onto him, melting in his arms while he moved your lips to his beat. It took your breath away, instilling a burning fire in your heart, the young embers of a bonfire that would light up your heart with a booming throb. Despite you gasps and shortness of breath, you sought Johnny for a second and a third kiss, leaning towards him with pouted lips. 

You were only 13 when you gave your first kiss to the perfectly plumps lips of your best friend.

When you caught boys groping their girlfriends in public areas, unabashed about their affection being perceived as lewd or inappropriate for the public, and gossiped with Johnny about how weird it was to grope someone - even a lover - in public was and that it should be kept indoors, especially when one would moan or yelp, Johnny explained it to you with his body. You were left in your house’s living room, parents off to work and leaving you two alone at home, he groped you, his rougher fingers kneading your pubescent body. Johnny squeezed the curve of your hips, trailing down your plush thighs and up your ass until you gasped in shock before it turned into mewls, little, breathy sounds that encouraged Johnny to do more. He slid his hand beneath your shirt and pinched your perked nipples, rolling your little nubs between his thumb and index while you arched, writhing so much that Johnny had to straddle you to keep you from moving too much. 

You were only shy of 15 when you felt the first dribble of slick down your ass from your childhood best friend’s hands.

When you shared to Johnny all the stories of your friends losing their virginity - the V-card, they called it, as if it were something worth losing or giving without much though - and all the brutish and callous ways they spoke of it, you edged on shock and apprehension about such a thing, Johnny promised he would show you how important it was to give it to someone worth your time and heart —him.

“Ye trust me, dinnae ye,” he whispered your name so reverently, his breath tickling your nape as he pressed himself into you. 

You do, your trust Johnny with your whole life, but you were still unsure about it. You were nervous with how optimistic Johnny was about taking your virginity as much as he was to give you his, and yet, despite your fears, you still gave yourself to him because he was your trusted, childhood best friend. Johnny fucked you amaturish but devoted snaps of his hips, rocking into you until you cried out his name whenever he bumped into something gummy and sensitive inside of you. You bled, but the pain never persisted, it was quickly swallowed by pleasure, waves of drowning ecstasy that numbed your mind and wracked your body with tremors. You saw the appeal in losing your virginity, to succumb to the pleasure of sex and give yourself to someone you truly loved and trusted. 

You were only 17 when you felt the uncut and hard cock of your childhood best friend. 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @rainbowsabre @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #mw2 smut #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x reader smut #Dark childhood best friend!Johnny #cbf!soap #tw: dark content #dark content #dead dove do not eat #tw: dub con #tw: non con #tw: manipulation

[supremechancellorrex]

Avatar in my head and I was thinking about Maiko and Mai.

Now, Mai's character arc in Avatar, from my interpretation, is rediscovering herself and her wants and personhood that has been stripped from her as a noblewoman part of a family that submitted to the Fire Nation Imperialist structure and Ozai. We see in Book 2 set up for this. Mai in early Book 2 does not resist Azula's will aside from brief sparks of rebellion where she isn't present. "Of course not, Princess Azula" she notes formally and apathetically when Azula asks if she "minds", knowing she has no choice as Azula 'just' ponders if Mai's hostage brother is worth an Earth King like Bumi. Mai is always aware that Azula, as Princess in an authoritarian nation where the Fire Lord is God, can have her executed and her family punished. The unequal power dynamic is surprisingly consistent in the show.

Mai can't even insult Azula back in Zuko Alone as a child. She just lets Azula put an apple on her head (as Ty Lee loyally sniggers along), set it on fire, and when Zuko pushes her into the fountain to put it out, Mai, drenched, glares and says "You two are such… ugh". We know Mai can have an acid tongue, yet her fear of Azula prevents her from using it. Her most rebellious act in Book 2 is when she says "She can shoot all the lightning she wants at me. I am not getting in that wall sludge juice". Mai actually has self-respect, but she can't express it in the presence of greater threats, meanwhile Ty Lee merely says "Come on! Azula said we have to follow them", because Ty Lee follows Azula's will even when she isn't there.

Even when Mai gets with Zuko, she falls into a subservient role. When Azula interrupts Maiko's smooching, lazily dismissing Mai with "Oh Mai, Ty Lee needs help untangling her braid" Mai responds quickly "Sounds pretty serious" with only a touch of dryness and leaves, only able to muster throwing Azula a dirty look a split second after passing her. However, this little ember of rebellion will grow.

Mai has continued difficulty understanding Zuko's anger and reactiveness, or how to even function in a relationship. She initially tries to joke in a dismissive fashion, as if saying 'ugh, feelings are lame, right?', but that would only work with Azula logically. The Beach episode is a key Mai episode. She continues to be emotionally repressed, to the point Zuko, Ty Lee and Azula comment on it. However, Zuko's insecurity at her talking to Ruon-Jian to the point he physically removes him from her presence, and his accusative comments like "You like him, don't you?", also makes Mai feel a little boxed in, controlled, and that does irritated her given her history. However, at the Beach's emotional narrative climax, Mai is able to finally express herself at the rest of the group (Azula included) for the first time, telling them to "Leave her alone" and that she's "still mad". After Zuko explosively reveals the extent of his pain and confusion, we see a 'smoothing' effect on her attitude. She realises her and Zuko are dealing with pain in different ways and his way is understandable.

Mai says softly, "I know one thing I care about, I care about you". This is the one thing Mai can grasp in the confusion. This is where Mai betraying Azula becomes inevitable. We see Mai continue to be more supportive with Zuko, more actively trying to cheer him up in Nightmares and Daydreams with big smiles and jokes while Zuko remains shut down over the War meeting and is acting irritated and repressed due to his family trauma. When Zuko later leaves and joins the Avatar, Mai is hurt and angry, which shows in the Boiling Rock, saying "All I get is a letter? You could have at least looked me in the eye when you ripped out my heart". They have a tense conversation, but it's their most honest one. I actually think Mai already made up her mind in this scene to support Zuko over Azula, and she doesn't quite realise it. "Save it? You're betraying your country" she accuses, to which Zuko replies, resolute, "That's not how I see it", and in response Mai just folds her arms and turns her head away in an almost defeat.

I find it very telling she doesn't respond. It's because she realises Zuko is more passionate and resolute about his mission than she is hers. It's because she knows the Fire Nation under its current authority is not exactly great. Sometimes in life we fall into a box and we need someone to give us that little push so we can realise we can climb out of it, that the toxic space we're in isn't normal, and we don't have to tolerate it. I like to think Mai was thinking in that moment where Zuko locked her in the cell and he and she gazed into each others' eyes, what she was really thinking about was what life she actually wanted to live. She was thinking of Azula and being under her thumb, and she was thinking of all those moments with Zuko, like when they were lounging on the sofa together, smiling and joking in Nightmares & Daydreams, and she realised how ridiculous it was to be afraid of Azula killing her when the real fear should be being Azula's servant until her dying days, decades of repression and misery.

After all, what does Mai have left to fight for? Fear of Azula? Hah, what a joke. She remembers "I know one thing I care about. I care about you" and when she sees Zuko about to die she has to intervene.

"I guess you just don't know people as well as you think you do. You miscalculated. I love Zuko more than I fear you" Mai says to an increasingly-enraged Azula's speak of 'consequences', because Mai did fear Azula, but now in her love for Zuko she has found a purpose she has been lacking, her feelings and wants over Azula's will. Zuko being true to himself is contagious. Iroh's love for Zuko puts him on the right path, and in turn the love Mai has for Zuko saves her. As a consequence Ty Lee chooses Mai and their friendship over Azula's toxic, fear-based one and even later bonds with former enemies like the Kyoshi Warriors. Like Zuko says to Ozai, "an era of peace and kindness" will replace an "era of fear". In the face of fear, love and empathy win.

#avatar legend of aang #avatar last airbender #avatar mai #prince zuko #alta mai #zuko #atla maiko #maiko #princess azula #ty lee #can't wait to see them in the avatar live action #themes #good writing #character writing #romantic relationships #classism #imperialism

[ghostandsoap]

The Best of the Best

John Price x Fem! Reader

Tags: Explosion. Fire. Building burning down. Typical Soap behavior. Protective Ghost. Price is a simp.

A/N: A huge thank you to @venomous-ragno​ who contributed to assisting me in working out the details of this fic! I appreciate you!

Word Count: 4.0k

“As long as it’s from you, then I’d definitely say so.”

The best of the best. 

That’s how Captain Price described you since the moment that he could really see what you were made of. He found you beyond impressive, one of the best soldiers to ever cross his path. Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses – their areas that they excelled in and their areas that they could always improve. 

When it came to you, Price had never seen you not completely dominate a skill. He knew you were quick on your feet and even quicker in your head. No one could hack, track, shoot, and kill quite like you.

You were, in Price’s opinion, the absolute best of the best.

Everybody knew your reputation. Not many people teased you or challenged your abilities. The ones who had were embarrassingly proven wrong, and it was never a mistake that was made twice. It was a well known fact how much Price admired you. And maybe, just maybe, he favorited you just a bit. Where there was Price, you were there too.

That was common knowledge.

But his assessment of you didn’t come just from your tactical skill. He found you to be unmatched in a lot of ways that weren’t related to your job at all. You knew you were one of his better soldiers, yet you never let it get to your head. You were kind to others and always willing to lend a helping hand. You looked out for your friends and colleagues, and underneath a hard exterior – you were all heart.  

He trusted you to be obedient. He never doubted that you wouldn’t give your all each and every time you had a job to do. You were a natural leader, but also a trustworthy follower. Not many people could be both.

Price was drawn to you, he would admit. He liked just about everything about you, except maybe your smart mouth – that was the only thing that ever got you into trouble. He enjoyed having conversations with you – ones that were work related or not. He had shared a drink with you a time or two, and he found you to be pleasant company. He had this fuzzy feeling in his chest whenever the two of you would take watch together, a feeling that wasn’t the most familiar to him. The time he spent with you outside of a mission or job was the time he valued the most. 

Before he knew it, he realized that he liked you just a little more than he probably should’ve.

He had offered to buy you dinner here and there – all of his attempts being shot down by your humble modesty and fear of breaking one of his most important rules. 

Avoid romance within Force 141.

It seemed that his rantings about “avoiding romantic interpersonal relationships within the force” had gotten to you. He shouldn’t have been surprised. You looked up to him, and you were his most loyal soldier. Of course you weren’t going to break one of his rules…even if he was the one who was asking you to break it. 

It took him some time to realize that he was asking a lot of you. He understood that it probably wasn’t the most comfortable situation that he had put you in. 

Price wasn’t too discouraged though. He knew there was something between the two of you. A hot ember that was just begging for some fuel to really roar into a ball of flames. Over time, there had been small moments that had been causing that spark to grow at a painfully slow pace. 

He was buttering you up in the most sincere way for the right moment. The lingering stares, the way his hand “accidentally” brushed yours when he passed you by, the compliments he made that brought a blushing heat to your face. These were all mini victories that gradually softened you up to him. 

Then, of course, there was that…one incident.

Price had felt terrible after it happened. The look on your face had immediately let him know that he had totally pushed you too far, too quickly. It had been a simple kiss. Not one that was heated or lustful. It was passionate, sure – but it was the most tender, romantic kiss that John Price had ever had the pleasure of receiving. 

In his defense, he hadn’t forced you to kiss him. It had been a mutual thing, so there couldn’t be any claims of “he kissed first” or “she kissed first.” It was genuinely one of those “the moment was right” kind of situations. It had been after a long mission, one that had lasted a few days – and those few days had been stressful torture. It was touch-and-go the whole time, and the team had been very nervous that it wouldn’t get done.  

You and Price had been attached at the hip for the duration of that particular mission, working together to get the job completed. The tension had been building up and stewing for days. There was so much emotion and so much riding on this job that it was unavoidable. When the mission did turn out in the team’s favor, and the two of you had your first moment alone – both of you gave into your desires.  

The kiss had lasted only a few seconds, much shorter than Price would’ve liked. But when he pulled away and saw the expression on your face, he knew that it had been way too soon.  

He didn’t see you for about a week after that. The days that passed consisted of you dodging him and avoiding him. It wasn’t until the next morning briefing that he took his chance to corner you, and the two of you worked it out enough to where you could go back to the way you were before.

Price had been relieved. He didn’t want to lose you as a friend or as a colleague. He needed you around – for multiple reasons. 

He made a solemn swear to himself that he wouldn’t push it anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you off to the point where you really didn’t want anything to do with him. After all, Price was a patient man.

And he had no problem waiting for what he wanted.

***

The mission had been doomed from the start. 

There were too many outside factors that were a part of it that were playing against you. This mission was going to be more work and effort than it was worth (most of them were), despite its seemingly easy end goal.  

Clear the building. Find and make your way into the server room. Obtain and transfer the files to your drive to deliver back to the general. It seemed straightforward, and it seemed like something that could be done with no issues. 

However, there were two very crucial catches to this. 

This job was a little bit different from past missions. Hacking and data transfers were one of your specialties. Speed and accuracy were your strong suits, and it made the most sense to put you at the head of this task. In some ways, the success of this mission fell on you. 

The other kicker was that this specific group of terrorists was much more prepared than you originally gave them credit for. It shouldn’t have been a shock that the whole building was bugged. They knew that the force had been on their tails for a while, so it really only made sense that they made the proper measures in place to wipe their trace clean when the time was right. 

The terrorist group knew that you were there the moment the Force’s boots hit the back doorway. The goal of the mission was suddenly stricken by the enemy of time. A countdown to the demise of the server room had begun the moment that you thought you were in the homestretch. 

The building had been eerily silent. There wasn’t another person (outside of 141) in sight. That was your main indicator that something wasn’t right. If this place was guarding the top secret information, then it should’ve been littered with folks to protect it. As far as you could see, this place was abandoned and left for dead. 

Soap had been the first to make a comment on how this all seemed too convenient. His suspicions weren’t unreasonable, considering the pit of nausea that had opened in your stomach the moment that you realized the team was truly alone. 

Ghost was rigid, scanning every single door, out of place floor tile, and desolate corner. He had gone stoically silent, prepared for the bottom to fall out at any moment. Price and Gaz didn’t stray far. They were far too uneasy to let the group get separated. 

You weren’t rushed as you navigated the halls of the building, carefully working your way to the upper floors where the server room was located. The stairwells were echo chambers of every single sound, another reminder that no one was around. Five pairs of heavy footsteps trudged up each flight of stairs, your nerves growing more and more worn with each step.

You reached the correct floor, entering the hallway from the stairwell with goosebumps erupting all over your skin. Something in your gut didn’t feel right. Just as you were about to suggest to Price that 141 take a different approach, there was a loud, unmistakable noise.

The sound of the explosion and the roar of fire had caused an annoying ringing noise in everyone’s ears, and had sent everybody into overdrive. The entire building shook and rattled from the initial impact, a rush of black smoke billowing from the doorway of the room. The room had self-destructed, which was a no doubt sign that the enemy group had known you’d be coming. 

Flames engulfed the room immediately and wasted no time spreading down the hall with the final goal of destroying every square inch of the place. The heat that spread from the room was indescribable. A temperature so intense that no one in their right mind would even attempt to go through it.

The mission was simultaneously aborted, considering that there wasn’t even a mission to complete now. The only objective now was for Task Force 141 to get out alive without being trapped, burned, or crushed to death. It was a mad scramble to escape the fiery death trap, the heavy gear that all of you were carrying felt weightless from the adrenaline. 

The stairs that you had taken your time to climb were cleared in seconds, all of you using every ounce of energy and speed to get to safety. If one room was tricked, then there was no telling what the other parts of the building had been bugged with. 

It was all a blur in your mind. In reality, it had only taken about 60 seconds for the five of you to get out of the structure, but it had felt like an hour long endeavor. There was a point when 141 was safe enough to come to halt, located far off in the distance from the building that had never blown you all to smithereens. There wasn’t much that you could do other than report back to the General to explain the situation and watch the building go up in flames. 

The dread in your chest had morphed into something else. The sensation of knowing that not only had the data been destroyed, but the target enemies had likely been intelligent enough to make a backup to take it with them. The information was out there again, lost in the world to the point where it could literally be anywhere. 

This mission was back to square one. And you couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were kneeling in a halfway huddle, heaving with each breath in an attempt to regain control of their breathing. Price kept his eyes locked on you, watching the way that you were standing still – eyes fixed on the deteriorating building just in your view.

The sun was setting on the horizon, the sky’s hues of orange and purple nearly matching the embers and flames that were currently (and had already) destroyed the golden ticket of your mission. Months of work and weeks of preparation had been wasted on the fact that (admittedly) you had been outsmarted. 

The best of the best. 

That’s what Price had always said about you – that you were the best of the best. Your first mission as the leader, the person responsible for the success of the job and the wellbeing of your colleagues, had gone south faster than you could’ve ever imagined. 

For the first time in a very, VERY long time…

You had failed at something.

He knew you were in for a long night of overthinking this whole thing. A long night of questioning your skills and abilities. He knew you all too well. And he knew you would blame yourself for the rest of your life for this.  

Price took a few steps closer to you, resting his hand gently on your shoulder to announce his presence.

“Come on,” Price said in his most neutral yet sympathetic voice. “Let’s get out of here.” 

***

No one had seen you since returning to the safe house. 

Everyone had dispersed upon returning, taking the time to decompress and regain their composure.

Gaz and Soap had crashed nearly the moment that their bodies collapsed on opposite sides of the living space of the house. Soap didn’t even bother taking off his pack or boots, but Gaz at least made the time to get his gear off.

Ghost immediately went on watch, sitting at the window near the front door to keep an eye out for unwanted guests and intruders. Ghost never slept much. 

Price unpacked all of his belongings in his pack, noting the inventory of each item and what needed to be rearranged. It was busy work really, because he was preoccupied with thinking about you. In some ways, he felt responsible for this whole thing. 

He thought that he had done you a favor by letting you take the reins on this one. He knew it would be a good experience for you, and it was just another thing that Price would brag on you about. But he hadn’t expected it to go the way that it had. If he had known that it was going to blow up (literally) in your face then he never would’ve appointed this to you 

He supposed that really he felt responsible for how you were feeling about it.

Price was trying to give you space. He didn’t want to crowd you when he knew you were feeling lousy and down. But on the other hand, he wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea to let you stew in your own unnecessary guilt. 

He gave it some time, allowing at least the initial emotions to simmer down. He rearranged and organized his backpack about three or four times before he made the steps to find you. He had assumed that you were in the single bedroom to be alone, but when he checked only to find an empty, untouched bed, he began to panic.  

While he trusted you completely, there was the quick thought of you potentially going back by yourself to rummage through the remains of burned rubble for any kind of salvation to failure did cross his mind. That would’ve been stupid and reckless, but Price knew what sort of desperate things people would do just to prove that they hadn’t failed.

He stepped over Soap and Gaz in the living room, who were both sound asleep and snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Price knew that Ghost, who was the most aware of the five of you, would likely know where you were.

He approached the colossal man that was scanning the area outside, but was appreciative when Simon Riley’s mysterious eyes gave attention to him.

“Captain.” Ghost said both as a greeting and a question to his sudden approach. 

“Where is she?” Price posed to Ghost, who was always on the same page as him.

“Been keeping my eye on her. She’s outside,” Ghost motioned towards the pickup truck that was parked towards the side of the house. “Hasn’t said a word.” 

From where he stood, Price could just barely make out the image of your frame that was sitting on the lowered tailgate of the vehicle. Price let out a long sigh, unsure of what to do. Sometimes addressing the situation made it worse. It made the embarrassment and the disappointment feel unbearable. But other times, not addressing it set a foundation of discouragement that would build on itself. It could ruin your confidence inside and out.

“In my opinion…I think you should have a chat with her, Captain.” Ghost spoke again, as if he knew that Price were weighing his options.

“Think that would be more helpful than leaving her alone?” Price asked.

Beneath the infamous balaclava there was a silhouette of a smirk. It was a knowing expression that said it all.

“As long as it’s from you, then I’d definitely say so.” Ghost replied.

Price nodded with understanding. No sense in beating around the bush if it was that plainly clear. Without another word to Ghost, Price opened the front door and walked outside into the world. Darkness had painted the sky long ago, the night time hours were well upon the 141.

The air outside had a breeze to it. The weather was clear and the temperature was at least comfortable. He loved nights like this, but they meant nothing if you couldn’t enjoy them too. He stopped at the side of the tailgate, his eyes never leaving you. 

He noted your lowered head and slumped shoulders, the anxious swings of your feet and the blank stare at the ground beneath you. He had never seen you so defeated. 

“It’s awfully quiet out here,” Price remarked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “A beautiful night as well.” 

“Yeah.” You mumbled, staring at your feet that were barely swinging beneath you. 

Price knew you were hiding out. The embarrassment of facing your teammates and friends after failing to get the job done was tough on anybody. What was worse was trying to work through the disappointment in yourself.  

“These things happen.” Price said, wasting no time getting to the point. 

A rush of air whispered all around you. It felt like it was mocking you, taunting you for the day’s failure. It was all around you, consuming you in a way that was inescapable.

“Not to me they don’t.” 

Price sighed, watching you gaze off into the sky as if there was something worth watching floating around up there. He knew that you were discouraged, and he understood what that felt like. 

“Time wasn’t on our side. That’s the only reason that we failed today.” Price went on, taking it upon himself to take the open spot next to you.

He groaned as he hoisted himself up, sitting on the hard metal of the lowered tailgate.

“I blew it. I completely and utterly blew it.” You rambled, your voice thick with disappointment only in yourself. 

“What is all of this ‘I’ and ‘me’ shit?” He scoffed. “We all failed to get the job done. This doesn’t fall on you.”

“I was the one who was supposed to get the data transferred,” You argued. “I was the one who wasn’t quick enough.”

Price knew where your head was at. He had been there before, it wasn’t comfortable nor pleasant – but it was something that you just had to work through.

“The room was corrupted. No matter how quick you were, we would’ve lost the information. You’re lucky that we lost the data before any of us made it into the room.” Price pointed out, which truly was something that you hadn’t thought about. 

You didn’t have a response. You felt no need to try to argue. Price wouldn’t be able to change your mind.

“If you think you’re going to be perfect all the time and go your entire career without fucking up, then I’m here to tell you right now that you couldn’t be more wrong,” Price rumbled. “You did your best.”

“My best wasn’t good enough, Captain.” 

The emphasis on his title stung him. It was that subtle reminder that your relationship was still rather strictly professional.

Fuck. Just call me John!

“Sometimes that’s how it goes,” He returned. “You know that.”

It hadn’t been your fault. Deep down, underneath all the damaged pride, you knew that there wasn’t a thing differently that you could’ve done to avoid this outcome. None of you knew that the place was wired and that it was going to vanish right in front of you. 

But this was much harder than it should’ve been. Captain Price, the man that you admired and adored so much, had allowed himself to step aside to let you take the lead on this mission. In turn, he witnessed you fail firsthand as a leader.  

That hurt more than anything. 

The best of the best. 

Suddenly, your “best” wasn’t so great after all.

“If you don’t hear anything else I say tonight, at least hear this…” Price sighed, realizing that his words weren’t having any effect on you. “I’m proud of you.” 

This time a rush of heat surrounded and flooded you, but it wasn’t from the wind.

“You’re just saying that.” You grumbled. 

“I’m not. I’d never say something like that to you if I didn’t mean it.” Price “readjusted” the way that he was sitting. 

He was closer to you now, the outside of his thigh was touching yours in a way that sent electrical static through every vein in your body. His eyes were piercing yours the way that they always did when he was thinking about you. 

“I am proud of you. You’ve never let me down, and I’ve never seen you as anything less than perfect,” He said, and you were suddenly aware of how close his face was to yours. “I care about you.”

You didn’t panic. Breathless and speechless, yes – but in no way were you off put or stunned. This felt…right this time. The other times that the two of you had shared a moment like this (yes, including that one kiss), you had shied away from it. But this time it felt perfect, like right now was the moment that was really supposed to happen.

“John…” You whispered in a way that was more of a plea than anything.

He nearly fainted. His name from your mouth drove him wild, the sound practically touching his own lips. He had waited so long to hear it that it almost didn’t sound like anything. If you didn’t kiss him right now, he was sure he might actually just keel over and die. 

There was a moment of unwanted hesitation. This was the very last chance for you to back out. If you had any discomfort with this happening or if you had any question about how you felt about John Price, then this was your only window of opportunity to escape.  

“Don’t do this if you’re going to get spooked.” Price’s lips were millimeters from yours, almost close enough to where you could feel the smirk on his face.

But you didn’t take that opportunity.

“I won’t.” 

And you kissed him. It was just as tender as the first time and even more passionate. Price chuckled, his laugh muffled by the two of you nearly suffocating each other. The wait had been well worth it, and he felt like everything was falling into place. 

Price knew that this was the first of many. The first of many kisses, heartfelt chats, and special moments that he got to share with the most special woman in the world.

Just this once, you could go against a rule. It wouldn’t hurt you, and it surely would benefit you. If going against one of your standards meant that you could have John Price all to yourself? Then it was worth it. 

Besides, every rule is meant to be broken.

#john price #john price x reader #john price x fem! reader #john price x female reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price fluff #john price oneshot #john price imagine #john price imagines #john price fanfiction #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x fem! reader #captain price x female reader #captain price x you #captain price x y/n #captain price fluff #captain price oneshot #captain price imagine #captain price imagines #captain price fanfiction #john price mw2 #mwii #modern warefare 2 #mw2 #mw2 fanfiction #mw2 fanfic #ghostandsoap

[johnpriceslamb]

𝓽 𝓱 𝓻 𝓮 𝓪 𝓭 𝓮 𝓭 𝓮 𝓵 𝓮 𝓰 𝓪 𝓷 𝓬 𝓮

🪡 Before you joined the gang, you used to be a tailor. An event was coming up soon which involved looking fancy, meaning that you had to take his measurements for a new suit.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ⋆ female ! reader ⋆ hyper-feminine ! reader ⋆ very suggestive content w/ javier ⋆ close proximity ⋆ reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than said chars ⋆ poorly google translates spanish >.> ⋆ not proof read nor edited ⋆ wrd count/1.2k

🪡 arthur morgan ⋆ charles smith ⋆ john marston ⋆ javier escuella (sep) x f! reader

🪡 𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓻 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓷,

“stand still!”

You prattle on for the umpteenth time this evening. The loyal enforcer of the gang grunts at the feeling of the cold tape measure wrapped around his bare waist, as he begrudgingly lifts his arms up to avoid messing up the measurements.

“For someone so little,” He groans at the feeling of the flexible measure tightening deliberately around him, “You sure do have a lot of attitude.”

You ignore him, of course. You scribble down the exact number of his measurement down on a piece of paper with a slight hum. The beads of your delicate necklace hang delicately off your neck as you bend over the edge of the table a bit, elbows propping your demure head for support. Arthur couldn’t help but boredly take a peak of what you were writing down, before ultimately sighing as he hopes for this to go a little quicker.

the cigar in his mouth hangs low on his bottom lip, embers flying out from the tip. He takes another slow drag, before letting it out with a gentle sigh- to your direction. You throw the man a puffed-cheek glare, your little nose scrunching up at the smell.

He wouldn’t admit the fact that he felt warm when your fingers would touch his body so subtly when measuring him. Or when your face was so close to his ragged skin, he could really feel your soft breath. Did you always look that pretty when you’re concentrated?

“Hey, Arthur?” That familiar high-pitched voice catches his attention. His hands lazily grab ahold of his low-hung belt, before leaning in.

“Mh?” He lowly grunts, squinting his eyes at the sight of your beady eyes staring up at him. He chews at the end of his cigarette, letting out a huff when the smoke unexpectedly enters inside his body.

You cheekily smile, tinkering your dewy lashes at him to feign innocence. The pencil in your grip is tapped multiple times on the paper, “Wouldn’t pink be a suitable colour choice for your suit?”

“[name].” You’re lucky you were blessed with a cute little face, otherwise he’d have no issue throwing you in the lake nearby.

🪡 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱,

“..I’m not familiar with getting measured, I apologise if I make anything difficult.” Charles quietly explains to you in that baritone voice he had. You can’t help that sweet fluttering in your chest at the apology.

“Nonsense!” You wave him off with a toothy smile, “All you’ll have to do is stand still.”

The gentle giant in-front of you slowly nods. He’s not uncomfortable, but he’s kind of on the edge since this was new to him. But since it’s you, he can feel some of the tension in him melt. Usually, he tends to avoid interacting with other people at camp.

But you? Something about you made him draw closer.

“Just a matter of standing still? I think I can manage with that. No trouble with me.” A ghost of a smile slowly etches onto his dark skin at your expression. Almost.. puppy like.

You’re about to measure his full height to ensure the exact proportions of the suit are balanced, only to realise..

Your height (lack thereof.. oops.) comes in as a bit of an issue here. For plot purposes, there aren’t any stools around nor could you go on your tippy toes to measure him fully.

“..Ah.” Charles blinks at the situation. Amusement crosses his face, before gesturing to hand over the end of the measuring tape. He holds it just at his head, patiently watching you peak at the number it falls down to at his ankles.

“Oh my..” You let out a tiny squeak at the number, a shy smile appearing on your sweet face before scribbling it down on a piece of paper nearby.

“Oh my?” He repeats you, “What? Is that.. Is that bad?”

“No, no!” You stammer, meekly brushing your hands over your light pink petticoat, “You’re just.. Y’know. You’re tall.”

“Oh?” He smiles lightly, lovingly looking at your light expression, “I hope that won’t be too much of a problem.”

“It’s not a problem. Quite the opposite, actually.” You quietly mumble the last part. Oh dear, you can feel his gaze, practically warming up your soul, staring at you as if you hung the stars. You feel your cheeks heating up.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing!”

🪡 𝓳𝓸𝓱𝓷 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷,

never in your life have you wanted to smack a man in the face so badly.

“Woah,” John grins like a newly wet dog from running through a puddle, “Y’here to take my measurements or to feel me up?”

All you did was just wrap the tape around the swell of his hips. Your cheeks puff out, purposefully tightening the tape to get your point behind.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind either way.” He cheekily smiles, before scoffing at the feeling of the measuring tape deliberately tightening around him.

You swear you can smell the scent of booze. You ignore it, before straightening your back to measure his waist. What you can’t ignore however, was that raspy drawl his voice had which somehow makes you fall for him over and over again.

He may be as dumb as rocks, but his little antics drew you in.

“Hey,” He calls out to catch your attention. You sweetly tilt your head up, and to the side when he looks down at you.

“You gon’ pick the colours of my suit, or do I get to?” He asks curiously.

You ponder, “Well.. Do you want to?”

He thinks about it for a moment, before coming up with an answer. “Nah. Reckon you should. You’re the professional, after all.”

You can’t help but let out a soft giggle, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

When you’ve finished his measurements, you excitedly turn to him to discuss the colour choices which’ll be appropriate for the event coming up soon. Both of your eyes meet and he peers down at you with a loving gaze, it catches your breath a bit before you force yourself to look down at the notes which contained your notes.

“I think your suit should have a low v cut to really show that upper-body of yours. Perhaps a classic navy blue as your primary colour, and— Hey! Are you even listening to me?”

He blinks a few times, a bit sheepish. “I am, I just don’t got a clue on what you’re saying, sweetheart.”

You can feel your hand tighten.

🪡 𝓳𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪,

“Ah.. Quite close there, aren’t you?” He has this.. devilishly handsome smile you want to wipe off badly. He peers down at you as if you were nothing but a little dollie while you measured his chest.

“‘M not trying to be!” You whine, going just a bit lower to wrap the measuring tape around his waist now. You hum delightfully as you find the exact number, squinting your eyes to see where the tip of the measurement tape lands on.

While you’re busy with your own little thing, you don’t notice the way Javier admires you from above. He can’t help but comment on it too.

“You know,” He starts of with a slow, lazy smile. Mischievous, even.

“You’re looking very pretty working down there.” He puts a lot of emphasis on the word ‘very’ in his sentence. It’s subtle, but if you were to be paying attention to him you’d get it immediately.

You tilt your head up to innocently thank him with a small smile etched on your pretty little face, before realising what his words were implying. That little..

“Javier!” You scold him with a very high-pitched tone. You feel your dignity fading away as soon as he replies with a mocking laugh to your whining.

“You know I’m just playing around, chica. Don’t take it so seriously.” His hand goes down to cheekily pinch your squishy cheek to get his point through. You frown.

“You’re horrible.” You babble, begrudgingly taking his last measurement. You’re very tempted to give him the cold shoulder, but decided against it.

“You’re too kind.” He sarcastically replies, that same lazy grin on his face from the start as when he sees you scribbling down some notes about his measurements and preferences. You throw a tiny glare at him, “I’m the one creating your suit here, be nice!”

“Mhm? I haven’t gotten to express my gratitude yet have I?” He takes the notepad away from you, setting it aside before easily picking you up by the waist and setting you on the table, your legs dangle off the edge easily as he nears you.

“Permiteme que, querida.”

#fem! reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #afab! reader #arthur morgan x fem! you #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem! reader #charles smith x reader #charles smith x you #charles smith #charles smith x fem! you #charles smith x fem! reader #charles smith rdr2 #javier escuella x fem you #javier escuella x fem reader #javier escuella x reader #javier x reader #javier x you #javier escuella #john marston x reader #john marston x fem! reader #john marston x you #john marston x fem! you #john marston #rdr2 x fem reader #rdr2 fanfic

[lemonyelixir]

Sketch of coal's expressions also eye colors for them at the bottom

tw: eye starring

The Loyal followers eye colors!~

#forgotten god au welcome home #art #forgotten!god au #oc #forgotten god au #forgotten!dust #forgotten!coal #forgotten!ember #forgotten!bones #eddies loyal follower #Poppys loyal follower #Sally loyal follower #Loyal followers eyes #forgotten!god Au Loyal followers

[ratrrriot]

Do you have any sonic ocs? (Or ocs in general, haha) (totally not asking so I can make fanart, nahhhh….)

The fact that you are considering drawing my OCS when you haven't even seen them yet is very flattering,thank you!!

these are from when i was in highschool lol

This is Spark, They are a Tetraplegic Chao Cream found and brought to Tails,who successfully managed to build a fully functional mechanical body for them to play with. This robot body is connected to their brain and can even fly.

Spark lives at Tail's workshop and they’re clearly very fond of Cream -who regularly visits them to play- and Tails.

Originally,Tails was going to design Spark’s robot body based on his own (for trademark reasons) but since Cream was Spark's “owner” (for lack of a better term referring to someone who takes care of a chao) ,she wanted to participate in the designing part and gave him a few crayon drawings of rabbits, which were so cute that Tails simply had to include them in the final design. This is why they look like a Fox/Rabbit hybrid. (it also makes sense since Spark sees them both as some sort of older siblings)

ofc Spark isn't always inside their robot body,Tails takes them in and out everyday.

Aaand these are some apprentices I designed for the Babylon Rogues! Tundra,Velvet and Ember. They love snowboarding and are developing their skills at Extreme Gear Racing. They kinda need some redesigning...

These three are orphans. They used to live at an orphanage situated in a small town near Snow Valley. Unsatisfied with their lives there (and that nobody seemed to be interested in adopting them) they ran away around the age of 12 to try and start new lifes on their own,resorting to thievery and trickery to get by. Life was hard and unfair for three kids growing up in the snowy streets,but thanks to Velvet's determination,Ember's charisma and Tundra's intelligence they managed to survive. After a year of wandering,they stole 3 snowboards and started practicing the sport ,with the hopes that one day they would become famous professionals who didn't need to resort to stealing. However,by they age of 16, they hadn't just developed great skill and love for what they now consider "the art of thievery" - and a liking for equipment and luxuries most can't afford- but they also had lost all interest on the "safer" version of snowboarding and became addicted to the speed and the danger of racing.

They set on a journey to find their childhood idols: The babylon Rogues, a group of legendary thieves that they heard tales about back at the orphanage's storytime and who's Extreme Gear skills were what originally inspired them to try snowboarding. They traveled far and wide searching for them and once they managed to find Wave,Jet and Storm,they begged them to teach them their ways . After annoying them enough (and practically not letting them alone lol) the trio of professionals finally agreed to train them.

VELVET THE NORTHERN CARDINAL:

Energic,Peppy,Sassy,Optimistic,laid-back and confident. A speed junkie and a little bit of a clown. The fastest of the trio. Jet is his Idol and he'll do anything to impress him. Tries to annoy Sonic to imitate his teacher,but he actually thinks he is the coolest guy around after Jet. He has a big heart and doesn't seem to hate Sonic -or anyone -at all,but he does enjoy some friendly banter at the moment of competing. Jet likes him a lot and is kinda proud of him but he tries not to show it ,as he doesn't want the kid (or himself) to get attached or to think he'll actually pass to him his "Master of the wind" title someday.

The gem-shaped-computer on his neck was a gift he received from Wave after she updated her own and didn't know what to do with her old one. According to her,she handed it down to him cause "it matched his feathers". Now,feeling honored by one of his idols,he wears it with pride.

EMBER THE COCKATIEL:

Cheeky, Rebellious, Brave, Impulsive and Loyal. Doing tricks in the air like its nothing is her specialty. Cares a lot about her looks and is an expert at the art of deception. She is also can be a little bit of meanie. She and Wave share a sister-like kind of relationship. Since they both have strong personalities, they fight a lot and she tends to disobey her,espeally when it comes to the times she tries to teach her about mechanics and "the boring part" of Extreme Gear personalization. However, they always make up and end up gossiping at the end of the day.

TUNDRA THE CRESTED PENGUIN :

Silent, cold, shy, serious, a bit competitive and incredibly smart. Expert at strategizing and finding shortcuts while racing. Has high expectations of himself and doesn't handle failure very well. Being the oldest by a year,he is very protective of his adoptive siblings. Unlike Wave and Jet,Storm didn't have to be convinced to take him under his wing cause he liked the kid since the moment he showed up. tho he is trying to teach him to live a little and be a bit more impulsive at the moment of racing.

#rat answers #my sonic ocs #Spark #Ember the cockatiel #Tundra the crested penguin #Velvet the northern cardinal

[alltheirdamn]

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 10

Summary: Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum Warnings: fluff (like a fuck ton), unprotected piv sex, oral (f receiving), graphic violence, weapons, mentions of SA (attempted), language, helmetless!din (omg??) Word Count: 11.2k A/N: Here it is... here's ~the moment~ you've been waiting for

The flicker of the fire between you cast violent shadows on Mando’s armor. You watched as the flames twisted and danced together, a dangerous waltz that erupted into the dark and rose into the air in orange embers. He had managed to find a secluded spot within the outer edge of the forest, only halfway back to the Crest. Your body ached from the walk, and the humidity didn’t help since your clothes were practically stuck to your skin. You didn’t understand how Mando survived under all the layers of armor. 

He had caught some frogs along the way, roasting them over the fire to help quell the hunger pains in your stomach. You were grateful for it. 

“Mando,” you spoke softly. 

He had been fixated on cooking, keeping to himself while you cleaned your blade and watched. His helmet raised without hesitation, the stare that ruminated behind his visor sending chills down your spine. 

He waited for you to continue. 

“Why me?” you asked.

 It was a question without explanation, a question that held more weight than you could hold on your own. You needed answers. You needed clarity. You needed a reason, any reason, to deny yourself the feelings that swelled inside your chest, begging to rupture. 

He considered you a moment, carefully turning the stick over the fire as the frog cooked through. His hands folded together, elbows resting on his knees as he looked past the flames that lapped forcibly in the evening breeze. 

“I lost my parents in a Separatist attack when I was young,” Mando began, “The Mandalorians taught me to let go of my emotions and follow the Way. My armor became my protection, and I learned that emotions were the weakness I needed to conquer.”

Crestfallen, you continued listening silently, watching his body language tense with each new admission. 

“I’ve only ever been loyal to my Clan, but then you show up as this helpless bounty,” he paused, helmet lifting to meet your saddened gaze, “You weren’t a criminal or a murderer. Turning you in wasn’t worth a reward, and I couldn’t figure out why I cared so much. I just did.”

There was a brief silence between you– comfortable, yet the air felt compressed by a heaviness you couldn’t fathom, a slow suffocation that wilted your breath.

You leaned forward, urging him to continue.

“I still do,” he corrected himself. “I’ve tried to deny myself this attachment to you, but I can’t anymore.”

Without thought, you stood, letting your body drift to where he sat. Every molecule in your body strained towards him, every forbidden emotion unraveling inside you. It was dangerous, letting yourself lose to the battle that stirred inside you. You ruined him and took his loyalty from his Clan without realizing it. It was selfish of you to let yourself grow so close, to allow him to grow this close. 

You were taking away the very thing that made him a Mandalorian. 

How could you?

How could you be so selfish?

Crouching before him, you steadied yourself on the balls of your feet, nails gripping his thighs. You had to make it clear to him that he could not lose himself to you, regardless of what you felt. He had to detach. He had to let go. 

“I’m not worth all of this,” you uttered. “I can’t ask you to abandon your Creed.”

Mando reached out, brushing the hair from your face. Shrouded in the shadows the fire cast, he couldn’t see how your eyes pooled with tears; the emotions smothered you, threatening your judgment, blinding you from the decision you chose to make. 

It was for the best, you told yourself.

It felt like a lie. 

He said your name, a whisper through the breeze that surrounded you. 

“I want you to know me, angel. All of me. If I’m going to break my Creed, I only want it to be for you.”

“Breaking your Creed… that means?”

“Ni copaanir haa’taylir ni,” he spoke softly. “I want you to see me.”

“Like without your helmet?” You cautioned.

He nodded, cupping your cheek to steady your gaze.

“Not here. Not now. But when you’re ready, I’ll show you.”

“Mando—.” You whined.

“Just think about it, okay? I’m willing to give you everything. I’m tired of fighting this attachment inside me. I’m tired of pretending this isn’t real.”

You rested your head on his knee, gazing up into the helmet visor, imagining what he looked like behind all the armor. What color were his eyes, and did they ever soften when he looked at you? Was his face as tan as his hands were? Would kissing him feel like coming home? Maker, you never realized how badly you ached to see him, to know every piece of him. He saw you freely every day: your body, eyes, and smile. You wanted to know if his smile was as beautiful as you believed.

You didn’t want to take him from his Creed, but you were so fucking greedy to know him.

“What color are your eyes?” You asked.

He smoothed a thumb over your cheek, and you could hear flames cracking behind your body in the silence. 

“They're brown, angel.”

You were crying, and you couldn’t understand why. 

He was yours. 

Every fiber of your being yearned for him, and you were terrified to accept that you were falling in love—if this was what love felt like. You had never allowed yourself to give into those emotions, nor had you ever been given the opportunity after your parents died. Love wasn’t something you knew. All you knew was pain and aggression. This felt foreign; the emotions inside you were confusing and all too overwhelming. You didn’t deserve this, but maybe you could learn. 

“I want to know you,” you admitted. “All of you.”

“I’m yours.”

Mando offered a hand to help you to your feet, leading you back to the log you had been sitting on. He pulled a cooked frog off the fire, extending it to you, and you both ate in harmonious silence. 

The fire died out after a few hours, the embers dwindling until there was barely any light between you and Mando. The fatigue from the day had finally caught up to you to its full capacity, and you couldn’t keep from yawning. Mando still sat beside you, his hand resting at the top of your kneecap. He had been able to stop touching you since he caught you, always keeping one hand on your body in some way. Resting your head on his shoulder, you let the cool touch of his pauldron soothe your sweating body and drift off to sleep after fighting it for too long. 

Daybreak streaked behind your eyelids, and you woke with a heavy groan. Mando had let you rest against him the entire night, his body tense and alert. Once he knew you were finally awake, he softly squeezed your knee and whispered your name.

“We should get moving,” he said.

Lifting your head, you nodded. Only a few more hours and you’d be back in the safety of the Crest. 

“Did you sleep at all?” You asked, stretching your arms to release the tension in your muscles.

“I had to keep watch.”

You were guilty of letting yourself sleep when you knew he hadn’t in days. You caused him so much fear when you’d left he probably hadn’t slept in nearly three days—maybe more. You needed to get back to the ship so he could rest. 

“Take the bed when we get back,” you offered. “You can sleep, and I’ll take the floor.”

“There’s still a bounty to hunt,” he sighed. “I promised Karga an extra quarry, so I need to deliver. When we return, I’ll ensure you’re safe and head out again. I don’t think he’s gone far, probably thinks I let him go free, and now he’s sitting idle.”

“I promise not to run.” You attempted a joke, but it didn’t land.

“Better fucking not,” he growled.

Your thighs clenched together at his tone, and you sat up straighter. His threats always managed to snake through your veins in a way you couldn’t help but react to. After all the emotions being laid out on the table, you needed to know how he’d fuck you now. 

“Let’s get back to the ship,” you murmured, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from the makeshift campsite.

You never thought you’d be so happy to see the Crest again. Walking up the ramp hand in hand with Mando, you couldn’t help but sigh a breath of relief. You let him wander off to the armory wall, watching as he swapped out his blaster for a new one along with a vibroblade. A hissing noise came from the carbonite chamber, which worried you that the valve was malfunctioning again. You were too far from the village to gather more tools, so you’d have to work with what you had to fix the valve if it was faulty. 

“How soon can we get off Sorgan?” You wondered aloud.

Mando clipped the blaster to his belt and walked to look at the chamber with you.

“The moment I catch the bounty, we’re leaving. I need to get to Nevarro to give Karga these bounties, and hopefully, Bo Katan will be ready by then.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest?” You chewed at your bottom lip, worrying he’d get hurt on his hunt.

You had barely been back in the safety of his presence for maybe 24 hours, and now he was leaving again. But this time was different; you had a reason to stay. You wanted to stay. 

Mando embraced you, his arms snaking around your shoulder blades and squeezing you softly. You inhaled that familiar scent lingering on his suit and armor, nestling your head against his metal breastplate. How did you think you could leave this? You grappled with the guilt still lingering inside of you for all you had done. You tore away everything you had built together, and that trust you once had was hanging on by a thread. But you’d stay and prove to him that you could keep your word.

“I’ll be back soon, angel,” he murmured into your ear. “Be safe, and don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” you mumbled.

After a few more moments wrapped up in each other, Mando was gone. You stared at the space around you, realizing it was the first time you could call somewhere home—an old beat-up fighter ship and a grumpy Mandalorian—that was home now. Nothing else mattered.

Your body was still so exhausted from the trek back to the ship that you collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep. Thankfully, there were no nightmares or memories to flood your senses, only total darkness. It wasn’t long before you were jolting upwards at the strong smell of gas. 

You cursed yourself for not taking care of the gas leak earlier. 

Dank Farrik.

Running on little sleep and even lower motivation, you grabbed the toolbox and rummaged for a wrench and pliers. The new valve was supposed to fix the problem in the freezing stage of the carbonite chamber, not make it worse. The leak was worse, the gas escaping further into the hold until it fogged your vision. If it gets any worse, you thought, the entire chamber would be nonfunctional, and it would cause some problems with the bounties Mando had already collected.

Rubbing away the sleep from your eyes, your hands pulled at the leaking valve, inspecting where the issue had begun. The freezer valve you had bought was, in fact, faulty, the heat stripping away a layer of the pipe, leaving a tear in the rubber material. Fuck. There was no way to fix it unless you had a new pipe or some patching material. Even with that, the leak wouldn’t hold for long, especially in the ship's pressurized cabin. The only option you had right now was to try your best to wrap the tear until Mando got you to Nevarro, and you could hopefully find a better mechanic shop. 

But for now, you reattached the pipe valve, keeping the bolt on the looser side to prevent another tear. There was nothing remotely close to the material needed that laid around the Crest, so thinking quickly, you stripped away a piece of cloth from the lining of your shirt, tying it tight over the tear. The gas still came out steadily, but far less than it had been moments ago. There was a good chance the fabric would wear away or catch fire, so time was limited on the leak before it turned into a real issue.

With the fragrant gas in the hull, you opted to lower the ramp— despite Mando’s warnings— and release some pressurized air into the open. The fog was dense outside, the visibility minimal as you scanned the perimeter. Something felt ominous about it, but you assured yourself that the location of the Crest was safe. And his bounty was only going to take, at most, a few hours. 

Leaving the ramp fully lowered, you returned to the carbonite chamber, checking over the other bounties on the hold. The four in Mando’s possession remained locked into their blocks, the steady red light pulsing on the side, indicating that the freezing gas was still working at total capacity in each block. The good news is that it was an isolated issue. Bad news: Mando wouldn’t be able to store any more quarries without risking destroying the integrity of the entire chamber.

Tapping on the comlink on your wrist, you sent an alert to Mando’s, awaiting a response. Giving him a few minutes to respond— he was on a hunt, after all— you situated yourself on one of the crates closer to the ramp, enjoying the fresh air as it breezed through the hold.

Too much time had passed before you realized he never responded to the initial alert. Pressing the com button, you spoke into it warily. 

“Mando, come in.”

Static.

“Mando, come in.”

More static. Enough that electrified your nerves into deep worry. Mando never had comlink issues, and he never took off his comlink. 

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. You couldn’t leave the Crest, and you definitely couldn’t leave the gas leak unattended without the fear of the entire cargo hold catching fire. 

Returning to the torn valve, you worked at maneuvering the stripped fabric around it so that it wouldn’t snag on any heated metal. The bolt that held the valve in place was hot to the touch— hotter than usual. Grabbing the wrench again, you twisted off the bolt, cursing yourself as it fell against your palm. The grease left a small burn streak, and you made a mental note to patch it up later.

A med patch! Why you hadn’t thought of it the first time, you didn’t know, but you left the valve exposed while you searched for the med pack Mando left hanging in the refresher. Searching through the pack, you found the med patches, seeing only three left. Mando would have a fit over wasting them on the valve, but it was either this or catching fire. Unwrapping it from its packaging, you peeled away the adhesive, wrapping it strategically around the tear. The patch was thick enough to withstand the gas and heat, buying you more time to find a new valve pipe.

Twisting back on the bolt for good measure, you looked over your work, satisfied for now at the last-minute resolution. If anything, Mando would at least be impressed by your quick thinking. After all, you had been the child of a junkyard owner; you knew your way around most issues. 

The burning sting on your skin was your next point of action; the searing red outline of the bolt inflamed against your skin. With only two med patches left, you chose a less sterile option and wrapped your hand with a roll of gauze unraveled in the med pack. It wouldn’t protect it from much, but it was enough of a solution for now.

A rustling outside the Crest alerted your attention, your skin rippling in pulsating nerves. Mando hadn’t responded to his comlink, and the infinite amount of ‘what-ifs’ was too high to consider any good outcomes. 

“Mando, come in,” you hissed into the comlink on your wrist. 

No response. 

Ducking behind a stack of crates, you reach towards the weaponry wall, grabbing at the blaster rifle Mando left behind. He had only taken a vibroblade and blaster, so you internally thanked him for leaving such a big weapon for you to protect yourself with now. Even if you had no fucking idea how to shoot a rifle, you’d try your best. You aimed it through a gap in the crates, eyes laser-focused on the expanse of grass lying in front of you. Holding your breath, you waited. 

“Looks like they abandoned it,” a voice grumbled, the sound coming from the left of the ramp. Your eyes snapped towards the side, connecting the voice to the grizzly face of a spice smuggler. Flanked behind him were two more men, both strapped with rifle weapons that resembled Mando’s. Squinting through the gap in the crates, you could see the two armed men wearing bounty comlinks, a hologram of your face displaying over them. 

Shit. 

So, it was true– more people had their hands on your bounty, and this time, it was for a far higher price in credits. The only thing keeping your fear somewhat at bay was the fact that you were still wanted alive. Kesi wouldn’t want you dead now; he would want you back in his hold to use as he pleased. Or, he wanted to kill you himself. Either way, you wouldn’t let yourself be taken this easily. 

The leader of the three began to tromp up the ramp, the weapon in his hands looking to be a modified blaster. The body of the blaster rifle looked standard issue, but with the added power pack clipped into the chamber, it could have the firing rate of a repeating rifle. If that was the case, then your bounty no longer considered the need for you to be alive. The thought of it made your skin crawl. 

“Rik,” he motioned to the one flanked on his left to move forward, “Scan the cargo hold. Find anything we can use to find her.”

“Gresk,” he tilted his head to the other, this one a pale green Rodian, “Keep watch on the clearing. I don’t know when that Mandalorian will return, and I don’t want to be caught off guard when he does.”

Gresk responded in a gurgle of noises, turning to stand guard at the base of the ramp. The leader, still unknown to you, began trodding up the ramp, Rik on his left. Your eyes– and rifle– moved with their movements, tracking them through the cargo hold. There would be little coverage for yourself as they moved closer, and you couldn’t shoot down one without risking the others to finish you off. 

“I’m going up to the cockpit,” the leader said, “He’s gotta have some sort of tracker on her, or at least previous logged data on her whereabouts.”

“Got it,” Rik said, his hand clenching around his blaster. 

As the other man ascended into the cockpit, your focus returned to Rik, who was now siphoning through the cargo crates. Most were empty, sans a few that held miscellaneous ship parts and scrap metal. Luckily, the weaponry cabinet had shut after you grabbed the rifle, the contents of Mando’s arsenal a secret to the bounty hunters on board. 

Rik’s footsteps grew closer, and you were running on limited options in terms of survival. He didn’t hold the same modified blaster as the other, but the standard carbine rifle most hunters carried. He would have the upper hand at close range since your range was limited from the floor with the sniper rifle. There was a loud crash in the cockpit, redirecting Rik’s focus, and it gave you the smallest window to make a move. 

Scrambling up from the floor, you angled the stock end upwards, driving the edge of it into the hunter’s shoulder. Yelling in pain, Rik tumbled to the ground, writhing in enough pain for you to escape the corner you had been hidden between. 

But it wasn’t enough of a safety gap before Gresk turned around, his blaster aiming at you. The plasma blasts skimmed past you, hitting the metal walls behind your head. Yanking the rifle upwards to eye level, you sent a wave of blasts towards him, the use of the rifle scope unnecessary in short range. None of them struck, a disadvantage to your bad luck that was overflowing. Shit. Gresk returned fire, climbing the ramp to get to closer range. You continued to fire the rifle, the blasts searing the walls around him as he closed in. Ducking behind crates wouldn’t stop the plasma beams from striking you, so you opted for no weapons. Hand-to-hand would be more of a benefit to you. 

Dropping down, you moved to kick Gresk’s legs out from under him, the blaster falling against the metal ground with a loud clunk. Grunting in pain, Gresk scrambled upwards, grabbing at your pant leg to tackle you down. Hitting the ground hard, your mind fizzled out momentarily, but a moment was all Gresk needed to get the upper hand. Pressing a blade to your throat, he grunted out a few alien words, compressing your airways in the process.

Losing breath, your fingers strained to find the handle of the blaster beside you, scrapping it against the ground until you found a firmer grip. Pressing the barrel to his side, Gresk fell over with a swift pull of the trigger; the release sounds enough to deafen your ears in an echo of vibrations. His body weight sagged onto your chest, your body heaving several breaths as you pushed him off. Wriggling yourself semi-free—your ankle caught under his waist— you laid in contempt, waiting for death or salvation to take its turn on you. 

A stirring groan behind you forced your attention, and you watched as Rik dizzyingly began to stand, eyes focused on you as you lay trapped under Gresk. 

“Rungar! Found the girl!” Rik yelled, his blaster pointed at you.

With a hand still hugging the blaster beside you, you lifted it high enough to send a shot at Rik, but not without him sending one back down, grazing the top of your left shoulder.

“Fuck!” you yelped, the blaster falling from your hand. 

Rik toppled over, the hole burning through his sternum smoldering in red and orange colors. The smack of his head on the crates sent the stack of them crashing into the refresher door, the metal denting under the weight of impact.

The larger of the three, Rungar, as you knew now, clobbered down the stairs, the modified blaster tight in his grip. Your leg was still trapped under Gresk, your shoulder was burning in blinding pain from the blaster shot, and your hopes to come out of this alive were slowly dwindling. 

Rungar gave you a toothy grin, his mouth curling upwards under his overgrown beard. He wasn’t dressed like a bounty hunter, nor did he carry the usual weapon of a bounty hunter. The possibility he could be a smuggler or a pirate worsened the situation. Because if he was— more than just bounty hunters had your hologram plastered across the galaxy. And if the information fell into the wrong hands… worse people than Kesi would be on your tail. 

Crouching beside you, Rungar let the barrel of his blaster coast over your skin, the coolness of the metal sending debilitating chills up your spine. He let it glide over your stomach and chest and finally let it rest on the burn at the top of your shoulder. You winced in pain, unable to hold back a whine as he dug it in further.

“It’s a real shame that Mandalorian isn’t here,” he thought out loud, “I was hoping to kill him off, too.”

When nothing but a whimper escaped your lips, he continued, his eyes dancing over your injured body.

“You made this far too easy for me,” he said, slowly lifting your chin with the barrel of his gun. 

Squirming under his touch and Gresk’s body, you pulled your free leg around, knocking Rungar sideways in a loss of balance. His finger pulled against the trigger in his daze, a sputter of blasts bouncing around the cargo hold. Shards of metal and wood rained down on you, and you struggled to free your trapped ankle as Rungar gathered himself again. With another forced tug, your ankle slid free, and your hand came around to deliver a hard punch to Rungar’s side. 

The force of the hit hurt your hand more than it hurt him, as he laughed at your attempt to stun him. 

“I like it when my girls put up a fight,” he snarled, pulling your hand into a bone-breaking vice. 

Yelping in pain, you stood paralyzed as his thick fingers twisted around your skin, the bones under his grip rubbing against one another. Refusing to give up yet, you threw your leg around his calf, pulling it forward until his weight gave out under him, his body sent flailing forward against Rik’s dead body. Shifting his hold on your wrist, you pulled his arm around his back, the bones in his shoulder cracking as you yanked it backward. 

Rungar screamed in a mixture of pain and anger, his face twisting back to see you. You smiled, gripping his wrist tighter, watching as he writhed in pain below you. But it didn’t last long as he rolled his body, dismissing the pain in his shoulder as he brought his blaster up to aim at you. With only a millisecond to react, the shot skimmed past your face, leaving a devastating hole in the metal behind you. Not only was the modified blaster able to shoot automatic rounds, but it also had a more significant target attached to its barrel. The larger the target, the bigger the destruction. 

The only option left that you had now was to run. Mando was unresponsive, and the Crest was standing in literal tatters as the destruction of the blasters caused too much cosmetic damage. You were lucky enough that none of the shots had hit the broken valve– one shot would have sent the entire ship up in flames and you with it. Turning to run, you trampled over Gresk’s body, nearly tripping with the lack of strength your ankle had from being trapped so long. Another round of shots fired off behind you, this time one hitting you in the back of your thigh. It wasn’t a full shot, but the shrapnel of the plasma had hit you enough to leave you injured and falling to your face. 

“Maker, fuck!” You screamed, your hand instinctively reaching back to feel your skin tinged with the burn. 

“I told you,” Rungar’s voice crept closer, “I like it when you put up a fight.”

His hands groped your body, pushing you over onto your back. The stench of his breath was hot on your cheek as he leaned into you, lips roaming over your chin and neck. 

“I like it even more when they can’t fight back,” he laughed, the tip of his tongue skating over the pulse surging under your throat. 

It sickened you, blinding all senses as you fell victim to his power. You seethed with anger as you felt his hands trailing over your body, fingers digging into the burning flesh of your thigh. You screamed in pain, tears spilling over your cheeks. All you could do was struggle and squirm under his hold, your arms pinned at your sides. Your fingers search for anything you could use against him, wishing— no, begging—for release from this nightmare. Too often had you experienced this exact moment with several other men and clients, and you wouldn’t let your last moments alive end like this. You wouldn’t let yourself die without telling Mando how you felt and how much you needed him. You had control; you had the strength to fight back this time. 

Fumbling fingers brushed against something metal, and the blade handle grazing your fingertips. In his own daze, Rungar was incapacitated to feel any motion below him, and you took the opportunity to grab onto the handle with desperate force. 

Holding your breath, you pulled slowly, coaxing it free from the leather holster at his hip. You could still feel the crawl and dig of his fingers as he roamed your chest, kneading the soft flesh of your skin with low groans in his throat. It was easy to fixate on the surge of bile stirring in your stomach, but you suppressed it, keeping focus on pulling the blade free. 

With a heavier yank than expected, you freed the blade, the jerk of your elbow a brief distraction for Rungar. His eyes grew in rage as he saw the blade gripped between your fingers.

“You stupid bitch!” He roared, knee driving into your abdomen to keep you pinned.

You reeled over, the pain shooting up your body as you tried to keep centered on the goal of staying alive. Rungar’s hands shot to yours, fighting with the blade as you kept a white-knuckled grip around the handle. Minor cuts grazed his calloused fingers, but they were no concern to him as he continued prodding your fingers open.

He was nearly successful in pulling your fingers free, the blade slightly slipping out as he shifted his weight, giving you a fraction of room to slide free of his hold and scramble onto your knees. Regaining balance and control, you plunged the metal knife upwards into his chest, driving it right between the soft tissue of his collarbone. Twisting it with what little strength you had left, you listened to the harmony of his screams, digging it further in. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but enough to disable him briefly so that you could gather yourself.

Grabbing his weapon from beside his writhing body, you unleashed a round of shots into his body. It should have sickened you, seeing the hail of plasma destroy the dirtied skin of the pirate. But in the blinded, desperate rage… watching him struggle in death felt good. It was a moment of power, a moment to claim back all you had lost over all the years in Kesi’s hold. It wasn’t just his death; it was the death of every single man that had touched you. Every time you said no, every unwanted touch, every night tied up in the dark… it was all dead in your memories.

Pain erupted from you as you turned to the other two lifeless bodies, another round of shots laying claim until there was no longer recognition in their features. Rik and Gresk were minimized to nothing but seared flesh and charred bones. Never had you seen— or done— anything so gruesome. But still, you didn’t feel sick. Not an ounce of remorse tingled in your body, nor did you feel the pain of your injuries.

You felt triumphant.

You felt reclaimed.

You kept to yourself for the next few hours, watching the sun pass over the sky behind thick layers of fog. The ramp stayed lowered as you let the smell of burning flesh roll out into the open. At first, the scent tinged your nose, but it had been long enough now that you no longer noticed the stench. Your adrenaline was also slowing in your veins, replaced by the paranoia of other hunters coming for you. Mando still was unresponsive in the comlink, and you had given up trying. Keeping the modded weapon near you, you replayed the events repeatedly in your head, wondering what more you could have done. You had been successful, yes, but not successful enough. 

In the distance, you saw the outline of reflective beskar emerging through the forest's edge. Mando was hauling the bounty on the cable he had used on you just days ago. The dead bounty dragged against the muddy ground, leaving a trail with each step Mando made. Taking in the situation before him, Mando unclipped the cable from his waist and sprinted toward you. 

Rising from the ramp, you walked down slowly, watching in simmering anger as his silhouette jogged closer, his pace approaching a cautious stride. Looking at the remnants of the fight, Mando paused several yards from you. Your body twitched, a deep yearning for him folding over the other emotions that swam within your bloodstream. Tossing the blaster lazily to the ground, you closed the gap between you, standing feet from him.

“Is your comlink broken?” You bit, the rage no longer at a simmer but a full-on boil.

“You’re injured,” he stated, his helmet trailing over the outline of your body.

“Oh, so your eyes work at least,” you snarled. 

Your name was a whisper on his tongue, “What happened?”

“I got ambushed. Three hunters.”

“And they’re dead?” He cautioned, focus now turning to the spectacle behind you. 

The smoke that had since filtered out of the Crest now danced through the clouds and fog above you.

“I had no choice. You weren’t responding,” you accused.

“The bounty got a good shot in. Bounced off my comlink and smashed the transmitter,” Mando explained, raising his wrist to show the proof.

The metal attached to his wrist guard was bent inward, shards of the comlink jutting out in all directions. It was nonrepairable, the transmitter far beyond the point of replacement. The entire comlink would need to be replaced, and that just added to the list of things to fix on Nevarro.

“They’re dead?” he asked again, and this time, you turned towards the destruction, nodding as you looked upon the Crest.

“Yeah,” you sighed. 

More than dead, you thought to yourself.

“I’m proud of you,” his voice was rugged, a hint of something under his words. 

“That I killed people?” You scoffed. “You’re proud I’m a murderer now?”

“No. I’m proud you defended yourself,” he corrected himself. 

“I had no choice.” You were bitter.

Turning from him, you began walking back to the Crest, a slight limp in your leg as the pain faded and went. There were still fizzles of adrenaline shooting through your nerves, enough to pacify the sting of the blaster shot. Mando’s heavy boots followed suit, his pace quickening to match yours.

“How bad is it?” He asked. About your injury or the mess, you didn’t know.

“My leg or my shoulder?” You continued walking, unphased.

Mando’s hand grabbed at your arm, twisting you around. His helmet did a long once over of your body, settling again on your face. 

“How hurt are you?”

“I haven’t had time to look, but I assume it's pretty bad,” you lamented. “Three against one isn’t very good odds.”

“You came out alive,” his voice was softer now. “I like those odds.”

A moment stalled between you, and you could feel your anger phasing out the longer you stood in his presence. Something about the security of his body, the armor he wore, the weapons he carried— it all summed up into a man you couldn’t live without any longer. How you could survive in the universe without him, you didn’t know; the luck you had today would run out eventually. 

You wondered if Mando could feel your anger dissipating the longer he stared because you felt the way your chest slowed its rise and fall as it returned to a normal staccato of breathing. His gloved fingers grazed over your shoulder, your shirt covered in dried blood that clung to your charred skin. It was a tender feeling as his thumb rubbed the swollen skin around the wound, yet something else inside you pulsed in earnest need. Maker, what was this?

“I should have some bacta spray in the med pack. I’ll patch it up,” he decided. 

“Well,” you stalled. “We have a bit of cleaning to do first.”

“It can wait. You risk infection if we don’t get it sprayed and bandaged first.”

“Mando…” You were weary, “It’s bad.”

There was a hitch in your breath, your eyes bouncing between his visor and the smoking ship. Yes, you had sat on the ramp and watched the day pass, but you hadn’t looked back on the mess you had left. 

It wasn’t a mess.

It was a massacre.

The adrenaline was thickening in your veins, slowing all blood flow entirely. No longer were you seeing the world around you in a haze; reality was a bitch that bit down hard. The pain in your extremities came on suddenly, then all at once, inspiring your ability to stand much longer. Sagging into his side, you clung to Mando’s breastplate, nails digging into hardened beskar. His hand caught under your armpit, hauling you up against his body, helmet peering down on you in silent worry.

“You shouldn’t have waited this long,” he scolded, “You’re probably infected already.”

“Mando,” your voice was barely above a whisper, the pain stripping away your voice. It was all you could breathe out before a wave of tears and cries burst from your chest.

Images of the men's bodies and their mutilated features tore through your mind, the vivid memories painted permanently in the indents of your brain. It was a choice you had to make, yet it sickened you to know you caused this damage.

“Whatever it is, I can deal with it,” he assured you. “What matters right now is you.”

He pulled you tighter against his body, his grip on your side enough to keep you pinned against him as he walked you both forward back to the Crest. The smell of smoke had long carried off, at least to you, and you didn’t know what Mando could or could not smell. 

“I’m so sorry.” It was an apology mostly to yourself. 

The Crest was painted with blaster shots, their rounds embedded in the steel shell of the ship. Splatters of body parts were strewn across the ground, the flesh mixing with shards of wood that had exploded in the crossfire. It was horrifying to look upon the ship with fresh eyes, the ghosts of their struggle plastered across the expanse of the cargo hold. A silent cloud of understanding hung over Mando as he walked you through the maze of destruction, his hand occasionally reassuring you with a small squeeze. He spoke nothing as he looked onwards at the fragments left in your wake, the shrapnel of your past lodged within the metal bearings of his ship. Rungar had awoken a beast inside you, one that preyed and hungered for your vulnerability. For so long, you had been able to smother the darkest parts of your past, to silence the screams within your mind with distractions. Mando had even been a distraction– his life constantly moving and his quiet needs that met yours in the desperate moments that melted together. Odd enough, his pain and your pain weren't too far off; the only difference was that he hadn’t seen your pain unravel in front of his eyes. 

No one had. 

Not even you. 

Mando offered no words as he scanned the remainder of the Crest, his boots walking meticulously through the pathway of bodies, finding his way to the med pack lying on the ground. Surprised to find it intact, you watched as Mando siphoned through the components in search of the bacta spray and the med patches. Your wounds were pulsating in pain, the effects of your emotions getting the betterment of your mind and body, the need to stay awake and alert slipping away the longer you waited for Mando to find the spray. 

“Hey,” he snapped, noticing as your head fell against the gash on your shoulder. Your eyes blinked softly at him, mind foggy as you watched his helmet turn from one into two. 

“M’sorry Mando,” you muttered. “I lost it. I really lost it, didn’t I?”

His hand shot to your face, fingers pinching at your cheek until you knocked consciousness back into your body. Panic tore through his body language as he rushed further into finding the bacta spray, finally gripping it and two med patches in his hand. You had forgotten there were only two left. 

“Two should be enough to cover these right now, but I’ll need to get more so we can change them in a few days,” he explained, laying them out as he readied the spray can. “I swear I had more of them.”

“You did,” you groaned, head lulling to the side again. Catching it, Mando focused your eyes on his visor, shaking your jaw until you stayed upright. “The freezer valve on the carbonite chamber was leaking, so I used a med patch to save us some time until we could buy a new pipe.”

Mando’s head turned over his shoulder, considering your work restoring the contraption. While the rest of the ship was questionable in terms of functionality, the carbonite chamber was still fully functioning, albeit with the small leak that had been subdued. 

“I’m sorry.” It was the only words you could find fitting in the silent expanse around you. “Fuck, I’m really sorry.”

You drew your hands to your face, forgetting the burn that stung your palm, now ripped open and dirtied from fighting. The gauze you had covering it was now bloodied and stained, another reminder of the mess you had created. 

“I fucked up,” you muffled your cries in your hands, “I ruined your ship. I—I killed people. I’m a fucking murderer. I’m a murderer, Mando!”

Your cries turned into sobs, your body shaking as you continued hiding your face behind your bandaged hands. Soft, gloved hands reached out, taking your wrists in a strong vice. With blurred eyes and cheeks dewy from tears, you woefully watched as Mando turned your injured hand over in his, examining the burn with expert consideration. You were a fucking mess, coming completely undone in front of a man that should rather want you dead, at least for the damage you had done on his fucking ship.

“You’re not a murderer,” he spoke, his finger brushing over the inflamed skin of your palm. “You defended yourself, and there’s a difference. You had no choice, right?”

You were silent. 

“Right?” He asked again, this time with an edge of exasperation. 

All you could do was nod, the muddy images of Rungar on top of you slowly floating to the surface of your memory. Shot after shot, your mind snapped into the moment— under his bodyweight, under his hold, under his breath. Wagging your head in protest, you shoved what remained of your unfortunate encounter into the depths of your mind, hoping they could rot away in the darkest corners. 

Your name off Mando’s tongue was enough to quell the wrench inside your heart, a pacifier to the surmounting pain that overflowed beyond the reaches of your nerves and mind. Guiding your hand away from your body, Mando covered it in bacta spray, followed by a pained wince off your lips. 

“I won’t use the med patch on this, but we’ll need to keep it clean,” he said. 

“Mhmm.”

You were fading, your consciousness slipping the further you succumbed to the pain and trauma. Mando’s hands were rough on your skin, a force to keep you alert and steady on him. Yet, you ached to lose yourself to the pull of sleep. If you were asleep, at least you could forget the world burning around you.

You were destruction in the human form.

Everything you had ever known was gone, and part of you— all of you— wondered if it was your fault.

Had you fought harder, maybe your parents would still be alive.

Had you fought harder, maybe you wouldn’t have been Kesi’s slave.

Had you fought harder, maybe you could have kept your freedom.

But now, this was all you were. All you would ever be.

A hopeless mess.

**

Failure.

That’s all Mando could think as he pieced together the mess inside the hull. He was a failure. He left her alone somewhere he thought was safe. He risked her life for a bounty. He almost lost her. All in a single day. He was a fucking failure. 

He had carried her limp body to the bed, hand smoothing down her matted hair. Despite it all, he was proud of her. Proud that she outsmarted three bounty hunters. Proud that she fought them off. Proud that she made it out alive. 

She shouldn’t have had to do any of that in the first place had he been there with her. He should have stayed; he should have taken off his fucking helmet and claimed her, body and soul until the world collapsed around them. She needed him more than anything, and he failed. 

His mind reeled on an endless loop of hopelessness. And at the core of it all was this twisting inside his heart, thinking of the possibility that almost turned reality; he had nearly lost her. 

He knew there was a possibility other hunters were out to find her, but he had been so caught up in this comfortable world they built together that he didn’t consider the risks. He had failed her in more ways than one.

And he would rip the galaxy to shreds if that meant keeping her alive. 

She was his entire world now. 

He left the cockpit after a while, setting the navigation for Nevarro. He needed to return his bounties; they needed more supplies to fix the Crest. More importantly, he needed to meet with Bo Katan and rid the galaxy of the man he hated most. 

Whatever happened in the hull, the Crest had nearly been desecrated. He hadn’t let her see his shock when they walked up the ramp; he had been far more concerned with the state she was in. But the destruction inside was enough to tell him she fought hard. The metal frame of the hull was littered with blaster holes, now burnt into gaping black spaces. Crates were destroyed, vibro blade marks scattered the floor paneling, and worst of it all was the blood that covered almost everything. 

Mando couldn’t distinguish where one body started and the other ended. Each one was massacred to the point he could no longer identify them by face or body. He shuddered at the images that burned into his memory. He had never seen such brutality before. She had poured every ounce of her anger into those rounds of shots, and his heart ached for her. She held so much pain and fear, always staying strong for him, that in those moments of survival, she let them consume her. 

He didn’t know what they had done to her, and anger seized him every time he thought of the possibilities. When she was ready to open up, he’d listen. But he would be patient. Grief and guilt consumed her. 

But he would be damned if he let her pain be her pain alone. 

Hours passed, and he had finished cleaning what he could of the Crest and found himself settling into the silence of the cockpit. She was still sleeping heavily in his bed, and he needed to find the right words to calm her when she woke.

She killed them, but she wasn’t a murderer.

She fought for herself. She was strong.

She survived. 

But more importantly, he needed to prove his loyalty to her. He would remain at her side no matter what the galaxy threw at them because she meant more to him than any Creed or Clan. He needed her to see him even if she wasn’t ready. 

**

You awoke in a blazing silence that sat heavy around you. Every muscle in your body screamed in pain, the adrenaline rush now fully satiated. Waking alone was jarring, and you feared for a moment you hadn’t survived. Was this hell? The silence was deafening, the darkness thick and washing over you. 

Where was Mando? 

With a rasping voice, you called out for him. You peeled your body away from the bed, scared to revisit the horrors inside the hull. But as you limped around in the darkness, there was no trace left of the bodies that had been laid out. Aside from the lingering blaster holes, everything had been cleaned. Your heart seemed to seize with a profound sense of gratitude. Mando had done this for you. Somewhere inside you, you knew that. 

“You’re awake,” his voice was rough. 

You jolted at his sudden appearance, leaning against the ladder of the cockpit. He was in nothing but his pilot suit and helmet, the dark visor tracking you as you walked the path through the empty space. His presence soothed the ache in your bones, and you so desperately needed to feel his arms wrapped around you. 

“You cleaned it.” 

His helmet dipped, the silence fading back into place. You paced around, your feet drifting you closer to his body. He didn’t move, only watched you silently. You had been used to the silence, but now all you wanted was his words filling the air around you. You needed to drown out the silence.

“I’m sorry—I… It’s all a blur.” 

“I know, angel.” 

“I didn’t—.”

“Stop,” he said. The word sounded strained, hurt. Had you hurt him? 

This ship was his home, and you let so much damage come to it. You failed him. You failed yourself. 

He pushed off the ladder, stalking you in the darkness. A thread tethered between the two of you wound tight, pulling you both closer until you were toe to toe. His height forced your neck to bend, eyes searching for something hidden behind the helmet. You inhaled the smell of smoke and gunpowder falling off his body; it smelled like home.

“First, please do not apologize,” he started. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his gloved fingers smoothing your skin.

“Second,” he exhaled, “You are not a murderer. You did exactly what I would ask, and that is to fight.”

You nodded slowly, trying to believe the words he said. It was so easy for him to say those things, but living with them was harder for you. 

“I’m proud of you, angel. So proud.”

More tears streamed down your face. He saw past the destruction, past the pain, and saw right into you. Darkness lingered inside you, and you knew he saw and understood it. You were two souls entangled, lost together within the chaos. He made you feel seen. 

“I’ve held so much inside myself,” you shakily exhaled. “It all just came crashing down. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop myself. I—It was like I was outside of my body.”

“I need you to understand what you did wasn’t wrong.”

Your tears hadn’t yet subsided; they blurred your vision, and all you could do was bury yourself in his arms. Mando wrapped himself around you, pinning you to his body, holding you through each shaky breath. 

You pulled away, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist. Mando reached toward his helmet with an audible exhale, his fingers curving under the metal. Instinct told you to slam your eyes shut, and that’s exactly what you did. You wanted to see him; you were ready. But it still didn’t feel real. The moment his helmet came off, everything would become a reality, and you’d never have to imagine what he looked like again. He’d officially ruin his loyalty and abandon his Creed, and you still grappled with the selfishness inside you that was taking him from that. Would he regret it? 

“Mando—.” You tried to protest.

He hushed you quietly, and then came the sound of your name. Unmodulated. Raw and real. The sound was far more delicious off his tongue without a filter. Your name was almost your undoing, your eyes watering again and squeezing tighter. He said your name again, now a plea of his lips.

“I want you to see me. Whatever I am without this armor, I am yours,” he confessed. “My loyalty for my Creed is stripped away now. You are my Creed, and all I know is you. Please, angel, just open your eyes.”

Your lips trembled, your cheeks hot and wet from an endless flow of tears that would not cease. 

“Mando,” you whispered. 

A beat of silence passed. “Din. My… My name is Din.”

And there it was: the dam breaking. Your eyes slowly opened, and everything around you ceased to exist. Even in the shadowed darkness, his features began to morph into an actual reality. Here he was— Din—standing before you, stripped bare of his Creed. 

Dark curls stuck to his forehead matted from the helmet, but you yearned to run your fingers through them. They curled around his temples, graying in some places. His skin was tan despite never seeing the sun, and his chin was covered in days-old stubble, greying along the edges of his jawline. And his eyes… maker, his eyes. Pools of chocolate that caught the light even in the darkest space. They were radiant and glowing as you drew in a shaky breath. Everything you had searched for lay within those irises. Soft, warm, inviting. His lips were just as welcoming, the bottom one more pouty than the top, the curve of his lazy smile, everything you had imagined— yet so far from what you had expected. He was beautiful, encompassed in a rough exterior and soft features.

“Din,” you whispered.

His eyes shut, his lips forming a brilliant smile.

“Maker, I’ve wanted to hear your voice say my name for so long.”

Then his lips were crashing into yours, desperate and hungry. This was coming home. Passion, agony, longing, needing. Every unsaid emotion spoken in tongues, searching for each other. Your fingers tangled themselves in his curls, sweat still dampening them as you raked your nails over his scalp. He let out a satisfied groan against your open mouth, and you swallowed every unmodulated sound. Maker, you loved the noises he made. Craved them. Needed them. 

His arm snaked around your waist, the other pulling your leg around his torso. You lifted the other, pressing yourself to him, wanting every space between your bodies to dissolve until there was no telling where you began and he ended. His hand came up to hold your neck, fingers brushing over your skin as he claimed you with another bruising kiss. You moaned against him, feeling his hardness pressing against your body. You met his need with a deep ache in your core, desperate to know the way his face would twist into bliss when he was buried inside you. You wanted to see every face he could make— every emotion. 

You pulled from his lips hesitantly, eyes roaming over a face so new but so known within your soul. Lips swollen, you smiled broadly at him, disarmed and content. This was your Mando. Your Din. 

Din.

Maker, knowing his name, was a gift on its own. 

And the words tumbled out before you could catch them.

“I love you, Din.”

His eyes blazed with profound emotion, softness, and darkness blurring within the gold flecks inside his chocolate pools. His head dipped into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouth kisses against your neck. You could feel the hum from his chest against your pulse, your thighs squeezing his torso as you quelled the need that bubbled under the surface.

“I love you,” he mumbled, kissing softly against the shell of your ear. “Maker, so much. I love you so much, angel.”

You ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly until his eyes met yours.

“Then fuck me like you love me,” you demanded. 

He unraveled.

Everything moved in a blur as he walked you back against the wall of the cargo hold, his mouth leaving sweltering kisses down your neck and collarbone. The pain from your injuries still radiated faintly through your body, but you could shove it aside to relish in his touch on you. 

“I need you, Din,” you whined, his lips trailing down your sternum as he pulled down your sleep shirt. 

His mouth ravished your breasts, his teeth grazing over your nipples and soft flesh, leaving bruises in their wake. He was marking you. And you fucking loved it.

You pulled at his soft curls, basking in the feel of his hair through your fingers. You had ached to know how he felt under the helmet, no matter how selfish, and you reveled in knowing every part of him now. 

His lips crashed against yours, his hand coming up to your throat and squeezing lightly. You moaned into his open mouth, and he swallowed every sound you made.

“You’re mine, angel,” he growled. “Fucking love you s’much.”

He pulled you from the wall, lowering you both to the ground without a care to make it to the bed. That was fine with you. You needed him inside you now. Pulling at his flight suit, Din stripped it off in one move, then returned his attention to your sleep clothes. You shed your shirt, hissing at the cold of the floor beneath you. He ripped away at your shorts, exposing your whole body to him. 

Scars and all, he loved you. Maker, he loved you. You would never tire of it.

“I can’t promise I’ll be gentle,” he confessed, his hand roaming down your stomach. You squirmed under his touch, lifting your hips with a whine, hoping he would move his touch lower. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You nodded, eyes heavy-lidded now. “Give me all of it, Din. I can take it. Just want you now.”

His hand traveled lower, feeling you slick between your thighs already. A groan escaped his lips as he pushed two fingers in, your body flexing around them as he curled them inside you. His tempo sped up, the only noises filling the space coming from your breathy moans as he hit the spot that made you see stars.

“Din!” You cried, clawing at his arms as he pulled the orgasm from your body. Your back arched off the floor, your cunt clamping around his fingers as stars around you exploded.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, leaning down to capture your lips against his. 

Wasting no time, Din aligned with your core, thrusting to the hilt. You screamed out his name, legs wrapping around his waist as he drew back and plunged in again. His thrusts were hard and brutal, your skin biting against the metal floor. It was piercing and violent, but you drank in the way he claimed every part of you. 

“Fuck,” he rasped your name, his hand wrapping your neck. You took a deep breath before he tightened his hold, drawing the air from your body. 

His pace quickened, his cock bruising against your cervix in a ferocity he hadn’t even shown before. You were entirely at his mercy, unraveling under his hold until another orgasm simmered under the surface.

“Please,” you gasped under his choking grip. 

With his other hand, Din found your clit and began rubbing in slow circles until you were crying for release. His hand squeezed tighter until your vision blurred, and everything but he disappeared around you.

“Cum for me, angel. Give me everything,” he growled, his brown eyes clicking with yours. There was so much fire behind his eyes, hunger and thirst that gazed upon you. 

Your body obeyed, and you thrashed under him, tossed into the current of euphoria as your cunt clenched his cock into a vice. His breath came out ragged as his body tensed with his release, filling you full until he slumped against you. His hand fell off your neck, tangling into the mess of your hair. 

You gasped for a lung full of breaths, your arms snaking around his broad shoulders to hold him against you. With his cock still nestled deep inside you, you kissed below his ear and down his neck.

“Keep doing that, and I’ll never want to stop fucking you,” he groaned, thrusting softly into you.

You lifted your hips to meet him thrust for thrust, your body moving with his. You couldn’t get enough of him, only wanting everything he could give you. 

He was yours. All yours. This mysterious bounty hunter: your salvation and savior. He saw every part of you and still loved you. You would never be alone again in this galaxy, always protected and always loved.

“I love you, Din,” you whispered, stroking his untamed curls. You could feel his smile against your skin, a smile for you and you alone. You’d never tire of his face and the beauty of it.

“I love you, angel,” he sighed.

His cock grew harder inside you, and you could feel an orgasm coiling inside your core again. You were insatiable, just as he was. 

In one swift move, Din had you pinned on your stomach, his hands yanking your hips up until your knees were scraping the ground. 

“Fuck!” You cried as he filled you once again.

His hips connected with yours with each thrust, your cunt sore and crying for release. You could feel yourself coming undone again, a strange feeling unraveling inside you. The orgasm was close; you knew it, but something foreign inside you pushed you closer to the edge. His cock was jackhammering into you, hitting your core at the right angle, and without warning, your body caved into the release, your cunt drenching him. 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, fingers bruising your hips. “Fuckin’ soaking me, baby.”

You didn’t even have the energy in you to be embarrassed by the liquid seeping out of you as he continued pounding into your body. All you could feel was the wetness rolling down your thighs and his body pressing against you. His hips began to rock slower, deeper, harder until he was cuming inside you with your name falling off his lips. 

Din rested his body weight on you, his hands brushing away the dampened hair from your face. Your breathing was ragged as you came down from your high, your body alight with pain and bliss. With a soft kiss to your temple, Din rolled off your body, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. You turned your head to face him, body slumping into the ground as you gathered your bearings. Your cunt ached from his roughness, yet you still felt insatiable. But your body throbbed with pain from your injuries again, and you groaned into the metal floor.

“Was it too much?” He asked, brushing away the hair from your face. 

You muttered a soft no, curling into his body. The feeling of his bare chest against yours was everything you had dreamed it to be. You ran your fingers up his stomach, tugging at his chest hair lightly before tracing the outline of his collarbone. You were memorizing every inch of his body, too in awe to believe this was real. Lifting your face to meet his, you kissed along his jawline, finding a gap in his scruff where his skin was smooth and warm. 

“You love me,” you sighed. 

“I think I have since the start,” he admitted. 

“Even when I was a pain in the ass?” You teased. 

His laugh rumbled through his chest, the sound of it so beautiful.

“You still are, angel.”

He rolled on top of you, caging you between his muscular frame. He dipped his head down to capture your lips in a soft kiss, coaxing your mouth open to slip his tongue over yours. You let out a small whine, feeling his cock harden against your thigh. You were both so fucking insatiable. 

“I need to taste you,” he moaned. 

Kissing down your body, Din pulled your thighs around his shoulders, careful to avoid your injury. As his head dipped lower, your breath stalled, the slickness between your thighs a devastating revelation into how much you needed him. His mouth trailed further, wet lips meeting your inner thighs. You careened back, your head pushing further into the metal floor.

“So fucking perfect,” he whispered, mouth grazing your wet cunt.

“Please,” You begged.

Wasting no more time, his mouth was on you, tongue devouring anything it could touch. You squirmed at the sensitivity of your cunt, his tongue drawing slow circles around your clit. Strangled groans of pleasure erupted from his chest as you bucked your hips against his tongue, begging for more. Taking control, Din shoved his tongue inside you, gathering every bit of juice leaking out, forcing a wave of pleasure to surge through your belly. 

“Din—.” Your voice was hoarse, a sob choking your words. 

Your pleas were cut off as his mouth clamped around your clit, sucking it until you were shaking through an orgasm. A cry of relief fell from your lips, your thighs clenching around his thick neck, his shoulders keeping them in place as you returned to your body. His eyes peered up at you through dark lashes, a wave of desire flashing through his irises. 

“I think you can give me one more,” he challenged. 

His tongue darted out, licking up your folds and pressing against the throbbing bud of your clit. He didn’t even move his tongue, only applying pressure against it while you fought off another surging orgasm. Your hands reached out to grip his curls, holding him against your cunt as you rolled your hips. His growl vibrated against your body and his fingers bruised your hips as he held you tighter. 

“Ride my face, angel,” he rasped. 

Your body was shaking as you ground your clit against his tongue. You caved in to the feral need to cum for him, your entire body electrified by the sensation of his mouth against you. Your mouth fell open, and you exhaled his name as the orgasm tore through you, ripping you apart from the inside out. Everything was heightened around you; the feel of his tongue lapping at your swollen clit, the stubble on his jaw rubbing against your skin, the soft curls of his hair that intertwined between your fingers. You must have cried through the last orgasm because your cheeks were damp with tears, and you could taste their saltiness rolling onto your lips. 

“C’mere,” you whispered, yanking at his curls. 

Din climbed over you, peppering your sweaty skin with kisses as he made his way back up, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck. Maker, you were the luckiest woman in the galaxy. 

He was yours; body and soul. 

“Din,” you whispered, massaging his shoulders. 

He groaned at your touch, his body weight pressing into you. 

“Yes, angel?”

“Thank you.”

He nipped at your neck, humming against your skin. 

“For what?” He asked. 

“Saving me.” You meant it in more ways than one.

“Always,” he promised.

#mando x reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando #mandalorian fanfic #star wars fanfiction #helmetless!din #so much fluff #eat your heart out

[aithorin]

oh, baby, I am a wreck when I'm without you - Lady Dimitrescu x Reader - Part 1 (Eventual 18+)

Synopsis: As Lady Dimitrescu’s loyal personal maid, you have watched for years as others have come and gone from your Mistress’ bed, desperately wishing you could take their place. Yet despite your deep love for Lady Dimitrescu, she has never once looked at you that way. Years of repressed pain reach their breaking point when you accidentally walk in on one of your mistress’ trysts, for it is then that you finally accept that she will never truly see you. You confront her in hopes of stepping down as her personal maid but soon discover that Lady Dimitrescu won’t so easily let you go.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49435549/chapters/124759192

A/N: Part 1 of 3. Part 2 and Part 3 are here.

________

She is always particularly stunning at times like these, in the moments before bed when it is just the two of you. Bathed in the dim light of a dying fire, the warm tones of the flames dance across her pale skin, rendering her with an ethereal delicacy akin to the airy paint strokes of Degas himself. Alone in her room and away from prying eyes, she lowers the walls she keeps built so high, softening her features in a way very few get to see. Here, she is simply Alcina, not Lady Dimitrescu, feared matriarch of House Dimitrescu, and you’ve never found her more beautiful.

Slipping out the final pin binding her meticulous updo together, the last of Lady Dimitrescu’s soft curls cascade down to join the other locks resting freely just below her shoulders. Though no longer forced into place, the wisps of hair still frame her face well, seeming to intuitively adhere to the inherent elegance that surrounds her. It’s a sight you’ll never tire of seeing. Hands reaching out, you fluff her hair, fingertips lingering in an attempt to prolong your time together. They ghost along the nape of her neck, pushing the bounds of propriety, and you savor every stolen touch, no matter how brief they may be. It is, after all, the closest you’ll ever be to her, and well, beggars can’t be choosers. 

Swallowing around the yearning that threatens to consume you, the thought that you’d give anything to remain frozen like this briefly crosses your mind. You don’t want the night to end. Here, in the safety of these walls, you’re able to pretend that she’s yours. You brush her hair, not as a servant carrying out the command of her master, but as a lover displaying her affection. You don’t want to let go, for when you do, the illusion will shatter and take any hope of true happiness with it. 

The rules of decorum call for otherwise, however. And so, with great effort, you pull your hands back to your side and step down from your place behind her, head bowing slightly as you await further orders. Seated at her vanity, Lady Dimitrescu barely spares you a second glance as her hands reach up to fill your place. “That will be all. You’re dismissed.” She says.

Straight to the point, just like always. You should have been used to it by now, the coldness with which she spoke to you. And maybe you would have been, if you didn’t know that she was capable of warmth. But you’d seen the way she doted on the maidens that caught her eye, how she spoiled them. Those lucky few were blessed with the privilege of bathing in the inferno of her passion while you barely managed to grasp onto the dying embers. And the scraps that you could get, well, they did little to fill the ever-growing hole in your heart that her indifference fostered. Despite the unceasing pain it brought though, you were certain you’d never stop chasing her affection. 

But you are a servant first and a pining fool second, so nodding stiffly, you turn and murmur, “Yes, Mistress.” 

With a quick curtsy that you’re sure she doesn’t even see, you spin on your heel and begin to make your way towards the door. The facade drops, having no reason left to hide. Unbidden tears spring in your eyes as the hurt that squeezes your fragile, battered heart begins to crawl up your throat, threatening to choke you with its immensity. The slow, steady pace of your steps gradually increase, becoming erratic as emotion threatens to overwhelm you. By the time you reach the doors, you’re all but running, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of the room. 

Your hands hurriedly reach out to grasp the handles, and you yank the doors open only to stop short as you come face to face with another servant. Her own hand hangs in the hair, poised to knock. Momentary surprise flashes across her face, her eyes widening as her lips round into a perfect little o, but she quickly regains her composure. She straightens, attempting to appear confident; however, her clasped, fidgeting hands betray her.

Hesitantly, she raises her eyes to meet yours. She says, “Lady Dimitrescu asked to see me.” 

It comes out like a question rather than a statement, but her words nevertheless hit you like a smack to the face. You thought you recognized her, and this is why. She’s the lady’s newest flavor of the month. Day in and day out, they waltz in, having a brief but passionate tryst with the lady. They never last long, barely half a month, and the maidens are often never seen again. Yet the disappearances do nothing to diminish your longing to be chosen. You never are though. In the three years you’ve been at the castle, Lady Dimitrescu has never once looked in your direction, and you doubt she ever will. 

As you stand there, staring at the girl who withers beneath your prolonged silence, jealousy rears its ugly head. It crackles down your spine, snarling like a caged beast and urges you to devour the girl before you. Yet it quickly vanishes as rational thought returns, leaving nothing but bleak melancholy in its place. It wasn’t her fault that you were so inadequate. It wasn’t her fault that she’d piqued the lady’s interest, and you hadn’t. She simply suited your mistress’ taste, and you…did not. It was time you accepted that, no matter how much it hurt. 

Deflated, you step aside while gesturing for her to come in, and she cautiously does so. She tiptoes past you, obviously still intimidated. You are soon forgotten though. Upon leaving your immediate vicinity, her nerves seem to melt away, for she practically skips over to Lady Dimitrescu. 

Remaining rooted to your spot, dread pools in your stomach. You should leave. You need to leave. After all, there is only so much you can take in a single evening. The thought of being forced to bear their affectionate interactions makes you sick. 

It takes you a second too long to muster up the courage. The maiden’s voice floats into the air, all lilting tones and cherubic innocence. “You called for me, my lady?”

The change in Lady Dimitrescu is instantaneous. Though you cannot see her, you can hear her: the way her clothes rustle as she stands, the scrape of the chair against the floor, the delight in her voice as she exclaims, “Imogen dear! You’re just in time.” You imagine that the dazzling smile you’d only ever seen directed towards others sits plastered on her face as she stretches out her arms and leans down to embrace her newest lover. The thought of it being true torments you. 

The drastic shift pierces you like a dagger to the heart. Stiffening, you keep yourself from turning around, unwilling to subject yourself to the misery of seeing your Mistress happy with someone who isn’t you, and quickly hurry out of the room. This time, the tears do fall as you all but sprint back to your chambers, where you remain for the rest of the night agonizing over why it was never you.

Unbeknownst to you though, Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes stray to your retreating form as she holds her visitor, intense longing all of her own lingering in their depths.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #resident evil x reader #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #re8 alcina #re village #lady dimitrescu x y/n #x reader #reader #reader insert #reader is female #castle dimitrescu #eventual smut #angst #angst with a happy ending #heavy angst #angst and feels #heartache #pining #mutual pining #hurt comfort #hurt/comfort

[ceruleancattail]

Ace Trappola

Kitsune - Belonging to Japanese mythology, Kitsune (狐, きつね) take the form of foxes whose paranormal abilities grow along with their age. This is attributed to their wisdom. According to traditional folklore, all Kitsune have the capabilities to transform into Humans. Some stories may speak of kitsune using their talents to deceive others, characteristic of foxes in myths, other stories show them as faithful guardians, loyal friends, and even passionate lovers…

Ace has a mischievous streak. Try as he might, he’ll never truly grow out of it. You’ll feel feather-light touches trailing down your shoulder blades whenever you think you’re alone, and your belongings are replaced by wisps of fire, disappearing before your eyes.

Don’t be too mad, Master. Ace will always return what he took. He ain’t no thief, so rest easy, yeah?

He tags along with your hunts. Surprisingly, he’s rather skilled at passing off as a normal human. With a jacket hanging loosely over his shoulders, and a beanie tugged over his head, Ace looks just like another passer-by. Unfortunately, he’s rather fond of whipping off that beanie, revealing a pair of pointed fox ears. He opts to tug the beanie over your eyes instead, snickering at your surprised yelps.

He walks right beside you, close enough for you to feel your shoulders bump into his. Ace is rather fond of using his elbow to jab at you playfully at random intervals. Each time, you turn and look at him quizzically. Every single time, no matter how annoyed you get.

Master, you really don’t leave a dude hanging, huh? Always biting onto the bait, no matter how many times Ace dangles it in front of your face. You should really know better by now, but you still look at him. Even after all he’s done.

 Man, you’re a riot! You really make him want to mess with you more.

Despite his snarky words, Ace does care for you. Maybe a little more than he’ll like to admit, honestly. His tails tend to slip around your waist after a long day, supporting your every step. They’re soft, aren’t they? Just for today, he’ll allow you to lean on them, so you better be grateful, master!

He tends to swipe your keys whenever you’re fatigued. Ace does notice more than he’ll care to let on. Really, he can’t even begin to fathom your obsession of collecting mystical creatures… ain’t he enough? Even so, he’ll refuse to allow you to run yourself ragged. Arms wrapping around your waist, he’ll hold you there. Engage you in conversation, making witty comments that leave you fuming. Flaring up in argument, you squabble with him, arms akimbo. He’ll take the snarky side-comments, if it meant that your attention was on him now.

If you refuse to spar with him verbally, he’ll hold you tightly in an embrace. A tight one, tails slipping around everything they can hold. He’ll drag you to the bed, and refuse to let go until you promise to give yourself a break.

 Hey, if you insist on being stubborn, Ace can put up a pretty good fight. Fingers rubbing against the sides of your hips, he’ll tickle you until you’re breathless, tears pooling up at the corner of your eyes.

Come on, Master. You have to look after yourself more. Honestly, the things you make him do for your sake….

He finds himself cooking whenever you come home late. Don’t expect anything fancy. Just some simple dishes, maybe a packet of instant ramen. A college’s student repertoire. Yet every bite warms your heart nonetheless.

In moments of silence, Ace finds himself leaning towards you. Slotting his head into the crook of your neck, tails draping themselves around you like a huge weighted blanket. You’ve grown used to the sight, sighing in comfort. Melting into Ace’s touch like ice left to the mercy of the sun’s golden rays.

He was warm. Like the sun’s rays, engulfing you in its warmth. Surrounding your very form with a gentle ember glow, a halo. 

What did folks always say? “Don’t stare directly at the sun, or you’ll go blind.”

Gazing at Ace’s beautiful scarlet eyes doesn’t seem like the worst way to go out.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #ace trappola #ace x reader #twst ace #ace trappola x reader #mystic #kitsune ace #kitsune ace x reader #kitsune ace trappola x reader #kitsune ace trappola #lucky charm🔷