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moongreenlight · 7 months

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“Realistic Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons” and then it’s just the fun police.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

- It makes me want to scoop my fucking brain out with a spoon when people say that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is some shy, anxious soft boy. I really do not believe he’d need to be coddled after a nightmare or babied when he’s feeling angsty. He is fine, y’all. Please don’t call paw patrol.

He is a soldier. He’s a war criminal. He is traumatized to the point of numbness. He is fucked up and weird and insane and honestly I think that we should all let everybody have their thing.

I cannot fix him. I do not want to fix him. I can only make him worse.

- Sorry but I just cannot write him having any kind of romantic feelings toward Soap. I like writing their dynamic more brotherly.

Furthest they’ve gone is ‘locker room gay.’

Like Johnny sends him dick pics on occasion because he thinks it’s funny and it pisses Ghost off.

That being said, I do read the occasional Ghoap fic. I’m not a perfect person. Sometimes it’s just yummy delicious.

- Feel like he’s the kind of freak to intentionally go to the gym without headphones. Something about discipline. Opting to just stare at the wall in front of him while he’s doing cardio or counting repetitions of exercises.

But on the rare occasion that he does indulge himself, he has a playlist of like 5-6 songs he likes and when it ends he just goes back to silence. Divorced dad rock. Chorded headphones only.

- Doesn’t have the debilitating commitment issues as people paint him out to have. Just commitment-phobic. Obviously stems from his past. He’s got that sexy deep rooted fear of abandonment or something horrible happening to people he actually lets close to him. But he’s not completely turned off by the idea of romantic attachments or close friends, just a little hesitant to open himself up to that kind of opportunity.

Probably very cagey about romantic partners. Doesn’t want the guys to know about you. Doesn’t keep pictures of you around his bunk or anything like that. He’s worried it’ll somehow compromise your safety. Worried about you getting swept up in his work.

- Women’s rights? Or Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley? I really do think he’d love to have a partner who lets him provide *everything* for them. He just wants to serve and protect. Wants his bird to be in a gilded cage all nice and safe and reliant on him for survival.

Doesn’t even really like the idea of you going to the grocery store by yourself. Would prefer if you just stayed put and tended his home and cooked him meals and let him dote on you and provide everything you could ever need.

- Has a really strange understanding of technology. He’s fine with the newer military stuff. That’s his element. He can do electrical wiring, set up a TV, install security cameras. That’s all whatever. But a cell phone? He doesn’t give a shit enough to keep up with the new updates and all the new things you have to learn when you get a smartphone. Wishes he would have kept a flip phone.

Texts like this: [OK. See youtonight.]

MAYBE has a private Facebook with no profile picture where the only things on his wall are Price wishing him a happy birthday every year.

His camera roll is like; 97 accidental screenshots of his Lock Screen, a few pictures of him and the task force boys, the inside of his pocket (another accident), a sunrise, a few cool things he found on missions, 34 pictures of Soap and Gaz when they took his phone.

- Insufferable in the early stages of trying to date him. Little to no communication other than basically demanding you meet him somewhere. Texting or talking on the phone? Like pulling fucking teeth. You think he’d rather be dead.

It was a headache getting him to go out in the first place. Maybe you worked at a bar where the guys would come to have a drink after a long day. He’s a little stand-offish but he’s handsome and he knows how to banter well enough for you to be persuaded by a coworker to slip him your number after you complained one too many times about a shit hookup or yet another terrible first date. It takes him nearly two weeks to phone you.

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“Didn’t think I would either.”

He takes you out once, you think he seems sort-of interested, then he doesn’t phone or text you back for three days. You get over it. A few more dates in. You can tell he’s a bit more relaxed. A bit more open. You’re less worried that you’re a terrible conversationalist. Then he goes on a month long deployment without saying anything in advance. Radio fucking silent yet again. You want to tear your hair out. When he finally gets back, he’ll text you something like [Atthat pub you like. Drinks ?] completely out of the blue. You think you may actually go insane.

- Once he’s gotten used to you, it’s like the sole purpose of his life is to be your protector even if you’ve only recently convinced yourself he may want something casual. You’re small and grab-able. He knows how nasty people can be and what think when they see you. He needs to know that you’re taken care of, kept safe from such a scary world.

So he’ll just linger around you. All the time. Standing behind you when you’re at the till at the store, staring down the cashier who was only trying to be friendly when they asked if you had any fun plans for the rest of the day. Big arms folded over his chest. Looming so largely he threatens to eclipse you without taking a single step forward. Eyes burning a hole into the poor person who hastily finishes the transaction without another word.

Walking silently next to you in the evenings after you’re both off work; close enough to brush shoulders, but that’s about it. Listening to you chirp on about your day. Occasionally offering a small grunt of acknowledgement or a few words of interjection. Always walks on the side of the path that he thinks could pose you the most immediate danger. Shielding you from what may lurk in a darkened alley or a hedge or a small thicket of trees.

Scary dog privilege, but like… for when you go to fill your car up with gas in broad daylight in a good part of town and he insists on standing out there with you. ‘Just in case’ If he even lets you out of the car in the first place.

- AND OFF THAT POINT. I think once he’s decided that he’s actually fond of you, it goes from zero to a hundred so fast it makes your head spin.

Like the last time you spoke, it was still unclear on if you were keeping things casual or not and now you’re at dinner and the waiter just asked him if the two of you wanted dessert and Simon just grunts “dunno. Ask the missus.” ??? He sucks so bad I NEED him.

- As much as I love an overly possessive and jealous Simon, I saw this tweet that said “My girlfriend can wear what she wants because she’s a hoe and I knew that before we started dating” and it changed my life.

He’s secure enough not to need to cause a scene if someone makes a pass on you in public. He understands that you’re attractive and that other people are bound to find you attractive too. (Not that he doesn’t still want to pull their fingernails out one by one, threatening them and everything they love for daring to exist near you. He’s just got better control over himself than that. King.)

He knows he’s better than any of your other options. Nobody else could keep you as safe as he could. They don’t know the world like he does. They don’t know how breakable you are. How sweet and naive you can be.

Not to say he isn’t overly jealous and possessive, he just won’t pitch a fit in public.

LIKE dragging him to the bar with your friends and he sits at the table with all of your drinks. Him watching you dancing out of the corner of his eye, seeing some prat come up and grab your ass in passing. Or a group of guys dancing with your friends getting a little *too* close to you for his liking. He doesn’t do anything while the two of you are out- not wanting to ruin your fun. But that night after you’ve gotten back to his flat (He insisted. Closer to the bar. Uber was cheaper.) and he’s tearing your miniskirt off like it’s personally offended him. He’ll be a little rougher. A little more liberal with the marks his mouth leaves on your collarbones and inner thighs. His strong hands will grab at the fat of your hips a little harder than he should- leaving bruises where his fingers dug in. He’ll lean over you while you’re split open with his length, snarling down at you. “Had everyone’s attention tonight, didn’t you, pet?“ “You like havin’ eyes on you?” “Greedy fuckin’ slag.” “Can’t appreciate what you have.” “Need a reminder of who you’ve got to impress.” Maybe he’ll take you in front of a mirror, massive hand fixed on your jaw. Jerking your face up so you have to look at yourself being ruined by him. How pretty and slutty you look when your makeup is ruined by the tears he’s fucking out of you.

- He calls you ‘bird’ or ‘pet’ more often than anything else. A little on the nose for how he treats you. Like you’re some small, frail thing that can’t go a day without him. Stripped of your natural survival instincts and instead leaning on him for support and comfort and food and shelter. Just how he likes it.

GOD he’s a fucking freak. Gross and mean and fucked in the head. Makes my stomach hurt. I hate him. I wish I was schizophrenic so I could vividly hallucinate him.

#simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #cod x reader #call of duty smut #cod smut #141 headcanons #headcanon #drabble

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mockerycrow · 8 months

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Talk About Sensitivity In The COD Fandom **Important.**

THIS IS NOT A DEBATE POST. DO NOT BOTHER.

Hey, everyone. After the reveal of Makarov in the trailer (as well as general concern), I think a chat about sensitivity is important. Since the trailer’s release, I have seen a major increase in simping for Makarov posts as well as genuine romanticization of Russia and/or Russian Soldiers. First, I want to talk about the romanticization of Russia and/or Russian soldiers because it’s seriously getting out of hand. I need you guys to realize that Russia is an ultranationalist country and yes, maybe not everyone who lives there believes what their government does, but it’s important to know a big portion of their population does. I have seen multiple posts and edits of this man right here (pictures below).

THIS GUY IS NOT SOMEONE YOU SHOULD LIKE, AND PEOPLE NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT HE DOES NOT LIKE YOU. This is one of the most popular Russian Soldiers amongst the internet due to the way he wears a mask, gear, has an accent, and is buff. He makes videos teaching soldiers how to kill people—innocent people in Ukraine who are just trying to survive. I have seen people straight up ignore when someone tells them what this man has done, so let me put it this way—he does not like you. He wants you dead. He is racist, a homophobe, transphobe, antisemitic, etc. He absolutely hates The West, and he does not like you unless you are a cis, straight, white 100% Russian. Even if you’re a woman, he DOES NOT LIKE YOU. If you American, HE DOES NOT WANT YOU ALIVE.

[This part is not targeted; just a general statement.] Second; there is a serious problem with how you guys address Makarov as a character. There is absolutely no problem enjoying him as a villain because I do too, but you guys have to realize that Makarov is an ultranationalist—which is exactly what Russia is right now, an ultranationalist terrorist state. “But he’s fictional, it doesn’t matter! it’s not that deep!” It actually is that deep. I keep seeing content for Makarov and I can’t force anyone to stop making “fluffy fics”, but I need y’all to have some fucking decency towards victims and people affected by the war. I know people who are affected by the war who feel ill seeing posts painting Makarov in a good light. If you are going to write Makarov, do NOT romanticize him as a character—do NOT paint him a decent or good light, because you can’t. Write him like the bastard he is. And no, this isn’t a “let people write what they wanna write” situation. You can do that, but please be expected to be judged and blocked by me and many others. Makarov is quite literally the characterization of everything that is wrong with Russia, and what HAS been wrong with Russia. Makarov is not a bad boy, a rebel, etc, he’s a fucking terrorist. Please be for real. “But the military in general is bad, so why does it matter specifically around Makarov?” Please see above my previous reasons. Thanks.

The overall message of this point is to be fucking respectful. There are actual people dying and slaughtered for no reason other than ruined pride and a lot of Ukrainian folk seek comfort and distractions in the internet and their fandoms. This ruins it for them and quite frankly, sometimes how Makarov is being written? It’s completely insensitive. Anyway, below are a few links where you can directly support the efforts and the people of Ukraine. Peace and love, and please write with critical thinking.

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baguette8765 · 24 days

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ATTENTION HUSKERDUST/ANGELHUSK SHIPPERS! Do I have your attention? Awesome.

Okay, hear me out:

We all understand Angel is going through a lot with his horrible boss, truama, constantly being exploited and such, and the comfort and reassurance and safety and love Husk gives him in the fanart and fics is great, I love that for him, don't get me wrong,..

BUT!

What about Husk's suffering? He's an ex overlord, hates his demon form, owned by Alastor, probably a war vet, and is pretty mentally fucked up too. So I ask:Where is Husk's suffering? When is it his turn to be the walking tragedy, the one needing saving, comfort, protection, and reassurance? When does he get to be huddled in a corner, all vulnerable? I'm not saying I WANT him to constantly go through pain, but maybe a moment where Angel and Husk fall asleep together and Husk has a nightmare? Angel comforting Husk after Alastor gets mad at him? Angel helping Husk with PTSD/shellshock? Angel helping Husk take care of himself? Angel taking care of Husk? THE OLD MAN NEEDS SOME LOVE TOO! All I ask is thay we let Husk be broken too. Pretty please?

EDIT:Turns out he's not a war vet. Removed that part. Whoopsies.

EDIT 2:I'm pretty sure he's a war vet, with how he stands straight when Vaggie uses a military voice in ep 5 and spills coffee on himself, so I'm adding that part back :P

#huskerdust #angelhusk #hazbin hotel #angel x husk #husk x angel dust #Hear me out #loser baby #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel husk

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topherwrites · 30 days

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FIC RECS: TOP GUN: MAVERICK - 2!

Okay, so there was shit I forgot in my year in review rec list. I posted it and a minimum of about 10 other fics immediately came to mind. so, part 2! I also didn't put many WIPs on the first one, but I think currently in progress fics should get some love too. I'll be marking them with an asterisk.

If I made a little comment about every single fic or series here, it would be inhumanely long, so I've refrained from doing so and have just put the summaries for each.

I hope that anyone who reads this list finds something that they love on it just as much as I do! Happy reading!

P.S. If I missed anyone, I'm sorry, there was a lot to sort through!

(P.S.S. reblog the fics you like, it makes writers happy.)

part 1, if you missed it.

SOME OF THESE ARE 18+, PLEASE HEED THE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS!

JAKE SERESIN

Parking Lots and Matcha Lattes by @withahappyrefrain

In an attempt to get coffee, you meet a grade A asshole whose head you want to rip off. Meanwhile, Jake Seresin is pretty certain he just met his future wife in the parking lot of a coffee shop. AKA Jake Seresin likes mean women, pass it on.

The Hangman Special by @hangmanssunnies

On a night out with your friends at a fancy cocktail bar, you are just trying to keep your head down and ignore the girl that your ex cheated on you with. The night only seems like it's going to get worse when you are dared to kiss a stranger at the bar. However, it seems like the odds might finally be in your favor when you notice a familiar set of broad shoulders. If you can be convincing, you think you might just be able to get your brother's friend Jake "Hangman" Seresin to help you out with your little problem.

*she is both hellfire and holy water by @chemistryread

you should take it as a compliment, that I'm talking to everyone here but you.

Birds Away by @wombtotombx

You’d known Jake since you were kids, bonding over the shared experience of being military brats overseas. You were the perfect pair - he was reckless, you followed the rules; he didn’t care what others thought, you were a people-pleaser. You both became the best of the best in your field - he through sheer talent and skill, you from demonstrated grit and determination. For over two decades, everyone around you - parents, friends, even teachers - had assumed you’d both end up together, despite the fact that somehow, you never did. The Navy always had its way of keeping you two apart. Whatever possibilities there might have been, it was just never in the cards. Until you got to Fallon.

*The Backup by @ereardon

No strings attached sex never works, right? You and Jake Seresin have fallen into a bad pattern of seeking each other out for sex after dates go awry, but a year of being friends with benefits with Jake hasn’t been good for your dating life. Especially when the two of you are hiding your antics from your lifelong best friend Coyote and the rest of your tightly knit friend group. But what happens when you decide to take a step back and end the cycle with Jake to focus on your dating life? And why is it that all of the sudden Jake looks more irresistible than ever when you know he’s off limits?

Take Care of Business by @honkytonk-hangman

The last time you met Lieutenant Jake Seresin, the war was still ongoing and you’d been in a floundering engagement. Back then you’d seen the possibility for more in his eyes, and now? Well, now you could explore it.

When Jake Met Polly by @/honkytonk-hangman

Jake likes to flirt with his Air Traffic Controller or Jake Seresin has never seen When Harry Met Sally.

How It's Done (Oneshot Version) by @/honkytonk-hangman

“Like me? I didn’t even think you wanted me as a squadmate, let alone–” you stop speaking, but only because Hangman cuts his eyes sharply away from you to glare out at the ocean. “Well, I do.” He says kind of indignantly, all things considered, and eyes you almost sourly. “You can just say no if you don’t–” “–No, I do!” you quickly cut him off, because at the end of it all, you’re a little too much of a hopeless romantic to let this moment pass you by.

Twenty-Five Going on Forty-Seven by @sehnsuchts-trunken

Flirting with the guy who fixed your car turns out to lead to much, much more when you find out he’s actually not just some random guy, but your new neighbour and father’s new best friend, Jake Seresin.

BRADLEY BRADSHAW

*fever pitch by @greenorangevioletgrass

Arsenal and USMNT captain Bradley Bradshaw attends the mononymous music sensation Y/N's concert with a friendship bracelet and a dream. Little did he know that they soon embark on an epic love story fit for pop royalty...

This Love Came Back to Me by @beyondthesefourwalls

You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it.

I Like Your Cinema by @sometimesanalice

Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

‘cause no one breaks my heart like you by @heartsofminds

“Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore.” or Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though it’s hard to see).

the periphery by @youvebeenlivingfictional

You’d met Bradley a few times before the happy couple had announced their nuptials, and you’d always gotten a pretty good vibe from him. He was sweet, he was easy to talk to—and it helped that he was easy on the eyes. In fact, as soon as you’d been told that Bradley Bradshaw was going to be the Best Man, you were well on your way to having a crush on the guy.

*Hotter Than Texas by @tongue-like-a-razor

Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin’s baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley’s dream girl worst nightmare.

*flight risk by @ofstoriesandstardust

In which you and Rooster got married while at UVA for the military benefits. What started out as a mutually beneficial deal between friends years ago turns into a point of interest for Maverick, causing Rooster to have to haul you out to Fightertown to get him to shut up. While Maverick’s fussing over a marriage he didn’t know existed, Rooster’s focused on getting the ball rolling on divorce papers because really, the Navy does not need to be calling some poor girl from his college that he’s died in a horrendous accident. It’s proving to be more difficult than he expected, especially when Hangman and Phoenix take it upon themselves to encourage a friendship to become more.

How You Play the Game by @roosterforme

Bradley always loved October because of the World Series. He never expected a mix-up with the ticket he won to bring something as spectacular as you into his life. But time is fleeting, and now baseball is the last thing on his mind.

*The Intern by @/roosterforme

You barely have a minute to yourself after graduating at the top of your Ivy League class before your father insists you find an internship. Your days of lounging by the pool and partying are numbered as he has an endless parade of his colleagues visiting the house. But one of them is familiar to you in a way that warms your skin just like the San Diego sun. And it turns out, Bradley Bradshaw may just have the answers to all your problems. And those answers might be waiting for you on a yacht in the Mediterranean Sea.

there was something 'bout you by @bussyslayer333

bradley bradshaw didn’t fall in love, especially not with uptight girls in his english lit class and especially not the ones being forced into tutoring him.

*Ultraviolence by @babyonboard

You and Bradley loved each other, and Jake was just your old friend from high school who you tried to pay no mind to. At least that's how it used to be.

All Too Well by @bradleyfuckingbradshaw

You’re at dinner with your boyfriend and some of his colleagues at a restaurant he chose when you look over the menu and realize there’s no vegetarian option, but he’s too busy with his friends to realize that. Bradley isn’t.

October 3rd Promptober by @familyvideostevie

you go to a tailgate with your friend bradley.

If You Met Me First by @tip-top-cloud-surfer

Rooster confessed to Echo that he was in love with her before the mission. One minor problem: she has a boyfriend.

Home for the Holidays by @mothdruid

Bradley might have lied about having a girlfriend. His best friend, you, decide to help him out and go home for the holidays with him. As the trip unfolds, so does your and Bradley’s feelings for one another.

BOB FLOYD

*I bet this would look beautiful on film by @coridotmp3

Honey desperately needs a photographer, and Bob desperately needs a break.

Robert from Next Door by @attapullman

You've lucked out with the perfect neighbor, a kind and overly helpful WSO. He puts up Christmas lights, lends his lawn mower, and grabs your morning paper. But what happens when he's out of peppermint tea one night?

If Only the Neighbors Knew by @/attapullman

A month of stolen kisses culminates in Robert hosting the HOA meeting and getting you on his couch. The ladies of the neighborhood may make him blush, but only you can make your sweet neighbor weak in the knees.

*Golden Hour by @/ereardon

Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Ruin the Friendship by @withahappyrefrain

The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he’s learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He’s determined to fix that.

International Bob Floyd Fucks Month Masterlist

a january writing event hosted by @/attapullman

Bob from Stats by @/attapullman

College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

#jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bob floyd x reader #jake seresin #bradley bradshaw #bob floyd #tgm fanfiction #fic rec #fic rec list #queue

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mistydeyes · 9 months

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medically induced dream

GIF by sprout-fics

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summary: Your idiotic act of heroism ended with a gunshot to the sternum and an immediate surgery. That's the last thing you remembered as you woke up in a dream like state in a time period that is unfamiliar to you.

pairing: Task Force 141 x pharmacist!Reader

see her here counseling the 141

her story if she likes price

her story if she likes ghost

warnings: medical/pharmacy terminology, medical inaccuracies, swearing, depiction of wounds and violence

a/n: missed my favorite pharmacist girl! plz enjoy and peep the little easter eggs of other famous women in medicine :)

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Everyone knew you loved being a military pharmacist. It was shown through the way you interacted with patients and worked to brighten everyone's day. You loved the spontaneity of the job as well. For example, you were now on your 14th tour and were considered a veteran in the medical department.

It wasn't all fun and games as you were running out of the medic tent, onto a helicopter, and into an active war zone. There had been an emergency call for medics and you were one of the ones to help. You were equipped with a small sidearm and a medic pack to help as many people as possible reach the evac point.

Your ears rang with gunfire as you jumped onto the solid ground. You looked around quickly and saw an injured soldier lying about 100 meters from you. You ran to them, your boots kicking up sand and dirt. As you reached them, you could hear a familiar voice yell, "Y/N get down!" before you were thrown backward and felt pain shooting from your abdomen. Your feet were dragged behind a turned-over car and you could see through your tears, Gaz, applying pressure to your wound. "Stay with me, Captain," he said as he held the now pooling wound down. Your eyes fluttered closed as you heard him continue to yell.

The next 12hrs were a living nightmare as once you had gotten shot, you were drifting in and out of consciousness. You vaguely remembered the feeling of someone lifting you and the sight of Price running with you in his arms. You also remembered some of your fellow medics rushing to stabilize you as your ears rang with the sound of the helicopter taking off. Finally, you thought you recognized the sterile appearance of a hospital operating room as a mask was affixed to your face and an anesthesiologist counted down from 10. Your eyes felt heavy as you saw the surgeon look over at you. You tried to lift your hand to reach out but soon the comfort of sleep overtook your consciousness.

You opened your eyes to the sounds of screams and explosions. You looked around frantically as the chaos permeated the environment. The air was hot and you felt stuffy in your long skirt and bonnet. "Y/N get up now! They're bringing in the Captain and we need help," a nurse yelled at you as you saw a cot being dragged in by wounded soldiers. You barely had time to take in your attire before you felt a rush of adrenaline. Your skirt swished around your ankles and you saw a signature Red Patch adorning your apron. As you ran towards the man, you recognized a familiar friend. A pained expression was plastered on his face as his blue eyes darted around the room. His facial hair was stained with dirt and droplets of blood and you noticed him gripping his leg.

"John," you breathed out as you examined his body. He gripped your arm as you tried to move his thigh. You realized he had a bullet lodged in his left thigh and it needed to be removed immediately. "Get me bandages, now!" you commanded and nurses ran to get you the supplies. You looked around and were surprised to see the tent was filled with rudimentary medical supplies, where were the defibrillators and crash carts? A nurse handed you a pristine white roll of gauze and it felt soft in your hands. Subconsciously, you didn't know what overtook you but your hands guided your actions. You motioned for the soldiers to hold the man down as you fished out a bullet from his thigh. He writhed in pain and blood spurted on your white skirt.

After what seemed like forever, you retrieved the bullet and did your best to disinfect the wound and apply the clean gauze. "Thank you, Doctor," Price said gently as they placed him on a bed. You held his hand as the doctors injected him with something to relieve the pain. From your apron, you fished out a cigar and lit it for him. "For you," you said and handed it to him. "Don't think Dr. Finley would appreciate her medics giving out cigars," he joked. You were about to ask who he was referring to and why you knew that name but the moment was gone. As you watched him puff the smoke into the sticky air, you suddenly heard another airstrike nearby and were blinded by the rubble.

Your eyes shot open and you fully were preparing to be lying on the floor in some World War I war zone. Instead, you were shaded by a large tree and felt the tickle of grass on your legs. You looked down to see a rich red silk dress adorning your body and a book in your hand. "De Curatio, The Cure of Wounds," you read aloud as you traced your hands on the leather cover. The author, Mercuriade, was inscribed at the bottom along with the author of the English translation. You flipped through the book and it seemed vaguely familiar, detailing herbal treatments and how to identify ailments such as fevers and typhoid.

"Y/N," a voice called from the distance and you shield your eyes from the sun to see who was approaching. A familiar man approached and his linen shirt blew gently in the summer wind. "Kyle, what art thou doing hither?" you asked in an unfamiliar tone. Your brain was confused as this was a foreign syntax to how you normally spoke. "What art thee reading?" he asked as he sat down at the base of the tree. You hesitated as you struggled to remember how you even got here. "A booketh from Italy, medicinal studies from the Distaff of Sal'rno," you responded. Wait no, it was the Women of Salerno, how were you speaking like this? You looked at the man sitting against the tree and blinked a few times. You couldn't fathom what was happening right now as you grew more confused about your current location.

"Art thee ill?" he asked as he looked concerned at the wild look in your eyes. "I wilt beest not restful," you lied as he held a hand to your cheek. "Thee seemeth did ghast!" he exclaimed as he rose to his feet. Suddenly, he tripped on the long roots and fell in pain. You rushed over to see he had skinned his knee. "T'is a scratch," he laughed as you examined him. "T'is a wound," you corrected and used part of your skirt to put pressure on the bleeding. He hissed in response as your scarlet dress began to seep with blood. After a short while, he tried to rise to his feet by grabbing your arm. You aided him as his grip confined your dress against your skin. "Wilt thou tell me the date of now?" you asked as you began to guide him from the tree. "Y/N, t'is Friday, year of 1587." As he spoke the last digit of the year, you felt faint and clattered against the stump of the tree.

"Y/N, it is time to round on the men," a gentle voice called to you as they gently shook your shoulders. You gasped as you felt the taut cotton you were laying on, a cot you assumed. You rose to your feet and the hem of a dark long wool dress followed. You looked at the nurse as she gestured to the door. "Mistress Nightingale has already checked on most of them, continue with the room across. Those are the ones who are going to be sent out tomorrow," she whispered and laid down in the same cot you were just in.

You followed her direction as you wondered where you were. The surname of Nightingale seemed familiar but you couldn't place where you had heard it. As you grabbed a candle from the corridor, you used it to illuminate the sleeping faces of the soldiers. They lay with bandages adoring their bodies and tucked with wool blankets. You shivered as you continued, finally reaching a man with a blanket half on his torso. You gently put the lamp on the ground and the soft metallic sound filled the air. You winced at the noise and quietly pulled the blanket up on the man's torso. You could feel his calm breathing as you brought the fabric to his chin, his stubble tickling your knuckles. As you turned and leaned down to pick up the lamp, he weakly held your wrist.

"Thank ye, Nurse," he spoke and his eyes fluttered open. He looked tired and appeared to wake due to your actions so you put your finger to your lips to quiet him. "Sleep now, tomorrow you will be returning to England," you whispered as you held your hand around the flame of the candle to dim the light. "Never thought Crimea would be so cold," he whispered back and pulled the blanket closer to his chest. You quickly rushed back to your quarters as your mind spun with unknown answers. You suddenly remembered where you knew Nightingale from. It was Florence Nightingale, the lady with the lamp during the Crimean War. As you crept into the room, the same nurse from earlier sat up, "Heard you were talking to Johnny, he's a good Scottish boy," she smiled. You didn't respond as you collapsed on a cot, why did his name sound so familiar?

You woke up with a start and anxiously looked around. Your white linen nightgown was soaked with sweat as you palmed the smooth duvet. Your clammy hands drew back the curtains to reveal a large room. Your eyes flickered around the teal wallpaper and the gold trimmings. The smell of rain and flowers met your nose as you saw the window cracked open. You rose to your feet and cautiously opened the door and began walking down the large hallway. Eventually, you came upon an open oak door where you could see Simon sitting with an open book and a candle. The illuminated walls contained a variety of titles and you saw that it was just as ornate as your room. "Y/N, what are you doing awake at this hour?" he asked as you sat across from him on a dark blue velvet chaise lounge. "Simon, what happened to your mask?" you spoke softly as you could see his blond hair and eyelashes illuminated by the soft flame. What interested you more was the book he was holding, Medicine as a Profession for Women by Elizabeth and Emily Blackwell. He closed the book and placed it on the table separating you two. "Changes are coming in medicine, thought I might read it before your entrance to the London School of Medicine for Women," he said.

Your hands shook as you struggled to respond. You gripped your nightgown as he stared at your intensely. "What did you say?" you whispered back. "But that isn't right, is it Y/N?" he countered, "because you already went to school and have been a pharmacist in the British Army" he chuckled. You were at a loss for words as he continued speaking. "You've been dreaming for a while now, do you think we would be in some Edwardian mansion in real life?" he said and grandly gestured to the library which slowly began to lose detail. "You have some weird dreams, Captain," he continued. As you looked intently at him, his long suede suit jacket and teal Jacquard vest began to melt into the attire you were familiar seeing him with. "Simon I-" you began to say but you suddenly felt faint and collapsed on the blue velvet chair. Your head spun as you stared at the ornate ceiling adorned with paintings and gold trimmings. "It's time to wake up, Y/N" you heard him softly say before you fell into darkness.

"I think she's awake" a voice excitedly exclaimed as you opened your eyes. You feared you were in another dream but the pain in your sternum and the sterility of the hospital room emphasized you were actually awake. You tried to get up before Price ran over to you and motioned for you to lie down. "Thought we lost you, lass," Soap spoke as he came closer to your bedside. You sighed as you looked around and saw them in modern-day civilian clothing. "Where am I?" you hoarsely asked as you looked at the IV drip. "Base hospital," Price answered, "You've been out for three days now since the surgery."

You were shocked as it hadn't felt that long. But he was right as the updated whiteboard chart had shown three days had passed. "How long have you been here?" you asked as Gaz handed you a small cup of water. "The whole time, we were with you on the helo," Soap responded and you could tell they looked tired. "You should go home and rest, I'm alright now," you smiled gently. "Ah we've been here long enough, we could wait until the doctor checks on you," Ghost said and you were relieved to see he still had his signature mask and wasn't in some ridiculous get-up.

"Suit yourself," you said and went back to chugging your water. There was a beat of silence before someone spoke up again. "By the way Captain, did you have any weird dreams?" Gaz asked as he propped up in his chair. "You were talking in your sleep, Captain," Ghost added and you silently cursed your sleeping habits. You would have to find out what you said. "Well, I guess I'll start by saying I've read too many books about the history of women in medicine," you started and they all gathered to hear about your morphine-induced dream world.

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

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wakkass · 8 months

Text

It's impossible to put into words how much I love designing characters, especially for AU.

Yes, I recently had an avatar AU, and I really wanted to draw Katara from there (and also Zuko). I usually draw a static pose in order to display all the details of the clothes. This is such a kind of character sheet that helps me to better imagine the scenes in my head.

If you're interested in reading about the AU itself, then there will be some information about it.

I apologize in advance for mistakes in the text, English is not my native language. But, I hope, this will not interfere with understanding.

In general, my AU concerns the ending of the series, because at some point it seemed unrealistic to me. There is too much positivity with the obvious problems of the post-military space, as well as little logic in some moments (for example, I don't understand what Zuko was doing in Ba Sing Se. Did he abandon his newfound throne to the mercy of fate with the risk of a palace coup? Did he not feel the effects of a lightning strike? The longer I think about it, the surreal it seems to me).

At some point I thought, "this is all like Aang's dream, in which everything is intentionally good. As if this is the ending he wants, but it's unattainable." And then it dawned on me. But it really looks like his fantasy about the future after defeating the root of evil. This explains why Zuko recovered so easily, why everyone is just relaxing and having fun without a drop of post-trauma. Because Aang wants everything to be so naive and simple after defeating the Fire Lord. Because he's dreaming about it.

I know this is a very hackneyed narrative technique. It's pretty easy to say "this is someone's dream" to deny any events. But I found it curious, especially against the background of the episode "Nightmares and Daydreams", where Aang's dreams already simplified the reality around him. For me, it's like a lead-up to the finale, where he actually sleeps.

You ask, "but why is he sleeping?". I also asked this question, and the answer to it killed me. Because during the battle with Ozai, when the stone hit Aang in the wound, he fell into a coma. His body was paralyzed because his brain perceived it as a repeated lightning strike, again fatal. The avatar's state was the only one that did not allow Aang to die, but only to fall into a coma. And instead of an epic battle, we have a little helpless boy spending a huge amount of energy just to maintain his life.

The second Aang collapsed, he disappeared, leaving Ozai alone with the remnants of his temporary power. And no one else saw the avatar…

I'll leave the intrigue for you about this, but for now I'll tell you about the concepts from the art.

Naturally, everyone searched for Aang, and, naturally, they did not find him. Katara and Zuko were the only ones who did not participate in the search, for several reasons:

Zuko was rehabilitated for a very long time after being struck by lightning, and Katara nursed him (I'm sure there are a lot of fics about this topic. The only difference is that there is no romance here. The focus of my AU is not on it, but on the problems of the consequences of the war). He survived, but he had major problems with his heart, digestive system and spine. Who noticed the cane in his hands? Yes, Zuko couldn't walk without it. From now on and forever. He was physically unable to leave the palace, and Katara maintained at least some of his condition.

Even after Zuko's rehabilitation, it was necessary to keep the power in his hands. Imagine what a shock the Fire Nation experienced when not just the former Fire Lord was overthrown, but the country's policy changed dramatically. Now Zuko needed to keep power in his hands and establish a new regime as soon as possible, before his opponents raised armies and people against him. This boy, who recently sat quietly at a military meeting, needed to show unprecedented strength and power to everyone: both officials sought to turn the situation in their favor, and the people who wanted stability and prosperity. But how to do this if Zuko couldn't even breathe normally, and getting out of bed required tremendous effort? It was impossible… Anyone else would have given up, but not Zuko. He has never given up without a fight and has never turned his back on danger, even if he risks dying.

It hurts me a lot for him, too. Fate has never stopped pushing Zuko against obstacles, but this time he couldn't rely on himself. He almost couldn't bend, his body almost didn't obey. He was an easy target and there was nothing he could do about it. This helplessness irritated him, saddened him, oppressed him. The only thing that wasn't broken yet was his spirit, and Zuko was barely able to maintain it in such conditions. If it wasn't for Katara, I don't know if he would have coped in the end. She was now his only support, his only ally in these cold oppressive walls, the only rational grain in his doubts.

You ask, "Where is Iroh? Where is Mai?"

Iroh, along with the White Lotus, took on a mission to liberate the Earth Kingdom from the Fire Army and establish relations with the kingdom. In fact, Iroh now shared power with Zuko: uncle was engaged in foreign policy so that his nephew could focus on domestic policy.

With Mai, everything was much simpler: after getting out of prison, she was completely disappointed in the guy who always left her. She sent him a letter, where she finally ended their relationship, and left with her family somewhere far away. Perhaps she and Zuko will cross paths again and will be able to establish a relationship. But not now.

Katara remained to help Zuko not only with treatment, but also with his policy. As a resident of an almost disappearing tribe, as well as an able leader, she helped him with projects and plans to improve the quality of life of the population and actively participates in them. She performed those missions that Zuko can only entrust to her. After all, she was a friend he could rely on and to whom he could open his feelings.

In her design, I wanted to reflect the combination of two cultures: Fire and Water. I was based on the designs of the "12 Kingdoms" (if you haven't watched this gorgeous anime or haven't read ranobe, I strongly recommend doing it. This universe is no less interesting than the avatar's world, I'm sure you'll like it), because the palace intrigues and the plot with winning the respect of the court reminds me very much of the story from there.

One day Zuko's legs finally gave up, he could not get up. All the stress he was going through was breaking his body so much that at some point the Katara's treatment stopped working.

It was a very difficult moment for both of them. Zuko has just started to promote his ideas and defend his rights to the throne, and Katara sincerely did not know what to do. If the truth about the true state of the Fire Lord had come out, all the ill-wishers would not leave this opportunity and attack, this couldn't be allowed. They urgently needed to create the appearance that everything is in order, but how?

Zuko came up with a very brazen idea. He asked Katara to use bloodbending on him to simulate walking. It was a very difficult request for her, because this skill represented the worst face of the war, it was created to torture people. And the last thing she wanted was to torment Zuko. She hesitated for a long time, he saw it, but he couldn't wait. He couldn't stop, it wasn't a luxury he could afford. Therefore, he went out, trying not to get up and move much.

Naturally, at some point his weakness was noticed at the most inopportune moment. Naturally, at this moment Katara couldn't let Zuko fall. Imperceptibly under her sleeves, she moved her friend's body like a puppet, causing him as much unbearable pain as most would not stand. But Zuko was not like that. He stood it.

It looked like this to me somehow:

They were both very depressed that day. He was suffering physically because of Katara's bending, and she could not believe that she had caused the suffering of a person dear to her. It broke and scared her, she opened the way to the Hama's madness, and was very afraid to fall into it.

Zuko assured her that it was impossible. Hama didn't have people to guide her, while Katara has friends. Maybe Zuko didn't consider himself the best moral mentor, but he promised to be there in the most difficult moments for Katara, and now he won't leave her.

This encouraged her and opened her eyes to her own cowardice. She was afraid of the darkness of Hama, and instead of curbing it, Katara hid it in herself, ignored it. And that's what it led to: the person who needed her help suffered. But she didn't want to run away anymore. She wasn't going to give up without a fight and turn her back on those who needed her.

At the beginning, Katara trained on herself, experiencing the same pain as the victims of bloodbending. Careless movement of blood through the vessels could cause internal bleeding at any time, it was very dangerous. The Hama's voice in her head pressed on her conscience, saying that innocent people felt all this pain, and only Katara was to blame for this.

Later, she learned to control the flow of water on puppets, like Hama. The point was to pass water through the threads without bursting them. Absolute control was required here, and Zuko taught her the techniques of firebending for self-control. This was necessary for Katara, because the Hama's voice in her head did not subside and did not allow her to correctly distribute her forces. It seemed like Katara was about to stumble, but Zuko wouldn't let her do it.

Gradually, Katara mastered this skill and tried to draw blood on Zuko's legs. The effect was unexpected. Her great willpower and desire to help him resulted in healing. Zuko began to feel his legs, and Katara discovered the reverse side of this bending. No, she didn't heal him completely, it's too early for him to get rid of the cane. But maybe one day she will become so strong that she can do it.

Katara realized that there was no evil magic, there was only evil intent. This was her first step towards learning to look inner demons in the face, and not to hide them in herself when it was possible to hurt others.

But what about the other design?

Katara's father sent her a letter asking her to return. Her family needed her help, because she was the last waterbender, a carrier of culture and skills, as well as a healer of a new level, the daughter of a tribal leader.

At home, everything was not the same as before, moreover, everything taked shape as a Northern Tribe. I really like the idea of the comic "North and South" about the problem of assimilation. Only here has Katara accepted all aspects of its culture, even the most unpleasant ones, and she would not give up so easily when this newfound knowledge was in danger of disappearing.

Actually, I wanted to draw her outfit of this arch. I wanted to redesign the costume for myself, because I like to do it. I kept the front strands of Katara, we don't talk much about them.

I would really like to describe the path of the rest of the team and what they do, of Aang and what happens to him. But I'm already tired of typing, and you probably read.

After all, the post is more about designs, and not about the AU itself, so the goal to reveal some of my ideas has been achieved in principle. Maybe sometime later.

Hope you enjoyed reading this :3

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #atla fanart #atla au #avatar fanart #katara #zuko

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partycatty · 3 months

Note

you write for mk11 gramps johnny? have serious brain rot for him

if so could you write a fic of him dicking us down for being a brat? u can make up a plot or not i just need it and need him. love ur writing either way!!

- 💙

alright, im using this ask but i have a very specific image for this rn. this is gonna be a meaty post so hear me out

older!johnny cage > waste ur time

this is based off of the song WasteUrTime by Kevin Walkman with some lyrics (in pink) sprinkled in. you and johnny have a clear age gap, trying to avoid giving into desires, but 3am rolls around and you consider the idea of having a late night visitor.

warnings: smutty, age gap, ur both horny demons, virgin reader, i dont know how military ranks work, affair, sonya never gets Rocked

notes: this is going to be a little more artsy that what i usually do, so apologies if the format change is not ideal. this is more of an actual fic than bullet points. also the lyrics are out of order and not all included, so you don't need the song to enjoy this!

word count: 2.6k

[ masterlist ]

give me a glass of your innocence.

training was hard, your skin glistening with sweat and your face flushed from overexertion. the task was relatively simple; to climb up a deeply sloped wooden platform using nothing but your grip and momentum. your comrades were cheering you on, including briggs, commander cage, her mother, and her father. straining yourself to grip the ledge of the platform, you finally hoist yourself up and stand upright, not before doubling over to pant.

the others applaud and surround you with cheers. a firm hand finds its place square on your back, rubbing in circles.

"atta girl," the voice leans into your ear with an audible grin. "knew you had it in you."

your head turns to thank the disconnected voice, but out of your fuzzy mind, the realization pulls through that none other than your superior, johnny cage was the one congratulating you so intimately. his praise makes your cheeks flush even darker and your gaze averts, too afraid of such direct appreciation which johnny notes. you weren't used to compliments.

this is my creation, here's your invitation.

you knew something intense was brewing with each lingering stare or gentle squeeze to your shoulder. how intense exactly, you couldn't pick out. with minimal experience with others lusting for you, it didn't register in your head at first just how hungrily he gazed at you. not that you were complaining necessarily, he was part-time action star, part-time military leader. he was built, charismatic, and a family man. it felt impossible to not feel weak in the knees around him.

johnny knew he had an effect on you, as he did most others. despite watering down his hollywood charisma, he couldn't bring himself to deny how sexy he was at his older age. something about a buff salt and pepper man telling you what to do had you following commands like a dog, doing anything it takes to have him praise you more.

even still, you couldn't do anything about it. johnny was a married man. his family was your coworkers, hell, it was their job to command you! the guilty thoughts would creep up on you no matter how badly you wanted to avoid them. couldn't you have chosen a more... single man?

you seem so damn nervous.

"how can i be of service?" johnny asks, leaning his front half forward ever so slightly to show you he was interested in every word that dripped from your lips. your vision was too blurred from anxiety to properly articulate what you needed from him, so you nervously swirled your drink. damn the special forces and their free alcohol parties.

"how do you do it?" you ask with a stammer. "earthrealm, netherrealm, tarkatans, ninjas, thunder gods. it all feels so unreal. how do you stay so calm?"

"mm," he hums, lowering his own glass after a brief sip. "well, you get used to it. turns out i was born to a mediterranean war cult's gene pool. watched my daughter kick an elder god's ass while i got maggots down my throat. went face-to-face with younger me. there are just some things that are too damn ridiculous to ever fully understand, so i accept it for what it is. when you're my age, fighting for all of these otherworldly things, most of the little things feel like a walk in the park."

"don't get me wrong, sir, i'll fight for earthrealm, but this is all so... dizzying."

johnny visibly tenses up at 'sir.' "tell you what," he grabs his drink napkin and opens a sharpie with his teeth. "you ever wanna talk about it with someone that's seen everything, you come to me." he writes his personal phone number on the napkin and places it in your palm with a smile.

you fidget with the paper before pocketing it, worried you'd pick at it too much and rip it to shreds before you could save the digits. the most you could bring yourself to do was half-bow, half-nod before scurrying away to the bathroom to cool your hot face. johnny could only chuckle to himself with a shake of his head.

long walks of shame look so good on you.

a long time was spent staring at the new conversation on your phone. despite your inexperience, there was a simmering feeling that johnny didn't just give you his number to let you vent. he wanted to talk to you outside of work. the thought makes you sweat.

why would he want to talk to you? if he wanted conversation, he would reach out to his wife and kid. he had it all, and yet he still wanted to put everything on the line for you.

you're moving fast, and i'm into it.

"lieutenant. it's reader," you shoot a simple text out, lying to yourself when you justify texting him for the sake of him saving your number. it was late, too late to be texting your superior. another lie you told yourself: i'll just send the message now so he sees it in the morning! your shameful justifications are ripped from you when you receive a reply, almost immediately.

"couldn't it have waited until the morning?" he replies bluntly, and you're ready to type out a spew of apologies before a second text comes through. "i'm teasing. johnny, by the way. no need for titles."

"sorry." you try to remain professional with your response, fingers dancing wildly across your keyboard. your eyes flicker up to the clock in the top corner, realizing it's well into the night. "didn't expect a response so late. have a good night, lieutenant."

you're ready to throw your phone out of the nearest window out of sheer embarrassment, but you stop when you feel another buzz come through. your stomach flips.

"johnny. you usually stay up late?" he texts, drawing the conversation out much to your surprise. "it's 3:30 in the morning."

"my day's been so boring," you decide to lean into the more casual chat, hoping to find a softer side to your boss. you should feel disgusted, repulsed, put off. he was double your age and then some. but dear god, his attention on you was hypnotizing even if it was just words on a screen. "hoping to waste some time before tomorrow comes. lots of training."

johnny's reply takes a suspiciously long time to come through, his bubble appearing and disappearing. just before you thought you lost the conversation, a photo comes through. johnny's laying in bed, hair ruffled and shirtless. his eyes have a soft, pleading look to them and his lips are curled into a pretty smile. the tiniest glimpse of his chest tattoo pokes through the bottom of the image, and you had to make a conscious effort to swallow your drool and close your jaw. you almost don't notice the text attached.

"maybe i could waste your time?"

you choke on your saliva, glancing off to the corner of your room as if an invisible camera was perched there. this man held zero shame, that much was true. you suppose it's from his age. there's only so much time in one life, so he's seizing every moment. it terrified you, to the depths of your core.

"i don't follow," you text back, playing dumb. this was genuinely unbelievable to you, you needed to hear more from his perspective to make sure you weren't actually dreaming or reading too far into his offer.

"come on, girl," he teasingly responds. "don't play dumb. i may be old, but i'm still sharp." another photo slides into the chat, the same idea s his previous one but now fully displaying his torso. his broad chest with his name painted on it was now boldly on display. his hand laid flirtatiously on his abs, fingers spread out. at the very bottom, you could make out the beginning of a thick tent in his pajama pants. it was like every inch of this man was maximized. you'd seen his shirtless form in his old movies, but seeing it now... it was personal. that photo was for you. "i know you're still fucking with me. i see how you look at me." you bite your lip, wondering if maybe sonya was sharing the other side of the bed. your stomach churns.

"i mean..." you leave the text at that, rapidly typing and deleting. you're not quite sure what to say, how to carry this now heated conversation. you'd never... had to before. "if i may state the obvious, you're... older. and my boss. and married."

his replies stop for a good couple minutes. you wonder if maybe he was regretting his advance. you hoped not.

"is it something that you'd mind?" johnny asks, hesitation in his words as he breaks away from his flirty comments. his question makes you ponder. you were a virgin at your age, holding onto this trait longer than almost everyone at a similar age to you. work was your priority, never giving yourself enough time for a serious commitment. but here you were. johnny was throwing something onto the table that you never expected to happen. were you going to pass this up and stay a virgin forever? hell, no!

"sent you my location. let's try something new, lieutenant."

"johnny." he corrects you one final time before falling completely silent on his end. your stomach twists and churns wildly, realizing you have opened the flood gates to a hookup with your boss. you throw your pajamas off and replace them with a cuter, coordinating pair. you brush your teeth again and try to fix your hair into a neater updo, not impacted by the friction of your pillowcase. shoes and various discarded belongings are shoved under the bed and into the closet. you hadn't had male company, well, ever. you had to come off as somewhat decent for him.

jesus christ, your mind grows dizzy. you were going to lose your virginity, now, or in however long it takes for him to arrive at you apartment. you're not far from work, and even still the time it took for you to hear footsteps in the hallway must have been a century at the minimum. you were seriously going through with this because it was about damn time you enjoyed yourself and spiced shit up.

the heavy footsteps come to a halt, the shadow overtaking the faint hallway light glowing. a part of you wants to hide, maybe jump out of your fire exit. your nerves were blinding, and taking the steps to the entrance felt like an olympic sport. that is, until a new text appears.

"let me inside."

do you open the door? leaning against it, you can smell his musk just through the crack alone. damn his hypnotic... everything. if you open the door, his entire career, marriage, and life could be over. that is, if you spill. you wouldn't.

keeping shit a secret fits you like a glove.

you slowly open the door, hand frozen on the doorknob as you're met with your boss towering over you with a heavy look in his eyes. it's hard to avoid his own hesitation too, but his hard breathing betrays his morals. he looks ready to pounce at any given moment. johnny's mouth opens first, but you beat him to it.

"i'm a virgin," you blurt, mind too empty to feel embarrassed at the fact. you felt the need to tell him now, before he was on top of you and you laid there like a fool.

johnny's brows raise up ever so slightly. "what?"

the heat of the admittance catches up to you, and you twiddle with the hem of your shorts. you repeat yourself meekly, letting the predicament set in between the two of you.

"that's..." he trails off, glancing into your room. "um."

"i'm sorry-" your face heats up, your eyes pricking with tears at the awkward air. "i just... i didn't want you to be surprised, because i don't know what i'm doing."

something new stirs in johnny's core as he understands the weight of the situation. his fists clench and he takes a lumbering step toward you. you back up on instinct.

"that's alright," he purrs, voice hitting a new low, one that's far away from his professional volume. "'cause i'll take care of you. i've got you."

he stands up straight, scratching the back of his neck.

"if you'll have me... i guess that speaks for itself. i'm here, aren't i?"

you nod with a nervous chuckle. your bodies move in sync as you figure out where to put your hands. they settle on his neck, wrapping your arms around him to pull him in. his hands hold your waist. jesus, his hands are big. you'd kissed before, so this is familiar territory.

"i'll take that as a yes," his eyes flick to your lips, visibly restraining himself from fully taking advantage of you. he leans in for a tender kiss, your lips and his moving together. it turns heated quick, with his tongue darting out to get a taste of your mouth which you accept gratefully.

johnny's hands trail down to your ass, cupping the underside as if his hands were destined to fit there. he tugs upward, and you understand what he's trying to do. you jump up and break the kiss momentarily so your legs trap his waist. in between make out sessions, you guide him through your apartment to the bedroom. his lips taste bitter like alcohol but cleanly sweet. exactly how you imagined.

your mind is hazy with lust, your pussy clenching around nothing as you envision taking a monster like him for the first time. a part of you wonders if it's even possible. instead of throwing you onto the mattress, he lowers you like a princess, supporting your head and back with each hand which does nothing to help your aching wetness pooling between your legs.

johnny's lips dive to your jaw, sucking and biting tenderly. you wince, but replace the noise with a lustful gasp as he soothes the pain with his hot tongue. you want to clench your thighs together to relieve the throbbing pressure, but johnny's hands pry your legs open as his hips fit perfectly between them. like a forbidden puzzle piece. you feel his cock rub through your pajamas, and your mouth gathers drool.

johnny finds any possible plush flesh of your neck to take in, kissing wetly as he gently ruts into you, not even realizing he's doing it. he needed to explore every inch of this new body, this new lover... his mistress.

if you were to start praying for forgiveness, it'd be now. you internally cursed sonya for getting her hands on him before you could. your chest burned with jealousy and desire. he was so evilly delicious, and every inch of him needed to be inside before you'd start sobbing. your hands fly forward and tug him forward by his waistband.

"need you," is the most you can coherently ask for, blinded by your horniness. johnny pulls away from your collar, panting in your face. he can't bring himself to look directly in your eyes, your wet, pleading eyes.

"you..." he swallows thickly, brows knitting together. he frowns. "you can't tell anyone. you know that, right?''

you nod with a small whine. you wanted him to just shut up and fuck you.

"hhh - won't say anything," you huff back, gliding your dampened bottoms across his dick with need. he groans, and buries his head in your neck, a deep sigh sending goosebumps across you skin.

"atta girl..."

so hit me up when you feel down i'll make your ass stay 'til sundown i understand what you've been through 'cause I'm a sorry sucker too i know you're scared and that's alright just let me love you for the night

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage smut #mk11 #mortal kombat smut #marley writes ☆

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yelenasdiary · 7 months

Text

When The Time Comes

Pairing: Military! Yelena Belova x Fem! Nurse! Reader

Summary: After a traumatic experience, Yelena worries about your well-being.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Mentions of War, Kidnapping, Details of Torture, PTSD, Depression, Details of Murder, Gore, Mentions of Blood, Scaring, Medical Talk | 3.3K

Translations:lyubov' (love), detka (baby),

AC:Some of you may have already seen a dot point of this fic so here’s the full fic!

October Special Masterlist

4:03am your wife was woken by a long-awaited phone call, quickly turning over and picking up the phone, "Belova" she answers without a hint of lack of sleep in her voice. The voice on the other end of the line wastes no time in informing the highly skilled sniper that after two long, stressful, and worrying months, her wife has been found.

"Is she okay? Can I talk to her? I'll get the first flight over!" Yelena's mind is racing. She knows the stress and worry isn't over, but her commanding officer assures her that you were treated with the best of care and should be landing in the states within a few short hours. Little information was shared with the blonde who didn't take notice of the time when she called Natasha.

"Lena, it's 4am, is everything okay?" Natasha's low, raspy, and tired voice travels through the phone. Yelena once again not caring to take notice of the time, "They found her!" She replies while she gets out of bed and slides on her slippers. She can tell by the shift in Natasha's voice that the red head has shot up from her laying position, "are you sure?!"

"Positive, they said she'll be landing in New York in a few hours. Can you watch Natalia for me? Please?" Yelena asks as she walks down the hall to your daughter's bedroom, peaking her head through the crack of the door to check on the three-year-old who was asleep peacefully snuggling her favorite plushie.

"Of course, I'll be over soon" Natasha replies before hanging up the line.

Hours passed as Yelena waited patiently alone in the hospital's waiting room, 9:28am and they were still checking you out and not a single word on your wellbeing was mentioned to your wife. Small cups of coffee filled the bin as Yelena's mind ran over scenario after scenario, her right knee bouncing uncontrollably as other patients' family members came and went. Some leaving in tears of grief while others left with sighs of relief.

Lost in her thoughts, Yelena didn't even notice Natasha taking a seat beside her and placing her hand on her sister's knee. It wasn't until Natasha's thumb stroked Yelena's knee that the blonde's eyes turned to meet her sister.

"Wands has Natalia" Natasha spoke softly reading the look on her sister's face. Yelena nodded as she leant back in her chair, "any news?" Nat asked.

"Nothing" Yelena replied while she tried to fight back her tears, wanting to stay as strong as she possibly could for you.

"Mrs Belova?" a doctor asked as they entered the waiting room, Yelena's eyes shot up to meet the eyes of a tired woman as she took off her surgical cap.

"That's me" Yelena replied, standing from her chair before she could even blink. Natasha was standing beside her, both looking at the doctor for answers. Her eyes scanned the waiting room, "come with me please, somewhere more private" she replied. Her words made Yelena's stomach drop, her mind now filling with her biggest fear as she and Natasha followed the woman in scrubs with a white coat down the hall, taking a left and into a room with soldiers standing guard outside.

"Please just cut the crap, is she okay?" Yelena's eyes looked deeply into the doctor's in hopes of finding answers. The woman took a deep breath, her own eyes looking at Natasha before back at Yelena, "she's my sister, please!" Yelena added.

"Mrs Belova, your wife okay. We would like to keep her in for a week before sending home, she's malnourished and some of her injuries we are going to keep an eye on in case of an infection. She's extremely weak at the moment but physically, she will make a full recovery. I have requested that our psychiatrist comes down to speak to you, they will be able to inform you of your wife's mental health" the doctor who forgot to introduce herself explained, her name tag reading "Dr Katherine Campbell".

"I'd rather see my wife first, please" Yelena pleaded just wanting to see you for herself.

"I'm sorry but I think it's best you wait" Dr Campbell's eyes shifted to Natasha in hopes she'd help make the stressed blonde understand. Natasha looked at Yelena, placing a hand on her forearm, "let's just wait for the psychiatrist, you'll want to know everything there is" Nat agrees with the doctor just as another woman knocks and enters the room.

"Here she is" Doctor Campbell smiled softly at the other woman.

"Hi, Mrs Belova, is it?" the woman smiled, reaching her hand out to shake Yelena's, "I'm Dr Jenna Hemmings, please take a seat" she added before also shaking Natasha's hand. The four women took a seat at the large, rounded table, Yelena's knee bouncing once again as she watched the psychiatrist open up a file of documents that had your name on them.

"I'm very sorry for what you've been through over the last three months, I don't have a lot to discuss in terms of where your wife is at mentally, but, I have seen her and I from what I have seem I can give you a rough idea on what to expect" Dr Hemmings began as she looked between the two sisters.

"It's my understanding that your wife has suffered from serious and extreme torture during her captivity. I have seen many cases unfortunately and I just want to let you know that it's not going to be easy. Y/n may become distant and feel disconnected from what she knows. Who she was before the kidnapping may take some time to return, I'm going to give you a list of other psychiatrists for you to make an appointment with then Y/n feels ready to talk about the events. It's important that you do not push her to talk, if she wants too, listen.

Do you share any children together?" She goes on. Yelena nodded, "A three year old, Natalia"

"As hard as this will be on your daughter, it'll be best if she has somewhere else to stay with the first week that Y/n is home"

"You want me to keep my daughter from seeing her mother?" Yelena frowned in confusion.

"This is just until you and Y/n's psychiatrist have a better understanding of her PTSD" Dr Hemmings replied. Natasha assured Yelena that the little girl could stay with her, Wanda and the boys for as long as needed. "Can I just see my wife now? Please? whatever else you need to discuss, I'm sure we can do later" Yelena begs once more.

Dr Hemmings nodded lightly, "I'll let Dr Campbell explain your wife's injuries"

-A Week Later-

Since being home, Yelena has cared for you day in, day out. She tended to the wounds that covered your back, changing the bandages and cleaning them. She did the same for the grazes and cuts on your face, arms, legs and thighs. She showered you, clothed you and fed you, all while you could barely bring yourself to say a single word.

The bedroom was kept dark, anytime Yelena opened the blinds to let some sunlight in, you got up and closed them before getting back in to bed to sleep the day away. A psychiatrist had stopped by twice since you came home, but even she couldn't get you to speak. She suggested to Yelena that it would be in your best interest to start antidepressants which you took without a fight.

"Good morning lyubov'" Yelena spoke softly as she got on her knees in your view, your eyes glued to the dark gray wall behind her. Looking into your eyes, Yelena only saw the ghost of the woman she loved. She gently stroked your face with her left thumb, "Natalia is coming home this morning, do you feel up to seeing her?" she asked. Your eyes shifted and connected with the worried eyes of your wife's, the first time you really looked at her since the hospital. You shook her head before turning to your other side, giving Yelena the view of your clothed back.

"Okay lyubov', we'll try again tomorrow. I'll go get you some breakfast" Yelena said in defeat. She hoped that the idea of seeing your daughter would bring something new out of you, that you'd get out of bed and come downstairs for the first time.

Yelena returned 20 minutes later with toast, orange juice, your medication and some vitamins placing them on your bedside table. She kissed your cheek and whispered how much she loved you before letting you fall back asleep in the darkness.

"I miss mommy" Natalia pouted as she picked up another slice of apple from her plastic plate. "I know dorogoy, mommy isn't feeling well at the moment but she's getting better, she's getting plenty of sleep so she can play with you again" Yelena assures the little girl before placing a kiss on her forehead, "how about mac n cheese for dinner?" She asks. Natalia perks up instantly, nodding with excitement, "Mac n cheese!!!!" She claps with a mouth full of apple.

Night time came, Natalia was bathed, fed and tucked in bed fast asleep after Yelena read her a bedtime story. She can't stop her mind from remembering when you and her would read a fairytale together for the growing child, switching voices, giggles full of life filling the room before the angel drifts off to sleep. Not only did Yelena miss you, but so did Natalia. A drawing of the three of you in crayons sat on the toddlers drawing table, mommy in bed just like her mama said.

When Yelena came to bed, it was the only time you felt safe again. You instantly felt her arms wrap around you, pulling you close as she knew you'd been waiting all day for her to come back to bed. "How are you feeling detka?" She asks in a soft tone, you wanted to answer her, to give her a form of words but nothing left your lips. Tears filled your eyes as you brought her hand to your lips, kissing the top of her hand to let her know you were here, you heard her, you loved her.

-1 Month Later-

As time went on, Yelena was doing her best to give you everything you needed but her growing thoughts were becoming darker by the day. She wasn't going to push you to talk about what happened, but she couldn't help but picture just how you got the wounds on your back. She was positive they would turn into scars and she worried for when the time would come and you'd notice them never fading away. She wanted to know if you were tortured into not speaking of the events that happened, she hasn't heard your voice since you woke up in the hospital. "Just tired" were the last words she heard you speak.

The meditation didn't seem like it was working in Yelena's eyes, you still didn't have the energy to get out of bed, to talk, to eat or even shower. Natalia hounded her mama daily for when she could see her mommy and on the one chance you nodded at Yelena's request for the young girl to see you, it broke her. Natalia of course, didn't entirely understand what was wrong with you and she didn't take your actions to heart, but deep down, Yelena did. Natalia had tried to show you a drawing she did at day care, you took one look at the colorful drawing before you looked back at Yelena who was standing behind your daughter, you shook your head at her than turned to lay with your back facing them.

It wasn't until one night when Yelena had gotten into bed with you rather early, she mentioned Natalia was staying at Natasha and Wanda's for the night. She held you in silence for hours until you turned and looked at her. Tears pooled at your eyes before slowly making their way down your cheeks, your wife wiping them away gently with the touch of her thumb as she placed a loving kiss on your forehead before looking into your broken eyes once more.

"What do you need detka? How can I help you get through this?" Yelena asked and for the first time since everything, you weren't looking through her. You could see how tired she was, the stress and worry of everything creeping in on her. Slowly you sat up and took a deep breath, Yelena sat up with you keeping a close eye on your body language.

"Can I make us a hot coco?" you asked. Yelena couldn't help but smile softly as she nodded. Happy she finally heard your voice since you were at the hospital, no longer having to repeat the last words you spoke to her, "just tired" running through her head.

You returned to the bedroom with two mugs of hot coco and a large yellow envelope, placing it on the end of the bed before handing Yelena her drink. "If I tell you everything, c-can you write it down for the report, please?" you asked, sipping your drink and placing it on your bedside table. Yelena nodded without a second thought, "of course detka, are you sure you're up for this?" she asked, just to be sure.

"Are you sure you want to hear it?" you asked her in reply, worried that the details you had to share for the report would upset her. "If I am the only person you feel safe enough to tell, I am here to listen detka. I've got your back like you've got mine" she reminded you as she placed her mug on her bedside table and grabbed the envelope and pen. You took another deep breath and closed your eyes for a moment, remembering the moment you were taken captive.

"I just finished my shift, Lisa, Jasmine and I were walking back to our rooms when 3 masked men ambushed us, one grabbed Lisa and dragged her towards the bush, he had large knife to her neck. Another put a bag over Jasmine's head, they told us to keep quiet or they'd kill us. I screamed for help, but one guy hit me over the head with his gun and I blacked out. When I woke up, I had a shackle on my left ankle, my hands tied behind my back and a bag over my head.

I could hear the girls screaming and crying for help, the place smelt unbearable…like death. I tried to keep the girls calm, I told them we'd be safe soon, to keep quiet or they'd hurt us but we were all so scared.

They kept us like that for hours, days maybe. I wasn't sure, it was too dark with the bag over my head. When they came back, one guy removed the bag, he was wearing a mask and had his gun pointed directly at me. There was a small cup of water and a bread roll on the floor, he told me to eat, or he'd shoot me. I was so hungry, that when he cut me free, I don't think I even swallowed much of the roll, the water was dirty but I didn't care. I asked him about the girls, but he just kneed me in the face to shut me up.

It was like that for days until the ringleader came, he had an interpreter with him, he didn't speak one word of English. He said that if our country cared enough about us, they'd stop the war and go home and leave us behind to become slaves." You spoke slowly so Yelena could write but halfway through, she decided that typing it up would be a lot faster.

"Things got worse, every time we did something wrong, we got less food and water, a beating and placed in this room that felt like it was on fire. It was so hot in there, sometimes they threw me in there just because I didn't eat fast enough. Lisa tried to escape but they caught her, they dragged me into this room with her and ha-" you paused as tears streamed down your face.

"Detka, we can take a break, it's okay" Yelena's hands reached for yours but you shook your head, "I don't want never want to speak about this ever again, I have to do this now" you replied, wiping your tears before taking a mouthful of your hot coco.

"He handed me a gun and told me to shoot her but I couldn't. I tried to plead with him, saying she won't do it again but that just gave me a beating. He beat me with a rusty pipe wrapped with barbed wire, that's that the marks on my back are from. I've never felt so much pain…I was crying so much that eventually he grabbed me by my hair and made me watch" you paused once more, your body shaking with fear as you recalled the details of what happened to your friend. Your wife was quick to put the laptop aside and instantly wrapped you in her arms, pulling you close into her as you broke down.

Through your sobs, you continued to explain the events you endured. "T…T-they beheaded her like it was nothing! There was blood very where, I was c-crying! Screaming! They tossed her h-he…to me and told me if I didn't shut u-up that w-would be me" You gripped onto your wife for life, she held you tightly as she cried with you. Kissing the top of your head for comfort.

----

3:38am, you were passed out asleep, tired from the crying and recalling. Yelena watched over you, her arms wrapped around you. She knew it was going to be a long road of recovery ahead, but she had every faith in you.

By morning, you woke up to an empty bed, but you felt differently. You sat up, stretched and slipped into your robe before making your way downstairs to see Yelena making waffles with your daughter. You smiled softly to yourself before making yourself known to your girls.

"Mommy!!!" Natalia came running into your arms. You hugged her tightly, kissing her cheek, "you feel better?" she asked. You nodded, "a little bit my love" you replied before putting her down on her feet. Yelena turned around and smiled lovingly at you, "Natalia, can you please get your sippy cup?" she asked the little girl to distract her for a moment so she could talk to you.

"I sent your report this morning" Yelena informed you with a kiss on your cheek. "Thank you, darling" you wrapped your arms around her, "what's on your mind?" you asked her, seeing she'd been thinking.

"He's still out there" she replied, her jaw clenching at the thought of the man who tortured you for months walking free in his own country. You knew instantly from her tone what she was thinking, and you knew there would be no way to stop her, in fact, you didn't even want to stop her.

"I know and if the time comes, I don't want you to think twice" You cupped her face, "let him suffer…he's already taken enough from me, take everything from him" you added looking into her eyes. "Here mama!" Natalia's voice broke the silent agreement between you two.

It would be a year until Yelena returned to war, she wanted to stay with you until you knew well enough to look after yourself once more. Now with a four year old and your wife off finding the man who covered you in scars, physically and mentally, you made the decision to never return to the warzone but would continue your work at the veterans clinic.

#yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #fanfiction #marvel #florence pugh #darktober #black widow #military! yelena

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

Note

Congrats on the 5K! You deserve it! Also good luck with the florist job!

And so happy that request are open for 5K special! I hope that Im not too late-

I'd like to request a Alex Keller fic, I have this wholesome idea. Reader would be a librarian who is fascinated with military stuff, you know always reading those history book about wars or military forces! And Alex could have days off from his work and decided to spend those days in library reading some books? Reader gets to know that he is from military and instantly ask stuff!

Yes I was inspired by the fact you're working as a florist now. I just love these tropes!

Take care! 💗

—Bright-Eyed History Lesson

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [A librarian with a fascination for war history and a soldier who loves how her eyes light up. Like a dog, he can't stop himself from coming back; smiling like a fool.] ❞

“I knew it,” you smile widely, looking smug. The blond ahead of you furrows his brow, releasing a gentle puff of laughter at the look on your face, grinning.

“And what do you mean by that?” Your book has been long placed down on the counter, expression lively and your shift finally brought to a point of enjoyment. It was a good day when Alex Keller showed up at the library, and it was even better when he went out of his way to talk to you and entice your little quirk. It had been an obsession since grade school, really, a need to inhale all knowledge about anything warlike.

“It means,” your voice echoes out over the quiet area, “that I have an impeccable ability to read people.”

Alex rolls his eyes, arms going to cross over his chest as his feet reset themselves. His blue eyes level you with a fake expression of exasperation. The light blush on his cheeks gives him away.

“You did not know that I was involved with the Forces just by how I looked,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “I have no doubt you’re smart, Sunshine, but that’s a stretch even by me.”

“Keller,” you raise a brow and smirk. “You’re like a walking enlistment form, c’mon. A literal picture boy.”

“Are you going to let me check out or is this going to be an hour-long back-and-forth?”

“Well I don’t know,” you tilt your head, eyelids crinkled. “Are you going to let me ask you questions?”

Alex raises a brow, itching at his mustache as he sighs through a chuckle. “Aren't you on the job, Ma’am?”

“My curiosity,” you hold out a palm for the book he wishes to check out, and he produces the item from one of his hands and lightly passes it to you with a soft expression, eyes melting as you chuckle. “Stops for no one.”

“Yeah, I’m seein’ that.” He takes back his book and you smile, skin going hot.

“Am I coming on too strong?” He blinks at you, putting his rented item under his arm and shaking his head firmly soon after.

“Hell, if all I have to do today is talk to a woman like yourself, I’d count it as time well spent.” Your confidence fizzles into shyness, eyes going wide at the hidden compliment in the smooth words. Alex smirks, lips twitching before his head tilts to the twin chairs in the corner of the entryway. “Sit with me?”

Your smile turns sheepish, and your heart skips a beat in your chest.

“Okay.”

Alex had been coming around for months, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say you’d become a bit infatuated with the handsome blond and his mustache; those tattoos that span up his arms in splashes of color. He was kind—respectful. He gave you a soft smile every time he walked through the front door, tilting his head your way in greeting as you waved from behind the counter. When he began checking out books on war history, stories from long past conflicts, you’d given tidbits of your own knowledge over in passing, not expecting much of it.

But, well, Alex had that air about him—the one that gave you a feeling he was either in for forces himself or had been previously.

You both sit in the soft chairs in the entryway, your eyes alight with interest that the man can’t help but stare at as your lips start dancing. Your questions make him happy because it makes you happy to ask them, and the sight of your shining grin is like a blanket on a cold day.

He wouldn’t have checked out all of those books if not to see you again, of course. He’s not some scholar—there are only so many hours in the day to read. He still has a stack in his room he needs to get through.

Alex laughs, easing out with a raised hand. “One at a time, Sweetheart.”

You itch at the side of your neck, shrugging as you take him in with a tease. “At least try to keep up, Alex.”

His body shifts as you say his name, the warm lights of the library around you and the air filled with the scents of cinnamon and old leaves. Blue eyes shine, blinking away with a laugh as he clears his throat to try and hide the plain happiness in it.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ll try, but at least show me a bit of mercy over here, Doll.” You hum, leaning on the arm of the chair to be closer to him. Alex’s breath lightly hitches as you smirk.

“How long until you need to leave?” Your voice asks out, and he watches you as if you’re the only person to exist.

Bless his soul, he was absolutely lost to you.

Alex’s face goes a shade of red.

“I’m here as long as you need me,” he says and matches your level of mischievousness with a quirk of his brow. “You’ve heard about the cat that got killed by his curiosity, yeah? Well, I’d hate to have that happen to you, Ma’am. Seems I’ve got my work cut out.”

If it was possible, you think you just fell in love.

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eatommo · 5 months

Text

Like Real People Do [d.d]

Summary: You and Mando have a history of broken hearts and are both looking for a place to land in the galaxy you live in, but you'll always have each other.

A/n: Not beta'd! mistakes are my own! and look a Hozier song to a Pedro fic what's new! I love this. I hope you do too! 6.2k

Cw: Canon typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, use of weapons, mutual pining, discussions of loss, discussions of war, brief mentions of grief, Reader is from Alderaan (trauma that comes from that), the reader has some of my tattoos because we love a self-insert, broken glass, pubic hair?, unprotected p in v, mentions of marking, hickeys, mentions of oral sex m/f receiving, fingering, the helmet stays on, breeding kink if you squint, as always touched starved Din, themes involving depression and loss, takes place post season 3 but has a flash back to season 1, I probably missed something but let me know!

It had been ages since you’d seen him. You’re not sure how many rotations, but not a day has passed that you didn’t think about him. But there, just passing the entrance to the trading post, his shiny beskar helmet flashes over the crowd.

You put your head down, looking at the spare parts you were hoping to auction off for some measly credits at a holiday festival for some caf and to help you hopefully buy some piece of junk craft to get you off this dusty and dry planet.

Maybe you’ll be lucky and you can slink away, and evade an awkward reunion all altogether. You found an outcropping and a small table covered in different smoked meats and small roasted animals.

You try to sell the fact that you look busy while you think about the last time you spoke to him. Your conversation about the rebel symbol marred into your skin with black ink, Cara had done it herself, and you’d helped her put the very same symbol on her cheek. The pain felt good, it mirrored the grief that felt immeasurable and it almost felt like a release of all of the terrible thoughts of your family’s final moments. Had your family suffered? Did they even know what was coming for them?

You were young and had just gotten off the planet in search of something greater, a higher purpose. Something to believe in, and the empire stole everything you’d ever known in one simple explosion.

It had handed you a purpose, for a time. Working with the rebellion, standing with your Princess, and fighting and punishing the Empire for the loss of Alderaan. Cara and you were hiding out on Sorgan after leaving your post as shock troopers. You were in the fresher when they started to tousle outside, you expected some gruff Klatoonian who she sharked in a bet, as it often was. Instead, she lies on her belly, a blaster pointed at a chrome-covered Mandalorian, who is lying on his back with a weapon drawn.

The only thing that holds your attention is a little green baby holding a cup of soup, mirroring your amusement waddling up next to you.

He coos, looking between you and his companion like he expects you to save him. “Sorry bud, I’m with her.”

An aggravated harsh pant cuts you off, “Stay away from him.” The blaster shifts to you, but you raise your hands and keep an even temper. He looks between the two of you, who clearly have no intention or idea what he is in possession of, and offers to buy the two of your dinner.

He didn’t speak much at first, but as you and Cara drank away a flagon of spotchka and you shared your interest in his ship, having to grow up around the rebel's fleet and wanting to see such an old military craft, he offered to show you.

“It’s a short walk, the kid is falling asleep in your lap anyway.” You look down at the little wrinkled green monster, blinking slowly with his massive eyes as you stroke his ears, you can’t help but fawn over him.

“I can’t believe they’re hunting a baby.” Whispering, as you feel the warmth of his tiny body, heartbroken at the idea of an imperial remnant looking for children.

“He is older than I am.” His surprisingly playful voice almost startled you, he’d been quietly walking by your side as you carried the little guy nestled into your chest.

“He’s” you struggle to find words, but you can feel an energy emanating from the little creature in your arms “magnificent.”

The Mandalorian hums lowly, agreeing with you. There’s a pause for a few moments while you look over at him, “Did you find a lot of purpose? With the rebellion?”

It's your turn to be broody, “For a time.” Suddenly feeling subconscious you speak a little bit more quietly, “Just waiting for the next thing to believe in I guess.” You sigh, gazing down into the dark black ink just above your rebel stripes, “It feels like I could keep fighting forever, but hearing all this, seeing such a small child threatened by the same evil as I was, it feels like I already have.” You’re not sure if he understands you, or even what side of the war he stood on.

“You feel like there’s reasons to fight.” He looks down into the baby drifting to sleep in your clutches. “But afraid that you have no fight left.” You half expect him to be criticizing you. Mandalorians have lost almost as much as you have, but are warriors by nature and have fought and continue to be feared across the galaxy as mercenaries and bounty hunters. His voice is soft, and understanding, as if processing his words himself.

You spot the ship ahead, falling silent in your admiration you trudge through the leaves and sticks that have fallen from the ship clearing its landing. The ramp hisses as it falls open to welcome its pilot, but you stop outside to admire the twin engines and their decades-long wear and tear.

Walking around the ship to admire her heavy laser cannons and her yellow markings. He watches you with a quiet but proud silence, as you eventually shuffle up the ramp to set the little one into a floating pram. Your eye catches a glimpse of a carbonite freezing chamber, and a little anxious butterfly seems to stir in your belly, how much do you trust him?

“I always thought I’d die looking for a bounty when I got too old, too slow, or just in plain luck.” You turn heel to face him, heartbeat clipping unsteadily in your chest, but you raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. He hesitates and sets himself on top of one of the shipping containers. “But protecting this child has made me dream of a life I never thought I could fight for.”

You can feel your body soften at his confession, cursing yourself for thinking lowly of a man whose been nothing but kind and trusting of you. “I’m sure it's lonely.” You take a small but calculated breath, “He is lucky to have you.” The smile is soft, and you try to reassure him despite yourself.

He looks at you standing but a few steps away from him, and nods, “I’m just as lucky.”

The bustle of the holiday market slows to accommodate him, traversing through the stalls as all shapes and sizes scurry out of his way. You swear to yourself, turning away and buying some meat you can’t afford. When you hear your modulated name fall out of his mouth like a prayer, soft and delicate. He steers around the crowd, veering right into your path as a child walks in front of you blowing bubbles from the straw of a festive drink.

The Mandalorian approaches you with purpose, his walk deliberate and commanding as if everyone in the vicinity answers to him. “Mando.” you smile briefly, warmth heating your cheeks, and the never-fading crush you have on this man skipping around your belly. “Hi.”

His gaze stays fixed as he reaches for your arm, touching a patch of ink that not only is new to him but you completely forgot about. His glove runs over it and when it doesn’t smear it might’ve made his knees buckle. “The Crest.”

You peer into the helmet, glad to have him near you again, and realizing how much you missed hearing his voice, a rush of blood washes over your cheeks again. “Yeah,” you fumble around doubting your reasons for getting that tattoo in the first place, “I’ve been adding a couple of ships that are important to me.”

You hear a small noise but are unable to determine the emotion behind it, “I was hoping to see you on Nevarro,” your heart rate picks up in your chest, and of course, his helmet picks it up, “the last few times.”

“I’ve been moving around, looking for something new.” There’s a sleepy squeal coming from his satchel, “is that?” He swings it around to the front and opens the top of the bag to reveal your favorite green forehead. “Handsome man! I’ve missed you little mudscuffer.”

Mando chuckles under his breath as you pull the baby from his confines and offer him a piece of the meat you just bought. He swallows it down greedily. “I swear he eats. He just woke up.”

You smile and give him a playful look, “Is daddy feeding you enough munchkin?” You hand the baby another strip, Mando is glad you don’t see him adjusting his pants as the word daddy slips between your lips innocently, “Don't worry I’ll get you something sweet too.”

Mando rests his hands on his hips, and shakes his head in mock defeat, “He’s not gonna want to leave.” He follows at your back as you carry the child through the marketplace, sometimes letting his palm rest on your back to keep close to you.

He would not be one to admit but seeing you carry the child around reminds him of the times on Sorgan, of the weeks you spent together and his floundering inability to court you. Even now the way you look at him has him hiding behind his beskar helm like a foolish schoolgirl.

“He doesn’t have to, are you here for business?” You cast a look over your shoulder, “He can stay with me while you take care of whatever you need.” You find a stall selling some fruity overpriced drink for the planetary holiday.

You look into your bag, coming up just a few credits short, and cursing at yourself. Starting to walk away, “I’ve got it.” He cuts in front of you while gripping your shoulder and standing over the top of you, handing more than enough credits to the man in exchange for two drinks.

Yet another blush creeps into your cheeks, “No need to spoil me.” You offer the child his drink and he snatches it away from you eagerly with a screech.

“I want to.” That causes your brows to knit together and a deep ache below your belt to settle and warm.

You sip away at the luxuriously sweet drink, wishing you could at least share it with him. “I have a room at an inn,” you offer, “or we could go back to the Crest, and catch up.”

You lean against one of the walls so that you don’t accidentally traverse even further from his bounty. “I don’t have the crest.”

Your drink turns to ash in your mouth, “What? Is she in disrepair? I’m sure Karga-“

“It’s rubble on the planet Tython.” He’s sad, of course he is, but his hand finds the mark on your skin again, and you can’t help but mull over the memories, the connection you shared on that ship eviscerated.

“I’m so sorry.” You let your head hang low, remembering how many conversations you shared hoping he’d invite you aboard as crew. “I loved that ship. I mean not as much as you I’m sure.”

He chuckles, thumb brushing over the silhouette as he speaks, “You don’t happen to know how to rewire an N-1 starfighter engine?”

“I’m sure I could look at it, but I don’t think I’d be much help. Where the hell did you find one?” You’re a bumbling mess, wanting so eagerly for him to scoop you off this planet like he had before, but also knowing your heart couldn’t bear to watch him leave a third time.

“I didn’t think so but I have no idea what you’ve been up to and-“ he pauses, stopping himself to watch you take a sip of the drink after licking some whipped cream off of the straw.

“And?” You prompt him to continue, but he stares between you and the child who have matching bright red tongues and are both sporting some whipped cream out of the corners of your mouths.

You catch a hint of strain in his voice, “We can rest at your place for a while. He’s due for a nap.” You squint at him a little, easily reading his stiff body language and the change of subject.

At the word nap, the baby babbles away while chewing on the straw of his drink, “There’s a lot of sugar in this, so we might have to wait it out.”

Mando lets out an exasperated sigh, “What have you gotten us into.” You’re both sitting on the floor of a modest single room with the little one taking turns climbing up and over the two of you.

“You bought it,” raising your hands in defense, smile splitting ear to ear, “I was going to split one with him.” You reach out to try to grab his surprisingly quick body but he darts away with a giggle.

“He’ll crash, eventually.” You could hear him talk about the baby for hours, to sit with him and watch the two of them play together always felt like a treat on its own. “Get down from there.”

“He’s fine, this place is a dump anyway.” You smirk over your shoulder as he climbs up onto your bed, rolling around and giggling half to himself while chewing on the mythosaur skull pendant around his neck.

“How did you end up here?” Your face falls a little, but he’s kind, and soft, and you can tell he doesn’t want to pry but his curiosity is getting the best of him.

“I was tracking a bunch of smugglers, the republic got word that they were hauling children to Canto Bight, and exporting them maker knows where.” You continue, trying to keep your breath even, “Cara had asked me as a favor, but I had a run-in with a group of pirates who saw my stripes and stole my ship.”

“Does she know?” He shuffles closer to you, folding his knees in so that he can run a hand soothingly across the skin of your leg.

“I don’t know,” You clear the tightness in your throat, “At least I don’t think so.” You find the words pouring out of you as if he is comforting you into realizing something you’ve been fighting for a long time. “I don’t think I can fight like this anymore, and I don’t know how to tell her that.”

He is quiet, giving a simple solemn nod, before pulling the rising phoenix from his back, and laying it on the floor. He scoots closer to you, settling next to you as you both lean against the foot of your bed. His beskar shoulder plate is cold on your cheek, as you lean against him, seeking reassurance you haven’t felt in so long.

Silently a tear falls down your face, and as if prompted by his little superpowers the baby, climbs into your lap nuzzling your cheek and touching your face gently with a warm hand. There are a lot of things this child is capable of, things you can’t begin to understand, over a lifetime that is marred with more violence and confusion than you will likely ever know existed. When he touches you, you can feel his pain and loss, but he also shares with you a joy and unfathomable curiosity over the smallest things he remembers.

“I can’t take you on the N-1,” his voice startles you out of your stupor with the baby, “but if you’ll give me a few days, I’ll be back to pick you up, and you can stay with us on Nevarro until you find somewhere else, something else to do.”

Your breath is shaking, and you’re not even sure the last time you felt safe enough to cry. A small piece of you wants to run because that's what you've been doing for these last 10 or so years of your life. Running from the Empire, running after them, and then running from yourself. “I don’t think I could.”

“Why not?” he reaches for your shaking hand, setting his gloved hand on top of yours, driving the energy in the room with the ease of piloting a speeder bike.

“You’re a family, he has a routine, you’ve settled into this beautiful life that you’ve worked tirelessly for. I couldn’t impose.” You try your best to sound strong like you’ve got a plan ahead of you, and the idea of not being around the two of them doesn't make your heart ache.

He hums, and for a moment your cry is less of confusion and more out of pain. His hand is gone from yours, and the lack of his warmth feels like a slap into reality, as you pinch your eyes shut to stop yourself from being embarrassed even further.

You jump. There's a much larger warm hand caressing your cheek, and turning your head into the dark stare of his visor. You can see the tanned skin of his wrist as he turns your face slightly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “It is the greatest mistake of my life leaving you on Sorgan.”

You sniffle, the words sorting through the emotional fog of your brain, searching the blank emotionless canvas of metal for a hint of human connection, a flutter of an eyelash, anything. You can’t find anything, until you hear the faint sound of his breath from beneath his mask, stuttering and insecure, his chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a battle with his own emotions.

You feel it again, a swell in your chest of love and admiration and then you feel the tiny claws digging into the skin of your bicep. You look down at the tiny man as he steps between where your chests are separated by mere inches, “Could I have her come and get us?” You’re quiet as a loth cat, voice heady and rough. “I don’t think I could watch you go.”

He lets the little one settle into his lap after a moment, this time you can hear relief and a half-broken smile in his tone, “Let’s just wait until he falls asleep, I’ll go to the ship and send a transmission. I’ll come back with his pram, and then where we go. You go.”

You clear your throat again, wanting so desperately for this to be real and aching to touch him. “Okay.” your voice barely makes a squeak, he pressed the cold beskar helm to your temple.

Wondering if he feels as raw as you, you place your hand on top of his suppressing the need to comment on how large it is, and tangle your fingers with his. You stare at his hand, tanned and massive and warm. Human. You fold your legs in on themselves and shift your body so that you may properly look at him.

The glove sits in his lap, and he looks so imposing in this tiny half-furnished room, polished and chrome in the dingy and ill-lit space you've called ‘home’ for these last few cycles. You take his other hand, and look up to see if he’s going to stop you, but he is still and silent, so you slip the glove off his hand. You trace from the tip of his middle finger, down his palm and up towards the pulse point of his wrist.

He shudders beneath your touch, thankful for the mask to hide the crimson flush of his cheeks. He’s never had the opportunity to enjoy a tenderness like this, to feel his pulse quicken and the nervous butterflies he’s heard described during love stories on a holodrama. It’s terrifying, he feels like he could vomit, but the way your delicate fingers trace circles over the palm of his hand makes him want to run his hands over every last inch of your body until he knows it inside and out like his blaster.

The child settles into his lap, leaning his head against your arm as his head and eyes grow heavier with sleep. “Why don’t we walk to your ship together?”

Your eyes are bright, and he can tell by your posture that you feel better, but he can’t stop the audible grumble, not ready to let you or even your hand slip from his. He nods and swallows harshly to clear his throat, “Alright.”

You walk across the market again, and the crowd parts before the two of you except this time you are holding onto his hand, and rather than trying to avoid his gaze like every other soul walking the market, you cling to his him trying to suppress the smirk curling the corners of your mouth.

Nevarro has changed so much, you spend the first few days just getting accustomed to the new layout of the town. Dropping the child, ‘Grogu’ (it took a while but it grew on you) at school, and then going to spend time in the market picking up some rations and some of the seasonal veg you’ve been coaxing into the little one’s belly.

The domestic bliss that comes with living with Mando is both welcome and intoxicating. You’re awake at odd hours of the night, talking and sharing stories about Jawas and your run-ins with Ewoks, and sharing your dreams and hopes for the galaxy.

He shares stories about Mandalore, about visiting there for the first time and bathing in the healing waters, about Bo Katan seeing a Mythasaur alive. All things you heard about as a young child, and symbols that brought hope and purpose to the entire creed were real and were aiding to heal the planet and its inhabitants.

Then there were times when you both laid on the floor, watching the little one interact with a metal sphere, using his magic to hover it just out of your grasp and giggling himself to a peaceful sleep. You’d lay together, wrapped in the comfort and protection of his house, and stare at the little man as he sleeps occasionally peaking into the reflection of yourself in his helmet, and blushing when you catch your own heart racing.

You want to tell him how you crave to be with him, how addicting his presence and his mind are to you, but you’re afraid. Afraid to move too fast, to step over his barriers, but also knowing that each second without knowing the softness of his mouth is torture.

The first time you see him in his sleep clothes, a plain dark green shirt with three buttons on the top and loose-fitting black canvas pants, no metal aside from his helmet, you choke on your cup of Jawa juice. He’s large even without the metal beefing up his silhouette, his back broad and the fabric thin enough for you to see his muscles move as he opens a drawer for silverware. Even treating yourself to a glimpse of his waist and the way it tapers to his ass and hips.

It’s become more common, in fact when he gets home, he almost immediately strips out of the armor in favor of something more casual and comfortable.

Tonight the energy is different. The kid passes out early and you’re soaking a pot you used for dinner in the sink when he emerges out of his room. You hear his footsteps, but they’re muted and soft, he’s barefoot. As you glance over your shoulder as he offers you a glass from his bedroom you see he’s in briefs, (the house is admittedly warmer as the seasons change) but the shock is plain as day as you turn so quickly away the glass slips from your hand and shatters on the floor. But the image of his chest spattered with hair that trailed down his soft belly and into the top of his black undergarments.

You both are silent for a moment, hoping the noise isn’t loud enough to wake the baby, in his silence you swear, “Kriff, don’t move I’ll get a broom.” You shy away, looking to the ground for a safe path.

He cuts you off arm darting in front of you to halt your movement, “I’ll get it.” His hand comes to rest on your hip stalling your movements with his warm palm.

His other hand reaches out and before you can grumble in discontent he's lifting you onto the counter. You sit there, flustered with your hands tucked between your thighs as he fiddles with the control of his helmet flicking through to see which would help him find the scattered pieces of glass the best.

It's moments, but it feels like an eternity as he searches for a broom, sweeping the glass into a neat pile before discarding it into the bin silently. He settles between your legs, silent as a mouse.

“I'm sorry.” You smile sheepishly, struggling to maintain eye contact as he hovers in front of you, inches separating your face, and if it were any cooler you would’ve fogged the front of his mask with your breath.

He chuckles dryly, “Don’t be, I’ll take it as a compliment.” His posture is full of confidence, but also comfortable and relaxed. You long to touch him, to run your hand over his chest and abdomen, to feel the muscles shift in his back as he- “Mesh’la?”

You blink yourself out of a daze, “You should, you’re so handsome.” He braces his hands on the counter next to your hips and leans ever closer.

“Yeah?” His voice is hot like a pant, stroking a fire in the room that neither of you are able to ignore any longer.

“Yeah.” You smirk at him, emboldened and smoothing your hands up the strong plains of his arms, squeezing lightly around the muscles of his biceps. You let your foot run across his calf, urging him closer to your body, his hands find your waist, firm but careful as his thumbs stroke the skin just below your breasts. You curse yourself for even bothering with a bra band.

“I like having you here.” His head tilts, you can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he continues, “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He uses his strength to pull you a little closer to him, so with each breath your chests touch and your core is flush to his abdomen. “Having you in my kitchen, sitting on my counter looking so pretty, so-” He swipes the hair off your shoulder exposing your neck and throat, “edible.”

Any chance you had of playing it cool is gone, you want nothing more than to bend to his will. His hand disappears from your side, and he tangles it in your hair, using it to fix your eyes to his through the helm, as he strokes your cheek with his thumb. You feel completely safe, but there’s something about him thats dangerous, hungry even, and it makes your skin damp with sweat.

He sounds like he’s in agony, like each passing moment without consuming you is torture, and you ache for him in a way that astonishes you, embarrasses you, not even sure that you could stand on your own two feet.

“I need you.” He whispers, breath uneven almost a growl, “Tonight. Now.” He reaches between your legs, letting his fingers ghost over you ever so gently, as if asking, no begging, for permission.

You swallow hard, his helmet tilts, admiring you, and you hardly manage to stutter a yes. Part of you expects him to be quick, tearing at your clothes and taking you right here in the kitchen.

He doesn’t.

He goes slow, letting the crest of his helmet fall to rest on your forehead, taking his time to caress your hips, tracing up your sides and taking your shirt with it. His hands are warm, but bring goosebumps to your skin as he touches you, hands squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipple. You keen, pressing desperately against his hands. You lean in, placing a kiss to his collarbone, gentle and moving slow so he may stop you if he wants, but he drops his shoulder and tilts his head to expose his neck.

You kiss his collarbone again, letting your tongue dart out to taste his skin, he’s vibrating beneath you. Trembling as you kiss the hollow of his throat and nibble at the skin of his neck. You run your hands down his chest, basking in the intimacy and living for the scent of his skin.

He lifts you in a fluid motion, whisking you out of the kitchen and into his modest bedroom. Laying you on the bed, he runs his hands down your legs and removes your pants. You blush, unable to hide your arousal but noticing the prominent tent in his briefs, your mouth waters and you get to consider getting on your knees for him briefly.

He’s faster than you, and not thinking about himself. Ripping your underwear from your body and running the tip of his index fingers through your folds. “All this for me?” He circles your entrance, gathering your slick before brushing across your clit with leg-shaking precision.

You chase his touch, the pleasure coating your tongue and fogging your brain even more than you can put into words. You beg for him to get closer, to press your bodies together until you weren't sure you'd ever part.

You're expecting to feel shorted by the absence of his mouth on yours. No taste of him, and not getting to hear his words directly from his mouth, but his touch is consuming. Like he's worshiping and waking each cell with caresses and adoration that's as palpable in the air as his sheets were soft on your back.

There are noises, words you think, that he is muttering between each supple squeeze and tease, words you've heard him say before but their meaning is only now defined by his actions.

Love. He loves you. You can feel it in the heat of his hands as he spreads your legs apart and admires the way you part for him, and he sinks two fingers into your fluttering pussy, pushing up and stroking something dangerous.

His erection is nestled against your leg, and he shifts his hips with every twist of his fingers for a few moments, pressed between your bodies he feels a glimmer of relief with a groan, as much as he wants to bathe you in attention, he thinks that if he waits any longer his heart might give out before the best part. “Mesh’la,” he twists his fingers as if to be sure you're listening, “Please.”

“Yes,” you nod, swallowing harshly as he slips free of his underwear, cock springing free of its confines. You gawk, unabashedly, as he did to you just moments ago. He's large, intact, leaning slightly to his left, and the skin is tanned brown, slightly darker than the rest of his body, thick and weeping out of the brilliantly flushed pink tip, the base adorned with sparse but dark hair that trails up to his navel deliciously. When he steps between your legs and lets it rest on your abdomen to press your forehead together again, you feel its heady weight against you and stoop so low as to beg, “Please.”

You're echoing each other's moans as he grinds against your folds, coating himself in your slick before sinking into you in a single brutally slow thrust. When he bottoms out, you do your best not to squeak as the girth of his member breaks you open, it doesn't hurt, rather it feels like you've both waited an eternity to come to this very moment, euphoric and fulfilling the needs of your body and soul.

He grinds his pelvis against yours letting his hand shift to cup your cheek, staring at you, he hopes somehow you can sense it. How he is barely able to stop passing between the pout of your lips and the deep pleading look in your eyes, begging him for the same thing his heart is calling for. He could weep, having finally shorn the armor to dedicate himself to you, because the truth is, all you needed was to ask. He would've dropped his creed, everything he had achieved, and the meek life he'd planned for himself to grovel at your feet for the rest of his human life.

Devotion, that's what it was called. He had felt at many moments of his life that he was in the right place, blessing along his journeys that started out as miracles, friends, familial bonds he didn't think he deserved. It felt misplaced, the little blessings that had entered his life so quickly that he swore they had to have been accidents. It had taken losing the child and abandoning you on that god-forsaken planet, for him to reflect, and to realize that the life he deserved was not determined by some blasters and an army, nor his home planet. He had the life he wanted in his palms once, and watched it slip through his fingers with the charred remains of his ship. His grip tightened instinctively, twisting the sheet in his fist.

It was you. You were the representation of all of the things he wanted but never thought he deserved. A family, a place to call home, and you even had committed something as passing as his ship to your skin with a permanence that scared him.

Here your skin was warm, surrounding him, nurturing him, squeezing him, and his mind was trying so hard to be a person, not a machine, loving someone else for the first time.

He found the words, he said it to you, over and over with his pelvis angled just right as he ground his hips into you.

He was throbbing inside of you, you could feel the slick slide and pulse of him with each thrust. The pleasure was so intense you were whimpering and mewling beneath him, wetness smearing onto your thighs and running on the sheets below.

You've had sex before of course, and now you seriously doubt you've been doing it right. You kiss at the hollow of his throat, and in response he hunches over you, arms on either side of your head, animalistic yet praising affirmations go straight to the building heat in your core.

You let your hands, come up to his back digging your nails into his skin. He moans in shock as his thrusts grow more frenzied, spurred on by the bite of pain at his back. He reaches between you and circles your clit with his thumb, pulling you headfirst into your orgasm. You're body goes taught and relaxes all at once, the pleasure blinding you as your vision goes white and each tilt of his hips makes you stutter out an overstimulated moan.

The fluttering of your sex around him would be enough to send over the edge but as you catch your breath you begin to beg for him to finish inside you. He does, still feeling you shivering through the after waves of your own, as he groans and revels through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, complete with curled toes and a knuckle-popping grip on the sheets. He’s still looking at you, the rise of fall of your chests bumping into each other and your breath fogging the front of his helmet so much that when you kissed right over his eye, he could see the imprint of your lips for just a passing moment.

“I can’t believe we waited so long.” You chuckle, all smiles but looking as dazed and spent as he felt. A shiver coming over him as the small sounds cause you to tighten slightly around him as he softens, his body incredible sensitive.

“I’ll spend the rest of our life making up for it.” You note the sound of him speaking through the grit of his teeth, and do your best to lie still, not wishing to be parted just yet.

Months later, you’re married in a private ceremony in front of friends and his brothers and sisters of the clan. It's quick, and everything you had expected of a warrior’s wedding. You get the mudhorn symbol tattooed into the skin nestled behind your ear, wearing it proudly and with your vows you are made a family, a clan of three in front of all the important people you care about.

You’d be remiss if what had you most excited isn’t the filthy promises he’s made to you about that night, taking his helmet off and kissing you everywhere he can for as long as he wishes. Promising to leave a mark over your new clan sigil as he marks the rest of your body for him, as you’ve done to him many times over. You get to admire his face and the most handsome man in the galaxy who kneels before you with reverence and vows to take care of you with more than just his words.

#pedro pascal #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin #eatommos 🗞️#the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian smut #din djarin x reader smut #din x reader #pedro pascal fanfic

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vandnana · 1 year

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Hello! I'd love to see some lo'ak fics! I love your writing

Hope you are having a good holiday xx

hello! thank you so much for loving my writing, i really appreciate you! i hope you’ve had a good holiday as well!

i’ve been working on a new lo’ak x reader series and below is a preview of it!

**if you would like to be added to the tag list for this fic, please comment on this post or if you’re more comfortable, send me a dm or an ask!

In Love With the Enemy (Preview Below)

Prologue Is Here!

pairing: lo’ak x female human turned na’vi reader

summary: during the time when jake became toruk makto, you were quaritch’s youngest and most valued soldier, the daughter he never had. but, pandora changed you and you died fighting with the na’vi, betraying quaritch and wishing that you had been able to do more. now, you have been reborn again, as a na’vi, tasked with quaritch’s new military avatar crew to kill Jake Sully. taking advantage of this second chance at life, you help the Sullys and fall in love along the way

genre: fluff, angst (wip, more themes to come)

word count (wip): 839

The prologue is now up! You can read it here!

You were the youngest in the regiment back then, too young for war and far too young for what was in store for you in Pandora. But, Quaritch took you in when you were a child. You had no family, no home, and no promise of a real future. He had seen himself in you: cunning, willing, strong, unafraid. You were everything he could have hoped for in a daughter, but you were real. His prodigy. And not a day went by when you didn’t live up to those expectations. You loved being with Quaritch. He had become your father and he always thought that nothing could ever change that.

But, the more time you spent in Pandora, the more you began to see past the façade you let yourself believe. The mission was never about finding diplomatic solutions or building alliances. It was about destruction, money, and humanity’s wretched twist on glory, a misguided glory that Quaritch was more than happy to fulfill. It was Grace who helped you see that first. She always used to tell you that you were smart and far more capable than any of the trigger-happy morons you were with.

But even you couldn’t prevent Hometree from being destroyed, and although you did what you could to help Jake, Grace, and Norm escape with Trudy, the damage was done. You were an offender of the highest treason by helping Quaritch’s worst enemy, and you knew that you could never go back.

You feigned your innocence until the end, fooling everyone. You watched Quaritch shoot Grace and you cried alone when you heard about her passing. It wasn’t until you joined Trudy in her helicopter that you revealed whose side you were really on. Only for a moment did Quaritch hesitate to shoot you down, but his duty was above all. When he had dealt the final blow, the glass around you breaking with every explosion, you looked at Trudy with a smile. You were happy to be alongside her, dying with her as the sight of the Hallelujah Mountains became the last thing you ever saw, your vision fading into darkness as you descended downward into nothingness.

Then, came light again, invading your shut eyes as you heard voices around you, the sounds distant at first, but slowly heightening as you came to. When you opened your eyes, the fluorescent lights stunned you, your hand instinctively finding its way to the front of your face. Your eyes widened, and you figured you were in hell, punished to be what you failed to protect.

You were blue, a Na’vi, and everyone around you towered with their own blue figures, cooing you awake.

“Colonel, the baby’s awake.” One of them yelled, and you propped yourself up, taking in the appearance of those who had an air of familiarity, but still seemed to be strangers.

There was Wainfleet, Warren, Zdinarsk, and Zhang looking at you, patting you on the back with satisfied smiles.

Then you saw him. Quaritch, the man you once owed your life to. But it wasn’t really him. He had become his worst nightmare and in seeing him, you were convinced that you really had been damned to hell. He was Na’vi too and a real sight for sore eyes as he looked like he wanted to jump out of his own skin, his movements awkward as he made his way over to you. The only comfort that he seemed to take refuge in was seeing you, his eyes still glimmering in fondness over you, the daughter he never had.

He hugged you and for the first time, he smiled. “It’s nice to see you kid.”

You had all the memories from your old life, the old y/n that loved Quaritch and saw him as a father, the old y/n who trained endlessly to become that prodigy he loved so much. But you also remembered Grace, the only person you felt really saw you for who you were and who you could be, and it was her memory that really revived you. That was who you wanted to be now, not the monster that Quaritch had conditioned you to become.

Nothing felt real until that point, his embrace making your skin crawl, but it was a comfort nonetheless. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, a lopsided smile on your face, “Nice to see you too, Q.”

It seemed that you had been given a second chance at life, given the video log that you had filmed so long ago. Among Quaritch and the rest of your team, you were granted an avatar too, stowed away in case the supposed small chance of failing ever came to fruition. Seemingly, it had, and you smiled. Yet, no one else remembered Grace or the scientists, or rather they didn’t really want to remember. It was as if this new team of recombinants were a hive mind with only one mission left to complete, a mission that churned your insides.

Eliminating Jake Sully.

Author’s Note:

i hope you enjoyed this preview! i’m so excited to write some more! again, if you would like to be added to the tag list, please don’t hesitate to reach out through this post or through a dm or an ask!

#avatar x reader #avatar way of water #avatar #avatar fanfiction #loak #lo'ak x you #lo’ak x reader #lo'ak headcanons #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #loak imagine #jake sully x reader #Jake Sully #nanasavatarfics

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doetic · 11 days

Text

Flash Fic - Posessive!King!Ram Hybrid!Schlatt x Fem!Deer Hybrid!Reader

Plot: Your new husband finds you on the balcony following your forced marriage, and has some words for you Warnings: Posessive behaviour, forced marriage, threatening, war mention Word count: 414

A/N: Just posting something short, I'm trying to get my passion for writing back since exams are almost over and I'll be able to update again!

“Is that something you’ll always have?” Your new husband’s voice split the silence that rested over you like a heavy fog. “The urge to run away?” You were perched on the wall of the castle’s balcony, your elaborate silk gown pushed up and pooled around you on the cool stone. You turned your head towards the man who intruded upon your peaceful state. With large, curled ram horns and large ram ears to match, King Schlatt was an intimidating sight – especially with the ornate suit he wore that was adorned with various military achievements. You almost shuddered at the sight of them, burdened with the knowledge that a few of them must have come from his war against your now-fallen nation. “I just wanted some fresh air,” Your doe ears sagged down as you looked back out to the beautiful, sprawling kingdom that laid below the castle. Under any other circumstance you would have loved to be married in such a beautiful place, especially with how gorgeous the large porcelain moon looked while it cast its soft liquid silver rays on the ocean further ahead.

Schlatt’s tall, imposing form moved to stand beside you. He leaned on the wall beside you with crossed arms, looking out at what seemed to be a separate world below the two of you.

“I can make you the happiest girl in the world, ya’ know?” His usual confident and commanding voice had a vulnerable undertone creeping below his every word. “There’s no kingdom I wouldn’t crumble for you, no amount of gold I wouldn’t spend…” In your peripheral vision you could see your husband’s head turn towards your form. You could feel his striking brown eyes look deeply into you, it felt as if he could see every part of your being. “All I ask for in return is your love.”

Your silence spoke volumes.

“You may be able to bite back your words, you might even be able to avoid looking at me… but just remember, I won.” His tone was calm and even, frighteningly so. He waited beside you for a few moments for a response, but stood up straight when there was no sign of one. His eyes wandered over your face, taking in its every feature before he turned away and walked back towards the castle. You knew better than to think he was retreating, especially with the words he left you with before going inside. “You can’t avoid me forever, my dear wife.”

#jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt #schlatt x reader #jschlatt fanfic

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pinkykats-place · 7 months

Text

Shigaraki Tomura x Reader Insert

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers! None of the stories below are mine Many contain mature content Readers are mostly female w/ a few gn

Gif not mine

Say you need me (nsfw)

Shigaraki x fem!Reader

summary: you hadn't been trying to make him jealous, yet the result is just the same

Milk (nsfw)

Cow Hybrid Sub!Shigaraki x gn!dom!Reader

Warning(s): Cum Eating, Handjobs, Male Lactation, Nipple Play, Slight Degradation

Coffee and Donuts

Yandere!Shigaraki x Chubby!Fem!Reader

Summart: Shigaraki visits a local coffee shop and normally doesn't like to go often but that changes when he sees a chubby goddess that makes his heart beat faster. You flirt with him, go out of your way to bake for him, tell your co-workers he has pretty eyes. He is obsessed and itching for an excuse to keep you all to himself.

Warning: Non/con, willing Darling

Thanks For Your Donation!

Yandere Shigaraki x Female Twitch Streamer Reader

Synopsis: request, “Please I love that troupe where Shigaraki gets obsessed with a twitch stream and deluded himself into believing they’re together until he finally takes her home”

Yan Shigaraki part 3: Mommy Kink

Tomura x fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ only, dubcon, mentions of rape, bondage, drugging, kidnapping, blow jobs, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, mind break, manipulation, prostate milking, switching, mommy kink, DARK FIC

Bath Time

Shigaraki x Fem!Bunny!Reader

Warnings: a little bit of angst from Shiggy, but the rest is completely fluff

Confessions

Shigaraki Tomura x female Reader

Summary: Shigaraki being nervous about telling reader how he feels because he thinks she won't feel the same

Warnings: soft sex, unprotected sex

Waking Up (NSFW)

Shigaraki x gn!Reader

𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟏: 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐢 + 𝐡𝐲𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

cat boy!tomura shigaraki x afab!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: hybrid au, owner!reader, service dom!reader, mentions of skin condition and medication, vaginal sex, riding, praise, creampie

I’ll haunt the world inside you

Summary: You don’t remember when Tomura began sneaking into your room at night. It feels like he always has, really. But you do remember asking him why.

He hadn’t done anything yet, hadn’t touched you, hadn’t told you how he felt. He would just come into your room and talk to you about everything and nothing. After a few weeks, the two of you knew everything about each other. You knew Tomura more than you knew yourself, and you were falling completely head over heels for him. You couldn’t stand not knowing why, if this was platonic, or if it was just some weird league bonding thing, but you had to know.

Mommy, Please!

Tomura Shigaraki x F!Reader

Contains: mommy kink, breastfeeding kink, submissive Tomura, smut.

Like good big sisters should

Shigarki x Fem reader

Synopsis: You knew your little brother was a virgin the first day you met and as his big sister you knew you had to take care of that.

My Pleasure

Shigaraki x Reader

Series: Paper Skin

shigaraki tomura x afab!reader

Pervy Neighbor!Shigaraki x Fem!Reader

NSFW FIC

Good For You

Shigaraki x chubby!Reader

Peaches and Cream

Smut ft. Mommy kink & lactation kink

ABO Headcanons

Omega!Tomura x Alpha!reader

❥Warnings: ⚠︎nsfw!⚠︎, sub Shiggy, dom reader, swearing

Shigaraki With His Drunk Crush!

Shigaraki getting caught jerking off to Y/N by Y/N

You’re mine

Shigaraki x fem!Reader

Spoils of War

Shigaraki x f!Reader x Dabi

Summary: [Military AU] It’s not uncommon for officers to play favorites…it is uncommon, however, for two officers to pick the same favorite.

A Burning Heart

Shigaraki Tomura x F!Reader x Dabi

Warnings: Angst, abusive relationship, cheating, burn trauma, burn scars, toxic people, reader beats a bitch up

#shigaraki x reader #reader insert recommendation #fanfic recommendation #reader insert recommendations #tomura shigaraki x reader #fic recs #bnha x reader #mha x reader #tumblr fic rec #tumblr recommendation #shigaraki tomura x fem reader #tumblr fic recs #tumblr recommendations #shigaraki x gn reader #soft shigaraki #shigaraki x chubby reader #shigaraki tomura x bunny reader

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ghouljams · 8 months

Note

GHOUL I LOVE YOU omg you've been feeding me so well I don't deserve you. I've been obsessed with your demon au (frothing at the mouth, salivating, gripping into my bedsheets as I read all of it) and I had an idea. I was reading a fic, which I'll link down below don't worry, about ghost dying in combat and coming back to you in actual ghost form. How do you feel about the idea of ghost going to hell but they turn him into your demon? He promises he'll never leave you, goes on a mission and just...never returns. But Ghost is not only your lover, but he's a legend in hell and why would hell waste a good soldier? They send him back up to you........

You become the new war machine, your boots digging into still hot flesh as you march over the bodies that Ghost has torn down. You see him across the way, watching as he slaughters anything and everything that stands in his path. Ghost isn't fighting for the task force anymore, he's fighting for you. And heaven will burn before anything happens to what's his.

Sorry if this is kind of a rant but I have this horrible craving for angst and violence.

https://www.tumblr.com/ceilidho/727096787831341056/prompt-you-keep-seeing-apparitions-of-a-dead?source=share

OK ON GOD I AM IN LOVE WITH THAT FIC holy shit

Alright another real quick demon au for the Ghosty boy, not exactly what you said but... I think you'll like it

There are things that are meant to be seen, and then there are demons. Human eyes were never meant to look upon such wonders, such living machines, all perfectly curated musculature and instinct. You're lucky if you never catch a glimpse of one. Such beauty could drive a person mad. To see what humanity would never touch but always strive for would be a curse. One that would haunt and eat away at you until there was no choice but to give in to it, and hopefully become one of them.

You press your hands to your mouth, leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, unsteady from the way you bounce your leg. Nothing more they could do. That's what doctors always said on TV, you didn't think you'd actually hear it in real life.

"We just have to wait and see," They tell you, and you nod. You all nod, because you understand what those words mean. The 141 is always prepared for tragedy, never more so than in the long hours you spend waiting for Ghost to wake up. He's crammed so full of tubes and wires, the nurses rotating different syringes of medicine through his IVs, you hardly recognize him.

You take shifts. One of you in the room with him at all times, cramped in the uncomfortable hospital chair. All of you figuring he'll want a friendly face when he wakes up, and drawing up a schedule. Damn military training. Still, it's good. It means when you relieve Soap of his watch you know he's going to grab some sleep, the same way you know Gaz will be by when your shift ends in the wee hours of the morning.

You must doze off even with a nap under your belt, because when you wake up it's freezing in Ghost's hospital room. You check your watch, 03:00. The witching hour. Nothing good ever happens at three AM. You sigh and get up to ask the nursing station for a blanket, if you're cold you're sure Ghost is too. If he can even feel cold like this.

Something deeply wrong and horribly familiar grabs your hand.

You tense and turn. Ghost stares at you, his fingers tight around yours, your stomach drops and you rush to slam your hand on the call button. He's awake. He's awake and it's chaos. You spend the next few hours talking to doctors, watching nurses pull tubes out of Ghost's throat and perform tests on every patch of skin that isn't bandaged. You stand outside his room and talk to Price over the phone, make sure the rest of the team knows Ghost's back from the dead and passing everything with flying colors.

You don't mention what you don't want to say out loud, what you can't even put a name to. Something in his eyes, they're darker than they used to be. Not the color but the depth of them. Something in his voice is richer, something about the way he moves feels... more. The room is freezing and no one can get the temperature up.

You think someone will notice. When the rest of the 141 shows up to visiting hours you think one of them will see what you do. You hope. They don't. If they do, none of them mention it. The only difference is in the way Ghost keeps reaching for you, keeps taking your hand, pulling you to sit on the edge of his bed whenever you're close. Your relationship wasn't a secret, but he's never been one for PDA. Now you can hardly come within arms length without him touching you. Soap teases you for it, and Price is happy enough just having Ghost back not to mention it.

Gaz asks if you're alright when you excuse yourself from the room. The two of you speaking quietly by the vending machine. You pour out your fears to him and ask if he's noticed anything, anything, different about Ghost.

"Just that he seems glad to be back," Gaz tells you, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. It's the way he says "back" that gives you pause. Back. Back from where? Were you the only one that had been holding out hope he wasn't dead? Had the rest of your team been sitting in the hospital room with what they thought was a corpse? You don't push it further, too afraid what Gaz will say next. They're glad he's alive and that's all you have to hold onto.

It's almost like nothing happened when he's discharged --sooner than anyone expected, sooner than a normal man should've been after what happened-- and you almost start to believe nothing did happen. You can ignore the scar on your shoulder, the only evidence that Ghost ever spared you his fate. You can ignore the way he slides his hand against the curve of your back when he never used to. You can ignore the fact that, that's all he'll do, just touch you. Like he's reassuring himself you're there. He hasn't come to your room, he hasn't pulled you into his lap, he hasn't kissed you or called you anything but your name, and you're the only one who seems to notice.

You're the only one that raises an objection when Ghost is cleared for duty. The only one with no real reason to object. The way he stares you down afterwards... he knows that you know something you shouldn't.

It's not until you're actually in the field with him that you realize what it is, where he must have come back from. It's the way he pushes his mask up, hunched and panting over a pile of corpses. The way he wipes his bloodied hand against his lips. The dark black smoke that he forces from his lungs with each exhale. The inky veins of his hands, his arms. The sulfur smell that sticks in your nose. Fire and brimstone. He looks at you like a wild animal, any thoughts behind his eyes unfathomable and inhuman.

He's perfect, you think. A perfect machine, made just for this. Your Simon, wrong in all the right ways.

"You're not supposed to see this," He rolls his shoulders back, tips his head towards you as he licks the blood off his lips. You raise your gun, keep it trained on him. He takes a step towards you, and you shoulder your rifle, stand a little more purposefully.

"Don't move," You warn him.

"Put the gun down," Ghost warns you in turn. He takes another step towards you, you slip your foot back, preparing to run. His eyes dart over your shoulder. "Price tell them."

You turn to look and feel your heart drop as Ghost grabs your gun. No one's there. Why would they be?

Ghost rips your gun from your hands and spins you, twisting your arm behind your back. You struggle, stomp on his insole, he twists your other arm behind your back to hold you like a wild dog. Barking and biting at nothing. When you finally do sag against his hold, it feels the same as always. You expected the dread of a death sentence to seize you, but it's like sparring.

"I missed you," He murmurs, pulling you against his chest. Ghost's head drops, his covered nose against your neck, breathing you in. The ridges of his mask are uncomfortably inflexible.

"You left me," You bite back, all the misplaced anger pushing itself to the surface. How could he take that hit for you? Didn't he know how much it would hurt you? What happened to always coming home? What happened to never leaving you alone? He died. He fucking died, and he came back wrong and no one will believe you.

"I know," He presses his lips to your shoulder, to your still aching scar, "I'm sorry."

"You left," You can't think of anything else to say, can't think of any other words to break on your tongue. You emotions are running wild. Tears prick at your eyes, anger, frustration, grief you never let yourself touch. It all hurts more than you can put into words.

"Never again," Ghost tells you, he's so warm and solid behind you, he still holds you like you might make a run for it, "I'm all yours now, yeah? Never leaving you again," He kisses your jaw, you can smell the blood on him, "I'll claw my way out of as many graves as I have to, deal?"

You nod, feel something heavy settle in your chest, feel Ghost shiver behind you. That's what you're afraid of, you think, that he'll keep coming back. Different each time.

"Not different," Ghost hums in your ear, "Better."

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #demon!Ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #spooky boy ghost #let's make a fuckin' deal baby let's gooooooo #I miss writing horror I should write more horror

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gimmethatagustd · 4 months

Text

the flower knight (1) | kth + myg

A disciple of the Mugunghwa Temple, Yoongi has lived a pious life free of the vices of the outside world. That is until the temple must become a safehouse for wounded soldiers when war breaks out, and Yoongi catches the eye of a certain military commander.

○ Pairing: Soldier!Taehyung x Healer!Yoongi

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Historical fantasy, magic, pistilverse, strangers to lovers, forbidden love, angst, eventual smut, eventual fluff

○ Word Count: 3,143

○ Warnings: A minor character experiences public humiliation and slut shaming due to religious beliefs (of a fake religion I made up). Additionally, Yoongi is forced to have his body examined for flower markings. This isn't sexual or violent, and Yoongi isn't upset about it, but it still gives me the ick lmfao so I figured I should put a warning just in case.

○ Notes: I added a glossary at the end of the fic for those of you who aren’t familiar with the Pistilverse AU. If you subscribe to me on AO3, this will probably look familiar to you~

○ Post Date: January 2, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Bad things always come in threes.

Yoongi isn’t sure if he believes in destiny, but he does believe in this rule of thirds. He doesn’t remember where he learned the saying; perhaps he learned it from one of the other temple pistils, the older ones who like to tease the younger ones who are gullible and impressionable. Yoongi doesn’t think he was ever one of those young students, but he believes in the saying, doesn’t he?

Life has allotted Yoongi very few tragedies, for which he is grateful. Despite being an orphan, abandoned at the Mugunghwa temple as an infant to be cared for by the monks, he enjoyed a fulfilling childhood. The monks loved Yoongi with unconditional kindness that can only come from someone touched by the grace of the gods. The other orphaned children, those who had yet to have their awakening, played in harmony and were raised to be future disciples – that is, until their subgenders were awakened.

The monks raise the orphans within the confines of the temple grounds, but Yoongi never yearned for what lies beyond the colorful stone walls separating the temple buildings from the outside world. Yoongi had heard enough about the evil of the secular world, where the villages at the bottom of the mountain succumb to greed, violence, and lust and where suffering runs rampant through the townspeople. To Yoongi, it seems that the gods have forsaken such places. He is more interested in maintaining his quiet temple life.

So one might wonder, how does Min Yoongi, a young temple disciple with no knowledge of the world, know that bad things always come in threes if he has yet to experience bad things?

Twenty-one years of peace is far too long of a streak to maintain. At some point, luck runs out. Although Yoongi is a devout disciple of the gods, he can’t help but wonder if sometimes even the gods do not have control over fate.

The morning of the First Bad Thing starts as every morning does: Yoongi wakes with the sun.

Light streams through the thin curtains drawn across his open windows, illuminating his quaint room with hues of orange and yellow. A breeze gently stirs the curtains, causing them to flutter with each new gust of wind.

Children’s laughter filters in from outside. Yoongi smiles when he hears one of the older pistils, Namjoon, scold the children for being loud so early in the morning. No one cares if the children make noise, and Namjoon knows that. That’s why his threats of putting the children to work are empty and half-hearted.

With a longing for simpler times pulling at his heartstrings, Yoongi forces himself out of bed. There is no time to miss the past when the present urges him to get started.

After washing his face in the washbasin in the small bath adjoining his bedroom, he slips into his white linen hanbok, the simple one that doesn’t weigh heavily on his shoulders. The weather has been unusually warm for the spring, and Yoongi isn’t interested in sweating through his clothes while he does his daily chores. Sometimes, he wishes he could wear less restrictive clothes, like the simple linen shirt and shorts he wears to sleep. Unfortunately, the monks have taught the student disciples that such clothing isn’t becoming of pistils. Less cloth means more exposed skin, and with exposed skin comes the risk of showing off one’s awakening mark.

Yoongi watches himself in the small mirror he keeps on top of his dresser, propped against the wall. In the oval glass, he twists to take a peek over his shoulder by turning his head to the side. He can barely see the tips of the barren tree branches that decorate his spine. As a sign that he was maturing from a teen into a young man, the mark of a barren tree sprouted from the base of his spine one morning. It crept up his back, its dark lines eventually breaking off into branches that spread between his shoulder blades.

When Yoongi fastens his hanbok, the black branches are hidden away, just as he was taught.

Having experienced the extremely uncomfortable awakening nearly ten years ago, Yoongi has reached the point where he rarely looks at his awakening mark. It is a reminder of his status in society, a lowly pistil whose primary purpose in life is to tend to the stamen who desire him.

While some orphaned teens he grew up with were disappointed to awaken as pistils, Yoongi was relieved. Becoming a pistil meant he could stay in the temple as a disciple of god. If he had awakened as a stamen by developing the mark of a flower somewhere on his body rather than branches or vines, the monks would have sent him away to the military – where the monks send all stamen orphans once they’ve reached their awakening. Stamen are naturally stronger and more equipped to handle the violence of war than pistils are.

Yoongi is sure the gods did not make him for military life. He feels sorrow merely from stepping on an ant; he could never handle war.

It is a blessing from the gods that Yoongi was left on the temple grounds by his parents. As a temple pistil, he is privileged to live within a community of only pistils, never once having met a stamen aside from his orphan friends once their status was awakened. And even then, those friends were always gone by the following day, whisked away at night to fulfill their duties as peacekeepers.

Warriors.

Shaking his head to rid himself of thoughts of war, Yoongi leaves his bedroom and follows the hall toward the front doors of the students’ quarters. All students reside in one dormitory on the west side of the temple grounds, just south of the Mugunghwa garden. Yoongi loves the dormitory. He likes the intricate designs that decorate the walls and the proximity to the garden. But most of all, he likes living with his friends.

Yoongi carries a small wicker basket filled with gardening tools in his arms. He is halfway along the meandering stepping stone path toward the Mugunghwa garden when he sees Namjoon rushing toward him.

“Yoongi hyung!”

Namjoon’s sandals slap against the ground, spraying dirt and gravel into the air as he hurries to reach a confused Yoongi. It’s odd; Namjoon is known for his quiet, studious personality. As one of the most promising students, Namjoon carries himself with poise and a gentle confidence Yoongi has admired ever since the two became friends after their awakenings. Yoongi has never seen Namjoon so animated.

“Be careful,” Yoongi warns, motioning toward the mulched flower beds lining the stepping stone path. A small lizard scurries from a patch of ferns across the stones.

Namjoon quickly sidesteps to avoid running too close to the pathway's edge.

Patches of colorful flowers have already poked out of the ground. These are primarily common flowers: roses, marigolds, and peonies – all with little value aside from being pretty and smelling good. It isn’t until one gets deep into the garden, where the well of golden water is, that the magic can be felt flowing through the plants’ roots.

“H-hyung, oh shit,” Namjoon trips forward and grabs Yoongi’s forearm to steady himself.

Yoongi clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. What has gotten into his friend?

“Don’t make me tell Myeong noona that you’re using such language, Joon-ah.” He speaks through a teasing smile that slowly dissolves into a frown when Namjoon doesn’t smile back. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Junseo,” Namjoon huffs through loud inhales as he tries to recover from the jog up the steep path.

The altitude in the mountains can easily affect one’s head. It’s one of the many reasons Yoongi avoids exercising unless he has to. He’s mostly a bit lazy, but he supposes that even the temple disciples can afford some vices. Laziness is the closest to rebelling he’ll ever get.

“What trouble has he gotten himself into now, hmm? Got bitten by one of the temple cats again?” Yoongi muses. With Junseo, anything is possible. Yoongi swears no one in the entire temple has needed to be rescued from silly mishaps as often as Junseo.

“No, hyung,” Namjoon rushes to speak. His cheeks are pink, and sweat glistens on his top lip. “Junseo got marked .”

The wicker basket of gardening tools barely misses smashing a bed of marigolds when the handle slips from Yoongi’s loose grasp.

Leaving the basket where it falls, Yoongi grabs Namjoon by the wrist. His expression is stony as he asks, “How do you know?”

“I heard Arem speaking with Misuk-ssi,” Namjoon whispers harshly. He’s breathing heavily as he practically drags Yoongi down the stone pathway toward the dormitory. “She asked her to find Junseo.”

There is nothing more that Namjoon needs to say; everyone knows what it means to be called upon by one of the temple leaders.

The two men are silent as they weave through the stone paths connecting the temple buildings in a winding journey meant to mimic the peacefulness of strolling through the woods. Yoongi has yet to explore the woods, but he supposes he understands the meaning behind the landscaping.

Their journey today is anything but peaceful.

At first, Yoongi is afraid that their frantic hurrying toward the grand temple courtyard will cause suspicion – and he’s sure he and Namjoon aren’t supposed to know about Junseo. But it becomes clear that it isn’t just Yoongi and Namjoon who are privy to the scandal. Despite the early hour, the entire student body is trying to meander toward the courtyard.

If gossip doesn’t bring the students out into the open, Junseo’s cries do.

Yoongi doesn’t hear the wailing until he and Namjoon near the grand temple, where prayers and other religious ceremonies are held. The grand temple is also where the temple leaders reside, though Yoongi has never been in the wing with their living quarters. Trespassing is forbidden, but Yoongi is not interested in their living quarters. He has never admitted it out loud, but some of the leaders scare him.

Misuk and Insu are the most intimidating of all the temple leaders and monks combined, so naturally, they are the leaders whose feet Junseo grovels at as he weeps. The young man’s face is wet with tears and lined with red marks on his cheeks as though he has been clawing at his face. Seeing him with clothes and other small trinkets scattered around his body, his white hanbok soiled by dirt, makes Yoongi’s blood run cold.

“Pick yourself up, Junseo,” Misuk commands. The refreshing breeze has died down, making Misuk's words cut through the spring air and echo between buildings.

“Please don’t make me leave, seonsaengnim!” Junseo presses his forehead to the stone path at the base of the temple stairs. “I am nothing without Mugunghwa!”

Misuk and Insu stand a few steps above him and watch him with eyes as dark as the center of the well of gold water in the garden. Yoongi has never seen such icy glares. Until now, nothing has disrupted the peacefulness of the temple. Sure, they all have occasional quarrels; it’s hard not to bicker when living in such a tight-knit community. Scandal, though, is unheard of. And this certainly is a scandal.

“You have defiled your body, Kang Junseo,” Insu finally speaks, his voice as tight as the grimace on his face. “You are no longer welcome on sacred grounds.”

When Junseo rises to his knees, the group of onlookers gasp. Even Namjoon inhales sharply, the sound quiet but loud enough for Yoongi to hear from where he stands beside him.

Yoongi is silent as he watches Junseo hurry to pull his clothes tighter to his body, but the damage has been done. A large rip in the back of his hanbok runs from just below the collar down to the base of his spine. When he twists his torso, slivers of skin peek out from the rips – skin decorated with the prettiest marks Yoongi has ever seen.

Dozens of flowers line the branches on Junseo’s back. Yoongi can’t make out the types of flowers from where he stands, the markings too small for him to see any details, but he’s close enough to be both amazed and horrified by the variation of colors on the young man’s skin.

Junseo has many flowers on his back, which only means one thing: Junseo is no longer a virgin. From the looks of it, he lost his virginity a long time ago, or he has taken on many lovers in a short period— many lovers.

Whispers erupt around them, but Yoongi can only hear his blood rushing in his ears. It isn’t until he feels lightheaded that he realizes he’s been holding his breath. He’s never seen the mark of a stamen on a pistil’s body before. Disciples are forbidden from having romantic relationships or engaging in sexual activity. One must be pure for the gods, dedicating their time to worship and the betterment of their community rather than to bodily pleasure.

Not to mention the fate of pistils who are outed for having a stamen mark – let alone multiple – out of wedlock.

“What will happen to him?” Yoongi asks Namjoon, never once taking his eyes off Junseo as he gathers his belongings into his arms.

Namjoon shrugs, his eyes, too, still on Junseo. “I don’t know, work at a brothel, most likely. No one will want to marry him, and no self-respecting business owner will hire him.”

Pressing his fingers to his lips, Yoongi tries to suppress a gasp without looking too obvious that he’s shocked by Namjoon’s prediction. “A brothel?” Yoongi knows what one is, but he cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to live and work in one.

“Mhm,” Namjoon hums. “It’s awful. Many brothel pistils run out of room on their branches, so they go through a second awakening. Or a third and fourth. I’ve heard rumors of some brothel pistils completely covered in flowers.”

One awakening was painful enough for Yoongi. To go through multiple… he doesn’t even want to consider it.

In front of him, Junseo stands with his belongings clutched to his chest. He has stopped crying and now stares ahead with a blank expression as though he doesn’t see anything at all. The look makes bile bubble up Yoongi’s throat. Silently, Junseo turns his back on the temple leaders and walks with squared shoulders across the courtyard toward the entrance of the temple grounds.

The students dissipate in waves as Junseo walks through the grounds. There is nothing else to see here; no more drama to ogle. Even Misuk and Insu leave, taking slow, purposeful steps to their wing of the grand temple. In a matter of minutes, the courtyard is empty, aside from Yoongi, Namjoon, and a handful of other students who have returned to talking amongst themselves or studying. Junseo is merely a speck in the distance, moving like an ant until he turns a corner and Yoongi can no longer see him.

Just like that, Junseo is gone, and the temple returns to how it was as if there had never been a Junseo at all.

The only change to temple life after Junseo’s dramatic departure is the immediate implementation of what the monks call a “purity sweep.” They insist to the students that this is a one-time occurrence, merely the opportunity for temple leaders to ensure that no one else has fallen prey to worldly temptations. If the rest of the students are well-behaved, purity sweeps won’t be needed.

Although Yoongi is a virgin, he trembles with nerves when he stands outside the infirmary a week later with Namjoon at his side.

“It’ll be alright,” Namjoon reassures Yoongi, gently squeezing the nape of his neck. “It’ll be over before you know it. I can even go first if you’d like.” Namjoon is too kind for his own good.

Yoongi shakes his head even though having Namjoon go first would be a source of comfort for him. His nerves are irrational. If he was a good student, he’d know how to meditate the fear away like Namjoon had. “No, no, I will be fine.”

Bracing himself for the unknown, Yoongi enters the infirmary. There is a monk there to guide him to the correct examination room. Their sandals click against the stone flooring and echo through the hall. Yoongi doesn’t need the monk to show him where to go, but he doesn’t say anything. Due to his affinity for plants, Yoongi has trained to become a temple healer. Thus, he knows his way around the infirmary due to his regular training hours.

Although magic does not run through the veins of pistils, the Mugunghwa carry magic in their petals from the gold water in the enchanted well at the center of the Mugunghwa garden. Monks like Yoongi, who is patient and kind, know how to nurture the magic within those plants, using their petals to create healing potions that the monks send throughout the kingdom.

Reaching the correct room, the monk allows Yoongi to enter first. He gives Yoongi a gentle smile and gestures to a wooden table against the wall.

“You may remove your hanbok and place it there,” the monk instructs. He’s an unfamiliar face to Yoongi, which isn’t surprising. The Mugunghwa temple is one of the largest in the Mountain region; it’s impossible to know everyone.

Silently, Yoongi follows the monk’s instructions. He shivers once he is standing in nothing but his underwear despite the room being almost uncomfortably warm. Unsure of what to do with himself, Yoongi stands stiffly with his arms at his sides. The stance seems good enough, for the monk doesn’t say anything as he walks a tight circle around Yoongi’s rigid body, looking for any splotches of color along the branches covering Yoongi’s back.

Sweat beads at Yoongi’s hairline, making his blonde bangs stick to his skin. What if the monk finds a blemish on Yoongi’s skin and thinks it’s a stamen’s flower? Will they immediately toss him out like Junseo? Would Yoongi have the chance to explain himself?

Questions swarm his mind, churning around until his brain is clouded with nonsense. He’s so stressed that he nearly misses the light touch on his shoulder.

“Yoongi?” The monk calls out softly, making Yoongi blink rapidly.

“Yes, seonsaengnim?”

“You may get dressed. The examination is over.”

With a sigh of relief, Yoongi scrambles to put his clothes on. As he hurries out of the infirmary to wait for Namjoon in the courtyard, he sends a silent prayer to the gods that the other students remain pure like they’re supposed to. Yoongi doesn’t want to go through another purity sweep ever again.

Series Masterlist

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

(Borrowed from here and revised to fit my fic)

Pistilverse AU - A South Korean fanfic trope wherein almost all humans experience an "awakening" during puberty that assigns them into one of two botanically-inspired groups: Pistils and Stamens. These groups are denoted by marks on the person's body, similar to tattoos.

Pistil and Stamens - Pistils develop a mark of a barren tree that appears along their spine after their awakening, while stamens develop a flower somewhere on their body after their awakening.

Awakening - The moment a flower or tree appears on a person’s body, signifying their status as a pistil or stamen. You could look at it as a coming-of-age moment in a person’s life. These are typically painful for pistils. A pistil might experience more than one awakening if their tree becomes too full of flowers.

Marks/Marking - When a pistil sleeps with a stamen, the stamen’s flower blooms on the pistil’s tree branches. The number of flowers a pistil has is proportional to that of the stamens they had sex with. In this fic, pistils with many flowers are considered promiscuous and experience slut shaming based on religion.

Marked - The term used to describe a pistil who has received a stamen’s flower on their body.

Mugunghwa - The national flower of South Korea.

Gukseon - A Chief officer of a Hwarang group. The Hwarang were an elite warrior group in Silla, an ancient kingdom of the Korean Peninsula until the 10th century.

Seonsaengnim - A respectful honorific for a teacher.

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

#taehyung x yoongi #taegi #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #tfk

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