#also what if i offered comms that look like this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charles-leclerizz · 4 months

Text

🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑The sweatshirt

🏁 Pairings : Charles Leclerc X fem! Reader

🏁 Warnings : none! just fluffy times

🏁 Word Count : 1.7k words (1792 words)

🏁 Author's note : First post! Hopefully you all like it. I am definetly thinking of new things to write so I pray that ya'll look forward to them! Make sure to lilke and reblog (anything is appreciated, but comments and reblogs fuel this sad little writer). Also, peep the word dividers (lana del ray coded) by @plum98! Note that all translations are avaible at the end, via radio comm! Thank you <3

🏁 Music player : The bones by Maren Morris & Hozier

“Mon amour, have you seen my sweatshirt?” Your fiancé’s voice rung throughout your shared apartment as you stacked the damp plates into the washing machine. The odd clunking of you organising dishes continued as he rushed out of the bedroom passing by the kitchen, where you worked, and towards his office.

“Which one?” You called back, drying your hands on the pale green washcloth that hung from the fitted hook above the sink, the new one! “No, I haven’t seen it, baby, you come back with new sweatshirts every week, just wear another one?” You offered helpfully, bending down towards the indented shelfs within the breakfast bar to grab new hand towels, wanting to replace the one’s that hung, used and abused in the bathrooms.

“But that one is important.” A worrying thud emitted from the home office, which was soon followed by a deep groan from Charles.

You hummed in support, stacking the fluffy white towels in your hands, “Why is it so important?” because! “Because what?” Leaning down to the scented fabric in your grasp, you take a large breath in, enjoying the strawberry scent that emitted from them.

“It just is,” He whined in reply, emerging from the room he had left in disarray whilst rubbing the back of his head, hissing as he pulled his fingers back to check for blood, “Why is my desk so low?”

“I don’t know my love, I warned you when you had bought it in the first place,” You scurry away from the kitchen, wanting to avoid his assessing gaze, lest he find out where his new sweatshirt really was, “Aren’t you just going to Max’s place? Why do you need it?”

“Because he wanted to see- hey...” He cuts himself off with a suspicious lilt in his voice, you try to speed up your efforts seeing the glinting metallic handle of the bathroom waiting for you to escape into, “Amour...” His voice is accusatory but amused, as if he appreciates your efforts to evade him.

“What? Charles I really need to get the chores done; I only have this weekend.” You turn around slowly and watch him approach you, his eyes crinkled with affection. Busted.

“Baby, why do you have my new sweatshirt?” He reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear before resting his hand on your cheek, caressing it with the pad of his thumb.

“’Cause,” You mumble, fiddling with the tag of one of the towels cradled on your chest, “It’s nice,” You shrug, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Even after six years, you found in hard to admit such things to Charles, despite his kind eyes and cute dimples. Emotional affection was hard to extract from your dark, stony heart, so such pitiful attempts at it, such as stealing his sweatshirt and admitting why you did it, was completely out of the question.

“it’s nice?” He cocks his head, like a small puppy waiting for a treat, “I still need it baby, you can have any other one of mine,” He smiles kindly at you, eyebrow arching sympathetically when he feels you bite on the inside of your cheek.

“Of course, amour,” You clear your throat, pushing the stack of toiletries into his chest, before writhing out of the sweater and pulling it over your head, not caring if more odd chunks of your hair had fallen out of the claw clip you had carelessly attached to the strands, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mon ange,” He chuckles when you huff and swap out the items in his hands for the sweater, “I’ll be back in an hour or so, d'accord?” He slips on the article, pulling at the sleeves and adjusting the hood, then taking your face in his palms once again to pull you closer and press his lips against your forehead.

You hum, leaning into his touch, “À toute à l'heure,” You mutter, twisting your head so that you can peck the inside of his hand.

Truthfully, you wanted to jump on his back and order that he take you with him, not wanting to feel the absence of his sunny presence. But you were aware how much he valued his time with his friends, despite his many objections to your conclusion, so reluctantly you waited until you heard the muted click of the electronic lock of the front door before you continued to re-set your beloved home.

“Je suis à la maison mon amour!” Charles calls out, toeing off his shoes by the door before walking further into the apartment.

“I’m over here!” You call out from your own office, the door slightly ajar, you hear him hum before the tell-tale squeak of the hinges to the foyer bathroom screeches through the hallway, followed by the kitchen tap running. Soon enough, he stepped into the carpeted area of your office, setting down the tall glass of water and a singular pill.

“For your headache mon ange,” He came behind your chair, resting his chin on your shoulder whilst running his hand through your damp hair.

Though to most, it would seem that Charles was being your lovable drug dealer, always managing to drop the singular brightly coloured pill to the side of you whilst petting your head wistfully. When in fact, he knew that after an hour or two of working, your temples would begin to throb mercilessly and you required your prescription, that many were not aware of.

You relaxed in his embrace, your once pin straight spine became slack and your clenched jaw felt numb with his attention, “Thank you, baby.” You twisted your neck, pressing your lips against the scruff on his cheek.

“Are you wearing another one of my sweaters?” He asked, pulling away to rotate your spinning chair so that he could step back and asses your outfit, long black flare leggings with another one of his sweaters. This one, he had ordered from a fan’s etsy account, a large grey body with a small, illustrated version of this season’s current car along with his autograph and name, printed below it.

“You said that I could,” You mumbled inwardly, pulling at the long drawstring that lay on your chest, “I’m not taking it off,” You pouted, tucking your knees beneath fabric so that only your head and red painted toes were visible from beneath the hem.

“And you don’t have to,” He pinched your cheek adoringly, coming to his knees in front of you, so that you were looking down at him from your “dough-ball” position, “But I had bought you a matching one to this, wouldn’t it be easier to just, wear that one? Juste?”

You pushed your mouth into the collar of your sweatshirt, your answer muffled by the thick fabric.

“What was the ange?” Charlese brings his ear closer to your mouth, or what would be your mouth if you would bring it out of your clothes.

“Smells like you…” You admit, eyes wide and unblinking as you wait for Charles to pull away, most likely thinking that you’re weird.

“It does?” He moves his head lower, sniffing the hoodie, “I don’t think so?”

“Yeah, well obviously you don’t think so!” You exclaim, allowing your legs to fall out of the hoodie and popping your mouth out once again. He widens his eyes at your outburst, taking in your teary lashes and wobbling lip, “Baby...”

“I only wear your stuff because I know that you’re busy…” You admit, looking away from his annoyingly understanding expression, “I’m not your only priority and this way-“ you move your arms up, showing off the baggy attire, “I can be close to you even when you don’t necessarily want to be close to me.” You conclude, wrapping your oversized arms around your torso, “And for the record, you smell like caramel and copper.” You add haughtily, up turning your nose.

“Really?” He asks innocently. You nod, one choppy movement before you harrumph and look away from his entertained face.

“Baby. you’re right, you aren’t my only priority. But you’re my first priority. And who said I don’t want to be with you?” He pats your knee, signalling for you to stand so that he can wrap his hands around your waist, pulling you into his chest, “I love you, my baby, and I’m sorry that you had to resort to wearing my clothes instead of just asking me to stay with you.” He kisses the crown of your head, inhaling the pungent smell of your cranberry conditioner.

“I don’t want you to feel bad!” You pull away from him, scrunching your nose at his guilty expression, “I like your clothes, they’re comfortable and I can’t possibly ask you to stay with me 24/7?”

“You can!” He insists, squeezing you ardently, “You’re my fiancé, and about to be my wife, you’re meant to be able to ask me. Because I will always say yes. No matter what.”

“Charles...”

“Amour” He mimics your scolding tone.

“You’re so busy my love, I can’t do that.” You nuzzle your head into his chest, making him laugh at your antics.

“You can-“ He takes your cheeks in his hands, squeezing them together so that your lips pucker comically, he leans down to leave a wet kiss on your lips, “-and if I don’t get such demands from you, I will be very sad.” He pouts down at you.

You sigh, “hmkay.” You manage to speak through your forced pucker, furrowing your brows with concentration. You knew he was merely humouring you, cajoling you like a child so that you would do as he asked, but hey, it was a good enough reason to do exactly what you wanted.

“Mia dolce bambina, così adorabile, non vedo l'ora che tu diventi mia moglie, forse allora non ti sentirai in colpa per avermi dedicato il mio tempo.” He continues to press his lips against yours, making you giggle.

“charmles, too much ithalian,” You lisp through your cheeks whilst squeezing your eyes together, accepting his affection happily.

“Too much Italian? In quale altro modo potrei dirti quanto voglio che tu occupi tutto il mio tempo senza che tu ti allontani da me? Mia timida bambolina, continuerò a ricoprirti del mio amore finché non potrai accettarlo in abbondanza."He grins at you cheekily, watching as you translate it slowly in your mind.

“Babe...” You whine, managing to wriggle free from his grip on your cheeks to hide your face in the crook of his neck whilst wrapping your forearms around him.

“You can have all of my sweatshirts baby, and all of me” He whispers, raking his hands through your hair.

“I love you,” You breathe out in reply, kissing the skin on his neck.

“I love you too.”

📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion available...over

📻 Kchh...french....to english....over

Mon amour - My love

Amour - love

Mon Ange - my angel

d’accord - All right

À toute à l'heure - See you later

je suis à la maison, mon amour - I’m home, my love

Juste - Right

📻 Kchh...italian....to english....over

Mia dolce bambina, così adorabile, non vedo l'ora che tu diventi mia moglie, forse allora non ti sentirai in colpa per avermi dedicato il mio tempo. - My sweet little girl, so adorable, I can't wait for you to become my wife, maybe then you won't feel guilty for taking up my time.

In quale altro modo potrei dirti quanto voglio che tu occupi tutto il mio tempo senza che tu ti allontani da me? Mia timida bambolina, continuerò a ricoprirti del mio amore finché non potrai accettarlo in abbondanza. - How else could I tell you how much I want you to take up all my time without you shying away from me? My shy little doll, I will continue to shower you with my love until you can accept it in abundance.

📻 Kchhhhh.loosing sign....al.....kcchh....over and out...

662 notes · View notes

liloinkoink · 4 months

Text

hey! i'm opening commissions for writing and editing!

if you don't recognize my URL, i'm driflew and skelew on ao3. my most popular current work is the Lamplight AU on skelew, which is the account i’ve been using the most recently, but i've got quite a few works around. take a look at those links for examples of my work and the tone/content i'm best at!

💀 slots:

i've not done this before and am testing it out, so to start i'm only going to have three writing comm slots. if all goes well, i'll probably open them again once i finish, but i don't have a timeframe for how long this will take

i'll also do three editing slots, but those might refresh sooner

💀 price:

writing comms, the rate i'm thinking is 5 cents a word.

(that's $5 for 100 words, $25 for 500 words, and $50 for 1000 words)

editing comms, the rate i'm thinking is $5 for every 1000 words read

💀 what i'll write:

for fandoms, i'm definitely open to write for third life, one piece, and magnus archives. i'd be willing to hear out other fandoms i'm familiar with, like blue exorcist or certain webcomics, but might refuse if i'm not as familiar

for content, you can assume i'm willing to write something similar in content or tone to anything i've already posted. i'll write fluff, angst, character death, and i'd be willing to talk about some amounts of horror / gore, certain romance/ships

if you have questions about specifics about what i'll write, just ask!

💀 what i won't write:

poetry, nsfw (i just don't have the skillset for it), super heavy gore, ships i'm not into (as a general rule i'm not interested in incest or adult/minor)

....pretty sure this wont come up but im not writing any academic essays for you people either

i also reserve the right to just say no because i don't want to

if you have questions about specifics about what i won't write, just ask!

💀 how this works (writing):

DM me here at @liloinkoink or over at @asexualzoro to let me know what you’re thinking. we can talk out the prompt you want written and figure out a word count range of the lowest and highest word count you want, and i’ll aim to fulfill your prompt within those numbers

💀 how this works (editing):

what i'm offering is help with both copy editing and content editing.

DM me here at @liloinkoink or over at @asexualzoro with a summary of the piece you want edited and what specifically you want help with, and i'll do my best to help! if you want content editing, i'll be sure to help with as much advice as i can

you can assume the rules about what i will and won't edit are roughly the same as what i will and won't write

💀 payment:

payment'll be handled through paypal invoice

i won't ask you to pay me anything until the piece is done. i won't give you the piece until you've paid me

if you want to be nice and throw me a bone, my kofi is driflew

💀 AVAILABLE SLOTS:

writing: open, 3/3 available!

editing: open, 3/3 available!

thanks for reading all this! ♥️

#says words #writing commissions #editing commissions #lew commissions #my poll didn’t finish but i got a few interested votes so. there you go #top hits

311 notes · View notes

heartshapedbubble · 5 months

Note

Ello can I request a Norton Fools good x fem reader where she came across the blown up mines and sees Norton (in his hunter form) she’s scared at first but starts to recognise him and slowly starts to approach him reaching her hand up to cub his cheeks ( bro this man needs all the love! )

HOO BOY i agree tho... his release made me regain my interest in norton🫡🫡

[not to be a scum but i'm still open for sanrio emma comms btw😭😭]

fool's gold: imagine...⛏️

cut for length!

paying the bills has become a hellish cycle. break your back to pay off the expenses, relax for the following twenty-ish days, and be sent into frenzy again, not knowing if you're going to have a roof over your head tomorrow or not.

you found yourself hopelessly skimming through newspaper, looking for any job offer possible that would easen up the burden on your wallet. The paper was plastered with offers from bars, post offices and restaurants, but those were a always gamble. will you get your wage or not? and if you will, when? too much effort for something so high-risk.

at last, a small offer in the corner of the page caught your attention. pressed in miniscule letters, it said: MINE RESEARCH. EMPLOYEES URGENTLY NEEDED. EQUIPMENT PROVIDED. underneath the text, an attractive number: $15,000 payed off immediately after the job is done.

not only could this solve the rent for the following 3 months, you'd also have some money left for yourself! you rang the number the second you got home and successfully scored the job, due to the urgency of the situation.

it took you a day or two to start thinking about the job. what do you exactly need to know for mine research? probably at least some physical strength and stamina, you thought. surely it can't be too complex.

you arrived at the mine right on time, the sun slowly slipping back into the horizon to let the moon take center stage. to your dismay, you realized no one else applied for the job. maybe this wasn't a good idea after all? crawling through the narrow, rocky terrain all alone doesn't sound like the ideal scenario. no living being in sight, and 20 minutes have already went by.

still, that money is way too good to pass up. you picked up one of the yellow helmets piled up at the entrance, prayed to whatever god out there that your flashlight has enough power to last the following 2 hours and mindlessly rushed into the collapsing mine.

for the following 10 minutes, your sight unfocused while your mind took the lead, in front of and all around you just rocks and grime, shadows dispelled by the flashlight held by your hip like a lance. only after a good 5 minutes of running did you realize that you, in fact, have no idea what you're supposed to do. what qualifies as mine research? mining, inspecting the ores, measuring the surface?

all sweaty and breathless, the tunnel led you to a large room inside of the mine, the roof extending towards what seemed like a pitch black abyss. carts messily thrown around, bumpy and unpolished geodes laying all over the place, when was the last time a living being stepped foot into this mine? it made sense that such a large sum of money was needed to attract volunteers.

you carefully moved through the rubble, trying to avoid stepping onto pickaxes and shrapnel splayed all over the ground. since you forgot about the gloves your bare hand now held onto the unpromising terrain, the other firmly squeezing the only source of light in this limbo.

the surface grazing your hand now seems like it became... smoother? no longer does it cut and pierce your palms. it's bumpy, but at least you're not risking an infection anymore.

moving inch by inch in fear of falling, the stone below changes its form. you don't even pay attention to the fact that you're now grabbing onto cloth and that, below your palm, a steady pulse is faintly beating.

it's already too late when you realize that you're not alone, and the stone below you starts to take shape and morph until it extends towards the ceiling, now towering over you, slouched like a ragdoll.

complementing the cold shades of grey, a face emerges from the shadows. pale, with defined cheekbones, although malnourished. only his bust passes as human, as below his collarbones there's nothing but a mosaic of pebbles and boulders forming his torso, arms and legs. it - or he, perhaps - is breathing with struggle, coughs interrupting his wheezes here and there.

you feel a sense of dread overcoming you. you freeze on the spot, but he doesn't budge, either. lifeless except for the fact he's breathing and his heart ticks like a machine.

you draw back a step, and he lunges forward, seemingly still not used to this monstrous body of his. he could harm me with ease if he wanted to, a thought suddenly manifests in your mind, and with newfound bravery you inspect the cryptid like a sculpture. your hand grazes over his bumpy and unfinished hands, tugs at the remains of his clothes around his chest. he groans, in annoyance, you assume, but doesn't resist. you climb up a cart to reach his face, your fingers pinch his stubborn hairstrands, inspect the cavity in which his other eye once laid. in a moment of either stupidity or courage you roughly pinch his cheeks - they're cold to the touch, but it's funny how naturally does his intimidating face mush like a little boy's. kind of cute. after a minute of cooing to yourself two of his rocky fingers gently pinch your wrists and put them back to your sides, but his one foggy eye doesn't divert its gaze from yours.

perhaps the flashlight can last an hour more.. you've just began getting to know him, and the mystery of the mine and his origin still lay cold for you to discover.

357 notes · View notes

procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 1 year

Text

Black Widow

Summary: How a Black Widow made it out of the Red Room, and onto the 141.

Warnings: there’s a lot of talk of trauma in this, explicit smut, threesomes, jealousy, spitroasting, etc, etc, weirdly long (5k)

Notes: the reader was raised (ish) in the red room but this fic is not at all a part of the mcu – it’s just supposed to be the story of a defector, and how she became a part of the 141

kind of felt guilty while writing this bc it made me feel like ghost was cheating on red fox from the fics by @charnelhouse lmao

feedback and comments are very much appreciated!!!

Masterlist | requests are OPEN! | hmu to be added to one of my taglists!

The first memory you have of an outsider is at eleven years old. You and the other girls are sleeping in the dormitory when Madam Ivanova bursts in and opens the handcuffs binding you all to your beds. She pulls the others from their cots, and you almost don’t notice the man that grabs you by the arm.

He’s wearing a hat you’ve never seen before, and that immediately scares you – you don’t recognize him.

“I’ve found the girls!” he shouts, and others pour in, armed to the teeth. Madam Ivanova is still guiding other girls out of the room, and you can see the fear in her eyes. She’s not a kind person, but she takes care of you. Nothing bad has ever happened to you when you were with her.

Nothing like this.

So you turn around, and punch the man square in the face. It takes him aback, and he stumbles backwards. It gives you just enough time to run from him.

Later, you learn that his name is Price, and that he is with the British. An enemy of the Red Room.

Seven years later, you come face to face with him again. You’re three years into active duty, serving the Red Room, and you look drastically different from what you looked like at eleven.

It’s a mistake from another girl that causes your capture. It’s his face that you see first when the hood is pulled off your face.

In the past few years, he’s been the face of your nightmares, so you stay silent. It surprises you when the British don’t torture you. Instead, they offer you a deal. Provide them with the intel they want, and be free of the Red Room.

It takes you three months to accept that deal, and one more to get Price and his colleague Laswell the things they want.

They give you your pardon, and you move to New Zealand, as far away from Russia and Great Britain as you can.

With a fake passport, fake birth certificate and fake story, you leave all of it behind.

You wake up early, shrieking out of your sleep from a nightmare. Your first thought is to call Sarina, an old colleague who also made it out, but you know that she’s still asleep – at least the people in her time zone are. Instead, your feet carry you outside to the lake.

You fish around in your jacket, finding a cigarette and lighter. There’s a nervous feeling in your gut, ever-present. Trained into you since you can remember. This country is the safest and most isolated you could manage, and yet, there’s always the imperative of looking over your shoulder.

You hear Price walking onto the gravelly beach before you see him.

“You know I moved here to be left alone, right?” you tell him, taking another draw from your cigarette.

“I’ve got a job for you.” Price says instead, and you shake your head.

“I’m done with contracting work.”

“So you live off of government support and the intel you sell on the dark web?” he asks.

“That’s my business.”

“It’s about the Red Room.”

You pause, glancing over at him. He looks sincere, but you can also see the earpiece he’s wearing.

“Laswell on the comms?” you asked. You still remember the woman, distrusting as fuck from the moment she met you.

“Yeah. She’s helping with coordinating the team.”

You snort with disdain. “I don’t work in teams. We aren’t trained to.”

“You’ll like them.” Price promises.

“I doubt it. I don’t like you very much.”

Price gives you a dry laugh, and you know he doesn’t take it as personally as you want him to.

“I know that this is personal to you. You got out at eighteen – that’s later than most. You know what they do.”

“Ask any other defector. Sarina, or Antonya. I’m not interested.” You tell him firmly.

“We’re not taking many prisoners from the Red Room.” Price begins again, and you’re about to cut him off. “You can kill the head. Get the girls safe, and you can do with Dreykov whatever you want.”

The offer is too tempting to turn down. To be able to kill the man that ruined your life? The man that ruined the lives of all those other girls?

“I’m in.” you say, and Price gives you a grim smile in return.

“Pack your things. You can meet the team in England.”

Soap

Price had said that he was going to New Zealand for business. He hadn’t realized that ‘business’ entailed a woman.

“That yer girlfriend?” Soap asked, and the woman gave him a look so mean that she almost compared to Ghost.

“I’d hope not.” Price replied. “I’d be dead before morning.”

The woman sat down at the end of the table silently. She looked around, before her hands grabbed a pack of cigarettes from her jacket, lighting it up again.

Ghost was quiet too, but fuck, he knew Ghost. This woman didn’t say a single fucking word, but Soap still knew that Price didn’t have any kind of power over her.

“What’s the mission?” he asked impatiently, and Price set down a stack of Manila folders onto the table.

Laswell pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning against, pulling one of the folders from the stack.

“To most special operatives, the Red Room is a myth. A story made up by the KGB, and nothing more. But the Red Room exists, and we’re going to take it down.”

The woman made a sound for the first time, and it was a disdainful laugh. The others turned to stare at her, but Laswell cleared her throat to redirect their attention back to the right person.

“Over the years, the US and Britain have worked together to take the Red Room down, but it’s evolved from a KGB branch to a human trafficking ring. They take young girls off the streets all over the world and turn them into trained killers, mostly targeting politicians. Taking down the Red Room would mean putting a stop to their ongoing crimes and potentially explain some of the most unclear assassinations of the past seventy years.” Laswell said.

Soap glanced over to the woman, who was watching Laswell with close to no emotion on her face. Stubbing her cigarette on the steel table she leaned back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“And she’ll be a part of that?” Gaz asked, nodding to her.

Price nodded. “Her call sign is Black Widow.”

“Got a name too?” Soap asked, and she told him, quickly. Quietly.

“What do you do in the field?” Gaz asked her. Soap noticed that Ghost was watching her closely, as if he expected her to pull a gun on the team.

“Hand to hand combat, espionage, sexpionage. I can be a sniper if you want me to.” She answered quickly.

“She’s here to show you the way into the Red Room and make the girls there trust you enough to get them out.” Price added.

“What, don’t want to get punched by a kid again?” she said, and Price rolled his eyes. They knew each other, but they didn’t like each other at all.

When the meeting ended, the team began to file out of the room, but Soap stayed behind, hoping to catch her and introduce himself. Ghost shot him a warning look, that Soap chose to ignore.

“Welcome to the team.” He said.

“Thrilled.” She replied dryly.

“I’m John. Everyone here calls me Soap though.”

“I know. I read your file.” She deadpanned. She could have been funny if she hadn’t been constantly mean.

“Ya got access to that?” he asked.

“No.” she replied.

Of course she didn’t.

Ghost

They’d tried to get into a smaller base of the Red Room first, to gather some more intel. None of the team had expected there to be any people, much less a bunch of teen girls armed to the teeth.

It didn’t end well.

Out of the thirty girls there, they’d managed to get seven out alive. The others had either died via cyanide pills or while fighting them.

Black Widow had explained that they were brainwashed, and that was why they’d immediately committed suicide when other options ran out. She didn’t seem to be affected too much by it. At least, she tried to pretend that it was that way.

He’d taken a bullet to the thigh, and it had been her to stitch him up in the safehouse before he could call the medic. She’d been grazed by something, and she took care of that herself as well.

They’d all managed to get some time under the shower, and now, they sat in the living room together. She was in the cargo pants she’d worn on the mission and a black tank top, and Ghost could see the tattoo on her right shoulder blade while her back was to him.

The square hourglass symbol, followed by a number.

1047.

He didn’t have to ask to know that she was the 1047th girl they’d taken. He wondered how many of them had died at his hands, while he didn’t know that he was fighting children.

Price was working on the radio they’d found in the safehouse, but finding an enjoyable station in the middle of Russia was proving to be harder than expected. Eventually, he landed on a classical music station.

She didn’t seem to mind, scraping her can of tortellini clean, until a new song played. Ghost did not recognize it, but he saw her hands curl around the can tightly, knuckles turning white.

“Change the station.” She said. Price looked up. It was the first thing anyone had said in a few hours.

“Why?”

“Just change the fucking station.” She snapped. “Please.”

Price nodded, turning it to something else. A Russian voice chattered into the room. Ghost could see that she was listening, probably understanding every single word.

“What are they saying?” Price asked.

“That there was a fire in the warehouse we were in.” she said.

“Nothing about us?”

She shook her head. “From what they’re saying, they don’t have a clue. The Red Room will know.”

“Why?” Ghost asked.

“They chipped us. They know the last location of the girls, and they know that seven of the chips moved without the rest. I had the medics take them out, but it took them a while to get here. By now, Dreykov will know that something is going on.”

It was the most she’d said in one go so far.

Ghost didn’t trust her, but he didn’t mind her either. Most of the team disliked her, and Price couldn’t seem to stand her. Soap had his mind set on talking to her. But Ghost… he didn’t know who she was, only that she was as quiet as he was.

He knew that Soap wanted to ask about the scars that littered her arms and what they could see of her back, and he knew that she would not answer.

Suddenly, there was a shout of frustration from Gaz.

“What happened?” Price asked, immediately on his feet.

“Heater’s out.”

Glancing outside, Ghost saw that it was snowing heavily. Black Widow got up from her spot in the room. Ghost could hear her shuffle inside one of the cabinets.

She returned with blankets, dumping them in the middle of the room before taking one for herself. Ghost said nothing as she sat down next to him, an arm length of space between them. The snow only got heavier, until it turned into an all-out blizzard.

“We’ll be snowed in tomorrow.” Soap noted.

“Let’s worry about freezing to death first.” Gaz said. He was chattering, despite the blanket around him. Black Widow had gotten herself a second already, and she still looked cold.

“Taking first watch.” Ghost muttered, sitting down by the window.

“I’ll join you.” Soap said. Ghost knew that Soap wanted to chatter about something idle to distract himself from the image of 23 dead fourteen-year-olds.

The others shuffled together for warmth, except for her. She stayed where she was, leaning against the counter of the small kitchen.

“Ya think she’s from the Red Room?” Soap asked under his breath.

“Course she is.” Ghost replied.

“I heard they take the girls when they’re three. Teach ‘em ballet and how to be all pretty while killing a man. Then they send them out when they’re fifteen.”

Ghost nodded, letting Soap know that he was listening.

“Ya think that’s why she wanted ta change the station?”

“Huh?”

“They were playin’ sum ballet song.” Soap said. “Maybe she knows how to dance to it. “

“Doubt she does much dancing.” Ghost replied.

“Sight for sore eyes though. But after what she did today…” Soap mumbled.

Ghost still remembered it. How ruthlessly she’d fought against those girls. Wasn’t she supposed to know that they had no choice?

They had all obviously gone through the same combat training, but she was older and stronger. Those girls knew that. She knew that.

Ghost had watched her snap the neck of one with a twist of her hand. Something like that was so grotesque that even Ghost seldom did it, but with her it looked like the starter to a five-course-meal.

“She ain’t happy.” Soap said.

“No shit.”

“Ya think she’s a good person?”

“I doubt it.” Ghost replied.

“I think she could be. Maybe she’s an ass due to circumstance.”

Ghost snorted. Only Soap would say something like that. When he glanced over to her, he saw beady eyes glancing back in the darkness. He wondered if she’d listened in to their conversation.

She didn’t sleep for most of the time Ghost and Soap were on watch. A few hours in, she picked up her pack of cigarettes and lighter and offered them to take over watch.

Ghost nodded, about to get up and go back to bed, but Soap was hesitant.

“It’s fucking cold sleeping on tha ground.” He said.

“We can sleep close. For warmth.” Ghost replied.

“Nah. I’ll stay on my feet.” Soap said.

Ghost shook his head. What the fuck was going on with Soap?

You

You were back to square one, thanks to some wrong intel. On top of that, they all saw what you did to the other girls. You weren’t sure if their pity was worse or whatever they did now.

All of them except Soap, who still seemed determined to chew off your ear. Currently, he was telling you about his hometown in Scotland.

“You’re from New Zealand, aren’t ya?” he asked finally.

“I just lived there.”

“Then where are you from?” he asked. You shrugged in response. Russia was where you were raised, technically, but you did not know where you were taken from.

Soap smiled at you brightly, completely unguarded. It threw you off. He was a special ops, and yet, he sometimes behaved like anything but.

You didn’t need classes in the Red Room to know that he was attracted to you. Yet, you weren’t sure whether that would help or hinder you.

“Who raised ya? Masked soldiers?” he said, and you were sure he’d meant it as a joke.

“A woman called Madam Ivanova. She was in charge of us.”

“Was? Who killed her?”

“Price.” You replied curtly.

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. You could see that he was regretting his words.

“Don’t be. She wasn’t a good person.”

“You say that as if she killed your friends.”

“She did.” You replied.

“What?”

“If recruits aren’t good enough, you don’t let them into your ranks.” You shrugged.

“Recruits? Fucking hell, you were girls.”

“Yeah, at the beginning of the program. 1 in 20 makes it through.”

Soap didn’t say anything else that night.

***

You stayed on after taking down Dreykov. By going back into this industry, you’d given up New Zealand, and in your gut, you’d known that when you made that choice.

The team had grown to accept you, and even Price was alright with your company by now. In return, you tried to be less snappy towards them. It worked, most of the time.

The last mission had been a good one. No one innocent had died, you’d gotten the intel, and the bad guys were dead. It was like out of a story, and the group was celebrating.

Price had gotten an empty bar, and Soap was playing bartender, giving out drinks like there was no tomorrow, and chugging his own just as quickly. Ghost was in the corner, mask rolled up to drink whatever Soap handed him.

You could see a bit of blond stubble peek out, along with a small scar. You knew how he’d gotten it. It had been in the Red Room, the actual Red Room, and an eight-year-old girl had slashed at him with a sharpened letter opener.

Ghost hadn’t defended himself. You’d pried the girl off him, taking the weapon from her and making sure she wouldn’t jam it into his neck next.

“Here.” Soap said, handing you a shot of Tequila.

“I’ve had enough.” You replied. “If I drink any more, I’ll get tipsy.”

“That’s the point.” Soap said, firmly putting the shotglass down. “You’re lucky we’re not playing any drinking games.”

You snatched the glass from him, ignoring his smug smile as you downed it, holding out your ahnd for a lime wedge. Soap dropped it into your hand quickly.

You laughed at some stupid joke he said, ignoring the stares on your back from the rest of the team. You couldn’t deny the fact that Soap could make you feel less…

You weren’t sure, but when you were with Soap, your past faded into the background. It wasn’t as important anymore. All the blood and fucking gore of it.

Ghost

He wasn’t sure why, but he hated that she was laughing at Soap’s idiot jokes. Somehow, he had convinced her to get tipsy, and it was a good look on her.

She was pretty when she smiled. Not that she wasn’t without, but it made her look careless. At some point, she walked over to him, another shot glass in hand.

“Soap insists you drink another. He wants to see you tipsy.”

Ghost took the glass from her, ignoring the fact that he enjoyed their hands touching.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Ghost paused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re quiet. You always are, but you’re like… quiet tonight.” She said. He wanted to scoff at her.

“You and Johnny fucking?” he asked. He wasn’t sure why.

“What?” she asked. “Where the fuck is that coming from?”

“Don’t want my team messed up.”

“Oh in that case, you don’t have to worry Lieutenant.” She spat. Her entire body language had shifted in a moment, and it was telling Ghost to fuck off. “I’m going for a smoke.”

Ghost watched her storm out, before glancing over to Soap. He’d stilled his movements, looking after her.

Ghost followed a few seconds after, leaving the bar. She stood outside, clicking on her lighter angrily.

“Don’t fucking say anything stupid.” She told him, throwing the lighter away with a frustrated movement. Suddenly, Ghost surged forward, grabbing her jaw softly. He had to lean down to look at her, even if she wasn’t short.

“Wha-“ she began

“I thought you learned about all of this.” Ghost mumbled, suddenly unsure what to do. Her hands surged forward, pulling the lower half of his mask up.

His hand moved the back of her neck, covering pretty much all of it. He could taste the sourness of limes on her lips. Her lips were so soft Ghost thought he might forget about everything else.

He ghosted over her jaw, and felt the tenseness in it. Carefully, Ghost broke contact.

“Relax.” He told her.

“I am.”

“This isn’t a mission.”

“I just- I haven’t done this just for the sake of it.”

Shit. Ghost felt terrible when she said that.

“Don’t stop now.” She whispered, and Ghost obliged, his lips meeting hers again. Her jaw wasn’t as tense as it had been, and her arms hung loosely around his neck. Slowly, he let one of his hands slide down to her waist, pulling her in closely.

She let down a quiet oof as she hit his vest, letting him guide her towards the wall of the bar. His other hand pillowed her head, making sure that she would not hurt herself.

He hated to admit that kissing her was everything he wanted in that moment.

It was so perfect, the taste of her lips, her small hands on his chest and his own encircling her waist. Their closeness.

And then, the illusion shattered.

She sprang back from him, looking towards the door of the bar.

“Soap?” she asked, voice hoarse.

Soap

He’d only come out of the bar to check on her and Ghost, expecting them to be at each other’s throats. They were, just not the way he’d thought.

“Soap?” she asked, surprise apparent on her face. Ghost’s hand was still on her waist, but she’d backed away from him as soon as she’d heard his steps.

His stomach dropped. He wanted her. Simon fucking knew that. He’d wanted to do that to her since he’d met her, and he’d told Simon. He’d told him about what he thought of her and he did this?

And from the look on her face, she knew how he felt as well.

“Fuck you, Riley.” He spat, turning back around. Ghost stayed where he was, but she followed him.

“Please don’t go.” She said. “It was- I didn’t mean to-“

“What? You looked like you were about to fuck him right there.” Soap replied. He knew his accent was thick due to anger, and he didn’t care. He didn’t expect her to push him like a petulant child though.

Soap barely stumbled, and that only seemed to enrage her more.

“It was a heat of the moment thing!” she finally said. “He got me angry, and it worked, okay?”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset.” He finally replied. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I like you.” She blurted out. Soap blinked dumbly.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again. It makes me sound so childish.” She said. Behind her, Ghost moved.

“So why’d you make out with him?” Soap asked. She didn’t reply, but for the first time since he’d met her, she blushed. Furiously.

Oh.

He glanced over to Ghost, who towered behind her. He saw it too. Their eyes met, and Soap saw the idea that was coming to his mind mirrored in Ghost’s.

Oh.

They’d never even come close to something like that, but maybe…

Softly, he tipped up her chin, There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but her cheeks were still flushed from kissing Ghost and the Tequila she’d had. Her pupils were still dilated.

She was so fucking hot.

He could share with Ghost.

This wasn’t the first kiss Soap had imagined, but imagination be damned, it was still fucking amazing. Soap pulled her closer by the loops in her belt, feeling her body press against him. Her hands grabbed his neck, pulling him closer.

Soap could practically feel Ghost hover behind her, feel the impatience rolling off of him.

“Let’s get outta here, yeah?” Soap offered, and she nodded, grabbing him by the hand. Ghost followed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He leaned in, whispering. “She’s never had sex for the sake of sex.”

Soap nodded. If she knew they were talking about her, she ignored it.

“I wasn’t planning on not focusing on her.” He replied.

Ghost

They found a dingy motel, and Soap barely managed to scrape money out of his wallet before he was already sprinting up the stairs to their hotel. The woman behind the desk gave them a look that told Ghost she knew exactly what they were planning.

Not that he cared much.

He caught up with her, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her over his shoulder. Soap shook his head, unlocking the door to their room as quickly as he could.

Ghost let her down on the bed, crashing lips onto lips. She gave a surprised squeak that turned into a moan as his hand wandered to her tits, greedily squeezing.

Blindly, she pulled Soap onto the bed, causing it to groan from the weight.

“Might break it if we keep going.” Soap said.

“That’s the goal.” She replied, before kissing him. Ghost didn’t know why he didn’t feel jealous but he was glad. Carefully, he set to work on pulling off her jacket, and then, her shirt.

He paused when he saw a massive scar, running from under her left breast until her hipbone. Ghost ran a thumb over it carefully. There was another, low on her stomach. Ghost didn’t want to think of where they’d come from. Kissing up her breasts, she felt her hands tug at his vest.

He shrugged it off, watching as she wrapped her legs around Soap’s waist, flipping him onto his back.

From under her hair, he saw the tattoo. It disappeared again when she leaned forward to suck on Soap’s neck, softly biting his shoulder.

Soap groaned and Ghost suddenly felt his pants grow uncomfortably tight.

He moved to kneel behind her, feeling her grind against the bulge in Soap’s pants. His hand snaked onto her neck, and she turned to kiss him.

“Good?” she asked. Simon and John nodded at the same time. She’s the most naked out of all of them, bra and pants still on, and God, it’s not enough for him. He picked her up, knowing exactly that she knew this was nothing for him, and beginning to open her pants.

Soap sat up, looking almost offended at being left out but then, he leaned back, giving her an appreciative smile.

Simon had almost managed to not feel guilty for making out with her behind the bar despite what Soap had told him.

She’s a pretty lass. I think she’d kill me if I told her.

That was the first thing Soap had told him, and Simon had silently agreed. He’d had no idea that Soap’s simple attraction would turn into a full-blown crush, like that of a lovesick teen. He’d had no idea that he’d follow so closely behind.

It had happened to him after the mess with the Red Room. She’d come out of Dreykov’s office, covered in blood, slick with it, and collapsed at his feet. He’d picked her up and carried her to the medics, but not before he’d caught a glimpse of the office.

Dreykov’s body, scattered across the room, his bodyguards dead with him.

He’d seen her carnal violence, and she’d held his hand afterwards, as they stitched her back together. Three bullets and six stab wounds, and she’d squeezed his hand so hard he was sure it would fall off.

They never spoke of it afterwards, but there was something there then.

There’s a moment of awkward rustling where Soap and Widow pull off their clothes, and Simon stands off to the side, unsure whether he should take his off as well.

Instead, he lowers himself to the end of the bed, pulling her towards him until her cunt is in front of his face. She crosses her legs for a moment, and Simon begins to work on her thighs. It takes her a moment, and then she lets him touch her.

Soap is somewhere above him, making out with her so intensely that Simon can see her chest heave with each breath. He’s so hard in his pants it almost hurts.

But this is about her. For her.

The first moan he coaxes from her is muffled, almost swallowed by Soap’s kiss, but the second comes more loudly. Simon stays where he is, until her legs wrap around his head with a trained strength and he can barely breathe.

He’d die happy between her legs.

Soap

Everything that’s happening turns into an avalanche once her clothes are off. She’s still sweaty from the bar and walking to the motel, but he couldn’t care less. Her tits are in his face – he has no right to.

Ghost is somewhere, doing something, and he can barely concentrate on what he’s doing with the sounds that are coming from her mouth. She’s not fragile – he knows she isn’t. And yet, he feels like he has to hold her like she’ll break apart.

“I want…” she begins, but trails off again, into another moan. Johnny throws a look behind his shoulder and sees her legs wrapped around Ghost’s head, so tightly that he isn’t sure his friend is still alive.

“What do you want?” he demands from her. She could ask anything from him right now. He’d shoot his own brains out if she wanted him to.

“Please, I need you.” She begs, and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind in this shitty motel.

Slowly, she lets Ghost go, and he stands up, pulling his mask over his face again. He’s still wearing his clothes.

Soap lets her get on top. Ghost is somewhere, holding her somehow, but all he can focus on is the feeling of him inside her. It’s never-ending, golden, and Soap knows nothing has felt more right.

“Fuck.” She mumbles, her arms shaking as she tries to steady herself on his shoulders. Ghost had done a number on her, and it looked amazing.

When she began to move, the scar on her stomach stretched, pulling on her skin. Soap wanted to take her away from it all. Him and Ghost, they could protect her. Let her truly retire.

She was younger than both of them, and had worked this kind of stuff long before them. Only Price had more experience.

Suddenly, she leans forward, her lips grazing his ear.

“Ghost feels a little left out.”

“We don’t want that, do we now?” he replies.

“I have something that might work.” She says, and Johnny trusts her. She turns around, offering her cunt to him from behind, facing Ghost. He takes out his cock, stroking leisurely, and Soap wants to gulp with her.

It’s fucking massive. She wants to suck him off when he’s that big?

But then she’s practically begging him to fill her cunt again, and all thoughts of possible or not possible are gone when he’s inside her.

He watches, through a haze, as Ghost feeds her his cock. She gags on it, and Johnny can feel himself twitch inside her. She feels it too.

Ghost is careful with her at first, whispering praises.

Good girl. You’re doing so well.

And then, he kind of forgets all about that, slowly guiding her head. The enormity of him causes her to rock back against Soap, and he wishes he could see her face.

He feels himself growing close, and suddenly he panics – there’s no condoms.

So he pulls out of her, and both Ghost and her halt their movements.

“You on the pill?” Soap asks quickly.

“I can’t have kids.” She replies. He halts at that for a moment, but then, she and Ghost are back at it, and he doesn’t want to miss out.

His hand snakes down to her belly, finding her clit. It causes her to clench around him and it takes Soap all of his willpower not to come then and there.

He doesn’t know where to look. The perfect fucking curve of her back. Her ass. Her face in Ghost’s crotch, taking him as if that wasn’t a fucking challenge.

Soap barely manages to coax an orgasm out of her before he cums. He's so close his brain has turned to mush. She shudders against him, and he has to hold her up, feeling her pretty ass bump against him, always begging for more. He gives as much as he can, making her moan around Ghost’s cock so loudly that the woman behind the desk downstairs has definitely heard.

One last time, he grabs her hips tightly, cumming inside her, before he pulls out and leans back.

He gets to enjoy the view as she continues to suck off Ghost, his cum dribbling out of her cunt. His handprints are on her hips, already beginning to bruise. Ghost doesn’t take much longer before he comes too, holding her head down. Soap hears her choke, and it’s enough to make him hard again.

She collapses onto the bed next to him, sweatier than before and hair in tangles thanks to Ghost.

Soap takes the stringy towel Ghost gets him from the bathroom, wiping down her thighs and offering it to her for her face.

“No need.” She says with a proud smirk.

“God, stop. You’ll be in for another round otherwise.”

Ghost sits on the bed across from them before she waves him over. It’s barely enough space, but she manages to squeeze between them. Soap scratches her back carefully, and she purrs like a cat.

“Was that good for a first?” Soap finally asks.

“Oh no it was totally terrible.” She answers, her voice sarcastic. “It’s not like I came all over your dick.”

“Jesus.” Ghost manages, but Soap sees his massive hand already on her ass.

“Round two?” Soap asks, and she gives him an adoring smile. There’s a moment where he feels himself falling in love with her even more, and maybe even with Ghost, for taking care of his girl.

“Give me a moment.” She says finally. “But yeah, let’s go for a round two.”

2K notes · View notes

b1rds3ye · 8 months

Text

My Heart Burns For You

Rodolfo is still by your side and ready to fight for Las Almas, but after a near-death encounter he realises he can't stay silent about how he feels for you.

Pairing: Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Canon-Compliant (Straight after Borderline), Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Italicised sentences are characters talking in Spanish

Word Count: 2.3k

For Fall4Rudy by @glitterypirateduck

Prompts: “I can't get you out of my head” (6), “Say it again” (16)

Warning: Graphic descriptions of injuries, talks of death

A/N: In the campaign Rudy almost dies in a fire, bleeding after a gun to the face then the next day he’s just vibing. I get that the military is fast paced but DAMN- (Also YES I GOT TO CONTRIBUTE TO FALL4RUDY I WAS SO SCARED WITH ASSIGNMENTS I WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO SKDJFALKSDS)

It was the early hours of the new day. The Vaqueros are vigilant all day, all night, even on their own base, meaning you were pacing back and forth on watch duty. You volunteered this time, with your fellow Vaqueros not arguing with a knowing smile. It seems everyone but the sergeant major himself has become aware of how close you had become, or aware of how you swoon whenever he spoke to you, or offered that little extra bit of care. Combined with what was one of the highest stakes missions to date, you couldn’t help the need to see Rodolfo the instant he and Alejandro got back from the Mexican border…

… if they get back.

You tutted at yourself before turning your head back to the horizon, grip tightening on your rifle. They will be back and you will be the first to see them, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Like cowboys you will see them on the horizon, riding in front of the burning glory of the sun. With a successful mission they will bring the new day and reignite the passion and hope that the Vaqueros so desperately need.

There’s a distant but familiar growl of a cargo truck, and you immediately take cover, gun at the ready as you look down its sights as you try and get a visual of the vehicle. Right on cue, you hear the familiar cackle of Alejandro’s voice through your comms.

“Guns down, friendlies returning to base.”

You smile as you loosen your posture, standing back up again. But simmering under your joy is the thought that they’ve returned home a little too early.

“I’m taking it’s a successful mission, Colonel?”

“Sergeant.”

The line is silent for a few moments.

“That’s a negative.”

It is meant to be morning and yet the sky is looking ever darker. The stars do little to illuminate your darkening expression. Your swallow is thicker than the tar that shapes the tattered roads beneath you, scorched after years of neglect under Las Almas’ heat.

“Where’s Rodolfo?”

You try to ask as nonchalantly as possible. To hide the fact you’re demanding an answer like a kid to your direct superior.

“I’m here.”

The tension in your shoulders was relieved at that voice. You would rather see him, rather have him tell you as he stood beside you. Ideally his voice wouldn’t sound strained, fatigue bleeding through the speakers into your own weary mind, painfully reminding you that you’ve essentially pulled an all nighter to catch a glimpse of him before you hit the hay.

“I had to come back to you.”

You chew your lips as the static cuts off. Before you can think any further at Rodolfo’s odd choice of words the truck pulls up to you as you stand by the entrance of the base. You squint even as the full-beam headlights turn off, the glare stubbornly clouding your vision. The slam of a car door has you tilting your head to Alejandro as he exits the truck. His smile is genuine but strained.

He was in the driver’s seat. And if Rudy was around, Alejandro never drove.

The colonel seemed to be reading your mind.

“Rudy is being rather honest right now, I needed to give him some adrenaline.”

On the other side of the truck, Rodolfo’s silhouette eventually comes back into view. His head had lulled forward, footsteps pounding against the sandy grounds of Las Almas. They were determined but not nearly as clean as his usual gait, pebbles audibly grinding against his boots. Only when he emerged from the shadows of the truck did you realise why Alejandro needed to give him a boost.

“Rudy…”

Rodolfo is silent, only marching ever closer to you. His visage is nothing short of horrific, blood both fresh and dry painting a terrifying collage on the upper half of his face. He must have tried to wipe the blood off, finger-sized smears across his countenance that haphazardly spread onto the wrists of his hoodie did little to relieve you.

“Rodolfo? Friend, you must get patched up-” Alejandro muttered after the sergeant major. Upon realising Rodolfo was beelining straight to you, Alejandro only gave you a firm nod with a knowing look. “Sergeant, patch him up.”

But Rodolfo had already reached you, hand held ever so lightly around your bicep like the gentlest but encouraging breeze to follow him into base. You can’t bring yourself to resist, not even trying to slow down his brisk walk and instead look over your shoulder to address Alejandro.

“Roger that, Colonel!”

Alejandro only waves you off dismissively with an amused expression between a smile and a grimace as Rodolfo paced double time into the building with you in tow.

“Rodolfo?”

“I need to tell you something.”

He leaves it at that and the damning baritone that ends his sentence leaves you unable to even dare to say anything else. Instead you can only take him in apprehensively as he leads you down the familiar hallways towards your quarters. When you expected the familiar indoor smell of your second home to wash over, instead it was dominated by the pungent odour of something charred. Bitterly mixed with smoke and gasoline, you dreaded the image conjuring up in your mind as you notice a hole in Rodolfo’s jacket, loose threads singed off in a cruel finish.

When you reach your room, you take the lead, pulling Rodolfo down to sit on your bed. It’s only then does his hand tighten, fingers attempting to clamp around your bicep but it only closes around air. You head straight to your first aid kit, and then to retrieve a towel that you dampen with water. He watches you all the while.

Rodolfo parts his knees, letting you stand between his thighs. With one hand you take his chin, the other giving light dabs across his face. You can’t help but grimace as you notice the towel dirty with red, but Rodolfo doesn’t seem all too bothered with his own injuries, the weight of his head on your hand getting heavier as he gets comfortable.

“What on earth happened so suddenly that you need to tell me now?” You chastise lightly. “I’m sure it can wait tomorrow, you need to rest-”

“No, we failed,” Rodolfo grumbles. His syllables were a little slurred, no doubt to the adrenaline running off but his eyebrows were adorably furrowed as he tried to maintain concentration. “We will head out in the morning to find Hassan, I need-”

“To rest,” you argue. Your ministrations cleaned up the main mask of his face, and now you could get a good look at him without being concerned that he was going to kick the bucket in a few minutes. You give him a frown before you continue to dab at his temples and the blood that got stuck in the roots of his hair, Rodolfo offering the odd hum of contentment all the while. “We can handle it tomorrow, if we’ll be fighting like you said, we’ll need to concentrate-”

“I love you.”

Your hand stilled. You instinctively wanted to argue that he must’ve had too much adrenaline but he is looking as serious and sober as ever.

“You tell me I’ll need to concentrate but I can’t get you out of my head.”

He reached up to take your hand that’s at his temple, despite the thickness of his fingers he nimbly moves them to thread in between yours. You do not doubt that the man standing before you is Rodolfo, but something was different. He was changed. The fire in his eyes held a different light, more sombre, a tinge of desperation. He was distracted, or instead, he was too focused on a singular goal that he disregarded everything else like a moth to a flame. He still wore his dirtied gear upon sheets that you’ll likely have to wash later.

“What happened tonight?” You whisper tentatively. In truth, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer.

“I almost died.”

In any other situation you would have laughed. Of course he almost died, you two almost die every day. It comes with the territory of being a Vaqueros.

But the both of you know that.

“In the cartel safehouse, alone,” Rodolfo murmurs. “I saw Hassan, he talked to me. They set the house aflame but I was concussed, I couldn’t move no matter how much I wanted to.”

He looks away briefly and you offer his hand a gentle squeeze of encouragement. He leans forward, getting closer to you until his tactical vest clacks against yours.

“Alejandro saved me,” he admits. “But before he did… I thought I was done.”

For a second, Rodolfo is back in the safehouse, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows a cough.

“I swear I was burning in the flames of hell already, it was suffocating. In those moments when I had no choice but to lie and wait, I could only think of one thing. They say that your life flashes before your eyes but that did not happen to me.”

And then it was Rodolfo’s turn to tighten the grip on your hand, expecting you to slip away through his fingers like smoke.

“I could only think about you.”

Rodolfo drags your hands down to his cheek. Pulling his hand away briefly to then manipulate yours to cup his face. He leans into it and you indulge, gently stroking the plushness of his cheek with your thumb. With his face close up to yours, you now notice the faintest stray smears of soot against his skin and you try to wipe them away even as it gets your own hands dirty in the process. His face is flushed, skin warm to the touch like the final embers of a campfire.

“The only regret on my mind - that you never knew how I felt about you. I know the lives we’ve chosen are dangerous, but you were always my respite. I accept it is fair that I will die out on the field as a Vaquero but when I was burning in that safehouse I could only think how it was unfair to you.”

His eyes had slowly closed as he nuzzled deeper into your palm.

“It was unfair to you if I never got to show you my gratitude or repay you. It was unfair if I didn’t get the chance to at least try to give you the comfort you have given me.”

You could barely hear him over your pounding heart. Rodolfo resigns himself, slowly lifting his head from your hand. He doesn’t look particularly sad, only accepting, looking as resolute as ever.

“You don’t have to feel the same, but you deserve to know. Coronel may fight for Las Almas, but I realise now I am fighting for you. Regardless of how you feel, I always will be.”

With no words able to capture how you feel, you can only push forward, pressing your lips against his. Rodolfo was more than happy to accept, his hand already slipping to the back of your head, pushing you impossibly closer to him. Any closer and there will be teeth clacking and even then it would not feel close enough. Your military gear only feels like a hinderance, as it creates an uncomfortable pressure against your chest that you push through just to get a taste of him. His groan is swallowed up by you and reverberates through your entire being. Pressing up against him, the bitter fumes of toxic flames that surrounded him were distant, managing to instead get the whiff of his cologne; the smell of comfort after quiet nights spent huddled together in base. His other arm cradles the curve of your back, the firmness of his bicep nudging you forward until your abdomen is against his.

And with a single kiss you pour all of the emotion you can. For all the days spent pining helplessly at his natural kindness. For all the times he refuses to let you do a mission alone, to the hushed, panic whispers of reassurance when you’re bleeding out on the field. To let him know he’s already paid in kind if not more. That every time you reload your rifle and step onto cartel territory, ready to sign your life away, that you had been fighting for him all the same.

When you pull away, Rodolfo does not let you move any further than you have to to regain your breath. He rests his forehead against yours, heaving breaths intermingling. His hands have crept up to your neck, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your skin. No doubt his fingers have accidentally dirtied your face with the soot and dirt from the mission, but you will gladly adorn the markings as a sign that you are his.

“I love you too,” you say breathlessly and he instinctively lets out a content sigh.

“Dios mío, please, say it again.”

“I love you, Rodolfo Parra,” you reply and he offers a smile worthy to be put in a museum.

It takes a few testing tugs until Rodolfo allows you to finally part from him, not after you distract him with a quick peck on the lips. You gingerly pick up the towel that had been forgotten on the floor, setting it aside and now opening up the first aid kit beside you.

“Now that I’m your lover I can order you around, hm?” You tease and you giggle with how his smile turns shy upon referring to yourself as his partner. “I’m going to patch you up, we’ll wash up, and then you’re going to rest.”

“How cruel,” he replies fondly. “But I guess whatever mi vida says must go, yes?”

Call of Duty Masterlist Check Out the Rest of Fall4Rudy Here!!

#FALL4RUDY #rudy x reader #rodolfo x reader #call of duty x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #cod x reader #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #rodolfo parra #rodolfo cod #/*avery actually writes*/

333 notes · View notes

shegxox · 2 years

Text

flirts. | chamber , sova

that moment when you hear chamber flirt with viper the first time on the field.

cw: swearing

wc: 1,005

a.n: idk what this is but uh, enjoy? also, let me know if you guys like this type of stuff. ++ gaia visual here ^^

previous : next

"VIPER, you must let me take you out sometime. Dinner– dancing! I know the perfect place."

"Chamber, I would rather drink my own poison."

You stifled a giggle as you and KAY/O shared a look, the robot merely shook his head as the two of you overhear the comms of the agent on the field.

"Does this happen all the time?" You asked, muting off your voice in comms.

"More often than you think," KAY/O replies.

You have just arrived at the Vulture, catching up on a mission that you were supposed to be in. Viper, Chamber, and Sova were already on the field, leaving you and KAY/O at the aircraft.

"Come now, mademoiselle. No need to be so cold, I know just the thing to warm you up."

Your eyes widened and slapped a hand on your mouth, hunching over as you heard those words.

"Less flirting, more focus." You could already tell that Viper was gritting her teeth.

"How could I focus when I'm in a presence of such beauty."

"Pfft–" your laughter busted out as you watched them from the screens. "Oh my gods this is so painful to hear!"

KAY/O lets out a defeated sigh, "Affirmative."

You tapped on your comms and finally made them aware of your presence.

"Chamber, you're so lame." You managed to utter out through fits of giggles.

The comms suddenly went silent.

"Yeah, that's right, I can hear your cringey lines."

Sova's voice then joined in, "Gaia? Is that you?"

"Yup and hearing Chamber flirt just took away half my life span." You said dramatically, "Lameness is my weakness!"

You faintly hear Viper let out a chuckle

"What are you doing here?" Chamber's voice suddenly cut through in a demanding tone.

"Uhh, I'm part of the mission, duh."

"How was I not informed of this?"

"The last-minute briefing we had that you skipped." Viper answers in a deadpan tone. "It would only be natural for her to be here, she's the one who caught Legion lingering around the site."

"That's right." You nodded. "And FYI, my flora just sensed movement."

"I'm picking up a signal near A site," KAY/O added as he scanned through the screens. "Everyone in position, they're here. I'm sending Gaia in."

You made your way to your motorcycle that was parked near the exit, KAY/O lowers the altitude of the Vulture, preparing to open the aircraft's backdoors.

"Sova, ice cream and barbie movies after this?" You quickly asked as you mount your ride.

"It would be a pleasure," Sova replied.

"That's how you do it, Chamber." You teased as you put on your helmet.

"Ah, even I would say yes to that offer if you asked me, ma chérie." Chamber shot back in a flirty tone.

"Who wouldn't say no to you, mon chou?"

You feigned a gasp, your ride humming to life.

"My, my mon cher. Hitting on two ladies at once?" You laughed darkly. "What a player."

"I could say the same for you, little goddess."

---

"I hate myself so much." You groaned as you clutched your side, falling down on one knee.

"Not as much as I hate you." Your copy seethed before sending vines searing through your direction.

"I am you, dummy." Swiping your hand on the ground and up, the earth rises as it curved its direction, forming a barrier that blocked the vine's attack.

You pressed on your comms, "I need an arrow or a bullet at 12 o'clock, 8 meters, now!"

The familiar sound of Chamber's gun rang through the air almost immediately and you put your barrier down to see your copy's body fall.

"Merci!"

With the detonator in hand, you ran towards the spike, the beeping sound going faster as you began defusing. The bomb started to glow red and your surroundings started to rise.

"C'mon, I have ice cream waiting for me after this." You clicked your tongue as the spike started to form cracks underneath it, nearing its end. And just before it did, you finally defused it.

"Oh sweet barbie mermaidia." You breathed out in relief before letting yourself down on the ground.

"That was fucking close. . . "

Hurried footsteps pounded the ground as they rushed towards you.

"Gaia!" Sova kneeled next to you as he started inspecting your state. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." You rasped before trying to sit up. "Just got hit on the side, no biggie."

"Are you sure?" Your mentor asked worriedly

"Yeah, look, I'm healing right now." You assured as you twisted your torso a bit to the side to show your glowing palm covering your side.

Sova heaved a sigh in relief.

"Good."

"Well, that was a job well done." A new voice entered as Chamber stepped into view. "A close call, but well done."

You gave him a weak smile, "Thanks for the headshot."

"No problem, mademoiselle." Chamber held out a hand. "Merely aiding a damsel in distress."

You scoffed, taking his hand.

"I could've handled her if we had more time." You sighed as you stood up with Sova following suit.

"But, yes. I was in distress."

"Would the damsel still be in distress if I say that she owes me one?" Chamber asked with a sly smirk.

"Oh god, what do you want." You shot him a playful look of disdain.

"Dinner, dancing– I know the perfect place." There was a glint of craftiness in his eyes and you couldn't help but be impressed.

You huffed a laugh, "Cute but recycled. You'd have to wait in line."

Chamber shot you a charming smile, "I'm a patient man."

You then felt a large warm hand on your lower back.

"We need to head back," Sova utters, looking at you gently. "Captain is waiting."

"Ah, right. Let's go." Taking your hand from Chamber's hold, "I'm taking my bike, by the way, I have somewhere to be first."

Sova's eyebrows furrowed, "Is it another mission?"

"Ah no," You chuckled. "I'll just buy some ice cream."

1K notes · View notes

aprocessionofthoughts · 7 months

Text

Calling All Bats

ai-less whumptober 2023 day 26- came back wrong fandom- dp x dc TW- none summary- Jason starts looking for Danny

ao3 ailesswhumptober23 masterlist part 5 of DLM

Danny found himself pleasantly relaxing with this strange liminal. Which he figured was why Gotham had directed him to that apartment. He had been surprised when he reached Gotham’s border and immediately felt the city’s presence. He had never encountered a living city before even though he knew they were possible. He had hesitated at first, not wanting to intrude on what felt like a haunt. But Gotham had assured him with feelings of temporary protection, she couldn’t do much. She was too weak from constantly being surrounded by corrupted ectoplasm from all the disasters. But she could offer temporary asylum and let Danny know when the GIW entered Gotham’s border.

Of course Danny hadn’t known that Gotham would be sneaky and direct him to a liminal’s apartment. Danny had not expected a liminal to come in, usually he could sense a haunt, but with Gotham as contaminated as she was, he figured the criminal's presence was hidden. It was also probably because Jason’s ectoplasm was also corrupted.

He wished he could have stayed longer in that apartment. He might have even been able to help Jason. But when Gotham whispered to him that the GIW had come, Danny knew he had to leave before the agents found Jason. Hopefully Gotham’s corrupt ectoplasm would help hide Jason. It might even make it more difficult for the agents to track him down as well.

But he couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t sure where he’d go next. At least he had gotten his bandages changed and eaten a few cookies.

-------------------

Jason didn’t know what to do. The kid was just gone.

How was he supposed to look for him? Where even did he go?

And these GIW agents or whatever were clearly after him. Jason wasn’t about to abandon the kid.

Leaving behind his hot chocolate and cookies he walked over to his room and put his uniform back on.

The kid was like him. They both came back wrong. Jason grimaced. He’d always described himself as coming back wrong, but thinking about the kid like that was wrong. The kid was fine. Who cared if he’d died before. And maybe, Jason wasn’t messed up either? Danny acted like all this was normal. And maybe it was.

Whatever. Existential thought could wait till after he’d found Danny and beat the GIW to a pulp.

He left through his window and made his way up to the roof. He paused. He wouldn’t be able to search the whole city by himself.

That meant he’d have to call in reinforcements.

Ugh. What a pain.

He activates his comm. “Hey, Oracle. Anyone out tonight?”

“Hood, I thought you were ending your patrol early today?”

“I did. Then I found something. I need anyone out to help me out with the situation.”

“Red Robin’s out right now, but Nightwing is still suited up if you need him too.”

“Go ahead and patch them both to my comm.”

“Will do.”

A moment later Dick’s voice came through. “What’s up, Hood?”

“I need your help looking for someone.” Jason said, grappling over to the next roof. “Who are you looking for?” Tim asked.

Jason hesitated before answering, “He’s a kid about fourteen or fifteen, he’s some kind of meta. I was talking with him and he just disappeared. But he mentioned he has government agents trying to hunt him down to experiment on him.”

“What’s he look like?” Dick asked, voice serious.

Jason paused before getting it over with. “He was wearing jeans and had a black hoodie on. And he has black hair and blue eyes.”

There was silence for a moment before Dick started cackling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know this is serious, but really Little Wing? You’ve found us a new brother?”

“Shut up. We need to start looking for him.”

“Of course.” Dick said, sounding serious, but Jason could tell that the man was still smiling.

“Do you know what agency is after him?” Tim asked.

“A group called the GIW. I don't know anything else.”

“I’ll look into them. I’ve also got my systems looking for any black haired, blue eyed kids.” Babs said.

“We’ll find him, Hood.” Dick said.

Jason hoped so.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #day 26 #came back wrong #jason is liminal #Jason todd #Danny fenton #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #fanfic

177 notes · View notes

ghcstao3 · 11 months

Note

soap but he’s a honeypot and ghost is his lookout send tweet

ohohohoh i like this (also sorry this is so late, i feel like i’ve been so one-track minded lately. and i wrote most of this with a concerning amount of cold medicine in my system so) warning for lots of ghost pining

It’s a mission just a bit unlike any other.

Sure, they’ve all taken their turns offering themselves up as bait to the enemy, but not like this.

Ghost doesn’t like the mission one bit. And he knows exactly why—but he’ll choose to blame it on anything else. Like the fact that his lookout post is within the facility, a crowded club, and not some high perch where he gets to peer through the scope of his rifle, where he feels most at home.

He chooses to blame his unease on that fact, and not at all because Soap is currently posed to be seducing their target.

Ghost remembers how he felt watching Soap getting brought to his knees and a bag over his head what felt like ages ago, their first time working together—yet somehow watching from the balcony, seeing the sergeant’s easy smile as he sidles up to the target and looking entirely within his element, it feels worse.

It’s harder convincing himself it’s not jealousy curling in his gut.

“Hey, handsome.”

Even amidst static, bass-filled music, and loud chatter, Ghost could close his eyes and pretend the low, Scottish drawl of those two words was meant for him.

But he can’t close his eyes, because he’s working, goddamnit—and besides, those words aren’t for him. Probably wouldn’t ever be.

Ghost tunes out of most of the conversation that follows, only keeping an ear out for the code word to initiate Soap’s extraction. But seeing as Soap and the target have just begun talking, it’d be a while yet before Ghost could escape this hell.

God, he hates this.

The purr of Soap’s voice is so difficult to ignore, right in his ear, even as the man in question is at a bar what feels like miles away.

Ghost has been tortured, but being forced to watch Soap put his hand on another man’s thigh is the only thing that would get Ghost to give up anything if only it could be him instead.

It’s almost painful. It is pathetic.

Especially when he nearly loses eyes on Soap while caught up in his moping, as the sergeant is escorted away by their target, who is unknowingly leading himself directly to where the operation wants him to be.

Ghost watches with an intensity that's even startling to himself as Soap is eventually pulled into one of the club's private rooms. He could vomit, listening to the ministrations and sweet nothings exchanged behind a closed door.

He prays for the signal. A confession, an arrest, an end to the mission. A reprieve, freedom.

Some fresh fucking air. Ghost thinks the scent of alcohol and sweat is getting to him.

Or is making things worse, at the very least.

Ghost barely registers when the code word is said into comms. He acts with a readiness and efficiency formed of scavenged professionalism and an overwhelming bitter jealousy that has Soap's look of triumph briefly replaced by surprise when they're finally reunited.

The lieutenant tries his best not to think about the tight fit of Soap's civvies as they work side by side to immobilize and extract the target.

If Ghost is extra rough, then that's no one's business.

And when all is said and done, it takes an enormous amount of strength not to spill his guts right then and there about how that night made him feel.

Though he's not certain he does a great job of keeping it all in. Not when Soap bumps their shoulders and cheekily asks, "Reckon they'd let me do a mission like that again, LT?"

And Ghost can do nothing but scowl and tell him, "Absolutely not."

Because he reckons this mission will remain unlike any others, so long as he can help it.

So long as it's not him that Soap is lending his attention to.

#ask #writing #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2

289 notes · View notes

factorialsotherfandoms · 2 months

Text

"Where's papa Missa?" is the first thing that Chayanne asks in the morning.

"Oh, he's just helping your godfather with something - we'll go meet up with them after breakfast," Philza brushes aside in concern, already knowing exactly what is going on.

Chayanne and Tallulah both give him wary looks, but his kids are good kids; they eat their breakfast, and start getting dressed.

"Wear something you don't mind getting dirty," Philza tells them. Which is true of every day, and so the reminder really does set them both on edge.

"Is something happening?" Tallulah asks.

"Well, it is Easter," Philza answers her. "Some people go to Church and stuff, but otherwise we just use it as an excuse to eat lots of chocolate. Just like Santa brings presents at Christmas, the Easter Bunny brings good kids chocolate eggs. Or decorative ones. Missa mentioned something about confetti but I'll be honest, I was half asleep so none of it went in."

That has their attention; both kids start glancing over the house, looking for a stockpile of treats. Philza can only laugh, and promise they'll find the eggs later.

Find being an operative word.

He had been meaning to hide them about the house, it's true, but then Bad had suggested maybe something for all of the eggs, and Tubbo had taken it upon himself to offer to host. Philza was a little worried about letting all of the kids run around the factories, but Tubbo had promised back and forth everything would be turned off - and he knows his friend would never do anything which could harm the kids.

Tallulah, having learnt there is a special event going on, insists on a different hat, and Philza helps her tuck flowers into her curls. Chayanne wants to immediately run off, hovering next to the door as he waits for his sister, and only begrudgingly accepting a tiny flower crown for his ducky.

Philza snaps a photo of Tallulah placing it there, and double checks he has a couple of fresh albums.

The teleport over to Fobo is fast, and involves being hit with a wall of sound. Before the purple has even faded Philza can hear Pac yelling for Richarlyson to get down from... somewhere? while Mike dies laughing on the floor. Not all of the eggs and parents are here, yet, but the earlier types are - Fit and Ramón, Pac and Mike with Richas, Bagi with Empanada... And, of course, Tubbo with Sunny. Leo also seems up already, probably under Tubbo's supervision, while Roier is sat on a picnic rug with Missa, the pair of them both half asleep while Pepito crawls through a nearby bush. Aypierre is examining one of the machines, so surely Pomme is about.

Now that he thinks about it, while a fair few parents aren't up so early, the only kid who seems to still be missing are Dapper and Chunsik. A quick glance at his comms shows that Bad, Acau, and YD are all awake, so it's not likely long.

"Hey guys!" Philza calls, drawing attention to their group. "We made it!"

"Great!" Tubbo grabs a pair of baskets - one wrapped with purple ribbon, one orange - and brings them over. "Here are your baskets! There's ten gifts specifically for each of you - they'll have a ribbon that matches your basket on them - hidden around the courtyard. Once everyone's here, we're gonna let you guys into town, where there's a whole bunch of eggs that don't belong to anyone, just waiting to be picked up. For now you can look for your own, just stay nearby, ok?"

And they /are/ good kids, but they are also excitable, and so the pair of them are three eggs apiece before remembering to come and hug Missa good morning.

Philza, having by then greeted everyone already there and found a bit of roof to perch on, captures the laughing and the smiling in his camera.

Once the kids have returned to their hunt, he drops a copy of the best down on Missa. It earns him his husband looking up, with a grin and a wave. Philza grins and waves back, snapping a quick photograph of Sunny directing Pepito towards one of Pepito's eggs as he swings down to the rug.

He is immediately met with a plate of gorditas. Phil takes one, squeezes Missa's hand in greeting, and joins the slowly growing collection of parents on the rug; Bagi and Mike have also joined, leaving Pac to wrangle children with Tubbo.

"Early morning?" Philza knows Missa was up at the crack of dawn, unusual for him, but it's still a nice thing to ask.

"Sí," Missa only nearly drops his plate as he yawns. "Eggs needed painting."

"I really thought you'd come home after delivering the eggs."

Missa waves his hand, "Tubbo had too many to hide. We stayed to help."

Between the chocolate eggs, the painted eggs, the little plastic eggs of jellybeans, and the cascarones, Philza just knew there were going to be more than the hundred and ten eggs they'd agreed upon. Ten for each kid had been plenty, but with a general hunt as well...

Philza watches the kids scrabble around, looking for everything.

"Did he work out how to balance it so none of the eggs get left out, or is that why some eggs are marked as for them?"

"No more than ten extra eggs, and there are some extra special prize eggs hidden about. The older kids can hunt the prize eggs, and the younger ones just want the shiny ones."

There's a bit of doubt as to if if that will actually hold, but it's as good a plan as any. Kids thrive on a bit of contest, right? It'll be fine. If nothing else Chayanne will wrangle the older kids into sharing stuff out a bit more evenly, if only for Chunsik and Pepito's sakes.

Just as he's thinking that, he spots Sunny and Ramón sneaking up on Fit. He gets his camera just in time to catch the moment they break a cascarón over his bald head, showering him in confetti, a matter which only ends with them being chased across the courtyard, shrieking in delight as Fit leaves a trail of glittery confetti behind him.

It is about then that the rest of the kids arrive, their parents trailing behind. Bad is immediately met by attacks by Pomme and Richas - Philza has no fucking clue where the water balloons full of glitter came from - while Tubbo tries to round everyone up.

Philza takes more photos, but otherwise leaves them to it; conversation is largely about the amazing picnic spread, one he can keep up to in his sleep.

Even if the occasional joke does draw his attention for confused laughter and a double take.

Tubbo gesticulates dramatically as he speaks, excitement already high for the present children, but being driven further as they are congratulated on progress so far, and hyped up for the hunt to come.

It's nice, seeing everyone and the island at a bit of peace for once. The town is safe enough - as soon as it was announced as hosting the event, Philza and Bad both spent hours checking all of the lighting, and adding clear fences. It's a daytime event, but you can never be too careful with these things. Tubbo can be trusted with the kids and machines, but just to make sure Mike and Aypierre have both looked over it, while Pac and Fit helped Foolish make sure any roofs that could be accessed were not ones you could fall off without putting effort in to doing so.

Philza's pretty sure someone - probably Richarlyson - will still find a way, but it's not like there's a big area to cover, and there are plenty of both adults and other eggs about if anything does happen.

He might go perch and take some more photos.

In a little while, though; Missa hands Philza a cup of something, with a whispered 'they'll be fine'.

Philza accepts the cup, pours one for his husband, and gets out his album to show him the ones already taken.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp philza #qsmp death family #qsmp eggs #fluff #qsmp ensemble #it's not everyone but it's a lot of people #happy easter y'all

80 notes · View notes

frownyalfred · 1 month

Note

Hey there, I really love seeing your posts! If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your stance on closed cowl (not showing any face) bat suits and do you have a favorite? :>

Thank you so much! Hmm, good question. I think logically it makes way more sense for Bruce/the kids to protect their face/mouths, and a closed cowl would offer way more protection, not just against hits but against airborne contaminants and water.

But there are net negatives, like looking less human, having to use a vocoder for speech, needing air/filter systems in the suit (which could make the cowl or suit bulky). You also can't bite people with a closed cowl. Big negative.

I actually really liked how Cyborg's closed cowl was done in ZSJL! It only engaged when he was actively flying or fighting, and protected the vulnerable parts of his face. When he wasn't in danger, it pulled back to expose his mouth/eye so he could talk and breathe normally.

Something like that would make sense for Bruce to be able to engage when he's about to go into a fight. It would cover the mouth and teeth and maybe provide additional protection around the nose and jaw. It could also be engaged automatically when pathogens/contaminants are detected, such as pollen or gas. Or when he/the batkids need to communicate via comms but don't want to be overheard by someone right next to them.

#asks #bruce wayne #batman #dc #batfamily

66 notes · View notes

ecoamerica · 1 month

Text

youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

17K notes · View notes

somber-sapphic · 10 months

Note

Uuhh can I request a Natasha x Sick!Reader. R is sorta new to the Avengers and doesn't really talk to anyone but Nat, R gets sick on a mission and no one seems to notice except Nat. R tries to take care of themselves back at the compound but can't so Natasha steps in? You can make it romantic or platonic I'm cool with either. Thanks in advance! And if you already have a fic like this my b just ignore 😅

Sickness and Secrets

〖Notes: Hey, sorry this was so late! Also I might accidentally be reusing pictures but its like 2am so I'll care about that later. I hope you enjoy it!〗

〖Summary: Being the newest member of the Avengers you really have no place to take a sick day.〗

〖Word Count: 1.4k〗

〖Pairing: Natasha x Sick Reader

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You coughed quietly into your shoulder and cleared your throat, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. They were all focused on Cap who was yelling about how poorly everyone had done in that last mission. He was particularly focused on “communication” which was definitely pointed at you although he was too polite to say it. Tony wasn’t. Eventually, he’d strengthen the link to you, and you’d be chewed out in front of everyone.

Said mission had been in Russia during the winter and you had not done very well. You’d then try your best to remedy your mistake, which of course made everything worse. You knew that you were sick before the team left, but being so new you couldn’t just say that you wouldn’t be able to go. None of the Avengers would skip a mission for a stupid little cold.

Then that stupid little cold had turned into something bigger. The fever had started the first night in that cold drafty cabin and had spiked by early that morning. Natasha, who you were sharing that tiny room with, had checked on you once when she’d heard your teeth clattering from the shivering. She had tried to order you to tell her, but you had been far too out of it for her words to have mattered.

You couldn’t entirely remember the conversation, but you were like 80% sure that she’d offered you a place in her bed if you couldn’t get warm. That had been a weird offer, but you were tempted to take her up on it. From what you remembered she had kissed your forehead but that was very likely a dream. No way she had actually done that, she barely knew you.

Regardless of your fever, the mission continued. And with it, you gained a chesty cough, aching limbs, and a seemingly permanently runny nose. You had done the best you could, but it admittedly wasn’t very good. You’d forgotten to say anything when you were attacking and apparently had your comms off the whole time so even when people were speaking to you your answers weren’t going through.

You did not do well and now Tony was very much making sure that you knew it. His words were a low buzz in your ears, and it was really all that you could do to keep your eyes trained on him as he paced around yelling at you.

Now everyone was looking between the two of you, a few smirks coming from Clint and Thor who were both amused by your proverbial ass-whooping. Natasha and Cap seemed annoyed while the others were just not listening, too tired to care. It had been a long week and you had screwed it up. All you did was mess up.

Hot tears welled up in your eyes and you stared down at your shoes, sniffling quietly as you tried to keep yourself under control. This wasn’t professional and you needed to keep yourself professional. It would’ve been easier if he wasn’t yelling, but he was, and you were losing control.

“Hey, we get it. Y/n fucked up. She’ll do better next time, let it go.” Natasha snapped, pulling you out of your stupor. You glanced over at her and found her leaning forward defensively with one hand drifting over to your side of the table.

Completely overwhelmed now you shoved the chair back from the table and stumbled out of the conference room, mumbling slurred apologies as you practically ran from the room. You’d made it about halfway to the elevator when your legs gave out and you slammed into the wall, bashing your cheek against the hardwood. It hurt, but not as much as the rest of you.

You let out what was probably the most pathetic sound you’d ever made as you slid down the wall, the stupid tears beginning to fall from your eyes. You were miserable, you wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and maybe die a little bit. That sounded okay, as long as you didn’t have to feel anything.

You weren’t sure how long you were laying there before you heard muffled footsteps, but you simply didn’t have the energy to look up. It didn’t really matter anyway; you could feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness. It would only be a few more seconds before you faded away completely.

“Let’s get you off the floor Y/n.” Natasha whispered, taking your hands in hers. You tried to listen, you tried to let her pull you to your feet, but you were too weak. You felt her arms slip around you and your feet left the floor, leaving you hanging in the air with only her to support you.

“Try to stay awake, okay?” Her voice was fading fast and as you’d guessed, you were out less than two seconds after she’d hoisted you into her arms. At least you didn’t have to be alone.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“I’m here, I’m here. It’s okay beautiful, I’m here.” Natasha soothed, pushing your hair back away from your forehead, her eyes full of concern. Her hands, which were typically consumed by acts of violence, were so gentle, her movements so slow and caring. She traced your cheekbone with a thumb, studying your face with a furrowed brow.

“m’sorry, m’so sorry. Go, please go, ‘m fine.” You insisted, shoving her off of you in a blind attempt to scramble away from her. You found yourself pressed up into a corner between your bed and the wall, utterly confused as to how the hell you had gotten into your bedroom or why Natasha was there, but you didn’t like it.

You didn’t want to see her so weak it was humiliating, and you were new. She would tell, she would get you booted from the Avengers. You needed this job, you needed to be here, you’d worked so hard and couldn’t go back to your apartment. Literally, you had been evicted. You had nowhere else to go.

Your panicky breaths quickly turned to a fit of aggressive coughs, you sounded like you’d smoke a pack a day for twenty years. This did nothing to help your anxiety as one of Natasha’s warm hands fell on your back and she took yours with the other, running her thumb across your knuckles.

“Y/n, hey, you’ve gotta breathe. Try for me, okay? Big slow breath.” She encouraged, her voice calm even while you were actively freaking out. You let out a loud sob and tried to pull away, subconsciously still holding tightly to her hand.

With her quiet encouragement, you managed to calm yourself down, turning back into the shivering, feverish husk of a person that you’d become. Your nose was running onto your sleeve, but you were too exhausted to do anything about it, eventually, you’d fall asleep again and it would all go away.

“Come here,” she said softly, lifting one arm as she gestured for you to hug her. You whimpered, lower lip quivering as your body threatened to start crying again.

“It’s okay honey, you don’t need to be alone. When I’m as sick as you are I sometimes make Clint come read to me.” You smiled a little at the thought of that as you inched toward the woman, the idea of Natasha wanting a story read to her sort of amusing. You hadn’t known the woman very long, but it was long enough to know that she wasn’t that type of person.

With very slow, cautious movements you inched into the redhead’s arms, leaning stiffly against her as she pulled you into a loose embrace.

“I can’t give you any more medicine for a few hours, so for now let’s just try to sleep. Does that sound okay?” The highly skilled assassin murmured, pressing a very soft kiss to your damp forehead. You knew that it had to be gross, you were very sweaty, but she didn’t seem to mind. Not out loud at least.

“P-please don’t tell.” You pleaded, that same exhaustion looming again. It was unlikely that you would be able to stay awake for much longer, but you had to make sure that she wouldn’t tell anyone how weak you were. Natasha chuckled quietly and rubbed your upper arm in a comforting way.

“It’s okay dorogaya, your secret’s safe with me.” Maybe if you were feeling better, you would’ve made her promise a second or third time, but for now, that would do. You barely knew her, but you already trusted Natasha Romanoff with your life.

〖Join My Taglist!〗@lovelyy-moonlight, @bloomingflowersthings, @lots-of-pockets, @asiangmrchk13, @fxckmiup, @animealways, @scrambled-brain-eggs, @kljhsong, @juststuckhereforever, @fayhar, @chairhere, @canvascoloredin, @iliketozoneout, @ash26424, @goldenempyrean

400 notes · View notes

soaringthroughthegalaxy · 2 months

Note

Hello!! Congrats on your 350 followers! I'm sure that number will just keep growing the more people read your fics! I'm so excited about your event.

You've written some of my favorite Hunter fics, so I'm going to stick with him.

Companion: Hunter

Luggage: Fluff and maybe Family? I wasn't really sure what the family would entail, but with Hunter maybe it could be something with Omega?

Destination: Hoth (I like the idea of the freedom and new beginnings, like maybe after everything is over and everyone is happy he can start fresh being a dad, not a soldier) and/or Pabu (relaxation and peace.)

Extra: If a female character could be included, that would be awesome also...maybe the fluff part...someone he could end up with that would be a great mom for Omega.

I'm not sure if that's possible, so take what you can use out of that and add in anything you need (just so it's Hunter and is a happy ending I will be excited!)

Thanks!

Carol (@clonethirstingisreal)

Thank you for booking with Soaring's Tours. We're now ready to board your flight. Please mind the gap between the transport and the platform. We wish you a pleasant journey!

A Place Called Home

Determined to leave the fighting and running behind now that your little family are all together again, you settle into your new home in Upper Pabu.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: spoilers for S3, clowning that CX-2 is Tech, fluff, sweetness, domestic goodness, happy family times, all the kisses, reader treats Omega like a daughter, flirting, quirofilia (a thing for hands), very small reference to knife play, sprinkle of innuendos, implied night together.

“I’m thinking forest green on this wall and leaving the other three as they are.” You muse, glancing around the room at the four white walls.

Between the credits Omega and Crosshair acquired during their escape from Tantiss and the credits you procured after tying up some loose ends on Ord Mantell, you all could afford a beautiful home in Upper Pabu.

The boys and Omega had been excited to finally have a house – to have their own rooms. With your little family reunited and Tech’s memories starting to return, you’d put your foot down. There would be no more fighting, no more running. Echo had opted to stay with Rex and take care of Tantiss, and you’d received news last night that they’d successfully freed all of the clones being held captive and razed the place to the ground.

Wrecker was sad to miss the explosions. Echo sent him a holovid of them as an apology.

“Whatever you’d like, cyar’ika,” Hunter answers, setting down the last box of furniture in the centre of the room. It had taken a few trips to bring all the newly purchased items back to Pabu, every bit of space in the Marauder utilised, and you couldn’t wait to set everything up.

Turning, you offer Hunter a soft smile as he approaches. A light breeze wisps through the room, the doors to the balcony overlooking the ocean thrown open. The early morning sun was already warming everything up and casting a golden glow across the tranquil island.

“You get a say too, my heart.” You remind him.

Hunter draws you closer, wrapping his arms around you as you lean against his chest. Without his armour, he can feel the warmth of your body against his own through the thin layers of civilian clothing you’ve picked out for him - a new wardrobe for a new chapter of life. “I’m not bothered what colour you paint the walls, just so long as you’re happy.”

Pulling back from the embrace, you look up at the man you adore and reach for the small comms unit in your pocket. “Cross…” You speak as you flick it on.

The line crackles to life a moment later. “Yes?” The familiar drawl comes through.

“Can you please pick up some forest green paint, too?” You ask sweetly, and you can almost picture the sniper’s eye roll in the following silence. He’d headed out a short while ago with a list of items to buy from the island’s stores, Omega and Batcher in tow. The lurca hound’s strength was being used, pulling a small cart for purchases.

“Anything else?” Crosshair questions.

Thinking for a moment, there was nothing else you wanted to add to the shopping list. But you did have a little surprise for them. “I slid some extra credits into the pouch. Make sure the three of you stop off somewhere nice and get some breakfast. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Goody.” Crosshair deadpans.

Chuckling softly, you shake your head. “I mean it, Cross. No skipping meals.” You’d been trying your hardest to help him regain some of the weight he’d lost on Tantiss.

“Understood.” He replies, his tone more serious now. “We’ll grab something decent.”

“Great. We’ll see you soon.” You end the call and slip the comms unit back into your pocket.

“Spoiling them again, are we?” Hunter teases, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Playfully swatting at his arm, you offer him a grin. “Hey, they’ve been through a lot. They deserve nice things. You all do.”

“Fair point,” Hunter concedes, knowing that everything you do for him and his siblings is out of love and care. It was ingrained in your nature, and it’s part of why he’s been so drawn to you since you first met.

You smile up at him, feeling a rush of happiness and contentment wash over you. It still amazes you how far you’ve all come since the early days of the war. Back then, you never would have imagined ending up in this peaceful little corner of the galaxy, surrounded by people who care about you. “Come on, this furniture isn’t going to build itself.” You hate to break the moment, but you hadn’t been lying – it would be a long day to get the house ready to live in.

As you and Hunter assemble the furniture, the playful banter continues. Tools clink softly as you work, and occasionally, one of you laughs over a particularly amusing remark.

“You know, for a tough, stoic soldier, you’re surprisingly good at putting together furniture.” You tease, watching as Hunter carefully screws in a bolt.

He smirks, glancing at you. “I think you’ll find I’m a man of many talents.”

“And don’t I know it.” You murmur, handing him another piece of the dresser he’s assembling as your eyes rake over the length of his body before settling back on his deft hands.

Hunter can feel the weight of your gaze on him, smirk still firmly in place as he basks in your admiration. “Cyar’ika, you’re getting distracted.” He points out, voice low as his gaze flits across to you, nostrils flaring as he breathes in your scent.

“Can you blame me?” You ask, reaching out to slowly drag your fingers down his forearm towards his strong hands, enjoying the unrestricted access now he’s packed away his armour.

Hunter watches as you touch him, enjoying the warmth of the action. You’ve always been more physically affectionate - lingering hands and gentle caresses. It had taken some getting used to for his senses not to freak out at the contact. “I’m not even holding my vibroknife.” He teases.

“And now I’m thinking about that. Thanks.” You sigh, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your hand curls around his wrist.

Your joint laughter echoes around the room, and Hunter can’t help but lean towards you, stealing another kiss. Everything with you had felt so easy since the very first day. “Later. At least let me build the bed first.” He chides playfully, but a glint of desire shines in his eyes.

You concede with a nod, earning a smile from him before you let go of his wrist. You focus on building the furniture, even though desire still pools in your belly. Each completed piece is placed in the middle of the room, and old tarps from the Marauder are thrown over it to protect it from potential paint splatters.

As you work, footsteps climbing the stairs interrupt your progress. Glancing towards the door, you see Crosshair and Omega with paint cans, while Batcher has a bag hanging from her mouth full of brushes and rollers.

“We’re back!” Omega announces cheerfully, setting down the paint cans she’d been carrying.

Crosshair follows behind her with a hint of amusement as he observes Omega’s exuberance. “Got everything on the list,” he states, holding several other cans.

You smile warmly at them both, grateful for their efforts. “Thank you, both of you,” you say sincerely, moving to inspect the cans of paint - the perfect amount for the room. Reaching for Batcher, you pry a few brushes and rollers from the bag in her mouth, giving her a gentle pet of thanks afterwards.

“What colours did you pick?” You ask, handing one of the cans to Hunter as he finishes laying down some tarps to protect the floor.

“Purple.” Omega answers, pointing to one of the cans Crosshair was holding.

“Grey.” Crosshair chips in. “Yellow for Wrecker. Orange for Tech.” He adds, lifting some of the other cans.

Omega grins, patting her thigh, which prompts Batcher to return to her side, the hound sitting next to her. “We’re all doing feature walls,” she explains happily.

“Trendsetter.” Hunter nudges you, grinning.

You chuckle, enjoying Omega’s lightness and enthusiasm - after everything that had happened to her, she deserved to be a kid and enjoy the innocence that came with it. “Alright, the sooner we start, the sooner we can get the furniture in place and spend the night here.”

With that, the room fills with activity. Crosshair excuses himself to deliver the other paint cans and start making progress in his own room, whistling for Batcher to follow. The lurca hound is more than happy to trail after her favourite human.

As the door swings shut behind the sniper, Hunter pries open a can of green paint, pouring some into three trays and placing a brush with each. He hands one to Omega, the other to you, and he keeps the third one.

As you all begin to paint, Omega takes the lead, happily painting broad strokes of green onto the wall, only able to reach halfway up it. You focus on the edges, painting neat lines, while Hunter fills in the top section that Omega can’t reach.

Continuing to work, it isn’t long until you and Omega are side by side. Feeling cheeky, you swipe a finger through the paint on the end of your brush, calling the young girl’s name to catch her attention. As she turns to look at you, you strike, smearing a streak of green across her cheek.

Omega gasps in surprise, her eyes wide as she stares at you in disbelief. Then, a mischievous grin spreads across her face. “Oh, it’s on now!” She declares, dipping her finger into the paint and flicking it at you with a giggle.

Your laughter melds with hers as the paint splatters your bare arm, and Hunter watches the exchange with amusement, shaking his head fondly at the playfulness between the two of you. He appreciates how you always try to give Omega a childhood, even when you all fled the Empire and worked jobs for Cid. The way you doted on her warmed his heart. “Alright, let’s keep it civil, you two.” He interjects, holding up a hand in a gesture of peace, as if this were a serious fight, though the smile on his lips gives the game away.

You and Omega exchange grins, and before Hunter has time to stop it, you both smear green paint across his face, covering the bridge of his nose and his tattooed cheek.

“Oops.” You mutter in faux innocence, batting your eyelashes.

Hunter blinks, looking momentarily stunned before a slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” He says, his tone teasing. Without missing a beat, he dips his finger into the paint tray and swipes it across your forehead, leaving a streak of green.

You gasp, feigning shock, before pouting. “Hey, no fair!” You protest, trying your hardest not to chuckle as Omega’s laughter fills the room.

Hunter steps forward, balancing the paint tray in one hand as he slides an arm around your waist, hauling you in. You’re radiant in the midday sunshine, eyes sparkling with mischief, the smear of paint across your forehead incredibly endearing. Dipping his head down, his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, tongue sliding against your lips teasingly before he breaks the connection, aware that you have an audience. Mouth ghosting across your cheek, he pauses as he reaches your ear. “I’ll paint you with something else later.” He rasps quietly, teasingly squeezing your side before he pulls away, heat burning in his gaze.

Stunned into silence, warmth flushes through you. You watch, mouth agape, as Hunter returns to painting, completely unruffled.

Omega calls your name, snapping you out of your. “Are you okay?” She asks, unsure what Hunter said to you, though she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to know whatever it was.

You blink, shaking your head slightly to clear your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You assure her with a smile. “Just got lost in thought for a moment.”

“Mhm.” Omega hums. She loves seeing you and Hunter openly affectionate and is still proud of the little stunt she pulled shortly after you all fled Kamino, which led to the two of you getting together. She’d always been intuitive and knew from the get-go that there was something between you. “Good, then stop slacking,” she teases, turning back to continue painting.

You rejoin her, and the playful banter and occasional laughter continue as you work together to finish painting the wall. The forest green paint covers the surface quickly, leaving behind a fresh, vibrant hue that transforms the room.

A sense of satisfaction washes over you as you step back to admire your handiwork. The colour stands out against the remaining white walls, adding a pop and some character. “It looks wonderful.” You remark, smiling at Omega and Hunter. “Great job, team.”

Omega beams with pride, placing her paintbrush back onto the tray.

“How about we take a break and grab an early dinner?” Hunter glances towards the windows, making a rough guess at the time.

The idea of a break sounds appealing, and you nod in agreement. “Sounds like a plan. I’m starving.”

“How about a barbecue?” Hunter suggests, figuring it was worth the little extra time it would take compared to rustling something up in the kitchen. “We can grill some food outside and enjoy the nice weather.”

“Sounds perfect.” You agree. “Go fire up the grill. Omega and I will tidy up in here.”

Giving you a small kiss, Hunter heads out to the backyard to start the grill, leaving you and Omega to clean up the painting supplies and put away the tarps. It doesn’t take long, and once the room is tidied up, you and Omega make your way outside to join Hunter. The smell of cooking food fills the air, making your stomach grumble, and there’s already a small spread of food on the table.

“Looks like you’ve got everything under control,” you remark, stepping behind Hunter to wrap your arms around his waist as he mans the grill.

A huff of laughter leaves Hunter. “When have I not had things under control?”

“You do not want her to answer that.” Tech’s voice cuts through the moment as he steps out into the yard to join you all, along with Wrecker and Crosshair. Although Hemlock’s reconditioning had stolen most of his memories, he’d spent his life recording everything and was working through clips to see if they jogged anything in his mind. Between that and all the stories you all shared, snippets were starting to come back to him.

The boys and Omega slide into chairs around the table. You chuckle at the remark and the thin press of Hunter’s lips, knowing full well that there have been plenty of times when his plans haven’t gone smoothly. “Alright, everyone grab a plate,” you call out, gesturing to the spread of food laid out on the table as you place down another one.

“I’m starvin’,” Wrecker exclaims, reaching for a few Nuna drumsticks. The rest of the group follows suit, filling their plates with delicious food and settling around the table. The atmosphere is relaxed and cheerful, and laughter and conversation fill the air as you enjoy the meal together.

As you eat, contentment washes over you. You’d fought so hard for this - moments where you could enjoy each other’s company and revel in life’s simple pleasures. Your little family deserves it after everything that’s happened, and you soak it in, feeling grateful that the Kaminoans assigned you as a liaison to the boys all those years ago.

Once everyone has eaten, Crosshair cleans up the grill while the rest of you remain around the table, enjoying the warm afternoon sun, and eventually, the conversation turns to plans for the rest of the day. “We should start putting the furniture where we want it in our room.” You suggest, glancing at Hunter.

“I’ll help with the heavy lifting!” Wrecker volunteers, already pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. The rest of you smile at his enthusiasm.

As a unit, you clear the table, gathering up the remaining dishes before heading back inside. With everyone pitching in, the process goes quickly. It also takes little time for Wrecker and Hunter to put the bedroom furniture where it belongs. The newly painted wall is mercifully already dry, thanks to Pabu’s heat.

With a shout of thanks to Wrecker as the big man leaves your room, you let out a deep exhale. This is home now. And you can’t quite believe how lucky you are.

Crossing the room, you step onto the small balcony overlooking the ocean. Your hands wrap around the warm metal railing, and you take a moment to close your eyes and let it sink in. As you stand there, basking in the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze, you hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Opening your eyes, you turn to see Hunter stepping out onto the balcony, a small smile playing on his lips as he joins you.

“Enjoying the view?” He asks, his voice quiet and gentle.

You nod, turning back to face the water, leaning against the railing as you see the endless ocean stretching out before you. “It’s gorgeous,” you reply, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Almost as gorgeous as you.”

Hunter shakes his head, flattered by the compliment but mad at himself for not seeing that you’d snatch the low-hanging fruit. He steps closer, pressing up against your back as he wraps his arms around you. You lean into his embrace, relishing the warmth and strength surrounding you.

“I’m glad we’re here.” He murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Me too.” You whisper, letting go of the railing with one hand to intertwine your fingers with his. “I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

For a moment, you simply stand there together, enjoying each other’s company and the moment’s tranquillity. The world fades away, leaving only the two of you and the gentle sound of the waves below. Even the boys’ noise around the table in the yard, teaching Omega how to play Sabacc, fades into the background.

Eventually, Hunter breaks the silence, his voice soft and affectionate. “I love you.” He says, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you too.” You reply. “More than anything.”

Happy, Hunter dips his head down, his nose finding the crook of your neck. In slow motion, he drags it up the length of your throat towards the back of your ear, breathing in your scent.

The sensation sends shivers down your spine, and you tilt your head slightly to give him better access, relishing in the moment’s intimacy. His lips brush against your skin, feather-light and achingly tender, sending a rush of warmth through your veins. You close your eyes, losing yourself in the sensation of his touch, his breath hot against your ear.

“Think it might be time to paint my favourite masterpiece…” He murmurs, his voice heavy with desire.

You inhale sharply at his words, hand tightening around his own as desire curls through you. Turning in his arms, you press your lips to his in a passionate kiss, hands reaching up to hold his handsome face.

Heat courses through Hunter as he grasps your rear, taking control of the kiss as he steps backwards into the room, drawing you along with him.

There was a new bed to break in.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees @padawancat97 @dangraccoon @jedi-hawkins @dreamie411 @sverdgeir

#Soaring's Tours Follower Celebration #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x you #hunter x reader #hunter x you #sergeant hunter #the bad batch hunter x you #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb x reader #bad batch x reader #tbb x you #bad batch x you

117 notes · View notes

amica-aenigmata-naboo · 6 months

Text

All The Things Love Could Be

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 671 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: Astarion trying to be manipulative, waltzing, drinking, soft Astarion, brief mention of Cazador

--------------

“On my honor, the only thing on my mind is depraved carnal lust.” Astarion said with confidence.

You smiled softly, “Liar.”

Astarions face dropped, “Excuse me?”

He sounded offended.

You softly took two goblets from the table and gingerly poured a sweet red wine for you both.

“I think you forget these tadpoles connect us. I know you use sex as a manipulative tactic… but I also know that’s not your fault. I’m so sorry Cazador used you like that… for so long.” you said, passing one of the goblets to Astarion before taking a swig of your own. “Don’t get me wrong, you are beautiful, and I can’t deny the feelings I have for you, but I won’t use you. Not like that, not ever. If you want something you need but ask, you don’t have to repay me using sex. You don’t have to repay me period. Helping you makes me happy, that’s all I need.”

You looked into Astarion’s eyes and they were so soft, looking closer you could see tears brimming in his eyes. He was speechless, a rare thing for him to be.

You smiled at him softly, stepping closer to him. He looked down at you, tears finally falling. You raised your hand to his face, gently brushing the tears away with your thumb before tilting his chin up ever so slightly so his eyes met yours. He searched your gaze before letting out a cough. Staggering back, he let his hand caress your arm until it softly held your hand. You gave it a soft squeeze, letting him know you were there for him.

“I don’t recall the last time somebody turned me down for sex.” He paused, “I… um… thank you.” he said with an air of disbelief about him. He regained his seductive facade in no time. Turning away from you and sauntering off into the depths of the tiefling party. You watched him go.

-----------------

The night dragged on and sleep eluded you. Only a few remained awake at this hour. The drunk bard continued to play soft melodies. You sat near the fire, watching the flames dance and sputter, crackling with life. Astarion sat next to you gently, you hadn’t even heard him walk up.

“Hey.” you said softly, unsure how he would be around you after what you said earlier.

“Hello little love.” he said, sounding surprisingly sincere.

You started swaying back and forth, the bard played a waltz you knew all too well. You may not have been royalty before this ordeal but you were… highly refined for your station as a lower noble. Your parents insisted. Astarion chuckled watching you. He set his bottle of wine down, standing. He bowed before offering you his hand. Your eyes gleamed, you had missed this bit of normalcy. Astarion danced you around slowly, gently. A dance with a well acquainted partner was always easy and smooth. He spun you away from him before pulling you back and dipping you. The music faded and your little moment with it. He pulled you back so you were standing. He kissed the back of your hand.

“Thank you for the lovely dance.” you said, smiling widely. You hesitated for a moment before throwing caution to the wind. Your hands rested on his shoulders as you gave him a brief peck on the cheek.

“Thank you… for everything.” he said, his round eyes making a rare appearance. He walked you to your tent, holding your hand the whole way. “Goodnight little love, sleep well.” he squeezed your hand before walking to his own tent.

You smiled as you settled in for the night. You could never hurt him, but maybe you could show him love didn’t have to be rough. It didn’t have to be lust and self degradation. It could be sweet. It could be kind and gentle. You wanted to show him, and in time, if he consented to it - you would be happy to show him all the things love could be.

--------------

Naboo's Note:

In the mood to write dribbles today I guess. I hope you guys like them and as always - thank you so much for the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests! Ilysm <3 xoxoxoxo

117 notes · View notes

deadliestfishinthesea · 3 months

Text

Love always comes back (like a boomerang)

How you meet Captain Boomerang while working undercover for A.R.G.U.S. (and eventually fall for him)

Part 1.

Boomerang X Y/n

CW: swearing

2.600 words

You can also read this on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54019207/chapters/136749250

___________________________________________

“I am aware that you are already well informed of the system I have put into place. But I will warn you again, Dr. Y/n. These people are not your allies. If they see a chance to take the upper hand, they will take it, even at the cost of your life. I hope you keep that in mind if you are to get the chance of working with Colonel Flag on the field.“ Amanda Waller's everlastingly stern voice rang out trough the speakers. Y/n looked at the screen, directly into the woman's cold eyes.

“Yes, ma'am. Of course.“ Unwavering calm ran though her own voice, a skill she obtained with years of communicating with people in power.

“Good. You have been granted access to inmate 117-12-60. Direct contact isn't allowed.“ As if she'd want to be in any kind of direct contact with a dangerous convict.

“Copy that, ma'am.“ The woman disappreared from the screen and Y/n leaned back from the table where the laptop sat. She turned her head to her side, looking at Aaron Cash, one of the main guards around here. He offered her a derisive smile, nodding his head once.

“Ready to swim with the sharks?“

“From what I heard there's only one shark in here.“

Cash let out a short chuckle, crossing his arms in a way that seemed to convey his superior knowledge on the matter, but Y/n wasn't sold on that just yet.

“Oh he ain't the deadliest fish in this sea.“

_____

For the rather unimpressive amount of time she worked in the facility, Y/n had seen with her own eyes a good portion of prisoners be admitted into the so called shithole named Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. And if she was honest, she had to partially agree with the nickname – it definitely was a shithole, just more so for the inmates than it was for her.

One of the prisoners she witnessed being brought in was George 'Digger' Harkness himself, alias 'Captain Boomerang'. Whatever the case was, in this place he went by 'inmate 117-12-60' as stated in the official reports.

She distinctly remembers the man, restrained with metal clasps around his ankles and hands on something resembling a box cart that the guards used to manouver him around. He was unsuccessfully trying to set himself free, cursing at the guards the whole time.

“Piss off ya' fucken' mongrel!“ Colorful, she thought as she watched from a distance.

“Now that's some fresh meat. Had a bit of trouble finding this guy.“ Cash stood next to her with a smug expression on his face as he spoke.

“Get a dog up ya', ya' wristy-“ One of the guards grabbed him and the clasps opened, nearly sending him to the ground, „Ah, 'coff ya cunt!“

Y/n had a hard time understanding what he was saying from this distance. She frowned as she watched the scene unfold. Once inside the cell, a beep of the comms on the guard's chest could be heard, followed by a few words exchanged, and the laser beams on each side of the cell's entrance lit up, finally imprisoning Captain Boomerang.

She watched the convict with curious eyes the whole time she was leaving, and the last thing she remembers is him turning his head and looking directly at her before she fully turned around.

The memory ended then, and she was back in the present, listening to her and Cash's boots echo on the ground as they walked the halls. Once in front of the big metal doors, they opened with a loud clang and she squeezed her clipboard as they entered the penitentiary, spotting her targeted cell in the corner.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself of her task, glancing at her clipboard. Go in, talk to the inmate, see if he has potential for Waller's plan, get out.

“I think I'll be okay from now on.“ She told Cash with a turn on her head.

“You sure?“

“Yeah.“ She looked ahead at the cell. She needed to do this alone. With a shrug and a mutter of 'okays' and 'fines' Dixen left for the door, leaving her to walk alone towards the guard standing in front of the cell.

While walking she remembered that at this hour, most of the prisoners were sent out for yard time, so nearly every cell in the block was empty. But not Boomerang's. Y/n wasn't sure why he wasn't also outside, and she questioned if the rumors the guards were passing around were actually true. Apparently, a fight breaking out in the yard a couple of days ago resulted in three guards being dropped unconcious and Boomerang being sentanced to lockdown for the rest of the week. Given the place they were in, Y/n considered that an almost merciful punishment. She wondered if that really happened, or if her request for privacy had been granted so they held him back for her arrival.

The entrance to the cell was seethrough thanks to only the lasers acting as doors, but from her angle it didn't show Harkness yet. She approached the guard standing next to the entrance.

“You can go.“ An all access security card was already in her hand, hovering in front of his face.

“But-„

“I said go.“

He turned with hesitation, but didn't say anything as he walked away. When the guard was out of range, she looked at the cell, but still couldn't see Harkness. She had seen him before, though, even if only once. She stepped to the side, now facing the cell entrance, and Captain Boomerang himself.

Boomerang's back was turned to her, but when he heard the boots outside his cell finally walk up to him he turned around. She instinctively took note of his issued white t-shirt and orange sweats. His hands were in his pockets. He didn't say anything, just stared at her, which created an uncomfortable pit in her stomach that she hoped she hid well enough with her neutral gaze. He started walking right up to her and Y/n realised with every step she wasn't prepared as well as she'd thought. He was huge up close. Not only taller but much bulkier than she remembered. He was so close his body was nearly touching the lasers, and she started to wonder what would happen if he did touch them.

Even with his surprising proximity she didn't move, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe she was caught off guard and frozen, or she didn't want to seem intimidated by stepping back. He stared down at her with his eyebrows drawn in an almost captivating frown and his head cocked to the side in intrigue. Y/n quickly realized he was checking her out, comparing and assesing how much of a threat she was. Should she be offended if he didn't see her as one?

“George Harkness?“ She finally broke what felt like a minute long silence.

“Who's askin'?“ He spoke in a low tone, never breaking eye contact.

“My name is Y/n, I'm a licenced psychologist.“

“Yeah, I remember you. You were the sheila staring at me when I came in here.“

Her eyebrows raised, but she hid the slight embarassment she felt, “Yes. I was sent here to… evaluate some inmates by the request of the warden.“

“Ah, what? I send a couple assholes to medical and all of a sudden I'm qualified for a drongo?“ He scoffed.

“So you did cause a fight in the yard?“ It was true after all, and Y/n realised she could use it to her advantage.

“Oh, I'm not confessin' anythin' to ya, missy, but you're in the wrong spot. See, I ain't got a 'roo loose in the top paddock like some of these nutcases.“

“I don't think you're crazy. But I was sent here to prove it. If you want to be let out of lockdown you'll have to answer some of my questions.“

He leaned back and glanced around for a moment, “Then shouldn't these therapeutic sessions be done in uh… I don't know, not in the middle of a cell block?“

“Well, I'm afraid it's hard to provide a seaside view lounge on such short notice. We'll have to make due with what we have.“

“Aw, killer. I'm best relaxed when out of handcuffs. Well, most times, that is.“ He sneered. She tried her best to ignore his comment.

“My first question-“

“So they let you in this shithole with no security jus' for a questionaire?“, he squinted at her.

“I asked for a private conversation.“

„That's why you ordered ol' guard here to fuck off like you're his boss?“ Her eyes widened slightly at his words. Did he just figure out she wasn't here for that kind of evaluation? Maybe doing this without Cash by her side wasn't such a good idea.

Harkness saw the way she was caught off guard and chuckled low and taunting, “You aren't just some psychiatrist, are ya, love?“

“Psychologist.“

“Yeah, yeah, but what else?“

She sighed, “It doesn't matter what I am. What matters is if you want to-„

“I'll tell you what I want.“, he lowered his head to match her height, “I want out of here. And not just out this cell, out the whole place. An' if you can't do squat about that, then your questions won't be much help to ya', doc'.“

“You're right. I can't do that.“

Y/n was quiet for a moment.

“Well then, I guess we're done here.“ She spoke quietly.

“Yeah, we are.“ He nearly whispered.

Both of them were quiet for a few seconds, still looking at each other, but when she caught herself observing the loose strands of hair on his forehead she abruptly broke the silence.

“Thank you for your cooperation, George Harkness.“, her proffessional tone cleary got on his nerves, but he stayed quiet. He backed away from the lasers then, and she turned around to leave.

When the big doors opened again, Cash was waiting on the other side. He shot her a questioning look. She started walking down the hall.

“I need to make a report.“

____

“All in all, you have the upper hand. He is motivated to get out of here, by any cost, and if you grant him that hope I don't see how he wouldn't be willing to do your bitting.“

The woman on her laptop screen nodded approvingly, “Good work, Dr. Y/n. Your next evaluation will be with inmate 00-10-94, so called King Shark. He is the newest added member to our little circus.“ Waller went over some details about the shark, and as she was explaining Y/n looked over to the folder next to her. Captain Boomerang's records.

She knew they were all convicts, guilty of all kinds of crimes. She aimed her attention back to the screen, trying not to think about the conversation she had with Boomerang. It was all just standard procedure she had to follow to work with Rick Flag and the task force Waller wanted so damn much. Still, gathering information to find out whether they would risk suicide for freedom made her stomach turn a little. She knew about Waller's contingency plan, but she didn't know how exactly she planned to make the criminals do anything she wanted. It wouldn't be good enough if she just promised them shortened sentances, they would all escape the moment they stepped foot outside. Y/n could imagine just how far Waller would go to ensure that doesn't happen.

____

Less than a week later Harkness was let out of lockdown. Y/n spotted him outside during yard time when she was making her way from the north wing to the penitentiary. It was pretty cold out and there was a slight fog in the distance, thouh he was playing basketball. In shorts. He palyed with three other inmates, laughing at them whenever they missed their shot.

She looked to the fence, where an inmate was arguing with a security officer. Y/n approached the fence and a guard opened the entrance for her, letting her into the yard.

“Doctor.“

“Hey, Gary. What's with the First Amendment over there?“ she watched the argument between the officer and the inmate get more heated.

“Oh, that guy? We call him Rango. Just got him in a couple weeks ago.“

“Hard time adjusting to prison, it seems.“

Before she could reach the door to the building Rango punched the guard he was yelling at across the face, sending him stumbling backwards and nearly bumping into Y/n. It was as Rango went to take another punch which would've hit Y/n that Digger Harkness socked him across the jaw. Where did he come from? Digger landed another uppercut before Rango hit a right hook to his temple.

“Get him, Boomerang!“ she heard an inmate yell before a majority of them started cheering.

Y/n watched in disbelief as they went crashing into a table. Guards quickly ran up to pull Harknss off of the guy, yeling at both of the convicts in the process.

“Really, Harkness!? After you just got out?“

“Give him a break, man, he just really misses his cell!“

Y/n's eyes were on him the whole time as they dragged him away. Did he really just save her? He didn't have to. They both knew he was on thin ice since he fought those guards, now he was definitely up for lockdown again just because he saved her. Holy shit, she thought, he's up for lockdown because he saved her. She had to stop the guards.

After a short time she made her way over to the medical facility. There were a couple of officers standing in front of it and before she could go in one of them spoke up.

“Y/n!“

She turned to him, “Gary!“

“You okay?“

“Yes, I'm- Where's officer Ryan? I need to talk to him.“

“Uh, broken nose, he's in there. But be careful-“

“Thanks, I know.“ She was already opening the door to the building. When she found the room officer Ryan is supposed to be in she stepped in and walked past Boomerang. He was sat up in the adjustale hospital bed, tied to it with leather restraints around his ankles and wrists, and when he looked up at her surprise spread trough his features, but she didn't have time for that as she walked right by him.

Boomerang couldn't hear any voices coming from the other rooms, so he imagined she already left, but after some time she walked back into the room.

“Well, fuck me dead, if it it isn't miss pretend doctor?“

She rolled her eyes, stopping at the foot of the bed. She could look at him up close now and notice his black eye, along with a slight bruise on his jaw. He had a couple of stitches on his shoulder, and she could only guess there was more on his back.

“You look like shit.“

“Hah, then you clearly didn't see the other poor bastard. Oh, and you're welcome, love.“

“No, you're welcome. I talked to the guards, they should… shorten your lockdown.“

“Hey, fair suck of the sav, doc'.“

“What?“

“I saved you from a nasty bruise, but I did the paw patrol a favor too, ya know. That wanker Rango's been up their asses two weeks now. And all I get is a fifty percent isolation discount?“

“You broke a table. And I never said it was fifty percent.“

He groaned, his head falling back on the pillow. He looked at her, not moving his head, and to Y/n he looked like he was resting on a deckchair on a nice remote beach rather than recovering from a fight in a prison yard.

“Betcha wouldn't even untie me if I asked.“ He wriggled his hands around in his cuffs to emphasize his point.

“You're right.“

He looked at the ceiling in defeat, but his eyes found her again when she spoke up.

“But.. I did want to thank you.“

“Well, let's hear it, then.“

“You just did.“ she said as she walked out of the room.

#prison fight #romance #captain boomerang #digger harkness #george harkness #ssktjl #dcu #dc comics #forbidden love #suicide squad kill the justice league

73 notes · View notes