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bedsyandco · 14 days

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⇴ "i only want to see you right now. i really miss you." and person a is like "you just saw me yesterday"

With Lando Norris

ᯓ⌕ 𝐈 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 — 𝐋𝐍𝟒 ༉‧₊

pairing: fem!bsf!reader x lando norris

summary: in which lando always misses his best friend (you) terribly when he travels as much as he does. so when you travel with him to the Chinese GP, he couldn’t be happier to have you by his side. However when you spend a few hours with Lily when lando and alex are busy with meetings, he can’t help but feel a bit of separation anxiety settle in.

content: just some fluff!

note: my first time writing for lando!! the friends to lovers trope just never gets old and thus I shall never stop writing it.

lando was laying on his hotel bed, debating whether or not he should get up and retrieve the TV remote. he knew he wasn’t going to pay much attention anyway. his mind was elsewhere. specifically on that old brown clock on the wall, the obnoxious sound of tik-tik-tik making him hyper aware of every second that passes. every second that he was stuck in that hotel room and you were somewhere else without him.

he wasn’t stuck exactly. it’s not like he’s a prisoner that couldn’t go anywhere, he could very well call or text you, find out where you and lily have wandered off to and join the two of you. or simply snatch you away and bring you back here.

lando would like to say that he wasn’t usually this selfish with you, but that would be a lie. ever since he met you at that one karting event, lando’s been jealous of anyone else who gets to spend time with you.

he still remembers the day he met you like it was yesterday. it was just during the time period when lando began to really get into karting, he was maybe six or seven. he was good at it too, relishing in taking the number one spot on the make shift podium every time. and that was the case that particular weekend as well, although from the way everyone seemed to flock to you afterwards, you wouldn’t have been able to tell who won.

lando was really annoyed by it, making assumptions in his anger that maybe they only focused so much on you because you were the only girl, but later he would learn that it wasn’t the case. people flocked to you simply because you were… you.

lando wasn’t immune to it either because by the third time you guys raced each other, you had become best of friends. and even years later when your interest had gone beyond the race track and lando’s passion for it only intensified, you had still remained close.

therefore it wasn’t a foreign concept for lando not see you often. he was travelling most of the year, rarely in one country for more than a couple weeks at a time. and he knew how serious you were about your studies and now your job, you weren’t going to follow him around like a lost puppy, although he had tried to convince you more than once already.

on the rare occasion that you did fly out and visited him, he wanted every minute of your time to be spent with him, which is why he’s a little pouty that his meeting stretched long today and you had decided to occupy your time by going to explore the city with lily.

lando was aware that his mindset was a tad bit childish, but he hadn’t seen you all day and that justifies —

his thoughts get halted by a beep in the door, followed by the prettiest girl he’s ever seen making her way into his room. lando moves so fast he almost trips multiple times on the way to you. he’s sure he’s mimicking an over excited puppy. who’s been waiting all day for their owner to come home (as he has been) and getting excited and flocking to them as soon as they walk through the door (as he did) and then following and clinging to them for an ounce of attention (as he’s about to)

“hi lan,” you greet him, putting your shopping bags down against the wall and removing your jacket, hanging it behind the door

he doesn’t respond verbally, instead just wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards the bed.

“lan,” you giggle as he falls on top of the bed, pulling you with him. he tightens his arms around you and rests his head on your chest sighing constantly as your hands run through his hair

“lily asked if we wanted to go to dinner with her and alex tonight. I said I’d hear what your plans are first,” you say

“no. I’m not in the mood for other people. I only wanna see you right now. I really missed you.” lando says and you laugh softly

“you just saw me yesterday,” you say softly and lando purses his lips, resting his chin on your chest to look at you

“so? am I not allowed to miss you? are you saying you didn’t miss me?” lando asks, gasping in mock hurt and you laugh

“no I did. I always miss you. cause my best friend just had to go and choose one of the jobs where he’s rarely home and I barely get to see him,” you say dramatically, a smile on your face but it quickly fades when you see the solemn expression on lando’s face

“what’s wrong?” you ask, gently caressing his cheek and he leans into your hand

“nothing,” he replies but you give him a look and he sighs before saying, “I just wonder if it’s worth it sometimes. all the travelling, the never being home, the missing out on seeing my niece grow up. all the things I could’ve had by now,” lando says, looking at you as if he wanted to add to it but he’s holding back.

“what things? lan racing is all you’ve ever wanted to do. it’s your dream. your passion. it’s everything to you-“

“well maybe it shouldn’t be. maybe I wanna prioritize my personal life too. and maybe I wanna see you more than just three times a year,” lando says and your heart squeezes at the longing look on his face

“maybe I wanna stop being scared and tell the girl I’ve been in love with my life that I can’t go three hours without seeing her, let alone three months,” lando says, playing the the strings of his hoodie, vulnerability shining through

“you never said anything,” you reply, your heart beating so loud in your chest you can hear it in your ears

“cause it’s selfish. what can I offer you? I travel all the time. I’m barely home. I won’t be able to be there for you in the same capacity you’re there for me. and it would be unfair to ask you to travel with me all the time. it’s just unfair, and I won’t do it to you. but the idea of giving up racing…”

“is utterly ridiculous and you would be so unhappy,” you say and lando lets out a soft laugh. his heart swelling at the fact you know him that well

“yeah,” he agrees. furrow between his brows as he lets out a sigh

“the thing about racing is that there are so many things out of your control lan. and relying on that for your happiness is setting yourself up for failure,” you say

“well… there are certain things I can control,” lando says, looking at your lips briefly before lowering his head to yours, your lips connecting in a soft kiss that sparks butterflies in your stomach

“should’ve done that a long time ago,” lando says softly and the grin on your face mirrors his

“do it again,” you say and he laughs softly, pressing his lips to yours once more

lando knows in a few days he’s gonna have to miss you all over again, but as long as he gets to come home to you at the end of the day, everything’s gonna be okay.

— 💬 I loved writing Lando way more than I thought I would!! thank you so much for requesting and celebrating 1.8K with me nonnie!! I hope you liked it <3

#⊹ ࣪ ˖ cami’s celebrates — 1.8k ⟢#lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fluff #lando norris blurb #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris

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mournings-stars · 1 month

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Hey !!

How about writing romantic head-cannons with the hazbin hotel cast where the reader (could be AFAB) and has catlike features but also has a cat like personality?? (Like the reader is grumpy , tired , always frowning etc)

Obviously take your time , but hopefully this request will reach you well :33

catlike!reader x hazbin cast

anon u literally read my mind i was just sitting down to write something like this so i got u (charlie and vaggie can go together but i made them separate) also im including angel so reader is not fem but they can still be afab if u want — also also, i only included the actual hotel cast, so if you want more characters lmk!!

charlie

you know those cats that hate everyone except one person, that would be you with charlie

charlie won’t bother you or pester you about waking up for activities because you’ll just come when you can, and once you do you’re very engaged (only because it’s her)

as soon as you lie across her lap she makes sure she does not move 1. because you’re warm and she loves cuddling with you and 2. because if you got up and made a face at her before going to sit somewhere else she’d be devastated

she knows just where to scratch, massage, and pet you to get you to fall asleep or relax — she’s put very special attention into memorizing these things and literally everything else about you

vaggie

you can be grumpy together (mostly with alastor, she values your grumpy support when it comes to the radio demon)

vaggie loves to cuddle — if you come to sit behind her legs or between them she could stay like that for hours or just fall asleep

you tend to sleep in with her, 1. because she, like charlie, would rather be still for hours than have you grumpy and moving away from her, and 2. she could use some relaxing time with you before having to work

she can’t keep up with your naps, but she will pause what she’s doing to give you a little kiss on the forehead so she can snap a picture of you stretching and curling back up

husker

husk is already a little cat like (he’s literally a cat) so yall either get along great or you’re arguing all the time then sleep together (yk those cats that are hissing and growling and shit then cuddle while they sleep… yeah)

he lets you sit on the bar, but only because if he told you to get down you’d start knocking things off the counter “accidentally”

whenever he sits on the couch, if you’re not already asleep, you’re quick to sit next to him and lie on his lap. he might grumble a little, but he’s definitely running his hands over your hair and listening to you pur as you fall sleep

loves bedtime — as soon as you’re in either of your rooms, the first thing you’re doing is cuddling up and he might not admit it to anyone, but it’s his favorite part of the day

alastor

you know those cats that, no matter how much you move, they just won’t get off of you? thats you with al

he reluctantly lets you lie on him, but in the same way he lets niffty climb all over him, he’s not going to stop you. especially because he doesn’t mind how warm you are. not that he’d say it, but he does find you lying on him very comfortable after a long day and will definitely use it as an excuse as to why he can’t get up to do whatever someone is asking for

“can’t you see i’m needed elsewhere?” “i’m very busy at the moment!” and he’s just drinking coffee, reading the paper, and sitting with your head on his lap

when you’re alone, he’ll tell you that you’re welcome to lie on his lap “if you truly need to rest”

don’t get grumpy with him though, he’ll get up every time you come to sit with him

angel dust

don’t put it past him, he will carry you around if you’ve been lying on him and he needs to get up because 1. there’s no way he’s waking you up and 2. he’s not about to have you be grumpy that he moved (though there is a chance you’ll be grumpy that he moved you, but at least you’re still warm)

loves cuddling, but his favorite thing is making you purr by massaging your ears out scratching your head while you’re lying on him — and he absolutely loves when you lie on him

yes sitting on the couch is nice, but once he’s lying in his room and you come in and lie on his chest, he’s the happiest he’s ever been. especially after a long day at the studio

if he has to leave while you’re asleep, he’ll leave you food that probably won’t get eating until he comes back and wakes you up by moving your cushion slightly, making you all pouty — which he finds absolutely adorable

he can’t take any pouty/frowning/grumpiness from your seriously when it’s so adorable

sir pentious

you definitely have a bit of similarities when it comes to finding warm spots to relax in, and that probably led to you relaxing together because you refused to move, and he needed to be warm (that’s when he found out he actually enjoyed your company)

as quickly as he let’s you into his workspace, he kicks you out because you just keep knocking shit over, but then he let’s you back in cause you’ll just sit outside the door and sneak back in when he leaves momentarily

once he figures out how to get something warm in his workspace that you’ll just sleep on, he’s happy to have you there. especially because he finds you adorable

he probably stops working to sit with you, or kiss your head, or just wake you up because he does kind of miss you knocking things over even though he can’t stand it

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norrizzandpia · 9 months

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Caught (OP81)

Summary: Y/n’s and Oscar’s fun in his room takes a surprising, awkward turn very quickly

Warnings: a heavy make out, a conversation about condoms and aftercare

When Harry Met Sally played on the TV as Y/n and Oscar laid tangled together. The house’s usual commotion gone with his parents out to dinner and his sister sleeping over at a friend’s house, the couple got to bask in a peaceful moment amongst the usual chaos. Her hands rested under his shirt, against the warm torso, while his trailed up and down her back. Y/n’s eyes weren’t even on the TV as her head laid against his chest and his mind wandered elsewhere, not paying attention to the sappy scene playing out. With nothing to do and only each other, the two thought of a time where they could do this all the time, a period where they were the only residence in a small house.

Finally, breaking the silence, Oscar whispered, “Is this really your favorite movie?”

Sitting up, her hand left his stomach to rest against his chest, “Yeah, always has been. Why?”

He smiled at her lightly, “Because you aren’t watching it.”

She giggled at his observation, “Well, as long as I can hear it, I can see it. I’ve watched it so many times, I can match the dialogue to the scenes in my head.”

His eyebrows lifted, “You have too much time on your hands.”

Feigning offense, she brought her hand to hold his cheek, “Maybe, but I like it that way.”

His smile getting bigger, Oscar pulled her down, so their lips hovered over one another’s, “I like it that way too. Makes it easier to see you as much as I want to.”

He didn’t give her much time to process what he said, or even respond, as his lips met hers in a soft kiss. What was meant to be a loving peck turned into more as she kissed him back and let her hands wandered down to grip at his waist. Oscar’s hand twisted in her hair as he let his tongue trace her bottom lip. Letting her mouth fall open and Oscar access, he slid his tongue further in, exploring what he wishes.

She didn’t feel his hands moving away from her hair down to the hem of her shirt, too entranced by the feeling of his tongue on her own. But, once she did, he was dragging the thin material up and off her body to reveal his favorite bra, a black lace one that left nothing to the imagination.

Relishing in the sight, he flipped her over, his body now topping hers, so he could peer down at what he only got to see. His favorite part, however, was the way she stared up at him, her y/e/c eyes looking back at him expectantly as his hands moved up her stomach to massage her boobs. His mind short circuited as she let out a small moan and he was quick to pounce on her again, his hands keeping at their ministrations as he kissed her with added fervor.

Through her pleasure-filled brain, Y/n pulled on Oscar’s shirt, giving him the telltale sign she wanted it off. Wanting to give her what she wanted, Oscar broke away from her for a moment to tear off the gray, cotton material. He smiled mischievously when her eyes ogled his defined abs. The boy let her stare for a moment more before resuming their previous activities.

Their lips continued to smack together, masking the sound of the garage opening and doors opening as his parents arrived back home.

“Oscar?” Chris yelled throughout the eerily quiet house. Upon no response, he eyed his wife, Nicole, who just gestured in the direction of his room and muttered something about him usually being holed up in there. Following her direction, his footsteps brought him closer to his son’s room. Hearing the fuzzy noises of a movie coming from within, the father sighed in relief at the confirmation his son was, in fact, home like he said he would be with Y/n.

Knocking, Chris opened the door, “Oscar, your mom and I are home. Is Y/n still her-”

His question was answered as his eyes met the horrifying image. His son on top of his girlfriend, both parties shirtless as he kissed down her stomach.

“DAD??!!!??!” Oscar yelped as the couple’s heads whipped around to see his parent. Chris, the poor man, was gobsmacked, having never even seen the two so much as share more then a small kiss. The couple was very particular about PDA and who fell victim to their lovesick touches, so, when it came to his family, both Y/n and Oscar found they were uncomfortable with the prospect of sharing that much. Because of this, Chris stood, frozen, in the doorway with his mouth agape as his son frantically threw blankets around to cover his half-naked girlfriend, thanking God he hadn’t gotten around to fully taking the bra off her.

His body finally kicking into gear, Chris stuttered out an apology before feverishly closing the door and running in the opposite direction of the cursed situation. Running straight into Nicole, she looked up at him with confusion.

“Why are you running around looking like you’re on the verge of throwing up?” She said as her arms folded across her chest.

Images flashed in his mind that he wished he hadn’t ever seen, “Because I am going to throw up.”

Her face turned from confusion to concern, “What? Why? Have you not been feeling well?”

His hands clawed at his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut which only proved worse when all he could see was the memory, “I should have never gone to check on Oscar.”

The words made her furrow her eyebrows as she couldn’t follow his distress. Well, that was until her son came running out of his room whilst shoving a shirt on and chaotically looking for his father. Approaching him hesitantly, Oscar said, “Dad, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you guys would be home until later.”

Nicole began to put the pieces together as her child’s beloved girlfriend appeared from behind his door, hair looking disheveled and eyes looking half-dazed. Snickering to herself, she sighed, “Oh, Chris.”

His dad was quick to put up his hands, “No, don’t apologize. It’s okay. You’re 22 and an adult. I should’ve just left you alone since we knew Y/n was here. Just-” His eyes met his son’s, “Next time, lock your door. Even if we aren’t here. Just, please, barricade the door if you have to. I don’t care. Make it so no one can accidentally walk in.”

Nodding quickly, Oscar stood awkwardly before turning around and walking back to his room, pulling Y/n by her arm into the four walls with him.

—

The time read 11 PM as Oscar promised Y/n he’d go get her water because she was too scared to show her face around his house to do it herself.

He tiptoed on the wooden floors before reaching the kitchen, opening the fridge and getting the pitcher out. As he was reaching toward the cabinet filled with glasses, Nicole sauntered in.

Slightly startled, Oscar smiled tightly, already wanting to retreat back to the safe space of his room with his, also embarrassed, girlfriend.

“I’ve been waiting ages for you to leave your corner of this house.” His mom said as she sat herself on the stool closest to him.

Knitting his eyebrows together, he asked, “Why?”

“Because I need to talk to you.” She said immediately.

Putting down the glass and pitcher, he turned his full attention to her serious expression, “Okay, what’s up?”

She held his gaze, trying to breach this topic as easily as possible, “Now that we both know you’re…” She trailed off as she tried to find her words, “sexually active,”

“MOM!” He screeched as his cheeks lit up.

She waved her hand around in his face, “Shhh, your dad’s asleep and God knows how long it took him to get that way seeing as every time he closed his eyes he complained about seeing, and I quote, ‘the horrors of his son growing up’. Anyways, what I was trying to say before you rudely interrupted me,” She gave him a pointed glare, “was that I’m glad you’ve found someone you love enough to share that experience with and all I wish is for you to be safe. Do you have condoms?”

His head dropped into his hands as he groaned, “Mom, please stop.”

“Oscar,” She started, “I’m not going to be one of those moms who refuse to talk about sex with their children because it’s uncomfortable and then have you accidentally knock someone up at the wrong time.”

Seeing her point and wanting to soothe her worrying, Oscar sucked in a breath, “Fine. Yes, I do have condoms which are used.”

She nodded, but didn’t seem satisfied in the slightest, “Okay, that’s a good start. Are you being attentive after it’s done?”

“After it’s done” had him wanting to lie down in his grave and be buried alive as his own mother insinuated him and his girlfriend finishing. But, he persevered, “If you’re talking about…” He scrunched his face up, “like, aftercare then yes. Yes, I am.”

She smiled triumphantly, “Good, Oscar, that’s good. Proud of you.”

He deadpanned, “You’re proud of me for having sex.”

Chuckling and shaking her head, not fazed by the crude topic, she looked at her son, “No, I’m proud of you for being sexually smart. I don’t care that you’re having sex. All I care about is that you’re being safe and not being an ass to a sweet girl.”

He blushed, suddenly shy, “Oh, well…” His gaze flickered to his mom’s knowing grin, “thank you.”

“Oscar, what’s taking you so long. I’m on the verge of death here, baby…” Her soft voice trailed off as she saw his mom present as well, “Oh, hi. I’m sorry to interrupt. I’ll just go back to Oscar’s room.”

Nicole shook her head, already up from her chair and halfway out the room, “Nonsense, I’m already gone.”

And, just like that, she was. The sound of her shared bedroom’s door closing giving Oscar and Y/n the confirmation they were alone again.

“What were you guys talking about?” She asked as Oscar bent at the waist to reach out and pull her into him by her waist.

Snuggled into his side with his hands clutching at her hips, Y/n smiled up at him. Oscar met the eyes of the girl he had fallen in love with years ago as he looked down at her, “Sex.”

Her jaw dropping made him laugh as he untangled himself from her and started walking back to their room, her whispered yells meeting his ears.

“Oscar! What do you mean?” Shuffling as she tried to catch up with him.

Quiet groans left her mouth as he ignored her, “You didn’t even get me my water, dumbass.”

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #oscar piastri fanfiction #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri imagines #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #mclaren

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outofconcheol · 4 months

Text

friends forever? (lmh x f!reader)

pairing: Minho x reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: fluff, humour, angst if you squint, brief smut, established relationship, 18+

summary: Minho has the difficult task of wooing someone very important to you.

warnings: CATS, a very confused Minho, swearing, mentions breakups, mentions periods, just lots of feels ok, smut warnings: brief oral (f receiving), kissing

word count: 1.9k

a/n: Where are all my cat people at? this idea came to me today and it was so cute i almost passed out (jk I did actually pass out today). i really said enough of Minho wooing reader, i want to see this man woo a cat and i made it happen! Also Lulu is one of my nicknames for my cat (but he's a boy). this is very unedited, I wrote it in like an hour but I hope you enjoy!

It’s past midnight when Minho notices the eyes for the first time. They peer at him from the endless darkness of the hallway and he looks around nervously, wondering if he should say something. In the corner of his eye, he can see you rustling around in the kitchen, cabinets opening and closing as you try to find some snacks for the both of you. If there’s an intruder in your apartment, you don’t seem perturbed, humming quietly to yourself.

He wonders if this is some kind of test from the universe, if some evil spirit’s been sent down so that he, as your newly-minted boyfriend, can prove that he’s brave and worthy of protecting you. But before he can whip out his ghost-busting skills, your sock-clad feet are padding towards him on the couch, a surprised gasp leaving your lips.

“Oh! I see you’ve met Lulu.”

Minho blinks once, twice, before following the sound of your voice, looking down over the edge of the couch.

Those same eyes from the hallway blink up at him. It’s a cat. Your cat, fluffy fur and all, looking at Minho through narrowed eyes.

Immediately, he softens, silently relieved that he wouldn’t have to slay any demons tonight. Minho loved cats. He had three of his own waiting at home. He slides off the couch, dropping to his knees, extending an arm out.

“Hi there Lulu, I’m Minho. Nice to meet you.”

Lulu cocks her head, taking a few seconds to look Minho over, assessing him from head to toe. And then she… remains completely still, refusing to budge and accept the offer to smell Minho’s hand. Minho feels his heart drop, arm still outstretched with the hope that she’ll change her mind, but to no avail.

“Babe,” Minho zips his head in your direction, and you offer him a comforting squeeze to his arm. “Lulu takes a while to warm up to new people, it’s nothing personal. She never liked any of my exes.”

You giggle, pulling Minho back onto the couch with you so he can rest his head in your lap while you start the movie. Minho tries to focus on the film, but his mind remains elsewhere, darting over to the side where he sees Lulu sitting next to the couch. Eventually, she jumps up onto the cushions to join you, snuggling into your side, but maintaining a safe distance from Minho.

Minho resists the urge to overthink the interaction from earlier. He knew better than anyone that cats were temperamental beings, and that they required extra love and attention. So what if Lulu never warmed up to any of your exes? She’d warm up to him eventually, because he planned on sticking around for a long time.

If you asked Minho the key to winning a cat’s heart, he’d tell you time. And maybe lots of treats. But mostly time. He thought time would be enough to heal the frosty first impression he’d left on Lulu, but every time he was over at your place, there she was around the corner, mean-mugging and making him feel guilty for crimes he didn’t commit.

He didn’t want to worry you with his silly beef with your cat, knowing that you loved her and she’d helped you through many hard times.

So Minho, being the amazing boyfriend he was, tried to tackle the problem on his own.

He started with treats of course. The sizeable dent in his wallet from owning three cats only became all the more palpable when he’d buy an extra box from the pet store every week, hoping to woo over Miss Lulu with the five-star meal of some pureed chicken in a tube.

Lulu stared down the tube like it was a foreign object, before slapping her fluffy tail against Minho’s face, turning on her heels, and walking away.

She had the same reaction to the freeze-dried treats he tried the week after.

Then he theorized that maybe Lulu was averse to the smell of his own cats on him. So Minho kept an extra pair of clothes in his car all the time, one he’d change into before coming over. When he knocked at the door, he was met with your dazzling smile, cupping his face to press your lips to his, but as soon as it was over he caught sight of Princess Lulu running down the hallway away from him.

Months passed with Minho doing everything he could wrap his mind around what he could do win over the second most important person in your life (after him, of course). He’d even powered through a tense meeting between Lulu and Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, worried that his sons would scare her away, or even worse, hurt her, and that would be the end of you and Minho. But much to his surprise, Lulu played happily with the boys, even letting Dori tackle her and lick her fur.

And so began Minho’s mutual grudge against your cat. He did his best to hide it, but the lack of acceptance from Lulu was getting to him, like an arrow through his heart. He wondered if he could survive years by your side with a cat that hated him, but one look at your sparkly eyes and pretty smile told him that yes, this was worth it. You were worth it.

So Lulu ignored Minho. And Minho ignored Lulu. And both of them continued on in their own little worlds, centered around you.

Minho slams his lips against yours, pushing you up against the door of your bedroom, smirking when he feels your lips part in a soft moan. The two of you make out lazily against the door for a few moments, until you’re both breathless and panting, Minho stepping back to admire the handiwork he’d left on your neck, the angry marks disappearing underneath the neckline of your shirt.

Minho runs his thumb over your lip, watching your eyes go dark with desire, and in no time at all, you’re pinned underneath him on the bed, legs dangling with Minho in between them. He wastes no time diving in, eating you out with fervor until you’re writhing against his face, a wave of pleasure building inside you.

Only for it all to come crashing down seconds later, when he suddenly stops. You let out a pathetic whine, running your fingers through Minho’s hair while he remains crouched in between your thighs.

“Min, baby what’s wrong?” you lift his chin up so he’s looking at you, and the look in his eyes is so starkly different from a few minutes ago, his face pale.

“She’s watching us,” he whispers, like he’s seen a ghost.

You follow his line of sight to the top of the dresser, where Lulu is now perched, tail tucked underneath her butt, eyes narrowing at you and Minho.

“Just ignore her, babe,” you nudge his head between your legs again. Minho gives a few tentative licks to your folds, but lets out a heavy sigh, sitting back on his knees.

“I can’t.” And he looks so unbelievably guilty it makes your heart melt. You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, before throwing on his discarded shirt, softly padding over to where Lulu rests.

“Hey pretty girl,” you coo at her, cradling her in your arms. “How about we go drink some water, huh?”

Minho sits on the edge of the bed, legs crossed and head in his hands. He doesn’t hear you come back inside, jumping slightly when you throw your arms around him, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“She doesn’t hate you,” your voice is muffled, nuzzling your nose against his jaw.

“She does,” Minho whines, trying not to let his voice break. “She literally won’t accept any treats from me. Every time you have period cramps, she glares at me like she’s saying “It’s your fault, asshole.” She even plays with Changbin more than me. And he’s allergic! She hates me and you’re going to break up with me because I can’t get along with your cat.”

“Why would I break up with you, silly?” you giggle. “I love you.”

Minho grabs you by the shoulders, cupping your cheeks in his hands, shock on his face.

“Y-you do?”

You nod your head, reaching up to grab his hand with your own.

“I love you, Lee Minho. And Lulu too. My heart is big enough for both of you.”

Minho feels better after that night, his anxieties melting away, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can survive this impasse with Lulu.

Until you ask him to do the unthinkable.

“Please Minho? It’s just for one night.” you beg him. Something urgent had come up for work, and you needed to take an overnight trip to handle it. Which meant Minho had to stay home with Lulu.

Minho wants to protest, saying the little brat will be fine, but then you pout. And it’s game over. He’s agreeing before he can think it through.

So you leave, the door clicking behind you, and Minho sits on the couch, Lulu across the room from him, the two of them staring each other down much like the first time they’d met. He takes meticulous care to fill up her food bowl and clean out her litter box, his heart doing a flutter when she doesn’t refuse either.

But she remains at her safe distance, and Minho is alone on the couch, missing the warmth of your presence next to him. He clicks through a few tv channels, before turning the TV off, throwing his hoodie on and slipping out onto your balcony, making sure to leave the door slightly ajar in case something happened to Lulu.

He sits with his knees curled to his chest, watching the city lights twinkle, until he hears a soft whine. He turns to see Lulu across from him on the balcony, maintaining her healthy distance, but staring at him with curious eyes.

“You’re a tough nut to crack Lulu, you know that?” Minho blurts out. “I just wish you’d like me, kiddo. I try so hard for you. And for your mom.”

He leans back against the railing, letting out a heavy sigh, and the words keep pouring out.

“I love her a lot. Like a lot a lot. I think I’m probably gonna marry her someday. And then we’ll be stuck together whether you like it or not.”

Minho closes his eyes, wondering what the future would hold for the two of them, when he feels it. The soft brush of fur against his leg, and then tiny vibrations.

He blinks his eyes open, and Lulu is nestled against his leg, soft purrs coming from her as she burrows her nose into Minho’s sweaptants.

Tears prick at the corner of Minho’s lids as he fights every bone in his body not to jump for joy. He reaches over, softly stroking Lulu between her ears, and chuckles when her tiny mouth drops open.

“Of course. The only thing you love more than attention is ____. I should have known.”

He stays impossibly still, battling against the ache in his leg, his eyes growing heavy with sleep.

That’s how you find him in the morning, still cuddled up to Lulu. You smile softly, grabbing a blanket from the couch to throw over Minho while you work on breakfast for him and Lulu, finally content that the two most important people in your world love each other as much as they love you.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

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verinarin · 3 months

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First time requesting 😭 but anw sleepy cuddles with veritas? not yet officially an item but reader is always very very very clingy to him whenever they’re sleepy and he just finds it ridiculously endearing and realizes he has a thing for them a lot against all odds

this!!, since we all know Veritas has an interesting way to show how he cares about others (lovingly criticise them), he definitely is the type to show that he cares rather than just blatantly say it

fluff | Veritas’ sleepy TA that keeps sleeping on the job; he doesn’t mind the occasional rest though-

You have always been the type of person who likes to do practically everything on the floor or lying down, even though Veritas has given you your desk in his vast office you can’t help but end up scattering the countless mathematical questions and formulas on the floor

You’re his current and only TA, he entrusted you to help him grade his students and sometimes cover for him if he’s needed elsewhere so it is no secret to anyone that your daily activities mostly consist of working in his office, today was no different

Even though Veritas is currently needed to delegate for the IPC, his job as a scholar can’t be postponed, so here are you late at night preparing the materials for tomorrow in case he asks you to cover for him again, his students don’t mind his absence anyways, they even rejoice every time you’re covering for him

Feeling restless on the floor you decide to close your eyes, perhaps taking a simple power nap before resuming your work would energise you, so you simply lay on the floor with papers scattered around you, using your arms as a makeshift pillow, forgetting the fact that you hadn’t set your 30 minutes alarm-

Hours pass by as you sleep blissfully unaware that you have just arrived back at his office, his face paints a picture of a distraught expression. His faithful assistant sleeping soundlessly on the floor, he took mental notes to put carpet on the floor tomorrow so you could comfortably work in the position you like the most

He simply sighed as he sat down beside you, carefully lifting your head and placing it on his thigh, his eyes scanned the papers around you, seemingly impressed by your preparation. He took multiple papers and carefully reviewed them, while doing so he can’t help but play with your hair, it seems that you have overworked yourself since you aren’t aware of your current position

After approximately 45 minutes you slowly regain your consciousness, the first thing you feel his fingers running through your hair, you flutter your eyes open to reveal Veritas idly reading the materials you prepared, “Oh someone decides to wake up,” he scoffs

You quickly straighten your body feeling rather embarrassed at the position you are in, “How long did I fall asleep on your lap ?” you ask, your hand holding the back of your neck as you meekly smile

“Approximately 45 minutes, I’m the one who situated your head on my lap. Hope you’re not uncomfortable by my gesture,” he replies, putting your papers back on the floor as his eyes turn towards you

“Of course not it’s just embarrassing,” you laugh, suddenly you feel his hand grasping your wrist, pulling you in. Your head lands straight to his chest, while his other hand swiftly lift you to his lap via your waist, “You can continue to rest, while I review your work,” he candidly replies

Your face turns into an indescribable hue of red, he finds this to be endearing. You may not realise it but you have this tendency to accidentally fall asleep against him while waiting for his assessment of your work, you like to mumble things like how warm he is or how comfortable he is.

He deems this as you being half asleep and lacking the comprehension to know what’s real and what’s not, so he never bothered to tell you this. He likes to act dumb when you wake up in a daze, not knowing you were cuddling his arm earlier, “Is something the matter ? speak if there is something on your mind,”

You can’t help but stumble upon your words not knowing what to say, “You overstimulated that brain of yours, best for you to rest and to stop wasting my time by uttering inaudible words,” he scoffs as he pats your head, his eyes still trained on your work

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio fluff #dr. ratio #dr. ratio x reader #dr. ratio fluff

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writingforrhys · 1 year

Text

as you were

cassian x reader warnings: none! just some arguing and very sassy bat boys LOL. and some nesta and elain slander oh and quite a bit of swearing contents: welcome to a long awaited part 2 of smaller than this! i finally wrote the comfort to the hurt. please enjoy!

masterlist

Cassian couldn't find you anywhere.

He was sweaty, and disgusting, and disheveled after a long morning of training with his brothers. Azriel had been on point this particular session, seemingly being able to read Cassian's mind and know his every next move. He'd been put to the floor more times than he could count and all he wanted was to find you, bathe, and throw himself under the covers for some comfort and some really good sex.

The Illyrian had flown down to the Rainbow in search of your favourite bakery for some custard treat that he knew you couldn't get enough of and a bunch of your favourite flowers. And now, he couldn't fucking find you.

There was nothing better to Cassian than that shy look you'd get on your face when he'd turn up with gifts in hand, like you couldn't believe you were the one he was giving them to. The way you'd wring your hands together and rock on your feet, reaching towards him with that big, bright smile and a welcome home kiss, just to rush off to put your flowers in some water or show Rhys exactly what he'd bought you.

Gods, he needed to find you.

He felt like he'd searched the house 3 times over. He'd gone to the library, the kitchens, even Rhys's study and still no sight of you. It had barely hit noon and he knew your routine ridiculously well. You should've been pottering somewhere.

He found himself standing outside of your shared bedroom, concerned that perhaps you'd fallen ill, or caught on to one of Az's headaches, and had retired to your bed for the day. He craned his ears to search for any signs of life from the room; put off by the lack of light funnelling through the gaps of the door.

Cassian was just about ready to haul ass and search for you again elsewhere, when he heard it. It... you... a sniffle?

The door slowly creaked open, warm light from the hall washing over the unmoving mass under the sheets. Cassian moved as gently as he could, (albeit he was not very gentle at all), and found only the top of your head peeking through.

"Are you okay, honey? Not feeling well?"

His kind words and tender tone made you want to cry even more and you had to resist the urge to not look over the sheets and take a look at his beautiful face.

"I'm fine, Cass." And there it was. Mistake, mistake, mistake.

Any other person would've walked away. Any other person would have wished you farewell and hoped you got better. Any other person wouldn't concern themselves over the inflection of your voice. But not Cassian.

No, Cassian heard it all. Saw it all. He heard the shaking of your speech, the uncertainty. Could hear the wetness. And, he could bet that if he pulled back the bed covers, he'd find you tear-stained and choked up and utterly humiliated. And he was always right when it came to you.

And now, as panic blossomed in his chest, he took a seat next to your unmoving form and placed a hand just atop your body. He was careful not to remove the covers; he didn't need you closing off even more.

"You wanna tell me what happened, my love?"

A head shake.

"Did someone do this to you? Has someone made you upset?"

Silence.

"Who."

You removed the covers now, no further down than the top of your chest he noticed, and the sight of you broke his heart. You were all sniffles and puffy faced and hair so unkempt it could make a Naga run back to the woods. You'd obviously been here a while - alone and vulnerable. His heart broke again.

"It's okay, Cassie, really. They didn't mean any harm. I wasn't even supposed to hear it."

"They?" He was furious. Utterly and blindingly furious. Whoever had made you cry was very soon certain to wish they were never born.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you sighed, realising this was a battle not easily won. Cassian was not the type to let things go easily, especially when it came to you, and you weren't foolish enough to hope that he would just leave it alone.

"Nesta and Elain," Your voice was just a whisper, eyes still closed, "They... they were talking about me. Didn't have many nice points."

The Illyrian was the picture of silent rage. His heart a furnace; one doing a terrific job at boiling the blood under his skin.

"What did they say?"

You were hesitant now, as if speaking the words aloud would somehow make them more true. Your eyes peeked open, looking everywhere but Cass, until a large hand took purchase upon your cheek, tilting your face to meet his encouraging stare.

Your voice wobbled as you told him what they'd said - the descriptions that had hurt you the most. More tears streamed down your face at this and a calloused thumb reached to wipe every one away.

Once you had finished, Cassian stood silently, leaning down to plant a kiss to your hairline, and made a beeline for the door.

"Where are you going?" You wiped at your tired eyes.

"I'm off to kill some sisters."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The door to the living room had slammed open so fast that the walls of the house had shaken. Every head in the room had whipped to a seething Cassian in the doorway.

Rhysand was the first to stand and reach out his hand tentatively, as if taming a beast, "What's wrong, brother?"

Cassian's gaze didn't even land upon the High Lord. His line of sight shot right to the sofa behind him, carrying Feyre and Lady Death herself.

"You."

Nesta wasn't someone who showed much emotion in her face. Her range of expressions only varied between extremely discontent and mildly satisfied. But now, with the General standing in the doorway and a thunderous stare thrust upon her, she didn't know how to hide the amount of emotion bubbling up to her face.

Seeing her sister's agitation, the High Lady also rose to her feet and stepped forward. One of her hands rested upon Cassian's arm, gently rubbing as she lead him into the room.

"You need to tell us what the problem is, or we can't fix it."

"What's the problem, Feyre?" He scoffed, "She's my fucking problem."

The Illyrian's voice was raising with every word he spat. His voice had reached the adjourned kitchens, where Azriel and Elain now tentatively filtered out. Elain monitored the situation carefully, and quickly took a seat next to Nesta, grasping one of her hands in her own.

"Cassian, perhaps you need to calm down. I'm sure Nesta will be more comfortable to talk to you then." Elain's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Oh, go bake some fucking bread, Elain!"

"Cassian," Azriel spoke, "You need to choose your next words carefully."

"Really, brother? I don't think I do," He turned to Azriel, "Would you like to know what your little girlfriend has been saying about Y/N?"

The room was silent. Elain was red.

A beat passed as Azriel and Rhysand made eye contact. Azriel's shoulder's squared and his jaw ticked. Rhys laid a hand on Feyre's elbow, who was quick to leave the room with a soft mutter of I'm going to check on Y/N. The three Illyrian's were now facing the sisters on the couch, a storm brewing in the room.

"What did you say?" The shadowsinger's voice was uncomfortably steady.

"We didn't say anything. Get your guard dogs away from us." Nesta seethed at Cassian.

"You didn't... say anything?" Rhysand spoke slowly - accusatory.

Elain was nothing like her sister. Nesta could lie for days on end and not break a sweat. Often, when they were young, Nesta would spin tales about the other children in the village and see which rumour she could make spread faster. When she was confronted, Nesta had no problem lying to their faces again, or telling them exactly what she thought of them to their face. Whatever she preferred in the moment.

Elain was not like Nesta. Elain would return from school or the market, sit by the hearth on the floor, and spin her tales there. The words she spoke never left their house, not by her own voice anyway. She knew from Nesta's approving hums and nods that the next day, whatever Elain had spun would miraculously make it across the town. And she loved it.

Elain did not like consequences, and she did not like confrontation.

"We didn't say anything." She whispered. She dared not look up.

"That's funny, really," Cassian spoke to his brothers, "Nesta and Elain have decided that Y/N isn't good enough for us. For me."

"Oh, I wasn't aware that was up for them to decide, Cass."

"Neither did I, Rhys."

Azriel's face was still stony, "Would you like to tell the truth now?"

"Oh please, what we said wasn't that bad. The drama in your court is abysmal, Rhysand." The eldest Archeron bristled, "You'd think the royalty of the Night Court would have better things to do than gossip."

"Let me make one thing very clear. If I ever hear you speak ill of another member of my court again, it will be the last thing you ever do in this court." Rhys was not speaking as himself now. This was the High Lord. This was your High Lord. Undoubtedly and unapologetically loyal to you.

"Y/N is the best of us," Azriel spoke lowly, "I wouldn't expect you to understand, but you have misspoken and you've made a grave mistake. You will apologise profusely, and from this point on you will do everything you can to make this right."

Azriel left then, his long legs climbing the stairs and his footsteps following the familiar path straight to your room. Elain's face had fallen completely now, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.

"We have known Y/N for the best part of 500 years. We have known the both of you for all of 5 minutes," Rhys' eyes bore into the sisters, "She has loved us and we have loved her for longer than you've been alive. You should be surprised that I haven't already dropped you at the border."

Rhys turned then to the door, his back facing the room.

"Do not let me hear of this again."

And with that, he followed Azriel up the stairs.

The Seer glanced between her sister and the General and took her opportunity to breathe a weak apology and immediately flee the room.

Typical, Nesta thought.

"Well, whatever you have to say, I suggest you get it out."

She was right. Cassian had been far too quiet. If he left his emotions unchecked any longer, he could very well do something he would regret. Well, he wouldn't regret it that much. But he'd like to avoid the grovelling he'd have to do to Feyre.

"My life is none of your concern," He began, "Who I take to bed is none of your concern and who I spend my time with is none of your concern."

Nesta rolled her eyes.

"What?" Cassian spat, "Would you rather I profess my undying love for you instead of her? You, who has shown me nothing but hatred and contempt since the moment we met. And Y/N who has spent 5 centuries giving me kindness and a home."

She wasn't looking at him anymore, completely silent as the Illyrian grew quiet again himself.

"She means everything to me. I have never and will never tolerate anyone who attempts to jeopardise what we have. Especially not you."

"What do you even see in her?" Cassian couldn't tell whether it was a jab or a genuine question. He didn't like either.

"All I see is her," A small smile, "All I think about is her. When I leave in the morning, I think about what she might choose to wear that day. And on the way home, I think about where I'll find her. Whether she'll be reading in the library, or teaching Az how to knit for the 50th time, or baking or bathing or singing."

He didn't pause to see Nesta's face shifting to shock.

"And when I do get back, the first face I want to see is Y/N's. To see her smile or hear her laugh. Most of the time I can't believe that I'm the bastard she chose to love. That I'm the one who gets to hold her every night."

Cassian made his move to leave, but just before he reached the doorway, he turned back to look Nesta in the eye.

"Y/N is the most beautiful, loving person I've ever met. I wonder sometimes how flowers don't grow on the grass she treads. You're lucky I haven't left you dead on the floor for the way you've spoken about her."

And as you listened on the stairs, your cheeks red and smile bright, you knew.

You knew that you didn't have to travel the universe to find someone who loves you. You didn't need to have a different body or a different mind to find someone who sees you.

Because Cassian was here, in this house, loving you and seeing you. For everything you are.

He loved you just as you were.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar #acotar smut #acotar fluff #cassian acotar #acotar x reader #acotar drabble #acotar oneshot #rhysand acotar #azriel acotar #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian imagine #cassian fluff #acotar angst

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your-nanas-house · 2 months

Note

Soooo I was thinking Cillian X Fan! reader. He takes advantage of the fact that reader admires him sm and uses her for his pleasure…

I'm so so sorry, it took me so long but I was really really smitten with this idea! 🙇🏼‍♀️

Out with the dog

◇ Pairing: Dark!Cillian Murphy X younger fan!Reader

◇ Warnings: SMUT, Cilly is a perv and bit dark, DUBCON, manipulation, bit mean Cilly (?), oblivious fem reader, fluff, frustration and stress.

◇ Summary: Cillian has company during his daily walk with his dog, Scout.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. I didn't proof read it... I mean I don't re-read my works normally but I just wanted to point it out this time in case I wrote some shit. Enjoy!!! Also thank you @kiss-me-cill-me for your advices and motivation! 🫶🏻

It wasn't at all what he was expecting when he left the house just to take the family dog for a walk.

The twisted thoughts and stress that had been troubling him all day had become even more insistent with the cool Dublin air and the fall of evening. His mind was really elsewhere when a soft and shy voice interrupted his trail of thoughts, making him realize that he was standing in the same spot, staring at nothing, since a while now.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to bother you but... I'm a huge fan of your work and—" the voice cracked softly, the younger girl that was standing in front of him looked quite nervous and shy which made him smile slightly.

"I-I-I... sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted you" she quickly apologized, her body telling him that she was going to just walk quickly off... too ashamed of the interaction to actually look him in the eyes again.

"Don't worry..." Cillian started, waiting for her name as he removed his sunglasses, flattering his eyes softly when the dim light hit him. She was very pretty and at least 10 years younger than him for sure, he thought while taking her in.

"Y/n!... Y/n" the young woman revealed nervously, her hands shaking awkwardly, a thing that Cillian noticed immediately and that made him smile a little as soon as she tried to hide it by grabbing into her bag... both hands holding the strap making his breath get bit heavier.

He sure was stressed and frustrated, he thought as his eyes remained on her smaller hands as they moved slightly while she talked... up and down, up and down.

Gosh, he really would have loved to have them wrapped around his cock like that, he was certain that those tiny pretty hands weren't that innocent for sure.

"Beautiful name" he commented with a tiny smile in an attempt to distract himself by his pervy intrusive thoughts. He really didn't need to deal with an article of some random magazine commenting on him walking around Dublin with a noticeable hard-on after talking with a younger woman.

She sure was a pretty thing though, from her hair to her eyes down to her breasts and— he needed to keep hold on himself. What gotten into him? He never objectified a woman like that... it wasn't like him.

He needed to keep going with his walk, clear his mind, regain back the control he usually had and—

"I was actually hoping for a bit of company... would you like to walk with me?... and my dog" the proposal slipped out of the older man unconsciously, as his gaze darkened slowly, his body reacting almost animalisticly... like a hungry predator ready to eat his prey.

Fuck, he cursed in his head, looking away as he waited for a reply from her... a poor way to distract himself from her innocent presence. Poor because the wind was apparently against him as well that evening... blowing her sweet scent towards him so that his nostrils could take her even more in.

The Irishman really hoped silently for her rejection peppered with some tender excuse that could have been true or could have been false... he didn't care much.

But of course, things hadn't been going the way he'd hoped all day so why be surprised when he got a shy yes instead of an embarrassed no.

He couldn't complain though, after the stressful week he had... bit of female company could have been the cure, maybe he was able to do some kind of conversation and focus his mind elsewhere and not on her body... but rather on her brain.

...

The soft breeze started to hit them harder, the walk was going well and the small talk was pretty enjoyable, they talked about lots... changing from deep to light, from silly to serious, from sad to happy.

Cillian was really enjoying her presence, her mature thoughts and her friendly personality. His stress and tension could have flown away if it was for her.... moving lips.

Soft looking, pinkish due to the lipstick she had on and very kissable... the actor could clearly imagine them wrapped around his cock. Wetting it all with her warm mouth as her lips would have painted his bases of that pink— pink, he repeated in his head as his Adam's apple bobbed. He needed to change topic quickly and stop focusing on her goddamn lips.

"What do you think of Barbenheimer?" The Irishman asked, slapping himself mentally for the question.

Just keep walking, Cillian, focus on walking... don't look at her... and her pretty blouse that was getting opened by the wind, exposing bit more of her neckline as it moved the fabric of her shirt as well. Damn wind.

He had reached a point where he couldn't even focus on her speaking, the feeling of being on the edge was getting harder as time passed... he was sure that a little push would have made him completely loose his rational thoughts. And then that's when Scout, his dog, decided to just sprint to reach something... making him loose the lazy grip he had on the leash and make the young woman run after him.

Cillian went quickly after them, his mind trying to stay in focus as he saw her skirt rise up at every bounce she did to snatch the leash for him before anything bad could happen. He was quite sure now that she was hiding a pretty revealing underwear under that modest outfit she was wearing.

"There you go, good boy" her soft voice praised as she kneeled down to pet the dog and take the leash, too busy snuggling with him to notice Cillian's gaze on her bouncing breasts.

She wasn't wearing a bra, he cursed under his breath again, his body too warm because of the jogging, his heart drumming harder against his chest as he tried to calm down and focusing on his breathing... and not her heavy.. panting and sexy one.

When the young woman stood back up and brushed her smaller hand against his to give him the leash... Cillian's self-control reached the end

"Thank you" he murmured in a more low tone as his body started to react at his impulses.

By the way her eyes kept shining as she looked at him, he knew that with a bit of pressure he could have made her do whatever he wanted... but was it really what he wanted? He pondered as his feet made him change the route he normally took when out with Scout, leading the oblivious young woman in a dark alley.

"I agree, things are pretty different nowadays" the older actor commented as he mentioned the conversation they were having, his heart beating even faster as he thought quickly of a plan.

Was he really going to take advantage of that kind fan of him? Was he really that desperate and frustrated?

Questions kept filling his head as his eyes remained on the wet street, lost in thoughts

"Do you do this path every day?" Y/n's voice interrupted the silence, making his baby blue eyes look back at her.

Yes, he was.

"Mhhm.. but I take usually the parallel street" he informed her while looking around to be sure that they were alone. The oblivious and curious look on her pretty face was making him harder than ever, making the uncomfortable feeling become a painful one now.

As soon as the Irishman was sure that there was Noone around he let go casually of the leash, whistling to order something to Scout who... after giving a look at his master headed in a run towards the beginning of the alley, sitting there as a guard. Watching around to warn Cillian if someone would have approached.

A glance at his black dog and he acted, not letting Y/n even questioning him before pressed his plumpy lips against hers as the dark swallowed them more now that her body was pressed against the cold and humid wall.

His big hands moved eargerly to her face and neck to keep her tilted like he wanted so to facilitate the kiss he was stealing.

Her neck was soft and tempting, he could easily leave a mark if he wanted but he didn't had so much time.. so he had to take things faster than he hoped.

As the kiss broke he inhaled deeply, letting his nose brush against hers as his thumbs caressed her skin... he didn't dare to open his eyes and meet her probably wide eyes and swollen lips... his cock was already throbbing and if he did that small action he was sure that the seed he was hoping to shoot in her would have just soiled his trousers.

"Damn, darling" Cillian cursed softly, licking his lips before diving down to kiss her neck while pressing his body against hers in an attempt of finding some friction and swallow her in his lust.. caging her body against the bricks even more.

"Do you want to help me, dear?" he asked softly, stroking her neck slowly as his piercing eyes now watched her carefully, noticing the glimpse of insecurity that was in her wide beautiful eyes

"Bet you want to, hm? Or I could just go to another fan of mine. Bet they would die to have a chance like this, darling... acting less ungrateful than you" he softly threatened in his low voice. His irish accent echoing in her head as he manipulated her young mind.

Of course she wanted to help him, he was her idol and favourite actor of all times... she couldn't really risk it and watch his disappointment towards her. She didn't wanted to be faced by his oh-so famous judgy face.

But the embarrassment and hesitance were there as well... she had a dignity and couldn't just allow him to use her like that, right?

Of course, it was something she dreamed about but was she really ready for that? She didn't even try casual sex in her lige yet. But she sure didn't want him to go to another fangirl and his intense gaze was like a poker face to her... so she was stuck on not knowing whatever he was telling the truth or not.

"I don't have the whole day, darling" Cillian's low voice commented as his gaze shifted towards the spot where his dog was still sitting.

Y/n glances at him again, gulping while trying to silence the battles in her head. She really didn't know what to do, what if it wasn't like he expected or if it would turn out to be a mistake.

"Ok!... Y-Yes, I-I want to help you, Mr. Murphy" Y/n stammered out when the actor started to move away from her.

Her heart beated hard against her chest, making her breath get caught in her throat as her hands started to sweat when he hummed and undoed his pants, pulling out his hard cock without hesitation or patience.

"That's a good girl, get on your knees" his low voice ordered before he moved slowly his tip against her lips, painting them with his pre-cum as he thrusted slightly forward to let them wrap around his red tip.

"That's it... suck" Cillian's voice ordered, allowing to be teased a bit before snapping his hips forward, making her hit her head against the wall and gag around his lenght. "Fuck, love" he cursed with a growl, letting her adjust to him before starting to fuck her mouth till he nearly reached his edge.

The actor's first intention was to just burry his cock deep in her throat and cum there but as his icy eyes wandered down to her kneeled form... and stopped on her clinging thighs the need to feel her young cunt around him became a must.

With a slow motion he moved away from her, letting her breath properly as she dried her spit while catching her breath. Tears already adorning her cheeks... she really was beautiful, the man repeated to himself as a mocking coo left him.

His big hands strokes the soft flesh of her cheeks as he made her get up so that he could smash his lips back against hers, forcing a hungry, toothy kiss that luckily slowed down when she reciprocated it.

Her bare leg was hooked up at his narrow hip, allowing his cock to brush her clothed folds with his help.

He was right... she really was wearing some thing revealing panties, arousing and innocent enough to make him just want to fuck her with them on. His thick finger made its way towards her entrance, curling around the fabric to move it with ease so that it was now half-hugging his lenght... allowing her folds to wet his cock while the panties squeezed it as he thrusted.

His leaking tip kept smearing his pre-cum on her spot skin and onto the fabric of her skirt each time it touched it. The hardness of it managed to gift some attention to her clit as well while his thrusts sped up.

Cillian could feel her juices dripping from his cock down to his balls and the underwear squeeze harder around him now that he was moving them in a difference pace.

It didn't took him much to reach his own peak, his body was quickly shaking and limp against her as his warm cum decorated her clothes. He was too desperate to care or to stop himself so that he could have used her pussy to pleasure him a bit more... not that he complained. He was fully satisfied, sweat was running down his forehead as he breathed heavily against her shoulder as he slowly got down his peak, his thrusts slowing down till he was too overstimulated to receive any further touch.

"Darling... can I keep your panties?... So that I can wash them and give them back to you clean, of course" Cillian casually asked, fixing her hair in a tender manner while brushing slowly his thumb on her swollen lips, watching her panting.

Guess the destiny decided for us... we will meet soon again, darling. Just to give you back your undergarments, of course, he thoughts as he tucked himself back and fixed his clothes, ready to continue the little walk they were having previously.

#cillian fanfic #cillian fic #cillian x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #cillian x y/n #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fluff

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deakyjoe · 1 year

Text

Stormy Skies

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no pronouns used I think)

Category: friends to lovers

Summary: Din breaks you out of an Imperial prison (loosely based on chapter 15).

Warnings: angst, fluff, touched-starved Din, helmet is off, prison, nasty guards, restraints, bad men, talks of death, separation, loose implication of what bad men can do, pet names (cyar’ika), canon-divergence (I guess??), when I say loosely based I mean very loosely based

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: Sad, brown-eyed, pathetic love of my life. (He's not pathetic but I’ll make him pathetic.) Din is slightly out of character but only because he's head over heels in love and feeling all soft and squishy inside about it. He's also a little insecure. Poor guy. It's purposefully ambiguous about how long reader has been imprisoned, so guess however long you'd like.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

It took three weeks, four days, sixteen hours and twenty two minutes before you realised that the inside of this Imperial prison would be the only thing you saw for the foreseeable future. The three walls and one row of bars now being your home. After that you resigned yourself to the idea that you'd be there forever so you stopped counting the days, the weeks, the... months? You didn't know how long you'd been there and you didn't want to know how long either.

All you knew is that you wanted to leave. Not because you were scared of death or scared of never seeing the outside world again. But because you missed two very important people in your life. The big, scary Mandalorian who had hired you just under a year ago as his mechanic and his strange green son who had weird superpowers who you sometimes babysat. The both of them meant the world to you and the idea of never seeing them again hurt you. You feared for the child's life as he had also been taken at the same time as you but had been imprisoned elsewhere, probably to be experimented on. And you feared for the state of your Mandalorian who would be lost without his kid.

"Food."

The announcement made your stomach lurch as it knocked you out of your thoughts. A small plate, with a pile of something in the middle, was pushed into your cell - probably the most unappealing thing in the galaxy but your only source of nutrition. Your mind strayed to nicer things as you desperately tried to ignore the revolting taste.

You thought of days spent in the Razor Crest, your Mandalorian's ship, as the three of you travelled from planet to planet in order for bounties to be collected. The memories of attempting to teach the child to speak some words in Basic but only getting baby babbling in response, it didn't matter as his eyes always shone as if he knew what you were saying to him.

You ached for your clan of three to be reunited, but realistically you knew that was unlikely. If anything, you just wanted Grogu to be safe. Back with Din and safe. And there was no place safer for him than under the care of Din Djarin.

A guard walking into your cell had you scrambling back against the wall as he took your plate from you and laughed, slightly muffled by his helmet. He kicked at the chain bound around your feet and walked out again, locking the bars behind him.

He was your least favourite of everyone who served in your section of the prison. He didn't seem to like you very much, and wasn't afraid to show it. You feared that one day he'd use the power he had over you to do something awful. So, for now, you tried to play as nice as possible with him.

The sound of low chattering caught your attention, the unmistakable noise of Stormtrooper armour bashing against itself making its way down the corridor. Plastic against plastic made an unbearable racket. You looked up to peek through the bars of your cell and crawled towards the sound, hoping that they weren't coming for you. If you could guess from the sound of them alone, you'd say there were about three or four of them. Definitely more than two and probably less than five.

Your assumption was proven correct when three Troopers turned the corner at the end of the hallway. One was clearly in charge, leading the other two. You thought his name was... you didn't know actually. And you didn't care either. But he was their superior. But the other two... They were low ranking officers, obvious by their uniform and the way they looked around as if they'd never seen the inside of a prison before. Maybe it was their first day on the job? Boy, were they in for a surprise.

The bald one seemed vaguely familiar, although he looked like pretty much any other guy in the galaxy so you didn't dwell on it too much. The other one, however, held no resemblance to anyone you'd ever seen before. He had sad eyes. That was the first thing you noticed about him. Sad, brown eyes. Along with a strong nose that matched his face. Golden skin. And messy hair along with unkempt facial hair. Very un-Trooperish. You wondered how he managed to get away with it. He was rather beautiful to look at. You pushed the thought away with a reminder of what he was - Empire.

As they got closer, you began to overhear their conversation. They were talking about some battle that had been fought a while ago, lots of soldiers lost. Baldy appeared mildly upset as he disclosed that some of his friends had died. Brown eyes wasn't listening and clearly searching for something. And he seemed to find it when his eyes landed on you.

He paused for the smallest fraction of a second before he carried on walking with the other two. He stared at you but you didn't back down, staring right back through the cell bars. You wouldn't let a Trooper intimidate you, especially not a new one. A sense of achievement hit you when he finally looked away, swallowing thickly and averting his gaze as far away from you as possible. He nudged the bald guy next to him with his elbow and tilted his head in your direction.

What the fuck did these guys want with you? You shivered at the thought, a million horrifying ideas running through your brain. You relaxed slightly when they disappeared around the next corner.

The rest of the day passed slowly, as they all did, and soon enough the lights were going out and all prisoners were warned to stay silent for the next few hours. You shifted to get your body in the most comfortable position possible, pretty difficult when you had chains restraining your limbs, and laid down, resting your head in the crook of your elbow.

You drifted off easily, the low drone of the power running through the walls and the floor lulling you to sleep. With nothing to do all day, zero access to natural light and limited portions of food you were tired all of the time. And the little energy you had was reserved for keeping your defences up when guards entered your cell on rare occasions.

Your dreams were full of Din and Grogu, as usual, and you often wondered during your conscious moments whether your brain was reminding you of happy moments to keep you sane or telling you what you'd had and what you'd lost as a way of punishing you.

What you didn't expect was to be awoken a short time later by your cell door being unlocked, the clanging of the metal shocking you out of your dreams. You sat up instantly, freezing when two looming figures walked in, whispering to each other in hushed tones.

The two Troopers from earlier.

You felt sick.

They were both wearing their helmets now and their heads snapped towards you when your chain scraped across the floor painfully. The broader one, who seemed to be leading the team of two, stalked towards you slowly.

"No, no, no, no!" You kicked at him as he went for your ankles trying, and failing, to fight him off. The breath spilling from your lungs was panicked as you failed to notice the other guy groaning and sticking his arms out to tell you to be quiet.

Your name came through the Trooper helmet in a familiar, reassuring voice. It was Din. Your Mandalorian. You'd never felt such a sense of relief race through your body as you relaxed underneath his touch.

"Mando?" You avoided using his real name around other people, as you'd agreed when he first told you. It was a small price for such a wonderful gift. His name. "You're here. You came for me?"

"Yes." He fumbled with your restraints, managing to get the ones off your ankles and moving to the ones on your wrists.

You looked at the other guy who had slipped his helmet off at some point. The bald guy. "Hang on. I saw you earlier. You walked through here with that guy in charge and-" Your eyes snapped back to Din. "That was you."

He was looking at you through the helmet, you could tell. "Come on, we don't have much time."

"B-but... you... your face." Your voice was weak, mind scrambling back to the memory of him. Brown eyes. Sad eyes. Messy hair. Unkempt facial hair. Strong nose. Golden skin. Beautiful.

He faltered. "I know. I did what had to be done."

"You broke your creed." You were almost crying. "To save me."

Hesitation. "Yes, of course. Come on."

The shackles finally fell from your wrists and you launched yourself at him, embracing him even if you were in a life or death situation.

"Thank you."

He seemed uncertain at the gesture as his arms slowly wrapped around your waist. "You don't have to thank me."

You pulled away quickly, not wanting to push it and make him uncomfortable. "Yes, I do." Looking back at the bald guy as you stood up, you squinted at him. "You're familiar."

"Mayfeld." He had a smirk on his face as he watched the interaction between you and Din, sticking out his hand in greeting but you ignored it. "You're welcome for this, by the way. I'm the main reason we're here right now saving you."

His name reminded you of who he was, a scowl settling over your face. "I appreciate it. But we're not out yet. They have people guarding everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

"It won't be a problem." Din's voice was low as he straightened up.

"How do you know so much about this place, hm?" Mayfeld asked you, stepping slightly closer.

"I may have attempted an escape... once or twice." You shrugged and kicked your restraints away from your feet. "That's why I was chained to the wall."

The two men were silent as they stared at you, Mayfeld looking surprised and Din's gaze burning into you despite being obscured by the helmet.

"I know their rotation schedules, how long of a gap there is between shift changes and which Troopers like me best so will leave the handcuffs a little looser." You looked between the two of them. "What? I had time to plan."

"And what have we got now?" Din questioned, glancing back at the open bars. "Anything scheduled to happen?"

You thought it over for a moment, glancing at the clock just outside of your cell. "Shift change in about six minutes. There will be a thirty-three second gap where the doors are unmanned."

"We can work with that." The Mandalorian replied, producing a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

A sick feeling settled in your stomach at the sight of them. "Ah, so I'm fake prisoner. Right?"

"In case we come across anyone." Mayfeld explained, a smug grin on his face. "Need to make it believable that we're moving you to a new cell."

With a nod, you looked back up to Din. "Be gentle, okay?"

"Of course, cyar'ika."

You sighed, storing away the nickname to ask about it later. "Where's Grogu?"

His fists clenched by his sides, the leather of his gloves squeaking. "They still have him."

Bile rose in your throat. "What?"

Why was he here if the child was still missing?

"Maker, why are you here?" You asked him, pushing at his shoulder. "You need to save him!"

"I'm here to save you." He was already bored with you again, you could tell by the lack of emotion in his voice. Maybe he was regretting saving you.

"I could have waited! Grogu's a baby!" You cried, worry settling in your stomach at the thought of your poor, poor Grogu possibly being tortured and experimented on whilst you were swooning over Din rescuing you.

"They had information on the kid's location here as well." The Mandalorian offered.

That made more sense. "Ah, so it wasn't just to save me."

"I would've come for you even if they had nothing on him." He sounded annoyed now, frustrated at your questioning.

"Grogu's priority." You turned to Mayfeld. "Why did you let him come here when the child is still missing?"

His hands raised in surrender. "Hey! Don't turn this on me!"

"Be more grateful." Din stated as he walked towards you and turned you around, pulling your hands behind your back to secure them in place with the cuffs. "I could have left you here forever."

You didn't want to admit out loud that what he had just suggested was your worst fear and something you truly believed until he'd showed up. A part of you thought you'd be there for the rest of your life. But you couldn't tell him that. So you offered a weak joke.

"You know what they say... third time's the charm. I'm sure my next attempt at an escape would have worked." The cuffs clicked into place and you tried not to focus on the feeling of being restrained again. You'd spent too long like this, and here you were about to escape and you were back in the same position. It was almost funny.

Din could sense your unease and placed a gloved hand on the small of your back in reassurance.

"Let's go." Mayfeld chimed and marched out of the cell in front of the two of you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and followed behind, Din's hands locked around yours to make sure the restraints didn't pull too harshly. Weaving in and out of corridors was dangerous, especially with the guards constantly patrolling. Unfortunately, it didn't take long before you bumped into a couple of them.

"Halt!" They shouted, raising their weapons to the three of you. "What are you doing with prisoner five six one?"

There was probably too long of a pause between the question and the answer that was finally given, setting off the initial seed of suspicion.

Mayfeld stepped in with his sly smile. "We were instructed to move the prisoner to a new cell."

The two guards bowed their heads together, mumbling a quick debate. Your hands twitched with nerves behind your back and you felt the Mandalorian trace a thumb over them in comfort. It somewhat worked.

"We'll need you to come with us to confirm." One of them said, straightening up and re-aiming his blaster right at you.

"I'm sorry, cyar'ika." Din grumbled with a sigh behind you before there was a slight squeeze on the side of your neck and you were out.

When you awoke you were surrounded by the sounds of a humming engine and the whirring of the inside of a ship. You jolted up and almost hit your head on the top of the bunk you'd been placed in.

Wait. A bunk?

You looked around you rapidly to suddenly realise that you weren’t just in any bed. You were in Din’s bed. On the Razor Crest.

You jumped out of it and stumbled once you landed on your feet, leaning on the wall for support.

“Woah, woah! Slow down, take it easy.” A modulated voice appeared behind you as strong arms wrapped around your torso to keep you steady.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You slurred, still slightly groggy from being unconscious. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours.” Din replied, letting you turn to look at him. He was back in his Beskar armour, looking as shiny as ever. The sight of him made you smile.

“You knocked me out!” You cried but there wasn’t an ounce of real anguish in your voice. In fact, it was rather playful.

He didn’t seem to pick up on that. “It was necessary.”

You waved your hand at him, showing you weren’t really bothered by that. So you approached the subject you were really affected by. “You saved me.”

“Yes.” His voice was a gentle rasp as he spoke the singular word. He was never much of a talker. But you hung on to every word.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“You removed your helmet to save me.” You frowned at him, like you were annoyed at him for breaking his creed.

Another rasp. “Yes.”

“But-“

“But what?”

You laughed like it was obvious. "I don't understand why. I'm just me."

"And it's just a creed."

Your head reared back. "Just a creed?"

"Just you?" He answered back, imitating your tone and inflection.

"That's- Din, it's your life. Being a Mandalorian is everything to you.” You cried, hands waving in emphasis. “Why would you risk that? For me?"

His head tilted to the side in his usual expression of emotion. Or lack of. "This is the Way."

"No.” You snapped. “The Way is not showing your face under any circumstances. And you- you showed your face!"

"To save you."

"Yes!"

The helmet tilted even further. "What part do you not understand?"

"I'm not worth it." You said, hands wringing together in front of you. And you truly believed what you were saying.

"What?"

"Why would you do that for me?"

"I'd do anything for you."

Your mouth snapped shut, the protest you had prepared dying in your throat.

"You and the kid. I'd tear apart this galaxy for the both of you. You're... you're part of my clan."

A part of you wished he'd left you in that prison. If he'd done that then your head wouldn't be spinning and you wouldn't be overwhelmed with emotions at what he was throwing at you in that moment. His clan. You were a member of his clan.

"Din..."

His name was soft from your lips and he sighed slowly at the sound.

"The only way to explain is-" He cut himself off and inhaled, taking a step closer to you. Placing his hand under your chin, he tilted your head up to face him and lowered his helmet so your foreheads rested together. The cold of his armour sent shivers down your spine. Although it might have also been caused by the action of what he was doing, what he was saying.

Din had explained this to you before when you'd asked about affection between the people of Mandalore. It was a way for Mandalorians to kiss without having to show their faces. It was... intimate, to say the least.

Your eyes fluttered shut when the reality of what he was telling you dawned. "Din..."

Another soft whisper of his name had him sighing again.

Unfortunately, he took it the wrong way and pulled back. "You don't have to- The kid and you are important to me. That's... that's what you need to know. About why- why I did this."

You shook your head and smiled at him, hooking your hand around the back of his neck and tugging him down towards you again so your foreheads touched. "And I was willing to die in that prison to keep you and the child safe."

"They... they were planning to kill you?"

"I kept refusing to teach them how to get the kid to use his wizard baby powers. And I wouldn't tell them where you were either. Or how to contact you."

"What did they need me for?"

"See you as a threat. Or to use me as bait. I'm not sure which. Maybe both."

"It would've worked. You as bait. If I didn't already know where you were, of course."

"Of course." You grinned at him and hoped he was smiling back. You tended to guess what his facial expressions were, normally hoping that he was returning whatever you gave him but usually settling on the fact that he was probably bored and his face would show it. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, cyar'ika."

Your stomach flipped at the Mando'a. "What does that mean?"

"It's Mando'a."

"I guessed that. I'm asking for a translation." You rolled your eyes, finally pulling back from the Mandalorian kiss to look at him properly again. "I hope it's something nice."

You could tell he was smiling when he said his next words. They were hesitant, but tender. "It means darling or sweetheart. A term of endearment."

"Oh... that's- that is nice." Mentally berating yourself, you bit on your lower lip to hold back an excited giggle. Nice? There were so many words that were better than nice. "I don't have anything like that where I'm from. If I did I'd-"

He cut you off with a hand cupping your cheek. "I know, cyar'ika. I know."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you just looked at each other. It was broken when Din sighed suddenly and dropped his hand from your cheek.

"I never wanted you to see my face that way."

Oh.

"Din, I-" You cut yourself off to contemplate your words. "I'm sorry that you had to reveal your face. And that I saw. If I'd known... I wouldn't have stared at you."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." He exhaled loudly. "Do you remember? What I look like?"

The memory of his face flashed in your mind. Of course you remembered. Every single detail. And you'd probably secretly treasure it for the rest of your life.

"Yes..."

His head dropped for a second, helmet aimed at the floor, before it suddenly shot back up to meet your gaze. "And?"

"And what?" Having no idea what he was asking of you, your brows scrunched together.

He was so close now that you were sure you'd be able to hear his breathing even without the modulator. "Was I- was I a disappointment?"

"What?" Disbelief ran through you. How could this wonderful, gorgeous man ever be a disappointment? With or without the helmet obscuring his face he had always been and would always be perfect to you.

"Well, you must have had some... some image of what I'd look like in your head."

You immediately disagreed with him. "No, never."

"Don't lie. It's okay. You can tell me."

"I'm not lying. And I am telling you."

"Cyar'ika..."

Your heart did somersaults in your chest. "No, I never conjured up some fantasy of what you'd look like. Because this here-" You gestured at the whole of him, hand waving up and down his body. "-is my Din. This is you to me. Why would I ever warp who you truly are for some made up version?"

"You must've been curious."

You shrugged. "Maybe at the beginning. But who you are on the inside is all that has ever mattered to me."

"So what did you think when you saw my face?"

Your eyes snapped away from his on instinct, embarrassment crawling through you as you recalled your immediate thoughts of him. Thoughts you'd pushed away at the time because you thought he was a Trooper. Thoughts that had resurfaced when you found out that it was really him.

"Oh, no thoughts." Your voice was weak, barely coming out as more than a squeak. It was clear you were lying. "Just that you were a man..."

"Cyar'ika..."

A flush racked through you at the use of the term of endearment. He knew how to make you weak in the knees, how to make you break, you were sure of it.

"Calling me that isn't fair."

"Don't avoid the question." His head tilted to the side. "Tell me. What did you think?"

Unsure at how he'd turned from insecure, sweet Din to a version of Din that had you swooning, you shook your head at him. "I told you. No thoughts."

"And I can tell you're lying. Look at me." He placed his fingers under your chin to angle you to face him. "Tell me."

You started with a small truth. "Your eyes were sadder than I thought they'd be."

He seemed slightly taken aback by that but didn't hesitate too much in answering. "I was scared I'd lost you."

"But I thought you said you didn't know they were planning on killing me?"

"It was always a possibility." He shrugged. "We were getting towards the end of the cells when I saw you. I was... getting nervous. Thought maybe they'd transferred you somewhere else and I'd never find you. Couldn't live with that idea."

If it were possible, you softened even more under his touch. "But you did find me. And I'm here. Safe. Because of you."

"Hmm." He just hummed in agreement, shifting his hand so it moved to cup your jaw instead. "What else?"

You huffed, hoping you'd got out of the line of questioning about your opinions on his appearance. Whilst having openly admitted a whole spout of feelings for each other, you weren't quite ready to declare how absolutely breathtaking he was.

"Don't make me say it."

"Say what, cyar'ika? Hm? I'm just asking."

You leaned into his touch, the warmth from his palm along with the sound of the Mando'a pet name set off a spark within you. When his gloved thumb swooped over your cheek gently you were sure that your brain short circuited.

"You're beautiful, Din."

The statement was breathless but held certainty in it. The Mandalorian didn't reply, too shocked by your confession. He honestly hadn't been expecting you to be so open. And to say that of all things.

So you kept going. "It was never going to matter to me what you looked like underneath the Beskar. Because who you are as a person is the only important thing. But I have to admit that I thought you were gorgeous when you walked past my cell. And then I immediately felt guilty because I thought you were a Trooper." Your head dipped in shame for a moment. "You are beautiful, Din Djarin. Inside and out."

He still said nothing, hands just lifting to the bottom of his helmet.

When you heard the hiss of the seal, your hands slapped across your eyes. "Ah! What are you doing?"

"Taking off my helmet. What are you doing?" He sounded amused.

"Covering my eyes so I don't see obviously." You scoffed and scrunched your eyes beneath your palms.

"Cyar'ika, you've already seen my face."

"So? I might have remembered details wrong."

"Thought you said I was beautiful?"

You huffed, not liking how he was turning that against you. "I did but revealing your identity is a big no-no, Din! That's what the Way says, right?"

"Right." He was holding back laughter.

"Exactly! Doesn't matter if I've seen you before. Might not remember you completely correctly." You remembered him completely correctly. "So we cannot risk you revealing yourself a whole other time."

The way you were so respectful of his creed, no matter how ridiculous you were being at that moment with your hands pressed tightly over your eyes, had Din tingling inside.

"I don't think it's a risk if you've seen me before and you're a part of my clan, hm?"

You grumbled something underneath your breath. "I can't argue with you on Mandalorian culture because you're the expert. But I feel as if you're finding loopholes here."

"Perhaps. Just look."

The sound of his helmet hissing and the dull clang of it hitting the floor had you hesitating before slowly peeling your hands away from your face.

He was exactly how you remembered.

Every line, every scar, every eyelash, every inch of skin, the deep brown of his eyes, the angle of his nose, the unruly tufts of curls atop his head and the uneven patches of facial hair peppered across his jaw and down his neck. This was your Din Djarin. Stood in front of you, everything exposed and exactly how you remembered him. Exactly how you wanted him. Perfect. The whole of him was perfect.

With a stifled sigh of relief, you reached out your hands to cup his face, hesitating for a moment when you realised he might hate that. "Can I?"

He nodded, his eyes looking sad yet hopeful - an improvement from the last time you saw them.

Your palms settled on his cheeks, thumbs swiping over his cheeks and across his bristly stubble. A smile broke across your face when his eyelids closed and he leaned in your touch.

"Oh, Din..." Tears sprang to your eyes yet you couldn't exactly explain why, the flood of emotions was overwhelming.

"Cyar'ika..." He breathed against the skin of your wrist, turning slightly in your grasp to plant his lips against your palm.

You took a step closer to him, encouraging him to duck down and rest his forehead against yours. A Mandalorian kiss, stripped of the barrier between the two of you. He let out a shaky sigh as you made contact, his hair tickling your brow.

"When was the last time someone touched you? Skin on skin?" You needed to know, he was acting like he'd never felt the warmth of physical contact before.

He hummed lowly in his chest as he thought about it, eyes shut tight in contemplation. "My parents, I think."

Your heart ached for him. It had been decades. You wanted more, to give him more, but worried that it might be too much too fast. But you yearned to touch him, to show him how good it could be.

Broken out of your thoughts by a rustling noise between the two of you, you glanced down without breaking away from him to see that he was removing his leather gloves and throwing them to the floor beside you.

You stared at his hands, scars littering both the palms and the backs. You'd never wanted someone to touch you with their hands more.

Din appeared to have the same thought as he hovered them over your sides, fists clenching open and closed. "Can I?"

"Can you what, hm?" You wanted- no needed him to say it, to be as clear as possible between you.

"Touch you. Can I touch you please?" His eyes were still closed but you could see he was restless behind his lids, almost worried even.

"Of course you can."

You expected him to just place his hands on your hips or waist, which he did technically. What you didn't expect was for him to slide his hands underneath the hem of your shirt and place them directly onto your skin, squeezing slightly when he made contact.

You hummed contently in acknowledgement to tell him that it was okay and stepped closer to him, your chest pressing up against the Beskar now.

“Can I kiss you?” The question was sudden, hushed, almost unsure.

You didn’t hesitate in tilting your head upwards and reassuring him of how much you wanted exactly that. “I’m so glad you asked.”

Then his lips were on yours, a relieved sigh exiting him and a content one leaving you.

You moved together in time, like you knew how the other worked and what they wanted. And maybe you did. Maybe you knew each so well, or knew that the other wanted the same thing you did. Din’s thumbs stroked gently at the skin of your waist and yours swiped over his cheeks, brushing away a stray tear that had fallen from his eyes. His sad, brown eyes. You hoped they’d be less sad in the future.

He broke away for a moment to mumble against your lips. "I was so scared I'd lost you."

You shook your head and kissed him again. "I thought I'd never see you again."

“I wouldn’t have left you there.” He promised, hands gripping you impossibly tighter. “There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t have done to get you back.”

You just nodded at him, believing every word he was saying, and pulled him closer to kiss you again. The way his lips melded against yours and the way your tongues curled together had you convinced that this was meant to be. It was so utterly perfect that it felt as if the stars had written it centuries ago, always destined to happen.

“Cyar’ika…” He hummed to you when you both broke away again for some air.

As much as you wanted this moment to last forever, a thought suddenly re-entered your mind. “Grogu!”

“It’s okay. We know where he is and we’re on our way to get him back.” He smiled at your concern for the child, understanding it completely. He felt the same after all.

You nodded gently, relieved that the child would be back and safe soon enough. Then things really would be back to how they should be again. The three of you - you, your Mandalorian and your green child. Perfect.

A/N: this has been under works for agessss… hope you enjoyed!

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 7 days

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Sing My Praises | Soap x AFAB!Reader | PWP Oneshot

This blog is 18+, Minors DNI. NSFW makes up most of the content I post.

Summary: Johnny loves a bit of praise ;) Word Count: 3k~ Warnings: Alcohol mention/assumption, this is just PWP, Johnny is Subby, Johnny has a praise k*nk, protected PiV (I know?!), face-riding, face-sitting, oral(F!receiving), dirty talk galore, Johnny is a Good Boy, no race/appearance coding of reader, but reader wears a dress, has a vagina. Let me know if I missed anything!

AO3 | CoD Masterlist

You spotted him from across the bar an hour ago as you sipped on your overpriced drink. It’s been a long week and you’ve got two things on your to-do list: drink and fuck. And you’ve almost finished your drink.

You check him out without an ounce of subtlety or sliver of shame. He’s handsome, and he knows it. Stubble graces his strong jaw, sparkling blue eyes, Mohawk styled just right. He’s just your type.

It seems he’s noticed you too.

He says something to the three men he’s been with all evening, resulting in a chorus of testosterone filled grunts of assurance and encouragement. You stop yourself from smirking at that, you want to play coy, for now.

He saunters over, fixing his mohawk with dextrous fingers as he flashes you a smirk so saturated with self-confidence it’s almost comical. But there’s a cool, calculated shine to his eyes that tells you he’s more than just a peacocking asshole. This man means business.

“Evening gorgeous,” he greets you as he sits down on the free stool to your right, the gentle Glaswegian accent rolls off his tongue like honey, “Couldn’t help but notice you’ve been on your lonesome all night, d’ya mind if I remedy tha’?”

You turn on your stool and take your time in looking him up and down now he’s closer. It’s mostly for show, but you can’t help but admire the way his jeans hug his thighs, nor the way his biceps strain against the short sleeves of his plain black t-shirt.

“Why, aren’t you a bold one?” You ask as you take another sip of your drink.

“Aye, you could say tha’,” he flashes you a smile that might dazzle someone younger, less experienced, but you see right through it, “I’m John, by the way, but my friends call me Johnny.”

He extends his hand out to you, and you smile, despite yourself, at his earnest nature. You take his hand and give your name before squeezing it firmly, which makes his eyebrows shoot up in awe. His palm is hot and rough on your own and you can’t wait to see how it feels elsewhere on your body.

“Well, Johnny,” you say with a soft chuckle. You release his hand, only to trail your fingertips up the inside of his wrist, circling over his pulse point as you hold his gaze, “Do you want to cut the bullshit and come back to my place?”

~*~

You’re in an Uber in minutes, Johnny’s fingertips ghosting up your bare thighs, under the hem of your dress; only to be moved back each time he gets too close to your panties. All you want to do is mount him, right here, right now, and make him come apart. But you relish in the way he whines as you slide his hands back down your thighs.

“Enough,” you hush him as his fingertips dig into your knees, “I’m not fucking you in the back of a taxi.”

“You sure?” He asks, voice thick and raspy as he leaves hot, wet kisses along your neck, trailing up your neck to nip gently at your jaw.

You crane your neck, baring it to his ravenous mouth as you palm his bluge through his jeans. He yelps, a bright, endearing sound as he bucks up into your eager touch.

“Very sure,” you say with an elated sigh as he cups the side of your face, turning you to look at him as he places a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Want to take my time with you.”

“Fuck,” he moans before slotting his lips over yours, the heat of his mouth on yours has you trembling. You slip your tongue past his all-too-willing lips as you tug on the base of his mohawk. He growls against you as he slowly caresses your tongue with his own. It’s thick, heavy in your mouth as you let him feel like he’s in control.

For now.

The driver clears his throat loudly as you feel the car shudder to a halt. Johnny looks up in surprise and before he can so much as blink you’re slipping out of the car and making your way to the front door.

You hear a muffled curse from behind you followed by the car door slamming behind you. Before you’ve got the key in the lock he’s pressed against you, mouthing desperately at the side of your neck.

“Fuckin’ need you, hen,” he murmurs against your skin as he grinds against your ass, the hefty bulge in his jeans making your mouth water at the size of it.

“So eager,” you respond as you fumble the door open, stumbling through with a distinct lack of grace as the Scotsman spins you to face him. His mouth is back on yours as he kicks the door shut, pushing you against the nearest wall as his firm hands find your hips.

Your fingers fist in the front of his t-shirt as he slots his knee between your thighs, his stubble scrapes your skin with a delicious burn as you grind against him. You nip at his bottom lip and your pussy clenches at the soft little whines he makes as his palms drift up and over your ribs.

“You wanna do this here, or have ye got a bed, hen?” He asks as he grazes his teeth along your jaw, the wet drag of his tongue against your skin makes you arch up against his broad chest.

“Come on,” you say as you shove him back, “Follow me pretty boy.”

You lead him to your bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed before pulling your dress over your head, revealing your lacy underwear set. You tug on his t-shirt and without question he pulls it up and over his head. He’s sat in just his jeans, and you hum in approval as you rake your eyes over his muscular torso.

“Bloody hell,” Johnny breathes as he sits up, “You’re fuckin’ beautiful lass.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you say with a grin as you sink down onto his lap, “But a pretty boy like you doesn’t have to be told that do you?”

You shudder as his hands grope at the meat of your ass, kneading at your tender skin as he splays his fingers out. His icy eyes glimmer up at you as you scrape your fingertips down his chest. He groans low and you bite your lip as you increase the pressure, red lines raising on his skin as his jaw falls slack.

“Oh, do you like that, Johnny?” Your voice is mocking as you watch his eyes glaze over, “You like a bit of pain?”

“Yes,” he breathes as he rolls your damp crotch over his clothed cock, the friction makes you gasp as he rubs the fingers of his right hand over the curve of your ass, “Fuckin’ love it.”

“Good,” you groan as you feel the thick, blunt tips of his fingertips press against the thin lace covering your pussy, “Fuck, Johnny.”

You clench around nothing as he teases two fingers over your clothed cunt, the friction makes you weak as he increases the pressure.

“Want to make you feel good,” he growls against your sternum as he buries his face between your breasts, “Can I lass?”

“Please,” you whine, already losing the grip on your senses as you feel his left hand ghost up your ribs, a calloused palm catching on your skin as he feels for your bra clasp. You’re about to help when you feel the pressure release, your bra folds down and before he can help, you’re slipping your arms out of the straps and throwing the lacy garment across the room.

“You’re good at that,” you compliment him with a giggle as both his hands come up to cup your tits, “You get a lot of practice?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” he says with a wink, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as his tongue darts out of his mouth to lap at your left nipple. You gasp at the way he circles your stiffening bud, bright blue eyes locked on yours as he watches you pant and whine.

“Yes, that’s it,” you say with a hard roll of your hips, “Good fucking boy.”

You almost let out a triumphant laugh when you hear the whimper escape Johnny’s lips, but the way he latches onto your nipple and sucks hard has you squirming in his lap instead. He’s grinding up against you now as you tug on the base of his mohawk, you’re so close already.

“You like being called a good boy?” You ask breathlessly as he releases your nipple with an audible pop before trailing wet kisses across your chest.

“Fuckin’ right,” he moans against the curve of your breast before nipping at the tender flesh there, “Nothin’ like pretty woman singing my praises, lass.”

“I’ll sing for you Johnny,” you say as your head lolls back, “But you gotta make me come first.”

“I intend on it,” he says, lips teasing against your stiffened peak as he swirls the tip of his tongue in torturously slow circles around it.

“You gonna let me ride your face, pretty boy?”

“Steamin’ Jesus, lass. Yes,” he groans against your chest before sinking down onto his back, pulling you down with him as he moves back up on the bed.

His lips find yours as he slips his fingertips beneath the lacy band of your panties, rolling them down your thighs. You awkwardly kick them off the rest of the way, the pair of you laughing into each other’s open mouths as you wriggle above him.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes as he guides you by your hips to hover over his face, your knees rest either side of his head as his fingertips trace invisible patterns up and down your thighs.

“Got a filthy mouth on you, Johnny,” you purr as you let the tension in your thighs release, easing your aching cunt closer to his eager mouth.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, hen.”

You’re about to challenge him when his fingertips dig into the swell of your ass before pulling your cunt flush against his mouth. You cry out as his lips wrap around your clit, his tongue swirling around the swollen, throbbing bud as your thighs tremble.

You moan low as you steady yourself on the headboard, knuckles burning and chest heaving as he devours you. You look down to see his bright eyes alight with desire as he groans against your mound.

He rocks you back and forth over his tongue as you feel the tight pull of your release threaten to spill forth. You grind down harder on him now, desperately chasing your high, and you feel him tremble beneath you as he sucks even harder, making you see stars.

“Fuck, that’s right,” you cry out as pleasure bursts through you, your legs weakening as you come, “Eat my cunt, fucking yes, good boy. Good fucking boy.”

You clench hard around nothing as you ride his face, bucking your hips over his greedy tongue as he laps and sucks wantonly at your slick folds. He dips his tongue into your entrance, making you whine as he rocks you through your aftershocks.

You flop forward as you succumb to overstimulation and Johnny helps you ease down onto the bed. He slips out from under you, and you feel a broad palm on your left ass cheek as he gently kneads at it.

“Got a pretty wee voice there, hen,” he says with a chuckle, and you can’t help but smirk into your bedsheets as you feel the heat burning through your entire body.

“And you’ve got a filthier mouth than I gave you credit for,” you say with a huff as you roll onto your back, looking up to see him still wearing his jeans, “Get naked for me.”

He does so without a word and as he ditches his jeans you watch with rapt attention as he pulls down his tight boxer briefs. His dick springs free and you clench around nothing.

He’s thick and uncut, his length considerable but not daunting. You curl your toes and your pussy clenches around nothing as you consider throwing caution to the wind and letting him fuck you raw.

“Pretty dick for a pretty boy,” you say with a sultry lilt, “Shame we have to cover him up.”

“Aye,” Johnny says with a flash of his pearly whites, “But whatever makes you comfortable, I’m squeaky clean, if that helps?”

You roll onto your front, wiggling your ass a little as you reach into your bedside table to fetch a foil packet.

“As much as I’d like to trust you,” you muse as you roll back over to present the condom to him, “I’m not so naïve to trust the word of a one-night stand, no offence.”

“Clever,” he says with a nod, if he’s displeased with your choice he doesn’t show it, “Maybe we’ll just have to schedule a few more of these rendezvous, and see where we go?”

“Haven’t even got your dick inside me, and you’re so sure there’ll be another? You are a cocky one,” you tease as he rips the packet open before rolling it down his length. You shift back up onto the pillows and spread yourself out for him.

“I’d have thought by now you’d know I’m here to get you off as much as myself,” he counters as he kneels between your thighs, “You get that from all of yer one-night stands?”

“I dunno,” you say as he rubs his tip through your dripping folds, “Maybe I have a type.”

“That so?” He scoffs and you lick your lips as he notches his tip at your core, “Guess I have something to prove then.”

He presses into you with a slow, purposeful roll of his hips and any witty retort dies on your lips. You mewl at the way he stretches you out, his cock thick and heavy, you practically forget he’s wearing a condom as he sinks deep inside you.

He bottoms out with a thick grunt, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips and you smile against his mouth.

“God, you feel good,” you breathe as you slide one hand down between your slick bodies, the other cupping his stubbled jaw. You run your fingertips over your swollen clit, shuddering and clenching around him as you start to build up to another orgasm.

“So do you, like fuckin’ heaven,” Johnny pants as he nudges his nose against yours.

“Johnny?” You ask in a tight whisper as you wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as you cross your ankles.

“What is it?” He asks, pulling back a little to look you in the eye, there’s a sobriety to his tone as he checks in.

“Want you to fuck me rough, fuck me dumb on your pretty little cock,” you say with a whisper against his lips as you tilt your hips up, digging your heels in to pull his pelvis flush with yours.

Johnny whines in response before grinding down into you, flattening your hand between your bodies as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He presses his entire body weight onto you as he moans against your skin.

“Such a tight little cunt,” he whimpers as he pulls almost all the way out, your walls aching to be filled.

You don’t have to wait long, as he fucks down into you with fervour as he sets a brutal pace. You pant and whine as he sucks marks into your skin, your free hand tugging at the short hair at the base of his skull as you work your clit.

“Fuck, Johnny,” you cry out as the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin fills your senses, “Feel so fucking good,” you babble as you gush around him. You’re so close, blindingly so, as you feel him shift above you.

“Yeah?” He pants as his thick fingers dig into the backs of your thighs, “Gonna fuck you like you deserve, make you come on my cock.”

You gasp as your thighs are pushed up; knees folded up as Johnny puts you in a mating press. You can’t help but cry out as he rams his thick cock deep inside you. He hits a spot deep inside you that you’ve rarely felt before.

Your vision blurs and you feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes as your orgasm explodes. You pant and cry out as he fucks you through your release, your lips find his and you groan into his mouth as he continues to fuck you hard.

“Gonna come lass,” he snarls as his pace falters and his forehead presses against your own.

“Come inside me,” you say, without thinking, as you feel his dick twitch as he slams his hips flush against your thighs. He fills the condom with a low whine as he holds himself there, pulsing inside you.

You kiss him again, tongue pressing past his lips in a slow, probing dance as you feel the energy ebbing from your body. You eventually collapse together in a sweaty heap, chests heaving, and lips pulled up into wide smiles.

You force yourself to go and pee, Johnny following close behind to dispose of the condom in the bin before washing up and rejoining you on the bed. The room smells of sex and the sheets are damp but there’s a tranquillity to the way you lie facing one another. For some time, you just stare, not touching as you both try not to drift off to sleep.

“So,” Johnny eventually breaks the silence, “Do I meet your standards for a second date?”

You laugh breathlessly as you run your fingertips over the slope of his nose and down to the curve of his lips. There’s a warmth buzzing in your chest, something more than post-nut euphoria, as you consider your answer. There’s great risk in making decisions in such a blissed-out state, but something tells you that you won’t be able to stay away from Johnny. Even if you wanted to.

“Buy me breakfast, and we’ll see.”

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ghouljams · 3 months

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Prev part (The Ghost Distribution System) tw violence

It's funny how something that once was almost comforting can now feel so unfamiliar in his arms.

Ghost readjusts his hold on his rifle for a third time, tries to find the same comfort in the cold unforgiving metal that he finds in the soft curves of you body. He's never been twitchy like this before. The novelty is wearing off fast. He's a sniper, he's not made to twitch. He tries to think about you, but somehow seeing your face in the midst of a battlefield isn't the comfort he'd hoped it would be.

He spends hours in stillness, in silence. Your voice haunts him, and silently he prays for your absolution. The violence he commits, the job he preforms, the sins that he racks up on his tally board, it would sicken you. The voices of his team chirp in his ear, begging for response and only getting the barest response. He tries, gives and takes a few jokes, but his mind is elsewhere. Ghost has never been anything but present. When the present is all the matters, all he can plan for, he doesn't have any reason to exist in the space around it.

Except now. Except for you.

His motions are mechanical, practiced. Ghost drags the bolt on his rifle, loads ammunition, breathes, eyes fixed down the scope. He is silence, he is death, he has a job to do. One that lets him draw the line where he needs to. One he hopes you never know the details of. A job that, once done, leaves him silent in a helicopter.

The spray of blood used to bring him some sort of purpose, but without you... Without you it's all meaningless. Who cares for the world when he finds it in your arms, when he sees it in your eyes, when he sees your face in every passing moment? He hardly breathes without you, it's all etcetera.

He has to get out of here.

Soap bumps his shoulder against Ghost's, jogs the man from his silent penance with a smile and a, "You alright LT?"

"Fine," Ghost tells him, he feels the words rough on his tongue. Too many hours spend in quiet.

"Cummon yer actin' like a ghost," that gets a soft huff of a laugh from the man, "what's got ya tied up?"

"Found god," Ghost grumbles. Soap and Gaz exchange a glance before the dry sarcasm triggers some sort of recognition.

"You got someone back home," Soap says, almost in disbelief. Ghost gives a short nod and Soap lets out a low whistle. There's a beat of silence, the air humming with curious anticipation. Soap and Gaz weigh their options, staring Ghost down like he's grown a second head. Price shifts where he's leaned back against the wall, fixes his hat down over his eyes to pretend he isn't listening.

"What are they like?" Gaz asks finally, and Ghost realizes that for all his worship, for all the salvation you've offered him, he knows you as well as any follower knows their god. What are you like? What do you do when he isn't there? What are your interests and hobbies, what do you worry over, what do you treat yourself to on bad days, do you separate your whites when you do your wash? He knows your name, your phone number, he knows that you hate the cold and love salty snacks, he knows that when he's with you everything seems to make sense. He knows that he feels safe with you.

"Kind." Ghost supplies the only word on his lips, feels it sting in his throat. Benevolent, he wants to say, the very ground they walk on is holy to me, their home a temple, their laughter my hymns.

"They do anything when they aren't dealin' with ya?" Soap chimes, grinning as he leans against his knees. The helo jerks, the cabin moving with the wind.

"Take in strays," He lets his eyes drift to the floor, the grated metal feels as foreign to him as his rifle did. Not long ago this was a familiar life, how different the world seems now. Gaz and Soap silently exchange a glance.

"Sounds nice," Price rumbles from his repose.

Somehow it's easier not keeping you a secret. Being able to talk about you feels like a weight off his chest. Not that Ghost is particularly forthcoming with the details, but it's enough just knowing he can talk. It makes it easier to do his job. Makes it hurt less getting patched up while waiting for extraction when Soap tells him, "Got someone to get home to, yeah?"

The risks don't scare him. The job doesn't scare him. Death doesn't scare him. He's survived long enough to feel the sting of homesickness again. Something he never thought he'd feel after he lost his mom. It's enough to keep him going, to keep him focused. He has to take care of himself, has to get out of here and back to you.

He posts up in a derelict hospital, smiles under his mask as he tracks Soap through the street. His mind is quiet save for your gentle humming, the ghosts of your fingers carding through his hair. He could spend hours like this, held still by the memory of you.

"How 'bout this one then," Soap buzzes low in his ear, keeping his voice down as he moves, "General is at a ball chattin' up a bonnie lass, she asks him 'when's the last time you had sex?' General tells her '1945' and she gasps, 'oh my god! Well how about some now?' General looks at his watch, tells her 'ma'am it's only 2030, I'm gonna need a minute.'" Ghost snorts, he can hear Soap smiling on the other end of the comms, "Thought you'd like that one."

"Two dinosaurs having lunch in the park, one looks at the other and asks, 'you think that big rock up there's gettin' closer?'" Ghost responds, rolling his shoulders to get some of the tension out. Keeping still starts to wear on him after a while. Nothing he can't deal with.

"Aye, like that one," Soap chuckles, Ghost hums, "Your somebody like your jokes?"

"Some of 'em." Ghost smiles to himself. The image of you laughing at his jokes, wiping at your eyes and pushing his shoulder. The worse they are the harder you seem to laugh. It's one of his favorite things about you.

"Quiet out here," Soap mumbles. Ghost can see him sweeping around corners, checking his six.

"Careful Johnny," Ghost tells him, his heart feels lighter, "bad luck sayin' that."

It happens all at once, as these things usually do. The door behind him opens and Ghost turns to throw a knife, hears the soft sick 'thunk' as it sticks in its target, before a smoke grenade is tossed through the opening. The hiss of it is almost as bad as the fumes it lets out. Choking smoke.

"Position compromised," Ghost growls into his comms, ignoring Soap's affirmative reply in favor of slamming the butt of his rifle into the first unlucky soul to emerge from the smoke. Blunt force against their nose, cracking the dark reflective face shield. Then the knife, tugged from his belt and forced into the side of the man's neck. Ghost is efficient, yanking the knife free to watch the arterial spray, turning to toss it into his next target. It's only when the giant emerges from the smoke that he considers radio-ing for backup.

Ghost knows he's a big guy, but this motherfucker...

The soldier rushes him, a human battering ram that Ghost has no option but to catch, planting his feet and twisting to divert the assault. The man hits the wall and growls something Ghost doesn't catch. He supposes it doesn't matter.

It's Ghost's turn to rush him, shouldering the man in the chest in the hopes of knocking the wind out of him. The giant is too reliant on his reach, swinging for Ghost to try and grab him. It's easy enough to grab his arm and flip him, the same way he does recruits that are all brawn and no brain. The man hits the ground and twists to kick him, catching Ghost in the stomach.

He lets out a pained breath and shakes it off, lunging when the giant pulls his sidearm. The gun is trained on him and Ghost grabs the barrel, his fingers slipping over the muzzle as he forces the gun down and away from himself.

Ghost grits his teeth and reels back to clock the guy, just a moment too late when he pulls the trigger. Pain explodes over Ghost's hand, shoots up his arm and forces the sound out of his mouth. He doesn't have time to focus on the mangled wreck of his hand, the mess of blood and tissue, bones barely strung together. The warmth of it, the bleeding pain, he wonders how many fingers he has left. It doesn't stop him. Worse injuries might, but a hand is just a hand.

He wrestles the gun away from the big fucker and raises it with heavy breaths, firing a quick shot and clipping the side of their head and taking a chunk out of their sniper's mask. The armored helmet stops him from giving it another go. Fucking military for hire. They pick his belt, tug a knife free and reel back to bring it down quick.

I have to get out of here, the thought flashes through Ghost's mind with the deadly glint of the blade. It freezes him and the blade hits his mask, carving its way through the bone's eye socket and into his own. He's lucky it doesn't lodge deep, but his vision is shot. The pain is starting to set in in earnest. He swallows it down and tries another shot, focusing on the seams in the man's tac gear. Any injury is better than nothing.

It's strange that he'd think of you in this moment, that your face would flash through his mangled brain, but he steals the comfort the same way he steals all your other kindnesses. He's been too confident, taken unnecessary risks while he was outside the halo of your grace. It had felt like proof of his devotion each time he skirted death, not it strikes him as proof of your anger. Your punishment for his sins as he's grappled and shoved back, back, back.

The old stories say that Lucifer was God's most devoted servant, the most beloved, before he fell. Even Jesus' apostles betrayed and doubted. The fall is a natural part of faith, as unnatural as it feels.

The sky is blue, and the air is warm when Ghost hits the ground,

And everything goes black.

#simon ghost riley #x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #the ghost distribution system #tw violence

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bulbabutt · 11 months

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ok i wanna talk about tmnt 2007 and the way i think this is the best version of a leo and raph conflict, and also leo as a character

for context i've been talking about tmnt things kinda chronologically, so i'm gonna mention an unconditional understanding in 03 i bring that up in a previous post about that show and the family dynamics in it here if u want context for what i mean

i think this movie can really be appreciated for the place it has between adaptations, and the way character-wise everyone is more or less the same as they've always been but with a more interpersonal relationship as the focus. the main villain of this movie doesn't really matter, the conflict, the fights, that's not where the strength is (although, it is reflected in the conflict and ill get into that)

so tmnt 07 is one movie that kind of combines the 90s movies, 03, and mirage all in one place, and tonally is is similar to the show that will come after it, 12. if the 90s movies give us conflict between leo and raph, and 03 gives us the unconditional understanding between the two, 07 takes these two aspects and creates a story out of it. (debate in your own mind if this movie is a literal sequel to the 90s ones or not, its not that important)

the set up of this movie is we are in a post killing the shredder world. leo has been told by splinter to go get training elsewhere, there isn't much context for what happened to cause this, but i would bet its a similar cause to 03, where he had ptsd and lashed out at his father to which splinter sends him to his grandfather to get better advice than he thinks he can give him. the difference here is there is no grandfather hes sent to, he's sent on a journey of self discovery around the world to learn about it and himself.

the thing about leo as a character, and this goes for all leos, he's has a very black and white way of thinking. leo thinks he's been sent away because he's failing his family, that he's not a good enough leader. so he stays away for longer because he doesn't feel good enough. he finds a place where he can help and he does that. leo always needs a bad guy to fight, or else he's fighting his own demons. so he stays there for a long time. finding a place he can help quietly, never letting anyone see him, and becoming a legend to the locals because no one knows what's really going down.

april manages to track him down and tell him about whats going on with his brothers, how they're holding up without him and without being a team, and i think thats a good reminder for him that they miss him. he doesn't tell april but he finds a way home only after hearing about this. when he arrives and speaks to splinter, he says "i was so caught up in my own world i forgot about everyone else, i'm sorry i failed" he still doesn't feel like he's done anything of worth.

i'm gonna jump in here and say, you know how we all love rise raph? cuz hes the big brother and some traits that come from that are like being overprotective and taking on everyone else's problems and trying to handle emotions alone? well that's a trait thats usually leo's. but the difference with leo is sometimes that concept doesn't make you as likeable. sometimes it means you come off like a nagging mother hen who thinks they know best but in an arrogant way. sometimes it makes you mirror being a parent when no one asked you to be. leo's less of a passionate character than raph, hes more analytical and full of himself. he takes splinters lessons more seriously, and hes always trying to do whats best for everyone so they don't have to worry. this is something evident with 03 and 12, but its so specifically noticeable here because these traits make up the main conflict. i just want to bring that up so we start seeing leo as no different than some of our other favourite iterations.

splinter responds to his apology by saying "you owe me no apology, but perhaps you should talk to raphael, your absence has been particularly difficult for him, though he'll never admit it" but when leo greets him raph is brushing him off.

on raph's end, this is him being angry that leo left, and angry that hes back and everyone wants to pretend that he wasn't gone at all. as if the time he was gone didn't happen. hes lashing out because he too cant handle talking about these emotions. and hes lashing out by becoming a vigilante in his own right.

i see a lot of people misunderstand what raph is doing here, that "this is what the turtles always do" or "this is the same as what leo was doing how could he be mad" when that is not true. that's what casey does. its true that both leo and raph have been fighting bad guys on their own (as a way of dealing with their issues) but raphael has made himself a costume to disguise himself which means hes prepared to be seen. hes riding a motorcycle around, which is loud. this isn't stealthy, this is aggressive. his vigilante name is in the news. the turtles are ninjas, they silently help where they can and fade into the night and, very specifically, they work as a team. these turtles live in a dangerous world, what if something happened to him while no one else was around? they would never know because he never told anyone.

so raph is lashing out, and leo doesn't have a good way of dealing with it. he tries to slide back into being leader, doing what splinter says but he forgets how his brothers are, and with raph egging them on they get into fights they shouldn't. which leo specifically gets in trouble for, as the oldest brother, and as their leader. leo tries to be this better leader hes supposed to have learned to be, but it doesn't work and raph ends up back out there in his vigilante get up. leo tracks down said vigilante, and in his peak "leo knows best" moment, lectures him, not knowing its his brother. there's a scuffle, and the mask comes off. let me point out that casey knew this vigilante was raph but his own brother didn't, because leo has been gone that long.

so lets get into what this fight is really about. on the surface, its "wow you've been going out at night alone putting yourself in dangerous situations with no backup" and "so what you're just mad that i can do it without you" which leo would be right about. and this is the analytical leo, he really thinks that's all that's going on here. what hes missing is that raphael has missed him as a brother, and hes hurt that leonardo left and just came back no big deal. that he wants everything to be normal. raphael is always a character with big emotions and the only outlet he knows to express them is violence.

leo, who as we've established, went away to learn to be better for his family is angry that raph doesn't see that. he's mad raph doesn't appreciate the effort he went to, and he thinks he's just angry because he's not in charge. each brother sees the other as being arrogant.

this leads them to the big fight. no one can disagree that this is the best part of the movie (seriously watch the movie for this scene if you haven't seen it before) , but the real best part of it is that raphael wins. raph proves hes just as capable of a fighter as his brother, if not more-so. he uses those sais as they're supposed to be used, catching leo's swords and in a fit of rage he fucking breaks them, leaving leo defenceless and completely vulnerable to attack. you'd think he'd be smug that leo lost but he pauses, going through a lot of emotions in a moment, questioning what he's doing, why hes doing it. and leo finally looks his brother in the eye and sees raph going through something he didn't before, realizing raph hasn't been angry that he's back, but that he's angry that he ever left. they don't have a conversation, because raph cant handle all these emotions and he runs away, crying as he does. leo just watches him, taking it all in and realizing the error of his ways.

hearing leo scream turns raph around, but he's too late to help him, and this is where raph regrets his own actions because right then, leo is also proven right in his argument. because he gets kidnapped. if leo hadn't chased raph down, there is a very good chance that would have been raph being kidnapped. with no backup, with no one knowing what happened to him. that's why its important that the turtles are a team.

raph goes home full of guilt, and there's a good moment of showing how he cannot open up emotionally here, because he grunts, punches the wall, knocks over some weights and forces splinter to ask him what happened, because that's how raphael is. he laments to his father that he finally understands why leo is the better son, proving that to raph none of this was about their team, but about their family. conflating the two ideas in his head. splinter gives him a talk that mirrors what he said to leo when he returned earlier in the movie, encouraging him that he is a good son and brother. this shows that these brothers have very similar insecurities about their value to their family.

the rest of the movie plays out as you expect, they go save leo, they stop the bad guy, they reconcile and behave as the team they're supposed to be. but i just want to point out that the villains plot is mirrored in leo and raph's conflict. the 'villain' here is a brother who has been cursed to be immortal without his own siblings. for 3000 years he lived to regret his actions and decided to undo his curse, but he used the cursed stone versions of his siblings to do so. no communication, just thinking he knew better (which maybe he did) and lying about it. that caused them to lie to him right back, and try to overthrow him and destroy the world. this is just one family whose inner turmoil could have destroyed the world. you might say, oh that's not a very interesting turtles villain, but its not supposed to be. its not the focus.

this movie is all about the complicated relationship between a family, and i see so many people talk about it by trying to ask who's right and who's wrong. that's not how it works. life is more complicated than that, people are more complicated than that. its boring to look at this movie and just say "leo is wrong and raph is right" because that's not even how the characters see it. this movie is about leo and raph being mirrors of each other in their arrogance, in their insecurities, and in their stubborn pig-headed refusal to let the other know how they feel. splinter says as much at the start of the movie. this whole movie shows that without each other, they need to be fighting something so they don't get swept up by their own emotions, which they are both bad at processing. they are SUCH brothers. they are so similar emotionally, yet they have such a hard time understanding each other.

personally 07 leo is my favourite leo for his complexity, his flaws his strength, his growth. its sad we never got those sequel movies to get into the other brothers heads as much as we got into leo and raphs heads.

also nolan north and james arnold taylor gave the best vocal performances in this movie and they deserve all the credit for it.

#tmnt #tmnt 2007 #tmnt 07 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #07 leo #i will defend 07 leo to death does no one understand his autistic swag like i do #all leos are like this he just got to shine cuz the movie was ABOUT his and raphs issues #this has been in the drafts for a while and in the mind a LOT longer than that #sorry its long idek if thats all i have to say about him but CLEARLY its long enough #thoughts

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alien-magnolia · 3 months

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Wife <3

Short fic/ description: domestics with your older!neighbor Eddie Munson, who you love with your whole heart!! Marriage is bliss.

Tw: d/s implied dynamics, major breeding/preg kink, family fluff, protective! Eddie Munson, dom-coded! Eddie Munson, sub-coded!Hyperfem reader!!

A/n: I think I might make this a series!

Your pink fingernails tapped on the pastel blue mixer as it mixed the eggs, flour, milk, baking soda and sugar together. You were baking a cake for the return of your beloved husband, Eddie.

Although you were only twenty-three, he was thirty-five, and you first met him as you and your dad moved into Hawkins. Your dad and yourself came from a religious family, and you made sure to make room for G-d in your day to day life.

Your very ‘trustworthy’ next door neighbor was exactly what you wished for. Your relationship grew, the two of you fell in love. Eddie Munson saved you in an way that G-d never would. He was your person, a person that was your home.

You moved in next door with him only a few months after you began to date. A year after, a quiet and eloping wedding in the deep of the Hawkins woods, where you and Eddie swam in the creek naked afterwards, for hours on end.

Here you were then, home-making, adding an earnest addition to the delicious dinner ready for your husband. You rub your belly, swollen with Eddie’s child, as you feel a cramp. Your unborn babe must have been kicking.

You hear your Eds come through the door. Strong, fully tatted arms wrap around you, pulling you close. “How’s my beautiful girl today, huh?,” he asks, with a peck to your cheek, which turns into a long, tender kiss. “M’fine, my Eds. Just cramps.”

He gave you a look of pity, then leaning down to caress your heavy belly, heavy just for him. “How’s my son today, being nice to mommy?,” he chuckles, his hairy hand soothing the swollen stretch marks he gave you.

Just a few months after marriage, the both of you had fulfilled your most primal urges <3 here he had, his young wife, all round and heavy with his child, he bred her to his heart’s content!! Oh, did you love being bred. You and your Eds tried for months, months, for a child. You were almost at full-term now, and how you loved carrying your husband’s seed all this time, feeling it grow inside you.

You sigh, leaning into Eddie as his dark curls tickle your cheek, his beard feels scratchy as he buries his head into your neck. “Made dinner f’me, huh? Can’t wait, sweetheart. Go on, you rest on the couch and I’ll take care of you both.” You do as said, and how you loved being coddled by him.

He brings you the dinner that you made, gives you a shoulder, neck, and belly rub , his muscles kneading your skin, you were completely putty in his hands. This was usually apart of your nightly routine. You would face the days worth of chores, pregnancy issues, and more. Eds would come home, feed you, calm you down, and then you were under his spell, wrapped around his tattooed finger (wedding ring tattoos instead of actual rings) all ready to be bred before the night would end.

My happy, heavy wife, hmm?,” he’d say, after a massage. Daddy’s girl, carrying my seed, so fuckin’ good f’me.” At that point, you’d already be panting for him, watching his calloused fingers go up your thigh, squeezing the soft skin you had there.

The cross on the wall watches the both of you with searing contempt, as Eddie starts his ministrations elsewhere, between your legs, one hand gently rubbing your puffy and swollen clit <3 the other rests on your belly.

Sooner rather than later, he has you back up, legs spread, pounding you from behind while you scream, losing your mind at the feeling of his thick cock dragging along your walls, his veins pulsing, his balls softly teasing your puffy lips!!

You chant his name as if he were G-d himself! “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, was all you could think about, as his wide chest pressed down against your back, having his pregnant wife in a mating press, he finished in you. <3

“You okay, sweets? Let me help you up, yeah?,” he smiles, that chivalrous, protective side of his always showing, growing even stronger for his wife, knowing there is more to protect now <3.

He adjusts you comfortably on the couch, you lay your head on his chest, fingers tracing his happy trail. You felt ever so happy, that warm trail of his seed dripping down your still pulsing walls.

Evolution, biology, have run their course. Both you and Eddie succumbed to your most primal instinct. You were married, owned — pregnant, bred. He would die protecting his wife and unborn child.

The both of your wedding ring tattoos glistened in the light of the dim yellow bulb, covered by a white linen shade with ‘Garfield’ on it.

Gentle hands in larger ones, the both of you drift off to sleep, with Eddie’s hand still around your belly, loving you, cherishing your body.

#liz’s masterlist #stranger things smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #soft dom eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #dom eddie supremacy #daddy!eddie #dom!eddie munson #eddie munson x hyperfem!reader

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sgrplumditz · 3 months

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Orange peel theory w/ Simon Riley

They had all been granted time off work for a couple weeks now. Being left uninterrupted by her typical life of briefings, debriefings, flights across the globe, and long days away from home only added to her restless nature and her seemingly effortless ability to grow bored --like any woman in her 20's would do to kill time she downloaded social media.

"What the fuck is the orange peel theory?" she spoke to herself as she tossed a piece of the mentioned fruit into her mouth. She continued scrolling through what appeared to be an endless supply of videos regarding the topic. Once she had grasped the concept she shut her phone off and only stared at the scraps of orange peel sitting on the table, a small "hm" leaving her lips as she wondered if that mindless social media trend held any real substance.

Can a person truly show how much they care about another by simply peeling an orange for them? Does peeling a fruit display the extent of their affection?

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she stood up collecting her trash. "No wonder women today are insane..." she thought to herself as she found herself spiraling into deep thought over a fruit named after its color. The over-scrutinizing coming naturally.

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

"Don't request to follow me, killer", said Simon in his typical stoic tone. Simon had always referred to her as “killer”, not because of her career choice, but simply because of the way her eyes sat on her face. When she was on duty she wore a balaclava — similar to Simon’s, but it was more precautionary. She actually had no interest in keeping her identity concealed, but being the only woman on the team meant that she would easily become a target if her identity and gender were to be revealed — hence Simon’s encouragement behind the wearing of a balaclava, which the entire team also agreed would be a good idea. However, when she wore the cloth that hid her features her eyes become even more prominent. The striking color only complimented by the sharp almond shape that seemed to drag at the ends. Because of that Simon then coined the nickname “Killer” for her Killer eyes, which she only accepted as a term of endearment.

“We are not friends, just co-workers". Simon had always been impressively kept to himself in the sense that his private life remained private -- if he truly had one outside of his job. He was good at being a literal ghost. Not many (if any) knew not even the smallest of details — like a hobby, or a favorite color. His name itself was also a privilege to know. She was always curious about him, but she never pushed boundaries on the man. What he revealed to her was what she accepted, a quality that he enjoyed about her, amongst others.

"Aw, c'mon! You let Soap follow you!" she replied with a slight chuckle leaving her mouth. She and Simon were sitting together in the living room of the house that all of Task Force 141 shared. It was convenient, close to the base, and it also meant nobody had to pay rent, but it was empty as of recently. Everyone but her and Simon had taken advantage of the break and decided to travel elsewhere for the remainder of their time off -- leaving only them two in the giant 7-bedroom house.

"He's my friend" he replied still holding the same disinterested tone, yet his body language displayed him to be seemingly intrigued by the conversation. That was one of his best qualities. Simon was not one to initiate an interaction himself unless he felt the need to assert himself, but that did not mean that he was not able to hold a conversation with substance.

"For someone who has social media you're not very social," she muttered as she slumped back on the couch in defeat. Her gaze lazily resting on him.

"Touché" was his only retort. At this point, he had also leaned back in his seat, his hips inching upward as he adjusted himself to be more comfortable. How his body reacted to the movement made his abdominal muscles contract -- her eyes resting on the contracting anatomy. He also maintained his gaze on her, and for a second there was a slight hint of amusement in his eyes as they softened knowing that he knew exactly how to get under her skin. With him being so quiet meant that he was always observing the others, learning their mannerisms and personalities. She couldn’t help but admire him. It was clear that she was fond of him — especially in the physical category, Simon easily embodies the definition of what it means to be a man. He is tall, muscular, handsome, and his personality was simply the cherry on top of the 6’3” sundae.

"I'm... social..." she reclaimed as she removed herself from her spiraling thoughts of him, her tone slightly defensive. Similarly to Simon, she was a homebody and actively avoided situations that required her to be out of her comfort zone for an extended period of time -- perhaps that is part of the reason why the two got along so well. "I just have.." she attempted to continue, but she was cut off by Simon finishing her predictable answer.

"... a social battery. Yeah, you've mentioned that before, Killer." his eyes narrowing slightly amused at her reply. He chuckled shaking his head and pulling his cellphone out of the pocket of his gray sweat pants. He typed into the device’s screen for a few seconds before tossing it to his left side, “Happy?” He chuckled , her phone vibrating as he spoke. She obviously knew the notification was from him, so she didn’t even bother glancing at the device.

“I knew you’d come around. You can never say no to me” she smirked. The pair would often go back a forth with mildly flirtations comments, all of them being light hearted and mostly came from the fact that she was the only woman on the team. The playful banter merely came naturally — at least that is what she assumed. She never took Simon as the type to ever have a genuine interest in a woman due to obvious reasons.

“How could I ever say no to those eyes, Princess?” A teasing tone lingering on his tongue. Princess was the second nickname he had labeled her with. Again, being the only female of the team meant she got some sort of special treatment from everyone else. Soap would help her carry in her groceries — knowing she was more than capable, Price would always brew her some fresh coffee along with his own then place it in the fridge so that by the time she woke up she could easily make an iced coffee without having that watered down taste, and Gaz would often restock her feminine care products for her. Him calling her Princess was the most teasing variation of her nicknames. Although she was well aware of the meaning and the reasoning behind it she could not help but smile whenever he used it. Her full lips parted slightly as a soft grin appeared on them and oddly enough he returned it with a half grin.

He forced himself to stand up before he became completely engulfed in the moment, "I'm gonna make some lunch. Wanna join?" he prompted as he initiated his walk to the kitchen. With a slight nod of her head she also raised herself off the couch and followed closely behind him. God does he always smell good, she thought to herself as they walked.

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

She sat on the kitchen island scrolling through her phone as Simon cooked them both lunch. The two had grown to be comfortable around each other, and their kindred personalities only added to their ability to sit in a peaceful silence. The aroma created by the mixing of spices and ingredients only made her stomach growl and rumble. The sound audible to both her and Simon and truthfully she could not wait to eat. She considered having a snack before just to ease her stomach -- before she could even set her phone down Simon had handed her a small bowl of fruit.

Specifically a bowl of oranges — peeled orange slices. She stared at the bowl in awe. Her gaze was unintentionally soft. As she shifted her gaze to him she noticed that he had gone back to cooking their lunch, as if the action itself was natural to him, something he didn’t think twice about doing for her. He had taken notice of her staring which made him quirk an eyebrow at her as he grabbed a piece of orange from the bowl that was sitting on her lap, close to her lower stomach, casually tossing the piece of fruit into his mouth. “I thought you liked oranges” he spoke with the assumption that she was disappointed in the contents of the bowl.

“I do.” she replied softly. He gave her a small wink prior to turning his attention back to their meal. The entire interaction being a sign of pure affection.

_______________________________________________

Pic credit:

instagram/tiktok: takeoffurmaskghost

#soapghost #ghost x reader #ghostsoap #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #john price #cod keegan #soap cod

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jungshookz · 3 months

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teeny tidbits: namjoon wants a raise & y/n is kind of scary

i watched the proposal again recently + i’ve been on depop trying not to spend a million dollars on all the y2k corporate-core clothes = inspired me to write this snippet of ceo!y/n (you all know i have a soft spot for anything ceo i’m sorry)

“ever since you hired me, i’ve managed to boost sales up by approximately 28%-“ namjoon clears his throat, trying his best to continue standing tall as he points to the screen with his little laser pen, “i’ve been working here for nearly a year and a half which you can argue hasn’t been very long, but at the same time i feel as though my efforts and the results that i’ve produced is well deserving of a raise, miss y/l/n. i wasn’t going to say anything but i’ve actually been offered a position elsewhere with a higher salary, and, well- i do enjoy working here, and i would like to stay here, but-“

you lean back against your office chair, propping both elbows up on the arm chairs before pressing your fingertips together, staring intently at the presentation in front of you

your eyes follow the little red dot darting across the screen and you lick over your teeth as your head tilts to the side slightly

“-so, what do you think?” namjoon reaches the end of his presentation and tucks his pen into his shirt pocket, very much aware of how much heat is radiating off his body from the nerves

he’s heard some things about people who’ve tried to ask for raises, and making the bold move of coming directly to you has historically never ended very well for those guys

jungkook presses the button for the lights to turn on and the blinds to roll back up from where he’s standing by the front door, offering namjoon a smile and a supportive nod

at least five seconds of silence linger in the air and namjoon wonders if you’re able to hear his heart practically beating out of his chest

you’ve also been maintaining eye contact with him the entire time he’s presented which makes him ten times as nervous because he’ll be the first to admit you have very nice eyes

“…i think all of this could’ve been an email, kim.” you lean forward, office chair squeaking slightly as you swipe your phone off the table and unlock it, “the next time you want something, i don’t need a thirty-eight minute presentation on why you think you deserve it.”

“ma’am?” namjoon’s face reddens and suddenly it feels like the collar of his button-up is suffocating him

“who’s trying to poach you from me?”

“i-if you don’t mind, i’d like to keep that detail priv-“ namjoon immediately stops talking when your eyes flicker up from your phone to look at him through your eyebrows, “ah- min corporations, miss y/l/n. i was contacted by their secretary last week.”

“mm, i’ve spoken to that secretary. preppy little thing.” you snort, eyebrow raising slightly at the memory of the one time you got a call on your personal cell phone from min corporations (you’re not even sure how that secretary got your damn number in the first place) inviting you to a lunch with mr. min yoongi himself

you went, of course, more than surprised to discover that the secretary wasn’t just his secretary but also his wife and the mother of his (adorable) daughter

you don’t know how she managed to go from secretary all the way to wife/mother but hat’s off to her for pulling that off

with that being said you’re sure that if she spoke three decibels higher all the dogs in the city would start barking and all the windows in your office would’ve cracked

“you’re a hard worker. i like having you on my team.” you set your phone face down on your desk, “get back to work. we can discuss numbers another day because if you make me look at another excel spreadsheet i might change my mind.”

“oh, i- thank you so much, miss y/l/n, i really appreciate it! thank you so much-“ namjoon fumbles with the projector and switches it off, a weight instantly lifted off his shoulders at the implication that he will, in fact, be getting a raise

“mm.” you gesture with a flick of your wrist for him to leave your office as you raise your phone to your ear, “min yoongi! trying to steal my star salesman, are you?”

jungkook opens the door for namjoon, stepping aside to let him out before shutting the door behind him quietly

“see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” jungkook beams, giving namjoon a hearty pat on the arm, “congratulations on the raise!”

“i think i need to take a shot or something, that was- so stressful.” namjoon lets out a breath, reaching up to loosen his tie slightly, “god, she really- her eye contact is crazy intense sometimes-“

“it’s probably the eyeliner in her waterline making her look ten times scarier, you’ll survive-“

🎙️ ask y/n for eyeliner recommendations (talk to my characters!)

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to your other faves!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits like this!)

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goldenseresinretriever · 6 months

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Snitches Get Stitches: Chapter 4

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Jake Seresin, golden boy of the NHL and Captain of the Dallas Stars makes headlines when he unexpectedly signs with newly-formed San Diego Dogfighters. When your future seems at the verge of crashing down, you receive the opportunity of a lifetime to become the team physician for the Dogfighters. You never expected to be working directly with your favorite hockey player. Jake has a secret and you have a job to do. Will he be able to trust you enough to help and will you be able to trust him with your heart?

Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, yelling, trauma responses, medical inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies, legal inaccuracies. No use of Y/N. Any opinions on NHL teams expressed by my characters are not my own and describe fictional versions of these teams.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: We’re back, baby!!! She’s a heavy one, y’all, I hope you enjoy ❤️

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

The next morning you get to work early. You’re getting set up in the exam room for Jake’s physical, having spoken to both Mav and the player already scheduled for the first slot to rearrange the schedule. You glance at the door every few minutes, it’s still early but a small party of you is scared that yesterday’s agreement was made in the heat of the moment, lulled into comfort by the shared pizza and conversation, and that Jake wouldn’t show. You aren’t sure what you’re going to do if he doesn't show up. You’re running out of options. The puck is very much in his rink, and while you’d promised him two weeks, with the rate everyone else was getting through their physicals, it won’t be too long before Cyclone is up your ass asking what was taking Jake so long. You put down the chart you’ve rearranged on the counter a dozen times over the last five minutes, deciding to use your time elsewhere. You reach for the filing rack to scan over the charts for the other players scheduled for today, anything to take your mind and eyes off the closed door. The ticking of the analog clock on the wall above it feels like a bomb, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in response to every move of the minute hand. At 8:59, your hands are trembling as your nerves finally make their way to your extremities, your toes clenching and opening to ground yourself with the stinging pain. Your back is leaning against the counter, your hands clasped in front of you to hide their shaking while keeping them visible, a sign of trust. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from going out and hunting down Jake yourself when the door opens just as the minute hand clicks into place over the 12. His blonde hair, usually perfectly styled first thing in the morning, is already sticking up waywardly as if he’s been running his large hands through them repeatedly. When you meet his green eyes, you see a scared animal, caught between fight and flight as his knuckles are bordering on white where they grip the door handle, an anchor to the hallway, a way out if he decides to bolt. His perfect lips, usually spread in that infectious grin you adore so much are pinched in a tight line. Your mind starts racing. The game begins for real now. He’s in your home court and it’s up to you to convince him to stay. The problem with putting two nervous individuals with their respective careers on the line in the same room is that their brains are too busy setting themselves on fire to properly function like human beings. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“Alright Lola, up on the table and we can get started.” You clap your hands to try and break the tension that you’re sure you’d need an electric knife if not a high-grade laser to dissolve.

It seems like the completely out-of-left-field address does at least some of the trick, however, and Jake’s face twists from nervous to confused. “Lola?” His grip on the door loosens and it swings shut behind him, forgotten.

“Lola.” You wave a hand, dismissively. “Like Lola Bunny? I mean you’re the one who called me Bugs. It makes perfect sense: you’re blonde, you’re an athlete, and you’ve got great tits.” Your eyes widen as your brain finally takes a break from arson to catch up with what your mouth has been up to. You slap a hand over it, but you can’t take back what you’ve just said. Speaking of things currently resembling an on-fire garbage can? Your professionalism can be added to that list. You’re yanked out of your mental spiral by Jake’s booming laughter. It turns out you didn’t need an electric knife or a space laser to cut the tension in the room, that sound is more than enough. Behind your hand, your lips curve into an involuntary smile at the infectious smile. He’s doubled over now, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. His hands are on his knees, one gripping in humor while the other simply rests, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Oh Bugs,” he manages to get out between wheezing aftershocks, “you’re a lot funnier than I expected.” You feel your cheeks heating involuntarily. He looks up from his doubled-over position to fix you with the full force of his dazzling grin. You honestly can’t blame every girl in America for falling for it. You’ve never been particularly attracted to Jake yourself before, but it’s got your knees weak, seeing it up close and personal.

“Sorry.” The words are murmured just under your breath, embarrassment muffling them.

“Don’t apologize, Bugs, I’m a big fan.” You feel yourself shrink at the sweet words as he straightens, his previous nerves nowhere to be seen as he closes the distance to the exam table in a few strides, sitting down and you notice the way his feet actually touch the ground. “I like it. Bugs and Lola. We make a good team.” You can hear a thousand warning bells going off in your head. The common sense fire department has arrived to put out the fire in your brain. The sirens are loud but you block them out because the doctor side of your brain is jumping up and down at the strides you’re making with Jake. The doctor side. Definitely, the doctor side.

“Well then Lola,” you emphasize the name because you can’t help it, “let’s get started, shall we? We can do this one of two ways. First, we could just treat this like a regular physical and assume I know nothing about your injury, and proceed as normal until I inevitably discover it and then you start talking or second, we could just address the elephant in the room, you can explain what’s going on from the get-go and then we’ll work from there. I’d personally prefer option two so I can amend the physical procedure so you don’t have to put any unnecessary strain on your leg. Still, it’s up to you, whatever you’re most comfortable with.” The mood in the room shifts as you’re both brought back to the present. Jake is quiet, considering your question before he looks up from where he’s been studying his clasped hands.

“Let’s go with option 2 then, Bugs.” You nod, giving him a gentle smile, pulling the stool out from under the counter and taking a seat, giving the floor to Jake but not before you let him know.

“Thank you, Jake. I'm really proud of you.” You hadn’t intended to tell him the second part but something about the visible nervous tension in his broad shoulders makes you think maybe he needs to hear it. He nods, silently.

“Like you said,” he starts. “It happened during Game Four of the Anaheim series during the playoffs. That defenseman, Jones I think his name was, had been on me all night, and he was getting more and more pushy. I could barely move on the ice without him being in my way and it was starting to piss me off. I went to shove him off but he was too close, and our legs got tangled as we went down. I landed on my knee. Honestly, I think I blacked out momentarily from the initial pain. I knew something was seriously wrong but I also knew we were down two points and if we lost that game it could be the deciding moment of the series.” He shakes his head. “So I lied to the physician. I told him I was fine, just a little shaken up from the fall. I didn’t hit my head, I wasn’t concussed, so they let me play. We lost anyway. Then I finally told the physician what was going on, and,” he falters and you fight the urge to close the distance between the two of you and take his hand. “We did all the scans, the tests, and it came back that I had torn my MCL.” You can’t help the sound of shock that passes your lips. It wasn’t an uncommon injury, complete recovery was possible, common even. Complications were rare. Yet the idea of Jake spending the last three months walking around with it untreated, covering that up, even going so far as to play hockey with the torn ligament made your heart lurch. He had to be in unimaginable pain every single day. His eyes raise at the sound from where they’ve been focused on his hands in his lap.

“What grade?” You don’t recognize the gravelly sound of your voice.

“Three…” You can’t breathe.

“And that son of a bitch didn’t do anything?” Your voice is dripping with the rage that swirls around your heart. It was simple. It was so simple. Six weeks to heal minimum, but they were at the end of the season. Surgery would have been entirely possible with a three to four-month recovery period during the off-season. He could have been almost back to normal right now and your stomach turned at the complete and total disregard for his care. Jake is silent, his eyes darting between his hands and your seething face. “What the fuck did he do?” Your voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear it. “What the fuck did he do instead of his fucking job?” You shake your head, a delirious chuckle escaping your lips as you do so. “What did he do instead of holding to his duty of fucking care?” You can’t see Jake’s expression past your blind rage.

“He told me full recovery would take over a year. He said that I would have to sit out the next season if I ever wanted to play again.” Jake shakes his head. “Then my coach was so adamant, so sure we could make it to the final. He was so convinced. He said we could get another cup, if I just stayed in for the rest of playoffs, if I just pushed through it. He said it would make the year off seem earned instead of,” Jake cuts off, barking a laugh, like even he can’t believe it now that he’s saying the words out loud. He’s quiet for a minute before he continues. “And he had my physician in his back pocket, so he told him to make sure I could play when I definitely shouldn’t have been. And you know how that ended. We played the next three games but ultimately lost the series with Anaheim. I started getting more in-depth scans and preliminary treatment done but suddenly Coach wasn’t so sure I was going to be worth the wait. He said if I took the year off, he couldn’t promise me I’d get my first-line spot back. And not in the way that you say when you’re trying to be realistic. No, he said it the way you say when it’s a promise, a threat. Like he just casually forgot my contract was up.” He chuckles and this time it’s unlike every other time you’ve heard the sound. It’s cold, cruel. “He expected me to re-sign, just like everyone else, because when you’re the face of a team, you can’t just leave. So I did just that.”

His green eyes are icy. “By the time I decided to leave, and figured out everything with my legal team, I knew there weren’t any teams still looking for players. It’s the NHL, who doesn’t want their shot? The rosters were full. Then I thought about the Dogfighters. They’re new, looking for their big break, their secret weapon.” He shrugs. “So I gave them an offer they couldn't refuse, served myself up on a big silver platter. I’d been taking the summer easy, staying off my leg the best I could. I thought it would be enough, that I could play. And sure it was probably the delusion, and I knew I would get caught out eventually because I didn’t think any of this through but I sure wasn’t expecting you to call me out on my first fucking day, Bugs.” He chuckles again and this time it’s the one you know so well. “You threw me off my axis, and now we’re here.” His eyes come back to your face and his expression changes to one of immediate concern. “Hey Bunny, hey what’s wrong?”

“What?” Your voice comes out as a croak and that’s when you realize you’re crying. You don’t know when the tears started leaking from your eyes, but now they run silently down your cheeks, dripping onto your clasped in your lap. “Oh, oh my god, Jake I’m so sorry. This is so unprofessional.” You flounder as you reach for the tissue box on the countertop behind you. You swipe at your cheeks roughly, trying to clean up the salty tracks as quickly as possible. “Sorry, I just- That’s not fair, what both of them did to you. They made you play, threatened your job, lied to you about your leg-” You can’t help the sob that chokes your words as you feel yourself getting more emotional as your heart breaks for the man sitting before you. He reaches for you, letting his good leg snag on your stool, rolling it over so you’re sitting between his spread knees. His hands come to take yours and you’re struck by the cruel irony of him comforting you when it should be you doing so for him.

“Slow down, Bunny. What do you mean they lied about my knee?” His green eyes search yours for a lie.

You shake your head. “A grade three MCL tear can heal in as little as six weeks with proper care. With surgery, it could take a little longer, but even then complications are rare. You could’ve been back on the ice as good as new by the time the new season started.” The tears are still running down your cheeks as you watch his face change as he processes your words, his hands clenching on your own as rage contorts his features and you pray you’re never on the receiving end of it because it steals the breath out of your lungs. You have to remind yourself that it’s not you that he’s angry with because your body is fighting the urge to pull away from him until you see tears mirroring your own on his cheeks. Frustration and grief wrack his body with sobs as you stand, pulling him into your arms against your better judgment. “I’m sorry, Jake.” You whisper as you rub circles into his back and just hold him as he falls apart. “I’m so sorry.”

***

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like that. Eventually, you separate and discuss your next steps. You want new scans and tests run which you need to schedule. In the meantime, you go through with the rest of the physical to the best of Jake’s abilities and when he finally stands to leave with your help, the two of you exchange tired smiles and promise to see each other tomorrow. In the meantime, Jake needs to talk to his team and you need to talk to his manager and coach. You shoot Mav and Cyclone a text that you need to meet with them ASAP.

That’s how you find yourself sitting in that dreaded chair across from Cyclone’s desk later that day. You’re not sure how long you’ve been there. Time started slowing to a slow bleed ages ago. What started as a perfectly reasonable conversation about the health of one of your patients stopped being that while Cyclone’s face was still human-colored. “What the fuck kind of behavior is this, Bugs?” Normally you’d fight the urge to flinch at the rage in his voice, but you’ve mentally checked out of the tirade. “I have an injured player, a fucking starter at that, and I’m only finding out about this now? And not just injured, but potentially unable to fucking do his fucking job when the season starts in less than two months?” He’s standing, waving a finger in your face like it’s a gun. You don’t really notice, the same way you didn’t notice Maverick typing furiously at his phone a few minutes ago from his seat slightly behind you, closer to the door, out of Cyclone’s direct eyeline at the moment. Mav tried defending you, at the beginning, only for Cyclone to yell at him to “sit down and shut up as if you haven’t caused enough trouble by practically begging me to hire her” which was news to you. Maybe you would’ve been touched if you weren’t so numb. You don’t hear the door behind you slam open, cutting off Cyclone as he’s in the middle of degrading your character into the ground.

“HEY!” Jake’s voice cuts through some of the fog around you and your body relaxes slightly instinctively from the tense position it’s been since you entered the room. As if your body knows you’re safe now that Jake’s here. He crosses the room in seconds, standing in front of you as if he can somehow shield you from Cyclone’s wrath. “This isn’t her fault, so don’t you go accusing her as if it is.” His voice is pure fury and if you were in control of your body, maybe you’d shudder at the rage that laces every single word. Even through the haze, your eyes clock the way he puts more weight on his left leg.

“That’s not up to you, son. She’s fired, effective immediately. This is gross negligence, she’s lucky we don’t sue.” Maybe you would have giggled at the words, at the inevitability of them, but your face is still glazed over.

“No, she’s not.” Jake’s tone leaves no room for discussion. “The only way I’m getting treated is if she’s the one to do it.” He glares at Cyclone. “I know I’ve cost you all a pretty penny that you currently don’t have so not only can you not afford to fire me, but you need me to play, and the only way that’s going to happen is if my leg heals, and I’m telling you right now that that’s not happening unless Bugs is my physician. If you want to blame someone? I’m feeling pretty good about my chances of suing my last physician and coach for a lot more than gross negligence. But Bugs and I are a package deal. If I stay, she stays, and I’m staying.”

With that, he turns to you, the rage gone and replaced with concern as he reaches for your hands so, so gently, taking them in his and easing you to your feet. “Come on, Bunny. “ He whispers so only you can hear, placing a hand on the small of your back, the other laced with yours as he guides you out of Cyclone’s office.

Once you’re far enough from the door, he stops, turning to you, a hand coming to cup your jaw as he strokes his thumb across your cheek, green eyes full of worry as they search your empty ones. “Bunny? Hey Bunny, come back to me, baby. I know you’re in there, Bunny, come on.” The gentle repetitive gesture on your cheek and the soothing sound of Jake’s voice slowly draw you out of the place you’ve barricaded yourself in your mind and Jake watches with relief as the haze in your eyes clears. “There you are, Bunny. You okay, baby?” The feeling rushes back into your body and your knees buckle with exhaustion from being on defensive shutdown for so long. You can’t bring yourself to speak so you nod as Jake slides an arm around your waist, holding you up as you slump against the wall. You’re too overwhelmed to catch the term of endearment he’d added into his sentences.

“Jake?” Your voice is a hoarse croak from disuse.

“Yeah, baby? I’m right here, Bunny.” His thumb continues its trail across your pallid cheek.

“What were you- How’d you- Why’d you do that?” Your brain is still fuzzy as you trip over your words.

He shakes his head gently, quiet affection in his gaze as he looks down into your bleary eyes. “It’s like I said this morning, Bunny. We make a good team. You really think I’d let you get away when we’re just getting started?” His eyes dance with something else you can’t place but before you can respond, the door down the hall opens again and you force yourself to stand and step out of Jake’s arms as Maverick comes towards the two of you. If he saw anything, he doesn’t say, instead giving Jake a gentle clap on the shoulder.

“Good save, kid. Quick on your feet, I like that.” He turns to you then. “Bugs, I’m so sorry about all of that. You didn’t deserve any of it, I wish I could have done more to stop it.”

You wave him off. “No need for both of us to lose our jobs, right? And you did help, Maverick. Even if I almost just lost it, you’re the reason I got this job, in more than one way apparently.” You give him a knowing look and his cheeks pinken with embarrassment that makes his fatherly face look boyish. “Thank you for that, I really mean it.” You know Maverick has no idea why Cyclone was so trigger-happy to fire you, Cyclone made that clear at your interview, and as much as you feel the sudden urge to tell him, you hold back because this is your new start and you definitely don’t need Jake to know.

“You don’t need to thank me, just keep taking good care of my boys.” You nod, hoping your gratitude shows in your eyes. “On that note, the three of us obviously need to talk about the next steps and honestly I’m really not in the mood to do that here, so why don’t you two join me and Penny for dinner?” He slings an arm around each of your shoulders, guiding the two of you down the hall, away from Cyclone’s office.

“Penny, sir?” Jake questions.

Maverick beams. “She’s the team nutritionist, and by some miracle, my girlfriend.” You fight the urge to giggle at the sixty-year-old man referring to Penny as his girlfriend instead of his partner.

“I don’t know,” Jake says ruefully. “Pudding’s been home alone all day and I can’t really leave her alone any longer in good conscience.” Mav waves him off.

“Bring her, there’s plenty of room at my house. I’ll text you both the address and take the rest of the afternoon off. We’ll work out where to go next at dinner and let the team know first thing tomorrow. Bugs, you too, you don’t look too great, the physicals can wait until tomorrow.” You nod gratefully as Mav leaves the two of you at the door to the parking garage.

Jake turns to you as Mav walks away. “Do you need to grab your stuff? We can meet back here in a five and I’ll walk you to your car?” You shake your head.

“No, you go ahead and head home. I’m definitely putting my afternoon physicals on hold but I want to make a comprehensive list of scans and treatment options to discuss with Mav at dinner so I’m gonna be another hour or two. I need to make a couple of calls.” That is if your so-called colleagues will even deign to answer the phone. “And no waiting for me this time.” You poke at his chest with your finger. “You get home to your girl and stay off that leg as best as you can.” Your eyes drift down to the new knee brace barely visible under Jake’s sweats. “Give her some extra cuddles because I have a feeling things around here are about to pick up, and drive safe with the brace, you hear me?” You frown at Jake’s leg. “You probably shouldn’t be driving period. Maybe I should give you a ride home.” He waves you off.

“I’m all good Bugs, you focus on finishing up your work, and I’ll see you at Mav’s for dinner.” You shake your head again, more forceful this time.

“No, I’m picking you up. This is the last time you’re driving with that leg. Here,” you pull your phone from your pocket, “put in your number and text yourself that way you have mine. Then you’re gonna text me your address when you get home so I know you made it in one piece.”

“Not all of us are prone to vehicular manslaughter, Bunny.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that he drove in front of me?” You growl and he grins playfully.

“I don’t know, I think I’ll have to hear the other side of the story at dinner.” He says with a wink before he pushes open the door to the garage. You scowl after him. “See you, Bunny.”

“See you, Lola.” You enunciate as you turn on your heel, marching back to your office with purpose, ready to finally be able to do your job.

A/N: Hoooo boy that one was a doozie… A LOT to unpack in this chapter as we hit the first of the many emotional climaxes of the story. Someone give Bugs a hug please, she needs it. I know I promised some Maverick backstory crumbs this chapter but it was already long enough so the dinner is going to have to wait until next chapter, I’m sorry y’all! VERY excited for that 👀

#snitches get stitches // sdd #san diego dogfighters au #San Diego Dogfighters #San Diego Dogfighters hockey AU #sgs // sdd #Jake seresin #Jake hangman seresin #tgm hockey au #top gun maverick hockey au #top gun maverick #tgm #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x you #no use of y/n

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bazaarwords · 1 year

Text

thank you @why-does-it-matterr! i think i got a little carried away, but i hope you enjoy!

cw: descriptions of injuries

There was a place she used to go to after the Order had days like these. Bad days. Ones that left her numb.

Historically, the place is both tangible and not—a lonely tower at the Cat’s Cradle, and once there, a few long moments of contemplation. But her old home is a long way away, and so Beatrice finds the part of her mind that needs this kind of treatment and sends it elsewhere. As for her body, she deigns to get to work instead of separating herself. The OCS may not be her world anymore, but there are wounded. People she cares for.

In the wreckage of their makeshift hideout, Beatrice wonders if maybe it’s never been the events of the day that seep the feeling from her. Maybe it’s always been this—this thing she must do to herself in order to succeed. Months of wandering have not divested her of the need to perform. The months have, however, been a reminder of all she’s lost.

She sets her feelings aside. There are things to do.

The first order of business: Camila’s shoulder is out of socket, and for all their collective expertise, Beatrice remains the best candidate to set it. Years ago, before the Order had swept her away, she’d spent a long summer volunteering in a hospital. It’s not the medical training she’d received afterwards, but the exposure was, at the very least, an advantage.

“Ready?” She asks, although she knows that Camila is always ready.

Camila, in the kind way she does all things, just smiles as if Beatrice is the one that needs the reassurance. She nods. “Go for it.”

Camila doesn’t flinch. She lets out a long, measured breath and she says, “ow” and she laughs at herself. Beatrice would like to take the time to laugh with her, but her joy is locked up in that faraway place. She squeezes Camila’s other shoulder, helps her into a sling made of a torn shirt, and moves on to the next.

Sister Dora has twisted her wrist. It’s discolored and swollen, but her bones are, thankfully, intact.

“A tarask,” she explains, “I thought it’d… well, I thought it’d kill me but…”

But she came back, Beatrice thinks to herself, searching the wreckage for wood to make a splint. She saved you.

She blinks that away—she has to. Sister Dora must notice her reticence. She doesn’t complete her thought. So Beatrice secures Sister Dora’s arm, and she moves on.

Yasmine has taken a glancing blow to the head, and Mother Superion has opted to stay up with her in the wake of the fight to monitor the damage.

“I’m okay,” Yasmine says when Beatrice comes by, holding up a placating hand. “I mean—I remember my name, so. So that’s good, right?”

Superion offers the smallest of smirks. It’s fond, not hard-won. “Yes, Yasmine,” she says, and rises up on unsteady footing. It’s not the new, halo-resurrected Superion.

“What happened?” Beatrice asks, firmer than she’d meant to. Emotions are nebulous when she settles into this way.

Superion shakes her head. “Nothing that should concern you. A few bruises.” She gives Beatrice a meaningful look—one she’s not present enough to catalogue. “There’s a cot in the back. Rest. We’re fine here.”

It sounds like an order, and even though she’s put the church behind her, she still respects Mother Superion. She can still recognize that she’s done all she can for the group, within reason. So she makes her way to the back room, feeling nothing. She sits on the edge of the cot, feeling nothing. She shrugs off her outer layers, feeling nothing.

Her mind has been in that faraway place, however, and as she returns to herself, everything sinks in.

While information comes in in pieces, on thing is for certain—there’s pain, everywhere. It would make the most sense to take stock of the worst places, the ones that need her immediate attention, but when feeling rushes back into her, the only thing she can think is that she needs to get out of this room and to wherever she’s gone—

There’s a jolt, razor sharp in the already excruciating throb of her abdomen. It’s quite obviously from when she’d been launched across a courtyard. The intensity winds her halfway to standing and her hip smarts as soon as she’s fallen back to the cot. She tells herself several times that she needs to get herself back in that empty place, that world where she feels nothing. Above all things, she needs to be there because she needs to find Ava.

A week prior, there had been a desperate call for help, a train from the small Finnish town she’d wandered into the month before, and Beatrice had found herself right back in the fray. Seeing the faces of her friends again after all their time apart had been bittersweet. When the fight had come to them, she’d remembered the last words Lilith had said to her. A holy war.

Despite her best efforts, she’s in the middle of it.

“Fuck,” she says, because she curses now. Because she knows that her knee is going to give out if she tries to stand. Because she’s effectively trapped herself in this room.

Frustration wells up in her like a lit fuse.

Assess the damage, she thinks, because what the hell else can she do?

The buttons of her shirt are slow work, her hands are weak from gripping her machine gun, her knives, the side of a building as she hoisted herself and Yasmine back to safety.

God is lost to her now, but it is a miracle that none of her injuries have drawn blood. A massive swath of skin along her side is purple and yellow but unbroken—it is the very worst of things. It hurts to draw breath, and hurts even more to bend and pull her pant leg up past her knee, to find the skin there in much the same condition. Upon further inspection, her hip, too, is a wild mess of bruises.

She’s a wreck, and what do they have to show for it? A few inches of ground? A few battered nuns, scrounging up whatever tools they can find?

Ava.

They have Ava. She just… doesn’t know where.

Beatrice had seen it happen as if in a dream.

The blinding light from above, the shockwave that had sent the tarasks flying in all directions, but hadn’t so much as nudged the sisters. When she’d looked, it was Ava’s form in the center of the light—Beatrice would know it anywhere, in any world—flickering in and out. She remembers shouting, desperate, stumbling through the wreckage. The details from there are hard to recollect. It’s when she’d been grabbed and thrown, it’s when the fight had resumed and she’d lost sight of Ava.

But she had seen her. That she’s certain of.

She closes her eyes, wincing as she tilts her head to the ceiling. The breath she tries to take is shallow and does nothing to steady herself.

“Beatrice?”

The pain of movement is forgotten, the voice like a ribbon of gold around her heart.

There’s Ava. There’s Ava.

The breath is gone in a rush, and Beatrice forgets the rest of the pain and she tries desperately to stand, to run, to move. Her leg gives out and Ava’s on her in a second, easing her back down.

“Ava,” she says, voice breaking, throat tight, “Ava.”

Ava kneels in front of her and she takes Ava’s face in her hands and she can’t look away. Suddenly, that place she goes—the one that is empty and lonely is filled with life. Filled with Ava. And she’s here, she’s real and alive and breathtaking in all the ways that Beatrice has loved. Loves. She feels nothing but it, looking at Ava.

“Bea,” Ava says, fingers wrapped around Beatrice’s wrists like they’ve been fused there. “Bea, you—you’re hurt.”

“You’re here,” Beatrice responds—nothing else matters. “Ava, you’re—“ She doesn’t have other words.

It should hurt to speak. It should hurt to lean forward, but then her lips are on Ava’s and nothing hurts, everything aches. Ava makes a small noise that lets loose something in Beatrice’s chest, and she wants to draw Ava closer, but her body betrays her, her whole side lighting up as if on fire. As if to remind her that respite is fleeting. But she doesn’t care, nothing else matters—

Ava notices her wince and pulls away. It hurts to try to pull her back, but still Beatrice tries. “Fuck,” Ava says, voice shaky, “Bea—hold on. You need—“

“I need you to not leave. I’m fine, I promise.”

“I’m not—you’re not fine, your—oh, God, Bea your side—“

Another Beatrice might have taken modesty into consideration. Her shirt is wide open, her trousers undone, and Ava is knelt before her, a hand on her bare knee. She just—she just wants so keenly that the constant, painful reminders of her body’s journey through battle feel like they’re killing her. She wants to pull Ava up and on to her lap, she wants Ava’s mouth on hers again, she wants, she wants, she wants. And maybe it’s her pilgrimage and her seperation from the church that’s allowing her this clear revelation, or maybe it’s just the relief to be in the same room as the girl she loves. Maybe that’s all it’s ever been.

“Let me… shit, I don’t know how good I am at this yet.” Ava focuses down on Beatrice’s splotchy, wounded knee, and the dark room is slowly illuminated by the glow of the Halo.

It feels… itchy, at first. It’s not a scab, but the injury takes on the properties of one—Beatrice tamps down the overwhelming need to scratch or pat at it, but then—as soon as it began—it’s gone. Ava pulls her hand away and the skin is as normal as it’s ever been. An oblong scar where bone is closest to skin from one too many skinned knees, but other than that? Nothing.

“How did you…” Beatrice trails off, swinging her leg back and forth easily.

“I’d… you know, I’d really like to explain it, but, uh. I have no fucking idea.”

Beatrice can’t help it, she laughs, a little hysterical. And then she wants to throw up.

“Don’t—no laughing. Stop it,” Ava says with a worried smile. She sets the tips of her fingers at the massive bruise on Beatrice’s side, and Beatrice can’t tamp down the shiver that rockets through her at the feeling. “Sorry. Sorry, I just need to...” Ava says, her voice thick, “just let me…”

The Halo does its work again, scrubbing her pain from her, raw and red until it’s not anymore. Beatrice takes a breath, and there is no pain.

“Good?” Ava asks.

“Good,” Beatrice responds. She wants that to be the end of it, but when she tries to move in again—“I think there’s another…”

Herein lies the problem. Her hip.

Ava looks down, and they’re in the middle of a war, but Beatrice wonders if she closes her eyes for just a moment, maybe they’ll be back in the Alps. Maybe there, this touch is necessary for another reason. Maybe Ava is looking up at her like this and maybe nothing has ever been wrong.

But they’re in the blown-out remains of a church, and there are demons everywhere, and in her darkest moments she’d worried that this—her and Ava—was lost for good.

Ava hovers over her bruise, and Beatrice nods. Ava is delicate, fingers light over her hipbone. This is not the time to wish for another life, but still she does. And for the first time in months, the wish has legs. It climbs out of that place she goes and it smiles at her, and Ava smiles at her too, proud of her work.

Beatrice draws her in, and the war rages on, but there are no more lonely places.

She has Ava. It’s enough.

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #warrior nun fanfic #warrior nun fanfiction #ava silva #sister beatrice #avatrice #avatrice fanfiction #avatrice fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fics #sister camila #sister yasmine #mother superion #wn #save warrior nun #my fics #my writing

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