#so far this is the only mercenary to make me feel... things | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fishermanshook · 23 days

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F!CK BOYS GONE SOFT

( mercenary , batter & prospector ) + gn!reader

# MINOR WRITING SMUT , #ihatewritingdialouge , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

It was a mutual agreement between the both of you that you were fucking for the pure reason of letting off steam after being stuck in this hell hole.

No feelings were supposed to be caught. No hearts were meant to be thawed. And yet, they find themselves yearning for your touch long after your last session.

꒰wc꒱ 1.7k ( longest fic so far !! )

✦— THE MERCENARY

If being between your legs was where he wished to be, then who were you to deny him access to the most private part of your body? Where Naib works his magic and milks you of your essence while paying you back in waves of pleasure.

The Mercenary looks so lost in his work that you think he doesn’t notice the change in pitch. That you’ve adjusted your grip on his hair to a softer, gentler hold. Your moans are light, airy, and not at all the ones that left your throat hoarse and raspy the night before. No, that can’t be right. And it doesn’t take him long before he finds the spot that pushes you over. The spot that has your back arching off the mattress. The spot that has you screaming his name like it’s going out of style.

And god does pleasure look good on you, as Naib refuses to remove his eyes from you as he watches the aftermath of you coming undone in front of him. Such a passionate and intimate thing for his eyes and his eyes only as your essence coats his hands and tongue. To think he’d pull his head away after you came is just stupid. Have you not learned from previous sessions? You coming only gives him more reason to drop down there and give you more, but Naib holds himself back.

The next few moments are a blur as you try to calm down after your orgasm, but it seems Naib won’t let you. The sound of something being unzipped and his pants hitting the floor pulls you from your recovery. He’s prepped you enough, hasn’t he?

“It’ll hurt a little, but only for a second.” The Mercenary whispers in your ear as a warning to brace for what’s about to come. It makes him wonder, and only for a split second, if you ever realized how much he loves you. The amount of thought and care that goes into every move he makes towards you. Maybe you’re just dense, or maybe it’s not like that. He won’t know until he tells you. Or, until you tell him.

Your hands rush to clamp themselves over your mouth in an attempt to stifle the moans flooding from it. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this (and certainly not the last…), but it’s always a tight fit. A tight fit that neither of you can get enough of. Your hands don’t last though, as the Mercenary is quick to rip your hands away from your mouth. He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. You don’t need him to say anything else.

It’s not long before you feel the familiar warmth strengthen between your legs. By now, Naib’s memorized your every tell that you’re going to come. By the way your legs tighten around his waist and the way your hands reach to clasp his biceps to try and hold on. It’s the way you attempt to not pass out when you feel everything just snap.

“God, I love you so much,” Naib admits before even realizing what he just said. You’ve never seen the man freeze so fast, or go so red. Before his hands cover his mouth you pin his wrists down to the bed.

“Wait—! H-hold on,” you say, still recovering from your orgasm that happened just seconds ago. “What did you say?”

The Mercenary stares at you before opening his mouth to say: “I didn’t say anything.” He’s trying to play it with a convincing tone in his voice, but it’s hard to believe when he practically shouts it.

“No, Naib,” you huff out “Are you playing me?” You question. Your face molds into worry and concern. Instead, he avoids your gaze. There’s nothing else for him to do in this situation is there.

“Fine. If you won’t say it, then I will.” You state before grabbing Naibs face and pressing it into yours. The Mercenary tries (and he really does) to do anything but melt into your touch. In the end, it proves to be no use. Pulling away, you say: “Naib, there is no one else I love more than you.”

“Thanks for confirming what I already know, babe.”

✦— THE BATTER

Not every affair starts with a heated make-out session, but every heated make-out session ends with the two of you having sex. With your lips entwined as your fingers roam through his hair, the two of you make a mad dash to whoever’s room is closer as playful giggles slip out along the way.

It started as just another way to let yourself go and cut loose a little after another night of terror from Ganji. How could you not tell that the Batter saw you as more than just some fuck buddy? That his eyes weren’t only filled with lust, but love for you and you entirely?

Maybe this can be his way of showing you, whether you get it or not. Whether you understand the soft kisses he lays on your chest. Whether you understand the praises that fall from his lips. Whether you understand it's taken him too long to finally muster up the courage to confess to you.

You’ve stripped each other of your clothes leaving both of you bare naked. The only thing covering you are the multiple hickeys decorating your chest as well as between your legs. The pleasure overrides any pain felt from when he initially pushed his way inside of you. Before you know it, you're babbling all over his cock while he presses gentle kisses all over your face. You look so cute like this—all flushed out and pink.

Ganji's smart, but overlooks your cock drunkenness and traces his finger along your jaw and other places. Eventually, his finger meets your back and traces along your spine. His finger does weird swoops along your backside. It's all just a simple way of telling you 'I love you.' without having to utter a word.

Maybe it's the way you moan out his name as your hips move up and down on his cock. Or maybe it's the look in your eyes when he meets them. The Batter's not sure where the courage comes from, but all he knows is that he can't stand another moment of you not being his.

"[name] I- fuck, I love you." He barely manages to grunt out, snapping you from your thoughts to look at him with wide eyes.

"What-?"

It's then he thinks he fucked up. That he has demolished all of the hard work he put into this relationship. This is it. This is the end of your bond.

"No, shit I'm sorry just forget what I said," Ganji mutters out, immediately flipping you over so that your lying down on your back. "I'll make you come real hard if you just forget everything I just said, 'k?" Ganji says with caution in his voice. Maybe you're not the only one oblivious in this relationship of yours.

"Really? You love me?"

Ganji tears his eyes away from wherever he is looking at looks right at you. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If not for you I don't think I'd ever get the chance to say this," you chimed, pulling him in for a long and passionate kiss first. "Ganji, I love you more than the stars themselves."

✦— THE PROSPECTOR

The bed will break long after the Prospector, Norton Campbell, has had his way with you. He won’t stop until his sheets are soaked in your combined essences until your scent has been embedded into his mattress, and until he can get the words out to tell you how he feels.

For too long has Norton been labeled as your “fuck buddy” and he wants out of it. Every round feels like another chance to prove he’s perfect for you. How many people know your favorite book? Your favorite place to relax? Your favorite position? The sensitive spots on your body? Who else knows exactly where to touch and what to say? All he needs you to answer is if you like him or not.

“Shit—always feel so good,” Norton manages to grunt out after thrusting into you. He knows he’s found your sweet spot (again…) when he pulls a loud moan from your sweet lips. So attentive to your wants and needs that he can’t help but hit the spot again and again, listening as your moans grow louder with each thrust.

The Prospector mutters something under your breath he thinks went by unnoticed. Pulling you from your aroused state to ask him what’s wrong. All he can do is sigh and shake his head as his arms wrap around you. A bit tighter than usual, but not uncomfortable.

“Norton—! What’s the matter?” You manage to huff out. It’s obvious something is plaguing his mind, but the Prospector is as stubborn as ever and refuses to tell you. “Fine then,” you tell him “I guess I just won’t let you come.”

Now that gets his attention, and he instantly slows his pace. You allow him to keep going, but only if he starts talking.

“I’m too scared to say it,” Norton states.

“Why?” You ask.

Norton looks down at where you're still connected. It’s only then you notice he’s stopped. “Because I don’t want it to ruin whatever we’ve got going on. I don’t want to lose everything.” He admits through gritted teeth.

“Do you think it’s that bad that you’d lose everything?” You ask, concern now seeping into your voice.

All he does is sigh before bringing his face closer to yours. “God, is it seriously not obvious enough? Shit, [name] I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time and I didn’t want to say anything in fear of ruining—“ he gestures using his hands to the both of you. “this. A-and I get it if you don’t want anything to do with me after this but you asked so—“

He doesn’t get to finish as you cover his lips with yours. “Silly prospector, I love you more than you could imagine.” You confess before feeling Norton melt into your kiss once more.

note: hiii fish nation…sorry about the random hiatus, it will probably happen again 😆😆😆. thank you all so much for 100+ followers! it means the absolute most to me knowing there are actually people who enjoy reading what I have to write. I wouldn’t be here without you, thank you for everything so far. 🩷🩷🩷. this is so ass oh my gosh

(2024) ©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

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l0v3tast3 · 1 year

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AHH Hello!!! I absolutely love your writing, it’s so good!!!!

I was wondering…

Y/n always wear a mask to conceal her identity, in hopes the 141 doesn’t find out that Makarov is her father!!

141 had captured Makarov for interrogation, and y/n is there. As the interrogation continues, they start to notice that y/n and Makarov know each other, by the subtle little informality they spoke to one another. And the truth starts to come out, little by little!!!!

✎ tysm i love you :(( i absolutely love this idea the angst potential is just *chef's kiss* i'm sorry this one took like over a month to make oops, also i tried to keep personal details abt the reader as vague as possible, pls let me know if there's something i can fix!!

✎ tags: female reader, military reader, major daddy issues, violence, mentions of blood, hurt/barely any comfort if at all, not proofread im too cool for that,

✎ word count: 2,704

the silence in the cold, gray interrogation room was so thick that you were choking on it. you knew you had just fucked up, badly.

you had done so well so far, too. you're fabricated identity had fooled everyone. the name you had chosen stuck, and no one ever noticed your old one threatening to jump from your mouth when you introduced yourself. you always kept the childhood memories and little anecdotes vague. you stuck to your rehearsed lines better than a world-famous actor. you did every single thing right.

and now, here he was, your own blood, fucking it all up for you, again.

technically, he had made you fuck it up for yourself. it was just how makarov worked; he was a spider weaving a web in the corner, watching, waiting. this man, your supposed father, didn't know anything real about you. he didn't know you as a father should know his daughter. but he knew which buttons to press.

he only knew what to say to you when it would allow him the opportunity of watching you fall a little deeper towards rock bottom.

you knew that the room had cameras covering every square inch, and the microphones ensured that you're accidental admission to your heritage was heard by your entire task force.

there was a red hot pit opening inside of you, caving your insides in like a black hole and threatening to consume your entire being. it was rage, you realized. something you only ever seemed to feel in the presence of one person.

you briefly considered killing him, right there and then. was this really the straw that broke your back? it truly was just another thing to add to the list. you had known he would do this.

no, you were angry at yourself.

on the other side of the door, the four men of the 141 task force were all stood still in shock. what the hell did you just say?

none of them wanted to believe it. they especially didn't want to admit that it made sense. you had done a fucking fantastic job of hiding it, they'll admit that, but even you couldn't hide everything.

price saw the way you tensed when you were passed laswell's photo of makarov in the bar, after you had all put an end to hassan's plan. he saw the way you dropped it and slid it to the next person quickly, as if touching the picture had burned your fingertips.

soap had asked you if you were okay more than once during the plane ride to russia. you were so restless, so different from your usual grounded self. you just said you were having some flying anxiety. he felt stupid now for writing it off so easily.

and kyle, the first one to trust you (and to even really talk to you), he had seen the anger sparking off of you while you shot your way through the tower to get to makarov. floor after floor, bullet after bullet, you had paved a path of blood through the mercenaries. he wondered if someone else had taken your mask and gear and was pretending to be you.

simon saw the fear in you when you all got to the last door. you had been so quick in your endeavor to get here, but he saw you hesitate to follow them in. he saw how you never took your wide eyes off of him, and how you stayed a few steps back, moving far out of the way when price began to escort him out in handcuffs.

and when they had asked you to go into the interrogation room, they all saw how you stopped breathing, and the sweat collecting on what little skin they could see above your mask. you had stuttered when you quietly agreed.

when you stepped into the room, makarov took one look at your eyes, and you knew he recognized you. no, he recognized the hatred. and it made him smile.

now, sitting in the cold metal chair, you realized that it wasn't just one mistake, but a series of them; you had let him unravel you, again. you understood, finally, that he saw you as he did everyone else. he saw you as someone that held him back.

part of you had always known, ever since you were young, still single-digits, and he would only visit you once every few months, if that. you had elected to ignore it. now you couldn't.

you couldn't move. behind you was the door that would lead you to the consequences of your actions. in front of you was the reason for those actions.

this is what you had wanted, wasn't it? it was like something snapped back into place, and you suddenly remembered that everything you had done up until now, every time you put the mask on before leaving your room, every lie you had told and every person you had killed had been to get you here. in front of your father. you remembered that the image of him with a bullet between his eyes was what kept you going.

if you killed him, would it finally absolve you? the gun on your hip felt twenty pounds heavier now. your fingers, folded together in your lap with a white-knuckle grip, felt like lead. would this sin make all the other wrongs right?

a tiny voice was telling you to just walk away, let the team's wrath come down on you and let them deal with makarov, but you had already thrown the table between you towards the wall, he was already on the ground with your hands wrapped around his throat.

you were yelling, no, screaming at him. all the compacted feelings from years and years of being as quiet as possible came up like vomit, spewing out in a mess that could never be cleaned up.

there were more than just makarov's hands on you, pushing and pulling you away from him and dragging you out of the room, kicking and screeching to let you just finally kill him, while two other blurry shapes hauled him back into his own chair.

the heavy metal door shut behind the two people practically carrying you, and they finally let you go. you stumbled a few steps away, whirling around for the next target of your fury.

your captain and lieutenant were standing in front of you, both tensed, waiting for you to do something. you couldn't exactly make out their faces- were you crying?

"what in the bloody hell just happened in there?" price snarled. it was the voice he used when he was face to face with his enemy.

"let me back in there." it was a demand. you needed to kill him.

"that's not gonna happen," simon barked. john and kyle had come out from the interrogation room to stand behind the other two men. "you need to explain, now."

they all stared at you with varying looks of anger and hurt. it wasn't the first time you'd ever had it directed at you, but this was somehow worse than all the others.

every cell in your body was shrieking at you to just run for the door, to somehow get through all four of these men, your teammates, your friends, and kill makarov. but their glares glued you to your spot.

"please-" your voice was trembling, years of grief and agony dripping from every word, "please, just let me kill him. you have to let me kill him." you spoke slowly and quietly, focusing on just trying to get the words out. you took a shaky breath and focused your eyes on a muddy bootprint on the floor. you didn't want to see the looks on their faces.

"you don't understand, you just- just let me back in there, please, i'll get whatever you need out of him, but he needs to die!" your voice was getting louder, and you briefly wondered if your father could hear you. "his men are probably already on their way here. don't you get it? if i don't kill him now, he will get out."

the men in front of you were more shocked now than anything at the change in your demeanor. you had been coined the "second ghost" throughout the units, partly for the mask, but also because of your detachment. you were kind, but you always held logic above emotion.

in front of them now was nothing short of a nervous wreck.

despite not moving, you were frantic. you were wringing your hands together, pressed tight against your stomach. your eyes darted from side to side, person to person, between them and the door to makarov.

price took a step forward and you took a step back. he was slow, bringing his hand up as if he were approaching a wild animal. if he was still angry, he was hiding it now.

"come on, kid, let's just get out of 'ere, eh? go somewhere away from him," he said lowly. the other three men watched tensely, not moving, but their hands still close to their guns. just in case.

"no, no- just let me- price, you need to let me back in there!" you were a broken record, you knew it, but there was nothing else to say, nothing else you could think about. this was what you had been waiting for, you were right where you had wanted to be for the past- how many years now? how long has he tormented you for now?

you could feel your father's presence in the next room like bugs crawling across your body. it made your head feel fuzzy and your hands shake. was it from rage or fear? you couldn't tell, so you chose the rage.

it was like bile stuck in your throat, all the pain makarov had caused you finally being unearthed. you wanted to throw it all up and spit it out onto him, lay your organs and hatred alike out on the table in front of him so he could see the decay. you wanted him to rot from the inside out like you had.

your eyes glanced at the door one last time before focusing on price. he was watching you, just a couple of steps in front of you now.

"let me back in there, john." it was a whisper, but still the steadiest thing you had spoken since they had dragged you out.

"no." he said your name quietly, and you heard it as the plea it was, but you're head decided it was done listening.

your body threw itself at him, swinging underneath his arms and onto his back to try and get him on the ground. the room exploded into yelling, and multiple pairs of hands were on you in an instant, hauling you off of price and forcing you face-down onto the ground with your hands behind your back.

cold metal latching around your wrists didn't stop your screaming and kicking, lashing out at the air around you. it didn't work well, because you were being hauled back to your feet and pushed into a separate interrogation room.

whoever was carrying you didn't bother with trying to attach your handcuffs to the table, basically throwing you in and slamming the door shut before you could get back on your feet.

outside the cell, the four men stood in silent shock. what was there to say, where would they even start? would they really be able to hear each other over your muffled screams to let you out?

you didn't know how long you had been in there once the door finally opens again, but you had stopped screaming and struggling to get out of the room. you had sat down at the table, your hands folded in front of you on the cold surface. you stared down at the blood beading and smearing around the handcuffs.

kyle squeezed in through the tiny amount he'd let the door open before he shut it quickly, keeping his eyes on you. you didn't look up, your red eyes staying fixed on one point even as he slowly moved closer. he followed them to see the red rings underneath the steel, and a pang of guilt squeezed his heart tight.

he sat down across from you, folding his hands in front of him on the table, mirroring you. you still hadn't looked up at him, or done anything to acknowledge his presence; you hadn't even moved.

"are you alright?" kyle implored. he kept his voice soft, bending over a little to try to look you in the eye.

it took you a few moments to respond; he almost started to think you didn't hear him before you opened your mouth slowly.

"is he dead?" you croaked.

kyle let out an audible sigh while he leaned back in his seat, bringing his hands up to drag them down his face.

"no, we still need him. you know that."

you didn't say anything after that.

after sitting in silence for two full minutes, he spoke up. "you realize not telling us about this makes you look really bad, yeah?"

"you don't trust me anymore?" you whispered it, like you didn't want him to hear and answer. you knew what he would say.

"you aren't making it very easy."

kyle wanted to trust you still. part of him was angry and confused as to why you had kept something like this from them. the other part, the bigger part of him, knew that you were on still on the same side of it all. and he knew the other three men felt the same, but they couldn't just dismiss this.

"we can work this out, ya' know. you just have to be honest with us," he added after you once again stayed silent.

"be honest?" you echoed. you finally looked up at him. "about what? you heard me. makarov is my father. i want him dead. that's all there is to say."

kyle took his turn to not speak, weighing your words, figuring out where to go from there.

"why didn't you tell us?" he finally asked.

you looked back down at your wrists. "if i had told you i was makarov's daughter before i joined the team, then all i would have ever been is makarov's daughter." you paused to take a deep, shaky breath. it was uncomfortable with your mask still on, wet with tears, but you refused to take it off, to give away the last piece of your identity that was still yours at the moment.

"it's something we should have known," he contended quickly. "we could have used the information you have-"

you cut him off, your eyes snapping back up to glare daggers at him. "you think i know anything more than you?" you barked. something between a laugh and a sob escaped your throat before you could continue. "i was eight years old the last time i saw him in person. i was raised by live-in nannies. he only visited, what, maybe twice a year? and i don't know why he even bothered, either."

your hands were clenched into tight fists, and the same sting that circled your wrists was appearing in your palms. you kept going though; you didn't know if you could stop now.

"every time i get somewhere, every time i start making a life for myself again, he fucks it all up. never showed his damn face, but it was him, it was always-" you finally cut yourself off, not wanting to drag more memories out from the dark.

"makarov may be my father, but i am not his daughter. i swear, kyle, i fucking swear it." you were pleading with him to believe you now. you needed them to understand.

you could see it in the way his eyebrows creased that he wanted to take your words as the truth. but he didn't say anything (what could he have said?).

the door opened once again, and price half-entered the room to wave kyle back out. he avoided your gaze, something he'd never done before. then you were alone again.

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 4 months

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Hii! Let me start by saying I've binged most of your Tangerine and Pietro's works and I absolutely loved it 🤌🏻

If you're still accepting requests, could you write for fwb! Tangerine, after you told him that you should be just friends (bc of what he does for a living) but eventually cave in when he gets back from a mission? (mix of smut and fluff if possible).

Thank you <3

hii angel!! tehe yes ive seen you around, and tysm☹️okay I really love this !! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

MEET IN THE MIDDLE

tangerine x female reader

wc. 1107

cw. 18+ only!! spoiler alert but he tears readers clothing bc he's a desperate horny mess and it's hot as shit, unprepped and unprotected sex, pinv. mdni

Since you put a cool on your contractual relationship with Tangerine a month ago, you've delved back into that state of solemn longing. Putting an end to many months' worth of great sex wasn't easy - it really wasn't, and as much as you started to fall for the guy, you just couldn't seem to get over what he did for a living.

No matter how much you pushed down that feeling of unease, you could not get past it.

That was until ten days ago, when he texted you on a random tuesday, telling you he was leaving for work to South Africa, seeing if you wanted to meet when he returns. Since that text, he's been your every thought - every notion in your mind.

The idea of him leaving for a dangerous job abroad struck panic and dread within you - the thought of him getting hurt without him knowing how much you really felt about him was something you could not bear to stomach.

After that text, you've been counting off the days until you could see him again, waiting until you get that confirmation he's okay and safe.

It was finally the day Tangerine returns home from his trip, and it was singularly the only day of happiness you felt since calling things off. You both occasionally texted while he was away, only conversing when he had time to spare, talking about the plan for when he comes back. You settled on your place; he would go home, clean himself up and pop by yours for a casual, friendly night in - like old times.

Your door knocks in that familiar pattern you've grown to know so well, and you immediately rush to answer it - a bright smile as you peek through the gap, looking at Tangerine on the other side with a grin as sincere as yours.

"Oh my god," you gush, instantly wrapping him in a tight hug. You pull away, awkward eyes diverting from his awe-filled ones. "Sorry, sorry— that was too much. It's just..." you breathe, meeting his gaze. "Really good to see you."

"I missed you," he admits, speaking confidently. "But... didn't think you'd actually wanna see me."

Your smile resurfaces, and you pause. That wasn't true - you couldn't wait to see Tangerine again.

Since you had time to call down during the time apart, you've grown to realise that his job didn't define him as a person and that, at the core of it, it doesn't really matter. He isn't some abhorrent, abusive mercenary - he is someone who loves and cares deeply, someone who is sweet and thoughtful, no matter how hard they pretend they're not.

"Bull," you joke, sweet eyes staying glued to his - like they were taking him all in, seeing him in the flesh for the first time again. "That's not true."

He steps into your house and kicks off his shoes, making himself at home. "No?"

"No," you shake your head, soft yet stern movements as you move to close the door behind him. "Not at all."

You turn around to meet him, though now, he's closed the gap between you by a foot, standing in front of you with his hands itching up towards you, making tentative movements to the sides of your face.

His gaze remains lidded as he places his palms over either cheek, cupping you in his hands. "You mean that?"

You nod in his hold, murmuring your agreement - far too concerned about the weak sound you'd make if you spoke.

"Yeah?" he weakly smiles, slowly leaning in towards you.

"Yeah," you repeat, meeting him in the middle for a kiss, melting into the soft and sweet contact you've since longed for.

He parts -barely- whispering against your lips. "Good."

His grip on your face firms as he brings you back in, kissing you more urgently this time, as if that little peck wasn't enough to satiate the need. It grows carnal, more desperate - hungrily kissing as he pushes you up against the front door.

Your hands roam him ever so familiarly, trailing over his stubbly jaw as you hold him to you - keeping him close. You murmur a faint moan into his mouth as you feel him chub up against you, his hardening cock prodding at your lower stomach through his lounge shorts.

"Fuck," he muffles roughly between your lips, slipping a hand behind your neck - fist tightening at the root.

"Been so long," you whisper, your voice weak as you catch your breath between breaks.

"Too fuckin' long," he adds.

He peels you from the door and walks you backwards into your living room - guiding you to the sofa within his sure hold. He keeps his lips glued to yours as he lays you down on the cushion, hovering atop as he situates himself between your spread thighs.

"Do you like these?" he asks, tugging on your pyjama bottoms.

"Yeah," you hum, snaking your hand between yourselves - reaching for his waistband.

"Alright, I'll buy'ya a new pair," he replies, voice hoarse as he slips himself from your tight grasp, sitting up on his heels.

He places both large hands between your thighs, meeting at your crotch as he tears a hole in the fabric - giving him perfect access to your pussy.

The motion catches you by surprise, sending a deep shiver down your spine as you peek down between your thighs - seeing the frayed material right by your cunt, looking at the consequence of his desperation.

Your chest rises and falls heavily, intense, short breaths as you peer up at him, eyes flickering over him in a way that mirrors his own.

He slides his hand down the front of his shorts, delving into his boxers as he pulls his dick out the waistband, rolling over his length in his palm. His grip slips down to the head of his cock, thumb resting on the upperside as he guides himself towards you - parting your underwear aside with his spare hand. He slowly eases his tip into you, savouring that first initial fluttering stretch of your unprepped pussy, relishing the feeling of you needily swallowing more of him.

He strips from his hoodie and throws it aside, leaning back over you so his chest is flush up against you, hands instinctively cupping your face as he peppers your jaw in quick kisses.

"Fuck— I missed you," he murmurs as he slowly begins to roll his hips into you, grinding into you with easy, gentle strokes.

You guys have a lot to catch up on.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

#request #tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine bullet train #tangerine smut #tangerine x fem!reader #bullet train tangerine #tangerine fic

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musings-of-a-rose · 7 months

Note

Hey! I don’t know if you’re taking requests but I just had a really angsty, sad Frankie idea. Reader used to be in Delta force with the guys but something bad happened, reader dies or is really badly injured. Frankie takes her hat, Standard Heating Oil, and from then on, he wears it every single day as a tribute to his fallen team member (who he was secretly in love with. Maybe he told reader, maybe he didn’t…) Anyway, that’s my idea. Thanks!

Catfish and Shadow

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f! Reader

Word Count: 5400+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: This was such a good ask! It hurts in all the right ways. I’m actually going to pull a little from a real life experience that happened to my husband. If I remember, I’ll put an author’s note at the end with what happened! Huge thanks to @rhoorl for beta reading - if you haven't checked our her fics, go now!

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

“Hold on, Shadow. There’s still some hair sticking out from under your hat.” Frankie turns slightly to me from his place next to me in the dark hallway, reaching up to tuck a random strand of my loose hair under my hat. His fingers linger slightly as his eyes glance down at mine, a quick, soft smile on his face, seeming like he wants to say something but changes his mind at the last minute.

“One of these days you’ll have to tell me what the Standard Heating Oil is from,” Frankie says to me, nodding up to the patch label on my hat.

“If we get out of this alive, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“It’s a deal. Please be safe, Shadow.”

“I always am. Plus, I have you watching my ass so I know I’ll be good.” His ears turn pink as he stammers. But before he can retort, Redfly, our leader, clears his throat. “Everyone ready? Shadow, your hat secure? We don’t want them knowing you’re a woman if we can help it.”

I nod, swallowing down the nerves in my stomach. “Yes, sir.”

Redfly nods at me before looking at Frankie. “Make sure to watch her six. She’s smaller than you, less noticeable, so she’ll be on the ground.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ironhead, Pope, Benny. Ready?” They all grunt their affirmatives, shifting their stance and double checking their concealed weapons were still concealed. “Alright. Let’s move.”

Quietly, we all file out from the darkened hallway, making our way to the front of the clay hut where we had changed into our undercover civilian clothes. The mission was to make it to a building several blocks away and gain access, taking out the mercenaries inside. So far, they have no idea we’re here. Waiting a minute or 2 between people, I leave the hut, taking a left turn towards the center of the town, feeling Frankie’s eyes on me from the rooftops, where he had assumed his position several minutes earlier.

“Duck your head to the right when you round this corner. There’s a group of men,” His voice rasps in my ear over the speaker. I’ll never get over how sexy his voice sounds in this thing, and maybe one day I’ll have the guts to actually tell him. I do as he says, shifting my head more right as I round the corner, pretending to look at some wares a shopkeeper had set up. Luckily the men took zero notice of me, laughing loudly at some joke, their guns slung over their shoulders swaying with their laughter.

“Lookin’ good, Shadow. Just normal civiies all the way to the rendezvous.” I nod slightly, following my orders to say nothing as my voice would give me away not only as a female, but an American as well. I make it to the rendezvous and lean against a wall, looking like I was bored waiting for someone but really I was watching the building front several feet away. A few men file out, but the door closes behind them solidly. I watch the building for several more minutes, hearing the rest of my squad all make it to their positions.

“Advance.” Redfly’s voice speaks in my ear and I push off from the wall, nonchalantly heading towards the front door. No one even looks at me aside from Frankie, who’s eyes I feel boring into me. Taking a deep breath, I make it to the front door, raise my fist, and knock twice, then once, then 3 more times in rapid succession, repeating the pattern the other men had used before entering. The door opens and a man stands there, his eyes meeting mine and briefly showing his non-recognition before the smoke bomb I had concealed in my hand clanks to the floor behind him.

Smoke billows out quickly from the bomb and I duck to the side of the building, hearing Benny, Ironhead, and Pope advance, their gunfire quietly echoing inside the thick clay building. I meet Redfly around the back and he slides me a gun, both of us covering the back exit, taking out a few men who tried to escape instead of holding down the building. One man we miss, but Frankie’s silent but deadly shot rings out from above, the man crumpling to ground, his body silent and unmoving, eyes open but the person gone.

We hear the team move through the rest of the small, 3-storied house, clearing out the floors, Redfly taking out another 2 that tried to escape through the front door where he had moved to a few minutes earlier. No one else tries to come out the back door and then we hear Benny call through the mic. “Clear.” Redfly and I move inside, me following behind him in through the front, meeting the rest of the ground team inside. I stand near the front door, watching the boys as I wait for Redfly to tell Frankie to meet up with us. I’ll feel better once he’s here.

“Frankie, make your way here,” Redfly commands in his mic, Frankie confirming before going quiet again.

“Did you locate the stash?” Redfly addresses the ground team. Benny shakes his head.

“There’s a large trunk upstairs that we need to inspect.”

Redlfy nods. “Anything else?”

Suddenly, a large, unfamiliar arm wraps around me, pulling me tight to someone’s chest, a gun barrel shoved into my temple, rapid words in a language I barely understand being spewed out over my head. My hands wrap around his arm but I can’t force it, the gun barrel pushing in further to my head. I don’t need to understand the language to know he’s telling me to not move. I freeze, the men in front of me desperately trying to negotiate my release, Ironhead rapidly spitting back words in the language I’m kicking myself for not picking up quicker. But then I hear a voice that instantly warms me, tells me everything will be ok and I swear if I make it out of here, I’m telling him exactly how I feel.

“Let her go and put down the gun.” Frankie’s voice is low and demanding, sending a shudder up my spine but not for the same reason as the man behind me, desperately clutching me to his chest. Ironhead repeats Frankie’s words back to him in his language, a quick conversation happening between them. I feel the man’s grip start to loosen, but then a quiet pop sounds, Frankie’s yell ripping through the room as another shot follows, the man that had been holding me falling to the side, a bullet ripping through his neck as he clutches at it, the last few moments of his life spewing from him before he slumps and doesn’t move. It’s not until he hits the ground that I start to feel lightheaded.

“Shadow? Shadow, talk to me!” Frankie is there, dropping himself to the floor as he holds me in his lap, his hand moving to lift up my shirt. Pain rips through me and I grunt, his quiet shushing holding me here as he lifts the edge of my shirt up. He schools his face and that’s when I know it’s bad.

“You didn’t have to wait for me to get shot to take off my shirt, you know.” I can feel the pain sinking in now, the bullet lodged somewhere in my abdomen, slowly signing my death warrant.

Frankie chuckles, swallowing hard to fight back tears. “Is that so?” I can hear Redfly yelling into his mic demanding a medic chopper to our location, the rest of the boys close but giving Frankie and I a little space.

I nod, coughing a little and whimpering at the pain that is caused by the soft movement. “You only had to ask.”

He smiles, tears he can’t stop welling up in the corners of his eyes. “Well that’s good to know. When you get patched up, I’ll take you up on that.”

I smile as best I can, my head feeling like it’s harder and harder to stay here. I blink and Frankie squeezes me lightly. “Hey, stay with me querida. Medic is almost here.”

I swallow hard, now feeling the pool of blood that’s collecting on the floor as it sinks into my pant leg. “Frankie, I don’t-”

“Sshh. Don’t say anything. You’re going to make it. You just have to hold on.”

But already there’s black at the edge of my vision, quickly beckoning me to unconsciousness, my head feeling more and more heavy as I lose more blood. I feel my eyes start to flutter closed as Frankie calls my name, the sound of a chopper getting louder and I’m trying to focus on his voice, his beautiful voice, but then I can’t, sleep taking me over as Frankie yells my real name…

“No! No, you have to stay with me!” Frankie yells, slightly shaking her body which had become more limp as her eyes flutter closed. Medics push in and at first Frankie tries to hold on to her tight, but then Pope and Benny are pulling him from her, letting the medics move in and try to stabilize her.

His Shadow. The love of his life. Why had he never told her?

Quick, rushed movements over her body, rapid words exchanged between the few medics before they place her on a stretcher, quickly moving her to the chopper waiting just beyond the buildings outside. Frankie moves to follow her, but Redfly grabs his arm.

“We need to finish the mission, Cat.”

Frankie’s eyes flash with anger. “What the fuck, Redlfy? Shadow is dying on that chopper. I’m going with her!”

“No you aren’t. That’s an order.”

“Then court marshal me.” But it’s already too late. Frankie hears the chopper ascend, carrying the person he loves most in this world away from him as she bleeds out, alone. Well not alone, but not with him.

Frankie screams, dropping to his knees as pushes his face into his hands, tugging on his hair. They let him have this moment, all of them feeling the loss of her, like a gaping hole that they have to patch up quickly that won’t feel the same. A minute goes by before Benny moves forward, dropping to a knee next to Frankie and putting his hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.

“Hey man. I’m sure she’ll be ok.”

Frankie’s tear stained face looks up at him. “You don’t know that.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But I do know we have to finish this mission so we can all get back safe and find her. She wouldn’t want to lose all of us because we didn’t move in time.”

The anger in Frankie’s eyes simmers at Benny’s words. He’s right. He may hate it but he’s right. Frankie nods, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. He moves to stand up but then he sees it on the floor, Shadow’s hat, the Standard Heating Oil logo dusty from being on the dirt floor. Frankie picks it up and dusts it off, quickly adjusting it to his size before snugly placing it on his head. Everyone nods at him, accepting this way to honor their injured teammate.

The mission is a success and they all get lifted back to base. It had been a few days since Shadow was airlifted back to medics and Frankie was itching to see if she was ok. He was determined to tell her how he feels the moment his eyes find hers. He makes his way to the medical building as soon as his boots hit the floor, Benny following behind him as the rest of the team goes to debrief. Frankie pushes open the front door and stops at the little receptionist desk, the woman behind it squinting at the screen as she slaps the side of the monitor.

“I swear they need to get us a flat panel or something. This thing is ancient.” She looks up at Frankie, a smile on her face. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a soldier who would’ve come in 3 days ago, gunshot wound to the abdomen.” She nods as he gives her her name, the receptionist’s fingers clinking away at the keyboard. She squints at the screen again, another slap to the side of the monitor.

“Yes I see her here…gunshot wound…and you are her...?”

“Teammate. We both are,” Frankie says as Benny nods over his shoulder.

Her eyes move back to the screen as she reads some more, her lips moving with the words as she reads them. Then she stops, taking off her glasses and setting them to the side. She takes a breath and Frankie’s stomach falls out.

“I’m sorry to tell you, but she passed.”

“Passed? What do you mean passed?” Frankie asks, the lady looking from him to Benny behind him, who had silent tears streaming down his cheeks already.

“Fish-” Benny puts his hand on his shoulder but Frankie shrugs it off.

“No, don’t! What does she mean? Tell me!” He’s yelling now, Benny trying to pull him away from the receptionist, apologizing to her. She smiles sadly, a knowing look on her face.

Frankie turns to Benny, gripping his sleeves as Benny tries to pull him into his chest. “No Ben, what..she..she can’t, I never told her-” and then he crumbles into Benny’s chest, face buried in his shoulder as he wails, a hole in his gut getting larger and larger as his grief consumes him. Benny holds him tight, his own tears at the loss of his friend that was like a sister to him, trickling down his cheeks as he listens to his best friend wail into the quiet hall.

24 hours later they’re called out for another mission, Frankie pulling her hat on tight, the way he can carry her with him as he swallows down the grief that consumes him whenever he isn’t on a mission. He pours himself into his work, protecting his friends and doing what his country asks of him.

I blink awake, the lights in whatever room I’m in are dimmed, giving the room a slight yellow-white glow. I shift and wince, the bullet would in my abdomen screaming at me to be still. I place my hand over it and feel a large bandage. It’s then I realize that I’m in a hospital gown and in a hospital bed, definitely not the med bay back at base. A nurse walks into the room and smiles at me.

“Oh you’re awake! How do you feel?”

“Like I was shot in the stomach,” I croak out as she hands me a cup of water, a straw sticking out of the top.

“Small sips. Yeah I would imagine it doesn’t feel great. Would you like something more for the pain?”

I take a small sip and cough, managing to swallow a little of it. “I don’t know, honestly. How long have I been out?”

She glances at my chart. “Several days.”

“Where am I?”

She names off a hospital and seems to see that I have no idea what she’s talking about. “It’s an American run hospital here.”

“So, I’m not on base then?”

She shakes her head. “No. They moved you here because of the severity of your wounds. Let me grab the doctor.” She leaves the room and returns 20 minutes later with a man in a white coat. He takes my chart from her and scans it, nodding.

“How are we feeling?”

“Like we were shot in the stomach.”

He chuckles at my recycled joke. “Yeah I imagine so. If you need anything stronger let us know.”

I nod. “The nurse mentioned I’m not on base?”

He shakes his head. “Your injuries were too extensive to be treated on base so they brought you here immediately. We had to do surgery to remove the bullet and repair the damage it caused. You’ll feel it for a while but there shouldn’t be any long term damage, aside from a scar.”

I nod. “Thank you, doctor.” He nods and leaves the room, the nurse coming back over to me.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Uh yeah, actually. Do you have clearance? To ask about another soldier?”

She nods. “I do.” She takes a paper and pen from her scrub pocket. “Write down their names and I’ll see what I can find out.”

I write down the names of my team mates, my heart tightening when I write Frankie’s name, him screaming my name with wide eyes the last thing I remember before blacking out. I hate that I put him through the ringer. It’s not my fault I know, but at least I made it and now I can tell him how I feel. I think he may feel the same for me?

The nurse leaves with my thanks and I’m left to flip through channels on the older tv that’s sitting on a hanging shelf in the upper corner of the room. There’s nothing on but I mindlessly flip through them, nervously waiting for the nurse to return. She comes back a few hours later, bringing with her my medication.

“I’m sorry it took me a minute. There’s a lot of Miller’s to sift through.”

I smile. “Yeah. Common name.” She hands me a cup with pills in it, telling me it’s my pain meds and other post surgery ones. But it’s the way she’s not quite meeting my eyes that puts me on alert. I take the meds as requested, handing her back the small paper cup.

“Just me tell me. Please.”

The nurse sighs and hesitates a brief moment before taking my hand, gently swiping her tumb across the back of my hand.

“I’m sorry dear. But none of them made it. Looks like a classified mission. ”

I pause. “What?”

“N-none of them made it.”

“Did you tell them Delta Force? Sometimes we’re in a different section.”

She nods. “Yes, ma’am. It’s…confirmed.” She squeezes my hand but I can’t register anything else she says over the high pitched ringing in my ears. Gone? That can’t be right. They were all very much alive when I…no no no! They can’t be…Frankie can’t be….The wail that rips from my throat sounds inhuman, grief spewing from my body as I scream, the nurse trying to calm me, the stitches on my stomach bursting with pain as my stomach contracts and I throw up, continuing to scream as other nurses come into the room, one of them pushing a needle into my arm and I slowly pass out, the last thought I have is of Frankie and his big, brown eyes and how I’ll never see them again.

There was no funeral. Or rather it had been finished before I could leave the hospital. I couldn’t bring myself to fly out to their graves, to see their names etched in stone. Instead, I stayed at my parent’s house, grief and depression consuming me for years. Eventually I crawled out, poking my head above the surface and taking a small breath in the form of painting. I was pretty good at it too. I sold several pieces and some rich guy commissioned me to do paintings for every room in his house. Once that was completed, several of his friends reached out and before I knew it, I had quite a little business going.

It felt good, to do something with my hands besides peeling back the skin at the corners of my nails. The hole the boys left was still very much there and I suspect it will never quite go away. But the wound Frankie’s death left behind still hurts almost as much as it did when I first found out he died about 7 years ago. Once I started painting, my parents tried to set me up on dates, but nothing ever took. I don’t want any of them. The other half of me is buried in the earth and I’ve been coming to terms with that. Which will probably take the rest of my life and the next.

My phone bings and I set down my brush, swallowing hard as I look at the shade of brown paint, nearly an exact match for Frankie’s eyes. A quick glance and it’s a text from my mom.

Mom: You’re still coming this weekend?

Yes mom. I promised I’d house sit for you after the party.

Mom: Are you sure? It’s such a long way

Mom, it’s your 30th anniversary. I’m not missing that.

Mom: Well, if you’re sure. Don’t forget to pack that lovely dress I bought you.

Of course. Just promise not to set me up with anyone

Mom: See you Friday!

I don’t like the way she avoided that last one, but I can easily get rid of them. Once they get a glimpse of my PTSD, they run.

Friday rolls around and I step off the plane, pulling my backpack up higher on my shoulder, spotting my dad through the crowd of people waiting just beyond TSA. He smiles wide and pulls me to him in a tight hug.

“Your mom wanted to come but there was some last minute emergency with the cake.”

“Sounds serious.”

He chuckles and I smile. I had missed my parents.

“Wanna grab a drink before we head home?”

“Shit, she set me up didn’t she?”

He laughs loudly this time. “She’s pretty obvious, huh? She’s just worried about you, kid. But-” he puts his hands in the air as I open my mouth to protest “-I told her you wouldn’t be interested and to leave you alone. As far as I know, she understands. Or at least she pretends to.”

A quick drink at an unfamiliar bar and then I’m walking back into my childhood home, nearly the same as it was from my childhood, just newer electronics. My mom comes into the room, her phone clutched to her ear as she listens to someone rattle off on the other end.

“Well I don’t care how it’s done but do it! The party is tomorrow!” She hangs up and sighs before giving me a tight hug.

“Everything ok, mom?”

“Oh yeah. Just people not wanting to do their jobs. But it’s fine! You’re here!”

The party passes in a blur, one guy coming to talk to me briefly before my dad whisks him away, giving me a wink as he does so. The party was beautiful and romantic, my parent’s love on full display. They leave right after the party, jetting off to Europe for 2 weeks, the honeymoon they never got to have. And as the only child without my own children, I get the honor of house-sitting, which isn’t too bad. It’s nice to get away from the city and all the bustle it brings.

Sunday morning I wake when I want, stretching before I head downstairs for some coffee, scratching absentmindedly at the scar on my stomach as I slide my hand under my Fleetwood Mac shirt. No, not mine. His. I had swiped it from him before our mission, a practical joke for when we returned from our mission and he saw it was missing. I slept with it for months after his death, eventually putting it in a ziploc bag when I noticed the smell fading and only brought it out on his birthday and when life got a little too hard. With all the love celebrating last night, my heart hurt and hung heavy, old tears falling new on my cheeks as I excused myself to cry in the bathroom for a bit, missing my what could have been. So I figured I needed the shirt. Sighing, I take a sip of my coffee, staring out of the back window at my mother’s garden, trying to take in it’s beauty and not fall too far into my own grief.

“You’re really going out there?” Benny asks Frankie, watching him toss clothes into a backpack.

“Yeah. We never went out there when we got back and I think it’s time. I just feel it.”

Benny nods. “I get it man, but what are you gonna say to her parents? ‘Sorry I never came to the funeral?’”

Frankie gives his friend a look as he zips up his backpack. “I don’t know, Ben. I just…after all these years, and the shit I’ve been through, I…I need to see her.”

Benny gives his friend a small smile. “Tell Shadow we’ll make it an annual thing and all come out to see her next year. Put an extra flower down for me?”

“I’ll make sure she knows one of them is from you.”

Benny takes his friend to the airport, pulling him into a bear hug before he boarded. The flight was uneventful, Frankie constantly checking the note in his phone with her parent’s address on it. He’d had it all these years, but never could bring himself to visit, to tell them her death was his fault, that he should’ve shot sooner or just taken the guy out. But he couldn’t tell them that, classified, and then he poured himself into his work, earning himself a sleeping disorder, a drug addiction, and a strong case of PTSD. He’d come out the other side of the addiction with the help of his friends, but the sleeping issues and PTSD remained. He supposed they always would, watching her face as the life drains from her, the love of his life.

He gets out of the rental car, taking a deep breath as he walks up the drive to the front door. It’s a nice house on a quiet street and for a moment, he listens to the sounds of the neighborhood, picturing what it must have been like for her to have grown up here, run up and down these same front steps. Tears well in his eyes and he tries to swallow them back as he knocks, afraid that if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll back out and run away, not able to at least look her parents in the eye.

But when the door opens, it’s not her mom or dad or any of her siblings. Frankie’s breath catches in his throat, his heart beating so rapidly he’d swear it was beating out of his chest, his brain trying to process what he’s seeing.

“Frankie?”

I’m halfway through my cup of coffee when someone knocks at the door. I think my mom said some packages were being delivered but I don’t want them to sit on the porch. I set my mug down and walk to the front door, unlocking it and opening it to look into deep brown eyes. Eyes I thought I would never see again. My heart leaps from my chest, my stomach twisting, my brain rapidly trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Have I finally lost it? Gone mad with grief? But then a slight breeze picks up and his hair moves and I snap out of it just enough.

“Frankie?” I think I say it, my brain still not sure if I’m hallucinating.

“Sh-Shadow?” His fingers reach towards me, barely ghosting across my cheek, but..they’re real. I can feel him touching me. He’s real and alive and I’m so confused but it can’t be my brain tricking me, right?

Suddenly he reaches out, yanking me to his chest and burying his nose in my hair, my arms winding around him and gripping him tight, inhaling him as my face presses to his chest. Tears flow freely as I grab at him, feeling him solidly under my grasp.

“I thought you were dead,” he cries into me, his tears making my hair damp.

“I thought you were dead!”

He pulls away a small bit and takes my face in his hands, his eyes looking between mine. “This is real, right? You’re really…real?”

I nod. “I am. Are you?”

“I am. I…I love you!” And then his lips are pressed to mine, soft and slightly chapped, one of his hands sliding around to the back of my head, the other settling on my hip. I kiss him back, pouring a decades worth of love and grief into that kiss for several moments before a sob erupts from my throat and I break the kiss, heaving as I cling to his shirt.

“I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry! I-I-I l-l-love y-you t-t-too!” My sobs break up my speech and I feel ridiculous, but Frankie laughs and I start to cry all over again. I’d forgotten his laugh and how warm it makes me feel and I would do anything to hear that sound for the rest of my life.

“I am barely holding it together, querida. I-wait. Is that my Fleetwood Mac shirt?”

My sobs turn into a seal bark of a laugh, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, feeling his fingers on my hip still.

“Yeah. Ha-ha I got you!”

He chuckles as he kisses me again, fingers digging deeper into my hip as he walks me back into the house, kicking the door closed behind him.

Instead of talking, we spend the next several hours in bed, Frankie pressing himself between my legs, sliding into me as if we were made for each other, years of longing and grief poured into every meet of our hips. Once we get out of a lengthy shower, Frankie lays on my childhood bed and beckons me to him, pulling me down to him as I cuddle into his side, my hand on his chest and leg over his, his fingers tracing the end of the scar that derailed my life. Our lives.

“You’ve been alive all this time?” I ask, turning my head up to look at him.

He nods sadly. “Yeah.”

“All of you?”

“Yeah, why?”

I cry again, guilty that I didn’t confirm this before he pressed me into my bed but I was so overwhelmed I didn’t even think about it. He holds me and gives me time to cry, speaking words of comfort in my ear.

“I asked the nurse to look you all up and she said you had died. That…that all of you had…had…”

“What? No, we came back from the mission a few days…after. Then we had to ship out a day later on a new one. I asked the receptionist at the med building and she said you had died.”

Anger surges through me at the years we lost over incorrect records. “Ok, who do I have to fuck up for this? Because this was bullshit. I…I don’t have words, Frankie, I-”

“I know, querida. It was either wrong records or they looked at the wrong name. And I may seem calm, but inside I’m seething. I just…I’ll deal with that later. For now, I just want to hold you and celebrate the fact that you’re alive and…wait. Did you say you love me too?”

“Francisco Morales, you have touched my body in nearly every way possible and you’re questioning my love?”

“Well I’m still not entirely sure you’re real.”

I shift, leaning up to press my lips to his. “I guess we have all the time in the world to find out.”

2 months later, we get married in my parent’s backyard, all of the Delta Force boys there to cheer us on.

Author’s Note: My husband is a veteran who served around the time of 9/11. He was injured overseas and left the army. His friends/team mates all signed back up. When he was able, he asked about his friends in order to stay in contact and was told they had all died, killed in action overseas.

Flash forward nearly 2 decades later, he makes a comment in a Facebook page for memes and gets a comment back with his nickname from back in the day. One of his friends had actually been alive this entire time and that friend had been told that my husband had died.

Facebook may be a lot of shit, but will always have a spot in my heart for it for bringing back my husband’s friend from the dead. I will never forget the look on his face when he came out to tell me!

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cod-dump · 6 months

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Time (another monster au fic)

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Price hadn’t foreseen ‘non-human handler’ in his future. Two vampires, an insectoid, whatever the hell Nik was (a lycan of some kind?), and a demon? Definitely wasn’t how he thought his days would go. He especially didn’t plan on sort of adopting the vampires both being older than his grandparents. Well, Soap was. Gaz was much younger than that but still older than Price.

But, their youthful appearances have most certainly made him feel like they needed guidance even though they had far more life experience. Well, Gaz seemed to return the familial connection, at least. He would often come join Price in his office just sit and talk. It was nice having that connection since Price wasn’t in contact with any of his family, distant relatives or close family members.

“Cap… I have a question,” it wasn’t often when Gaz wanted to ask Price something.

He was smart, had seen more things than Price. He was also the type to try to figure things out on his own before asking questions (thankfully he doesn’t do this on the clock).

“Question? About what?”

“Well… Ghost.”

Price felt his heart beat quicken, he knew where this was going, “What about him?”

“Why is he here? He’s a demon, they don’t do this kind of thing. Especially not on their own free will.”

He could hear what Gaz was wanting to say. The thing he hasn’t about to actually say out loud, the thing this was all about. Laswell had the worst reaction when she had found out. Tears, yelling— The works. Nik was much calmer in appearance but Price could tell he was devastated.

Price knew the risks, he knew what he was getting himself into. It was his soul after all, he could do what he pleased with it.

“I… contracted him. He’s a mercenary, after all. He works for me, and when the job’s done he gets his payment… then he’s gone. That simple.”

Gaz’s jaw as clenched, a pain in his eyes that just pierced Price’s soul, “That’s a funny fucking way to call selling you soul to him.”

Price had years to accept it. He’s the one who summoned the Ghost to this plane, the one who offered Simon Riley’s corpse for him to root him here so he had a physical form. Price gave him rank, this human mask that he could wear. Whether he kept it when everything was said and done is uncertain. Price had feeling he could make a hell of a business off of it.

“I had my time to accept it, I don’t expect you to get it.”

Gaz couldn’t look at him, choosing to stare at the wall instead. The angle allowed Price to see the light glint off his eyes, giving away his inhuman nature. Gaz was much more emotional than other vampires. He remembers being human, he cares about humanity. He was stealing blood bags almost his whole vampiric existence before Price found him and recruited him.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, Kyle. When I’m gone Nik will be taking you and Soap with him to Chimera. Kate will make you two disappear and can go on to Russia.”

“That’s supposed to be comforting?”

“Russia does have the highest population of any non-humans in the world. Plus Chimera is nothing but non-humans.”

“Fucking- I don’t care about finding somewhere safe!” Gaz stood quickly, knocking his chair back, “You fucking sold your soul to a demon! You have a timer on your life!”

Price watches Gaz wave his arms around, tears pricking in his eyes, “You’re dying!”

Price sighs. He had accepted this himself, he knows his fate. Unless the demon themself decides to break the contract, spare the human who made it with them… Price’s fate is sealed. There has been some recorded incidents where demons completed the contract only to just leave, not taking their client’s soul. It is possible to survive, but making a demon genuinely like you to the point they let you keep your soul is near impossible.

Ghost was going to kill him in the end. Eat his soul in probably the most painful way possible before fucking off to do whatever.

“Kyle…”

“How can you be so fucking calm? Did you even consider how anyone else would feel!?”

“I made that deal a long time ago. Before I had anyone in my life worth living for. I do not regret sacrificing my life for the greater good.”

Gaz was shaking, now quiet. Price swallows before standing, going around to the vampire and pulling him into a hug. Gaz almost instantly clung to him, a quiet sob in his chest.

“I don’t want you to die…”

“I’m sorry, Kyle. I can’t change anything.”

“There has to be another way.”

“Heh, you know trying to cheat a demon out of a soul is dangerous. You know how dangerous Ghost is.”

Gaz pulls away, wiping his face, “Fuck… Yea, I do…”

Price felt dread in his chest. The first time in years he had to truly acknowledge what he had done. He felt like this after he told Laswell, after Nik, and now Gaz. Their emotions reminded him how deeply upsetting this was. But Price couldn’t take it back. He wouldn’t if it meant he would still be able to do it. Save this world from it’s own self-destruction… all at the cost of a single soul. What he’s doing wouldn’t be permanent, the rot would always crawl back. but at least his soul would buy everyone some time.

#another monster au #call of duty #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #drabble #ficlet

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that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction · 29 days

Text

Part 2 of the Merlin saves (tries to kill) Arthur fic

(I suck at naming stuff and I'm not putting more effort into the title than the actual fic.)

(Part 1) (Part 3)

—

When Merlin woke, fear coursed through him. Arthur, Gwen and Gaius were sat around him and he was pushed too far back into his own mind. He felt himself lunge at Arthur, hands aiming for his neck, all reservations about subtlety gone.

“Kill Arthur Pendragon!” Fomorroh screeched. “Kill!”

Merlin grasped at reality, fighting desperately again but loosing the battle. Something hit the back of his head and he collapsed again.

———

When Merlin awoke again, it was to only Gwen and Gaius, a smoke canister under his nose that made wakefulness rush through him alongside relief. The distant mantra of ‘Kill Arthur Pendragon’ still rang through his head but he was fully in control of himself.

“What is that? Arthur's socks?” He grinned, looking at Gwen smile in relief.

She stood and pulled the door open, Arthur was just outside looking anxious with a furrowed brow and red rimmed eyes.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed, the king looked up.

“Merlin.” He whispered, standing and taking a cautious step closer. He looked to Gaius, “is he..?”

“Not permanently. It’s dormant for now, but that’s will only last a day.” Gaius said. He shivered at the thought of being dragged back under its control.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry,” he pushed himself into a sitting position on the workbench, cleared to act as a table while he was being treated.

“What happened?”

Gaius stepped forward and set a bowl of his favourite berries on the table. Merlin slid into the chair and frowned, trying to remember everything.

“The mercenaries, they were hired by someone I know. I can’t remember what his voice sounded like, but I remember knowing him.” He started, “I had my eyes closed so they’d think I was unconscious, the mercenaries were calling the man who hired them “my lord” too.”

Arthur sat down, “The traitor, do you think you’d recognise the voice?”

“Traitor?” Merlin asked, surprised Arthur was willing to think of such a thing.

“We were talking about it before you attacked me, do you not…”

He pinched his lips into a line and shook his head, “I remember fighting for control and using your voice to remind myself that we’re friends, that I’d never want to harm you, but I don’t remember what you were saying. Then… Fomorroh got way too excited about something, like the poison and the crossbow but I could sabotage it with that. It kept screaming in my head but I don’t know what happened next, the next thing I knew everything went dark.” He couldn’t figure out what happened after that.

“You broke free of the enchantment.” Gwen informed him. “Your eyes were gold, then you were shaking and you told us Morgana was controlling your mind with a Fomorroh and then said we should knock you out.”

“Gold?”

“Don’t think on it too much for now.” Arthur’s said coolly, “what happened after the mercenaries?”

Merlin nodded hesitantly, “I passed out for real, then when Morgana woke me up I was hanging from the ceiling by my wrists. She had a sort of… hovel? Like what Dragoon lived in but in the woods. Then she healed me, and knocked me out again. The next time I woke up, she conjured the snake and put it in my neck. Everything disappeared, like I was underwater but with the Fomorroh yelling that I had to-“ he looked down, glancing at Arthur and back to the half empty bowl of fruit on the table.

“To kill me.” Arthur filled in.

Merlin nodded.

“Do you remember anything else?”

He hesitated, thinking about what he could pull from the memories that didn’t feel like his own, “There’s a few things but none of them make any sense.“

Merlin shook his head, brow furrowed in anxious concentration as he tried to force the memories to surface without disturbing Fomorroh.

Arthur sighed, relaxing slightly and dropping his hands onto Merlin’s shoulders, startling him out of his thoughts by kneeling down to meet Merlin’s eyes, “You’re in no trouble, Merlin. You saved my life today, for that I’m in your debt.”

“Does that mean I finally get a day off?”he quipped without thinking.

Arthur huffed, “you can have a free afternoon after all this is sorted out, but we just want to know how to fix whatever Morgana did to you so.”

Merlin swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat. He’d seen Arthur’s charm turned on nobles and members of the court, even Gwen at one point before she and Lancelot married, but seeing it aimed at him was too much. He had no idea how to handle such a thing.

“Take a breath, and just… say whatever comes back to you.” He said, giving Merlin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We’re okay.”

Merlin took a breath, as instructed, and thought back to the time he’d been fighting against the snake.

“It would get excited whenever it thought up some plan.” He said, realising he’d said something similar before. “I couldn’t see much of what was going on, I could hear a few words when I got closer with fighting back into control but never anything important. Except for Morgana. I remember… when the knights found me, I didn’t understand why they sounded different than Morgana did. I could hear everything she said even with the snake.”

“You don’t remember what happened when we found you?” Arthur asked with a furrowed brow. The questions helped.

Merlin frowned and tried to focus. “Gwaine called me bog man. He was there, wasn’t he?” He hated how small and uncertain he sounded.

“It was me and Gwaine. Leon and the others had just got back from searching.�� Arthur told him.

“You were there?” He asked, knowing Arthur wouldn’t lie but the memories all seemed just out of reach. “Fomorroh kept taunting me, telling me that you’d die believing you’d been betrayed. I managed to get a second of control then…” he frowned for a moment, trying to remember that moment it came back to him. The realisation ached, knowing what he’d missed.

“You hugged me,” he murmured.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I was happy to see you alive.”

“I missed it,” Merlin pouted. “The first time you hug me and I can’t even remember it, I had a second when you were pulling away but then it took over again. It was more careful after that, keeping me away from control.”

Arthur frowned at him, still knelt on the floor. Merlin almost forgot that Gwen and Gaius were there too, evidently it had slipped the kings mind too because he pulled Merlin forward and wrapped his arms around him. Merlin instantly melted under the warmth and safety of it.

His arms came up and held onto Arthur’s shoulders, fingers curling into his tunic and holding on like letting go would kill him.

“You actually hugged me back this time.” Arthur huffed in a whisper, breath landing on Merlin’s ear and their two heartbeats beating against each other’s chests.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” Merlin told him, tears brimming in his eyes and voice thick.

Arthur’s grip on him tightened. “You did nothing wrong. You saved my life, and did all you could.”

Merlin didn’t respond, only buried his face into Arthur’s neck, dampening his tunic with the tears that hadn’t fallen and breathing in the warmth.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice what was going on.” Arthur whispered.

Merlin shook his head, not knowing the words to say. Arthur apologising never even crossed his mind, he’d never thought about Arthur having something to apologise for.

“You’ve nothing to apologise for.” Merlin whispered, teary eyed and trembling. Arthur’s hands ran up and down his back, rubbing circles into his shoulders and holding him close like just staying there would keep Morgana’s terror away.

‘Dear Gods, please let me keep him.’ Merlin prays desperately to any forces or divine powers that still listen to him.

His grip loosens, his arms tighten around Arthur’s shoulders, palms pressing flat against his shoulder blades. Merlin knows, given any chance, he’d hold on forever and he would never let Arthur go.

But then Arthur pulls away and Merlin has to suppress a pained whimper at the loss. Arthur pushes himself up and sits on the bench beside Merlin, they’re pressed together, shoulder to shoulder. Arthur doesn’t move away and neither does Merlin, Gwen and Gaius are kind enough not to mention it.

———

Thoughts? There's maybe one or two more parts to come but honestly motivation is a struggle at the moment so please be patient

#bbc merlin #merlin #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #guinevere #gaius merlin #merthur #merlin bbc #fix it fic #merlin fanfic #fanfic #angst and hurt/comfort #a servant of two masters #i’m bad at tagging

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vaulthunterlands · 2 months

Text

BORDERLANDS COLLEGE AU

Stupid idea I had a few nights ago, don't think too hard about the inconsistencies in ages and stuff. Probably just doing Vault Hunters and a few other characters.

ROLAND

Majoring in cybersecurity. Good student, studies and gets consistently high grades. Has a well-formulated meal and workout plan. Also an RA on campus. Roland is the guy you go to if you have issues. He might not be great at "talking you through them" or "showing empathy" but he always has solid advice and is well-respected by his peers.

BRICK

I was going to say "Brick wouldn't go to college in canon" but this isn't canon babeyyyy. Brick is going into veterinary medicine. You may think this is completely off as a major for him, but I argue that his love for dogs is far greater than any challenge he may face in his education. Still a gym maniac. Roland is his RA, which means Roland is in charge of calming Brick down when he gets mad. Dating Mordecai. Also, unrelated but Brick in a philosophy class:

"Brick, can you tell us what you think about what Descartes said?"

"I PUNCH Descartes."

LILITH

Y'all are going to hate me for this but Lilith is a chemistry major. Girl loves fire, electricity, and acid so you can't tell me she wouldn't be a menace in her labs. (Also, before the first game was released her full title was "Dr. Lilith Cashlin, Mercenary Scientist") Only goes to class half the time but still does really well. Rooms with Mordecai and Brick. Huge crush on this RA she keeps seeing around

MORDECAI

BIRD MAAAAAN. Y'all already know this guy is doing two things on campus. 1) Majoring in Ornithology 2) Going to parties to get drunk. This man is the epitome of "college is for partying". Keeps birds in campus (not allowed) and is doing okay in his classes (he is hung over 80% of the time) (Mordy pls) Dating Brick.

PATRICIA TANNIS

Honestly, what field of science ISN'T this girl majoring in? She's insane(ly smart) and constantly gets perfect scores on all of her exams. Closest friends are Roland and the gang.

MARCUS

Why is he here??? What??? Marcus is the guy who runs the restaurant that is directly across the street from campus. *Phenomenal* food, but GOD is it pricey. Tends to not care about many of the students chilling (as long as they BUY SOMETHING)

SCOOTER

Doesn't go to this college but he's good friends with Roland and his pals. Likes to go out drinking with them on the weekends and is just all-in-all a cool guy to hang around with. Friends with Janey.

AXTON

BMOC. Captain of the football team. You can trust him! (He's the water boy.) Total jock but he's not an asshole about it. Majoring in Rehabilitation Science. He's... not the *best* student, but he does try and genuinely care about what he wants to do. Lives with Salvador, Maya, and Zer0 in a dorm.

SALVADOR

Culinary major. My man can COOK. He's the best cook in the dorm and no one will ever argue if he offers to cook. Really good student even though he parties all the time with Mordecai, Brick, and Axton. Lives with Maya, Axton, and Zer0.

ZER0

*Insert weeb joke here* They're a literature major. Not just because of the haiku, either. I feel like Zer0 would be fantastic in literature courses and understanding thr deeper meanings in texts. They are seen as a "weird kid" on campus. They do not care. Lives with Maya, Salvador, and Axton.

MAYA

The reason I made this list (big surprise, V does a huge post and it's Maya's fault), Maya majors in entomology. (S/O to @forbiddenpurplesoda for this because I've always thought Maya would be a bug girl) Maya is a phenomenal student and she always gets great marks in her studies. Lives with Axton, Sal and Zer0. Has at least one pet beetle that makes Axton panic.

GAIGE

Mechanical Engineering/Robotics major. Obviously built Deathtrap as a buddy because she felt a little lonely in her dorm. Calls her Dad every night. Has a huge crush on a girl in one of her math classes. Lives with...

KRIEG!!!!

Listen. Listen. Krieg majors in psychology. The *actual* football captain. Doesn't talk much and when he does, it's complete nonsense. (Everyone just goes "haha classic Krieg") Gaige gets along with him extremely well. Maya and him have a thing where they will just look at each other and think "holy shit they're so gorgeous). Always wears a face mask.

TINA

Child prodigy chemistry major, buddies with Lilith and Roland. But seriously, who let this kid in the lab? Like, okay, yeah, she knows what she's doing, but what she's doing is COMBUSTION REACTIONS. How is she still in school.

ELLIE

Engineering major. Lives in the building across from Roland and the gang. Absolute sweetheart and huge flirt but will also drop you on her ass if you threaten her friends.

MOXXI

I could see Moxxi as a professor of engineering, actually. Every student thinks she's gorgeous and she's learned to ignore it. Scooter and Ellie's Mom. Thinks their friends are funny.

HANDSOME JACK

Oh man, this one was tough. I decided on absolute tool you meet in college who's the head of a frat and thinks he's God's gift to women. Lives in the same building as Roland, Lilith, Brick, Mordecai, Salvador, Axton, Maya, Zer0, Gaige, and Krieg. Constantly getting into arguments with... basically everyone listed above. Majors in business.

ANGEL

She's an art major!!! She's super intelligent and aces all of her classes but she absolutely loves art. Jack is her brother in this AU. Has a crush on the cute punk girl in her math class but could never tell her. Lives in a single.

ALISTAIR HAMMERLOCK

Double majors in conservation biology and zoology! Finds the creatures that he studies absolutely fascinating and always has a bright disposition on his face. Lives in a single that looks exactly like you think it does (his room on Sanctuary III). Strained relationship with his sister.

ATHENA

Acient History Major, specifically interested in Ancient Greece (wonder why?). Works at Marcus' restaurant. Hates it. Pay her more. Has her eyes on a girl that frequents Marcus' restaurant. Tried to live with Wilhelm, Jack, Nisha, Timothy, and Claptrap for a semester, she is now a commuter. Still friends with Timothy.

WILHELM

Jack's second-in-command. People look at him like he's a dumbass, big hunk of meat, but he's also in a robotics major. Aside from being buddies with Jack, he's... kind of chill? Man likes what he likes and he works out pretty often. Boxes in his free time. Lives with Nisha, Jack, Timothy, and (formerly) Claptrap.

NISHA

Criminal justice major, naturally. Jack's girlfriend and the baddest and scariest bitch on campus. Likes watching old western movies. Never, ever shows up to class but still passes. No one knows how. Lives with Jack, Timothy, Wilhelm, and (formerly) Claptrap

CLAPTRAP

Theater major! Always has a smile on his face, even though he's nooooot very well-liked. Tried to get in with the popular guys but eventually figured out he was being used. He confronted Jack and Jack kicked him out of the dorm 😔 Lives... well, he kind of just lives around Roland's dorm. Roland's too nice to say no.

TIMOTHY

I feel like Tim would be a Biology major. I don't know why but I can see him in that field. Looks SCARILY similar to Jack, and hates this. Unfortunately put into a room with Jack, Wilhelm, Nisha, and (formerly) Claptrap. Misses Athena greatly and wishes she still lived on campus. They're still good friends.

AURELIA HAMMERLOCK

Oh good lord, who let her on a college campus. Has an extravagant single room because she's *rich* and she's not sharing with someone else are you insane? Studies law because this bitch wants to be a judge someday. Absolutely hates to be seen with her brother Alistair. Rivalry with another rich law student makes this even more tense.

JANEY SPRINGS

Doesn't go to this college but she knows a few people around campus and hits up Marcus' restaurant for a bite to eat every so often. The food is just so good, right? No other reason. None at all. Friends with Scooter.

RHYS STRONGFOK

Rhys is a business and economics major. Is in Jack's frat. Is getting increasingly sick of Jack's shit. Buddy buddy with Vaughn, Fiona, and Zer0. Dating Sasha.

VAUGHN

Accounting major. Man has a mind like a steel trap, and also enjoys bodybuilding. Best friends with Rhys, good friends with Fiona and Sasha.

FIONA

I genuinely feel like Fiona would be a nursing or Healthcare major. I have no basis for this, it just feels right for her. Hates Jack and keeps telling Rhys to tell him to fuck off. Friends with Rhys and Vaughn, Sasha's older sister.

SASHA

Social work major! Loves helping people and wants to make a change in the world after she and Fiona grew up in less-than-ideal circumstances. Dating Rhys, also keeps telling Rhys to get away from Jack. Friends with Vaughn.

MOZE

Transfer student. Served in the military for a while before deciding she wanted to go to college. Undecided major but she's just trying to focus on the pretty women I mean her grades haha am I right? ALWAYS at Marcus'. Always. Lives with Zane, Amara, and FL4K.

FL4K

FL4K has Mr. Chew, Broodless and Meat-Thief as emotional support animals. I can see FL4K as a double major in zoology and veterinary medicine. Loves their pets. Super chill unless you speak badly about them or their pets. Will shank a bitch. Lives with Zane, Moze, and Amara.

AMARA

Healthcare studies major, with a focus on pathology. Also a bodybuilder. Also a boxer. Amara is that girl and she knows it. Always asking Moze to work out with her and she is completely oblivious to Moze being head over heels. Will fight someone being mean to a customer service worker. Lives with Zane, Moze, and FL4K.

ZANE

Pop pop went back to college! No but in this AU Zane is probably older than everyone but not that much older. His major was tough for me, but I honestly think he'd be a good candidate for a major in rehabilitation science with Axton. Also LOVES parties.

WAINWRIGHT JAKOBS

His Father wanted him to go into Business to take over the family legacy but he decided to go into law to "protect the little guy". Has daily arguments with this stuck-up, pretentious "harpy" that's in most of his classes. She's awful. Has a crush on this well-spoken man in zoological studies. At least that will take his mind off of the harpy.

TROY CALYPSO

Troy is a media and communications major. Has a fantastic time making videos and being admin of many social media pages but doesn't do very well in class because he dislikes most of his professors. Has a very close relationship with his sister, Tyreen.

TYREEN CALYPSO

Double major in Art History and Theater. Loves to be the center of attention and often stars in her brother's videos and projects. She loves it. A little full of herself. Close with her brother, Troy.

TYPHON DELEON

OKAY WAIT WAIT DON'T CLOSE THE POST HEAR ME OUT.

Cringe boomer history professor that can be easily distracted by him telling his stories of his many adventures (no one knows if they're true or not). Troy and Tyreen's Father. NOT a piss poor Dad in this AU, just embarrassing as all hell. Pretty decent guy but he's okay as a professor. (Please guys let me have my "Typhon is a good cringe embarrassing boomer dad to the Calypsos" AU)

OKAY this was a really long post and I probably forgot someone but I'm sure I'll hear about it LMAO. Also I don't know every single college major and its appropriate title, I just went off of vibes. Pls be nice 2 me

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no-one-anon · 10 months

Note

141 + Val finding out their s/o 'civilian ' is ex-mercenary

I like your writing so far btw keep it up 🤗🤗💖

Here ya go! <3

Notes: I personally don't like the writing I've done here - so I might go back to this, not sure I'll see if people agree with me ^^ Alejandro also gets uh.. pretty angsty- I was in a very angst mood when I decided to write him-

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141 + Val finding out their s/o 'civilian ' is ex-mercenary

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

Simon Ghost Riley:

Ghost and you have been dating for quite some time now. You've been through your fair share of ups and downs, but at the end of the day, your love for one another remains strong. Lately, you have been discussing about taking your relationship to the next level. You've even been talking about getting married. But as things start to get more serious between them, you have a secret that you've been keeping from him.

At this point, you know that it's time to come clean. You decide to sit down and talk to Ghost about your past. It's a difficult conversation, but you know that you need to be honest with Ghost if you're ever going to have a healthy relationship.

You take a deep breath and begin to tell Ghost about your time as a mercenary. You explain how you got recruited, the dangerous missions you were tasked with, and why you ultimately decided to leave the life behind. It's a lot for Ghost to take in, and he can tell that you were nervous about sharing all of this with him.

As you finish your story, Ghost takes a moment to process everything you've said. He knows that being a mercenary is a controversial and dangerous profession, and he wants to make sure he fully understands what your involvement in that life meant. He has a lot of questions, but he also reminds himself that your relationship is built on trust and honesty. He knows that this is a chance for you and him to have an open and honest conversation about your pasts and what you want for your shared future together.

Ghost finally speaks up, saying, "I appreciate you sharing all of that with me. It must have been hard for you to talk about, but I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me the truth. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, no matter what your past may be. And I hope that we can continue to have honest conversations like this in the future."

You only nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You're grateful that Ghost was so understanding, and accepting.

John Soap MacTavish:

John was a hardened soldier, trained by the SAS and known for his bravery and skill in the field. He was an intense character, focused and determined, with little patience for those who did not share his dedication to duty. John had seen a lot in his life, both in terms of combat and personal experience, and he had developed a very strict moral compass over the years.

His current relationship with you was relatively new, but you both had hit it off right from the start. John was drawn to your wit and charm, and he appreciated your insight into things he had never thought about. You were a civilian, not a soldier, and John was intrigued by this. You were different from the women he had dated before, and he found this refreshing.

But things took a turn when you revealed your secret to John: you had once been a mercenary, and you had participated in some very controversial operations. You told John that you had left that life behind and was now a dedicated civilian.

This revelation was a shock to John. As a soldier, he was well-aware of the reputation that mercenaries had in the military community. He knew that their involvement in illegal activities and their disregard for human life was often seen as a major stain on their character. John's initial reaction was one of skepticism and scrutiny. He wanted to know exactly what you had done as a mercenary, and he wanted to understand why you had left that life behind.

You knew that your past was not something John would take lightly, and you were prepared to face his questions and concerns. You told John everything, from your first operation to your last. You were completely honest, even mentioning some of the darker moments you had experienced during your time as a mercenary. John listened carefully to your story, taking in every detail and thinking about what it all meant.

You had gone through a lot in your life, both as a soldier and as a mercenary, and you came out the other side with grace and humility. Although being honest to John. He felt th need to tell you that he wasn't sure how to feel about your past, but that he was willing to take the time to understand and process it. John was a man of duty, but also a man of compassion. He knew that everyone deserved a chance to make amends for their mistakes, and he wanted to give you that chance.

To your surprise, John told you that he was willing to continue their relationship, despite your past as a mercenary. He told you that he loved you for who you were now, and that he believed in your ability to change and grow. You were grateful for John's understanding, and felt a sense of relief wash over you.

From that day on, John and your relationship deepened and flourished. John respected you for your past, and he understood that it had made you the person you were today. You were also grateful for John's acceptance and support, and felt a sense of comfort knowing that you had a partner who believed in you.

Captain John Price:

Captain Price was no stranger to keeping a level head, but he couldn't deny the sense of irritation that crept into his voice as he confronted the person in front of him. You looked so innocent, so harmless, yet he had just discovered that you were far from it.

"You were a mercenary," Price stated bluntly, unable to hide his surprise. "And I had no idea."

"I didn't think you needed to know.." You replied sheepishly, looking down at the ground.

Price's eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer. "I'm your significant other, and you kept this information from me? Who were you working for? What kind of jobs did you do?"

You looked up at him, a small hint of fear in your eyes. "I don't want to talk about it. It's in the past."

Price wasn't convinced. "You don't just stop being a mercenary. There's always a reason why someone quits. And I want to know yours."

You sighed, realizing there was no escaping the interrogation. "I used to work for a private security company." You finally admitted. "But I got tired of all the violence and death."

Price nodded, his expression softening a bit. "I understand," he said, then added with a hint of sarcasm, "But I bet you were pretty good at your job."

You blushed slightly, remembering all the things you had done in the past. "I guess I was," you admitted reluctantly.

Price stared at you for a moment longer, trying to read your expression and gauge exactly how much of a threat you truly were. He knew that your past as a mercenary could impact your relationship, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take on that kind of burden.

Finally, he let out a long breath, his eyes softer now. "Okay, let's leave the past in the past. Just promise me you won't go back to that life again."

You nodded silently, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. Price was always so logical and level-headed, and you sometimes felt like you couldn't keep up with him. But in that moment, you realized that you didn't have to be strong and independent all the time. You could lean on him, and he would catch you when you fell.

Kyle Gaz Garrick:

Kyle is a ruthless mercenary with no regard for the consequences of his actions. He's had a reputation for being aggressive and reckless on the battlefield, and was feared by both allies and enemies alike. He thought of the battlefield as a place to unleash his anger and frustration on his enemies, and didn't care about who got in the way of his goals.

But despite his ruthless nature, Kyle also had a softer side, one that he kept hidden from most people. He had a deep desire for a peaceful and stable life, with a family he could call his own. That's why he was so drawn to you, who was everything he dreamed of in a significant other. You were kind, loving, and had a gentle spirit that he found incredibly appealing.

But you had a secret that you kept hidden from Kyle. You were an ex-mercenary who had worked for the same organization as Kyle did in the past, before leaving to pursue a more peaceful life. You were proud of your past and the skills you had learned, but you didn't want to tell Kyle for fear that he would see you as a monster.

However, one day, Kyle accidentally stumbled upon evidence of your past as a mercenary. He was both surprised and intrigued, and couldn't help but admire your skills and abilities as a former mercenary. You were initially reluctant to talk about your past, but Kyle was persistent, and eventually, you opened up and shared some of your experiences with him.

Kyle found your stories fascinating and couldn't help but see you in a different light, as a fierce and capable person who could potentially help him in his own missions. The thought of having a former mercenary by his side was exciting, and he began to envision all the potential benefits that could come from this new knowledge.

But as Kyle began to explore this idea, he also started to worry about what this could mean for their relationship. He recognized that mercenaries were known for being ruthless and unpredictable, and he was unsure how this new knowledge would affect their dynamic as a couple.

He wondered if you had truly left you past behind or if there was still a part of you that craved the thrill and adrenaline of life as a mercenary. He was aware that you were no longer the person you were back then, and that you had left that life behind for a reason, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease about your past.

Despite these concerns, Kyle found himself unable to shake off the idea of having a former mercenary by his side. The potential benefits were too appealing, and the thought of having you with him on his missions was exhilarating. He decided to talk to you about his thoughts and concerns, and to his surprise, you were quite understanding and supportive of his concerns.

You admitted to Kyle that you sometimes missed the thrill and adrenaline of life as a mercenary, but that you had learned to control those impulses and was now a completely different person. You reassured him that you had left that life behind for good and that you loved him with all your heart.

Kyle was touched by your words, and he realized that he had always been too caught up in his own thoughts and emotions to truly hear and understand you. He saw that you were not just a former mercenary, but a complex and multifaceted individual with your own hopes, dreams, and emotions.

Alejandro Vargas:

"You're kidding, right?" Alejandro's voice was rough and raspy, laced with a mix of disbelief and anger as his face contorted into a scowl. "An ex-merc?"

He took a step back, his eyes narrowing, his mind racing with questions as he tried to reconcile the sweet, kind person he thought he knew with this shocking revelation. The betrayal was palpable, and he could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the words hanging heavy between them.

This person, who he had trusted implicitly, who he had shared his life with, had been keeping a secret, a secret that threatened to tear apart everything he thought he knew about you. Anger and betrayal warred with confusion and hurt, and he felt a fierce protectiveness rising within him.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, and he tried to temper his emotions, to keep a cool head and not let his anger get the best of him. But the anger was hot, like a fire burning within, and it was hard to control.

"I trusted you," he muttered, his voice low and hoarse, "I trusted you, and you've been lying to me this whole time." The words were like a knife, sharp and stinging, and he felt a twinge of guilt at your cruelty.

But it was too late for regrets, too late to take back the things he had said. The hurt was too deep, the pain too real, and he found himself unable to contain his anger any longer. He turned away with a shudder, unable to bear to look at you, unable to bear the sight of the person he thought he knew so well, the person who had betrayed him in such a profound way.

He stood in silence for a moment, his mind racing, torn between a fierce protectiveness and a deep-seated anger. Finally, he found his voice again, and his words were softer, but no less heartfelt.

He wanted to lash out, to yell, to scream, but he forced himself to remain calm, to speak rationally, even though his heart was in turmoil. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words to express the depth of his betrayal and hurt.

The tension hung in the air between them, each word a knife, each word digging deeper and deeper into the other's heart. He wanted to rage, to scream, to let out the hurt and pain and anger that was choking him, but he couldn't. He couldn't let you see how much it hurt, how much it had hurt him to find out the truth.

His voice was softer now, softer than he meant it to be, softer than he wanted it to be. He wanted you to see, to feel, the depth of his pain, but he couldn't bear to let it all out, to let you see the hurt in his eyes, the pain in his heart.

"I can't trust you now," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to trust you now."

The words hung heavy in the air, the weight of the betrayal, of the lies, a burden that neither of them could bear. The hurt was written on your face, in your eyes, but he couldn't look at you, couldn't face the truth of what you had done.

The silence stretched on, a heavy weight pressing down on both of them, a silent confession of the damage that had been done, of the trust that had been broken. He knew there would be no coming back from this, no way to fix what had been broken, no way to repair the damage that had been done.

The pain was like a slow burn in his chest, and he felt a lump forming in his throat, but he forced it down, forced himself to be strong, to be calm, to be everything you needed him to be.

Finally, he found his voice again, his words measured, as if he was walking on eggshells. "I need some time to think," he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "I need some time to figure out what this means."

You nodded, your eyes downcast, your own words silent as you grappled with the magnitude of what you had done, with the pain you had caused. They stood there, in silence, for what felt like an eternity, each of them lost in their own thoughts, each of them grappling with the weight of the betrayal, of the lies, of the broken trust.

Valeria Garzas:

Valeria and her significant other, you, have been dating for several months. Valeria is a devoted humanitarian, working for a non-profit organization that provides aid to war-torn regions. you, on the other hand, are an ex-mercenary who has completed several violent contracts in the past.

One day, you decide to share your past with Valeria, feeling that you owe her honesty and transparency in your relationship. When Valeria hears the news, she's shocked and overwhelmed with emotion. She feels betrayed and lied to, as you had never mentioned your past before. She also feels a sense of fear and anxiety, wondering if your past could put them or their family in danger.

Valeria needs time to process and come to terms with this information. She may need to have difficult and honest conversations with you about your past, such as the reasons you became a mercenary and the specifics of your work. She may also need to consider how this information could impact their relationship and the future they may have together.

The first conversation between Valeria and you may be filled with tension and awkwardness, as neither of them know how to approach the subject. Valeria interrogates you to explain your past in detail, including why you became a mercenary and what your work entailed. You felt uncomfortable and ashamed, but you also know that you need to be open and honest with Valeria.

As the interrogation progresses, Valeria gains a better understanding of your past and how shaped you into the person you were today. You talked about your experiences and how they still impact you, both emotionally and psychologically.

Through these conversations, Valeria eventually comes to realization that your past does not define you, and that you are a person with a hard past. She understands that your past experiences have made you who you were today, and that you are still the person she has grown to love.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza #kyle gaz garrick x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas

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greeenchrysanthemums · 4 months

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What do you mean by Scott has a sinking feeling that he has seen Pearl before in your GG rival au??? You made me super curious and I need to know

Simply put; they've met before.

Many years ago, when Scott was new to being a knight and Pearl was fresh into her mercenary business, they somehow ended up on the same escort job.

Scott was given charge of a group of knights that were tasked with protecting a nobleman on Ren's orders. They were to escort him to his summer home and ensure nothing happened to him on the way there. The protection of castle knights still wasn't enough for the nobleman to feel safe, though, because he also hired outside protection. That is where Pearl comes in.

Pearl was distant in every sense of the word during this job. She trailed behind the rest of the group, barely spoke, and didn't interact with anyone unless strictly necessary, and when she did, she only gave short answers. She wasn't in a good head space during this time; she still isn't, really, but she was particularly bad back then.

Scott sensed a sadness in her from the moment they were introduced, and he wanted to help, so he tried to reach out to her multiple times throughout the entire 2 weeklong journey, but she always kept him at arm's length. He was just losing hope when she finally opened up to him the night before their journey was to be over. She confided in him that she was lonely and wanted nothing more than a friend, but no one seemed to ever stick around in her life. Scott offered to be her friend and she said she would like that.

Of course, things didn't go so well after that.

Later that night, when Pearl was the only one awake, one of the many people who wanted the nobleman dead approached Pearl and offered her double what she was paid initially to kill him instead. After a sleepless night contemplating, she decided to do it. She killed him in the early morning while everyone was asleep and then skipped town before she could be discovered, stealing Scott's horse to make her escape in an accidental extra bit of salt in the wound.

Scott was shocked, he felt betrayed that she would do this after the seemingly heart felt conversation they had only hours before. He did end up getting in trouble for allowing the nobleman to die, receiving a month's suspension over it. He nearly lost his place in the ranks because of her. He does not remember her fondly. He thinks she's a liar.

Though she carries a similar sadness to that of what she had when they first met, she is a far cry from the gloomy and bitter girl he met years back. She seems happier now. She has a pep in her step, particularly when she's around Gem, and her smile reaches her eyes despite the hint of dishonestly and wariness in them. Not only that, but she used to dress differently and wear her hair over her birthmark to hide it. She's entirely unrecognizable to him, and it drives him crazy that he can't place where he's seen her before.

#scott smajor #pearlescentmoon #GG rivals au #life series #do these two have a duo name?#i almost feel bad that all my answers always end up being so long haha #for the record pearl does not recognize him in the slightest #she has no clue who he is #most of her early mercenary days are a blur to her #like i said she wasn't doing very well back then #she tends to block that period of her life out as much as she is able to #GG asks

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moorishflower · 1 year

Text

Fawney Rig Estate Sale

Fawney Rig Estate Sale, the flyer says, and Hob doesn't know who placed it, or why they chose the Inn as its final housing, but when Dream sees it, the grainy jpeg of some massive gothic monstrosity of a manse bracketed by the words FURNITURE - BOOKS - COLLECTIBLES, his expression becomes distant, and his hand spasms on the bartop. He's gotten fairly good at reading Dream's moods over the past few months, and this one, he thinks, is a doozy. This one is almost like fear.

There's two things that Dream fears, at least that he's seen fit to tell Hob: one, in the darkling hours of the morning, the both of them twined together, Hob pulling the duvet over Dream's thin shoulders and gathering him close, Dream whispering, do not go far from me, Hob Gadling, and that's its own sort of fear, one that Hob understands. He feels it, too.

The other, more insidious, he's seen only rarely. When light catches on a curve of glass just so; when someone speaks in a very specific register and tone; when the night is too quiet, and too slow, and Dream's fingers begin to scratch lines into the tabletops for want of something to occupy him. Dream has told him, in fits and starts, of a hundred years trapped within a glass sphere. He's never mentioned names, but now, in the way that he looks at this flyer, which Hob wants to rip from the wall and shred into a hundred pieces, he doesn't need to.

"How much of it was left?" he asks that night, and Dream tucks his head against Hob's chest, and says nothing. Hob touches his hair, his shoulders, the dear, thin line of his back, thumbing down the rungs of his spine in slow and gentle strokes. "Right. I've got a sledgehammer somewhere. Matty has a forge he made himself, I'm sure he's got something that can cut metal. Everything else we can have shipped out and we'll dump it into the sea."

I do not know if I can accompany you, Dream tells him, and Hob says, That's fine, love. Whatever you need to do. But there's not a chance in Hell that he's letting this opportunity slip by. It's become as much about his own peace of mind as Dream's -- he wants to see the thing that trapped his lover for a more than a century. Wants to see the glass and the iron, the struts and bolts, rendered down into molten slag. All these years and he's thought his great nemesis was his own selfishness, his own attempt to grasp the uncatchable, and yet Dream has said I would have come to you, if I were able, and Hob now realizes the truth: a few tons of scrap iron and lightning-struck sand were the only things that stood between him and Dream, for a hundred and thirty-three years. And he had never known.

It hurts. It hurts in a way that beggars the soul, and out of the centuries of his past he drags up a brigand's easy violence as he dumps petrol into the car. As he drives to Fawney Rig.

It's every bit as tasteless and huge as the picture implied it to be, and the man who opens the door to Hob is older, bent-backed, something soft and yielding about the shape of his shoulders. He takes in the sight of Hob on his doorstep, dirt-grimed burlap sack over one shoulder, the sledgehammer leaning like a loyal dog against the wall.

"Can I help you?"

"Hope so." He drops the bag. It makes a satisfying clanking noise. "Are you Paul McGuire? Put up a load of flyers for an estate sale?"

"I...yes. That's me. The sale isn't for another two weeks. I'm afraid you're rather early." There's something conciliatory about the way he talks. Some sharp and cavernous thing in him senses it, the way that owls can sense the shape of mice in tall grass. He longs for the feel of a good dagger in his hand. It's been a long time since he killed anyone, but he wants, and he recognizes that this is not good, he wants this gutless old man to put up a fight.

This man has never been bloodied nor bled another creature in his life. He'd make a fine target for a bandit, but for Hob's purposes, he's unsatisfying. He kicks the bag, instead.

"I'm not the mercenary I used to be," he says. "Better for you. There's about. Hm. A bit more than a kilo of gold bullion in that bag. It's old, but any jeweler will tell you it's pure. It's yours if you leave. Now."

"I don't. I don't understand."

"No," Hob says, unkindly. "You don't. Which is why I'm giving you this chance to leave. He said you were the one who let him out. Eventually. After a hundred and thirty-three years."

The man's face goes pale as clotted cream. He looks at the sledgehammer with new fear. He remembers this feeling, the intimacy of a knife held to the throat of one who deserves it. It's not one he anticipated dredging up, not once highway robbery went out of style, but it comes back to him as easy as riding a bicycle. Perhaps he should be worried about that.

He'll worry later. Paul McGuire is nodding slowly, looking ill, looking lost. "Is he here?" he asks, and Hob snorts.

"If he was," he says, "I wouldn't tell you."

And that, as they say, is that. Hob is left standing in the entry hall of Fawney Rig, the fading splendor of it, all its gothic twists and its vaguely occult symbolism wended through with high-quality electric lights and a security system to make the Queen weep. Paul hasn't left him a key. By the end of the night, he doesn't intend to need one anymore.

It makes as much sense to start from the ground up as anything else, and finding the stairs to the basement is easy. The hammer is a comfortable heft over his shoulder, and it's as he starts down into that long and sightless tunnel that he feels the shape take just behind him.

"Hello, love," he says, and Dream reaches out. Hob takes his hand, as easy as breathing. "You doing all right?"

"It looks different. From this direction."

"I imagine it would. You aren't alone this time, though." He squeezes the hand in his. It's like trying to squeeze a stone, cold and implacable. "And we're leaving here together."

"Hm." But the hand relaxes, in minute increments. He can feel Dream behind him, can feel the outline of his shoulders, can see the vague eyeshine cast upon the wall, but he doesn't look back. Hob's read that story before. He'll look back when the job is finished. When they leave Hell together.

"Let's finish what you started," he says, as they reach the bottom of the stairs. The ruin of the glass sphere sits in awful majesty in the center of a narrow moat; even from here, he can see the lines of yellow paint, the runes that bound Dream into an airless, feelingless void. The iron struts are lined with spikes; Hob wishes, abruptly, hotly, that he had only given Paul McGuire to the count of ten to leave. He hasn't any horse to ride him down, but he wouldn't have needed one anyways. An old man, and he with rage giving him winged feet.

"Right," he says, and let's go of Dream's hand, only long enough to heft the hammer properly. "Let's get started, darling. I'd like to be home in time to make you dinner."

He doesn't look back (he'll look back, he thinks, when he has reduced this poxy sphere to dust, when he has ground the iron into filings, when there is nothing left of this cursed mausoleum but concrete dust and burnt pages), but he feels the shape of Dream behind him. Can hear his smile.

It sounds like breaking glass. There's no music sweeter, Hob thinks, and lets the hammer fly.

#dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #my fic #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream of the endless/hob gadling #dream/hob #roderick burgess deserved worse

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 10 months

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Crossfire Jack Reacher(Alan Ritchson) x AFAB/F!Reader Excerpt

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Specific Warnings: This is pure smut with story (but it’s mostly about the smut), Size kink, teasing, mutual pining, angst, P in V unprotected (birth control and trust re STI’s(get checked up and keep your partners informed frens)), drinking, swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of war/war fighting, mentions of PTS/PTSD, trauma, military terminology, strip teasing, rough sex, size kink, (small) praise kink, feisty Reader.

No mention of Y/N, Reader has nicknames, Teach/Bambi, was in the army with reacher, still doing covert stuff as a mercenary.

Finished a OneShot that I couldn’t get out of my head, might become Multi-chapter but we’ll see. Here’s an Excerpt.

““You two ever actually fuck?” Frankie asks you and you almost choke on the dregs of your beer.

“No, never, fucking hell Neagley, you trying to kill me?” You splutter, well aware that you’re far too flustered. Reacher notices it too and you see the vein on his neck pop as he stifles a triumphant smile.

“You should have, would’ve made things easier.” She shrugs as she takes another swig of her beer.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You needle back, knowing well that your relationship was tight knit enough to make that joke.

“Fair, but you’re a slutty little bisexual, either fuck him and get it over and done with or get over yourself.” Frankie says with a twitch of her lips. She has you there. The only thing that ever stopped you from fucking Reacher was your own ego.

“Fuck you.” You grumble as you gesture between your empty drinks before asking the obvious, “You want another?”

“As long as you’re buying.” Frankie says with a dazzling smile.

“Always, be back in a flash.” You say with a smirk. You love Frankie, you’d even, sort-of kind-of, dated for a while when you left the service, but Frankie being such a haptephobiac scuppered things for you both. You loved each other dearly but you’re a tactile, sexual person, and having to supress your own instincts wasn’t healthy for either of you. But it didn’t stop you loving one another, and that was something neither of you denied, you just expressed it differently, and that was ok.

You make your way to the bar, waiting patiently as the other, dressed up women got served before you. You’d grown used to it, you never dressed up, not for weddings, not for funerals, not for anyone. It had it’s perks, but in a bar, it meant you were served when you were served. You drum your fingers on the edge of the bar after a while, slowly getting tired of waiting.

“Hey,” Reacher’s low rumble makes you shiver as his large form cages you in. His navy shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as you see the firm, thick cords of his forearms hem you in as his large hands rest on the bar, “How’s Civvy life treating you?” He breathes into the shell of your ear as you shudder beneath him.

“Shit, I can’t be as lucky as you and land myself in the middle of murder investigations and big ol’ conspiracies like you J.” You say, using the nickname you know he hates.

“It cost me a brother, so I don’t know if you can call that luck.” He growls against your skin as he inches forward slowly. You feel the brush of his fucking marbled pecs against your shoulders as he tries to draw you in. This was a dance you had both done many times, riling the other up, pushing the limits to breaking point. But there was always an angle, exploiting each other’s vulnerabilities to get what you wanted, or needed.

It’s the toxic part of your relationship with Reacher you never allow yourself to admit to, but it’s also the only thrill you get anymore. Years of the brass putting warfighting over warfighters meant you were numb to just about any stimulus. Except Reacher.

“Fair,” You nod, trying to keep your mind clear as your whole body screams to push back against Reacher, goad him on so he can finally give you what you’ve craved for over a decade, “But we both know you’re not here for sentimentality and feelings.” You breathe, trying so damned hard not to grind back against him.

He wants something, whatever this is will cost you.

“Correct.” He grumbles before a hand falls from the bar, resting against your hip instead, “Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk away.” He pants against the clammy skin of your neck as you try to wrestle control from the primal part of your brain that would let him rail you right now, against the bar in front of everyone.

“Why now?” You ask, the logical part of your brain interrupting at just the wrong time, you want to take it back, let Jack play his game, maybe let him win for once, then let him fuck you into oblivion but that simple question shatters the illusion.

“Never mind, have a good night, see you ‘round Teach.” Reacher’s tone is clipped as he detaches from you with surgical precision. His body melds back into the crowd instantly as he flees from you retreating back to reality once more.”

What do you think? Do you want to read it? I hope so as I had so much fun with this one.

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whoredmode · 4 months

Text

kind of a headcanon/lore dump?? idk whatever you wanna call it. whatever it is. dewynter sisters stuff no one asked for but they’ve been on my mind and i don’t think i’ve really shared much of my hcs for them.

so if you keep up with my rewrites/my canon, you know that kiki and viola are mercenaries sent by ultor to kill loren (and later dex). here’s some more basic lore. this is all barely scratching the surface of all the lore and thoughts i have on them, so by all means feel free to ask me stuff. and honestly i’ll probably end up making more posts like this in the future (for them and others) if people are interested.

father: hendrik dewynter

mother: akane dewynter (née ueno)

their father is dutch and french while their mother is japanese and filipino.

as far as their general background goes, they were born in the netherlands, traveled with their parents for their work a lot, and were raised in both europe and the united states. both twins are fluent in dutch, french, and japanese.

both parents have been working in the criminal underworld for decades and have essentially been training the girls to become the mercenaries they are since they were young. hendrik and akane work primarily in illegal arms deals, and they use their cover as high society people to facilitate that. all this led to some familiarity with some syndicate members pre-loren’s leadership, but more so through their high society connections. worth noting i don’t believe the syndicate leaned as heavily into arms dealing until after loren became head of it because that was his area of expertise as well. regardless, hendrik and akane and their network got into illegal arms trade and espionage predominantly within western europe. when they had the twins, they were trained from a young age to become the perfect spies, assassins, whatever. this unintentionally made it so the girls really only trusted each other. they are not a close family. the dewynter’s see their relationship with their daughters as more of a business arrangement. almost transactional. they’d argue that what they put them through was for them to succeed, but in turn it just dissolved any chance of a meaningful relationship between them. despite this, or perhaps because of this, they became extremely adept mercenaries. keep in mind though that all this shit about the dewynter family was not widely known. hendrik and akane still had their regular careers as covers, and it’s why the twins have their backgrounds in economics and art.

regardless, loren was delighted to have them working within the syndicate—however he did not know that them asking to work for him directly was because they were being employed by ultor to sell secrets and eventually kill him. it also helped that they could speak dutch and french to him; there were many instances of the three of them having conversations that matt and killbane could not understand (which bothered the latter to no end).

the twins themselves only have a sense of loyalty to each other, and they do their work based on who’s paying best and what they believe they should do with their information they’re given. it’s why viola switches sides so easily after the death of kiki. money may have been their endgame, but the one thing they put above that is each other.

fwiw, viola does go back to doing mercenary work after the events of my sriv rewrite conclude. she’s one of several characters who leave the saints at the end. she allows them to keep in contact with her though. this whole thing kicks off a bit of a cat and mouse game she and shaundi have, but that’s for another post (oh wait i already made one kinda. happy shaunviola saturday).

this is getting away from me. also i wrote this all while really tired so apologies if it’s a little scattered. i love kiki and viola.

#my art tag #saints row #kiki dewynter #viola dewynter #srtt rewrite tag

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seiya-starsniper · 7 months

Note

Fern - in a world of magic, the greatest miracle was you

For Dreamling? ❤️

JANNNIIIII this one really got away from me, but I hope you like it!

Flower Prompt Game!

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

In another universe, Dream of the Endless does not meet Robert Gadling in a run down pub, does not offer him immortality in exchange for nothing more than a once a century meeting. He does not walk the Waking World with his sister Death, but instead visits her realm for their weekly afternoon tea.

In this universe, Robert Gadling has made his own immortality in a world where magic never left. He is still a soldier for hire, a mercenary, an assassin where absolutely needed. He has no particularly strong magic of his own. But his skill with the blade, and his loyalty to those he serves earns him a name, and eventually, a favor. He becomes immortal on the night where the twin moons meet from across the sky, when the ensuing eclipse grants the Mad Witch Henreitta Reynolds the power to seal his soul from Death herself. Death notices the ritual and does not intervene, for she is too busy entertaining her brother’s latest stories.

Dream and Robert Gadling do not meet in this century, nor the next. Or the one after that.

But in all universes, Dream of the Endless is still captured by Roderick Burgess. Roderick Burgess will still take and take and take, but he will still fail to bring his fallen son (not a soldier this time, but a scholar, lost to a dragon attack at his academy). He will pin all his future hopes on his second, less remarkable son, Alex. Alex, desperate to please his father, will perform a ritual far outside his skill level, and it will result in Dream’s freedom, and the death of everyone else on the estate.

But Dream’s power is a fickle thing, too long have his tools been separated from him, and he does not even have enough power to call himself home. And so, naked, alone, and unable to return to the realm of dreams, Dream of the Endless walks barefoot towards the nearest village, seeking asylum.

In this universe, Dream of the Endless and Robert Gadling meet for the first time when the former collapses at the latter’s feet. Robert, having felt the tremors of the explosion from the Burgess estate, had run towards the carnage, instead of away, looking for survivors. He finds one, and whisks him away back to his cottage by the sea.

For three days, Robert Gadling would nurse Dream back to health. Dream would stay silent the entirety of those days, would refuse to make eye contact with his caregiver, too mistrustful of humans after having spent a century imprisoned by them. But Hob asks him no questions, does not push him to provide gifts he cannot give. He himself simply gives, and gives, and gives.

“I am Dream of the Endless,” Dream declares to him the night he feels enough of his power return to him. Robert only smiles back at him, charmed.

“I figured as much,” the immortal replies easily. “Hadn’t dreamed a lick in the last hundred years until the night I rescued you.”

This declaration is startling, but only the slightest bit. Dream had known he was not dealing with no ordinary man. He could smell the heavy cloak of magic on the man’s skin, and yet, none of that magic seemed innate. Robert Gadling had no remarkable magical talent of his own, and yet, he had earned the favor of some of the most powerful magic users in the realm. It was only natural he would have known of Dream’s true nature, and yet he chose to help him anyways.

“Your care has allowed me time to heal, Robert Gadling,” Dream continues, ignoring the thrill the realization alights from deep within him. “I would grant you a boon for your troubles.”

Robert only shrugs. “Call me Hob, first off,” he says, waving him off. “And I don’t need anything from you.”

After a century of being asked for gifts he was unable or unwilling to give, the casual indifference of the man’s dismissal rankles Dream. It is almost insulting.

“Surely there is something every mortal wants,” Dream insists. “You are already immortal, yes I can sense the magic,” he adds when Hob startles at the statement. “I am still weak from my imprisonment, but I can promise you wealth, power, the ability to inspire all dreamers. What is it your heart desires?”

“I’ve already told you, there’s nothing,” Hob replies, almost vehemently. “I did not save you expecting a boon.”

“I cannot leave a debt unpaid, Hob,” Dream growls, growing impatient. He wishes to return to his realm but he cannot leave before the boon has been granted. His pride will not allow it. “There must be something you wish of me.”

Hob then meets his eyes, ready to argue once more, but then Dream catches a glimpse of the man’s dreams. He sees himself pinned underneath Hob’s broader body, feels the immortal’s lips ghosting along his skin, teeth grazing at his thighs, and hands pressed firmly against his body. Hob realizes almost immediately what Dream has seen and turns away, his face flushed scarlet with embarrassment and humiliation.

“I would not ask that of you,” Hob murmurs. “It is not honorable.”

Dream smirks, and closes the distance between them. Hob does not move, but Dream can hear his heartbeat intensify, can smell the arousal wafting from every pore in his body. It is intoxicating, to be desired so much. It has been too long since Dream has been wanted in such a way.

“I do not leave a debt unpaid, Hob Gadling,” Dream murmurs against the man’s ear. “But you will have to work to truly pleasure the King of Dreams. Are you prepared to accept that challenge?”

Hob does. He rises to the occasion beautifully.

When their coupling is complete, Hob Gadling swears fealty to only Dream, makes grandiose promises to be his knight until the end of time. Dream laughs, and accepts. He has always been a greedy creature, and he wants this man for his own, and only his.

Hob helps Dream track down his tools of office, and when Dream is returned to full power, he grants Hob a place of honor as his knight, and his official emissary between the Waking and the Dreaming. In the night, he steals away his lover to his private chambers, where they bring each other untold pleasure that the rest of the realm feels for eons after.

“You are a marvel my dear heart,” Dream says to him one day, apropos of nothing. “In a world full of boundless magic and power, the greatest miracle to happen to me was meeting you.”

Hob kisses him gently, still charmed and deeply in love even after thousands of years. “I think you’re the miracle, love,” he chuckles. “I’m just the lucky bastard who gets to love you.”

#dreamling #hob x morpheus #dream x hob #dreamling fanfic #sandman fanfic #seiya writes #seiya drabbles #gonna clean this up for ao3 later I think #seiya writes dreamling

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