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fuckmyskywalker · 4 months

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❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖𝐭𝐡 : 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐬 - 𝐃𝐢𝐥𝐟!𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Cockwarming. Tit sucking. Age gap (Anakin is 43, Reader is 21) | Word count: 1.1k (not proofread!)

— a/n: Fourth day of the Anyafest let's go <3! I apologize for the delay. Had a doctors appointment.

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

“It looks nice…” Anakin compliments you from the couch, closing the empty boxes labeled «Christmas decorations».

“Thank you,” You reply, stepping down the small stool. “Glad you liked it.”

“Luke and Leia will love it—” He scratched the back of his head nervously before letting his arms fall on his thighs. “It’s been a while since we decorated the house like this.”

“How come?”

“Well… they aren’t kids anymore, you know? Plus they spend the 24th with their mother, so I just hang out with Obi-Wan and his wife during Christmas.” Anakin piles up the boxes in the corner, making a mental note to return them to the attic. You nod, not sure if you should push the conversation or not— but your curiosity is too strong. The thought of Anakin spending Holidays on his own makes your heart clench with yearning.

“This year you have me,” You say with a smile, placing the small ladder next to the chimney and walking to his side to wrap your arms around his back. Admiring the tall Christmas tree, you smile to yourself. “And not to brag or anything… but I did a great job.”

Anakin laughs, kissing the top of your forehead and wrapping his arms around your waist. “You sure did, dollface. You sure did.” He stares at the bright star on top of the tree, the ghost of a nostalgic smirk dancing on his chapped lips.

Despite the warm moment, Anakin was being 100% truthful before. Since his divorce, Holidays weren't exactly the same. The first years he had the twins all for himself, so the house was always a mess— a happy mess. He’d spoil them with toys, clothes, anything they could ask for and even more; back when things were easier and it felt like those joyful moments could last forever. His house was the meeting point and it was full of life, laughter and light. Nowadays… not so much.

With the twins all grown up, almost of age and not entirely interested in spending Christmas with their old man, Anakin found himself binge watching Christmas movies with a bottle of bourbon and his favorite Chinese takeout. An awful combination but he found it to be comforting. Normally he’d pass out before the fourth movie and blackout drunk… but this year it is different. This year he has you.

“Anakin?” You pull him out of his trance, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “You alright? You zoned out.”

He shakes his head slightly, replacing the look of melancholy with a comforting expression. “Sorry— just remembering.”

Your eyes soften, of course he is. You noticed it while he unpacked the ornaments and decorations. The way he held the small handcrafted spheres that Luke did for him in elementary school, and how he smiled when he saw Leia’s old Christmas card. You could only imagine how it would feel to see your children distance from you.

“I know we have been dating for just half a year…” You start, holding his hand and guiding him to the couch. “But I'm glad you are sharing a part of you with me. I love to hear your stories. They are lovely,” Cupping his face, you kissed him. It was a tender, soft kiss— the warmth he has been missing for years. “It is a pleasure to spend Christmas with you.”

“Come here, pretty princess,” Anakin sighs, pulling you over his lap and squeezing your waist. Your body clicks on top of him in a way none other than perfect. His nose nudges at your pulse point, inhaling you. “You smell nice, is that the perfume I gave you last week?”

“It is,” You nod, mindlessly dragging your hips back and forth. “Let me take care of you… You don’t have to spend Christmas alone this year.”

His large hand makes its way to the back of your head, bringing your face against his and melting you in a loving kiss. You can taste the whisky he drank before decorating and the faint tobacco from the cigarette he had in his lips when he picked you up— both flavors mixing to create the characteristic taste that excites your tongue. Anakin pops the button of your jeans, lifting your body so he can pull it down and press your pantie-clad core against the bulge in his black sweatpants. His calloused palms slide inside your sweater, caressing your abdomen and cupping your breasts, squeezing them and fondling them without restraint.

“I could get used to this,” Anakin whispers playfully, lifting your sweater and shirt all together so he can lower the cups of your bra, immediately attaching his lips to your nipple.

Your hips buckle involuntarily, bringing his face closer to your chest and clumsily looking for the little bow on his sweats, yanking it. He chuckles at your eagerness but helps you pull them down anyway, biting his lower lip at your surprised gasp. Of course he skipped underwear today.

He wraps a hand around the base, pressing it against your clothed hole and pushing the fabric of your underwear against it. The cotton is nothing more than an annoying barrier to where you want him the most; with an exasperated whine you slap his shoulders, wordlessly begging.

“Alright, alright— don’t throw a tantrum, princess.” Anakin shakes his head, clicking his tongue and pushing your panties to the side, sliding the tip in. He goes inch by inch, clearly teasing you. He’s halfway in when Anakin decides to pull out, enjoying the impatient moan that falls down your throat. “You are so desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” Without waiting for an answer he sinks back in, this time all the way.

His cock stretches you just like the first time and it always is a marvelous feeling. He doesn’t move, no— he likes to feel every pulse and clench of your wet velvety walls. Plus, if he forces you to cockwarming him enough you'll be cockdrunk in no time. His mouth takes a small trip from your neck to your lips, using his thumb to force your jaw open and lick every corner of your mouth. You try to move your hips on your own, but he warns you with a small slap on your cheek. No moving is allowed until he says so. You really wanted to take care of him this time— but Anakin’s favorite hobby is to turn you into a brainless putty that can only beg for cock. His member throbs inside you and you feel it, he insists on fucking you raw so you can feel it, and you don’t regret a thing.

The hand that slapped your ass sneaks between your bodies, pressing it flat on your lower stomach so he can feel the slight push of his cock. He’s always too big for you to handle— and yet you love to have your guts rearranged by him. There's something about old men that…

“You look so lovely all stuffed, baby,” Anakin caresses your hair, lifting his hips as if he was trying to push his member deeper. “Aren’t you the star on top of my Christmas tree?”

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes!#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anyafest 2023!#anakin skywalker #dilf!anakin skywalker #dilf!anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x f!reader #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x reader smut

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the-californicationist · 6 months

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he rescues you

You were just trying to get the house ready for a Halloween party, but you got trapped when you were trying to pull down boxes from the attic. The ever-helpful John Price comes to your rescue…eventually.

MDNI/18+

TW: consensual non-consent, rough sex, squirting, forced orgasm, stuck trope, mentions of violence

Link to AO3

“John! Help! John? Hello?” You shouted at the top of your lungs, trying to get your husband’s attention.

You were impossibly and undeniably stuck, trapped on the rickety ladder that led to your attic storage room, and if you tried to get down, you would surely break a leg from this height. The join of the old, folding stairs had rusted away, and when you went to open the attic door, you felt the lower half of the steps snap under your feet, clattering onto the wooden floor. Luckily, you were securely held up by the joist of the door and your other foot that was jammed in the top step, but you were unable to get out of this situation without seriously injuring yourself.

“Love? What’s happened?” John called over to you from what sounded like the kitchen. You shouted back,

“John! Help me down. I’m stuck up here.”

“What do you mean? Up where…oh,” he obviously rounded the corner and came into view of your predicament.

From his vantage point, he was face to face with your plump ass dangling with one free leg under the thin cotton of your festive pumpkin dress you’d decided to wear to your Halloween party. You wiggled your foot at him,

“C’mon, babe, give me your hand. I was just trying to grab our spooky bowls and plates for the party tonight, and the damn stair step broke on me,” there was no answer, “John? Are you still there?” You couldn't see him from this angle.

“Mmm,” you heard him purr directly beneath you, “I like this dress, love. Whatcha got underneath?”

“John!” You kicked out at him as a warning, but he grabbed your ankle roughly, “Now is not the time.”

Your scolding did very little to deter him. With your free ankle secured in his grasp, he used his other hand to lift the thin fabric of your dress skirt up and over your rump, showing off your black mesh panties. They had little ghosts embroidered into the edge, and there were orange, satin bows which tied the sides together. Festive, indeed.

“My, my, my,” he teased you, kissing your calf and thigh as he made his way wetly up your leg, “Here you are, looking good enough to eat.”

“John…” Your resolve was breaking down, and his soft, bearded kisses were making you melt in his hands.

Your whole body convulsed when you felt his fingers graze over the swell of your pussy through the mesh panties, and you couldn’t help but let go of a high pitched moan. It had been a while since he’d been home, and although you’d reconnected when he first arrived back from the field, your love-making had been rushed. John was the kind of man who enjoyed long, marathon sessions where you could expect breakfast in bed, more orgasms than you could count on one hand, a break for lunch, another romp in the kitchen in the middle of that lunch, a fragrant cigar break while he tormented you with a handheld Hitachi, more orgasms for him and for you, some wine and fruit from the fridge, and then finally a shower and a cuddle sometime after midnight - and even then he might not be finished with you. Once, when you were younger, he’d been so insistent, you had needed to call into work just to satisfy his cravings. So, needless to say, the man was starving this evening and you were the only meal he was interested in consuming.

“You gettin’ wet for me, sweet girl? Trapped up there with nowhere to run,” John growled darkly, his voice deep and raspy.

As he spoke to you, you felt his prominent nose rubbing across your panties, nuzzling against your folds, smelling you deeply. It made you a little self-conscious, being so exposed and vulnerable as you were, and you were still very much stuck in the stairs. You tried to coax him to let you down, giving him your sultriest tone,

“Yes, baby, I am. Why don’t you help me down, and we can finish this in bed?”

He started to lick you through the fine mesh of your underwear, wetting the fabric, trying to writhe his long tongue past the edge of the band. He mumbled his response as he teased you, applying just enough pressure to excite but not enough to soothe,

“Nuh-uh. Like you just where you are.”

You heard his belt buckle jingle as it fell open, followed by the whir of his zipper, a rustle of fabric, and then his hot breath against your wet panties as he let out a heady sigh. He had his cock in his hands, jacking off as he ate your pussy. With his free hand, he wrapped up the skirt of your dress and tucked it into the band of your bralette, under your arm and - most importantly - out of his way. Then, he plucked one of the bows on the side of your panties. You felt the fabric flutter open, exposing your flushed skin to him. He groaned in a rumbling tone, a mixture of agony and bliss. The other bow didn’t put up much of a fight, and you were fully on display, ready for his mouth.

It was his beard that tickled you first, sending sparks to your core with its comforting familiarity. Once, when he’d been on deployment for a long time, he’d come home clean-shaven. He was handsome still, and you would never tell him this, but your folds had sorely missed his soft facial hair and the way his dense bristles ghosted over your most sensitive skin. Now though, his mustache had grown out, winterized and ready for the cold season, and it was shining with your juices as he ate you sloppily. His tongue slipped expertly to one side, just where you liked it, and you keened, crying out at the delicious pulse of your nerves.

He placed a finger at the bottom rim of your hole, pressing downward to stretch you open, and your walls immediately responded, clutching at nothing, but ready to be filled. John chuckled, and you could feel his lips smile against you, those rosy cheeks filling the space between your thighs,

“Careful, love. Gonna wake the bear if you keep doing that on my hand.”

Your body had a physical - wet and sticky - reaction to his use of your inside joke about “the bear”. A few months ago, when he’d been under heavy enemy incursion for weeks in the wilds of some Russian wilderness, he’d come home absolutely battered. Your captain had bruises, black eyes, and stitches on his belly. He was covered in wounds, and part of his head had been shaved to staple his scalp back together. He was in rough shape, and you set to caring for him right away. You ran a hot bath, cleaned him up, told your friends and family that you were in stay-cation mode to warn them not to call you, and helped him into bed. Price still hadn’t spoken a single word to you since he walked in the door. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight, though. Even when you went to the bathroom to pee, he followed you in there, lingering in the door frame, not really staring at you or anything odd, but he required your proximity above all else.

That night, a firm jolt woke you up, and you discovered that Price had taken off your pajamas and pushed all the sheets and pillows off the bed. It was jarring, and you screamed. He was also naked, covering you, rutting against you mindlessly and blatantly ignoring your scream, continuing to bite at your neck and breasts as he rubbed his cock against you in a lurid, perverse way. You’d never felt him hold your body down that tightly, not caring if he was hurting you. He was usually so careful and so self-aware of his size and strength. After you recovered from the initial shock, some animal part of your brain knew what he needed and let him in, whispering to him that it was okay, that he could take what he needed. The growl-like scream that left his throat when you consented was identical to that of a raging grizzly. You felt like prey that night, finally understanding the true power of all that muscle and all those years of savage training.

The next day, after hours of physical contact and tears and reassurance, you had gently joked with him about it over breakfast as he fixed you an ice pack to use between your legs. John had apologized for letting “the bear” into the house, and he promised that it wouldn’t happen again. He was bereft that he had hurt you, and told you that you deserved a husband with more self-control. You grabbed his hand to make him look at you, and you told him that there was nothing to forgive. You gave him your consent for him to use your body freely, and he gave you a safeword - as well as a knife to keep in your bedside table - “just in case”. You didn’t like to think about the knife, but you knew it made him feel better for you to have it.

Now, as he pushed his finger into you, he purposely curled it upwards to find your softest spot, rubbing it in slow, aching circles. You were moaning shamelessly as you hung from the attic door, sure that he had a front-row view of your dripping hole, and you were trying not to be embarrassed about it. Eventually, two orgasms into this adventure from his fingers and tongue, you stopped caring. You were so incredibly wet, and you could feel it running into the cleft of your ass. You begged him,

“Please, John! Take me down. I want you to fuck me, please, I need it…”

“Patience, love. Be a good girl for me, and I’ll give you everything you want,” he was drunk with pleasure, having spilled his come onto the ground, still playing with himself and growing hard again.

Then, he began to fuck you with three, huge fingers, thrusting them into you at an amazing pace. He was at an angle that felt so foreign and intense, and you clenched down hard, worried that you would wet yourself if he didn’t stop.

“Wait, wait! I think I’m gonna…wait, John…” You slurred, your pleasure invading your brain and stealing all of your words, “Holy fuck, baby, I can’t stop it. I’m - ah!”

“Let it go, pretty girl. Come for me, just like that. I wanna see it, feel it on my face.”

You came hard enough for it to make you choke on your breath and wrench your eyes shut, blacking out your vision, burning the air in your lungs. It felt like you were squirting on him, almost like you were relieving yourself, but not exactly. It wasn’t the same sensation. You just knew that you weren’t in control. There was a distinct dripping noise as your fluids ran onto the wood floor, covered by your screams and John’s loud groans.

You were ripped from the stairs and pulled into his arms before you could recover. The attic would have to wait, it seemed.

#captain john price #captain price #john price #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty fanfic #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod #cnc free use #feral

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swanimagines · 2 months

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A KINDNESS UNEXPECTED | KAZ BREKKER

Summary: After Kaz is once again face to face with death, he's met with unexpected kindness when a girl he's never met rescues him.

A note: Kaz is a teenager in this, pre-him getting his cane. Reader can also be read as an OC, Y/N is not used but "you" isn't either.

Kaz felt stupid. Haskell had given him one simple job, to snatch some valuables from a shop owner just behind the ninth street just behind the harbor, but Stadwatch had spotted him and now here he was, running away from them like a scared rat. He navigated the streets skillfully, tried to slither through the groups of people, occasionally feeling a rush of nausea when he felt someone’s skin brush against his.

But he had to push forward. If Stadwatch caught him, in worst case, he would say his goodbyes to have revenge on Pekka Rollins.

Kaz saw the torches near him, shouts telling him to stop and orders to make people stop him - but Kaz pushed forward, making his way towards the docks. He would make his way over the plank and then jump to the ladder, climb to the sewer and then make his way to the Slat along the sewer tunnel. He just needed to be quicker than his pursuers so they wouldn’t see where he went.

Kaz made it to the docks, carefully edging himself through the ledge, before he saw the plank and the ladder. He smirked, quickly walking over and stretching his arms, ready to grab the bottom ladder.

Crack.

He didn’t even realise it before it had already happened - the plank had given up, cracking from the middle. Kaz heard himself fall into the water - and then he was taken back to the sea once again. Bodies everywhere, reaching for him, pulling him under, Jordie staring up at him. Kaz tried to kick his way out, but it was no use - the bodies already had their hold of him, and Kaz couldn’t do anything else than succumb to it.

His sight started to blacken out, and saw Death come for him, jumping to the water herself and making her way to him, taking a hold of him and then… he was gone.

—

Warmth. A scent of something delicious invaded his sense of smell, and Kaz slowly opened his eyes.

A dim lamp hung from the roof, its light slightly flickering. There was a drawer across from him, and a cheap painting above it. Kaz turned his head to the side, and saw a glass of water, along with a bowl of something that steamed. Soup, probably.

Where was he?

He saw his clothes hanging over the corner of the room, looking damp - and that’s when Kaz remembered what had happened. Water. Bodies. Death coming for him.

Was this afterlife?

He tried to move slightly, sit up, but headache immediately pounded its way through, protesting against his movement. He groaned slightly, which prompted steps coming towards the room he was in.

It was the girl who he had seen just before he passed out. Death. He frowned at her worried expression, her furrowed brows and the way she wrung her hands.

“Hi,” Death said, her voice soft. “I wasn’t sure if you’d wake up. You were so cold, and… um. Are you hungry? Or thirsty? My aunt made you some soup.”

She nodded towards the bowl, and it made Kaz realise that he might not be dead after all. Death probably wouldn’t offer him soup and water as the first thing when he’d enter afterlife.

“Where am I?” Kaz asked, and the girl finally stopped with fiddling with her hands.

“At my home. I saw you fall into the water yesterday while I was feeding some ducks, and… I saw you swam weirdly, and realised you were about to drown, so I jumped in and pulled you out. You passed out in the process, so I thought it’s best that I’ll fetch my father and he carried you here. I changed your clothes and made sure you’re nice and warm, and just hoped you’d wake up.” And then she smiled, a warm, happy smile, a kind Kaz hadn’t seen in years. “I’m so glad you did.”

Kaz eyed the girl for a moment, before he made an attempt to get out of the bed. The girl immediately lunged forward, and Kaz paused glaring at her.

“No no, you should rest.” she said, fixing the blanket to cover him again. Kaz shrugged her hand off.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

The girl sighed, stepping back again. “Okay then.”

Kaz took in a deep breath and made an attempt to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t carry him and he fell down on the floor. He felt exhausted, but wouldn’t show it - so he made another attempt to stand up. He looked up at the girl, glaring at her as if it was her fault that he felt weak after what had happened. The girl outstretched her hand to him, but he didn’t take it, of course he wouldn’t. Especially not without his gloves.

She withdrew her hand when he paid no attention to it.

“If you can’t even walk out of this room, how do you think you’re gonna get out of the house, let alone to the Dregs turf?” she sighed and Kaz frowned - she knew he was part of a criminal gang? And still chose to help? But before he could question it, she was motioning towards the bed. “My advice is, you stay here for a little while, just so you get better again. Eat the soup and sleep a little more at least. Your body just went through a shock, you shouldn’t make it do things it can’t do right now.”

Kaz looked at the girl, a mix of anger and confusion crossing his face. He wasn't used to people helping him without expecting something in return, and it made him suspicious. But he couldn't deny that he was in no shape to leave just yet, and he needed time to figure out his next move. Reluctantly, he nodded his head and settled back onto the bed.

"Fine. I'll stay for a little while," he grumbled, his eyes fixed on the bowl of soup in front of him. He wasn't hungry, but he knew he needed to eat something to regain his strength.

The girl smiled, relief evident on her face. "That's good to hear. I'll leave you to rest now, but I'll be back to check on you later."

As she turned to leave the room, Kaz couldn't help but call out to her. "Wait, what's your name?"

The girl turned back to face him, a small smile on her lips and told him her name.

Kaz nodded. "I'm Kaz."

“I know,” she said, surprising him. “Kaz Brekker, who people already tell horror stories about to their children. Quite a reputation.”

Kaz narrowed his eyes at her, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy. "How do you know that?"

She shrugged. "I hear things," she said cryptically. "But don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you’re here. Your secret is safe with me."

Kaz wasn't sure if he believed her, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he lay back down on the bed, feeling exhausted again.

"I think I'll take your advice and rest for a bit longer," he said. "But I need to get back to the Dregs soon. I have things to take care of."

She nodded. "I understand. But for now, just rest. I'll keep an eye on you, make sure you're okay."

Kaz didn't really have a choice, so after she exited the room, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He wasn't used to being taken care of, but he had to admit that it felt nice to have someone looking out for him for once.

Is she my friend? He found himself thinking. No, I can't afford to be vulnerable like that.

Maybe it's just because she's useful to me. She's got skills that could come in handy.

Kaz pursed his lips, thinking for a while, and then sighed. I'll just keep her at arm's length, but maybe... maybe I can trust her a little bit.

One day, maybe it'll be just enough to call her a friend.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #sab #sab x reader #sab imagine #six of crows imagine #six of crows fanfic #six of crows #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse imagine #reader insert #female reader #my works

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carefulfears · 1 year

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so i really love whenever you call mulder & scully best friends. wanna talk about your top 5 favorite moments of their friendship?

DO I EVER

1/ little green men

they have a secret code. they have their own language.

when mulder gets to his desk that morning, the photo of samantha is tipped over, and he knows that this means to meet scully at the watergate. which, first of all, is unbelievably dorky. these two work in the same building. these two have cell phones.

but they have been split up and reassigned and it is not a phase you guys it is the end of the world!!!!

when he arrives in the parking garage, he asks what she wants, and she responds, "to know that you're alright."

they have a secret code and their own language and for nothing more than to check in.

(shoutout to the depression hair era, they are so funny for both getting bangs the moment they were separated. that's how you know things are really bad for the girlies.)

when he sinks down to the floor and tells her the george hale story, she crouches down next to him, listens, tells him not to give up.

you can tell that it makes her uneasy to see him defeated, to see him doubting himself and what he believes in. she's almost trying to convince him of aliens in that moment, telling him that he's seen so much and reminding him of samantha. trying to spark something in him.

they have a secret code, they have their own language, and when he leaves town, he buys the plane ticket under a name that only she will recognize. she cracks his computer password in three tries.

earlier, after skinner questions scully, he tells CSM that she's telling the truth, she really doesn't know where mulder is. "because if she knew, she wouldn't be so worried about him."

they aren't as hard to decipher as they want to believe.

PAUSE!!!!! this is the cuntiest thing he's ever done. the sunglasses, the denim, the boots, the dangerous lack of exit strategy...anyway

she interprets his clues, she follows without obligation, they go back together. hand in his hair, not giving up, just like she started the episode.

in the end, they have nothing. the hail mary trip resulted in empty tables and silent tape recordings.

one thing i didn't notice until i rewatched this one the other day is that it's not when he says "i still have you" that she takes his hand.

it's when he switches the tape from the record of his failed excursion to his actual assignment, hours of listening to slimy men talk about strippers.

she listens with him for a moment before shaking her head, and squeezing his hand. she does understand that this isn't what he wants to be doing, and that it's disheartening.

2/ tooms

i could list every season one episode here. i could do a whole other post just about season one. i could do a whole other post just about season one, and include every episode. but i guess i will settle for this one.

this is my favorite season, and this is my favorite MSR.

him waving the pine tree air freshener in her face when she said he smells 😭😭😭

squeeze was all about the choice between climbing the ladder and the "out there" but "good" work of the basement, with all of the ridicule and consequence that come with it.

its sequel episode is about the aftermath of that decision, what it means to choose the side of the victim, to stop reaching for personal success.

(this shot is so beautiful, her face through CSM's smoke)

tooms opens with scully in a negative performance review, skinner (in his very first scene!! we love you skinman) going over her reports, CSM lurking in the corner.

the two share a look, then warn scully against having too much of an open mind, telling her that it is her "responsibility to see that these cases are by the book"

"by the book" becomes the theme of the episode, with the phrase repeating multiple times throughout.

this isn't the first time that the show has explored this topic, with young at heart also centering a debate of “by the book” protocol, what it really means, and who it really serves. ending with this final dialogue:

SCULLY: Mulder, I know what you did wasn't by the book.

MULDER: Tells you a lot about the book, doesn't it?

“by the book” isn’t an easy order to follow when you have a partner who doesn’t believe in it, and you aren’t sure you do either.

it’s not an easy order to follow, for the navy captain’s daughter who worships authority.

she does try though, and she's initially frustrated with mulder's behavior in the case. she tells him that he "sounded so....." at the trial, and she's reluctant to pursue his methods without approval from the bureau.

ultimately, when she comes to bring mulder something to eat on his unauthorized stakeout, she tells him that what he's doing is not proper surveillance protocol, and he good-naturedly accuses her of peddling "the book."

she responds, "this is not about doing it by the book, this is about you not having slept for three days." and tells him that he is inevitably going to get hurt.

to her, it's not about following the rules or pressure from the bureau or respecting authority, it's about making sure he's okay.

when she tells him to go home, that she'll take over the stakeout, he smiles and shakes his head (it's almost the same look that he gives her years later in redux ii, when she tells him to lay it all on her. just less tears.)

and i know that we tend to focus on the next part of this scene, but this line stands out to me too, as he declines because he doesn't want her to get "in trouble."

he doesn't want her to break the rules or disobey authority, and he still believes she'll be head of the bureau someday.

it kinda makes me teary, this stupefied look on his face at her response. when she looks at him unflinching and says, "mulder, i wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you."

they are so kind to each other. they really don't care about official reprimands in files or welfare protocols; they each just want the other to get some rest, to have a bright future.

he relents, allows her to take over, on the condition that she calls "if anything happens. immediately. i'll be here." and suggests she catch the sports talk radio show

she bends down to give him one last smile and eye roll as she exits the car

and makes a joke to herself while walking back to her own. best best best friends.

3/ tempus fugit

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SPECIALAGENTDANAKATHERINESCULLYYYYY

what better way to celebrate life than annoying the hell out of your best friend on her birthday?

the way he clearly gave the waiters her name and this snowball and sparkler and sang "special agent dana katherine scully" while they all sang "happy birthday dana" is one of his most embarrassingly extra moments and it never fails to make me laugh

she rolls her eyes at him, but the way she stares when he's not looking says so much. they both know why this year gets sparklers and song when last year didn't. they both know there might not be a next year.

he's literally never been more irritatingly overjoyed lmao. and he brought presents! ("oh, you've got to be kidding me" "just something that reminded me of you")

he said "i didn't know it was your birthday, scully!" with a wrapped gift in his pocket, always prepared with a smile and a cover story

he does this same thing in memento mori, after getting the call to come to the hospital, when his first words of the episode are "i stole these from some guy with a broken leg down the hall. he won't be able to catch me." about the flowers we watched him come through the front doors holding

he clearly puts thought into these gestures, but everything is so fragile. neither of them are comfortable with what too much sincerity would mean, how limited it all is.

but they find little ways to give to each other anyway, they hang out in bars and roll their eyes and discuss the meaning behind a keychain.

if this is the last birthday, maybe it's worth a little vulnerability (and annoying song and dance), that he did it up right.

4/ one breath

another Mulder Gift™️ entry. god, the sweetness here is just overwhelming. he is so strange and tries so hard.

this whole scene is one of my favorites of the series, but i love this little moment so much.

it's so inadequate, in the end. to see someone that you thought you'd lost, your most important person, who was gone for so long, and have nothing more to give them than a shitty VHS sports tape.

but what else can you do? he's so quiet and self-conscious in this moment. he raced to the top of mountains and stood on broken cable cars and choked a man and wore her necklace around his neck for months and wept on the floor. he had the strength of her beliefs, and he prayed. he held her hand by her bedside after they pulled the plug.

so much goes unsaid between them, because how can you say it in words? how can you do anything but smile and buy something stupid at the gift shop?

she makes a joke while he smiles at the floor, but it's not a joke, not really. he's there and he's giving her whatever he can and he's cracking jokes, and she knew there was a reason to live. that's it right there.

5/ detour

GO, GIRL!

this is a best friends episode. this is a "we survived that hospital and we refuse to spend our one wild and precious life at the annual FBI teamwork seminar, if you need us, we'll be lost in the forest" episode.

look at her trying not to laugh while he's making sarcastic comments at her in the backseat. can you imagine carpooling with these two? they are forever passing notes and whispering behind backs.

she is not making it to the teamwork seminar. she is not getting her wine and cheese, either. she is looking for mothmen in western florida.

they think they're so much better than that communication exercise, just to make vague innuendo in a motel room.

they tell each other all about native species and how ticks can halt their metabolism and the livestock that was killed in a town 30 years ago. she teases him about his filing system.

neither of them tire of bashing the hell out of that teamwork seminar.

they talk about death. about searching for meaning in life. about which flintstones character they relate to the most. they swap dirty jokes.

she fusses over his grave injury (a dislocated shoulder) and holds him. sings to him so that he'll know she's still there.

a few years down the road, she'll sing that same song to their baby, on one of her last days with him. she'll sing to him about this night, about his dad, about her favorite memories.

sitting there together in that forest in florida, they have already started to carry the weight of near-misses. of lost time, of almosts, of purposeful disease.

they have come a long way and taken on a lot, in the years since the parked car outside tooms' house and the garage at the watergate.

but they have yet to be separated longer than 90 days. they have yet to lose a child. they have yet to plan funerals and prison breaks.

there's something about that time, that ability to just sit in the woods and talk about everything, looking for mothmen, that is so precious and so special.

and when she tells him that night that she had struggled to find meaning, that's where it is.

#thank you for this #dream assignment #they ARE best friends #and it's my favorite #msr #asks #little green men #tooms #tempus fugit #one breath #detour #kae meta

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angel-of-the-moons · 6 days

Note

Hiii, how about writing some fluff about Poe teaching reader who’s a new pilot for the resistance some of his tips on flying? The rest is up to you. I’m missing Poe as well :,)))

Baby Wings

Poe Dameron x Reader

TW/CW: Nothing!

A/N: I might consider writing this on my tablet because lord help me, typing these out on a tiny phone screen is not good for my hands! 😩

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

You couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering inside of your belly as Poe Dameron--the Poe Dameron--leaned into your cockpit to point out the controls of your new X-Wing.

You had just been appointed to his squadron as a fledgling pilot. You had originally been a smuggler that the Resistance hired routinely, and apparently, a flight maneuver you performed in a dogfight with a few weequay pirates got Poe's attention.

If you could fly like that in an old hunk of clunk freighter, how would you do in something designed for finer maneuvers, for dogfights?

How good would your skills be against the First Order?

Your senses were currently buzzing as everything Poe invaded the cramped space. The smell of oxidized metal, or smoke and ozone from patching up hull breaches and walls to the base; the smell of sweat and cheap juice he'd downed before spotting you in the hangar and rushing over to offer his "expertise".

He wasn't looking at you, he was practically laying on you, actually; as he supported his weight on the console with one hand and pointing out the dials, buttons, levers and latches you'd need to memorize to control your new fighter.

His face had thin rivulets of sweat trickling down his gloriously almost-olive skin, his dark raven curls falling around his face, clumped with excess sweat. His suit was soaked too, the orange having dark stains from the moisture his body was sweating out thanks to the damned heat of this Force-forsaken planet.

But honestly, you sent a silent prayer to whomever was listening for the heat, because you hoped--like some foolish schoolgirl with a crush on a galaxy-famous athlete--that Poe would get sick of the heat and tear off the top half of his suit to cool his heated skin.

You were so absorbed in staring at him, that you had almost entirely forgot to listen to him. You only realized your brain lapsed when he turned his head to smile that trademark grin of his, wrapping up his last sentence.

"...and then that's the yoke, obviously. Don't need to tell you that. Got it?"

"Wh--oh! Y-yep! Got it, commander..." You cough awkwardly, four fingers fiddling pointlessly with the controls.

"Kay, theeeeen..." He smirked at you from the corner of his eyes as he turned back to your control panel. "...repeat everything I just told you. Y'know... So I know my impeccable lessons stuck."

"I, uh--well, uh. This is the..." You began to blubber out, trying to find something you did know and give a quick, half-assed explanation on what it did.

Poe barked out a hearty belly laugh, "Don't even bother, darlin'... If you were paying attention... You'd know that I squeaked in a line about me being the former Emperor of Kashyyyk. And, as handsome as I am, unfortunately, I feel ike the wookies might have an issue with me wanting to claim the throne. ...If they even got one."

Your face flushed with color and you buried your face into your hands, "Stars, I am so sorry. I-I really was trying to pay attention, I just..."

"Got lost in all this--" He leaned back to gesture to his messy, sweaty form. "--primal, god-like, drop-dead gorgeous attractiveness?"

From the bottom of his ladder, you could hear BB-8 tweet out a response that called Poe out. You swore you could make out "nerf-herder" and "Hutt's armpit" in-between his refuting whistles and beeps.

Poe leaned back on the ladder and frowned at his round companion, "Hey, you little womp-rat! I will have you know a lot of people find me handsome!"

BB-8 once again doubted that claim, your abilities once again picking out few choice words such as; "drunkards", "a blind quarren" and "brain-dead jawa".

You need to laugh at their bickering overpowered your embarrassed, darkened cheeks and you titter and snort at what little you could pick ou.

Poe looked at you with a playful scowl, "What're you giggling about?"

You cover your mouth and point down at BB, who tweeted as he spun in a circle.

Poe looked between you and BB, his jaw going slack as his amber eyes looked to the both of you in disbelief.

He finally looked back at you for a final time, pointing at you.

"You," He pointed down at BB-8. "Can understand him?"

You rub the back of your neck. "W-well sort of... I spent a lot of my childhood working in a droid repair shop, and--"

Poe clapped, whooping happily, "Oh, I knew I liked you! Finally, somebody else who can hear what this little metal butterball is shouting at me! You'd be surprised at how many people don't understand droids!"

He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "...Sometimes I think they're the lucky ones."

BB-8 twittered and shrieked a response, beeping rapidly in an irritated manner, making Poe laugh once again.

Finally, he leaned into the cockpit once more, winking at you.

"C'mon, darlin'... let's go over this again so the info soaks up into that pretty little brain o' yours. And if you do a good enough job on the pop quiz... maybe we can hit the local cantina!"

#🌙 answered #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #star wars

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lionlena · 11 months

Text

A girl from the street (JavierPeñaxf!reader)

Summary: You're a CIA agent who's only been in Colombia for a week, but your boss is already throwing you into the worst shit. You have to pretend to be a prostitute, and just when things get bad, this handsome guy shows up.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, reader is undercover as a prostitute, women harassment, curses, oral sex, pussy eating, protect sex, use a condom, Javi is a little asshole.

A/N: Y/LN - your last name

You always thought you joined the CIA to change the world. You wanted to show that women can be strong, independent, and kick bad guys' asses. You ended up standing on a street corner dressed like a whore and having to endure the presence of a fat man who smelled of sweat and insisted you give him a blowjob.

How did it happen? Oh yes. Stechner, your boss. A dick like few in this world. He hated women. He hated even more women who wanted to climb the rungs of the ladder called careers. That's why you came to Colombia. In America, you didn't have a chance to get promoted as quickly as here. One thing you didn't foresee... Bill Stechner was a fucking prick.

Already in the first week of your work (you haven't even had time to unpack and meet your co-workers yet) he decided that you would be great for observing a suspicious type. On the surface, the task was simple. You had a camera built into your handbag and you were just supposed to take pictures when your "subject" will walk into the bar. You were supposed to document with whom and when he enters the bar. Of course, Stechner decided that you couldn't just stand in the middle of the street as a tourist, because that would surely arouse someone's suspicions. There were also no convenient vantage points nearby, so that was out of the question as well. So what plan did this prick come up with? You will pretend to be a whore. After all, it's normal in Colombia for prostitutes to stand in the streets for long hours waiting for customers. A really brilliant plan. It's just a pity he didn't anticipate real customers coming to you.

You got rid of the first one quickly. You saw that he was poor, so you gave a very high amount. The guy left quickly.

The other looked like someone who rarely used prostitutes. You sensed his uncertainty, so you said he'd have to use a condom, preferably two because you're sick. He ran away so fast you almost laughed.

In the meantime, your "object" has arrived. You pressed the appropriate button on the bottom of the bag and you were sure that you would be able to disappear in no time. Unfortunately, a short, fat guy approached you, he looked to be in his fifties and looked like someone who used whores a lot. He held out some bills towards you and said:

"You're going to blow me in that alley."

You felt disgusted and replied, "No."

The guy raised his eyebrows and looked you up and down and you realized you made a mistake. You were still undercover and you didn't know who this guy might be. In Colombia, potentially, any guy could belong to some drug cartel. If he started fighting you and discovered what you had in your purse, things could get really ugly. Of course, things would be different if the moron (your boss) gave you the support you asked for. But he stated that it was such a simple task that he would not involve additional agents. Just fucking awesome. You tried to salvage the situation somehow.

"I'm sorry, stallion, but I'm waiting for a regular customer."

The guy snorted and gave you a really dirty look.

"You've been standing here for an hour and you haven't had any customers, I think you can do your job in ten minutes."

Pfff, sure... He probably wouldn't even last a minute.

You tried to reply in the sweetest voice you could muster: "I'd rather not risk it."

"Okay. I'll wait. If that regular customer of yours doesn't show up soon, I'll drag you there by your hair and fuck you for free."

The guy walked a few meters away and leaned against the wall of the building. He watched you like a hawk. Fuck. Thanks so fucking much Stechner. You frantically considered your options.

To suck his dick... Hell no!

Leave. He'll probably start following you.

So what?

And then, out of nowhere, a handsome guy appeared in front of you. He was wearing a navy blue shirt, a leather jacket, and dark jeans. He had dark, thick hair, some of it falling over his forehead. He had a dark mustache under his nose. His brown eyes made you trust him. And he was hot... Very hot.

"Hey, beauty." He licked his lips and gave you a flirty look. "Maybe I'll take you to my home for the night. I'm paying double."

You made your decision quickly. You didn't have a gun, no badge, and you'd probably have to break that fat prick's arm when he tried to rape you. The guy in front of you looked clean and reasonably nice.

You put your hand on his shoulder and smiled broadly, "Let's go."

He grabbed your waist and led you to his car. Once inside you asked, "So what should I call you, sweetheart?"

"Javier. And you?"

"Y/N," You told him your real name, deciding it didn't matter anyway.

Okay, maybe going to the apartment with a stranger wasn't the smartest thing to do, but prostitutes did it all the time. True?

(Maybe you would have known this if you had talked to a real prostitute beforehand, but Stechner of course decided it was unnecessary.)

If you had any fears, they were dispelled the moment you entered his apartment and Javier pulled you close and kissed you. He knew how to do it. He wasn't pushy, but he knew how to apply the right pressure. His hand traveled down your back. And you, being so close to him, could smell his intoxicating scent. When he pulled away from you, he winked at you.

"Whiskey?"

"Umm... Yes."

He tossed his jacket onto the couch and that's when you saw it. FUCK! He had a gun in his belt. How could you not notice it before? You were a fucking CIA agent. You're about to die the stupidest death in history. However, just as you were contemplating how to escape, Javier put his gun down on the table and took his badge out of his pants pocket. He glanced at you and apparently noticed you gulping nervously. He waved his badge and asked, "Does that bother you?"

And then, if you were sensible, you'd tell him the truth. "Hey, that's funny. We're workmates. My badge is at home, but I'm with the CIA, and that's my cover."

Unfortunately, your mind has been overcome by the pressure building up between your legs. You've heard that some people get turned on by role-playing, but you never thought you also. Technically, Javier was the unwitting one, but that didn't count. You carefully hung your purse on the hanger near the door and looked at him.

"No. You just don't look like a cop."

Javier laughed and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.

"That's what it's all about, Lovey."

You nodded, knowing full well that it made sense. The bandits couldn't see you, as an agent from a mile away. You walked over to the couch, glancing at his badge. You noticed the sign and realized he was from DEA. Well, that was probably another moment when you should have backed off. You knew that CIA and DEA agents had a conflict with each other. But then Javier undid a few buttons on his shirt, revealing shiny skin. He handed you a glass of alcohol and you couldn't take your eyes off him. You sat back and took a good gulp, savoring the taste and the warmth spreading in your stomach. Javier knelt beside you, his hand traveling from your thigh to your knee, down your calf, and lingered on the straps of your boots.

"Why don't we get rid of this first?"

Oh god, you couldn't be more grateful to him. You weren't used to wearing such high boots and your legs were dying after standing for so long. He efficiently held a cigarette in his mouth, and with his hands freed you from this shoe nightmare. He placed one of your feet on his thigh, close to his crotch, and you could feel the tension in his pants. He took a few more puffs on his cigarette and stubbed it out. He reached for your glass and placed it on the table. Then his hands spread your thighs apart and one hand found its way to your panties. You were soaked and Javier liked it.

"Hmm, you're ready for me now." One of his fingers slid under the fabric of your panties and hooked your clit. You groaned and lifted your hips. "Yes, like this."

Then you started to wonder if this is normal. As a prostitute, you're supposed to please him. But maybe he was one of the few guys who got turned on by treating whores that way. You decided to start rubbing his crotch with your foot. Javier threw his head back and groaned.

"Yes, yes... That's right, sweetie. You're good at it."

The praise from his mouth made your cheeks blush.

After a moment, he gently removed your foot and removed his toe from your panties. You groaned in displeasure, but he just patted your leg.

"We're wearing too many clothes. Get up, hermosa ."

You didn't know how he did it, but you were ready to obey his every command without resistance. Maybe it was his voice. Maybe it's his big hands. Maybe broad shoulders. Maybe it all combined to make him so sexy and you really wanted to fuck him.

You got up, but Javier was still kneeling in front of you. In one swift motion, he took off your short skirt and panties. He then took off his shirt and then wrapped his arms around your legs and started pulling you towards him. You stood a bit unsteadily with your pussy so close to his face, but his hands held you steady. He kissed the inside of your thigh and murmured:

"Let me taste you."

That was the only warning you got before his face buried itself between your thighs. Were it not for his strong arms, you would have jumped in surprise. His tongue masterfully circled your clit. Your knees pressed against his body and at one point you had to grab his head to find some way to keep your balance. Though you were sure he wouldn't let you fall. You tugged at his hair and he moaned right into your pussy, but his tongue didn't leave you for a moment. It devoured you like a thirsty animal, and your legs grew weaker and weaker. His mustache rubbing against your sensitive skin was an added stimulus.

"Javier... Jav ..." you moaned. " Javi ... Fuck..."

You felt a familiar warmth building up in your belly and knew you were close. You thought if he treated all the prostitutes that way, they were probably paying him.

Suddenly his tongue pushed into you. His nose poked at your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tilted your head back, arched your back, and your legs began to shake. You felt Javier tighten his grip as if encouraging you to come. You let out a loud moan and came. Javier ran his tongue over your labia a few more times before helping you fall onto the couch. You were breathing heavily, but you still wanted more. Javier stood up and you reached your hand towards his crotch. There was already a wet stain from pre-cum on the bottom of his jeans. He smiled and licked his lips. His beard was still glistening with your juices. He leaned over to you and murmured:

"Do you want to taste how delicious you are?"

He connected his lips to yours and you willingly let his tongue inside. As he pulled away from you, he winked at you and asked, "Can I fuck you?"

God?! Who was he and why was he asking? Your pussy was already twitching uneasily at the thought of his cock. You groaned and nodded your head.

He took off his pants and his cock popped out standing proudly. His tip was covered with little droplets of pre-cum. You groaned in delight. It was big, but not in a terrifying way. It was big enough for you to feel full.

Javier smiled and reached into his wallet to pull out a condom and... You were really grateful to him.

Well, that would be the "perfect" end to your career if you found out that after just one week of being a CIA agent in Colombia, you got pregnant by a DEA agent while being undercover as a prostitute. You would become a legend of the department. And not in a good way.

After a while, Javier knelt on the couch between your legs and positioned himself right next to your pussy. He began to enter you gently, and you felt the walls of your vagina stretch. When half of his cock was already inside you, he made one quick thrust so that his entire length was inside your warm, moist interior. You groaned and bit your lip. Javier paused for a moment, letting you get used to the stretch. He started to place gentle kisses on your breasts trying to distract you from discomfort. When he felt you relax, he began to move his hips. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his back. You dug your heels into him, signaling him to speed up. Javier lowered his head and panted right next to your ear, making your excitement grow with every second. You felt yourself slowly getting closer to another orgasm. Your nails dug into his back.

"Yes," he growled. "Come on, on my cock. Come on, muñequita."

You started moaning and as you came your vagina tightened around his penis. Javier put his hands behind your back to lift you up. You screamed at the sudden change of position. He put one of his legs on the floor for better leverage and began thrusting into you at a brutal pace. He moaned louder and louder, and as his movements became more chaotic, you knew he was close.

When he came he placed you on the couch. He collapsed onto your body, burying his face between your breasts and panting heavily.

You were both coming off your orgasms. You started to gently stroke his nape, right at the hairline. You didn't know where the sudden surge of affection came from. You were probably still on a post-orgasm high. Javier muttered something unintelligible against your skin.

"What are you saying?"

He raised his head slightly.

"Stop doing that." You were about to apologize to him when he kissed your breast and added, "Or else I'll fall asleep on top of you and you'll be pinned down by my weight all night."

You giggled lightly and he sighed and gently pulled out of you. He got up from the couch and disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, where he threw away the condom. When he returned, he put on his pants, lit a cigarette, and stood by the window. You stretched out on the couch and enjoyed watching the muscles in his back. Javier turned to you.

"And good advice for the future, you should have support when you're undercover."

You huffed and sat up quickly on the couch. You looked at him and waited for his next words. But he was still standing there with a stupid smirk on his face and a cigarette between his lips.

"Did you know?!"

"From the beginning. Sorry, honey, but I know a lot of prostitutes and none of them act like you. You obviously haven't done your homework."

You huffed angrily and crossed your arms over your chest.

"It's that dick Stechner fault. I've only been here a week and he's already pushed me into the worst shit." You shot Javier an angry look. "And for your information, I asked for support, but he refused me."

Javier finished smoking and sat next to you. He began to gently stroke your bare hip. It's strange that you still didn't feel ashamed being completely naked.

"So CIA. We have more in common than I thought. Apparently, we both don't like Stechner," he muttered and leaned closer to you. "If you want to switch departments, let me know. It's not worth wasting your time with an asshole like Bill."

You laughed slightly and shook your head.

"Because it's better to work with an asshole like you agent..." You gave him a suggestive look and he replied "Agent Peña". You nodded and finished, "Agent Peña? You could have told me you knew about my cover."

"I could." He moved even closer to you. "But you could have told me too. I thought waving my badge would be suggestive enough." He brushed his fingers across your belly. "However, for some reason, you made a different decision." The other of his hands cupped your cheek. "Can I make it up to you somehow?" His hand moved between your thighs.

And all of your anger suddenly vanished. He mesmerized you with those brown eyes and you didn't resist as he pulled you into a kiss.

You will regret it later.

You regretted it two days later.

You just walked into your boss's office and found Javier there. You had to use all your skills to keep a neutral face. It looked like they had had some heated discussion with each other a moment earlier because both had anger in their eyes. However, Javier immediately softened when he saw you. Stechner, on the other hand, quite dismissively said:

"This is our new addition. Agent Y/LN. Meet Agent Peña. Unless you've met before."

You tentatively stretched out your hand towards him. Peña could have easily compromised you. One word or a stupid question: "You're not a prostitute?" was enough.

Javier smiled and shook your hand.

"Unfortunately not. I would certainly remember her."

Stechner rolled his eyes, and you returned the smile and quietly breathed a sigh of relief. Javier was an asshole, but he respected women. You already knew that if he ever needs your help, you'd be happy to help him and give him all the dirt you can find about your boss.

#javier pena #narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena and you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #agent pena #javier is a little asshole

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psychovigilantewrites · 1 year

Text

It's Been Awhile

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Word Count: 5,500

Rating: Explicit, there is sex, R18

Summary: Reader visits Jason after some time.

Masterlist | Ao3

A/N: Hey guys! It's been awhile, hasn't it. Sorry it's not a Red Who update, but I promise I have not abandoned it yet.

I am extremely rusty, because I haven't been reading nor writing much lately. I have a full time job now, and I'm on my way to paving my career. I still think of you guys a lot, though. So thank you so much for sticking with me till now. To the new followers, you won't see much activity here, but I will return from time to time to post or scroll or check up on things.

I'm so rusty that a 5000 word count felt so long to me. I remember when I was churning like, 12k word count within a week. Lol, I would love to try that out again. Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you all enjoy! This is the most I've written in a while.

You kicked an empty beer can aside and heard its metallic clink against the brick wall as you walked down the narrow alley.

From all the years you spent in alleyways, you got used to the smell and the suspicious puddles. It was dimly lit, the only light source coming from the apartment windows above you. You stopped below the fire escape and jumped, hands grasping the end of the metal ladder to pull it down so you could climb up.

You counted the floors. Four, seven… twelfth. You stopped a floor below your target so you could carefully creep up to the thirteenth. You peeked through your target’s opened window carefully. His apartment was brightly lit and clean. You noticed all the surfaces like the coffee table at the centre of the living room, and the small dining table at the far side of the apartment near the main entrance, were clear of any clutter or stains. The light grey sofa near the window where you were at looked new, with fluffed cushions arranged on the seats along with a beige throw blanket.

Your target had his bare back facing you, standing at the kitchen where he was putting away the dishes in the overhead cabinet. He was shirtless, so you could see the muscles of his back ripple and flex when he reached above his head. You climbed through the window silently and entered his apartment.

“Hello there-” you started, but immediately ducked to avoid the flying mug aimed at you but missing and crashed into pieces behind you. “Wow, rude.”

“Christ,” Jason swore when he realised who you were. “What the fuck? You scared the shit outta me.”

You grinned at him. “Not my fault you’re losing your touch. You really didn’t hear me?”

“I was never able to hear you, you know that,” he scowled and crossed his arms while walking towards you. “Take off your shoes, you’re dragging dirt all over my house.”

“Not until you clean up the glass.”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes, grabbing a broom to sweep away the shards.

You sat down on his sofa. An awkward silence passed.

“So,” you looked around his apartment. It was familiar because you’ve been there so many times before, but he had obviously done some rearranging and bought new furniture. There were definitely more books on his shelf now. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.”

“Around… six months?”

“Without any messages or phone calls,” he frowned, looking at the floor that was now clean and clear.

“Jason,” you groaned, “You know I couldn’t.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, putting aside the dustpan. “It’s just- it was hard not knowing whether you were safe or not.”

“You think undercover has been easy for me too?” you demanded.

“I know it hasn’t- look, I don’t want to argue,” he admitted. He sat down on the sofa next to you. You felt the sofa dip at his weight. “I’ve been undercover too. I know how hard it is. I was just worried.”

You looked at him. His thick eyebrows were pulled down in a frown, his icy blue eyes staring at you intensely. He had a bruise that was healing on the upper corner of his left cheekbone, and a fresh new cut on his lower lip.

“You’re my best friend. You’re the only one I’ve known the longest. Not knowing whether you were dead or alive does things to a person,” he stressed.

“Well, I’m here now. Alive. And demanding you get me some liquor,” you winked.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but complied. “Since when did you start drinking casually?”

You hesitated. “Since Elisa.”

“I have whiskey, bourbon, gin, tequila and beer,” he listed the contents of his liquor cabinet.

“Gin, soda and lime, please,” you ordered. Jason immediately got to work, making you your cocktail. “Bring the bottle here as well. I might want a top up.”

He raised an eyebrow as he served you and put the bottle of gin down on the coffee table.

“Aww, you even put a little lime wedge. Cute,” you teased and sipped. “Yep, I was right. Did you always used to make your drinks this weak?”

“You never complained before,” he replied, watching you pour a little more gin in your glass. “The drinks in Cuba must be strong.”

You paused, lips still on the rim of the cup. Silence fell again, before you shrugged. “I’ve taken quite a liking to rum.”

You dug through the sling bag pouch you had across your body and took out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jason protested.

“Uh, I’m lightshing a shigarette,” you answered with the cigarette already on your lips.

“One, no smoking in my house,” he snatched the cigarette from you and threw it on the table, “ Two, did Elisa smoke too?”

“She didn’t and then she did,” you scowled, “How long have you quit?”

“Four months,” he said, “I use these now. It’s helped a lot. I suggest you do the same.”

He took out a bright pink cylindrical metal tube with a straw-like tip from the pocket of his sweatpants and sucked the end. He exhaled a thick cloud of white mist that smelled of-

You burst into laughter.

“What?” he huffed.

“I’m sorry, but right now I’m just imagining bumping into you in a dark alleyway, all big and muscly, with your leather jacket and combat boots, and suddenly you smell like- what’s that, watermelon?”

“Yeah, so what?” he pouted, “I don’t even have the urge to smoke anymore.”

“You’re right, that’s good,” you smiled, “I’m proud of you.”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes, “So, what are you doing here? You back for good?”

“Officially, my role in the mission has ended,” you explained, “But I might have to go back from time to time… And…”

“You’re leaving again?” he guessed solemnly.

You pursed his lips and looked at him. “How much do you know about what I was doing?”

“Not much,” he began, “Just that you were undercover in Cuba, leading some sort of coup?”

“Not exactly leading a coup,” you corrected, “I was hired by a private organisation to infiltrate and, uh, get rid of corrupted leaders internally, and replace them with clean people so that the citizens can have a chance at improving the country.”

“So… American intervention to reestablish democracy and change regimes?” Jason smirked, “Like Cuba in the sixties? Bolivia, Ghana, Angola, and my personal favourite, Iraq?”

“It’s not like that,” you defended, “And not American. Not CIA. Not United Nations. Jason, these people are real. They have no other agenda but to give people freedom. We’re made of many countries and nationalities- mostly third world whose countries have been ravished by colonialism and intervention. Think Che Guevara, but bigger. Richer. Way richer. More organized. They’ve been recruiting ex-agents and spies, people who can’t be blackmailed or bribed with money. People who care about change.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing?” he realised, “Been playing Spy Kids with communists.”

“We’re not calling ourselves that,” you argued, “And we’re not going for the communist revolution. We want to go for a more organic change.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” he sighed in defeat.

“Because… I want you to come with me next,” you positioned your body to fully face him, crossing your legs on the sofa.

“What?” he asked incredulously, “And what, abandon Gotham?”

“Gotham doesn’t need people like you and me, Jay,” you whispered, “It needs Batman, and Nightwing, and Robin, and all of them. Gotham needs hope. People like us don’t belong here.”

“People like us?”

“You know what I mean,” you said sternly, “Our skills are needed and appreciated elsewhere.”

Another moment of silence of you and Jason just glaring at each other. You saw the way Jason’s eyes examined your expression, your body language. He knew you were completely serious about this.

You broke eye contact and took a few sips of your drink, feeling the contradictory refreshment and burn.

“Just think about it. You have time. I’m on a decently long break before going to the next mission,” you leaned back against the cushion and closed your eyes, “Mmm, I want to go to a nice spa. Get some new clothes. Watch movies. Source for some cool gadgets from Bruce. Spend some time with the family.”

“For how long?”

“A couple of months.”

You heard Jason sigh again. That’s how it was with Jason. Just constant sighing.

“Fine, I’ll think about it.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. “Really?”

He was looking down into his own cocktail. “I don’t think I can go another six months not knowing what the fuck you’re doing, where you are, whether you’re dead or alive. So, yes. I’ll fuckin’ think about it.”

You felt bad. From the moment you told him you were leaving to go undercover, from the moment you went silent, you felt immensely guilty for leaving him. It was your first time without contact with him, and hell, it was difficult for you too. He was your first friend, your first family. Your life would not have been your life without Jason Todd.

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching out to his face to make him look at you. “I missed you.”

He simply stared. He looked like he was struggling to say something, or struggling to stop himself from saying something.

Then, he looked away. “So, how was it?”

“Pretty fucking cool,” you admitted, relaxing back into your usual self. “I felt like I was in a movie. Being undercover without anyone knowing sucks ass, though. Couldn’t be myself. Couldn’t do whatever I wanted to do, say whatever I wanted to say. Fuck, it was so hard. That’s when the drinking started.”

He chuckled. “Liar.”

“Excuse me?” you turned to him.

“Liar,” he stated, “That’s not how the drinking started. Something happened.”

“A lot of things happen when you’re undercover, Jason,” you snapped.

“I’m just saying,” he smirked, “You may have gotten used to lying to everyone around you. But you can’t lie to me.”

You hated how right he was.

“Put on some tunes,” you demanded, “Like I said, I couldn’t be myself. So tonight, I am going to drink and I am going to do whatever I want, and say whatever I want.”

“And as always, I’m the victim,” he groaned.

“Hush, you love it,” you giggled.

Jason stood up, grumbling. “Just take off your damn shoes.”

You complied, kicking off your boots and placed them away against a wall. Jason had always been so neat and tidy, so you respected that whenever you were in his space. He was extremely particular about hygiene as well. You were used to having your shoes off in his house, to him sanitizing his hands whenever he took off his gloves, to him always wiping surfaces with isopropyl alcohol.

He was always so well groomed too, and you never needed to worry about toiletries whenever you stayed at his. Whatever you needed, or hell, didn’t need, he had them. You remembered when you were teens and you were complaining about acne. He taught you all about skincare, haircare. About shaving versus waxing. About scrubbing between your toes and behind your ears when you shower.

And Jason showered every single day, since he was always engaged in physical activities.

And because of that, Jason always smelled so fucking good.

You caught a whiff of the scent you were so familiar with when he sat back down next to you after turning on the speakers and grabbing two bags of chips. He smelled like the cologne he wore, which was a deep pine scent with undertones of chocolate and sage. It mixed well with the refreshing raspberry of his shampoo.

“You met Grayson yet?” he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Mmm?” you mumbled, still lost in his scent. “No. You’re the first.”

“Good,” he grumbled back.

“Didn’t want to make you jealous or anything,” you giggled, poking his cheek.

He swatted away your hand, but a small smile played on his lips. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

You wanted to retort, but let it go and took another big gulp from your glass. You topped the ice with some more gin and squeezed the lime in. Talking about Jason’s weird competitive streak with Dick would always end up with Jason sulking. You felt a little tipsy already.

“Hmm,” you hummed. And then, you had a brilliant idea. You stood up and you took your tight black t-shirt off, leaving you in your black bra.

“Why are you stripping?” Jason raised his voice.

“It’s summer, and it’s hot,” you shrugged, sitting back down closer to him. He was also shirtless, and you felt the heat radiating off his skin. “And it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“It’s different when you’re bleeding from a stab wound and I’m pouring vodka on it,” he retorted.

“Whatever,” you scoffed, “ And you know what? This place was a smoking area before I left. And I told you that tonight, I’m going to be doing whatever I want. So.”

You reached forward to your pack of cigarettes Jason threw on the coffee table, but he grabbed your hand.

“Nuh-uh. No.”

You glanced at his grip on your wrist and back up at him. “You really want to do this, Todd?”

His expression changed to some sort of smug look that he always had when presented with a challenge. “Let’s see whether Cuba made you rusty, then.”

You smirked at him. And then, you swung your other fist towards his face, but he blocked your punch with the palm of his free hand.

You lifted yourself off the couch and used your body weight and momentum to catch him off his balance. It worked, he was on the floor, but he was so strong and it was difficult to free your arms from his grip.

So, you played dirty.

You carefully kneed his groin. Gently. You didn’t want to actually hurt him. Just to discombobulate him.

Jason swore, and his grip on you loosened just a teeny tiny bit. But that was all you needed to release yourself by twisting his arm to an angle that forced him to turn his body face down to the floor.

You continued twisting.

“Ow, ow, ow!” He complained.

“Do you yield?” You breathed.

“Yes! I yield, holy shit,” he whined.

You released him and greeted him with a shit eating grin when he propped himself back up. You had always been the better fighter. Even though Jason was bigger and stronger, you were more lithe, fast, and flexible. You used momentum, anatomical range of motion, and precise techniques in your martial art. That’s why you were always silent and could sneak up on him. That’s why you used to be the stealthy assassin, while Jason favoured loud guns and explosives.

“You know you will lose, yet you always challenge me,” you pointed out, “That’s why I think you’re a brat.”

“Like a spoiled kid?” he said, “Since when?”

“Not in that context,” you rolled your eyes. “Like, in bed.”

“Huh?” Jason sat down and looked up at you with genuine confusion. You joined him on the sofa again. This time, he didn’t stop you from lighting your cigarette. You inhaled. You exhaled.

“You know, like you have the dominant and the submissive,” you started to explain, “A brat is under the submissive category.”

“The hell?” he protested, “I am not submissive.”

“Maybe at first,” you smirked slyly, slowly closing the gap between you and him. “That’s what a brat is. You like to fight. You’re stubborn. You like to say no. But ultimately, you want to betamed.”

To make a point, you crawled towards him and boldly straddled his waist.

“Wh-what- what the fuck are you doing?” Jason sputtered, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“That’s why you like to fight me, right?” you continued, resting one palm flat on his bare chest, your other on his shoulder while you held your cigarette. “You want me to make you submit.”

You blew smoke onto his face.

“Stop that,” he gripped the side of your arms, “Did Cuba make you flirty too?”

“I always flirt with you.”

“Not like this,” he shook his head. “What, did Elisa have to seduce men? Women?”

“Unfortunately, no,” you pouted, “Elisa had to keep things strictly professional between all her assets.”

The truth was you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“So, it’s been a while,” he stated.

“It’s been a while,” you agreed. “How about you? Any women? Men?”

“Please,” he scoffed, “Just Grayson being an ass.”

“So, it’s been a while for you, too,” you teased.

“But I’m not a perv like you,” he huffed.

“We can change that,” you leaned in closer, watching the way he had subtly wet his lips, thinking you wouldn’t notice.

“Stop,” he repeated, “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough to make you yield.”

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re going to regret in the morning,” he pressed.

“Why would you think I’m going to regret anything?” You asked.

“Because you’ve never done this before,” he frowned, “This is coming out of nowhere.”

You’ve been pining for him ever since you hit puberty.

“Do you think you’re going to regret it in the morning?”

He looked away from your intense, questioning gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

That was the reason you gave yourself for so long. You didn’t want to tell Jason how you felt because you were scared he wouldn’t see you the same anymore. Or that he would feel self-conscious around you. That he would reject you. That because of your selfish feelings, your relationship would be ruined.

You put out the cigarette in your glass.

“When I was Elisa Martinez,” you began slowly, “I couldn’t be myself, obviously. I couldn’t drink my favourite drink, or watch my favourite shows. You know how deep undercover is like, right? The complete erasure of your identity. Your history. I know some people who actually started to believe their cover story, to the point where they forgot who they really were.”

You paused to make sure you wouldn’t regret whatever you were going to say next.

“Elisa Martinez didn’t know Jason Todd. She never grew up with him. She never… fell in love with him…”

You noticed Jason’s eyes widened, and his grip on you tightened ever so slightly.

“And it was horrible, Jason,” you expressed, “I felt so lonely. So one day when I was alone in my apartment in Havana, I told myself that I wouldn’t be one of those people who gets lost in their cover identities. Unsure and confused about who they were. I vowed that when I got back here, I would truly be myself. No more hiding my feelings or my beliefs. No more stopping myself from getting what I wanted. Because I didn’t realise how having your own identity was a privilege that people took for granted.”

His eyes softened, but he still looked unsure of how to respond.

“So no,” you stated firmly, “I won’t regret it in the morning. Even if you don’t feel the same way, and you don’t want anything to do with me after this, I will not regret telling you how I feel. Because six months of struggling with identities was enough.”

Still straddling him, you crossed your arms to make a point.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat. He let go of his grip on you and ran his hand through his hair again. A habit that you noticed he did when he was either stressed or nervous. “Wow. I mean. I didn’t expect that at all.”

“I know it seems like it’s coming out of nowhere, but I’ve felt like this for years,” you confessed.

And that Jason did what you didn’t expect him to do. He reached out to cup your face, and then smiled at you.

You learned that Jason had many types of smiles. The smile that was really more threatening than it was comforting. The smile that meant he had a devious idea in his head. The smile that didn’t reach his eyes, when he was shaking hands with someone he didn’t like. The smile when he found something funny. The smile when he was thinking of the past.

And the smile that he only reserved for you.

It wasn’t just the upturned corner of his lips that made the smile. It was also the softness of his eyes, the relaxing of his brows. And the actual smile was just a brief moment, followed by his gaze into your eyes. He smiled like that at you during the first time you successfully threw a punch. And that time when you won first place at the science fair. Sometimes he would smile like that when you went on about history, and geopolitics, and the latest episode of your favourite show.

“Me too,” he simply said.

And there it was. The last time you felt this happy was when Lady Shiva told you she had nothing left to teach you.

“But you’re wrong about one thing,” Jason broke you out of your bliss.

“Huh?”

Suddenly he grabbed your hips tightly and threw you off of him, onto the empty space of the sofa. You gasped in surprise at the sudden movement, and before you knew it, he was on top of you, holding you down. He put his face above yours, lips only inches away that you could feel his hot breath.

“I am not a brat.”

And then he kissed you.

His cut lip grazed yours softly at first before sucking in your bottom lip with force. He broke off the kiss and grinned at you.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

And before he knew it, you had flipped him over, causing him to land on his back onto the floor with a loud thud.

Your knee was at his crotch again, a silent threat for him to stay still.

But you knew what had Jason blushing was your hand around his throat.

“Tsk, tsk, Jay,” you whispered in his ear, making a point to softly brush your lips on his lobe. “Don’t be naughty. You know you can’t take me.”

“I- wha-” he sputtered, and then tried to move.

“Nuh uh,” you warned, putting more pressure on his crotch with your knee, “Stay still.”

He continued to look at you in surprise, or confusion, or wonder. You weren’t sure.

What you were sure about was that you felt his cock begin to harden against you.

You chuckled softly to yourself. The truth was, you made it all up just to antagonize him. You didn’t really think he was a brat at first. In fact, all of your previous fantasies were of him dominating you, choking you, pounding into you while your hands were tied to the bed posts. Now that you knew he was into this, though, you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

“I’m going to get up. But you,” you squeezed his neck a little tighter, “You stay like this and do what I say, okay?”

You felt him gulp under your grip and then he nodded.

You stood up and put your hands on your hips. Looking down at him, you appreciated the view.

His hard chest was going up and down fast as he was panting. You saw a flush grow from his neck to his cheeks. Your gaze went down his abs, to his crotch, where you saw the outline of his hard cock and a small dark spot at the tip.

“Take off your pants for me,” you commanded.

He just stared at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to threaten you?”

You gently stepped on his cock with your toes.

“Okay, okay!” he hurriedly slid off his sweatpants, revealing his hard on.

You never saw his cock before. You sort of knew it would be large based on the outlines whenever he wore sweatpants or boxers. But, wow.

He was perfectly long, and perfectly thick, and perfectly uncut. Though, his foreskin was now stretched back, revealing his head that was red and pulsating, desperate to be touched.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” he grinned, his confidence and smug attitude back.

You sat back down on the couch and crossed your legs, making him confused.

“Well?” you prompted, “Start stroking.”

“What?” he asked, “Down here?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, “Go on.”

He slowly reached for his cock and gave it a squeeze, eliciting a small moan from his lips. You bit your lips at the sound and the sight.

Fuck, he was so hot. You had dreamed of watching him jerk himself off for so long, and now there he was, sprawled on the floor at your feet.

He started to really stroke himself now, his eyes fluttered close and his mouth parted in heavy breaths.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

You saw that his cock was now slick and wet with his precum. You wanted to taste it so bad. You wanted him to shove his cock down your throat and mercilessly fuck your face until you gagged and cried.

Not today. He will have his turn some other time.

“Okay, stop,” you said in a sing-song voice.

“Wh-what? No,” he refused, still fucking his fist.

“Baby,” you stood up, “I said stop.”

He groaned and opened his eyes, his arm stilling around his dick.

You proceeded to take off your jeans, and your bra, causing your breasts to fall. Exposed to him for the first time, Jason was actually smacking his lips.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I want to touch you,” he whined and moved to get up.

“No,” you denied, “Stay down there for me.”

You walked over to his head, placed your feet on either side, and then dropped to your knees so you were hovering your pussy right above his lips.

“This is fine too,” he mumbled, hands going straight to your ass, kneading them. Then, he took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your arousal.

“Mmm, you smell divine,” he whined.

That did it. You just knew that you were drenched.

He started to mouth you through the fabric, kissing your folds, nibbling on them.

“Please, take them off,” he begged.

You complied, only because you couldn’t stand not being touched. The moment you returned to your position, Jason attacked you with his mouth.

“Fuck!” you gasped.

It was as if he was making out with your pussy. Wet lips on wet lips, he licked you everywhere, from between your folds, to your opening, to your clit. It was like he was starved for you. Hungry for you. All the while, the sound of wetness and his muffled moans filled the room.

“Jason,” you sighed. You felt the familiar warmth spread at the base of your core.

He knew what you wanted. You felt him focus on your clit with his tongue, and then a finger entering you slowly.

You let out a high pitch whine when he started finger fucking you while ravishing your clit at the same time.

A second finger.

He was hitting the right spot, so deep inside you. You had thought about this as well. Whenever you saw his fingers on a trigger, or that time when he was making pizza dough and kneading. You imagined his thick, calloused fingers inside you, fucking you the way he was right now.

He quickened his pace and added more pressure to your clit.

You knew he knew you were close. You could feel it. Your body was tense, and you knew you were tightening around his fingers. You gripped his hair with both your hands, because you just needed to hold onto something.

And then you were coming.

You didn’t know you were screaming until you felt a gush of wetness between your legs, splashing everywhere.

Jason fucking Todd made you squirt.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” you apologised. You stood up too quickly and didn’t realise your legs were jelly, so you ended up tripping onto the wet floor next to him.

“That was so hot, don’t be sorry,” he looked at you incredulously. His face was glistening with your juices.

And fuck, was that a sight to behold.

You couldn’t help but grab him by the neck and pull him in for a kiss. You tasted yourself on him.

He crawled on top of you, sucking your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth. One hand roamed your body while the other propped him up above you. He squeezed your breasts and your nipples, and went down to your waist, between your legs. He gripped your thigh from below and pushed it up so you were spread open.

He hooked your leg on his shoulder.

And without warning, he pushed his cock into your wet, sensitive pussy.

“Fuck!” you screamed as he bottomed inside you.

He filled you up so perfectly, that you never wanted to be empty ever again. He stretched you out so beautifully, that you thought your walls would just be molded into shape specifically for his cock.

“Hnngh,” he groaned, “You feel so fucking good. So fucking tight.”

You felt him thrust deep inside you, reaching all the spots that made you writhe in pleasure. He began pounding you hard, wet slaps made even wetter as you leaked all over his cock.

You weren’t gasping for air. It was so intense that you couldn’t breathe. Your mouth was opened in a silent scream until you actually had to remind yourself to inhale.

There were no words that you could form in that moment. Just absolutely filthy, vulgar sounds that rang through his apartment.

Through teary eyes, you watched him above you.

He was panting, breathing hard. You weren’t sure whether the moisture on his face was from sweat or your juices earlier. His dark hair had fallen down to poke his eyes, his brows pulled down in a frown. His chest had beads of sweat dripping, trickling down to his abs.

He moved his hips with precise and sharp movements. Every thrust into you was accompanied by gasps and whispers of words you couldn’t hear.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he praised breathily, “I want to watch you come again.”

It wouldn’t take too long.

You were already feeling like you were going to unravel. The heat pooling again, even more intense than your previous orgasm.

Jason increased his pace, and then reached down to your pussy to thumb your clit.

You screamed.

It was like a wave that pulled you down and released you. You felt your body tighten and your walls clench and unclench. You felt hot liquid release from your core, just like waves crashing.

Before you knew it, you felt empty. Jason had pulled out and jerked himself off over you.

He came long and hard in a loud groan. White ribbons of cum shot out of his pulsating cock, reaching all the way to your face.

He collapsed next to you on the floor, huffing and panting.

You felt drowsy all of a sudden, but so fucking relaxed.

“Wow,” you breathed.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, “Can’t move. Can’t think. Shhh.”

You giggled and scooted closer to him, pressing yourself onto his sweaty, sticky skin and rested your head on his chest.

You felt his heartbeat drum against his ribcage.

He rested his arm on your head and played with your hair.

“I can’t believe our first time was on the floor,” he complained.

“I think it describes us perfectly,” you closed your eyes and smiled.

He kissed the top of your head. After a beat, he asked, “Will you tell me what happened in Cuba?”

“One day,” you told him, “I need time to process it as well.”

“Fair enough,” he responded, “So, uh. Are we like, official then?”

“If you want to be.”

“Do you want to be?”

“I do,” you admitted, “I’ve been pining for you for a long time.”

“Me too,” he confessed, “We should have done this sooner.”

“I don’t think so,” you thought, “I think right now is the perfect time. We figured ourselves first, we explored what we wanted to do. We found our reason. Well, I did, at least.”

“So you’re really serious about this then?” he asked, “Fully committed?”

“One hundred percent,” you stated, “I think that we can make real change. Slow change. But change nonetheless.”

“Okay, then,” he sighed.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’m in,” he said, “I can’t promise you that I will stay for the cause. I can’t promise you that I will even believe in it. But I can’t do the silence again. You have no idea how difficult it was for me, these past six months.”

You frowned. You wondered what happened. You will ask another time.

“But I can promise you that you will always have me,” he continued, “I don’t know what this is, and what these missions need you-or us- to do, but you will always have my support.”

You felt deeply moved. “Thank you,” you whispered.

You didn’t have to worry about your identity anymore. About being confused, about being corrupted by the roles you had to play.

Because as long as Jason was there, you were you.

#jason todd #dc comics #red hood #jason todd/reader #y/n #jason todd x reader #red hood/reader #batman #batfamily

272 notes · View notes

valeriianz · 1 year

Note

Pirate AU, they've been rivals for a while, but when one of them almost gets hanged, the other rescues them and well, the ship is so small, guess we have to share my bunk 🤷‍♀️ one humble drabble suggestion from me.

“--Three shots to the wind, ya are. I can smell it on your breath.”

Hob is this close to just knocking Dream out with the butt of his gun, the man had been chatty and reluctant throughout this entire rescue.

“Yeah, well–” Hob peers left and right, crouched low in the orlop, finding ground after climbing the ladder and hauling them both onto the ship Hob helped crew. “Needed a bit of rum to convince myself to save your skinny ass.”

Dream scowls, but still manages to keep his voice low in the darkness.

“I will not be spoken to this way.”

Hob turns around, shoving Dream against the wall and leaning in close, brushing his lips against the man’s ear. “You’re a pirate,” he snarls. “I’ll speak to you anyway I goddamn well please.”

He leans back, studying Dream’s agitated visage before taking him by the wrist and pulling him along once more. Hob can hear the crew above deck, shouting orders and readying the ship for sail. They had managed to sneak by as the ropes holding the ship to the dock were untethered and the sails lowered, obviously far enough away from the public execution where the crew were sure to not be caught… until all hell broke loose with Hob’s little escape mission.

With a great sigh of relief, Hob locates his cabin and shoves Dream inside first before closing and locking the door.

“I had it under control,” Dream growls, voice a tad louder in the privacy of Hob’s tiny setup.

Hob huffs a breath of derision. “Oh, did you now?”

Dream had been scheduled to hang at the execution square in Thames. He seemed ready for it, his face impassive as his list of crimes went on and on, giving Hob plenty of time to stalk the crowd, finding an entrypoint and exit strategy. It was a spontaneous, rum infused decision to cause a distraction and shoot the rope that held Dream by the neck, snagging the other pirate and hauling ass back to Hob’s ship nearly on the other side of the island.

He almost fought with Hob, face crumpling into something unsatisfactory, like biting into a lemon upon seeing his rescuer. Hob wasn’t sure why he was doing this either. Hob and Dream’s ship had met on the water once in the past year, cannon fire that turned into plunder missions where Hob had met Dream for the first time, high off the adrenaline of a proper attack, on the deck of his own ship.

They’re dueled with swords, well matched with a blade, amongst the chaos around them. Hob would be lying if he said he’d given it his all… mighty distracted by Dream’s pale skin and blue eyes, like the clear waters of a coral reef.

The fight had ended in a parley, their captains coming to an agreement, but promising one another that if they’d see each other again, there’d be no mercy.

And indeed, months later, Hob had run into Dream at a port, finding him in a dark corner of a pub, not engaging with his crewmates and holding onto a tankard without drinking it.

Hob had approached him, unsure what to make of the unexpected excitement in his belly, his chest, at seeing the pirate again. All he knew was the sea and booty and blood, so as he caught Dream’s attention, Hob drew his sword and challenged him to a fight.

It had been magnificent. Dueling Dream was like crossing blades with a nobleman. Dream was all fluidity and composure, while Hob was brute strength and honed skill. Years and years of learning how to fight by trial and error, no proper training, and with the scars to prove it.

Hob had lost that fight, falling to his knees in front of spectators jeering and throwing booze. He looked up at Dream, panting hard and pointing the tip of his blade at Hob’s jugular.

“Any last words?” Dream had said, his voice low and cool, musical, like a siren out of water, come to test Hob’s resolve.

Hob cracked his most roguish smirk.

“Give me a chance to fight again.” Hob licked his lips, utterly smitten. “Let me prove myself worthy of such artistry-- to lucubrate your mastery and that I may step with equal footing.”

Dream cocked one elegant brow, his blade lowering.

“Well spoken. Scallywag.”

Hob had seen Dream here and there, as the months went on, but found himself unable to fight him again. He’d gotten lucky, Hob knows, earning Dream’s mercy. But that didn’t make them friends. On the contrary, if Hob’s fellow crewmates caught him sneaking Dream aboard, they’d both be tossed into the sea.

“Why did you even bother?” Dream’s deep timbre interrupts Hob’s wandering thoughts. “Now that you’ve aligned yourself with me, we’re both doomed.”

“Shut it, I haven’t ‘aligned’ myself with nobody.”

Dream stands there, in the middle of the room, casting his eyes up and down Hob’s tattered clothes and sweat soaked skin. “Certainly seems like you have.”

“Your crew left you for dead, mate,” Hob crosses the scant space between them, causing Dream to step back warily. “I don’t think I have an enemy anymore. You got nowhere else to go.”

Dream glared, but Hob could see the admission in his eyes, the truth. That he was truly alone now. What did it mean, to be captured– nay, saved by your adversary?

“And what do you plan to do with me now, Gadling?” Dream’s arms came out wide at his sides. “You’ve brought an enemy onto your ship. If the captain finds out–”

“He won't.”

Dream levels him with a look.

“And even worse,” Dream continues like Hob said nothing. “Your crewmates will give me no quarter upon discovery. They would see me back at the gallows.”

“I should’ve left you to hang, ungrateful prick.”

“And now you’re hiding me,” Dream ignored the jab, his brows narrowed, suspicious. “Like some little boy who’s picked up a stray pet.”

“You said ‘pet.’” Hob grinned.

The room gave a sudden lurch and sway, indicating the ship was finally off. Dream tumbled back onto the small bed while Hob propped a hand on the wall, smiling down at the inelegant tangle of limbs Dream made on the mussed cot.

As the ship began to gentle in a rocking motion, Hob stepped up the Dream, who clambered up against the wall, long legs dangling over the edge, which Hob stood between now, leaning down and pressing his palms against either side of Dream’s head, caging him.

“I’ll admit I’m making this up as I go,” he said, privately pleased in the way Dream’s neck stretched back to look up at him, hatred burning in those crystal blue eyes. Hob wondered if he could make that fire burn for a whole different reason. Could soften those lines along Dream’s brow. Hob could almost imagine it, Dream with a darkened gaze, jaw slack, lips parted, body open and relaxed– for him.

“But in the meantime, you’ll do as I say, and keep quiet,” Hob took Dream’s chin in his hand, fingers curling around his jaw, sharp as a blade, and definitely didn’t imagine the soft gasp that snuck through Dream’s lips. “Savvy?”

Dream swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it.

“Aye.”

#dreamling #dream x hob #from a request i posted that has since been deleted #ahhh this was extremely fun to write #thank you for sending this in cara!#i forgot to get to them sharing the bunk whoops #next time...#my writing #pirate au

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normal-sea-urchin · 3 months

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Casey Jones Fucking Dies: Chapter 8

AND IT IS DONE! chapter eight that is. uh, @achilles-invulnerable-heel @veritas-dolos @clanofjones @theosb0rnway @builtlikeastickofcelery @samuel-yippee @less-depresso-more-espresso ok i think that covers all the tags. uhhhh, but anyways this chapter may have a slightly different vibe as it was written from casey's pov. anyways here ya go pookies, enjoy!

Yes. Yesss.

That stupid turtle actually fell for it. Casey couldn't believe Raph thought he would actually forgive him. Yet here he was, in the turtle's body, glaring down Raph's spirit, which was now trapped in the mirror.

"Sorry, but this body's taken." he hissed, giving the turtle's ghost a toothy grin. The look of fear in his face was all too good. "Anyways, I have places to be. Later, Raph." Casey taunted, putting emphasis on the mutant's name.

Casey took a step towards the door, only to stumble and put his hand on the counter for balance. Huh. It had uh, been a while since Casey had needed to actually walk around. not to mention that he was now a turtle. Kind of. A mutant turtle. Close enough. Either way, being in this body might take a while to completely get used to.

But casey didn't exactly have tons of time. Possession wasn't easy, and he didn't exactly have the practice. So whether or not Casey knew how to even walk in this body, he needed to. Just gotta get to my house, he thought to himself.

He took a step, and another, and placed his hand on the door knob. He turned to face Raph's ghost in the mirror one last time. He gave one last, toothless grin; he blinked his eyes to wash out the ghostly green glow, now replacing it with the turtle's striking green eyes. He blew a taunting kiss towards the horrified face in the mirror before swinging the door open and waltzing out of the bathroom.

Casey had been watching Raph and how he acted around his brothers and father since he became a ghost; meaning it wasn't very hard to imitate how he acted, at least until he got out of the lair. Casey tried to walk over to the turnstiles (which he had learned was the entrance and also the exit) but was stopped by one of the turtles.

"Yo Raph, where are you going dude?" Dammit. Casey slowly turned a bit to see which turtle was talking to him. It was the orange one, with the blue eyes. What was his name again? Marco? No no no. Uhh, Miguel? Mikey? Mikey! It was Mikey.

"Uh, just going on patrol, I'll be back later." he lied. Ugh, he sounded like Raph. He sounded like the guy who killed him. It felt weird. To be honest the entire 'being in the body of a five foot tall mutant turtle' thing was weird. Y'know what, that would explain why he sounded like him.

"Hmm, okay dude." Casey turned back around and sped-walked over to the turnstiles as inconspicuously as he could. Casey turned the corner out of the lair and as soon as he was sure he was out of earshot, he started booking it.

He didn't really have a reason why. I mean, he wanted to see his sister and his room, but he didn't really have any reason to rush. but it felt nice. It felt good to run. It felt great to do anything. Even though the smell of the New York sewers was the worst thing imaginable, Casey was glad he could smell at all.

After a while, Casey reached a sewer plate. He couldn't wait to see his room again. He rushed up the sewer ladder and shoved the sewer plate up and out of the way. Here he was. Back on the surface. Casey took a deep breath in.

The sound of car horns and people yelling and even just people's shoes clicking against the pavement brought such a comfort to Casey. It felt amazing. God, he had missed this. It took Casey a moment to remember what exactly he came up here for. Right, his room. Gotta get to his apartment.

"AAAAAH! MONSTER!" a feminine voice from behind Casey yelled. He whipped around to sees some blonde chick yelling and pointing at him. Shit. He totally forgot he was in Raph's body.

Casey quickly scaled the nearest fire escape. About halfway up, he noticed that the woman had ran away; so he continued his climb, peaking into the windows of the apartment complex as he did. As much as Casey hates the whole normal life thing, he kinda missed the mundanity of life.

Y'know, waking up in an unmade bed, cooking breakfast for himself and his sister, riding his bike to school after dropping his little sister off, going to the convenience store after school for a snack, that kinda thing. And even the occasional hockey game or practice, or maybe his little sister needed help with her homework. Casey missed it.

He reached the roof of the building and turned around, looking for a store or restaurant that he would recognize. He knew New York like the back of his hand; if he could just see how close the park or something was, he could easily get home. Aha! The old theater that Casey went to like, all the time. That meant he was about seven blocks away from his apartment.

He turned to face the direction his apartment building was in and mentally charted out a route of buildings to hop across. Shouldn't take too long. Casey walked over to the edge of the building, looking at the distance between this one and the next. He took a few steps back before sprinting towards and leaping towards the next building.

Casey landed with a tumble near the middle of the building. He did not expect to jump that great a distance, which left him a little shocked. But he shook it off with ease, of course. He really needed to get used to the whole mutant turtle thing if he was going to posses Raph more often, which he planned on doing.

Either way, he began to fade into a cycle of leaping from building to building for a few blocks until his apartment complex was in sight. Casey stopped for a moment, taking a moment to catch his breath. God he missed the burning in his lungs when he ran. He missed the wind blowing through his hair, which was still something he missed considering Raph was bald...

Anyways, he continued towards to his apartment. Upon reaching the top of it, Casey started rushing down the fire escape to his room. He could barely contain his excitement. He threw the window open and leaped into the room, feeling the carpet underneath the turtle's feet (which felt like, really big to Casey).

Casey waltzed over to his bed before letting himself fall face first into his pillow. He inhaled deeply before rolling over onto the turtle's shell. Man, he missed his room. His eyes shot over to his desk, where his face paint was.

Hmm.

Face paint. Casey had an idea. He walked over to the desk and sat in the old, torn chair in front of it. He tried his best to get comfortable, although Raph's shell made it a bit hard. After deciding that this was as comfortable as he could get in this body, he turned his attention to the desk.

...

His homework was in the exact same place he left it. He had blown off finishing it in favor for vigilante-ing...

Whatever. Casey pushed it aside. Not like Mrs. Thomson's math class mattered anymore. Casey reached for his black and white face paint, hoping to push those thoughts away. He turned the small mirror on his desk towards him, turning it downwards to fit his now much shorter height.

"This is for FUCKING killing me freak face!" Casey remarked, pointing at the turtle's face in the mirror.

"GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING BODY!" Raph screamed back from his mirror prison; making Casey flinch back. He was not expecting a response.

"Mmm, no. You could some time for reflection. Get it?" Casey mocked. Raph face morphed into a scowl before fading away, leaving Casey alone. Now then, the face paint.

Casey tugged the red mask off the turtle's head. He reached for a brush before dipping it into the white face paint. He smudged the paint all over the turtle's ugly mug. After two coats, the turtle's green skin was no longer visible. Casey grabbed a second, smaller brush for the black paint and went to town.

It felt good. Defacing Raph. The man who killed him so ruthlessly. The man who had taken Casey from his sister, and from April, and from hockey, and from his life...

Whatever.

After a little while, Casey had finished. The black accents had taken only one layer, cause of how dark it was. And thus, it was done. The turtle had now donned totally metal skull face paint. Casey looked in the mirror, admiring his handiwork. Just one thing was missing. Casey reached into the left drawer of the desk and pulled out one of his spare bandanas. He tied it around his forehead and leaned back into the chair. Y'know the bandana really pulled the whole thing together.

While staring at his new reflection, Casey thought back to his life before. Before his death. Before, when he had his own body, and didn't have to possess a mutant turtle. He regrets ever taking it for granted. Man, this was bumming him out.

Casey's eyes began to wander around the room before landing on his hockey gear sticking out of his bag. Hmm. Casey walked over to the bag and crouched down beside it. He began to rummage through the contents, finding hockey pucks, spray paint bottles, and some other junk. Maybe he could take it with him, sneak it into the turtles's lair, so that he could throw up some graffiti or something next time he possessed Raph. He decided it best to at least take it with him, even if he didn't put it in the lair. He threw a few more things in: his face paint, some old clothes that just might fit over the turtle's body, that kinda stuff. As he was hunched over, he heard a voice erupt from behind him.

"WHAT THE HELL!?" Casey whipped around to see his little sister, Angel, staring at him with wide eyes.

Oh no. Ooooooh no. Angel couldn't see Casey. She couldn't see Casey looking like... this whole situation! He threw the bag onto his shoulder in a panic and quickly fled the scene. He ran up the fire escape, paying no attention to his sister's "HEY! GET BACK HERE!"

He made it up to the roof before repeatedly sprinting and leaping over to a rooftop about a block down. He took a moment to breathe, turning and looking back towards his room; looking back towards his sister. All this time, he had missed her, so much. But now, after having seen her, he wishes he hadn't. The way she reacted, the way she screamed... Casey felt like a monster.

And it was all Raph's fault.

_______________________

The clinking of the spray paint cans in Casey's bag echoed through the abandoned subway tunnel. He was now on his way back from his apartment to the turtle's lair. The thoughts about how his sister reacted to seeing him still haunted his mind.

Man, fuck all of this. Casey didn't care enough to hide the bag. He didn't care enough to try and wipe off the face paint he did. He didn't care enough to pay any mind to Raph's voice echoing in his mind, demanding his body back.

As he made it closer to the lair, the sound of the other turtles became clearer. A grin began to crawl onto Casey's face the closer he got. This was gonna be good.

He turned the corner to face the turtles and April with an unnerving grin on his face. The turtles all seemed to be watching some dumb cartoon show while April was on her computer. Casey dropped the bag to the ground, but still holding the strap in his hand. He stood, waiting for a response or even a reaction, still grinning.

The turtles were staring at who they thought was they're brother with looks of confusion. But April, April was glaring at Casey, her eyes wide, yet angry.

"Raph... Where did you get that bandana? And that bag?" she interrogated, dragging a finger up to point at Casey's bag. The grin on Casey's face cracked into an eerie smile.

"Oh, y'know. Stole it from this guy I killed." he enthusiastically replied. The room fell silent. Dead silent.

"...What?" April muttered slowly.

"Yeah!" Casey remarked, "I think you knew him, his name was Casey. Casey Jones."

And with that, Raph fell to the floor. Unconscious, but now in control of his body.

#tmnt #2012 tmnt #casey jones #2012 casey jones #casey jones fucking dies #fanfic #2012 raph #raphael #tmnt raph

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gloryhrs · 1 year

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━━ ⟡ 𝓜𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍', grimmjow j.

꒰ 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫. ꒱

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐖 made his way up the ladder as he dismissed the burning pain on the side of his head. But the way the red fluid streamed from his forehead to his chin non-stop was impossible for him to brush off. "Damn Kurosaki, I’ll deal with him later." He cursed the male with orange hair who succeeded in winning the fight. After he managed to get up, he took a peek inside the window. His eyes softened when he saw the man with brown skin sleeping on the sofa with a thick cover draped over him. Holding his bloodstained arm, Grimmjow knocked on the window several times so that the sleeping male would awaken. "Damn it! Open up, brat!" Grimmjow struck his fist at the window, almost shattering the glass. You could sleep through a tornado if you had the chance.

The sudden sound made you sit up quickly, "Huh?" You wiped the drool out of the corner of your mouth while looking out the window. "Grimmjow?" You rubbed your eyes and slowly made your way to the window, after opening up a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. "I thought I told you to stay awake by the time I got here." His words muffled into your neck, the smell of your signature fragrance soothing him. "I'm sorry, college's been stressing me out lately, I swear I didn't mean it." You returned the hug as his grip tightened. He wanted to kill those assholes from your school, they always stressed you out and even made you cry once.

"Grim your face. . . what did I tell you about getting into all of these fights?! You’re starting to worry me." Your fingers rubbed against the dry blood on his forehead, causing him to hiss from pain. No matter how much you begged him, he just wouldn’t stay out of trouble. Grimmjow grumbled curses under his breath at the memory, "That bastard got the upper hand on me this time. It won't happen again, I swear. I hope you aren’t upset with me." He removed his face from your neck and gave your cheek a long kiss. He despised the way you would be upset with him for doing ridiculous things. "I’m not upset, I just want you to be careful." You caressed the small scratches on his cheeks, with him leaning into your touch. Your words calmed Grimmjow down, before he headed back to Hueco Mundo, you always advised him to take care.

"Now, let’s get you all bandaged up! After that, we can watch the one-piece movie I told you about." You took his hand and dragged him to the bathroom while rambling about the film. "Sit." You pointed to the toilet as Grimmjow followed your command, there would be times when he would talk back but you always smacked him across his head before he could finish. After wetting the washcloth you moved his blue locks back to clean off the dirt-covered cuts on his face. Grimmjow hissed when the cold water rubbed against his wounds. You laughed at his dramatic behavior, "Sorry, it might sting a little." You placed the bloody washcloth down and took the first aid kit out of the cabinet. As you stood between his legs to bind the gauze around his head his arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you closer to him, which almost made you trip in the process.

"Thank you for everything, brat." He leaned his bandaged forehead against your belly while your fingers ran through his hair. If it wasn't for you, he would have died, given that you found him bleeding in an alley. Your best friend called you a fool for bringing a stranger into your home without knowing what he's up to. But you ignored them, your heart was too big to leave someone for dead in an alley. Once you treated his injuries, you let him sleep in your guest room till he woke up. But when you returned to see him, he was gone. You were a bit sad not to have his name until he arrived at your window around midnight.

"Are you the one who cured me?" The man with the blue hair kept the flowers in his hand. "Oh! Yes, I saw you bleeding out in an alleyway and I didn’t want you to die." You played with your fingers at the man who looked at you up and down, his eyes were practically burning holes in your skull. He had to admit that for some guy, you were kinda cute. "I'm not used to saying this, but thank you. I picked them up from somebody's backyard." He handed you the flowers with the roots still attached to them, you wanted to say something but it's the thought that matters. You felt your cheeks warm up at the friendly gesture, there’s a handsome man to your window at midnight and gave you flowers?! It was as if a dream had come true! "Ah thank you, sir! Can I ask you your name?" You sniffed the flowers as he gave you a final look, "It's Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez"

Ever since, Grimmjow's been showing up at your window every night for year. You always invited him so you could watch films and play together. Your flowery and joyous aura was like a breath of fresh air in his eyes. He wished he had met you earlier.

"It's all right, I'm glad I was there for you." You kept scratching his scalp, the purring light from him made you squeak inside. Grimmjow could feel like he was falling into a deep sleep the way your fingers ran through his hair. "Grim, I still have to wrap up your arm." You caressed his cheek as he groaned and freed you from his clutch. "Don’t be such a baby, once I’m finished with your arm then we can go cuddle." You took off his torn jacket and tossed it in the garbage, making a reminder to burn it later. "I told you, I ain’t no baby." He grunted under his breath while you were withholding your laugh, you always thought he was adorable when he was sulking.

"I’m sowwy kitten, don’t pout. You'll make me feel sad." You poked your bottom lip to upset the espada even more. Grimmjow resisted the urge to throw you through the window as you mocked him. "I wasn’t pouting! I frowned!" He showed his sharp fangs in a menacing way, which made you pinch his cheek. "You're so sweet Grim Grim!" you cut the gauze from around his arm. Once you put the scissors down Grimmjow immediately lifted you up and threw your body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Grimmjow! What are you doing?!" You scratched at his bare back as he squeezed your thighs to shut you up . . . it didn’t work. "I’ll show you who’s the kitten!"

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐖 soft purring was the only thing you could hear while the movie played. "So cute." You scratched behind his ears as his purring grew louder, as soon as you press play on the TV screen Grimmjow laid his head on your chest and fell asleep. "Grim, are you still awake?" You stopped scratching his head as he groaned into your chest. "What is it brat." He lifts his head, his blue hair now all over the place. "Will you be with me when I wake up? I want to cook breakfast for you." You touched the hollow mask. Every time you go to sleep with him, he's always gone by the time you wake up. You watched his light blue eyes soften your question. "Yes babe, I’ll be here." He placed his head back on your chest, the sound of your quick heartbeat which made him chuckle. "I love you, Grimmjow." "I love you too, Y/n." He leaned forward to give your lips a sweet peck.

#(ㅅ´ ˘ `) @gloryhrs . . . !#anime #manga #animanga #bleach #bleach tybw #bleach x male reader #male reader #black reader #bleach imagines #bleach oneshot #bleach x reader #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow x reader #bleach grimmjow #grimmjow fluff #black male reader

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jaidens · 8 months

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Can I have a Steve Randle x reader fic where the reader has a horrible home life and after a big fight with her parents, she runs away with Steve right after high school

But I must admit it, that I would marry you in an instant

pairing [s] : steve randle x reader

warning [s] : mentions of : fighting, yelling, hitting, abuse | mentions of : getting drunk, arguments, crying |

a/n [s]: I completely apologize about how long it took to get this to you. requests are open.

Whenever the school bell rang, signalling the end of your eleven years in school, you were quite delighted. Steve had failed his past years of school and had chosen to stop showing up halfway throughout the year. You chose to work hard for your highschool degree, as the plans you and Steve had been working up to since you were fourteen years old had been set in stone.

Your home life was quite horrible. A drunk for a father and a rude and nasty woman for a mother. You were hit on occasion during arguments that had gone too far. Whether it was an accident or not, you stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Randle most of the time as you hoped to get away from everything. Steve didn't like his life much either, feeling trapped in his Greaser mind and Soc lifestyle his parents had. Steve had a plan for how you would live after high school. Your parents decidedly told you you would be kicked out as soon as you finished school and to find somewhere else to live.

You would run away with him and start a life with saved up money and an apartment you had bought over the phone in Dallas, Texas. Steve was supportive of your decisions, as when he found out he held you in his arms and cried when you told him you wanted him to come as well. You see Steve from across the room in his cap and gown as he laughs with Two-Bit.

You pick up your gown and run over to Steve with a huge smile plastered against your face. You shout his name and jump into his arms, he laughs and gives you the hardest hug you've ever had. “M’ so excited.” Steve giggled and gave you a long kiss against your lips. You pulled the cap off the top of his head and stared at his messy hair underneath it. “Tonight, we can go. I'll be at your house at twelve okay?” Steve whispers in your ear and you nod.

Two-Bit smacks the back of Steve's head and pulls him away to get one last prank against the teachers before you two leave. You're left in the corner of the gymnasium that gives you nausea as you remember everything that had happened in the past four years. You decided to go home and see if all of your stuff had been ready for leaving.

—

When you get home your parents have already started to yell at you. Your mother and father both smell like booze and cigarettes, with a side of disrespect and anger. “Where have you been?” Your father asks as he slams down his glass bottle against the table. “Graduation party.” Loud footsteps begin and you turn your face whenever your father puts his hand on your shoulder and rips you around. “Look at me when I'm speaking!”

When you look at him, his hand slides across your face and you run away from him. Tears well up in your eyes as the top of your feelings had been shaken up and had exploded inside of you. Years of abuse, yelling, and hatred for being you had finally taken over. You grab your packed bag , and everything you decide to take as well to shove it into a bag.

You wipe away tears from your face and open up your window. You throw your stuff to the grassy ground below and start climbing out, holding onto the emergency ladder that was made outside of your window after a fire that happened years before on the house before.

You run until your legs burn and feel numb when you walk, as you look at the medium sized house in front of you, with Steve's window lit up with the small lamp he chose to keep on when he reads books. You chuck a small pebble at his window and see the blinds crack open and him smile.

You nod at him and the light flickers off, signaling he was ready to leave. The sudden feeling you had against it disappeared when Steve ran around the corner, an unbuttoned striped shirt and jeans. His hair is wet against his forehead as he runs into your arms and kisses you tightly.

“Is it happening now?” You nod and he shakes his keys. That's where you left Tulsa and all your problems, letting the wind flow against your skin and feel everything slip away from you. All you had been with was Steve, the love of your hopeless young life.

#steve randle x y/n #steve randle x reader #steve randle the outsiders #steve randle #steve randle x fem!reader #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders fanfic #the outsiders x reader

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anonymousewrites · 10 months

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Clan of Three (Book 1) Chapter Five

Father Figure! Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Teen! Reader

Chapter Five: The Farm

Summary: Mando, (Y/N), and the Child find a place to hide out, but trouble seems to follow them.

Mouse's Note: Alternative title: Mando gets stuck on a job ft. (Y/N)'s inability to not look for a fight and my attempt to describe the Force guiding people who have no idea what it is

Mando, (Y/N), and the Child walked slowly through the forests of Sorgan until they arrived at a small village outpost. Mando headed to a larger rudimentary building where people were filtering in and out. More importantly, the smell of food wafted from the house.

Mando glanced at (Y/N), seeing them perk up at the idea of eating. He remembered Pershing’s observation that they were a bit underfed. He wanted them to be healthy.

Mando resolutely led the way into the building and through the crowd of people, keeping an eye out for anyone looking at the kids strangely. He wouldn’t let anyone try anything.

He found a table, picked up the Child, and set him on a chair. The Child giggled happily, and (Y/N) sat beside him. Mando took the last seat, making sure it was the one he could see the entrance in case a threat entered. In fact, there was already a tall, muscular woman eyeing them suspiciously.

“Welcome, travelers,” greeted a waitress. “Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth for the little one,” said Mando.

“Oh, well, you’re in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there’s plenty,” said the waitress jovially. “Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?”

Mando saw (Y/N) straighten at the idea of broth and nodded. “Yes, a porringer for the kid as well.”

“Great,” said the waitress.

Mando nodded to the woman in the corner table. “That one over there. When did she arrive?”

The waitress shrugged. “I’ve seen her here for the last week or so.”

“What’s her business here?” asked Mando.

“Business? Oh, well, there’s not much business in Sorgan, so I can’t say,” chuckled the waitress. “She doesn’t strike me as a log runner.” Mando nodded and tossed a few credits onto the table in thanks for the information. “Well, thank you, sir. I will get those broths to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka just for good measure. I will be right back with that.” The waitress left, and when she moved, the table in the corner was empty.

Mando stood. “Keep an eye on the Child,” he said to (Y/N). He put a few coins on the table. “For more food if you’re hungry.” He left the building.

(Y/N) waited a moment before standing. “Can you watch the kid? Thanks.” They tossed a few coins to the waitress before following Mando out. They wouldn’t just let him go into danger without backup. They owed him a few times over.

(Y/N) left the building and glanced around. Mando was nowhere to be seen, but they took a deep breath and considered. They had to make a decision, and their instinct had never steered them wrong before.

Left, their gut said.

(Y/N) crept along the side of building until they heard a scuffle. Peering around the side of some boxes, they saw Mando in a struggle against the muscular woman. (Y/N) climbed up the wooden slats of the building. It reminded them of climbing into the barn on their farm, ignoring their mother’s warnings to just use the ladder.

(Y/N) shook the memory from their head as they crept across towards Mando and the woman as she threw him into the side of a building. Mando threw a bunch, and she jerked back but quickly retaliated. She lunged for him, and at the same moment, (Y/N) dropped onto her, their knife pulled. The woman stumbled and received a sharp cut to her bare arm from (Y/N)’s dagger.

She growled at the slash and threw (Y/N) down over her shoulder. The distraction was enough for Mando to grab her and throw her to the wall, drawing his blaster. The woman drew hers instantly, and they faced each other, unmoving.

“Ah.” A little voice rang out, and the adults turned to see the Child standing before them and taking a sip of his broth.

“I think he’s asking if you want some soup,” said (Y/N).

“Sheesh, kid, you really went for it,” said the woman as she examined her cut.

(Y/N) shrugged as if saying “well, what else should I do?”

“I thought I told you to stay with the kid,” said Mando.

“I paid the waitress to,” said (Y/N). “And I wanted to help.”

“By throwing yourself into danger?” questioned Mando.

“I helped,” said (Y/N).

Mando groaned and nearly put his head in his hands. Of course the kids he took in were trouble. One wanted to press every button on his ship, the other seemed to rush into danger because they thought they owed him and needed to repay him, and both seemed intent on ignoring any instructions he gave. Mando sighed. The Child was one thing; he was as near to a baby as he could get so was bound to be trouble. (Y/N) obviously understood what they were doing, and it troubled Mando that they thought they needed to repay him. All he had done was the right thing, what someone else should have done a while ago—protected an innocent kid.

“What a cute kid,” said the woman, smirking in amusement. She shrugged. “Hey, we were fighting, we both wanted to win, can’t blame the kid. It was a good move, exactly what I pulled on him.” She nodded to Mando. “I’m Cara, Cara Dune.”

(Y/N) considered before accepting Cara was no longer interested in a fight. “(Y/N),” they said before finally beginning to sip their broth. They nearly sighed in relief

The Child babbled and waved a hand in greeting.

“You’re a shock trooper,” observed Mando, nodding to Cara’s tattoos.

She nodded. “Saw most of my action mopping up after Endor. Mostly ex-Imperial Warlords. They wanted it fast and quiet. They’d send us in on the drop ships. No support, just us.” She sighed. “Then when the Imps were gone, the politics started. We were peacekeepers, protecting delegates, suppressing riots. Not what I signed up for.”

“How’d you end up here?” questioned Mando.

Cara smirked. “Let’s just call it an early retirement.” She took a sip of her broth. “Look, I knew you were Guild. I figured you had a fob on me. That’s why I came at you so hard.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” said Mando.

Cara stood. “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She walked away.

“Well,” said Mando. “Looks like this planet’s taken.”

(Y/N) put down their broth. “I guess we have to go, then.”

Mando glanced at their unfinished food. “We’ll finish eating first. She can handle a few more minutes.”

(Y/N) sat on the gangplank watching the Child roam about while Mando fiddled with some of the mechanics of the Razorcrest before they departed. They tensed as a speeder driven by a droid slowly crawled into the clearing.

“Mando,” they said in warning.

Mando turned and faced the two men approaching them. “There something I can help you with?”

“Uh, yeah,” said one man. “Raiders.”

“We have money,” said the other hurriedly.

“So you think I’m some kind of mercenary?” asked Mando.

“You’re a Mandalorian, right?” asked one hesitantly. “Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor. That is Mandalorian armor, right?”

“It is,” said Mando.

“See?” said one man to the other. “I told him,” he addressed Mando again. “Sir, I’ve read a lot about your people—tribe. If half of what I read is true—”

“We have money,” said the other again.

“How much?” asked Mando.

“Everything we have, sir,” said the men.

“Our whole harvest was stolen,” explained one.

“Krill. We’re krill farmers,” said the second. He held out a bag. “Our whole village chipped in.”

“It’s not enough,” said Mando.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is,” said one.

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck,” said Mando, turning away. He paused as he saw (Y/N) staring at the men with a strange look on their face.

“You’re farmers?” said (Y/N).

“Y-Yes,” said one of the men.

(Y/N) looked at Mando before turning back to the men. “Um, where is your farm?”

One man gestured to the forest. “We’re way out in the middle of nowhere to not disturb the krill.”

(Y/N) looked back at Mando and shifted. “Isn’t that what we’re looking for? A place out of the way?” They shrugged and averted their eyes nervously. “Wouldn’t hurt to make it safer to stay there, too.”

Mano watched them carefully. Clearly, something about the situation meant something significant to them. And they were right, they needed a place out of the way. Mando turned to the men. “You have lodging?”

The men perked up. “Yes, of course.”

Mando caved. “Good. Come up and help.”

The men hurried to help him load the supplies he needed onto the speeder. (Y/N) eagerly assisted, trying not to seem too excited to see a farm. They knew a krill farm would be very different from their old grain farm, but (Y/N) wanted to be there nonetheless. Even if just for a moment, it would be nice to feel more at home. Maybe then they could work through and make peace with the loss of their old home.

“One more thing,” said Mando as they finished. He held out his hands. “Give me those credits.”

“So, we’re basically running off a band of raiders for lunch money?” questioned Cara. She was critical, but she was sitting in the speeder with them all the same.

“They’re quartering us in the middle of nowhere,” said Mando. “Last I checked, that’s a pretty square deal for somebody in your position. Worst case scenario, you tune up your blaster. Best case, we’re a deterrent. I doubt there’s anything living in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn’t handle.”

(Y/N) leaned in. “Do I get a blaster?”

“No,” said Mando. “You’re not getting near any fight.”

(Y/N) huffed and flopped backwards in the blankets piled in the speeder. It was late, anyways, and they needed some proper rest.

Cara smirked. “They seem eager,” she observed as she watched the kid rest.

“If they’re going to learn to fight, they can do it in a better environment,” said Mando.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re running, but I can tell you one thing,” said Cara. “That kid is going to have to learn to fight. They have the instincts; they know it, too. Whatever happened, learning to fight isn’t an option. It’s a requirement. Trust me, I know.”

Mando disliked that he knew, too.

He gazed down at the sleeping kids by his side. The Child was lying on one side, perfectly at ease. He seemed clueless and for that caused trouble, but he was clearly an innocent who just wanted to live the life a kid should lead.

Mando looked over at (Y/N), who had curled up, keeping themself as small as possible, in the corner of the speeder. The teenager, while not actually older, was more mature and a more complicated issue. Cara was right; they would to have to fight for their place in the world. (Y/N) wanted to survive and knew they had to fight for it. It…bothered Mando that they seemed so habituated to the idea of fight or flight being a constant for them in the future. He’d prefer them to be allowed to live in peace. Their position reminded him slightly of his childhood. At least the Mandalorians had found him.

And now Mando had found (Y/N). He couldn’t keep them from the fight for survival indefinitely, but he’d do what he could, and he’d give them tools they needed. If they were intent on throwing themself into danger and fighting the world for what it put them through, Mando would give (Y/N) the skills to face it head-on.

Mando sighed. This whole situation was new and confusing with too many complicated thoughts and feelings. He leaned back and closed his eyes below his helmet. Beside the two kids, beneath the stars, Mando fell asleep.

(Y/N) awoke to the warm sun on their face and children shouting. They sat up quickly, expecting to see something burning or an attack going on, but they instead saw a peaceful krill farming village spreading out before them. It wasn’t huge, just confined to the clearing, but it seemed nice. (Y/N)’s heart ached at the parents smiling at their kids and encouraging them to go say hi. It seemed to homely it hurt.

“Look, they’re here!” cheered some of the kids, beginning to crowd around the speeder.

The Child cooed at them, and they eagerly began trying to figure out what he was. A few approached (Y/N), but the suddenly onslaught brought a sudden rise in panic, and warning bells shouting “danger! you need to fight!” sounded in (Y/N)’s mind. They pushed themself back, avoiding the crowd of children.

“Well, looks like they’re happy to see us,” observed Cara, waking up from her own rest.

“Looks like,” agreed Mando, but he was slightly distracted by (Y/N)’s reaction. Cara had been entirely right. Every part of them itched for a fight, no matter the situation they were in. He didn’t know precisely what had occurred between them and the Empire, but it had clearly changed the way (Y/N)’s mind worked. A fight was everywhere for them.

That view could assist them if they ended up in a dangerous job like him, and it would help them now while the Empire still chased them, but it was…disappointing to know (Y/N) wouldn’t be able to find “normal” life or live with the peace people such as these did.

Mando shoved the thoughts away. Again, he was feeling way too disturbed by the presence of the kids. He needed to focus on the job so that they could have a chance of peacefully laying low for a while.

He and Cara descended from the speeder, and (Y/N) was quick to follow while the Child remained with the other children. A few villagers pointed Mando in the direction of one hut that had been cleaned for him (“and his children” said the townspeople, and Mando couldn’t be bothered to correct them).

“I hope this is comfortable for you,” said a woman, finishing opening the window. “Sorry that all we have is the barn.”

“This will do fine,” said Mando.

The woman noticed (Y/N) and smiled. “I stacked some blankets over there.”

(Y/N) nodded to her. “Thank you.”

A step outside creaked, and Mando and (Y/N) turned suddenly, expecting an enemy. The little girl who had appeared in the doorway gasped and hid behind the door. The woman gently guided her back out.

“This is my daughter, Winta,” she explained, hugging her daughter. “I’m Omera. We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers.” She smiled at Winta. “These nice people are going to help protect us from the bad ones.”

“Thank you,” said Winta quietly.

(Y/N) swallowed. They couldn’t protect anything. They averted their eyes and let Mando communicate with them. He nodded simply.

“Come on, Winta,” said Omera. “Let’s give our guests some room.” She and Winta left.

“You’re going to help them, right?” asked (Y/N).

“We’ll do what we can,” said Mando, beginning to unpack his blasters. Anticipating their next question, he said, “No.”

“I didn’t say anything,” said (Y/N), huffing.

“You were going to ask to help,” said Mando.

“No, I wasn’t,” lied (Y/N).

Mando turned around, and his body language said he was giving them a look. “Yes, you were. Because you’re trying to fight everything because you think you have to.”

“Don’t I? Ever since the imperials came, all I’ve had to do is fight,” muttered (Y/N).

Mando didn’t respond. They had no direction and tried to fight the world. Mando wouldn’t let them run into danger with that mindset and get themself killed. “You can help prep the blasters,” said Mando, letting them do something to pass the time. If they got too pent up, that could spell disaster.

(Y/N) brightened, and Mando relaxed as he watched them eagerly arrange his guns for him. The time passed in simple silence until Omera appeared in the doorway.

“Knock, knock,” she said.

“Come in,” said Mando.

Omera came in, carrying a platter of food for them. Winta ran in after her, sticking to her mom’s side. The Child, now situated in an old village cradle, cooed.

“Can I feed him?” asked Winta.

“Sure,” said Mando.

Winta knelt by the cradle and held out a handful of small fruits to the Child. He ate them happily. “Can I play with him?”

Mando sighed. “Sure.”

(Y/N) picked the Child up and set him down on the ground so he and Winta could play.

“Come on,” said Winta. She and the Child walked outside where the rest of the children were waiting.

“I don’t think—,” began Mando.

Omera held up a hand and smiled. “They’ll be fine.” She looked at (Y/N). “Do you want to join them?”

“I—Uh.” (Y/N) swallowed. “I think I’ll just take a walk.”

They felt they wouldn’t belong. Something was broken, changed in them. Before, on Ushti, they would have been fine playing with younger kids, but now, all they saw looking at those kids were who they were. (Y/N) saw what they weren’t anymore. And it made them uncomfortable.

Taglist:

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@gr33n-d00dles

@alexpangender

@painstakingly-juno

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@dmitrytherat

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preciouslandmermaid · 1 year

Text

cold secrets, warm light (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 2/3

Note: This got longer than expected, so now it’s gonna be 3 chapters instead of 2. LMAO. This takes place in the same universe as cold hands, warm heart and is seen as a continuation of that fic.

Rating/Warning: Canon typical violence, blood/injury/and minor gore. Thigh grinding and making out. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) haha ! nice! (also those gloves make me feral)

** All the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person. I also created 2 entire locations because I don’t want to use the real world lmao. (Al-Qunbar & Noreth)

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, and no other descriptors are used.

(Read on Ao3) ||| 🔪🔪🔪

~~~~~~~~~

In the days that follow, you settle into a routine with Ghost and Soap at the safe house. Samira looked after Soap. She attended to his medical needs and physical therapy. He’s a decent patient until his frustration boils over and then he’s huffing like an old goat and crossing his arms. Agathi’s boys worked the farmland. They shovel manure, or prune plants, or tend to the harvest. The security of the safe house is organized into scheduled shifts. The perimeter of the property, the barn, and the house itself are your main concerns.

However, Ghost took over the sniper position at the barn. Instead of following the six-hour schedule, he stayed up there for twelve to fourteen hours. When he returns to the house, he talks to Soap, rests, then returns to the barn without speaking to anyone else. You don’t take it personally. Ghost is a diligent operative. He never wavers. He never falters. You are safer, Lukas is safer, with him here.

Your nails are encrusted with dark, rich earth from digging up carrots with James and Lukas. Lukas’ favorite task is to unearth food you’ve grown. He smiles brightly, holding aloft potatoes or carrots or stalks of green onions, and you cannot help but smile in return. He is a sweet and tender boy. And its awe inspiring someone so sweet and gentle could come from you. A trained killer. A girl made of ice. A woman without identity, without roots.

You skim your dirty hands across the stalks of tall reeds while walking down the dirt, pebble-strewn road. A lone bird calls out to signal that night is upon them and the predators will awaken soon. Your smile tugs errantly at the corners of your mouth.

The sky is bruising purple and dusky blue. The clouds on the horizon promised rain. You can smell in the air – fresh, biting, and green. You unscrew the cap of your flask and swallow a warm, robust mouthful of black tea. The dilapidated barn leans against a backdrop of dying sunlight like a wounded animal. Sven emerges from the grass with a sheepish smile. His blue eyes dart briefly to the barn loft.

He says, “time for shift change already?”

“I’m early.” You ruffle his stringy, blonde hair. “Go on. Your brother is waiting.”

Sven flushes bright red. “Thanks.”

You watch him jog down the road with a flashlight in his hand. You check under the tire well of the abandoned truck and find the hidden pistol. You check the safety and clip. You tuck it away again. Price, the thoughtful bastard, managed to arrange a covert supply drop. Ghost collected it earlier in the week. It contained ammunition, infrared lights, night vision scopes, and supplies for Soap and Ghost.

Price can get into serious trouble by his superiors if anyone finds out about it.

You aren’t sure why he keeps sticking his neck out to help you, but you’re grateful. You think of Lukas. You wonder if he suspects anything. Samira often says fondly, ‘it’s as if God took the blueprints of you and made him.’ You don’t see it. And whenever you tell Samira this, she laughs, and her scarred skin stretches with joy.

The wooden ladder creaks when you ascend it. Ghost is perched with his sniper and completely unmoving. Your nostrils itch as the scent of old, dusty hay fills them. You sniffle and wipe your nose with your knuckles.

“All clear,” drawls Ghost.

“Yes, I know. I was just outside.”

Ghost scoffs. You settle crossed legged next to him. You glance at his stark black-and-white profile. His sandy eyelashes flutter against his black-painted skin. Your body hums with acute unspoken desire. You trace the shapes of his tattoos on his forearm. You would give anything to touch him and feel the hot expanse of his skin across your palms. You’ve lain awake in your cold bed, tossing, and turning and coiled with taut desire, and wondered if he’d shun you if you came to find him. But you always manage to talk yourself out of it.

There’s no benefit in complicating matters further. Noreth is at war. You and Lukas can’t leave. Soap and Ghost can’t leave. The best course of action is to lay low and keep safe until extraction. You swallow another gulp of tea and watch the cloudy, star dotted horizon and swaying tall grass.

“What’re you drinking?”

“Tea.” You wipe your mouth with your fingers.

“Nothing stronger?” He grouses.

“We’ve got vodka back at the house.”

He gives a small shake of his head. “Foul.”

You extend your arm toward him, the flask pinched between your fingers, and Ghost glances sidelong at you. Seconds pass. You’re about to pull it away. But then Ghost reaches and accepts the flask without touching you. You force yourself to look away rather than look at him. You imagine the shape of his lips closing over the mouth of the flask. You imagine his muscled throat shifting when he swallows. You imagine him wiping away a teardrop of tea from the corner of his mouth with his gloved thumb. You wait until you hear the sound of the cap screwing back on before looking at him again.

His mask is pushed up to right below his nose. His jaw is shadowed with dark blonde stubble. You recall how it scratched against your bare skin and left faint, irritated red lines. You avert your eyes.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He mumbles.

You shrug, “things have changed.”

“Have they?” He says and the words are deep and rumbling. You take the flask from him and drink to delay answering his question. Things have changed. You are no longer an intelligence agent. You deserted. You have a child. You have good people relying on you. You have a reason beyond survival to carve a place for yourself in this new world.

“A bit.” You respond vaguely. The silence stretches, weighted and poignant, and you crack your knuckles one finger at a time. It never used to be awkward with Simon. Or has nostalgia completely skewed your perception? Or is it your guilt? Your fingertips touch when you pass the flask again. An electric jolt fires across your skin. You meet his heavily lidded, shadowed eyes. The unsaid words and confessions linger on your tongue. The distance between you is miniscule. It’s mere inches, but it feels like an endless chasm. You risk the danger and shift closer.

His skeletal gloved fingers graze along the feverish skin on your inner wrist.

“We shouldn’t complicate things.” You blurt. Your secret presses on every of your chamber of your heart. His presses his lips together and cocks his head to the side.

“We’re well past that, Lux.”

“There are things you don’t know about me, Ghost.”

The rough texture of his gloves glides up to your shoulder, lightly touching your neck, and you feel his index finger slide under the golden chain of your necklace. Your pulse throbs in your carotid artery. The moth charm twirls, pretty and light, between Simon’s large fingers.

“I’m not saying this to be coy or mysterious, Riley.” When you use his name, his eyes dart from your throat to your face, and you feel every ounce of his attention on you. You feel like a butterfly pinned to a display frame.

A hot and prickly sensation burns in your throat, “I have secrets you’d hate me for keeping.” You whisper.

You swallow with some difficulty. His tongue sweeps across his lower, chapped lip before he pulls his lower lip between his teeth briefly. Your heart stutters. You force your eyes from his mouth.

“I doubt that very much.” His voice is rumbling, and quiet, and its reverberation echoes into your spine. Your skin burns. Your breath, ragged and warm ,drags itself through your lungs and out your parted lips. You tilt forward and press your forehead against the cool, hard plastic of his mask. Your eyes shutter closed.

Simon says your name longingly. His breath tickles your chin. Your heart pangs to tell him the truth about Lukas, about Al-Qunbar, about Price and his help. Yet, pragmatism pinches your tongue in a vice grip. Lukas’ safety and well-being is everything to you. The less people who know the truth the better.

His lips ghost across yours. His stubble is prickly and rough. Without further prompting or encouragement, you kiss him and slide your tongue between his lips. You tremble and your breath huffs desperately through your nostrils. You hold his jaw. You need him close. You want to wrap your bodies together and remain glued. An overwhelming sensation of bliss floods through your veins. Simon’s tongue moves languidly and tastes of robust black tea. He squeezes the back of your neck, holding you tight and refusing to let you pull away. A heady sense of warmth explodes inside your chest and launches your heart into a tailspin.

You throw your leg over his big thigh, straddling it, and Simon makes a low, pleased sound at the back of his throat. His other hand clutches your hip—tight, possessive, his thumb digs into your flesh. He pitches your hips forward, then pushes back, and you quickly get the idea. You clothed cunt grinds against his muscled thigh. You encircle your arms around his neck, pressed chest-to-chest, and feel Simon’s every rough inhale and exhale. Your original plan to remain distant and uncomplicated has crashed and burned into ash and charcoal.

His tongue flicks obscenely and wetly into your open, panting mouth. “Can you come like this?” He asks, “or do you want my hand, hm? My fingers?” The thought of Simon’s hand shoved between your legs is enough to make your body tighten with anticipation and desire. You wonder if he’ll keep the gloves on.

“We have to keep watch.” You whimper.

He chuckles like deep, dark wine. “I can multitask.”

The temptation threatens to drag you underwater. You are swept into the current of Simon’s influence and your own intoxicating desire. His warm, rough burr. His large and deliberate hands. His strong, muscled arms and legs. His chiseled abdominal muscles quiver as you push your hands up his shirt and touch his hot, damp skin.

“God,” He drags the word out and tilts his head back to look up at you, “you’re gonna kill me, Lux.”

You smile. You are lost in the deep, coffee color of his eyes shadowed by ashen blonde lashes and smudged with black camo paint. They are the same shade as Lukas’. An arrow of guilt spears your heart. What are you doing? Noreth is at war. You’re on watch. You’ll never forgive yourself if Lukas got hurt because you let your lust overwhelm your logic. You clear your throat.

You say, “we – we should wait until we’re inside.” You climb off his leg and adjust your rumpled shirt. “Okay?”

Ghost licks his lips and watches you with dark, hungry eyes. “I’m a sniper. A few hours is nothing.”

“Great.” You reply, your voice tight, “I’m going to walk the perimeter.”

~~~~~~~~

The walk back to the heaven is tense. It is filled with piping hot anticipation and coated in white foam that tastes like a hopeful dream, a beggar’s wish. Two dimly lit windows peer like eyes onto the dead lawn and black skeletal shape of Kaja’s motorbike.

Simon’s palm glides along your lower back and blistering heat floods your stomach. Your body clenches and your clit throbs with pressure and desire. You’ve thought of nearly a dozen different positions and fantasies during your walk. This is unlike your time with the task force. You don’t need to avoid detection. Neither Samira nor Agathi will judge you. Although, for the sake of those sleeping, you resolve to do your best to stay quiet.

The front door opens to the sound of Lukas crying. Agathi is holding him, bouncing softly, and her tired face looks relieved when you cross the threshold.

“Nightmare.” She explains. Lukas reaches his tiny hands toward you.

“I’ve got him.” You bundle Lukas into your arms and kiss his flushed, sticky-with-tears cheek. You glance apologetically toward Ghost. Perhaps this is for the best. Maybe you shouldn’t sleep together. Maybe this was some unseen force ensuring that you and Ghost remain uncomplicated. Maybe it’s saving you from breaking your heart again. Once Soap is clear, Ghost will leave. You know it. You believe it.

You sway Lukas in your arms and mutter softly.

~~~~~~~~~

Ghost stands frozen in the doorway. The boy has his eyes. And the realization is like a leech. He cannot shake it. He cannot bear to be in the same room as you and the crying child. The child with his eyes. He stalks down the hall and ducks into the small room arranged for him and Soap.

Soap is asleep. He’s glad for it. He doesn’t want questions. His breath his ragged and edged like shrapnel in his lungs. His skin is flushed and stretched uncomfortably over his bones. You held Lukas sweetly. You kissed his face. You showed him more affection than James or Sven. How did he not see it earlier?

Lukas looks nothing like Sven or James or Agathi. He looks like you. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. You must’ve had a child with someone during your time in Al-Qunbar. He scowls. The maths didn’t add up there either. He guessed Lukas’ age is close to 3. Lukas would be younger if you gave birth to him in Al-Qunbar. Then when? With whom?

He swallows thickly and recalls your short time together. Lukas can’t be his. Can’t be. Can’t. He’s not fit to be a father. He’s a dangerous man. A killer. And a damn good one at that. His palms are sweaty and clammy. He peels off his skeletal gloves and tucks them into the back pocket of his pants. He chews his tongue with his back molars.

If Lukas is yours then he doubts the agency knows. A child is a target. A vulnerability. He starts cleaning one of his guns to keep his hands busy. The gun oil is slick and warm against his fingers. He clears his dry, uncomfortable throat. He thinks about your weighted words in the barn. You mentioned you had a secret. You said it was something he’d hate you for.

His slick, oiled hands move purposefully over the metal. His gaze flicks upward to Soap. He watches his chest breathing evenly beneath the dark sheets. They will stay here for a few weeks and then they’d leave. He can endure it.

You were never meant to have a reunion. And he is a fool for wishing for anything other than what he got. Regardless of who Lukas belongs to—he’s no one’s father. He’s not destined for a civilian life. He’s comfortable in the danger. He’s comfortable wearing the mask. He likes it too much to walk away.

He can’t go and live on a farm and change nappies. That’s not who he is. And he won’t bring danger to your doorstep. But he doesn’t want to say goodbye again. He doesn’t want you to disappear. Ghost sighs heavily and sets the pistol on his bouncing knee.

He needs to talk to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It took an hour to get Lukas back to sleep. You settle into one of the wooden chairs on your small, porch balcony outside your bedroom and watch the darkness and swaying grass. You roll the night vision scope between your palms and feel the roughed, grip texture. You peer through it ever-so-often toward the barn. You consider joining Kaja, but you don’t want to leave Lukas in case he has another nightmare.

A floorboard creaks. The smell of gun oil permeates the air. Ghost sits in the chair beside you.

He asks, “what’s the story between the kids here? They got family on the outside?”

You bite your lip. “Not really.”

“What about their dad?”

“Agathi’s husband is dead.” You explain.

Ghost rests his elbows on his knees, “and the small one?”

You chose your next words carefully. “He’s alive. I tell him his dad is a soldier working hard to keep everyone safe.”

Ghost stares at you, unblinking, and his gaze is like holding a lit cigar to your skin.

“That the truth?” says Ghost gruffly.

The crickets chirp, a chorus, a symphony, lonely and desperate for connection.

“The truth would hurt everyone, ” You shrug.

“It would hurt him.” You look meaningfully over your shoulder toward Lukas’ bedroom door adjacent to your room.

Simon’s tone is commanding and harsh as nails, “tell me the truth.”

You squeeze your eyes closed. A swirl of black and purple spots spin on the canvas of your eyelids. You had hoped to avoid this conversation. But Simon has connected the dots and you played your hand too heavily when you told him you carried a guilty secret.

“Do you remember Al-Qunbar?” You ask.

He hums, “Mhm.”

It was the last place you and Ghost met. A city of dust and smoke, a marble fountain that gurgled with blood.

“I was Qadir’s mistress,” you begin, referring to the politician that governed Al-Qunbar, “that was my cover. It was not uncommon in their culture for people of power, regardless of gender, to have multiple partners or spouses. And they considered multiple children as a sign of virility and good fortune.”

You inhale slowly. This is the part of the story that is like traversing a minefield. You’ve imagined telling him, but never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d get the chance.

“Qadir had many children. But his regime was unstable. I begged him to send the children away. I groveled.” Your voice quivers and tears sting your eyes like wasps. You bite down on your lower lip and compose yourself.

“Qadir refused. He said we’d all go together in the end. He gave poison disguised as medicine to his wives, his mistresses, his personal guards…his children…his children…”

You knew those children. You cared for them. You scrub a hand over your face. Finding the courage to topple dictators or stare at the barrel of a loaded gun is easy. But looking at Simon is impossible. You focus on a spot in the dark, starry horizon. The high grass that surrounds your property sways like whispering dancers.

“I knew I couldn't’ save them all, so I chose Lukas.”

“Samira helped. She was Qadir’s midwife and served in his military as a doctor. The day Qadir was assassinated, I got Lukas out, but I couldn’t leave Al-Qunbar. Not yet. The extremists, the loyalists, the American agents. None of them could know he was alive. I need to make it seem like everyone in Qadir’s family perished in the uprising.”

The wooden chair creaks like an old ship underneath Simon’s weight.

“You were the one who torched his compound.” He says. It’s not a question. You wonder if he read the file. You wonder if anyone told him your undercover name and saw you were listed under ‘killed in action’. You wonder if Price mentioned his part in helping you escape from under the thumb of imperialism.

You nod. You burned Qadir’s house, and all the bodies within, and fled. You earned yourself a deep wound from a sniper at the town square before you reunited with Ghost’s team.

Simon scoffs, “I think you’re a bit of an arsonist, Lux.”

You recognize his attempt at humor, but you can’t summon the energy to smile. You’ve told him the background, you’ve set the stage, but you haven’t brought the main actors into the play. You haven’t revealed the truth.

Your voice scratches as it travels up your throat. “I told Qadir the baby was his, but the timing was off.”

“He’s yours, Simon.” You finish weakly and your heart capsizes inside your chest, “he’s ours.”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look away. The mask hides everything from you and his eyes are guarded and cold. He will hate you. You are sure of it. He will hate you for lying, for not contacting him, for keeping Lukas.

You lift the night vision scope to your face to hide your hurt expression.

~~~~~~~~~

“Shit!” You jolt upright, blood pounds in your ears, and your eyes swivel across the black landscape. You peer through the night vision binoculars to assure you saw Kaja’s signal accurately. You’re not mistaken. She flashed her infrared twice. Trouble.

“What is it?” Ghost is beside you, alert.

“Kaja is in trouble.”

He huffs. You think there’s a question poised in his eyes, but then a burst of gunfire illuminates the darkness like white fireworks. You drop like a stone into fight-or-flight. You run into the adjoining bedroom and scoop Lukas into your arms, waking him, and he cries – startled – in your arms. There is nothing inside your head beyond the checklist of tasks you must complete for your sons’ safety.

“It’s alright, lovey. It’s just a storm.” You assure him.

You barrel down the hallway. James and Sven step into the hallway with Agathi clutching their shoulders. You swerve pass them, taking the steps hurriedly, your heartbeat thundering in your ears and drowning out the sounds of Lukas’ tears and the encroaching gunfire. You don’t bother to look behind you or check for Ghost. He doesn’t know the household protocol, but he can handle himself in a fight. You aren’t worried about him.

“If you get out of that wheelchair, I’ll kill you myself.” Samira snaps. She shoves a loaded shotgun into Soap’s hand. “Protect the little ones.”

You duck into the basement. The door is heavily fortified, and along with supplies, the back left corner equipped with an escape tunnel.

“Alright, there, there, sweet boy.” You kiss the side of Lukas’ head, “it’s going to be alright.” You bounce in him in your arms, kissing and repeating platitudes, promising him that everything will be OK. You never expected motherhood to come equipped with so many desperate lies.

Agathi opens her arms for him.

Lukas’ little fingers cling to your neck, unintentionally scratching, and he is grabbing your shirt, red-faced and screaming. You pry him off. Your heart breaks. Your mouth is dry. You swallow your tears as Agathi cradles your son to her chest and rocks him. Her steely blue eyes meet yours—fierce, red-rimmed, and determined. You share a meaningful, wordless look. You’ve always known the role you would play if shit hit the fan. Agathi and Samira are the protectors.

And you?

You’re the fucking executioner.

“Be safe.” James says, squeezing your hand once before you hurry upstairs. The second your foot hits the landing, Samira shuts the door and extinguishes her lamp. In near-darkness, Sven tosses a body armor vest toward you. You clip it hastily, grabbing equipment from the case, and affixing it to your body. You grab a few extra throwing knives and tuck them into the holster on your chest.

Ghosts’ footfalls are quick and deceptively quiet as he comes downstairs, “counted five approaching.”

“There’s likely more with Kaja.” Samira says knowingly, pinning her dark hair away from her face and scowling.

“What’s the plan?” asks Soap.

“Defend the house.” You nod toward the basement door, “this door especially. If there’s any risk of breaching, hit the switch here, and they know to get the fuck out.”

You walk confidently backwards and toward the door, “if I don’t come back—assume I’m dead and don’t come looking for me.”

You spin on your heel and slip through the partially ajar door. You knew the conflict would eventually reach your doorstep, but you wish it hadn’t happened when you had so much to lose inside. Their flashlights cut through reeds of tall grass and flicker like ghosts across the lawn. They’re shouting at each other in Noreth’s native language. You’re not fluent, but you get an idea of the instruction, and you weave through the grass. Your fingers curl around the knife’s grip.

A low hum of insects buzz around your sweaty face and tall grass whispers as you move through it. You sharpen your focus. The moon illuminates the silent battlefield in a ghastly, blue-white subdued glow. You taste salt on your lips. You cling onto the memory of Simon’s warm, deep eyes. If you died here, or fucked it up, he’d never let you hear the end of it.

You catch your breath in your lungs. You attack, swift and deadly, your knife plunging wetly into your target’s chest. You vanish into the grass, crouched low, and using the light breeze to your advantage. You move with the wind, in bleached moonlight, and you strike down his partner before the others notice. The assailants approaching the front yard were easy. They spread themselves thin, they were too jumpy, and they held their rifles awkwardly. You surmised based on their gait and posture that they were newer—likely fresh recruits.

The three approaching the back entrance wouldn’t be so simple. They move cohesively with experience. You weigh your odds. You can kill one, but the other two will engage with you. If this had been any other mission, you would divert their attention slowly, pick them off using traps and tricks. However, the sands of time are pouring through your fingers, and you’ve got people inside to protect. A man you want to talk to, a child you want to raise, a friend you need to see again.

You test the weight of the throwing knife in your palm. It’s risky. But what choice do you have? These fuckers likely have reinforcements at the barn. Kaja is in danger. You grit your jaw and find the best position among swishing grass and damp, spongy earth.

You wait for the flashlight to illuminate his partner. Your knife spins in the dark, twirling, unseen and the target exclaims a short – “Ah!” as the blade sticks into the meat of his shoulder.

It’s off-mark. You leap to the second target, spry and agile. You are a weapon of death, a herald of doom. Your knife cuts across his throat in brutal efficiency and soaks your wrist in hot blood. You pivot, tucking your arm, and use the target’s body as a meat shield as they fire several rounds at you. You count the bullets.

He spasms and jerks against you as bullets whiz by and you wait for the reload. They might be experienced, but they’re spooked enough to fire all their ammunition simultaneously. You drop the body the second you hear the resounding click of an empty chamber. You draw your silenced pistol. Your last resort. Your breath catches in your lungs.

There’s only one man in front of you. You fire your shot. It goes through your target’s throat. He gurgles wetly, painfully, before falling backward. You scan the area for the threat, the missing attacker, but suddenly something hits you in the back of the skull.

Sharp and biting pain blossoms and stars dance in front of your vision. Their forearm wraps around your throat, pinning you to their chest, the muzzle of their sidearm pistol against your temple. Your time off the field has made you sloppy. Overconfident. Careless. You mentally berate yourself and plant your feet to try and throw him off before he can pull the trigger.

A bullet rings through the darkness. A torrent of hot blood and chunks of bone splatters wetly onto your cheek and side of your head. Your target collapses into you and you roughly shoulder him away. Half of his skull is missing and his brains and blood gushes over the marshland.

You look toward the house. You can’t see Ghost’s sniper scope in the darkness, but you feel it. You feel him watching. You holster your gun. You walk away from the house and toward the barn. To Kaja. To finish your hunt.

~~~~~~~~~

Ghost watches the flashlights disappear from your window. He has every intention of providing cover fire with his sniper—if you need it. He is watching you through the scope, remembering Spain, and his cold heart pangs weakly. He isn’t sure how he feels about you. He wants to be angry for keeping secrets. But, that’s bollocks, isn’t it? You both come from special ops backgrounds, from troves of classified files, and hell—his identity has been a secret for years. You don’t even know what he looks like. The kid’s got my eyes. There’s some small part of him that carries on throughout the world and you’re the only two people who know about it.

He doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to being angry. You made the right call. You kept the kid—Lukas—safe. His kid. Ghost’s throat threatens to tighten. He shoves it down. The feeling smolders inside his chest. It’s not like it matters. You’ll go your separate ways once Soap is cleared to evac. Assuming everyone lives after this evening, he thinks wryly. He adjusts his hold on his sniper and breathes deeply.

A burst of gunfire crackles in the distance. He swings his scope to the swaying reeds. One of the targets have veered off into the darkness while the other fills his dead friend with bullets. He catches brief flashes of your body, hunched, before you duck from beneath cover and stand—your form exquisite and lethal. A muted flash appears before the muzzle of your gun.

The second target appears from the darkness and grapples you. Ghost holds his breath. His finger hovers over the trigger. The pistol touches your skin. He imagines it firing. He imagines your body going inert and dropping like a sack of rocks into the strangers’ arms. His jaw clenches. He has seconds to react. The targets’ face hovers next to yours.

He fires. An explosion of blood and brain and bone spews around your head. You knock the body contemptuously away and somehow manage to meet his eyes through the rifle scope. Ghost’s heart thumps painful and hard into his ribs. You’re half-covered in someone else’s blood like the final girl in a slasher horror film. He thinks of kissing you. You turn and vanish into the darkness. He releases the breath he was holding.

Samira swings into the room, hand clutching the doorframe, “Ghost.” She says, “I need you to go to the barn.” Her tone brokers no argument. Despite that, however, he still says…

“Why?”

“Kaja’s not back yet which means she didn’t escape.”

“How’d you know?”

Samira huffs, “we have a system of triggers and alarms and codes. She hasn’t signaled the all-clear.”

“Could mean she’s dead.”

Her gaze darkens, “they do not often kill women in Noreth. They make them suffer first. Go. An order, Ghost. It’s an order.”

He dislikes taking orders from her, but Samira has your trust, and that means something. And although you claim you don’t have a hierarchy at the haven, it’s clear they look to you for leadership, and Samira is your second.

His head is still fucked from everything. But he’s thankful for the clarity of battle—of conflict and fighting—it gives him something to focus on. He follows the tracks you made through the grass. The air smells like car exhaust fumes, and gun smoke, and dark, damp earth.

“Leave her alone!” Your voice jabs into his gut like a well-placed and serrated knife. Ghost moves silently through the brush. His blood is hot and pounding in his neck.

The glaring headlamps of their truck illuminates your bruised face. Your teeth glisten wet and red. There is more blood covering you, but he can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. Someone has you pinned to the ground, your hands behind your back, and your legs are pinned by a second body. The man in front of you drops to a crouch and speaks lowly. Ghost doesn’t hear what he says. Your gaze hardens and your lips press into a tight line.

Your eyes move past the man speaking to you. Your gaze strikes his through the blades of swaying grass and encroaching, tall weeds. Your eyes are red-rimmed and filled with vengeful tears like the oil-painting of Lucifer.

“Bring them both in!” The man pinches your jaw roughly, his tone scathing, “You will sing like a songbird for me, little viper.”

Your jaw shifts. You spit a bloody glob of salvia into his face.

“Bitch!” He yells. He back-hands you, and you head lolls sideways into the dirt, wheezing, a fresh cut blooms on your lower lip. Rage burns through him, hot and corrosive, across every limb, every nerve, until he’s certain the dry vegetation around him is going to burst into flames. He’s never wanted to tear somebody limb-from-limb before. Not ‘till this moment.

He’s shaking. He realizes it almost distantly, like he’s not inside his body, like he’s viewing everything from a sniper’s scope but he’s without his calculated, cold ease. A voice inside his head informs him of the amount of bullets he has, the target locations, and the cover the barn could provide.

Kaja’s lilting voice appears from somewhere near the back of the truck—her words are thick with phlegm and barely distinguishable—but Ghost can tell she’s begging. He can hear it in her tone, how she sobs around the broken syllables. It’s not you who will break. It’s Kaja. Young, inexperienced Kaja. Another voice inside his head tells him he needs to silence her before she blows his cover or more importantly, your cover and the safety of Lukas. There’s only one target with Kaja and his back is to the shadows. Big mistake.

He shifts into the dark, lush undergrowth. He circles around the barn. You’re still goading the leader. He suspects you’re doing it to keep the focus away from Kaja, to take her pain, because you know she’s fragile and you’re trained to take it. He hears your brusque, insulting tone and it is nearly always followed with the sharp, biting sound of his skin striking yours. His heartrate skyrockets.

He’s shaking again. He bites his lower lip, tasting copper and salt, and it forcefully yanks him back to reality. He creeps through the darkness. He strikes. His large palm covers the target’s mouth, dragging him backward into the shadows, he snaps his neck quickly and efficiently. He drags the body into the grass and approaches the truck bed where Kaja is tied with a black canvas bag over her head.

“Please!” She’s trembling. “We’re just a little farm! We’re not rebels!”

Ghost yanks the bag over her head. She meets his gaze with glossy, frightened eyes. He motions one finger to his mouth. He doesn’t have time to cut the ropes that dig into her bony, bird-like wrists. He grabs her and pulls her from the truck. The weight is shifted and the springs beneath the back tires groan and squeak.

His blood curdles with the abrupt sound of your scream when his boots hit the grass. Every instinct in him wants to—to drop Kaja and fire every bullet into the men that circle you like hungry lions. He resists. If you’re screaming, then it’s part of the act. You wouldn’t give these slimy assholes the satisfaction. He believes that.

He drags Kaja into the darkness.

“We need to go back!” She whispers harshly when they’re several minutes away from the barn, “untie me. We need to save her.”

Ghost says nothing.

<< Part Three (Final) >>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST: @k1llerch4n // idk why sometimes it looks like it works and othertimes it DONT. @iwantmethgivememeth // @levisbebe // @solidly-indulgent

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley reader insert #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty fanfic #ghost cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare fanfic #ghost x you #ghost simon riley imagine #ghost x y/n #ghost x female reader #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 x you

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kabie-whump · 4 months

Text

Shiny Things - Part 2

Part 1

I had to let Ventis out so enjoy his rescue :)

(With a side of pining since it's Onthyes's POV)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The bastard didn’t stand a chance. Not after Shayah got her hands on him, at least.

They’d found the place quickly with the help of the merchant they’d interrogated: a little house near the outskirts of the city. There was nothing incriminating about it from the outside. They never would have found it on their own. Onthyes knocked a few times with no response from whoever may be inside, so Shayah jumped at the opportunity to kick down the door.

Inside the house was just as normal as the outside: a small table situated in the middle of the main room and an open doorway leading to a small bedroom on the opposite wall. There was a kettle sitting over red coals in the kitchen area, steam beginning to pour from the vent. Someone had been here recently.

“Hello?”

Onthyes wandered around, searching for any more doorways. It seemed to be just the two rooms.

Shayah examined the boiling kettle with a frown. “Must’ve run when he heard you knocking. You should’ve let me bust the door down from the start.”

Onthyes ignored her in favor of looking for any other exits, but he found none other than a window which was closed and latched from the inside.

“Maybe he just-“

A muffled scream followed by a rumble of thunder from the clear skies above. Onthyes’s blood ran cold.

“Ventis,” he breathed.

“Came from below us. Look for a hatch.”

They found the hatch concealed under a rug in the bedroom. Onthyes threw it open and descended down the ladder so quickly he missed the bottom few rungs and nearly fell on his ass. Shayah skipped the ladder altogether and landed on her feet next to him.

The basement was a single room - small and dingy and smelling strongly of iron. An unnaturally strong wind pulled at Onthyes’s cloak. In the nearest corner were a few open crates overflowing with horns and claws and teeth from all sorts of creatures. But that wasn’t what caught his attention.

Ventis was chained to a table, blindfolded and gagged while two people leaned over him. Onthyes couldn’t see much, but he caught the way Ventis’s foot kicked uselessly against his bonds as he let out another scream.

That scream was all it took to launch Onthyes and Shayah into action. They took down the two men quickly and ruthlessly, and if Shayah used a little more force than was necessary subduing them, Onthyes pretended not to notice.

Once Ventis's captors were taken down Onthyes wasted no more time on them. Ventis was more important.

He ran to Ventis's side, removing his gag and blindfold while Shayah searched for the key to the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Ventis looked like he'd been through hell: eyes dull, face pale, breaths coming in ragged gasps. He trembled as Shayah freed him and Onthyes lifted him into his arms.

Onthyes has carried Ventis a few times before, but the genasi always protested in some way. Ventis was quiet now, cheek pressed against bloody chainmail. Shayah held a waterskin to Ventis's lips and he drank greedily, water dribbling down his chin and onto his exposed chest.

"Find his clothes," Onthyes whispered as Shayah took her waterskin back. She nodded once and started looking around.

Onthyes sat down on the floor with Ventis still cradled in his arms, examining his injuries. There were small bloody patches all over his body where Onthyes knew he used to have scales. It made anger - the very thing he was always working so hard to suppress - rise in his chest as he imagined those monsters meticulously cutting Ventis's scales from his skin.

He followed the bloody constellation across Ventis's body, mourning every loss, until he reached the one place he'd been dreading.

Onthyes had fallen asleep staring at it one hundred times; had imagined pressing his lips to it two hundred times. It winked at him in dim lantern light every time Ventis turned away from him - a small, delicate scale in the shape of a perfect heart embedded just behind his ear.

And it was gone. Only a scab.

Onthyes squeezed his eyes closed, holding back tears. He had no reason to be upset right now, not when Ventis was the one who had been tortured and cut up for parts for days on end.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into Ventis's hair. "I'm so sorry. We took too long."

Ventis stirred from his state of shocked semi-consciousness, staring up at Onthyes with puffy, teary eyes. He coughed a few times before he managed to speak.

"Would you please stop saving my life, hero? It is getting embarrassing." His voice was hoarse and cracked but he still managed to sound so elegant to Onthyes.

Onthyes laughed breathlessly, shaking his head. "Never. Not until you stop giving me a reason to."

Ventis rolled his eyes, then glanced down to examine the state of his skin. His face fell.

"Couldn't find your clothes," Shayah said as she knelt next to the two of them. "Found a blanket though. And I've got a potion for you."

Ventis took the tattered blanket gratefully, wrapping himself up in it like he couldn't stand to be seen. After Shayah had finished feeding him a healing potion Onthyes helped him stand unsteadily on his feet. He offered to carry him again, but Ventis declined.

"What do you want us to do with these?" Shayah asked, picking up a wooden bowl filled with bloody scales from the table and showing it to Ventis.

Ventis took one look at the bowl and averted his eyes with disgust. "I don't care," he muttered. "Just get rid of them."

"Aye aye."

Feeling a bit better as the healing potion took effect, Ventis was able to make it up the ladder and outside the house with only a little help from his friends. They walked back towards the inn, earning some odd looks from others on the streets. Ventis was wearing only a tattered blanket and looking like he'd been half pecked apart by wild birds and Onthyes and Shayah both had blood splattered on their armor, so Onthyes figured the attention was deserved. He could tell Ventis hated it though so he made sure to lead them through some less crowded backstreets.

Later, after Ventis had received some attention from a healer, he and Onthyes were together in their room and preparing for bed. Ventis was doing his best to hide how he was feeling, but he didn't seem to be in control of the literal stormcloud forming like a crown above his head.

Onthyes sat down on their bed, trying his best to appear non-threatening. Ventis was never one to talk openly about his feelings, but Onthyes would rather not risk being electrocuted in the middle of the night if Ventis went to bed upset.

"Are you alright?"

Ventis stilled, surprised, then glanced up at the cloud above his head and waved it away with a look of betrayal.

"I am fine. Do you not have armor to polish or something of the like?"

"You were kidnapped," Onthyes reminded him gently. "They tortured you. Changed you. You're allowed to not be okay."

A breeze picked up inside the room, making the curtains flutter, and the cloud returned with a vengeance.

"I am perfectly aware of that, thank you."

"Just..." Onthyes sighed. "I know you don't care for me much but I want you to know that you can talk to me. I want to help you."

Ventis shook his head, sitting heavily on the bed. "It is... inconsequential. Trivial"

"Not to me."

There was a long pause. Onthyes allowed the silence; allowed Ventis to marinate. The lack of a total ice-out from him was promising.

"I do not care that they hurt me. I have been hurt before." A shuddering breath. "But I have never thought myself to be ugly."

Ventis's fingers traced a bandaged spot on his other arm where there was once a patch of scales.

"They took something from me that I did not know was important until it was gone. I take pride in my appearance - out of vanity, yes - but also because it is a reminder of who I am and where I came from. Someone looked at me, found something about me to be beautiful, and then took it away from me. I feel... used."

Onthyes listened quietly, his heart aching for the vulnerability Ventis was revealing. He could sense the storm of emotions raging within the genasi: anger, hurt, and a raw sense of violation. He touched Ventis's shoulder slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away. "You're still beautiful."

Ventis shrugged. "I know. As I said, my sadness is frivolous."

"It's not frivolous. Your beauty goes beyond the way you look. It's in your charm, your intelligence, the way you carry yourself. And your heart." Onthyes's eyes flicked to the missing heart shaped scale just behind Ventis's ear.

Ventis leaned into Onthyes's shoulder, taking him by surprise. "Thank you," he whispered. "I do appreciate your attempt at consolation. I just... I need time."

Onthyes stayed there quietly until Ventis moved on his own and slid under the blankets. He knew that Ventis was not just upset about the change in his appearance. It was about the violation he experienced; the loss of control. But there was nothing that Onthyes could do about it other than offer space and support where it was needed.

He joined Ventis under the blankets. The genasi's eyes were closed and his breaths were steady, but the breeze still swirling around the room indicated that he was still conscious.

"Sleep well," Onthyes whispered.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

ventisposting taglist (aka a list of people who i want to bake cookies for):

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff

#whump #oc #original character #whump tropes #whump writing #dnd ocs #dnd whump #whump community #whumpblr #whumperflies #nonhuman whumpee #whumpee #whump scenario #whump ideas #ventisposting #ventis

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