#fanfic reader's prayer

[the-guardian-kitsune]

✧ — you're back.

for gepard, being the silvermane guards captain meant he was often away on the front line, fighting for the safety of belobog. for you, it meant praying for him to come back alive once again. luckily, your prayers are always listened.

cw / tw : gepard x reader. mentions of injuries. reader is smaller than gepard. just fluff and cuddles ♡.

with the last wave of fragmentum monsters gone, gepard could finally put down his shield. he couldn't completely relax, as he had to check on his subordinates to confirm they were, at least, still alive, hopefully not having to report any tragic news to some family waiting for their loved ones to come back from the front line.

even if thanks to the astral express the whole stellaron crisis was avoided, it bringing the fragmentum distortion to a halt, monsters were still spawning every once and then, forcing the silverman guards back in action in the restricted zones.

stopping after his fourth check, the captain took out his phone, unlocking the screen searching for your chat. almost a week had passed since he last saw you, five days of almost uninterrupted fighting and leading the action. even when he had the actual time in which he could have sent you a text message, he felt too tired to do so, falling asleep in a tent, bracing the stiff and unforgiving cold weather.

now that the monsters have ceased to come forth, gepard knew he could finally go back to belobog, to his family, to his friends, but especially to you, the love of his life.

"we're done here. i'll be back soon."

"thanks to qlipoth!" "are you okay? any injuries??"

"minor ones and some bruises. don't worry too much."

"mhh" "still, please be careful :("

a smile crept on the captain's busted lips, but the annoying pain came back. still, he could ignore it, the warmth seeping from your texts enough to push him through, even if he felt like collapsing in a long, deep slumber right then and there.

the clock hands were moving too slow for you. your leg was shaking, jolting up and down as the wait was becoming unbearable. although gepard told you he was fine, you couldn't not worry. more than once you had to run to the hospital upon receiving a call from one of your boyfriend's soldiers or his sister serval. every time you had to witness a heavily bandaged up gepard lying in bed, his chiselled body bruised and cut, sometimes feverish from an infected injury or the cold seeping through. gepard was an incredibly capable captain, his soldiers had full trust in him, and it was that same trust that pushed the landau man to stay in the front line, leading the action head first.

the clicking of the door had you jumping from the couch, sprinting to go and greet your lover. your heart was beating in fear of how you would see gepard; however, it calmed instantly the moment your eyes met his figure: his lips were busted and he had a bruise forming under his left eye. the armor plates got ruined and there was a burnt hole in his pants. he probably had other injuries you couldn't see at the moment, but he was with you again, standing on his feet without needing support.

your arms found their rightful place around his torso, careful to not squeeze too hard as to not hurt gepard. you heard him sigh satisfied, leaving the guitar case on the ground and kicking the door close. his arms went around your body, his cheek resting on your head, eyes closed to fully enjoy the moment.

he could feel your chest going up and down with your breathing, soft and calm, guiding his own. one of your hands traveled up to his face, cupping his cheek, forcing gepard to look at you. you stroked the cold skin with your thumb, a small but warm smile on your lips.

«i'm glad you're back» you murmured.

gepard turned his head to kiss your palm, keeping it in place by putting his hand on yours. «me too, my love»

you felt your cheeks getting warm at the gesture. it was incredible how even after all this time gepard was capable of making you blush with the smallest, simplest gestures. probably it was one of the reasons as of why you were still so deeply in love and giddy like a high schooler.

with his hand still on yours and the other arm around your body, gepard began pushing you inside, toward the living room, aiming to the couch were you sat waiting for him. you followed his steps, arms around his neck. a little scream left your lips when you fell on the worn couch, gepard's full weight on you, almost crushing your much smaller frame under his.

«geppie! you're heavy!» your desperate yelp, hitting your palm on the armour plates of his back.

groaning, your boyfriend slid down a bit, his head on your chest, part of his weight now on the pillows, making it easier for you to support him.

gepard raised his head, his chin on your chest, looking at you with his blue eyes half lidded; you could read in them all the tiredness and the sleepless nights and the pain his job gave him.

your hands went in his hair and on his back, cuddling his blond locks and removing his armour plates to pat his broad back. his face went back into your chest, his arms wrapping around you, snuggling closer. gepard kissed you from above your t-shirt, and you could feel that small smile of his that always gave you butterflies. you understood he was exhausted and just wanted to feel you, your warmth, that soft love that was his refuge when he needed a break. you didn't mind, always ready to help him alleviate the weight on his shoulders.

a satisfied groan came from gepard when you started scratching his scalp, some words following after that you didn't quite catch.

«what?»

«i love you» he said, louder, his chin on your chest, looking at you with sleepy eyes.

your lips curved into a huge silly smile. «i love you too» you pushed away some locks from his eyes. «get some rest, my love. you deserve it.»

nodding, gepard got back to rest on your chest. his breathing soon started to even the more you cuddled him, ruffling his blond hair, pulling a blanket over his body.

yawning, your fingers began to slow down. you slid a bit more under gepard, sound asleep now, to get more of his warmth and reach him in the dream realm. you snuggled your face closer to gepard's, kissing his jaw, nuzzling your nose against his cheek.

he was back, he was alive and warm, and even if he was too big and heavy for you to keep him on you you couldn't possibly care less. he was there, and that was all that mattered as you fell asleep.

@ the-guardian-kitsune do not copy repost translate or feed to ai

[writtingforfun]

Prey or Prayer?

Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City, father of the twins Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, widow of the late Lady Laena Velaryon.

Married to Lady Marisa Hastwyck when she was just fourteen, forced by his brother, the King Viserys.

The memories of the short lived romance between him and Princess Rhaenyra hunted the Prince, who searched for that little touch of passion that was only an illusion now.

He did care for his wife, but found himself manipulated by his lover, and faced with his older son's anger. The boy grew protective of his mother's feelings and refused to even acknowledge his father.

Something had to change, or Daemon would be faced with an eternity as a stranger to his children's hearts.

Who's excited for this story? I can't wait

[stargazineyes]

[housewifewithnohusband22]

Target Audience PLEASE HELP

Around a week ago, on Achieves of our (ao3) There was a two part story involving Armando x reader titled “in love with an inmate”. When I looked for it I saw it was deleted l. I’m so upset it was F%king GOOD! If anyone has the screenshot or story on a different app let a sista know!!!

Shoutout to this fandom, I’m living for the stories on here🫶😽

[auspicioustidings]

Dark Signs

Summary: You string up Johnny in the woods and get Ghost into subspace tied to a tree. That's it. That's the story. I deserve to imagine topping the shit out of Simon Riley as a little treat.

Word Count: 1.1k

CWs: CNC (I have not written in negotiations and the fact that there is a safe word/action, just know that there is), BDSM smut, breeding kink

He was the Ghost, he was the scariest thing in the woods. He was the Ghost, he was the scariest thing in the woods.

"Aww come on Simon, I know you think Johnny looks pretty all tied up like this" you cooed.

It was a rookie error, both of them so wound up from your stalking that they tripped a simple tranq dart trap. Honestly it would be easier if they were smaller, had taken ages to get Johnny all nice and naked and strung up between the trees. Simon you just dragged against the tree that gave the best view before tying him nice and tight. He was struggling against the rope, no doubt hurting himself with how he pulled. You loved to see it. Loved the juxtaposition of one man naked and immobile, the other fully dressed and wriggling.

"Fuck you" Simon snarled.

You laughed, setting a hand against Johnny's ribcage and delighting in how he tensed. He was blindfolded and gagged, not able to anticipate your touch.

"Patience Simon, we'll get to that."

He howled when Johnny whimpered around the gag, fighting hard to try and get free. That skull mask made him look cute to you and you went to crouch in front of him, smiling indugently when he tried to bite at you.

"Aww you want your teeth out, is that it Princess? Don't like them sitting behind fabric do you? Or maybe it's your tongue that's feeling a little restrained?"

"Don't fucking touch me!"

How sweetly he hissed when you pulled off his mask, jaws gnashing to try and get purchase on your hand. You smacked him hard across the face.

"Bad dog, trying to bite me when I'm just taking your muzzle off."

His face was blotchy from all his panicking, eyes wild underneath all that grease. You saw the blooming mark from your hand, ran fingers through his messy hair to soothe him. You did so hate to have to be violent with him after all, but when he practically begged for it like that you could put your own wants aside for him. That's what love was.

When you grinned manically at him and grabbed at his hardening cock you saw the switch. There he was. Not the Ghost hiding behind a mask, not the big military man who was always in control. No, it was Simon Riley now tied to this tree, pulling once more to see if he could move his arms before the realisation settled in that he was not getting out of this unless by your hand.

"There we are pet" you said softly, continuing to pet at his hair as his eyes got wider. "Isn't this nice? You just let me take care of everything. If you behave real good I'll let you fuck Johnny, how does that sound?"

You watched the fight go out of his eyes. Simon Riley was an easy man to break you had learned. He wanted it, to break and bend to his basic need to be loved and close to somebody.

"I'll be good. Please. I'll be so good for you sweetheart."

The whine that came from Johnny delighted you and you took a moment to admire the saliva dripping from around the gag and the leaking from his hard cock. You knew he would like it when he heard you slap Simon, knew he liked it even more hearing him give in.

When you moved enough clothing out of the way to sink down onto Simon it felt divine. He desperately tried to buck up, not able to get anywhere with how securely he was tied. He bit off a growl, earning him another smack hard across the other cheek.

"S-sorry! Sorry sweetheart, didn't mean it, I-" he started pleading, choking back a sob when you clenched your walls around him. "Please, need it. Need it so bad. Just a little faster, please. Fuck!"

You were languid in rolling your hips, torturing him. How could you not with how his pleading turned to whimpering? With how tears of frustration sprung to those pretty eyes of his. You leaned back, back arching so your could tilt your head and look behind you at Johnny pathetically trying to rut his hips and only finding air. Poor thing.

"Look at that, got your pup all worked up talking pretty like that! Like a bitch in heat."

You felt the cock inside of you throb at that and laughed, lifting your hips before slamming back down to sink him into your warmth. He cried out desperately. You loved him like this, in that drowsy space where he couldn't really handle stringing words together unless you made him. He couldn't do anything unless you made him right now. Such a pillow Princess. He started sobbing little whines at you when you stopped moving, just cock warming him.

"Use your words Princess, can't help you if you don't tell me what you need."

"Need to cum, please."

"Mmm" you moaned, starting to ride him properly now, "where do you wanna cum baby?"

It took him a moment to answer, only being spurred back to speech when you pulled sharply at his hair to get him to focus on actually using words rather than just moaning.

"H-hand!"

"Aww you don't wanna cum inside Princess?" you pouted, leaning in to whisper into his ear when you saw his eyes widen, senses sharpening a little at the thought of it. "Think I want you to cum inside me. Not safe y'know, it could take today. Wouldn't you like that? Can breed me for practice before going to your bitch and breeding her proper."

"N-no, please!"

You leaned back again, laughing and riding him until he came with a broken sob deep inside of you. You panted, staying on his softening cock and planting kisses to his face, praising him for doing such a good job.

It didn't take long for him to harden up again once you untied him and let him start getting Johnny ready. God it was always your favourite part of this watching them go at it. In the end, as always, it was Simon who brought him down and rubbed his skin to get the blood flowing again. It had always fascinated you watching the slow journey he would take from subspace with you to topspace with Johnny.

It had always delighted you when they would try their luck, exhausted and fucked out as they were, thinking that now they were free they could take you. Only you had disarmed them and kept knives on yourself, giving Johnny a good nick on his throat that made him yelp and immediately back off. Simon knew better than to even try right now, especially watching you with rapt attention when you brought the knife up to lick away at the blood.

"Maybe next time boys! I'm sure you'll catch me one day."

[dear-wonderland]

‘Is this love…’

Kenji Kishimoto x reader

Your the adopted daughter of the Supreme Commander Anderson, you were brought in at a young age due to your intelligence when it came to tinkering with machines. Now you are know as Aaron’s right hand, someone to be feared, creating all sorts of weapons for the Reestablishment, over time you have learned to keep your emotions in check and hardly ever smile… but what happens when an annoyingly cute new soldier is constantly trying to get your attention? Will your emotions start to spark again? Or will this mess of a world shatter your love story until it becomes nothing but a lost dream. Only time will tell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have no idea how I’m going to pull this off, at first I had the idea of writing a one-shot but I think I’m going to try an make this into chapters. This is my first time ever trying to write something so hopefully this doesn’t become a disaster…

[nyxiannas]

THE FEELING OF FINALLY FINDING THAT ONE FIC YOU READ IN LIKE 2022 AND IT WAS SO GOOD BUT IT WASNT FINISHED AND U DIDNT ONOW U HAD A LIBRARY AT THE TIME SO 2 YESRS LATER YOU FINALLY FIND IT AGAIN AND ITS FINISHED WITH A SEQUEL😼😼😼🙀🔥🔥🔥

[daimyosprincess]

EX LIBRIS Part VI drops Friday, May 26!!

Another Tuesday, another Ex Libris snippet! ✨I'm so glad you guys have enjoyed this fic, your comments have been amazing!! A special shout out to @thirsty-boba-fett-posts this week, feel better soon bb💖

Enjoy a preview from Part VI below the cut 💕

—Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You’re on him in an instant, guiding him back into your waiting mouth hungrily. As much as you love licking and sucking up and down his cock, slurping and swirling with abandon, what you really want is to do is take him to the hilt and swallow him until he loses control. Taking what hasn’t made it past your lips in hand, you start pumping him and twisting your wrist, your fingers sliding easily over his spit-soaked skin.

“Fuuuu- that’s it,” he grunts, “look at you taking me so well. You must really want me to fuck you, my filthy little princess, must really want- shit.” He hisses, his hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall when slide enough of him in your mouth to take your hands off him to rest them on his hips. You look up to see his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched, and you hum appreciatively around the thickness stuffing your mouth, “Osik, d-do it, I know you can take it all, sweetheart. Do it for me and-shit-and I’ll fuck you so good I’ll be dripping from your pussy for days.”

You moan, your throat relaxing to take the last inch and you swear you could’ve come just from the sound that ripped free from his chest if it didn’t take all your brainpower to keep him seated in your mouth.

“Kark-fucking-stars above,” Boba chokes out, his free hand coming to guide you up and down his cock at a steady pace, “Look at you taking it all, I’m so proud of you, so p-proud, fuck, pretty girl.” His eyes are locked onto where he’s disappearing over and over again into your open mouth.

Blinking up at him with watery eyes, you swallow around his thick cock and he snarls. He tugs you off him and pulls you up into his arms, kissing you like he needed you to breathe and walking you both back until your thighs hit your desk. It feels like he’s everywhere, his tongue filling your mouth, his hands grabbing every inch of you as his hips pin down your own. “Shit, open up those legs for me, princess, I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

Taglist 💖 @agirlnamejacq@burningfieldof-clover@marierg@acatalystrising@dukeoftheblackstar@imarvelatthestars@saradika@nintendobl00d@lune-de-miel-au-paradis@historianwithaheart@andrakass2@samspenandsword@liadamerondjarin@sleepingsun501@sgt-morgan@rescuethewretched@rexxdjarin@ladytano420

some others who have interacted or might be interested 💕 (lemme know if you don't wanted to be tagged in the future) @writingwintermoon@ghostvizsla@hes-all-and-hes-more@thirsty-boba-fett-posts@erinthevampire@vorpan-yaimi @becks-things @kakashibabe02

[papookwrites]

Fanfic reader's prayer: may my favorite author's hyperfixation on this fandom last longer than mine 🙏

[drasticemotions]

to my mutuals and just any general tag list I’ve been on for fics, i promise I shall get to reading them I have been notified I’m just a bit burnt out (and I haven’t had the direct effort to read as of late) but believe me IM LITERALLY SO EXCITED TO READ SOME OF THE STUFF IVE BEEN TAGGED IN and I very much appreciate all of you

[writtingforfun]

Prey or Prayer?

OC! Marisa Hastwyck x Daemon Targaryen

Summary: Lady Marisa Hastwyck, of House Hastwyck of the Reach. First born daughter of Lord Murrel Hastwyck and Lady Lydia Hightower, second born child of the couple. Married to Prince Daemon Targaryen after the untimely death of Lady Laena Velaryon. Married at the young age of fourteen and a mother at fifteen. Her relationship with her step-daughters was strained and very one-sided.  A dutiful wife and mother, caring and loving person to all. A devout of the Faith of the Seven, her only comfort on the days the bed was left cold, even if her husband laid next to her. The very persistent shadow of the Princess Rhaenyra hunted both their bedchambers and their own hearts and souls.

Chapter 1

None so dutiful.

Those are the words of House Hastwyck. And they are words they live by. 

Like a Stark keeps his word, like a Velaryon sails the ocean, a Hastwyck is bound by duty and honor.

Lady Marisa Hastwyck was the perfect picture of the Maiden; devout, chaste and kind. Her entire life she had been prepared for marriage - her mother had made sure of that. Lady Lydia Hightower was unpleasant and highly strict about her children's upbringing, perhaps not in the best way. It was the sort of ambition that ran through Hightower blood, irrational and indifferent to anyone else’s feelings.

When Marisa was just ten, she was already made to spend two hours of the day praying to the Seven, by the time she turned twelve, she knew how to sew and embroider, by thirteen she was ready to be sold away as soon as someone wanted her. 

Which is why she had been sent to the Red Keep to study under the septas of the capital. Four moons had passed since she arrived there with her father and was presented to the King. But her father had only stayed for three weeks, and she was soon left alone with only her long time handmaid, Helia. 

Marisa was very intelligent, despite her mother’s disregard towards intellectual knowledge. She and her brother had always shared a passion for books and history, something that she thought would be rather important to maintain a conversation. Turns out her mother knew that the people of court were incredibly vain. The one time she brought up history, she received so many looks like she had lost her mind. 

Life at court wasn’t for her, and Marisa was certain of it. But how could she disappoint her parents and beg them to leave after all the weight they put on her shoulders? Her brother had been married just the year before, at sixteen, because he was found in bed with a middle class lady. The wedding had been rushed and no one even mentioned it. Now, their honor laid fully on her, since her little sister was only ten. 

Everyday, as part of her routine, she spent the nights in the library. She could slip in, unnoticed by anyone, and read as much as she wanted. And the library in the Red Keep was without a doubt the most beautiful one. History, stories, languages… Anything anyone could ever want.

This night was not any different. She picked up her book, one of the History of House Targaryen, and walked towards her usual table, somewhat secluded from the rest of the library, a book in one hand and a candle in the other.

As she made her way to the table, she was startled by the light in her seat. She was always so distracted and so sure no one would be there - after all, no one had sat there in over three moons. It was still very dark, despite the light each of them had, but she could see the outline of his body. Their eyes met and her breath caught in her throat. It was Daemon Targaryen.

“Your Grace,” Marisa quickly said, bowing at him.

He simply looked her up and down.

“My apologies, I did not know you’d be here”

His gaze fell on the book she had in her hand, “Interested in history?”

She looked down at the book and then at him, blinking rapidly, “Yes, I-” she stammered a bit and then took a breath. It was only Daemon Targaryen. “I simply believe that everyone should know the history of our kings”

Daemon chuckled at that. Someone who was not insipid, he thought. “Should you not me in your chambers, Lady…?”

“Marisa. Lady Marisa Hastwyck. I came only to fetch a book. I enjoy the library during the night, it is very quiet.”

“Uhm,” he hummed, his eyes returning to the book.

At the awkwards interaction, Marisa whispered “your grace” and excused herself, taking the book with her to her chambers. A shill ran up her spine as she remembered the indifference she saw in the Prince’s eyes. But then pity took its place. Marisa knew his reputation, but he had lost his wife and been left with two young girls. She couldn’t imagine the pain of losing someone she loved and vowed to be with for the rest of her life.

That was the very first interaction she had with the Prince, but certainly not the last.

***

The King held a five day feast for his older daughter, the heir to the throne, to celebrate her name day. The only good thing about this was that her parents were to attend.

“Quickly Helia, my parents must be arriving!”, she urged her handmaid to help her with her hair.

“Calm yourself,”

“I am calm. I just,” tears formed in her eyes, “I just miss them so much. Perhaps they’ll allow me to return home!”

Her bright smile of hope and high dreams of fantasy was only that - a fantasy. Helia looked at her with pity, for she knew that the girl’s fate - the same girl she helped raise - was to be nothing more than a broodmare. And it made her bones freeze.

Marisa stood waiting for her family with a bright smile, and as soon as saw her family’s sigil she could barely hold herself in place. How she missed seeing her brother and sister! It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Until her mother’s rigid face looked at hers, the weight suddenly fell back on top of her. In all these moons, her mother had only written to her to ask if she had caught the eye of any men. Despite the sadness that was now filling her, Marisa decided to put it aside and hug her brother and father. All the words of kindness and happiness that parents should hold for their children were lost in her mother’s stone cold heart. 

“Stand up straight!” Lady Lydia spat at her daughter who quickly lost the small smile she held.

“Ignore her,” her brother whispered in her ear, “she has been nasty since-” he laughed “since ever”

Marisa giggled at that, holding her brother’s arm. “How come your wife didn’t join you?”

“Mother didn’t think she should”

“Isn’t it more disgraceful for you to come to the capital without your wife than to show she is a commoner?”

“It should be, but I was happy she wouldn’t be subjected to hours in a carriage with mother”

Loud horns sounded and Marisa jumped frightened, holding her brother tighter. The King and Queen approached the family. They all quickly bowed to them.

“Murrel! Welcome to my court!” the King greeted his old friend.

“Your Grace, what a pleasure to return.” he turned to the Queen “My Queen, a pleasure to see you again” 

“Welcome back Lord Murrel, and your family”

“Come, let us talk while your daughter talks with her mother and brother.”

As they leave, she notices the queen’s sad gaze on her. A small smile graces her lips as she walks towards them. “Lady Lydia, welcome to court. It has been a while.”

“Your grace,” she bows again, “thank you for the invitation.”

“Of course. You are friends of the crown, therefore, always welcome. Lady Marisa is a delight to have in court”

“Thank you, your grace.” 

The rest of the morning was spent with her mother continuously asking questions and giving her a hard time. Even poor Helia had to listen as her Lady scolded her for not encouraging Marisa to be in court more often than hiding in her chambers or with septas. “I wonder where your father is,” she kept repeating. As Marisa looked at her family, she realized how alone she had been back home, and how alone she was now. 

Upon her father’s return, he and her mother locked themselves in their chambers, leaving their two older children outside to wander as they pleased.

“Show me everything,” Tommen pleaded as they roamed the Keep. They started in the library, moved to the Tapestries and the Godswood, to lastly stand looking at the training grounds - Tommen’s favorite place.

“What do you think? Is it everything you expected?”

His eyes shined looking at the swords and armors, “more. So much more that I won’t even allow myself to wonder what mother and father are talking about”

“I would like to know,” she pouted, unsure of what it could be.

His smile vanished and he kept his eyes low, “Mar…”

“I would!” She repeats, “I have behaved well.”

“Of course you have, you always do. But mother sent you here with one goal in mind.”

“To find a husband for me.”

He nodded, and upon seeing how sad she was, he took her hand and told her to watch as they trained. Tommem explained every move as if she had interesse, as long as she forgot her fate. She hated violence, but her brother��s effort put a smile on her face.

Men cheering made them both look down to see someone walk in. 

“Who is that?” Tommen asked.

The man looked up and then took his sword.

“That’s Prince Daemon Targaryen”

Let me know if you liked it, and if you want to be added to the taglist! The first chapter is different than the rest will be, it's just a little starting point. I wanted you to understand the dynamics between the Hastwyck family.

Taglist:

@marihoneywk @toxicberrie @snowtargaryen @bellstwd @pet1t3 @watercolorskyy @hypocritic-trash-baby @marvelescvpe @jasenialovesjinx @msmorningstaarr @angeliod @dornishannie @ewwwitsel @billyloomiswife827289301

[the-guardian-kitsune]

★ — ride with me.

a series of headcanons about your relationship with your biker boyfriend, from how you two met, to your domestic life, to matters of the bedroom.

cw / tw : dan heng x fem!reader. mentions of broken arm and scolding. smut part at the end, mdni.

a/n : inspired by this art of @danijaci.

biker & boyfriend hcs

when you two weren't yet in a relationship he used to make tricks to impress you, but sometimes he would fall and get hurt

in one such occasion, he broke his arm and you had to take him to the er; after he got a cast you talked his ears off about how dangerous and stupid was what he did, also telling him the heart attacks you got every time and how scared you got when he fell

mortified, he begged for your forgiveness, finding enough courage to confess his feelings for you; he was surprised you returned them, but a fond smile appeared on his bruised face

(you had to admit though, he looked like one of those tough guys you saw in movies, all bandaged up, dressed in black, with ruffled hair and kissable lips)

since then he never did tricks ever again, both because he learned his lesson and because he didn't want to scare you again

he always makes sure your helmet is properly locked before he takes you out for a ride; your safety is his priority

he bought you a leather jacket for your outings, so you won't get cold or fall sick because of the strong winds

normally he doesn't go too fast when he's alone, but when you're with him he gladly goes the fastest he can just to feel your arms tighten around his waist and your chest press against his back; you then talk his ears off about safety and speed limits

he always scouts ahead searching for the most beautiful sceneries around the city, so he can take you there and admire your sparkling eyes while losing yourself in the view

he loves kissing you on his bike, his arms around your waist and yours around his neck, his feet firmly planted on the ground to keep balance

he also likes getting his hair fixed by you after he removes his helmet; the feeling of your gentle hands fluffing his locks always has a soothing effect on him, exactly what he needs after a ride

domesticity hcs

in the morning you always wake up wrapped in a tight hug, your face buried in your boyfriend's chest. you raise your head for what you can and kiss him, earning a sleepy smile from dan heng

he cooks you breakfast, preparing both things you like and you need, like fruit, and reminds you to drink water before eating; you need to hydrate first thing in the morning!

he gladly rides you to your college/workplace and also picks you up on lunch break to eat together, then takes you back to finish your classes/shift

your friends and classmates/colleagues are pretty much enamoured with your handsome and caring boyfriend, yet his emerald gaze is only for you, always searching your figure for his comfort and peace of mind

he likes to slow dancing with you in the living room, soft music playing from his small bluetooth speaker as he makes you twirl around, your laughter a sound much more melodious than the music

helps you drying/brushing your hair after a long day, letting you rest your head against his chest as he goes through your haircare routine for you; you often fall asleep like that and he has to carry you to bed, but he doesn't mind

(nsfw under here)

smut / nsfw hcs; mdni!

rides usually have him high on adrenaline, so to calm down he fucks you on his bike seat or eats you out until he calms down; it usually means at least a couple of orgasms for you

the first time he fucked you on his bike you left a stain on the leather he never washed properly, leaving a darker spot on it. he says it's to mark your seat, as it belongs to you only

he always fucks you in the most scenic spots, loving the way the sunset light shines on you as you cream around his dick

related to above, he's an exhibitionist as the idea of being seen/heard turns him on; however, he always makes sure to cover you with his body, only your trembling legs on sight as they're up in the air, spread wide for him

parks his bike against a tree or wall to give you some sort of support during sex, if you're not riding him

he once took a pic of you sitting on his bike supporting yourself on your hands, still in post-coital bliss with your legs spread wide and your leaking pussy on display, the sunset behind you. he often uses that pic when you're not with him or needs a quick relief

loves trapping you between him and the bike, kissing and groping you until you have enough of it and beg to be fucked

the engine is often turned on during a session, the vibrations from its grumbling a nice stimulation that leaves you more sensitive for your boyfriend

once back home he always gives you a massage, knowing that fucking in the open on a bike isn't exactly comfortable

© the-guardian-kitsune do not copy repost translate or feed to ai

[january-summers]

January at the new years resolution desk filling out her resolutions:

I'mma get back to writing fanfics this year, maybe finish up some of the ones that I dropped ages ago that have been haunting me.

January in the word docs in February writing OG shit instead:

Her heart felt like it was beating too fast as she reached for a new axe, one of the smaller ones the goblins carried, and a snarling goblin leapt at her from the horde. Its screech the only warning she had. She looked towards it automatically, hand blindly grasping for the axe handle she brought the weapon up and swung it directly at the leaping goblin to bat it away. It didn't register that the axe was heavier and more unwieldy than she'd anticipated until it was smacking into the leaping goblin with a meaty thwack. As the leaping goblin hit the ground with a neck snapping crunch, Noelle realised she hadn't picked up the axe she'd been after, but a goblin's leg. 'Urgh,' she thought, then grabbed its other leg to stabilise the weight as she had to smack another leaping goblin from the air.

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙obsessed with u | LN4 ˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: lando norris x ln4 admin/photographer!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au, new relationship

warnings: none just a lot of fluff!!

summary: in which a podium means you and your boyfriend hard launch a little bit early <3

a/n: omg i feel like this fanfic revived me and im back fr 🙏 hope it's ok OMG i rly tried to make a good plot but i fear i got no inspo atm anyway i fancy lando soooo badly atm it's rly shocking how bad i want him anyway ENJOY!!!! hope it dont suck ballzzz ahhhhhhhh

request!!!: lando x reader smau where reader is the admin of the Instagram account lnfour. You absolutely have the liberty of what you wanna do with it

fc: various blonde girls from pinterest

my masterlist

instagram ->

landonorris posted a story

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 381,117 others

user1 stop soft launching and tell us who she issss

user2 need details

user3 👀 mr lando norris plz spill

carlossainz55 cute

liked by landonorris

yourusername posted a story

liked by yourbff, landonorris, and 18,204 others

yourbff ugh lil cuties

liked by yourusername

user4 so cute

friend1 aww look at you guys

liked by yourusername

lnfour 📍 melbourne, australia

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 183,927 others

lnfour ready for the weekend 🦘

tagged: landonorris

view all 4,013 comments

user5 any sign of the gf then? 👀

user6 i love y/n's photographyyy

user7 same she's got the female gaze downnnn

user8 he's so hot

liked by lnfour

user9 admin leak who his gf is to us plz xxx

user10 i have a good feeling about this weekend's race 🙏

lnfour us too!!! 🕯️

interview ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

lnfour

liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 201,723 others

lnfour anyone else hoping for a big reveal this weekend then?

view all 6,812 comments

carlossainz55 yes, me

lnfour 😂

user16 HELLOOO???

user17 urm wait guys hear me out

user18 let me guess you think he's dating y/n

user17 👀

user19 who is y/n omg im losttttt

user20 literally lnfour admin and photographer lol

landonorris 🤷‍♀️

liked by lnfour

user21 STRESSSS

user22 heart palpitations

yourusername posted a story

liked by landonorris, yourbff, and 31,022 others

landonorris damn who's that sexy man

yourusername 🙄

user23 HMMMM

user24 lando & y/n dating???

user25 that your man?

yourbff stop coz they're connecting the dots y/n

yourusername what dots?!!!

yourusername

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 96,283 others

yourusername it's race day mi amigos

view all 3,727 comments

user26 mi amigos... muchos debris... they're meant to be perhaps

user27 some of you are reaching doesn't y/n have a bf already?

user28 she's been soft launching but nothing is confirmed so it could be anyone 👀

landonorris keep me in your thoughts and prayers

yourusername 😂 always!

user29 they're in love

user30 dramatic much

user31 wouldn't it be weird for lando to date someone he works with 😭

oscarpiastri let's goooooo

yourusername 💪

landonorris posted a story

liked by lnfour, yourbff, and 281,114 others

lnfour 💪💪💪💪💪💪 you got this

liked by landonorris

user32 URM HELLOOOO

user33 hi y/n

user34 hmmmmmmmm

user35 this is a big enough reveal to me .. 😇

lnfour posted a story

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 22,927 others

user36 🤞🤞🤞🤞

user37 we're gonna win babyyyyyyy

liked by lnfour

mclaren posted a story

liked by lnfour, oscarpiastri, and 586,711 others

lnfour 🧡🧡🧡

user38 AHHHHHHHHHHH

user39 our boyyy

user40 big reveal when?

yourusername so proud

liked by mclaren

user41 p1 next time

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, and 63,018 others

carlossainz55 so cute of him

yourusername CONGRATULATIONS CARLOS ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

user42 are you going to celebrate together

user43 AWWWW HE'S SO CUTE

charles_leclerc a handsome boy

yourusername 😊😊😊😊

oscarpiastri you'll come out celebrating with us?

yourusername wouldn't miss it for the world

alexandrasaintmleux posted a story

liked by landonorris, lilyzneimer, and 14,928 others

user44 she's such a wag without even being a wag

user45 love her

user46 oh to be in this friend group 😭

user47 she's so mother

oscarpiastri posted a story

liked by yourbff, landonorris, and 282,016 others

user48 IS THAT Y/N AND LANDO

user49 lando and y/n omg??

user50 OMG?????

landonorris delete

yourusername delete

*this story has been deleted*

twitter ->

instagram ->

landonorris posted a story

liked by yourbff, carlossainz55, and 305,137 others

yourusername not hiding it anymore then?

landonorris guess not 👀

yourbff AHHHHHH ily guys

liked by landonorris

user56 scream

user57 BIG REVEAL?!

lnfour

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, and 118,045 others

lnfour this weekend hit different

tagged: landonorris, carlossainz55

view all 2,018 comments

user58 YEA I BET IT DID

user59 just missing charles!!!!

user60 i love lando and carlos' friendship sm

user61 interesting

user62 not her acting like nothing is going on 😝

user63 WE KNOW

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 221,673 others

yourusername hits different cause it's u

view all 4,381 comments

user64 peep oscar

lilyzneimer pretty couple 🫶

liked by landonorris, yourusername

user65 omgggg mclaren wag bffs

alexandrasaintmleux ily y/n

yourusername ilysm❤️🧡

yourbff GORGEOUS COUPLE

liked by yourusername, landonorris

user66 omg im so excited

user67 best big reveal ever

landonorris wow. look at u

yourusername donttttt. you'll make me blush 😭

user68 i love them omg

landonorris posted a story

liked by yourusername, yourbff, and 599,738 others

user69 AHHH TERRITORIAL LANDO YES PLSSS

user70 god she's hot

yourusername NOOO I SAID STOP I'LL BLUSH😭😭😭😭😭

landonorris you think i dont want that???!

yourusername obsessed with u omg

landonorris obsessed with u a lot more trust

THE END 🧡

[loveindefinitely]

02 — 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐'𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, angst, graphic violence, slight power imbalance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, betrayal

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

"You assaulted two Special Forces Operators, kid," Price says, a barely veiled grimace contorting his features. "That's not a good look."

You tug against where your hands are cuffed to the metal bars, your brows furrowing. "Kidnapping the girl -- whose dad you killed after taking her virginity -- isn't a good look either."

...Alright.

So, if you could go back in time, and never eavesdrop on the four men who have completely ruined your life, you would take up the offer in a heartbeat.

Between landing your fist to Gaz's jaw, and where you are now, your life has become a total shit show.

Like, complete, this might just be a fever dream level of crazy.

It started from the moment you saw blood trickling from your now late father's forehead, and in the glint of the moonlight, seeing Ghost holding the gun.

Then, you'd turned, without another thought, and landed a punch right to Gaz's jaw. The man who had taken your first kiss no more than two hours ago.

You can relive the moment even now, under the harsh neon lights of an interrogation room, as if you're experiencing everything for the first time once more.

༊*·˚

Gaz hisses, wincing as he brings a hand up to the aching pain radiating from the bone that'd taken the brunt of your punch.

"You guys -- what the fuck --" You stammer out, eyes wide and borderline manic as you gape at the man before you. "You guys just killed my dad!"

"Yeah, but," Gaz starts, before backtracking. You figure he has enough braincells to realise that 'rationality and reason' isn't going to work with you, not in this state, and especially not after you just witnessed the murder of your only living family member. "Ah. Well. He wasn't a good guy."

You really, truly, cannot believe the audacity of this man.

Your mouth opens.

Gaz grimaces.

Your mouth closes.

He takes a step closer, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Take another step near me and I'll punch you again!" You threaten, with an aggressive point of your finger.

You're extremely aware that your punch had done next to nothing, and Gaz's reaction to it was more one of sympathy, but the threat lands nonetheless.

"Alright, alright, we're not gonna hurt you," he raises his hands further, eyes bouncing between your own. You're not sure what he sees -- maybe resentment, or horror, or fear.

Whatever it is, it makes his frown deepen.

He goes to say something else, when your bedroom door opens with a soft click. "Finishin' up, ya read--"

Soap pauses his whisper, ice-blue eyes meeting yours. His grimace isn't unlike the one Gaz is sporting, and it only worsens your mood. If looks could kill, he would be lying on the grass beside --

Oh god. Your dead dad.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap mutters under his breath, looking up to the roof in some semblance of a last minute prayer.

There's a moment, then, for a decision to be made. It's as if your brain can only come up with two options, and one of them will lead to your untimely death.

So, really, it's not entirely your fault when you pick up the salt lamp sitting on your bedside table and throw it right into the arrogant Scot's face.

"Holy shit," Gaz's eyes are comically wide as Soap cries out, the heavy pink rock slamming into his nose. He stumbles back, and the sound of your lamp hitting cartilage even has you wincing, panicked state or not. "How the fuck have you survived this long with those kinda reflexes, Soap?"

Soap drops into a squat, cradling his nose in his hand as he tilts his head back, squeezing the ridge between two calloused fingers. His voice comes out nasally as he mumbles, "Mighta' broke 'gain."

Your entire body is trembling, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you creep to the window with soft, quiet steps.

Maybe, you think, in the back of your mind, I can make the jump into the garden.

It's not to be, however.

"You're smarter than that," Gaz directs an unamused glare your way, before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you towards your door.

Digging your heels into the carpet, you attempt to wrestle out of his grip -- but a trained military expert and you are no match, not even with the energy overtaking your body.

"Let go of me!" You grit out, tugging and displaying your weight in the opposite way to his goal. He doesn't even turn around as he drags you out of your room, slamming your door shut behind you.

"What the fuck is goin' on," Ghost's growl comes from the stairs, heavy bootfalls following until he's standing, gaze drifting from you, to Gaz, to Soap, back to you again.

"Fuck, man," Soap whines, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps his head tilted back, blood running down his lips and chin. You somehow find it in yourself to feel slightly bad. Not enough to apologise, and certainly not enough to stop fighting back.

They were going to kill you. Probably. Or, like, what's the skin trade like in your area? Oh god. Fuck. Shit.

"She saw," Gaz mutters to Ghost, and his eyes narrow, black face paint crinkling where it's been put on the upper half of his face, skin not covered by the balaclava.

There aren't any lights on, and it's the lights on downstairs that cast shadows and highlights over the men's' faces.

"Fuckin' christ," Ghost groans, before turning and walking back downstairs without another word.

You continue to struggle against Gaz's hold, but both of your wrists have been collected in his hand, and he's pulled you so your back is to his chest. If it were any other circumstance, you'd be blushing, most likely turned on from such an embrace.

Right now, however, you're questioning every possible decision you've ever made.

"Ye Dad treated ya like shit 'nyways," Soap says, too loud to be under his breath, but too quiet for it to be conversational. "Dinnae why yer freakin''."

"You're murderers!" You hiss back, lips pulled back into a snarl. Your muscles ache from the punch, the hefty throw, and now from struggling against Gaz. "And I don't exactly have any other family, do I?!"

Gaz makes a sound of agreement, before shaking his head and countering. "We're not murderers, not really."

You choke a laugh, but it's entirely too wet and sad for it to be threatening or cruel. "So you guys didn't just shoot my father?"

"Si pulled th' trigger," Soap pouts, almost like a child would over a lack of candy.

"Soap," Gaz exasperates, and although you can't see his face, you're sure it's dismayed and annoyed. "Seriously?"

"What?!" Soap counters, and when it comes out high-pitched, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his nose tighter. "Jus' tha truth, dinnae why yer so shitty. Yer not tha one bleedin'."

Speechless.

You are fully, unbelievably, speechless.

What the actual fuck was wrong with these... men? And what was wrong with you for being more than ready to spread your legs for them not too long ago?

You needed therapy. And coffee.

And a time machine, preferably. If one was made available at this given moment.

"Get down here," the final man of the hour shouts up the stairs, and your blood runs cold. There's something about him that's not quite as threatening as Ghost, but somehow makes you even more fearful.

Gaz, with surprisingly careful and gentle movements, guides you down the stairs. The parallel of how Ghost's hand had been at your lower back as he invited you to the lounge room, mere hours ago, isn't lost on you.

His hand doesn't move from the tense grip it has on your wrists. You can't help but feel like it's a completely unnecessary gesture, considering the fact that any of them could take you down within seconds if they really needed to. Hell, they all had actual, military-grade weapons.

"Seriously, Gaz?" Price huffs, looking entirely like a disappointed dad in this moment as he stands, leaning against your kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed over. "One job, mate."

"You lot weren't exactly quiet," he retorts, but he slowly releases your wrists.

At this point, you know it's a lost cause to try and escape this situation, so you just ball your hands into wrists at your sides. You can't imagine it's an overly threatening position, considering how your entire frame trembles, and your lips wobble.

Your father was dead.

And the men that had made you feel so comfortable, so cared for, are the culprits.

Stupid, stupid girl.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

"Peas," Soap's voice is practically a beg as he stumbles into the kitchen, opening the freezer door with no preamble as he scours it for... peas.

They're in the far right of the bottom shelf.

You don't tell him that.

"Have some water," Price encourages, holding out a glass cup full of chilled water.

Your eyes narrow, standing your ground. "Not accepting drinks from murderers. Dad taught me that, y'know?"

Gaz chokes a laugh, before covering it up with a fist to his mouth and a clearing of his throat. It fools no one, and you allow yourself the tiny bit of pride that fills your chest at the reaction to your taunt.

"Ghost," Price mutters, resigned and almost frustrated as he looks at you.

You understand why, as soon as the feeling of a needle imbedding into your neck has you flinching, pain prickling at the intrusion in your muscle.

"What --" you begin, before your legs fall out beneath you, your eyes falling to half mast as Price hefts you up, beefy arms holding you beneath your armpits as your body becomes dead weight.

"Sorry, kid," are the last words you hear, before black overrides all of your senses as drugged sleep takes you.

༊*·˚

Sometime between then, and now, you've found yourself in a white-walled room, blinding lights turning the throbbing in your head from a low pound to an echoing boom of a drum.

"We didn't plan for... any of it to happen the way it did. This was our only choice." Price shakes his head, hands resting at the top of his vest as he studies you.

Right. The virginity, kidnapping and assault thing.

...Great.

"I must've forgot the part where I resisted arrest," you retort, forcing your eyes to remain open, despite the heaviness to them. It's as if a weight has been hung from your eyelids, and every blink drags them down more and more each time.

"Jesus -- you're not under arrest," Price rubs at his eyes, head dipped down as if he's recollecting his thoughts. You're not sure if he's had any sleep, although your sense of time has been completely thrown out of the window.

"Then release me," you say, voice softer than you'd intended, more pleading -- a truer reflection of your current state of mind.

The air is crisp, cool, like that of a hospital. Chemicals and bleach are a potent undertone to the clean scent, and it makes you question what could've previously been done in this room to warrant them.

Your heart pounds almost weakly, and you know if there's any more heartbreaks to come, it might just give out.

How you've resisted a complete mental breakdown is beyond you, and frankly, you'd give yourself a pat on the back if you could. Although, that act might in itself be a sign of insanity.

"Not until we can be assured you're safe," Price insists. "And not until we can clear your name from the books. We have enemies, sweetheart, and those enemies were also your father's. They are not above punishing you for your father's sins."

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and it takes everything in you not to just burst into tears and pray. Pray that this is all some sick joke, some terrifying nightmare that you haven't woken from yet.

But you know it's a baseless hope. You know that this is real.

You're in a military base, somewhere, surrounded by the country's most dangerous men. The most dangerous men on their side, at least.

"So I'm not getting charged for assault?" Your voice is entirely too small for the situation, not for someone who's still cuffed to a bed, going through grief in the most ruthless type of way.

The worst part is that you don't entirely miss your father. You miss the comfort of having a family member, that's true, but he wasn't a good parental figure, and his treatment of you could be classed as abuse to most people.

And from what these four are saying, he wasn't a good man either.

People didn't often talk about how separate the two things were. It was possible to be a great man, but the worst of fathers, and the opposite could be true, too.

Fate had dealt you a bad hand, in giving you one who was terrible on both sides of the coin.

"Technically," Price leans back into his chair, his voice littered with exhaustion, "We... should report it."

Your stomach drops.

Price's eyes meet yours, and somehow, he must see the turmoil battling inside of your head, because he lets out a deep breath, deflating just a bit.

"No. You're not getting charged for assault, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," you reply, too quick for your brain to catch up. The endearment is entirely too wrong, smarting on a chafing wound, a reminder of the mistakes you'd made, and the deception these men had pulled on you. "...Please."

You refuse to meet his eyes as he nods, slowly, as if in understanding.

"What did he do?" You don't mean to utter those words, to ask that question, but after you do, you can't find it in yourself to regret it. "What made him worthy of death?"

Price rubs a hand over his face, and for the first time, you register the lines of his face. Lines of a story having been told, proof of a life lived. It makes you want to learn, to find the origins of the small scars you can see, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"He broke many promises. Betrayed his team," Price states, and you can tell the millions of words he leaves out, the context better off left unsaid. "He did terrible things. Killed people who had made no faults."

Oh.

For some reason, it hadn't truly hit you, not before now, the truth behind his death. What hadn't you been told?

How hadn't you been made aware that he was -- he was part of the special forces. He was a dangerous man -- he was one of the men he'd warned you about. How blind had you been? For so long? Those business trips, when he'd come with bruises, brushing them off whenever you gained the courage to make attempts of caring, of forming a relationship with the man who raised you.

They weren't business trips. They were missions -- ones with impossibly high death rates.

And he just.

Hadn't said a word. Just continued to treat you like you were worthless, a nuisance, a pain in his ass. Something worth protecting, if only so your weight in gold wasn't minimised.

What were you to do, if he just. Didn't come home after a mission gone awry? If he died on the field. If you woke up one day without a single living family member left.

You only realise that tears have fallen down your cheeks when Price's thumb brushes them away, your nose scrunching with a sniffle.

Jerking back, as if electrocuted, it takes everything in you to glare at the man whose gentle hands had led you to this position in the first place. "Don't touch me."

He backs away. Doesn't argue.

It hurts your heart in a way you don't want to touch with a ten foot pole. Not right now. Not ever, maybe. Preferably.

You let out a deep, stabilising exhale, before weakly meeting Price's gaze. "Can I sleep? Feeling kinda shit after the drugs," you mumble.

Price's lips twist into a grim line, but he nods curtly. "'Course, kid. Call out if you need 'nything."

You just lay back, turning on your side, facing the white wall as the lights turn off, leaving pitch black in its wake. Your wrist smarts where the handcuff has left a red mark, your free hand rubbing at the small patch of visible skin.

If you were more aware, more... ready for the conversations you needed to have, you would've demanded all four of them speak to you right this moment.

But your head is heavy, and thoughts are few and far between.

Grief and confusion cement in your brain like a thick fog, your emotions like cars without lights in the thick mist.

No directions, no ability to brake before crashing into one another.

You're an absolute mess, and you have no one to blame but you and your sick curiosity, your reckless decision making.

But, you realise, this was a long time coming.

Because there's one thing Price -- nor the other three men -- don't know.

Your father wasn't the only one who held secrets.

And it was you who held the key to this force's undoing.

a/n. lol so like. who's ready for some enemies to lovers? sorry to everyone who wanted immediate hurt/comfort!! for some reason plot lines and depth hit me and i was like. i need to do it justice. so here we are!!!

thank you all SOSOSO much for the reception of the first part. it genuinely means a lot to have people excited about my stories??? like omg youre all SO kind. comments and reblogs make my absolute week!! mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. @captainjamster @alfa-jor @simp4miguell @yaboibauldano @dreamaboutpinkk @guyser @lovewithasideoflust @redz0mbie @ghost-is-my-bbg @astro-ghoul99 @the-faceless-bride @casterousaudrey @cutiecusp @kit-williams @lilpothoscuttings @florabelll

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | When You Call My Name

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Decades after the events of 1973, Logan finds himself drowning yet again at the bottom of the Potomac River. Luckily, you're there to help pull him out of his nightmare.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: depictions of drowning, mentions of death, discussion of nightmares, Logan's claws make an appearance, mentions of religious trauma and biblical imagery, mentions of abuse (it's on sight when I see you, William Stryker), mentions of self-deprecating thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, not really a warning but set after the events of Days of Future Past, loosely based on "Like a Prayer" by Madonna, Logan's POV, gender-neutral reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Author’s Note: So this one got away from me and my own religious trauma may have taken over a tad bit — sorry in advance (If you find comfort and solace in religion, more power to you. This is simply written from my own perspective and lived experience.) This came to me while listening to "Like a Prayer" by Madonna for the thousandth time since seeing Deadpool and Wolverine. Intended this to be shorter, but then I got possessed by some fanfic phantom and this was created. Super proud of the finished product though — hope you all enjoy.

As Logan’s eyes shoot open, he’s only got one thought running through his mind: his lungs are on fire. He attempts to move but is met with a sudden searing white pain shooting through his veins. His eyes, still adjusting to the eerie darkness surrounding him, search for the source of his injury. Panic rises in Logan’s chest as his gaze follows the metallic glint of rebar weaving through his body. He attempts to draw in a shaky breath, and his chest burns as water fills his lungs. 

No. 

It can’t be.

He’s drowning at the bottom of the Potomac River.

Logan wants to scream out of frustration, but it’s impossible. He has no more air left in his lungs, and he has no hope of reaching the surface to take a much-needed deep breath. Even if he could endure the agony caused by his body’s movements, the weight of the rebar Erik impaled him with is pinning him to the riverbed. He’s going to die here. 

Cold. Alone. Suffering.

And yet, a sudden tranquility washes over his body and mind as he realizes that maybe he can finally rest in peace. He knows he placed his trust in the right people — somehow, Charles and Hank will find a way to stop Erik, and finally, the world will see that not all mutants need to be feared. He did his part — he brought everyone back together against all odds.

Logan knew the risks before Kitty sent him back in time, but there was no other choice. Because he also knew what the future would hold if he did nothing — he’d watch the sentinels eviscerate the last of his friends until he was the only one left. And that’s not a future he can live with. But what he can live with is no one remembering his life before 1973 as long as they’re safe — as long as you’re safe.

His body relaxes at the thought. He may not have a future with you in this new timeline, but knowing you’ll have the life you’ve always dreamed of puts Logan’s mind at ease. You’ll finally be able to live a peaceful life teaching at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters instead of being forced to play the part of a loyal soldier. Although Logan is deeply saddened by the fact he won’t be a part of this new life, he has more than enough memories of you from his timeline to keep him content in the afterlife.

Logan’s eyes flutter closed as he begins to feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. His regenerative abilities may be able to keep the rebar from killing him, but it cannot save him from asphyxiation. But before he can completely drift off, something grabs his body, pulling him towards the surface. Once free from the river’s grasp, he begins coughing up water. His body desperately gasps for air, and it feels like his lungs cannot get enough oxygen. 

Logan finds the strength to open his eyes and takes in his surroundings. It’s bright — too bright. He blinks several times to adjust his vision to this sudden change. His attention gets drawn to the sound of several men talking in hushed voices. And as he looks up at his rescuers, the panic in his chest starts growing like a wildfire through his body. Logan might have let out a dry laugh at the sight if he wasn't in excruciating pain. Because instead of being met with any type of salvation, Logan seems to have been cursed with eternal damnation, no matter the timeline,  in the form of William Stryker. Some things never change.

He’s younger than when Logan met him in his timeline, but as Stryker smiles down at him, Logan knows this is the same man — the same sick, twisted man he knows all too well. Panic turns into terror as he realizes what he’s about to endure. Agonizing years of torture and torment that he’ll be burdened to forget. He can’t do this again. Not after knowing a life full of not only hardship and loss but also friendship, laughter, and love. He can’t let Stryker take that from him — all those years of happiness. He can’t let him take you.

Stryker opens his mouth to speak, but instead of his condescending tone, Logan hears your voice call his name. Logan’s brow furrows at the sound. Maybe his extended lack of oxygen caused some sort of brain damage. But then he hears it again — a voice he’d recognize in any timeline. Your voice.

And suddenly, it hits him. This isn’t happening. There’s no river, no pain, no Stryker. This is a memory — a nightmare. 

His eyes snap open, and his body jolts forward until he’s sitting up. He coughs hoarsely, as if his body is still trying to expel imaginary water, as he attempts to catch his breath. A layer of sweat has formed over his toned body, and his muscles flex as he rolls his shoulders back. He shakes his head roughly, trying to get a grip on reality.

And then you say his name again. 

His head snaps up, and he looks at you with wild eyes. You’re standing across the room — arms wrapped around yourself tightly as you watch him worriedly. You take a hesitant step toward him. Logan’s brow furrows at your unsureness, concerned about what he might have done in his sleep. But then he follows your gaze to his extended metal claws, and your hesitancy becomes understandable. This isn’t the first time Logan’s claws have come out in the middle of the night. His eyes nervously scan over your body for any injuries he may have inflicted as he retracts his claws. 

“Did I hurt you?”

You immediately cross the room as he speaks. Logan watches as you climb onto the bed and sit crisscross before him between his legs. You gently take both of his hands in yours and pull them onto your lap — the hesitancy long gone in your actions. 

“No, Logan. I’m okay.”

He lets out a relieved sigh as he leans forward until his forehead meets yours. He takes a moment to simply relish in the warmth of your touch. Logan relaxes his tense shoulders and melts further into you as you draw lazy circles into the palm of his hand. 

“Where’d you go?”

You pull away slightly to meet his eyes, and his breath hitches. Regardless of how many lifetimes he spends by your side, he’ll never get used to the fondness in your gaze as you look up at him. He remembers waking up in this timeline, thinking he actually did drown at the bottom of the Potomac River. Because this had to be heaven: having you tucked neatly into his chest, legs tangled up with his, steady breaths fanning across his neck. But as he felt you stir in your sleep, arms tightening slightly around his waist, he realized that this was real. He’d come to terms with his own death because at least his two hundred years spent suffering on this earth would mean something. But then he woke up from that nightmare, and he’s spent every day since then wondering when he’d inevitably be pulled out of this dream — waiting for history to repeat itself yet again. But he’s still here — and so are you.

“D.C., 1973.” 

You hum quietly before bringing his hand up to your mouth and placing a tender kiss to his palm. Logan waits for you to ask another question about his nightmare, but you silently return to tracing circles into the palm you just kissed. He shouldn’t be surprised; you know him better than anyone by now — better than he knows himself. You know not to push him. And he appreciates it more than you’ll ever know. After years of having his autonomy stripped away, you wait for him to come to you — allow him to open up at his own pace. Soothe him whenever he feels that he is sliding backward instead of moving forward. Healing isn’t linear. This has become your mantra for him on the nights when he’s sure that he’s slipping back into the past — when he longs for the familiarity of his vices and self-destructive tendencies. And you sit next to him with relentless patience through the highs and lows as he continues to navigate and grieve the fifty years he lost.

He’s come a long way since he first woke up. And he still has a ways to go before he can say that he’s processed everything he’s lost. Truth be told, he’s not sure he’ll ever truly heal entirely from his past. But you tell Logan that it doesn’t matter. Every time he begins to think that he’s too damaged — too broken — you reassure him that you love him as is. But he still tries to piece himself back together, for your sake. Tries to open up — to show you that he trusts you more than anyone he’s known during his two hundred years across two separate timelines. And so he continues, letting you into the depths of his tortured mind.

“I was drowning. Again. And it all felt so real. I couldn’t breathe, and I was sure I was slipping into the darkness, but then Stryker was there…”

As Logan trails off, he notices how your body tenses at the mention of Stryker’s name. Your hands tighten ever so slightly around his, and Logan lovingly sweeps his thumb over your knuckles. He knows that name holds as much weight to you as it does to him. He knows about the years of abuse you endured at the hands of William Stryker. He vividly remembers when you confided in him. After months of running into each other in the middle of the night, Logan found you silently crying with your back pressed against the railing of your favorite balcony in the mansion. Without a second thought, he slid down next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He didn’t know you — not like he does now. You’d recounted how you first met on Three Mile Island when Scott and Jean brought him to the mansion. And he was thankful for the small piece of his past that you gave back to him. But under the dim light of the night sky, you revealed precisely what you endured during your years of captivity at Stryker’s facility. And that night, Logan made it his life’s mission to get revenge against the man. Not for his sake. No — for you. He would tear Stryker apart limb from limb for what he had done to you. 

“You aren’t there. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Although the words are directed towards him, he knows you’re equally trying to convince yourself of that fact. He knows that even though William Stryker is long dead — after Logan made good on his promise to you — he still haunts you. Unlike Logan, your trauma does manifest in the form of nightmares but insomnia. He thinks maybe this is why the two of you work. After years of feeling alone in this world, Logan finally found someone who understands him and what he’s been through. Although your torment isn’t identical, the similarity in your stories bonded the two of you together. You help him piece together the shared fragments of your past as you heal alongside him. 

“I know, you pulled me out.”

Your brow furrows at his confession. He lets go of your hands and gently holds your face. Your face flushes as he openly admires you. The faint light of the single side table lamp that Logan had left on softens your features, making you look damn near angelic. Logan isn’t a religious man, but his mother was. He was a sickly child before his mutation restored his body. His mother would often sit by his bedside with a bible in hand. And on the nights when he wasn’t delirious from his fever, he would listen to his mother read to him. One verse always stood out to him: “God is faithful, and He will not let you be tested beyond your strength but with your testing He will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” She meant for the words to comfort him, but the words only angered him. 

He remembers finding himself down on his knees multiple times during his years as Stryker’s mindless, faithful soldier. Praying to that same God that his mother once trusted to save her baby boy from the illness slowly degrading his frail body. He begged Him for salvation — to be given the way out that was promised in the bible verse his mother once recited. But instead of an answer, Logan was met with silence. So if the years of physical and psychological abuse he endured were nothing but a test from the Lord above to prove his faithfulness, then that’s no God worth following. 

“I heard you call my name, and it brought me back home.”

God never did anything for him. He didn’t bother protecting the innocence of a broken, misguided child. He refused to provide respite from the harshness of humanity. He never offered him any form of help or guidance during his times of greatest need — but you did. Without even knowing, you came into his life like an answered prayer.

Seemingly at a loss for words due to the intensity of his gaze, you grab onto the front of Logan’s t-shirt and pull him into a tight embrace. Your hands slide under the white fabric and slide across the contours of his back. He melts into your touch — finding relief in the direct contact of your skin on his. He’s never considered himself desirable, but you hold him like he’s something to be coveted. And then you murmur his name again. It’s barely a whisper, but the sound rings in his ears because your voice is heaven-sent.

“You’re a goddamn saint, you know that?”

A melodic laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head at his words. You pull away from him slightly and tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“I’m nothing special, Logan.”

You don’t mean it in a self-deprecating way. Logan knows that — knows that you simply see yourself as ordinary. But you couldn’t be more wrong. Because you might not actually be a saint or an angel, but you are the only person in two hundred years who’s managed to restore his faith in what this world has to offer. 

“Well. You’re special to me, sweetheart.”