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archieimagines · 1 year

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touching din | din djarin

Summary: The three times that Din bends his own rules and engages in physical touch.

his primary love languages are acts of service and physical touch. i will die on this hill. i started this one just to indulge in the thoughts of touching his lovely face. it’s been in the works for a while and although i know it’s far from perfect, i’m glad that it finally gets to see the light of day! warnings: bad language, potential incoherence? idk i’m very tired but i hope you like it tags: plenty of fluff, plenty of indulgent, sfw touching, and then a good handful of angst. rollercoaster central. this takes place over a period of time, so part of it comes after finding out grogu’s name, which is why he’s referred to as many things! word count: 4650 written by: archie support me on ko-fi!

The travelling between planets would’ve been excruciating if not for your life partner and your adoptive child. The three of you made rather an unorthodox family. A runaway from Corellia, a Mandalorian and a… a sweet ball of green. An unorthodox family, indeed, but loving.

The Child chirped and bubbled away on your lap, apparently having a conversation with you while you sat in the pilot seat. You listened attentively, made agreeing noises at all the right moments, the lights of hyperspace travel filling the cabin with slow flashes. He really was so cute. You’d tell him it often, and you’d tell him that Din thought so too, even if he’d never say it. That much was obvious.

It was in the way he carried him, the way he protected him. The occasional pat to his head, or the quiet rub to his long ears as he slept. He wasn’t the type to openly say it, but it was clear, and that was what counted.

The Child reached out to the knob atop the gearstick, fingers wiggling.

“Baby, no. We have to always ask Din about the ship, hm?” You bounced him gently on your knee in an effort to ease the sad coos- but there was no need. A gloved hand reached around you, exposed fingertips closing on the ball. It was unscrewed and placed into the waiting green hands, content whirs and chatters soon filling the air.

The warmth in your chest grew into a smile as you dropped your head back, peering up at the helmeted man that stood just out of sight. “That’s a yes, then?”

A nod. “That’s a yes.”

“I didn’t hear you come up.”

He nudged his head to the Child, voice soft, “You were having an important conversation.”

And then he did what you loved.

He reached a slow hand out and stroked it over the top of your head, coming to a gentle hold at the nape of your neck, and leaned in. Your eyes fell closed as the cool beskar met between your brows, and you didn’t need to see him to know his eyes were closed too.

A beskar kiss.

You heard a soft sigh through his voice modulator. This was the way his people would show love. He made no move to break away, even from the awkward angle at which he leant. He savoured the moment, breathed with you, his thumb running back and forth over your skin. You weren’t sure if he could feel the goosebumps that his touch rose every time, his fingertips slipping into the lower roots of your hair.

He loved to touch you, you could tell. It wasn’t easy, and these moments were few and far between with his action-packed lifestyle, but the tenderness of these touches clearly meant so much to him. To you.

Without disturbing the occupied bundle on your lap, you reached for Din’s other hand. It hung by his side until you took it in your own, slowly raising it to place your kiss on the knuckles of his fingers. You kept it there a while, backs of his fingers to your lips, his helmet pressed to your forehead. The warmth of those digits filled a void left by the cold beskar. The warmth of human touch.

Long moments slipped by as you absorbed it until you became self-conscious. He hadn’t pulled away, but you weren’t even sure how he’d felt about it with his covered expression, so you let out a resigned sigh and lowered his hand.

But he surprised you.

His fingers opened up instead, laying delicately on the side of your jaw, his similar hold on the back of your neck still in place.

His thumb reached out to meet the corner of your lips, before tentatively, almost shyly, brushing over the centre of them.

He wanted more.

You were only too happy to oblige, lips raising into a delicate peak, placing a tender kiss to the pad of his thumb. Soon, he shifted, placing his index finger there instead. Then his middle. Each of his fingers tapped to your lips, and you made sure to place your affection on the tip of each one, giving in to the urge to smile.

He loved this.

You heard the tinned sound of a sigh before his fingers slipped away once again, soon followed by his reluctant leaning away.

He stood tall above where you sat, visor staying fixed on you. He was just looking. Just peaceful. You shone an easy smile, somehow both cosy and breathless from the moment.

His helmet turned towards the green being on your lap.

He blinked up at Din, and soon, a confused coo filled the cabin.

Din shrugged one shoulder. “You’ll get it when you’re older.” And with that, he settled back into the passenger seat, arms crossing over his chest. “Rest up,” he called, presumably to the pair of you. “We’ll touch down for fuel in six hours.”

Din’s bunk was the epitome of comfort. Cramped, yes. Warm, yes. Especially with two bodies. It’d easily become stuffy in there with the panel sealed while the pair of you shared his thin mattress, and you’d always wondered how he managed to keep his helmet on even in that environment. Or perhaps… He couldn’t feel the stuffiness because of the beskar. Or maybe… He was just always stuffy in there, used to closed air.

Your eyes raised from where you’d had them closed, cheek pressed to the chest of his flight suit to mimic sleep. Early mornings after a long, well-deserved sleep often came like this, and there was something so soul-healing about laying there to absorb his calm, peaceful presence before getting up for what would likely be another day of action.

Watching his visor for long moments, working out if he was still sleeping or looking back at you- it had become somewhat of a hobby. Sometimes, you had convinced yourself, if you looked hard enough, you could see the slightest shape beneath the vision slot of his helmet.

You weren’t sure if they were really there. But, in the dim light of the bunk, you could swear the bridge of his nose casted a shadow that caused a darker shadow inside the mask. His lashes were dark and long, and they fluttered slowly as his eyes closed in steady blinks, looking back at you with such leisure.

But then… Had you made that up?

You squinted, straining your eyes until you were sure— yes, you’d made it up. He was still sleeping.

But it didn’t hurt to imagine he had long lashes and a strong nose, perhaps even a strong brow to match. It didn’t hurt to imagine you could see the faintest outlines of the man you love.

Sated, you turned your cheek back to his chest, eyes falling closed to mimic his slumber. Or at least—

“Morning.”

— What you thought was slumber.

His voice was groggy in the modulator; that intimate morning voice. Deeper, softer than usual.

It brought a smile to your lips. “Morning, my love. You were awake?”

“I have been for a while.” His arm tightened snug around your body in his hold, half atop his. “I like to watch you wake up.”

A soft laugh. “Not creepy, hm?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Silence lapsed with his low tone. All was quiet. Not the whirring of the ship, not the sounds of the forest he’d landed the Crest in the clearing of. Only the delicate air of his breathing inside his mask, catching in the voice modulator so quietly that ordinarily, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

The thought stirred a deep intimacy in your chest. No one else would get to hear this. No one else would get to lay with him like this, press against his armour-free body like this. You splayed a hand over the cloth of his chest, toes wiggling from an uncontainable contentment with how your leg rested over his. Not an ounce of beskar between the two of you.

But yet…

Gentle fingertips trailed upwards, over his upper chest, swirling delicate patterns in the creases of his fabric. Your eyes remained closed, focusing everything on him, the warmth that met your touch when you worked past the collar of the flight suit, meeting the skin of his neck.

It wasn’t the first time you’d touched him so. Of course, after this long together, you’d been intimate many a time-- You were both human, after all... But the helmet had always stayed on.

Your fingertips splayed over his throat, and it vibrated with his low hum.

It was no secret by now. He loved to be touched.

You could just imagine him there beneath the visor, eyes closed, brow relaxed. His face caught in a long moment of calm where it was often riddled with worry, or effort from the fighting. Bringing him such serenity like this was the least you could do for him, showing him that he’s loved. So, so loved.

Slowly, your touch crept just a little further up, seeking his jaw. But as your knuckles knocked the edge of his helmet, a gentle hand closed around your wrist in warning. He didn’t need to speak.

Your voice was the softest murmur. “I won’t take it off. Can I just- Feel you?”

He didn’t move, not for a while. You raised your eyes, peering up at him from where you were nestled in his chest, as if you could possibly read his facial expressions.

His hold eased, thumb lazily rubbing over your veins before letting go, and you found a buzz of warmth in your chest. He trusted you with his most precious boundary. Silently, you vowed to always protect that trust.

Delicate fingers worked upwards, feeling for hair from his chin. But, a soft gasp- There was no beard. The gentle prickle of cropped hairs caught your fingerprints as they swiped along his jaw, and you marvelled at it.

“You shave?” The words came out with a soft, amused breath of disbelief, eyes rounded in surprise. For some reason, it’d always made sense that he’d be bearded, long-haired. He had no reason to shave, knowing that no one would ever see, but now that you knew, it clicked.

Of course he’d shave. Din was a particularly thorough person, he was always driving himself forward to do a perfect job of his work: of course he’d take care of himself too.

“If it grows too long, it’s uncomfortable. Catches in the modulator.”

“Ah,” you hummed, brushing along the ridge of his jaw in the confined space. There was something about feeling his jaw move as he spoke, verifying that he really was human, really did have goings-on behind the mask that shielded him from the world. There wasn’t much room in there to move freely, only your fingers able to reach his face, but it was comfortable. You could feel the soft sway of his breath on your touch. “What colour is it?”

“Black. Brown, black.”

You hummed, eyes fixed on his visor lazily, though you weren’t really looking at him. You were visualising as you studied the contours of his lower face, mapping him out as best as you could in your mind, nails brushing through the stubble on his cheek. They trailed towards the corner of his lips, where you noticed the strands got longer. A moustache?

The smile that lifted your face was automatic, beaming at the realisation. You followed the direction of it, above his upper lip, soon finding a little sparse patch on his philtrum. Your eyes drifted closed, imagining the way it might feel to kiss him now that you knew this; how his facial hair would scratch your upper lip, your chin. Perhaps it would be almost sore on your skin if you kissed him long enough, hot enough--

His lips raised to press a real kiss to the centre of your fingers. Slow, shy, even a little clumsy.

A rich gasp pulled from your throat. It was electric to feel his lips on your skin, pressing the affection directly onto you, after these long years of going without.

You let your fingertips lower, finally feeling the shape of his lips, that subtle cupid’s bow as it raised into yet another peck, slow and tender against your touch. Your brows drew together, fighting the emotion that welled up in you, trying to make you cry. You weren’t all too sure why-- this was just- so much. It was so much, to feel him like this, to receive his first kisses like this. Something you’d never even imagined you could have.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured against your fingertips, tone almost a caress. His own fingers raised to brush at the corner of your eye. One must’ve slipped out.

You didn’t even know he was looking at you. Your lashes fluttered open, gaze meeting where you imagined his eyes would be. “I can’t help it,” you whispered. “You’re perfect.”

He’d lied to you. He’d massively, irrevocably, intentionally lied to you.

Your jaw ached from your grit teeth as you fought back angry fires in your heart, determined not to cry until you’d pulled your family safely off this forsaken, evil planet.

Din had been tasked with a mission of political undertones involving the spice market. He was masking as a bounty hunter to get information, so this time, the importance was in keeping the right people alive.

Of course, it didn’t work, and those people were now trying to kill you.

Your fingers trembled as you fought against the clock and the jolts of blasters firing at the ship to strap Grogu into his passenger seat. Your eyes were bleary, but you had to focus, secure him in safely. You wouldn’t take anyone’s safety for granted after this stupid stunt.

“Get her in the sky!” Din shouted up through the hatch, pushing his voice so loudly against the fighting and blasters below that it almost outgrew the modulator, his real voice peeking through.

Grogu’s sweet eyes peered up at you, giving a questioning gurgle. The poor thing had no idea what was going on, was probably terrified by it all, and even your demeanour on top of it, but you didn’t have time to explain.

“We need to go!”

You buckled the baby in tightly and fought your emotions to ruffle a quick hand atop his head, hoping to soothe him even a small degree before falling into the pilot’s seat, specifically buckling yourself in, and jamming the engine on with jerky movements.

The Crest resisted you, far too old and rickety by now to be good for quick getaways with a cold engine, but with some slow drags, turbulence from knocking through trees and extra laser blasts from below, she was finally in the air.

You heard the distinctive sound of fighting downstairs, someone being kicked off the ramp at an easy 400 feet altitude, and then the mechanical sound of the ship being closed off again.

The ladder creaked with Din’s climbing, and you didn’t look back to him as he collapsed into the other passenger seat, not ready to talk to him yet. You were still seething, and wouldn’t engage with him until you’d pulled up safely out of the planet’s atmosphere.

Long moments of quiet dragged by. He knew you by now. He didn’t need to see more than the square set of your shoulders to know that he shouldn’t speak yet unless he wanted to upset you more. That, and you still didn’t look at him even as the minutes neared a full hour, focused on getting to the nearest hyperspace route.

He glanced to Grogu, who sat there blinking, clueless as he could be. He must’ve known something was going on, even if he didn’t know what exactly Din had done.

Din reached a gloved hand out, petting lightly on the green boy’s head. He still didn’t speak.

Eventually, your frustrated fires ebbed into a more containable state, you shifted the Crest into light speed, and unbuckled your belt with a heaved sigh. “Downstairs, Din.”

You stood, instructed Grogu not to touch a thing, headed down the hatch, and pointedly avoided looking at Din the whole time.

The body of the ship was chaos. Lazed burns in everything the three of you owned, strewn across the floor and torn from the struggle. Clearly, he’d really had to put up a fight.

It was his own fault.

Boot on metal as he stepped onto the floor beside you. You finally looked at him.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was exhausted. It was in the way he held himself, the way his arms just hung there by his sides, strong shoulders visibly slouched to the trained eye.

You reeled on him. “Why didn’t you let me in on it?”

Silence.

“Less of that, Din. Speak to me, I need to understand.”

There was a pause before his voice came. Firm, but gentle, as if pointedly trying to keep the peace. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then make me understand.” You pulled an upturned crate closer and planted yourself on it, trying to keep the buzz in your veins under control, but your tone was clipped nonetheless as you gestured to a crate nearby. “Go ahead, let’s hear it.”

He sighed and tugged the crate over, perched on the corner of it opposite you. His knees were parted and elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he thought through his facts. The best way to make you see that he’d done the right thing.

“I couldn’t tell you my true location because if you knew, your presence would have soiled the plan.”

“So you’re telling me I’m a hindrance.”

“No.”

“That’s certainly what it sounds like-”

“It needed full discretion to work. I’d told them-”

“I can keep fucking secrets, Din.”

“I know you can.”

“So you lied? Told me you were on the other side of town? How was I supposed to get to you if something went wrong?”

He sighed, his head dropping forwards in exasperation. “I told you to stay on the ship.”

“That’s not always possible. You know it’s not! Hunters still have fobs fixed onto Grogu, Din, there’s no escaping that!”

“I couldn’t have you interrupting or we’d all be dead. I’d told them I was alone- no, look at me.”

Your jaw was aching from how you grit your teeth as you forced yourself to look up at that visor, the weight of frustrated tears brimming at your waterline. You gave a small nod.

“Listen,” he started. “I’d told them I came alone. If you’d known my location, you would have interrupted.”

“To save your skin? Yeah, I would.”

“Exactly. We’d both be dead, and the hunters would take the kid.”

“You think I can take care of him without you? We don’t stand a chance without you around, Din.”

He paused. Quiet lapsed, and you had no idea what he was thinking. Sometimes, he really gave nothing away, and it was infuriating. He didn’t let you in. He would rarely open up to you about what was going on inside that beskar that hid everything from you. Everything.

Sometimes, you were sure you didn’t even know the man you were committed to. He held so much of the power in this setup. He knew everything about you, everything was done by his thinking, and yet he didn’t need to disclose much at all. He’d keep you in the dark about everything.

What he was feeling, what he was thinking… Hell, even when he smiled at you he kept it to himself. You’d grown to handle those, but this, actively lying to you. As if you couldn’t follow instructions. As if you couldn’t be trusted.

You sighed as the drops in your eyes welled up enough to fall over your cheeks. You pulled yourself off the crate and approached the ladder to the cabin, calling over your shoulder. “Go clean up or something,” you sniffled, “I need a minute away from you.”

The clang of footsteps behind you, a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey. Look at me.”

“I can’t, Din.”

“Why not?”

Such a simple question, such an impossible answer. You closed your eyes, struggling to pick out words that might illustrate what’s going on inside. The ache that sank your chest, that made your throat feel heavy with uncried frustrations. None of this was okay. Perhaps after you’d cooled down, you’d be able to see that mask as anything other than a barrier between you, that keeps him safe from your eyes. But for now, you couldn’t bare it. You scrambled to express it, but all you could let out was a strained “It hurts.”

Another moment of silence. Then, carefully, “What hurts?”

Clearly, he didn’t mean for his words to bring on the tidal wave of emotions and thoughts that you’d been keeping at bay.

“This, Din. All of this! Living in a ship, wondering if I’m gonna make it back in every time I step out of it, and not even being in on missions that risk your life! It’s like you’re cut off from me. Like we just live in the same space and I’m just there to entertain you. But it’s- it’s-!” You heaved a sigh, head buzzing with the force of the thoughts that were spilling out. They were so honest and raw from brewing for far too long. They must’ve been sharp as they came out, they must’ve hit him like a ton of bricks.

But of course, that damned beskar hid everything.

“It’s hard to be with a man who doesn’t trust me.”

For once, his voice rose. “I trust you more than anyone in the gal-!”

“You almost died because you didn’t trust me enough to let me in! You’d rather die than trust me!”

“That’s not how I-”

“That’s what your actions are telling me, Din. They always do. You never tell me what you’re thinking. I have to guess, but I can’t even read your fucking face. I live my life in question marks because you don’t even give me the option to-”

“You know I can’t show you my face.”

A deep breath left you, shaky and tired. So much pressure had alleviated in your head, like you’d finally emptied the contents of your mind onto a platter before him. And now that you could see it too, heard what you’d said, you felt almost ashamed for it.

Criticising the beskar was too far. That was his way of life, and had nothing to do with how he felt towards you. For sure, it was frustrating sometimes for you didn’t even know what your life partner looked like, but his culture was part of him. And you loved him.

“I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-- What are you doing?”

He reached by you to snatch some fabric from a nook, and he folded it into a long strip without so much as a word.

“I’m- I’m trying to apologise-”

“You don’t have to. How can you trust a man you can’t see, right? We’ve been together so long, and you still don’t know who I am.”

You were stunned beneath the guilt that crashed over you. He took your words in so deeply, and fed them back to you plainly. You could see how you must’ve hurt him, with sentiments like this.

Your eyes welled with tears again. Whatever had come over you had clearly wanted to hurt him, but that wasn’t you. Your thoughts were too chaotic to pinpoint, swarmed with hurt and pain that was only now built on by the fact that you’d treated him so terribly. You’d sworn to him long ago that you accepted his Mandalorian binds, loved them even, but you’d let them get in the way with one incident.

“Don’t cry,” he spoke, modulated voice gentle. “I’m- I’m understanding you.” A calloused thumb brushed along your outer lashes to pause any tears that wanted to fall. “Let me help.”

And there was darkness.

He tied his makeshift blindfold behind your head in a loose knot, keeping your eyes in darkness. “Din? What is this?”

He kept quiet, and you heard shifting, something being placed aside.

“Why do you never-”

You cut yourself off when his hands took your wrists and lifted them gently, until your palms splayed on his stubbled cheeks. He gave a long sigh, and you imagined he’d closed his eyes.

Your heart jolted. He was here before you, bare, no helmet. When he spoke, his voice rang out clear and pure, the true timbre of his voice without modulation.

“I said, I trust you more than anyone in the galaxy.” His face moved with his words beneath your touch. “I’d move planets for you.”

He left you breathless. You dove at the chance, fingers tracing over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. It stood high and strong, just like you’d always imagined.

“This… This isn’t risky? I didn’t mean to offen-”

“You didn’t offend me. I know it’s hard, I feel it too.” He guided your hands to his lips, and he placed gentle kisses to your fingers.

The lump in your throat welled up again, your nose stinging from the tears that you tried to hold back. The thought of him struggling with his culture simply because he wanted to be close to you. “You do?”

“You know how many times I wanted to take it off? This seems… This is the best way. I’m not breaking any rules.”

You gave a watery, sniffly laugh. “This is the way?”

A hum of humour. “This is the way.”

You let your touch wander over his face, mapping it as well as you could. The curve of his eyelids, the strength of his browbone. He breathed softly, and you could feel the air on your palms as it pushed through.

You wove your fingertips into his hairline, pushing his locks back and bunching them up in your grasp behind his head. It was surprisingly long with unruly waves, and so, so soft.

He leaned in with a sigh until his forehead met yours, hands falling to their home on your waist.

And before you knew it, his lips were on yours. His warm, sweet lips fit perfectly against yours, and your head spun. It was so much, feeling him so close after nearly losing him, arguing with him, and your first kiss in the long years of being his. The first actual kiss.

He was unsure and clumsy in his affection, a little hesitant.

Clearly, this was his first one ever.

You let a hand trail to his jaw, guiding with a gentle touch. He soon settled in, became more confident in his kiss, even if it was still clumsy.

And it was perfect. The determined nibbles to your lips, the soft scratch of his moustache on your upper lip, the way he tugged you closer even as you were pressed against the ladder.

When it finally slowed to a stop, he murmured softly, so much closer than he’d ever been. The sound reached deep inside your mind to soothe your soul and make you crave more of his kiss. “I won’t ever treat you like that again. I’ll give you full disclosure of my missions, every single one. Alright?”

“Alright,” you agreed, breathless and flustered, “On one condition.”

“Hm?” He was clearly lost in this touch, so starved for so long, and it showed in his voice. He was utterly entranced with this new feeling, someone else’s fingers on his skin, words the last thing on his mind.

“We do this more often.”

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, nose nudging on the tip of yours. “Deal.”

#mandalorian imagine #mandalorian x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #mando imagine #mando x reader #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian #grogu #the child #star wars imagine #star wars #pedro pascal #written by archie

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thebearer · 10 months

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i looooove the way you wrote carmys casual dominance over the reader in the feeling. could you write something else that has that same vibe? like him being protective/ dominant over her while they’re around the rest of the crew?

ahhh thank you so much!!! the casual dominance was a must for me with carmy it just makes me weak in the knees lol.

"Why don't you let me help you?" You hummed, leaning over Carmen's shoulder, watching as he expertly cut the onions. "I can handle spaghetti sauce."

Carmen scoffed lightly, looking up at you under heavy brows, still chopping furiously- much faster than anything you could. "I got it." He nodded.

Your face fell slightly, stepping back to stand beside him. Carmen invited you to family every night before the restaurant opened, it was sometimes the only time you'd see him until that night when he'd collapse into bed next to you. It was the busy season, summer and tourist time, meaning everyone wanted to come to the infamous restaurant.

Carmen's chest flooded with a pang of guilt at your small frown. Fuck, maybe he'd been too mean. "'m sorry, baby. Here, I have prep to do. Can you put this in the pan for me? Start it."

The tiny smile that curled on your lips made Carmen's heart skip in his chest. "Yes, Chef." You hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, snagging the diced onions and sliding them into the pan.

You'd seen Carmen make it enough to know how to make this recipe. Canned tomato sauce, oregano, onions- you measured them, adding it all easily.

"Woah-ho-ho, look who we got here." Richie cackled, turning the corner, ignoring Sydney's screams to announce it. "We got a new chef on the roster?"

You rolled your eyes, snagging the can opener and pressing the handles together. "Yeah, I'm your replacement, Richie."

Richie's face fell slightly. He knew you were joking but a part of him worried. "Cousin, what's this, huh?"

"She's just helping, alright? Get outta the way." Carmen nodded, slicing the beef easily. His eyes watched you, flicking from his task back to you.

"Hey," Carmen called, a firm snap of the tongue that had you turning to him. "Put the hair back, baby. No one wants a hair in their food."

"Yeah, c'mon." Richie added, snickering as you snagged the hair tie off your wrist. "Gonna replace me and she don't even know how to cook right-"

"Hey, easy, cousin." Carmen's eyes were hard, glaring at Richie, the whirr of his knife sliding across the cutting board adding a dangerous edge.

Richie held his hands up in mock defense. "My apologies, your fucking majesties." He scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, moving onto the next step on the card, pouring the cans of sauce in easily and stirring, giving the side of the pan a firm tap with the spoon to get the excess off. Reaching for the knob to turn the heat up, Carmen's hands were on your waist before you could.

"Here, baby," Carmen rasped, pulling you back slightly. "Gotta loose shirt on, so you gotta stay back, alright? Tuck it in or something for me. I don't want it catchin' on fire." He muttered, hand sliding over the hem of your shirt, pressing it gently against you.

"Actually, go find an apron, ok? I'l get this started. I don't want you gettin' anything on ya." Carmen nodded towards the back.

"Yes, Chef." You saluted him playfully, passing the spoon to him.

Carmen watched you walk towards his office, stirring the ingredients before turning on the stove. He let the flame on a low flicker, reaching in his pocket for his own cigarettes, fishing one out and lighting it under the pilot light.

"Chef," Carmen called, catching Sydney as she turned the corner. "You got it?"

"I got it." Sydney nodded.

"Great, I'll be in my office." Carmen walked off, finding you in his office, lazily looking through the papers on his desk.

"Anything good?" He asked, leaning against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"What is spicy Moroccan carrot salad?" You tilted your head, reading Carmen's sloppy handwriting scribbled on the notecard.

"A side Sydney thinks would go good with the flounder we're getting in." Carmen hummed, blowing the smoke out the door before shutting it behind him.

He sunk down in his chair, patting his lap for you to sit with him. "Thanks f' helpin' me with family tonight." Carmen muttered, arms around your waist, bumming the cigarette in the tray. "Shouldn't be too long tonight."

You hummed, leaning back into his chest, head lulling back so you could look at him. "Not too long like I should wait up for you or...?"

Carmen snorted lightly. "I'll be home before midnight. Sydney and Marcus are closing tonight." He sighed, pressing a tiny kiss on your shoulder.

"Good," You grinned, turning so you were straddling him, your core rocking over his, covered by the aprons.

#thebearer #carmen berzatto blurb #thebearerblurbs #the bear #carmy the bear #carmy smut #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x you #the bear season 2 #the bear hulu #bear

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mitchellpete · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 12 - Voyeurism

pairing: tom “iceman” kazansky x f!reader (x pete “maverick” mitchell)

cw: penetrative sex, voyeurism, could count as cucking?, brief icemav implications but if you squint you can ignore it

word count: 1386

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

Maverick immediately knows what’s going on the moment he steps through the door, the noises loud and clear. His brows immediately knit together in confusion, in surprise, at the absurdity of the situation. The front door to your house had been unlocked, for starters, and you’re somewhere inside, and he can hear you moaning and what sounds like shit being knocked around.

A scowl meets Maverick’s knitted brows as he shuts the door and immediately makes his way down the hallway.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing; he’s certainly not gonna barge in and ruin your fun but Christ, is there any indication on who you’re with right now? He needs to know. And maybe he suddenly regrets everything you promised one another—that you wouldn’t catch feelings, that this fling wouldn’t last past his time at Top Gun—but maybe he actually did like you, and you just ruined it all the moment his hand turned the knob to your door.

Maverick gets closer to the noises, a mixture of panic and intrigue seeping through him when he realizes the door is cracked open. Just enough that when he reaches the frame, he sees you.

You’re laying on your side, a big body behind you, long strong legs and a sharp snap of hips meeting yours. An arm around your torso. A hand propping your leg up for easier thrusts, a blue Academy ring tauntingly sparkling at him.

And then his eyes catch the head of spiky blonde.

For fuck’s sake.

For a moment, Maverick is almost blinded with anger. His heart stoops down to his feet and all he can think of is betrayal. How sick you are for doing this to him.

You’d been fucking each other for weeks. Had made a comfortable situation out of it, and came to terms with the fact that it probably wouldn't last. But Maverick was sort of on top of the world right now, getting to fly with his best friend, competing for the Top Gun trophy, being the best possible pilot he could be up there. Taking his chance to prove himself once and for all. And Maverick is always all or nothing, and if he knew that this would backfire on him, then he’d shoved it to the deepest corner in the back of his mind and chose to go through with it anyway just for the fun of it. And now he’s paying the price, and the promises he made you don’t mean anything anymore. How could you? Yeah, yeah, you’re not together, you’re not in love, you’re certainly not chained to one another, but why?

Iceman of all people.

That’s gotta be a personal fucking vendetta you’ve got against him.

God, and he really did like you..? By the way..? No matter how many times he told himself he didn’t..? Fuck that. He does. He did. He decided the moment he stepped inside your house. And now all of it is fucking soiled.

He considers running out, slamming the front door for effect and mounting his Kawasaki and taking a long drive out of here. Giving you the silent treatment the next time he sees you. Maybe finally punching Iceman in the fucking face the second he hears that irritating voice sound out his name in the locker room, just before going on a tangent about aircraft safety and some other bullshit Maverick never pays attention to.

But he does not move.

And he realizes a little too late how entranced he is at the sight in front of him.

Maverick’s eyes roam, but they settle right at the junction between your legs. His lips part at the sight of Ice’s cock ramming into you. You’re so wet, he can see it pooling with every slippery thrust. The sound of skin on skin brings a heat to Maverick’s cheeks, his own cock twitching in his pants.

Your moans are loud and repetitive, cries of pleasure he’s heard many times before.

Iceman’s pace is relentless, quick and hard and perfect. Even in the shadows, Maverick is slightly intimidated.

Maverick doesn’t avert his eyes, lets out a stifled groan at the feel of his hardening cock in his tight jeans. It all worsens when he hears Ice moan, the sound prettier than he’d like to admit. It stirs the desire in him, flushes his entire body in heat. What he would do to be in Ice’s position right now, fucking into you like his life depended on it, sliding in and out of that tight, wet heat over and over. He knows how good you look; he can imagine how good Ice feels fucking into you like this.

As if on cue, “You like to watch, Mitchell?” that familiar voice sneers at Maverick from behind you.

Maverick flinches, unintentionally takes a step back, but it’s no use. Ice is hovering over the side of your body, angling his hips to find a better spot. He’s got a shit eating smile on his face, staring right at Maverick, and it’s then that Maverick realizes.

It wasn’t you. None of this was you. Did… did Iceman know? Did he leave the door open for Maverick to find? He fucking would. And Maverick would get angry again if he wasn’t so turned on out of his mind.

You continue moaning, in a hazy state of bliss, but your eyes flick over to the doorframe at the sound of Ice’s voice. Maverick stands there, watching with a fiery gaze.

“M—Maverick,” you cry out, an arm absentmindedly reaching out in his direction. Your brows furrowed together, you hope he realizes you’re inviting him in; that just the sight of him almost has you keeling over and letting go. You want him in the room, but he doesn’t budge, remains in the shadows of the hallway, so you moan out again, “Please.”

Ice chuckles behind you, giddy. You’re amazed at how composed he is, how his thrusts haven’t even begun to falter. You’re so close to your orgasm, but he seems to be doing fine still.

“P–Pete,” you gasp a third time, and then Ice hits a very sensitive spot inside you. “Oh, fuck, Ice!”

The heat of Ice’s body pressed to yours, his tight grip on your torso and the force of his thrusts are dizzying enough, but it’s even beyond that when the door creaks a little wider. Maverick hesitantly steps inside, though his eyes remain glued to you. Leaning against the wall right next to the door, he watches as Ice’s hand clasps around your breast, roughly kneading at it.

“Knew you liked to watch,” Ice remarks, but he’s not looking at Maverick anymore. His eyelids are lidded in pleasure, lips parted as he nears his own orgasm.

Maverick’s stomach flips at Ice’s words, but he doesn’t respond. He focuses on you and how high pitched your moans sound, knows very well that that’s an indication that you’re cumming soon.

“Ice,” you sob, your hand reaching for his and then clawing at the skin of it. “I’m gonna cum.”

Ice leans in to press his mouth to your ear, teeth lightly grazing the skin of it. “Cum for me, baby,” he rasps quietly.

Mouthing at your neck, Ice’s eyes flick over to Maverick again, whose gaze has gotten wider. His entire face is painted crimson, eyes roaming at the sight in front of him, wanting every detail of your incoming release. Are you gonna cum for Ice the way you do for him? Let out that gorgeous sounding moan, long and lengthy when you start to shake?

You do.

Maverick bites his lip at the sight and sound, has to palm at his cock through his jeans to ease the ache a bit.

He watches intently as it takes Ice too, his thrusts finally sloppy, his body going slack next to yours. Ice groans out loud against your skin, his grip around your body loosening.

The sensation breaks your haze, and you throw your head back against the mattress as it sinks in. Finally making eye contact with Maverick and his flushed face, you bite back a smile as you try to figure out how you’re gonna explain the situation to him. Maverick is wondering what he’s gonna do about his fucking hard on. Ice is just sliding out of you with a laugh.

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bakugoushotwife · 10 months

Note

hi! how are you? soo i was innocently skimming around and saw you are accepting requests so….hear me out. Kakashi and hi s/o tiredly having some sleepy fluff smut with him towering over with lots of love

a/n: such a good fucking request i love u and wanna kiss /p ! i hope you like this nonnie :)

cw: fingering (fem receiving), penetrative sex, showering together but no shower sex, pet names, creampie. MINORS DNI. MATURE 18 +

wc: 3k

Care // Kakashi x fem!reader

You blink slowly up at the ceiling, eyelids still heavy with sleep. The sound of the door creaking open and a weighty bag hitting the ground was enough to wake you, a former shinobi and forever light sleeper. It was still dark out, so you knew it had to be really late or really early, but nonetheless you were happy he was home. You lean over and click the lamp on, smiling when you’re greeted with the sight of your husband’s face.

“Sorry love, did I wake you?” Kakashi asks apologetically, giving you a tired smile after he slides his facemask down around his neck.

You hum and nod. “I’m glad though, you know I would want to welcome you home anyway.” You yawn, turning to lay on your side as you watch him remove his soiled mission clothes, always taking the extra time to put them in the dirty clothes hamper. He was definitely worn from this one, you could tell. He had purple bags under his eyes and his movements were sluggish. He sighed deeply, still toting his sleepy grin.

“Give me ten minutes and you can welcome me all you want. Need to shower.” He sighs, clearly operating on auto-pilot. He’s grabbing fresh clothes to sleep in, and you frown at his exhaustion. You peel back the covers and sit up, raking your hands over your face in an effort to wake up a little. Your legs dangle over the bed, and you scoot your way off.

“I’ll come with you, I think you could use some assistance.” You chuckle softly, the room was still dim, only the bed basking in the glow of your lamplight. He watched you get to your feet, smiling softly at your love for him. He still wonders what he did to deserve someone like you keeping his home bright and full of happiness, warming his bed and missing him every time he left. He’s grateful to be home, safely back in your presence and undeniable gentleness. He hums in acknowledgement of your joining him, digging around for some clothes for you too.

You go ahead of him, sluggishly turning on the hot water. The sound of the water rushing against the tub made your eyes momentarily close, too relaxing and sleep-inducing to fight back. Yet you manage, shaking your head and consciously opening your eyes wider. Kakashi comes into the bathroom seconds later, setting your clothes on the counter. He grabs a towel and you finally pull the knob to make the faucet water spray out from the shower head. He has that same sleepy look on his face, eyelids drooping three-fourths of the way over his mismatched eyes, the corners of his lips just upturned into a lazy smile. As tired as he is, his eyes do sparkle when he looks at you, helping you out of the garments you wore to bed.

The sight of your barren body stirs a little life into him, having missed the sight for nearly two weeks on his latest trip away. He takes his last layer off, sliding into the shower and looking at you expectantly. The hot water makes him sigh, eyes fluttering closed while the warmth spreads through his muscles. He stretches his neck out to either side, nearly moaning at how good it feels. He feels you slide in front of him, his hands blindly finding your waist. The water rolls down his face, turning his gray hair a few shades darker and slicking it to his forehead. He smiles warmly at you, leaning forward out of the direct stream. His hands and arms slide more up your back, pressing you to his wet frame. He’s trying to warm you up too, gently rotating your bodies so you could get your fair share of the water. You stay facing him, watching the water droplets form on his scarred chest and toned abdomen. No matter how tired you were, you would never pass up the opportunity to admire him. Your eyes trail lower, feeling almost embarrassed when you look at his soft length hanging between his legs, instead you glance over his muscular thighs and the dark hair covering them. He chuckles under your gaze, not sharing the embarrassment after years of being married. He wasn’t shy about staring at you either, that would never embarrass him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your frame even as he leaned over to grab his shampoo, knowing exactly where it stood on the side of the tub. He smirks. Even though it was lazy, it still makes your stomach flutter like always. You roll your eyes and reach your arm out for the shampoo. He arches his brow at you in confusion, you have your own. You make a grabby hand for it when he doesn’t move.

“Let me.” You huff, grabbing the bottle from his hands. He sighed, bending his knees slightly so you could reach his head, admiring your dedication to him. His loving eyes took in all the features of his favorite face, and you feel your body warm under his affectionate stare. You squeeze some shampoo out and lather it in your hands, getting up on your tip-toes to apply the soap to his hair. Your fingers scrape and scratch all the right spots on his scalp, making his eyes close yet again. He knows that no one could ever love him as perfectly as you do, only you would drag yourself to shower with him in the earliest hours of the morning. Only you would insist on washing his hair for him, bordering on cranky if he denied your wish.

“I love you and I missed you s’much.” He mumbles in his half-asleep state. You gently pull his body towards the water, grinning softly at him.

“I love you too. Worst two weeks of my life.” You chuckle, watching him stand motionlessly under the shower head, letting the bubbles and foam slip down his body and down the drain. You grab your own shampoo and give yourself the same treatment, your husband knowingly sliding out of your way to let you rinse.

“Am I allowed to condition myself or shall I wait?” He asks teasingly, taking his time to watch your careful fingers work the shampoo out of your own hair. He hums happily at your scrunched up nose, no doubt annoyed by his taunts.

“Go ahead, sassy.” You huff, cracking an eye open to peek at his amused grin. You smile too, just relieved to have him home again. It wasn’t that you doubted his skills as a shinobi, and an especially revered one at that, it’s just…no one plans to die on missions, you know that. He isn’t immortal, and you feared the day where Leaf officials knocked on your door instead of Kakashi’s sleepy stride into the bedroom after weeks away. Every time he came home felt like another safe breath you got to take, even when you huff at him in the shower because of his reluctance to let you take care of him.

He chuckles again, somehow cheerful and exhausted sounding. He watches you condition your hair with slow and tired movements, once again appreciating the tender way you care for him. He decided to return the favor, lathering your soap in a cloth and humming for your permission. You nod, a slight smirk playing on your lips. These were times you cherished. The night felt so surreal, like you two were the only people on Earth. Maybe it was a lack of sleep delirium, maybe it was just the obsessive way you two loved, or some combination of the two. He steps forward and takes your palm in his, gently scrubbing your skin. His thumb strokes the back of your hand and he starts humming some tune.

His voice is warm and calming, his face much more relaxed but still as weary as before. His eyes glimmer with his adoration for you, his other hand coming to rest on your hip. You analyze his features, wondering if anything of note had happened on this excursion. Your thoughts don’t linger there long, your husband was too attractive to ignore. You hum as his gentle touches move to your other arm and then your chest, eyeing him daringly. Kakashi’s humming changes from his old tune to a curious question. He washes your breasts slowly, struggling to conceal the faint blush on his exposed cheeks.

You just grin, humming your approval. Kakashi can tell from the way you sway your body and arch your brow at him that you want him, and he’s never been able to say no to his wife. Feeling your soft skin under his hands, weighty and full, makes the blood rush to his dick. You giggle quietly, watching his already impressive manhood stand at attention for you.

“I’m thinking we need to wrap this up…wouldn’t want the water getting cold on us, now would we, love?” He hums, handing you the cloth in favor of retrieving his own to cleanse himself, all in an effort to hurry.

“I agree, dear husband..” You grin, finishing what he started, scrubbing the rest of your body with a fervor. Your body tingles with excitement, not having him to satiate your cravings for the past couple of weeks is torture as always. Your fingers could only do so much when you had Kakashi-sized holes to fill.

He’s quick with his body washing too, his tiredness taking the backseat to his love for his partner. He knows he won’t be able to go too wild tonight, though he knows you won’t mind. He just needed to demonstrate his love for you too. Just like you were never too tired to care for him, he would never be too tired to take care of you.

You raced to rinse off, drying off and handing the towel to your lover once finished. He smirks when you skip off to the bed without the clothes he so carefully curated for you in his half-asleep state. He decides to do the same, just draping the towel around his waist. It didn’t do much to conceal his erection, but Kakashi was modest. By the time he gets to the bed, you are already tucked under the covers, eagerly squirming as you wait for him on the furthest edge of the bed. You bite your lip, savoring his god-like body. The towel did nothing but drive you crazy; he still had some water beading down his skin, deep v lines around his hips and a dark patch of hair making you wish he hadn’t bothered covering up.

“Now love, I am still tired.” He chuckles, throwing the blankets off and relishing your sleepy giggles as he eyes your naked frame. His eyes crinkle up when he smiles, the biggest one of the night. This is why he married you, as wiped out as he is, as grueling as that mission was on him, here he was chuckling and smiling with you seconds before you make love. “So don’t be so shy and cute now.”

You hum and scoot toward him, his body coming down around you to cage in your own. He holds his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, features soft as he looks at you with all the love in the world. You admired how he always did this, not a day went by that you didn’t know how much he loves you. He practically worships the ground you walk on. His lower body is nestled in between your legs, hip bones touching. He hums, just happy to be so close, to feel your warm breasts pressed against him and your contented heartbeat just thump thump thump-ing away in such a soothing rhythm it could be its own song.

You match his hum, happy the lamp was on so you could see his eyes sparkle with tenderness and desire. His cheeks were just a little rosy and his pale lips were already parted in preparation for a kiss. You lean up to oblige, angling your head just right. Both of you sigh, his weight relaxing on you just a little more. He always kisses you like he’ll never get the chance to again, his mouth heavily pressed to yours. His lips were soft, pulling back just enough to separate before crashing into you again over and over, creating a string of short and needy kisses. He shifts his weight mostly to his left side, though it’s not uncomfortable for him to lay on you. In fact, you’re thankful for the pressure against your burning middle. You’re not shy from rocking your hips up into him, giving your nerves a little relief. His right hand moves down your body, squeezing your breast and gently playing with the nipple. His fingers were slender and long, rolling your pebbled bud in between them. He can’t resist the urge he gets to tear his mouth away from yours in favor of scooting his body down to access the hardened nipple. His newly freed hand slides down your searing skin to relieve those rocking hips of yours, your mewling was incessant. You gasp at the feeling of his tongue swirling about your sensitive areola, fingers sliding around your lips to gather your arousal.

Kakashi draws circles around your clit, his own hips rutting into the sheets beneath him. He can’t help but gently nibble on the hard nipple in his mouth, looking up at you tentatively to watch you writhe in pleasure. His fingers know just how to work you, helplessly wet for him after just the simple touch. The butterflies in your stomach were getting more intense, and you bucked into his hand to signify this need. He chuckles, swapping to your neglected nipple. He was satisfied with the way your other bud shines with his spit, red from his attention. Just to appease you because he is nothing if not a giving lover, he slips two of those long fingers inside your tight hole, eyelids fluttering shut when you clench down around his digits. You make such a pretty noise, the whisper of his name combined with a gorgeous moan, he can’t help but release your chest so he could drink up all your lewd singing. His mouth covers yours needily, his fingers curling inside and making languid strokes at your spot. Your lips vibrate against his, unable to stop moaning and whimpering. It’s a miracle he can go on missions at all, knowing he has to swear off of this for an undetermined amount of time. Though he can’t deny the motivation to get back home as quickly as possible so he can bury his fingers in your silky cunt, swallowing up all your noises while you fuck yourself on him.

He knows you’re seconds from your release, so he pulls his fingers out and rubs your clit with his soaked digits. Your body feels like it’s on fire, eyes screwed shut as your stomach lurches, the familiar sensation making your legs tremble. His pace on your sensitive bundle slows, his kisses becoming softer as he applies them to your jaw and neck, positioning himself back over you. His aching cock weeped for you, the tip spreading your lips easily. You’re so used to the weight of him sinking into you, but you moan at the stretch every time. He holds your hips for a moment, strokes gentle and slow just so you could get used to the feeling and he could relish your warm walls suffocating him. It was so hard not to come instantly, even as experienced as the two of you were together. The feeling never got old, nor got any easier to resist. He falls forward a little, bracing himself on the headboard.

“Beautiful girl, you always take it so good..” He muses, sleepy face looking down at you as his pacing gradually increases. You can feel his every ridge and vein, his cock made just for your insides. It makes your eyes roll closed and your mouth fall open, sure you could fall asleep just like this. The only thing keeping you awake is the sound of your own breathy moans and Kakashi’s grunts, plus the subtle noise of his balls slapping up against the globe of your ass.

“Thank you lover, always give it so good.” You mumble back, purposefully choking down on him. He moans, just as you wanted. You smile in satisfaction, forcing your eyes open to enjoy the view of him pushing his shaggy hair back and moving your leg to wrap around his hip. It deepens his connection to you, letting him slam up against the spot that leaves you breathless. He can feel the resistance against him, groaning determinedly. He had to have you come before him, so he ups the ante with his sweet words being whispered into the early morning air.

“I love you so much, darling.” He rasps, chest heaving. “I always miss you so horribly on these trips, I work extra hard to get back to you.” He says, his voice light with emotion. His affections combined with his caring assault on your womb makes you come undone again, signified by your broken moan and walls spasming around him. He’s truly grateful, only moments away from his own high. He loved the way you look, mouth open and eyebrows knit in pleasure. Your pretty cheeks get rosier with every thrust after your orgasm, your hands needily reaching out for him. “You’re gonna make me come in you, lover.” He whimpered slightly, waiting for your reply, though he’s been coming in you since your wedding night.

You nod dumbly, a happy grin displayed on your face. Your hands can only reach his toned stomach, fingers resting in the divots of his abs. You can feel his stomach tighten, his pretty gasp preceding the rush of warmth filling you to the brim.

The room is just heavy pants and heaving chests, and both of you wonder if the other has fallen asleep like this. Kakashi leans down and presses his lips to your forehead, holding your face in his hands.

“I’ll get you cleaned up, you know I’ll always take care of you.” He hums, kissing the tip of your nose and then finally, a sweet kiss to your lips.

#kakashi x reader #naruto x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi smut #kyleewritesnaruto #kyleewritesnsfw

393 notes · View notes

sarahsmi13s · 9 months

Note

sarah! babe! congrats on the big 400. if anyone deserves it, it's your sweet soul!

ok my (first?) request is obviously Iceman because we all know what era I'm in. I 1000% need this to survive, just so you're aware.

"Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"

Pumped for you and can't wait to see what you churn out for this even! Big love! <3

i'm so so sorry it took me so long to get to this girl! thank you so much for celebrating with me!

pairing: tom 'iceman' kazansky x kerner!reader warnings: language, smut, unrequited but requited love, let me know if i missed any word count: ~1.5k a/n: i will most likely expand further on this in the future once i've caught up on some other works ❤❤ prompt: "is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"

Why did your brother have to invite his pilot on your family trip? His incredibly hot, but annoying pilot.

Though, he was your big brother… it was his job to get under your skin.

You had originally had a beach trip planned with your friends, but a storm rolled in the day you were scheduled to leave and your friends decided it would be better to reschedule. So after you did that, you headed up to the mountains with the idea to surprise your family.

And that’s how you ended up walking in on… this.

“Ummm, is there a reason you’re naked in my bed, Tom?”

You tried to avoid looking directly at him, even though your brain had taken a photo of the sight before you could look away.

“Your bed? Last I checked this was my room.”

He stayed in the same position on the bed as he looked you over, not at all embarrassed about being completely exposed. His head rested against his arm, the other draped over his sculpted abdomen.

You didn’t respond, afraid you’d stutter and embarrass yourself further than the obvious blush covering your face and neck.

“You gonna stand there with the door wide open or come in and close it?”

You chose the latter and tossed your bag down before closing the door. “You know, this is actually my room, considering it is my family's cabin. This has been my room since I was 7.”

Tom scoffed a bit and propped himself up on his elbows, “And last I checked, you were supposed to be at Myrtle Beach.” He got up, securing a blanket around his waist to give you the opportunity to actually look at him. “Which is why I’m in here and not sharing a room with your brother.”

You crossed your arms and focused on his blue eyes, which didn’t actually help you at all. The icy orbs causing your thoughts to just slip out of your mind.

“W-well, there was a storm that was gonna last a few days, so we-we rescheduled.” You mentally kicked yourself. You sounded so unsure of what you had just said. And it had been the truth.

Tom tilted his chin up, his sly expression already telling you he didn’t believe you.

You scoffed and picked your bag up, “You know what, I’m just gonna sleep on the couch.”

As you hand touched the door knob, Tom’s hand covered yours, “Wait…” You brushed his hand off, “It’s fine, Ice.” You opened the door, “I’ll sleep on the-”

Tom’s large hand pushed the door shut, holding it closed. “You’ve never called me by my call sign before.”

You kept your back to him, “Sure I have.”

“No, I would remember.”

“Why is that something you would remember? I’m sure I’ve said plenty of memorable things.” He got close to your ear, “Because you’re the only person I prefer to call me Tom.”

Ice practically purred the sentence into your ear. The gravel in his voice came from deep in his chest, causing it to rumble against your back.

You let out a shaky breath, your face heating up, “This isn’t funny Ice. If you’re trying to get back at me for something, can’t you like dump ice on me while I’m in the shower or throw me in the lake while I’m fully clothed? Just don’t do this…”

“Y/N-” “I’m already embarrassed, please don’t rub it in.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder and carefully turned you around, making you look at him. “I’m not, I swear.”

You didn’t look him in the eye, afraid that if you did he would just laugh at you.

Tom sighed and tilted your chin up, “I know how you feel about me. You’re not good at hiding it…” You closed your eyes, hating the vulnerable position you're in because your body is on fire. “And maybe I’m too good at hiding it.”

Your eyes shot open, looking directly in his icy blue eyes in search of the truth – trying to find that harsh critical glaze that waited for you to slip up, for you to make the mistake.

But it was gone, the glacier of his irises had melted and all you saw was oceans – warm, loving oceans. Any trace of Iceman was gone, melting away to show Tom Kazansky.

He’d hidden his feelings for too long, he needed you to know. Your brother told him the day he invited him out on this trip, he should tell you because he was tired of seeing your love sick gaze on his pilot before watching it turn sad when he got hit on. And he had planned to, but you announced your plans to go to the beach and his plan got shot down.

But now here you were chest to chest as he confessed his feelings for you in nothing but a blanket.

“Kiss me,” you said breathlessly, lids drooping as you looked from his eyes to his lips.

He grinned and pressed his lips to yours, cupping the side of your neck as he pressed you into the door and made you drop your bag.

That hand immediately buried itself in his hair, the other trying to pull him closer by the small of his back. He locked the door with his free hand before pulling you in by the belt loop of your jean shorts, not caring if his blanket fell.

You pushed away from the door, to go towards the bed, but he pushed you up against the wall. With the movement, the blanket fell from his waist

You pulled back from him, panting as you looked down, “I feel overdressed now.” He smirked and his hands went to the button on your shorts, “I can fix that.”

His lips attached to your neck as he worked your button loose and pushed your zipper down. His teeth nipped at your pulse point, drawing a quiet moan from your lips as your shorts were hastily pushed to the floor.

Tom wasted no time pulling away and getting on his knees to pull your underwear down your legs.

Panting, you peel your shirt off and undo your bra clasp. You looked down as Tom began to kiss your thighs, nipping every other kiss. But before he could lift your leg over his shoulder, you tilted his chin up.

“As good as you most likely are, I need you inside me.”

“Shit~” He groaned before standing and pushing you flush with the wall, kissing you deeply before pulling away. His hands went to the backs of your thighs, “Jump.”

You don’t hesitate and jump, wrapping your legs around him. “Please Tom~”

He smirked before bringing his thumb to your clit, rubbing languid circles as he lined himself up.

He looked back into your eyes, making sure you still wanted to do this before you went too far.

“I want you, Tom.”

The only four words he needed to hear before he was pushing into you, circling your clit the whole time.

The stretch was uncomfortable for a moment, but the gentle pleasure of his touch helped balance it out.

Once he was buried to the hilt, he kissed you gently but passionately as he waited for you to relax around him.

You relaxed into the kiss immediately, your crossed ankles bringing him closer to you. You moaned against him as his cock twitched and your walls fluttered. “You can move now~”

He nodded, lips hovering over yours as he braced his forearms on the wall and started to move.

“You feel so good~”

“Tom, fuck~”

A small grunt left his lips as your moans vibrated against them.

His movements were slow, but calculated. He didn’t want to rush this, he wanted you to feel it all.

And you did. Your senses seemed to be in overdrive.

You could feel the pulse and the heat of his cock with every roll of his hips. You could hear the grunting and the groaning as he tried to keep quiet. The scent of sex and his shampoo was all you could smell.

“Tom, baby, faster please~”

He nodded and pulled away from the wall.

His arms wrapped around you, one hand going to your hair as he kissed you. He took a few blind steps to get to the bed and lay you down on it.

You both managed to get to the middle of the bed, barely breaking the kiss.

“You’re so beautiful~”

You smiled under him, “So are you~”

He smiled back and pressed his lips to yours, rolling his hips.

“Oooh Tom~”

“You wanted faster… but I want to do this right~” He rasped out, interlocking his fingers with yours and moving your hands above your head.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and chest heaving. “I’ve been craving you since we met… it only amplified when I got to know you…”

You giggled and kissed his lips, “Is that why you were naked in my bed?”

“That’s exactly why I was naked in your bed~”

thank you for joining me for this event! ❤ i hope you enjoyed it @valmare ! and again i'm so so sorry it took so long to fulfill this request!

#vinny's 400 #tom iceman kazansky x reader #prompt event #💌 we just got a letter #valmare <33 #controlled chaos squad #iceman fic #tom kazansky fic #tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky #kerner!reader #top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #top gun fanfic #top gun

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tickle-bugs · 4 months

Text

Pre-Flight Checks

@allytheally: hi :) here's a prompt: you reblogged this thing a while ago about the seatbelts on aircraft (one on the shoulder, waist, and individual ones for the thighs) (https://www.tumblr.com/tickle-bugs/715247149506609152/hey-there-i-work-with-fighter-jets-super-hornets?source=share) and I think it'd be great if you wrote something incorporating this idea... like maybe lee!hangman and ler!rooster or lee!mav and ler!iceman and/or ler!slider? honestly any pairing would be cool

“Gooooood mornin’, Rooster.” The heavy impacts of boots on the stepladder send Bradley’s eye twitching. Hangman’s presence has a volume the way bright light slowly wears on the eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Me? I just came over to help with your pre-flight checks.” Hangman grins, cocksure. A sliver of sunshine lights up his eyes over the edge of his aviators.

“I’m clear, but thanks.” Bradley gives a little ‘shoo’ motion with his hands.

“Lemme give it a second opinion.” Hangman hoists himself up to get a better view of the cockpit. He makes a big show of scanning over the switches and buttons and humming in thought.

“Knock yourself out.” Bradley snorts and turns away. Hangman’s indecipherable muttering falls easily away under the buzz of his brain. He double and triple checks everything, noting the feel of each switch and knob under his practiced hands. Finding the rhythm of his plane is half the ritual.

Wiggling fingers fit suddenly into the curve of Bradley’s waist and he barks out a laugh, knees jerking against the straps holding him.

He blinks at Hangman. Hangman grins at him.

“Don’t--” Bradley dives to grab his hands, but the seatbelts, ever-dutiful, wrench him back into place.

“Oh, now that sounds like you’ve got somethin’ loose. No pilot should be making that noise.” Hangman tuts, but he doesn’t stop, just lets his stupid hands do their stupid crawl across his stupidly sensitive stomach. Bradley lets out a giggly shriek and tries to fold in half.

“Oh, Mav wasn’t kidding. This is my lucky day.”

“Youuuu--” Whatever half-baked insult Bradley was aiming for is smothered by his own laughter.

“Meeeee. Say, are you ticklish anywhere else? Gotta catalogue this for future use. Scream once for yes or twice for no.” Hangman tazes his sides and Bradley’s voice cracks around his laughter.

He’s going to die in this plane. He better die in this plane, otherwise he’s going to gut Hangman like a fish.

…No, he won’t.

Bradley manages to plant his hand square on Hangman’s face and start pushing, and the ultimatum between continuing the torment or falling onto concrete makes Hangman finally, blessedly let go.

“Seems like everything’s in order. Pleasant skies, Rooster.” Hangman pats his shoulder and hops down out of sight.

In his mind’s eye, he’s shaking Hangman by the shoulders until his brain falls out of his ears. In practice, he’s turning his burning face and shy half-smile back towards the controls with hopes of killing both.

…

“Mornin’, Bradshaw.” Hangman pops up like a gopher. Bradley jumps and nearly flips his lounge chair.

“Seresin.” He exhales tightly through his nose. He stays very still—maybe he can still salvage the last throes of the sun-warmed nap he was finding his way towards.

“You seem tense.” Hangman cocks his head in something that passes for concern. The rushing ocean suddenly sounds more like an omen.

“There’s no one else around for you to bother right now?” Bradley leans up on his elbows to search for the other Daggers. He can hear Fanboy laughing somewhere, he thinks, but Hangman’s giant head blotting out the sun is the only thing he can see.

“Nope!” Hangman makes a big show of cracking his knuckles and stretching his fingers. Bradley’s eyes widen.

“Don’t you dare.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. Don’t what?” The expression that Hangman generates overshoots innocence by a country mile.

“Tickle me, you asshole.” Bradley winds an arm around his torso and scrambles up in his lounge chair. The fluttery kick of anticipation slaps a smile straight across his face.

“I can’t believe you fell for that.”

“Fell for--”

Bradley pauses as it dawns on him. Watching it dawn on Hangman is worse--his entire face brightens with mischief.

Bradley starts stammering through a protest and giggling through another, but Hangman’s kneeling over him before any of it becomes coherent. He flails hard enough to send them both tumbling into the sand. Never in his life has he been more grateful to be alone, if only to keep the pitch of his laughter between him and the menace causing it.

He makes a note to keep his shirt on at the beach.

…

Maybe a week or so of this puts Bradley in a…strange headspace. Distracted.

Touch is nice, but there’s more of it lately, enough to make him notice and crave its absence in a way he hadn’t before. When Phoenix leans into his side or Fanboy claps his shoulder, he misses the warmth of their touch after. Even Hangman’s utter nonsense sets a gentle buzz into his chest. It’s dizzying.

He’s so lost in the ache of it that Mav catches on, and it kicks solidly into that tangle of ‘complicated shit’ between them that he keeps putting away for increasingly rainer days. He’d gotten so used to Mav tiptoeing around him as if he were fragile that the first gentle touch on the shoulder almost shatters him.

The Daggers meet for a barbecue at Mav’s and Bradley shows up early with a bottle of Ice’s favorite Pinot. Things may be complicated, but the mushy smiles on Ice and Mav’s faces are not. It’s nice, putting ‘complicated’ in motion towards being something else. Something lighter.

Later into the night, Bradley’s got his feet kicked up on the couch in the hangar and the radio crooning slowly in his ear.

He watches Mav and Ice dance--more of a sway, really, as they banter. Mav’s got a playful tilt to his smile, one that suggests he’s being as much a menace as he’s visibly in love. Bradley smiles and hums along, halfheartedly wondering what Mav might be pestering Ice with.

“This seat taken?” Not waiting for an answer, Hangman picks up his ankles and takes their spot. Bradley brings his heels down hard on his thigh. He gets a swat on the ankle for his trouble. Still, the weight of Hangman’s arm on his legs is comforting. Solid.

A room full of people to bother, yet Hangman finds him. Hm.

“Why’re you so obsessed with me lately?” Bradley nudges him with his ankle. Hangman’s eyebrows raise.

Well. He’d meant to say that with a bit more tact but it’s out there now, between them.

Hangman snorts softly and passes Bradley a beer. He pops the caps on both and pockets them. Probably donations for Coyote’s collection.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bradshaw.” Hangman gives him an utterly complex and unreadable look before taking a swig of his beer. ‘Complex’ and ‘unreadable’ are not words that belong anywhere near him.

“You didn’t answer the question.” Bradley frowns.

“It’s a stupid question.”

“Seresin.” Bradley leans forward to smack his shoulder.

“Alright, fine.” Hangman exhales tightly. “You’ve been moping around like a dark fuckin’ cloud these past few weeks and we couldn’t figure out how to get you out of it. We ran out of ideas and eventually Mav realized he couldn’t hide from us anymore, so he coughed up a solution. Something he said we could try, and I quote, ‘at risk of your lives’. Never thought he’d suggest tickling, but--”

“You went to Mav?”

“Yeah, and Mav—“ Hangman imitates the way Bradley’s voice cracks— “told Phoenix to try it if all else failed, she told Bob, Bob told me, and now we’re here. And it worked.”

Bradley’s brain stalls out. He sits up, bracing his elbows on his knees. He drops his face into his hands.

“Oh my god. So everyone knows?” He peeks through his fingers. Hangman shrugs.

“Well, I don’t think Fanboy was paying much attention.” He scratches idly at his jaw.

“Mav said if all else failed. I didn’t—you guys didn’t try anything else.” Bradley fiddles with the label on the bottle.

Hangman raises his eyebrow in the precise shape of ‘oh really?’.

“Remember when Bob tried to buy you soup? Or when Payback made a fool of himself trying to sing Great Balls of Fire? Or when Fanboy tried to introduce you to Star Trek? Or—“

Oh.

For maybe the only time in his life, Hangman snaps his jaw shut. Bradley furrows his brow.

“Look…point is, you keep making that exact face you’ve got right now, and concerned parties asked me to investigate.” Hangman swirls his finger around Bradley’s face. He swats it away on habit, but fondness bubbles in the base of his throat.

“Concerned parties?” A smile sneaks under his mustache.

“Yeah, Phoenix and the rest of them were worried. Not me though.” Hangman takes a long, incriminating swig from his bottle.

“Not you?” Bradley tilts his head teasingly.

“Nope. I’m a neutral party. Like Sweden.”

“It’s Switzerland, dumbass.” Bradley knocks shoulders with him. Something about Hangman’s smile tells him he already knew that.

“Sure. Whatever.” Hangman throws his arm across the back of the couch. His fingers brush Bradley’s arm. The fondness settles into a resonant hum deep in Bradley’s chest.

“You’ve got your shit with Mav and your past. I get it. But some of us would like to see you smile more than twice a week.” Hangman gestures with his bottle. His movements are loose in the practiced Seresin way, but the care on his face is stunningly plain.

“Some of us?” Bradley grins. Hangman narrows his eyes.

“Concerned parties.” His cheeks grow rosy even as he scowls.

“You are obsessed with me and I’m telling Phoenix.” Bradley pats his shoulder and makes a break for it. A fist grabs a handful of his collar.

“Like hell you are!”

The (thankfully empty) bottles clatter to the floor as Hangman wrestles an already-laughing Bradley back down to the couch. He tries not to think too hard about hearing Mav cheer in the background.

…

Bradley does not start fights. He does not. He finishes them.

He slips past Phoenix and Bob, nodding in passing, and ducks up to Hangman’s Super Hornet. He can feel their eyes on him--especially Bob, he’s got a killer stare for someone so quiet--but he ignores it.

It’s not a fight, not really, but if he thinks about what he’s doing too hard he’s going to lock himself in a supply closet somewhere.

Bradley hops up the steps alongside the cockpit.

“Rooster! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your ugly mug?” Hangman grins and bats his eyelashes.

“I heard you were challenging Mav. Wanted to get a good look at you before you spend the rest of the evening with your face to the tarmac.” Rooster holds up his fingers like a picture frame.

“Try not to miss me too much.” Hangman winks, insufferable as always.

“Miss you? Every second you’re not buzzing around down here is a second of peace.” Bradley reaches up and knocks on his helmet.

“Would you kindly get the fuck off my plane?” Hangman swats lazily at him. Bradley bats his hands away.

“Before you go, just thought I’d see how your pre-flight checks are going?”

Hangman goes rigid. Bradley grins evilly at him.

“Bradshaw, don’t you fuckin’—“

Bradley fumbles with Hangman’s hands and flight equipment until he can jam his fingers right into the soft parts of his side. Hangman yelps and nearly jumps out of his skin. The seatbelts ensure there’s nowhere for him to go, and the clacking of the buckles only spurs Bradley on.

“I thought you’d put up more of a fight than this, Hangman.” Bradley tuts and shakes his head, worming his fingers up under straps to get at his ribs. Hangman well and truly shrieks.

“I am g-going to kill you!” Hangman shakes with the force of his laughter, folded awkwardly into his seatbelts. He shoves uselessly at Bradley’s chest.

“And I’m never gonna let this go. Think I could get you to do that again, or are you a one hit wonder?” Bradley squeezes quickly at Hangman’s thigh. His hands slap down hard on top of Bradley’s and he starts cackling his way to incoherency.

Bradley raises his eyebrow and times the squeezes to every escape attempt. It’s incredibly entertaining to listen to Hangman reinvent the squeal. He wonders if the other Daggers know about this yet.

The sound of a throat clearing nearly sends Bradley toppling backwards off the plane. Strong hands heave him upright and he turns--Maverick’s eyes crinkle around the edges of his sunglasses.

“Appreciate you getting a head start on destroying him, Rooster, but I believe that’s my job.” Mav pats him on the shoulder. Bradley goes to duck away, but Hangman makes a swipe for his sides, and he can’t let that stand. He leans back into the cockpit and tickles Hangman’s ribs until he’s screeching between hiccups and an interesting shade of red.

“Aren’t you ssssupposed to help me?” Hangman crumples in around Bradley’s hands, wriggling like a worm on a hook.

“Help you? No. Teach you? Sure. Wheels up in two minutes. Hopefully you’ll learn a thing or two about getting your ass handed to you.” Mav pulls Bradley back by the shoulder. He lets it happen. Hangman thunks his head back against his seat, chest heaving.

“Bold words, Pops. We’ll see who comes out on top.” He clicks his tongue and winks. Insufferable bastard.

“See you in the skies, Hangman.” Mav pokes Hangman’s stomach.

…

The lounge at Top Gun hums with quiet chatter through the evening as the Daggers share drinks. Bradley’s tucked against the wall with Phoenix and Bob under his arms. He’s half watching Fanboy and Payback fumble through a game of pool, half listening to a story Phoenix is telling, and fully content to lose himself in the sound of her voice.

The door slams open, welcoming a sweaty and disgruntled Hangman to the room. Scattered laughter and teasing applause kicks up among the other Daggers. He gives the entire room the finger.

“Yeah, laugh it up. I was off my game.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes. Coyote offers him a pity beer. He takes it.

“I wonder why.” Bradley chuckles. Phoenix swats his chest. Hangman locks eyes with him, absolutely feral. Bradley goes to make a run for it, but Phoenix hooks her arms under his. He could break her grip if he really tried, but…

When Hangman barrels towards him and tackles him over the back of the couch, Bradley can’t say he doesn’t deserve it.

#ok this was supposed to be mostly lee!hangman but i started thinking about bradley and blacked out #hope you still like it tho!! hangman still gets got as he should #idc if you tag this as ship btw #background icemav bc they are married #special thanks to chock who reminded me that writing is fun and i like to do it <3 #my fics #top gun maverick #ticklish!rooster #ticklish!hangman #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #jake 'hangman' seresin #not tagging the other daggers they're barely here <3 #idk how I feel about this fic still but it was fun to write

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avastrasposts · 8 months

Text

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 31

I'm bad at writing summaries because I don't want to give any spoilers! But we left poor Frankie passed out at Joel's place, high on on pills and whiskey. Here's the aftermath....

Chapter 32 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 5.6k

The first conscious thought that moves through Frankie’s numb brain the next morning is how much his back hurts. He tries to move without waking up and the muscles along his spine spasm and twist, making him groan and peel open his eyes. It takes him a few moments to register where he is, he’s fallen sideways on a couch that’s not his own, his crooked neck killing him as he straightens out. Joel’s front door swims in to focus and last night’s memories start coming back.

A small pile of pills are still on the coffee table, next to the baggie. He doesn’t know how many he took yesterday but he collects them and puts them back in the bag, stuffing it in the bottom of his jeans pocket.

His mouth feels like cotton as he tries to swallow and he grabs the empty whiskey glass that’s digging into his thigh underneath him on the couch. Stumbling to the kitchen he rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes and tries to shake the cobwebs of alcohol and oxy out of his brain. He lets the tap run ice cold before he fills the glass, nearly choking on the water as he drinks. The coolness spreads through his limbs and he grips the edge of the sink, closing his eyes and swaying on his feet. The water continues to rush into the sink and with an impulsive thought, he bends forward and sticks his whole head under the faucet. It makes him gasp, forcing the air out of his lungs as the water rushes past his ears, into his eyes and nose. Spluttering he draws a few deep breaths, forcing himself to remain under the stream. Not until the tips of his ears are numb does he pull back and turn off the faucet. Water drips down on his shoulders, onto the floor as he stands up. He feels like a fool, hanging his head over the sink, trying to shake the water from his ears. But somehow it’s brought him some clarity, his mind isn’t as foggy and last night slowly comes back to him.

With a groan he sinks his head into his hands as he remembers leaving the apartment, walking away from her and passing out on Joel’s couch, aided by whiskey and oxy. The memory of her eyes when she realized he was high flashes into his mind and he groans again, the pain and grief he saw makes guilt force itself up through his throat. His body convulses and bile and half digested pills force their way up and out, he wretches into the sink, coughing and sputtering, fumbling for the knob to turn the water on again. He empties everything he has, spitting, the bile burning the back of his throat and he groans, cursing himself. The water rinses away the contents of his stomach and he manages to turn the tap off before he slides down onto the floor, his wet hair dripping, as he sinks his head into his hands again.

What the fuck have I done? What the fuck have I done? Frankie, you fucking idiot. He tilts his head back, eyes closed to the bright sunlight that’s streaming in through the kitchen window as he repeatedly thumps the back of his head against the back of the cupboard door, the dull pain rattling through his brain. Does she even wanna see me again? She's not gonna forgive this, how could she forgive this?

“Mornin’.” The gravel of Joel’s voice is as rough as Frankie feels and he only grunts in response. A kitchen towel lands on the floor next to him and he drags it across his wet hair as Joel moves towards the coffee pot. His steps are as slow and sluggish as Frankie’s and every sound he makes is making Frankie wince.

“Thanks for letting me crash, I’m gonna head out,” he mutters, carefully getting to his feet.

“Have some coffee before you go,” Joel says, placing the pot on the stove, “you look like shit, get something in you before you face your wife.”

“Not sure I have a wife anymore,” Frankie mumbles, stumbling towards the front door, but the ache in his head makes him change his mind, and he slumps down on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Did you hit her?” Joel asks and Frankie’s eyes widen.

“No, what the fuck? Of course not!”

“Did you sleep with some other woman? Or man?” Joel's mouth twitches in the smallest of smirks and Frankie scowls.

“Fuck no! I would never do that to her”

“She ain't too keen on you using?” Joel pulls the coffee pot off the hob as it boils and sets it on the table.

Frankie sighs and rubs his hand over his face, the smell of coffee actually making his empty stomach grumble. “I’m an addict,” he confesses, “before the outbreak, I was addicted to coke, Pope kicked my ass and I got sober. But someone was smuggling Xanax in Arlington and I started using it to help me sleep…after…” Frankie sighs again and Joel nods, he understands all too well, “and I got addicted again. She helped me get clean that time.”

Joel pulls out a chair and sits down, placing a mug in front of Frankie, “Explains why Will was so against smuggling drugs.” He pours himself coffee and pushes the pot across the table, “I won’t stop trading it though, but I won’t sell to you again,” he says, “I’m cutting you off.”

“Yeah, you should,” Frankie mumbles, taking a careful sip of the scalding hot coffee and wincing. Joel does the same and for a few minutes both men sit in silence, letting the coffee work its way through their systems.

Eventually Joel clears his throat and leans back, the mug still in his hand, “I ain’t a good man, Frankie, I know that, but maybe things would’ve been different if I had someone like her in my corner. So you just need to go home and do whatever it takes to make her happy again.”

Frankie only grunts in response and Joel takes another sip as Frankie swirls the dregs of his coffee round the bottom of the mug, his eyes unfocused and lost in thought. Joel sighs and rubs his hand over his face, glancing over at the younger man’s troubled face before he leans over the table and raps his knuckles hard just in front of Frankie’s mug, making him startle and look upl.

“Morales, it’s clear you ain’t shit without her, she’s keeping you alive. So just go back home and tell her you’re not doing runs with me until you’re doing ok, and that I’m cutting you off from the oxy.”

“I’m not sure that’s enough any more,” Frankie says, looking down at the coffee dregs again, “I lied to her face, said I wasn’t using, I walked away when she was trying to help, I’ve hurt her too many times an-”

Joel shakes his head and stands up, kicking his boot against the other man’s chair, interrupting him.

“Get up, Frankie, you’re fucking lost without her, just go tell her that. And anyway, I’m not letting you drown yourself in coffee in my kitchen.”

…

Frankie blinks against the sharp March light when he gets out of Joel’s apartment. He left home without a jacket yesterday and now he shivers as he stands on the sidewalk. Joel had told him to go home and he thinks that might be what he has to do, even if he doesn’t know if you’ll let him call it home again. In some small corner of his mind he knows you’ve never pushed him away, never not supported him when he needed help. But his mind is reeling, and the panic is still simmering in his chest.

What if she’s given up on me now? Maybe I’ve finally fucked up so much that she’s had enough?

He tucks his hands into his armpits and starts walking, the heavy feeling of panic in his belly growing with every step, the coffee in his empty stomach making his mouth taste sour.

He sees you just as he gets home, he turns the corner and you’re standing outside the apartment building with Pope. He’s too much of a coward to call your name, to let you see him, instead he just stops and stares at your profile. It’s Pope that spots him first and he nods his head towards him and you turn. The way your face crumples when you see him, it’s like a knife in his heart, like he’s stuck a knife in himself and now he’s twisting it as you start walking towards him, breaking into a run. You skid to halt just in front of him and your eyes are scanning his face, he feels tears form and fall before he even realizes he’s crying.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gulps for air, he can feel his body shaking and then your arms are around him, pulling him into you and he sobs, his chest heaving under you. Your arms hold him up as he buries his face against your neck and clings to you and he knows he’ll fall if you don’t keep your arms around him. Your hands are bunching up his shirt, he can feel it straining over his back, your fingers digging into the knots of his spine, you’re pulling him as close as you can and he finally lifts his arms and winds them around your waist.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobs, holding onto the back of your jacket, trying to find his footing as you pull him tighter.

“I thought I lost you, Frankie,” you gasp through your own tears, “I thought you were gone.”

“D-do you still w-want me here?” he chokes out, his face pressed against your soft hair, your smell enveloping him, all the memories of being this close to you flooding his mind. If you say no now, he doesn’t know how he’ll let go, he won’t be able to unwrap his arms from around you.

“Al-always, always, always,” you stutter out, pulling your face back enough so that you can see him, his eyes red, puffy and broken. He smells of stale alcohol, bitter coffee and he looks like a mess and it breaks your heart that he’s fallen so deep so fast, you should’ve forced him away from Joel, from the smuggling months ago. You press your lips against his cheek and your hand finds its way into the messy curls at the back of his head, damp and cold. Pulling his cap off you cup the back of his head and hold him against you..

“When will you understand that I’ll always want you, Francisco Morales?” you mumble, and you feel his hands tighten their grip on your jacket and his body heaves with a deep sob, choking back on his tears.

“Hermano,” Pope’s voice is calm and gentle as he puts his hand on Frankie’s shoulder, “Let’s get you inside, ok?”

Frankie nods and you move and take hold of his hand as Pope puts his arm around his waist, giving him a small nudge to get him moving. When you get him inside the apartment Pope leads him to the couch and sets him down and Frankie slumps over, his elbows on his hands, cradling his head.

“Fish, look at me,” Pope says softly, crouching down in front of him, tapping him gently on his arm and Frankie looks up. Pope seems to study his face for a few seconds, locking eyes with him, and then he nods.

“Ok, you’re sober at least,” he says, giving his shoulder a squeeze and standing up as Frankie buries his face in his hands again.

“You’ve got to talk to her now, Frankie, you know you’ve got to drop this shit and put in the hard work again. But I’ve seen you do it before, I know you can do this.”

Frankie shakes his head in his hands and mumbles something incoherent and Santi looks over at you, “I’ll be back later, tonight, and check on him, on you both. But I think you two need to talk first, ok?”

You nod and gratefully accept Santi’s hug as wraps his arms around you, “Thank you, you’re a rock, Santi,” you mumble into his shoulder as he rubs your back.

“And you’re his rock, don’t forget that,” he replies, kissing your cheek before he steps away and leaves.

“Did you eat anything yet, Frankie?” you ask, sitting down next to him and letting your hand run up and down his back.

“Don’t leave me,” he mumbles into his hands, his voice is low, raspy from his ragged breathing, and you thread your fingers through his curls.

“I’ll never leave you,” you whisper, your chin resting on his shoulder. He drops his hands from his face and looks up at you, his eyes still red and raw, he looks so pained it makes your heart shatter and you take his hands, scooting yourself up further on the couch.

“Come here, Frankie, lie down with me for a little bit,” you tell him, pulling him with you. You lie back, making room for him next to you and he crawls up after you, stretching out on the couch. He’s half on top of you and you bring his head down onto your shoulder, carding your fingers through his curls, scratching at his scalp. His boots are heavy against your legs but you tug his thigh higher up over your waist as he curls into you, his arms wrapping around you.

“I’m getting you through this Frankie, I’m not letting this destroy you,” you mumble, your lips pressed against his forehead. He’s cold and clammy, you can feel his shivers and you pull the quilt down over you both. “You’ve just got to remember that I’m never giving up on you, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and alive and with me.” You tighten your grip on him, your jaw clenching hard when your mind brushes up against the thought of not having him with you. “I’m so afraid of losing you, Frankie. I’ll never be mad or disappointed in you, I’m just scared of losing you because I can’t do this life without you.”

You hear him sniffle against your shoulder, a quiet sob shaking him.

“I’m sorry I fucked up,” he whispers against your shirt, “I just wanted my head to be quiet.”

“I know, Frankie, and I’ll help you with it,” your fingers scratching across his scalp, letting his damp curls run through your fingers. “Let’s just stay here for a little while, and then I’ll make us some food when you feel ready, ok?”

You feel him nod and his arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer, “I’m here, Frankie, my love, I’m not leaving,” you soothe him.

You stay still, pressed against him until you lose track of time. Frankie falls asleep, a restless slumber where his arms twitch and he mutters under his breath. Eventually he jerks awake, a shout coming from him as he half sits up, his eyes blinking open with confusion.

“Frankie,” you say, reaching up and cupping his cheek, “I’m here, love, I’m here.”

He stares at you, his eyes unfocused for a few seconds before he sighs and drops his forehead against yours.

“I dreamt that you left,” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep but steadier, “but you’re still here.”

“Always, Frankie,” you smile, sliding your fingertips over his scruffy beard, it’s longer than usual and starting to curl in places. You reach up to press your lips against his and he suddenly pulls back.

“Don’t” he mumbles, a pink blush creeping up his neck and you look at him with surprise, “I threw up earlier, I need to brush my teeth.”

You change your trajectory and press your lips to the tip of his nose instead, “Thanks for the heads up,” you smile as you look at him again. “Why don’t you go clean up, take a shower maybe? And I’ll make us some lunch and get coffee going.”

He nods but pulls you in for a tight hug before he pushes himself off the couch and lets you sit up.

As you turn to walk to the kitchen you suddenly feel his hand grip yours and you turn back to him.

“Do you still love me?” he asks, his voice low and his eyebrows furrowed as his thumb rubs over the back of your hand. You look back at him, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Always, Frankie, I always love you.” You step back to him and stand on your tiptoes, reaching up to kiss the bare patch on his scruffy chin. “Now take a shower, you kinda stink,” you smile at him as his face softens, his eyes losing a bit of their pained look.

Frankie lets the hot water run over his body, almost scalding him, but when he comes back out into the kitchen he feels almost normal again. You’re standing by the stove, stirring a pot and he stops and exhales, watching you from behind as the afternoon light catches the color in your hair, your low hum as you try to remember the words to an old Springsteen song. You step to the side and reach up and grab two bowls, your t-shirt riding up, revealing soft, smooth skin as your jeans, always a size too big, slip lower on your hips. He swallows, the small baggie crinkling in his hand as his fingers twitch, and you hear him, turning around with a smile that makes his cheeks feel warm, a comfort in his bones. .

“Feel better?” you ask and he nods, coming over to you and holding out the bag.

“The last ones I had on me,” he says, giving it to you and you look down at the four small white pills as you take it.

“What are they?” you ask, holding the bag as if handling it too roughly will make it split open and contaminate the room.

“Oxy, or some version of it that FEDRA makes,” Frankie says, “I want you to get rid of it, I don’t trust myself.”

You look up at him, his eyes are on the pills and when he notices that you’re watching him, he pulls his gaze away from them, turning so that he’s leaning against the counter, the bag of pills out of view.

You turn and go to the bathroom, after a few seconds he hears the toilet flush and you come back out.

“They’re gone, Frankie. But I know you know where to get more, we’re gonna need to work together to get through this,” you say, taking his hand and pulling him closer to your side as you go back to stirring the pot with the other.

“Joel said he won’t sell to me anymore;” Frankie mumbles, pressing himself to you.

“Joel sold them to you?” you ask, a hard edge to your voice as you look up at Frankie and he waves his hand, shaking his head.”

“He didn’t know I’m an addict, no one told him, and when I told him about it this morning, he said he’s cutting me off.”

“At least that’s a start,” you say, your voice softer again, “Is that where you were last night? Joel’s?”

“Yeah,” he says, handing you the bowls as you turn the heat off under the pot. “I wasn’t thinking and I just, somehow, ended up there. It was the worst place to go.”

“What happened?” you ask and Frankie seems to shrink in on himself again as he sits down, sinking low in the chair.

“We got high on the oxy, and whiskey,” he says, “I don’t remember much, but we talked a bit, about Lucía, and Sarah.”

“I’ve never heard Joel talk about Sarah,” you say, “Tommy mentions her sometimes, but never when Joel’s around.”

“He didn’t say much last night either I think, but…” Frankie pauses, remembering what Joel had said just a few hours earlier, “he said maybe he would be different if he’d had someone like you, that you’re keeping me alive, that I’m lost without you.” Frankie gives you a weak smile, “He’s right, I’m so fucking lost without you.”

“I’m lost without you too, Frankie,” you say, gripping his hand across the table.

“He kicked me out, told me to go back home, even though I wasn’t sure you’d let me come home.”

“Frankie,” you sigh, a small smile creeping up on your face, “I love you more than anything, you’re the love of my life and you are the one thing that’s kept me alive these past ten years, but I swear, if you ever think I don’t want you, ever again, I’m gonna ask Will and Benny to slap you. In tandem.”

That makes him chuckle lightly, a sound that makes your heart feel warm.

“Thanks for the warning, I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles back at you.

“Good,” you smirk, taking his bowl and ladeling up soup for him.

“Joel also said to tell you he’s not gonna do runs or trades with me, like you wanted. And…” he hesitates, remembering how he’d blown up when you suggested it, “I’m gonna stop with the smuggling, at least going outside the wall, maybe I can just help with trades in the QZ.” Frankie says, taking the bowl from you.

“Really?” you say, “That makes me really relieved, Frankie! I really think that’s what you need to get your PTSD under control again.”

Frankie puts his spoon down and rubs his hand over the back of his neck, his eyebrows pulled together as you look at him, “I’m sorry I yelled at you when you suggested it yesterday, you’re right, going outside the walls, doing trades out there, it’s made everything worse. But I just don’t wanna stop doing it, I still don’t wanna, but…” he trails off, shaking his head and sighs. “I used to be able to just do whatever shit they asked of us in the army, and just shut it out, and sleep at night. But when I couldn’t do it anymore, coke was the easy answer. And when I got past the addiction and got my shit together again, and I met you, it was easy to not be tempted. Not once in our year before the outbreak was I tempted to use, despite the nightmares, and I thought I was past it.” He rubs his hand over his face, sliding it back up to his neck and you move your chair so that you’re sitting next to him, taking his other hand.

“But after Lucía…if I’d had any drugs around then, I would’ve taken anything to make those nightmares stop…” He’s rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, endless circles while he talks, “And then it just got worse until Arlington and Herb. He showed me how to control it, to make things calm again, even if everything around me went to shit, even when I was doing runs with Pope and we got into dangerous situations. But after New York…” he pauses and looks up at you, cupping your check with his hand, running his thumb over the soft skin. “After you got taken by Will’s guys, even when you came back with Will, nothing helped. That’s when I started getting worse.”

“Frankie, that was over five years ago,” you say softly, “why didn’t you say something?”

“I should’ve,” he sighs, “fuck…I really should’ve, but at first it wasn’t too bad, and you know me…” he gives you a crooked smile, “I told you from the beginning, talking about it is always the hardest thing.”

“You think you’ve failed…” you whisper, moving closer to him so that you can put your arms around his neck as he nods.

“And I know the runs made things worse, but even now, I still think it’s the one thing I’m good at. I make a difference when I help bring in stuff people really need.”

“But not at the expense of your own mental health, Frankie,” you say, threading your fingers through the curls at the back of his head, still damp from his shower, and tugging lightly. “I know you guys make a difference, but to me, you’re more important than anyone else, and I have to keep you safe.”

He nods and sighs, leaning into your touch as he feels the warmth of your palms against the cool skin of his neck.

“And Joel…” he says, “it sounds weird, but the way he is, it gave me permission to be like that too. It was like I didn’t have to reflect over what I was doing because he was showing me it was ok to do it…” Frankie pauses and looks down on his hands, words still hanging on the tip of his tongue. He sighs and looks up at you, a guilty look in his eyes, “It felt good, doing it,” he says, his voice low, “it felt really good doing it. People were scared of me, I could make them do whatever I wanted or…or just make things go quiet for a while.”

“Frankie,” you whisper, “you said I thought you were a monster for what you did but I ne-.” He winces at that, dropping his gaze back to his hands.

“I am a monster,” he mutters, shaking his head, “I’ve done-”

“You’re not a monster,” you cut him off, tugging at his hair and making him look at you again, meeting his pained brown eyes with your own, a determined tone to your voice. “You are not a monster and I have never, ever thought that about you. And don’t you dare say that about yourself.” You hold his eyes firm, daring him to contradict you but he just swallows and gives you a small nod.

“You’ve been through so much shit, Frankie, but you’re still here. You make mistakes and you fall sometimes, but you’re still fucking here despite it all,” you bring your forehead to his, holding him tight against you as his arms curl around your waist. “Give yourself some credit and don’t you fucking dare think you’re a monster. You’re my Frankie and you’re still the best man I’ve ever known.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he says, he’s so close that you can feel his warm breath against your lips as he closes his eyes, breathing deep.

“I just told you, you’re the best man I’ve ever known,” you say, letting him pull you closer, onto his lap so that he can rest his head against your chest, the old kitchen chair creaking under your combined weight.

“I’m gonna get past this,” he mumbles, “I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes, you deserve it.”

“One day at a time, Frankie,” you say, leaning over and carefully picking up his bowl, “Start by eating your soup.”

…

As he promised, Pope came by later that night, checking in on you both. He sat and talked to Frankie for a long time while you made dinner and washed the clothes he’d slept in the night before. Both men were emotional when Pope finally stood up and pulled Frankie into a hug, before leaving again.

“I’m gonna go look for a regular job in the QZ,” Frankie tells you as he comes out into the kitchen. “Pope’s gonna talk to the others, tell ‘em I’m out.” He sighs and you pull him in for a hug, kissing his scruffy cheek when he leans his head on your shoulder.

“I’ll talk to Sean, maybe he knows someone who needs the help of a big, strong man to lift heavy things or something,” you smile at him and he grumbles against your neck.

You keep Frankie close for the next few days, there’s no immediate need for him to run out and get a soul sucking FEDRA assignment. Instead you get him to come with you to the radio office and he helps Sean with some repairs that he’s been putting off. The next day one of Sean’s friends comes by and asks if Frankie can help with a broken door lock and before you know it, Sean has spread the word of Frankie’s handyman skills around the QZ.

“So Frankie’s now ‘Frankie the Fixer, or is that ‘Fish the Fixer’?” Benny chuckles at his own joke as he sinks down next to you on the couch at the back of the bar. The fire is going in the fireplace but it’s almost not needed; the past two weeks have seen a change in the harsh Boston weather and spring is now very much in the air.

“Don’t make fun of him, Benny, he needs this, he’s doing so much better,” you scold him and he smiles.

“I promise, no handyman jokes,” he chuckles again.

“He’s really doing better?” Will asks, “I haven’t seen him in a while, he’s been so busy.”

“Yeah, he is doing better,” you say, “I mean, not good, not by a long shot, but moving in the right direction you know?”

“Good,” Will nods, “I talked to Joel and he said Frankie hasn’t even talked to him since that night so cutting him off worked.”

“You guys aren’t working at all with Joel now?” you ask, raising your hand at Santi as he comes in through the door and makes a beeline for the bar.

“No, not really, not as long as he continues to trade drugs, that’s a hard no. We help each other out a bit, warnings about FEDRA activity, that kind of stuff,” Will answers, “Tommy said he’s looking to partner with someone else, but so far anyone Tommy has suggested Joel has said no to.”

“He’s still trading oxy, he’s got some contact, managing to bring it in,” Benny says in a low voice, “But we could never work with him while he’s doing that, not after Frankie.”

“I really appreciate that, Ben,” you say and he gives you a little side hug as Pope joins the three of you, sinking down in one of the empty armchairs.

“Fish not here yet?” he asks, “I wanted to ask him about a job he needed help with.”

“He’ll be here soon,” you say, “he said he had to go over to the east side to see if he could get a spare part for Sean.”

Pope nods but keeps looking at you like he’s thinking about something and you raise your eyebrows at him, “What’s up, Santi?”

“Nothing, I was just thinking, you still sure he’s not using anymore?”

“Yes, why?” you ask, you feel worry flare up in your guts as you lean forward, “Did you notice something?”

“No, nothing, I don’t know…” he says, “Maybe it’s just my paranoia, it just felt too easy, getting him clean, you know what I mean?”

“He wasn’t using that long this time,” you reply, “just a few times after that run to Concord.”

“Yeah…” Pope scratches his beard, still thinking, “Is he sleeping ok, how are his nightmares?”

“He’s not sleeping great, he falls asleep quickly but wakes up with nightmares every night. But he’s normal during the days, I mean, he’s tired, but he doesn’t seem slow or sluggish.”

Pope nods and you lean back again, but now there’s a little knot of worry in your belly, Frankie wasn’t back to normal, but at least you thought he was doing better, he seemed calmer and more alert than he had been since the run to Concord. But it was clear that his PTSD was still haunting him, that wouldn’t disappear overnight, it took him months to get back to some sort of normality in Arlington with Herb. But that didn’t matter, you had time, as long as he wasn’t using anymore. You glance towards the bar’s front door, willing Frankie to turn up soon.

…

He felt like shit doing this, going behind your back. But he just needed a little, to keep his mind in check while he got the PTSD under control, while he went through the tools Herb had taught him. Or at least that’s what he’s telling himself. Just a half one here and there to help him sleep and take the edge off.

He shuffles his feet as he waits outside the front door of a derelict building in a part of the QZ he seldom comes to. He’s been told about it by a woman who’s shower drain he’d unclogged. He shuddered at the memory, both from the sludge he’d pulled up from the drain, and from the way she looked at him when she offered to pay him with sex instead of the ration cards they’d agreed on. She was clearly high on something and just the sheer sight of her pallid skin and lifeless tangled hair had almost made him resist asking where she got her supplies. She’d dropped her shirt down again when he asked, hiding her dirty bra, and scoffed.

“If I’d known, I could’ve paid you with a pill instead,” she’d said and thrusted the ration cards into his hand. She gave him an address down at Battery Wharf and now here he was, guilt trickling down the back of his neck.

The door in front of him opens and a surly looking man glances at him before checking the rest of the street.

“What do you want?” he sneers, his hand firmly around a heavy looking baseball bat.

“I’m here to see Tess.”

Chapter 32

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics @vickie5446

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #angst #frankie morales angst #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader

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siremasterlawrence · 2 months

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Celebrity Exchange Program

As a up and coming actor who proudly just joined the SAG (Screen Actor’s Guild) for the first time and I am offered a chance to be a test for the pilot program where I can use a Human Exchange Program.I had a signed a strange waver that is a gold paper with a specialized pen as the gold like paper erupts in to fire and throwing it from my hand as it disintegrates before my very eyes.I shake my head forgetting as I exit the SAG office I receive a pamphlet from the agent at the desk and I flip through it as I head home a key falls from the pamphlet with instructions on it.I flip through it as the introduction page is stating that I have entered a super hot type of exchange program where I get to switch my body with any celebrity I choose to try experience.I use the sd card shape like a key placing it into the laptop as the screen turns deep odd gold color scheme and I am sent in to a new typo of interface and I found myself seeing the options.I skim down the list with of celebrities I can inhabit for a few days I find myself lusting after each you and for different reasons of course my main squeezes are married or dating so it’s a no.Colton Haynes listing himself on the system which leaves me floored and I immediately click it to the main page showing me his face and all of her naked picks of him on full display.I press agree after scrolling down the page for God knows who long finally I signed on the dotted line and begin feel the full weight of my actions.I ignore my own feelings it heading to bed as I fell in to a deep sleep my spirit lifts from my body into the air and floating through the window and passing a strange orb I am assuming is Colton Haynes entering mybody.Everything goes black as my body continue floating into the air speeding up as his air around my soul catch fire and I land through a window and enter it hitting some strong body.The body falling backwards onto the bed rock hard sending me a coma my body is beginning to shake convulsing out of control and I wake up with my eyes popping open up.I sit back up thrusting my legs into the air as she lands a bit, my head is groggy coming towards me walking to the mirror, and he is fluctuating this body hitting the mirror in a thud.I come to looking up to the mirror to see him it’s Colton’s face I am touching and I am so feeling fantastic as I strip naked to showing his body on showcase this is my body now forever.I check my body landing onto my chest as they let them spread feeling every inch and crevice of his body and I knew he felt that even in body but just spun it to the side to head into the bathroom.Letting my clothes fly into the air as I enter the bathroom closing the door behind me, switching the knob of the side as the shelf flows down raining over me and begin to soap up.The soap in my hand is place back as I am lathering myself up to the point suds are now everywhere and I enjoy the heat of the water wash over me and it felt so amazing to me.I do dance as I am getting a bit more of his confidence knowing I am super fucking hot now and their is nothing they can do to stop me and cleaning myself off with a towel as the steam rises.I am a new man stepping out of the shower drying my feet and into a pair of slippers as I walk out and the steam flowing into my main bedroom.

“Oh My God!”

“I am a stun”

“Look this face”

“This body is perfection”

“I am about to go out “

“Flash this smile “

“Flirt”

“Get some ass”

“Claim someone “

“They won’t know what hit them”

“I won’t be shy “

“I am so tired of being misunderstood “

“What’s his passcode”

“Oh right! Boop boop boop”

“Excellent! Let’s download some app”

“Set your profile”

“Take a few pics “

“Hit me up bitches “

“Time to get dressed “

“This polo shirt is it “

“Nice pair of jeans”

“Grab my shit “

“Almost forgot my keys “

“Here we go”

“Hello! Yes”

“This is Colton Haynes”

“I will be at this restaurant in five minutes “

“I need to get a private table at your restaurant.”

“This is Colton Haynes”

“Yes sir!”

“I’m on my way “

“Baby!”

“Move! “

“The main main is here”

“I’m here “

“Hello Sir!”

The end

#colton haynes #body possession #body swap #contract #hollywood #human doll.#human puppet #soul swap #hot shower #mirror

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doctorwhoimagines · 4 months

Text

All of Time and Space

After a would-be alien invasion, The Doctor offers you the opportunity to travel with him in the TARDIS.

Ten × gn!reader

Warnings: None

"This is supposed to be a spaceship?" With a raised eyebrow, you looked away from the blue box and back to the pinstripe suited man—The Doctor, he'd called himself—his hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers. "It's just an old Police Box."

"Well, looks can be deceiving, can't they?" The Doctor headed towards the box once again, taking your hand to bring you along.

He'd been doing that on and off for the last few hours, holding on tight as the two of you ran from the strange aliens that had apparently infiltrated your workplace. You helped The Doctor send them back to where they came from, only for him to give you an enticing offer.

"You and me. All of time and space. What do you say?"

Even after what you'd witnessed that day, seeing more than just your little corner of planet Earth still seemed far-fetched. But something in The Doctor's eyes told you that you could trust him with your life without knowing him for more than a single afternoon.

You shook the thought away just as the two of you reached the door, and he pushed it open for you, nodding his head towards the inside. "Go on then, give her a look."

Seeing the blue box made you start to rethink that a little bit. Sure, he'd stopped an alien invasion like it was something he dealt with every day, but what if he was just some madman? And even if the box really could travel through time and space, how could the two of you fit in the thing? The Doctor was quite slim, yes, but the idea of being in such close quarters with him...

Hesitantly, you let go of him as you stepped in.

Instead of a dark, cramped box, you found a warmly lit room. The walls were covered in a hexagonal pattern, and it had what looked like curvy support beams spaced around it. In the center of it all sat a console, litered with various knobs and buttons and screens.

And the sound...almost like the ship had a heartbeat.

You didn't even notice that The Doctor had already ran past you and to the console, tossing his trench coat onto the padded railing. He flipped a switch, watching as you took in your surroundings. There was something he enjoyed about seeing others be awestruck at the sight of his beloved TARDIS.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing you said was, "It's...it's bigger on the inside."

"It's called the TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimension in Space." The Doctor leaned on the edge of the console, his hands resting on either side of him as he looked at you expectantly. "Fancy a trip?"

You walked towards him, still looking at the room and wondering if you were dreaming. "You said 'all of time and space'..." Stopping in front of him, you smiled. "How could I not?"

The Doctor grinned and, in an instant, began pushing buttons and flipping even more switches. "The question is...past or future?"

"Future," you said without a thought. "Show me something amazing."

"Coming right up!" The Doctor stopped running around the console to pull a lever, and the TARDIS began to make a strange grinding noise. You found yourself glad for the railing as the ship's movements threw you around a bit. The Doctor seemed unfazed by that, continuing to pilot the ship.

Finally, the TARDIS came to a stop, and you were able to let go.

"Sorry about that," The Doctor said, already moving towards the exit. "Her navigation system can be a bit tricky."

"A warning might have been nice." You jogged to catch up to him, stopping in front of the doors.

The Doctor looked over at you with a smile, "Ready to see the future?"

When he opened the door, your first thought was that it was most definitely not Earth, evidenced by the twin suns in the sky. The buildings looked almost to be made of pure gold, all shining bright where the sun hit them. Dreaming felt like even more of a possibility at the sight of a place so beautiful. "Something amazing: check."

Before The Doctor could say that it wasn't where he meant to bring you, you grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the ship. "What are we waiting for? Let's look around!"

"So..." you began, catching your breath as you slumped down in the chair that you had neglected to notice on your first flight a few hours earlier. The Doctor had just landed the TARDIS somewhere else, but you hadn't asked about that yet. "Do your trips usually end with trouble?"

He leaned against the railing, not quite as worn out as you were after all that running. It wasn't his first rodeo with killer robots. "More or less. Mostly more." He looked down at you with an eyebrow quirked. "Why? Have you changed your mind?"

"No way." You eagerly stood up next to him. "What's next?"

The Doctor didn't hesitate to return to the console and whisk you away again.

#doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #tenth doctor #doctor who #tenth doctor imagine #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor imagine #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor #my fics***

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 10 months

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real reason i can't get into mecha stuff it's too high tech, computers and touch screens and holographs. where are the mecha piloted with janky ass levers and dials and knobs?

i want a crew of 3 to 5 ppl stuffed in that tin can with one of them frantically flipping through an emergency checklist and another one banging on some random pipe with a giant wrench. the pilot and the spotter have a bond deeper than words and hate each other. onboard engineer never sees anything and misses all the action bc they have their head in a service hatch trying to unstick the left elbow or stop steam from venting directly into the view port. mecha captain reminds everyone to COMMUNICATE DAMMNIT as one wrong word or missed callout sends the giant war machine tumbling tin ass over tea kettle. where are the mechas that rattle and clank and have no AI but their crews know their fav songs and colors and sports teams?

where are the clunky giant steam punk mechs powered by friendship, held together with duct tape and prayers???

#mechas #steampunk #retro #friendship #hey im seriously asking is there stuff like this and why haven't i heard of it #hungry

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐣𝐚𝐡

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon, corruption, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find a stranger at your door, a visitor you can't make leave. (Part of the Illuminate AU)

Characters: Yelena Belova

Note: I enjoyed this very much. I hope you do too.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The bluster of winter wails outside the walls. The whistling wakes you, your eyes snapping open but the rest of you rousing slowly. Your muscles ache with the chill creeping up from the floorboards and through the aged plaster of the house. The smell of frost drifts in around the loose panes of the window, deterring you from emerging from the warmth of quilt and flannel.

At last, you find the strength to get up. You make the bed before you find your housecoat and tuck your feet into a pair of fleece-lined slippers. The house creaks around you as you open the door on whiny hinges. The single-floor holds several stories of memories; your own and others’.

You check the thermostat. It shouldn’t be so cold. You swear you can see your own breath. You shiver and rub your hands together as you enter the kitchen. You put the kettle on the burner and light it. You linger for a moment to bask in the warmth of the low flame of the gas stove.

You leave the kitchen, the click of the burner sticking in your head. You enter the back entryway of the house and pull open the old splintering door to the basement. The stares are steep and swathed in darkness, the wraiths of your childhood fears waiting at the bottom.

You flip on the light switch and take your first step down the groaning wooden stairs. Each foot down feels like a descent into hell. You get to the bottom, even colder as no warmth can be found in the cement floors or painted brick walls. The old dryer and washer loom, the only sentinels in the cobwebbed space.

In the corner stands the rusted old furnace. You near with trepidation, shaking as you see the fog of your own breath waft out from your nose. The meter is limp and lifeless. As you near, you realise the old utility is silent.

You’ve had this problem before, it’s nothing new, just like everything else in this house. You go to the cabinet above the washer and dryer and take out the box of matches, checking to make sure they haven’t been dampened by their time in the mildewed basement. You return to the furnace and get down on your knees, close to the back.

There you reach for the gas valve and give it a twist. You press down the red button and strike the match, putting it to the pilot light. You let go of the button and stand to turn the furnace back on. You hear the old barrel-like utility begin to hum.

You head back upstairs, the racket of the furnace building behind you, muffled as you shut the door behind you. As the handle clicks into place, you hear something closer, something louder. You pause and listen, hand resting on the cold metal knob. You fear it comes from where you just were but when it comes again, you realise the noise is from outside.

Before chasing your curiosity, you go back to the kitchen as you hear the kettle begin to quake. You move it off the burner before it can whistle and twist off the dial, the flame wilting to nothing. You shuffle into the back hall and near the back door, listening to the wind still whistling.

You hesitate to open the door, even as you’re certain it’s nothing. You look over at the old cross hung over the rack where you keep split logs for the fireplace. You slide back the lock and twist the handle, easing the swollen door from the frame.

As you pull the door inward, a weight pushes it against you. You step back and let it fall open completely, something collapsing by your feet. The shock blows over you with the winter gale, blustering in through the door. There, her head between your feet, is a woman smeared in dirt and something red.

Her blond hair is filthy with dry mud and a stick is caught in a tangle. There are scratches on her face and neck, her clothing barely in tack as it exposed her raw and bloodied skin. You stare, uncertain of what to do.

Any sane person would shove her back out in the cold and lock their door. But any decent person wouldn’t leave anyone out in that condition. You know her face, not as well as her reputation, but you do not doubt your eyes.

You look out over the expanse of snow littered across the backyard. A touch of yellowed grass peeks through still as the winter has not yet made its full advance. It feels desolate and frigid even as you spy the top of the next house just above your fence. You can’t help but wonder how she ended up back there.

You bend, unsure of how to approach the woman. You fear waking her as much as you worry she may not be able to wake. You slip your hands under her shoulders, turning her flat and hooking your arms under hers.

You haul her past the doorway, dragging her across the rough floorboards. You bend her legs as you go to close the door and stand facing it for just a moment as you process reality. You step back and over the woman, leaving her in the hallway as you try to decide what to do with her next.

It is just as Father Harvey read from the pages, ‘If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person?’

You’re not sure you’ll be able to maneuver her further on your own, and you’re just as nervous of going near her again. The thought of a call to the cops crosses your mind but you know it’s futile when it comes to those ones.

You take the kettle off the stove and pull out a mug and some tea to steep. You ponder a second cup but it would probably be cold before she comes to. If she does.

You sit at the table, a glimpse of her dirty blonde hair visible through the doorway. You turn your attention to the window instead as you watch the snow start to fall. You could try to find her brothers or whoever they are. The other ones you don’t speak to.

As you contemplate your fate and the strange woman, you blow over your tea and take your first sip. A small comfort amid a very uncomfortable situation. You empty half the mug before setting it down, your stomach churning with anxiety.

You put your head in your hand and close your eyes. It could be a nightmare. You might wake up and find the house as you left it the night before. You cradle your forehead, keeping your other hand against the warmth of your mug. You hear the vents start, a gush of heat blowing in from under the table as the house thrums.

You hear the clatter of the furnace kicking up. You look up to the thermostat but something else catches your eyes. The figure standing off-kilter in the doorway, watching you as you gape back in shock. Realising it was not the furnace making so much noise, but her.

She doesn’t say a word, instead letting her lips slant and dragging a limp leg over to the stove. Without looking back, she opens a cupboard and takes down a cup of her own, perusing the other wares within. She shuts it with a snap and scoffs, pushing her head back as she rubs her neck.

“Do you have any damn coffee in this shit hole?” She sneers as she drops her hand.

You blink dumbly, put off by her demanding tone and the presumption of her search through your cupboards. As she opens another, you get up and near her, pulling over the canister of coffee against the wall. You hold it up but she doesn’t take it.

You glance over at her bloodied, broken nails. You’re too polite, honestly too afraid, to ask what’s happened to her. Whatever it was, it hardly seems to faze her.

You turn to load the coffee machine, the small single serve you rarely use yourself. Not since the woman across the street disappeared. She used to come now and again for coffee when her husband worked. You always prayed for her and her husband, he wasn’t a nice man.

You shut the lid and tap the brew button. Your mind wanders to the burnt foundation of the neighbour’s house. They found his body but not hers. You hope she was still out there, somewhere, alive. More than a month though and even your faith threatens to falter.

The machine’s grind quiets and you back up, startled by the woman’s reach as she drags the mug off the drip tray. You press yourself to the adjacent counter and look at her. You slide open a drawer and grab a teaspoon, offering it to her.

“I have sugar–”

“Black is fine,” her eyes flash at the silver utensil as she lifts the cup. Her greenish bluish irises carry a tint of yellow, “put that away.”

Her harsh snap surprises you. You put the spoon back and close the drawer. She staggers back, balancing the cup over her uneven gait. She puts her coffee down before dropping into a chair, barely keeping it from turning over under her.

“Close these fucking curtains,” she demands as he bends her head and shields her eyes, “the sun’s always a bitch after the moon.”

Her words don’t make much sense. You obey and pull shut the curtains above the sink, closing out the winter sun. There’s no reason she should be so affected, the sun is trapped behind a pillow of cold clouds.

“Good girl,” she praises and takes a loud slurp.

You spin to face her, crossing your arms as you watch her. Your hand wanders up to your throat but finds only the nook of your collar bone. You’ve left your necklace in your jewellery box. A habit you’ve rarely broken.

‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you.’

You remind yourself of the passage as wariness nips at your mind. You do not know this woman, you only know what is said of her. And as the Lord bids, one may not judge without first first accepting judgment themselves.

“What happened to you?” You finally muster the question from the maelstrom of fear and shock.

Her thick brows rise and she tilts her head. She sits sideways in the chair and leans back to look down at herself. As she takes in the shredded flannel hanging from her figure, she lifts her hand to touch the twigs caught in her hair. She laughs, greatly amused as she smothers it with a swig of coffee.

She pops her lips and wipes them with her filthy hand, “well, looks like I had a good night.”

She smiles, her teeth eerily long and white. The expression fills you with unease. You clasp your hands together over your stomach.

“Well, I could run you a bath and you could take some of my clothes. I have a bag I was going to donate at the church–”

“Oh, you are a good girl,” she winks, “you go to church?”

You nod, “every Sunday. It’s an open service.”

“Ha,” she guffaws, “I appreciate the invitation but it isn’t for me. I like the Catholic girls more than the Catholic rites.”

You slowly part from the edge of the counter. She is crass in a way that makes you uncomfortable, in the same way as the drunken men who come out of the old bar on Tilbury. She has no shame or it seems, sense. She is as unbothered by her torn flesh as she is by her similarly shorn clothing.

“I’ll get the tub going. The pipes will take time to heat up–”

“Ah ah,” she tuts as you turn on your heel, “what kind of good Christian does not offer a name?”

You face her again. You didn’t realise. You didn’t think to give it, somehow, it felt like giving more than just that. As if you were handing over something precious. But she is here in your home and the Lord treasures gracious hosts. So you say your name, feeling it leave your tongue like a vow.

“Beautiful,” she praises, “I am Yelena, or whatever you like me to be.”

You have nothing to say to her last remark. You leave her to your coffee and forget about your tea. You’re certain it’s already cold as ice. You head down the hallway and let yourself into the bathroom. You turn on the light as you enter and cross the small patchwork of tile to the tub.

You pull back the curtain and bend over the brim to twist the four-pronged faucets. The water spills out and you splash it up the porcelain to rinse it off, turning off the flow to let it drain before starting it again. You put the stopper in place and push yourself straight.

You take a deep breath as you leave the building humidity in the bathroom and stop short as you find the woman, Yelena, just outside. She smirks at the cross stitch in its round frame, reaching to touch the embroidery; Rejoice in the Lord, the threaded cursive reads with the wreath of flowers.

“Quaint,” she muses as her eyes list over in your direction, “your husband must love you. Blessed be the meek and all that.”

You shake your head and look down at your left hand. If your mother was still around, she’d be certain to loudly proclaim your lack of suitors. The woman hums, taking the hint. She surprises you as she claps her hand on your arm.

“Who needs em? Men,” she scoffs, “trust me, they are…” she pauses, considering her next words carefully, “useless.”

She releases you and you step aside, pointing her into the bathroom. She enters, limping still. You notice how her foot drags, her leg entirely limp. You step forward, lingering at the threshold.

“The towel is clean,” you instruct, “and the hot water will probably run out by the halfway mark–” you voice catches as she strips away the remnants of her shirt. Shamelessly, she pulls down the strap of her bra, the other one snapped, and bares her chest, “oh, but uh, I’ll leave you–”

She snickers, “I am not ashamed of how the Lord made me, feel free to admire his work.”

You gasp and latch onto the doorknob. You swallow and quickly swing the door shut, clinging to it as you blink at the peeling paint. You look down at your hand, feeling as though you can’t let go. You see her body still, her pert tits and knowing smile stir your stomach cloyingly. A sinful sensation that tingles down your spine.

You snatch your hand back and nearly stumble into the wall. You must pray and cleanse yourself of these feelings. Let the Lord forgive you.

🌔

You dig out a pair of jeans and a wool sweater from the box, adding a pair of socks and underwear to the stack before scooping it up. You hug the clothing as you head down the hall, listening to the stir of water through the door.

You clear your throat and place the pile on the square table set against the wall. You lean in, voice catching as you try to make the words come out. You feel as if you’re being choked.

“There are clothes out here for you,” you call through at last.

“Mm,” you can hear her sultry hum, “thank you, sweet one.”

You back away, retracting as if scalded. You shudder and continue on to the kitchen. You take the mugs from the table and go to the sink to wash them. The house is still cold though the furnace has softened the nip in the air.

You dry off both cups and put them back in the cupboard. You empty out the filter in the coffee machine and push the canister of grinds back against the wall. Restlessly, you pace, contemplating what comes next. It is unkind to ask a guest to leave but you must. There’s something festering about this woman being in your home.

You should’ve left her in the cold. The thought brings you to a halt and you’re mortified by your own cruelty. You shake your head and trace a cross through the air with your fingers; forgive me, lord.

You go into the living room and sit on the couch, teetering on the edge as you lean forward, elbows on your knees and hands clamped together. You press your lips to your knuckles and close your eyes.

A silty fatigue grits under your eyelids. You are suddenly very tired. You’re still hoping this is just a dream.

“Ah, there you are,” Yelena’s voice brings your head up, your head swelling dizzily.

You look over your shoulder as she struts across the room. She wears only the wool sweater, her legs naked as the hem hovers tenuously just below her pelvis. You gulp as you watch her, stunned by her speedy and complete recovery.

The cuts across her neck and face are gone, her legs show no blemish or scar, and she walks unimpeded. Her blond hair is damp but shiny, and her cheeks are rosy and full. You’ve never seen anyone look so enthralling.

“I feel much better, darling,” she declares as she combs her fingers through her hair, the sweater rising up her thighs, “oh, but you look less than… what is the matter, sweet one?”

“N-nothing,” you go to stand but she’s quick to meet you, blocking you as she stands before you, putting a hand out to keep you at bay, “I…” you gulp, your mouth dry and pasty, “I was going to make breakfast. Are you hungry?”

She looks down at you and turns her hand to cradle your chin, “I am ravenous.”

You stare up at her, hypnotised by the heat of her touch and the yellow flecks seeming to glow in her irises. She slips her hand down to your neck and leans her weight into you, urging you to sit back. You let her, trembling as your body surrenders against your will.

She brings herself down to her knees, moving to insert herself between hers. Her hand crawls down and she hisses as she clutches the silver cross hung around your neck. He yanks and snaps the chain, bringing a yelp from your lips. She flings it away and shows how the pendant left its shape burnt into her palm. You gape as her skin slowly fades back to normal.

“What…” you breathe.

“Shhh,” she presses her finger to your lips, “I will not hurt you. The moon has gone and my hunger has changed.”

Your eyes round as you squirm. Lord, give me strength.

Her hand falls again and she gropes you through the cotton of your sweatshirt. You murmur as she squeezes and you feel it pluck deep down inside of you. You look down at her hand as she fondles you, her other creeping up to raise the bottom of your shirt.

Your mind screams for you to stop her. You know you should, you know what she’s doing is wrong, but you can’t. It’s as if your body is no longer your own. As if she’s possessed you with her touch alone.

She rolls your shirt above your chest, peeling down the cubs of your wireless bra as she leans forward. A glaze of shock paralyses you as you watch her press her lips to the curve of your tit. He kisses the flesh, teasing it with her tongue, then her teeth, nipping so you squeak.

“Delicious,” she purrs, as her thumb twirls around your hardened nipple.

Your hands ball against the cushion, the most you can muster as your muscles lock up. She keeps one hand on your chest as she trails down your stomach with her mouth. She dotes on your soft belly, her other hand edging around as she guides your hips forward. Her fingers curl around the top of your pants.

Her other hand brushes around your ribs and down your back. She grips the elastic of your pants, guiding them down, tugging them under your ass as she jolts your body. You groan as she pulls both underwear and pants down your thighs in a single swoop.

A crack forms in your trance and you bring your hands together to shield your nakedness. You hid your cunt behind as she strips the fabric past your ankles. She tuts and lays a kiss along your calf. She makes a path up to your knee, then switches legs, kissing along your quivering thigh.

“Don’t be shy,” she growls, “the lord gives us all a purpose. He would not make anything so beautiful if he did not mean it to be admired.”

She leans back and reaches behind her hand. She tugs the sweater up over her head, disposing it on the floor as she presents herself to you. Naked and built like a statue, muscle hewn perfectly.

She pulls your hands away from your pelvis and leers between your legs. She pushes your hands down beside you and drags her own down your thighs. She lifts your legs, one at a time, opening you to her.

She bends as you shake, detached from your mortal shell as he bows her head over your lap. She reaches up grazing over your chest and to your neck. She stretches her hand across your throat and holds you in place as she pokes her cool tongue against your slick heat.

You’re just as surprised at the mingling of hot and cold as you are by your own arousal. She laps you up eagerly as your body responds, falling apart in an instant. You moan through your tight throat, wrapping your fingers around her wrist as you drop your head back. Your voice gristles out as you tilt your hips in welcome.

The scald of your repentance fades into that of your delight. Her tongue delves between your folds, dissembling you with each slow swipe, each swirl around your tender bud. Her fingertips tickle along your thigh, edging the crease of your pelvis and dipping down to your entrance. She prods, wiggling just inside as she eases into you little by little.

You gasp and gulp, rocking your hips in time with her. You can hear how much you want her, you can feel it flooding from you, dripping down her hand and spreading on her tongue. She buries her face against you as she devours you, urging you on as she builds her pace, jamming her fingers deeper and deeper.

You reach down without thinking and latch onto her head. You push her down, smothering her face in your cunt as you rut against her face. You feel the swell crest and your body quakes as the tension shatters and sweeps over you. Your orgasm gushes out around her fingers as your voice fizzles to a creaky whine.

She feels along your hand, carefully drawing it away as she raises her head. Her chin drips with your juices as she snickers, baring her wolfish teeth. Her eyes glimmer as she slips her fingers out of you. You squirm with the sudden emptiness.

She grabs the backs of your calves suddenly and stands, pulling you so you slip down, your shoulders on the cushion. She grips the front of your bunched shirt and hauls you onto the floor, bringing you to your knees. She lifts her leg over your shoulder, planting her foot on the couch behind you.

She pushes your face into her pelvis and you open your mouth. You taste her, tilting your head back as she stains your tongue with her desire. Your eyes roll back as she holds you there, her hips rolling as she grips a fistful of your hair.

“Kneel in worship of me, sweet one,” she cradles the back of your head as she brings you closer, “leave your false god behind.”

All doubt, all dread, dwindles away as you’re swallowed by the heat of temptation. The strength of your spirit succumbs to the weakness of your flesh. Forgive me, lord, oh please, forgive me for how sweet it is.

#yelena belova #dark yelena belova #dark!yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #illuminate #au #werewolf au #avengers #mcu #marvel #black widow

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