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hollybell51 · 1 year

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Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding.

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip.

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?”

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened.

“That was fucking insane!” you burst.

“Are you ok?”

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you.

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers.

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back.

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.”

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.”

“A bullet graze!”

“It’s fine.”

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.”

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !”

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics.

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes.

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him.

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you.

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair.

“Ethan?”

“Yeah.”

Another silence, though less tense.

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest.

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso.

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted.

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–”

“No, (Y/N)–”

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall.

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast.

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled.

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?”

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own.

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–”

No one’s coming.

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.”

He wasn’t looking at you anymore.

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!”

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear.

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him.

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should.

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards.

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed.

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle.

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back.

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath.

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you.

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure.

“(Y/N).”

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive.

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?”

“Yeah.”

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…”

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.”

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know.

“For yelling at me?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–”

“All that matters. You said.”

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle.

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.”

The frown deepened. “Hm?”

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real.

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely.

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.”

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek.

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up.

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades.

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore.

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face.

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.”

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his.

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too.

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition.

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt.

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything.

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt.

“Huh?”

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?”

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine.

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind.

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone.

“Yeah.”

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?”

Again, “Yeah.”

You smiled. “What about me?”

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.”

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it.

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity.

“What else?” you asked.

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.”

Oh. Oh.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys.

“Can–”

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair.

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.”

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?”

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.”

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit.

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders.

“Hm?”

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.”

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?”

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face.

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises.

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–”

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad.

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–”

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders.

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again.

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you.

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail.

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him.

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification.

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?”

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.”

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Say it again.”

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?”

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again.

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap.

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand.

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.”

“Yeah?”

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.”

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?”

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?”

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.”

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–”

“Insane?”

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?”

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.”

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again.

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut.

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.”

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin.

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?”

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other.

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.”

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined.

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece.

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.”

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.”

“Hm?”

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?”

“(Y/N)–”

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist.

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you.

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–”

“In me.”

“You sure?”

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–”

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter.

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress.

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed.

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit.

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned.

“What?” he asked.

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?”

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything.

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?”

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?”

He nodded.

“I still want to check them.”

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?”

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.”

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.”

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?”

“Yeah.”

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.”

“Guess I’m just that special.”

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

#ethan hunt #ethan hunt x reader #mission impossible #shameless smut #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #tom cruise

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 7 months

Note

Would i be the ass hole if i added the racist songs from the 40s to my fallout character playlists?

Fallout fans don't rip me too hard with how much I'm watering it down. I promise its just for the people who don't play the games or know the lore

So character playlists are a hit right now (i see you thirsty Leon fans) i started making my own for something that kind of missed out on the craze: Fallout 4.

Theres a lot of 'fantasy racism' in the game against people who mutated with the radiation, super mutants ect ect. And a character who its more apparent with is a Military esk fraction leader called Maxson who has a good reason to hate them but the playlist i had in mind for him is very military themed but some of the songs do kinda rub me a little wrong but in the cannon the racism isn't directed at those minorities anymore: ie, you're a sap mr jap doesn't hold the same amount of water since Asians aren't hunted down like they were before the end of the world, you interact with them as you would anyone else unless they're hostile to you (or you're being a murder hobo). I grew up around a lot of casual racism and I've unlearnt a lot of it so i don't know if this is me over thinking it or its actually a no no. So would i be an asshole?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #fallout 4 #slur cw

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juvenillia · 11 months

Text

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 15: teasing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: maybe I got a bit too carried away in this one but yeah, let me know what you think

CW/TW: mentions of loss, violence, jealousy, dubcon, touch/assault, use of petnames, guilt, regret

wordcount: 4.3k

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"So, you're doing it?", the female voice rang through the speaker. "It's a mission, of course I'm doing it.", your voice was determined but still a bit shaky. Maybe you were just too exhausted. The sleepless nights sapping on your energy. "We know it's a special operation, so we at least want you to choose your partner yourself.", Price’s voice was soft but still firm. "I'd recommend Riley." Laswell's words instantly let your stomach take a turn. You couldn't choose him for too many reasons. So many you totally wouldn't share with your literal boss. Still Laswell continued. "He would act on it with the most professional interests." - "But the mask." - "Even better. Nobody knows who he actually looks like and if it's an order he wouldn't even hesitate." You felt like throwing up. Price looked concerned at you but tried to keep his face clear.

"No, no way. I respect his boundaries. I'm going with MacTavish.", you answered bluntly and quick before the discussion could go anymore in a direction you didn't want to. "You sure about that?", Price’s voice was a bit surprised, but the situation was a special occasion. Such operations were never easy and never a thing because the 141 handled such situations differently. They had their own ways to get the insider information that was required. Mostly this way was harsh and bone crushing. But now they had an ace up their sleeve. They had you on the team, a woman. And therefore, a really beautiful one. That opened a new door of possibilities. "Alright. So, Sergeant MacTavish it is. I'll arrange everything." The line went dead, and you looked at Price. "You know how this op will go." - "I'm familiar with that kinda thing. Yeah. Gonna talk with him tomorrow." - "Thank you, Skadi." - "No need to thank me, sir. It's my job." Price knew that those missions were nerve-wracking for everyone included, and he swore to himself, that he would only sent you out on it if you were fine with it. "You know what I mean.", he simply added before following you to the common room to be reunited with the rest of the 141.

That was yesterday, and now you found yourself in the shared office, figuring the best way out to tell Johnny about his luck. Your mind was racing. Once for the situation that you again fell asleep in the common room and got carried back to your room by one of the boys. How Beth explained later it was Simon, again. Only the thought of the situation let your stomach ramble. No, we won't call it butterflies, we just don't. For the second reason it was definitely the whole situation you found yourself in. You didn't mind the operation itself nor the fact that Johnny was to be by your side. It was just the fact that you were never the type to enjoy social gatherings that much, especially such big and fancy ones. You hated it back then, the hand shaking, sweet talking and complimenting just to get approval and support from rich people which thought of themselves way too much. Back then you played already a role, but this time would be different and more difficult. Pretending to be a completely different person with a completely other life plus of course your beloved boyfriend, Johnny had to pretend to be. Invading enemy terrain to get intel in nothing more than a fancy dress which would reveal way too much skin. No gun in your hands, no knives strapped to your body. You would be served to them on a silver plate. Those missions were triggering your anxiety more than infiltrating an enemy base the offensive way.

"Slept well?", a deep teasing voice ripped you out of the haze your thoughts were. You blinked utterly confused at the Lieutenant who just placed a cup in front of you. Hot steam leaving it in dancing movements upwards till they vanished. You could see how his mask moved, and how he had to wear a smile beneath it. A deep blush made its way onto your cheeks. Since when was he so cocky with his comments? What did change in the last days? And worse did you do something embarrassing? Hells bells, did you speak during your sleep?

He let out a nearly inaudible chuckle while taking his place at his desk across from yours. Your reaction was enough answer for him, still he wanted to push it. It was only the two of you in the office by now, so he would take advantage of it. "Will ya keep fallin' asleep 'n me? Just out 'f curiosity." His voice was so cocky, so teasing. You wanted the ground to open and swallow you right now.

After Simon's anger about the intruder vanished, he saw a chance of being just a bit more offensive with you. Only jokingly teasing, only the way like you would do with Johnny or Kyle all the time. It wouldn’t change a thing he believed. He wanted to test the waters but seeing you all flustered and overwhelmed did something to him. And maybe there was a chance that you would call him 'darling', just the way you did with him. He didn't know how he would react; he didn't know what it would take you to grow this comfortable around Simon, but he would try to find out. Maybe it would be his doom, but maybe his elysium.

This was the moment Johnny walked through the door. "Good morning everyo..." - "MacTavish, just the guy I was looking for.", you yelled out and before he could react, you jumped up from your place, took the cup of tea Simon brought you in one hand and the other hand grabbed Johnny's wrist while dragging him outside. Shoving Kyle aside while he tried to enter the office and just looked dumbfounded after you two and then at Simon. The taller Brit just shrugged, usually the situation would kind of bug him, but right now, he was too satisfied with your morning encounter and started on the reports. A victorious smile well hidden behind the mask.

"So, yer gonna be my wifey, eh?", Johnny looked with raised brows at you, wearing a cocky smile. You dragged him into one of the empty briefing rooms where you explained everything to him. "Fiancée. And stop the teasing. Bloody hell.", you rolled your eyes while he nudged your foot with his. He stood in front of you, not too far away but also not really close, leaning against one of the tables. "Fiancée.", he repeated mockingly.

"We should talk about boundaries. Lines we shouldn’t cross, things we're fine with and things we're not.", you stated while crossing your arms in front of your chest. Johnny nodded, and suddenly some thoughts flashed his mind. Thoughts he pushed aside for now. Of course, Johnny knew how important that mission was, but he still was a teasing piece of shit. It took you a few to sort things out and to get him to take this talk serious, without any more teasing and jokes. You were professionals after all.

"That's only the emergency exit. Ya hear me?", you looked serious at him while taking the last few sips out of the cup and ending your talk. You did really go through any possibility that could happen. "Got it. And now we're talking about Lt making you, and only you, tea and why you didn't choose him for the fake dating mission. Eh?", he raised his brows once more at you, this cocky grin back at his lips. You felt the heat back on your cheeks and wished you could just throw the cup after him. Instead, you rolled your eyes and raised your hands in a warning gesture. "Already thinking about divorce now.", you laughed, and Johnny pouted jokingly before each of you went after the preparation for this special operation.

It was around six in the evening as Laswell helped you with your hair and makeup. She told you, that she always had to doll up her wife and you had to admit, she did an amazing job. You were standing in the bathroom of the fancy hotel just some blocks away from the benefits gala. Putting the jewelry and dress on, Kate had prepared for you. The jewelry was made to be your decent communication device for the night. It would keep you in contact with Price and Ghost who were arranged as guards for the gala. So, Johnny and you wouldn't be completely out in the open.

You slipped the dress on and cursed to yourself. It was tight just at the right places and hugged your curves perfect. It hadn't a huge cleavage, but a slit up to your leg, nearly too high for your liking. Somehow you were still glad that this fabric was divided there because otherwise you weren't even able to move properly. The silky fabric moved delightful as you took a turn in front of the mirror. It definitely wasn't something you despised wearing, you felt pretty of course, but you'd preferred your cargo pants and a turtleneck. You could say you felt too much like eye candy, but that was what you were supposed to be today. A decoy to attract the hopefully right persons to spill some intel.

You went with Kate to the room the boys were put to. Kyle was already on the computers to invade the security cameras, that you could be a step ahead. Just in case. Ghost seated next to him, wearing an all-black suit with a pair of unholy tight pants, and a completely black balaclava. Going through the process over and over again. Price was in the same suit, helping Johnny to adjust his bow tie. He wore a casual and elegant suit, that matched the color of your dress. Simon was the one to open the door for you and Kate as soon as she knocked and how happy he was to wear this god damn mask.

His breath hitched as soon as he laid his eyes on your figure. You just walked past him, trying to ignore the burning feeling inside of you. Your work brain needed to take over now. Kyle only whistled, looking astonished in your direction. You rolled your eyes while pushing your hands in your hips. "Zip it, Garrick!", you glared at him, and he only rose his hands in defense. "If yer saying something against my wifey I'm gonna end yer.", Soap said while slipping a hand around your shoulder. Maybe Johnny was already a bit to comfortable in his role.

Simon stood still in place, frozen, mesmerized by your presence. The only thing that brought him back was Johnny's hand on your shoulder. The shoulder that was stained with a fresh scar of your latest meeting with a bullet and guilt came up his chest. His eyes travelled down to your hips, the place where another nasty scar would stay forever now. Scars were part of the job, nothing special but thinking about how your beautiful body was stained with them.

Just then he realized how perfectly fitted the dress was. Literally nothings were left to the imagination, his imagination. His eyes lingered just there, hoping that his brain would be able to remind him of this picture as often as possible. He’d love to change the picture of your blood-stained body into this one. And he made sure to be as close to your side tonight as possible. "Fiancée. Johnny. Fiancée.", you corrected him annoyed. "Why is that even so important?" - "We need a good story with enough personal information to spill. Because only then people will spare theirs. We have to be convincing." Johnny playfully rolled his eyes at your correction. "Alright ladies. We must go!", Laswell clapped in her hands and Price pulled an identical balaclava, like Simon already wore, over his head.

The start of the evening went off smoother than expected. Johnny didn't leave your side, always having an arm around your waist or on your back. It was quite reassuring, and his constant presence made it easier for you to entertain the people. Johnny did most of the talking and you just had to look pretty. That wasn't hard at all. Plus, you always felt save feeling the intense glance of Ghost on you. No matter where you were, you knew he was close. Sometimes you couldn't even see him, like a real ghost hiding in the shadows. You wore an earpiece on the side that was covered by your hair. So that you could at least got some hints from the boys. No matter if it was from Kyle observing the whole place or your two guards. And it was somehow funny that wherever you looked all the waitresses and securities wore those masks. Of course, you were a bit disappointed when you found out that he gonna keep the mask on even now, still you didn't want to cross his boundaries, that’s why you didn’t choose him for the mission and that is the reason you told Johnny. From time to time, you heard Price's or Gaz' voice over the earpiece, commenting on stuff people said. Simon stayed silence most of the time. Johnny had no earpiece, because he simply had nothing that could hide it, so he had to promise to stay close. At least in the sight of Price.

It was in a moment when Soap and you weren't surrounded by anyone, just then you caught him. Simon standing afar, next to a pillar and staring continuously at you. But something in his glance was different. Was it a hint of jealousy? Your eyes met for a second before a genuine smile flashed over your face. Johnny stood close to you, still an arm around you his eyes searching for your next victim, and you couldn't prevent the words to slip over your lips. "Lieutenant.", you said calm averting your gaze to not make it too obvious. Leaning a bit further into your fake fiancé. He hummed in confirmation over the comms. Still staring at you, not daring to look away. Too scared that it would be a dream and the image in front of him would be gone as soon as he blinked. "You’re staring.", you said with the most teasing voice you could and just then you could see from the corner of your eyes that he abruptly looked away. "Just observing.", he cleared his throat. It led to a sweet and satisfied laugh. The game he started could be played by two.

"Says the lass that shamelessly checked his arse in those tight suit pants out.", Johnny's cocky voice was heard, and you instantly buried your face deeper in his shoulder. You hoped that nobody at the other end of the comms could hear him. He started to laugh and patted your back. "Yer secret's save with me. Dinnea yer worry, bonnie.", he smiled while your face was drowning in embarrassment and you just prayed to everything you hold dear, that Johnny would keep his promise.

The evening became a bit harder when you decided to split up, to get as many people to talk to you as possible. It was after an unpleasant talk with a way too drunken man, that you took a little break excusing yourself to the bathroom. He at least gave a few things away that could help you. Still, you felt a disgusting shadow creeping over your skin. Men were easy to manipulate, still you hated it. You just hoped the night would be over soon and that you could wash yourself clean with a cold shower.

As soon as you stepped out of the bathroom you couldn't help but felt another shiver run down your spine. Another guy seemed to have followed you, because just then you felt an unfamiliar hand creeping around your waist. You immediately tensed and needed to fight the urge to throw him over your shoulder. He lowered his head to your ear that wasn’t covered by your hair. "There is someone who wants to meet you, doll." It made your hair stand to an end, but you needed to suppress it. Whoever wanted to see you could be a very helpful informant. You were lucky that he couldn’t see your face that was coated in sheer disgust. He let his hand wander further down, and the feeling to just break his wrist became stronger and stronger.

But you weren't the only one that had this urge, just to the misery of the poor guy. Ghost snatched his shoulder and yanked him with full force away from you. He nearly growled at him before standing in front of you. Shielding you away. "Leave 'e lady alone. She's already expected.", he hissed through gritted teeth and the douchebag ran away as fast as possible.

You looked in disbelief at him as he turned around to face you properly. Making sure nobody else would watch, you glared at him. "What the hell?! He could have led to important information.", you crossed your arms. "That wasn't appropriate. I needed to intervene!", he only hissed, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. He would never raise his voice at you, still he needed to clarify his point. "I was completely okay... that's how those things work. It's the most efficient way.", you paused for a moment. You didn't want to scold him for something that would be the right thing to do, because indeed it wasn't okay how the man treated you. Still, he interrupted a chance of good information.

"You really need to let myself decide if I'm fine or not." Simon clenched his fist. He knew you were right, but watching how that guy touched you without your consent, without your approval that made him furious. Seeing the discomfort in your eyes. He wouldn't let anything like this happen, to no-one, but especially not to you. You could feel how tense he was; he didn't answer to your outburst. You sighed; one more look around before your arms dropped to your side. "You trust me?", your eyes searched for his and he nodded slowly, not averting his glance. "Let's agree on a sign.", you exhaled not braking eye contact either.

You went back in the main hall, still the burning gaze from Ghost on your back, you moved through the groups of people until you caught a word that completely caught your interest. "He changed since the incident." - "Well, Camilo was his brother." You took a place in the circle, greeting everyone with a sweet smile. Camilo had a brother. "He was his twin! You know how twins have this weird connection..." A twin, that made sense why you thought you saw Camilo running around that chem factory. Price and Simon assured you millions of times that Ghost took him out before he caught that bullet.

People started starring at you, so you took a sip out of the glass in your hand. "I heard from the tragic accident.", you chimed with fake sympathy. "Oh, my dear. That wasn't an accident.", an older man touched your shoulder and left his hand there. Squeezing it softly. "He was taking care of.", you looked faked bewildered at him. And another woman joined. "He even moved the plans back, you know, to grief properly. Even gave him a funeral after finding his body. So, he has a heart after all." You nodded in understanding. Just then you heard a static voice over the comms "We got visitors.", Price announced and soon you could sense a different group of armed men entering over the higher up floor. They also wore balaclavas, but they moved differently.

You looked with a worried face around, searching for Johnny. That's when the hand of the older man started rubbing circles on your shoulder. "Don't worry my dear. They're here to protect us. I believe there is an uninvited guest." He looked at you with those lust blown pupils and it made you sick. If he would call you 'my dear' one more time you needed to throw up. "Those uninvited guests are you. Maybe we should leave.", Kyle's voice rang over the earpiece while he tracked every enemy. "Those Italians are always so impudent, but family is their highest good."-"Aren't they Mexicans?" - "Mexicans, Italians, Brazilians, Spanish. Aren't they all the same?!", the old men next to you chimed and all around started to laugh. You forced a laugh out of your throat as you saw another bunch of armed and masked men approaching the lower level. Your eyes searched for Soap. Kyle was right, you had to leave now. "Excuse me. I'm missing my beloved fiancé. Will be back soon.", you stated before moving through the mass of people. Johnny didn't hear anything the boys said due to the missing earpiece. You needed to find him.

It was Price’s voice that helped. "He's at the west entry. Gonna make sure you leave save. Ghost take care of the car." You moved as fast as possible without drawing any suspicion to the place Price described and Johnny was there. Discussing eagerly with no one else then the man from your hallway encounter with Ghost. That wouldn't end good.

"Darling, I'm feeling unwell. You think we can go back to the hotel.", you chimed with a cooing tone while your hands searched his. He looked at you and gladly understood immediately. The man looked surprised at you and insisted of you staying a little while longer. Somehow you made your way to the hallway, the only thing that separated you and the SUV that brought you out of here. Price made sure the way was clear and Ghost sat in the car, engine already rumbling low waiting for you to enter the vehicle.

"He's still following you and it seems like he got friends", Kyle declared over the comms. "Shit.", you hissed out while walking in those fancy heels. "We aroused suspicion, especially with our sudden leave.", Johnny said while trailing close behind. A thousand thoughts were rushing through your mind. There was only thing that might help, you sighed. Your eyes found a little corner, and you turned, taking Johnny's wrist, dragging him with you around.

"Yo, Skadi, wrong direction.", you could hear Kyle over the comms. "Emergency exit.", is all you said before muting the earpiece and Johnny immediately understood. That was the first moment he felt uneasy tonight. You pressed yourself against the wall, wrapped your hands around Johnny's neck while bringing him closer to you. His face just a breath away from yours. You looked in his eyes and he nodded, giving silently permission and you closed the gap between you. Your lips brushing over his, a bit stern but still eager, the intense feeling couldn't be denied. His hands were frozen on your waist, till you took one of them and placed it over your thigh. The leg hooking behind his body drawing him impossible closer. It needed to be a good show for them to buy it. Johnny's grip on your bare skin was tight, as his lips moved over yours. It felt nothing like you remembered a kiss, but that wasn't even one of those lust filled actions. It was your emergency exit.

"Bloody hell.", Kyle breathed out in utterly shock, staring at the screen in front of him. "What's happening?!", Ghost nearly barked through the earpiece while the grip around the steering wheel tightened. "Even when I told you, you wouldn't believe me.", Kyle chuckled not daring to blink. Ghost stayed silent, but his heart was pounding.

The man went around the corner and abruptly stopped as soon as he saw the image in front of him. Every suspicion leaving him, as he felt uneasy to watch. To your luck, he had some respect for the privacy and intimacy you just shared. Well, that's at least what you thought. That was the second time tonight he should feel a misfortune. But you couldn’t care. He left you alone and that was all that mattered.

Johnny and you broke away and he looked weird down at you. Somehow his face was full of concern, and regret and at the same time his cheeks burned, and he smiled oddly. “Keep it steady.”, you punched his chest while turning the earpiece on again and rolling your eyes at the Scot. "Just bought us some time. Sorry. On the way out now.", you said while walking back where you left your path. "Dinnea believe that this actually worked.", Johnny hissed a bit breathless next to you and you could hear Kyle joining with a "Same, you lucky bastard." You just rolled your eyes once more as you climbed into the back seat of the car next to Johnny while Ghost already navigated it to the hotel. You couldn't look at Johnny, so you simply stared out of the window. Johnny just stared into the distance in front of him. You agreed on it, you both did and still it left you in an awkward state of mind.

Simon's eyes trailed to the driving mirror, observant as always, he immediately noticed the stains of the red shade on Johnny's lips. His grip around the steering wheel tightened, letting his knuckles turn white when he had to force his eyes back onto the road.

"Good work!", Price said once more as he pulled off the mask, but all of you in the car stayed silent.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub @illuminwtesz @killergoddess97 @kaelaiscool @spiritndrain @anothersimpsblog

#cod mw x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #task force 141 #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost jealous #fake dating #death of peace of mind #cod fanfic #slow burn

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scoonsalicious · 4 months

Text

8.1 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of violence, death, nightmares.

Word Count: 1.8k

Previously On...: Sexy times ensued, you went back to the compound with Bucky.

A/N: I got nothing today, lol

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

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The sun was an oppressive force, beating down mercilessly on Major and her unit as they trekked through the rocky outcrops. The air was thick and suffocating, making each breath a struggle in itself. Sweat poured down her face, stinging her eyes and soaking her clothes beneath the heavy body armor she wore.

The weight of her gear – body armor, helmet, ammunition, weapons, and equipment – felt unbearable. Each piece pressed down on her body, making her feel trapped and weighed down, claustrophobic. Each step was painful– the metal elements of her gear, heated by the merciless sun, burned against her skin and the rough fabric of her uniform chafed, creating raw, painful spots where her gear rubbed against her body.

As Major moved beneath the blistering Afghanistan sun, she licked at her cracked lips, but her tongue was bone dry. Every muscle in her body was aching with fatigue, the oppressive heat sapping her energy.

Her vision blurred, the combined effects of the heat and dehydration, and she blinked several times to clear her vision.

She looked back at the line of troops following her– the men and women who had volunteered for this mission, who were willing to put their already endangered lives at further risk to go behind enemy lines at her command. In the distance, she could still make out the sounds of battle around them: the distant gunfire, the low hum of helicopters, the crackling of radios.

Trying to ignore the pounding of her heart, Major paused to double-check her map and GPS before leading her unit through a narrow, rocky pass. The terrain was difficult and treacherous, and she needed to be careful of her footing. A slip or fall out here could mean putting the entire mission in jeopardy if they had to call for rescue. That was a risk she wasn’t willing to take.

This hadn’t been the only route to reach their objective; after careful consideration, Major had selected the shortcut for the time it would cut off from their overall mission. Her second in command, Sergeant Lee Daniels, had protested, warning that the area hadn’t been properly scouted, and therefore the unit couldn’t be sure what might await them within the pass. In the end, though, it had been Major’s call, and she was confident in her decision.

“I trust you completely, Major,” Daniels had said to her before they began the mission. “If you’re convinced this is the right way to go, I’ll follow you.”

The unit had trekked their way through the rocky pass, guns at the ready and eyes constantly scanning the outcroppings for any signs of an enemy presence, but so far, all had been quiet.

The silence was broken by a deafening explosion ripping through the air, and Major was thrown to the ground. She struggled to regain her senses, ears ringing and vision blurred by dust and smoke. She fought to quell the rising panic surging through her as she tried to visually assess the state of her team.

They had scattered– some wounded, others scrambling for cover through the haze of dust and debris filtering through the air.

Through the chaos, she could hear the sound of one of her men shouting “IED! We’re hit!”

Scrambling to her feet, Major felt her heart nearly pounding out of her chest with both fear and guilt. She was the one who had insisted on this path. She was the one who had dismissed Daniels’ earlier concerns about potential threats in the area. And now, as the dust began to settle, she spotted Daniels, lying on the ground, his body twisted and covered in blood. Somehow, through the madness, his eyes had managed to find hers, and he locked onto her gaze with pain and confusion

“Daniels!” Major screamed as she rushed to his side. She reached down, trying to apply pressure to his wounds, but her hands were shaking uncontrollably. She watched helplessly as blood began seeping through her fingers, staining the tips crimson. “I’m sorry, Daniels. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, but her apologies were no use.

In his final moments, Daniels’ voice was weak, but still he managed to whisper, “It wasn’t your fault, Major. It happens…” His words hung in the air, hollow and meaningless to her. As she watched, the life drained from his eyes, and his hand went limp in hers.

The next thing Major knew, she was standing alone in a vast, empty desert, the silence oppressive. The sky darkened, and shadows stretched across the sand, morphing into the shape of a man. As the shadows solidified, Daniels' features appeared within them, his eyes filled with the same haunting look of pain… and betrayal.

“Why did you lead us here, Major?” his voice echoes, blending with the wind. “You knew the risks. Was my life really worth saving a few hours?”

Major tried to explain, to beg for Daniels’ forgiveness, but no words would come out. Her mouth moved silently, her throat constricted with grief and guilt. The shadows multiply, surrounding her with an infinite number of Daniels that close in around her, their faces accusing, their voices a chorus of anguish.

“You should have listened,” they chanted. “You should have protected us.”

The ground beneath Major began to crumble, and she felt herself sinking into the darkness. She reached out, desperate to hold onto something, anything, but her hands only grasped at empty air. She was falling, falling into an abyss of her own making, surrounded by the echoes of her mistakes and the faces of the one she couldn’t save.

You woke with a start, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat; the t-shirt of Bucky’s you’d gone to sleep in plastered to your skin. You put a hand to your chest– your heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it might burst from your ribcage. The darkness surrounding you felt suffocating, and as your eyes adjusted to it, you began to panic– this was not your room, and in your anxiety-fueled state, you were convinced you were still trapped in the abyss of your nightmare.

No, you reminded herself. You weren’t trapped in the abyss– you were in Bucky’s room. You were safe. You were someplace where the memory dream could no longer hurt you.

“Sugar?” You felt Bucky sit up next to you and slide his arms around your waist. “Are you alright?”

As the adrenaline pumping through your system began to fade, you were hit with an almost unbearable weight of embarrassment. “Yeah,” you croaked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep, Bucky.”

“Nuh uh,” he said, leaning over to flick on his bedside lamp, and you breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the receding dark. “I know what a nightmare looks like, doll. Have to say, I’m usually the one waking up screaming from ‘em, though.”

You turned your head to look over at him, and saw no recrimination or judgment in his eyes, simply understanding. “You get them, too?” you asked him, your voice small.

Bucky nodded and reached over to tuck a strand of hair away from your sweat-slicked forehead. “Used to get them every night, when I first got away from Hydra,” he confessed. “Sometimes, my body would wake up, but my mind would still be stuck in the dream. I’d get violent. Hurt myself. Punched Steve once when he had the bad idea of tryin’ to wake me up from one.”

You offered him a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “How’d you get them to stop?” you asked.

Bucky’s arm wrapped around your waist as he leaned back against the headboard, pulling you into him so that you were leaning against his chest. “They didn’t,” he admitted. “They’re not nearly so frequent now– maybe one every handful of months, but they’ve never gone away.”

“It’s been a while since I had one,” you told him. “I think… I think sleeping in a different place might have set me off.”

Bucky’s expression turned apologetic. “Oh, doll,” he began, “I’m so sorry– if I’d known, I never woulda insisted on you spending the night here. We coulda gone to your place–”

You shook your head, wanting to dispel him of any notion of guilt he might have. “No, no, Bucky. It’s not your fault. I wanted to spend the night here with you.” You sighed. “How… how’d you learn to deal with them, without letting them drive you crazy?”

Bucky chuckled as he ran his hand up and down your arm, and you could feel the vibrations of it through his chest and against your back. It made you feel warm and safe. “Lily was actually a big help with that,” he said. “She was staying at the Compound for a few weeks while renovations were being done on her house in town, and one night, she heard me havin’ a nightmare. She busted through the door and woke me outta it. Offered to stay with me til I fell back asleep. Some nights, I just couldn’t, so she’d stay up til dawn just talkin’ to me, gettin’ my mind off of it. I think it’s what helped us become such good friends,” he admitted. “She was there for me when everyone else thought I was crazy. Unstable. She made sure I wasn’t alone.”

You felt a twinge of… something at Bucky’s words. While you were glad he’d had someone with him, someone to help him through all of those horrible nights, you couldn’t help but feel envious of the intimacy it would have created between him and Lily, the way she had been there for him and the bond that had resulted because of it. Just acknowledging the thought made you disgusted with yourself.

“I’m thankful you had her,” you told him, choosing to focus on the positive component of his revelation instead of your negative emotions. “I imagine having someone to talk to about your nightmares helped take away some of their power.”

Bucky hummed behind you. “That’s a really good way of putting it, sugar, and I think you’re right.” He kissed your temple. “So, let me be that someone for you, yeah? Let me be the person you talk about your nightmares with, so we can take away their power over you.”

His offer made your chest ache with gratitude and affection. Here he was, offering to create that intimacy, that bond, with you. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“We don’t have to start talking about them right now,” Bucky said. “Or even tonight. We’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” you said, turning your head so you could nuzzle your cheek against his chest. “I don’t know that I’m ready to talk about it right this minute, but knowing that you’ll be there to listen? Well, it means a lot to me, Bucky.” “You mean a lot to me, Major,” he clarified. “And I want to spend as long as you’ll let me proving that to you.”

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic

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rosiesthehat · 1 month

Text

wrap me in your arms like i'm made of glass.

Pairing: Lorraine Warren X Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Tags: possessed!reader, exorcism, self flagellation / self harm, disordered eating, mommy issues, hurt/comfort!

Summary: You've been fighting an evil spirit on your own for months, until an angel falls on your doorstep, and you no longer have to fight alone.

Author’s Note: This one is sort of dark, ee!! Sometimes a girl just needs to write an exorcism, I guess!! This is my first go of anything horror/angsty, so uhm.. it might be kinda bad. This is also on my AO3!!

It hates the cold.

As do you.

Yet somehow, as you lay by the flung-open bay window, watching the tiny, crystalline flakes fall to cover your once-blossoming hydrangea bushes, you feel your head silence for the first time in weeks. The lightweight blanket draped over your knees isn’t much help to fight the tremble in your fingers, which are wrapped tightly around a mug of hot chocolate— you’ve been falling victim to your sweet-toothed cravings lately, considering this very well may be your last chance to do so.

The television across the room hums whatever country music variety show is on this early in the morning; a few cars pass by outside, splashing up muddy sludge into your front yard. You can’t help but wince at the action. You once dedicated so much time to perfecting your lawn, just for all of that hard work to become irrelevant in a few short hours. It’s probably been decades since this town last saw any snow. You’d never seen so much as a cold rain in your few decades of living. It seems that Hell’s finally frozen over. It’s a shame you never paid attention in church long enough to find out what to do in such an event.

You’re feeling weak. This isn’t a new sensation. Weeks’ worth of sleep interrupted by family photos flung off of walls in the middle of the night truly does begin to take a toll on a young woman’s body. Not that you ever had much energy to begin with, what with the early mornings spent tending to horses and late nights attending to sick barn cats.

It’s quite shocking just how much energy a demonic being inhabiting your body saps up.

It only takes a few minutes, lounged by the window and focus blurring out on the white mounds of snow, for you to loll off to sleep, cocoa spilling onto your favorite quilt, but you’re not lucid enough to notice.

It’s a very gentle knock at your door that rips you from your slumber. Your encounter with whatever beast has been haunting your every move has made you an incredibly light sleeper. At this point, you could be woken by a light breath against your face. You believe you already have, a few times now.

It’s incredibly difficult for you to stand from your position on your once pristine, now chocolate-stained sofa, but you make it upright eventually. The blood comes rushing to your head at the sudden swing upright, your feet heavy against the cold hardwood floor that you never bothered to buy a rug for. Your feet were calloused enough, there was no need for comfort for something already so broken.

You cling desperately to the heavy front door that, by some act of God, you manage to swing open.

The light you’re met with is blinding. You’re not sure if it’s the sun’s rays beating off of the snow and directly into your eyes, or if the woman at your doorstep just naturally emanates such a light.

“Hi there.” Her voice is so kind and warm that your entire body feels like you’ve been sat next to a fireplace. Once your eyes fully adjust to the light surrounding your savior, you notice that her face holds a slightly bewildered look, but like she’s trying to hide it. To remain professional, to not let you in on the fact that there’s quite literally a demon hanging over your shoulders.

You take her outstretched hand in your own, shaking it weakly, and as you do, her expression is replaced by a frown. “I’m Loraine Warren,” She hums, wrapping another hand around yours, seemingly trying to bring heat to the five icicles you call fingers. “and you’re freezing.” You muster up a lackluster smile, ruminating in the warmth from the hands wrapped around your own for as long as she’ll allow. Your visitor doesn’t pull back until you do, to let her into your home.

Mrs. Warren has clearly not come prepared for this entirely unforeseen snow, seeing as she’s dressed in a plaid, tea-length dress, with only a light cardigan hung from her shoulders. There wasn’t a single weatherman on any of your very limited channels that had predicted this sort of weather this far south of the Mason-Dixon.

“Thank you…” You begin, leading the taller woman to your living room, where you practically fall to your position on the sofa again. “For coming to meet with me, Mrs. Warren. I’m so very appreciative.” Your eyelids are heavy, and your cheeks hurt with the strain of a smile, but you still force yourself to engage as delicately as you can with this woman, both for the beauty that you find so enticing, and for the fact that she very well may save your life.

The affliction you’d been suffering for the past few weeks of your life… you weren’t entirely sure what it was. At first, waking up standing in the kitchen and holding a knife to your own throat was something you could pass off as a traumatizing night of sleepwalking. The sudden headaches and physical aversion to reading your leatherbound, heavily annotated bible made you think you had suffered a concussion from falling out of bed one too many times.

Seeing the Warrens on your favorite morning talk show was what led you to raise your own suspicions. The way they spoke of a young girl in Poughkeepsie who had begun levitating in the middle of the night, who began seizing when she was read the word of God… You couldn’t help but see the similarities.

You couldn’t have possibly called the demonologists sooner.

On the phone, you spoke to a man. He was much heftier with the way he spoke, clearly the extroverted salesman of the team. He seemed skeptical, and unwilling to leave his home in New England, as he had every right to be. You very well could just have the flu. But you knew, deep down, that you didn’t, and it had to be them. It had to be. You had no other hope of surviving against your oppressor if you had to fight it alone.

Your frantic begging must have been loud enough for the people close to Ed Warren to hear, because as soon as you finished your rambling about how miserable you were, a distant, soft voice came from the other side of the phone.

Ed, listen to her. She needs us.

The line then went muffled, he had placed his palm over the receiver in hopes to hide the fact that they had begun arguing about you. You couldn’t quite make out what was said, only that the woman, Lorraine, very much wanted to come to visit you, and Ed did not.

It was as if by miracle that Lorraine showed up at your door only a day after your phone call.

“Please, call me Lorraine.” The older woman returned, standing above you. “May I ask why you have the windows open? It’s just so nasty out there… it may affect your health, sweetheart.” There’s a little glimmer in her eyes when she presses the back of her hand against your forehead, which, much to her surprise, was just as cold as your hands.

A stubborn frown returned to her pink lips, and Lorraine quickly closed the two windows behind you.

“The cold helps.” You say plainly as Lorraine moves around your vintage furniture to close the windows on the opposite side of the room.

“What do you mean?” She returns to your side, placing your quilt atop your knees and finding another to cover your shoulders. She then sits on the sofa next to you, delicately maneuvering herself underneath your blanket as well.

You blush a little, hiding your face behind the large mug that you’d once discarded.

“This… thing. Whatever’s inside me… it hates the cold.” You reply, staring down at your feet, which wiggle to regain the feeling that the cold air had taken away.

“How do you know?” The clairvoyant muses, reaching up to pet the hair that’s turned into a mat behind your head. You’ve had a horrible go of taking care of yourself lately, with things as simple as brushing your hair disappearing from your mind for days at a time.

“It started snowing just last night… Since then, it’s been quieter. I’ve been able to take control of my life again, at least a little bit.” You hum, leaning into her touch, which has dropped to press comfortingly to your shoulder. “But as soon as I lit a fire, tried to get warm, it all came back. The chaos. The… evil.” You shudder to remember the noise that’s filled your head for the past few days. The screams, the whispered urges to harm yourself and others. It’s like you’ve been sent to your own personal Hell, like God finally punished you for the way that you look at women like Lorraine.

“You’re a very perceptive girl.” Lorraine offers you a smile, and you find that it may not only be the cold that calms you. Her presence has offered you more solace than any pain killer or chamomile tea has offered you in your entire life.

You try to giggle, try to accept her praise, but her warm touch, paired with your general lack of sleep, has made it truly impossible for you to remain at all upright. You slump over, dropping your cocoa once again, head landing on Lorraine’s shoulder.

“I believe you.” She whispers quietly, maneuvering your shoulders so that your head lays on her lap. The words are all you’ve ever needed to hear. To be assured that you’re not going crazy is all you need in order to finally fall asleep, and the hands that press warmth into your neck and forehead are the best medicine you could take.

You fall asleep in less than a second, your ears muffling all the noise in the room, yet you can still hear your visitor humming along to the tv as your muscles relax into the sofa.

♱

A soft whine escapes your lips before your eyes open. It’s a combination of bright light and tugging at the back of your head that wakes you up, and as much as you detest being stripped from the best sleep you’ve had in at least month, you feel rested enough to accept it.

“I’m so sorry. Keep sleeping, little one.” Your brain fights to register who the voice belongs to, but judging by the fact that you’ve only received one visitor in the past weeks, and the fact that no visitor you’ve ever met has had such a honey-coated voice, you remember right away. It’s Lorraine.

It’s Lorraine, and the light tugging you feel is a comb being pulled through the hair that hasn’t met such a thing in far too long. You’re hit by a sudden wave of embarrassment, knowing that the state of your hair must make you look so pitiful, like a child that can barely take care of herself. You hide your face in your hands, whining once again, hiding from the yellow light of a lamp above you, and from the fact that you look such a mess in the presence of one of the most well-kempt women you’ve ever met.

“I’m all done.” She purrs softly, running her fingers through your now untangled hair, tucking it behind your ear. You sit up, face beet red as you do so. You’re sure you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your entire life.

“Thank you…” You stutter out, voice heavy with sleep. “I’m sorry for falling asleep. I just… haven’t in quite a while. I hope I’m not taking too much of your time.” You glance up at her, eyes squinting to view the porcelain skin adorned by a smile. Lorraine Warren must truly have the kindest heart in the entire world to spend time taking care of someone she’s only just met.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” She says quite firmly, pressing her hand against your cheek, and you can feel yourself becoming addicted to her touch. “I want to take care of you.”

You feel a warmth in your cheeks, and a certain tingling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never heard these words before, and the last time anyone had earnestly taken care of you was… well, you don’t really remember. It was probably in your early childhood, but even then, you weren’t too sure.

The butterfly wings in your stomach are quickly replaced by a different sensation, a large growling that just about reverberates through the living room. You’re filled with another bout of humiliation, and grip your stomach tightly. You’re also not too sure when you last ate.

A ginger hand presses against your stomach as well, and it dawns on you just how close to the older woman you’ve become. She’s pressed against you so much that you’re nearly sitting in her lap, and her other arm is wrapped around so very tightly around the small of your back. Lorraine is quite the touchy woman, and you couldn’t be more appreciative of such a character trait. You lean into her hands greedily, head tilting over to rest on her shoulder once more.

“Can you stand?” She hums, pressing her cheek to rest on the top of your head.

You nod slowly, not quite too sure that you’re telling the truth, but if Lorraine wants you to stand, you’ll stand. And you do, pushing hard into the ground, thankful that before all of this mess you were at least regularly active, and your body was fairly well maintained from throwing bales of hay.

“Good girl.”

The words make your knees go weak, weaker than they already are, and you falter a little in your steps. You thank God that Lorraine has such a strong grip around your waist and is able to keep you upwards.

“Show me your kitchen?” The clairvoyant asks softly, and while you do just as you’re asked, her steady gaze washes over each little family portrait, each corn husk doll, even the sunhats you’ve worn so much that they’re full of holes. One may see her wandering eyes and find her to be a terrible snoop, but Lorraine is doing her job, gathering every piece of evidence she can to use against your demon. She wants to know everything about your past and present so that she may rid you of this retched thing.

She gets no clue as to what suffering has conflicted this household from the photos of a quite happy family hanging from your walls, but she can sense it in the way the house creaks with her every step. There’s an evil lingering in these walls, and Lorraine can feel it.

“I’m… I’m not sure there’s even any food that’s still edible.” You speak gruffly as you arrive in the kitchen that overlooks your barn that was once such a brilliant red, and now stands with peeling paint and water damage. It’s a proper metaphor for your own status. You haven’t been in this room in many days, and the sight of wilting flowers and rotting vegetables depresses you immediately.

“I’m sure I can make do.” Lorraine shoots you that oh-so very reassuring smile once again, and leads you to sit at the dining table that’s only ever been set for one. “When was the last time you ate?”

It’s a dreaded question. A question that, once again, you don’t have a clear answer to. You think the last thing you ate was a handful of boiled peanuts… or was it oatmeal? Lately you had only had incredibly unpleasant dreams about food, and your brain has been so occupied by so many voices, that sustenance was the last thing on your mind.

“I’m not sure.” You muster in response, and Lorraine’s frown returns once again. She’s not mad at you, only furious at the creature that’s taken hold of you, keeping you from living a healthy life.

“You need to keep yourself fed.” Lorraine speaks softly, peeking out from behind the cabinet she’d begun rummaging around in. “Communing with the being, and an eventual exorcism, will take a lot of energy.”

She speaks so calmly about something that is so terrifying to you. You weren’t raised Catholic, and didn’t know much about their traditions, but the interview that you had watched of the Warrens spelled an exorcism out to be one of the most dangerous, mortifying acts that one could participate in. You trust Lorraine entirely though, and are filled with the knowledge that if she has to do such a thing, she will treat you delicately, and cause as little harm to you as possible.

It's only a few groggy minutes before there’s a plate laid in front of you, and by some act of God Lorraine has found another chair to sit in. She’s pulled up right next to you, and while you’re a bit surprised she hasn’t chosen to sit across from you, her choice is very welcomed. The heat from your plate warms your face, and you press your hands against it in hopes that they’ll warm as well.

“It looks delicious.” You look up to the women through your heavy eyelids, weakly grabbing hold of your fork to start lifting potatoes to your mouth. “I can’t believe you were able to make this so quickly! Thank you so very much.” You smile to her, licking your lips, stomach so very grateful to the woman beside you.

“I’ve always been a good cook. My husband is never very appreciative of my skills.” She laughs softly, but you can tell it’s something that truly upsets her. If you were lucky enough to live in a home with Lorraine Warren and have her food for every meal, you consider yourself to be in Heaven. From your short conversation, Ed didn’t quite seem to be a wholly grateful man. “You’re not married.” She then says, taking a sip from the old whiskey glass that’s now filled with water.

Her words are more observational than questioning, and it causes a twinge of discomfort within you. You’d always been questioned for your spinster-like nature, women in your church always wanted to set you up with their sons or nephews. You’re such a pretty girl, they’d say, why on God’s green Earth aren’t you dating anyone?

It was impossible to tell them that you’d never want to marry a man, even if someone held a gun to your head.

“No…” You reply awkwardly, and the word turns into a yawn, leading you to cover your mouth with one hand. “I’ve just… never met the right person, I guess.” You huff, kicking your elbow up on the table and resting your chin on your fist to keep yourself propped up. Who knew something as simple as lifting a fork to your mouth would be so difficult. “Or… Well…” You start again, feeling almost too comfortable in Lorraine’s presence to share a little more. “I’ve just, never really been interested in anyone.”

When you drop your fork to your plate with quite the dramatic tink, that same loving hand returns to your lower back. Lorraine has taken your fork between her perfectly manicured fingers, and lifts another bite towards your lips, which you not-so-gracefully accept.

“Well, that is a shame.” The brunette responds, and though you can’t see it, there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on her face. She seems to be a bit too pleased by your loneliness. “I do hope you’ll find someone soon. You are so deserving of love.”

You’re not sure if you’re deserving, but you’re damn well desperate for it.

Lorraine continues to feed you, lifting small bites of vegetable to your lips while whispering her gentle praises after each bite. Your face is now permanently pink, with each of her cooing words turning you into a little mess beneath her. You’re connected at her hip once again, legs tangled around each other under your gingham tablecloth. You’re so very lucky that you never receive any visitors, for you deign to think of anyone’s reaction to your little displays of minute affection.

“I was hoping I might stay with you here. I always find it more helpful to fully integrate myself into the lives of someone I’m helping.” She hums once you’ve finished all of your food, and she can move onto her own. You lean against her shoulder once more, eyes closed, yet you’re completely awake. Her sentence is entirely shocking, yet you’re completely excited by it, and couldn’t possibly accept her request quicker.

“Yes, of course!” You hear the over-enthusiasm in your voice, and hope you haven’t come off too strongly. You sit up to meet her gaze, blushing just from the way she looks at you so sweetly. “I only have the one bedroom, I’m afraid. It’s a bit of a mess at the moment, but I can wash the sheets, and you can sleep there! I spend most of my time on the sofa anyway, I’m happy to sleep there.” You nod cheerfully, hoping with all of your heart that she’ll not be too deterred by your excitement.

“Don’t be silly.” She smiles, lifting her hand to gently pet your hair, her fingernails grazing your scalp in a way that sends a tingle down your spine. “I’ll take your bed, but only if you’re in it as well. If that’s alright with you, of course. I just want to keep an eye on you.” She winks, and it’s that moment that you feel your soul leave your body. You choke on your own saliva, coughing a few times. You’ve been sitting so close to Lorraine today, that you shouldn’t feel so strange about sharing your bed with her, yet it brings a worried feeling to the pit of your stomach. When you explore that feeling more, you’ll find that it’s really excitement, and a desperation to sleep next to another body that you’d never knew you had.

“That’s fine by me…” You stutter, trying to hide the eager smile that’s threatening your lips. You chew on the insides of your cheeks, your hands finding their way to some fabric, not knowing if it’s the tablecloth or your shirt or maybe Lorraine’s skirt. Whatever it is, you grip it tightly, trying to force all of your delight on an object rather than voice it. “It’ll be good to share each other’s’ body heat… it gets so cold at night even without the snow…” Your voice is trembling a little, betraying how fast your heart is racing.

You’re ready for the sun to go down now.

But you still have a few hours of sunlight left, and Lorraine fills it with questions about your family history, about your experience with this malevolent being, and just about your daily life. She wonders what it is that you do for fun in such a small town, and you feel shy to admit that you rarely leave the house except to go to church. That leads her to talk about her own religion, and it’s so mystifying to hear her speak about her passion for Christ. She speaks in such a profound way, like she’s spent time as a pastor, though you’d never once met a female pastor. Lorraine is certainly a better speaker than all the old men that lead prayer at church and quote the same bible verses into monotony.

She proudly shows you the rosary around her neck, explaining the story behind it with the most adorable sparkle in her eyes. When you take the metal in your hands, wanting to share in her passion, it burns. Burns like you’ve just pressed your hand flat into the cooktop of an oven. You recoil in pain, but when Lorraine attends to your palm, there’s no sign of a burn.

“It… It stings.” You whine, looking down at your hand in disbelief. You’ve never felt such pain, and the fact that it’s not left a visible mark is messing with your head so much that your eyes begin to well with tears.

“I know it does, sweetheart. I know.” Lorraine hums, holding you tightly, lifting a thumb to wipe at your tears. “Ointment won’t help it, I’m afraid. It’s the spirit reacting through nerve induction. It will go away soon. I promise.” The demonologist quickly stuffs the rosary down the neck of her blouse, wanting to hide everything that causes you pain. Lorraine hates to see you in such a state, and though you don’t comprehend anything about this spirit, her brain is working overtime to plot a strategy to rid you of this beast.

You sit together for another half hour, Lorraine consoling the pain that has long since disappeared thanks to her sweet whispers and distracting stories. You nearly fall asleep on the sofa once again, and she can see it, so without having to ask, she takes you up the stairs and to your bedroom.

“I’ll just go down the hall to get myself ready for bed. I’ll be right back, I promise.” She hums, pressing an innocent kiss to your forehead before leaving the room. Watching her walk away from you shatters your heart into a million pieces, but you know she’ll come back through the doors quickly. You trust Lorraine’s promise.

I need to change before she gets back, you think, but your body simply won’t allow you to move. You’re stuck to this bed, to this soft mattress that you once so adored, but now only fear for the horrible dreams it brings upon you.

You sit in this fear, for how long you’re not certain, before Lorraine returns. Her hair is combed through yet still has that lovely, silky wave to it, and she’s dressed in the prettiest white nightgown. She looks like an angel, in shiny white linen. She’s just missing the wings and halo. You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, seeing her in this state, a state which she’d probably only ever been seen in by her husband. You feel so scandalous, like you should avert your gaze, like God is going to find you sinful for looking at her like this, but your eyes are locked onto this heavenly body in front of you, and you can’t pull away.

“I’m sorry I—” You begin, hands gripping at your shirt, trying to indicate to her that you’re upset with yourself for not getting dressed in her absence.

Lorraine only tuts at you, placing down her bag before rounding to your side of the bed. She helps you stand, and begins through your closet, looking for a nightgown for you to wear. Much to her chagrin, however, all she can find is dirty jeans and some oversized t-shirts, which makes her feel pity towards you, but also causes a small giggle to escape her lips because she finds the clothing choices so adorably fitting for a young farm girl. She settles on the least stained of all of your shirts before returning to your side.

“May I?” Her voice is low, knowing that you’re the only person in the world that needs to hear her. When you nod, she pulls your blouse over your head, and she develops a blush of her own to find that you’re not wearing anything beneath it. You try to hide, snaking your hands around your chest, a new warmth between your legs as you realize that Lorraine’s hands are wandering over your body, the pads of her fingers lightly prodding your exposed skin.

“You sweet thing. You just need someone to love you.” Your savior hums, delicately examining all of the bruises that cover your skin. You’re not even sure where they all came from, just that they developed fast. A few concern you more than the others: the ones shaped like fingers and teeth marks. They never hurt at night, but the fear that strikes you every morning when you reveal a new marking in the mirror is something that you never want to feel again.

Lorraine presses another small kiss to a bruise on your shoulder before helping you pull the sleep shirt over your head. She reluctantly, yet with the complete confidence that she’s carried herself with all along, pulls down your pants in one swift motion. You’re back in bed before you know it, Lorraine tucking you in tightly and making sure you’re perfectly comfortable before taking her own place beside you.

Your brain is rushing, not with the demonic thoughts that you’ve had all this time, but with so many feelings that you never knew existed before meeting Lorraine. You feel horribly antsy, like you have enough energy to run laps around the house. You miss the tiredness that had been affecting you earlier this morning, it was going to be quite difficult to sleep tonight.

“I’m so very glad you came to help me.” You whisper, voice shaky with nerves as you turn on your side to face the woman who’s already turned towards you. You can feel how close your bodies are, yet they aren’t touching, and your brain is working overtime to decide if you should close that space between you.

Luckily, Lorraine is making all of your decisions for you.

You feel the soft skin of her legs first, when they wrap around yours, holding them still. Her right arm is next, draping over the curve in your waist so gently, yet she has the firmest grip on you, like she won’t let you leave even if you tried. You’d never try.

“I…” You start again, shifting even closer to Lorraine, placing your hand on her chest so you can feel her heartbeat. You pray she can’t feel yours, for its beating is so quick it’s probably quite dangerous, and you’ve already worried her enough. “Since you’ve been here, my brain has been so… still. So quiet.” That’s not entirely true, as the angelic woman in front of you has only replaced all of your thoughts, but it’s close enough. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She whispers back, voice so low and gravelly with her own sleep, so that you have to lean even further forward to hear her, and your noses nearly touch. “I haven’t done my job just yet.”

You tense, suddenly filled with worry about what will happen when Lorraine eventually does what she’s come here to do. If your still-burning pain from merely touching a symbol of the Lord is any indication, you’re in for a wellspring of hurt when you wake up in the morning.

As for now, though, you’re completely safe, protected by your guardian angel, and you can sleep soundly for the first time in far too long. You fall asleep under Lorraine’s grasp far quicker than you’d like, as you’d really prefer to stay awake and really cherish the soft circles she’s rubbing into your flesh, but your eyelids fall shut on their own accord.

Lorraine, however, stays up a bit later, watching your face for any sign of nightmares, wandering hands exploring your curves as if looking for clues, soothing you into the deepest sleep of your life.

Lorriane wakes groggily, yawning while rubbing at her eyes with balled-up fists. She notices first that it’s still not light outside, that she still has time to sleep. Though she won’t, because a panic rips through the woman when she registers your absence. She shoots straight up out of bed, body moving to wrap herself in one of your mother’s old house coats faster than her brain can function. It’s on sheer instinct that Lorraine wraps the rosary around her hand and stuffs her small Bible into her pocket.

She races through the creaky old home, feet freezing against the hardwood floors that whine with each of her frantic steps. Lorraine shouts your name and is only met by her own voice echoing back at her. She searches each room of your house, her eyes still blurry from sleep. She whips open cupboards and is even sure to peek into your attic, which you haven’t so much as thought about since inheriting the home.

A worry is settled across Lorraine’s face when she makes it into your kitchen, but her expression turns to true fear when she sees that the lock on your back door has come undone, and the door isn’t settled into its place in its frame. She searches for any pair of shoes she can find and settles for a pair of boots that barely fit her feet, but their steel toes will at least protect her from the elements. She’s shivering, and her eyes are watering so much that the tears turn cold against her cheeks. The demonologist places a hand over her chest, gripping onto her rosary for a moment, bracing herself for the cold, before she slings the door open and steps out into the night.

The snowfall has picked up tenfold, and there’s now a little under a foot of snow packed onto the ground. Lorraine pulls the small cotton coat around herself tightly, her hair whipping wildly around her face as she blinks back tears, searching for any sign of life. When she looks down, there’s an obvious set of footprints: kicked-back snow heading in the direction of the old, forgotten barn.

Lorraine follows your shoeless prints, still screaming your name into the void of night, her voice strained and muffled in the silence that surrounds her. There isn’t even the typical wee-hour birdsong that too frequently keeps you awake. No cars on the road make their habitual noise, no cows bellowing from across the street. Only the exhausted screams of a woman so frightened for your survival.

When she arrives to the barn, finding safety from the wind in its high walls, feeling so close to dropping to her knees and praying that she had never fallen asleep in the first place, Lorraine spots you. A frail, half-naked body illuminated by one flickering, dangling light that allow the older woman’s eyes little vantage.

She’s filled with relief that she’s found you, but that relief only lasts less than a second before she’s filled with dread. Dread that something is horribly wrong. Dread because you’re dripping with a slick, dark, shimmering liquid.

Lorraine falls to her knees beside you, taking your near-lifeless face in her hands.

“What have you done to her?” She yells, voice harsh and gravelly. She’s speaking to your demon, to the thing that has taken control of your legs and marched you out to this barn, that has treated you like such an animal.

You’re barely conscious, losing the internal battle to keep control of your own mind. All you can do is lean your pained body into Lorraine, trying to give her some sort of message that you’re still there, that you’re still swimming in your own mind, trying to breach the surface.

The clairvoyant asses your injuries, wiping the tears at your eyes and her own. Thankfully, the only damage is done to your back, the lashes across your spine that fuel Lorraine with so much hatred. When your shaking hands lift the riding crop to lay even more agony against your tender flesh, Lorraine wrestles it out of your tight grip and throws it aside, far out of your reach.

“We have to do this now.” Lorraine’s voice is significantly kinder, her hands holding your head close to her chest. She sits in her own fear for a moment, building a strategy to get this thing out of you once and for all. She whispers a prayer, and the words hurt your head, fill your brain with a terrible, searing scream, but there’s simply nothing you can do to stop it. Your livelihood now rests at Lorraine Warren’s feet.

Lorraine stands, guides you upwards. She’s shellshocked by the fact that she’s about to take on a task that she had never solely performed before, and it’s caused her knees to walk unsteadily. She takes the housecoat off and guides it over your shoulders, face twinging as she lays it against the open wounds of your back, but she’d rather you feel pain for a small moment than have your delicate skin come into contact with the weather. The woman ties the coat tight before picking you up, carrying you back through the strong winds, shoes clumping down on the piling snow.

When she replaces the darkness of the sky with the darkness of your home, Lorraine places you down on the sofa where she had once sat with you. You sit in a crumpled state, arms limp, though they fight to wrap around your body, subconsciously seeking heat. You’re impossibly cold, and the longer your toes sit with minimal blood flow, the angrier your beast grows. Your shivering only grows worse when Lorraine throws open the French windows behind you, allowing the snow to come in through the screens and settle in your hair.

“I know it hurts.” She whispers, trying to find some sort of life behind your glassy eyes. Lorraine has forced herself into seriousness, closed her tear ducts and is carrying herself professionally. She knows that treating this with any level of emotional attachment could be suicide for the exorcism, and though the near love that she’s developed for you still lingers at the back of her brain, she has to silence it, she has to save your life before she can worry about you anymore.

Sniffing back the wetness that’s come from the cold air beating against her face, Lorraine finds the Bible still sitting in the pocket of the coat draped over your shoulders. She holds her left hand against your forehead, and the cross casts a warmth against your face that you lean back to fight against, though you’re not sure if it’s of your own action or that of something else.

Lorraine begins reciting a prayer in Latin, that you’d surely be swooning over had you been at all conscious. You’ve nearly lost your battle, your body completely limp against the pillows, as though you’ve lost all muscle mass in less than a minute. You’ve lost all awareness of the situation and now exist only in your own mind, trying your damnedest to regain control.

Each word Lorraine yells with a cracking voice causes a new pain to emerge somewhere within your body, and the pain consumes you so much that you fall over, landing in a fetal position against the cushions of the sofa. Lorraine’s hands want to reach out to soothe you, to press their warmth into your blue skin, to replace your pain with her loving touch, but she restrains herself. She knows that you must feel this pain, that it will drive the presence out of your body and back to the Hell that it emerged from.

“I need you to fight it.” Lorraine interrupts her own prayer to press her forehead against your own, fingers gripping your jaw like her life depends on it. “Don’t give in, don’t let it take you.” She calls, holding the weight of your head in her hands, feeling how much authority you’ve lost over your own body. “Please, fight. For me.”

You’ve already done your fighting. Though you’ve been so horribly affected by this presence in your home, disrupting your livelihood, your sleep, your will to live, there’s not really been anything impacting your will to live at all in years past. You’ve simply been existing in this plane, doing your chores and going to church, following your routines for no reason other than it’s what you’ve always done. Your routines that are so set in stone that it took a demonic presence to shake them up. But you’ve had no one to share your routine with, no one to cook for, no one to compliment how beautifully your flowers have grown. You’ve had no one to fight for.

Your life is not one worth fighting for.

Lorraine Warren, however, feels the opposite. The way she’s holding you so tightly, on her knees in front of you, begging you to stay alive… though you can’t see it, aren’t cognizant enough to hear her begging, you can feel it. There’s a warmth against your chest that’s keeping your heart beating, and a light behind your eyes that’s pushing you to keep going.

So you do. You do as Lorraine asks, and the last little bit of willpower you have musters up into your fingers, and you grab onto Lorraine’s shoulders with an anemic grasp, trying to pull her closer. You force your eyes open, though it’s so very painful due to the rosary still swinging in view, and look up at Lorraine’s worried features. More than anything, you’re filled with hatred that you’re the one to cause her this anguish, that she shouldn’t be so concerned over a life as meaningless as your own.

It's the most beautiful smile you’re met with that causes the final push, that forces your beast out of your mind and into the wind that’s still blowing melting snowflakes onto your already freezing body. A sudden relief fills your body, the power over your own actions that brings back the feeling in your muscles. You sit up, blinking slowly, reliving the past few minutes over and over as you regain a full level of awareness that you’d been left without for the past months.

Lorraine allows you your time to rejoin the living world, slamming shut the windows behind you and throwing several blankets over your freezing body. She drops back to her knees to assess you once more, seeing the color back in your eyes and the warmth rising back to your cheeks. She had seen you in such a terrifying, corpse-like state that she’d surely soon have nightmares about, so the fact that your eyes were finally locking onto her own was an answered prayer.

You eagerly wrapped both arms around the woman’s neck, holding her as close as you can, thanking her over and over again, until the stinging on your back takes the brunt of your attention.

“Don’t thank me. It was all your own work.” She hums, trying to find anywhere she can hold you without wrapping her arms around your back. Lorraine then stands, settling on petting your hair, looking around for any other sources of heat that she may impress upon you. “Do you have any fire woo—”

She’s cut off by the swift action of your standing up, an action that she would surely advise against had she had the option to. But her lips are unable to protest, because they’re met by your own. You’re shocked by your own straightforwardness, and though the fear that she’ll run away and call you a freak is very prominent in your mind, you feel so swept up in thankfulness to this woman, so swept up in love, that the only thing you feel like doing is kissing her.

You internally thank God that she’s not pushed you off, and instead, once the initial shock wears off, Lorraine’s hands are gripping your cheeks and are tugging you forward into her. Though you’re near hypothermic, the warmth that radiates through you when you wrap your arms around Lorraine Warren’s waist is something truly heavenly. You can feel the ice melting away from your fingers and toes, even though you still stand within a house that’s currently running below freezing.

You try to stay attached to Lorraine’s lips for as long as you can, as long as she’ll allow, and as desperately as you both are to stay in this state, Lorraine’s overall concern for your health reigns supreme, and she pulls away to once again ask her question. You giggle softly, hiding your face against her chest, hoping she hasn’t seen how overjoyed your smile is. Though if you were to pick up your head, you’d see that she dons a similar expression.

You direct Lorraine to a closet, and she returns to build a fire. She sits you down right in front of it, and for the first time in far too many days, you feel warmth against your face. You’re not too sure just which direction that warmth is coming from, whether it’s from the fire or the woman sitting next to you, carefully washing the horrible scratches along your spine, but you feel a warmth unlike anything you’ve ever felt in all of your years of living. A warmth you never want to go away.

#𓏲🎀ꜝֶָ֢ annie's fics ⋆⸜ ‧₊˚#title is from a kacey musgraves lyric!!#lorraine warren #the conjuring #lorraine warren x reader #lorraine warren x you #lorraine warren fanfic #the conjuring fanfic #wlw fanfic #x reader fanfic #fanfic #lesbian fanfic #angst fanfic #horror fanfic #lesbian x reader

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richeeduvie · 5 months

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just having obligatory daily roman tummy thoughts and had an idea <3 roman putting on a little bit of weight after baby jr is born cos they’re just focused on looking after her (read: tummy, hips, thighs, ass) and baby is understandably horny for him but it takes her loving on him for him to feel okay about it

You can't tell Roman that you've noticed his weight - that you love the softness of him now. It's slight, but it's perfect. You remember the dinners where he would order the fattiest thing just to pick at it, the grumble of his stomach when you held him later in the night.

You'll just have to enjoy it until he notices.

Roman takes an obnoxious bite of his candy bar before crumpling the wrapper. Your daughter squirms in his arms.

"Throw this away."

"Do it yourself."

Roman's brows raise as he stands. "Lazy Mommy."

You watch his ass as he takes his way to the garbage can. You watch Roman take your little, little, scrunchy baby's head to his nose as he breathes in.

There's more of him, a softer him. You'll love Roman's body whatever way it comes, but seeing the difference in weight in something new and beautiful.

A softness to grope at.

"...What?"

"Nothing."

"Slutty Mommy. You made me a Daddy and now she's a horndog. I'll see it in the eyes of every sad-sap woman who's probably not being sexually satisfied by their husbands. That sort of flirtatious leer."

I'll. Not I - Roman's not planning on leaving the place anytime soon, as much as you've been trying to convince him that his baby will be just fine in open air.

"But no one, penis possessor or member of the vagina flock, is as much of a whore as your mommy is."

Roman closes his eyes in pressing his nose a bit harder in her soft, small tuft of hair.

"That'll be the last candy bar, I've gotten unfocused and incredibly pudgy."

And it makes him feel like the ugliest fuck in the world. He feels sick, uncontrolled. It's only worth it because it's because of her. A perfect thing he can't stop fucking watching. Amazement, yeah, but also to make sure she's breathing because he'll rip his skin off if she stops breathing. She won't stop breathing.

His weight gains makes you feel incredibly lucky...and horny. You should thank your baby girl. For that - and also for being so perfect.

But he's noticed and the casual insult towards his own body hits a nerve in you. You tilt your head.

"You're focused on our daughter. And you're incredibly hot."

"Shut the fuck - what?"

Roman walks to the couch and puts her in the living room crib. Softly and slowly, you don't think he can ever let her go so casually. But he's making a face when he sits down.

"I didn't know I have a methhead for a wife. I'll call Shiv for the discovery."

"I think the weight looks beautiful on you?"

Roman looks like he's going to say something before his head tilts sharply, eyes down.

"You've noticed. Fuck - I don't-" His head tilts to the side further, the uncomfortable look coming along the whole tilt of his body. You swallow.

You want him to be obnoxious in his beauty.

"She was born two months ago and I've already let my body rot. And you've noticed, am I really that fat?"

It's humorous in pitch, but genuine.

"Roman."

"I've just blown up my fucking glands. I'm a cow in nature. That's not me. You know that's not, like, like me. Right?"

You can't say anything like denial of his weight gain. You can't tell him it's okay that he's gained weight in becoming a father and focusing on his premature daughter. That'll make it worse, it'll be thrown on you.

You sigh, sitting down with him. You take your hand to run through his hair.

What you can do is love. Drown him in it - and it'll be easy because you have it, you want to do it because it sits in your lower stomach and at your heart, not just to make Roman feel better.

"What do you want for dinner?"

"Don't fucking bully me. This specific situation doesn't call for arousal. I can't be tickled by this. And I'm not into feederism, that's disgusti-"

"Three meals a day and snacks to enjoy isn't feederism. But what do you want for dinner?"

"Fuck you."

You let Roman ramble, just until he slaps your hand away when you try to touch his stomach.

"What the fuck?! You've noticed the fucking roll there? Why are you being mean about this? You know my worst fear is being- what the fuck?"

You've notice the more of him to love and the way it sits like fire on your muscles. You smile.

Don't pity, don't downplay Roman's issues with food. He never has with yours, just love. At least for now.

"I think you're quite beautiful like this right now. I would really like to touch you right now. Just a fat handful of ass."

Roman doesn't blink, you feel like your tension closes in on his face.

"I love you like this. I need you like this. So shut the fuck up with the crybaby antics over the fact you've gotten to be...like a Daddy."

Your hand comes through his hair, you watch him in his silence.

You smile, nose close on his cheek.

"What? Are you gonna blame her?"

There's a coo, like your baby is denying the thought. The slight lines of Roman's face come up, then down.

"...No."

Roman says it weakly. You wonder if he takes in the smile on his skin. The soft sigh.

You've got him. He doesn't slap when your hand comes on his belly again.

"Then, what do you want for dinner?"

Roman watches your hand on him, the thumb running over. His eyes are finally casual. He's given up the fight, but he has to know he'll never be able to beat out the way you want to consume his body. By now, at least. Even if it doesn't change his insecurities.

It doesn't have to when he gives in so needily.

"...Steak. With asparagus. But with butter."

It's almost mumbled. Still, you mwah his cheek.

"As you wish."

#inbox #hc's #drabble #dog and bone!au #roman roy x reader #succession fanfiction

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mrsnancywheeler · 5 months

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okay i absolutely love 🐚 anon’s thoughts on finnick loving reader’s body hair. i’m all for not shaving and embracing it. how do you think finnick would make reader feel more confident and comfortable deciding not to shave? like it’s something she’s always wanted to try but has been worried about what her partner would think.

number one, finnick would make it known that he loves it, like he can't help it when he notices and a big grin breaks out on his face. because to him it means you feel comfortable enough with him to not follow societal standards of beauty that he's sick of anyways. he also thinks the natural body is just so beautiful, he's so so tired of the way the captiol will rip every bit of hair slightly out of place off of people, just make everyone so sanitized. the human body is raw and personal and real, so all the little natural things he just finds so much beauty in.

he's totally the type of guy to be giving you a foot massage, notice you haven't shaved your legs, smile, and just, "I love you." and whenever you're nervous about having not shaved he's shutting that down real quick.

if you're on your way to the market to grab some things before swimming so you've thrown on a swimsuit cover and then it's like, oh shit, other people are going to see me and I haven't shaved. "oh, damnit-"

"what's wrong, honey?"

"I just need a second, I forgot to shave, and have to go do that."

"why do you have to shave?"

you can't help but laugh because it feels obvious, that's what society expects. "look at me, I'm so hairy and gross-"

"hey, hey, don't say that, it's beautiful, you're beautiful." and when he says it that genuinely, it's hard not to believe him, his eyes so eager and loving. "I mean if it makes you itchy or uncomfy then do it, but not just because other people, it's perfect, you're perfect."

and you can't help but smile at him, "you're such a sap."

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader fluff #anon

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ladykailitha · 1 year

Text

Well Met By Moonlight Part 3

Hi!! So I can't link to part 2 (well I can, but that whole section remains lost) at the moment because the damn post is broke and can't be edited and according the belabored staff it was an issue for a lot of people that posted during that seven hour window when the tags were down last Thursday. So they have a shit ton of help tickets to wade through, though they have assured me they are looking into it.

But as soon as they have it figured out I will link back to the original post, until then I'll link the fixed reposted version for now and apologize profusely for the fuck up.

I have the whole back story plotted out for what happened and why, I'm just not sure where the story is going to go to get to those reveals. However this means you get enjoy the ride with me.

So without further ado, Steve gets his man vampire.

Part 1 Part 2

***

Steve turned to Robin. “Telling you to leave, too isn’t going to work, is it?” he asked with a sigh.

She grinned at him. “Nope!”

He turned to Eddie who had been watching the whole interaction with a curious tilt to his head. Steve thought he looked like a puppy like that. Big brown eyes, adorable head tilt, the hair being a stand-in for floppy ears...

Puppy.

He was also one hundred percent sure that Eddie would have been offended by the comparison.

“What’s got you smiling like that, sweetheart?” Eddie asked.

“You,” Steve replied truthfully.

Robin faked retching. “Oh my god, I’m going to gag on the absolute sap oozing off the both of you.”

Steve blushed, but Eddie wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

“That’s it,” Robin said, throwing her arms in the air. “I’m out of here. Steve, don’t die. Eddie, you hurt my best friend and not even all the vampires in the coven and all the wolves in this pack would be able to stop me from ripping you to pieces, do you understand?”

Eddie smiled with just his lips, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “I read you loud and clear.”

Robin nodded and then marched back into the trees.

Suddenly Steve could feel the importance of it just being the two of them.

He cleared his throat and scratched his cheek nervously. “I wanted to thank you for the rescue. I was so sure I was going to die that night.”

Eddie grinned, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’m glad Uncle Wayne sent me.”

Steve felt his insides turn cold. “Oh. You only came to my rescue because Wayne sent you?”

Eddie cocked his head to the side thoughtfully as he took in the question. “Sweetheart, I think you misunderstand something. Rescuing you was an obligation to the pack leader, loyalty to my uncle and maker, and a sign of my love and devotion for you. I don’t need to have a single reason. I’m allowed multiple reasons for doing something.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. “For doing you.”

Steve snorted, but the ice was beginning to melt in his gut. Eddie took a step closer and then another when Steve didn’t flinch or take a step back. Soon they were inches from each other.

“I am worried,” Eddie murmured gently. “What kind of trouble a turned vampire and a werewolf alpha would cause in a town that is already balanced on the edge of a knife.”

Steve nodded, carefully taking Eddie’s face into his hands. “I’m worried too. But I think we’re going to need band together not just turned vampires like you and your uncle and my pack, but the coven, too. What happened to me was just the tip of the iceberg and the new sheriff seems shockingly anti-supernatural.”

Eddie pursed his lips and nodded. “God, do you know how much I’ve wanted to stand here with you like this? To have you see me?”

Steve brought their foreheads together. “I did see you, Eds. I did. But I wasn’t the alpha then and you were a mere mortal.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shuddering breath. “It’s why I asked Wayne to change me, you know. Because if Hopper was afraid of him then made if he made me, Hopper would have to let me near you.”

“Oh, darling...” Steve murmured. “I wish you didn’t have to do that, but I don’t think your uncle would have appreciated me turning you into a werewolf, so...”

Eddie threw back his head a laugh. “Oh god! The look on his face would have been priceless. I almost wish I had waited until I was twenty-one to ask, just for that reason.”

Steve smiled. “Yes, but then it would have been Wayne that rescued me and I wouldn’t gotten to see how sexy you are when you chase your prey.”

Eddie’s face transformed under the feral grin that spread over his features. “You get a little hot and bothered watching me defend you, baby?”

Steve bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

“No?” Eddie asked tilting his head to side, still grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah...” Steve said, dragging the word out slowly. “To say I was a little hot and bothered would be a little like calling a tornado a gentle breeze.”

Eddie laughed and turned his head away, pulling gently out of Steve’s hands. He looked back at Steve who now shared his dopey grin. “And people in this town call me the menace.”

Steve laughed too. “I just get to hide my weirdness under the guise of being a werewolf.”

“I’d really like to kiss you now,” Eddie murmured.

Steve stepped into his space, their chests nearly touching. “I was wondering when you were going ask.”

Eddie chuckled and tangled his hands into Steve’s hair, drawing their faces close. Their lips were a literal breath away when Eddie stopped, just taking in the mingling of their air as they were already panting.

Steve closed the remaining distance and finally, finally they were kissing. It lit every nerve ending in Steve’s body up like a firework. He never knew kissing could feel like this. He gripped the back of Eddie’s leather jacket and held on for dear life.

“Wow.” Eddie felt like he had been forced to run the mile in gym. He couldn’t breath, his heart was beating erratically, and every muscle burned. It was amazing. He dived back in and kissed Steve again. He couldn’t get enough.

Steve had never felt like this in his life. It was deep and sensual and everything he had been told growing up that love should be. And now he was standing on the edge of precipice waiting for that last gust of wind to knock him over the cliff and into Eddie’s strong arms.

“Fuck, Eds,” he breathed when they stopped for breath. “You smell, taste, and feel amazing. God, I don’t want to stop.”

Eddie let out a growl, deep from his throat. “I know, baby. I know. But if we don’t your entire pack is going to get an eyeful.”

Steve chuckled. “Nudity isn’t a problem with packs. All the shifting makes it hard on clothes.”

Eddie’s growl turned into groan. “You can’t just say shit like that when my dick is that hard. It’s gone soft thinking about seeing Murray or Hopper naked.”

Steve laugh startled out of him. “Yeah, I could see that having an effect. I do know a place we could be alone if you wanted.”

Eddie smiled. “I like the way you think, sweetheart.”

Steve let out an ear piercing whistle and a large black, shaggy wolf came running up through the tree line. The wolf sat down and wagged its tail happily.

Steve laughed. “I figured it would be you. You’re on sentry duty until I get back at dawn. I’m going to Skull Rock.”

“You got it, alpha,” the black wolf said his voice thick with a barely contained giggle.

Steve knelt down and they hugged each other with their necks, allowing their scents to mingle.

“I’m glad you’re still the alpha,” the wolf whispered.

Steve stood up. “I will protect this pack with everything in my power. I promise you that.”

The wolf nodded solemnly.

Steve turned to Eddie. “Come on. I’ll race you to Skull Rock.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, but before he retort, Steve had shifted and was sprinting in the direction of the local landmark.

The wolf let out a breathy laugh that only wolves could make. “You better start flapping those wings, lover boy. Otherwise Steve will beat you.”

Eddie shook his head and took flight, transforming as he leapt into the air.

Eddie managed to barely pull out a win by tackling Steve right before the rock out cropping and rolled to the finish line.

Steve ended up on top of the vampire fully human with bright laugh bubbling from his lips. “You cheated.”

Eddie grinned. “Of course I did. It’s the only way to win, babe.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so cute.”

Eddie hummed, his hands roaming over Steve’s bare skin, calloused fingers catching on the smooth expanse.

“Feels good,” Steve murmured, nosing Eddie’s throat.

Eddie’s hands continued their trek down his back, to cup his ass. “You feel amazing, sweetheart. How did I get so lucky?”

Steve gasped, grinding down into Eddie’s hips. “I’m the lucky one. I never thought I would find someone who gets me the way you do.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “You werewolves go fast, don’t you?”

“We have to,” Steve murmured. “We might live longer than humans, but we don’t live nearly as long as you vampires do. If we don’t move fast we might lose a chance to breed and that would hurt the pack in the long run.”

Eddie’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, babe. I wasn’t thinking when I said that. Are you going to have to breed with someone as the alpha?”

Steve buried his head deeper into Eddie’s neck. “I don’t want to. I want the Harrington line to die with me. But as the alpha I might have to.”

Eddie’s hands went back to roaming over Steve’s skin, this time to comfort. “What made you decide to go for the alpha position after Hopper was declared dead?”

Steve raised his head. “Because I looked at the other options and knew that if I didn’t, the pack would be stuck in the old ways and people like Carver would kill us all.” He gave Eddie a peck on the lips. “Would you want to be in a pack under Ted Wheeler or Murray Bauman?”

“Wait,” Eddie said raising both eyebrows in surprise, “those were your two options ultra-conservative Ted Wheeler or super conspiracy nut Murray Bauman?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. It was insane.”

“What about Derek Sinclair or oh...” Eddie’s brain finally caught up to his mouth. “Oh shit. It was literally you or the old guard, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “And then when Joyce got supplanted by Nancy as alpha female, her and Murray conspired to bring Hopper back so that things could go back to the way things were before.”

“That’s messed up,” Eddie said. “Could you banish them for that?”

Steve sighed, rolling off Eddie to lie next to him on the ground. “I’ve thought about it a lot, I won’t lie. But I worry how Jonathan and Will are going to react to their own mother getting banished. Would I end up having to banish them too? Could I split up a family like that? Would they willingly go with her?”

“That’s a lot to think about,” Eddie agreed, rolling over on his side and propping his head up by his elbow. “Especially for someone so young.”

“I’m not a fan of Billy Hargrove, the racist, homophobic asshole that he is,” Steve said, “but he is the reason I tried for the alpha role in the first place. If he could take over the coven at the young age of eighteen, then I could take over the pack at the tender age of nineteen.”

“Wayne told me that the amount of supe on supe violence has gone down since you took over,” Eddie said. “The coven respects the pack and the pack respects the coven.”

Steve nodded. “I still wouldn’t mind having outside voices from the pack. The echo chamber has gotten so loud that we get bullshit like the pack tearing apart a vampire that wandered into the encampment instead of helping him or accepting his help, in the case of you rescuing me.”

Eddie nodded. “It’s that suspicion that breeds contempt and allows people like Jason Carver to stir up the town against its supernatural founders.”

Steve sighed. “I worry about the undercurrent of distrust that’s been building for god knows how long.”

“Let me help you forget about it for awhile, baby,” Eddie murmured.

A shiver ran down Steve’s spine in anticipation. “Yes, please.”

Eddie leaned for a kiss and then pulled Steve back over on him.

***

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Yes, everyone, Billy is in this and while he still is all the things that made him repugnant, Steve still respects him. But we'll get more into that at later date.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @redfreckledwolf @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @goosesister

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #vampire eddie munson #werewolf steve harrington

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susandsnell · 4 months

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hey coco! hope ur having a good day! was wondering if u’d like to talk about why u like and what u find compelling with atton/exile? do u have a particular route or headcanon underwhich u prefer them or is it more of an overarching meta appreciation?

Hi, friend!

Thanks so much for the well-wishes. My day's kind of ehh due to continued Issues but the weather's nice and I'm feeling a little calmer. Hope your day is good!

Thank you so much for sending me this and enabling me shamelessly. I've been ride-or-die for Atton/Exile (which is M/F if you played the Jedi Exile as female, which I did and which is 'canon' but let's not talk about the latter lest we kick the hornet's nest) since summer 2011, which is almost 13 years now? Wild. Literally half my life. Anyhow, my reasons/headcanons have changed and evolved just as I've done a lot of growing up since the time I was first obsessed, but I'll do my best to synthesize/organize my thoughts! (Assume all the Restored Content is canon). More under the cut because 'synthesis' is still essay-length for me, God help me.

First off, I tended to play the Jedi Exile as light-sided and Revan as dark sided; I find the narrative of both games to be the most meaningful with these choices. This post basically puts into words why Revan works better as a Dark Sider, but the Exile, to me, as Revan's foil and mirror, works inversely best as a light sider. The game seems to want you to play her light-sided given how Kreia's best stuff/approval lies in that path. KOTOR II is one of the darkest entries to the Star Wars universe by far, but with a light sided exile, it's a story about how moving through life with an unyielding belief in love and justice for others in your heart will ignite that light in the people around you, and repair a broken world/galaxy.

Enter Atton.

KOTOR II is great in that you technically have such a wide range of shipping dynamics/options, and exactly none of them are functional, largely because it's one of the Star Wars media entries with the most harrowingly realistic depictions of war and its psychological impact on the people it touches. Atton Rand happened to be my favourite of all the love interests at the time because of his voice and his snarky meta-jokes (I was a Daria fanatic almost 2 decades too late, what do you want). Nowadays, I love him because his character basically took the Star Wars expanded universe requirement for Han Solo expys and went off the rails with it, making his 'scoundrel' archetype half-his charming and humorous personality, half-a facade to cover severe and quite realistically portrayed war PTSD as well as his actions as Jaq, the torture-happy mercenary. It's "what if the self-serving charming rogue during wartime archetype was brought to its logical conclusion" and I am here for it.

So first you have the parallels and contrasts - both committed atrocities during the Mandalorian wars, but while Atton was loyal to Revan after their fall and never faced justice for his wrongdoings, the (light-sided) Exile turned from Revan and still was scapegoated by the Council. Atton is a character mired in his own bitterness and cynicism, and you have the option to choose to play the Exile as a character driven solely by her morals, even when she'll suffer unconscionably for them, and it is through this unflinching clinging to her morals that she gains the idealism necessary to survive everything she goes through. Atton once sought to rip freewill away from his victims; the Exile unconsciously, slowly saps it through the cipher.

As a young teen, I admittedly was starry-eyed over the 'sheltered good girl manipulated and hurt by so many meets sexy bad boy recovering from his own past and they protect each other as a power couple' archetyping, but it does go a lot deeper than that. Their dialogue options have easy, natural, sexy chemistry that draws you in, but I do think my appreciation goes deeper. This isn't a simple 'fixing the bad boy' because of the narrative device of the Force cipher meaning you quite literally have "I can fix him" and "I can make him worse" as your game mechanics, lol. You get your surface-level fun of their interactions between the proper, well-mannered Jedi and the flirtatious rapscallion, but you also have two people who, for the reasons I outlined above, fundamentally understand each other after harrowing lifetimes spent alone in their pain and trauma.

I'd go so far as to say Atton is the best-placed of anyone to understand the Exile; the Sion ship is compelling and squee-worthy to any Phantom fangirl worth her salt (as I was), but she's everything he couldn't be or fathom, Visas may have felt closer to the pain the Exile did over Malachor V but her worst actions were committed under duress as a captive of Darth Nihilus and not of her own volition (so I argue she's a lot more morally innocent than Atton or the Exile), Mical/The Disciple is the innocence and warmth of the Exile's upbringing untouched by how the Mando wars reforged her and while Brianna/The Handmaiden is excellent as a potential parallel for specifically the Exile's abuse at the hands of the Jedi (Atris in particular), she's still similarly sheltered to Mical. Bao-Dur was with the Exile during the war but the game didn't develop him enough and understands that aspect of her, but they canonically per the dialogue emotionally distanced themselves given the circumstances, and Mira the Bounty Hunter is cool sister-zoned, but I suspect her family being victim to Malachor V would drive a wedge no matter how much forgiveness the game preaches.

Meanwhile, Atton knows and/or loves not pieces of the Exile, but as she is; the battered and betrayed veteran with a lifetime of wrongdoing to atone for that he recognizes in himself, and the naive Jedi she was before that the charming flirt in him likes to tease. And although his backstory is a revelation, and a harrowing one to the Exile, who sees what she might have become had she stayed with Revan, this is what their relationship is; seeing someone in their totality, and loving and honouring the worst with the best. Despite knowing what the Exile's done, Atton values her enough to still care about how she views him that he begs Kreia not to tell her the truth about his past. The two are instantly drawn to each other on Peragus, not just out of necessity but genuine, instinctive protectiveness, attraction, and a deeper sense (be it Force-Assisted or not) of understanding. Atton refers to it in his death scene (if you count that) as love at first sight, and while there was probably initial infatuation, I think there was just such an instant magnetism that grew and grew between them through shared experience. "Don't give up on me now, dammit!" and "You want her, you get through me." come to mind. Atton is the only party member that asks her to train him in the Force, whereas she has to prompt and convince the others into their awakening. He's deeply scarred by his experiences with the Force, not to mention it's actively dangerous to train as a Jedi due to the Exchange, but he's willing to face that for the Exile - he tells her that part of why he wants to train as a Jedi is to be better able to protect and fight for her. One of the first things he does is teach her to play Pazaak in her head to prevent from psychic attacks through the Force/harm through Kreia's force bond - the exact weapon he wielded against others. The tragedy of any Jedi Exile ship is the constant insecurity created by the force-wound/cipher; how much of anyone's choice to follow in their footsteps or love them is their own free will? What power dynamics, unspoken or obvious, arise from it? But Atton's fierce independence and selfishness almost serves as the clearest answer to this. He willingly reawakens himself to the Force to connect with her, to be better able to fight for her. He chose her, a thousand times over, and whatever role the Force Wound plays, he accepts her influence out of admiration for that steadfast-to-a-fault morality I talked about before.

This isn't some corny gender essentialist "she is his redemption" nonsense either, although redemption is a major theme of a light-sided KOTOR 2; by training Atton and others as a Jedi, the Exile is actively doing the work to heal the galaxy she helped to break. By protecting and teaching and bonding with the Exile, Atton is regaining his own humanity through recognizing hers, over and over, the way he failed to recognize those of his victims. They're together in this, in their recovery, in how they've experienced all extremes of morality. Love, in this story, isn't about fixing someone or breaking them, it's about meeting them where they are and walking alongside them, hopefully to someplace better than where you were when you both met. Is it any wonder that he's the one she walks away with in the end? (As if he'd let her walk alone ever again.)

With all this being said, and to address your question, while the route/headcanon preferences I prefer for Atton/Exile create, I think, the richest narrative with what's there, I've definitely got an overarching meta appreciation for them too. I spent my teen years eagerly eating up every possible iteration of them as a couple, and much of what I described above can hold true in a different aspect if people prefer to play them dark-sided, if people hold the tragic dying in your arms ending as canon, and so forth. They're compelling any way you slice them.

#kotor 2 #atton rand #jedi exile #atton x exile #kotor ii #i hope this made sense sdnfsnfsd #god help me i'm back on my bullshit

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