tsunchani

[tsunchani]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐔’𝐬 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𖤓 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬’

𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧— 𝐛𝐨𝐱𝐞𝐫!𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭

𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥— 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲

𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧’ 𝐲𝐨𝐮— 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐑𝐚𝐲 𓃽

[𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬]

me when i have tooo much free time and im left alone w my thoughts 😒

@the-spicy-sugar boxer Elliott is finally here 🙂‍↔️

[tsunchani]

watch // manny alvarez x reader

a/n: so who's alive after that season finale and that 2 second manny appearance lolll there's no way i can wait until 2027 to see him again i need him NOW!!!! this is kinda short and i wrote it with a f!reader in mind but i think it could be gn? anyway enjoy it!! ♡ MANNY COME BACK THE KIDS MISS U

The cold wind howled around the Space Needle, sharp and relentless, as the city lay still – empty streets, shattered windows, and long shadows over the crumbling buildings. You were supposed to be alert, watching for Scars, patrols, or anything that might be a threat to the WLF.

But Manny had different plans.

He kept leaning in too close, that backwards cap shading his eyes just enough to make him even more distracting, drawing the attention to the smirk on his lips. Every time he leaned your way, his voice dropped into that smooth, teasing whisper that drove you crazy – and he knew it. He definitely knew it.

He stood casually against the railing, binoculars in hand, though his eyes kept drifting toward you more than the skyline. 

“All clear,” he said softly, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“You’re not even looking.”

“I did,” he said, still watching you. “Saw you. Liked it. Mission accomplished.”

You rolled your eyes, turning toward him slowly. “Give me that,”

He held them up like an offering, but didn’t make it easy, holding them out of reach just long enough to make you step closer. His gaze flicked down to your mouth, then back up again, and your breath caught.

You brought the binoculars to your eyes, pretending to be responsible, but even then, focusing on the horizon, you could feel him move. He rested his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist with an intimacy that made your skin hum.

“See anything interesting, cariño?” he whispered, soft kisses trailing along your ear.

“Manny,” you warned, but your breathless tone gave you away.

He chuckled. “What? Can't focus?”

He spun you around to face him before you could say anything, the binoculars dropping to your side as his eyes searched yours for a second before he kissed you, hot and urgent, one of his hands cradling the back of your neck while the other gripped your waist, pulling you tightly against him.

Everything else – the mission, the threats, the danger you were supposed to look out for – faded into background as he deepened the kiss.

Then the sharp static of the radio crackled in Manny’s pocket, cutting through the silence between you without any warning.

“Manny, you copy?”

The urgency of the voice snapped you both out of the moment, but Manny’s smirk hinted he wasn’t done just yet.

“You should answer,” you whispered.

Instead, he slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled the radio and lowered the volume nearly to silence.

“Didn’t hear anything,” he said, voice dipping into that warm, teasing tone again. His lips traced along your jaw, slow and soft and maddening. “Too much interference.”

You let out a shaky laugh, pushing against his chest as he kissed you again, lips crashing into yours with the kind of need that made your knees go weak. His hands slid firmly around your waist, guiding you backward with slow, deliberate pressure until you met the cold wall behind you. 

“Manny!” The voice came lower, but still sharp enough to cut through the tense silence between you. “Come in!”

He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, just enough to make you gasp, then soothed with a slow, lingering kiss.

“Manny, I swear to God-”

He smirked against your lips, unbothered, pulling back to whisper “Ignore it,” before kissing you again.

"Manny!"

You unwillingly reached for the radio, but Manny wasn’t done – not even close. His lips found your neck, tracing down as his hands slid under your shirt, his fingers moving slowly on your skin.

He made it impossible to think straight, but you still forced yourself to speak. “W-we’re good,” voice trembling as you fought to stay calm, Manny’s soft chuckle rumbling through the air.

There was a pause, just a flicker of static until the voice returned, more commanding this time:

 “We need a full status update. Over.”

Manny’s lips brushed your skin as he whispered with a playful smirk, “Tell them we’re busy.”

"Report. Now!”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves again as Manny’s lips still brushed your neck.  “Perimeter secure. No movement detected. We’re… engaged... in active surveillance. Over.”

The radio crackled with a teasing tone.

“Copy that. Try keeping your pants on during the next check-in. Over.”

But the rest of the voice on the radio was lost after Manny kissed you again.

[tsunchani]

Reasons, Ch.6 - Cassian Andor series

Female reader insert Summary: You're a droidsmith on Ferrix when a handsome stranger walks in one day with a hopelessly damaged droid. You agree to take on the repairs for the stranger, a decision that will change the direction of your lives forever. Word Count: 2,260 Content Warnings for: canon-divergence; cursing Taglist: @mithicakurogo @nonniecannie @freerangesweets @zbeez-outlet @chicken-fifi @queerponcho @theatergirlmgm @oh-yeah-i-exist @shakespeareanlead @idontevenknow1359

The sound of waves licking the sandy beach below had become a steady soundtrack that pounded around your head all hours of the day and night. You’d at first been mesmerized by the planet Niamos - to think, its inhabitants lived within full eyesight of an ocean at all times - but now, almost three and a half months after your frenetic arrival, boredom mixed with fear had gotten inextricably mixed with the sounds and smells of the ocean and you realized that you hated it here. Especially without Cassian.

He hadn’t stayed long, maybe two days. He’d dumped you in this beautiful, empty house and left with barely a word…

“I need to see my contact on Coruscant.” His dark eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep and cold. “Need to sort out safe passage for you. Get forged papers, new documents. It’ll take a while.”

You’d breathed in a heavy, long breath. Exhaustion had settled deep in the center of your bones, but what choice did you have? You were a fugitive now.

You nodded numbly, looking longing out through the perpetually-open wall of glass at the ocean stretched out to the horizon line. 

“I’ll go pack,” you replied, sliding out of the chair you were in and heading towards the bedroom you were staying in. “Won’t take long.”

Cassian caught your hand as you turned away. His touch sent electricity ricocheting up your arm, stealing your breath. You turned back to him, wondering if you looked as hopeful as you felt. 

“I’m going alone,” he clarified. His voice sounded sad and far away, but those dark, bottomless eyes revealed nothing. 

You didn’t know what to say. What to ask. Where would you stay? Here, you supposed, only because there was nowhere else to go. You’d realized very quickly that the Galaxy was massive, and you’d never left Ferrix before. The only person that you knew out here was Cassian, and laying claim to ‘knowing’ him felt like a lie. You felt that now more than ever. You didn’t really know him at all. 

You felt yourself give a shrug. Half resignation, half confusion. Cassian watched you quietly as you slid back into the chair, your eyes returning to the waves. Each time a new wave boiled up from the ocean depths, crested, and then crashed in a spray of foam on the seashore, you felt a new emotion rise up and crash open inside you. Grief. Rage. Despair. Terror. 

You don’t know how long you’d sat there, staring at the sea. After a long while of sitting still and thinking, you said the only thing that really mattered to you anymore. “Don’t forget to come back for me.”

Cassian hadn’t said a word after that. He’d simply slipped out the door without so much as a backwards glance. Leaving you to the empty house that looked out over the empty ocean…

The realization that Cassian wasn’t coming back for you had hit you somewhere around week seven. He hadn’t left a way for you to contact him, or vice versa. He hadn’t sent anyone to check on you. He hadn’t squirreled away a secret note or some small token of his remembrance. It was like he’d never been here at all. And that was by design. He was covering his tracks. Sure, you were on the run. But so was he. 

You wondered where in the escape things had gone sideways. He’d seemed so deliriously guilty about getting you tied up with the Empire when he’d broken into your home on Ferrix. He’d been tender in taking care of you after hyperdrive sickness, and then he’d brought you here. To safety. Because he cared… right?

There was one moment that everything had pivoted. You could barely bring yourself to think of it. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment (and desire, if you were completely truthful) each time you relived that kiss. It had to be the kiss. You’d crossed a line, you told yourself. Cassian was just trying to save your skin, and you’d gone and made it some sort of tragedy-romance mashup of bad luck and bad decisions when you’d slapped your lips on his. I’ve always been a good actor. You’d never forget those words. He’d been acting as the good guy, trying to make up for his wrongs by pulling you out of Ferrix. But that’s where it had ended. You’d fallen for his show, and you’d ruined everything. And now, you were alone. Just you and the ocean. 

Three and a half months was a long time to be by yourself. You’d managed to get by on the credits you’d had the sense to pack before fleeing your home, but that supply was dwindling. Pretty soon you’d have to make a choice: go home, or set up shop here. You’d have to fix droids. It was all you knew. But setting up shop somewhere new was bound to be fraught with challenges. You didn’t know the market, didn’t have a customer base. There were bound to be other droidsmiths on Niamos, so you’d be making enemies while you were bowing and scraping, taking whatever anyone would throw at you, all in the name of buying trust and goodwill and maybe, hopefully, a repeat customer. 

But worst of all, setting up shop here felt final. Setting up shop here meant that you wouldn’t be leaving. That this was home now. And, at the end of the day, that meant that Cassian wasn’t coming back. 

You hated him for leaving you, but not enough to give up all hope. Not yet. You counted the credits you had left. One more week, you thought to yourself. If he’s not back by then, I’ll start looking for shop space. 

An empty promise, you knew. You’d made the same one for the last four weeks.

* * * * * * * * *

Cassian felt fire burning in his veins as he held Senator Mothma’s gaze, her last words hanging heavy in the darkness between them. 

“I cannot afford to wait another week,” Cassian growled through gritted teeth, his hands trembling at his side. “It’s been almost four months already, Senator.”

Senator Mothma fidgeted uncomfortably with the large hood that obscured her face from the ambient light of a Coruscant night. They were quite alone in the rancid-smelling alley that Cassian had chosen for their meet-up, but the hum of the city-planet rang in their ears. A reminder to be quick, and be on their way. 

“I’m sorry, Cassian, I truly am, but I simply canno-”

“Senator, with respect, I am tired of your apologies.” Cassian was pacing now, his voice breaking free of the constraints of whispering. His temper was fracturing with impatience. “My contact on Niamos is in constant danger, and you’ve kept us waiting for four months for papers!”

“Cassian, please.” The Senator cast a shifty glance around. No one was listening, but the last thing either of them needed was to make a spectacle of the exchange. A Senator caught in a clandestine midnight meeting with a known Rebellion agitator would do neither of them any good. To say nothing of the warrant for Cassian’s arrest and the bounty price of half a million credits on his head. Or the Senator’s deeply scrutinized allegiances and alleged ties to the Aldhani incident. 

Cassian tried to calm himself, but he was beyond reason. All he could see was your eyes, the way you’d crumpled when he’d told you he was coming to Coruscant alone. It had nearly broken him to leave you there, but the brutal calculus of life as a wanted criminal demanded the utmost adherence to scruples. Cassian couldn’t risk your life just to keep you near him. It would have been easy - too easy - to delude himself into thinking that the safest place for you was by his side. Right where he wanted you. But he’d already proven himself near-fatal to you, almost getting you good and shot on Ferrix just by trying to pay off his massive debt with some traced credits. And all that had been before that goddamned kiss. After that, he was sunk. Totally enraptured. He knew it from the instant he felt your lips on his. No, he was in far too deep. If it was the last thing he did, Cassian Andor meant to make good on his promise to you: he needed to get you set up somewhere safe and then make it so that you never saw him again. It was the best way - the only way - he could see to keep you safe. And as badly as he wanted you, he wanted you alive. More than anything, that was what mattered. 

He reminded himself of all of this, one painstaking bitter pill at a time. Slowly, incrementally, he felt the fire begin to burn off as his mind cleared to reason. When he finally felt calm enough to speak, he rounded on Senator Mothma.

“Senator, it gives me no pleasure to do this, but I simply cannot wait any longer. If I don’t have the papers I’ve requested - and paid for, mind you - by tomorrow, I’ll have to take matters in my own hands.” 

Senator Mothma inhaled, her chin jutting out proudly as her eyes simmered. “And just what does that mean, Cassian?” Puffed up and haughty, but Cassian saw a flicker of fear in the back of her eyes. She knew a threat when she heard one. And Cassian had been honest about one thing: it really didn’t give him any pleasure to play this hand with the Senator. She was a noble woman, strong in her beliefs and an astoundingly deft political operative. Smart and confident. Cassian respected her immensely. But, when all was said and done, she was proving to be a hindrance. Cassian had promises to fulfill. Or rather, promise. Singular. Your safety. He was determined that nothing - not the Senator’s delicate political situation, not an outstanding warrant for his arrest, not an entire garrison of Imperial Storm Troopers - would stand in his way.

“Let’s hope you don’t have to find out, Senator.” 

For a few tense seconds, the two of them sized each other up in the hazy darkness. Cassian’s gaze was steely, his resolve never stronger. Three months, three weeks, two days. His internal clock screeched like a tea kettle. Too long. 

After a few breaths, Senator Mothma deflated slightly, her head sagging on her proud neck. The way she crumpled, like a kite that’s lost its breeze, reminded Cassian of the way you’d looked as he’d left you alone by the seashore on Niamos. The memory brought the threat of tears to his eyes. 

“I’ll get them to you,” the Senator agreed. Her voice sounded stretched and thin. Cassian felt a pang of guilt for having to push her to this. He knew what she was risking - her career in the Senate, her daughter’s and husband’s safety, her own life - to get these forged identichips. Ever since the Empire had assumed power, identichips had become mandatory for Imperial citizens to carry at all times. Forged chips had quickly flourished as one of the most lucrative corners of the black market, but the Empire had expended considerable effort on quashing that enterprise in its infancy. Those willing to alter identichips were few and far between now; those willing to forge entirely new ones, even fewer. Only the very wealthy had enough credits to realistically purchase such a service, but forgers made themselves extremely scarce in efforts to avoid Imperial imprisonment. Not that Cassian blamed them - wasn’t that the fate he was trying to save you from, after all? - but their secretiveness had proven an unexpected time suck on his plans. Months had dragged by before Senator Mothma had even made contact with one, and now her order hadn’t been delivered on schedule. Cassian wasn’t sure what it would cost her to extort the identichips tonight, but he couldn’t allow himself to backtrack now. 

“Thank you.” He exhaled heavily, unsure if he felt relieved or more terrified than before. He’d been focusing for so long on getting the identichips that he hadn’t let himself think too hard on what would come after. Were you still on Niamos? Would you still want his help? Had the Empire found you? Were you still alive at all?

Unwilling to follow those thoughts any further, Cassian simply handed Senator Mothma a small strip of paper with a ship’s name and docking location scribbled on it. “I’m leaving at midday tomorrow,” he told her as she crumpled the paper and slipped it into the pocket of her robe. “Make sure my chips are on board by then.” 

She nodded again - a sad, completely exhausted acquiescence - and turned on her heels, vanishing into the foggy street. Cassian watched as she left, listening to the sound of her retreating footsteps. She was walking away with the power to make or break him, Cassian realized. If she didn’t deliver those chips, and Cassian couldn’t get back to you… 

He wasn’t sure what that would mean for him, except that his heart turned to ash in his chest whenever he thought of that possibility. Steeling himself against the mix of dread, relief, and adrenaline sitting on his shoulders, he turned the collar up on his coat and turned in the opposite direction from the Senator. He threw up a silent thought for you - all alone by the seaside in a beautiful, empty house - hundreds of thousands of miles away, but somehow still the closest thing he had to home.

*more chapters coming soon! please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future chapters

[tsunchani]

Beneath Rebel Skies Masterlist

Cassian Andor X Reader Series

Summary: You and Cassian Andor were childhood friends on Ferrix—until your parents suddenly tore you away without warning. Years later, you reunite during a mission for the Rebellion. Old memories clash with new tension as you’re forced to work together, navigating the lines between friendship, loyalty, and something more.

Chapter 1: Dreaming of Ferrix

Chapter 2: Awkward Conversations

Chapter 3: We’ll Get There

Chapter 4: Quiet Hours

Chapter 5: Let it Soak In

Chapter 6: Static Between Wires

Chapter 7: Destined to Lose

Chapter 8: Trigger Point

Chapter 9: After the Bleeding

Chapter 10: Closer than Before

More to come! Chapter 11 & 12 will be out soon :)

I’m so excited to publish 12, it’s sooo cute and has been the most fun to write!

[tsunchani]

"Mariko-san?"At once fingers reached up in the darkness and touched his lips, cautioning silence. He nodded, understanding the awful risk they were taking. - Shōgun by James Clavell

[tsunchani]

𝐈 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 🔞

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 જ⁀➴ 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Elliot puts himself out on a limb just to get the attention of a girl

SMUT!! MDNI!!! softdom!Elliott, masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v, afab reader, oral, mutual pining, sexual tension, reckless Elliott, mentions of gun violence, nurse!reader

You’ve been stationed at this forward operating base for three months—long enough for the chaos of the outside world to become background noise, but not long enough to get used to the constant weight of it pressing on your chest.

You’re a combat medic. Used to blood, screaming, silence. But not used to him.

Elliott.

He’s part of a recon unit that comes and goes like a ghost. Never talks much. He always looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. There’s something feral in the way he moves, like he’s waiting for the next shot to go off, even in the quiet. And yet, somehow, he always finds his way to you when he’s banged up—like tonight.

He comes in late. Shirt shredded, arm torn up, dark eyes hard like he’s still out there, still fighting something. You clean his wound in silence, but the tension’s thick. Heavy. You’ve fought before—barked orders, snapped at him for being reckless, shoved him when he got in your face.

But tonight is different. Tonight, you’re both too tired to argue, too strung out to pretend the air between you hasn’t been charged since day one.

You press gauze to his side. He flinches. Your other hand lingers on his hip to keep him in place. His gaze drags up your body, slow and unreadable.

“Are you always this rough with your patients? ” He mutters, voice low, hoarse.

You smirk. “Only the ones who piss me off.”

His jaw flexes. “Then you must really hate me.”

You stare at him, your heartbeat picking up. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? ”

He laughs, a dry, bitter sound. Then—“Yeah. I fuckin’ would.”

He doesn’t move when you pull the gauze away—just sits there on the edge of the cot, stripped down to his undershirt, sweat clinging to his skin. Blood seeps through the fresh bandage at his ribs, and you should tell him to lie back and take it easy. But you don’t. You just stare at him for a second too long, eyes dragging down his chest, jaw, the curve of his mouth, and the moustache that sits right above it.

You know what this is. You’ve known for weeks. Every look, every snap of tension between you two. Every time he called you “Doc,” it was like a challenge. Every time he stood too close, he lingered too long after a patch-up. Every time you got in his face, and he didn’t back down—just stared at you like he wanted to pull you in and ruin you.

You break the silence first.

“You’re going to split that open again if you keep fucking around like that.”

“I’ll live.”

You roll your eyes and start packing up your kit, but you feel him watching you. Not just watching—tracking. Like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s daring you to say what you’re both thinking.

“Something else bothering you? ” You ask, not looking at him.

“You,” he says flatly. Like a gunshot. No hesitation.

You freeze, hands still.

“Yeah? Well, good thing you can go,” you laughed—ignoring the obvious poking tension he’s only making worse.

You turned around to put the kit back on the trolley, but when you turned back around, Elliott was right behind you—standing now, looking down at you.

“God, I can’t wait anymore.” He exhaled like he was preparing for his next move, and he was.

Elliott leans down with a hand hovering over your hip; his pupils are blown out, but he has a touch of gentleness to him.

You looked up at him with the eyes he’d sworn a million times he hated, but if anyone read the little notebook he kept in his pack—the one thing keeping him from losing his mind—it would tell you otherwise.

Second Week Out

I saw her for the first time; she stood out in all the right ways. I knew instantly that if I didn’t meet her. I’d lose my fucking mind.

Third Week Out

She knows me. I may have gotten shot; it might have been on purpose, but now she knows me. She knows I’m here.

Fourth Week Out

We started arguing about me being “reckless.” I didn’t mind because it was my recklessness that got her to know my name. It was my recklessness that brought me to see her every day, to make sure she was okay.

Fifth Week Out

I’m starting to lose control. I need her to know that I need her. I would never admit this to anyone, but I woke up in a cold sweat—thinking about her, of course. It just happened. One second I was asleep. The next thing I was bucking into my hand thinking about her eyes, the way I would want her to look at me if I was in her. Not my fucking hand. God, this is weird. What the fuck is wrong with me?

It was the sixth week out, and it was time he made his move.

“Tell me to leave, and I will walk out of here right now.” Elliott’s voice was gruff, laced with a thick lust he wasn’t sure you shared.

Your throat bobbed as you met his rather intense gaze again; you both know this is risky, but that only made you want it more.

“Stay.” That was the only word you managed to get out, and it was only a little louder than a whisper.

Elliott took this as his signal—crashing his lips on yours. Instantly wrapping his arms around your waist before letting a deep groan rip from his throat.

You stood on your tippy toes, arms around his neck and hands in his buzzed hair. His moustache tickled against your top lip. This felt surreal.

Elliott was quick to deepen the kiss; after all, he got shot—multiple times, might he add—to earn this kiss. He wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

Once his tongue slipped into your mouth, you tasted it. The mint was from one of those stupid pieces of gum he liked popping in your ear way too loud. There was an additional taste of chewing tobacco, not your favourite taste, but the mint masked it well enough.

It was a weird mix—tobacco and mint—but somehow, it felt real. It felt like him. Like this. Flawed and reckless. Maybe a little dangerous, but honest in its own fucked-up way.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against your own, his breath heavy against your lips.

“I shouldn’t want this so bad,” he murmured, his voice barely hanging on. “But I do. I want you.”

Your fingers still rested in his hair, now scratching at the nape of his neck, trying to hold yourself back a little longer. “Then shut up and take it.”

That was all it took. He snapped.

Smashing his lips back onto yours, pulling you flush against him. You moan softly in his mouth. The sound went straight to his dick.

He scooped you up gently and plopped you down on the cot like you weighed nothing. Standing between your legs, he continued kissing you. Hands now rubbing up and down the plush of your thighs.

You were pressed up against him. Hands in what little hair he had. You felt the heat start to grow between your thighs, and you involuntarily bucked forward.

Elliott had you held down pretty well, but this small movement brushed right against where he needed you most. If you did that one more time, he thinks he’d finish on the spot.

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to waste what could be the only chance he got.

Quickly he dropped to his knees. Head now between your legs. He took off your boots carefully, making sure not to hurt you. He moved his fingers up to the zipper of your pants.

“Can I? ” He spoke softly but still sounded gravelly.

A quick nod of desperation was all it took for him to pull down your uniform pants, revealing a pair of soft pink panties that were lined with lace. At the top there was a little bow.

He stared for a moment too long; it made you self-conscious, and you tried closing your legs, but before you could, he kissed the bow.

Just a soft peck. He was looking at you when he did it. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered against the bow. Lips grazing over the lowest part of your stomach.

You shivered softly. Your eyes stayed on him the entire time. You tried not to shy away again after this.

He hooked his fingers in your panties before tugging them down. You lifted your hips to help him, same as your pants. He didn’t look down. Not until they were completely pulled off and stuffed into the pocket of his pants.

“You okay, angel? ” He asked, inching closer to the place you needed him most.

“Mhm, just keep going,” you murmured, hand moving to scratch behind his ear. “Please, Elliott.”

That’s all it took for him to pull you closer to his face by the hips. He tucked his face between your soft thighs, leaving a kiss right above your clit.

You shuddered at the feeling. Before you knew it, you felt him lick a stripe between your folds. You let out a small gasp and tried grabbing onto his hair, but it wasn’t long enough.

He grabbed your hand and held it instead. Quickly diving back in, sucking on your clit this time.

It was like he was starving—because he was. He laps up every single drop of wetness that was created under his manipulation.

He grinded against nothing; the friction he desperately needed was so close but so far. He groaned as he continued eating you out. His pace is getting faster but sloppier.

You’ve become a moaning mess under his tongue. You rolled your hips softly, trying to gain a little more friction.

Elliott took this as a sign and moved the hand that wasn’t holding onto yours. He brought two of his thick fingers to your opening, slowly pumping them in as he continued to work his tongue against your clit.

His eyes stayed on you the entire time. Taking in the image of you from where he was placed. He hopes this isn’t the last time he sees you like this. You look absolutely stunning.

“Elliott—shit.” You practically squeaked. You’ve received before, but this was life-altering. His starvation drove you to the edge faster than you had hoped.

His fingers continued to curl inside of you at a slow speed while he licked and sucked at your nub. You didn’t want this to end, but you weren’t sure what was going to happen if you finished.

“Elliott, stop,” you stuttered.

The second you finished your sentence, he stopped. He looked up at you, concerned. His fingers froze, but he didn’t pull them out.

“Are you okay? ” He asked in a panic. “Did I hurt you? ”

You laughed, but it was more of a huff as you were completely out of breath.

“No,” you replied quickly. “I didn’t want to stop, and I was getting close.”

The concern on his face quickly faded. He moved his head right back to where it was but removed his fingers.

Scooping you up by your ass, he pushed his nose deep into your folds. Bathing himself in your juices. He pushed his tongue back inside of you and sped up his pace. His moustache only added to the pleasure.

You quickly threw your head back and let a loud moan escape your throat. Nails clawing deep into his biceps. You quickly unravelled under him with this newfound determination.

Your hips stuttered as an orgasm washed over you. Elliott, on the other hand, didn’t think twice.

He slurped up every single drop you gave him, like this was his final meal. Once he lapped up every last bit, he looked up at you once again.

His face was covered in you, his jaw was streaked with drops that didn’t reach his mouth, and his moustache collected some of it as well.

He gave you a small smile before standing back up. He wobbled for a moment.

The realization quickly hit you. This was the same man you would get into squabbles with constantly. One yelling at the other. All of a sudden he’s gone soft. Was it the tension? Or something deeper?

The thought quickly vanished when his lips met yours. His hand coming up to your cheek, tasting yourself on his tongue.

You moved your hands to his belt, undoing it and letting it drop to the floor as well as his pants. He was left in a pair of boxers, black ones with little teddy bears on them.

You let out a giggle at his boxers, but you were quickly cut off by his lips on yours again.

Luckily what you didn’t see was the giant wet spot on his boxers. He wasn’t sure how you didn’t see, but he was so glad he didn’t have to face the embarrassment.

One thing he learned how to do in boot camp is how to finish silently, because if you were loud about it, someone would catch you.

So naturally when he was eating you out and came undone in his pants accidentally—you didn’t even notice.

You moved your hands to the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down. His cock sprung out. Girthy and long, it was slightly curved downward but barely noticeable.

You let his boxers drop to the floor before you let go of the kiss. Running your hand along his snail trail all the way down to his dick.

You rubbed the bead of precum across his head.

Elliott let out a small groan. He needed her. He couldn’t wait anymore.

Thankfully you didn’t make him. You held him between your folds and ran the tip of his cock through them. You were aching for him at this point.

As you lined him up with your entrance, you nodded your head. He took this as a green light.

As he pressed in slowly, he stopped at around an inch. His forehead against yours. You both were sweaty at this point, but neither of you cared.

“Keep going,” you spoke softly; you wanted all of him. “All the way.”

You assured him it was okay. He slowly bottomed out, and when he did, he groaned as you bit into his shoulder. There was a slight sting considering how stretched out you were, but it was nice.

You kissed the spot on his shoulder you sunk your teeth into, moving up to his neck to give him more kisses. You rolled your hips slightly, and Elliott held you close to his chest.

He slowly pulled out—almost all the way—before he pressed back in. You moaned against his neck, and he gave you a desperate whimper back.

“I got you, baby.” He whispered into your ear as he brushed his hands through your hair.

He started to gain speed, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt—you would also be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

You moved your head back to rest against his. He gave you a sloppy kiss as he became more desperate with his pace. Fucking you like this would be the one and only time. Maybe it is.

You were a moaning mess in his arms. You clawed at his back under his shirt relentlessly—surely drawing blood. Elliott only fed into it.

He held you with both hands on your cheeks. Holding your head close to his so he could keep kissing your lips. Like he was savouring it. Which he was.

His thrusts were faster than he’d ever gone in his hand. It was euphoric. It also brought him really close really fast. Luckily, another thing boot camp taught him was to control himself. Just to make sure he spills his seed into a sock without making a mess.

You were on the edge. Spent from him eating your pussy out like it was his last day on earth. That he would never get to do it again.

You were close. He felt it with the way you clenched around his cock and arched into him. He kept up his pace just to make sure you gave him all you had left.

You dug your nails deep into his back. Unable to kiss him back. You were short-circuiting. You let out a loud moan into his mouth before coming completely undone. Completely fucked out and dazed.

Elliott was a few thrusts behind you, quickly pulling out and cumming on your thigh with a groan. His seed was thick and hot.

He watched it run down your thigh before you scooped some up, popping your fingers in your mouth. Sucking them clean with a hum.

He looked at you with soft eyes, almost loving ones. He had never really enjoyed sex—not like this.

He quickly grabbed some tissues from the abandoned medical cart and cleaned you up. He helped you back into your pants and boots.

You didn’t ask for your underwear back; you hoped it would bring him back to you. You watched him get dressed and he sat beside you on the cot.

Neither of you said anything. He just rests his head on yours. Hand in hand.

Neither of you were sure what was coming next but whatever it was—along as it brought you two together—it would be the best thing to happen to either of you.

Sixth Week Out

I finally got her. It was good, really good. I’ve never seen anyone look so beautiful, but she’s always been gorgeous. I got an amazing sleep after kissing her goodbye that I wish I could have stayed but it would have just gotten us both in trouble.

Seventh Week Out

She’s been ignoring me. I haven’t seen her since that night. No one will tell me anything. Did I do something wrong? I’m losing my mind. I told Ray what happened but he doesn’t believe it. Apparently a lot of people wanted her. But she wouldn’t let anyone touch her—not like I touched her.

Eighth Week Out

Turns out she got the flu and was out for a week… totally wasn’t freaking me out. Anyways, it happened again and she let me take a nap in her bed when we were off. Ray believes me now considering the hickeys I returned to base with.

Ninth Week Out

We’re being sent back home next week for Christmas. Turns out my parents live an hour away from her. Maybe I should ask to stop by? Would she say yes? God, I hope so.

Christmas

So she definitely said yes. This guys got a girlfriend now!!! This is so stupid. I’m acting like a teenager again. Anything for her though. She got me a present, they were boxers with the squads face on it. I sent it to the group chat and Sam bullied me for it. Erik found it funny. I got her a necklace. It’s a locket with a photo of me in my uniform in it. Since she told me if she could fuck me with my uniform on “helmet and all” she would. I don’t know but again, anything for her.

@cosmosbabydoll @princesssunderworld

[tsunchani]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 જ⁀➴ 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Elliot finally meets the quiet nurse

!!MENTIONS OF GUN VIOLENCE!! Angst, fluff, slow burn, enemies to lovers, emotional hurt, comfort, trauma recovery, guarded characters, mutual pining, survival themes, protective male lead, soft girl x rough guy

The rain hadn’t stopped for hours. The drops were loud as they pelted against the medic tent like distant artillery—constant, dull, impossible to ignore. You were rinsing the blood off your hands after stitching up Tommy’s rather large gash on his leg when the flap of an entrance opened hard, nearly ripped clean of its ties.

He stood there, soaked and grimacing, a fresh streak of red down his temple. Elliott.

He didn’t ask for help or say anything for that matter. He stared at you like you were the one who did this, like this whole thing was your fault.

You were like a deer in headlights; Elliott’s presence scared you—dark and moody, like you never did anything right… Well, that's what the other nurses told you; you were scared to face him. This time you're stuck, no backup, no saving you from his scowl and harsh demeanour.

“Are you going to do your fuckin’ job, sweetheart?” he muttered, stepping inside without permission. “Or do you just stare at all the men that walk in bleeding?”

His raspy tone quickly pulled you out of the daze you were in; meanwhile, your heart picked up a little. “Sorry, you can sit down there, I’ll grab clean supplies.” You spoke softly, thinking—hoping it would keep him calm while you fixed him up.

He huffed while he sat on the cot; his eyes roamed around the room as you quickly and quietly grabbed your things. From what you gathered in your trance, there's a bullet graze on the side of his head; an inch to the left, he would have been dead.

You quickly put down your stuff on the cart and rolled it towards him sitting on the cot; by the time you reached him, he was already glaring at you. You stood in front of him before you spoke in a hushed tone, “Elliott, can you tell me what happened just to make sure I treat it properly?”

He quickly sighed before he spoke, almost like he was embarrassed with what happened. “I took off my helmet because I jammed the strap into my neck; it wouldn’t loosen. I was practically fuckin’ suffocating.” He spoke unwillingly with his first sentence, but the second one sounded less robotic.

He sighed again. “A few minutes later shots were fired, and I guess I got lucky.”

This sentence was shot at her like the bullet was to his big head. You thought to yourself. “Okay, well, I’m going to clean it for you, stitch you up, and send you on your way.” Your tone remained the same, not wanting to make either of your days longer than they already have been.

Elliott didn't say anything. He just sat there, jaw tight, fingers flexing in his lap like he was itching for a smoke or a fight—maybe both. The blood had started to dry at the edge of the wound, a muddy mix of red and rainwater trailing down his squared jaw. His breath was heavy, nose flaring with each exhale, like sitting still cost him something.

You reached forward slowly, gently tilting his stubbled chin with your fingers so you could see better. He didn’t flinch, but his eyes locked onto yours—sharp, unreadable, like he was daring you to say something about the mess he was.

He didn’t like being touched. That much was obvious. But he didn't stop you either.

“This’ll sting,” you warned, more out of habit than anything. You weren't sure he even felt pain the way others did. Maybe he just buried it deeper.

He grunted in response, the corner of his mouth twitching, but whether it was from discomfort or amusement, you couldn’t tell.

You dabbed the gash with antiseptic-soaked gauze, and his breath hitched once. Just once. His fists clenched together, murmuring a “bitch” under his breath.

He took a deep breath. “Are you always this quiet?” He asked suddenly, his voice low but jarring.

You blinked, not looking away from his wound. “I guess.”

“That’s why they keep sending you in here alone?” He added. “Too soft to complain?”

The words stung more than you expected, but you didn’t react—not visibly. You just kept working, cleaning up the blood that didn’t belong to someone who was still breathing.

“I don't mind being quiet,” you answered, voice even. “Some people don’t like being talked to when they’re in pain.”

He watched you. Really watched. Like he was trying to figure out if you meant it or if it was just something you told yourself to sleep better at night.

The silence stretches again, thick with rain and tension. Then, barely above the sound of his breath:

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The question caught you off guard. He knew it—everyone did—but the way he asked felt deliberate. Like maybe now it meant something.

You said it softly, and his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Right,” he muttered. “Well.”

And then, quieter—almost under his breath:

“Someone like you shouldn’t be somewhere like this.”

You didn’t answer. Just threaded the needle; let the silence hold the weight of his words.

The next morning you were up just before sunrise for your shift; once again, you were the only one assigned to his unit during the day. Luckily Erik is in charge of the unit, as he had everything in order for the most part, keeping everyone as safe as possible.

You quickly made your way to the crappy sink to brush your teeth before setting up; you had slept in your uniform as always. After you finished up with your teeth, you began to put your hair up in a bun—quickly you were interrupted.

Your name was being called just outside the tent. It was Elliott.

You hurry with your hair before walking to the tent's entrance, when suddenly Elliott enters the tent urgently. Unfortunately, you were not even a foot from the entrance, so when he entered, he knocked you straight to the ground.

“Shit,” Elliott groans, “I didn’t mean to—I scratched open my stitches in my sleep. Are you okay?”

You pushed yourself up off the ground while he ranted; he was less stoic than yesterday—he was covered in a thin layer of sweat, wearing only a tank top with his uniform pants and heavy boots.

“Yeah, fine. Are you okay?” You countered. “You look like you‘ve just seen a ghost.”

After pointing out his state of distress, his eyes narrowed as he swallowed, seemingly trying to hide from his feelings. “Yeah, I just need help—please.”

He paused before saying please, almost like it hurt him to say it.

Your eyes flicked over to him—his temple was bleeding again, red trailing down his cheek, meeting the stubble that covered his jaw, connecting to his ridiculously big moustache. The sweat on his skin made the wound look worse, more vivid under the soft early light.

You nodded silently, stepping aside so he could sit on the cot. He didn’t meet your gaze as he passed, just muttered something under his breath—maybe a thanks, maybe nothing at all.

You grabbed fresh supplies with practiced hands, but your pulse was quick. The Elliott from yesterday had been harsh and guarded. This one? Still sharp, but… fraying. Whatever had happened in his sleep had shaken him, and he was trying hard not to show it.

You approach slowly, more cautious this time.

“You’re sure it was just from sleeping?” You asked, voice gentle, not pushing but not letting it go either.

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at the floor, then finally muttered, “Had a dream.”

You stopped, eyes flicking up to his face. His teeth grinding against each other. His hands picked at the dirt caked onto his pants.

“Not the kind you wake up from feelin’ lucky,” he added dryly.

You said nothing—just reached for the gauze. You dabbed at the blood again, more carefully this time, and even though you didn’t ask, he kept talking, like the words were clawing their way out of his throat whether he wanted them to or not.

“I saw it happen differently,” he said. “The shot. Closer. Felt it. Heard it. Couldn’t wake up.”

You slowed your movements, but you didn’t interrupt. He wasn’t really looking at you—just past you, at the blank canvas walls of the tent.

“Didn’t even have the helmet. Stupid, right?” He scoffed bitterly. “I got real fuckin’ lucky, and I know it—I was so close.”

Your hands faltered for a second.

Then you said, softly, “That sounds terrifying.”

He didn’t respond. Not for a moment.

Then: “You ever have dreams like that?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Not like yours. But… yeah.”

He nodded once, slowly, and for the first time, he looked up at you—not past you, not through you. At you.

“You don’t belong here,” he said again, but there was something different in the way he said it this time. Not like before—condescending or cold. This time, it sounded like regret.

You offered a small smile. “Maybe. But I’m here.”

He held your gaze. “And you’re doing a hell of a job.”

You finished cleaning him up, heart a little louder in your chest. “I could say the same to you.”

Something shifted between you then. Quiet, but real. His shoulders dropped a fraction, and the storm behind his eyes calmed just enough.

Then, low and rough, “Thanks… for not treating me like a fuckin’ ghost.”

You gave a quiet breath of a laugh, your fingers brushing his temple one last time. “You’re welcome. Even if you nearly knocked me unconscious this morning.”

His lips twitched—just barely. “Guess that makes us even.”

“Guess so,” you nodded with a soft smile on your face before grabbing the thread and needles. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

After you sent Elliott on his way, you didn’t expect to see him for the rest of the day, but every hour he would come back asking for random things. At first it was believable: medical tape, a tourniquet, and some bandages. Then it became water, a pen, and then—

“Hey,” he called your name as he waltzed in as you were checking Sam for a concussion. “You got that stuff you use for your lips? They’re really dry.”

You looked away from Sam for a split second before directing Elliott. “See on the counter beside the sink? Yeah, right there. That bag has all my toiletries.”

While Elliott grabs what he needs, you tell Sam he’s good to go, and he and Elliott walk out together, not before Sam laughs at him. “Dude, you’re so whipped.”

You stifled a smile as you heard Sam’s teasing echo outside the tent, followed by Elliott’s low grunt of annoyance.

“Shut the fuck up, Sam.”

There was no real heat in it, though—more bark than bite.

The tent fell quiet again, and for a moment you just stood there, hand still on your clipboard, blinking at the entrance like you were trying to process what just happened. Of all things, lip balm? He could’ve asked anyone. Hell, he could’ve stolen it from someone’s pack.

But he came to you.

You busied yourself tidying up, pretending not to think about it. But you were. The shift in his behaviour since last night—it was subtle, but real. Less venom in his voice. Less armour in his eyes. Like something in him had cracked open, just enough for the light to bleed in.

You didn’t expect to see him again after that. Six times in one day? That felt like his limit.

But twenty minutes later, the flap rustled again.

This time, you didn’t even look up. “What now, Elliott?”

“I brought it back,” he muttered, and when you looked, he was standing awkwardly by the cot, holding out the little tin of balm like it was something fragile.

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “You could’ve kept it.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t feel right.”

There was a pause, and then—

“It smells like you,” he added under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

Your heart skipped, heat blooming at the base of your throat. You studied him quietly, searching for the usual scowl, the sarcasm—but it wasn’t there. He looked… tired. A little flushed from the heat outside. His buzz cut glistened with a layer of sweat.

You reached for the tin, fingers brushing his. He didn’t move.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He looked at you for a long moment, then nodded once and stepped back. “You uh… you eat yet?”

You blinked. “What?”

He cleared his throat, eyes shifting like the question was heavier than it should’ve been. “I got a second tray. Ray owed me. Figured you'd rather have it over the shitty protein bars they try to feed you guys.”

You stared at him.

Elliott never offered anything, not that you’ve heard of from the night shift nurses. Never lingered. Never asked.

But here he was—helmetless, wounded, still wearing your chapstick, and offering you his extra rations.

Maybe Sam was right.

Maybe he was a little whipped.

But somehow, the thought didn’t make you feel powerful; it made you feel seen.

Elliott had dropped off the food before finishing the last bit of his slow day. He was right; you did prefer the food he gave you over the bricks of protein bars they usually gave you.

Once you finished eating, you cleaned up your station as it was close to the night shift, and you headed to get ready for bed.

Luckily tonight was warmer than other nights, so you removed your uniform top, which left you in an undershirt and your pants. You brushed your teeth and headed to your crappy bed for a night's rest.

You never fell asleep right away, though; you waited to make sure the night shift didn’t need anything else before they started their shift.

After some time passed, you slowly drifted off into the deepest sleep anyone could get on the mattress you had.

The low hum of the unit at night was oddly comforting—distant voices, boots crunching gravel, the occasional radio squawk. You were somewhere between dreaming and floating when a familiar voice cut through the haze.

“Is she asleep?”

Elliott.

You didn’t hear the reply at first, but someone from the night shift murmured back, confused. “I think so? Why?”

There was a pause, long and strange. Then Elliott’s voice again, rougher now—more hesitant. “I just… need to talk to her.”

Another pause. Some rustling. “She’s in the second cot to the left, near the med packs,” the medic finally replied, still unsure. “She’s off duty, though.”

But Elliott was already moving.

His boots were quieter now, like he was trying not to wake anyone else—like he cared.

You stirred as his shadow hovered beside your cot.

He didn’t say your name right away. He just crouched down near your bed, elbows on his knees, his fingers twitching against each other like he was bracing himself.

Then, softly, like it cost him something, “Hey.”

Your eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light. You blinked up at him, confused, still half-asleep.

“Elliott…?” Your voice was soft, hoarse from sleep.

He nodded once, jaw clenched. “Sorry. I—fuck—I know you’re off, I just…”

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to the floor.

“Had another dream,” he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper and completely stripped of his usual demeanour. “Same one. Only worse.”

You could still see the sweat on his brow, the way his hands wouldn’t stay still. He wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. Not from you.

“Can I stay?” He asked suddenly, almost too fast. “Just for a minute. Just… until it goes away.”

Your heart ached a little. You nodded without thinking.

“Yeah,” you whispered, pulling the thin blanket back a few inches in silent invitation before sitting up against the steel frame of the cot. “Of course.”

Elliott exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. He climbed in slowly, cautiously, resting against the frame beside you like he was afraid he’d break something.

He didn’t touch you. Not at first.

But the second your head fell on his shoulder and your hand found his—warm, calloused, trembling slightly—he held on like it was the only real thing in the world.

Eventually, he rests his head on top of yours, and whispers your name, like it's the only soft thing left in the world.

You didn’t speak after that. You just lay there, the weight of the day and the war and the nightmares suspended for a while. And even though the bed was barely big enough, and the night was still humming outside, somehow, sleep came easier this time.

For both of you.

@cosmosbabydoll

[tsunchani]

[tsunchani]

[tsunchani]

I need more people to write for the warfare cast because it’s been a week since I’ve watched it and I go to bed thinking about these AMAZING ACTORS that don’t get enough praiseeeeeee, like I’m scrolling for crumbs and NOTHING, please I beg of you

[tsunchani]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 & 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

there’s nothing more attractive than a man who’s good with kids

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 — he had the baby propped perfectly on his hip, one strong arm cradling the tiny baby like he’d done it a hundred times before. the little one giggled, tiny fists grabbing at the fabric of Erik’s shirt, and Erik? Erik was fully into it eyes wide with a big smile on his face. “ma-ma? da-da?” he cooed tone high and playful along with more baby talk. his words made no sense but they made the baby giggle anyway. Erik grinned eyes crinkling as he smiled, then he leaned in to pepper the baby’s chubby cheeks with noisy wet kisses, making the baby squeal and kick with laughter from the tickle of Erik’s scruffy beard and mustache “you like that huh?” he chuckled, kissing the baby again just to hear that laugh. you leaned against the doorframe smiling so wide your cheeks hurt “Erik you’re so good at this.” he looked over at you eyes softening while cradling the baby a little closer “yeah?” he asked grin forming “you think so?” you simply just shook your head in agreement, walking over to the baby and maybe to kiss Erik. there was no doubt in your mind that Erik would make a great dad one day.

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 — “shit I don’t know…” Tommy muttered, eyes widening as you gently transferred the sleeping baby into his arms. his hands hovered awkwardly for a second before they carefully took the baby from your arms. you smiled putting a hand over his shoulder reassuring him then you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek “you’ll be fine” you whispered, and before he could say anything to protest, you were already walking out of the room. for a moment he just stood there stiff and unsure, staring down at the little body curled against his chest. the baby stirred a little and Tommy panicked but then nothing happened no crying or fussing just a sweet little deep sigh coming from the baby. he sat down slowly, holding the baby close, one hand carefully rubbing up and down the tiny back the way he’d seen you do. the room was quiet, peaceful the baby snuggled into his shoulder, Tommy looked down again, his expression softening as he took in the tiny lashes, the round cheeks, the little pout on the babys’ lips. a small surprised smile pulled at his lips “okay” he murmured, rocking the baby against him softly “yeah… maybe I got this.”

𝐑𝐚𝐲 — Ray was trying that much was clear. the toddler sat on his lap, squirming and already beginning to whimper as Ray leaned in wiggling his fingers. “Gonna getcha” he teased voice soft and dramatic, inching closer, the small child’s lip wobbled then a loud cry came out “Ray!” you scolded from across the room, he froze mid tease, face dropping “oh cmon” he groaned, instantly holding the little one closer into his chest and cradling them, a sheepish laugh escaping him as he bounced his knee gently. “hey, hey, don’t cry im just messing with you.” his hand rested gently on the back of the toddler’s head, his voice becoming soothing and soft as he rubbed slow comforting circles “there we go, we’re good right? no hard feelings?” the tears dried quickly and soon enough, the child was giggling again, especially when Ray tossed the small toddler up high in the air. “now this you like huh?” he laughed tossing the child gently up and then catching them. both of them grinning ear to ear as you just shook your head smiling

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 — Elliott sat on the couch legs spread wide to give the baby a seat in his lap facing him. his arms were propped up on his knees, hands resting gently at the baby’s back, but his eyes were on the tiny face that was looking back at him curiously. it didn’t take long for the baby to zero in on the mustache. you watched from the side already smiling the little hand reached up fingers grabbing hold of the thick mustache, Elliott winced “no…” he said softly, holding up a finger to the baby, but the baby immediately latched onto that too. he blinked “okay now we’re just making choices.” but he didn’t pull away in fact his whole expression softened into something you’d only ever seen when he looked at you late at night gentle, amused and full of love. “so small” he murmured, letting the baby tug on his mustache again with a slight flinch “and already got a good grip…” you tried hiding your laugh behind your hand. he glanced over at you a little helpless, a little in love with the baby, with you, with all of it. “kid’s gonna rip this thing off my face.”

“you look like you’d let him” Elliott smiled, wincing again as the baby gave another strong tug “yeah… probably.”

𝐒𝐚𝐦 — “here let me” you barely had a chance to argue before Sam was already reaching for the baby. you exhaled relieved, and gently passed the little one over. the baby scrunched up mid air, arms coming up tight to their chest, but Sam’s hands were open and waiting. before stepping away, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek “go take a break. I got this.” you watched for a second as he settled down onto the couch, moving to get comfortable, laying back until he was fully stretched out. he positioned the baby carefully on his chest, one hand resting securely on the baby’s back. the baby curious and confused wobbled their head up to look at him brows furrowed, lips turning downward. then the first whine came, tiny and loud. Sam just smiled eyes softening “miss your momma already?” he murmured voice deep but gentle. the baby let out another small cry face scrunching up “yeah…?” he said, brushing a kiss over the baby’s head “me too. but i’ve got you” his hand moved in slow soothing circles on the baby’s back, and soon enough the cries settled. Sam really did have it under control.

i would have all their babies

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[tsunchani]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

why should you do anything when he’s so good at doing it for you?

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 — you sat at the table, knees pulled up to your chest, chin resting lazily on top of them as you watched Erik from across the table. he’s peeling an orange for you. his large hands work carefully peeling back the skin, fingers already wet with juice, bits of peels gathering in a neat little pile beside him. you could technically do it yourself but you'd rather not get your hands all sticky, you hate that. and Erik knows it. he doesn’t even question it just takes the orange, and does it for you without a word. you’re staring at him, watching the way the juice runs slightly down his wrist, the way he keeps glancing down to make sure there’s no rind left behind. he catches you looking you blink slowly. he smiles then laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head. “What?” you ask, he just slides a peeled piece across the table to you, “spoiled” he murmurs with a soft smile “and you like it.” you say, popping the slice in your mouth. and from the way he’s still smiling at you, you know you’re right.

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 — you stand in front of the kitchen cupboard, arms crossed and brow furrowed. “Tommy!” you call out sweetly. “why are the cups so high up? you know I can’t reach that.” you can in fact reach it easily. but where’s the fun in that? from the couch you hear him sigh softly, not the least bit surprised. you catch the sound of him standing, the floor creaking slightly under his weight. “could’ve sworn I saw you reach that yesterday” he mutters under his breath as he walks up behind you. but he still comes. his hand settles gently on your waist, his chest pressing against your back as he stretches effortlessly over your head. his other hand grabs the cup with. he silently hands it to you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you take it with a satisfied smile turning slightly in his arms. “what would I do without you?” Tommy raises an eyebrow, mouth twitching. “climb a chair, probably.” your face scrunched up in distaste. he chuckles under his breath, stealing a quick kiss to your cheek before returning to the couch like this is just part of his daily routine because it is

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 — “Elliott!” you call out with the most innocent tone you can muster. he’s already wiping his hands with a rag, halfway through fixing something in the garage, but when he hears your voice, he straightens and looks over. you’re holding a crooked picture frame barely tilted, easily fixable, and you know it. “It’s all messed up” you sigh dramatically. “think it’s broken.” he eyes it for a second, then eyes you. “It’s… a nail” he says slowly, yet amused. “you just have to tap it back in.”

“I know” you say dragging out the word like it physically pains you, “but it’s not the same when I do it.” he raises an eyebrow, walking over and taking the frame from your hands. “you just like watching me do stuff with my hands.” he chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs the hammer and follows you back into the house. he fixes the nail in less than twenty seconds, and you lean in the doorway watching him, once it’s done, he turns to you, smiling. “anything else broken today, or was that it?” you tap your finger against your lips, pretending to think. “Hmmm I think the bathroom faucet might be acting up.”

“It was fine this morning.”

“It might be acting up.”

he laughs again, already turning toward the hallway. “Lead the way”

𝐑𝐚𝐲 — you stop in front of the building’s entrance, staring at the door. Ray’s a few steps behind, but he already knows the routine, you don’t touch it. you never open doors. when he finally catches up, he sees you standing there, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched like you’re waiting on him. “Really?” he says, with that low, amused tone he always uses when you’re being extra. you sigh dramatically “It’s too heavy.”

“It’s not heavy” he says already reaching past you. “It is for me” you reply, “you know my arms arent meant for pulling heavy doors.” Ray huffs a quiet laugh, pulling it open with ease. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know” you chirp, walking through with a smile. and you don’t even have to look back to know he’s rolling his eyes as he follows because you’ll do the exact same thing at the next door. and the one after that, and he’ll open every single one.

𝐒𝐚𝐦 — you stand beside the car, frowning down at the trunk. “Sam…” you drawl, just loud enough for him to hear. he turns from where he’s locking the front door, you gesture to the trunk. “It won’t open. It’s stuck or something. probably broken.” Sam walks over, not saying a word. he presses the button. it pops open immediately. you blink “Oh.”, he raises an eyebrow “It wasn’t broken.” “Well” you say, lifting your chin, “it felt broken to me.” he sighs quietly, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Of course it did.” then, like always he grabs the bags for you without you asking, without even hesitating. because even when you pretend to struggle, he never makes you do it.

she’s me im her :3

thank u anon for requesting this ‹𝟹

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[tsunchani]

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE LAST JEDI.

Summary: You’re Vice Admiral Holdo’s daughter and Poe finds himself more and more drawn to you after a certain set of unsettling and heartbreaking events, even though he knows he shouldn’t get close to you, he can’t help it. Pairing: female!Reader x Poe Dameron. Fandom: Star Wars

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT | PART NINE | PART TEN | EPILOGUE

[tsunchani]

A snippet of my upcoming Theo Degas x Reader fic (from the Mission: Impossible fandom). I don't know how many people will actually be interested in reading this fic, but I've been loving writing and planning it and I am excited to keep working on it and post the finished product. But I do know a few people have been excited for me to write for Degas so I figured I'd share a little snippet of this fic to tide you over until it's completed!

With one last look at Ethan, you take a deep breath and start walking across the room towards Degas. He stands up a little straighter as you reach him. 

“It’s good to see you,” he says, the first one to break the silence.

His words are genuine – like mostly everything he says. Just hearing his voice again takes you back to the days before all this when it was just the two of you. Spending time curled up on his couch, going out to lunch together or just eating lunch in your offices and talking quietly. Just the small moments that were long gone now that you’d gotten wrapped up in the end of the world.

“Is Ethan telling the truth?” You ask, unable to bring yourself to tell him that you’re glad to see him too. “That you want to be here and you left of your own accord? Briggs will hate you for this.”

Degas looks at you for a moment and then nods. “He might,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders a little. “But being on the right side of this is worth that.”

You stare at him for a few more moments, trying to read him, but his eyes give nothing away except sincerity. He looks at you the same way he always has – with nothing but softness in his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you did this because of me.”

[tsunchani]

Shōgun

Title: Bound by Duty, Drawn by Fate

Pairing: John Blackthorne x Fem!Reader

Genre: Comfort & Angst

Spoilers: This story contains spoilers for Shōgun (2024). Please proceed with caution if you haven’t watched the series yet!

Additional tags: slow burn romance, grief and healing, forbidden love, duty and desire, angsty confessions, grumpy x reserved dynamic, protective John Blackthorne, historical

About Fem!Reader: The reader is a skilled translator and a strong, capable woman raised in a samurai family. Her upbringing made her not only fluent in multiple languages but also a highly trained fighter. Beyond that, her personality, appearance, and other traits are open to your interpretation!

Author's Note: I was genuinely amazed to find so few (if any!) Shōgun fics out there, so I decided to write one myself! This story takes place after season one and explores a new connection between Blackthorne and a strong, beautiful translator (you!). Writing this was a labor of love, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it.

If you’d like to see more, feel free to drop ideas or requests in my inbox. 💜

Word count: 3244

Can also read here

The house felt hollow, a shell of what it once was. The warmth of Mariko's voice and the steady presence of Fuji had vanished, leaving Blackthorne to sit alone amid the silence. He no longer found peace in the beauty of the garden or the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. Their absence weighed on him like an anchor, dragging him into memories he wasn't ready to confront. He poured himself a cup of sake, the bitter taste doing little to drown his grief. The faint rustle of approaching footsteps broke the stillness, followed by a measured knock at the shoji door. Blackthorne straightened, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his katana.

"Come in," he called, his voice rough with weariness.

The door slid open, revealing you—a figure framed by the evening light, radiating quiet strength and a calm beauty that struck him immediately.

You stepped into the room, bowing low, your hands folded neatly in front of you.

"Anjin-sama," spoken softly, your voice steady despite the weight of formality. "I apologize for the disruption. My name is Y/N. Lord Toranaga has commanded that I serve as your new translator."

He raised an eyebrow, his hand still rested on the hilt. Your English was perfect, each syllable precise.

Straightening your back, your gaze meeting his. "It is an honor, Anjin-sama. I have traveled far to fulfill this duty."

Blackthorne studied you for a moment, his hazel eyes shadowed by exhaustion. Your beauty was undeniable—your face calm yet striking, and posture confident—but he wasn't ready to trust so easily. Not after everything he'd lost.

"I don't need another translator," he grunted.

"Lord Toranaga believes you will find my skills useful," you added.

He snorted, turning away to pick up the sake flask. "Toranaga always knows what I need, doesn't he?"

The words were slurred with bitterness, a half-drunken edge to his tone. He poured himself another cup, the liquid sloshing slightly over the rim. He glanced at you, then sighed and reached for a second cup.

"Well," he said gruffly, "If you've come all this way, you might as well sit."

You parted your lips in mild surprise, but quickly masked it with a graceful bow of thanks. Lowering onto the mat across from him, your hands extended and took the cup of sake.

He leaned back, cradling his own cup in both hands. "Don't expect me to be friendly," he said, his voice low. "I've had enough of people coming and going." He stared into his drink, his expression unreadable. "But... you're here now. Might as well drink to that."

He downed the contents of his cup in a swift motion, the sake burning it's course down his throat. It was silent between the two of you, only the faint chirp of crickets from outside.

Lifting your cup and mirroring him, you take a polite sip. "I am here to serve, Anjin-sama," you said after a moment, your tone calm but resolute. "But I will not intrude where I am not wanted. I only ask for the chance to prove myself worthy of this position."

The words were simple yet measured, and it struck something in him. He didn't respond immediately, instead watching the flicker of the brazier's light reflected in your eyes. Finally, he let out a low sigh, setting his cup down.

"We'll see," he said quietly, more to himself than to you.

The next morning

The smell of pine mixed with the salty air as Blackthorne stepped outside the home, taking in the array of hues coloring the sky. His back was stiff from a restless night and the sake hadn't helped as much as he'd hoped.

As he adjusted his kimono and glanced toward the garden, he noticed you waiting for him near the edge of the path. Although, you were dressed differently now, the attire more suited to movement—a simple yet elegant hakama tied neatly at your waist. Your hair was secured out of your face, and on your back rested two swords—a katana and a wakizashi.

You bowed deeply when he approached, expression calm yet determined. "Good morning, Anjin-sama," you said. "Lord Toranaga has instructed me to accompany you today. He believes it is time you learned to wield your swords properly."

"I know enough to survive."

Your lips curl faintly, finding amusement in his dry comment. "Surviving is one thing. Mastery is another."

He raised an eyebrow, his tone filled with skepticism. "And you're going to teach me?"

"I was raised in a samurai family," you replied, unshaken by his tone. "My father believed strength and discipline were virtues for all, not just men. I trained alongside my brothers and cousins and earned the respect of many. If Lord Toranaga trusts me to guide you, then perhaps you should, too."

He frowned, running a hand through his hair. "You sound just like Mariko," he muttered, though there was no venom in his voice—only a trace of grief.

Your expression softened at the mention of Mariko, but didn't press. Instead, you gestured toward the path leading away from the house. "Come. There's a clearing nearby, away from prying eyes. A good place to begin."

Reluctantly, Blackthorne followed, the weight of his katana feeling heavier than usual. Two guards trailed behind at a distance, but you led the way with a quiet confidence that seemed to part the tension around him.

When you reached the clearing, it was as promised—secluded and tranquil, the canopy of trees overhead shielding them from the sun. You turned to face him, your movements fluid as you unsheathed the katana in one smooth motion. The blade caught the morning light, gleaming with precision.

"Draw your sword, Anjin-sama," you instructed, your tone even but firm.

Blackthorne hesitated, then did as instructed. The katana felt foreign in his hands, despite the months he'd spent carrying it.

You stepped closer, eyes scanning his stance. "Your grip is too tight," you said, reaching out to adjust his hands. Your touch was firm but not invasive. "A sword is not a hammer. It requires balance, precision, and intention."

He frowned, shifting his weight as you stepped back. "And how do you propose to teach me that?"

Smiling faintly and lifting the katana. "By showing you what it feels like to fail."

Before he could react, you lunged, your strike was swift but controlled. Blackthorne barely managed to block, his blade clashing against yours with a sharp metallic ring. He stumbled back, his heart racing.

"Again," you said calmly, lowering the sword into a ready position.

Over the next hour, you pushed him relentlessly, each strike and parry teaching him more about his weaknesses than he cared to admit. You was fast, precise, and utterly unyielding—a fighter who had clearly earned the reputation.

When you finally paused, you both were breathing heavily, Blackthorne looked at you with a newfound respect. "You're not just a translator," he said, his voice rough.

"No," you replied, sheathing the sword. "I'm not."

Lowering your swords, and breathing heavy in the quiet clearing, Blackthorne wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing at you.

You moved to the edge of the clearing, sinking gracefully onto a flat rock. Without a word, you reached for the small flask tied to the sash and took a measured sip before offering it to him.

Blackthorne hesitated, studying carefully. You were an enigma—both fiercely skilled and frustratingly reserved. He accepted the flask, allowing the refreshing liquid to soothe his dried mouth.

"You're unlike anyone I've met," he stated, breaking the silence.

You didn't look at him as you responded, "You've traveled far, Anjin-sama. Surely you've met many kinds of people."

He frowned at your deflection, lowering the flask. "That's not what I meant. You're... different. Lord Toranaga could have sent anyone, but he sent you. Why?"

You were unsure of how to respond, so you remained silent, staring off into the distance.

He let out a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. "He sent me someone who's good at keeping secrets, that's for sure."

Your lips pressed into a thin line, though so still didn't respond. Standing to your feet, you took your place in the center of the clearing once again.

"Rest time is over," you said firmly. "Pick up your sword."

His jaw tightened, but he pushed himself to his feet, grabbing the wooden practice sword. You were skilled at avoiding questions—at keeping him at arm's length—but he wasn't about to back down.

This time, the practice resumed with a fiercer intensity. Your movements were fluid, the strikes swift and calculated. Blackthorne's frustration fueled him, and though your skill still outmatched his, he began to adapt. He watched the footwork, your shoulders, the way your weight shifted just before striking.

When you lunged again, he sidestepped at the last moment, spinning behind you. Barely having time to recover before he countered, the wooden blade stopping just at you neck.

Both of you froze.

Your eyes widened slightly, meeting his. His face was close—almost too close— his breaths mingling in the charged air between you. The intensity of the moment made the world fall silent. The heat of exertion and something deeper simmered in the space shared.

Blackthorne's voice was low, almost a whisper. "Not so untouchable now, are you?"

Your pulse quickened, breaths were short and shallow as each of you stood momentarily frozen. Composing your demeanor, you took a measured step back.

"We're done for today," you stated as you bowed to him.

Blackthorne blinked, caught off guard. "What? Why?"

You turned away, adjusting the sash with deliberate precision. "You've made progress," you said, your voice carefully neutral. "There is nothing more to teach for today."

He watched you, his chest still heaving from the exertion. "That's not the real reason, is it?"

You continued to walk without looking back. He stood there, sword clenched at his side. The tension in the clearing was suffocating, and your absence left him with an ache he didn't understand. The walls you had built around yourself were towering and unyielding; though for the briefest moment, he thought he saw a crack within their foundation.

And it left him wanting more.

The days that followed blurred into a rhythm. Each morning, you met Blackthorne in the clearing. Every practice was intense, filled with clashing blades, sharp commands, and an unspoken tension that neither dared to name. You pushed him harder than anyone else ever had, and he rose to the challenge, gritting his teeth through each strike.

But it wasn't just the training that lingered in his mind. It was the moments between—the way your focus never wavered, the way you moved like the wind, both graceful and untouchable. And when you smiled, fleeting as it was, it stirred something in him he thought he'd buried alongside Mariko.

On the fifth day, the practice ended earlier than usual. Blackthorne, drenched in sweat and clutching his ribs from a particularly brutal strike, leaned against the trunk of a tree.

Glancing at him, a flicker of amusement crossed your features. "You wouldn't survive long in a fight if I didn't push you."

He chuckled, low and bitter. "You believe Toranaga's preparing me for survival?"

You paused only for a moment before returning to the blade. "I believe he sees something in you that you don't see in yourself."

Blackthorne frowned, watching closely. "And what do you see?"

You didn't look up, your expression carefully guarded. "A man carrying too many ghosts," she said softly. "And fighting to prove he's still alive."

The words struck him harder than any of the blows. He was speechless, as you stripped him bare with just a single sentence.

"You're not wrong," he admitted quietly, his voice rough.

You finally lifted your gaze to meet his. "Loss has a way of shaping us," you stated softly. "But it doesn't have to define us."

A moment of silence filled the air. There was so much he wanted to ask you— about your family, your past, the shadows in your eyes— but something held him back from doing so.

He took a few steps forward, closing the distance. Towering over you, he reached out and offered his hand. Hesitating for the briefest moment before taking it, your fingers warm and steady against his.

That night, he couldn't sleep. Sitting in his dimly lit home, his thoughts kept drifting back to you and the secrets he so desperately wanted to uncover.

Just then, a faint knock from the door caught his attention. He stood, confused. It was late—too late for visitors. But when he opened the door to find you standing there, his worry faded.

"I am sorry to disturb you," you said quietly with a small bow.

"No disturbance at all," he replied, stepping out of the way to let you inside.

"I wanted to apologize," you said after a moment.

He blinked puzzled. "For what?"

"For earlier," you replied, gaze dropping to the floor. "I shouldn't have said what I did about your ghosts."

Blackthorne crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "You were right, though," he said. "And maybe I needed to hear it."

You looked up at him, eyes scanning his face in search of any doubt. "But.. It wasn't my place."

"Maybe not," he admitted. "But it's been a long time since someone's looked past the surface."

The air between grew heavy again, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down. He took a step closer, his voice dropping. "Why did you really come here, Y/N?"

For once, your composure was slipping and he began to see the vulnerability you kept so carefully guarded.

"I don't know," you whispered.

He lifted his hand to your face, pushing a strand of hair from your face and tucked it securely behind your ear. You didn't flinch or move, your eyes were locked onto his. Each of you stood in place, the tension was thick but neither could make that final step.

Finally, you exhaled shakily and stepped back. "Goodnight, Anjin-sama."

As you turned toward the door, his hand shot out before he could stop himself. His fingers wrapped around your wrist—not tight, but enough to make you pause. Glancing back to him, your eyes were filled with uncertainty.

"Don't go," he whispered.

You breath caught in your throat. "Anjin—"

His grip loosened as he stepped closer, closing the gap between you. The soft flickering light of the lanterns made his vulnerability clear; something raw and unguarded.

"I didn't want this," his voice soft, yet filled with emotion.

"I've lost too much. Mariko.. Fuji.." His voice faltered, jaw tightening as he forced the words out. "Every time I care for someone, they're taken from me. And I swore I wouldn't let it happen again."

You stayed silent, your eyes locked on to his as his openly admitted he fears. A mix of emotions encased you, your chest rising and falling in measured breaths.

He continued, his tone softening, "There's something about you, Y/N. Something I can't ignore, no matter how hard I try."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest listening to his confession. You wanted to respond, to try and ease the ache you could feel in him, but the words were lost in your throat.

"Ever since you appeared, suddenly, I feel..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Alive. Like there's still something worth holding onto."

Your lips trembled, your own walls threatening to crumble. You were only here with duty and purpose, but being so close to him and feeling the weight of this raw honesty, you caught your mask slipping.

"I can't help it. You make it impossible to keep my distance," he admitted as his fingers tightened just slight around yours.

Your free hand lifted, hovering near his face. "Anjin-sama..." you whispered, barely audible.

"John," he corrected gently.

"John," you repeated. The name felt differently on your tongue but it was a feeling you were unable to dismiss

Each of your desires and fears mingled together in the tight space. Your faces almost too close, but it was comforting.

"I don't know what this is," you finally said, voice trembling. "But this is dangerous. For both of us."

He nodded slowly, his expression conflicted. "I know. But I'm not sure I care anymore."

Your breath hitched at the admission. "You should."

"Maybe," he shrugged, his eyes searching yours. "But for once, my own death doesn’t scare me. Yours, on the other hand? That’s my deepest fear."

The air between you both felt charged, emotions swirling like a storm neither of you could control. His hand, still holding yours, trembled slightly. You saw the vulnerability etched into his expression, a crack in the iron walls he’d built around himself.

"Please," he said, his voice almost breaking. "Don’t leave me."

Your heart ached at the quiet desperation in his tone. For all his strength, for all his resilience, John Blackthorne was a man who had lost so much, and the fear of losing again was written plainly across his face.

"Stay," he murmured. "Just.. stay with me tonight."

Your lips parted, uncertainty warring with the pull you felt toward him. Duty told you to remain guarded, to keep a professional distance, but your heart had other plans.

Slowly, you nodded. "I’ll stay."

The sharpness in his expression softened at your agreement. His presence had an affect over you that you hadn’t expected.

The moments that followed passed in a strange, tender silence. Together, you moved toward the low sleeping area of the house, the flickering fire casting warm, golden light across the room.

John settled onto the futon, leaving a space beside him. He glanced at you, hesitant, as if afraid you’d change your mind. But you didn’t. Lowering to the floor beside him, you laid your head across his chest, listening to the rapid heartbeat beneath.

Moving closer to yu, his arm slid around your shoulder carefully, as if you were a fragile thing waiting to shatter. The warmth of his body pressed against yours brought a sense of peace he hadn’t known in quite some time.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" you asked softly.

"For being here," he said. "For reminding me what it feels like to not be completely alone."

You swallowed hard, his words striking a chord deep within you. You wanted to ease his pain, to let him know he wasn’t the only one who had felt lost or alone, and how his presence had stirred something in you equally.

But all words were lost in the quiet intimacy. Reaching for his hand and intertwining your fingers with his was a small, but significant gesture. A silent promise that he wouldn’t have to face the emptiness alone.

His grip tightened slightly and you could feel the tension in his body to fade. For the first time in what felt like forever, John Blackthorne felt at peace. Although you knew this could bring trouble and danger ahead, just for tonight you allowed yourselves to simply exist. Finding peace within each other.

The fire burned low, its light casting soft shadows across the walls, as sleep eventually claimed you both. His arm remained securely around you, as if holding onto the one thing that made him feel whole again.

[tsunchani]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

poe dameron x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: love bites

warnings: mentions of sex... come on guys it's kinktober, so obviously. aside from the obvious ones because of the kink, I don't think it has any warnings!

word count: 0.5k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

“Better make use of that scarf of yours” you’d told him teasingly, leaving a kiss at his shoulder when he examined his neck in the refreshers mirror.

The surface was covered in bite marks and hickeys, small trails of red and purple spots covering his olive skin, the contrast of the colors faint yet …noticeable by the quantity.

"It's not even cold" he murmurs, the tip of his fingers lightly grazing the area, head tilted to the side so he could access it.

You press yourself closer to him, your chest pressed flush against his back, your lips almost grazing his ear.

"Well, if you prefer everyone knowing what their commander did tonight…" you whisper, smiling, and he chuckles at your words, a snide smirk over your face as you wrap your arms around his waist, tucking your face in the crook of his neck, leaving a kiss over the fresh marks on his warm skin.

You hadn’t even meant to mark him that much, at first. 

It had been a long, prolonged session of languid, slow love making, and when you had changed positions and started ever so slowly and lazily bouncing on his lap after a couple orgasms, you noticed the thin, shiny overlay of sweat having built up over his neck, and you had been rather enticed by the idea of licking it off of him.

A low grunt coming deep from his throat had left his mouth when you tasted the saltiness of his skin as you simultaneously licked and kissed it, his hands gripping tighter and his fingers pressing harder onto your hips, guiding you up and down his cock as he threw his head back to give your mouth more access. 

Despite how pleasant it was at the moment, he hadn’t anticipated the remnants of your actions over his skin, and he should have known, considering how eagerly you had begun to bite and suck at his neck, the work of your mouth contrasting with the lazy rolling of your hips, the only energy left after your few orgasms now poured into abusing his muscular neck and tender skin.

He could not say he was mad at you, though. 

There was something exciting about seeing his reflection in the mirror, the colored spots over his neck standing out and proving he was yours, and you were the one that did this to him, that claimed him. 

Maybe if positioned correctly, the collar of his flight suit would cover them, and no one would know, and this option would be the most professional one, but the most boring one.

He could use a little spice, and he knew that everyone would notice but no one would actually dare asking questions about it, and something about this fact lit something in him.

"You know what," he starts, watching into your eyes as you lift your head from the crook of his neck and look at him through the mirror. A smirk grows over his lips. 

“I think I want them to know.” 

—

as always please reblog and tell me your thoughts it helps a lot!!

star wars taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious @stvnnie

+ @flightlessangelwings

[tsunchani]

somehow it turned out that Finan is now a Baratheon

My OC from House of Stark