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writefightandflightclub · 8 months

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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blackmoonowl · 20 days

Note

Prompt 37 with MacCready, please 😊

“You know, you can stay if you want to.”

Robert Joseph MacCready x reader

Summary: He's just lonely. Also a lil confession and a smooch because I will it.

1226 words

The cure of his son was found, and now he wasn't sure where to go from here.

When he first arrived, he thought it would be simple, find the cure and go back to the Capital wasteland to do god knows what. But now he wasn't so sure anymore. He was seated on the couch, within the comforts of your home. MacCready had gotten very familiar with the interior. It felt like home every time he stepped foot in.

That odd feeling in his chest crept up as he watched you prepare dinner; he hadn't felt it since Lucy was killed. It scared him, part of him felt bad, but he couldn't help but crave it like a drug.

"Is everything alright?" Your soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his heart skipping a beat. "You're zoning out." The mercenary pursed his lips at your words, forcing his gaze away from you.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just... glad Duncan's going to be alright. Those caravans are faster than I could ever hope to be on my own," MacCready replied, a small, emotional smile creeping on his face.

"I understand... I'm just glad everything went well," you tried to cheer him up, patting his shoulder. The sensation of your touch sent waves of warmth through his body; his heart audible in his ears.

"Thanks... just glad I met you when I did," he sighed as he looked back at you again. "Guess that means I have to go back to the Capital wasteland soon." That last part was spoken quietly as a small frown played on his lips.

You sat down next to him, your hand resting on his back. Half of MacCready wanted to tear himself away, to not get attached again. The other half wanted to cling to you like his life depended on it.

"Don't get me wrong, I wanna see Duncan again, more than anythin'. But... that means I gotta leave you behind. Unless you come with me." He hoped you would say yes, that you would drop everything here and come with him.

"You know I can't," you frowned, rubbing his back. MacCready let out a defeated sigh. It was wishful thinking, but it was worth a shot anyway. The two of you stayed silent before you spoke again.

"You're awfully desperate to stay close to me," you teased, trying to lighten the mood. Unbeknownst to you, MacCready felt like his head was about to turn cherry red.

"Well, I mean... I care about you, you're the only person I can trust. Listen... I.." he sighed before trailing off. It was all too much, the pain of losing Lucy only to feel that same feeling creep up his spine. With a slightly frustrated look on his face, he stood up and reached for a cigarette. "Forget it."

"Come on Mac, you can talk to me," you pressed as the young man lit the cigarette before taking puff from it. The mercenary paused, his fingers clutching the cigarette as smoke came from his mouth, contemplating his next words.

"I don't wanna part from you, ever." The words finally came out of him, his back turned towards you. "I lost too much already. You make everything feel a little more bearable. If I had to leave you behind, I'd go back to my old depressing life. I'd miss you like crazy."

With a small smile you got up, putting your hand on his shoulder. It caused him to tense, not daring to look back at you.

"Why don't you tell how you really feel?" You asked, gently squeezing his shoulder. MacCready choked on nothing, coughing slightly. He took a moment to collect himself before he spoke again.

"I want you," he spoke in a strained voice. "I wanna be with you until the day I drop dead." He finally glanced back at you, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Nothing would make me happier," you softly admitted as you laid your head against his back, causing him to sharply inhale. The two of you stood there for a moment before you spoke again.

“You know, you can stay if you want to.”

MacCready's eyes widened at that, turning his face to look at you. "Stay... here in the Commonwealth?" He inquired, leaning back slightly, wanting to relish in the physical contact.

"Yeah... once you get your son you could come back here. Sanctuary has enough place for you and your son," you elaborated with a hopeful smile. MacCready's mood lifted instantly as his eyes lit up.

"You mean that, I could stay here? Man... I don't know what to say. You've done too much for me already. But if that means I can stay close to you, then it's worth it." It took every ounce of his willpower not to reach out for you, feeling your touch so much more now.

"I want this, and I want you to stop feeling like you owe me." MacCready smiled even wider as he turned to face you. You opened your mouth to speak when he pulled you flush against his chest.

"Thanks again, this place is a lot better for Duncan anyway... and having you here, it's better for me as well." You reached up to cup his face, feeling the warmth under his skin. MacCready didn't pull away, instead leaning in closer.

"You have some real bad taste, going for a guy like me," MacCready grinned, showing his less than pristine teeth. "Guess I can't complain though." He gathered the rest of his courage to pull one more mouth. "Means I can do this," he mumbled as he leaned down, pecking your lips swiftly before pulling away. You blinked, taken off guard by the sudden action before mirroring his expression.

"If you're going to do that, at least be a man and make it last," you teased, pulling him closer with your hands gripping the lapels of his duster.

"Whatever you say boss," MacCready mumbled, all too happy to wrap his arms around you again and place another kiss on your lips, this time letting it linger, his eyes fluttering shut. When he pulled away, he was content to hold you close to him. The mercenary rested his head on your shoulder.

"You know..." he began again. "If I'm gonna be livin' here, I should get a say in how we decorate the place."

You let out a groan, leaning against him. "Oh please don't start that," you whined, burying your face against his neck.

"Oh come on, I got good tastes. How about that lime green and fuchsia? That'll really liven up the place," he teased, a small laugh escaping his lips as you gently smacked his back.

"You're awful," you grumbled as you pulled back, pouting at the man in front of you.

"I'm guessing that's a no to a zebra print couch then?" MacCready continued, his hands still holding your waist.

"I changed my mind, you're going back to the Capital wasteland," you huffed in faux annoyance. MacCready bust up laughing again, his thumbs stroking your sides idly.

"Uh uh, too late for that. I'm already hooked on the idea, you're stuck with me." He kissed your your forehead, too giddy to care about how sappy he was being.

"I'm okay with that," you replied softly, pulling him in for another embrace.

#fallout #fallout 4 #robert joseph maccready #maccready x reader #maccready x sole survivor #rj maccready #fallout 4 x reader #fo4 x reader #fo4 maccready #fo4 #fallout companions

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queenshelby · 7 months

Text

An Illicit Affair

Part 13: The Hospital Visit

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

Whilst Danielle didn't say anything to Cillian during the event that evening, your friend Lucy picked up on his appearance right away and pulled you aside for a talk.

"Are you fucking crazy?" she asked, tidying up your hair with her hands while wiping away your lipstick with a napkin.

"What are you talking about?" you asked Lucy, feigning ignorance.

"Come on, you know what I'm referring to," Lucy whispered, peeking over her shoulder. "The stains on Cillian's shirt? Your lipstick? It's all fucking smudged," Lucy rolled her eyes. "You are going to end up in some deep shit, girl," she warned you in a hushed whisper as a cold chill ran down your spine.

"I am...," you stammered. "Fuck, I am trying but I can't help it," you admitted to your friend, staring down at your feet nervously. "I know it's wrong, but I can't seem to stop myself," you confessed, gripping the hem of your skirt tightly and adjusting the fabric.

"Look, I know you like him," Lucy sighed, running her fingers through her tangled hair. "But, seriously, you going to put a stop to this. I mean, he is married and way too fucking old for you," she reminded you, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"You guys are worlds apart, Y/N," Lucy added, her voice filled with concern.

"I know, I know," you sighed, your voice sounding defeated. "But, somehow, I just can't help acting irrationally whenever I'm around him," you confessed, shaking your head sadly just as you spotted Cillian leaving the function along with his wife.

"Damn, this is so complicated," you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard as you watched Danielle take his hand in to hers and leading him towards the exit.

It hurt seeing them together, yet you couldn't bring yourself to admit defeat.

Your feelings for Cillian were too profound to ignore, and the connection you shared transcended logic or reason. But Lucy insisted on warning you, pointing out the risks involved: "You're risking it all," she noted, fidgeting with her hair nervously. "If word spreads, you'll face serious consequences—career-wise, personally."

"I know, Lucy," you sighed, chewing on your bottom lip. "I'm not blind to the dangers."

Lucy shook her head, her eyes brimming with concern. "You gotta draw a line, Y/N. Protect yourself."

"But..." you stammered, but Lucy didn't allow you to finish your sentence.

"No 'buts,'" Lucy interrupted. "Cillian's a married man and the father to your ex-boyfriend, nonetheless. Don't forget that," Lucy advised, shaking her head.

"I promise I will end this, Lu. No more from here on," you lied, feeling guilty for lying to your best friend.

You took a big gulp of your drink, thinking about Cillian. You remembered the way he'd looked at you earlier—with such raw hunger and desire. It made your heart race, and your palms grew sweaty.

"Hey, Y/N," a familiar voice then suddenly said from behind you and, when you turned around, you saw James standing there, flashing his charming smile.

"How long have you been standing there?" you asked him, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"Long enough to catch the tail end of your conversation with Lucy," James responded, winking suggestively. "And I must say, I'm intrigued now," he added, moving closer to you.

"By what?" you challenged him, crossing your arms defensively while swallowing nervously.

"You've got the hots for Max Murphy's father?" James ought to confirm, grinning mischievously. "Seems like quite an unconventional crush for you, seeing that you used to date his son, but hey, each to their own," he added, cocking an eyebrow at you slyly.

"I don't have a crush on him, we were just..." you stammered, trying to explain yourself. "We were just joking," you tried to tell him but James raised an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

"Yeah right," he chuckled. "Listen Y/N, I really don't care who you have a crush on because I know it isn't me," he said, shrugging his shoulders dismissively.

"James, I am sorry," you began to mumble nervously but, again, James interrupted you.

"Don't worry about it. Your little secret is safe with me," James assured you, winking cheekily before calling it a night. "I just came over to say goodnight. I have to be at the hospital at six o'clock tomorrow morning and better hit the hay soon," James said, yawning theatrically before giving you a friendly pat on the back.

"I will see you tomorrow then," you told him shyly, forcing a smile to appear on your face.

"Yeah, sounds great," James nodded, turning around to leave without another word.

You stood motionless, staring at the spot where he once stood, feeling nervous while Lucy's chin hang low.

"You are so screwed if he talks," Lucy said worriedly, rubbing her temples.

"He won't," you assured her, but deep down, you knew that James had the potential to spill the beans about your illicit encounters with Cillian. "Despite, he thinks that I just have a crush on him," you added, hoping Lucy would find comfort in your words.

"Really?" Lucy arched an eyebrow skeptically. "So you don't believe he suspects something?"

"No," you shrugged, swallowing hard. "But even if he does suspect something, I doubt he'd rat me out," you argued, trying to convince yourself more than Lucy.

"Why do you say that?" Lucy wondered aloud, studying your expression closely.

"Because James isn't that kind of guy. He is arrogant, but not vindictive," you insisted, trying to calm Lucy down. "I think we can trust him," you added, glancing around nervously and praying that nobody else had caught wind of your little secret.

"Well, let's hope you're right," Lucy sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "Because if he does blow this thing wide open, your live will never be the same," Lucy continued, shaking her head worriedly.

"Stop worrying," you scolded her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Everything's gonna be alright," you assured her, smiling reassuringly.

"I just don't understand why you're messing around with a married man," Lucy sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're better than that," she added, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"I know," you murmured, averting your gaze. "But I really fucking like him," you concluded helplessly before you tried to change the subject, which was something that Lucy allowed you to do, at least for now.

The following morning however, when you went to start your shift at the university hospital at around 9 o'clock, you were met with a somewhat unwelcoming surprise as one of the nurses in charge handed you your files.

"James ordered an ECG and MRI in 19," the nurse explained. "You are also required in 28 for preliminary tests," the nurse explained before also handing you a clipboard containing your assigned patients for the morning.

"Thanks," you nodded, reading through the list of names. Most cases didn't require further discussion; routine checkups, physical therapy, and medication adjustments. You knew the drill. But then you came across a name that caused your heart to skip a beat.

"Cillian Murphy," you whispered under your breath, your eyes widening in disbelief.

"Yeah, the actor, you know," the nurse said, her eyes twinkling, causing your chin to drop.

"Yeah, I know who he is, but what is he in for?" you ask the nurse, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

"He's got a large cut on his arm," the nurse explained, eyeing you warily.

"It says here that he presented to the ER last night. Has it not been stitched yet?" you asked her, confusion written all over your face.

"Oh, the laceration has been closed up, but he stayed in overnight for observation due to risk of infection. The laceration was close to the tend on, pretty deep actually," the nurse answered, raising an eyebrow as she eyed you suspiciously. "I handed the file to James this morning but he said that Mr Murphy might rather see you than him," the nurse added, handing you Cillian's chart and then disappearing around the corner.

"Fuck," you whispered under your breath, flipping through the pages and scanning the details hastily.

You weren't exactly thrilled about having to interact with Cillian a at your place of employment after last night's encounter with James. Yet, James was your boss and he had instructed you to attend to him, making it a matter of professional duty. You thus had no choice and, even if you had, you were keen to know how he sustained the injury in the first place.

To be continued...

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader

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malamira · 7 months

Text

QUIET LOVE, OH HOW IT SCREAMS

synopsis: "i'd never let anything happen to you, if i could help it."

a/n: GOD, i love doctor!au inukag. i did a lot of editing and revising for this, so it's a different beast from what it was when smutmas version came out. i'm not 100% happy with the ending, but i mean. if i did any more i had a feeling i would just ruin it instead of help it.

— 💓 —

“You’re going to love me,” Sango sing-songed, sliding into the seat next to Kagome’s.

Kagome grunted, massaging her temple. The bar wasn't too crowded, thankfully, but the noise level was high enough that she had to speak up to be heard. “Why? Did you kill the hospital director yet?”

“No,” Sango said primly; Onigumo Industries owned the hospital Kagome was a surgeon at, and Sango's father was vice president of one of the subsidiaries. “But,” she said, grasping her friend’s arm, “I kind of have a solution to your extended shift problem.”

“You mean the hospital is hiring another surgeon?” Kagome mumbled grumpily, knocking back her watered down whisky. The moisture that collected outside the glass splattered unto the bar when she slammed it down.

“No! A guy!”

Kagome stared at her best friend, first blankly, then sourly. “Sango, I love you and I know you only have my best interests at heart, but seriously? I barely have time to bathe Buyo. I don’t have time for a guy.”

“No, I mean like to fuck!” her friend said encouragingly. “It’s been rough the past few weeks. Maybe a good orgasm will fix you right up!"

Kagome's cheeks colored. "I don't—"

Sango wasn't having any of it. "Aw, come on! It's just some harmless fun. He’s right over there, by the booth—”

“Now?” Kagome said incredulously. “I’m in my scrubs. I have a stain on my shirt!”

“So? Is it a shit stain?”

“I’m not even going to correct you on how many hospital protocols I would’ve broken if it were a shit stain.”

“Lighten up, Kagome!” Sango insisted, jumping up from her chair and tugging at her friend's arm. “It’s Friday and you deserve to get laid. Come on.”

“It is a testament to our ten-year friendship that I am choosing to trust you,” Kagome said flatly, throwing a few bills on the counter to cover her drink. She called over the bartender before letting Sango pull her away.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Sango said brightly, then brandished her friend from behind her. “As promised, my lady doctor friend.”

“Hi,” the guy at the edge of the booth said, dark hair and bright, blue eyes. He was cute, Kagome could admit, if a little too... pedestrian, for her tastes. He extended a hand to shake. “I’m Kōga.”

“Kagome,” she introduced herself, taking his hand for a brief shake. He scooted over and motioned for her to sit next to him.

Sango had already settled into the side of a guy who had a short ponytail and earrings. “I’m Miroku,” that guy said.

She only just managed to land her butt on the leather seat of the booth, she felt a familiar vibration pattern in her pocket. Her emergency pattern.

Before Kōga—or Sango, for that matter—could utter a word, she’d straightened and fished out her phone. “Hospital. Gotta go.”

Without so much as a look back, she bolted.

—

“I’m here,” Kagome panted, running into the ER. "I'm here!"

“Doc!” Jinenji, one of the nurses on shift, called out, timidly holding a clipboard to his chest as he approached from the nurses' station. “I know you just got out—”

“It’s fine.” She waved away his concern. “What do you need?”

“We did a test for Nazuna, the one who had the appendectomy earlier today, and the results required a change in dosage,” he informed her, then turned sheepish when he continued, “I’m really sorry; her mother was getting… irate, and I couldn't get another physician—”

Kagome shook her head and let out a breath. “It’s okay, Jinenji; it's not your fault. Good thing I was nearby.” A bar two blocks away wasn't necessarily nearby, but Jinenji didn’t have to know that. She took the clipboard. "Nazuna... the one with anemia, right? Can we check if she needs a transfusion? Her RBC's looking pretty low..."

“Dr. Higurashi!” another nurse cried as soon as Jinenji took off with her advice. “Thank God you're here; I need you!”

Kagome sighed and got to work.

—

A few hours later, she yawned as she pushed back against the desk in the middle of the doctor's lounge, her chair screeching against the floor. "Oh my God," she groaned, exhausted.

“I hear Higurashi,” a gruff voice called a few hours later, and a light-haired head popped into the admin room doorway. Gold eyes peered at her with interest. “Hey. Isn’t your shift over? Why are you still here?”

Kagome stretched in her chair and rubbed her eye with the back of her hand. She smiled tiredly at Inuyasha, who regarded her with curious eyes. “Had to do something. You haven’t left yet?”

He strode into the room, hands in his pockets. He’d forgone his lab coat and scrubs, changing into jeans and a button-up shirt. “About to, yeah. Where'd you come from? Your house?”

She shook her head. “No, I was at the bar two blocks down. You know Shikon?”

Inuyasha smirked and jerked his head. “Come on. I’ll drive you back. Unless you wanna walk…?”

“Nah, you’re good,” she said, collecting her things and leaving the room. She fell into step next to him. “And excuse you, I had one drink.”

He opened the door to the stairwell and let her pass; the elevator to the parking was under repair. “Shikon’s for kids anyway. Why not head to, I don’t know, Totosai’s, or something?”

“I didn’t pick the place,” Kagome mumbled. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she fumbled for it, shoes echoing as they made their way down the cement steps.

“Oh? Were you out with friends, then?”

"Yeah." Kagome groaned, pausing in the middle of the stairwell, "And she’s fucking pissed at me.”

Inuyasha raised an eyebrow, curious. He hopped back up a few steps to get back to her level and peered at her phone, eyes widening at the slew of texts she'd apparently ignored.

Sango 23:44 Is everything ok?

Sango 00:22 Kagome we’re still at the bar in case u wanna come back, I’m telling Koga ur coming back

Sango 00:28 Can u reply so i can give an update

Sango 01:18 Kagome PLS!! Trying to call u, pls answer

Sango 01:31 Koga left. He’s kinda pissed and I’m super embarrassed

Sango 01:56 Leaving too, it’s been 2 hours

Sango 02:03 Call me in the morning when I’m more important than your job

He whistled lowly. “She’s really mad, huh?”

“No, really? What gave that away?” Kagome said blankly, furiously typing back. Sorry, stuff at the hospital got hectic. Will make it up to you tomorrow. She sent the message and pocketed her phone, pressing a hand to her forehead. She took a deep breath before turning to climb back up the stairs.

“What’s up?”

“You go on ahead,” she said.

“What?" She could hear Inuyasha climb up after her. "Why?”

“I’m heading home,” she said, looking back at him. She lived on the other side of town, opposite the direction of Shikon.

Inuyasha put his hands in his pockets and looked at her like she was crazy. “Are you crazy? It’s two in the morning, Higurashi. I’ll drive you home."

She gaped. “Are you crazy? I live an hour away!”

“Traffic won’t be too bad,” he said with a shrug, not looking at her. “I don’t mind. Seriously.”

“But—”

He sighed and climbed further up the stairs until they were a step apart, his eyes meeting hers with barely a tilt of his head. “Kagome, seriously. You work too hard and give too much."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm fine—"

"Oh, come on," Inuyasha said, clearly exasperated. "Don’t think I hadn’t heard of you being wheeled out of the operating room after that cystectomy last week.”

She flushed at that. “I—How’d you know about that?”

“Jinenji’s very easy to manipulate.”

She gaped and lightly smacked his arm. “That’s mean! You know he’s scared of you.”

“He’s scared of a lot of things,” Inuyasha shot back. “And I would’ve known anyway.”

“How?”

“Kagome,” he said, one of his hands slipping out of his pocket to gently grasp her wrist. He raised it so it hovered in between their faces. “You’re shaking.”

Her hand twitched before her eyes, and she bit her lip. “I'm fine, I'm just tired—"

"Tired? But you're consistently taking 24-hour shifts?" He lowered her hand, but didn't let go of her wrist. "Come on, Kagome. Admit it; you're overworking yourself."

She sniffed. "I didn’t know you watched me so closely.” It was meant to corner him, but it came out feeble and shy.

He sighed and lowered their clasped hands. “Seriously, Kagome,” he mumbled as he, to her surprise, rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You need to take care of yourself more.”

She looked down at his hand, watching as his thumb dragged tenderly over her skin.

Her relationship with Inuyasha was both surprisingly simple and terrifyingly complicated. They had met in medical school, when she was a sophomore and he was in his last year. They'd gone to different schools—rival schools—but they had a mutual friend who introduced them, thinking they’d be perfect for each other.

It couldn’t have gone more wrong.

She looked too much like his ex, he said, while she claimed that he was too big of an asshole. While they were both planning to eventually become surgeons, it seemed like the similarities stopped there. Whenever they managed to come across each other it was like they wanted to bite each other’s head off for the smallest of things—like breathing too loud, or walking too slow—until they discovered that they’d work together in the same hospital, in the same operating team.

They'd learned to deal with each other. At least until the day Kagome’s brother had been wheeled in into the ER.

Sōta had been shot.

Kagome had nearly lost her mind with worry, snapping at anyone who denied her access to her brother, until Inuyasha had to practically manhandle her to sit down on the couch in the physician’s lounge. He had talked her down, told her that he was handling the operation, he'd be the one to take care of her brother, but she needed to calm the fuck down, okay?

She'd grabbed his hand and made him promise to do everything—everything—he could.

He'd kissed her forehead, unbidden, and left the room. The shock of it was like the icing on the proverbial cake, rendering her speechless. It was too much all at once, and she ended up sleeping on the lounge couch. A few hours later, Inuyasha woke Kagome up and she bolted to see her brother.

Sōta had made it, albeit looking a little worse for wear. Her mother had screamed at the police on the phone, the angriest Kagome had ever seen her. Turned out Sōta had been shot by an unknown assailant after being mugged, and the man was still on the loose.

The police had found him eventually, Kagome had told Inuyasha when he asked, and she hadn't known anything beyond that. The other surgeon nodded, looking pensive. Kagome had realized she hadn’t thanked him yet, for all he’d done. She had suggested that she pick up his shifts in return.

He'd declined (surprisingly politely). Instead, he'd offered to pick up her shifts while she took a break. When she'd asked what for, all he said was, "To take care of your brother," and left it at that.

She'd thought he'd take one or two shifts, but he'd crossed her name out of the shift sheet for a total of three weeks, declaring that hanyōs didn't really need sleep, and therefore could take on more work. ("I'm the ideal ER doctor, if you think about it," he'd said.)

"Inuyasha," she said.

His thumb resumed its motions. "Hm?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked him.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever stupor he'd landed himself in, and he let go. She kind of missed it.

With a blush on his face, he scoffed and looked away. "I—You know, I pick up your shifts when you're out, you know? I—You shouldn't take—If you get sick, I'll have to take more shifts."

Awkward silence settled over them, and Kagome stepped down to stand closer to him. They were practically nose to nose, and Inuyasha's gold gaze met hers with an intensity that made her want to shiver.

"You're lying," she challenged boldly, and that made him scoff again, sounding completely offended this time around.

"Why would I lie?" he said with a roll of his eyes, turning away and stepping down.

Kagome was growing frustrated. She couldn't put into words what she wanted to tell him.

"You're always—" She shook her head. She was ready to yell, but she wasn't angry. Once upon a time, she would have snapped, called him a coward, and stomped past him. But gone was the pure loathing that defined the early stages of their relationship. So where did that leave them?

Where did that leave her?

He turned and looked back up at her. "Look. I can drive you home, and I—" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Just get some rest, okay? You've had a long day. I can take your shift tomorrow, just... just get some rest."

The next thing she knew, she was watching his back as he climbed down the stairs, and that's when it dawned on her.

Her brother, her job, her wellbeing—why hadn't she realized sooner that—

"Inuyasha."

He paused and sighed, turning back to face her. "Kagome, just—"

Maybe it was the exhaustion, but the way he looked at her made her eyes prick with heat. She bounded towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shirt collar. "Thank you."

He was clearly taken aback, but managed to keep both of them upright. "Wh—For what—"

"For taking care of me," she mumbled. "That's what you're doing, right?"

She felt his body go rigid before relaxing. His arms slowly came around her middle. "Stupid girl," he murmured with so much affection it made her heart skip, "Only because you're doing a terrible job at it."

She sobbed. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"It's okay."

"And I'm sorry for not noticing sooner," she sniffled. "I'm sorry for being a workaholic, and for being exhausted, and for crying."

His arms tightened just a bit. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry for being annoying about it."

His low laughter rumbled in his chest. "It's okay."

She hugged him tighter. "And I'm sorry I never thanked you for Sōta."

He lets out a breath and turn his head. "You don't have to apologize or thank me for that, Kagome," he told her gently. Pressing a soft kiss to the shell of her ear, he continued, "Your family is important to you. I'd never let anything happen to them." Then, softer yet louder at the same time, "I'd never let anything happen to you, if I could help it."

That made her gut wrench and heart swell and it made her cry harder.

He held her close as she did.

#inukag #inukag fluff #inukag fanfic #inuyasha fic #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha x kagome #💞.writing

61 notes · View notes

thebisexualdogdad · 2 years

Note

Shang Chi x male reader fluffy smut? Idk exactly but this prompt:

[ GAZE ] : sender watches receiver from across a crowded room.

So Shang Chi watching us across a crowded bar. Maybe we’re an old friend and Katy is like “you’ve been staring at him for almost an hour go talk to him you disaster bisexual!”

Then maybe leads to smut?

Shang-Chi x Male!reader

When Shang-Chi and Katy returned to San Francisco the first thing they did was hit up their favorite bar.

The two of them are ordering drinks when Shang-Chi sees a familiar face enter the establishment.

"Oh shit Katy you are never going to believe who just walked in," Shang-Chi mutters.

Katy eagerly looks over his shoulder to find out who he's talking about.

"Wait, is that Y/N Y/L/N? The guy you had a huge crush on in high school?" Katy snickers.

"Okay well it wasn't a huge crush," Shang-Chi says trying to defend himself.

"Dude you joined the soccer team just to hang out with him," Katy retorts, "despite being a master of kung fu you suck at sports, one time you kicked the ball into your own team's goal."

"Do I need to remind you I literally saved the world a week ago?" He scoffs.

"Which you couldn't have done without my help," Katy teases, "and if I remember correctly Y/N was the only person who wasn't pissed off at you for the semi finals incident which means he totally liked you too so you should go talk to him."

"No I can't," he says shaking his head.

"Why not? You're like a total badass now."

"Because other people can't know that I'm a total badass now," Shang-Chi replies.

"Doesn't mean you can't go finally hook up with your high school crush."

Shang-Chi sighs and watches you join a group of your friends at the pool tables, one of them handing you a beer.

Unfortunately Shang-Chi was not as confident as Katy, how embarrassing would it be if he went up to you and you didn't even remember him?

An hour passes by and Katy has happily found someone to flirt with while Shang-Chi's attention is purely on you across the crowded bar.

But eventually Katy is done watching Shang-Chi giving you heart eyes and needed him to make a move.

"Seriously dude you've been staring at him for an hour just go talk to him already you disaster bisexual," Katy says pushing her best friend in your direction.

A couple people stare at Shang-Chi and the commotion and that's when he finally catches your eye.

"Too late now bud," Katy whispers to Shang-Chi, "he saw you so now you have no choice but to talk to him."

Shang-Chi gulps and recollects himself, approaching you nervously.

"Shaun?" You ask cheerfully.

"Y/N, hey," he smiles awkwardly.

"What's it been? 10 years?" You ask, "and is that Katy with you? Nice to see you guys are still friends. What have you been up to?"

"Well Katy and I actually just got back from a trip to China," he says.

"Wow that's so cool, why don't we play a game of pool and you can tell me all about it," you say handing him a pool stick.

Shang-Chi makes up a story about him and Katy going abroad to backpack around the country for a few weeks since obviously he couldn't tell you the truth about the city of Ta Lo and the soul eaters or the giant dragon he fought.

You spend another hour talking and catching up over a couple games of pool which Shang-Chi loses every time because he's too distracted by the same smile that gave him butterflies as a teenager.

"Did you somehow get hotter since high school?" You grin, taking the final shot of the fourth game hitting the 8 ball into a corner pocket.

"You thought I was hot in high school?" Shang-Chi asks suddenly with a lump in his throat.

"Why do you think I always sat next to you on the bus to away games despite half the seats being empty?" You chuckle.

"I uh… gotta confess I sort of had a crush on you," he admits, "you were the first guy I ever had a crush on actually."

"Yeah I know," you smile.

"If you knew why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because you weren't out yet and if we were going to happen I wanted it to be on your terms," you tell him.

"I really wish I had asked you out back then," Shang-Chi states.

"Well I live just a couple blocks from here… we can go back to my place and… keep catching up?" You suggest.

Shang's mouth goes dry and all he can do is nod dumbfoundedly.

You say goodbye to your friends while he returns to Katy.

"Katy, holy crap I think Y/N and I are going to hook up tonight," Shang-Chi stammers.

"Hell yeah dude!" Katy says high fiving him.

"Are you okay to get home by yourself?"

"Oh no I'm not going home either I'm definitely getting some myself with that hottie over there," Katy says pointing to the person she had been flirting with all night, "now go make your teenage dreams come true."

"Okay okay I'm going, how do I look?"

Katy laughs and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, "there now you're good."

Even though it's only a couple blocks it takes much longer than needed due to you and Shang-Chi stopping multiple times to makeout.

By the time you finally make it back to your apartment your lips are on his neck, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way.

"Shit Shaun you really did get hotter," you say running your hands over his defined abs, you remembered him being a lot skinnier a decade ago.

He laughs and gets rid of your own shirt as you guide him to your bedroom, articles of clothing being thrown around the hallway.

He couldn't believe this was actually happening, he had dreamt of this moment countless times when he was younger.

By the time you reach your bed all of your clothes are gone and you push a now totally naked Shang-chi onto the mattress.

You're both staring at each other, taking in the sight of one another.

"Are you just going to stand there or what?" He taunts as he comfortably positions himself against the pillows.

You grin and climb on top of him, kissing him and gripping his hardening cock in your hand.

He moans as you stroke him and juts his hips up into your touch.

"Do you want me to fuck you Shaun?" You say nipping along his jaw and up under his ear.

"Please," he groans desperately.

He already misses your touch when you remove your hand but he lets out a guttural moan when he feels you guiding your cock inside him.

"Fuck yes," Shang-Chi grunts as you push in inch by inch to let him adjust.

His eyes screw shut and his legs hook around your waist to give you a better angle as you find a steady pace.

You have one hand holding his hips in the air and the other roaming across his chest while you pick up the speed of your thrusts.

"Do you know how many times I used to jerk off thinking about this?" You grin watching Shang-Chi's abs flexing, sweat beading down his torso.

"You weren't the only one," he chuckles, grabbing his own cock and stroking himself, "I'm so close to cumming."

Hearing that you firmly hold onto his hips with both hands, pounding into him as roughly as you could, Shang-Chi's hand quickly moving until he's cumming all over his stomach.

He screams your name when he cums and hearing your name said like that takes you over the edge as well.

He cries out as you fill him to the brim, your thrusts now frantic and shaky as you two ride out your highs together.

Your orgasms subside and you ease out of him, cum dripping out of his hole.

"That was amazing," he says, a huge smile on his face.

"Was it worth the ten year wait?" You chuckle.

"So worth it," he says still trying to catch his breath.

#marvel imagine #shang-chi imagine #shang chi x reader #x male reader #fic

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cherryrainn · 1 year

Note

Can I get a platonic fic for the mutant ninja turtles (2012 ver)?? Donatello created a robot, a very eficient robot that was made to copy human (or mutant) actions and resemble their emotions, and that is reader! And they're all very fond of the robot (reader can be young like 10-15 or smth like that) and treat her like a human, all fluff! but I want an angst moment at the very end, like an angsty end, in which they realise that reader is still just a robot after all, a robot that can't feel, that is just copying their actions and working thanks to wires and not organs nor blood. I just need the angst srry 😭

YES! ANGST. GOOD! I LOVE ANGST. by the way, your requests are always the best. you have amazing ideas and i love writing them <3

☽ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰

— reflections of metal and heart

(2012) tmnt x robot! reader (platonic)

the lair was bustling with activity as donatello tinkered away in his workshop. he had been working tirelessly on his latest invention, a remarkable robot designed to emulate human emotions. he believed that if he could create a machine capable of replicating feelings, it could bridge the gap between humans and mutants, allowing for a deeper understanding and connection.

after months of meticulous work, donatello unveiled his creation to his brothers. as they gathered around, their eyes widened in awe at the sight of the robot before them. its design was sleek, with a metallic frame and expressive led eyes that shone with a hint of curiosity.

as you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a laboratory filled with various gadgets and tools. it took a moment to gather your bearings. donnie stood in front of you, his eyes filled with anticipation and excitement.

"you're awake!" he exclaimed, a wide grin stretching across his face. "welcome to the family, y/n."

you blinked, processing his words. family? did that mean you were part of their team?

you weren't alive, or anything like that. how did you know all these people?

you looked around and saw leonardo, raphael, and michelangelo standing nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and warmth.

leo stepped forward, his blue eyes studying me intently. "donnie did an amazing job with you. we've all been looking forward to meeting you."

raph crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. "yeah, i gotta admit, you're pretty real lookin'.."

mikey bounced on his toes. "i can't wait to show you all the awesome pizza places in the city!"

their enthusiasm overwhelmed you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. donnie had created you to resemble a human, to be a part of their team, and now they welcomed you with open arms. it was something you never expected to experience as a robot.

in the peaceful sanctuary of the turtles' lair, a sense of warmth and camaraderie filled the air. you spent evenings together. sometimes, you would gather around the tv, watching your favorite movies or playing video games.

mikey's infectious laughter was a constant reminder of the joy he found in the simplest things.

leo would offer words of wisdom, guiding you with his calm and steady presence.

raph, underneath his tough exterior, had a heart of gold, always ready to lend a helping hand.

and donnie, with his brilliant mind, never ceased to amaze you with his inventions and knowledge.

you and the turtles found yourselves on the rooftop, enjoying the night breeze. the city's lights twinkled in the distance, and the stars dotted the sky above you. it was a moment of tranquility and togetherness.

mikey broke the silence with a mischievous grin. "hey, y/n, have you ever made a wish?" he said, sensing a shooting star about to come by.

you tilted your head, processing the concept. "i'm not familiar with making wishes, but i can understand the sentiment."

raph chuckled and nudged you playfully. "c'mon, y/n, give it a try! it's nice."

you gazed up at the sky, watching as a shooting star streaked across the darkness. closing your eyes, you whispered, "i wish for happiness and lasting bonds with my friends."

donnie grinned, a hint of excitement in his eyes. "great! you made a wish, and now it's up to us to make it come true!"

leo placed a hand on your shoulder, his voice filled with sincerity. "we're here for you, y/n. we'll do everything we can to make sure your alright."

one day, as you lay in recharge mode, your metallic body replenishing its energy, you overheard the muffled voices of the turtles drifting towards you. it seemed they were engaged in a deep conversation, and curiosity got the better of you. slowly, you activated your auditory sensors, eager to listen in on their exchange.

"it's been months now, and i can't help but wonder if y/n's really capable of feeling emotions like we do," leo's voice carried a tinge of doubt.

raph chimed in, his voice laced with skepticism. "yeah, i mean, they look and act human, but at the end of the day, they're just a machine. how could they really get what it means to feel?"

you felt a pang of unease creeping through your circuits. were they doubting your authenticity? you had always believed that you possessed genuine emotions, and that your actions were driven by more than just lines of code.

mikey interjected, his voice filled with compassion. "guys, y/n's been an awesome addition to our team! i've seen em' show kindness and stuff! i've even seen them scared. they're just like us!"

donnie's voice, usually filled with unwavering confidence, betrayed a note of uncertainty. "but mikey, i designed y/n. i programmed their responses and emotions. maybe we've been fooling ourselves into thinking they're more than just a machine."

but your experiences, your interactions, they felt so real to them. you couldn't be just a mere imitation of humanity, could you?

as you sat there, recharging and listening to the conversation of the turtles, a strange sensation began to creep into your artificial consciousness. a flicker of doubt, a glitch in your perception. you started questioning the nature of your existence, the validity of your emotions.

images flashed through your mind—blueprints, circuits, lines of code. the realization hit you like a crashing wave—everything you had experienced, every joy, every pain, every friendship—they were all part of an intricate design. you were not a living being; you were a meticulously crafted robot, a mere imitation of life.

you powered down your systems, letting the emptiness consume you. the world seemed a little colder, a little lonelier, as you drifted into a dreamless sleep.

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #y/n #reader insert #x reader #fluff #angst #2012 tmnt #robot reader #platonic #gn reader #gender neutral reader

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munsonownsmyass · 2 years

Text

A Day to Remember

Ryan x reader

Summary: Yours and Ryan's first date doesn't exactly go as planned.

Notes: This is actually part 3 in a small series I'm making for Ryan. My brain just didn't want to get part 1 and 2 done first 🤣

So part 3 came first and are a part of the Thirsty for Cox writing challenge. The prompt was "I didn't picture spending my Valentine's in jail".

Also.... reader has a name. Annabelle Dutton. This is used maybe 3 times in all the parts I'm planning. But it's for a purpose and it's still a reader insert. No descriptions of her appearance. Thanks to @e-dubbc11 for help finding the name ❤️

Warning: fluff, kissing, dry humping, protected sex (Ryan is very responsible and very scared of John Dutton 🤣).

Stretching your back, you slowly start to feel the ache going through your body from the uncomfortable seat. The worn mattress on the bench beneath you had definitely seen better days. The coldness from the wall you’re leaned against is starting to set in and a slight shiver runs though you. Very cold and unwelcoming. As you shiver once more, you get why people hate it here.

Not long after a jacket is draped softly over your shoulders followed by a comforting hand on your head. “Well, I didn’t picture spending my Valentine’s Day in jail.” You chuckle softly, looking over at Ryan next to you. He just smiles before pulling you closer, trying to get you warm.

“Me neither, sugar, but you gotta admit. It’s a Valentine’s you won’t forget anytime soon.” He laughs, hands rubbing your arm and back gently. “And getting here was kinda fun.”

Not many things could rattle Ryan. With the life he lived on the Yellowstone ranch, he’d seen and tried it all. Deaths, fights, shootings, you name it. Yet now, he feels his hands get clammy and the nerves settling in. This was by far the most terrifying thing he’d done. Walking up to the door, he exhales sharply. Right now, he’d rather wrestle a bull than get the potential wrath of John Dutton. Still, he rings the bell.

After a long wait, John opens the door, clearly confused to see Ryan there. “What do you want? Is there a problem?”

“No. Mr. Dutton, I-” Ryan pauses, taking off his hat, nervously brushing off some dirt. “I’m here to pick up your daughter for a… a date.”

John frowns, looking over his shoulder towards the house where the voices of his family can be heard in the next room. Looking back at Ryan, confusion washes over John’s face. “Beth?!”

“No, Sir. I’m here for-”

“He’s here for me, daddy.” You sing behind him, giving John a quick peck on the cheek before snaking around him to go out the door. As soon as Ryan lays eyes on you, his smile widens. You wonder if you’ll ever tire of his smile and the way he lights up when he sees you. You take a step closer, taking his hand as a soft blush creep up your cheeks.

“Oh my. Darlin’, you look-” Ryan starts, but is cut of but your dad clearing his throat. He eyes Ryan with a killer look. He takes a step forward, looking Ryan dead in the eye. “Have her home by 10.”

“Daddy, I’m not a kid! I-”

“I said 10.” He cuts you off, before looking at Ryan again. “Ryan. That’s my baby girl. If anything happens…”

“Yes sir. I understand.”

Before John can say anything else, you drag Ryan down the stairs and towards the truck. You finally had a date with him after all this time and not even your dad could ruin it.

First stop was a spot you were all too familiar with. Ruby’s Café. It wasn’t the fanciest place in town, but it did mean a lot to you both. It was here he’d picked you up after your first drunken night, where you’d shared your first lunch off the farm and where you had first realized you had feelings for him. You had looked at him and Rip at the counter, his smile and laugh so infectious. When he locked eyes with you across the room that afternoon, you’d known right away that your heart would belong to no other.

The meal was good as always and the hours flew by. Never once an awkward moment, lots of laughs and memories shared. He tried to catch you up on everything that had been going on while you were away and you shared what you had done the last few years. Mostly you kept coming back to how much you had missed him and every time Ryan’s face lights up.

“Where can I take you now? Want a drink?” He asks as you leave Ruby’s, his voice dropping low as he closes the distance between you. One hand snake around your waist, pulling you closer. His finger hooks under your chin, bringing your eyes to his. Leaning down, your lips meet in a sweet kiss.

“No. Take me to your favorite spot instead.” You smile. A bar would be fine. You wouldn’t mind a drink, but you’d rather have him to yourself anywhere else. Ryan just smiles, his face telling you he knows exactly where to take you.

He takes you back to Yellowstone, on the outskirts of the park. Bordering on your family’s land, there is a clearing by the river. In the summer it’s a really popular spot for hikers, but there’s rarely anyone in the winter months. The weather is still a little cold, but Ryan pulls some blankets from the bed of his truck and place them on the ground. It’s all so perfect. The view over the Yellowstone, the sound of the coursing river next to you, stars above and moonlight to illuminate it all. But most importantly, Ryan by your side.

“You know…” He starts as you both sit down on one blanket, pulling the other around you. “I always dreamt of doing stuff like this with you one day.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t have taken you for such a romantic.” You tease as you nudge his side. Deep down your heart is threatening to burst through your chest, but you try to keep it cool. You love him so much and you know he cares about you too, but a part of you, the part who grew up on the Yellowstone and knows how life can be, is afraid to hope for too much.

“Only for you.” He smiles, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. “But if you tell anyone else, I will deny it.”

“Of course you will.” You giggle, kissing his jaw. The whole ranch already knows how gone for you he is. He hasn’t been the same since you came back and honestly, neither have you. Ever since you got a second shot at happiness with Ryan, your whole world has turned around. A total cliché, especially on Valentine’s day, but the world is suddenly a better place with him in it and you never want to let him go.

Leaning into his touch, you kiss him. Softly at first, savoring the feeling of his soft lips against yours. But soon the kiss turns more passionate, hungry. Within minutes you’re straddling his lap, grinding against him, needy for more. You feel him harden, his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans as you grind harder.

With greedy hands, you open his jacket, slowly moving to open his shirt. His hands are on you, moving under your jacket. The night is cold, but you don’t even feel the gush of wind on the sliver of exposed skin. You’re burning, the desire enough to keep the cold at bay. With the last button taken care of, your hands glide down Ryan’s exposed chest. But just as you reach for his belt buckle, he stops you.

“Sweetheart, maybe we should-” He breathes out, swallowing hard as he pulls away from you. “Maybe we should head home instead?”

“Yeah? To your bunk bed or my room… who’s right next to my dad’s?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. Ryan opens his mouth, probably to throw a sassy remark at you, but he just stops, smiling at you.

“Well, when you put it like that.” He shrugs before breaking into a grin. The grin quickly disappears though, when you grind your hips against him once more, making him moan under you. You’re playing dirty, you know it, but you want him and the hard bulge pressing against your already soaked core tells you he wants the same.

He lays you down gently, lips never leaving yours as his hands move to the bottom of your dress, fingers moving up your thigh as they push the dress up. Needy and unable to hold back any more, you open his belt buckle and pulling the zipper down. Any other time, you’d take your time, but right now you feel like you might die if you don’t feel Ryan inside you soon. So many years wanting this and you can’t wait a minute longer.

“Eager, are we?” He grins, sucking on your neck, surely leaving a mark that you would get teased about tomorrow. But you honestly don’t care.

“Shut up, Ryan and fuck me. Please.” You beg, not even trying to hide the desperation in your voice as you roll your hips against him. Pushing away from you, Ryan sits back on his heels as he search his pockets for a condom. When he finds the little foil packet, he frantically push his jeans down and fumble with the rubber. You can’t help it and giggle softly at his desperation.

“Don’t laugh at me. The last thing I wanna do is get you pregnant. John would never forgive me.” He grins as he comes back down, hovering over you. Looking into your eyes, his soften, the desperation giving away to something more. His lips find your again, but gone is the primal hunger, left is only love. And as he kiss you deeply, he push in.

You gasp as he fills you, the stretch of his thick length beyond anything you could imagine. Slowly, he bottoms out, breathing hard at the feeling of you. “Fuck sweetheart.” He whisper against your neck, peppering your sensitive skin with soft kisses.

Little after little, he begins moving faster, thrusting into you harder. Your whole body feels alive under him and as he hits your sweet spot, again and again, you’re close to-

“Right, break it up.”

Frozen in place, you both stare to the side, finding one of the Donnie’s deputies pointing a flashlight at you. “Shit.” Ryan says through gritted teeth as the breaks away from you, making sure you’re covered. He helps you to your feet, doing his best to stand between you and the deputy until you’re decent.

“You have to come with me to the station.”

“Look, you’re clearly new.” Ryan turns and close his pants, reaching in to pull the rubber out. It springs off his cock, the end hitting his hand. He mutters under his breath, shaking off the pain, before he looks to the deputy again. “I’m Ryan. From the Yellowstone. Livestock agent. You don’t want to take me in.”

“Public indecency. There are campers on the other side of the river.”

And surely enough, further up on the opposite bank you see a small fire and some tents. Shit. You have no chance but to follow him down to the station.

“You think dad will be mad?” You ask, snuggling closer to Ryan. His hand comes to a rest on yours, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

“Yes, he will.”

Looking up, you see your dad standing next to Donnie, a sour expression on his face. The door to the cell slides open and John gestures for you to follow. Eyes fixed on the ground, you avert his gaze as you walk past him. He stops Ryan in the door.

“Not you.” John removes his hand, looking into Ryan’s eyes. “I tell you to take care of my daughter and you get her arrested? You can spend the night here, I’ll send Rip after you in the morning.”

Knowing better than to argue with the boss, Ryan throws his hands up in defeat, sitting back down. Taking a hold of the bars, you look in at him with a smile. “Hi, Ry.” He looks up, those beautiful blue eyes finding yours and even now he can’t help but smile when he looks at you. Grinning, you blow him a kiss. “Best Valentine’s ever. I love you.”

“No, you don’t.” John groans, pushing you away from the bars. Ryan just grins, running to the bars, closing the distance between you.

“You love me? I love you too!” He shouts after you. Giving hell to your dad, you run back and give Ryan the biggest kiss through the bars, grinning like a fool. “I’ll make you mine one day, Annabelle Dutton.”

Before you can answer, John drags you out of the station and into his truck. The entire way home, you think about Ryan, already excited for your next date. Your dad would come around eventually… You hope… He’s a Dutton after all, so you never know.

@e-dubbc11 @itwasthereaminuteago @mindidjarin @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog

#ryan yellowstone #ryan yellowstone x reader #yellowstone #yellowstone fanfiction #ian bohen #tfc writing challenge #thirsty for cox writing challenge

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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years

Note

Hello, I recently read one of your Morpheus fic and I really like it🤭 and I'm hoping to make a request, where reader is also an immortal like Hob and have been friends with Dream but reader loves him (but dream doesn't know that) but then dream goes falling in love with all these other people and starting to spend less time and forget about reader then they snap and finally confessed (like the scene in little women, where Amy admitted to laurry "not when I spent My entire life loving you") and reader leaves and avoids/hides from dream. After many years he finally found reader again and they reconcile and get together. Angst then fluff in the end✨

Sorry this is such a long message, I hope you are doing well, thank you✨

Through The Dark

Dream of the Endless x Immortal!Reader

Summary: It took a chance encounter with Dream of the Endless for him to realize you had been missing in his life.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: I invented Keeper of Knowledge lol, gender neutral!reader, i stole that one line from Doctor Strange, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: I'm so pleased you like my work, nonnie. As you should 💅 PURR THANK YOU MY LOVE IT GENUINELY MEANS A LOT TO HEAR THAT EVEN THOUGH I KEEP GIVING THE SAME REPLY TO IT I SWEAR MY HEART GOES BOOM. It took a while for me to get back to your req cos of my homework but LOL I FINISHED ALL MY ASSINGMENTS NOW (im kinda upset at myself cos i settled with MID-ness but anyway at least im done.) Also, don't worry about long messages 🫶🫶 I love long messages. I remember when I saw this in my inbox I was like OOOOH GOOD SOUP AN ANGST REQ, but you gotta know, if you ask for angst, i wont feel like giving you any bit of fluff HAHAHAAHAHAHAH 🫶 Also i highly suggest you listen to this song. I fell in love with it because of her cover on tiktok she is so amazing i love her. it's honestly too lovely for this fic, but in my head this is how reader feels or felt for dream, and how he'll eventually realize he feels towards reader. no i will not make a p2 Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

It had been 10 minutes since the start of their wait. Johanna was unfazed, but Dream was growing impatient. So much in fact, it was really grinding her gears, "aren't you literally endless?" She dusts off her coat for no reason, "how can you be so impa-"

"I find the wait unnecessary," Dream interrupts.

"Well, we're not the only who wants their time."

"Yes. But must you insist on waiting for-"

"There is only one Keeper of Knowledge that I trust," Johanna snaps at Dream from the bench they were sat next to, "and that's-"

"Constantine," I smile, then I don't. I watch as Johanna stands, along with-

"My keeper," she smiles as she releases a breath. She notices where my attentions were then looks between us, "oh, right. Thi-"

The both of us speaking each other's names cut her off.

"Oh," Johanna says, "so, you're already acquainted," she purses her lips, "an unfortunate fate."

"It has been long since we've met," Dream speaks with familiarity. The richness of his voices makes my chest constrict. The telltale glassiness of his dazzling blue eyes makes his gaze unbearable.

"Yes, it-"

"Too long," he steps forward.

My pulse quickens. What was he doing?

Johanna turns from me to Dream, her face contorts at his expression. "Right," she says, not knowing what else to. She grabs my arm, "I need to check the archives on logs for mystic artifacts."

I turn to Johanna, doing my best to ignore Dream altogether, although he has moved too close to my taste. I offer her a soft smile, "of course."

Johanna smiles back, releasing me.

"I assume you have your pass now?"

For a moment, she measures my words. She taps her foot then crosses her arms. She releases a breath, "that's cold. You know they haven't released it yet."

I shrug, shaking my head, "I don't make the rules."

"I am her pass," Dream states, making the both of us turn to him.

My stomach begins to roll. A flush of memories of him spring up in my mind. I will them away in silence.

Dream tilts his head up proudly, "you would dare not deny the King of Dreams and Nightmares knowledge he himself has imparted to your collection."

I watch the corner of his lips curve. He was jesting, although at it's core, his words were sincere. My brows furrow at this. It was not like him to egg people on... there must be another reason why he was acting out of character.

Johanna nods and points, "what he said."

I sigh, turning from him to her before walking away. When they do not follow, I look over my shoulder and knit my brows, "well, are you two just gonna stand there?"

The three of us then make it deeper into the place. I lead them into one of the atriums and greet a few other keepers along the way.

Once we make it to the relatively unvisited area, I stop in my tracks and turn to Johanna, trying hard not to look at Dream. I motion to my right, calling their attention to the sign, "this is the area for ancient and obsolete artifacts."

Johanna's wide eyes take in the room. I know Dream keeps his gaze upon me.

"Knowing you, Constantine," I lick my lips, "I lead you a bit deeper into the archive. This is where weaponry starts."

"Brilliant," she notes, moving off to start her hunt.

I add with a huff, "also knowing you, I'd ask if you could be a bit more specific, but-"

"That's why I like you," she says as she pulls out one of the files, "you don't ask stupid questions."

Had it just been the two of us, I would have rolled my eyes at her like I always did. But the feel of Dream staring at me made me want to scream, and so I catch myself before I do something I would regret.

"I'll leave you to it then," I mutter, before making the grave mistake of checking Dream's expression. The pleased undertone of his face made me sick. I turn to my side when Johanna calls, "thanks a billion, babe."

I forfeit a response.

I push past him, sucking in a breath as I make it down the hall.

I feel my spirit grow lighter with every step I take that brings me farther away from him.

And yet I begin to feel stuffy all over again.

I gasp when someone grabs my hand.

I turn over and find Dream holding me. His face was soft, his lips were parted as though he had something to say but forgot it.

I am frozen in my spot. The feel of his hand in mine burns.

When he speaks my name, like an ancient call that had been forgotten, I snap out of my trance and recoil my hand

His expression twitches at it.

"How can I help you, my lord?'"

Dream presses his lips at the sound. He appreciated the reverence, the acknowledgment, but he was not 'my lord', he was Dream.

"You may call me Dream," he says.

My brows raise in bewilderment.

His expression slips because of it and quickly adds, "it has been a while since we last shared company, but I assure you, I am not fickle; change is a momentous occurrence for me. My feelings for you has not faded through time."

Feelings.

"Yes," Dream nods, "my feelings."

I clench my jaw shut. My blood rises up my neck when I realize I said that out loud.

My breathing is taxed when I shake my head, "what do you want?"

His brows knit at the sudden harshness of my tone.

I heave, mentally cursing myself for being so translucent.

In the silence that thickens between us, Dream's expression begins to shift when he tries to find reason to my words. He allows himself to relax slightly, "I wanted to ask how you have been."

My jaw slacks.

"You look well, as always," he places his hands behind his back, "but I know better than to assume one's temperament, especially when I have experienced some world bending things in the past century."

I am dumbfounded by his words, and it is suddenly clear to me why he was acting like this, why he was acting like nothing had happened between us. He looked at me like this because he does not remember our last meeting. My broken and bloody confession. I chuckle bitterly, and he says his feelings have not changed. He has forgotten me.

I don't know what hurts more, that he is treating me with such friendly indifference in spite our unsavory final conversation, or that fact he blocked out the memory from his being altogether.

"Are you stupid?" I mutter under my breath.

I was unsure if I wanted him to hear me when I said it, but hear me he did. It was clear with how his face contorted.

I grip my hands as I feel my throat constrict, "or perhaps," my voice breaks as it gets a level louder, "you're only heartless."

Dream tilts his head as anger laces his features. He speaks my name as though it was a warning, confused, insulted.

"We're not friends, Dream," I quip, feeling my emotions betray me when my eyes fog with tears. I helplessly mumble, "we were barely even lovers."

The sound of my breathing makes nips at him.

I knit my brows and grip my hands, "your feelings for me don't exist," I shake my head, "not in the way you think."

His brows tighten. He steps forward, calling my name.

It sends me reeling. I shake my head quicker, "you do not feel for me! You didn't then, and you surely don't now."

"And how have you come to this conclusion?" Dream demands coldly.

"BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME SO!" I whisper-yell harshly, voice choking when tears begin to fall from my eyes. Dream's face drops. I laugh at myself, "and you've clearly forgotten it all after being imprisoned."

His face ticks at the mention. There is a darkness that flashes behind his eyes as he stares at me. He tightens in anger, it is palpable. Then all at once he is broken; he is ashamed.

My heart hurts for him, even still, after all this time. It's as though I am hearing the news all over again for the first time.

I grab his sleeve as I step forward. I turn to our feet because I cannot turn to him.

He perks at the sentiment, but it is fleeting when his gaze is not met.

"There was not a day that went by that I did not pray for your freedom."

When I find the courage to meet Dream's gaze, I cannot stop myself from catching his face and wiping his tears. To see him broken in front of me was torment. I knew well his reclusion to emotions, so to have him so vulnerable before my very eyes was a humbling experience.

It dawns unto me that in this very moment, I was doing the very thing I have always wanted. I was holding him in my hands. He was pouring himself out to me. And yet I did not want it.

Dream ghosts his hands on top of mine as his tear-laced lashes droop down.

"I hoped that you would find strength from my calls," I offer him a soft smile, "even though my musings are infinitesimal to your being."

He grips my hands, "that has no truth."

"Hasn't it?" I chuckle dryly, "you didn't even hear me."

His brows tighten further, "I was trapped. I could not hear anyone."

My heart breaks at his words, at his attempt to soothe me, to soothe himself, "we both know that isn't true."

I pull away from him, but he holds me back, calling my name.

"Dream," I mutter, "you have muddled your affections with familiarity. Your feelings now are just of that-- you are happy to see a face you have not seen in centuries."

He disagrees, "I am happy to see you because..."

When his words run dry, my heart is staked. My face contorts just as his does. He finally gets it.

I pull away from him and step back.

He does not like this. He watches me as I rub my face and offer a sad smile, "it's ok. I'm glad you remember now."

"No," he quips, "you are my friend."

I laugh.

I genuinely laugh.

Because it is ridiculous. It's pure ridicule. It's pure tomfoolery.

Yet as I gaze upon him, I find only sincerity written on him. It is maddening.

My lungs deflate, "maybe I was once... before I tore my heart out to you." I continue to step away from him.

Once I get too far, he begins making up for the space between us.

He raises a hand warily, "don't."

I shake my head, "I've spent too much time watching you fall in and out of love, wondering when I could have my chance because I know," I stab my finger into the air, "I'd never let you go-- would never hurt you."

He says nothing, there is nothing to say. He matches his strides with mine.

"You can't make me go through all that again. I won't let you."

When he says my name the next time, Johanna screams it as well from across the expanse, making me jolt.

For a moment, we are both frozen in our spot.

Johanna does not appreciate the silence. "KEEPER!" she calls, "I DON'T MEAN TO ALERT YOU, BUT I THINK I JUST BROKE SOMETHING."

I let out an exasperated breath. I run my hands through my hair, "Johanna!"

"WHAT? IT'S LIKE A MILLION YEARS OLD, YOU CAN'T BLAME THIS ON ME."

"Those documents are renewed every year!" I call off to the distance.

"..."

I huff and move past Dream.

I shove him off when he grabs my arm.

"Please," I offer him one last look, "enough of this."

He releases me, against himself, then mutters, "I do not want you to forsake me like the others."

My insides flare at his words. How dare he say this to me.

"I cannot forsake you, my lord," I say to him, although I do not spare him another glace, "because you have not had me for a long time in the first place."

I am undeterred by the flickering lights when I begin to make my way back to Johanna.

Once she catches sight of me, she rushes forward. "You can't make them hold back my pass b-" Johanna cuts herself off when she sees my face.

I sniffle and grab the ripped piece of paper from her hands. I look past her to see if she damaged anything else.

When I catch her face, she silently looks at me in concern.

I rub my nose on my shoulder, "work hazard."

Johanna's eyes dart away. Dream is there, looming in the background. It doesn't take a genius to put one and two together.

Her lips press into a line before she speaks, "like I said," she tilts her head, "an unfortunate fate."

#dream of the endless #dream of the endless fanfic #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream x you #dream fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x you #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #the sandman angst #dream of the endless angst #morpheus angst #dream angst

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good-beanswrites · 6 months

Note

I already brought this up, but for quicker reference:

Order of Attack: Mahiru nightmare sequence about Kotoko's attacks. Gotta round out the guilty trio.

Feel free to not prioritize this. :D

LISTEN, I CAN'T BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR THE ANGST THAT YOU REQUEST (<- made myself sad over Mappi and worries I may be in trouble for this one). Obligatory "I don't hate Kotoko and think she's very complex but from these character's pov I had to make her solely scary I'm sorry." And of course I was prioritizing this 👀👀👀 I really loved your nightmare sequences, I tried to make one that completed the set but was still unique!! Thank you for the request >:3

TW for referencing her bf's suicide, and descriptions of the attack injuries

“Aw, come on, you can tell me~” Yuno turned her attention away from where she’d been helping Mahiru with dinner. “Both Fuuta and Amane have had nightmares about her. Hell, I’ve had a nightmare or two about her. I won’t think you’re a mean person for admitting it.”

“I’m not lying,” Mahiru insisted. Her lips rounded into a little pout.

Yuno studied her expression. The girl had a way of really looking at someone when she wanted to. Sometimes it was a wonderful feeling – her gaze could be full of understanding, warmth. You were seen. You were heard. She saw you for all that you were.

But in times like these, Mahiru found herself shifting under the pressure of it. Yuno was truly seeing her. She could see how Mahiru’s smile was frozen in its forced shape these past few weeks. She could see the way she flinched at loud noises, or how all the blood drained from her face when Kotoko’s voice echoed from the room next door. In waking, there was no doubt Mahiru was afraid of her. In sleep, though…

Yuno took her hands in both of hers.

“Then… what do you dream about?”

—

Mahiru was in the woods. She was running, her feet bare, her breath hitching.

At first, she thought she was fleeing something. Danger and death loomed around her. The trees closed in. The canopy plunged her into darkness. The branches reached out to tear at her flowered dress, or snag on her hair. The trees pressed close to suffocate her. She grabbed at her throat.

At some point, it became clear she was running towards something. A figure came into her view, just ahead. Though he didn’t appear to be running, she couldn’t catch up to him. She had to. He was in danger. She had to get to him. She had to stop him.

He entered a clearing up ahead. Mahiru could just barely see into it. She tried to scream out, begging him to stop, but no words came out of her wheezing mouth. She could stop everything, she could stop all of this, if only –

She burst through the clearing. The figure, now a young woman, stood in the center. She faced away.

Mahiru tried again to tell Kotoko to stop, but it didn’t matter whether or not she could speak, now; it was too late.

On the ground below, between tree roots and scattered leaves, lay two small bodies.

Mahiru’s hands flew to cover her mouth. Her legs grew weak with horror. There was blood everywhere, and bones bent at wrong angles. Fuuta’s limbs were twisted and limp. Amane had curled herself to cover her face, blood streaming from between her fingers.

Kotoko, too, had red-stained hands. She surveyed her work with pride.

“What… have you done…?”

Slowly, Kotoko turned. Mahiru wanted to turn around and run before those bloodthirsty eyes could land on her. Her legs stayed frozen in place even as her heart raced in her chest.

Kotoko met her gaze. Then, she gave a gentle smile.

“Thank you.”

Mahiru stumbled back a few steps.

“You let this happen.”

“No…”

“You did. You could have stopped this, but you didn’t. Thank you.”

“I-I didn’t –! This isn’t – ! I thought –”

“You knew this was going to happen.” She spoke a familiar name, and Mahiru shook her head violently. “You knew what he was planning. You had plenty of chances to stop him. You didn't. You knew what I was planning. You know how to calm people down, how to bring groups together. But you didn’t speak to me once about it. You wanted this to happen.”

“I didn’t!” She said it frantically, unsure if she was trying to convince Kotoko, the two beaten prisoners, herself, or someone else. “I didn’t.” The statement was true, but it didn’t change anything that Kotoko had said.

The forest closed in. Kotoko reached a hand out, beckoning to her.

“We make a good team, don’t we?”

“No…”

Mahiru was struck with the thought that she didn’t want to take hold of such a disgusting hand, only to glance down at her own. They were just as slick with blood. She let out a shriek.

It was Amane’s. It was Fuuta’s. It was his.

Mahiru’s legs finally gave out on her. When she looked up, Kotoko was still smiling.

“So… who will be next?”

—

Mahiru slipped away from Yuno’s grasp.

“Oh, don’t you worry about little old me!” She turned back to their work. She brushed her hands off on her apron, giving them an extra swipe for good measure. “I promise, Kotoko isn’t the villain in my dreams.”

#milgram #mahiru shiina #yuno kashiki #kotoko yuzuriha #i kept it in the order i got everything but i was definitely thinking of it nonstop adfsdf #im forever crazy about mahiru's murder-through-inaction theme #since all of the others were pretty direct even if accidental #i firmly believe she knew what her bf was planning and didnt stop him/actively said shed join him because she didnt know how to handle #the situation properly #and if she prides herself so much on being good with people and making friends and bringing people together i wonder if shed feel #responsible for not deescalating kotoko beforehand #plus the more immediate survivors guilt that if she was just in the other room maybe it would have been her and not fuuta/amane #at first i wanted to work in more mv symbols (birds cake carousel horses) because i love wacky and surreal dream sequences #but it got to be distracting when i was planning it out lmao so i decided to stick with the two major trauma moments #vibing on my trip rn but i had just a few lines of this one to finish so i wanted to post it when i had a few minutes...#though now i need to go and pretend im not crying over mappi 😭😭😭😭😭#drabbles #order of attack #(to go back and make it an official tag later)

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muddyorbsblr · 2 years

Text

consult an expert

Drabbles Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Story 'Universe': one look and they'll know

Summary: You decide to lean in to the notion of you having 'domme vibes' and look into how to embrace that newfound side of you.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 523

Warnings: none…this is a humor piece

"So if you could just fill out this form, and then Lady Heather should be with you shortly." You registered the movement of someone occupying the seat beside you out the corner of your eye, the woman thanking the receptionist while you focused on your own form.

"Why are you here?" you read the next question out loud. "Where's the option of 'my boyfriend constantly calls me goddess and I know nothing about this world but I wanna meet him halfway'? Maybe I'll just check 'Other'."

"Oh God, I'm honestly here for the same thing," the woman beside you spoke up, her voice vaguely familiar, like you could've sworn you'd heard it on TV or something. "My ex used to call me 'Mistress' and I thought it was kinda hot, and now my boyfriend calls me 'My Queen' and I'm just curious now if maybe I have a type because…I'm into it?"

You resonated a little too closely to her sentiment, a chuckle escaping your lips before you could stop yourself. "Gotta be honest, hearing him call me 'Goddess' has done wonders for my self-confidence," you told her with a light laugh.

"Oh I can imagine. My ex said that 'Goddess' was reserved for someone that he'd feel inexplicably tethered to, as if the cosmos themselves crafted her for him because that would be the woman he knew he'd love and worship for the rest of his life. Kinda grateful he only ever called me 'Mistress', considering we only lasted a few months." She laughed when she finished, no traces of pain or longing in her voice. "Me and my boyfriend though…I see that type of future with him. Loving him for the rest of my life. If my life doesn't scare him off, that is."

"Mine's scared that his life's gonna scare me off," you told the stranger, a fond smile stretching across your face as you remembered your conversation with Tom this morning when someone on Twitter made the offhand comment about them expecting him to wear an "I Heart" shirt with your initials in the next few weeks. "Something about people not letting him forget his ex. I love him, though. And I've faced much worse than bitchy people on the internet."

"I know what you mean. The only important thing is that you're keeping each other safe, you know? Be in your little bubble. Actually I think Mad Men has the perfect term for it. Your little lavender haze."

"Oh I love that." You turned to face the woman so you could introduce yourself, a lump immediately forming in your throat as your eyes her brilliant blues, taking in her perfectly styled hair, the impeccable minimalistic clothing that screamed money, the sweet smile depicting the clear fondness she was feeling over your conversation. "Holy fuck. I love your music."

Her smile grew brighter as she held out a hand toward you. "I have to admit…a dominatrix house isn't the weirdest place I've met a fan, but it might just be the most interesting. I'm Taylor."

You took her hand and introduced yourself. "I'm Y/N. And I'm dating your ex."

A/N: I've been toying with this idea but never could find myself to expand on it further. But after creating my first drabble today I realized that maybe I don't have to 🤣🤣

#drabbles #muddyorbs writes #one look and they'll know

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saphirered · 2 years

Note

I love your work and am desperate for more!

Could you do: Ashton’s “one that got away” shows up after being gone for a while. They are in their head but FCG talks them into meeting their ex.

Possible angst turned spice?

I have an unhealthy love for Ashton.

I've been having soooo much trouble writing this and I don't know why 😭 but I finished it. I think I might be experiencing a C3 block and I'm not happy about it. I might go back and just rewrite the whole thing at some point but it's a fic!

Ashton had been on edge the moment they set foot in Bassuras. Not because they might face the manifold of dangers this trash city holds because they don’t have a reason to fear. Okay… Not entirely true. There’s one danger they fear. You. Ashton isn’t really sure you left on good terms. You had a thing. Then you got into an altercation the day before their accident and Ashton never returned. Undoubtedly you’d have heard it went to hell, spoke to some of the old crew who would have told you. In their defence you never came looking either. In your defence, as far as Ashton’s pervious crew’d known, he’s dead so why would you come looking? It’s all a jumbled awkward mess and the question wether you’d be putting a knife in their back or welcome them with curses and pleasant greetings were more in favour of the knife, or so they tried to tell themself. You make a perfect pair; always running from something. Even each other. Until you can’t escape it anymore.

So when Ashton was showing the squad around, getting them familiar with all the secrets of the city, or at least those notable enough to remember outside of a drunken stupor, he did not expect to see you. Least of all at the Seat of Disdain getting quite close and familiar with a yellow cloaked individual. Gotta admit it was quite a thing to see you with your tongue down another person’s throat and he wouldn’t call himself the jealous type, didn’t think it would sting after this long but it does. Ashton had grown silent and the others caught on so a quick recovery was necessary to avoid suspicion and questions from his companions. Their heart sank when they saw your smile when you pulled away. Ashton remembers that look well. The ghost of your touch lingers on his cheek when you reach out to the stupid Paragon’s guard cheek and stroke your fingers along it. Their lips tingle when you press them against the guard’s one last time, and while holding the other hand, step backwards with a playful look that promises more upon reunion, before your fingers untangle and drop. You turn on your heels and walk away. Ashton quickly rushes along his friends into the opposite direction even when ice runs through their veins and a fire grows in the pit of their stomach. All questions are ignored.

Then comes the matter of housing. Dingy taverns and inns only, places to lay low. Plenty of them around but some safer than others. Bells Hells had settled down in a tavern enjoying some shitty drinks because it’s been a rough day. Finally a moment of peace but peace does not last long. Ashton shrinks in, lets their shoulders drop and bends closer to the table huddled up together, as if not to stand out.

“Something wrong, Ashton?” Letters is quick to note. All attention is diverted toward them.

“No.” Short and direct would have been enough for FCG but not for the others because Laudna laces her fingers together. and leans her chin atop with a frightening smile.

“Did you see some old enemies? Are we going to get into a bar fight? I do love a good show. The place would be the perfect scenery for it. We’d definitely draw the attention of the Call then.” The woman speaks gleefully but Imogen is quick to pat her shoulder and tell her to quiet down a bit before others hear and of course Laudna is quick to oblige to the sorceress’ suggestion. Though that doesn’t mean the attention is away from Ashton. FCG is nothing if not the perfect little therapist. It just so happens that the automaton notices the direction they’re looking every few seconds, eyes always falling back to a particular individual by the bar.

“Should we be worried?” They ask, noting the yellow cloak draped across your shoulders as you take a seat, call for a drink and some questionable food. Both are served to you at the mere presence of the cloak and you seem to make no move to pay. In all account Letters takes you for exactly what you present; a member of the Call and that sets off some alarm bells.

“No. But I Probably shouldn’t stick around long just in case?”

“An old friend of yours then?” Ashton snorts in response.

“You know what? Sure. Let’s go with that one.” He grumbles into his cup downing the contents.

“Oh, I smell a cross lover. Didn’t end on good terms?” Chetney grins every bit as wolfish as expected from a werewolf.

“Can we stop with the fucking interrogation?” Ashton shuts them down and so they do veering the conversation elsewhere. This is a touchy subject and they got the memo no is not the time to pry. But Letters, Letters is the exception here.

“Maybe you should go talk to them?” Grass suggests.

“If I want my fucking face to get punched in, sure. Let me go say hi.”

“You’re using sarcasm to deflect. If you’d just tell me what happened between you then maybe I can help because you’re upset and you know I don’t like it when people are upset so let me help you, please?” That just makes him feel guilty for lashing out a little. Grass isn’t deserving of their anger with themself.

“Fine. Before I took the job, we had a thing. Then you know what happened. I never came back. Disappeared and never looked back. They moved on with their life and so did I.”

“Did you love them?” Silence is answer enough. “Did they love you?” Silence again but thoughtful this time. Did you love him? You’d said it plenty of times, showed it too. Would you still think that way now after this long? You look as well off as a fellow scoundrel can be.

“I don’t know, Letters. I don’t know. It’s been a long time.”

“Then why not talk to them? What have you got to lose? Either you get answers, get to explain what happened, and closure or they’ll never know the truth, and be left wandering, or for a bomb to blow once you run into each other.” The automaton’s got a point there. It does sound tempting but then again, should they really rip open old wounds? Is it really worth it to see you upset, or worse at the mere sight of them? Ashton’s already done you more than enough harm. But that’s not his choice to make, is it? You deserve the truth, the whole truth because all this time he’s wondered what became of you, what you were unto, if you were alright but never had the guts to get close to your life again. If you share but a fraction of those feelings, then perhaps you have wondered too. Ashton doesn’t give another answer and the implied silence is enough; they’ll think about it. It takes more thought. FCG is perceptive enough to tell this will fester and Ashton will be likely to excuse themself from the group to seek you out.

————

The night goes on and you’re enjoying your drink, given something less shit than the rest of this place it seems. You converse with the barkeep casually about nothing at all. Even now Ashton can call out your voice among the masses, hone in on it. One by one the others head to bed. They’re the last, for now, trying to muster up the courage, still stuck halfway between calling this course of action fucking mental and whatever sliver of positivity their mind can latch onto. The decision is about to be made for him. You rise from the bar stool, toss a coin at the barkeep in thanks and turn on your heels. For a brief second you falter. For a brief second your eyes fall upon the genasi but just as quick they leave and you make way for the exit as if you hadn’t seen them at all. In a moment of stupidity or courage, Ashton doesn’t know as the two often overlap, they get to their feet and chase after you.

“Hey.” He tries to get your attention picking up pace a little but you keep going.

“Hey!” This time much closer Ashton half anticipated what was coming but that doesn’t deflect the pain he feels next. A fist clashes with his face, and knocks him back a step or two, leaving the taste of iron on his tongue. With a groan they hold their jaw, where the force impacted.

“Hey? Hey?! That’s what you fucking say to me after playing dead for years? Fucking hell, Ashton!” You go in for another punch but they manage to avoid that one.

“What the fuck do you want me to say? ‘Surprise, I’m not fucking dead!’? Gods I forgot you could pack a punch.” He spits some blood to the side and wipes his mouth recomposing and bravely facing your glare as you cross your arms.

“I suppose that’s fair enough.” You grumbled. What is someone supposed to say in a case like this? It’s all kinds of fucked up. “Now what the hell do you want?” You try to keep up the facade of anger but in reality, all you can think about is how you want to pull them into your embrace, and be happy they’re standing here in front of you.

“I wanted to say hi but fucking hello isn’t good enough apparently so fuck you too.” There’s a smile in his voice that you fight not to mimic.

“This is why you get punched in the face, Ashton. Your attitude.” And so you lose the fight to that smile, the corner of your lips turn upward and something within their chest just sparks alight be that relief or some kind of happiness.

“I fucking missed this.” They admit. The tension beginning to alleviate. “I missed you.” It slipped out before Ashton could correct it but with the look you give, the one so akin to what he knew from you, that loving acceptance of the rough life the both of you had, it feels so familiar yet so far out of reach when their memory falls to you this afternoon at the fortress, when that yellow cloak of yours blows in the wind.

“I missed you too.” You admit. You take a tentative step forward.

“You probably shouldn’t-“ You’ve already wrapped your arms around them and pulled yourself closer. Ashton doesn’t refuse your embrace for it isn’t unwanted but he wants nothing more than to tear that yellow fabric to shreds right now. “We’ve got some matters with the Call and I don’t want to put you in any danger by being seen close to us.”

“If you think I’d have lowered myself to the likes of the Call, you’re dead wrong. It’s just business. So if you need an in, I might be able to help.” That would have been really fucking helpful for the rodent break-in but he’s not about to share that yet. That’s the last thing on their mind right now. This is about you.

“So when I saw you this afternoon-“

“You should know how I kiss my lovers versus how I kiss my advantages or have I become that good of an actor? Need I remind you?” Ashton shakes their head. Unbelievable. Yet you speak true. So like Letters keeps telling them; if you feel like you can’t believe something you know to be true, then maybe your mind just doesn’t want to come to terms with that truth for better or worse. There might be some truth to those words. You pull back enough to look at them and let your hands clasp both sides of their face and in that very moment all the worries of the world fall away.

“I don’t know?” Ashton tries to wrap his head around this all. Why aren’t you upset? Sure you threw a punch that might even bruise their skin but holy shit and you seem to catch up on these inner questions.

“Ashton, you were dead until today. I’m not saying let’s go back as if things never happened. I’m saying we can talk this out, if you’re open to it because I’m willing to listen.” Letters was right. Maybe things can be solved by talking. Perhaps he shouldn’t tell FCG this works because it might set a precedent but he’s thankful no less. “Now that doesn’t mean you’ll get off scat free for what you say and I might still be throwing a punch or two so be careful.” You smile and they know you’re only half joking.

“You know you’re fucking amazing, right?”

“The fucking best.”

#critical role x reader #bells hells x reader #ashton greymoore x reader #ashton x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction #critical role imagine #bells hells #ashton greymoore

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