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leikeliscomet · 1 year ago

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“But We Love Martha Jones!” - The Doctor Who Fandom’s Selective Memory of Racism

Be aware that this article contains explicit examples of anti-black racism and misogynoir.

Chapter 2 - Utopia-ish

The constant nitpicking of Martha Jones for reasons white female companions could get away with was blatant anti-black racism. Let’s get that bit clear first and foremost. As a Black person in fandom, watching Black characters get torn apart while never being given the grace of their non-Black castmates is an experience that’s too common. Microaggressions are more subtle so the easiest way to shut down any mentions of racism is to accuse Black fans of making things up or telling us “Well it’s not like REAL racism”. Luckily Doctor Who Tumblr birthed the Martha Jones affirmative action and Aunt Jemima “memes” so I can cross both covert and overt racism off the list. As mentioned in extensive detail in the previous chapter, plus the various Martha Jones articles written before me, the treatment Martha experienced was racist. I don’t care if you personally didn’t like her. I don’t care that you missed Rose. I don’t care that Ten is your smol bean. Martha’s treatment was racist. Freema Agyeman’s treatment was racist. It might not have been everyone. It might not have been you personally. But it was there. The fandom can never be a safe space for POC, specifically Black people if this elephant in the room can’t be addressed over a decade after it arrived.

On paper, you’d assume Martha’s rep was good because “at least she wasn’t a Black stereotype”. Some fans praised her for having a present father, not speaking MLE and not being from the ends. This goes into respectability politics but the fandom’s weirdness about Black Brits and class is not the point of this article. The point is the revisionist history of how Martha was really treated and to do that it helps to know what Black tropes are. The Mammy trope is a Black woman whose main purpose is to serve her white counterparts and during slavery, she mainly cared for the slave owners' children. She is usually fat, dark skin and asexual, not as a representation of those things but as a statement of how if she isn’t used for sexual exploitation like the Jezebel (the promiscuous, reckless, sexualised Black woman), she has no sexual value at all. Her value is serving the needs of others only. Martha doesn’t fit this trope in theory but in practice, she fulfils the sub-categories of this trope both in show and fandom: the disposable Black (girl)friend trope. She is used as Ten’s emotional punching bag before he’s ready for Donna and then Rose again. She had to endure edgy moody S3 Ten so no one else had to. She’s the excuse people use to deflect any critical analysis of how race was handled in RTD1. She’s the fandom’s excuse to deflect from their own racial biases. Racism? No way! Everybody loves Martha Jones! What do you mean?

Some parts of the fandom have tried to mend things by suggesting Martha be paired with other doctors or romantically shipping her with other characters a bit better than Mickey Smith. But does this hold up? As much as I’m a big fan NineMartha as a concept and as someone who honestly saw one-off characters like Riley Vashtee from 42 or Tallulah from Daleks in Manhattan having way more romantic chemistry with Martha than Mickey ever did, simply re-shipping Martha isn’t enough. Doctor Who’s racism isn't exclusive to one doctor, one series or one era and new Martha pairings suggest the issue was “right person, wrong doctor” instead of what the issue actually was: racism. Moffat and Chibnall’s eras weren’t full of golden Black representation either so I doubt the Martha issue would’ve magically disappeared under those two. From Nine’s hostility to Mickey, to Twelve’s hostility to Danny Pink to Thirteen handing a South Asian Spymaster to the Nazis and Eleven only travelling with POC in comics most fans haven’t heard of and being besties with Churchill, simply putting Martha with another Doctor isn’t the serve fans think it is. Even RoseMartha seems like putting a bandaid on a bullet hole. If it's not enough for Martha to be compared to Rose, put down in favour of Rose, told she isn’t Rose and told she's worse than Rose in fandom and in show over and over and over, she has to be shipped with Rose too. Martha’s a great character… as long as you can tie her to Rose… again. Even in my own article I have to talk about Rose because Rose is centred in what was supposed to be Martha’s story. A doctor-to-be Black girl from London with a hectic family meets a Time Lord and gets abducted by space rhino police at work in one day. Her main conflict isn’t balancing work and time traveller life, or fighting to get her family back together, or seeing what’s out there in the universe - it's that she isn’t “Rose” enough. The Mammy and her sons’ main thing in common is simple; how well they serve and centre the white characters. In attempts to mend Martha’s treatment she is still only valued in relation to white characters. She should’ve been with Eleven because he would’ve fucked a Black woman. Or maybe Dilfy Twelve. Or a sapphic romance with another female companion who she saw twice or doesn’t actually know. Or maybe Ten in an alternate universe where he supports #nubianqueens. None of this is done to explore sexuality or romance with Black women and is definitely not to centre Black lesbianism and bisexuality. It’s Mammy with a dash of Jezebel. It's adding romantic and sexual value on top of physical and emotional value like a crappy meal deal.

I’m tired of Black women being treated as extensions of white women both in media and in real life. I’m tired of our value being determined by how well we serve white people emotionally, physically, platonically and sexually. And I'm even more tired of white feminism especially in this fandom. It would be so easy to label this article as anti-Rose, anti-Ten or anti-Tenrose to invalidate my whole racial analysis because it's the easy way out. I’ll admit I like both characters individually but not the ship but this isn’t something I decided on since birth - it's my conclusion as a Black fan in a predominantly white fandom, watching a predominantly white show, watching the first companion of my race be told she isn’t good enough compared to the white characters, and that the hatred of her is justified for the greater good of its popular white ship. Black fans can never have this conversation without being told we’re “pitting women against each other” and that Martha and Rose hugged once in S4 so everything's hunky dory. Martha’s happy that Ten found Rose again so what’s the problem? It sends a clear message that Black women’s pain will never matter a much as white women’s feelings. “Rose is amazing! Martha’s amazing! Stop pitting women against women!” but who was pit against who in the first place? These faux girl power posts fail to acknowledge the overlap of race and gender which separates the treatment of Black and white women. It fails to acknowledge Martha’s hate was rooted in anti-black racism. It fails to acknowledge the anti-Rose pushback was in response to how the show and fandom convinced us Rose was the untouchable bar this Black woman failed to meet. It fails to acknowledge Freema Agyeman the actress was targeted not just her character. It fails because the female empowerment rhetoric that leaves the Black ones at the bottom of the pile only “empowers” women of a certain demographic.

The harassment Martha experienced was swept under the rug of “stan wars” but it was so much deeper than that. I’m not saying Martha stans are angels but there was no “Great Stan War” because the sides were never even. At the end of the day no amount of “Martha’s better than Rose” tweets will ever compare to the fact that Martha hate was rooted in misogynoir. Rose was and still is considered the greatest companion of nuwho, whilst Martha is constantly erased and undervalued. Rose’s video views and hashtags have always been bigger than Martha’s. Amy and Clara came after Martha but still surpassed her in popularity and got plenty of fan edits of “The Girl Who Waited” and “The Impossible Girl” whilst Martha was conveniently skipped in the companion lineup. The fandom’s bias still shines clearly in favour of Rose over Martha. Rose’s jealousy towards other women is justifiable and just the ups and downs of a 19-year-old whilst Martha’s is entitled bitterness. Rose’s flaws are compelling character moments and depth, Martha’s are “holding her back from being a good companion”. Hell, even Donna calling out Ten’s BS was entertaining accountability whilst Martha was just the angry Black woman. Fans will weaponise Rose’s working-class roots to imply a pro-Martha bias, failing to acknowledge the working-class to poor background of the average Black Brit, the anti-blackness middle-class Black people are not spared from, the many working-class Black characters of the show like Mickey, Bill, Rigsy and Ryan or how most fans don’t consider Martha middle class because she doesn’t fit the white British cultural stereotypes. You can't be the most loved and hated at the same time. The hard truth is Billie Piper wasn’t racially abused by Martha stans but Freema was absolutely racially abused by Rose’s and the effects of this are still around. Go into Martha Jones tags today and you’ll see snarky posts of how Ten could never love another companion like Rose. Even when Freema bravely shared her experiences of literal racism, fans were quick to yell “But I wanted Ten and Rose though” as a justification for years of misogynoir. Again, we need to address the elephant in the room instead of covering our eyes and ears to act like it’s not there. A Black character and actress was collateral damage in order for a popular white ship to rise and whilst I’m not an anti, I as a Black Doctor Who fan, I’ll never be a supporter. At the end of the day, only one of these actresses is still carrying the burden of misogynoir over 10 years since RTD1 ended. A lonely walk across the Earth yet again.

<- Chapter 1 Chapter 3 ->

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ohforficsake · 7 months ago

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The Margay (COMPLETE)

Series Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert government agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. Two frayed things toe the line between the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. And maybe, just maybe, they make it out alive. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions. * - Denotes smut.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC Audrey 'Moose' Goddard. POC OFC. No age gap.

Rating: Explicit 18+ / Minors DNI

Chapter 1 : There was Bogotá That One Time * Chapter 2 : Not So Much 'Squeezing' as 'Crushing' Chapter 3 : The Laughter of Damned Things * Chapter 4: His Other Nickname * Chapter 5: 'That Your Husband?' * Chapter 6: If You're Both Lying to Me, I Swear * Chapter 7: Apologize to Housekeeping * Chapter 8: Benadryl * Chapter 9: Memorize it. Destroy it. Chapter 10: Read the Last Page Chapter 11: What Happens in the After * *NEW 7/7*

Extras

Art Commissions from the lovely @kenobiwanx : An Embrace and Frankie and Aud in Jamaica Chapter 8 Moodboard Chapter 9 Moodboard Chapter 11 Moodboard

Margay Universe One-Shots

Down, Boy * - Frankie Morales x OFC Audrey Goddard The boys end up at a dive bar on Frankie’s birthday. Snipers are good at pool. Frankie’s not gonna be able to wait until they make it home. Can be read as a standalone.

Margay-Adjacent One Shots - Written about Frankie x Audrey but flipped to reader perspective. Can be read as stand-alones.

Dominica * He’s like this sometimes. When his demons curl their talon-tipped fingers into the back of his skull. That’s when he replaces them with yours. Barbados * You've been carrying on with whatever this is for months, pushing and pulling, until one night Frankie wants control.

Author Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading.

#don't mind me just updating the masterlists #the margay #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #ohforficsake

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the-darkestminds · 6 months ago

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Autumn’s Shadow: Chapter List

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: This is not canon compliant. It takes place sometime during acosf before Eris is taken by Briallyn. Please assume the following: Cassian never played courtier, Azriel never had any feelings for Elain, he never helped Cassian train the priestesses, and they have not told Eris about the trove. (18+, nsfw)

Read on AO3!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

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yelenasbitch · 11 days ago

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Death's Revival: Chapter 2 and 3

Summary: Natasha's sudden and tragic ending left behind many mourning loved ones, including her wife. Yelena tracked down Clint, and now she's going to meet her sister's wife, only without her sister there to help out. Grief is a process for friends and family, especially when it ends suddenly...

Word Count: 2,624 and 2,328 = 4,952

Warnings: Grief, mentions of death/dying, weight issues, memory issues, etc.

A/N: I wrote this bc this is what happened, and that's only if you believe Thanos was real and not an anxiety induced dream sequence...

Masterlist (coming soon)

Steve keeps Clint up to date about your visits with Yelena, how you look and how you act when she’s there. He’s pleased to hear that the two of you are helping to heal each other, though he’s still concerned over your health, mental and physical.

After he met Yelena, after Christmas and New Years and things returning to normal, Clint reflected on everything. He thinks about Natasha and her sacrifice, of course he does, he’s been thinking about it non-stop since it happened. Thinking about the look in your eyes and on your face when he came back alone and as you had talked to him at her grave. Still, he thinks and thinks during the next few months, his conversations with Steve reminding him of the love and longing that follows his best friend beyond the grave, that haunts his days and nights.

He goes to visit Natasha’s grave again, stands there and thinks about how it’s empty, how she died thousands of miles from home, from anything familiar, from the people she fought and died to save. He remembers the way she told him to let go, knowing that he had children to return to, and while she had you, she couldn't do that to his family. He keeps brooding over her sacrifice until Laura finally makes him talk to her, and her suggestion after four nights in a row of talking things through for hours makes him feel like an idiot for not thinking of it himself.

“Why don’t you just ask the Wizard Guy, Strange, right? Ask him to open up a portal and take her and bury her here? Would that be any better? Maybe?” Laura misses Natasha as well, and cannot explain how grateful and devastated she is about her sacrifice. She knows it was for her and the kids, and feels so guilty and so thankful all at once.

Clint stares at his wife for a few moments and then calls her a genius, running to find his phone. She makes him text Steve first, to talk through his plan, and after he sits for a minute, he thinks it’s a good idea, and agrees to wait and talk not only to Steve but also Sam and Bucky. Still, he falls asleep much easier that night, finally feeling as though he’s finally doing the right thing for his deceased best friend.

Once the three of them have talked, Clint calls Stephen Strange and asks to see him, wanting to make this request in person. He knows it's a big request, but he’s also ready to go toe to toe with this sorcerer in order to get his best friend's body back to earth. In order to give you a sense of closure and maybe get you back to earth as well.

They arrange to meet in the city at some nondescript coffee shop; Clint is wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, trying to remain unnoticed. He thinks wistfully of the days before every man, woman, and child in the world knew who he was and what he looked like. He thinks of past covert missions. He thinks of Budapest. He clears his throat and sips at his terrible coffee.

When Strange shows up, Clint straightens in his seat and waits for him to sit down.

“Well?” And holy shit, Clint remembers why he doesn’t particularly like this man, his arrogance overpowering with just a single word. He reminds himself that he needs a favor from this guy, and calms himself down enough to behave politely.

“I need help, I need a big favor.” Strange just sits there and waits. “I want to go to Vormir, where Natasha—where she—anyway… I want to collect her body and bring it home so we can bury her. Please, I know this is a lot to ask, but her wife is a wreck, and her sister is heartbroken, and I thought it would be nice for them to know, at least, that her body is here, so they can visit her.” He stops, takes a breath to keep going, desperate to persuade him to help, but he’s interrupted by Strange.

“I can try.” He says, and Clint feels a weight lift off his chest. “It’ll take some time to find the right incantation, and I’m not sure that her body will still be there. Sometimes when magic is involved, things get–they don’t work the way you’d think.”

Clint is nodding now, “I understand, I won’t be angry if it doesn’t work, I just have to try.” He also thinks that nothing can be expected now, with aliens and magic and a best friend shaped hole in his life. Still, he keeps going for Natasha and his family and you.

“Fine,” Stephen stands up, “I’ll contact you when I’m ready.”

“Thank you.” And Clint shakes his hand and watches him leave, thinking that after Tony Stark, he shouldn’t be surprised by the depth of human kindness within everyone, even the people you want to punch in the face sometimes.

It’s another month and a half of angst-filled pacing before he finally gets the call that Stephen will be ready in two days, giving him time to prepare. He tells Laura everything, and tells the kids that he’s going into the city to see you and Steve, consoling himself with the fact that it’s not a complete lie, and then packs a bag.

The two of them meet at the compound, sit with Steve for a few minutes, and then they go outside to a private area so he can begin. Clint watches with interest as Strange’s magic sparks into life, creating beautiful and intricate patterns of light and heat. Suddenly it forms a circle and through its growing opening, Clint can see the familiar landscape that haunts his dreams, his every move. Strange looks at him and nods, and they both walk through the opening, going from one planet to another in the blink of an eye.

They’re greeted by the familiar form of Red Skull making his way over to them. They both tense, though Steve said he had been perfectly cordial during their last encounter.

“You’ve returned for her. Finally.” And he turns, beckoning them; they shrug at each other and follow, confused.

“What do you mean ‘finally’?” Clint asks after a few minutes of walking.

“Well, I will admit that time passes differently here, but I was surprised when the other one did not take her back with him, and then no one came to collect her. It was especially confusing after watching the two of you fight, not to avoid that fate, but to embrace it.”

“You mean that we could have done this when Steve returned the Stone?” Stephen asks, wanting to clarify things, wanting to know the rules of this magical plane.

“Yes, a soul for a soul, after all.” And before they can ask anything else, he stops in front of an altar that Clint could have sworn was not there ten feet ago.

Natasha Romanoff is laying on top of this strange stone altar, looking as though she’s taking a quick nap. Looking like she might wake up at any moment. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes, though closed, seem to flicker. She even looks like she’s breathing, and–

“IS SHE ALIVE?” Clint screams, or maybe whispers, he can’t even tell right now, rushing forward to grab her hand, her warm hand.

“Well, yes.” Red Skull looks from Clint to Strange, settling on talking to the latter, the one who isn’t fawning over this ordinary woman.

“A soul for a soul. So when the stone was returned–”

“She gets to come back to life?” Stephen asks, and Clint can’t tell if his excitement is due to the fact that Natasha is alive, or because this is fascinating. Probably the second option.

“Then why is she unconscious?” Clint is getting nervous, looking for the catch.

“I was unsure if anyone would come for her, so I kept her asleep. She is perfectly healthy and safe, and she will wake soon after you return to Earth with her.”

Clint shifts, picks Natasha up, and nods to Strange.

“I think it’s time we go home.” He wants to get out of here, wants to check her over back on Earth. Back where he knows she won’t be ripped from his grasp again.

“Yes,” Stephen turns to Red Skull, “thank you. I apologize for intruding and not coming to retrieve her sooner. We didn't know.”

The odd being simply nods and walks a bit away before disappearing.

Stephen opens the portal, and they walk back through, breathing in relief when they’re back on the familiar green grass of the compound under their own blue sky.

“I’m going to take her to medical, can you tell Steve for me?” Clint is already walking as he says all of this, not wanting to waste any time in case something goes wrong with his best friend, who is miraculously back from the dead.

“Of course!” Stephen calls from behind him, and then it’s all a blur.

He arrives at the medical wing and the nurses and doctors converge on her, looking her over and taking her vitals. After a few tests she’s brought to a secure room, Natasha is infamous here for not being very happy to wake up in the hospital. Clint follows from room to room, test to test, texting with his wife and Steve, and finally sitting down in her room after he drags the chair a bit closer to the hospital bed, wanting to stay near her, just in case.

He keeps looking at Natasha lying there, not believing his eyes, and unwilling to blink lest she disappear.

Natasha is still unmoving on the hospital bed, hooked up to all the various and loud machines, but the doctor has assured Clint that she’s stable, in great condition even, considering… Still, she hasn’t woken up, and Clint is getting more and more anxious as time passes. He should’ve made Strange stay with them, either for his magical abilities or his medical knowledge; still, Clint is more grateful than he’ll ever be able to express.

The heart monitor betrays her, beeping rapidly when she begins to regain consciousness, even though she keeps her eyes closed as she automatically assesses her surroundings. Once she realizes that it’s herheart rate riling up the machine, she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. They lock on Clint’s where he’s sitting beside her, frozen.

“So I guess it didn't work, huh?” She speaks first and then he’s crying and smiling and hugging her tightly as she tries to figure out what the hell is happening with him.

“Nat, Natasha, yes, it worked, but you’re home now.” And then he has to stop, tears of relief choking him again.

She looks around the room, confused when she doesn’t see you hovering nearby as well, used to your look of relief and frustration whenever she’d landed herself back here.

“Clint, what the hell happened? If it worked, then I should be dead. And if I’m dead I wouldn’t be in the hospital. What. Happened.”

He takes a breath and curses himself for not thinking this through, in his defense though, he’d simply gone to collect her body, and had come home with an alive but unconscious Natasha Romanoff. Not conducive to clear thinking. And of course she’s already frustrated with him. Typical.

He’s missed it so much.

“Well, you did it,” he starts, pausing at this part, unwilling to say the words, “and I got the soul stone.” He keeps going, describing it all, explaining what Steve did, what happened with Tony, all of it. He also explains how Yelena tried to kill him–Natasha smirks at this and rolls her eyes a bit at her sister’s dramatics. Still, he hasn’t said a word about you, and she’s started getting nervous by the time he’s (almost) caught her up with everything.

“What about her, Clint? What happened to my wife?! Where is she?” and her heart rate spikes again, which makes her angry, and just starts a vicious cycle.

“And get these things OFF of me!” She begins ripping at them, taking it all off, which of course brings in the nurses and starts the various medical questions necessary when someone comes back from the dead without a scratch on them. Even for people who work with the Avengers, it’s a bit weird.

Clint just watches off to the side, racking his brain as he tries to figure out what to tell Natasha, and how to prepare you for your dead wife’s sudden return. When he hears his former partner threaten to stab one of the newer nurses, he steps in, and they’re all done in another thirty minutes. The room empties, and Natasha begins to put on her shoes, preparing to leave; Clint winces and puts a hand out to stop her when she stands to go.

“Nat, we need to talk.” She looks at him sharply and he backtracks immediately.

“She’s fine, her and Yelena both; healthy as horses, really.” Not really, but you’re apparently less corpse-like when Yelena is around and he’s counting that as a win.

“But she was really upset about what happened, obviously we all were, but you know how much she loves you.” He stops and takes a breath, wishing he had his own wife here to help him navigate this messy conversation.

“You promised that you’d watch out for her, and I know you did. Just tell me. Please.” She’s sitting there stone-faced as he continues, and it's one of the hardest things he’s ever done. And he’s been through a lot in the last few years…

“She, well, once we got through the funerals, she just kind of shut down. And she wouldn’t leave the compound, wouldn’t come stay with the family at the farm, no matter how much we begged. She went almost catatonic, Nat, and the only reason she didn’t is because we told her we’d have to move her to a hospital, take her out of your home. Still, it wasn’t good.”

He goes on, describes the conversation he’d had with you at her empty grave, explains how Steve kept an eye on you, Sam and Bucky visiting when they could, and finally he gets to Yelena. He says that he’s heard you eat when she’s there, and spend more than an hour in her company, even if most of it is spent in companionable silence. By the time he’s done, Natasha has a faraway look in her eyes, tears running down her cheeks at how much pain you’d been in during the time she’s been gone. If the horrible things Clint is telling her is him being reassuring, she doesn't want to think about what he’s sparing her from knowing.

“I can’t–how am I going to face her, Clint? She’s going to hate me.” The guilt she feels is overpowering, and her head won’t stop spinning as she tries to reconcile the time she’s missed along with your crisis during her absence.

“Are you nuts?!” and Clint is yelling at her for the first time in quite a while, snapping her out of her thoughts. “She’s missed you so–I mean, how can you–? She’s going to be so happy to see you, Natasha. You are her everything, and she’s going to come back to life along with you.”

He can tell that Natasha isn’t fully convinced, but he makes her follow him out of the medical wing, and towards the almost deserted Avenger’s quarters of the compound. Walking next to her is a relief, and he feels almost like himself again.

Chapter 3

Nat and Clint stop to see Steve before they go up to your floor, and though Clint and Strange had warned him, Steve looks so surprised that for a second Clint worries about his heart giving out. Still, he’s smiling and laughing, and looking so pleased to have Natasha back home, alive and well. The smiles last until Nat asks about you, wanting Steve to tell her in his own words about how her wife has been doing, especially since he sees you so often.

His version of events don’t make her feel better; if anything, it’s worse. And she doesn’t know if Clint was trying to soften the blow, or if he genuinely didn't know how bad things were. She thinks it’s a bit of both, based on his body language and words, but she is a bit distracted at the moment, so she’s not too sure. Steve also seems like he’s trying to make her feel better, ensuring that she doesn’t panic about you even as she hears how you’ve been grieving her death. Their combined words have painted a horrifying picture of you in her absence, and she avoids trying to dig deeper into their words to figure out how much they’re hiding from her.

“You need to go see her, Nat.” Steve’s voice is gentle but reprimanding, breaking into her thoughts.

She nods, hears a rushing sound as she tries to figure out what the hell she’s going to say to you, how she’ll explain something she doesn’t really understand herself. She hasn’t even been gone that long in her mind, just going to Vormir and then waking up in the hospital. Still, she stands and makes her way out, shaking her head slightly when Clint goes to follow her. She needs to do this alone, owes it to you. He nods in understanding, sitting down again, and she squares her shoulders and sets out, goes home.

When Natasha reaches your floor and steps out of the elevator, she can immediately feel the desolation, the loneliness that you’ve embraced in her absence. Still, the small lamp that sits on a long thin table in the middle of the hall is turned on, the way it always was when she’d come home from a mission. It was your way of showing her that you’d missed her, that you were waiting for her to return, and she’d bet everything she has that the lamp hasn’t been turned off, not even once, since she’s been gone. Heart beating fast and breathing shallow, she makes her way through the hall towards the door that leads to the kitchen and living room, knowing that that’s where you’ll be, curled up in your spot. The bay window had been your favorite spot since you’d moved in with her, and she takes a few seconds to remember all the times she’s carried you to bed after you’d fallen asleep waiting for her to come home after missions. ,

She opens the door silently, sees you curled up in the bay window, head against the glass. She holds in a gasp at how…sickly you look. She still thinks you’re the most beautiful person in the universe, any universe, but your appearance is shocking. Hair gone brittle, skin dull, dark bags under your eyes, and your wasted figure all makes her heart ache, especially when she remembers how both Steve and Clint had reassured her that you were eating more with Yelena, enjoying her company. If this is you getting better…she really can’t imagine worse, doesn’t want to. She’s horrified enough as it is.

She keeps walking towards you after taking in your appearance, and suddenly your head moves up from the window, your eyes take in her figure. You always seem to know, she thinks fondly, when she’s close, no matter how silently and stealthily she moves, and no matter what's happening around the two of you. You blink a few times and then force yourself up, untangle yourself from the comforter you’d been wrapped in, stand there and look at her where she’s frozen, unable to speak with how happy she is to see you, even like this.

“Natasha, Natty,” you smile, and then you’re speaking in a rush, “I knew you’d be here, but I don’t know–I mean I can’t–can’t quite remember how I—how I died. Is that normal? Although it doesn’t matter. I’m just so happy to be with you again.” Natasha’s smile fades as she realizes what you think is happening, and the happy look on your face makes her stomach turn as her mind races for the words to fix this.

“No, no my love, you’re not dead.” She starts slowly, not wanting to overtax your grief stricken mind. You look confused at her words, and she takes a few steps towards you, heart clenching when you mirror her actions with a look of trepidation. Though confused and fearful, you’re still aching to be close to her.

“I don’t get it, what—? Please, no. No, I’m so tired, don’t leave me again!” And you take another, frantic, step towards her, and then she sees you falter, catches you just before you hit the ground. She checks, and your pulse is steady, but you aren’t waking up, and so she scoops you into her arms and heads back to the medical wing, asking FRIDAY to alert the others as she stands in the elevator holding your limp body.

When you wake up in the medical ward, you start screaming before anyone can talk to you, your last memory being Natasha’s ghost coming to take you away and then rejecting you (or at least, that’s what you think). You begin clawing at yourself, sobbing and screaming, asking for them to let you go, let you join her. Eventually they’re forced to sedate and restrain you, and there are still tears running down your face as the drugs take over and send you rushing into oblivion.

Natasha watches from outside the room, and feels her heart break.

When Yelena gets to the compound, arrives at the medical wing, the sisters go into a private room to talk. Clint had called her and she’d cut a mission short, rushing back even though she couldn't quite believe him. The sisters stand there, facing each other, and Yelena looks over Natasha suspiciously.

“C’mon Yelena. Just ask me what you want and then let me give you a hug.” It may have only felt like a short time since she’d seen you, but she hasn’t seen Yelena in over five years. At least her sister looks healthy, looks like she’d been able to carry on after the blip and Natasha’s death.

Yelena asks two questions before she finally breaks, crying as she falls into her sister’s embrace, grasping tightly as the redhead whispers to her in Russian. Eventually the crying subsides and they sit together, catch up. Natasha asks her sister about everything she’s been up to, starting from when she reappeared after the snap. She asks follow up questions, makes sure that Yelena knows how much she is loved by her older sister. Eventually Yelena gets to you, talks about what it was like to hear about you from Barton and then Steve, and then to meet you, to see her room. They both start crying again, even though neither one will admit it.

“What’s going on with her?” Yelena finally asks. She’s been avoiding the subject since she arrived. Yelena has grown to love you and she knows that her sister is scared by what’s happening, more scared by this than facing her own death. It’s an unsettling thought, and she shies away from it immediately.

“I don’t really know. She thought she was dead, when she saw me,” Natasha explains slowly, “and then she fainted when I tried to explain…things. The doctors are saying that she was out for so long because of how…fragile her body is right now. I brought her here and then when she woke up she completely lost it, tried to—they had to sedate her, even put on restraints.”

Yelena looks shocked, trying to picture you raising your voice even a bit, cannot connect this picture to the idea of you, the low tones you use, your shuffling from one room to the other, the soft smile she’s coaxed from you a couple times. She holds her sister tight, silently promising that she will fix this all, make sure things get better for all of you. And then she thinks that Natasha is probably thinking the same thing. She rests her head on her sister’s shoulder, knowing there is nothing she can say right now, knowing they will both have to wait for you to wake up, and hope that you’ll be calm.

The next time you wake up, you’re restrained, arms and legs tied to the bed, but it doesn't matter. The sedatives are still working their way through your system, you’re groggy and disoriented, and it takes you a few minutes to even remember what's going on, to open your eyes and scan the room. When you do look around, you see Clint staring at you, worry and something else, something you can’t figure out, on his face.

You turn your head to the other side, not wanting to see him.

You remember now, it all comes rushing back; you’d seen Natasha, thought she’d come to bring you to the afterlife, instead, it seems you fainted and someone found you and dragged you to the hospital. You remember waking up the first time, and tears leak out of your eyes as you feel the same desperation creeping up on you.

You face Clint again, gasp out “please.” It’s all you can say, but he’s shaking his head, grasping for your hand.

“No, no. I have something to tell you, I need to explain everything.” He watches for a reaction, but you just blink, cannot muster the energy to respond. He continues anyway, praying that you’re coherent enough to listen and digest the information.

“I talked to Stephen Strange about going to get Natasha’s body,” it hurts when he says her name, the first time he’s said it out loud to you in over a year.

“I wanted to bring her home to bury her here, so that, well, anyway. When we got there, apparently it’s a soul for a soul, and so when Steve returned the stone, he was entitled to–he could’ve–I guess he didn't know–wasn’t told–” Clint keeps struggling, starting and stopping. It's annoying enough to stir you to speak, it helps too that the drugs are wearing off even more as your heart beats faster, annoyance giving way to adrenaline, expelling the drugs.

“Spit it out, I just want to be finished with this.”

“We brought back the stone, and by doing that, we got Natasha back. Alive, I mean. She’s home. She’s here. She’s safe. She’s alive.” You stare at him, unable to believe what he’s saying.

He says it again, all of it and slowly, and then he keeps repeating those two words: ‘she’s alive’.

“Bring her,” you say finally, and he looks concerned. You sit up, frustrated and coherent enough to look like it.

“I’m fine now, you idiot. Someone should have told me! Of course I was going to think I had died, when I SAW MY DEAD WIFE APPEAR! GO GET HER!” You’re yelling by the end, angry and frustrated, and still not quite believing this isn’t some horrible trick. Still, you’d been married to an Avenger, you’ve seen plenty of crazy things over the years. You’re afraid to hope, but you need to, need this to be true.

He runs out of the room, and anticipation blooms in your chest; you start breathing heavily, vision going fuzzy, but you try and calm yourself down, knowing that they’ll sedate you again if you get too overwrought.

You have your eyes closed as you try to manage your breathing, and so you don't see Natasha come in, but you can tell when she’s there, though she’s as silent as ever. It was your own superpower, that's what she’d always said.

“Are you really here?” you ask, voice wavering and eyes still closed.

“Yes,” she says, and you’d forgotten just how sweet her voice sounds, “open up and take a look.”

You steel yourself and open your eyes, take in the sight of your beautiful wife, standing in front of you, looking as though she’d never left.

You go to reach for her, but the restraints that you’re still attached to prevent you from getting very far. You start tugging at them, and she quickly comes over, sitting next to you on the hospital bed, and undoing them with speed and efficiency, not quite meeting your eyes.

Once she’s done, you take her face in your hands, run them along her nose, cheeks, lips, mapping out her face, trailing your hands along her arms, touching her skin wherever you can, trying to prove to yourself that she’s here, alive, in front of you. Your eyes meet, though you can hardly see through the tears of joy and relief that are clouding your vision. You blink to clear them, swallow heavily to unstick your throat; you hold on tighter.

“Natasha,” you whisper, and her eyes close as she leans her forehead against yours. “I missed you so much.” And you’re crying, and the words are pathetic, a shadow of the pain, the misery, the destruction that you felt at her loss, a drop in the ocean of your grief. These are, however, the only words that your tired and drugged brain can come up with, and you begin to repeat them, over and over.

She pulls back to look at you, “I know, I’m so sorry–”

You shake your head, not wanting to think about it anymore, and then you both lean in, your lips meet, and it feels like coming home.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #clint barton #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #mcu #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff lives

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 9 months ago

Text

Infectious

TBB & Fem!Reader

Chapter 3: Rumors on Scorro

Summary: You're completing your final practicum on Kamino as part of the experimental non-clone Combat Medic program. After graduating top of your class, and being inducted into the prestigious 407th Medic Unit, you get assigned to Clone Force 99. Neither of you are excited to be working together and tensions run high. However, those tensions dissipate when the Bad Batch unexpectedly falls ill while on a covert mission. Running against an unknown clock, it’s up to you to figure out what’s causing the illness before it ultimately kills you all.

Pairing: TBB & Fem!Reader

Characters: Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech

Tags & Warnings: BAMF fem!reader, enemies to friends, humor, action, angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, mild suggestive themes, explicit medical descriptions, whump

Word Count: 5.7k

Author's Note: WE'RE BACK BABY!!! Yeah, that's right. Finally. After all of this time, the next chapter has arrived 🥳 I told y'all I would be updating my other series fics in the new year, and I meant it. This chapter has some Echo angst in it, because why not. FYI, since it's been 9 months, I went back and edited the first two chapters to match my current writing style. No plot elements changed, just style, grammar, word choice, etc. As always, please enjoy 💚

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

As the ship leaves the stormy atmosphere of Kamino, you turn your head to look out the transparisteel viewport and are greeted by the sight of endless stars twinkling brightly across the ebony horizon. You smile wide knowing this view will never get old. The galaxy is vast and beautiful, and getting to see it up close and personal, while also doing something you love, is priceless. This really is a turning point in your life. A new chapter to be written and explored.

When the ship levels out, you unstrap from the jump seat and start exploring the Marauder. You have a feeling you’ll be spending a lot of time aboard this ship, so you want to familiarize yourself with it as much as possible. You walk back towards the stern, where Wrecker is, and look around, but there's not much to see. Then make your way back up toward the bow and step aboard the bridge. You weave between Hunter and Crosshair, and stand behind Tech.

“So, where are we going?” you ask while looking over Tech’s shoulder at the controls.

Without turning around, Tech answers. “Agamar. It’s a rather barren planet found in the outer rim. The terrain is inhospitable to most, but we will manage.”

“What’s the mission?” you ask further, excited by the prospect and intrigue.

“There’s a separatist base they want us to route,” Hunter says. “A simple in-and-out mission.”

You nod your head at the explanation, but he makes it sound like routing a heavily guarded separatist base is a walk in the park. You have to remind yourself that they are an elite force of clones and are genetically modified for the toughest conditions. It amazes you that such clones can even exist and your fascination with them grows. You wonder how they look in action and if they live up to all the rumors the regular clones whisper about on Kamino. Only time will tell.

Hunter rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “Get some sleep, all of you. We’ll be there in a couple hours.”

You want to say something funny, like 'aye aye captain', but decide not. Instead, you simply nod and make your way back to the bunks. Laying down on the flat rack, you stare up at the ceiling. There are too many pre-mission jitters vibrating through your body to fall asleep. Even after shutting your eyes and calming yourself, it's just not enough. So, you toss and turn, getting more aggravated that your body won’t drift off, since being tired for your first mission is not an option.

You sigh and sit up, then peer around at the others who are soundly asleep in their bunks and chairs. You’re not sure how they can fall asleep so fast. It’s either a genetic thing or a military training tactic, but whatever it is, you don’t have it. You decide to get up and pace around to try and wear yourself out, and when you do, you hear something. The ship is quiet and your ears perk up immediately at the sound. Wanting to investigate it, you quietly slip around your squad.

One by one, you pass by them, waiting and listening to hear who made the weird sound. Not Wrecker. You move on. Not Crosshair either. You check the next one. He’s making noise for sure, but not the sound you heard. It’s not Tech either. You move towards Hunter, a little nervous that he might wake up and catch you staring at him, but you pause and listen. Nope, not him. You purse your lips. That only leaves Echo. Carefully, you tip toe over to him, wait, and listen.

He's not making a sound, and with a shrug, you turn to leave, thinking you’re a level of crazy for hearing things on a quiet ship. Then it happens again. You turn back around and look at Echo. He’s sleeping rather soundly, with soft rhythmic breaths and gentle rises and falls of his chest. No breath obstructions, you note to yourself. You wait and watch for a moment, then he says it again. It’s faint, breathy, and almost unrecognizable as a word, but you hear it regardless.

Fives.

You knit your eyebrows at the odd utterance, and wait a little longer, listening to see if what he mumbles changes or if he’s repeating the same word. After a couple standard seconds, Echo says the same breathy word again. Fives. You wonder what it means. Maybe it’s a special numerical sequence from his time back on Skako Minor? You shrug at the mystery, but are happy that it’s not a breathing issue. You turn to leave him be, but he mumbles something else.

Fives come back.

Oh. Your heart drops. It’s a person. He’s dreaming about someone he knows, or maybe someone he once knew. You sigh and let your eyes turn soft, knowing exactly what it’s like to dream about loved ones. It’s been several years, but you still dream about your parents. Sometimes you can’t fill in all the gaps of your dreams as you slowly forget things, but it still pulls at your heartstrings every time they show up to give you a hug in the realm of sleep.

As your thoughts wander a yawn escapes past your lips. Finally, feeling tired and ready for sleep, you return to your bunk and crawl onto the hard surface. Laying on your back, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to settle yourself. You still wonder who Fives is and what they mean to Echo. Your psychology books tell you that dreams can be a subconscious escape or a subconscious desire. Knowing next to nothing about Echo’s past, it could be either one.

You take another deep breath and exhale slowly. Closing your eyes, you let yourself drift off to sleep, but in a split moment, a rough hand shakes you back awake. You shoot up and hit your head on the bunk above you. Ouch. Nursing your newly formed bump, you use your other hand to rub the sleep out of your eyes. When you come out of your groggy haze, you can hear snickering coming from the rest of the squad. Ha ha, yes, very funny. You think to yourself.

“Rise and shine,” Hunter mocks as he walks away from your bunk. “We’re here.”

Gathering your composure, you swing out of the bunk and head over to the cockpit for the landing. You look out the viewport as you enter the atmosphere of Agamar and your face lights up with excitement. This is it. Your first mission. You want to squeal, but something tells you that no one else is going to appreciate it, so you keep it internal. The ship lands on the rocky surface of the planet with only a slight wobble. Tech wasn’t kidding when he said it was inhospitable.

Your excitement grows as the squad gears up with their packs, and you follow suit the same way. You double check your pack to make sure you have all the medical necessities and do a mental headcount of your supplies. Once satisfied with your inventory, you sling it across your back and toss your bucket snug on your head. You’re all set to go on your first mission. The ship door opens, light beaming in, and your heart begins to race. This is it. This is your moment.

You take your first steps forward to leave the ship when Hunter stretches an arm out to stop you. “Not you,” Hunter says. “You’re staying here.”

“What?” you question. “But what about the mission?”

“Your mission is here,” Hunter says. “You’re staying on the ship with Echo.”

“But, sir!” you argue. Your feelings of excitement crumble. “I belong in the field!”

“You belong where I tell you you belong, medic,” Hunter snaps back. “Or are you ignoring an order from your commanding officer on your first mission?”

You huff and clench your fist. “No, sir."

“I didn’t think so,” Hunter says, then turns to face Echo. “We may need a quick extraction, so keep your ears on.”

“Understood,” Echo acknowledges with a nod.

Hunter nods back and heads out of the Marauder with the rest of the squad, well, the rest of the squad except you. You remove your bucket, plop down on your bunk with an angry grunt, and lean your head back against the wall. This entire assignment has been one big pissing match, and every time you think you’re making progress, you get sidelined. How are you supposed to make Kix proud if you don’t see any action? You release another angry grunt and cross your arms.

“Careful,” Echo says. “You’ll lose your voice if you keep grunting like that.”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you upset being stuck here?”

“No,” Echo answers. “It’s not unusual for someone to be left back with the ship. Keeps people from stealing it.”

With such a small squad of men to work with, you guess that makes sense, and since Echo is your unofficial chaperone, it makes sense that you were left on the ship with him. However, even though you try to explain it to yourself in those practical terms, you still think it's to spite you. You sigh. At this rate, you’ll never get to prove your worth as a Combat Medic to any of them. To these special clones, you’re just useless dead weight and not worth their time.

As the planetary rotation moves forward, you find odd things around the ship to busy yourself with, but you’re still bored. Echo is not much of a conversationalist and he hasn’t moved from his spot in the cockpit. You end up sprawling yourself across the seat in the gunner’s nest and looking out the window at whatever draws your attention. There’s some trees, a little snow on the ground, and a few stray wildlife that come into view. Nothing too spectacular, that’s for sure.

Finally, after hours of sitting by yourself, you decide to go back to the cockpit and sit with Echo. You're still curious about this Fives person he mentioned in his sleep, and you think maybe now might be a good time to ask him about it. You walk into the cockpit and sit down in the chair across from him, bending one leg up onto the chair and resting your chin atop your knee. Echo silently acknowledges your presence and returns to looking at the setting sun over the horizon.

You fidget with your fingers as you mull over whether to ask him about what you overheard last night. It might be private, and he may not want to tell you, but your curiosity is getting the better of you. “Echo,” you ask. “Who's Fives?”

Echo shifts uncomfortably in his seat and stays silent for a couple of minutes. “How do you know that name?” he asks. His words hang heavy in the air.

“You…” you begin, then pause, unsure of how to tell him. You don't want to sound creepy, but honesty is the best policy. “You said it in your sleep.”

Echo sighs, but doesn't turn his gaze from the orange sunset. “Shouldn’t you have been sleeping too?”

“I’m not used to sleeping on ships,” you answer. You can tell by the tone of his voice that this is a sore subject and you're starting to regret bringing it up.

Echo swivels his chair to face you and worries his lip. His eyes are full of sadness and his countenance is engrossed in pain as he searches for the words he's looking for. A small smile flashes across his lips. You wonder if he's thinking about a memory.

“He was my brother,” Echo says, his voice quiet at the strain of saying his thoughts out loud.

You can tell by his choice of words and his tone of voice that this brother isn’t around anymore and you feel a twinge of sadness settle in your gut. You understand a thing or two about the loss of a loved one. “What happened to him?” you ask.

“He was murdered,” Echo says, his fist tightening as he looks back out the viewport. “By one of our own.”

Your expression turns from sadness to shock and then confusion. A clone killing a clone? Does that even happen? Why would a clone do that? Your mind rushes a mile a minute trying to wrap your head around the idea, but you cannot seem to reconcile it. It’s too bizarre of a concept to comprehend. Every clone you've ever met was a brother to the one next to him. So, for a clone to kill another clone, it’s like a family member killing another family member. It’s unheard of.

“I’m sorry, Echo,” you offer as a consolation. “You must miss him.”

“Yeah,” Echo says, his voice distant. “I do.”

“I miss my parents all the time,” you say, trying to bridge the gap and build a connection.

“I remember you mentioning they’re dead,” Echo says as he turns to face you.

“About ten years ago,” you add. Now it's your turn to look out at the sunset.

“I’m sorry,” Echo says.

“It’s fine,” you shrug. “It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to. I know they’re out there watching over me, somewhere.”

Echo snorts. “You believe in that Jedi force stuff do ya?”

“Not really,” you answer with a small laugh. “But everyone needs to believe in something.”

“That’s fair,” Echo says.

“When I look up at the stars,” you begin with a smile while staring fondly out at the horizon, “it’s almost like I can feel them with me, you know? Watching over me as I make my way in the galaxy.”

“Sounds nice,” Echo says.

“I bet Fives is watching you too,” you say, then look at Echo with soft eyes. “He hasn’t left you alone, just like my parents haven’t left me.”

“Maybe,” Echo shrugs, then chuckles. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he came back to haunt me.” His brief small smile fades as his countenance reverts back to a frown.

“We’ll see them again some day," you say, trying to stay hopeful. “I just know it.”

“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Echo half-jokes, but you can hear the part of his heart that wants what you're saying to be true.

He wants to see his brother again, desperately. So much so that he calls out to him while he sleeps. He must agonize over Fives’ death. You understand because you’ve been there. You’ve stared death in the face, the kind of death that leaves you thoroughly alone. You don't need to understand psychology to know what his subconscious thinks about on a daily basis, and your heart hurts for him, but you know there's nothing in your medpack to mend a shattered heart.

You and Echo stare out of the cockpit in silence and watch the sun fall beyond the horizon, sharing in this solemn moment and appreciating the company. The veil of night arrives and the stars begin to shine in the dark sky. The billions of bright burning lights feel comforting. The stars aren't very visible on Kamino, but here, on this planet, they are bright and beautiful. You relax your shoulders and lean back, thinking that maybe this assignment isn’t so bad after all.

However, your sweet moment is interrupted by Hunter’s voice over the comms. He’s calling in that quick extraction now and by the amount of yelling and blaster fire in the background, this is going to be a hot one. Echo relays the affirmation, sets the coordinates, and lets Hunter know that both of you are on the way to pick them up. You're slightly surprised that Echo included you in the transmission, but now is not the time to be celebrating your first taste of inclusivity.

“Civvy, strap in,” Echo orders as he starts pressing buttons and flipping switches to get the ship going. “This is going to be a bumpy ride and I don’t need you falling out of the ship.”

Ah, there it is. You sigh and head back towards the jump seats and strap yourself in for the wild ride ahead. Echo expertly maneuvers the ship to the squad's location and brings it in low so they can climb on board. You can hear the blaster fire outside and as the door opens to the ship, you watch them file in while firing off blaster bolts to cover each other. It’s the first time you’ve seen any of them in action and you're a little awestruck. They don’t move like other clones.

Tech next to Echo and Hunter yells for them to get them out of here. The ship moves again, this time more aggressively, as the enemy continues to fire at the Marauder. Wrecker moves to the gunner’s nest and shoots down the vulture droids that are following behind. You tightly grip the bars on the jump seat as the ship rocks from the blasts. Thankfully, the shields are up. The ship flips upside down, sideways, and every other way you can think of to out maneuver the droids.

At long last, the ship breaches the atmosphere and moves into space. Tech initiates the hyperdrive and pulls the handle down to enter into hyperspace. Once safe in a hyperspace lane, you let out the breath you were holding in, then flick the safety release on the jump seat and push them over your head. You get up from the seat and wobble forward, not realizing your legs turned to jelly from all of the excitement, and let your feet stabilize before trying to walk.

“Woah, that was fun!” Wrecker hollers as he brushes by you and moves towards the cockpit. “Echo, you should have seen this place. It was crazy.”

“Not as crazy as being sling-shot across a ravine,” Crosshair grumbles and pushes past you. He sits down in one of the swivel chairs and starts cleaning his rifle in silence.

“I said I was sorry,” Wrecker apologizes. “But we won!”

“Correction,” Tech says as he lifts a pointed finger in the air. “I won.”

Crosshair rolls his eyes and pulls a few credits from his pocket and hands them to Tech.

“Much obliged,” Tech says as he stuffs the credits in one of his many satchels.

The exchange has you lost in bewilderment. Clearly, something happened during the mission and you’re curious to know the details. You look at Echo, hoping he'll ask for more information about it, but he doesn’t, leaving you more curious. You do find it odd, however, that they had some form of amusement out on the battlefield. From your time on Kamino, most clones don't find blaster fire fun. Clone Force 99 really is different compared to the rest of the clone forces.

“I assume your mission was a success?” Hunter asks while walking by you, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Yes… sir,” you answer with a twinge of hesitancy, a little unsure of what your mission was other than staying on the ship with Echo.

“Good,” Hunter says. He reclines in one of the empty swivel seats and clasps his hands behind his head. “Glad to hear it.”

You can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he's trying to make fun of you. Either way, you brush it off and focus on more pressing matters, like what's next on the mission agenda. Will you go back to Kamino? Or will you wait for more orders? That’s what good soldiers do, isn’t it? Follow orders? You’re still unfamiliar with all of this, so you’re not sure what to ask or what to do with yourself. Rather than make new issues by asking more questions, you retreat back to your bunk to relax.

But the boredom of waiting creeps in and you start to doze off. Your eyelids are heavy even though you barely spent any energy this rotation. It doesn't take you long to remember that you didn’t get much sleep the night before and now that the adrenaline is wearing off, your body is telling you it needs rest. You don't fight it and let your body go to sleep, hoping you won’t be woken up. As a medic, you must get rest whenever you can so you can be at your best at all times.

This time you wake up on your own terms, when your body feels rested. You’re not sure how long you were out, but no one bothered you so you assume everyone is still waiting for new orders to come across. You sit up in your bunk, without hitting your head this time, and stretch out your arms. You roll your shoulders and crack your neck. The bunks aren’t exactly soft, but they do their job. Swinging your legs over the side of the bunk, you get up to use the refresher.

As you head towards the refresher, the rest of the squad is huddled around and speaking amongst each other. Hunter looks serious and has his arms crossed, which can’t mean anything good, and Echo is arguing with him, again. You forget the refresher for a moment and walk over to add your presence to the mix. Hunter notices and glances at you before turning back to Echo. Not realizing where you are standing, Crosshair gives you a small jab on your behind with his rifle.

The sudden touch startles you. “What was that for?”

“You’re blocking my view,” Crosshair hisses. “Move.”

You roll your eyes. “You could've just asked me to move, you know. That's borderline harassment.”

“If you looked more like a window than a door, I wouldn’t have to borderline harass you,” Crosshair snarks and flicks his toothpick in your face.

Your nose scrunches and eyes close when the little wooden projectile hits your face. As your frustration builds, you take a deep breath to calm yourself. You want nothing more than to tell that sniper where he can shove his rifle, but you won't. It's not worth it because it will only fuel his bullying further. Instead, you choose to let it go. This time. There are points where you will cross the line, and he keeps dancing around that line. If he ever crosses it, you'll let him know.

“Can we get back to more important things?” Hunter asks, shifting his gaze between you and Crosshair.

Echo huffs and shakes his head. "I don't like it."

"We don't have to like it," Hunter says. "Orders are orders."

"What orders?" you ask.

Hunter swivels to face you. "There's rumors of an imperial base operating out of Scorro." Tech pulls up a holo of the planet and Hunter continues his explanation. "According to our intel, the GAR sent a squad of clones to scout the base, but their comms suddenly went silent. Another squad of clones were sent after them with the same result. Now they want us to investigate."

"Do they know what happened to the clones?" you ask, curious as to what's causing Echo's skepticism.

"No," Hunter crosses his arms. "They were never recovered."

"No one went back to get them?" you ask.

"It would be a waste of resources," Tech adds. "Besides, based on the trend, sending another clone squadron would yield the same results."

"But aren't we another clone squadron?" you ask, this time your nerves bleed through.

"Stop worrying!" Wrecker exclaims. "We can take on whatever they throw at us!"

His words don't make you feel better about the situation. While Echo is the only one openly objecting to the new mission, Hunter's facial expressions tell a different story than what he's leading everyone to believe. Your first inkling was the fact that he hasn't shoved you aside for this conversation. In fact, he's answered your questions without issue. He's serious about this in a way he hasn't been since you've met him. The fact that Hunter is worrying, has you worrying.

"I still don't like it," Echo frowns. "How'd they lose two clone squadrons without so much as one distress signal?"

"Maybe a new type of droid?" you offer. "Or their signals were jammed?"

"Groundbreaking ideas," Crosshair says.

"Everything is a valid option," Echo adds.

Crosshair rolls his eyes.

"Enough," Hunter says. "We're going to Scorro to investigate the rumors and to find the missing clones. Double-check our supplies and prepare for anything."

With the sergeant's final words, everyone scatters to prepare for the mission, except for Tech who punches in the new coordinates and sets the course for Scorro. You linger in the cockpit, silently observing Hunter as he pulls out his knife and twirls it around his fingers. The mission makes you nervous even though it shouldn't. You'll probably end up staying on the ship again, but maybe that's not a bad thing. You shake your head at the thought. That's not why you're here.

"Sergeant–"

"You too," Hunter says before you get a chance to ask. "You're coming with us."

You smile and nod. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't get the wrong idea," Hunter adds. "I need Echo for this mission, and I'm not leaving you alone on the ship."

"Yes, sir," you frown then turn back towards the bunks to get yourself situated.

Of course it would be too good to be true. For a second, you thought he actually wanted you on this mission, but he just wants to keep an eye on you. As a medic, you can help the missing troopers if they need medical attention, which you're confident they will. Your presence on the mission should be vital, not just an afterthought. Although, you shouldn't be upset that you're going on a mission, but you wish it was because of merit and not for the sake of babysitting.

Regardless, you will do your best on this mission and prove to Clone Force 99 that you are a good medic. That they need you. You're not sure how, but you will. When you get back to your bunk, you triple-check the supplies in your pack and stock as many bacta patches and stim shots as you can fit, plus some essential fluid and mineral packets, ration bars, and a few medical odds and ends that make sense to bring along. You want to be prepared for anything.

With your preparations made, it's another waiting game until you reach Scorro. You don't remember reading about that planet in your studies, but apparently it's rather primitive in nature, which is why no one has settled on it. It's an abandoned planet, making it a great outpost for mercenaries, pirates, and separatists. Pulling out your data-pad, you do a little more research to see what you can find out, but come up with the same dismal results that your holo-texts had.

It's not much longer before the Marauder drops out of hyperspace and the olive-green planet comes into view. When the holo-text said that Scorro was primitive, it wasn't kidding. It looks new and unabused by modern progress, and its vegetal hue is highly alluring. Your curiosity has now surpassed your trepidation about the rumors and missing clones. You're excited. This is a great opportunity, even if it's dangerous. The closer you get to the planet, the faster your heart beats.

“According to the scanners, there are no active fauna on this planet,” Tech states. "But the air is breathable."

“Just because the air is breathable doesn’t mean it’s good for you,” you point out. “Carbon monoxide is breathable but you’ll die before you figure out it’s bad for you.”

“Correction,” Tech adds. "The air is non-toxic towards human life-forms."

"Glad we could sort that one out," Crosshair says. "Any more words of wisdom?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "No."

"Take us in," Hunter says. "Land just outside the coordinates of the last clone squadron."

"Affirmative," Tech says, then flips a few switches before piloting the ship into the planet's atmosphere.

Once the ship has landed, Hunter addresses the group. "Our mission is to locate the two missing clone squadrons and investigate the rumors about an separatist base of operations. We'll use teams of two and spread out in an 800 meter radius from the last known coordinates. Keep the comm lines open and have your blasters at the ready."

Everyone nods and gears up, including you. Before you put your bucket on, you glance at the medic mark on your shoulder pauldron. No matter what happens, you have a job to do. You're a medic first. These men, your squad, are in your care and it's your responsibility to make sure they all survive. Steeling yourself for what's to come, you bite back every lick of fear that tries to take hold in your mind. You've trained hard for this, and you're not going to get cold feet now.

The side loading ramp opens and the bright sunlight of the planet blasts into the dimly lit ship. No turning back now. You follow the rest of the squad out of the ship and step onto the fresh earth of Scorro. For someone who grew up on Coruscant and spent the last cycle on Kamino, this much vegetation is mesmerizing. The sun is so warm, and the earth beneath your feet is so soft. This virgin planet is breathtaking. You take a few more steps forward, then Hunter stops.

"Tech, Crosshair, go east," Hunter says while pointing in that direction. "Wrecker and I will go north. Echo and Civvy, you'll go west.

The group nods and heads out in their respective directions.

"Stay frosty men," Hunter says over the comms. "There's no telling what we'll be up against out here."

You and Echo silently walk towards the western end of the perimeter, keeping your eyes peeled for any signs of the clone troopers or separatists. After a couple minutes, the silence grates on your nerves, but Echo seems focused right now. A little too focused. You know this mission bothered him from the beginning, but there seems to be something else about the way he carries himself that indicates it's not just about the mission being odd. There's something deeper.

As you continue forward, your foot kicks something hard. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the familiar white plastoid clone trooper helmet, which is attached to a body shrouded by tall weeds. Your stomach flips. You weren't expecting to find one of them so quickly.

"Sarge," you say in the comms. "I found a trooper." Crouching down, you check for a pulse, but as you expected, there is none. "He's dead."

"We're making our way to your position now," Hunter says. "How'd he die?"

While your medic training didn't have an autopsy course, you inspect the body for the usual suspects. The armor is still intact and there's no signs of a struggle, which you find odd. There's no blaster marks, claw marks, bites, or scratches on the armor either. The black bodysuit isn't even ripped. He must have died from something. You pull back some of the black bodysuit and notice the tissue is necrotizing, but you don't see anything suspicious. Then you scan the body.

"Civvy, status," Hunter interjects over comms.

"I'm not sure how he died," you admit while reviewing the results of the scan. Echo looks over the body too, but doesn't come up with anything substantial. Not that you needed a second opinion.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Hunter asks. "You're a medic, you should know how people die."

"There's no wounds," you explain. "He looks normal. Fine, even. Besides being dead." You don't mention it, but the fact that there are no organisms feasting on the clone's flesh also baffles you. You'd figure there would be more decay markers, but there's not even a single worm.

Hunter and Wrecker make it to your position and Hunter looks over the body, confirming what you said. "Then how the kriff did he die?"

You look up at Hunter from your crouched position next to the body and shrug. "We'd need a full autopsy to determine that, but the scans indicate no internal injuries either."

"So, he died from nothing?" Echo asks.

You shrug again. "Maybe he had a heart attack. That doesn't show up on portable scanners."

"Eighteen clone troopers died of a heart attack?" Hunter asks, his voice sounding distant.

"No," you rebut. "But maybe this one did."

Hunter points past you and you stand up to see what he wants you to look at. You tilt your head from side to side, scanning the area he's pointing at, when a glint of white pops up on your HUD. Then another. And another. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes. The ground is littered with seventeen more troopers half-covered in tall weeds. The first squad and the second squad, dead mere meters from each other. You've never seen so many dead bodies before.

You feel your stomach grow queasy, and you rip off your helmet to vomit. As a medical student, you've seen cadavers, held organs in your hands, been bathed in blood, but nothing prepared you for the sight of a mass death. There's something menacing and sickly about it. You know most clones are never retrieved from battlegrounds and you know most clones will never see a proper burial, but knowing and witnessing are two different things. It's heartbreaking.

"You all right?" Echo asks.

You pant from the spasmic exertion, but find your voice. "I'm fine."

Tech and Crosshair arrive at your position soon after, and take note of the bodies. Everyone feels it now, the pressure looming thickly in the air. Something happened on this planet. Something killed these eighteen troopers and it killed them silently. There's an anxiety that creeps in as you wonder what it possibly could be. What is the silent hunter? How does it find its victims? And how can you and your squad escape from it? Perhaps, it may even be too late.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Echo says to Hunter.

Hunter sighs. "Me too."

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

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romanarose · 1 month ago

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If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 8

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!Reader/oc x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Santi wallows and Candy is hurt.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!: Deep internalized homophobia

Amazing smut by Fen as always!!! send love their way!!!

2.3k words

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Santi flinched when he heard another plate crash against the wall, thrown by mamí’s hand and hurdled towards his sister. They were screaming at each other again, and it was bad this time. Elaina had been caught by a neighbor boy's mom, naked in bed with that neighbor boy and brought her to mamí for punishment. Santi had woken from his sleep to the knock, and when he opened his eyes to see Elaina’s bed was empty, he knew it was her. It was always her. Why couldn’t she listen? Why couldn’t she just behave? She caused mamí so much stress when she already worked so hard. Look where they were, the three of them living in a small 2 bedroom apartment, the two siblings were still sharing a room at 14 and 10. She needed to do better for mamí.

“Libertina!” Mamí shouts, slapping Elaina across the face. “How dare you disrespect me! How dare you embarrass your brother!”

Santi didn’t feel embarrassed. Should he feel embarrassed? Mamí said it was embarrassing. Yeah, yeah he felt embarrassed. Humiliated even.

“Mamí! Just listen! I’m trying to talk to you!” Elaina is crying, crumpled clothes had noticeable tearing at the collar.

“Callate!! No quiero escuchar a una puta fea!” Mamí reaches for her shoe. Santiago closes his eyes, clenching his little hands up into fists, squeezing them every time he hears the smack.

When it was all said and done, Elaina was sobbing in her bed, and Santiago was pulled onto his mother's lap. He had the distinct feeling he was too old for this, but he didn’t protest. Mamí didn’t like when he said he was too old for something, or grew out of anything. He outgrew a pair of jeans last week and she cried about how soon he’d find another woman and leave her. She said he was hers. Her little man. Her esposito. Her Santito.

Mamí held him close, arms wrapped around his body as they watched TV, up past his bedtime, telling him how good he was, how he could never leave her.

“Don’t you ever leave, Santito, bueno? No woman will ever love you like I do. They’ll only hurt my baby. They won’t cook for you, women anymore don’t take care of their men. They don’t clean either. I’ll take care of you, always, just never leave me for another woman. As long as you are my good esposito, I’ll take care of my Santito.”

Santi would leave, eventually, but not for another woman. He left to join the military to pay for his mom's bills when she wasn’t making ends meet as she got sicker. Elaina took care of her, despite everything she put Elaina through. Elaina became someone Santi admired deeply, seeing her for who she was. She wasn’t the problem child. She wasn’t a menace. She was a normal kid. It was Santi that was strange. The guys in the force razzed him over his relationship with his mom, telling him his wife wrote him when a letter from his mom came. They also made fun of him for going to mass weekly or more, for praying even in the field, for not fucking the local women they encountered, but being called gay wasn’t anything new to him. He was called that in high school, along with a myriad of racial slurs.

Frankie never made fun of him, neither did Will. Ben did, but it was just friendly, nothing mean. Nothing like Tom. Will was religious, raised baptist and respected Santi’s ongoing commitment. Ben was a bit of a mama’s boy too, just not as bad as Santi. Frankie didn’t have a relationship with his family, so he thought it was sweet.

Santi thought it was normal. It was normal to constantly worry what your mom thought, whether or not you acted on it.

When Santi finally left his mom's grasp after she fell asleep on the couch, he felt a tightness in his chest. There was a sense that something was deeply wrong for laying there with his mom, a feeling that he was too old, that he didn’t want to do that anymore… but then a deep guilt for leaving her for the comfort of his own bed. He never knew what the right choice was, constantly second guessing every move he made when he went to war with his own wants and his mom's. Cracking the door to the room he shared with Elaina in their small apartment, he heard her crying. At first, he considered going back to the couch where mamí lay… but in addition to being mamí’s esposito he knew he needed to be there for Elaina too.

When he lay in his bed, Elaina eventually spoke. “She didn’t even ask what happened.” She sobbed. “I didn’t want to… I didn’t, but he- he- he, and his friends…” She broke down in heavy heaves once again, crying as the welts mamí gave her began to show in the moonlight and Santi began to realize what had happened to her. When she began to calm down, Elaina turned to him, her face set in anger he didn’t think was directed at him but he could never tell.

“Don’t you ever do that to a woman, do you hear me? If I ever catch you acting like that, I swear to god Santi, I swear to god…”

She never did finish that sentence, and Santi didn’t sleep that night, but he promised. He would never disrespect a woman, never. He would be a better man than their dad, than the men who did that to his sister. He’d make mamí and Elaina proud, he’d follow the word of God. He’d be good for his mamí. He’d make her proud. He’d be her good Santito.

“Good boy, Santito”

Cold ran down his back, through his torso and into his heart where it pumped the icy anxiety into every vein. He felt sick. Santi thought of his mom, thought of what she must think of him right now, what Jesus must think of him… in bed with a woman who isn’t his wife, kissing a man, feeling his erection in his pants as their bodies pressed into each other… and Elaina, what would she think of soliciting a prostitute?

He needed to go. He had to go. He had to get out of this room and maybe throw up and maybe switch jobs and go to confession and punish himself… he caused Candy to sin, he caused Javi to sin, if they go to hell it’s his fault, he’s going to hell, he’s going to burn in hell now and-

Santi realized he was already walking down the street, not remembering how he got there. He paid her right? Did he? Great now he was a sexual sinner and a thief. What was wrong with him? So many things… so many things…

Tucking himself into an ally, he doesn’t make it far before he starts throwing up, the little food he’s been able to get down coming back up. This is why his pants were falling off. He was a fucking disaster. He was a failure to everyone around him, he couldn’t even catch Lorea. There was no stopping the tears that came as he laid down on the disgusting floor. There was a needle by his leg and Santi was pretty sure someone had defecated nearby but he wasn’t in control of his own body anymore. The guilt was crippling, the sadness exhausting… He wanted to call Javi, Javi would make it better… but there was no better, was there?

It wasn’t going to be better.

Santi laid there until the sun set.

Javi opens his front door on the fourth knock, not bothering to check who is there before he flings it open, a scowl plastered to his features.

His expression quickly softens when he sees you. Sees the redness to your eyes.

“Cand-”

“Can I come in?” You cut him off quickly, you don’t want to see that sympathetic look, you don’t want to see worry in his eyes. This isn’t about that.

You swallow down your emotions, force them down. Don’t think about Santi, don’t think about Santi, don’t think about Santi.

You push past him before he can even answer, ducking under his arm that is holding open the door.

“I… yeah?” He turns, shutting it and following you as you walk into the room. “What-”

Enough questions. You don’t need questions.

You kiss him forcefully, slipping your tongue past his lips and lightly walking him backwards.

Taken by surprise, he goes with the kiss, groaning softly. Your lips only break apart as you push him back onto his sofa.

He tries again to speak. Tries to break through the shield you’ve put up.

You don’t let him, dropping quickly to your knees between his legs and palming him through his joggers.

He bites back a moan, eyes closing for a second as his body reacts on autopilot. His cock twitches under the warmth of your hand.

You don’t let him compose himself, pulling his soft dick from his clothes and quickly lean forward and take him into your mouth.

He hardens quickly, growing as you swallow and bob until he nudges at the back of your throat. You groan, swirling your tongue as you deep throat him, taking him deeper.

Javi’s moans grow in volume, mutters of praise slipping past his lips as the sounds rumble in his chest.

“Santi…” you whine as you come hard against him.

“I wasn’t finished.” He smiles cheekily.

“Good boy, Santito.”

You choke, spluttering for a second as you breathe at the wrong time.

“Baby,” Javi pulls you off him, salvia drinks down your chin as he takes your face in your hands. Worry in his eyes.

That fucking look again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was just wondering if you… wanted some company tonight…” You say softly. “Free of charge?”

You hold his gaze as he looks over your face. You know that expression too. The one of a detective. You just wanted a distraction, and he could give it.

But after a moment he nods and doesn’t press further.

You pull off your clothes quickly and climb into his lap when Javi has barely taken off his t-shirt. You waste little time, taking him again in your hand and pumping twice between you line yourself up with him and sink down.

He groans, screwing his eyes up tight.

You shiver. He’s big, and even though you’re used to him your body still reacts a little in surprise, clenching and hampering your intentions.

You frown, wriggling, trying to take more and more even and fight the resistance.

When Javi’s eyes meet yours you want to scream. To cry.

You don’t want those soft eyes. You don’t need them.

Oh god, how much you need them.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t push. Simply rubs his thumb against your clit while his other hand holds your hip and stops you from trying to sink further down.

It takes less than a minute for a spark of pleasure to run along your skin, for your hips to rock and for you to throw your head back in a soft moan.

He gently pushes you down onto him, filling you and stretching you wide before he moves and flips you onto your back on the sofa with him above you.

He thrusts slow and deep until you're digging your nails into his back and sobbing his name as he sucks bruises into your neck in time with the rapid rock and grind of his hips.

“Javi…” You tense, gasping as your pleasure crests suddenly, overpowering and relentless. Robbing you of thought for one blissful moment.

“That’s it, bebé, that’s it…” He whispers into your ear, slowing his thrusts but not stopping completely, letting you breathe and recover for a minute before he starts to build up again. “I’ve got you.”

When you’ve settled, naked on his chest, Javi holds you close. He has a way of sensing when you need him, of when you need the extra touch and he’s there to give it.

A gentle kiss to the tip of your ear. “Do you wanna talk about it, Candy?” His voice was soft, letting you know you don’t have to answer. But you did, because it was Javi, your Javi, and you needed him.

“Santi’s mad at me.” You sniffle, clinging to him as the tears come for the hundredth time. “I- I don’t know what I did, but he just left- he left right after we… he wouldn’t even look at me, and he won’t talk me and it’s stupid, Javi I know it’s stupid because he’s a client, he’s just a client but, but-”

“Candy.” Long fingers tangle in your hair. “I know hes not just a client. It’s okay. You’re human. It’s normal for you- for us- to feel things… and I know how it feels to… feel… for him…”

You pause at that, then finally pull yourself off his sticky skin to look down at him. Your hair falls around, closing off the two of you to the world. “You… do?”

The look Javi gave you made your heart clench tight, something you’ve never seen in him. Worry.

He gives a small nod. “He’s um… not talking to me either. I… kissed him… on friday. And he ran away so… I don’t think this is about you.”

You regard him curiously. You weren’t stupid, you were aware that those two were making goo goo eyes at each other for months, so this wasn’t a huge shock, and you and Javi were both on the same page of who gave a shit if someone was gay. You’d fucked plenty of girls during threesomes and group sex, and Javi…. Well, live and let live sort of man. But you didn’t expect the kiss at all.

Rolling over, you flop onto the bed beside him.

“You know how he is… guilt over everything… just a ball of anxiety. I wish… I wish I could take it away from him. I do. I wish I didn’t feel the way I did, but I do. It’s all gotten so… complicated.”

Javi’s hand takes yours, giving you a squeeze. “Yeah. it has.”

***************

thanks so much for waiting!!!!! it's been 5 ever, but not for lack of trying on my part. its been one thing after aother and then all of a sudden its been like 6 months????

anyway thank you to fen for everything, y deepest love to you always!!!!!!!

2 chapters left!!!!

love santi? want him dark?

Love Santi? Want him soft?

Joel handmiads tale au?

Want some dark logan howlett?

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angryschnauzer · 1 year ago

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As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 8

Summary: Finding a new life in a new town, you stumble upon a Honey farmer at the town market. You both have pasts that have shaped the way you now live your lives, but can you find a way of putting them behind you to find happiness?

Pairing: ‘Lucas’ Syverson x Female Reader

Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sandcastle (Movie).

Ongoing Genre: Fluff, Angst, and Smut

Story Warnings: Slight Angst, Talk of a car accident in the past, Anxious Sy, Mild Embarrassment, First Date Nerves, Kissing, NSFW, 18+, Smut, Fingering, Grinding, Hot Tub Frolics, Handjob, Titty Sucking, Nudity, Blowjob, Oral Sex.

Chapter 8 Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink.

Wordcount: 2767

Here is my masterlist and AO3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7,

As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 8

Sy poured three mugs of coffee, setting one gently down in front of you as you glared at him, he did a piss poor job of hiding his smirk which infuriated you even more;

“SY!”

“I’m sorry honey, but as this is the first time i’ve seen you angry and i know i shouldn’t laugh, but that is the cutest angry face i’ve ever seen”

“It really is” Mike added from the far end of the kitchen table, his feet resting on the chair next to him as he pushed another slice of toast into his mouth.

“No. You; quiet”

Sy pulled your chair out, rested a hand on each armrest and leant forwards;

“I’m genuinely sorry about the surprise of finding a stranger in my kitchen, but you really do have the cutest face when you are angry”

Before you could get another word out he pressed his lips to yours, and your rage dissipated to the point you deepened the kiss, the world slipping away around you until you heard a quiet cough;

“I’m still here ya’ know guys”

You and Sy pulled your lips apart as he rested his forehead on yours;

“I just got a premonition of what it's going to be like in our household in twenty years time when our own smart ass kid can’t take a hint to get lost”

Mike laughed as Sy pulled away and sat next to you, tossing a grape into his mouth from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table;

“Uncle Sy, I just spent far too many hours on a bus to get here, walked cross country so Dad didn’t see me, had to break into your house as you seemingly forgot I was coming. I’m staying here, at least in this chair. If you two wanna go fuck i’m not stopping you”

Sy took a deep breath;

“Jesus Christ, you are just as infuriating as your Dad was growing up”

Mike grinned and you could see the likeness between him and Walter. The dark hair and sparkling eyes, but also the slightly lopsided grin. You could only imagine the hearts Walter broke when he was Mike’s age.

“So Mike…”

“Yeah Sweetcheeks?”

“Why are you in town but hiding from your Dad?”

Mike looked at Sy and back to you;

“He didn’t invite you?”

Sy turned beet red and suddenly got flustered;

“I been kinda busy Mikey, i completely forgot about it if i’m being honest, plus we had other more important stuff going on which is why she’s staying here” Sy looked to you; “It’s Walter’s 40th Birthday this week. Trying to get as many of the old family back together as a surprise”

You nodded;

“Ahh I see. Thus the covert operation of Mike staying with you”

"Precisely" Sy nodded; "So errr… whatcha doing Thursday evening?"

"Nothing as far as i know"

Sy smouldered; "Wanna come to Walter's surprise party?"

You smiled, genuinely feeling relieved for the first time in 24 hours;

"I'd love to" you leant forwards and pressed a kiss to Sy, only for Mike to cough.

"Still here"

Letting out a deep sigh, Sy turned;

"Get used to it kid. I'm crazy about this woman."

After a shower you settled some essentials into the drawer Sy had emptied for you for when you stayed the night again in the future, before packing the rest. As you climbed into Sy's truck he gave Mike instructions to chop a pile of logs ahead of taking a nap, climbing into the driver's seat he smiled at you;

"I can guarantee he'll only do one of the two instructions i just gave"

Laughing quietly you smiled at Sy;

"The nap?"

"Honestly? With Mikey you never know. Even though he has probably been awake 48 hours he is just like a freaking ball of pure energy so he'll probably end up chopping the entire wood pile"

"So, you're the mean Uncle? Putting him to work" You said with jest

Sy laughed;

"It'll be easy for him, he works part time at my brothers sawmill in Portland, he's told me that Mike will literally go out on his lunch break from his IT department and chop through a couple of tonnes of logs just for fun… and posing on tiktok"

You nodded and unlocked your phone, scrolling through instagram until you found the thirst trap reel of Sy doing exactly the same, peeling off his shirt halfway through;

"Oh, you mean like this?" Turning the screen to him and you watched the blush rise through his face to the top of his ears.

“That’s completely different. And is not a thirst trap, it was a hot day”

“There’s snow on the ground”

“I was getting hot”

You smiled;

“It made me hot too” you said quietly, your comment almost immediately followed by a rumble of tyres of gravel where Sy wasn’t paying attention to the road and had pulled onto the verge.

“Whoops”

For the rest of the short drive to your cottage Sy paid attention to the road, pulling onto the driveway as the gravel crunched under the tyres of the truck.

“Never gonna be able to do a surprise visit with this gravel” he commented

“That’s the whole point”

Sy paused as he rounded the truck, considering your answer;

"I had never thought of it in that way. Now it makes sense"

"The fence too, and the roses and briars. Hostile architecture. Anyone tries to climb over the fence its so old and rickety that it's clear it'll fall over, likely tipping you into a patch of thorns"

You unlocked the door and deactivated the alarm, waiting for the three beeps before stepping inside and dropping your bags on the floor. The house was quiet, flecks of dust floating in the beams of sunlight that fell in puddles on the wooden floors. Sy stood in front of you, pulling you into his arms;

"So, what are your plans for today?"

"Lunch with Tam later, and I guess trying to find a gift for Walter?"

"So… no plans for the next few hours?"

You could sense the hopefulness to Sy's voice, and you could feel your body respond to the idea he was silently suggesting. Slipping your hand into his you turned and led him up the stairs, an appreciative hum as he realised you had agreed to his unspoken suggestion.

Stepping into your bedroom you felt like a Jane Austen character about to be ravaged by the handsome suitor, a bang of nerves nudging the arousal from top spot, Sy picking up immediately on your change;

"Are you ok? We don't have to…"

"No, I still want to. I'm just not super experienced in bed. You'll be the second guy i ever slept with"

Resting his hands on your upper arms Sy pressed a kiss to your forehead;

"Numbers don't matter. I wouldn't care if you had been with one or fifty before me"

Hooking his finger beneath your chin he tilted your head to meet his kiss, starting tentatively at first before it rapidly got heated. His hands cradled your face as you pulled his t-shirt out of his shorts, pushing it up his muscled torso. Digging your fingers gently to the wide chest, he pulled his shirt over his head before practically ripping your dress off, his hands moving to cup your breasts, feeling the soft flesh beneath the lace. Reaching around he deftly unhooked your bra with a practised skill, tossing it aside. You dragged your fingernails down his stomach before flattening your palm and slipping it into the waistband of his cargo shorts, feeling the rough bush of hair which his happy trail climbed from.

"I need you so bad" he admitted, taking hold of your other hand to rest against the obscene bulge tenting the front of his shorts.

With a sly smirk you moved your efforts to unbuckling his belt and unzipping him, letting the garment fall to the floor with a heavy thunk where his pockets were weighed down with keys and change. Just as you were going to get your hands back on him he surprised you by lifting you up and tossing you onto your bed, his big hands pulling your panties down your legs before he lay between your thighs, his mouth immediately on your pussy.

“Sy, I need you… I need you inside me”

He looked up and smiled;

“I know Honey, I need to be inside you too, but i gotta loosen you up first, don’t wanna hurt you”

“Ohh” you relaxed and let Sy go to town, enjoying the feel of his wide tongue and soft lips skillfully bringing you to the edge before you came. It was a soft and gentle orgasm, a starter to the meaty and filling main course that would follow.

Sy climbed up your body, peppering your skin with kisses before he settled between your legs. The weight of him was a comfort, thick corded muscle surrounding you at your most vulnerable, safe in the cage of his arms. He kissed you and you could taste yourself on his tongue. You found yourself instinctively squirming beneath him, the feel of his hardened shaft nestling between your soaked petals.

"Eager, aren't we?" Sy teased

"Please Sy, i'm ready"

Pushing himself up you watched as his positioned the fat tip at your entrance then paused and cursed;

"Fuck… protection…"

Your eyes went wide. In the past you had been on the pill but had stopped that as soon as you'd left James. Without any desire to even consider dating up until Sy you certainly weren't prepared;

"I don't have any…"

"When is your period due?"

"Umm…" now was not the time for your head to be considering your calendar; "By the end of the week"

"Okay… I can pull out, you should be past ovulating, right?"

"'Bout a week ago i had my ‘hungry horse’ three days, so yeah" referring to the short period of time when your appetite suddenly ramped up after you had ovulated.

Sy looked deep into your eyes as if trying to see any doubt;

“Are you sure about this?”

You were so turned on you probably weren’t thinking straight, your pussy making the decisions for you as you hooked your legs around Sy’s butt and pulled him closer;

“I need you inside me now”

“Okay okay, baby, relax for me”

Sy reached down and positioned himself at your entrance, his attention darting between where your bodies were about to be joined and your face, gauging your reaction as he slowly pushed into your welcoming body.

“Holy motherfucking…” Sy cursed as he stretched you out, yet his muttered words floated away as you were overwhelmed by the feel of him inside you.

You hadn’t realised you were holding your breath until Sy pressed a single kiss to your cheek and spoke softly;

“Honey, you’re gonna have to relax otherwise i’m gonna cum sooner than either of us want”

“I am… I'm trying to. I’m just waiting for the pain”

Sy paused;

“The pain?”

“Yeah… when you hit my cervix”

He held himself up on one arm as he softly cradled your cheek with his big hand;

“Oh Honey, I'm not gonna do that. I’m fitting just fine and don’t need to go any deeper, Hell, I ain't got no more inches to go deeper anyway. I’m guessing your ex was longer? And didn’t care that he hurt you?”

You nodded;

“But Sy, you’re not small, James was really long but really narrow…” you smiled up at him; “I like the feel of how thick your cock is, it feels really good”

Sy pressed a single kiss to your lips;

“Oh I'm not worried about my size Honey, I know I got a good deal. Now, how about I make you feel even better? How ‘bout I show you why girth is better than length?”

You smiled at him and nodded, to which he reached his head down and pressed a kiss to your lips before he slowly rolled his hips. You could feel the smooth slide as his cock rubbed against your inner walls, each ridge and vein caressing you whilst the bulbous crown curved up and cushioned against your g-spot. Resting your hands on his muscled back you let pleasure take over, suddenly realising just how skilled Sy was as a lover.

As the senses of summer filled the room you felt a bliss like you had never before. Muted light coming in the windows, the scent of the garden blooms in the air. Birds and crickets in the distance were the only sounds beyond those the pair of you were making. The air was thick and heavy, another summer storm brewing rapidly but the heat only made your lovemaking more intense. Almost every sense was fulfilled except taste, your subconscious deciding to go for the whole set as when Sy rolled his hips and filled you again, you craned your neck and instinctively licked the side of his neck, tasting the sheen of sweat that had appeared on his skin.

“Oh Honey, you wantin’ a taste?” Sy muttered menacingly; “You ain’t the only one”

Gripping your hips he pushed up on his knees, never pulling out of you as he rocked his pelvis, but your ass was resting on his thighs as he widened his stance on the bed. He slid one hand into the small of your back, supporting it as you arched your spine, his other hand resting on the bed beside your head. The angle gave him enough room to continue to fuck you as he kissed and sucked at your breasts, taking a mouthful of titty before switching to the other.

As the room grew darker you could sense petrichor in the air, that impending humidity before a storm broke. Sy growled as he felt your body tightening, and as his sound faded away a rumble of thunder followed as if an answer.

Shifting, Sy straightened his body, kneeling on the bed as he gripped your waist with both hands, rolling his hips with each thrust;

“C’mon baby, cum for me, i’m getting so fucking close, let me see you cum for me”

You were already so close you didn’t need Sy’s words, but as your hands instinctively reached for something to grip onto you felt your fingers straining against the cotton fibres of the sheets as your final barriers dissolved and your orgasm finally crested. Lost on a wave of utter bliss you were in a haze of euphoria, the world around you no longer existing apart from the groans of Sy as he came too.

You missed how Sy watched you in all your beauty, chewing on his lip as he placed his hand over your abdomen and could feel as his cock pumped ropes of cum into you. Thoughts he would never share surged through his mind as he knew gravity would be flooding your widened cervix with his seed, and it was if he could feel the searing heat he’d filled you with warming his hand through your body. Mesmerised by the notion he would see your belly swell over time he was lost in the moment, before you reached for his hand, your palm sweaty;

“Sy… lay with me. I need you to hold me”

As if coming out of a trance he shook his head before tenderly pulling out of you and moving back, setting you softly down before he curled around your body at your side, cupping your cheek and turning you until the tips of your noses met;

“Fuck me, that was amazing” he muttered.

Later you were both showered and redressed, Sy holding an umbrella for you as he escorted you back to his truck to drive you into town for your lunch with Tam. Pulling up to the kerb outside Antonios’ he killed the engine before jogging around to the passenger side, opening the door and holding his hand out for you, smiling kindly when he glanced at your shorts;

“No dress incidents this time”

“I’ve learnt my lesson”

Taking your hand he walked you up to the outside patio where Tamara was already waiting for you, giving her a smile and nod before placing a kiss on your cheek;

“Have fun, i’ll call you later”

The pair of you watched as Sy returned to his truck, smiling and waving as he drove off before Tam rested her elbows on the table and leant forwards;

“So… tell me everything…”

#as sweet as honey #captain syverson #syverson x reader #henry cavill smut #sy x reader

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writerlyhabits · 7 months ago

Text

Aliit ori’shya tal'din

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Your second day in the covert reveals both new and familiar faces; hospitality and hostility.

Chapter 3 of the Shereshoy series | Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4

Warnings: lots of Mando’a, mild language, soft Din, awkward Din, protective Din [he’s got a wide range, okay?], original Mandalorian characters… maybe a little bit of angst? It’s mostly worldbuilding, so I think that’s about it.

AN: A word from the author – “I’m in grad school, I take forever to write things.Soon I will start grad school again, which means I’ll write this instead of my dissertation. I’m quite fond of the Mando Legends Lore, if you haven’t noticed. I literally got Kad Ha’rangir & Arasuum tattooed on me.”

This is the third part of a sister fic for my one-shot (Courting) a friend of mine wrote based on this request, and I’m so happy she’s letting me share it with you guys! She is also sharing it on AO3, so be sure to send her your love and kudos there as well! We hope you enjoy 💛

Translations, in order of appearance:

Aliit ori’shya tal'din: Family is more than blood

Rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?: Are you gonna tell her to kiss your ouchies?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.: Be careful, sister.

Aliit: family

Ad(e): child/children

Kar’ta beskar: the central "diamond" of Mandalorian armor; lit. heart armor

Mirjahaal: peace of mind, "healing", general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Beroya: bounty hunter

Kurshi: tree

Sen’tra: jackpack

Buir(e): Parent/Parents

Akaanati'kar'oya: The War of Life and Death (Mandalorian myth), creation story

Verd'goten: a special trial for one to become warrior; lit. birth of warrior

So'haale: births

Urman'gedete: prayers

Eparave: feasts

Cyarir evaar'la: Courting

Alii'aliit: meeting of the clans, the closest thing mandalorians have to government or parliament; lit. "clan of clans"

Tsad: group (of people), alliance

Bes'ede: Mythosaur

Kandush : inevitable doom

Time moves differently underground.

With Odona, the hours passed quickly. As a team, you could disassemble and reconstruct nearly any ship in their small fleet, save for a few parts— which no one had yet found and delivered. The days were faster when the guardsman opted to join you in his free time, his first visit and subsequent dialogue with Odona still memorable.

To what do I owe the displeasure; Oh Mighty Protector of the Covert and Savior of Foundlings?

The pleasure of my company is for your friend, ‘Dona.

Why? Going to terrorize her again, Ik’? Ven’rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.

You had sensed there was a joke hidden within their jibes, one you were unable to decipher in their foreign tongue, but neither took the time to explain. Whilst Ikarus lacked use for the labor that required fine motor control, his presence disrupted the monotony of the many tedious and repetitive tasks you and Odona spent much of your time doing— their frequent banter kept you entertained throughout the day.

The time you had spent in the medbay was shorter— the most common injuries coming from the older adolescents early on in their training, whose resilience and constitution had yet to strengthen— as well as wrist and ankle sprains from poor fighting forms, the occasional laceration from knife safety training; and at worst, injuries from the teens and young adults earned from a vigorous sparring session.

But with Din, the mornings and evenings together never felt long enough. The hours were reminiscent of your time with him and the Child in the Crest, the warmth of your aliit protected by familiar cold walls; the stone of the cavern both analogous yet antithetic to the durasteel of your former home.

One forged of hands, and the other of time— one of the fires of a furnace, the other the fires of a planet’s mantle. Your time together before was that of contrivance, engineered— with agendas to follow and assignments to complete— your interactions affable yet somewhat artificial, a present barrier precluding your companionship from evolving into something more… More natural, more innate, more intimate. Here, your time together had been more candid, endearing— Din no longer shied away from any probing questions or physical closeness, which allowed that previous barrier to melt and slowly flow away like that of bedrock to magma, reshaping and remolding your times of leisure together to hours of unified repose.

The hours turned to days, the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turn to this moment, where seemingly no time passes at all— blanketed in the familiar darkness of your room. The unlit and chilled space, at first an unacquainted oddity, now a comfortable companion to spend the sleeping and waking hours in. The ritual remains the same— awaken with the Child, have the morning trade-off with Din, make the caf, and begin the tasks for the day— like clock work, a well-oiled droid.

This morning is almost no different, and yet, you hesitate to leave your bed, your conversation with Din the previous morning still fresh in your mind—

Din had sat aside the table, his body resting against the wall— unarmored, arms crossed, head tilted to the side, the same position as every morning. Once you handed him the Child and sat, caf in hand, he finally spoke.

“I’d like you to join me tomorrow,” he stated.

The lack of pleasantries from him was unsurprising, though a teasing ‘Good morning to you, Din’ was a tempting response. Instead, you greeted him with a grin and an unobjectionable reply—

“Alright, what are we doing?”

He hummed, pleased with your immediate acceptance.

“The adults alternate supervising the ade. Tomorrow, it’ll be our turn.”

You gestured toward the Child in his arms, in a playful retort. “Don’t we supervise this ad every day?”

The Child cooed in his arms, his ears perked tentatively at his mention. Din sighed, with a smile in voice.

“We do. It’s tradition for all of the adults to care for the ade… All have wisdom to share.”

Skeptical, you thought: ‘What would I possibly teach them?’

You observed the Child resting so comfortably on Din’s chest— his tiny hand gripped tightly into Din’s clothes, right where his armor’s kar’ta beskar normally sat. It was a stark contrast compared to the Child’s behavior upon your first meeting. With any loud noises and sudden movements, he would shrink inwards in his cradle— as if he could make himself any smaller. Medical scanners made him grimace, unfamiliar places and people made his ears droop— seeing others upset made him wary. And yet, he was endlessly curious. Despite his initial unease with the two new adults in his life, the Child was quick to trust you both— and with his trust, his personality came through… his affection, his laughter, his love.

From there, Din learned how to tend to someone outside of himself— what it meant to have someone that relied on him, and more colossally, someone that wanted Din, as he was. The Armorer branded him as the Child’s father, and the delighted squeal from the little one sealed the bond that Din had been trying to hide for so long. Just as the Child learned to trust Din with his welfare, so too did Din learn to trust the Child with his own mirjahaal.

Perhaps it wasn’t the lessons they taught, but rather the connection they made, and the wisdom they sought.

With this, the true question then inverted from the skeptic ‘what would I teach them’, to the sanguine ‘what will I learn?’...

“...When do we meet them?”

—

To the ade, the former beroya is nothing more than a tall kurshi fit to climb.

Somehow, Din appears endlessly patient and playful with all six of the young children. They utilize their limitless spurts of energy to continuously attack Din as a squad, bringing him to the ground— he’ll exclaim a faux wail, and collapse to his knees— and the collective giggles of the ade begin the cycle again.

Whenever a child grows tired of their battle, they come to you— wanting to be tossed into the air, or onto the nearest surface. Supposedly being gently thrown around aids in their brain development, and ‘it’s good practice for their first sen’tra flight’, Din tells you. The logic is questionable at best, but hearing their joyous squeals makes the ever-growing muscle fatigue worthwhile. Even the child of the Djarin clan is as equally amused, his own little spirit mightily lifted by the experience of being with other kids again.

During your time on Sorgan, the Child was happy to interact with the other children— but mostly, he watched them, rather than play. Perhaps he was still too shy or too wary to fully engage with so many people, but surrounded by these Foundlings now, he looks at home; like he belongs. Amidst this cohort, he’s made a new friend, Mara, the youngest of the lot. Her long and dark hair reminds you— and perhaps the Child— of Winta, Omera’s daughter. The two spent the most time together on Sorgan, and despite the little one’s inability to say, he misses her.

Mara and the Child sit away from the squad play-fighting Din, in front of the single wall of volcanic tuff— embellished with crimps and pockets, graven by many hands. You watch them, as they examine the wall, looking up and down, side to side. Your eyes travel upward to the small cavate, almost eight feet from the floor. You watch as Mara looks to the Child and nods, and begins her ascent up— using her fingers and toes to grip tightly onto the various crevices in the wall— and the Child begins to follow.

You step forward, almost instinctively, wanting to call out to them to stop, wanting to reach out to the children to prevent a fall—

Then, from nowhere, Din appears at your side, extending his hand to stop you. “Don’t,” he says softly, “Let them try.”

You look at him puzzled, and he continues. “If you distract them now, they might fall…” he pauses, and turns his head to watch them, “...but if you allow them to focus, they can succeed. Watch…”

The pair silently step closer, closing the distance between themselves and the wall, watching the two ade slowly make their way up to the cavate. Mara climbs inside first, and lays on her belly, reaching out to the Child to help him trek the final span of the wall. Once inside, the Child turns around, to face the entire room below him. He squeals a little clamor of excitement, proud of his triumph, before looking down to his buire.

“Good job, kid,” Din says. “Come on down, it’s time to go.”

The Child looks at you both doe-eyed, his ears drooping, as he peers over the ledge. He looks back to Mara, and back down over the ledge, contemplating his next move.

You lean slightly towards Din, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t think he knows how to get back down.”

“He can do it,” Din says confidently.

You challenge him, “He looks scared.”

Din insists, “Then he’ll do it scared.”

He steps forward once more, his body almost pressed against the wall, reaching one hand up. “Come on kid, climb down.”

The child’s ears droop even lower, letting out a quiet whimper, a little anxious look on his face. He looks back up to Mara, who gives him an encouraging “You can do it,” before he finally begins his descent towards you and Din.

Carefully, his little clawed feet grip into the same pockets he used to climb up, and his hands hold onto the ledge. He looks down at his buire with a slightly quivering lip, then back up to his hands. Slowly, he presses on, his movements deliberate and cautious, gravity tugging at his little limbs with relentless persuasion, clammy clawed-hands threatening to slip free from the cold stone. His disgruntled babbling fading with each tentative step, footfalls growing more steady with every downward stride.

His little foot finally reached something soft— the hand of his buir, waiting for his arrival. With an excited squeal, he looks to Din, holding out his clawed fingers for Din to grasp. Din takes the Child into his arms.

“Good job… I knew you could do it.” Din whispers to him.

With his ad in hand, Din looks back to the cavate, where Mara sits silently. “You too, Mara, come down,” he says.

Mara, unlike the little one, is less graceful, only climbing down two feet of wall before leaping off. You instinctively reach your arms out to catch her, but are a few seconds too late, as she lands confidently on her feet, smiling up at you. She giggles, asking the Child “Wasn’t that fun!” and the little one cooing affectionately with a bright smile.

“They need to rest.” Din says, before leading Mara and the Child back with the other ade. You follow him in toe, and aid him while he attempts to settle the children in preparation for them to sleep.

The chamber is bathed in the soft, warm light of the cressets along the walls. The ade sit and lay in a circle on the floor, looking up at the two adults expectedly, waiting for you both to join them. Din gently places the Child in Mara’s lap, seating himself amongst them.

The ade demanded a story before they would agree to their midday nap, and with only one long sigh, Din relented. As you sit beside him, the tale of Akaanati'kar'oya begins.

—

In ages past, when cosmic realms were naught,

Two gods emerged, each with a purpose sought.

Kad Ha'rangir, embodiment of change,

A dance of growth, His essence did arrange.

Arasuum, the god of slow decay,

In stillness thrived, where life would fade away.

Eternal foes, in battle they engaged,

Ideals clashed, the cosmic script was paged.

Kad Ha'rangir, with eyes of vibrant light,

Envisioned galaxies in endless flight.

His very step, a ripple through the void,

Transforming all, where life and change enjoyed.

Arasuum, with eyes as deep as night,

Desired a realm where stasis held its might.

Decay His touch, a silent, withering breath,

A universe in stillness, touched by death.

In ceaseless clash, their cosmic struggle roared,

A dance of gods, where destinies were stored.

Stoic truths emerged from this grand design,

A tale of action, life's breath so divine.

"For action is the breath that life bestows,

A vital force, as mighty river flows.

Inaction, slow demise, a creeping shade,

A silent death in stillness' dark cascade."

Through galaxies and time, the story spread,

Of Kad Ha'rangir, where change was bred.

Arasuum's touch, a cautionary tale,

A realm in stillness, where all things frail.

So heed the moral, in verses spun,

That action is life, beneath the sun.

For inaction's grasp, a silent breath,

A slow demise, an encroaching death.

—

The ade rest together in a haphazard heap of limbs on various bedcovers and furs draped across the floor. Exhausted from their Beroya Battles and abseil adventures, they finally sleep, leaving the two adults to quietly watch over them together. In the chamber’s silent embrace, the air hangs heavy and chilled— a symphony of stillness envelops the room, broken by the muted shuffle of shifting bodies, and the hushed breaths of the ade. The only audible rhythm is that of the pulsating cadence of your own heartbeat and the rush of blood moving inside your head.

Your eyes scan over the ade, finding a sense of calmness watching their steady breaths, in… out.

In… out.

Your gaze once again falls onto the Child, cuddled against Mara, also breathing steadily. In the gentle cradle of his friend’s arms, he looks peaceful. Had he ever slept this soundly on the Crest?... Who held him every night before us? Who will take care of him after us?

In the softest whisper, to not disturb the ade, you lean closer to Din, telling him the obvious— “He’s happy here.”

“...Yes,” Din replies, just as quietly.

“Was this your experience, too? After the Mandalorians saved you?”

“No.”

His visor is trained on the little one’s sleeping face—the same face of a child who was once trapped in the suffocating darkness of a sealed cradle—a cage, a cage whose opening only revealed another prison, in the form of two bounty hunters hovering over him like… a B2 Battle Droid, with a blaster pointed in a child’s face. A child rescued from death at the last possible moment by a shiny warden, offering an adiaphorous detainment.

“It was… a time of war. I was trained to fight in it. I hope… that they never have to.” Din says, his gaze scanning over the ade once more.

“I thought all Mandalorians were warriors.”

He, too, believed the same notion for many years. Training from the day he was rescued to the day he became an adult, after his verd'goten, life became a perpetual streak of jobs. Commission, retrieval, payment. Commission, retrieval, payment… Until a strange, golden, aureate armorsmith joined his tribe, bringing tales of the “Great Forge of Mandalore,” and the songs of the artificers that echoed through the speos as they worked. He remembers the first time he kneeled in front of her small, austere forge, in a dark room beneath a busy market above, listening as she spoke of the ethos, the rites, the latria, the true way of the Mandalore.

“No. Everyone is trained to survive. But… we used to live, too.”

“...Until Mandalore was taken.”

“Yes.”

So'haale, urman'gedete, eparave, cyarir evaar'la, alii'aliit… A cultus he could only dream of, but never truly have. Spoken knowledge fades into whispers, slipping through his fingers like sand as the voices of the ancestors grow ever fainter. Each decampment a dissolution of tsad res publica, each step forward a battle against oblivion.

“I’m sorry.” You lean over, resting your head on his pauldron. “...Maybe there’ll come a time when we’ll live in the light, on a planet that welcomes us.”

Din knows that within every Mandalorian is a patchwork of unfamiliar faces and ever-changing landscapes, their solace and safety as elusive as a bes'ede itself—and yet they endlessly repugn the kandush they have faced time and time again, guided by the conviction that within the uncertainty of the cosmos lay the promise of a sanctuary forged from the resilience of their spirit.

He tilts his head, resting it atop yours. “There will.”

Ali'nare vencuyanir yaim. This is the Way.

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

To show this author your direct support, go ahead and check this story out on A03 + leave some kudos and a nice comment 💜

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando'a #original mandalorian character #shereshoy #shereshoy series #not my writing #i have permission to post this

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splendsay · 2 months ago

Text

COD Fic // Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 11: How to Catch a Zombie

hi hello yes it's me again sorry for the delay ya girl had a RUFF friday the 13th it's ok tho I lived and here is another chapter YAY HUZZAH WOOHOO

lil blurb of semi-importance: it came to my attention (my husband told me) that Sunshine's original rank (First Lieutenant) would not be possible if she was an enlisted soldier, so you will note that her rank has been corrected to Sergeant in the earlier chapters (which affects how she is addressed in said chapters but little else and nothing plot-wise).

ok das it, bye ..................................................................

Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 11 // How to Catch a Zombie

.................................................................. CWs: Explicit language, descriptions of guns

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader (You), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Captain John Price, Kate Laswell

Chapter Excerpt:

A week and a half later, you find yourself standing in a wide, grassy meadow, about an hour's hike from the estate. Soap, Gaz, and even Price, are here too -- across the field, maybe fifty meters away, still up-range. Another hundred meters beyond them, is a line of targets, each comprised of varying combinations of wood and hay, haphazardly spray painted with red and black. Ghost is standing next to you with a pair of binoculars held up to his face.

"Any day now," he drawls.

There aren't many clouds in the sky today, the warm sun a nice change of pace. There's a slight, balmy breeze and the field is abuzz with insects. Little blue flowers grow in patches about waist high, and you find yourself distracted by their loveliness on more than one occasion.

You're holding a rifle -- a regular one -- Ghost's, actually. The one you'd admired that first night, traversing through the desert. They still haven't let you touch the upgraded weapons, to your constant and pervasive annoyance. Price insists it's because they worry you aren't strong enough yet to handle the recoil, but you know it's actually because they still don't quite trust you.

And why do you know that? Because this is the first time they've allowed you to hold a gun at all that isn't your own pistol. You'd complained to Ghost a hundred times about not getting any shooting practice as part of your training, but he'd mumbled and grumbled things about "not being ready" and "too dangerous" and "waste of bullets" each time.

Finally, a couple days ago, thanks to endless groveling -- and the new secret weapon in your arsenal to getting your way: Soap -- you were able to convince the group to take you to a range.

You'd started the morning around the kitchen island sipping coffee and frowning into a bowl of oatmeal -- just the five of you. When Price and Laswell had returned from wherever it was they'd gone, Laswell had stayed long enough to hear about your father's descent into madness and its implications on the future of humanity, and had then immediately turned around and jetted off to some other mission base. She hadn't offered you any information about her and Price's prior whereabouts, but she had brought you another large box of hand-me-downs. She'd even included a few new pairs of shoes -- these actually in your size. A couple more pairs of sneakers, and a surprisingly lovely pair of worn-in leather lace-up boots. She'd handed the box to you with a stern expression and a covert wink.

..................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

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differentnerddiplomatopera · 1 month ago

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Shorter Prompts

Summary:

Ya’ll, we are a small fandom😭😭. My girlfriend is bragging about her fics getting updated every day into the thousands. Please I beg, write more. I am busy, but I will keep pumping out ideas. “Inhale” PLEASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSE WRITE MORE ODYDIO!!!!! I LOVE MY COMPLEX TOXIC, LOVE-HATE, ENEMIES AND LOVERS SHITTT. I LOVE THESE PATHETIC TRAUMATIZED MEN😭😭😭😭😭

Chapter Text

1#. Scar kissing: Diomedes used to think his scars were ugly. Penelope and Odysseus prove him wrong.

2#. Love-hate: insert “ ohh I hate that man, I hate that man. But oh Cara Mia, how I love him.”

3#. Spy AU: They get up to gay shit, confuse everyone, and blow up a highly secure facility. It was supposed to be a covert mission.

4#. They match each other’s freak. They are so weird. (You don’t who is this is, guess 😏)

5#. Athena catches them kissing. “Yay, my favorite minions are getting along.”

6#. UDAD AU: just Ulysses and Diomedes in that universe. (Both black and beautiful)

7#. Hades Game au: I don’t see any Diomedes in Hades. So take this as “Diomedes sees Melinoe, they become accustomed to each other, Diomedes tells her about Odysseus, Meli does the ship-sailing thing, and he is reunited with Odysseus AND PENELOPE, THEY ARE TOGETHER, WE DON’T FUCK WITH THAT ODYSSEUS CHEATED ON PENELOPE SHIT. ODYSSEUS LOVES HER TO DEATH, AND SHE IN TURN. ODYSSEUS DID NOT CHEATTT. Anyway. You get that. Yay

8#. Odysseus is annoying Diomedes. So Diomedes pinches him. First to get him to stop, later to watch him squirm.

9#. Odysseus and Diomedes have desperate, longing, sex. They stop the hate and just love, so much. So so much.

#odydio #diopen #odydiopen #hades game #the iliad #ulysses dies at dawn

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drawingdroid · 1 year ago

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The Unknown Regions IV

A Din Djarin x Fem Plus Size Reader Fic

Summary: You, a soft astrophysicist, meet the hardened Mandalorian in less-than-ideal circumstances. Your abilities will lead to you crossing the galaxy together in search of his green son.

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 2 | Read Chapter 3

This chapter is rated +18! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: Expect conversations about weight, body dysmorphia and internalised fatphobia that may be triggering, so read at your own discretion; reader is AFAB and user she/her pronouns; no use of y/n; smut; the bucket stays on; naked female clothed male; hurt and comfort; Sad Din :(

Word count: 3,745

A/N: Din and you have a misunderstanding and actually talk openly about it like ADULTS! I love fiction!!! Finally, smut is here dear readers, I hope you enjoy it. I've struggled like crazy to write this chapter bc smut felt forced and I wanted a smoooth transition. I am not super happy with the result, but hey, I need to know when to let go. I've been thinking this would be interesting from Din's pov too, lemme know what you think. And yes, I know I don't respond to any comments I love reading them but anxiety kills me when I hit reply! I'm so sorry!!!

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

You were so focused on your calculations that you didn't notice Din observing you. Leaning against the doorframe casually, the bounty hunter had his gaze fixated on you. He was stealthy for such a big man, so when his gloved hand gently touched your shoulder your heart skipped a beat.

“¡Mando!” You jumped from your seat. He immediately retrieved his touch as if he had been burnt.

“Sorry I…I didn't want to startle you.”

He looked so uncomfortable right now you felt bad for him. Well, had seemed uncomfortable around you for the two weeks you had been travelling together, so that wasn’t new. You were sure your presence around the ship had prevented him from relaxing at all. It was normal, its size had you clashing with each other all the time and it didn’t provide any privacy. And the Razor Crest, you have learnt, was also his home. Well, his and Grogu's.

He told you about the little one a night he was being especially silent. The moon you had stopped at looked inhabited and arid. He commented it was similar to Arvala-7, the planet where he found the child. After that, you listened while he spoke about how he met his son. His beautiful voice was full of pain and you ended up offering your hand for relief and support. He was hesitant but ended up accepting your warm touch.

Since then, casual physical contact had been a constant between you. With the days passing, you grew bolder with it, no longer squishing yourself to prevent your bodies from touching in the tight space of the Crest, and more like rubbing your plush body against his armour. A friendly hand on his shoulder, his on the small of your back. Therere were brief moments that made your heart flutter at the contact.

The truth was that living together had only made your initial attraction to him grow: observing such a mighty warrior performing the little tasks of day-to-day life was somewhat endearing. The things you could learn about someone just by looking at them at their little routines were incredible. You realized he was a methodical, goal-oriented man, and although he looked serious he did things like speaking with his ship when you wouldn't notice. He was also very caring, not only about Grogu but also his covert, the name he used to refer to the other Mandalorians he lived among. And he had the highest respect for his culture and his creed, something you really admired about him. Every day, you hoped he admired you back, too.

“Don’t worry about it, I tend to become so self-absorbed when I work I forget my surroundings.” You fidgeted nervously with your hair, feeling the burn of his gaze, until his visor shifted to the nav system. “Oh, I calculated the coordinates for the final jump and double-checked them. It’ll take around 30 standard hours to arrive there.”

Since you were travelling towards uncharted space, you couldn’t just jump to the planet, even though you knew the coordinates it was reckless without knowing the obstacles you could possibly meet, so it was more sensible to do it on shorter jumps.

“Let me check.” Mando leaned towards the console, supporting himself in his strong arms. You hoped your gasp at his sudden closeness wasn’t too audible.

“Are you doubting my calculations?” You meant to sound sassy but your voice came shaky. He was too close, hovering over you while checking the route. If your body wasn’t covered due to the cold of outer space, he could have noticed the goosebumps his proximity provoked.

“You can't drive a ship.” He deadpanned. You didn't feel bad about his affirmation, it was a fact. You had never had the opportunity to learn.

“I know my numbers, Mando.” You retorted, confident in your ability. He stared at you while you tried to remain unbothered. The truth was that the banter and his physical closeness had you a little flushed. His gaze finally left you to resume checking the panel and you rolled your eyes, although you understood his doubts. After all, his child and his ship were at stake

“This is flawless.” He admitted after a while, turning his helmet to you again.”Good job.” You opened your eyes widely at the praise and observed his muscular frame towering over you. His beskar looked beautiful, reflecting the starry space. He looked beautiful.

“I’m happy to help in any way I can.” You responded in a small voice, swallowing hard.

Neither of you moved for a while and you sighed involuntarily. With how close you were, you could just lean on him as you had been longing to do. To be embraced by his big arms. He sighed, his visor not leaving your frame. You wondered if he felt the pull too. He had to. The magnetic field was just too strong.

“Mando…” He shifted his position, coming even closer to you. You could observe your doe-eyed reflection in his Beskar helmet. He raised his gloved hand and reached for your round shoulder again. This time his touch was gentler than ever and his orange thumb caressed your clothed skin. Mouth dry, you wondered what would his next step be.

“I need…my seat to make the jump.”

The spell broke. Your brain was not computing. You swore you could die right there from the embarrassment. Of course, you were sitting on the pilot's chair. He only wanted your fat ass to move. And you thought you were having a moment. What an idiot, fantasizing about embracing him or whatever, when he only wanted to resume the trip to get to his son as soon as possible.

Clumsily, you stood up, your face hot with embarrassment. Inevitably, your bodies rubbed in the tiny space. You were a big woman, he was practically on you and the cockpit wasn’t precisely ample.

“Of course.”

The feeling was all-consuming and you rushed towards the sliding door, abandoning the cockpit in a heartbeat. You couldn’t see how a very confused Mando observed you leaving, asking himself how he had offended you.

Tears of embarrassment stained your cheeks when you managed to curl inside the bunk. Mando had been so kind to let you sleep there, and you had been loving it. The first night you couldn't help yourself and used your fingers to make you cum three times. His masculine fragrance was everywhere. It was like being embraced by him and your imagination was an overactive one.

But now, having his scent kriffing everywhere wasn’t helping to deflect the feeling of rejection that had taken you. Why were you being like this? Of course, it wasn’t the first time you were turned down. Or the tenth. By now, you should be used to it. But nevertheless, it hurt a lot.

All your life, you were always the clever, bright friend. The daughter who didn’t cause trouble. The gentle and caring one. But you were never called beautiful. Even by your romantic partners. They may say things about how they loved your “fat ass” or “big tits” but this didn’t make you feel pretty but just objectified, and especially, not truly seen as a sentient being. The worst of your male companions even complained about your size and how they weren’t able to manhandle you as they would have done with a smaller woman. You knew this was rooted in their deepest insecurities and how being perceived as smaller than their partner affected their self-esteem... But what about yours?

The truth was that Mando’s gesture (or lack of it) hadn’t been so hurtful, but the stream of memories it triggered, and now you found yourself sobbing under his sheets. When you felt the familiar blow of entering hyperspace, you only hoped that he remained in the cockpit and let you hide for the rest of the trip. But he didn’t.

First, you heard the familiar footsteps coming down from the ladder. He cleared his throat and then knocked softly at the bunk's door. Your blood froze.

“Hey I'm…I'm sorry.” You could clearly hear these weren't words he said often or lightly. A knot formed in your stomach but the tears stopped.

“It 's okay.” You responded with a raspy voice from the crying.

“No, I shouldn't have doubted your route. You're the professional.”

You couldn't decide between bursting into laughter or crying again. He was clueless, wasn't he? Maybe you could just roll with that and hide your true feelings. It was a good opportunity and it’ll save you from an uncomfortable moment. But you weren't the kind of person to do that.

“Mando, do you really think I'm mad because of that?” A pensive hum was his only response.

The bunk's door opened and a very confused warrior appeared right in front of you. Your eyes were red but your smile was bright. You felt your heart hammering inside your chest. He looked so helpless, all his self-assurance gone because of your tears. You sighed, gathering the courage to speak.

“In the cockpit, there was a moment when you were very close to me...” Mando immediately stiffened.

“I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable because of that. I thought…” His voice was strained through the modulator. You shook your head.

“I'm the one who misunderstood the situation, Mando.” You stared at him but it was clear his metal head wasn't computing. “ You were almost all over me. I thought something was going to happen. Between us.” You had to clarify.

The gears inside the helmet started turning and finally, you could see those broad shoulders relax a bit.

“You expected…you wanted something to happen between us?” He asked using your own words. You bit your lip unsure, but you were already too far gone to stop this.

“Yes Mando, I really like you and what happened in the cockpit made me feel rejected. That's why I was mad.” This time you tried to explain yourself clearly as you didn't want more misunderstandings, even though your skin felt like molten lava. Mando remained silent for a while, shifting his weight and finally took a step towards the bunk, putting a hand against the frame of the door.

“Why would I reject you?”

“What?” It wasn't possible you had heard that right.

“You've understood me perfectly.” His voice turned darker and commanding. You swallowed at the sudden change of demeanour.

“I don't know. Many have rejected me before. It made sense.” You felt vulnerable and hugged your knees trying to appear smaller unconsciously. Opening up about your fear of rejection wasn't in your plans today. “Where I come from, being overweight is frowned upon.” You added in a small voice, ashamed of your feelings.

“Di’kute!” He grunted the foreign word, audibly angry. To your surprise, he sat next to you inside the cot and grabbed your hand. “You're a gorgeous woman, mesh’la. They were bantha fodder if they couldn't appreciate you.”

It may have been your already sensitive state, but tears came again to you. His faceless stare burnt you, as well as his body heat inside the tiny space. But he continued with the praise without letting go of your hand.

“Where I come from fat is a good signal. It means health, and strength. Extra padding in battle.” You giggled but he was serious. “It's synonymous with peace and not living off ration bars. It means giving birth to healthy younglings.” He added the last point in a raspier voice and you stopped breathing thinking about the meaning behind those words.

“Mando…”

“Come here mesh’la.” You didn't recognise the last word but obeyed and the next moment you were in his lap. “Can I touch you?” His voice sounded kinder this time, less commanding. Your heart was going to explode.

“Please.”

And then his hands were all over you. Tracing the outline of your curves, grabbing the supple flesh of your tights, grazing over your generous bust. The touch was so intoxicating, passionate but slow, as if he wanted desperately to memorize your shape.

“Your body is precious, I'll put a hole between the eyes of whoever made you feel the opposite.” You had never felt aroused by violence, but Mando's voice whispering that in your ear made things to you. It felt so hot inside the bunk by then you felt the necessity to get rid of your clothing. Nevertheless, in spite of Mando's praise, you doubted when you grabbed the hem of your tunic. He sensed your hesitancy. “Are you gonna show me that beautiful armour padding?”

You giggled, amused by how playful he became in bed, and finally removed the piece of clothing. His sharp breath was everything you needed to hear.

“Like what you see Mando?” You teased, discarding the tunic and feeling a bit more confident because of his reaction. While he was a victim of a momentary paralysis, you took your chance to caress his biceps where any armour protected his skin. He was as hard as Beskar there and you thought this warrior could be the first to actually manhandle you. That thought only contributed to the heat growing in your centre dangerously.

“Dank Farrik I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you after this.” His voice sounded pained behind the vocoder while he appreciated your soft body.

“Then don’t.” You coed, and then guided his hands to your breasts that were spilling from your bra dangerously. Mando exhaled loudly as if all the tension he had been holding the last weeks was released. His gloved thumbs found your nipples fast, the stiff material feeling so good against your sensitive peaks. “Don’t be afraid, you can be rougher with them.”

Mando actually moaned at your honeyed words and you couldn’t name a more heavenly sound. He explored your tits with devotion, giving them all the attention in the world until your nipples couldn’t be harder and your breathing more agitated. But then, after some time hovering over his legs, yours started to feel numb from sustaining the position so you had to move a bit to feel your muscles again.

“Sorry, my legs went numb.” You excused yourself, but in a heartbeat, his hands shifted to your plush hips and you got the hint.

“Sit.”

“I’ll crush you.” Looking away, your previous self-confidence cracked a bit after his petition. You were too heavy, he will be uncomfortable and then…

“I carry bounties three times my weight for a living.” With the cocky affirmation, he interrupted your racing thoughts before spiralling. “I’ll be okay.”

You haven’t seen him in action yet, but the image of the Mandalorian manoeuvring a bounty out of pure strength made you shiver, yielding to his command. But you wouldn’t drown without dragging him with you.

“Stars woman!” He grunted when your clothed cunt made contact with his bulge. Not satisfied enough with that, you rolled your hips a couple of times to torture him further. Your plan backfired, as it provoked both of you to moan in unison.

“You wanted me…to sit.” You sassed between laboured breaths. Mando growled in response, but his hands travelled to your behind until they were grabbing a handful of your round ass.

“Do you know where else I’d want you to sit?” His voice was raspier than ever, the desire on it crystal clear to you. He really wanted you.

“Mando!” This playful side of him was unexpected but you were loving every moment of it. He took advantage of his leverage to move you impossibly closer to him, making you squirm when your sensitive nipples touched the colder beskar of his cuirass. Your hands snaked around his thick neck and you found yourself completely squished against your huge warrior. His erection felt so hot and hard between your legs that your cunt only grew wetter and wetter, making you wonder if he could notice. Then he started to move and soon you were moaning in the crook of his neck, grinding like a loth-cat in heat.

“Please mesh’la, let me make you feel as good as you deserve.” All the cockiness of his tone was done when he asked you with the most laboured breathing. His hands started caressing your spine and back rolls and you were a puddle in his strong arms.

“Let me…let me get up to remove my pants.” He indeed let you, but his hands didn´t, and while you stood to remove the last of your clothes, he continued exploring your body completely mesmerized. “Mando, I can’t undress if you don’t put your hands away!” You giggled standing on the threshold of the bunk waiting for him to realize. His helmet turned up to look at you then as if he was weighing his possibilities.

“Allow me to undress you, please.” The tone of his plead made you shiver and your cunt walls spasm. Your noded suddenly shy and the next moment he was on his knees unfastening your boots. Maker, what a sight.

When he finished with your footwear, he removed your shocks and started caressing your ankles, going up your calves painfully slowly until he finally reached the waistband of your pants. By then, you were shivering out of pure anticipation. But he still took the time to discard first your pants leaving you in your soaked underwear. He stopped and removed his hands for you to your surprise. Maybe he was having second thoughts? Maybe he didn’t like what he saw?

Your thoughts didn’t spiral for long, as Mando started removing his gloves still kneeling at your feet. Your eyes went wide: it was the first time you saw any of his skin. Gloves finally apart, you could appreciate it was a beautiful hue of gold before his thumbs were hooked in your panties. Without seeing his expression, you could feel the reverence in every touch Of his. It was like you were something holy and he was praying at your shrine. Then it hit you: this wasn’t just a fuck for both of you. This will change things.

“You’re drenched mesh’la.” The last piece of clothing was finally removed and his curious hands didn’t take long to open the folds of your glistening cunt. You looked away a bit embarrassed but he assured you. “You’re so beautiful and soft I can't help myself but...”

Then he did the most surprising thing. With his fingers covered with your slick, he went to the inferior part of his helmet and made disappear. He yas kriffing tasting you.

“Dank Farrik and you taste heavenly too.” Things became fast in a moment. He suddenly stood up in all his imposing height, totally covered in contrast with your nakedness, grabbed your but and in a heartbeat was lifting you from the floor. You squirmed in surprise, your legs rapidly snaking around his tapered waist, feeling all the whole glory of his erection against your pussy. He then turned in his heels and laid you in his bed delicately. But you weren’t playing tame anymore.

“Mando, I need you please.” Your plea was accompanied by a roll of your hips against the bulge on his pants, and you moaned at the sensation of the harsh fabric against the sensitive skin there. Mando grunted at the contact and obeyed you, removing his crossbody ammo belt. You continued the grinding while he battled with the straps of his hip belt, pleasuring yourself against his hard cock, until the leather piece full of pouches hit the ground with a loud thud.

Finally, his hot hands were all over you again and he leaned over your body. But then, he froze in place. You looked at him quizzically when you heard something metallic rolling on the floor. Maybe something important? Maker, you knew he kept bombs on the belt…

“Wait,” he said, leaving you naked in the bunk where you experienced the worst ten seconds of your life thinking you were going to be blown away before having sex with the Mandalorian. But his absence was brief, and he returned with a spherical object between his golden fingers. Something you didn’t recognize at all.

“Is it a bomb?” You asked clueless. He chucked but there was something off about it.

“It’s from a lever in the cockpit.” You sighed in relief knowing your life or his weren’t in danger. Noticing how he wouldn’t stop looking at the metal ball, you knew he wasn’t okay. Finding your tuning between the mess of sheets and blankets, you put it on and sat on the edge of the cot. You didn’t feel annoyed because the intimate moment was interrupted: it was clear something was disturbing him.

“Hey, Mando, look at me.” You asked, holding his bare wrists most delicately. He flinched at the contact and you noticed his pulse was derailed. Then he looked at you like he had just noticed you were there and started apologising.

“I’m so sorry I…” It looked like he didn’t even know how to start explaining himself. You’ll say he sounded even embarrassed.

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. We don’t have to continue if you don’t feel like it.” His shoulders slumped and his gaze fixated again on the ball. And then you noticed, by the light shivering of his torso. He was crying. Your heart broke in a thousand pieces. “Come here, baby.” You cooed, opening your arms to the Mandalorian, hoping you could offer some relief to whatever he was experiencing.

To your surprise, he fell to his knees again and then sank his helmet into your lap. His shoulders were convulsing more visibly now and your chest hurt for him. You started caressing the back of his neck, hoping it felt soothing for him, and remained like that for a while.

“I’ve got you baby.”

You didn’t know how much time it passed with Mando sobbing against your tunic and you doing your best to make him feel better, but after a while, it looked like he was calmer.

“I already lost him once.” His voice was coarse from crying, and even though the lack of context you knew immediately he was referring to Grogu.

“We’ll find him and take him home, Mando.” You responded softly, feeling something warm spread inside you and not stopping for a second your caresses.

“Din.” He finally unburied his head from your lap and looked at you. “My name is Din Djarin.”

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #grogu #din grogu #the mandalorian x you #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x fem!reader #droidwrites

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violetmuses · 3 months ago

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Wounds (Part II) - M. Lowrey ❤️‍🩹

Title: Wounds (Part II) - M. Lowrey ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Mike Lowrey

Main Storyline: One planned assignment reveals the impossible for Detective Mike Lowrey. @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @amethyst-loves-bucky

=====

1997

“What now? If this plan works, I can't bum rush like SWAT and take the kid with me.” Mike offered true bewilderment while still addressing Captain Howard.

“I'll handle our next blueprint. Just get your things and go home. Marcus has the day off.” Captain seems more peaceful than usual given the situation.

“All right, thanks, Cap. I'm out.” Mike bids farewell to gather belongings and exits the precinct.

_____

Mike kept tossing and turning while he slept in this beautiful home, genuinely puzzled when looking through dreams of the next chapter.

Fatherhood?

While the secret affair with Isabel Aretas pulled his heart, Mike continued standing with reality now.

Even Detective Marcus Burnett, Mike's longtime partner and best friend, could never know what's truly going on. There's far too much at stake.

Here we go. Mike thought, just trying to move forward.

****

“Rough night, man? I know the coffee tastes like shit!” Detective Marcus Burnett laughed toward his partner while entering the precinct.

“Slept with your mama, dumbass.” Mike picked up banter and kept himself aware.

“Whatever.” Marcus rolled his eyes. “Had a little time off with my family. Theresa said hello.”

“Hey…” Mike soon joked back with his own voice this morning.

“Don't start that foolishness again. It's my wife. I've already told you.” Marcus defended himself.

“Do some work, please?” Mike just went on. “I'm not in the mood.”

“Aight, I'll go away now.” Marcus lifted both of his hands. “Damn. Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

Moving on, Mike attempted to concentrate on work from this cubicle.

And yet, the quiet memory of 2:55 PM lingered past his thoughts.

_____

Sure enough, Mike wanted to plan everything in his head.

If Marcus just stayed occupied here, Lowrey could sneak out and still try to pick up Armando Aretas from school, not bringing up suspicions later.

Seconds later, his pager beeps.

Captain Howard needs something.

Uh-oh.

Thankfully alone, Mike leaves his desk and joins Captain once more.

______

“It's official. I just sent out this covert team to arrest Benito and Isabel.” Captain Howard revealed.

“Are you serious?” Mike whispered.

“Yes. You've earned full custody of Armando right now.” Cap wouldn't smile, but realized the truth.

“Thank you so much.” Mike offered immense gratitude. “Honestly.”

“Now go get your son. I'll cover Marcus.” Captain Howard passed Mike keys to this brand-new truck.

Smiling, Mike understood this plan and leaves, thankful beyond words.

______

Another bright day set around Miami. Mike rolled into the parking lot once more and noted this backseat.

As Mike recalled details, Theresa showed him how to fasten car seats during the name-swap heroin case in 1995.

Reaching this school, Lowrey noticed how vibrant the hallways stand. Bulletin boards lined art from the youth. Mike's heart warmed all over again.

“Oh, hello. We've been looking for you, Detective.” This teacher emerged from one classroom.

“Hey, today is very unexpected, but thank you so much.” Mike calmed his voice for obvious reasons. “Please know that I'm not around to bother anyone. Just here to pick up my son.”

“Armando just woke up from nap time, but he's not hyper like other children.” The teacher explained more.

“Thank you for letting me know.” Mike nodded before entering the classroom.

______

Another aid helped Armando gather his small backpack and Mike kneels to meet his son's eye level.

“Hey, man. Ready to go?” Mike genuinely smiled this time around.

"Mi papa?" Armando's tiny voice almost breaks Mike's heart through native Spanish.

“Si.” Mike nodded, lifting Armando when his son raised both arms.

Young Armando Aretas rested his head on Mike's clothed shoulder to leave this building with new happiness.

No matter what happens next, Mike promised to stay around.

#movies #bad boys #armando aretas #dark themes #slight angst #au fanfiction #au #angst with a happy ending #❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹#will smith #mike lowrey

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velocitross · 8 days ago

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Okay I think it’s finally time for my

Multi-Fandom Fic Masterlist!

Here you will find all my fics from Baldur’s Gate 3, Star Wars (TCW + TBB), and Dragon Age (2 + Inquisition) ✨ Mostly one shots with multi-chapter fics noted. All multi chapter fics are written to completion and posted weekly.

Plenty of smut here (🔞) but also T romance and gen fics! I love to dig in and explore character, world build, etc.

I am generally open to requests but do prefer writing within ships or characters already represented here! But, feel free to ask 😌

Continue below!

Baldur’s Gate 3

Vigil (durge OC) x Dammon

Imperceptible Progression of the Stars - Vigil finds Dammon outside the tiefling party. (T)

Last Light - Vigil opens up to Dammon about their violent urges. (T)

A Sunrise Worth Seeing - Dammon and Vigil grow closer following Vigil’s triumph at Moonrise Towers. (T)

Oaths Broken & Bonds Reforged - Dammon and Vigil meet each other again in Baldur’s Gate. (G)

In the Clarity of Dawn - Vigil is redeemed. (T)

Epilogue - in a quiet moment at the epilogue party, Vigil expresses how much Dammon means to them. (T)

Always Forever - Dammon knows just how to finally reveal his feelings for Vigil. (E)

Made Yours - Vigil and Dammon celebrate the Elturian holiday of love (E)

Respite - Vigil gives Dammon a full body massage. (E)

From the Dark - With Dammon’s help, Vigil grapples with some long forgotten consequences of the urge. (M)

Rolan x Dammon

Working Steel - Rolan, frustrated by his work, seeks out Dammon for some… stress relief (E)

Up in the Tower - Dammon tries to get Rolan to take care of himself, with limited success. (M)

Within the Storm - Rolan is a mess after losing Cal and Lia to the cultists. Dammon helps. (T)

Nighthawks - Modern AU! Long distance relationship woes. Webcam sex. Cyberpunk 2077 (E)

Infernal Arcana - multi chapter and complete (35k). An interesting project steeped in the infernal brings Dammon and Rolan very close. (E)

Candlelight and Wine - Rolan is grumpy, Dammon cheers him up with a dance. (T)

Dammon x gn!Tav

A Little Light Reading - Dammon thinks about Tav whilst enjoying some spicy reading material (E)

Needful Evenings - Dammon gets caught in the act while once again thinking of Tav. (E)

For Services Rendered - Dammon gets tied up and teased. (E)

Halsin x gn!Tav

Seed of Oak - It’s breeding season, you get the idea (E)

Isobel x Dame Aylin

Alive Again - Isobel struggles to cope with her resurrection. (T)

Gen fics

Sun Will Set - Halsin helps a dying snake along his journey. (G)

The Ring of a Hammer in the Hells - Dammon is haunted and inspired by his tutelage beneath Carixim. (T)

To Endure - Rolan finds his resolve to endure his abuse at Lorroakan’s hands. (T)

The Exiled - Dammon comforts Silfy over their exile and situation in the grove. (G)

Cat Nap - A cat helps soothe Dammon’s worries over his future in the city. (G)

Star Wars

Captain Rex x gn!reader

Rainy Day Refuge - A perfect rainy morning for cuddling back up with Rex. (T)

Golden Dreams - You dream of a quieter life with Rex. (T)

Midnight Souls - Rex doesn’t know how to dance, so you resolve to teach him. (T)

Heart of the Universe - After a long day, Rex is there for you. (T)

Summer’s King - On vacation with Rex, you (flower) crown him king. (T)

Killing Heat - You, traitor to a guild of listeners and spies, are sent on a covert mission for the republic with Rex. Intrigue, action, slow burn romance. Multi chapter and complete (105k) (E)

Briefings and Reunions - after the events of Killing Heat, you have a secret tryst with Rex. (E)

Rex on the Beach - beach trip with Rex goes exactly the way you imagine. (E)

Yadrinovo’s Rings - Following Rex’s loss and assumed death in battle, Kix finds him on a remote frontier planet. It’s your job to bring him back, but… do you really want to? Angst, domesticity. Multi chapter and complete (45k) (E)

Captain Rex x Riyo Chuchi

Rendezvous - Rex and Riyo find some comfort in one another in an unexpected way. (E)

The Way to Be Together - Rex and Riyo discuss what’s between them and resolve how to go forward. (E)

Gen fics/misc

Concessions - death troopers Pik and Waffle spar, and then, you know, spar. (M)

With Honor - Multi chapter and complete (160k). Post order 66 exploration of Rex’s grief, trauma, and agency. (T pushing M)

Waves - Exploration of grief and “what comes after.” Feat Rex and two OCs from With Honor (T)

Dragon Age

Note!! These fics were written a long time ago, 10 years in some cases. They’re not well formatted, written in first person pov, I was shaky on how to tag, etc. Please show some grace for early 20s xan 🙏

Gen fics only!

How I Saved Weisshaupt and Also the World - 50k, Hawke discovers a cult that lives in the Fade and drives their followers mad. Varric, as always, is there to ride to her rescue. (T)

People Need Stories - Varric helps Hawke cope with the loss of his mother. (T)

They Forget So Easily - Cole struggles to be remembered. (G)

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the-darkestminds · 6 months ago

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Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 2

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

a/n: Assume the Band of Exiles is aware of Eris's alliance with the Night Court.

Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 2:

Azriel stood in Rhys’s study, only half listening to the discussion he was having with Cassian. A few days had passed since his…altercation with Eris and he’d been distracted and anxious ever since. He couldn’t focus on anything else. He kept turning it over in his mind, trying to figure out what it meant, why Eris had done it, why Azriel had let him do it and how he felt about it. He’d thought he hated the male, but now all he felt was confusion, and other things he didn’t want to acknowledge. The conversation continued on without him for a time, until—

“Did you get with Eris?”

Azriel whipped his head to Cassian. “What?” He suddenly felt hot in his too-tight leathers.

“Did you meet? Find out if Beron’s allying with Koschei?” Cassian was looking at him with raised brows.

Azriel silently cursed himself for being such an idiot. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so flustered. “Oh. Right. Yes.”

Cassian and Rhys stared at him for a beat.

“And?” Rhys drawled, arching a brow at him and cocking his head. Everything alright, brother?

“I’m fine,” he responded quickly aloud. The last thing he wanted was Rhys rifling around in his head, not that he would without permission. But still…Azriel cringed inwardly at the idea of Rhys stumbling across some of the thoughts he’d been having the past few nights. He continued, lest they pry further, “Beron has been visiting the continent often, likely to see Briallyn. Eris suspects Beron might also join her in allying with Koschei, if he thinks it will serve his interests. Though he has no concrete proof Beron is even aware of Koschei’s existence. I could get that proof though.” Cassian cursed softly, but Rhys did not seem surprised by the news. He nodded calmly, thinking.

“Perhaps it is time you got a closer look at that lake. See what you can learn of Briallyn’s alliance with Koschei, and if she has the means to free him from his curse. Just be careful,” Rhys said gravely, “You saw what happened to those Autumn Court soldiers. And we still don’t know the true magnitude of Koschei’s power.” Azriel didn’t let his surprise show. Rhys had been adamant that Azriel observe from afar so as not to risk exposure in case the crown’s influence could snare him from a distance. He supposed they were growing desperate, what with the miniscule intel he had been able to gather thus far. Rhys added, “Talk to Vassa and Lucien before you go.” They had already shared what they knew of Koschei, but it wouldn’t hurt to verify nothing was left out or overlooked.

He gave Rhys a curt nod, but said nothing else. His brothers were still looking at him with amusement.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You look weird,” Cassian demanded.

“I said I’m fine,” he bit out. If his brother didn’t shut up soon he was going to punch him in the mouth.

“But—”

“Leave it, Cass,” Rhys ordered.

Before Cassian could voice the undoubtably crude thought that glinted in his eyes, Azriel said quickly, “Are we done here?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he let his shadows whisk him away, though not fast enough to miss Rhys’s loud laughter as Cassian mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like “panties” and “twist.” Azriel rolled his eyes and huffed a begrudging laugh. If only they knew.

***

Azriel’s shadows deposited him directly on the front doorstep of the manor Jurian and Vassa—and Lucien—were now sharing and he knocked twice on the large wooden slab. As he waited, he scanned the surrounding lands, the evidence of war still prominent in the felled trees and barren patches of earth. He turned as Lucien’s scarred, handsome face appeared in the doorway. He stepped aside silently to let Azriel pass.

The male’s shoulders were tense as he said vaguely, “Lots of visitors today.”

Azriel took in Lucien’s strained face, the warning that flashed in his russet eye, the other whirring and clicking faintly. Azriel cocked his head and walked down the hall beside Lucien as his shadows swept through the manor undetected. He sensed two human heartbeats—Vassa and Jurian, and a third, slower than the others. His stomach sank as he suspected who was visiting that had Lucien on edge.

When they entered the room his eyes went immediately to the red-haired male seated near the crackling fire. Eris lounged in a chair like it was his own personal throne, legs crossed, the picture of courtly grace and arrogance. Eris met his eyes and smiled widely, wicked delight sparking in his amber eyes.

“Shadowsinger, it’s been too long,” he crooned in greeting. Azriel willed himself not to blush—prayed silently to the Mother that Lucien and Eris wouldn’t pick up on his racing heartbeat or the sweat now dripping down his back. Was it hot in here? “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you needed a hand with anything. What are allies for, after all?” Azriel stood rigidly, his mind reeling as he tried to think of something, anything, to say. The room was silent but for the roaring fire. Eris’s smile grew and he arched a brow at Azriel. Lucien glanced between them warily.

“Azriel? Is everything alright?” Vassa’s voice clanged through him. Fuck. He was here to discuss Koschei with Vassa and Lucien. Two seconds in Eris’s presence and he’d completely lost his cool.

“Your majesty,” he bowed his head slightly, offering his respect to the human queen. She smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgement.

“Did you come with news or orders?” she asked.

“Neither,” he glanced at Eris before continuing, “I’m here to gather any more information you might have on Koschei before I leave for the continent.”

Vassa’s eyes burned like blue flame at the mention of her master’s name. “I’d advise you to stay far away from that lake.” Her voice was coated in fear. When Azriel didn’t respond, she conceded. “Koschei is as old as the sea—older. Some say he is Death itself, though what that means I can’t be sure. He is truly immortal.” Her voice was hoarse as she added, “The true manner of his power is unknown to me. But he does have the ability to transport others long distances, like he did with your soldiers,” she jerked her head at Eris. The male’s face darkened, eyes flickering. “He is no mere sorcerer. Everything he does is to free himself from the lake. But he whispers on the winds…can see far…He was able to sow discord among my fellow queens while still trapped at the lake. Whether or not his voice holds some magical sway, I do not know. But you’d be wise to stay away, Azriel.” She seemed reluctant to say more.

Some of it was new information. Azriel hadn’t known the death god had played any part in stirring up the human queens before Hybern launched its war against Prythian. Nor was he aware of any sorcerer-like power to control people like puppets, aside from the Crown. Would the death god have use for such objects? Or was he powerful enough on his own? Rhys had told him to keep the information to himself, so he said nothing.

“Be careful,” Jurian warned, his voice grim. Azriel only nodded to him, and then to Lucien. He bowed his head again in farewell to Vassa and turned to leave, ignoring Eris.

“I’ll walk you out,” Eris said behind him. Azriel tensed, his steps faltering. Eris breezed by him into the hall. He waited for Azriel to catch up and they walked side by side towards the front door. Eris didn’t speak again until they were outside.

“You truly have nothing to say to me? Have I done something to offend you?” he asked mockingly, all graveness of the past few minutes gone. The shit-eating grin was back on his face.

Azriel snarled softly. “Everything you do offends me.”

Eris laughed darkly as he slid his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You wound me. And here I thought you’d be happy to see me. You seemed to enjoy our last meeting immensely, if I recall correctly.”

Azriel’s face burned as he glanced down in embarrassment. Gods, he couldn’t even meet his eyes. Couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say to put Eris in his place. When did he become such a blundering idiot? He cursed himself silently.

“Let me know when you return from your little trip to the continent,” Eris said flippantly. Azriel nodded stiffly, still not meeting the male’s eyes. A beat of silence. And then—“I enjoyed myself too, shadowsinger.”

Azriel snapped his head up to see Eris grin and wink, and then he was gone. His stomach fluttered strangely at the words. As his shadows whisked him away he allowed himself a small, private smile.

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

Next Chapter

Tag list: @unanswered-stars

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 1 year ago

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Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 1: It's Bigger Than You

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the form of your best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can't afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you've missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same.

Content warnings: Usual COD content (violence, torture, death, guns), mutual pining, back from the dead, friends to allies to lovers

Reader is GN, some use of Y/N.

Masterlist // AO3 Version // Chapter 2

The long term was drawing to a close, ultimately. More and more of the covert ops were starting to bring up more details that bore fruit in the form of puzzle pieces, all the same colour and shape so that putting the fragments together was a near impossible ordeal. But your team had finally made connections, threads of red stabbed into satellite images, maps, and post-its with scribbled intel, ready to be uploaded to the higher ups overseeing your dirty work.

Your team was not the only one to make headway against this new threat. Which is why you were all loaded into a heli, shipped to your new temporary home bordering Russia to pair up with another taskforce.

Taskforce Banshee was eager to work with the 141. You’d been briefed names, not faces, and delivered those to your subordinates who teemed with delight – especially Crash who was eager to meet with someone she’d trained with upon entering the armed forces.

You hid your reluctance well. You weren’t ungrateful for reinforcements, especially from an elite squad of soldiers whose names rang clear with reputations earned in the blood of a thousand. But one of those names conjured an image, and it did not have to travel deep into the archives of your memories, since you had been offered a gentle reprieve between punches from some cocksure wannabe torturer not one month prior. As you spat in your captor’s eye, that image had appeared in your head to comfort you. It was far from your end, but it seemed to rub balm over your mind as it grew dizzy with the wonder that perhaps he’d done the same when he was in this same position: captured whilst assuring their team’s escape. So when you were discharged officially and ready for active duty, and Chief Laswell said the name of the man whose memory had comforted you in your closest interaction with your own death, you were not best pleased. Your ribs were healed enough for you to join your team for this collaboration. But they ached around your sternum with the remembrance of the man you would have laid your life down for.

The heli jolted its passengers, though you all maintained composure besides an exchange of raised brows. Stepping off onto solid tarmac was much appreciated. You were met by a younger man, classic London charm in a baseball cap and tac vest.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick,” He offered you his hand first, “Call me Gaz.”

You introduced yourself, without an additional nickname - the one you’d been assigned by your squad was lost many years ago, in transfers and promotions. Then came your team who shook hands with the Sergeant as you role-called: Sergeant Rosie “Crash” Simmonds, Sergeant Grant “Bronze” Ray, and Second Lieutenant Lucia “Chance” Halloway. Although Rosie needed no introduction. She and Garrick entered into a brief but elaborate looking handshake before bumping chests with broad grins. You liked that about Rosie. She had a good sense of humour, made you feel a half a decade younger. Not quite the entire decade. Precious few people could bring that version of you out. But she made your life a bit brighter, and it was an honour to mentor her.

“We’re starting briefing in a few. I’ll take you right there.”

He walked with a brisk pace, effectively flushing the stiff joints

As much as you’d rehearsed this in your head, it didn’t stop your ears from feeling like they were stuffed with cotton wool.

Your captured essence of John Price, back when you were both fresh meat with hardly any hairs on his chin worth keeping around, vanished and was replaced by the man he’d become. His body had bulked up beneath the uniform, his features framed by facial hair that finally connected moustache to beard.

He was leaning over the room’s table, one hand to balance his inclined weight and the other pointing at the centre of the paperwork gathered for this mission. At the sound of the door opening, he’d turned his head ninety degrees right to meet the gaze of all who entered. He was looking directly at you, his eyes in the shadow thrown by the brim of his boonie.

You only stared at him for a second. It was long enough for the room to notice, you feared. So you resumed your business-like appearance to the best of your acting ability.

“Captain,” and you reached out to shake his hand.

Blinking three times in quick succession, John Price accepted with a firm grasp in a fingerless glove.

“Captain,” He repeated after you, his voice like dark roasted coffee. He only gave your hand a single shake. Yet it still managed to send shockwaves up through your muscles and reverberated against your bones whilst, in their bulky uniforms, Taskforce Banshee shuffled around into position, chair legs screeching along the floor before they took up their manilla folders. You had your own handed to you by Captain Price. Your head despised how his forefinger reached out to brush against yours, like Hannibal Lector had done in his final meeting with Clarice Starling, against the wills of everyone else in that prison. However your heart leapt into your throat at the accidental touch, and you had to clear it a little harshly to ensure you could talk through it before the briefing started.

Price went first, introducing the other members of his team: Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish and Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley. Your team replied with their own names, probably hoping for this section of the briefing to be over before someone suggested they tell each other a fun fact about themselves to aid bonding. Thankfully, Price took back over and began explaining the intel he and his team had uncovered. You recounted it in your mind from what you’d seen before, trying not to breathe in the cedarwood beard oil that matched an all too familiar aftershave.

You spoke next, after Price smoothly handed the subject to you, briefly about the history of this project. Then you delegated to Bronze who had completed his last mission solo and discovered the info that clinched this entire operation together. He informed everyone about the name that had sporadically popped up in the background noise of missions over the years: Jaromir Čiernik. How, over a period of years and months, he’d built up his terrorist portfolio over in the three countries he’d earned residence: Russia, Belarus, and Odristan (his place of birth and comfort zone). He’d only slipped under the radar due to his many precautions and wide spread net of contacts and aliases. Except last week, he’d grown impatient, tripped on his ego enough for your team to force entry into this new cell.

The meeting looped back to you and the plan to poison this organisation against itself. You’d made with your taskforce in mind but modifications were included to best make use of your new allies in 141. Speaking of which, your gracious hosts were delightful audience participants: Ghost offering a single nod, while Gaz and Soap offered their compliments to the detail without speaking over you.

After a thorough ten minutes, you made it to your closing statement and your offer: “Any questions?”

A few head shakes were sent your way, eyes still on the written details or the map on the big screen.

Price took hold of the two straps of his vest, addressing Taskforce Banshee: “My men will show you to your quarters. Heli leaves at 1800 hours. See you there.”

With the meeting closed, the door to the room was opened. Your team filed out after their hosts, though you noted Chance lingering a few feet behind and watching you shuffle your papers back into its file.

“Something the matter?” You prompted, openly, not interrogatively.

Chance’s eyes flicked over to Captain Price for a split second then returned to you: “Nothing, Cap.”

You nodded, filing this conversation as something to address before leaving at six, and watched the door close behind her. Out your back pocket, you tapped on your work phone an alarm for twenty minutes before launch.

“Y/N?”

Your lungs were still and holding you ramrod straight on your suddenly unsteady feet. If you dared to let even a hint of personal feelings out of its cage, you would be ruined for this mission and you couldn’t let that happen. Not to you, your team, the innocents who would lose everything and not even know your name to blame you for it. So you took the greatest amount of care to face Price with all composure maintained inside and out.

His hat was on the table besides the laptop, his eyes bluer now they were out of the shadow. It was a blow to see him again, but to see him with the full eight years on his face, each grey hair that flecked his strong brown beard, the sparse ones that lined against his temples, and more sprouting along the hairline that had shot back a centimetre. Crow’s feet carved against his eyes, brackets from his nose shielding his mouth beneath the beard. Which meant he still smiled the same, and he had done so often in the gap since you’d seen him.

The freckle, off-centre near the end of his nose, caught your attention, and your geeky younger self’s desire to kiss it reared its ugly and humiliating head, spawning right next to your thundering heart. The sound of which, you hoped, was muted beneath your protective layers, and you hoped that John didn’t realise how much energy you were spending on soaking up his presence again like a lovesick teen.

He cleared his throat, “I think I should explain-”

“It’s good to see you again.”

You didn’t mean to interrupt what was likely a well-rehearsed speech, your eyes wide to take him in in his entirety.

But you meant what you’d said. There was no part of you that felt anger at his sudden resurrection. Only relief that your wishes to see him once more had been granted, and melancholy at all the time you’d lost and would not be able to recapture or resume until this mission was far in the rear view mirror. If only this mission was the kind where everyone walked away.

He was still, watching you, his hand frozen two inches raised from his side and you realised that he had gone to reach for you. You didn’t back away, trusting that he wouldn’t do that to you after all that you’d gone through, his fault or otherwise.

Finally, he replied, “You too.” And his hand lowered cautiously back to his side.

You gave him a quick nod then spun on your heel to leave the office. The echo breadcrumb clues of footsteps and mild chatter led you back to your team who were just entering their respective rooms.

“Yours is up here, Captain,” Gaz said with an arm out to indicate his direction.

The spare quarters were just down the corridor and to the right, your rank allowing you the privacy of a room to yourself – if only for the time you needed to prepare yourself for this mission. You thanked the Sergeant, finding your belongings already dumped in the corner.

The lock twisted in the door handle, darkness collapsing behind you. A breath slid out of your mouth with a whine. Your hand snapped up and pressed your palm to your lips, a silencer to the bullet that burst through your chest, as raw as the day they told you Price was KIA. How you’d wept silently and unknowingly at an empty grave, poured a drink to it and hid in shame from other visitors to the graveyard, as if your grief was an embarrassment. A decade’s worth of recuperation, dashed to pieces like a ship on rocks, and you were taking water fast, sinking down against the weak door. If anyone heard this distress, they could easily kick the door in, and they would see you in your moment of weakness.

The room was shrinking against your efforts to see the corners of it. Boots stiff and dusty, you planted them down with your knees bent for ease. You began forcing yourself to breath slow by blocking your airways for set amounts of seconds, counting down each second as accurate as a timer.

Using the door to support yourself, you pushed up into standing and closed your eyes. Your mind brought forth a picture of your posture, your position, and everything that hung from you. It began to adjust itself. Your shaking hands steadied out from wrist to fingertip. Spine aligned, hips adjusted, ready to carry half your weight in gear, you stopped timing your breathing and went on with your pre-mission routine: brushing your teeth, flossing, final deodorant checks, quick piss.

Then your phone buzzed with the alarm. You silenced it fast then turned it off completely. You knocked at the doors of your subordinates, all waiting for your go-ahead, then you made your way back to the tarmac.

Drawing up to the heli, you found Soap with a large crate that he was just crow-barring open. Brimming with the weapons necessary for your future, and he was letting your team take their pick first.

“Cheers,” Bronze said, and the rest of the team – yourself included – echoed the sentiment as you loaded up.

The M13 found itself in your gloved hands, taking it apart and putting it back together like pieces in a Lego set. If you’d allowed it to become a coping mechanism, rather than a day-to-day task, it might’ve allowed you to ignore the rest of 141 joining you for their canisters of tear gas and grenades.

“How’d you know what the Captain likes?” Crash cracked, and Soap seemed to glow under the wit.

Then, for the first time, Ghost spoke: “Price organised it.”

Anyone could tell the portion of silence that followed was the awkward kind, but you just continued loading your weapons, not lurking on what Ghost had said (and implied).

“Chance?” Your head tilted back once you caught her eye. Checking the chamber of her M21, she followed you back into the hanger, though you kept in sight so that the others would know you weren’t late.

“What did you want to ask me earlier?” You asked, loud enough to be heard over the propellors but not so that anyone else could hear.

Shifting her weight onto her left hip, Chance glanced back at the teams assembling before the belly of the heli before turning back to you: “You met Captain Price before, right?”

As calmly and nonchalantly as you could muster, you answered: “Yes, why?”

“Just seemed like you knew each other. No introductions, you know?”

“Hmmm,” You tried not to avoid eye contact nor stare for too long, “We worked together in the army. Briefly.”

That last word caused Chance’s right brow to quirk up. Too much effort to seem effortless on your part. But she accepted this and no other follow-ups when you asked if there were any. She wasn’t questioning you or your authority or your judgement. In fact, you were happy she asked. It kept almost kept you in check, ensured your team understood your rationale and trusted your decisions as their leader. Still you had no clue why your cortisol levels were rising at the idea of your team knowing the answer to that question.

It'd have to be filed with the other doubts you had about your role as a Captain, the ones you kept to yourself, only to be challenged with your therapist on the other end of the phone once or twice a month.

You wondered when you would speak with them, but you knew you would definitely discuss seeing Price again.

The other had loaded themselves onto the heli during that private chat, so you went and found yourself your seat beside Crash. She didn’t acknowledge you, too busy engaging eagerly with Gaz, and you didn’t hide the fond smile that sight caused.

At five to six, the heli closed itself up and the propellers kicked into high gear, the lift off causing your stomach to drop an inch despite knowing full well what was happening. You rubbed a fingertip beneath your watch, swiping the sweat from the inked skin underneath. One of these days, you’d pull that watch off and your tattoo would be distorted by the impression left behind – now as permanent as each other.

“Good?” Bronze said on your right.

As you turned your head, you tried not to focus on the boonie hat that tempted in your sightlines opposite you. This was the culmination of countless efforts. It was your responsibility to get your team through this, to give your lives to keep the world spinning for a few minutes longer. Not some retreat to reconnect with your risen-from-the-dead best friend. He would not be a distraction. He would be an ally, and nothing more.

You tapped your fist to Bronze’s, “Solid.”

______________

AN: Hello and welcome to another series I'm writing. But I have this one half finished so I'm dead set on getting this one completed, especially since it's one near and dear to my heart.

Thank you to @mockerycrow for your permission to use your post/now a fic as inspiration! I'm running away with it, and I'll come back to see what you do with it too! Make sure you send them some love for their updates <3

Final note, if you wanna be tagged, talk to me about this fic or any others, or even request a fic/update on this, inbox me! I'd love to talk more COD content, and the more you talk to me, the more likely I'll post sooner!

#john price #captain john price #john price x reader #john price oneshot #john price fanfic #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price fanfic #cod #mw2 #cod fanfic #cod x reader #my writing #mw2 fanfic #r: gen #wc: >2k

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