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sinisterexaggerator · 5 months ago

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Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

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Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren. Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company.

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends.

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment.

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action.

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.”

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you.

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around.

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed.

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high.

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part.

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger.

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth.

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner.

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose.

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose.

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable.

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds.

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints.

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud.

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown.

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life.

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin.

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance.

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm.

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes.

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center.

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl.

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit.

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it.

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings.

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time.

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption.

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin.

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking.

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again.

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips.

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous.

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection.

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return.

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss.

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

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blackhairedjjun · 7 months ago

Text

honesty - c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader | genre / tropes: angst, open ending, non-idol au, best friends to (potential?) lovers | word count: 818 | warnings: profanity, arguing, reader has a toxic ex, implied infidelity (from the ex not yj)

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - HEAT: while engaged in a passionate argument with one another, sender, in the heat of the moment, blurts out “i love you!” to the receiver. think of like, that glorious trope where people have a huge argument and then suddenly sb drops the mic with “because i’m in love with you!” and silences the other person. u know the trope! (requested by anon - "maybe with a bf2lovers au ?")

author's notes: hi anon! tbh it took me a while to write this since i already did the heat prompt with a different member and i didn't want it to be too similar lol. the ending is more maybe-lovers than outright lovers, but i hope you still like it! <3

despite the calm of the river next to you and yeonjun, your circumstances are anything but. you tried to keep your voice low at first, but your emotions run so high that you’ve given up; you care little about the other people staring at you as they stroll past.

“for fuck’s sake, yeonjun!” you yell. “you’re my friend, not my dad!”

“and aren’t friends supposed to look out for each other?!” your best friend grips his hair in his hands as if to pull it out, then lets go. “i’m telling you to stop hoping for him to come back! he doesn’t fucking care!”

“shut up! you don’t know him like i do!”

“i know he broke your heart so bad that you locked yourself up for a week, and that’s enough!” yeonjun takes a few steps toward you, but you step back.

what was supposed to be a calm afternoon stroll with your best friend has now turned into an argument once you brought up the topic of dating your ex again. you open your mouth to speak, then press your lips together. a cool wind blows from behind you; in your silence you hear a young couple laughing by the riverside, and you envy them.

you know that yeonjun is right, but you refuse to give him the point.

“ he destroyed you, y/n. and now he’s pleading for you back when he’s been kissing others?! don’t you know any better than that?!”

“i do! so why don’t you trust me on this?! why don’t you believe me when i say he’s changed? you keep seeing him as the bad guy!”

“and why don’t you trust me?!” yeonjun’s own voice gets louder with each word, oblivious to the stares of others. “i’m not making it up when i say i’ve heard him flirting with girls, i’ve seen him make out with them at parties. i’m trying to protect you from more heartbreak!”

he sucks in a breath and his voice shifts from loud to trembling. again he steps towards you, but you don’t move away. you look down at your hands to avoid his gaze and find them shaking.

“he’ll break you all over again,” he says. “and i can’t let that happen to you again... i couldn’t stand it the first time.”

a voice in your head tells you that he’s not lying; your best friend has no reason to. you ignore it and root your feet to the ground. “and that’s none of your fucking business, yeonjun. just let me make this choice for myself! i don’t need you trying to tell me what to feel. why do you care so much, huh? why are you trying to control how i feel?!”

“because i一 y/n, you can’t be serious一”

“i am serious! why the hell do you care so much about this damn guy?!”

“because i’m in love with you!”

yeonjun’s eyes widen as he realizes what he just said and he takes a few steps back. you’re frozen to your spot, but you no longer feel rooted. instead you feel brittle, as if a single touch could send you crumbling. every nerve in your body feels primed to fall apart.

“shit, i never should have said that. god, i am so sor一”

“yeonjun...”

his name is barely a whisper from your mouth. you swallow hard, unsure what to say. you can do nothing more but stare at your best friend: the one you’ve told everything to, the one you trusted more than anything else, the one who held you in his arms when you cried after your ex broke your heart. the realization that he’s loved you all this time starts to sink in.

there’s an ache in his eyes now, one so strong that you look away. you take a deep breath and hold yourself together long enough to collect your thoughts.

“i am so sorry, y/n.” his voice breaks and you know he’s on the verge of tears. “i shouldn’t have said一”

“no, jjun.” his nickname weighs down on your tongue. “i... i just...”

you can see yeonjun’s shadow growing closer to yours. with one hand he reaches out for yours, trembling still; with the other he gently lifts your chin up to look at him. his eyes shine with tears, but the ache in them has lessened a bit.

you step forward and he collapses into you. you catch him as he stumbles forward, your arms finding his waist and his head buried in your neck. you hold him gently as you can, as if carrying a fragile treasure; his body shakes ever so slightly as he starts to cry and his tears wet your skin.

when you speak, your words are quiet and carefully chosen.

“i ran away from you, jjun. that’s why i tried to date him again... because i thought you’d never love me back.”

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt angst #yeonjun angst #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #yeonjun fanfic #bhj's 300 follower event 🖤#bhj: violet's works

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writersdrug · 1 year ago

Text

Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

<- Previous - Next ->

Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

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Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

#konig x reader #konig x reader smut #konig cod #konig smut #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #ghost cod #cod #konig #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader

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icyg4l · 6 months ago

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PAC: How to Heal Your Broken Heart

Hello beautiful people! If you are currently going through a romantic break-up, I send my love to you. 🫶 But here, I will give advice on how you can deal with your grief. I am not a therapist so if you feel like you need to contact one, I would highly encourage that you do that. If you resonate with this reading and would like a more personalized reading, please read my guidelines and message me privately so you can receive one. Without further ado, please select your pile!

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: You need to acknowledge that this was meant for you to happen! There is nothing wrong with being single, lovely. Sometimes things just don’t work out and that’s okay. Right now, it’s time for you to focus on bigger and better things without someone by your side. You could have been with your partner for years and one day things just ended. It happens. But the best for you to do right now is to get your hair and nails done. Get to know yourself as a person, not as a partner. You have so much personality, Pile One. You need to take up more space on your own. You don’t need someone to conquer the world with you. I feel like you honestly just have to get used to being by yourself so find literally anything to do by yourself. Read, go for a walk, buy yourself flowers, take yourself on dates. Spend more time making yourself the main character instead of finding ways to antagonize your ex.

Cards Used: Ace of Cups (RX), Four of Wands, Judgment, 7 of Discs, 9 of Swords, 9 of Cups.

extras: fancy dates. peach smoothie. alice in wonderland. benedict cumberbatch. “lumberyard.”

Pile Two: You got a lot of cards, which means that you need to listen up. Pile Two, when was the last time you’ve been outside with your friends? You may have spent a lot of time in isolation in your previous relationship. You don’t have to do that anymore. Your girls are waiting on you. It is best that you go to as many parties that you can find to avoid going back because you don’t need to be with a manipulative liar anymore. I would also suggest that you go to a jewelry store and go spoil yourself. The codependency in your last relationship was abnormal and it’s time that you realize it. I feel like this person took the light away from you and you’re slowly but surely gaining your power back. Your energy is similar to Pile One but I feel like the focus for you is to empower yourself. Adopt the mindset that things will work out for you. Assuming the worst possible outcome is going to work for you. You have to let yourself shine because no one is dimming your light anymore. Surround yourself with positivity and please please please make sure you’re around people that make you feel comfortable and like yourself. Right now is a crucial time for you. Treat it as such.

Cards Used: 6 of Discs, 9 of Discs, King of Discs, Princess of Wands, 8 of Wands, 4 of Cups, The Magician (RX), The Hanged Man, The World, The Emperor, Ace of Wands, 3 of Cups.

extras: “party hard.” tiger print. mr rogers. sofia the first. birthday pin. red dot.

Pile Three: I feel like this pile has to get their body in check. Have you been having physical health problems as of lately? I feel like you need to see a doctor. I am getting the image of someone with a fever getting their temperature checked. It’s almost summertime, this shouldn’t be happening! So first things first, take your Vitamin C. Once you take care of your physical health, you should affirm that everything will be okay. Expose yourself to new places, people and things. Take a getaway trip for the weekend, maybe longer. I think you should also write affirmations on post-its and put them up around your house. I feel like this pile went through a mutual break up but it still hurts. This will sound weird but you’ve been through worse so this shouldn’t break you, lol. I think that’s your spirit guides way of saying to stay optimistic about your situation. There’s an advantage in your situation. You will find more things to laugh about when it comes to your situation. Another thing that I suggest that you do is remove your ex’s energy; their clothes, pictures of them, any and everything. Get it out!

Cards Used: 4 of Discs, Temperance, Queen of Cups, Princess of Swords, 2 of Swords, 5 of Swords (RX), The Sun, 6 of Discs, The Star, Ten of Cups, Queen of Discs

extras: cameras flashing. candied yams. apples and oranges. dominoes pizza. hot flashes. quince.

Pile Four: I’m not going to lie, it may be time for you to consider taking the extra step to getting your mental health in check. If you have been feeling like ending it all, then please talk to a psychiatrist. They may prescribe you with medication. I feel like you need that extra boost. Shit feels stagnant with this group. It’s all about personal accountability with you guys. Yes, it sucks to have your heart broken but how will you fix it? How will you recover? I think you should get in touch with your family. It’s been a minute since you talked to them, hasn’t it? You might feel like they will mock you for going through it or say “I told you so” but they won’t. They’ll be angry about the fact that you were cheated on & manipulated. You were too good and too pretty for your ex, Pile Four. Any plans that you had with them are gone and it’s time to accept that. You may have a hard time moving on but it’s best that you are supported by those who have your best interest at heart. You absolutely can do it. Turn your pain into art. Make music, write poetry, draw something. Do anything to keep your energy moving and flowing. You should also get physical. I channeled Dua Lipa’s song for you as well. So get in the gym & build your physique, begin a cardio routine, just do it!!!

Cards Used: 6 of Cups, Ten of Discs, King of Wands (RX), The Empress, The Star, Death, 9 of Discs (RX), Ten of Swords, The Chariot (RX).

extras: agent of chaos. black ops. nike. “that’s not my forte.” acting. self-righteous. fake smile. eye bend.

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darkbluekies · 4 months ago

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i wanna start writing so bad but idk where to start do u have any tips??

Okay, so this is more of a general in depth guide for a little of everything, if you don't find anything useful in this please let me know and I will try again <3 This is more for lenghty novels (which are my main writing thing) than tumblr posts, but i think that some things here could be used for tumblr too so i'm just spewing every kind of advice i have

Before writing

If you don't have an existing idea, watching movies, series and even music videos can help bring out ideas. Watch some that you like and maybe write down some moments you liked. You can always take inspiration from existing things as long as you make it your own and not copy them.

Everyone says "read more" to develop your vocabulary and I didn't really believe it, but i notice how I feel more confident in my writing after reading someone elses work. It helps you with seeing scenes from other perspective thanks to how someone else would describe a scene. I also created a document where i write down phrases and words that I'd like to remember and use for myself when I can't come up with my own words. It can look like this!

I have always had an easy time for creating stories with a red thread,. But if you need a little help planning out your story, where things should go and when to add what, models like 'Save the cat' could be beneficial. My advice, though, is to not follow it blindly because it can result in a mass procuced feeling since it can become predictable! But I feel that it can be good to have the story somewhat planned out from the start. You don't need to know everything, but just having an overlook where you want to take it is a good thing.

When it comes to characters, try to make them have different characteristics and don't be afriad to give them traits that makes them bad. There are multiple things I don't agree with when it comes to my characters views, actions or reactions, but it makes them human and that's the best thing you can do for your characters, to make them human, real, believable.

Pinterest boards are fun and easy to keep track of the vibe of your story. It helps you save pictures of characters, their clothes, their houses, everything. I have one for every of my books, here are some ideas!

Writing

My biggest advice (that i honestly should take too) is that your first version of something NEVER has to be good. Hell, you don't even have to like it, just get it done so that you have something to go off of when you remake it! You should have fun when you write. Sounds cheesy, but it's very true. If you feel that the story is draining you more than exciting you, leave it. You might come back to it in the future, but for now it's better to leave it and start over!

I have heard a tip that I haven't tried, but when I think about it, it makes sense. Someone suggested to take a book and copy it, word for word, into a document for yourself. That way, you learn to write sentences and build a story. Haven't tried it, but maybe worth giving it a shot? :)

Synonyms are your best friend!! Don't repeat yourself too much. And, instead of saying for example "she walks very slowly, not wanting to reach the meeting" you could say "she forced her legs to move despite the heavy feeling in her chest", because it makes the reader's brain puzzle together what the character is thinking!

I'll round it off before I start to spiral lol. I hope that this was somewhat helpful. I'm rarely asked about these kinds of things so when I am it all flows out without structure! :,)<3

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nixedsignals · 2 years ago

Text

confession // Captain John Price x reader

summary: a mission gone wrong leaves you in the hospital and Captain Price hasn’t come to see you yet.

warnings: descriptions of torture and injury. language. angsty, fluff at the end

a/n: tbh i just really wanted to write a Price thing <3

“It’s been a month, boss,” Gaz leans in the doorway of the hospital room, his voice pitched low. Next to him, John Price stands with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving your sleeping form under clean, white, hospital linen.

“I know that, sergeant,” he murmurs, glancing for a second at his subordinate before returning his gaze to you. “What’s your point?”

“She thinks you’re pissed, sir,” he pauses, seemingly considering his words before adding; “Are you?”

“Am I what? Pissed?” the captain turns his sapphire gaze on Kyle, who nods. “Yeah, I’m pissed. I’m fuckin’ furious. They could’ve killed her, an’ when I find ‘em-“

“She thinks you’re pissed *at her*,” Gaz clarifies, gesturing to you. “Sir.”

“Christ, ‘m not. How’d she get that into her head?” John returns his focus to you, watching you roll halfway under the covers before wincing and rolling back.

“Well you haven’t come to see her when she’s awake. For all she knows, you haven’t even been here,” John nods along with Kyle’s words. He’s right. A second passes before John speaks, voice almost completely absent of his typical commanding tone.

“I’ll stay, talk to her when she wakes up,” he claps a hand on Gaz’ shoulder, a tight smile on his face. “You should go home, get some rest.”

“Yes, sir. Be careful with her though. She’s been through it already,” Gaz casts a last look over you before nodding at the captain and taking his leave.

John sighs, quietly entering the room and sitting in a very nearly comfortable armchair next to your bed. He knew you deserved better than his last month of treatment. The memory of *that* day was fresher than he’d like to admit.

You’d been infiltrating an enemy base. It was supposed to be an easy op, in and out, low hostile count. Easy.

What a joke.

They’d set up on two buildings: Ghost and Soap on one, Price and Gaz on the other, ensuring overwatch cover. You had been sent into the bulding. Alone.

Christ, John wished he could take that order back.

At the time, it’d been a good move. The target building had open floorplans and cieling high windows. They should’ve had no issue covering you. Until you’d radio’d in:

“Cap, there’s a stairwell going down in the back corner of the first floor. Wasn’t in the floorplan,”

And you’d gone down.

The dead air time alone was enough to make the ever-stoic Captain John Price sweat in his fatigues. And after 20 minutes of incrimental “What’s your status?”-es, he finally received a response.

“Boss, I fucked up,” your voice was hushed over the comms and Price’s heart dropped.

“Status, sergeant?”

“This place is crawling. Fifty hostiles, maybe more. Entrance is blocked and there’s not another way out,”

“Find another way out, now. That’s an order,”

“Can’t. ‘m sorry. Gonna cut comms and strip my fatigues. They won’t know who sent me. Won’t give anything up. Promise,”

Before Price could stop you, the snap of the walkie cord and static filled his ears.

It took a week to get you back. They found you in a back room, ankle chained to the bars of the dog cage around you. Malnourished, dehydrated, sleep deprived.

It took everything he had to look at you long enough to recognize the muzzle flash burns on your temples and telltale scars running aross your chest and legs from cigarettes being put out against your skin.

Now, your muffled voice drags him from his thoughts. You look better, curled into the stark white sheets. Your cheeks are regaining their fullness and color, and the dark circles under your eyes have all but vanished.

Can still see the scars on your temples though. He shoves that thought away, willing his blood to a light simmer instead of the boiling rage that threatens to consume him.

“Sorry, what’d you say, kid?” His eyes find yours, now fully paying attention.

“Water, please?” you rasp, gesturing to the cup on the bedside table. He nods, grabbing the cup, gently pulling you into a half-sitting position and holding the straw to your lips.

You take a few sips, wincing a little before nodding, a gesture that your finished for now. John sets the cup down, eyes on your throat, brows furrowed.

“They waterboard you?” his voice is even. Clinical. He doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment that crosses your face, however.

“Yes,” you mumble, turning to face away from your superior. “Is that why you finally showed up? To get my report?”

“No, no it isn’t,” he closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. “I’m sorry, for not being by ‘til now.”

“S’fine. What are you gonna do now?” your voice grows softer and he can hear tears in the back of your throat.

“About what?”

“To punish me,”

John’s gaze snaps to yours, only just catching a tear on your cheek before you wipe it away.

“You—you think you’re in trouble?” he asks, voice dropping to a deadly low tone. You nod, face contorting at the motion for a brief second. John shakes his head. “Bloody hell, you’re not—I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me? I’ve been in here a month and I haven’t even seen you,” now your tears flow freely, streaking down your cheeks. “For the first week, I figured you had paperwork to do, but after a month? Even Ghost came by and you know how he is about going out.”

You curled your arms around yourself, bringing your knees up to your chin, sobs ripping from your chest in a hellish attempt to keep you from breathing evenly.

“I’m sorry, lo-“ he stops himself. He can’t say it, the ‘L’ word. Even as a nickname, it could open the floodgates.

“Tell me then,” you whisper, hiccuping through your tears. “Tell me the truth, why would you stay away like that?”

“Christ, I just-I couldn’t. It was too hard,” he drops his gaze the the floor, suddenly finding the linoleoum tile fascinating while waiting for your response.

“Hard? It was too hard? You don’t think it was hard for Soap or Ghost or Kyle? He’s been here every goddamn day!” your tears begin running down your cheeks, hot and fast as anger replaces sorrow. “You don’t think it was hard for me, sitting in this fucking room thinking that my captain was mad at me because I messed up our mission and lost the intel and got tied up and beaten and—“

“I know that, love,” John snaps, standing quickly and turning away. “I know that it’s been hard. And I know I should’ve come sooner. And you want the truth?”

You nod, eyes wide. John drops back into his seat, reaching out to brush some of the tears from your cheeks with calloused fingers.

“You almost died. You’re lucky you didn’t. An’ the whole time you were in surgery I knew that if I saw you, I’d say something stupid,”

“Why?”

“Because-Christ-because I love you. An’ I shouldn’t ‘cause I’m your captain. But I can’t lose you, knowing I never said it, hell. I’m sorry. For all of this. I’ll never bring it up again. An’ if you wanna put in for a transfer, I’ll approve it. Promise,” he slumps back in his seat, looking more defeated than you’ve ever seen him. His hardened outer shell has worn hundreds of missions and storms and losses, and this is what broke him?

You start to laugh, a small giggle, but it grows and John’s head snaps up. You look happier than you have in a while, even before the incident, and warm blue eyes widen in wonder at your sudden change.

“Say somethin’ funny, did I?” he grins, charming and a little bashful and it only makes you laugh harder. After a minute, the sound dies down, leaving you to ask for your water again, throat shredded from the rollercoaster of emotions.

“I’m sorry, just-didn’t expect you to say that,” you quietly start, hand venturing from under the blanket to find Price’s much larger one. “I, um, I love you. Sir.”

“Don’t-have to call me ‘sir’. Not when it’s just us,” then a pause, his eyes find yours and he lets out a slow breath.

“Will we get in trouble?” your voice trembles a little and John winces, knowing you might cry again.

“No, no, I’ll-I’ll talk to Kate, sort something out. Promise,” he gently moves his fingers tighter around yours, thumb brushing over you knuckles. You smile, brighter than the sun and he swears he gains ten years on his life everytime he sees it.

“Can you kiss me now then?” you ask breathlessly, and John laughs, standing and leaning forward. His lips gently press against yours. It’s chaste and soft and short, but it’s perfect.

-—————-———-—-

“They’ve been like that since I got here,” Kyle Garrick stands in the doorway to your hospital room, arms crossed. Soap is leaned against the opposite doorframe, while Ghost sits in a chair a few feet away.

“‘Bout time too, I swear they’ve been makin’ eyes at each other for ages,” Soap shakes his head, gesturing into the hospital room.

The topic of conversation there, you sleeping soundly in the haze of white linen around you, fingers holding the hand of their captain, who’s snoring at a truly ungodly volume from the chair beside your bed.

“Laswell, 10 o’clock,” Ghost mutters, glancing at Gaz.

“I say we let her try to wake up the captain. ‘Cause I’m not gonna,”

#captain john price #john price #call of duty #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #smx

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goosewriting · 8 days ago

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I am a SUCKER for enemies to lovers

So hear me out, reader is part of the mantis crew as a healer and for some reason cal and them just don’t get along. at. all. And maybe like, they put their differences aside for the sake of getting the holocron first (not without some tension and snipping at each other) but after that’s over, neither of them have anything to take their mind off the other so they end up sniping at each other and getting into arguments a lot more often and eventually reader storms off after cal had said something particularly scathing and she maybe gets into trouble in some way? Like she’s not the best at fighting but then her blaster jams up and she thinks she’s done for but cal had followed her and saves her? Anyway, it all ends in a super heated kiss? Idk just a thought lol

(If you did write this, could reader be short? Like I’m 5’2” and I don’t see many fics where my height is represented? If that makes sense? And since I headcanon cal as six foot..)

Anyway sorry for the longish request! Just thought I’d drop in something lol

Have a good day/night!!

Can't Stand to be With(out) You

summary: after getting on everyone’s nerves with their bickering, Cal and reader are put in time-out to finally make up.

relationship: Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: second hand embarrassment, making out

word count: 3k

A/N: to be frank, this was one of the hardest Cal fics to write. the request and idea in itself is great and i’ve been trying to come up with something since the moment you sent it in, but it’s been SO hard to find a way to convincingly portray cal like someone reader doesn't get along with because i literally love him sm i can’t imagine him ever being anything other than a sweetheart with the people he cares about 😭 so yeah i hope i did your request justice!<3 i love short!reader so please do send in some more for cal when i open reqs :’)

[all masterlists] 🪶 [star wars masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Ever since the holocron was retrieved and destroyed, some deeper troubles seem to be coming to the surface amongst the Mantis crew. Or rather, between you and Cal specifically. Cere decided that the team should lie low for some time until comm chatter about them calms down again, so you currently find yourself on a moon somewhere in the Outer Rim.

Cal and you accompanied Greez to the local market to get provisions, and even in small things like these, you notice how much friction has bubbled up between you and the redhead.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re so tired of Cal’s way of going about things. The way he always goes in sabres and blasters-a-blazin’ instead of strategising a little more. That one time he literally jumped off the Mantis mid-flight on Kashyyyk? Absolutely insane.

Cal seems to think that stims or bacta will cure anything. He comes up so beat up sometimes that you’ve questioned his self-preservation instincts more than once. You give him a piece of your mind as well when he comes back to the Mantis like this, that he has to better take care of himself out there, as one day he might be so injured, he might not make it back in time for you to patch him up again.

He suggested that the solution might be to take you with him, and for a low stake reconnaissance mission he did drag you along, but you both quickly realised that that was not your strong suit. You know he probably didn’t mean to, but still, he made you feel like you were slowing him down. And you were pretty helpless against local fauna and enemies, still not completely skilled at shooting your blaster, since you had never had to use one before.

And if that didn’t make you feel pretty useless that day, then you had to swallow your pride and ask him to get some supplies from the top shelf, as you’re too short to reach. This was, unfortunately, not a rare occurrence. And while he never openly made fun of your height, this was just a reminder of yet another aspect where he was “superior” to you.

Bringing your focus back to the task at hand, you point to a basket of fruits, saying that you should get some. Meanwhile, Cal is looking at some pre-packaged food instead of fresh produce; he vouches for practicality, while you insist you should focus on nutrition. Greez rolls his eyes as you butt heads for what seems like the hundredth time today.

Merely seeing Cal’s face brings up anger in you now. Your mind trails off again as he goes on about ration bars, thinking about how insufferable he is. The way he thinks the whole weight of the galaxy resides on his shoulders; what’s up with that? He is so harsh with himself when something doesn't go as planned. And then the whole team has to deal with his sulking.

Having had enough of your antics, Greez sends you both back to camp to cool off while he takes care of the food.

“And by the time we’re back, you better be best friends!” he calls as you leave the market.

Cere is currently elsewhere with Merrin getting intel. As you’re both walking side by side in spiteful silence, Cal takes out his comlink, hitting up Cere and asking if he can join her. The gall of this guy! You shoot him an incredulous look. Cere says no, however, and in a hushed voice makes it clear that she, too, is fed up with your bickering, so you should make up already. Then she hangs up.

The whole walk back, Cal is restless and frustrated. He claims to be stuck on the moon, and he feels like they’re losing time, that he could be doing something.

You stop dead in your tracks, and he looks back at you questioningly.

“You're always going on about doing more and more. Why can’t you take a break and be happy about what you’ve already accomplished?” you blurt out, unable to hold back any more. “You’ve saved all those kids on the holocron list. In the past months, you’ve almost died so many times I’ve lost count. I understand the cause, but you’ve neglected yourself for too long. Heal and rest properly so you can still go out there to do… whatever it is you do.”

You regret your poor choice of words the moment they come out of your mouth. You didn’t mean to downplay Cal’s actions and the danger he gets himself into to save people or get intel. But at the end of the day, you don't actually know exactly what he does and how. You only see the end result in the state he comes back in.

“‘Whatever I do’?” he repeats incredulously with a scoff. “What do you think I do? I’m sorry I can’t stay inside the ship all the time playing nurse.”

Whatever intention you had of backtracking and rephrasing is thrown out the window. His words sting.

“Playing…?”

You haven't told him about the nightmares plaguing you, where you see him over and over, bleeding out, falling to his death, unable to rescue him. He dies in your arms every time.

But you’re not about to tell him that. So you storm off. Where to, doesn’t matter, you just need to get away from him.

You can hear Cal calling out to you as he tries to keep up with your hasty pace, navigating through the maze of narrow passages that make up the village. At some point, you manage to lose him after squeezing through a rather small opening in the wall, and you stop to catch your breath. Your mind is reeling, and there are so many things you want to tell him but know will get you nowhere. The team wants, needs you to make up to function properly again, and you know it. You’re aware it’s not just him but you as well who has become extremely irritable, causing the team morale to sink considerably.

Leaning back against the brick wall, you groan in frustration. Why does it always have to be you to give in, and swallow your pride and words for the sake of a moment of peace on the Mantis? It’s not fair.

As you’re mulling over this, you don’t hear the steps quickly getting closer. By the time you realise what’s happening, a bandit is standing in front of you, holding a knife in his hand. You don’t really have anything to give him, so you quickly push yourself off the wall and make a run for it. Turning around mid-run, you try to shoot at the bandit, but of course your blaster gets jammed, so you throw it at him instead. The guy easily dodges the weapon, quickly closing the distance between you two.

When he inevitably reaches you, he harshly grabs onto your arm, bringing you to a forceful stop and slamming you against the wall. There’s a blur of lights as Cal appears out of seemingly thin air, fighting off the bandit, who quickly escapes with a yelp of fear.

You shake your head at Cal’s actions, so much for “lying low”; here he is, yet again, sabre out.

“Put that thing away before someone else sees,” you reprimand him, looking around the passage, but luckily there’s no one.

Cal retracts his weapon, clipping it back to his belt, hidden under his coat. He looks around one last time to make sure the coast is clear, then turns to you with a frown, surely to scold you, but whatever he was going to say dissipates, as does his anger, his face instead morphing into worry.

”You’re bleeding,” he points out, his hand coming up to your temple. But you swat him away, hissing as you touch the wound caused by getting slammed face-first into a brick wall. You look at the blood on your fingertips accusingly, like it’s to blame for this whole situation.

You walk back to camp in silence, not without retrieving your blaster that you threw a couple streets further back. Cal follows a couple of steps behind you, and you don’t look back at him once.

When you arrive, you’re glad to see the rest of the team hasn’t come back yet. You get your things and go to the refresher to use the mirror to patch yourself up. Cal wants to help, but you swat his hand away for the second time that day. So he leaves you alone to clean your wound and apply some bacta, then you place a little gauze over it.

When you come back out, you find him sitting on his bunk, and he calls you to him, so you sit next to him, both of you surrounded by uncomfortable silence until he speaks.

”About what I said earlier–“

“Don’t,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “You’re so concerned about the entire galaxy out there that you forget the people right here with you.”

“What do you mean?” He looks at you, offended.

The sound you produce is something between a scoff and a groan of frustration, starting to turn away.

“I don’t forget about any of you!” he remarks, gently holding your shoulders to make you face him. “I couldn’t do this without you, and if anything, we’re doing this also for ourselves. Because we can, and others out there don’t have the chance to fight back.”

“Ugh!” You free yourself of his hold and stand up, pacing up and down in front of him. “You’re like, this all powerful being of legends, moving stuff with your mind, effortlessly picking your enemies off, while I'm back here, worrying about you to the point I can't sleep. All the time, but especially ever since we destroyed the holocron, you go around picking fights, going after imps without thinking of the consequences that could have for the rest of us!”

He looks at you, and you can feel your whole body shaking.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” he asks. “Nothing will happen to any of you, I’ll protect you.”

“But what if you can't!” Now you’re close to tears, sitting back down on his cot, looking up at him almost pleadingly. “What if you don’t come back?! Do you know how terrified I’ve been every time you left and I didn’t know what state you’d come back in, if at all?”

“Wha–”

This time, it’s your hands that come up to his shoulders, and you shake him back and forth lightly to emphasise your words.

“You say you’ll protect us, but who’s protecting you, Cal? I can’t go out there with you, we’ve already established that. But what if you need me? What if I can’t get to you in time? I could never forgive myself.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he says, taking your hands in his and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “The reason I can go out there in the first place is because I know you’re safe, and that you’ll be here when I come back.”

“That’s not sustainable at all,” you say with a huff.

“It’s worked this far, though, hasn’t it?”

There is a moment of silence as you hold each other’s gaze, and while you’ve seen his eyes a million times, for the first time you realise just how deep of a blue they hold. Were they always this beautiful?

“So all this time, you’ve been worried about me?” he asks almost shyly.

“Obviously,” you answer.

“I thought you disliked me. Some days even hated me.”

“What? No. I mean–”

He raises his brow questioningly, and as you’re trying to formulate an answer that encompasses that some days you can’t stand him but he, in fact, means so much to you, you look down at your hands still in his, and he holds onto them even tighter, as if scared that you might let go.

“I mean, I, uhm,” you stumble over your words, looking back at up him, aware of the heat spreading on your face. “We’ve been part of this crew for a while now. I guess I’ve become rather… fond of you. As a colleague, you know.”

“Colleagues, huh,” he says, and a grin spreads on his face, an adorable blush adorning his freckled cheeks. “That’s too bad, because I think I just realised I, uh, like you. A lot, actually.”

You can’t help but laugh at the timing of such a confession.

“To think that all this time we were giving each other such a hard time,” you say, shaking your head.

“Maybe it’s better that way, though.”

“How so?” you ask.

“Had I known back then, it would have been infinitely harder to leave for missions. I know it certainly will be from now on.”

“I could still join you,” you joke, and you both laugh, knowing that that’s a bad idea for a multitude of reasons.

“Absolutely not. I’m not putting you in danger,” he says, his hands momentarily letting go of yours to gingerly run up and down your arms as he looks lost in thought, cherishing this moment. Then his eyes snap back to yours as if he suddenly remembered something.

“You said earlier you're so worried that you can’t sleep?”

“Ah, well, yeah,” you say with a slight shrug, trying to brush it off. “I’ve been having some nightmares, but nothing serious.”

Cal gives you a deadpan expression.

“Yeah well, you know,” you try to come up with an explanation that holds the least amount of detail as possible. All the while, his soft caresses seem to light your whole body on fire. “You’ve come back pretty bruised at times. I was, am, scared that one day I won’t be able to patch you back up.”

“Believe it or not, I do know my limits. I wouldn't ever put myself in actual danger if I knew I was in over my head.”

“And I believe you. What I'm worried about is your ability to assess the situation.”

“Ouch,” he chuckles. “Maybe I can just see more from where I stand.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Do you mean through the Force, or are you actually calling me short right now?”

He grins.

“Oh, you better watch out for your kneecaps, young man, they might go missing one night!”

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try… shortie.”

“Oh, that’s it!”

You play wrestle him, and he scoots further back onto the cot, so you follow, throwing half-hearted swipes at him, until you realise that you ended up climbing on top of him.

“Ah, sorry–” you apologise, trying to lift yourself off of him, but he holds you down, bringing you closer by your hips so you’re straddling him, and he sits up with you on his lap.

“It’s not just blind arrogance, by the way,” he says, bringing his hand up to run his knuckles over your jaw. “I trust the Force and my Master’s teachings more than I trust myself. They haven't failed me yet. I'm here. I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after. So please, the last thing I want is for you to lose sleep over me.”

“I’ll try.”

Cal properly cups your face with both his hands now, and you place yours over his, leaning into his touch. Your faces start inching closer, like a magnetic force is pulling you together.

“It might help if you’re there when I fall asleep, though,” you whisper, lips ghosting over his. “Just a hypothesis.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

When he finally kisses you, it’s like all the pieces of a puzzle fall into place. Everything makes sense now; the tension between you two, which had been there from the very beginning, was and had always been attraction. Disguised as snarky comments, arguments, glares and grumbles; in the end, you’d always find yourselves together, seeking out each other’s company.

As this realisation hits you, you feel a weight being lifted from your shoulders. But there’s a different weight on you now, one that you welcome, as Cal pushes you onto your back on his cot, climbing on top of you. He kisses you with desperation, as if making up for lost time, and you pull him closer, but it’s not enough. Everything you feel, taste, and breathe is Cal, and you don’t want this moment to end. He breaks the kiss momentarily for some much-needed oxygen, and attacks your throat instead. You bring one hand to your mouth in an attempt to stop the sounds threatening to escape, but it doesn’t work, and they only spur him on. Bringing his lips back to yours, his tongue finds your own. He snakes an arm around your back, further arching into him.

Suddenly, Cal flinches in surprise and pulls back, leaning on his elbows on either side of you.

“W-what?” you ask, out of breath.

“Cere is outside,” he merely says, a violent blush going from the tip of his ears all the way down to his neck.

“How do you…?”

“She was, uh, checking in, to see if we were here,” he says, unable to look at you.

“Well, can you tell her to… wait a bit longer?” you ask, running your fingers through his copper hair. His eyes find yours again and he tilts his head to the side, a smug smile starting to spread on his lips.

“Hm… You’re cute when you’re needy,” he says.

“Shut up,” you say with no snark whatsoever, chuckling.

“Maybe we can take this somewhere else,” Cal proposes, leaving a trail of small kisses on your jaw. “There’s a pretty good spot up by the hills, it has a nice view.”

“Should we pack some dinner too?”

He takes a moment to look down at you underneath him, then smiles with hungry eyes, towering over you.

“Good idea, I’m starving.”

— — — — —

Meanwhile, outside: Cere pinching the bridge of her nose with a groan, Greez giving her a confused look, while Merrin looks strangely proud.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings, @kalea-bane, @soka-writes-things, @padawancat97, @riddikulus-obsessions, @optimisticprime3, @starilicious , @lovelyygirl8, @cathyket, @wildefire, @ghostkestis, @reckoning-star, @wyvernthekriger, @camiemorgan8, @ivelostmyabilitytoeven

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uldren-sov · 5 months ago

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shared secrets

another lil @infamous-if fic because i can't stop even if i wanted to. little bit of background for ms. rodriguez-rose but done in a more "current" time Hope you like! ~2.5k words Seven Lawless is canon and not mine but Camy Rose is :)

✩

The gentle rocking of the tour bus driving down the highway should be comforting, especially at – Camy looks across her notebook in her lap and turns her cell’s screen on – 1:14 AM, but all she can think about now is how fucked she’d be if she got motion sick. What if she was just nauseous this whole time? What if she was so sick she was unable to write songs? What if being sick kept her up all night instead of all these new people with their loud breathing and snoring? Maybe if she was, she would be so exhausted that she wouldn’t care about how Kieran (she thinks) snores louder when he sleeps on one side than the other. Maybe she wouldn’t care about hearing the indiscernible whispers between Seven and Avina in their bunk.

Maybe she wouldn’t be fucking haunted by hearing Seven asleep and remembering how they had once fit together so comfortably on the most uncomfortable mattress... She fought hard to forget it these past years, but flashes of how fingertips felt along along her spine come back to her now when cradling her pillow can’t settle her enough to sleep, and during nights like these when her mind is just too active to let her body rest.

She stares blindly at her most recent page of half-finished lyrics and sketched notes as her mind’s tires spin in the mud, churning out all these unhelpful anxieties as she uselessly urges her brain to take advantage of this time to herself. Usually as the last one to fall asleep and top 3 of the earliest to wake up, it means she has plenty of alone time even among a crowd of 11 (including Chuck the driver). In those late nights and early mornings, she finds it easier to break through her own bullshit, her defensive ego and caked on charm, and just dare to be vulnerable again. Dare to write again.

When the words come.

Sometimes they just don’t. Like tonight where her brain would apparently like to think of literally anything else than sentences with meaning, ending in a word that can rhyme. Still, she’s not about to waste a night when she could be working on something, practicing, getting better. She has to, she must, she can’t stop. Sleep is not an option, lyrics are not an option, so she’ll work on her only other option - a way to improve without bothering anyone.

Slipping her notebook under her pillow and shimmying on some exercise pants she untucks the oversized Soft Violence band shirt – flipped inside out for everyone’s sake – from the waist band and carefully unzips the curtain of her bunk. She steps into the stale, frigid, air and quickly assesses her surroundings. Most of the curtains are closed, those that don’t have it cracked open for the AC, but most importantly everyone seems to be asleep. A sigh of relief as she works her neck and shoulders out after being hunched over her notebook for so long. Nothing about the tour bus is ideal but no one can say that she won’t make the most out of a bad situation.

She snatches her laptop and headphones from the far corner of her bunk and gives another cursory look around. No one stirs, no curtain opens, no one peeks their head out telling her to go the hell to sleep, but she swears she hears some music from one of the bunks closest to her. Maybe it’s August? Either way, she’s safe enough to continue as she ducks down to where her carry-ons are stashed. She finds the handle of her guitar case and gathers it up along with the rest.

It’s not uncommon that she would bring her guitar with her, despite not playing guitar in the band anymore. She uses the excuse that it helps imagine the song better and lets Rowan take the lead on the rest. The reality though is one of the few secrets she keeps from her band but it’s definitely not the biggest sacrifice she’s done for their sake. Not by half. It still might be the biggest lie that she keeps from them.

She tiptoes and carefully parts the beaded screen that separates the “bedroom” and the living area. Maneuvering around the space she sets up as close to the front as she can to make sure she won’t wake anyone. Laptop set up in front of her, she’s at least able to keep the curtain in her peripheral as she settles her PRS over her criss-crossed legs, and sets up the rest. Avoiding the red guitar pick with the single casino-style number on it and fishing out one of the dozen others, she tentatively starts picking along her electric guitar. Soft plinking of the metal strings are barely heard over the ambient sound from the bus, but even so, she glares at the curtain, bracing for someone to come out and catch her.

What fans don’t know, and what she thinks even her band has forgotten, was that Camy was a guitar player long before she was ever a singer. Singing was something that she kept to herself until what felt like the last second. Even then, up until high school graduation, she was lead guitar and a secondary/co-vocals until they started making their own music. But as inevitable as erosion, she phased out of that guitarist role. It was better for the band, it was better for their sound, they told her she was a better singer than guitarist anyways – that one still stings even after all this time – and it was best for Rowan. More than any other reason, she made the change for him. She decided to just pull the pin and give into that eventuality one late night, like this one, to a sympathetic Seven who comforted her for her subtle sacrifice. Stepping out of Rowan’s spotlight, she quickly shifted to rhythm guitar, to only vocals, to lead singer. The audience for her late night playing dwindled to one, up until about three years ago.

Now, she plays in secret to sharpen herself, she plays to develop melodies she’ll only later hum in rehearsal, and she plays for desperate nights like this. Now, she stares at the curtain for just a little while longer and sighs when she seems to be in the clear.

Brushing her hair back she slips her headphones on and the strap of her guitar over her shoulder. A bit of warm-up, a bit of practice – a bit of tuning, to be honest – a bit of maintenance, and she begins to play. Slow improvisation finds a melody from the chaos of her mind, a song, a feeling, coalescing in cohesive notes resonating from her headphones. The effect is immediate, like her brain is sighing in relief as notes fall into rhythm, fall into order, fall into something that sounds like music. A quiet contentment and pride settles around her like a blanket hearing her improvement as well, a confirmation that she’s not only her songwriting.

2:28 AM. She rests for a moment, stretching out her hands as she takes a break. She should sleep. She shouldn’t take a stab at the latest, hardest, solo she’s been practicing off an on for a while now. She should just relax, for once. She shouldn’t cut into her sleep schedule any more than she already does.

It doesn’t take long before she’s nodding her head in time with the track she has loaded up and the metronome that helps her keep the beat. The notes fly under her fingertips and she allows herself a smile at her progress. She’s a long way from really nailing such a complicated solo, but damn if she isn’t getting there. And damn if it isn’t fun to learn – even with all the frustration involved with learning it.

Something whispers in the back of her mind as her skin pricks with awareness. In her peripheral there’s a shape looming, framed in the threshold of the living area. For a brief moment she wonders who looks weirder: her, hunched over her colorful guitar with the laptop’s screen blaring light into her face or the person standing there, menacingly, in shadow in front of that ridiculous beaded screen.

Ripping the headphones off her ears she wraps her arm around her guitar like she’s trying to hide it before she straightens in realization. Seven stares at her, stares through her, half highlighted in moonlight half shrouded by the night. The weight in his look is as inscrutable as the rest of him. She’s not sure how long he’s been there – why is he even here? – but if she was going to be caught by anyone, she decides he’s actually not the worst choice. Since the start of the competition, Seven has calmed down a bit, just a bit, and thankfully she can’t see any of that heat she’s come to expect. Yet.

“Sorry if I woke you,” she whispers.

“You didn’t.” He shakes his head and yet she can almost taste the lie. She glances past him for any more movement but finding none, she finds his dark green eyes in the gloam. As impossible as he is to read, something about how he regards her now has her breath catching. “Didn’t know you still played.”

“Technically, I don’t,” she says, shifting uncomfortably as she closes the lid to her laptop. “Remember?” Which is always a risk to say to him now. He seems to hate everything about their shared past, the good and the bad. He shifts in place before wandering closer to lean against the opposite side of the sofa. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, he glares out the window as the conflict in his mind already begins to show in the furrow in his brow. She chews on her lip, taking in the way his hoodie is zipped up enough to be respectful yet low enough for her to know he’s shirtless underneath. She has to rip her gaze away before she starts lingering too long on how good he looks when he actually just rolls out of bed and not only when he styles himself like he did.

She tempers herself with a slow exhale, reminding herself that his opening performance was a song all about how much he hates her, with a performance tailored to aggravate her jealousy, both of which took advantage of her latest confession. Admitting her nightmare to the ghost of love’s past himself, was a fucking stupid move, she'll admit now. Confessing how she was still not over him, no matter how brutally honest it was, blew up in her face - but how could it not? In response, he could not be more clear about the hurt he wanted to inflict or the line he cut in the sand between them.

She wishes she hated him the way that he hated her.

“With your band,” he says and she catches how he nearly winces at that, “changing up your sound, it’d make sense for you to play.” He shrugs, looking away from her as soon as she looks up to him. She replies with a sigh, pulling the strap off her shoulder and starting to pack her things up.

“Everything that had me stop before hasn’t changed. All those old reasons. So, as far as they know, I don't anymore. Simple as that, ” she says. Admitting anything to him feels like a risk now, ammunition for him to use as a competitor but – who else can she talk to about this? She’s not one to share, not one to be vulnerable – not anymore – but there’s just still something about Seven that makes her feel … safe. Safe enough to share. He can and has hurt her in ways he knows no one else can, but he’s never shared her secrets.

That she knows of. Which is a caution she never thought she’d have to guard herself against. Fool me once...

“Why?” She asks.

“Why what?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he snaps. But sighs tightly as he shifts again, their eyes meeting now as slowly that flare of his anger ebbs. “Just, surprised, I guess. If there would ever be a time for you to show off your playing again, it’d be now.” Something warms in her chest as she reads between the lines.

“Are you sure that I’m even good anymore? Who knows, I might suck now,” she sets her guitar aside and folds her arms over the back of her seat, perching her chin on her arms as she stares up at him. He snorts and she fights a smile off her lips. It’s dangerous how easy it is to let her guard down around him.

“You’re practicing some kind of wild song in the middle of the night? I doubt you decayed down to, like, Smoke on the Water levels,” he says with a scoff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

“You could tell it was a wild song?”

“I didn’t hear any notes or anything but the amount of shredding you played was pretty wild,” he admits and she can’t help but chuckle in response. Warmth blooms through her chest and into her fingertips with the thought that he was watching her and with some level of appreciation.

“I mean, I guess you can say that. But it’s really just Randy Rhoads kicking my ass,” she grins and his face lights up with a smile that makes her heart slam against her rib-cage.

At least until both of them snap up to stare at each other in realization of what was happening.

She drops her head and clears her throat. “But it’s late,” she checks the time – 3:22 AM – and she rolls her lips as she finishes packing up her things. “Big day of hanging out in a bus tomorrow. Probably should get back to bed.” She ventures as she avoids looking at him until her guitar case is zipped closed. Standing in a rush she almost stumbles back from crashing into him. A second of her heart clenching in her chest until it stills, a second of being closer than they’ve been in years, a second of having flashbacks of dozens, of hundreds, of late nights with her playing in their living room and him coaxing her back to sleep, before he scrambles back and puts some space to breathe between them.

“Right, uh huh,” Seven replies, tugging his hood over his head and jerking the rest of the zipper up his hoodie. “Yep.”

“Sorry that I woke you up, though,” she says suddenly, gently. Bracing into himself now, he glowers at her for a moment before pulling away further. A couple of steps later, a safe distance away, maybe, and he turns back to her.

“It’s fine. It’s not like it was loud, I just-” he stops himself as he seems to fall into himself for a moment. “Know what it sounds like and-” She cocks her head in confusion as he glances up to her now, almost panicked as he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Come back to bed.” She arches an eyebrow, jaw dropping a little before he scowls deeper, “I mean go to sleep!” And with that he’s quick to retreat through the curtain once more as she’s left breathless, ambushed, and, in a strange way, comforted by the gesture.

As she quietly follows after, she carefully puts her things away and slips silently back into her bunk. Despite the lingering heavy beat of her heart, she curls around her pillow now realizing that while her practice quieted her mind, there was a warmth in the familiarity of their exchange that soothed her as well.

Sleep takes her before the warning against such a sentiment takes hold.

#my writing #Infamous IF #Seven Lawless #Infamous OC #OC: Camy Rose #bonus points if you can guess what solo she was practicing lmao #ANYWAYS hep birth present to me by writing this - its not super fluffy but def indulgent #ask me about Camy's Guitar Lore looool #gremlin/gargoyle camy vs cryptid spongebob seven go #friends tag: letcamyshred

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otdiaftg · 1 year ago

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The Raven King - Chapter Eleven

Day: Sunday, November 12th Time: 3:10 PM EST

Anytime the Foxes mentioned Andrew's upcoming sobriety or Andrew's name popped up in write-ups on the team's performance at games, the focus was on what a danger he was. People talked about his trial and how it saved them from Andrew. No one said what they were doing to save Andrew from himself. "You told me Cass would never hurt you and would have given you a good education, but you sabotaged your adoption. Officer Higgins came all the way here from the west coast to fix something from your past but you won't help him. You left juvie and killed Aaron's mother to protect him, but instead of fixing your relationship with him you keep him on a leash. You don't want Nicky's parents to hurt him, but you won't let him into your family either. Kevin promised to invest in you but you won't even try. So what is it? Are you afraid of your own happiness or do you honestly like being miserable all the time?" "Neil, look," Andrew said, and pointed up at his own face. "Do I look miserable?" Neil wanted to tear that smile off Andrew's face, but Andrew's obnoxious response wasn't entirely his fault. Neil was dealing with the smokescreen of Andrew's medication. Neither of them could change that, but knowing why Andrew was being difficult didn't make him less frustrating to deal with. All Neil could do was keep his temper in check. If Andrew got a rise from him the conversation was over. That was what Andrew wanted, so Neil wouldn't give it to him. "You look drugged within an inch of your life," Neil said, "and when you're not medicated you're drinking and dusting. When they finally take your medicine away, who are you going to hurt, really?" Andrew laughed. "I'm remembering why I don't like you." "I'm surprised you forgot." "I didn't," Andrew said. "I just got distracted for a moment there. I told her it was a mistake to let you stay, but she didn't believe me. Now look. Oh, for once I don't even want to bother with the 'I told you so'. You ruin all my fun." "Renee?" Neil guessed. "Bee." Neil's blood went cold. "What did you tell her about me?" Andrew grinned at the look on Neil's face. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, Neil! But don't make such a scary face. I didn't tell her your sad little story. We just talked about you. Critical difference, yes? I told her you're more trouble than you're worth. She was looking forward to meeting you, but she won't tell me what she thinks of you. She can't, you see. But I know she likes you. Bee has a thing for lost causes." "I am not a lost cause." Denial was automatic and a waste of time. Andrew put his hand over Neil's mouth to shut him up and said, "Liar. But that's what makes you interesting. It's also what makes you dangerous. I should know better by now. Maybe I'm not as smart as I thought I was. Should I be disappointed or amused?" The perfect retort burned Neil's tongue, but he kept quiet in case Andrew wasn't done rambling. The answer was there, right out of reach, close enough Neil could feel it, but too far for him to make sense of. Maybe Andrew felt it too, because even in his drugged haze he knew to shut up. The smile he flashed Neil mocked them both at that near-miss. He withdrew completely, leaving just the memory of his heartbeat against Neil's mouth, and spun away. "I'll find Kevin. He's too slow." Neil watched him go, then huffed in frustration and turned back toward the racquet.

Art used with permission by Aymmidumps. Thank you @aymmidumps!

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 years ago

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heyy <3

I’ve had this idea about a soft!Nathan Bateman fic and I realized you’re just the right person for it.

On tiktok I’ve seen these videos about this pet watching robot called "ebo" (that most couples have been using to annoy each other)

link

maybe the reader isn't at home but Nathan's busy tinkering away in his office and they pester him with the ebo. Or it's one of Nathan's new projects he's testing and the reader just finds it so humorous. Whatever direction you wanna go in🫶🏾

Ahhhh thank you so much for this ask! ❤️ Oh my goodness, I had such a lovely time writing this! ❤️

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I can only write soft Nathan because I’m a big softie and am WEAK for this man.

Ebo

Nathan Bateman X GN!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged? | request info

Warnings: Typos! Railroad sentences! Soft!Nathan being a big old lovey dovey softie! Please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 983

_______________________________________

“Hey, hey, Nathan, hey,” you purposefully move the ebo into his ankle when he doesn’t look down straight away. “Bateman, hey, hey, hey.”

He tuts and looks down, unimpressed. “Can I help you?” He’s hunched over his desk, sitting at what should be the most uncomfortable angle possible as he types.

“You haven’t eaten in: six hours.” You put on your very best robot voice.

“I’ve eaten.”

You tut. “You’re a bad liar.”

“That’s not fair, I’m a great liar.” Nathan picks up the little ebo robot and the live camera feed on your screen goes all wobbly for a second. He carefully puts it on the desk next to him and carries on working.

You snort and make the robot spin in tight little circles. “You need to eat, you know.”

Nathan sighs dramatically before looking at you, and you can’t help but laugh at his expression.

“I never should have got you this, you know.”

You fake outrage. “What could you possibly mean?

He scowls and then to your absolute amusement pokes his tongue out at you before continuing to type.

A small smile spreads on his face as he hears you laugh through the ebo.

Over your time together he’s grown a lot more playful, far more willing to do silly things just to amuse you, your happiness being the highest award he could get.

You let him work for a few minutes (and actually do some typing yourself) before you start up again.

“Nathan Bateman, I have detected an error in your system.” You speak in the over the top robotic voice again, while gently ramming the ebo into his arm. “Your energy levels are: looooow. Please ingest sustenance immediately. Or you will: Power Down.”

He pulls a face at you over the top of his glasses. “I’ll put you in a drawer.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He pauses for a moment, starting at the little robot before he grabs hold of it.

“Nathan!”

There is a split second where you are sure he’s going to follow through and do exactly that, but instead he stands up and walks out of the room, holding the ebo in his hands as if it was a pet.

He makes sure the camera is facing outwards so that you can see where you’re going as he makes the short journey to the kitchen.

“I can roll you know,” you say teasingly.

“I don’t trust your driving.” Nathan replies, completely deadpan.

“What? You don’t trust my driving?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I don’t trust your driving.”

He scoffs. “I can drive better than you.”

“When was the last time you drove and weren’t driven, Bateman?”

There is a slight pause, but it’s enough.

“That’s not the point.” He says at the exact same time you speak: “Ha! See!”

You can hear him laugh, the screen shakes ever so slightly in his hands.

Once he’s in the kitchen he puts the ebo onto the large countertop.

“Put me on the floor.”

He gives you another look over his glasses. “I’m not letting you run into my ankles again.”

“Meanie.”

He turns away from you, pretending to look in a cupboard, but you can see his shoulders shake a little as he laughs.

“How is your work going?” You ask as he chops onion and garlic on the countertop next to you.

“Hmm, okay, I think I’ve found the main error in the code.”

It’s a little thing, him cooking. But it means a lot. You know normally he wouldn’t bother, when you’re away his eating habits (and schedule) tend to go out of the window. When you’re there he’s usually the one reminding you to eat. Nathan is surprisingly good at caring for people who aren’t himself.

You know why he’s cooking now and not later; your time difference means that it will be the middle of the night when he should be eating dinner. He’d rather eat with you than alone.

You chat as he cooks, mainly asking him about his work. You purposefully avoid talking about the conference your attending. Even when Nathan asks, you brush it off with a quick ‘it’s okay’.

You’ll tell him in detail when you get back. When you can annoy him, lovingly, with kisses in between your sentences. When you don’t have to pretend you can’t see that sad look in his soft brown eyes because you’re not there.

That’s probably the worst part. The fact that he is trying his best to hide how the distance between you affects him. But it’s still written all over his face.

He stirs the sauce on the hob, taking a teaspoon from a side drawer and tasting it. He hums for a second before adding a little more salt.

“Hey, I want a taste.”

Nathan turns to look at the ebo. You think he’s going to say something sarcastic but instead he gets out a new teaspoon (which makes you laugh) and dips it into the sauce.

He blows on it, holding his other hand underneath so that it doesn’t drip. Steam floats up in rolling waves and his glasses fog up ever so slightly. Before he brings it over to the ebo.

He holds it in front carefully and you move forward slowly, pretending to take a bit.

“Hmmm! Tastes good!”

Nathan laughs. And playfully calls you an idiot.

When he serves up his food, he moves the ebo from the countertop to the table, you do a double take and are very glad that Nathan can’t see you.

He’s set a mini place next to him, with a tiny side plate of food. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see him glancing at you from under his eyelashes.

You make the ebo spin around in a circle before moving closer to your plate and making an exaggerated ‘yum’.

Nathan laughs loudly, it’s the best sound in the world.

____________________________________

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macawritesupdates · 3 months ago

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Lessons in accidental seduction is such a good fic it made me want to write a little mini fic

...

Not having hot water for a morning shower wasn't actually a huge deal for Yuuji, he ran hot anyway and the cool water was a good way to really wake himself up in the morning. Still There was a small piece of him that wanted to have the option at least and a bigger piece that just wanted to out stubborn his husband.

Yuuji wasn't actually going to do anything about it. The thought was just there resting in the back of his mind until one day when he was out shopping he saw a sale on water heaters. His house already had one but if he tried maybe he could install another. Maybe then there'd be some extra hot water left for him.

…

Sukuna woke up slowly stretching himself out across the bed, shoving the brat off the edge as he did and savoring his yelp. He considered rolling over into the warm spot the brat had left behind and going back to sleep but the day wouldn't wait and the neighborhood needed to be reminded of the king who ruled over it. So he pulled himself up and started his long morning routine. He'd learned to time his showers so that he always ended just as the last of the hot water ran out. Only letting a few drops of cold water hit his skin to confirm there was nothing else left for his brat of a husband. Sukuna finished his usual routine and waited for the water to turn cold. And waited. And waited. “What the fuck is going on here!”

…

Yuuji finished up breakfast and waited for Sukuna to come down to join him. And waited. And waited. And then his patience dried up along with the eggs which he really should have taken out of the pan. Curiosity got the better of him and he went up to see what was taking his husband so long. He entered the bathroom to find Sukuna sitting criss cross on the floor with the water on full blast glaring stubbornly at him.

“Sukuna you ok?” Yujji asked, feeling a bit concerned.

“fucking peachy brat just enjoying all the hot water like the king that I am!”

“OK as long as you're having fun” Said Yuuji as he watched Sukuna clearly not having fun.

“Oh I am brat I am enjoying all this hot water and you won't get any of it” Said Sukuna clearly not enjoying himself.

It was then that Yuuji remembered the extra water heater he had installed. He wondered how much extra hot water you could get with two of them. Eh probably not too much it'd be fine.

…

And then Sukuna stayed in the shower for hours entirely out of spite until Yuuji finally decided to tempt him out by teasing him with threats of going out to a fancy restaurant with Gojo’s credit card without him. And from then on there was always enough hot water for Yuuji… until Sukuna found the secondary water heater. But that's a story for another day!

…

Idk I just wanted to create something to show my appreciation for your fic but I can't draw at all so I couldn't make fan art 😅. Mini fic of your fic for you instead haha.

AHHHHHHW!? <3 < 3 <3 I think I read this a dozen times with a HUGE smile on my face! It is so well done and feels like something that could happen in this fic so easily haha!

Thank you so much!!! I always get so giddy and happy when people make creative things inspired by my fics ; w ; I just love the idea of Yuuji being so confused why Sukuna is still in the shower being an angry gremlin then like "Oh yeah..."

I love this <3 thank you a thousand more times!

#Maca answers asks #gift fic #I'm over the MOOON1 #Getting gifts of any sort is surest way to slay Maca for 1000 points 83 #waited to post during day so more people can see and read this!

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

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hiii ! i love your writing and if you're still taking requests i would love a reader x dalton where he's a little overprotective in a very loving way 🥺 thankss

Warnings: a little angst, accusation of being overprotective, fluff, time skips (it's kind of like the 3+1 format but not really?), bad writing. 1.3k words.

A/N: Thank you!! I love this request and I apologize for the wait, but I learned that I am terrible at writing protective characters.😭 I'm not happy with how this turned out, so I would love some feedback and constructive criticism so I can revisit this idea and do better next time! Hopefully this is in the general vicinity of what you wanted and I am sincerely sorry for how it turned out, but I promise I will come back when I am more confident/practiced in writing protective characters.

Protect What You Love

"Chris, I don't want to go to a frat party," you say in response to her invitation. "They're not my idea of a good time."

"C'mon, it'll be fun. Dolphin's going; are you seriously going to let him have more fun than you?" Chris responds.

You roll your eyes and reluctantly agree, only because they're your best friends and do pretty much everything you want to do. However, when you get to the frat house, you realize you made a huge mistake.

"Let's go in, Dalton will be here soon," Chris says as you meet her in the front yard.

"Well, look who's here!" Nick yells as he sees Chris. "The brave one. My invitation from last time still stands."

Chris opens her mouth to say something, but Nick doesn't give her any time.

"And I see you brought a friend. A better looking, if only slightly, friend," Nick adds, looking over to his frat brothers at his pitiful jab at your appearance.

"Whatever that was, don't do it again," you respond, beginning to walk around him.

Nick's hand wraps around your wrist as he says, "It was a compliment. Take it."

"How about you take your hand off her?" Dalton says, suddenly standing beside you. "Before someone takes it off of you."

Nick rolls his eyes but drops his hand, throwing them up in faux surrender as Dalton escorts you past him. Instead of leading you into the house, Dalton takes you and Chris back into the yard.

"What was that?" you ask Dalton.

"What do you mean?"

"I can take care of myself. I appreciate the knight in shining armor act or whatever, but I'm not a damsel in distress."

You walk away, and Chris stands beside Dalton as they watch.

"Did you ask her out yet?" Chris asks quietly.

"I did. She said yes but I think I just ruined that. I wasn't trying to-"

"I know, Dolphin. Maybe explain it to her, though."

"She won't believe me."

"Try her. She'll surprise you."

Dalton considers this but decides that you need space.

‣‣‣‣‣

"Wait," Dalton says behind you. "Let me."

You step to the side as he walks into the empty classroom, finding the light switch on the far wall and flipping it on. Your eyebrows furrow as you think about what Chris told you last night.

"He's protective because he cares about you. Try not to take it the wrong way," she had said.

"Are you okay?" Dalton asks, his attention on you as his hands freeze on his sketchbook.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking. Thanks for getting the light."

Dalton smiles shyly, and you begin to think that Chris is telling the truth; you never should have accused him of being overprotective.

‣‣‣‣‣

Dalton seems to have forgiven you, but two nights after the frat party, you can't sleep as you keep thinking about how his face fell when you told him you could take care of yourself and how quiet he had been all day.

"Why didn't you just say, 'I don't need you'?" you mumble, turning over again.

Midnight is long gone, yet the sunrise seems forever away, and you decide what to do. Standing from your bed, you pull on a sweatshirt and slip on your shoes before walking downstairs. Knocking on Dalton's door, you hope you don't wake him up.

"Hello?" he asks as he opens the door. "Oh, hey. Come on in." He opens the door wider and gestures for you to sit on his bed.

"I'm sorry. About last night."

"No, I overstepped, I should be apologizing."

"Are- are we still going on that date, or did I ruin everything?"

Dalton pulls you into his arms and kisses your head before promising, "You didn't ruin anything. I hope we'll be going on more than one, though."

‣‣‣‣‣

"Let me walk you," Dalton says as you stretch, stiff from being his model for several hours. He seems to notice it sounded more like a demand and offers, "If you want."

"Yes, please," you agree, smiling as his arm wraps around your waist.

Once you're on the sidewalk, Dalton shifts you so you're on the inside. He's looking several yards ahead, taking in all of his surroundings.

"Stop," he whispers, grabbing your hip as he stops.

"Why?"

"There's something out here."

"Probably just other students, Dalton, it's fine."

Dalton stares into a dark, shadowy area for a moment longer before smiling and walking beside you again. Torn between telling him you don't need him to go with you everywhere and ruining what you have or learning to live with Dalton looking over your shoulder, you decide to give him one more chance. One more opportunity to not be overprotective seems like an achievable goal, right?

‣‣‣‣‣

"Dalton! I had it under control. I've tried being patient with you. I thought you were just protective out of your care for me, but now I think I was right at the frat party," you accuse, breathing heavily.

"I protect the people I love!" Dalton nearly yells. "So, I interject when I think there's danger, and I know that it seems like I don't trust you, but that's not my goal." Dalton takes a deep breath and then tells you everything, from his 'coma' to his battle to close the red door. When he finishes, Dalton holds his breath as he watches you, unsure what your reaction will be.

"Did you just say you love me?" you whisper. "You said you do it to the people you love."

Dalton smiles and doesn't hesitate as he answers, "Yes. I do love you, and that's why I did what I did. When I walked in that frat house and saw his hand on you, I just started talking; didn't even think about what I was doing."

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, his moving around your waist, as you say, "I love you too. Let's work on it together?"

"Together," Dalton agrees.

‣‣‣‣‣

As time goes on, Dalton tries to be better about his protectiveness. You remind him constantly that you don't mind his help or protectiveness, but you don't need an overprotective, controlling boyfriend. He gets slightly caught up on the word boyfriend, but he's doing better. He asks if you want him to go places with you, respects your boundaries, and lets you fight your battles, but he still doesn't like letting you walk through doors first or be around certain people alone.

What you didn't expect was to learn to love his protectiveness. When you realize that the protectiveness really stems from his love and care for you, you stop noticing it as much. You begin to see protectiveness as part of what makes Dalton so incredible.

‣‣‣‣‣

"I'm going to go get some snacks," you say, stretching as you stand after hours of studying. "Want anything?"

"Hot Cheetos and a cherry slush," Chris answers. "What? You offered," she points out in response to your questioning look.

"Dalton?" you ask, chuckling at Chris.

"I'll go with you," he answers, looking over at the clock as he stands. You walk out first, waiting for Dalton to close the door and come to your side.

"You don't mind if I come with, do you?" Dalton asks.

"No, I actually feel better with you here."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Dalton holds your hand as you walk to the small convenience store, getting snacks and drinks for yourselves and Chris. Dalton checks the shadows as you walk back to the dorm, and if you didn't know his history with the creatures that live in the shadows, you'd think he was trying to find something new to protect you from.

"Thanks for protecting me," you whisper as you slip your hand into his.

"You've been protecting me from my darkness since we met," Dalton responds, matching your volume.

#dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert imagine #dalton lambert fic #dalton lambert #insidious #insidious the red door #requests #fem!reader

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