#i have so many ideas for fics i just never feel like i can capture a characters voice correctly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Note

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement.

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this.

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime.

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air.

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava.

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after.

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life.

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!”

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately.

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.”

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger.

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint.

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets.

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!”

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling.

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!”

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds.

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice.

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?”

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things.

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.”

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.”

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again.

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had.

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision.

“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider.

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line?

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.”

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.”

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead.

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough.

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing.

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!”

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out.

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly.

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes.

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment.

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline.

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand.

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth.

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them.

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones.

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment.

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas.

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt.

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh.

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad.

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow.

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond.

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed.

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!”

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door.

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger.

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge.

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide.

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle.

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms.

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused.

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs.

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile.

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience.

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes.

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette.

At the end of the train, only the engine remains.

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man.

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering.

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet.

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time.

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher.

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame.

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion.

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts.

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor.

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air.

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake.

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you.

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.”

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren��t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch.

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot.

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple.

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you.

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.”

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up.

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!”

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.”

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse.

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you.

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.”

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves.

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck.

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch.

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.”

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat.

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard.

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up.

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains.

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion.

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now.

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming.

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood.

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh.

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast.

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony.

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly.

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath.

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat.

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice.

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function.

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack.

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist.

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty.

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh.

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction.

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.”

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied.

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you.

But he can’t move.

“Harp!”

And you can’t feel your fingers.

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry.

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross.

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils.

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy.

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze.

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this.

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly.

You can’t break—not like Rorke.

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull.

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless.

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out.

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do.

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you.

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later.

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before.

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.”

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open.

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood.

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth.

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh.

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse.

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes.

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches.

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt.

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

“Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground.

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage.

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!”

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion.

Keegan?

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.”

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree.

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger.

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid.

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed.

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.”

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad.

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.”

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!”

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again.

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head.

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious.

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.”

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him.

“Christ,” he hisses.

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick.

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane.

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge.

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold.

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding.

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan.

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead.

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body.

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still.

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes.

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you.

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion.

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!”

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob.

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on.

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.”

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how.

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind.

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence.

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard.

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had.

Two months.

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet.

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President.

He’d denied all of them.

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety.

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open.

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention.

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none.

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you.

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing.

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?”

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight.

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully.

It’s a moment before he answers you.

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.”

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room.

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared.

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say.

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy.

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you.

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again.

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent.

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks.

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there.

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them.

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it.

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr.

Hesh. You want your Hesh back.

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging.

Home.

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.”

You push yourself into him tighter.

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture.

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love.

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

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@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #x female reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #hesh walker x female reader #hesh walker x reader #david hesh walker #hesh walker #cod ghosts #cod ghosts x reader #call of duty ghosts #cod x female reader #x fem!reader #call of duty: ghosts

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stanfanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

Taste of You - Ken x fem!reader - PART FOUR.FIVE

Heeyyy babes!! Your constant support and outpouring of love it SOO amazing, I truly never expected anyone to even read my writing and having so many of you tell me how much you like it is beyond anything I could have hoped for.

I hope you enjoy the latest .5 chapter, which, as has become custom, is simply the fun sm*t stuff that we all enjoy. Today’s entry had some sub!/dom! Roles, on both sides ;) so I’m eager to see how everyone likes it, what they like more, etc!! Also thanks to @aloheem for suggesting trying out a tickling idea to see how Ken reacts to it.

AND thank you for sending in your requests!! I love reading what you enjoy consuming fan-fic wise and I hope I can bring your ideas to justice <3

Alright, without further ado, warnings and then let’s goooo.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY / sub!Ken/dom!reader / dom!Ken/sub!reader / mild non-con (never fully non because the sub! Is enjoying themselves and makes that clear) / light choking / spanking / bondage / overstimulation / new sensations / tickling / praise k!nk / oral fem! & male! receiving / ball touching / edging

Ken lay underneath you, helpless as you straddled his hips but bent down, eyes staring into his the entire time. He gasped and his entire body clenched as you bit down into the area where his hip bone and groin meet and sucked hard. The headboard rattled loudly as he attempted to jerk his hands toward to free them, but they remained tightly bound above his head much to his frustration. His eyes, never leaving yours, pleaded as loudly as they could, as you had forbidden him from speaking for the time being, begging, BEGGING you to let him do *something,* anything other than lay there and suffer this insanely incredible torture that he still wasn’t quite sure how to take.

“Mmmmm, yes baby.”

Ken’s voice cut through the experience just enough for you to open your eyes, blinking, your body hot and horny and your head trying to navigate the fact that you had just been dreaming.

“You’re finally awake.” Ken was spooning you, arms and legs tangled with yours, his forehead pressed into the back of your skull. He leaned forward so his lips were perfectly caressing your ear, sending a slight tickle down you when he spoke. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for ages.”

Your eyes adjusted and you saw the clock. 4 a.m.

“Why would I be awake at 4, Ken?” But you already knew why. It had become almost routine at this point for Ken to somehow wake you during the night for your sexual escapades that hadn’t even begun to slow in their frequency.

“You were moaning in your sleep,” he snuggled closer to you. “I was hoping you’d wake so we could do whatever you were dreaming about in real life.” His lips captured your ear lobe and bit down just enough for another little spark to shoot down to your core. You giggled and tried to pull away but he held you close and started attacking your neck, which made you giggle more.

“Keeennn! Please,” you laughed, struggling.

“Mmmmm not until you tell me about your dream so I know what I need to do to you,” he chuckled.

You paused, thinking. Ken had become incredibly confident sexually in a very short period of time, but you wondered if having him submit to you would be something he would enjoy. You knew YOU would love it but you also worried perhaps he might take it the wrong way, or feel scared or…

“I’m waiting,” Ken reminded, breathing in your scent as he nuzzled into your neck again.

Well. You *were* incredibly horny right now, and honestly pissed off that Ken had woken you before your dream had reached completion. You decided you would try, and take it slow, and let him lead everything based on his comfort level.

You managed to turn yourself to face him, and he smiled so beautifully at you.

“Ken…I think I want to try something new tonight.”

His eyes lit up. Fair enough, he did always love learning new things whenever you would teach him.

“I need you to let go of me so I can show you.”

One of the only ways lately you *could* get Ken to let you out of his embraces was to bribe him with anything even mildly related to sex, and this was no different. He relaxed so you could move as you pleased, and you sat up and turned on the bedside light.

You looked serious and were working through how to start, since you hadn’t ever tried to be dominant in bed other than what you had done with Ken, and you wanted to work out how to make this hot for him without scaring him.

You reached your hand out and he took it, and you pulled him to the front of the bed until the two of you were both standing. You had on your tiny silk nightie that he loved to pull off of you, and of course he stood completely nude, tall and muscular and…ugh, those eyes, all smiling down at you so lovingly and just waiting.. oh fuck, okay fuck, focus.

“Ken,” you said quietly, your hand reaching out to rest on his lower abs. He took your free hand in his and kissed it, patiently waiting for you to explain.

“What I want to try tonight isn’t something we have really done before.”

He leaned his forehead into yours and hummed. “Okay?” He encouraged you to continue.

“Uhm…uh, what is a word you could automatically say, no matter what state your mind was in, to make someone stop what they were doing?”

He looked confused. “I would just say ‘Stop.’”

You stared at him, so innocent in his new confusion, and you smiled. I mean, you would definitely stop anything ever if he told you to. You raised up on tip toes to kiss him.

“Then ‘Stop’ it is.” You stepped back, watching him closely to gauge all of his reactions as you reached down and pulled your nightie off, now standing naked in front of him.

His eyes shone and he immediately reached forward to grab you, but you caught his wrists. He cocked his head.

“I…don’t understand -“

“Tonight,” you said, walking towards him with his wrists still in your grip, “you can *only* do as I say, when I say so.”

He frowned. “If you tell me to just go back to sleep, I’m not going to do it.”

You laughed. “No, so, there’s this type of, well, sexual play, where one partner kind of controls the other. Like if I tell you to do something you have to do it. Oh! But, ONLY if you actually want to. Which is why saying ‘stop’ is how I would know not to make you do it.”

“But why would you ask me to do something I wouldn’t want to do?” He ignored you holding his wrists and instead used it to his advantage, wrapping his arms around your waist and thus imprisoning your arms behind your back. “I can’t think of anything you would ask me to do to pleasure you that would make me say no.”

“What if what I asked didn’t *seem* like it would pleasure me, but it actually would?”

He remained silent, working to make this make sense to him.

“Like the first time you spanked me, you asked first, because you were worried it might hurt me? Kind of like that.”

His face softened. “Ohhh, okay. So you ask me to try things to you to see if they feel good?”

“Kinda?” You felt like this wasn’t going to work, but then the image of him struggling under your touch from the dream came back, and it snapped your mind back into place. Your voice became firm. “Ken, let go of me. Now.”

Surprised, he loosened his grip, not completely but enough to where you were able to pull free. “Keep your hands at your sides.”

He still wasn’t playing along 100%, and you knew a lot of it was that it still wasn’t making sense to him. You decided you’d just have to show him.

“From this point forward, if you tell me to stop, I will. But anything else you say or do, I will keep going.” You grazed your nails from his groin up to his hip bone, and he shuddered, immediately grabbing your waist.

“No, Ken.” Your voice startled him. “Hands at your sides.”

He looked helpless. “No, I …I don’t understand.”

“I want to pleasure you slowly without you doing anything to me for just a little while.” You made your voice sound all dreamy as your fingers danced across his lower abs, and he watched you, his breath becoming a little more shallow. “Part of the pleasure I am seeking is getting to fully immerse myself in *your* pleasure, and yours only, at least for a little while. Do you understand?”

Ken seemed to be in overthink mode, trying to figure out how to get a grip on what was happening. “Stop.”

You did immediately, taking your hand back from him, watching him closely. He looked almost….angry? No, not quite that, but -

“Give me ten minutes,” you interrupted his thought process. “If you still don’t like it by then, I will stop and not try again.”

Ken struggled with accepting this, like it made so little sense that he couldn’t see how accepting your terms would actually make you happy. You reached out and slowly wrapped a hand around his cock, which had been hard and straining ever since he first got off the bed.

“Do you want to make me happy, Ken?” You kind of hated how manipulative the words sounded, despite them only being for play, but still wanted to make sure he would enjoy playing along once he figured it out.

Your question seemed to throw him off guard. His blue eyes melted into yours, his body relaxing a little, less defensive now. He gulped. “I do.”

Your grip tightening on his cock now and he groaned, reaching for your wrist again but stopping himself this time, glancing at you. You smiled, small but sexy, and that seemed to do something to him. He pulled his hand back to his side and your other hand came up to caress his cheek.

“Good boy,” you purred. You LOVED the way his posture always changed a little when you praised him, his chest puffing out a tiny bit and his face looking just a bit proud. “You remembered to keep your hands to yourself. Now let me touch you for awhile.”

He nodded, watching you like a tiger watches its prey, as you started rubbing his cock while your other hand traced lazily up his abs with your nails, his shudders indicating how sensitive he was already just by being denied control. He giggled a little when your nails grazed over a certain area, and you tried to hold back a smile at how cute his reaction was. Instead, you looked up at him and touched the area again.

“It tickles.”

“Mmmhmm, it does, sweet Ken. Can you handle it? Can you deal with it for a little longer?” Ken’s fists clenched and unclenched in time with the way you were pumping him as you kept your nails on his abs. He was desperate to touch you, to force you down and fuck you until you were exhausted. His skin broke out in goosebumps when you took his nipple in your mouth and he moaned loudly. You took your hand off of his cock and he groaned irritably before all of your nails were dancing up and down his abs and groin, and he shuddered and unintentionally leaned into you a little. He was gasping, ohhh fuck, he had probably never experienced anything even close to overstimulation other than the first time he was having sex with you. And he was so fucking stunning trying to take it to make you happy. You bit his nippled and he cried out, his hands now balled into tight fists.

You stepped back. “Fuucckkk, what a perfect boy you are. You’re doing so well for me.”

His cock twitched and he let out a small whimper. He definitely was struggling with this, but as it seemed he wasn’t actually in pain or telling you to stop, you decided to keep playing to see where it went.

“You can lay down now, Ken.”

He stared at you, his head hung a little, his neck and shoulders tight. Fists clenched, cock throbbing. Panting, eyes boring into yours. Oh my god, you stared at him to make sure this image forever stayed in your mind.

“Now, Ken.”

He slowly obeyed, pulling himself backwards onto the bed and sitting at the top against the pillows.

All you could think of was how beautiful he was going to look tied up for you.

You pulled a pair of pantyhose out of your drawer and climbed onto the bed to him. The new item in your hands made him curious, but he was still focused on only one thing.

“Can I touch you now?”

“Not yet. But you’re so patient.”

“When can I?” How the fuck did his voice sound so broken over…

“Ken,” your voice was calmer, now talking to him in your normal tone. “I want to tie you up and fuck you.”

His eyes widened a bit, realizing the pantyhose you had been twisting into a long, thin, but sturdy rope, was meant for…

He glanced up at you, and an eyebrow cocked. You wanted to slap him for making you feel out of control, again..not when you were supposed to be the one who -

“How long do you need me tied up for?”

“Until I’m finished with you.”

Ken smirked, and to your surprised offered his wrists willingly. “Then tie me up and fuck me, y/n.” He grinned, knowing he took you off guard, literally challenging you.

OH, now he was in for it.

You bound his wrists quickly, securing them to the headboard. He smiled at you the entire time, suddenly entertained by your whole new desire for play, but the smile left his face quickly as you took him into your mouth, lowering down onto him. His hips bucked at the sudden shock that went through him, and his moan of pleasure turned into one of frustration when you immediately pulled off of him. He looked down at you.

“You aren’t allowed to move while I suck on you, Ken.”

He looked incredulously at you. “How am I supposed to -“

He was cut off when you gently squeezed his balls, knowing his one particularly sensitive spot, and he gasped loudly, hips bucking again. You usually didn’t touch him here that often, as it seemed to drive him mad with passion and, well, horniness, and usually you didn’t get the chance to see how much he could take because he would tackle you and fuck you until you were exhausted.

But now, this time was different. You massaged that area again, and his head pushed back into the pillows, wrists straining against his bonds.

“Jesus FUCK.” He panted. You hadn’t ever heard him raise his voice that loudly. You felt yourself becoming wet, and you continued your gentle but consistent assault on his balls, watching him in silence as he gasped and moaned and shuddered, waiting for him to surrender to you.

He actually held out way longer than you had expected, and you felt so impossibly hot watching as he slowly went from an alpha-state to one of literal physical submission, his body no longer trying to violently break itself free from the headboard except for some exhausted tugs, his voice almost hoarse, his body completely covered in a cold sweat.

“Please, please, pleassee….” He begged, voice breaking a little. “Please, y/n, I can’t. I can’t - ahhhh, FUCK, please.”

You stopped your torture, and a huge exhale rattled through his body, attempting to soothe itself. You climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

“Hi, sweet boy.”

He looked up at you, completely at your will, still panting, and his sweaty hair and mildly wet eyes made you feel so deeply for him. You leaned forward, placing your hands besides his head.

“You’re so good to me, Ken,” you whispered, and he leaned up to kiss you then caught himself, lowering his head back down onto the pillows. Fuck, he was trying SO hard to please you.

“Am I doing good, y/n?” He whimpered.

“You’re doing so good, Ken. You know why I had to exhaust you, right?”

“Because I wouldn’t stop moving,” he choked, gasping for another breath.

“Good, Ken. You learn so quickly.” You glanced at the clock and saw he had held out almost the full ten minutes now, but you wanted to make sure he was okay before delving in any further.

“Ken? Is it alright if I keep going?”

His entire body went rigid, his biceps clenching tightly, as if ready to jerk himself free of his restraints if necessary - or if he actually could this time. He never took his eyes off of you, contemplating his answer. You leaned down to his ear to whisper, and you felt the shiver that ran through him.

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you touch me for a moment.”

He nodded then. “Yes, please, anything, I’ll do anything -“

You captured his lips in yours and he moaned into you, almost as if he was thanking you and his lips pulled yours roughly into his mouth, his tongue darting into yours to clash with your tongue for a brief moment before you pulled back. He looked devastated.

You reached for the restraints and his eyes brightened.

“Only one for now,” you said, untying his left hand and making sure that his right remained firmly connected to the bed. “Because if you need me to stop, I might not be able to hear you. If you need me to stop at anytime, I want you to slap my leg, really hard, so I know. Okay?”

He held onto your every word, nodded when you were finished, trying to figure out what it was you were going to do. He began moving his hand to your waist then caught himself and paused, waiting for instructions.

“Mmm, I have the best Ken,” you cooed, and he smiled a little. You allowed him to rest his hand on your waist as you straddled his face, slowly lowering yourself down onto him.

You had barely come into contact with his nose when you felt his free arm tighten around your thigh, pulling you closer into him, and you cried out, grabbing the headboard for support as his lips roughly sucked on your clit, pulling hard. He moaned hungrily into you, and you forced yourself to make sure you didn’t fully collapse onto his face, his tongue and lips so eager and rough, and his moaning into your opening was the most vulnerable yet hot you could remember feeling in your life.

You began moving your hips a little, trying to maintain your attempt at dominance, but fuck if it wasn’t almost impossible while working against Ken’s strength and enthusiasm. He wrapped his arm around your thigh tighter and almost forced you still as his tongue penetrated into you, licking and flicking and then his lips sucking around your opening in a dizzying sequence.

“Ken…I…ah, fuck, okay, I need -“ You yelped as his arm freed itself of you momentarily only to spank your cheek sharply, the pain shocking you but not having time to react because he immediately forced you back down onto his face and held you until you came, your knuckles white from holding onto the headboard and you cried out over and over as an intense orgasm washed over you. Ken didn’t stop until your body began becoming limp, from which he then removed his arm and you un-straddled him, sitting next to him on the bed.

He lay there, one arm bound above his head, his hair a mess, his face flushed and covered in your juices, and he was grinning at you.

"I like you making me submit to you. That was fun." His free hand reached for you. "Now untie me so I can fuck your dripping pussy. I am losing my mind."

You forced yourself to maintain control as you quickly grabbed his hand and began tying it back up.

"Hey, hey!" he protested, but you were quicker and he was bound again within moments. You moved back to look at him, confused, and *now* he looked a little angry, but you knew it wasn't from actual anger, more just not getting his way, which is something he didn't enjoy. *Especially * when he was this horny.

He grit his teeth and jerked hard on the restraints. "Let me out of these."

You cocked your head. "Mmmm, no."

"When, then?"

"When you've orgasmed."

He growled. "That's what I am actively *trying* to do!!"

You sunk down onto him then, no warning or buildup, and he cried out in ecstasy, his entire being melting as if relieved.

"Ohhh, fuck, y/n, my love…thank you, thank you, thank -"

You reached up and placed a hand around the base of his throat, just barely, not even applying pressure. He looked up at you, and despite not experiencing this before, the look he gave you made you all the more hot, and you wrapped your fingers around his neck, squeezing ever so slightly. He moaned loudly, and his eyes had that gorgeous teary look that you had seen the first time you had fucked him - his own special mix of love and pleasure and experiencing something amazing for the first time. He thrust up into you then, and the sharpness of it told you he was already way too close to climaxing.

You pulled your hips off of his, sitting on his waist but keeping your hand around his throat. The noise he made when you left his cock was like a mangled cry, and his eyes went into dominance mode, that look he gave you when he was warning you things were about to go his way.

"But you're not the one in control this time, Ken." Your hair brushed his face and you squeezed his throat a little harder. "I am. And you don't get to cum until I say so."

You swore you saw stars in his eyes when you sunk back down onto him then, fucking him the way you knew he loved, and you removed your hand from his throat to press down onto his hips like he always did to you. That did something extra for him and he groaned, jerking against the restrains again, and the image of him slowly coming undone because of you made you so tempted to just untie him and finish you off the way he wanted - the way you knew you both wanted - but you had come too far to quit now, and once again when you knew his orgasm was close, when his abs began their gorgeous tightening and his hips bucked up into yours, you let him slip out of you again, and he literally sobbed.

"You're not doing a very good job at not moving, Ken."

You tried to keep your head together as he glared down at you, and you knew *exactly* the thoughts that were swimming through his mind: jerk himself free of the headboard, force you down onto the bed, his fingers bruising themselves into you as he fucked you like he was in heat as you held on for dear life.

You had one more trick up your sleeve, and decided you had best do it now because you weren't sure if you would ever be successful at getting Ken tied up again after tonight. You got your only other pair of pantyhose and ripped them in two.

Ken's eyes grew huge and you expected him to fight back, but to your surprise he didn't. He lay, watching you while you pulled his legs open, tying each one to an opposite best post, until he was splayed out in front of you, unable to thrust up even if he tried.

He remained silent as you climbed back onto the bed and leaned down, gently taking one of his balls into your mouth while massaging the other. His head fell back and his moans were beautiful, as you decided you wanted to be gentle the rest of the night but still wanted to see how far you could push his stamina.

After he began squirming from a little too much sensation, you moved back up to his cock, your lips wetly sucking and licking around his tip, and you loved watching how much he was trying to move his hips. He seemed to be working really hard to play along now, though, because the gritted teeth and glaring eyes had morphed into your name almost being sung as you touched him, sucked, licked, loved on him, before kissing and biting your way back up his abs and chest to his face.

You looked down at him now and he at you, those baby blues lost in you, telling you he was yours to do with as you pleased. "I surrender," he whispered, and you gasped. How was this so…incredibly…

"I love you," he said.

You took his face in your hands and kissed him then, and he allowed you to lead to how deep and invasive the kiss became before leaning down to mark his neck with your lips. He moaned contentedly every time you did that, and this time was no different.

You were going to make him feel *sooo* good.

You lowered yourself back down onto his cock slowly, clenching yourself around him as hard as you could until he was fully inside you, and his head rested on one of his arms still bound beside his head.

"You're doing such a good job, Ken."

"Mm…I…good..Ken…" His moans were accompanied by an attempt at words every few breaths as he became less coherent.

You fucked him gently and he was so sensitive that his body began to tremble a couple of time. Each time you would stop fucking him until he calmed down and then you would begin again, his voice becoming more of a whimper the longer you edged him on, and at last when it seemed every ounce of energy had been drained from him, you gave him what he deserved.

He lay limp, shuddering, moaning incoherently, muscles still spasming of their own accord as much as they could muster after becoming exhausted.

"You've done so, so incredibly well, Ken." The shock of you allowing him his release was like a lightning bolt shot through him and he sobbed your name endlessly, head thrown back, eyes clenched as his body convulsed underneath you.

You watched him closely as he began to calm down, tears stinging his eyes, his body still shaking a little. You got up and tore off his restrains one by one, untying his hands last, and his tired muscles fell by his sides as he lay underneath you, panting.

You were scared now. Was this how he felt when he had spanked you for the first time? Like, that he could have actually gone too far? Had YOU gone too far?

"Ken?" you didn't meant for your voice to come out in a whisper. "Are you okay?"

He looked at you, rolling his head on the pillow to do so, as he seemed too tired to even raise it at the moment. "Kiss me," he demanded, soft and delicate, but you knew it was a command.

You kissed him deeply and he did the same, and his eyes locked on yours when you pulled back. "I love you so much, y/n."

You spent the next hour taking care of him. You sat upright against the headboard and he relaxed into your body, his being nestled against your chest and in-between your legs, humming sleepily as you massages his hands and wrists, peppered him with kisses, told him how much you loved him and cuddled his face. At one point he took your legs and folded your ankles across his waist, his forehead leaning into your neck.

"Just like being close to you," he murmered.

After having come down for awhile, he began to shiver a little and you coaxed him into the shower where you gentle bathed him off, the heat making him comfortable again, as your fingers danced across his body with soap suds, and he held you under the running water close to him, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other holding the side of your face as he languished himself in your kisses.

You both ended up back in bed just as the sun was beginning to rise, and you thanked the gods that you didn't have class today as Ken pulled you into him like always, but unlike usual, he fell asleep almost instantly, and you got to experience him sleeping around you, hearing his little moans and breathing, feeling his body limp and relaxed all around you. You hugged the arm that held you to him and nuzzled into the pillows, drifting off.

"Hey."

Ken's voice broke through your sleep, and you blinked your eyes open. The room was bright with the day's sunlight, and you had a moment of struggle to come to, you had been so deeply asleep.

The moment your eyes adjusted, you looked up and saw Ken beside you, kneeling, his cock looking painfully hard and a smirk on his face. You attempted to move but realized your wrists were bound above your head tightly, and you saw Ken's fist clenched around a leather belt in his right hand. You sucked in air sharply, already overwhelmed when you hadn't even been fully awake a whole minute ago.

Ken leaned over you now, your mind racing as he stared down at you, kissing you lovingly before nipping at your lower lip and running the belt gently up your thigh.

"Now," his words made you already want to tremble, "it's my turn."

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(Pst. I plan to complete the second part to this as a "bonus" part, but wanted Ken's first sub! experience to be its own chapter. If you want Ken's dom! time, too, I'll be posting it soon, because I have SOOO many ideas and I cannot *not* write it. I promise <3)

Tags: @microwgreen @skeletonea @sunpuffsstuff @maxcsworld @michaelslover @m21-k @uncle-eggy @heyareyoulistening @cliffbar-booth @exo-wayv

#ryan gosling #barbie movie #ken #ken smut #ken x reader smut #fanfiction #ken barbie #ken doll #ken x reader #ryan gosling fanfic #fem reader smut #smut #ryan gosling smut #smut fanfiction #ken fanfic #beach ken #ken ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader

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with-my-calamitous-love · 2 months ago

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okay okay, can I pls get Shinsou with “we would’ve been timeless” 🥹🫶

make it as angsty as you want, i’m feeling it ❤️‍🩹

“we would’ve been timeless…”

(hitoshi shinso.)

note: apparently bnha takes place in the 2100s.. for this fic just ignore that lol. love u ana!

august 16, 2010

you were 6 when you were given your polaroid camera.

as a small child, you didn’t know the significance this device would have on your life, or the value of film. the idea that this small, box could capture anything onto a piece of plastic was fascinating. it captured moments in time, and gave you tangible pieces of memory that you could carry around.

theres so many things a 6 year old could want to photograph in the eyes of childlike innocence. but the first photo you ever took, was of your best friend.

“please!!” you whined to hitoshi, who reluctantly gave in after your begging. he couldn’t say no to you, after all.

“okay, fine.” he groans, making an awkward smile that makes you laugh. purple eyes wince at the flash, but immediately scrambled to be by your side once he heard the whirring of the photo being developed.

you stared in awe. it was the first of many memories.

april 3rd, 2018

suffice to say that in the last 8 years, you took many polaroids of many different things. the exception to this was hitoshi, who absolutely hated his photo being taken. but the day you two were both starting highschool at UA, he relented.

“this is pointless.” he says, while you set up your camera. he’s wearing his uniform for the photo, but he feels as though its not as important to him as it is to you.

“no its not, toshi.” you say, walking back up to him. he offer’s you his arm like he always does, just wanting to give you a sense of security. his shoulders seem to slump.

“i’m in general studies.” he reminds you. “you’re in the hero course. this isn’t so fucking monumental.”

you sigh, understanding your best friends frustrations. you’re reluctant to take a photo if you’re going to look back and know he was upset.

so you stand in front of him, taking his face in your hands and say this:

“i know… but i’m not taking this to remember that. i’m taking it to remember that you made it this far… you can’t give up now. even if you don’t believe in yourself…”

you smile. “i can believe in you for the two of us.”

he’s silent for a moment, before the camera finally flashes and captures the moment.

may 22, 2020

you waited ages to see him there.

the look on his face when he’s finally accepted into the hero course is priceless. he’s in shock, only managing a soft smile even when his new classmates surround him in congratulatory glee. this feels unreal.

you stand at the sidelines, capturing the moment in a polaroid. he didn’t know you did this, he was too caught up in his own world to realize you were still there.

a bittersweet feeling blooms in your heart.

june 15, 2022

your graduation after party.

losing hitoshi impacted you more than you would like to admit. there was no big fight, no dramatic announcement of resentment. you two simply drifted. and you were totally fine with it. you were the person who believed in him from the very start, and now he forgot you were there.

totally fine with it.

taking 7 shots of tequila while mina and denki cheered you on certainly wasn’t your finest moment. getting sloppy drunk and using your dress to wipe off your makeup definitely wasn’t either. but the worst was when you stumbled over to hitoshi, a drunken slobbery mess.

“woah, [y/n]!” he says, grabbing you by the shoulders to stabilize you. he takes in your appearance, noting the tear stains that ran down your cheeks.

“we would’ve been timeless, hitoshi.” you slur, wiping the tear off your face with your knuckles. “fucking timeless.”

he looks confused for a second. “..what are you talking about?”

“i would have run away with you, or pray for you every night… cause i love you, and i never stopped believing in you..! and i was so proud of you when you finally got your heroic dream… and… and then what…? we just… just…”

you’re not making sense and you know it. but hitoshi gets it, at least some semblance of it.

he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. he knows he’s treated you like shit for the past few years. like the coward in every man, he just hoped it would never come up.

your legs finally give up on you. and like the hero he is (to everyone but you) he catches you, carrying you in his arms. he resolves to at least get you to bed.

and your classmates, who had your camera, captured the moment. to them, it was a display of drunken love. not that you could blame them.

2024.

you didn’t speak to him after that night.

the first time you saw hitoshi after going your separate ways was when you were attending some fancy gala. there he was, in his hero costume, looking so god damn handsome. he’s grown taller, more confident, more beautiful.

clutching your camera, you think about it for a moment. ultimately, you decide not to do it. most of those memories were embedded into your heart, anyway.

you think that maybe in a different life, you’d be laughing next to him. maybe in a different life, you’d be timeless.

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 5 months ago

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Royal!MC x body guard!Muriel? Maybe some mini hcs thank you

The Arcana Drabbles: Bodyguard!Muriel and Royalty!MC

~ I'm embarrassed to say that this ran away with me and turned into a small fic XD ~

Muriel is always at your back.

He used to be terrifying to you. When your trusted advisor first brought him to your throne room, nearly seven feet tall and scowling out at the world from under a dark curtain of hair, you idly wondered if this was going to be the most obvious assassination attempt yet.

You quickly lost that impression when, later that night, you woke up to the sight of his large fist bleeding from the hand, wrist, and knife engulfed by it as it hovered several feet from your bed. While he was quick to prove his loyalty and prowess, it was weeks before you heard him speak.

He quickly become known as your shadow. Wherever you went, he was just behind you, adeptly concealing the aura of his presence as you went about your daily tasks, until you found yourself facing down another dangerous challenge and it blanketed you with the weight of a mountain. He refused to sleep in the room provided for him and instead dozed sitting down at your door.

The first time he speaks to you, it nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Up until that point, your many thanks after multiple rescues had been met with a nod of acknowledgement, which is why hearing his gravelly rumble of a voice as you walk through the castle's grounds is so unexpected. He has a favor to ask.

"Ask me anything," you tell him, "and if it's within my power, it will be yours."

"Thank you." He pauses, appearing flustered for the first time after weeks of steel composure through death threats and abduction attempts. "I'd like ... a room."

You look at him in confusion. "You have a room. I was told you refuse to use it and sleep on your cloak at my door instead."

"Not ... not for me."

"Oh." You pause and wrack your brain for any mentions of a family or friend, but when he first came to you it was as a prisoner of war who'd requested capture from the general commanding him. If he had anyone, he had cut ties with them when he changed sides. "Who would you like to use your room?"

His eyes widen. "She - she doesn't need a room that nice, she'll be fine in the stables - or on my cloak -"

Ah. He must have met a pretty maid, though you have no idea where he had the time to do that when he's never left your sight. "I'm sure your girlfriend would like a little more privacy than that -"

"N-not a girlfriend!"

"Oh." Is he a father? "Your daughter, then?"

"A wolf."

"A wolf?!"

"Yes." His usually stoic expression has come to life by the sheer power of what appears to be severe social anxiety. He shifts from one foot to the other, wringing his large hands, throat working as his eyes dart from your face to the grass as he tries to get his next sentence out. "She - she cared for me, while I was a prisoner, and she followed me even though I told her not to."

"Oh." You pause to mull it over. "Is she ... safe?"

"She won't bite anyone unless they deserve it."

Fair enough. "What's her name?"

"I call her Inanna."

"Very well." You have no idea what you've just agreed to, but it's the only thing he's ever asked of you and you owe him your life on multiple counts. "Can I meet her?"

"This way."

And his chatty, anxious mood disappears as he leads the way out of the castle grounds to the edge of the forest nearby. The large, shaggy wolf you meet there submits herself begrudgingly to the bath you require and soon develops the habit of sleeping on your feet at the foot of your bed, much to Muriel's chagrin.

"She's not supposed to bother you."

"I'm not bothered," you tell him, "if anything, I feel safer with her at my side."

It's only thanks to months of eating, walking, and living by his side that you're able to understand the flush that slowly spreads over his face as he looks at you, and Inanna, and your bed built for more than one person. You wonder how to approach this in a way that won't make him spontaneously combust.

"The floor must not be very comfortable ... is your bed not to your liking?"

He clears his throat and stares determinedly at the wall. "... s'comfortable. But not good for keeping watch."

"Would you be comfortable keeping watch from in here? I can have a second bed brought in."

He stares at you wide-eyed, before dropping his gaze and nodding slowly. "That ... that would be nice." He fumbles with the straps of his leather chest plate. "... Thank you."

There's a moment of silence while he looks around the room and you begin to realize that, while he's agreed to sleep in your room, you won't have a second bed ready in time for tonight. Inanna looks between the two of you with the closest thing you've ever seen to a smirk on her furry face.

"Since there isn't a second bed for you tonight, you're welcome to sleep in mine. There's plenty of space."

"I couldn't - I'm just - and you're -"

"It's fine." You send him what you hope is a reassuring smile. "But please, only do what you're comfortable with."

He studies your face, looks back at the floor outside the door, and then scowls at Inanna as she rolls onto her side and languidly stretches across the plush covers of your bed with a happy loll of her tongue. "I ... thank you. Excuse me. I should bathe."

The night is uneventful beyond the sparklers sizzling away in the back of your mind every time he shifts in his sleep. He dozes silently as close to the other edge of the bed as possible, his weight dipping the mattress so you have to fight not to roll down against his side. The steady heat of his body radiates across under the covers and the stretch of his sleep shirt as his shoulders rise and fall with even, deep breaths is mesmerizing.

Inanna watches you knowingly the whole way through that sleepless night.

The next afternoon, you watch as the castle carpenter carries and reassembles Muriel's bed into your room and silently lament the task needing less than a day.

You quickly grow closer after that. First, it's noticing the way he painstakingly mends the single dark-green embroidered shirt you first saw him arrive in, and quietly sending for a tailor to dress him in the castle's colors. Then, it's trying not to gawk as he faces away from you in the candlelight to change behind the screen in the corner (which is blessedly only tall enough to reach his abdomen). You glimpse the intricate web of scars across his shoulders and bite back your questions about them in favor of insisting he get a regular check up with the castle physician.

Some time later, you catch him frowning into one of your mirrors, and can't contain your curiosity any more.

"What's troubling you?"

"N-nothing."

He steps away from his reflection, Inanna watching him go with an unreadable expression. You've learned from experience that watching him quietly is the best way to hear the rest of his thoughts.

"... I haven't looked at my face in - a while."

"You're welcome to look more often," and then before you lose your courage, "it's a very nice face."

You favorite shade of red blooms across his nose and cheeks, practically sprinting down his neck as he frowns at a grinning Inanna. "How would you know? You can't see it past all this hair."

You hum. "I've just remembered that my hairdresser is scheduled to come today, but I'll be too busy reading the council's latest legislative initiatives. Would you be willing to let them practice on you?"

Now the scowl is directed at you specifically, his vivid green eyes meeting yours with a boldness and familiarity that have slowly grown as each day goes by. "... fine."

You swear you hear the wolf snicker.

It's no surprise to you when the gossip around him changes. First, he was your shadow, then, he was your undefeatable guard, and as it became a year of his station, he's become the cold-hearted but loyal commoner who keeps rejecting your increasingly obvious crush. He's not cold-hearted, you think to yourself, he's just convinced I can do better and too shy to let me tell him otherwise.

One night, in a fit of desperation, you send him out with the excuse that Inanna is in immediate need of an evening walk, and begin hacking away at the legs of your bed with the saw you borrowed from the carpenter's shed while his back was turned. Since sleeping in your own bed has become so restless, you think, maybe with a happy accident he'll let you sleep in his.

"What are you doing? You'll hurt yourself!"

Muriel's at your side in a matter of seconds, kneeling over you where you're crouched on the floor, and prying the saw out of your quickly blistering hands. You turn to look at him in shock.

"I thought you were outside!"

And clearly, he was. His cloak still smells like nighttime grass and dew and the fresh air clings to his braided back hair. You, meanwhile, are beginning to feel like a childish idiot as you shrink under him in your sleepshirt and slippers. He huffs a sigh that almost sounds fond.

"What were you doing?"

"I was -" God, how do you even explain this? "I was trying to saw the legs off my bed."

He stares at you in disbelief. "Why?"

You borrow his own stubborn, blushing attitude, snapping your mouth shut and hoping word of your behavior never reaches the court. Your protector sighs and reaches for your hands.

"Are you hurt?"

"N-no."

Your hands are cradled in his palms, one large thumb brushing over the blisters with the gentleness of a butterfly.

"Why do you want all the legs off of your bed?"

"Not all the legs," you grumble, "just two of them."

He blinks at you. "But then you couldn't use it."

The moment of silence stretches and fills until the whole room smothers you with the weight of your embarrassment. You watch with dread as the pieces click together in Muriel's mind, and then with the usual fondness as his blush reaches from his ears past the shirt lacings on his chest.

"You ... did you want ..."

"I -" You steel your resolve. Better to have it all out in the open, after all. It was never right for you as his royalty to play mind games like this in the first place. "I don't care to sleep alone, any more. I don't want to sleep with my guard, either. I just ... want to share a bed with you."

There's another pause as you both avoid eye contact with each other - and the smug wolf effectively barricading the door in case either of you tries to escape. Finally, Muriel gently brushes you to the side and picks up the saw with a practiced grip, setting the other square hand on your bedframe before practically rattling it apart with the force of his work.

"Muriel?"

He grunts as the leg goes clattering to the floor, stubbornly avoiding your questioning (and delighted) gaze as he moves to the second corner.

"I did some woodwork, before the general took me."

The second leg rapidly follows the first and your bed falls to one side with a loud thud. Muriel slowly stands and turns to you, his face a combination of blushing excitement and anxious resolve. "Are your feet hurt, too?"

You glance from your blistered hands to your undisturbed slippers to the pile of sawdust on the floor and back to your beloved. "And if I say they do?"

He steps closer. "Then you shouldn't be walking."

He leans down, reaching behind your knees and shoulders at the slowest possible pace so you have plenty of opportunity to back out. You don't, meeting his gaze with a quiet smile, and he picks you up and holds you to his chest as he cradles you the few long strides to his bed in the opposite corner.

You find yourself settled gently on his bed, the smell of myrrh rising around you as he draws his sheets over you. Instead of getting in next to you, though, he grabs his sleep shirt and begins to head towards the door. You sit back up in a moment of panicked worry.

"Where are you going?"

"To the showers," he pauses at the door, "and then ... wherever you want me."

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana drabble #the arcana imagine #the arcana fanfic #the arcana game #muriel of the kokhuri #muriel the arcana

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lassieposting · 1 year ago

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So in the wake of my post on Astarion and cptsd, have another concept I've been thinking about lately:

Tav/Durge (or an origin character, but I'm gonna use Tav because there are so many potential ships) using magic on him - with his permission, of course, they're not a complete monster - to help him cope with the symptoms.

I feel like there's a lot of potential here? But I haven't really seen anyone using it in fics, so. Here are some ideas I've been turning over.

Spells Tav Can Use On Astarion:

Calm Emotions: magically subdue intense emotions.

So.

I have a fond headcanon that while Astarion is still in survival mode during the game - the worst symptoms of his cptsd are on lockdown and he's mostly able to keep it together well enough to be functional and clear-headed - there is an incident where Tav sees him have a panic attack.

Like. Maybe they're attempting to sneak around patrolling guards in enemy territory, or edging around hostile wildlife in the Underdark. They're alone, the party split into two pairs with different tasks, and some threat is headed their way. They don't want to raise any alarms, so Tav drags Astarion back into a narrow crevice in the rock, or a chest loaded onto a supply wagon, or something, to hide until the threat has passed by.

And. Astarion has never mentioned that he's claustrophobic. He doesn't show weakness unless he's forced to, and at this point, he hasn't told Tav about being sealed in a tomb for a whole year. So the first they know of it is when they're crushed up against him in a cramped hiding spot and they realise he's shaking. They try to calm him, but his eyes have gone unfocused and glassy and he's starting to hyperventilate, a wounded animal noise brewing in his chest.

And Tav has to make a split second decision, because he's going to get them noticed. So they try to comfort him and instinctively cast Calm Emotions - and it works. It cuts the panic attack off, and once the threat is audibly moving away from them, they're able to emerge and carry on undetected.

He's angry, on and off for a while, that Tav used magic on him without his consent, even once he understands what they did and why. But the thing is, it did work. It helped him get his fear under control. So down the line, as they get closer, and he begins to really trust Tav, he agrees to them using that one on him when he really needs it, when he's crippled with the panic of 200 years' worth of obediently withstood torture sessions, when he feels like dying is the only way to escape the fear. They're both aware though that Calm Emotions is a deferral, not a cure - it won't help him work through the panic attacks, and it won't stop him having them.

Heroism: instill the caster or an ally with courage

I like to think Tav uses this one on him a few times as the group approaches the city, when he's fretting about being back within Cazador's reach. They're not ✨sleeping together✨, but they are sleeping together - he has an open invitation to share Tav's tent at night, just to cuddle and rest a little easier with someone he trusts close by to watch over him. They know he's scared, and they know he doubts the group's ability to protect him if Cazador tries to take him back. Heroism here is essentially a stand-in for anti-anxiety medication - it stops him ruminating on what-if scenarios the group is determined not to ever let happen.

Enthrall: capture the attention of a creature, making it look at you

Another one that could be useful in a panic attack situation, though it's far too similar to Cazador's control to ever use on him spontaneously - it would need to be something suggested, discussed and agreed upon while he was clearheaded, to see if it was useful for him. Making him focus on Tav stops him focusing on whatever is causing him to nosedive. It's the, "Astarion, hey, look at me, just focus on me, breathe with me," spiel taken to a level that actually yanks him out of his fear spiral when just their voice won't do it.

Dancing Lights: creates magical orbs of light that brighten an area

Sometimes, Astarion struggles to switch off and unwind at bedtime. The "trying to get to sleep" gap can be a fucking horror show when you have a condition like cptsd - everything goes quiet in preparation for sleep, so it's the perfect time for all your intrusive thoughts and ruminations and spiralling to dogpile you, the way it struggles to do when you're compulsively keeping busy in the daytime.

A Tav who can create Dancing Lights is essentially giving him Candy Crush. A mindless, no-complex-thought-required distraction that shuts up all those bad thoughts long enough for his eyes to start closing.

Light: makes an object shed light in a small area

He's not afraid of the dark. The dark is a vampire's natural habitat, after all. But he is, in the early days, sometimes afraid of what might be in the dark - he has nightmares of Cazador lurking around the outskirts of the camp, waiting to snatch him up. Shifting shadows against tent fabric can warp and twist into horrors to a groggy, fresh-from-a-nightmare mind. He would rather die again than ever ask Tav to magic him a nightlight. But if an object bespelled to cast a soft, grounding glow inside his tent happened to be left beside his bedroll, well, finders keepers and all that. Of course he uses the damn thing, darling, if he leaves it off for one night Gale will probably eat it.

Detect Thoughts: telepathically link to unprotected minds and hear the thoughts of targeted creatures while talking to them.

I like to think this mostly happens when he's struggling to express something and getting frustrated.

Sometimes, it's a vocabulary issue. Faerûn is a medieval-esque setting - Astarion doesn't have terms like "trigger" or "dissociation" or "flashback" to express what's going on in his head. He has to cobble together not-quite-right-but-close-enough explanations out of the words he does have, and that shit is hard.

Other times, it's because he's trying to recount a memory that gets stuck in his throat or between his teeth. Because he can't bear to voice the humiliation, or the dehumanization, or the violence that goes with it. Putting it to words makes it real in a way that he can't deal with anymore. He wants Tav to know what's distressing him, but he just...can't say it. He can't.

And once upon a time, he would've just shown them through the tadpole, but that's no longer an option, so Detect Thoughts it is. Tav can either hear him, or he can visualise the memory and show it to them - or flashes of it, anyway. And it can be a quiet understanding between them - no stumbling over his words, no tears, no shaking voice.

Hold Person: hold a target humanoid in place.

Paralyzing Ray: paralyzes the target.

Otiluke's Resilient Sphere: enclose a target in a sphere of shimmering force...blocking all incoming and outgoing damage

These wouldn't really come into play until months or even years postgame, once Astarion is safe and settled and finally processing all the horrors he's been through - if he has an era where the flashbacks are so vivid, he might not recognise Tav, or might even mistake them for Cazador or Godey. The era where, sometimes, through no fault of his own, he might be a danger to himself and others, Tav included. What's a fantasy protagonist to do with him, when he's beyond reason? Pop him in the rage cage - where he can't hurt himself or anyone else - until he comes back to himself.

Spells Tav Has Tried And Failed To Use On Astarion:

Cure Wounds: heal wounds through touch

Probably the first spell they ever try on him, and one he could've sorely benefited from. The extra impetus to start associating touch with pain relief instead of pain itself would've done him a lot of good. But, according to the wiki, undead are immune to virtually all healing spells, which is a deeply angsty bummer.

Sleep: make a conscious creature fall into a deep slumber

As a high elf, he's immune to sleep magic, but he gets the elven equivalent of night terrors, and days on end of broken rest will leave anyone drained and exhausted. Tav has absolutely offered to try and put him to "proper" sleep, a deep sleep, so he won't dream. I've never actually played dnd, so I don't know how much leeway there is here for creative interpretation of immunity, there are certainly ways you could be creative with it - maybe his fey ancestry protects him from being put to sleep specifically in an attack context, or from being put to sleep unexpectedly, or by unfamiliar and potentially hostile magic. Maybe, if he knows it's happening and his innate magic recognises the magic of the caster, he's able to lean into it. Like the difference between being shot from behind with a tranquilizer gun and popping an ambien before bedtime.

Also! These could even be scrolls! It amuses me to think of Tav popping over to the pharmacist Gale's tower in Waterdeep to get Astarion's monthly anxiety prescription scrolls of Calm Emotions

#bg3 #bg3 headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #actually could also be relevant for #halstarion #wyllstarion #and #bloodweave #depending on what spells you give them #oh and #astarion x shadowheart #astarion ancunin

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kairiscorner · 1 year ago

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Helloo, can I request Miguel with an artist reader who draws him a lot? 👉👈 Like the reader has a secret crush on Miguel and he inspires them a lot, without even knowing it. And maybe there's a Gwen-and-Miles-like-situation where Miguel by accident discovers the drawings of him in their sketchbook?

AAAAAAAA ANON THIS IS SO CUTE !! tbh i wanted to finish the miggy fic i had for ate @binibinileonara bc i wanted to connect these two together, BUT I COULDN'T RESIST, I'LL MAKE IT SEPARATE BC WHY NOT !! thank you for the lovely idea btw (i also had an idea like this actually in my notes) THANKS FOR GIVING ME THE OOMPH TO DO IT !!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

you always had this desire to capture all that interested you in its full beauty, in its unbridled greatness. that was, to you, the essence of all your art pieces; they always reflected how you saw the world, how you saw nature, how you saw people.

you never believed people had one or two faces to them, you believed people were multi-faceted, that every person was a kaleidoscope of beauty, skills, quirks, flaws, fears, hopes, and dreams. you loved capturing every bit of people who intrigued you the best you could, and you hoped that if you stood back and admired the big picture that was them, going over the details and fibers that made each person their own–from the good, bad, pretty and ugly details��you would finally see the whole, uncut image of the person you were illustrating; who you were painting in the colors you saw them in, the colors that stuck with you and filled the empty canvas of your mind with all sorts of shapes and splotches of hues and shades that formed the image of them when their name would come to mind.

and for some reason... that person to you right now was miguel o'hara. you had a lot of things to say about him, even words that many would argue don't exist. you felt a myriad of feelings when you were around miguel, and you knew there was more than just the dictating leader miguel that everyone was familiar with. like all people, miguel, too, was an explosion of different kinds of colors to you–colors that only you could see, because when he was around you... he was more than just the cool, calm, and collected boss everyone saw him as.

he was much more caring, much more funny around you. his smile when you told him a funny story illuminated a bright yellow and a warm orange to you–his eyes would twinkle and you'd see the hazelnut brown in his eyes, and a shade of what appeared to be coffee brown at the bottom of his irises. he exuded a commanding aura, a dark, cool blue–but when paired with you, and only you, he exuded a bright red; a color of fiery passion, intimacy, and most of all... attraction.

he was the subject of your affections, you, the soulful and emotional artist that admired him and all that he was from afar and up close. you admired the way he held your hand when you were scared on a few missions, you admired how gently he held you when you two were caught between a rock and a hard place; and how soft and loving his eyes were when they gazed at you. you knew he might have felt a platonic kind of love for you, what with being so comfortable around you and all, but you felt a different kind of love for him–and you hated denying your creative side the indulgence of capturing him in all his beauty.

hence, you began slowly filling the empty spaces of your sketchbooks and notebooks, or whatever other papers lay around when inspiration struck you, with images of him and only him. you caught his face in moments where he was nonchalant, disappointed, angry, grumpy, and... smiling.

when you witnessed his smile for the first time when you met him, that image was burned into your retinas, into your mind, into your heart. you saw that smile from the minute you went to bed to the minute you woke up, the only thing that saddened you was that you could never hold that man who smiled at you and made your heart beat a little faster–you could only watch him and be with him at a distance. but art was the bridge between you two that'd close that distance you wanted to cover so, so badly.

you did, at times, believe what you were doing was... a little creepy. you refused to let anyone see your sketchbooks even before you drew him, and that was out of embarrassment at your drawings. but now, it was a new kind of embarrassment, a feeling adjacent to guilt and disgust at how nobody but he could fill your mind and have you wanting to keep him in your mind by feeding yourself, indulging yourself in putting him on paper and coloring him in; to be with him at a closer perspective than how you two were in the real world.

you had to admit it–seeing him constantly in your mind, wanting to let thoughts of him out on paper as you wanted to be through with imagining him, but knew you couldn't the more and more you portrayed him–it meant you... wanted him. you really, really loved him.

you knew nobody should know, nobody had to know about this little crush you had on miguel. you'd rather die than have someone peek at your sketchbook that was filled with all kinds of drawings of him. but unfortunately, the man himself bore witness to your caricatures and illustrations of him when you left your sketchbook at his office.

you ran as quickly as you could, praying he hadn't opened it out of curiosity. he was always asking you what you were up to, and you'd immediately shut your sketchbook and laugh awkwardly, claim you were merely doodling. you always left out the part that you were constantly drawing him, and only ever him; and now, he'd find out.

as you entered his office, scouring with your eyes for your sketchbook, a figure emerged from the darkness behind you and gave a slight cough. "this is yours, isn't it?" that low, fluid voice was none other than miguel's. you turned around in fear of what he was going to look like–would any of the faces you drew seeing him as be one of the faces you'd see?

to your surprise... no. he had a different, completely new face that you had never drawn him in; a flustered state. he was blushing, his angled cheeks and high nose bridge were covered in a pink-red hue–and he was grinning. he handed you the sketchbook with a now sheepish smile. "i'm sorry, i wasn't sure if it was yours. i had to... look through for a name. and, um... it was very–" he wanted to continue, but then, he saw you were on the verge of tears.

"i'm... sorry..." you muttered, feeling incredibly ashamed of yours and busted for having indulged in drawing him without him knowing. guilt stirred in your stomach and elicited tears to well up in your eyes. miguel smiled, and as his eyebrows curved upwards together to form a look of reassurance, he placed both hands on your shoulders.

"listen, you have a wonderful talent. i'm sorry if you don't hear that enough, but that changes today. i'm so... wow, i'm so flattered you thought i was good enough to be drawn that way. it feels... amazing, to know an artist sees me fit to be their, what would you call it?" he asked as he wiped a tear rolling down your cheek away from you.

"a... muse." you whispered, wiping the rest of your tears away. miguel chuckled. "right, a muse." he said as he inched closer to you, with the sweetest smile on his face. "i might sound really crazy right now, but... i want to be your muse. i really, really want to be your muse." he said, with emphasis on 'your'.

your face lightened up as the tears that welled up gave your eyes a glassy look, and you saw the blush on his deepen as you became more and more flustered. you smiled and wrapped your arms around his chest, pulling him in for an embrace you needed to release. "and i want to be your artist. only yours." you whispered, to which miguel reciprocated your hug. and it was here that you witnessed him in a new color, a pinkish, reddish hue that made you feel all kinds of happiness and excitement.

a love meant to be captured and painted in with bursts of emotion and care for one another.

a/n: I'M SO SORRY IF IT DIDN'T COME OUT THAT WELL NGL I MADE THIS A LITTLE RUSHED 😭😭😭 BUT I LOVE MIGGY HERE PLSSS AND I HOPE Y'ALL LOVE HIM HERE, TOO <333

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spidersona

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phoenixyfriend · 2 years ago

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[squints at the MCU] Tony Stark has displayed more ability to weather interrogation and torture than Steve Rogers.

This is "(displayed more)(ability)," not "(displayed)(more ability)," to be clear.

(I know fiction’s depiction of torture is famously propagandafied, but in this case, it’s not about torture for information so much as physical traumas shown on screen.)

(Anyway, have a rant I did on discord the other day.)

It's not really so much about "resisted the urge to hand over information" as "survived a truly harrowing experience and still came out of it trying to do good."

Tony's very first movie involves getting repeatedly drowned while in constant pain from bomb injuries as a civilian contractor, and I… don't think I can remember anything even a little similar with Steve

I don't think he's ever been captured for long before breaking out? All his injuries are in active battle, not torture.

Like... Steve went through something horrible with the ice and losing Bucky, nobody can argue that. But I think it's very telling, sometimes, that movie Steve, especially 2012 movie Steve, is completely unaware of the absolute nightmare that Tony experienced in his solo movies.

I have so many feelings about Tony Stark being the epitome of "guy who was raised and manipulated into being a bad person by someone he trusted, and (after a horrible experience) attempts to be a better person, constantly and consistently, even if he sometimes fucks up in the execution."

And the way that some fics elide his experiences in cleaning up other people's messes (first Obadiah's, then Howard's) and how that doubtlessly compounded his many neuroses from fixing messes that he did actually create himself is just

I have a lot of feelings

And am also feeling a little bitter and salty about how Tony Stark's MCU incarnation reportedly took some inspo from Elon Musk... and a little petty and satisfied about just how drastically we've all be shown that Musk can never live up to the idea of 'billionaire with inherited wealth who actually, without hesitation, risks his own life to save millions' that he tried to use PR to achieve in the media with 'my electric cars are gonna save the world' stunts about things he didn't actually have a hand in inventing

I'm just reading some fics I really enjoyed when I was still in the YA fandom, and there was a reference to a line Steve said in the movies and I started thinking (again) about how frequently fans take lines from Steve or Sam about Tony as gospel, because they haven't seen Tony's movies, and the lines from the star spangled boys are contextually meant to show that they don't know jackshit about Tony or his life, because they are directly contradicted by multiple prior films.

Also like... how often Steve's traumas get explored (in fic) in a way that Tony's just... don't? At most, his issues about Howard get explored, but that's it.

There's this moment in CACW that people take as Accurate and it infuriates me.

Tony Stark: [Back in the cell.] Just look. Because that is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes. [He shows a holographic image of Doctor Broussard.] Clearly, I made a mistake. Sam, I was wrong. Sam Wilson: That's a first.

Which, like... it's a bad movie. Obviously. But also

That line is immediately followed by Tony revealing that he's here to help the others and is sabotaging the security to make sure Ross can't take advantage, and yet fanfic still uses Sam's quote to promote anti-Tony agendas!

And 'Tony admits he fucked up' is. Like. Listen to me

Tony's first solo movie is fixing Obadiah's machinations. *

His second solo movie is fixing his Dad's fuckup.

His first team movie is fixing Thor's mistakes.

His third solo movie is fixing something that is only tangentially his fault.

It's not until AoU that the fuck-up is really his and his alone (well, not counting Bruce), and even then, even then, a massive portion of the blame is narratively laid at Wanda's feet!

And only then do we get this man, who has spent five movies seeing what happens when people don't take responsibility for their actions, or have anyone riding them to be ethical, who has criticized himself for neither having that oversight nor providing that oversight for people who snuck shit under his nose, that is when we get Tony weighing in on the side of "most countries on the planet are agreeing with this and it's for a reason, please work with me here, maybe we can get some of it rolled back to be less authoritarian and more reasonable."

* and removing himself from the military industrial complex he was raised and groomed to be in, but that's a system and not an individual act or a set 'villain'

Or as @firebirdeternal put it:

I would say that his first solo movie does have a large element of fixing his own mistakes too, it's just that his "mistake" was Trusting the Wrong Person and not taking personal responsibility for how his actions are affecting the world. (Which, he immediately does upon coming back from being captured? "We're going to immediately stop making weapons, because it's making the world worse" and then when Obadiah cuts him out of the company he goes "Oh. Okay no that didn't work, have to personally fix all this then.") and yeah it's just Tony have plenty of reasons to be on the side of "Someone needs to have oversight over this"

IM1 is such a good exploration of someone in privilege saying "this stops now" in a situation where they do have control because they have been confronted with their mistakes in a way that's unavoidable

It's also like, a great example of the fantasy of the Super Hero. Because Tony Stark, the businessman, even with all his wealth and knowledge, isn't able to stop the systemic harm being caused by His Own Company. One person isn't able to do that, even with the best of intentions. It isn't until he becomes something else, something more, a Super Hero, that he's able to make any kind of meaningful change on his own. Like IM1 is just a phenomenal movie. It understood it's subject material so incredibly well.

And people skip it and then take Steve and Sam at their word about Tony's strength of character and moral convictions and I scream.

THIS MAN FLEW A NUKE INTO A WORMHOLE WITH THE FULL EXPECTATION THAT HE WAS GOING TO DIE

Yeah, like, that Jump on the Grenade mentality is something that he and Steve actually literally share.

They both had 'jump on the explosive to save people' moments in their introductory movies.

I find so much more strength and inspiration in stories like Thor and Tony, where they are inherently fuck-ups and were shitty people and they are trying so damn hard to be better, which is more Tony than Thor really, but both of them and their first movies are just. I find that more inspiring than Steve or T'Challa or any other hero who was already a good person and just Became Great.

Tell me about the person who has to struggle to find that moral choice. Tell me about Natasha dragging herself from her oceans of blood and Tony fighting the government over whether they have the rights to use weapons he's created and about Thor having to reckon with his family's power being born of imperialistic ravaging of other cultures.

I want to hear about the people for whom being good is hard and a choice they don't have to make, but then they make it anyway.

Also I stand by "I am Iron Man. [infinity snap]" being the most amazing bookend the MCU could have done and probably the best part of the Endgame.

#Tony Stark #character analysis #phoenix talks #MCU #Iron Man Movies #Iron Man #Avengers #AoU #CACW #AEG #torture mention

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steddieunderdogfics · 6 months ago

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Sidekick_Hero! @sidekick-hero has 82 works on AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 80 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@steddieas-shegoes recommends the following works by Sidekick_Hero:

I wore his jacket for the longest time

Suitcase of Memories

to the rhythm of eternity

Will you cleanse me with pleasure?

Sandy is an incredible writer and always manages to paint beautiful scenes regardless of rating or situation. She was one of the first authors I found in the fandom who really captured so many things about Steve and Eddie that I love. She continues to inspire me constantly! -- @steddieas-shegoes

Below the cut, @sidekick-hero answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Great question! I'd been out of fandom and on a writing hiatus since 2016, the spark had just left me. Until early 2023, when I wanted to give Tumblr and fandom another try, but nothing really clicked until late summer when this wild-haired, bambi-eyed guy started popping up on my dash more and more. I fell in love with Eddie first, looked him up, and found that people were shipping him with this Steve character. I've never seen Stranger Things. I went to AO3 looking for some fic and the rest, as they say, is history. I fell in love with this ship the way you fall asleep, slowly, imperceptibly, and then all at once. I think what drew me in is these two characters who are so different from each other on the outside that you'd never think they'd work, but the closer you look, the more you can see how well they would fit, how good they could be for each other, bringing out the best in each other.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Wow, so many. I actually love the range of tropes this fandom offers. I'm a big fan of modern aus, especially ones where one or both are famous. If it's canon-based, I'm a sucker for Kas!Eddie. In general, I love it when one or both are creatures of any kind. I also love friends with benefits fics because they are idiots. Enemies to Lovers and Fake Dating are also high on my list. Last but not least: Porn with feelings and hurt/comfort.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

That's tough. I enjoy writing all kinds of smutty tropes as one-shots. When there's more plot going on, I really enjoy the "exes to friends to lovers" trope, just because as someone in their 30s, I look back on past relationships and hookups and realize what went wrong and how it could be different today, and I think that's something I can relate to a lot when I'm writing it for Steddie. I also love writing about second chances in general.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

It’s impossible to pick just one, sorry. I give you three with the disclaimer that there are so many more I could - and probably would - have picked on a different day. But I wanted to share some older ones in the spirit of what this blog is all about. the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you by greatunironic Keep it Steady, Eddie by outofmygourd Love blooms, love hurts, love prevails by corrodedbisexual (mishabawlins)

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Yes! I definitely want to explore some fantasy/creature fics (more outside of a pwp I wrote with Lake Creature Eddie), I already have the idea for Werewolf!Steve, and I really want to try my hand at Vampire!Eddie. I'm also super excited to finally get to work on a fake-dating trope fic for the summer exchange, I've been dying to do that. Last but not least, I really want to try writing an omega!verse at some point, I just don't have an idea yet.

What is your writing process like?

Pretty straightforward, I guess? It never really feels like a process, to be honest. I have an idea and I let it grow in my head (daydreaming, my beloved) until it has grown enough to become an actual fic, and then I sit down and write it out chronologically. Before I start writing, I need to know a few things about the story. I don't usually work with outlines or anything like that, but in my head I know where it starts, what the emotional beats and major plot points are, and how I want it to end. The rest I let unfold as I write. That's why I'm not the fastest writer (plus the whole not-native-English thing). Often the story tells me where it wants to go, so as long as I have the cornerstones, I let it flow.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Not sure if these are quirks, but my sentences tend to be very wordy. My dear friend @yournowheregirl used to comment on my fics when she beta-read them, "Another Sandy sentence. Make it multiple sentences." Also, I only write in present tense, even though I know most people prefer past tense, but it's too hard for me. Other than that, I can't have too many WIPs, I have to finish one story before I can start another.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Post when I'm done writing, for sure. I hate waiting, I have the patience of a toddler.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I wore his jacket for the longest time, no question. It's still so precious to me, especially because I got to write it with my platonic writing soulmate @legitcookie, but also because I got to really explore these characters and their growth in this story. It has so much of me in it and I'm really proud of how it turned out.

How did you get the idea for I wore his jacket for the longest time?

Actually, it wasn't all me. I just had this idea of them being kind of friends with benefits, but Eddie wants more than Steve is willing to give him, so they hook up one last time before Eddie sends Steve away for good. That was the original idea that inspired the prequel "we pass the ghosts that haunt us later". The idea for that actually came from a song, "we can never be friends" by mgk. Jen (legitcookie) would not accept the ambiguous (sad) ending, so she demanded that we fix it. So we decided to find a way to let them both grow as people apart and then rebuild their friendship, because only then would they have a real foundation for their second chance.

When writing I wore his jacket for the longest time, what was something you didn’t expect?

How much fun it would be to develop those OC side-characters, especially Mrs. Horowitz but also fucking Tom or even Fritz. It was also the very first time I collaborated with someone on a fic and I was a bit apprehensive if this would work out so I was surprised when I discovered how much I love writing with someone else.

What inspired to the rhythm of eternity?

My love for London, really. I am madly in love with this city and have explored it a lot, so I wanted to use my experiences in a fic. And when @tboygareth asked for a long distance relationship fic for our server holiday exchange, I knew this was my chance. Their meeting as well as the ending is heavily based on my own experiences.

What was your favorite part to write from Suitcase of Memories?

The dreams! They were so much fun to explore because there's a certain mood I wanted to set with them, that dreamy feeling mixed with events from another time period. Their first date and especially their first kiss is a close second, though, because the swing set scene is something I've been thinking about since I saw 13 going on 30 as a teenager.

How do/did you feel writing Suitcase of Memories?

To be totally honest, a bit stressed 😀 It was my first big bang and I was so glad to have Jen by my side, but then real life happened and I realized it's hard to write on deadline. BUT I still love this fic. Especially the theme of love as a choice, even if some cosmic interference gives you a second chance, you still have to WANT it, you still have to work for it and choose it, over and over again. I feel like we nailed that pretty well and I'm proud of us and this story.

What was the most difficult part of writing Will you cleanse me with pleasure??

The emotional setup, because it was a gift for Ger (@steves-strapcollection) and he wanted them to be disgustingly in love, but I also needed Eddie's condition to be something he kept from Steve at first for fear of losing him. Besides that, the logistics, really. So many tentacles, man. So many.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Okay, some very, very self-indulgent scenes I wrote are for my Runner!Steve verse. I am a passionate runner, and it was so much fun to write that love for Steve and to geek out about it in my writing. Another scene I'm very fond of is from my very first ST fic, "I'm tired of asking to settle the debt," and it's a scene where they're both kids and meeting for the first time, it's winter, and Eddie is doing an impression of a dragon with his breath.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Well, by the time this comes out, I will have posted my reverse big bang fic "Emotional Motion Sickness" with art by the amazing @arimakes. There's also the summer exchange, in which I was lucky enough to claim my dear friend @starryeyedjanai's prompt, and the steddie big bang 2024. I'm also finishing the last chapter of "hold me close (I'm shaking apart)" and hope to post it soon.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Yes, I want to thank everyone for making this project possible! This fandom has grown so much and there is so much amazing fic that easily gets buried under all the content, so having this project to give the writers of this fandom some visibility and love is precious to me. Thank you, really 💜🙏 Also, all my love to every single writer out there - you make my life and the lives of so many better by sharing your gift with us.

Thank you to our author, Sidekick_Hero, and our nominator, @steddieas-shegoes on tumblr! See more of Sidekick_Hero's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday #ao3 writer #steddie writers #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things

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blackenedsnow · 1 month ago

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Heya! Same person who requested the Ace!Reader x Arthur Morgan thing! Thank you so so much! Made me super super happy and I may or may not have cried a little bit lmao

Feel free to ignore this other bit of the ask. I don’t know if one can send a request more than once, but obviously I’m not expecting this to be written with all the other people sending in asks. They take priority. I was just wondering if you could write something about the same kind of reader, but with Kieran? Where she’s always defended and protected him, fed him well when he was tied to the tree, got him a tent and a cot and everything, and fussed over him in general, at first just because she’s not okay with that sort of treatment but develops actual feelings for him, and she rescues him from the O’Driscoll boys when he disappeared?

Again, feel free to ignore this. The important bit is that I felt more reassurance than I have in a while with the Arthur request. Thank you again! Have a lovely day/night!

soft hands

WARNING: Kidnapping, mentions of mistreatment

PAIRING: Kieran Duffy x Reader

NOTE: I’m so happy the Arthur fic meant so much to you! Seriously, feel free to send in as many requests as you want. (As long as you don't spam my inbox all at once lol) It’s never a problem, and I love creating these for you! You’re always welcome here.💙

SUMMARY: After weeks of caring for Kieran, you realize your feelings for him go deeper than simple kindness. When he goes missing, you risk everything to bring him back.

Kieran whimpered as the ropes bit into his wrists. The thick cord twisted around the bark of the tree where Dutch had ordered him tied up like some animal. He’d been with the gang for what felt like a while now, but they still looked at him like he was some kind of vermin. Except you. You always did what you could to help him, offering him scraps of food when no one was looking, defending him when Bill or Micah got too rough.

You couldn’t stand the way they treated him.

It wasn’t as though Kieran had exactly "chosen" to be with the O’Driscolls. It was a "ride with us" or die situation, and you believed him with all your heart. You didn’t believe in this kind of cruelty, and seeing him tied to that tree, looking half-starved and terrified, set your teeth on edge. So, from the moment he’d been captured, you had taken it upon yourself to keep an eye on him.

It started small—handing him extra food when you were sure no one would notice. Then, you’d convinced Dutch and Hosea to get him a tent and a cot so he wasn’t left exposed to the elements like some animal. When you finally got them to untie him, you’d gone out of your way to make sure he wasn’t harassed by the others. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much at first. Maybe it was just your natural instinct to look after people, to keep them safe.

But over time, something changed.

You started to notice the way Kieran would blush when you brought him food, or the way he’d glance up at you with those soft, grateful eyes. And it wasn’t long before you realized that your need to protect him went beyond just being kind-hearted. You had feelings for him, feelings that snuck up on you when you weren’t looking.

It was a cold morning when you realized something was wrong. Kieran hadn’t been seen since the night before, and no one seemed to care.

“Have you seen Kieran?” you asked Arthur, who was busy cleaning his rifle. He barely spared you a glance.

“Haven’t seen him since yesterday,” he said. “Why? You worried about him?”

You frowned, a knot of anxiety twisting in your chest. “You sure he’s alright?”

Arthur sighed, wiping down the barrel of his gun. “I don’t know. If he’s smart, he ain’t runnin’.”

You didn’t like that answer. Something in your gut told you that Kieran hadn’t run off. He wasn’t the type to just leave—especially not after everything. You trusted him more than anyone in the gang did, and the idea of him disappearing without a word didn’t sit right with you.

“I’m going to go look for him,” you said, already heading for your horse. Arthur called after you, but you didn’t stop.

The ride was long and cold, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. You knew that if Kieran had been taken by the O’Driscolls, it wouldn’t be good. They had no love for traitors. Every second that passed without finding him made your heart pound harder. You pushed your horse faster, determined to bring him back safely.

After hours of searching, you finally stumbled upon an old O’Driscoll camp hidden deep in the woods. You dismounted, creeping quietly through the trees. There were three men sitting around a fire, and off to the side, tied to a post, was Kieran.

Your heart dropped at the sight of him. He was slumped over, his face bloodied, his wrists bound tight behind his back. They’d beaten him.

You had to get him out of there.

Drawing your gun, you crept closer, your boots making barely a sound on the damp earth. You watched the O’Driscolls carefully, waiting for the right moment to strike. When one of them stood and moved away from the fire, you seized the opportunity. Taking out the closest man with a quick knife to the neck, you rushed forward, catching the other off-guard before he could react.

The third man tried to pull his gun, but you were faster, a clean shot to his chest sending him crumpling to the ground.

With the camp quiet, you hurried over to Kieran, dropping to your knees beside him. “Kieran? It’s me. You’re safe now.”

He flinched at your touch, still out of it from the beating. When he finally recognized you, a sob caught in his throat. “Y-You came for me…”

“Of course I did,” you whispered, cutting through the ropes binding his wrists. “I’m not leaving you here.”

Once free, Kieran slumped against you, too weak to stand. His body trembled, and you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or exhaustion. Probably both. You wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close as you helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily on you as you led him to your horse.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the camp,” you said softly, hoisting him onto the saddle before climbing up behind him.

The ride back to camp was slow and quiet, with Kieran resting against you, his head lolling against your shoulder.

Back at camp, you made sure Kieran was properly cared for. You fussed over him like you always did, making sure he had a warm meal and all that stuff.

“I don’t deserve this,” Kieran mumbled one night as you were tending to the bruises on his face. “I don’t deserve you.”

You stopped, looking at him with soft eyes. “That’s not true, Kieran. You deserve someone who cares about you.”

He blinked up at you, his expression raw and vulnerable. “But why? After everything… why do you care so much?”

You hesitated, your heart thudding in your chest. You’d been wrestling with your feelings for weeks now, and hearing him ask that question made it all come crashing down.

“Because…” You set the cloth aside, your hand resting gently on his cheek. “Because.. I don't know. I just care about you. More than I probably should.”

His eyes widened, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Y-You mean that?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your ears. “I do.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, Kieran’s hand reached up to cover yours, his fingers trembling slightly.

“Thank you, I… I care about you too.” he replied.

It wasn’t a grand confession, but it didn’t need to be. You already knew. You’d known for a while now.

#kieran duffy #kieran duffy x reader #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr2 #red dead #red dead redemption x reader #x reader #oneshot #ask #request #fanfic

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traffydren · 9 months ago

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*slams the door*

hi there

I read that you are simp from Law and that you write smut and I said to myself, this is it, I'm going to leave my request

can you please write a smut Law x Femreader (virgin) where Reader is the captain of her crew and they are friends with the heart Pirates

SO she and Law have been playing cat and mouse and are finally once again in a situation where they can take their time without their crews running away from the navy and stuff like that.

And finally they declare their feelings and fuck

~Delicate (Trafalgar Law x Fem! Reader Smut)~

A/N: I loved this idea so much! I spent two days on this, thank you so much for requesting this lovely! I really enjoyed writing this! I hope you love it! <333

Likes and Re-blogs appreciated, DO NOT! Copy my work! Please and thank you!

CW:Smut below! minors DNI! contains: Fluff! Law and Reader dancing around each other, one cuss word? Law eating reader out, gentle loving missionary sex, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT!), Law being soft and gentle, soft, fluffy aftercare

I based the name of this fic from Taylor Swifts song Delicate!

Word Count: 2k words

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

Being a pirate had its ups and downs. She was a pirate captain of her own crew, which can sometimes be a rowdy bunch. But she still cared about her crew like they are family, because to her, her crew is her family. She was friends with another fellow pirate crew. The Heart Pirates, their captain Trafalgar D. Water Law was an interesting man so to say. She felt attracted to the man, he was handsome. But there was a problem, the two everytime the crews met up, they danced around each other like a game of cat and mouse.

Right now was like any other day, it was surprisingly a calming day. The two crews were finally able to fully relax without having to worry about marines all the time wanting to capture them. So it felt nice to finally be able to relax and not stress about it. As per usual she and Law were bouncing around each other. Much to the two captains' crew's annoyance, it was completely obvious that the two were in love with each other.

Both their crews decided to explore the island leaving her and Law alone on the Polar Tang, she was reading a book sitting down outside on the deck of the submarine like ship, Law was nearby sharpening Kikoku. He was quiet the whole time that he did so, she was starting to get bored. She let out a small sigh, which gained the attention of the said man. He looked up at her, raising his eyebrow at her. She looked at him.

“What?” she asked, looking at the man. He simply shrugged.“Nothing. If you’re that bored, you can always explore the island with the others.” He grunted out in his deep voice. “Nah I’m good. I’m bored, yes. But I would rather spend my time getting to finally enjoy the sun. Instead of always having to worry about the damn marines.” She spoke, as she closed the book she was reading, laying it down on the side. He grunted acknowledging her words without speaking. He was a man of not many words. Even though he always looked grumpy all the time.

She will never say it to his face, that regardless of the fact The Surgeon of Death always looked grumpy, and unapproachable, to her he was a sweet man, who cared about those closest to him. So he wasn’t a heartless man everyone made him out to be. If he was heartless he wouldn’t have saved strawhats life after Marineford.

So the man had a heart, and he cared just that he had different ways to show it. She didn’t even realize that she was still staring at Law, until he cleared his throat which got her attention. He stood up. “I’m gonna make myself something to eat. Do you want anything to eat? I'm sure there's something in the kitchen that you might like.” Law said, turning and looking at her. It made her heart start racing, she nodded. “Yes please, I would like that thanks.” She smiled at him. They headed back inside. Heading to the dining area.

He went into the kitchen and made the two his favorite food Onigiri. His back was to her as he made the food. After he was done making the Onigiri he walked over to one of the tables she was sitting at, sitting one of the plates in front of her, and sat down with his plate of Onigiri right across from her. “Thanks Law.” She thanked the tattooed man across from her, he gave her a soft nod.

The two ate in silence, this was her second time trying his favorite food,it was really good. It made her heart swell that he was willing to share his favorite foods with her. Now if only he would share what was on his mind. The look he was giving while focusing on his plate made her shiver from the intensity. She kept sneaking glances at the man, curiosity burning in her whole body. He felt her looking at him, he looked up at her raising his eyebrow in the process. “What? Is there something on my face?” He asked her, there was a piece of rice at the corner of his lip.

“Actually yes there is.” She giggled, before she reached over and softly brushed the rice from the corner of his lip. That made the man blush a little bit. “Thank you.” He thanked the woman sheepishly, she giggled a bit with a shy smile on her face. “Of course Law.” She spoke softly, her face was flushed with a blush also. He looked up at her again. The two held eye contact for what felt like a long time, but was actually only five minutes.

He thought she was beautiful, and he won’t lie he was attracted to the woman across from him, and he was tired of this cat and mouse game the two played, he needed to man up and confess to her. But why was it so hard to do so? The man has plenty of opportunities to do so, like right now is a good time. He let out a sigh “can I admit something to you?” He asked the woman across from him. She looked at him. “Yeah? What is it?” She inquired, confused while looking at him.

“I… I like you.” He blurted out, making the woman start to blush at his words. She wasn’t stupid she knew what he was doing, he was confessing to her. “I l-like you too L-Law.” She spoke shyly, a blush still adorning her beautiful face. And regardless of the fact the two have already confessed he still was going to be respectful, and ask her one thing.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked her. She blushed even more at his question, but she nodded softly. He stood up walking over to the side of the table she sat at, he bent down to her height. Leaning in softly putting his lips against her own, she kissed him back. They held close together as they continued to kiss. Both were new to this and didn't want to process without making the other feel uncomfortable. They pulled away briefly for air, but quickly went back to kissing.

Room, Shambles he had shambled the two, to his room on the sub. The two were still kissing, as he laid her down softly on the bed. He pulled away from her lips, looking down at the woman underneath his larger body. Both of their faces are adorned with a blush. His eyes were blown wide with lust and love. But there was one little problem.

She was a virgin…. He saw the scared look on her beautiful face. “Are you okay? We can stop.” He said quickly, looking at the smaller woman worriedly. She shook her head, she didn’t want to stop. “No! No! It's just…I’m a virgin.” She whimpered. His eyes went wide for a bit, but then they went soft. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle, I promise. But if it’s too much, please tell me.” He spoke softly, but also very serious. “Yes Law.” She whispered, causing him to smile softly. He then started to kiss her neck softly. He lifted her shirt up softly, and unclipped her bra.

He looked at her breasts, she was utterly beautiful. “So beautiful.” He spoke softly, as he leaned down taking one of her nipples into his mouth, starting to suck on it. While he softly pinched and played with the other. She let out a small moan at him giving her chest love. He switched to the other one, putting it into his mouth, to give it the same treatment as well. Her moans were absolutely stunning. He started to kiss downwards, looking at her as he did so.

He made his way down to her shorts, he looked at her. Silently asking for her permission before continuing. She gave him a small nod of approval, causing him to start gently unbuttoning her shorts, pulling them down along with her underwear. She lifted up her bottom to give him easy access to take the two garments off. After he took said garments off her he threw them somewhere behind him. He took his shirt off, showing off his broad chest. He took his tattooed hands to her thighs, spreading them gently.

He looked at her glistening slit, he groaned lowly as he looked at her wetness. He leaned down, licking a stripe from her slit all the way to her clit. She let out a small moan at the pleasure she felt. He suddenly dove in, eating her out like a starved man, making sure to give her clit attention. She was letting out small moans as he ate her out. His thumb rubbing her clit softly. He took his other hand and brought it to her wet heat, sticking two of his fingers gently into her, and started to finger her softly.

She was letting out moans of pleasure into the room, letting him know it was making her feel so good. “L-Law it feels so g-good baby.~” she moaned out, causing the man to groan. As he continued to finger her, he started to suck on her clit gently. She felt something bubbling inside her, which caused her to move around, moaning out loudly. “L-Law I f-feel weird I f-feel something coming!” She moaned out into the air. “Let it out pretty girl, let it out.” He cooed against her clit, as he fingered her a little faster, curling his fingers as he did so.

She let out a loud shout of his name as she cummed all over the lower part of Law’s face, coating his goatee in her sweet essence, he drank up all that he could groaning from the sweet taste, he pulled away looking into her eyes, as he licked his lips sexily. Which made the woman let out a small whimper, a small blush adorning her cheeks.

He stood up, starting to unbuckle his belt, and unbuttoning his pants, he had taken his boots off ahead of time. As he started to pull his pants and underwear down, his hard member springing free, hitting his stomach, she looked at it and her face went even more red. He was huge! How was that gonna fit?! It was long, with a thick girth to it. The bright red tip was leaking precum from it.

He got back onto the bed, taking a hold of his member, as he got in between the woman's legs. She looked intimidated by the size. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. Do you trust me?” He asked her softly, she nodded. As she closed her eyes. “No, no. I want you to look at me sweetheart, look at me.” He spoke gently, causing the woman to open her eyes and look into Law’s grey eyes. “That's a good girl.” He cooed softly, as he started to push into her softly.

Tears started to spring to her eyes at the discomforting stretch, he was holding her close to him, as he kissed the side of her face gently, trying to distract her as he continued to push into her gently. He stopped as soon as he was all the way in, letting her adjust to his size. He remained holding her close the whole time.

“You can move.” She whispered, he started to slowly thrust into her, being as gentle as possible, because of it being her first time. He settled with gentle thrusting, groaning out as he thrusted into her tight, wet heat. “God, your so tight sweetheart, feels so good around me, pretty girl. Taking me so well.” He cooed softly, praising her as he did so. She was moaning out from the pleasure.

“A little faster, please Law.” She moaned out, he started to speed up with his thrusting, still remaining gentle as he did so, the bed squeaking underneath the two, as he continued his thrusting, his member hitting her sweet spot each time. She dug her fingers into his back as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He loved listening to her sweet moans, like music to his ears.

He brought a hand down to her clit, rubbing it as he continued his movements, the head of his member kissing her cervix with each thrust into her, she let out louder moans cause she felt close again, she dug her nails into his back, as she arched her back, letting out a loud moan of the man's name. He felt her squeeze around him, making him groan out. As he continued to thrust sloppily into her, he was close himself.

He suddenly pulled out, his essence spurted onto her stomach, he let out a groan from it. The room was quiet after that, besides the two currently catching their breaths. He stood up from the bed and picked up a clean rag from his laundry, and cleaned her stomach softly, leaning down and kissing her lips softly, after he finished he threw the rag across the room, not caring about where it landed. He laid down next to the woman, bringing her close to him. Kissing the side of her head softly.

“Are you doing okay?” He asked her softly, she nodded into his chest. Nuzzling more into him and taking in his manly scent, she closed her eyes, exhausted from the events that happened. He smiled, kissing the side of her head again, closing his eyes as well. The two lovebirds fall asleep in each other's embrace.

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#renwrites #renposts #anime and manga #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar op #one piece #trafalgar law smut

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gffa · 2 years ago

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It’s been an entire week since I shoved a bunch of STAR WARS fic recs at everyone, but I’m back with more because this fandom is amazing and ones that are some real doozies, like, I inhaled some of this fic and absolutely needed to scream about it. Whether it’s time travel fic (so many good time travel recs holy crap) or throwing two random characters together (time traveling Cal as Obi-Wan’s padawan, I never knew I needed that in my life!) or good character pieces for those who deserve it (Mace Windu my beloved) or some absolutely feral Obi-Wan and Anakin dynamics or peeling back Anakin Skywalker’s character like an onion until you see all the fascinating complexity underneath or Jedi Order worldbuilding (I love those weird psychic space wizards so much), there’s a little something for everyone here, I hope. One thing I will always appreciate about this fandom is that, whatever else you might say about it, there are some tremendously talented people writing fic that makes me fall in love with the characters all over again, who bring comfort with their writing when we’re having a bad day or bad week, who brighten up the world just by being in it and sharing their crafts with us, who make my world better just by being there. People who love these silly characters from our shows just as much as I do and are having some fun out there and giving me a whole lot of feelings and even the occasional sexy times fic to make the day just that much more fun to get through. I may say this every time, but it always remains true, this list is just banger after banger for me, every one of these made my brain light up with joy or fizziness because it was so good and punched me right in the feelings or the fun, fritzing out my thoughts place, to the point that I cannot believe I have 45+ of them for just this one set! And I’ll have that same amount to do again next time! There are so many in my to-write-recs for pile! Because this fandom is just nuts with how amazing it is and I love everyone in this bar for it. STAR WARS FIC RECS: PREQUELS RECS: ✦ Unexpected Awakening (The Rewrite) by Rhiw, obi-wan & qui-gon & bruck & feemor & jaster & dooku & rael & cast, time travel, 127.9k wip The life of General Kenobi is cut short at the hands of his Padawan, but the sight that greets his eyes upon awakening is not that of blinding light of the Force, but the Jedi Temple he knew when he was still a youth. As he struggles to understand the path laid out before him, Obi-Wan unwittingly captures the attention of a singularly unusual Temple Guard, and that of a reluctant Qui-Gon Jinn. ✦ Crazy Centaxday by Killbothtwins, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cody & padme & mace & palpatine & cast, body swap, 4.8k Anakin and Obi-Wan are having an… out of body experience. Unfortunately, no one seems to be noticing. Fortunately, the Team’s weird shenanigans might be enough to save the galaxy in the end. Just why are Skywalker and Kenobi acting so out of character? ✦ A Jedi’s Cloak by ImperialKatwala, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & cody & rex & cast, 6.4k Or: Jedi cloaks are weird. Here’s a series of events showing why they’re made that way. ✦ a distant fire is burning by e_va, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cal & cody & cast, time travel, 32.9k wip Cal Kestis can move backwards in time (kinda-sorta-not really), and his confrontation with Darth Vader in the Fortress Inquisitorius plays out a lot differently. Fixing the timeline while stuck in his 10-year-old body will be quite the task, but Cal is up to it. He has to be. (Obi-Wan, Anakin, and the clone troopers have no idea what to make of Kenobi’s weird new padawan. At least the kid fits in, though.) ✦ all in mail, never clinking by calika, obi-wan & ahsoka, 2.9k Of course, it’s only after she’s been thoroughly humbled by the deceptively slippery rocks and swallowed what feels like half the stream that her grandmaster, having arrived unnoticed, deigns to speak. ✦ Saving People Counts as Revenge, Right? by ImperialKatwala, dooku & obi-wan & anakin, time travel, 4.3k wip Count Dooku of Serenno is an intelligent man. His methods may be a bit severe, and he may not be allowed true freedom to plan campaigns in the war he helped create, but he has always had an eye for strategy. Moving the pieces around the board and plotting out where they will need to be next. So, when he opens his eyes after Anakin Skywalker cut his head off, he knows to take a moment to assess what’s going on. ✦ eat well; be well by gingerbeer, rainsoaked_benevolence (oceans_bluem), obi-wan & ahsoka & mace & yoda & shaak & feemor & depa & quinlan & aayla & kanan & jedi cast, 18.6k Or, Obi-Wan and his (almost full) family gathers to drink tea. ✦ Garberwool by Blue_Sunshine, obi-wan & anakin, 1k Or: Old Ben Kenobi has a question. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi has a vision. And Darth Vader is left with… a robe. ✦ mazarine by maragny, anakin/aayla, NSFW, 3.6k Anakin and Aayla take advantage of finally being on the same planet as each other. ✦ a soul that’s born in cold and rain/knows sunlight by Killbothtwins, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & cast, time travel, 43.4k Obi-Wan Kenobi travels back in time to fix things. He also annoys a lot of people. ✦ Patterns Form and Feel Important (It Overwhelms the Nervous System) by ImperialKatwala, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cody & cast, 8.6k Obi-Wan and his Padawans have been captured. Obi-Wan has been betrayed. Obi-Wan is dead. Obi-Wan is fighting his Padawan. Obi-Wan is being forced to turn on the people he loves. Obi-Wan is locked up and barely holding onto consciousness. All of these things are true. And yet only one of them is real. ✦ from the wild winds around you by gingerbeer, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cast, 2.3k Or, the Mortis arc goes a little bit sideways. (It’s fine. Don’t worry.) ✦ Creché Duty by sadieadlersimp (ethantorchiomybeloved), anakin & grogu & cast, 1.3k Anakin Skywalker gets put in charge of the toddlers while Yoda attends an emergency council meeting. Surely the Chosen One can handle a few toddlers, no? (Spoiler alert, he can’t.) ✦ On Hugs and Warm Blankets by moonlightpadawan, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cast, 1.3k [or: Anakin’s reaction to pain meds leaves him acting overly affectionate.] ✦ Lightsaber Lesson by AdaliaK, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 3.1k Anakin and Ahsoka’s relationship goes through some growing pains when Anakin disciplines Ahsoka by taking away her lightsaber. Obi-Wan is an amused bystander. ✦ Last Rites by Siri_Kenobi12, obi-wan & ahsoka & mace & cast, 3k “I’m so sorry Ahsoka.” He said after a moment with a slight tremble in his voice. “I know from experience how it feels to have someone you love die in your arms. To feel them take their last breath…” Obi-Wan is back from the dead, he tries to help his Grand-Padawan through her grief. ✦ deep cuts by gigglesandfreckles, anakin & satine (referenced obi-wan/satine), 3.8k [or: anakin ends up on a mission with satine, things are tense.] ✦ How to Train your Droid by hellowkatey, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & rex, 2.9k A bored and michevious Anakin Skywalker is a recipe for something to go awry. After all, reprograming Artoo’s language core is a great idea for a prank… but it turns out, Artoo has a lot to say. OBI-WAN/ANAKIN RECS: ✦ Electric Love by thedeadparrot, obi-wan/darth vader, NSFW, 3.4k Vader stepped forward, deeper into the cell, and reached out one hand. It pressed against Obi-Wan’s tunic, clean metal meeting dirty fabric. Vader’s suit only had the most rudimentary of sensors – he preferred to use the Force over his physical hands. But this was Obi-Wan Kenobi offered up for him, and nothing less than physical touch would do. ✦ Redolent of you by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, undercover mission, 15.5k wip Anakin and Obi-Wan are sent on an undercover operation as an alpha and omega bonded pair in the middle of the Clone Wars. Someone on Cantonica is funneling credits to the Separatists, and it’s going to take infiltrating a top secret alpha-supremacist group of Core elites to find out who’s upping the financial ante of the entire war. This act of espionage is going to require some class A play at antiquated alpha and omega dynamics, only problem is Anakin has never submitted in his life and it’s certainly not within his nature,or so Obi-Wan thinks. ✦ tender like a bruise by stardies, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, omegaverse, 15k wip In a stroke of desperation, Obi-wan mates Anakin Skywalker by force on the fiery planet of Mustafar to stop his Fall and save his life. Taken back to Coruscant and imprisoned, Anakin feels the senate’s pressure for justice, and Obi-wan, his mate and former mentor, is determined to give him another chance. ✦ Neutron star collision by thedunesea, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 113k wip In the aftermath of Order 66, Anakin Skywalker’s miraculous survival after his confrontation with the new Sith Apprentice Darth Vader ignites a sparkle of hope in the remaining Jedi, in the fledgling rebellion and, above all, in his former Master, who thought he had lost everything to darkness. But darkness is generous, and it is patient. ✦ How to Save a Galactic Republic Without Really Trying by Sharp_Tongue, obi-wan/anakin & mace & quinlan & cast, nsfw, time travel, 23.9k After defeating Vader on a barren, nameless moon, Obi-Wan had let go of the past. But the past hadn’t let go of him. ✦ Heal Me, My Darling by wasureneba, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 12.4k Anakin gets sick. Obi-Wan takes care of him. For two weeks. Alone. ✦ Suckerpunch by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 13.6k In this universe, Obi-Wan goes to check on Anakin about Clovis after Anakin’s violent altercation with his rival, instead of before, and everything changes. Padmé has already kicked him out for scaring her, and he’s in a crisis of loneliness and grief. He breaks down, and Obi-Wan is there to pick up the pieces, even if the weight of Anakin’s crimes is too heavy to imagine. ✦ Slow Learner by Is0lde, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 12.6k Four times Anakin tried to fit Obi-Wan’s big dick inside him and one time he managed it. ✦ Hold Fast by Ripki, obi-wan/anakin & padme & cast, nsfw, time travel, 41.4k The Republic and the Jedi Order have fallen, people everywhere facing a dark future. His world shattered, Obi-Wan tries to change the fate of the whole galaxy – and not least because he cannot let go of the man he loves. But will Anakin hinder or help him? ✦ Baby, It’s Halloween (And We Can Be Anything) by secretsolarsystem, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, modern au, 5.3k Anakin goes to his office’s annual Halloween party, looking hot as hell and fully intending to get drunk with his work friends. He can hardly enjoy himself, though, seeing as his work crush never comes to the office parties. ✦ For He, too, is King by MayMeows, obi-wan/anakin & padme & cast, NSFW, historical au, 7.7k “I am here to present myself to the man who now calls himself King of my people.” ✦ pure uncomplicated love by TheSopherfly, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, modern au, 4.2k Hours before he’s due to arrive at Open Circle Studios’ annual celebration, screen actor Anakin Skywalker finds out that his ex, Obi-Wan Kenobi, will be in attendance. Anakin wishes he could be angry—but all he wants is for Obi-Wan to take him back. ✦ Fever by dirkygoodness, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, nyanakin, 3.5k Obi-Wan wakes up to a cuddly (Ny)Anakin and is met with something he isn’t expecting. He’s going to have to deal with it though. And enjoy himself as he does. ✦ Hooked on You by whohatessand, obi-wan/anakin & padme & bail, NSFW, modern au, infidelity, 5.2k With his wife’s approaching senatorial election, Anakin Skywalker tries desperately to be the perfect husband she needs. Little does Padmé know, her husband has been sleeping with her campaign manager, Obi-Wan Kenobi, for quite a while now. ✦ The Same Cloth (in foreign stars) by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin & dooku & quinlan & cody & rex, NSFW, historical au, 11.1k wip Welcome to 18th century Scotland, the only thing Anakin likes here is Obi-Wan Kenobi in a kilt. ✦ such selfish prayers (and i can’t get enough) by decideophobia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, ~1k He keeps taking whatever Anakin offers him: takes it with possessive hands, a greedy heart and a gluttonous soul, and the dying embers of a guilty conscience. ✦ sail through the deep, the dark of space by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, space pirates au, 2.7k They slipped in and out with the Empire none the wiser. Well, it was more like they crashed in and out with the Empire a lot the wiser, but in the end it was really the same thing—not that Anakin expected Obi-Wan would see it that way. ✦ Of Devotion and Defilement by al_mp4, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, d/s, punishment, 5.3k Anakin Skywalker wants to be good, to be useful, yet it seems he can only beg for pleasures he doesn’t deserve. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 21: Beer and Paint by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, 6.1k Artists AU, drunk sex. ✦ and when you look at me, the weight of how i feel is heavy on me by brahe, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & mace & depa & cast, nsfw, 37.9k 5 times Anakin asks Obi-Wan to marry him, and one time Obi-Wan asks ✦ stay til the dawn, i’ll give you the sun by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, royal!obi-wan, 40.2k Jedi Anakin Skywalker crashes in a field on the planet Stewjon. Out of respect for the Jedi Order, King Kenobi takes a personal interest in his recovery…especially when they accidentally form a Force bond, scant hours after Kenobi alerts the Jedi Council to Skywalker’s presence so they can come retrieve their Jedi. But if Anakin can’t remember who he is, is he really still their Jedi? What’s stopping him from being Obi-Wan’s? ✦ short shallow gasps by mysticmjolnir, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, d/s, spanking, daddy kink, 4.9k Obi-Wan gets surprised by Anakin when he comes home from work. ✦ illicit affairs by Urgirl415, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.2k Anakin needs something that Obi-Wan is more than willing to provide. Even if it means having his doorbell rung in the middle of the night. Or, Anakin cheats on Padme with Obi-Wan. Regularly. ✦ baby teeth by stardies, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, 8.2k During a mission, Anakin runs out of suppressants. Obi-wan Kenobi is called in to tend to his former padawan. ✦ His Hands by Aariel, obi-wan/darth vader, NSFW, 4.3k Vader’s in his bacta tank, and as usual, he’s angry, hurting, and miserable. Fortunately, force-projection!Obi-Wan is “on hand” to offer Vader some much-needed relief. ✦ Dough or Doughnut, There is No Rye by edge_of_night, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & cast, modern au, 4k Obi-Wan stops in a local bakery on his way to work for some fresh-baked bread and walks out in love with a very talented baker. ✦ eat, sleep, wake (nothing but you) by decideophobia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 6.7k Obi-Wan twists his fingers inside him, pressing, pressing, and Anakin jolts with pleasure the exact same moment when an entirely different kind of noise rips through the room. A stomach growling. His stomach growling. Aggressively. FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #mace windu #obikin #fic recs #star wars fic recs #long post

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azsazz · 2 years ago

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You Know I Always Liked Playing with Fire

Eris x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Hiii could you write a fic Eris x mate. Eris’s brother is hooking up with/dating his mate and has been seeing her for a while. Eris has never bothered to meet her. One day he runs into her and realizes she is his mate. They end up hooking up and Eris is super competitive in bed.

Warnings: Smut, slight masochism, Eris’ brother is kind of a sadist.

Word Count: 3,080

Notes: I ran with most of this idea but changed it up a little bit. I hope you enjoy it either way because I sure know I do 🥵💙

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Dinner with the Vanserra’s was always…a treat.

Everything felt so stiff and forced beneath the harsh gaze of the High Lord of Autumn, but you forced yourself to go to all of the ones you were invited to because you loved the second eldest of the Autumn sons, Pyrolas.

But you knew deep down that the molten feeling in your core was not Pyrolas’ doing, but Eris’.

The way that he stares at you from across the table, amber eyes blazing as Pyro leans over in his chair to kiss your shoulder, not a care in the world if Beron or the other guests see.

His lips are searing. You flinch away at the sensation, the acrid tinge of your smoking flesh catching in your windpipe. The most reckless of the Vanserra brothers had a bit of a sadistic streak, and in the beginning of your relationship with the wild heir it had been fun. You didn’t mind a bit of pain, found your heart racing unexpectedly when Pyrolas had first introduced you to fireplay, the sensations bubbling beneath your skin as the two of you devoured each other’s bodies every chance you could get.

But the longer you were together the less he restrained himself. You watched his chestnut eyes go from shining with lust to glinting like a predator would its prey, and you felt trapped, utterly terrified to break things off with the merciless male in fear that he’d lash out.

With his hot temper you knew that it was only a matter of time.

Eris smolders in his seat as he watches his younger brother, clenching his fork and knife tighter in his grasp as he sends a fiery glare his way, weapons that he can easily use to warn some sense into his brother.

He’d picked up on your uncomfort on more than one occasion. Watched how you would wince everytime Pyrolas leans in to whisper in your ear or place a kiss on the exposed skin of your shoulder or throat. He’d watch you shift slightly away when the second born would laugh a bit too cruelly at the mention of capture, injury, or harm.

It reminded him of his mother and father.

Eris simmers throughout the rest of the meal, hardly touching his food just like you, because the inferno of hatred for his younger brother has grown tenfold in the last thirty minutes.

“What a lovely dinner father,” Pyrolas announces, pushing back his seat to stand. He shoots you a wicked grin with too many teeth and takes your hand to help you stand, “But (Y/N) and I have some…pressing matters to attend to.”

Oakland chokes on the wine in his cup. Pyrolas is the most testing of the Vanserra boys, hardly having a filter to keep him from speaking on the terribleness of his mind.

Beron’s amber gaze settles on you.

You make no move to stand, pinned beneath the fiery gaze, exactly like Pyrolas’. Your cheeks go pink under the heated look, his stare trailing leisurely across the creamy skin of your exposed throat, halting on the tender skin on your shoulder, Pyro’s doing.

“Pyrolas,” his tone is harsh in a way that makes everyone sit taller in their seats. “I need to speak with you, now.”

The second born looks as if he’s going to challenge his father, staring down at him from the length of his nose and Eris hopes that he does, hopes that his younger brother will act as he always does so that he can get you out of here.

With a squeeze of your hand in his, Pyro sets his jaw, giving his father a single nod.

“(Y/N),” Beron’s heavy stare returns to you. You can’t decipher the look in his eyes, if he can see the fear you’re holding back. His neutral tone reveals nothing and sends shivers up your spine, “Eris will walk you home.”

Pyrolas goes to protest but he’s silenced with only a look.

Eris’ stomach flips in anticipation.

“Yes, father,” both males echo in unison, one tone angry and the other…

You shift your gaze to the male across from you, immediately looking away when you see that his intriguing cinnamon eyes are already on you, and you can feel the blush crawling up your throat as you stare down at your plate.

Pyro watches the interaction and doesn't like the way that his brother is looking at you. The hand holding yours tightens painfully and you bite your lip harshly to stifle the yelp of pain, tugging futility, trying to slip out of his grasp.

Eris rises, rounding the table with such practiced poise that you barely even hear him move, but all of a sudden he’s standing toe to toe with Pyro, looking down on his younger brother.

The eldest doesn’t even need to speak any words, his aura and the look in his eyes is enough. Pyrolas releases your hand and you quickly hide it in your lap, rubbing the sore knuckles.

“Come on (Y/N), let’s walk,” Eris offers you a hand and you stare up at him from your seat, hesitating, but Pyro has already abandoned you in favor of making his way towards his father.

Taking Eris’ hand, he helps you rise. You thank the Lady of Autumn for the meal and give a quick goodbye to Oakland. Since the High Lord has abandoned his spot at the head of the table, and you are all now free to go about your evenings.

Eris’ hand is warm in yours but you’re quick to remove it, casting a look over your shoulder. If Pyrolas was there, you would know it.

Instead, the lordling offers you his arm instead, which you take with a weary look.

He studies you as you walk and you pointedly refuse to look at him. Not only had the entire Vanserra family witnessed Pyrolas’ behavior towards you, you were sickened at the thought that it might be agreeable to at least one of the family members.

And there was still an unsettled feeling coursing through you, thinking about the look on Eris’ face, his own reactions to what was happening in front of his very eyes.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, surprised as he turns to head up the winding stairs instead of farthing towards the front door, your arm firmly clutched in the crook of his elbow so you’re forced to move with him. You take a frantic look over your shoulder, heart picking up in fear that Pyro will choose now to make his appearance.

“He said that I had to walk you home,” Eris glances down at you, swallowing harshly because he can see all too much of your exposed cleavage in his peripherals from his taller vantage point. “Not when I had to walk you home.”

You curse in your head. You should’ve known this brother would be as cheeky as the one you’re sharing a bed with.

When you don’t respond, Eris continues, “Besides, I think you and I need to have a little chat, (Y/N).”

“Do we?” you recover quickly, letting him lead you down the familiar halls to the wing of the house where the rooms are located. The portraits encased in exquisite gold frames line the warm violet walls and the intricately designed carpet is soft beneath your feet. “What would you and I have to talk about?”

Your stomach bubbles with worry, like lava swishing around and you’re not entirely sure if it’s from the nerves or your arm in Eris’, the fact that you might get caught with him by Pryolas, or if it’s your dinner threatening to make a reappearance.

You really hope it isn’t the latter.

“Pyrolas.”

The name crashes over you and you can’t hide the flinch just from his name being spoken. The fire in your stomach feels like a tsunami now, fighting with the fire until it turns to ash.

You whip your head to look at Eris but he’s shoving his way into his room, shutting it tightly behind the both of you, before he’s moving forward and you back, until your spine presses up against the closed door.

The words catch in your throat as he towers over you, the ruddy red of his eyes nearly glowing in the softness of the lights.

But his stare is anything but soft.

Your heart pounds in your chest. You can feel Eris’ body warmth even though he’s not even touching you. If you could take more than a shallow breath beneath his intense gaze surely your chest would rub up against his and for a fleeting moment you want nothing more than to do so.

His hands are placed on the thick wooden door on each side of your head, caging you in. You can’t look away from him, you’re frozen by his gaze, trying to decipher what he’s hiding.

Eris’ chest heaves and you can feel his breath fluttering across your brow, making your eyelashes flutter. You’d barely seen the male eat but somehow his breath smells of allspice and bourbon.

It’s intoxicating.

“What about Pyrolas?” Your voice is soft and you wish you hadn’t chosen right now to say this because it makes Eris’ eyes shutter.

“That fucker doesn’t know where to draw the line,” Eris pants, and it shouldn’t be making you feel like this, something stirring within you at his admission. He’s upset, you realize, over the way Pyrolas treats you and you have to resist the urge to press your legs together at the thought of him wanting to defend you. “There’s a fine line between love and hate and Pyrolas has lost sight of it a long time ago.”

That was actually something you couldn’t disagree with, but you felt you had to.

“Pyro and my relationship is nothing of your concern, Eris,” is what you say, but what you really mean is something the eldest Vanserra can read in your eyes, clear as day. He will not back down.

“So you like to be burnt?” he growls, fingering over the already scarred skin of your shoulder and you shudder at the phantom spark you feel as he grazes over the area.

Maybe it’s not a phantom feeling, but the fire within him too.

“Pyrolas isn’t–”

“Don’t you dare make excuses for him,” Eris’ tone sends flames skittering up your spine. “He’s a fucking sadist.”

You don’t move, don’t speak as his words ring through you. There is no doubt in your mind about what Pyrolas preferred in the bedroom, and it isn’t something you’d thought you’d ever find yourself doing, even though it had been startlingly arousing at the start.

It isn’t so much now, and you didn’t know how you would get out of such a situation.

Your racing thoughts eddy from your mind as Eris’ lips trail down the column of your neck, not close enough to be kissing, but close enough for you to feel the light brush of his perfect mouth against your skin.

You let your head fall back against the door in bliss as he continues his path down and across the tops of your exposed breasts.

“Let me show you how a real male should treat you,” he begs and your knees go weak.

A warm hand placed to your cheek draws your attention, opening your eyes that you hadn’t even known had drifted shut.

Eris stares down at you with a soft look, a plea, and it makes you melt.

“Please, (Y/N).”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t waste a moment more, dipping down. You rise onto the tips of your toes, meeting him halfway.

You gasp at your first taste of him. It burns but in a completely different way. Not in a way to harm you, but to tell you that he’s been yearning for this for too long.

Winding your fingers into his hair, Eris lifts you off of your feet.

The both of you are a tangle of limbs and kisses, frantically ripping the clothes off of one another, lips barely parting as you tug his shirt over his shoulders before he’s back on you again, pushing you down onto the soft linens of his bed as the passion courses hot between the both of you.

His fingers are wicked, teasing over your clit before the tip of his finger dips inside of your wet cunt, earning a debauched moan in response.

He doesn’t give you any more though, and you whine as he pulls that finger out and sucks your slick off of it with a feral grin.

Your hands scramble against his smooth skin as he kisses his way up your body, nosing up your stomach and licking swirls around your breast. You dig your fingers into his hair in response, hoping to pull him up quicker, your mouth already missing the feeling of his.

He relents, cock aching just as much as he knows you are.

Some day he will take his time, memorizing every single inch of your perfect body.

But not tonight.

You release a cry of utter pleasure as he sinks his cock into you, scratching your fingers down his back as he works himself in, in, in.

He was nothing like his younger brother in any way. With Pyro it was all hot hands and malicious stares, a love that was like that of a match, striking hard and fast and burning out just as quick.

But with Eris…Gods, you didn’t know that you could feel so good. Worshiped and wanted and needed as your back arches off the bed, pressing into his. It’s like your body can’t get enough of him, the primal urge to be molded to him, body and soul.

You’re devouring each other, hands frantic to trace and trail and feel every bare inch of your skin.

“I bet Pyrolas could never make you feel this way,” he grunts, sinking into you again. His amber eyes are filled with fire in the way that Pyro’s only would when he was about to take something a little too far, but this is Eris, you remind yourself, melting into the bed beneath him at another delightful thrust, much more experienced and caring for his partners, you could see that already.

His thumb brushes over the softness of your shoulder where his brother had seared your skin off at the dinner table, growling at the memory. “Insolent fucking asshole should be put down for what he’s done to you.”

You can’t help the moan that slips from your mouth at the thought of Eris defending you against his brother. You’d heard stories about Eris, about how he was expected to inherit the Court once Beron was deceased. Even Pyro had told you tales of the first born, you could only imagine how powerful he actually is.

“What would you do to him?” you can’t help but to ask, and you mewl when Eris halts, hip to hip with you.

You're writhing on the sheets below him, fingers digging into the taut skin at his hips, pleading him to move again, not even a worry in your mind that you’d insinuated harm towards his brother. You can’t think when he’s sunken inside of you, staring down at you with bright eyes, chest heaving as his warm hands slowly make their way up your sides.

“You want to know what I’d do to him?” Eris breathes, slowly lowering himself down onto his elbows. He’s only a breath away now, you can feel the brush of his rising chest against your sensitive nipples, barely a scrape of his creamy skin on yours, drawing a low whine at the feeling.

Your hand snakes into the copper hair at the nape of his neck, trying futally to pull his head down to yours so that you can kiss him but Eris holds firm, the cords of his neck straining against your grasp.

“Answer me, (Y/N).”

Eris’ eyes are intense, pinning you down fully with his own body. You moan at the feeling, his hot skin pressed against your own, consuming you, owning you. His cock is hot in your cunt, a rock solid weight inside of you that you need.

“Yes,” you breathe, staring at him through lowered lashes. You watch the heir lick his lips, his breathing picking up at the candor of your answer, “What would you do to Pyrolas, for all that he’s done to me?”

“What a cruel, wicked, female you are,” he comments, but his pupils dilate with lust and the barely there russet of his iris brightens with intrigue. He doesn’t hold himself back, meeting your lips in a searing kiss that takes your breath away, fills your lungs with smoke in the best way.

Pyrolas was all wrong for you, you realize now as Eris begins snapping his hips into yours again. The younger of the two tasted all wrong, like ash, residue that was left after a fire.

Eris is the fire itself.

“Every time I saw his lips on yours I wanted to sick the hounds on him, burn the fucking forests down all around so he’d have nowhere to hide,” he kisses the debauched moans from your mouth, tasting them on your tongue, “And when he’d finally give in, on his knees and begging for his life, well, I’d let you do whatever you wanted to him first.”

“Eris,” you plead, but for what you don’t know. The pace he’s setting is merciless but the hands caressing your curves are gentle, the fine line between harm and unfiltered love. He connects your lips again, tongues brushing, chests breathing in time with each other.

And you can feel the flames of the male on top of you writhing through your blood, wrapping around your heart, searing him into your soul. You gasp and clutch him tighter, and he’s kissing you like you’re the oxygen he needs to keep this fire going, and you’re kissing him like he’s the kindling that’s feeding your needs, that’s keeping the fire from stifling out.

You are both the fire, together.

He only pulls away enough for the two of you to breathe. Your hands are tight around his neck, buried in his hair, you wouldn’t let him go far before, but now you weren’t ever letting him go.

“The bond,” you gasp, and his hips stutter at your realization.

“Yes, (Y/N). You are mine.”

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