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chamomiletealeaf · 7 months

Text

Warnings: afab! fem reader, spanking, dacryphilia, squirting, hair pulling, tiny bit of degredation? Bratty reader

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, Captain?”

You cross your arms and look up at Price during a briefing, standing as if you were taller than him. You had strongly disagreed with a decision he made for a future mission and the rest of the Task Force was staring at you in awe of your sudden assertiveness and attitude towards your superior.

He wanted to go in to take down the Shadow Company and rip them apart from the inside out, sending you in first as bait, and you had argued that would be too obvious something was up. You proposed infiltration would be better, stealthier, and you would go in first and have Gaz lead you around base through the cams until safe for the others to sneak in too.

But Price was not having it with your disagreement and sassy attitude like a spoiled teenager arguing with her dad for not getting something she wants.

“I’m not letting you go in with risk of being caught and killed. Graves is a narcissist, going against him is dangerous. Much easier to pretend you come in peace, alone. It would boost his damned ego.” Price says.

“He’s not fucking stupid. He fooled us all. Only someone as equally dense as him would think that’s a good plan.” You snap back at him.

The 141 stare at you, scared for what Price is gonna say next. His eyebrows raise in disbelief at your insult, and he steps closer, slowly and carefully to you.

“Watch your tongue soldier.” He growls at you through clenched teeth.

And that’s how you got here, looking up at him asking what he’s gonna do about it.

He then grabs you by the back of your neck, spinning you around and pushing you towards the door which he slams open with his free palm, leaving the rest of the team watching in shock at what the hell just happened, and even more so the cliffhanger of not knowing what is going to happen.

Price shoves you into his office, slamming the door behind him and pushing you towards his desk, stumbling over your feet.

“Gonna teach you some fucking manners. What the fuck’s runnin’ through that stubborn little mind of yours that’s got you thinkin’ you can talk to me that way?” He says, caging you in between him and the desk making you lean back while he places his palms on either side of you. His voice dripping with anger.

You don’t break and continue your arguing with him.

“Well maybe if you talked to me before making me the center of some bullshit plan then I’d have some respect for your decisions.” You spit back at him.

He spins you around and slams you against the desk, pressing your cheek into the cold wood of it while your palms fly up onto the desk to catch yourself.

He leans in to your ear, pressing his body flush against yours, one hand in your hair pressing your face into the surface of the desk and another between your shoulder blades to keep you steady.

“Yeah? Well maybe if you weren’t such a fucking brat and learned to watch that pretty little mouth of yours I wouldn’t have to do this would I? But this is what you wanted, wasn’t it.” He whispers darkly into your ear, and you feel yourself throbbing at the way he’s manhandling you and saying such dirty things to you.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t dreamed of this, but you can’t let him know that. No, you were stubborn, you couldn’t let him win that easily.

“Fuck you.” You say through your smushed cheeks, and Price laughs.

“Yeah, bet you wanted that too.” He says amused.

“Gonna teach you a real good fuckin’ lesson yeah? Maybe you’ll learn when to shut your fuckin’ mouth.” He says as he yanks you up by your hair and you hiss.

He pulls you with him behind his desk and he sits in his chair, pulling you down with him and you fall over his lap.

“Yeah that’s it. Over my lap.”

You whine at his roughness and the pain from pulling your hair, still trying to process what’s happening.

Then, Price’s hand yanks your cargos down, leaving you in a cute lacy thong.

“Oh sweetheart, this what you’ve been hidin’ under all this?” He chuckles villainously. “Wonder if what you got under that shirt matches.” He smirks, and all you can do is whine in shock of what he’s doing to you, but fuck did you love every second of it.

His amused tone then turns angry again as he pulls you up by your hair again, forcing you to crane your neck back to look at him, hands gripping his thigh.

“Gonna spank this pretty little ass fuckin’ raw until you apologize to me.” He says, then shoved your head back down to fall over his thigh.

He rubs a hand over your ass, massaging your cheeks and then he lifts his hand up, and forcefully brings it back down.

Smack

The sound of his palm slapping your skin echoes in the small room of his office, and you yelp at the force of it. Price laughs again at your submissiveness.

“Not so chatty now are you?” He says as he lifts his hand back up and you squeeze your eyes shut in preparation of the next spank.

Smack

Price keeps spanking your ass harder and faster until it’s red with his handprint branded onto your ass cheeks, nothing but the sound of your whimpers, the slapping of skin, and his dirty words filling the room. You refuse to give him the apology he wants both because of your stubborn, bratty self, but also because this was making you soak your panties like you never have before. This was a dream come true having your Captain manhandle you and punish you the way you deserved for being so smart-mouthed with him.

“This is what you get, when you fuckin’ smack. backtalk smack. me smack. you get spanked smack. Like you deserve smack. You fucking smack. Little minx.”Smack.

Price delivers three more fast and hard spanks to your ass until he hears you sniffle.

Your head is hanging down over his knee so he can’t see the tears rolling down your cheeks from the pain of Price’s hand smacking your ass repeatedly.

“Aww sweetheart.” He says before he laughs to himself.

“Are those tears? What, you gonna cry from a few little spanks to this pretty little ass?” He asks in mock sympathy with a smirk on his face.

You sniffle again and whimper not answering him, still hiding your face.

He tugs your hair up to see your tear stained pouty face.

“Aww those are tears.” He fakes a frown, mocking your expression.

“You can make this all stop if you just say you’re sorry love.”

“Mm mm” you shake your head, a few more tears escaping your eyes and rolling down your cheeks, making him chuckle darkly again.

“You know.” He says as his hand creeps its way down to your clothed pussy, rubbing right where you were practically gushing out of your thong all over the both of your thighs.

“If you weren’t so wet, or rubbing your little clit all over my knee, I’d believe you didn’t want this to stop from your stubbornness. But I think you like getting spanked don’t you sweetheart?”

You just whine in response and rub your pussy over his knee again, not caring about letting him win anymore. You just wanted him to make you cum now.

He laughs at how pathetic you look and he moves your thong out of the way to stick a finger in your dripping pussy.

“Oh fuck love, you’re even wetter than I fuckin’ thought.” He says as he pumps his finger in and out of you slowly, other hand still gripping your hair so you keep eye contact with him.

“You apologize, and I’ll let you cum. Got it?” He says sternly.

You hesitate for a second, not really wanting to push your pride aside, but you needed to cum. Your pussy was throbbing and leaking so hard you couldn’t even think straight and you felt like it would never stop unless you got to cum.

You nod, and Price starts thrusting his finger in and out again. You hump his knee as your eyes roll back into your head. He lets go of your hair, making your head drop down again so he can spank you as he fingers you.

“Go on sweetheart. Say you’re sorry for being a brat.” He says bringing his palm down over your ass cheek again, making you jolt as he finger fucks you still.

Your mind goes fuzzy as he inserts another finger, his ring and middle finger fitting perfectly snug next to each other as they move in and out your sopping pussy.

You moan loudly at the sudden stretch which makes Price just finger you faster.

“That’s it. Keep rubbing that pussy on my knee. Rock those hips. Fuck you’re so damn tight. Such a pretty ass all marked up with my handprint.”

He remembers why he’s doing this in the first place and grips your hair one last time, pulling you up again.

“Say. It. Or I’ll fucking stop.”

You feel your orgasm get closer and closer and the thought of him stopping was worse than anything in this moment.

You look up at him, mouth open, fucked out look on your face with tears running down your cheeks now from pleasure instead of pain.

“I’m sorry. Fuck John I’m sorry. Just, please don’t stop.” You whimper out pathetically. “I won’t talkback to you again just please, let me cum.”

Price smirks and stops his movements, which makes you whine out loud.

He leans down to your face, licking your tears off your cheek before dragging his tongue up to your ear to whisper: “Good.”

He sits back up and speeds up even faster, fucking you so good with his fingers as you continue to hump his knee. Your hands are gripping his thighs for leverage as you feel yourself at the edge of your release.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my fucking fingers. Show me how sorry you are.” He demands, grip still tight on your hair and fingers pumping in and out faster and faster each time.

“Fuck John I- I’m, I’m cumming fuck-“ you babble out right before you roll your eyes back and squirt all over your bare thighs, Price’s clothed thigh, and his hand as your orgasm rips through your body making your pussy pulse around his fingers.

“Oh fuck sweetheart. Yeah look at that. Soaking my hand, fuck. Squeezing me so good.”

He fingers you through your orgasm, then he lets go of your hair and you drop your head down trying to catch your breath.

Price pulls your now soaked thong back over your pussy and pulls your cargos back up, wiping his hand on his own. He then helps you up to sit on his lap and you curl up on him, leaning your head into his neck.

“How you feelin’ sweetheart?” He asks.

You hum in response, closing your eyes.

“Listen, we can discuss the plan over again. I won’t force you to do anything you’re that uncomfortable doing.” He tells you.

You open your eyes.

“Funny you think I was ever going to listen to you in the first place.” You retort with a smirk.

He laughs.

“God, what am I gonna do with you?” He asks jokingly.

“Well if it’s anything like what you just did, then I’m in full compliance.”

You both laugh and you snuggle back into his chest, both knowing you were definitely going to back talk him again, but also both glad you ever did.

tag: @pearisvlogs

#call of duty #cod #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader

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mistydeyes · 1 year

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hiiiiiii can you please do a reader who is captain of a all woman force like top 3 military ranks and shes young to and she dates gaz ex

When 141 raid las v they get over powered by shadows and laswell knew this would happen so she calls in reader and her team to help 141 are there thinking fight until you drop until they see soldiers in all black military outfits with masks take down shadows no sweat. And then soap comes up like “thanks man who are you” and she’s like “we’re the widows” and uncovers her mask to reveal she’s a woman…….

I always imagined in the cod world an black widow inspired branch

THANK YOU SO MUCH AND YOU ARE LOVED,GORGEOUS,SMART,WORTHY 💕💕💕

thank you so much for requesting and the kind words! highkey wish they would introduce a group of badass fighter women into the modern warfare universe

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summary: Working behind the scenes is a group of highly trained and focused women. They're only whispers until the 141 is put into a perilous position and require rescuing.

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, depictions of violence

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"How's that lover boy of yours doing, Angel?" your second-in-command joked. You rolled your eyes as you closed your final page of post-op paperwork. "Probably trying to beat his mates in a push-up contest," you replied, laughing at the thought of Kyle doing anything else. Despite what you thought, Gaz was pinned down in an empty cargo container in the middle of Mexico. While Ghost and Soap provided cover, he was trying to contact Laswell through a majority-busted radio. "Watcher-1, it's Bravo team," he shouted before he heard the broken-up replies from Laswell. Price pulled the radio out of his hands before he took the tiny window of opportunity to respond. "Watcher-1, we need emergency evac," he rapidly said with a hoarse tone, "we need help, Watcher-1."

Your restful slumber was awoken by a hurried set of knocks on your quarter's door. You hastily jumped out of bed and opened it to reveal a private, standing sheepishly in front of you. "Sorry to wake you ma'am but Chief Station Laswell is online in the conference room and she wants to speak to you," they said hastily and you quickly followed after them, disregarding the current state you were in. An hour later, you, your lieutenant, and sergeants were on a helo to Las Alamas, Mexico. "They say what kind of shit they're in?" Iris, your most junior sergeant, asked over the howling night air and the sound of rotating helicopter blades. "Only that it's Captain Price's men and their last comm came from a storage container," you replied. Your team could tell you were worried and your lieutenant threw an arm around your shoulders. "We'll get them and make sure Sergeant Kyle is safe, Major," she reassured but this did nothing to help the growing pit in your stomach and the pooling sweat in your palms. Why the fuck did you let this happen, Price?

"Evac in 2 hours," the pilot called over the comms and your team dispersed into the rubble of what resembled a base. You used the back of your hand to shield your masked face from the kicked-up sand and dirt. The midnight black balaclavas felt hot against your face but you disregarded the minor discomfort. Countless bodies of the private militia group, the Shadows, littered the ground and you kicked over each body in a fruitless attempt to identify them. "Cargo holds should be 2 clicks to our north," Viper, your lieutenant, directed and you signaled them to follow your lead. You approached cautiously, hiding behind other containers and building rubble as you swept for enemy reinforcements. You looked down to see a cluster of heat signatures heading your way. "Hold on," you directed with a fist in the air, "we got company." The group stopped on your command and you quickly devised a plan, "Iris and Artemis, you take overwatch," you commanded as they began to move in careful sprints, "Cosmo, you and I will move towards the cargo," with that, you dispersed and moved quickly under the guise of dust.

As soon as you neared the rusted metal structure, you could hear a cacophony of shouts followed by the piercing sound of bullets. "Get down, Angel," you could hear your sergeant yell and you thudded to the ground. Amongst the dust, you could see the soldiers fall one by one with your team's sniper rounds filing through them like they were paper. Despite feeling absolute pride in their skill set, you were interrupted by a tight grip on your ankles. You turned to see a Shadow Company member crawling towards you, knife ready to attack. The adrenaline kicked in as you slammed your boot into their face and prepared to go on the offensive. As they were momentarily stunned, you took the opportunity to savagely jump on their back and crudely drag their knife along their neck. "Good night," you whispered before letting them fall to the ground with a thud. You continued to move to your target, gingerly wiping the reddened blood on your pants. Cosmo didn't question your appearance as you entered her vision and resumed the mission. When you reached the outer doors of the container, your other two remaining members had joined.

You knocked in succession, a code Laswell had told you before you departed. After a few moments of anticipation, the door slowly opened to reveal the tired and grimy faces of Price's team. You looked around and lost count of the amount of injuries you noticed and how some of their limbs were turned in unnatural ways. You could feel your chest tighten as you looked to find Kyle amongst the empty shell cartridges. You were comforted when you saw his face peer over the group. You walked over to him and hugged him tightly, savoring the feeling of knowing he was safe in your arms. "Thank you for the rescue," you could hear him whisper before he pulled you back into an embrace. "You know these lads, Garrick?" you could hear someone say. You turned to see the bruised and cut face of Soap as he tried to feign a smile. Before Kyle could respond, you were sure to make yourself and your team known. "We're not men, Sergeant," you said confidently, peeling off your dusty and blood-soaked mask, "we're the widows."

#kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #gaz imagine #kyle garrick imagine #mw2 #izzie is writing #mw2 fanart

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struniolos · 10 months

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wish you were sober! pt. 1

“kinda hope you're followin' me out, but this is definitely not my crowd.”

chris sturniolo x fem! reader.

synopsis: when reader is overwhelmed at a party & finds herself in unlikely company. (no fame au.)

warnings: none!

“i’m just going to do another shot!” one of your friends yells in your ear, trying to overpower the music thudding in the background. two other join her, linked arms, as they make their way to the kitchen. you wonder who’s house this even is, as you hadn’t been invited directly, only dragged along as a plus one.

you are now left with two of your friends, who both look at you with raised brows. the thick summer air only gets worse as you feel like you’re being closed in on.

“aren’t you going to do shots? you’ve barely drank anything tonight.” one asks, tilting her head.

“i really don’t feel great.” you confess, your face screwing up in bitterness. your stomach ached, as well as what felt like your brain thrashing around in your skull, clawing at the inside.

“maybe try making yourself vomit? sometimes that helps.” the other suggests, trying her best to be accomodating in her drunken state, while clutching onto your arm for stability. it wasn’t a terrible idea, as you did feel like you were going to throw your guts up at any given moment. but also, it was a good excuse to disappear into the bathroom for a few minuets undisturbed.

“i might try that, thanks.” you force a smile, before quickly slithering out of their grip, and making a bee-line for the stairs which in that moment seemed like the stairs leading to heaven. peace and quiet.

you jog up the stairs, while trying to hold down your skirt so you don’t unintentionally flash your ex-classmates. the hot air seemed to be worse upstairs, and you knew it all too well from living in a two storey home your entire life. heat rises. why on earth did your foggy brain think it would be cooler up here?

you manage to find the bathroom, sighing in relief when you found it empty. you closed the door hurriedly behind you, and make your way to the sink. you run the cold water under your hands, splashing it on your flushed face. your mascara had started to smudge under your eyes from the heat, and your lipgloss had completely melted off. real classy. as you begin to wipe your fingers under your eyes, a knock on the door startles you.

“yeah?” you call, not hiding your frustration.

“can i come in?” the voice asks.

you sigh, throwing your head back. so much for peace and quiet. you throw open the door, shocked at who you find behind it. chris sturniolo. you knew him and his brothers didn’t go to parties, not even in high school. you wonder who or what dragged them to this one. he was a year older than you, but you were well aware of who he was. the star player on the lacrosse team.

“you mind if i chill in here for a bit?” he asks nonchalantly.

you’re now confronted with the option of being a douchebag and saying no, or saying yes and then trying to weasel your way out. you scan his face, the bags under his eyes, the muss of his hair from the heat. he looked exhausted, you imagine that’s how you looked, too.

“yeah, sure.” you shrug, opening the door wider for him to come in.

he immediately makes himself at home, hoisting himself to sit up on the bench beside the sink. you take in what he’s wearing, a black singlet and cargo shorts with ugg boots. definitely a choice.

“did i walk in on something or…like you weren’t crying or anything?” he asks, widening his eyes at you and freezing in place.

“oh! no, no not at all.” you smile awkwardly, shuffling on your feet.

“right, you just uh, look…” he trails off, waving his finger at you.

“terrible?” you answer with a defeated laugh.

he laughs. “yeah.”

you find yourself smiling a little, too. “i feel terrible.”

“me fucking too.” he sighs, leaning his head back onto the mirror and kicking his uggs off. you envied his confidence.

“so, what brings you to the bathroom chris sturniolo?” you ask as you put the toilet seat down to give yourself a surface to sit on.

he gives you a funny look, pouting his lip and raising an eyebrow. “how do you know who i am?”

“you were only the star lacrosse player of southeast high!” you taunt, holding a hand to your heart and mocking the many fan girls he had at his beck and call.

he tsks and rolls his eyes, “nah, matt was always miles better than me.”

“he was.” you lie, a smirk creeping up on your lips.

chris chuckles, shaking his head. “anyway, to answer your question, i’m trying to escape my very drunk and gross friends, one of them vomited on my shoe, look!”

he points to his discarded ugg boot, which you now see has a splatter of dark liquid on it, and you find yourself feeling sick. “fuck that’s gross.”

“i know right! but i’ve had enough anyway, i want to go home but matt’s driving and he’s not ready to go yet, neither is nick. at least they’re having fun.”

“and you don’t drink?” you ask, crossing your legs criss cross applesauce style.

“nah, me and my brothers are sober. just don’t really see the point in drinking. got nothing against it, just not my thing.”

“you know, don’t take this the wrong way but, i honestly pictured you as the frat boy type.”

“ha, i’m far from it.” he laughs, “but that’s what all the lacrosse boys were like. it was painful having to put up with it.”

“i can imagine.” you tell him.

there’s a lick of silence, and the bathroom was beginning to get stuffy- despite the window being open and letting a small breath of air through every now and then. you see chris wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, puffing out a breath. “it’s so fucking hot i think i’m going to die.”

you found yourself in a daze, looking at him now, really looking at him. he was cute as hell, how had you never noticed? the way his hair hung just over his forehead, how his arms were softly toned…

“hey, i never got your name. that was rude of me.” he says, turning to you.

you tell him, and he nods his head. “you look like that’s your name.”

“what?”

“you know how some people look like their names? i feel like i don’t look like a chris.” he elaborated, waving his hands around to emphasise his point.

“yeah, maybe a chad.” you chuckle.

“if i was a chad, i’d have already kissed you.” chris tells you, not looking at you, more like he was talking to himself. speaking into the abyss.

you widen your eyes, “what?”

chris kicks his feet back and forth, hitting the cabinets below. “nothing.”

there’s a pause, the only sound you could hear was your breathing, surrounding you, suffocating. you decide to be bold. i mean, what was there to loose, anyway? you couldn’t just sulk alone all night.

“i mean, i wouldnt say no.” you confess, avoiding eye contact, looking down at his vomit splayed ugg boot, discarded on the tiles. although, you could feel his eyes on you.

“to what?” he says, more confidently.

“if…” you begin, now looking up at him and loosing your train of thought.

“i kissed you?”

you freeze, blinking a few times to check you weren’t hallucinating and that your drink hadn’t been spiked. after a few breaths, you realised he wasn’t going anywhere, and that he was right there. only a few steps away. yet you couldn’t find your feet, we’re you supposed to make the first move?

before you could continue the battle in your brain, chris had slid back down to his feet, his hands bracing on the bench behind him, arms flexed. he tilted his head at you, almost like a puppy, waiting. he was waiting for you.

you stand up, and slowly, ever so slowly, make your way towards him. you bite your lip, your breath quickening and heart thumping in your chest like it would pounce onto him if it could. how had your night turned so quickly? weren’t you downstairs wishing you were anywhere else only 20 minuets ago?

chris reached his hand out to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, licking his lips. “you’re so pretty.”

you blush hard, looking down at your feet. “even with my smudged mascara?”

“yeah.” he chuckles, reaching for your hand to pull you closer to him.

you were now face to face, your eyes in line with his lips. you felt like your heart was about to fall out of your ass, with the way he was looking at you. not greedy, not like other boys did- if they did. it was sweet, like he was really looking at you, his mellow blue eyes scanning your face and landing on your lips.

he slid a hand behind your ear, leaning into you. you leaned in, too, unsure of what you were supposed to do. you had only ever kissed one boy, and it was in eighth grade as a dare during a game of spin the bottle. this time was different. it wasn’t a game, and nobody was watching.

chris kissed you gently, only testing the waters. it was only chaste, but you felt yourself ascend into another dimension. his lips were soft, and he was so warm. you feel something deep your belly, swirling around. your cheeks begin to flush a little more than they already were, your headache now a distant memory. he pulled away as soon as it happened, as if he had been snapped back into reality.

“sorry, i don’t um…usually do this. i feel like such a douche.”

“you’re far from a douche.” you reassure him, placing a hand on his forearm.

his hand that rested behind your ear was now playing with a coil of your hair. “i mean you were just so pretty, and i didn’t know how to-“

suddenly, you feel yourself swarmed with pride, beginning to smile. “chris! did you follow me up here?”

“um, no?” he says, as his eyes dart around the room comedically as a toothy grin adorns his face.

“you don’t seem so sure.” you tease.

he laughs, shrugging. “what can i say, it worked.”

you find yourself overcome with a feeling you didn’t recognise, something between overjoyed and astounded. you quickly press your lips into his, a little more assured this time. he kisses you back just as eagerly, pulling your waist close to his, breathing hot air into your lungs. you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands, so you snaked your hand into his soft, full hair. he groaned into your mouth, and you felt your stomach do flips.

this was definitely not how you expected your night to go.

part two.

#my first fic be gentle pls #haven’t written in like a year so i’m a bit rusty #i laughed when i wrote the line ‘what can i say’#what can i sayyyyyy #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo oneshot #sturniolo triplets

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arc-misadventures · 9 months

Note

What are those: wallow decided to go to beacon academy with winter to go see how wiess is doing but instead meet with jaune

The Dragon’s Diamond

A small bullhead flew through the air towards, Beacon Academy. It was a privately owned airship that belonged to the, Schnee Dust Company, and right now it was carrying an assortment of precious cargo: The daughter of the founder of the, SDC, Willow Schnee. Her eldest child, Winter Schnee. And a locked cased filled with diamonds of various sizes, and quality. At least what they assumed were diamonds. For they had come here to see if they were in fact real diamonds.

Winter: I’m sorry mother, but I must protest; Why did you have to come along to handle this simple endeavour; you could have simply handed over your, and my diamonds to, Klein, and let him handle it. Why did you have to come along?

Willow: I needed a vacation. This seemed like a reasonable excuse why to do so. Besides, it also gives me an excuse to be around my daughters. Is there something wrong with me desiring to be with my family my dear?

Winter: …

Winter: No, no there isn’t anything wrong with that, it’s just unexpected is all.

Willow: I understand, but being away from home also keeps me away from drinking. I’ve managed to at least reduce the amount I’ve been drinking substantially, but being around your father long enough will lead me back to drowning myself in the bottle again. I cannot allow that to happen.

Winter: I… I’m sorry, I thought you chose to leave for different reasons.

Willow: Like trying fine, Valian wines?

Winter: Ahh! Yes… Yes I thought so.

Willow: Well, depending on what, and where we’re having dinner I wouldn’t mind a suitable wine to go along with it, but I have to stop drinking. Not so much for myself, but for you, your sister, and your brother. I… I want to stay a part of your lives, to see you grow old, and start families of your own in the future. It would be a shame if I am to deny myself these opportunities because I drank myself to death…

Winter: Thank you, Mother. Hearing you say that means a lot to me. But, if you want to give up drinking, why are you looking forward to having wine with your meal?

Willow: I’m slowly weaning myself off drinking. Not everyone can just go cold turkey now can they?

Winter: I would prefer it if you did.

Willow: Well, it would probably be for the best if I did, but… Oh, we’re here, let’s continue this discussion later, and find your sister.

Winter: Very well then, Mother.

As the ship landed the mother, and daughter duo grabbed their luggage, and made their way towards the academy. As they neared closer to the tower, Willow couldn’t help, but take in the sights around her.

Willow: Oh my… Beacon Academy is such a lovely place.

Winter: Yes, the warm breeze, and vibrant greenery give this place such a relaxing air to it.

Willow: I know, Weiss went to, Beacon to escape father in, Atlas. But, do you suppose this rich atmosphere contributed to it?

Winter: I believe it was more so her desire to escape, Father. But, this is a nice benefit.

Willow: I hope she is feeling happy here.

Winter: Me too.

Willow: But, where do you believe she is?

Winter: I have no idea, there should be an information desk up front we can ask.

Willow: Or, I suppose we could ask him if he knows where, Weiss is.

Winter: Who?

As they drew closer to the, Academy they saw the statue out front, and a student sitting on the base of the statue. They noticed that he was seemingly mumbling to himself as he ran his hands through his golden hair as he evaded the white horns poking out.

Winter: A faunas?

Willow: Excuse me, young man?

: Hmm, what? Oh, hello.

Willow: Hello. I was wondering if you could help us.

: With what?

Winter: We’re looking for my sister, Weiss Schnee, do you perchance know her?

: Weiss Schnee? Yeah, I know her, we’re friends after all.

Willow: Excellent, can you please lead us to her?

: Sure I can… I can…?! Hurk?!

His hand quickly came up to cover his mouth, seemingly trying to repress a gag. His luck failed him as he continued to dry heave until a he opened his mouth, and a belch of fire erupted from his mouth before he fell into a small coughing fit as small jets of flame escaping his mouth with each cough. As soon as his coughing fit ended he popped a small white marble into his mouth, before turning to address the duo.

: Jacques you cheap bastard! (Cough!) Ahem, sorry about that, upset stomach. Hehe…

The duo looked at him in stunned shock, taking a moment for themselves to collect themselves. Willow seemingly able to keep her wits about her.

Willow: A-Are you okay?

: Yeah, I’m fine.

Winter: But, you just belched fire?

: That’s a semi-common occurrence.

Willow: But…?!

Winter: Wait, Mother… Male, blue eyes, blond hair, horns, and can breath fire… You’re the, Dragon King, Jaune Arc, aren’t you?

Jaune: That’s me, well mostly. I’m not a king of any sorts, but I am a dragon faunas. Anyway, my name is, Jaune Arc, nice to meet you.

Jaune offered his hand for the pair to shake as they introduced themselves in kind.

Willow: Willow, Willow Schnee, it’s a pleasure to meet you.

Winter: Specialist Winter Schnee.

Jaune: So you’re, Weiss’s family? That explained the smells.

Winter: Smells?

Jaune: I have a highly, highly acute sense of smell. I can smell familiarity’s between people, to the point I can tell if someone is related to another.

Winter: That sounds like an impressive ability.

Jaune: It has its downsides… Like my little sister trying to use me as a bloodhound…

Willow: You said you are friends with my daughter, Mr. Arc, can you lead us to her?

Jaune: Uhhh… No, no I can’t. She went into, Vale with the rest of her team just a little while ago.

Winter: She did, why?

Jaune: I don’t know; I left to ‘throw up,’ and when I came back she, and her teammates had disappeared. My sister said that they had made an emergency trip to, Vale, and that was all there was to it. Do you want me to call her, and let her know you’re here?

Winter: No… Well, maybe we should.

Willow: Oh dear… I was hoping to surprise her with our sudden visit.

Jaune: You can still do that if you want.

Willow: We can, how?

Jaune: Weiss, and her teams room is just down the hall from my teams room. You can wait there until she arrives.

Winter: What do you think mother?

Willow: We might as well, this young man has graciously offered us his place to us while we wait for your sister to return. We won’t be in there for a few hours at most.

Winter: Very well, we graciously accept your kind offer, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: My pleasure, and please, just call me, Jaune.

Winter: Very well then, Jaune.

Jaune: Even if you rejected my offer you’d no doubt be taken to my room anyway so I could inspect those diamonds, and any other gemstones of yours. If there are any that is…

Winter: What are you talking about?

Jaune: Two things: Those are, Fortress grade safe-boxes, made by the, Gem Refinery. To which I own, I know my merchandise. Especially the safe-boxes…

Willow: Wait, you’re the owner of the, Gem Refinery?

Jaune: Yes, I am. Second I over heard, Weiss… screaming to her father on how she wanted her entire families precious jewels so they can be appraised. And, who is that appraiser, me: Jaune Arc, the Lapidary Master!

Willow: You’re the, Lapidary Master?!

Jaune: Yep!

Willow: I don’t believe you. You’re just a teenager, and you’re supposedly the worlds most renowned fine cut gem grader?

Jaune: Oh, just you wait, and see darling! Now then, lets go look at some pretty stones!

~~~

Jaune: Hmmmm…?

Jaune hummed in speculation as he examined a rather large diamond on a gold ring with a jewellers magnifier. Willow looked on in a chair besides him, while, Winter look on from his bed as, Jaune worked.

Willow: That was the engagement ring my husband gave me, he said it is one caret diamond ring.

Willow: …

Willow: It is a diamond ring… Right?

Jaune looked at, Willow, back to the ring, and then back to her. Their eyes stayed locked for a moment before he threw it into his mouth, and a hard crunching sound soon followed this action.

Willow’s face fell into her hands as she groaned in disbelief at what she had just witnessed, again.

Willow didn’t believe, Jaune when he started sorting her diamonds into two piles, one labeled real, and labeled fake. The ‘fake’ pile had grown considerably larger then the ‘real’ pile to the point she doubted he was actually genuinely grading her diamonds, and was trying to steal them. To prove his innocence, he grabbed a sizeable real diamond, and bit it. The sound it made was akin to bitting a jaw breaker: hard, and solid, as if one smacked their head against a wall.

Jaune, then grabbed one he deemed a ‘fake’ and bit into it. The sound was like someone bit into a hard candy, and wanted to chew it up, instead of sucking on it; Loud, and crunchy.

He made this a habit whenever she doubted his expertise, as a master gemologist. A habit she had come to dread because of the details that followed with it.

Luckily that was the second to last diamonf he needed to inspect, and she knew for certain that the last one wasn’t fake.

Willow: At least tell me the ring was made of gold?

Jaune spat out the piece of metal next to the pile of fakes, she grimaced as she looked at him as he regretfully smiled at her.

Jaune: Well… Pyrite, isn’t called ‘fools gold’ for nothing… hehe…

Willow: Gods dammit… My husband bought me a fake engagement ring?! How cheap of a man is he?!

Winter: More so then we could possibly believe…

Jaune: I doubt he was in this case.

Winter: What do you mean?

Jaune: Well… From what I’ve been told your father is a greedy whore. Uhh?! N-No offence.

Winter: None taken.

Willow: Please, feel free to continue badmouthing my husband at your leisure.

Jaune: Okay? Anyway, your husband is a greedy whore, from what I’ve seen. And, from what, Weiss has said about him is that he doesn’t commit to anything that doesn’t have a shiny price tag attached to it. I think he acquired these gemstones as a future investment. Liquid assets as you would put it.

Winter: That sounds like something father would do, but why would he buy fakes? My father is a greedy bastard, and will do everything to save a chip. He wouldn’t buy fake diamonds, there’s no value in that.

Jaune: Maybe he didn’t know he was buying fakes?

Winter: You believe someone swindled him?

Willow: It is a logically sound idea when you think about it.

Jaune: I’m well aware of several infamous gem pedlars. Give me a list of your sellers, and I could identify who is a legit seller, and who is not. Because there are some real ones here, so maybe he bought the fakes from one person, and the real ones from another.

Willow: I believe they were all acquired from one person, at least the vast majority were.

Jaune: And, that person’s name is?

Willow: Cartiff… Cartiff… Oh, I forget his first name.

Jaune: …

Jaune: It wouldn’t happen to be, Quintin now would it…?

Willow: Quintin… Yes, Quintin Cartiff, that was his name. How did you know?

Jaune: Quintin… Quintin Cartiff…

Willow: J-Jaune? Is everything okay…

Jaune: Quintin CARTIFF!!!

Winter immediately jumped in front of her mother pulling her mother back. Her hand stayed on her blade as she saw a truly terrifying sight. Within the space of a blink the calm, and happy boy revealed a monster of fire, and ash. His head realed upwards as he scream his name in a bloody rage. Winter got to see first hand the hidden fang he hide behind that warm, and inviting smile of his. The way his mouth shut, terrified her knowing full well he could bite down into someone in mere seconds, and could easily pierce through aura, and flesh like it was tissue paper. She marvelled at the sight of blue flames erupting from clenched fangs. The reports she had seen about the dragon faunas were fragmented, and vague, but even those brief insights paled in reality at the sight before her.

The flames, erupting from, Jaune’s teeth slowly fettered out as a finally deep exhale escaped his lips, he shook his head as if trying to shake off some sort of ill feeling upon him. He leaned back in his chair to look at the mother, daughter duo as he gave them a nervous, and embarrassed smile as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

Jaune: Ah haha… Sorry about that… I didn’t expect hearing his name to set me off like that… Hehehe… Sorry…

Willow: It seems you are well acquainted with this individual?

Jaune: As well as I would like to be. The bastard is an infamous counterfeiter, specializing in fake jewels. Particularly diamonds. I met him years ago after I just started out my… passion for collecting precious gemstones. He sold me some nice diamonds the first few times, but then he came back again, and the ‘diamonds’ he brought were all fakes. He denied it of course. Then I ate his ‘diamonds’ to prove to him that they were all fakes.

Willow: Oh, so eating fake diamonds is not a recent habit you’ve developed. I thought it was just for show.

Jaune: Well, yeah it kinda is. I mean what better way to prove if a diamond is a fake?

Winter: Do you often eat precious stones?

Jaune: No, I tend to eat, Dust more so then cubic zirconia, and the like. That’s why I was belching fire earlier, Weiss fead me some, SDC Dust that made me sick to my stomach. Jacques is such a cheap bastard…

Winter: Wait, you eat, Dust?!

Willow: And, what does my husband have to do with that?

Jaune: Okay, one box left to examine!

Jaune simply ignored the ladies questions as he took out the last box. It was a seven inch cube box covered in various locking mechanisms that, Jaune was quite intrigued on opening it himself. But, in the pursuit of time he just handed it over to, Willow who opened it herself. And, upon it’s opening, Jaune beheld a beautiful sight. The one diamond he had been hoping to see for ages.

The famous, Schnee Diamond.

The diamond was cut into an orb with a with a three diameter, roughly making it the same size as your average baseball. It shimmered, and sparkled like a star under the light of his desk lamp. He extended the talons on his hand as he picked it up, and inspected this prized jewel. Turning it over as he marvelled in its beauty.

Willow: …?

Willow: Do you like it, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: …

Willow: Do you like it, Jaune?

Jaune: …

Willow: Jaune!

Jaune: Huw? Oh yeah, It is such a marvellous diamond… I’ve been dreaming of seeing it, holding it within my hands to marvel in its splendour since I first saw photos of it, and I must say those photos do it no justice in its magnificent.

Winter: Are you sure it’s real?

Winter cheekily remarked as, Jaune was lost in the beauty of the diamond in his taloned fingers. Her smile fell as she heard the most beautiful ringing sound she had ever heard as he tapped the diamond with his talon before turning to face her.

Jaune: Hear that? Humans can’t here this sound, most faunas can’t hear it either, but I can. Most diamonds are too small to make this an audible sound for most people to hear it. But, this diamond is big enough for anyone to hear it singing. Only a real diamond can make such beautiful sounds.

Willow: It is such a beautiful sound, I had no idea such sounds can come from a diamond.

Jaune: Only a few bare such elegance… Oh I wish I could have this diamond for myself… But alas, I doubt your open to selling it. Are you…?

Willow: If I was… Hypothetically speaking, how much would it be…?!

Jaune: Three billion Lien.

The duo looked at him astonished at the thought that, that diamond was worth, Three Billion Lein. The sense of unquestionable authority as he stated this didn’t make them question the possibility that he was gaslighting them so he could get it for a fraction of the price.

Willow: Oh my… I… I did not expect that…

Jaune: Didn’t you have it graded before?

Willow: Decades ago, and back then it was nearly a billion lien. But, to imagine the price has gone up that much… it’s unbelievable…

Jaune: It would be the worlds most valuable diamond, but that title was taken away from it a few years back.

Winter: Oh really? What took it’s place?

Jaune: This…

As if appearing from thin air, Jaune held out before the duo a diamond; A diamond cut into a sphere with a diameter of five inches across. Winter’s breath was stolen away as, Willow at the beauty presented before her. She carefully took it from him, fearing the validity of the rumours that he would gut her if she touched it. But, it appeared as if he was offering it to her to hold, so she took it.

She was amazed by its hefty weight, as she saw the light sparkle across it surface. She was amazed when her father showed her the, Schnee diamond, but the splendour of this diamond put it to shame so thoroughly she couldn’t find it in herself to complain about it in the slightest.

Willow: The Translucent Apple… Oh she is absolutely gorgeous~!

Winter: You’re the owner of the world’s largest diamond…?! That makes sense because you’re such a gemstone lover… But wait, where did you pull that out from? Do you just keep it hidden on your person at all times.

Jaune: Not in the shower.

Winter: What?!

Willow: It is truly a marvellous diamond. It was an honour to hold it. Winter, do you perhaps?

Winter: Nnnno, no I wouldn’t. If our family’s diamond is worth three billion, it terrifies me to hold something worth…

Jaune: Five billion Lien.

Winter: Five billion Lien… Wait, what really?!

Jaune: I am not considered one of the richest men in the world for nothing.

Winter: Five billion… And, he just has that up his coats sleeves?!

Willow: Well, it was a pleasure, despite the sheer disappointment of it all, no fault upon you, Jaune. I thank you for grading our families diamonds, and other precious stones.

Jaune: My pleasure… If you want, I can set you up with a jeweller from my company. I can confirm whole heartedly their validity as the genuine article.

Willow: I would appreciate that very much. But, there is something I would like to ask you…

Jaune: That being?

Willow: I heard you were offered gemstones as a dowery of sorts… Does that offer still stand?

Jaune’s burning focus of ingraining the beauty of the, Schnee Diamond upon his mind had finally been broken. Not even offering up the, Translucent Apple for, Willow to marvel at had broken his singular concentration of the diamond within his talon fingers. But, that one question broke him from his stupor like a gunshot to the heart. For he knew all to well what the dowery for this proposal would be.

Jaune: A-Are you offering me this diamond for your daughters hand…?

Willow: Indeed I am.

Winter: Mother no!

Winter exclaimed in shock as she looked at her mother as if she had lost her sanity. And, worry as, Jaune eyed the diamond with a new burning intensity trapped deep within the very depths of his soul.

Jaune: This… This is a priceless family heirloom, you wouldn’t simply give it away for me to accept, Weiss’s hand in marriage would you?

Willow: The diamond would still be in the hands of a, Schnee if you married my daughter, so it wouldn’t be lost. And, I never said anything about you marrying, Weiss now did I?

Willow looked to her eldest child with a smile as, Winter’s voice failed her. She was dumbfounded that this conversation had taken such a drastic turn. Was her mother seriously offering up the family’s prized heirloom for her hand in marriage?!

It was unthinkable. That her mother would do this to her on seemingly a whim. It scared her. But, what truly terrified her was the deafening silence that followed as, Jaune looked between her, and the diamond.

At her, and the diamond.

And, then at her, and only her.

Winter gulped in fear at the sudden turn her life was about to make.

#rwby #jaune arc #weiss schnee #willow schnee #winter schnee #jacques schnee #rwby klien

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95-6qrsk2rx9uq42069nnnnnjthewolf · 4 months

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"Princess"

Red Robin has been hanging around Hood like a persistent gnat he can’t swat lately. And sure, they’ve come to an understanding and collaborate frequently on cases. But this isn’t a predetermined meet-up to exchange intel or brainstorm an infiltration. This is Tim dropping in unannounced on a stakeout, or taking out a goon in a brawl that totally wasn’t about to get the drop on him, Hood had it all handled, really. And then the replacement doesn’t leave. Looking over his shoulder while Jason rifles through cargo holds, or ‘tsking’ from some high perch while watching him make a field repair on his gear, all with some vague air of expectancy like he was waiting for Jason to do something.

But he never gives any indication what it is he’s expecting from Jason, or whether or not Jason actually delivered. No rhyme or reason for when he decides he’s done being a nuisance, from what Jason can tell, though he’s sure it's all very precisely timed in Tim's head.

The thing is, though, that Jason would maybe like to give Tim whatever it is he seems to want. He knows part of it is just how Tim is; the guy would probably have neglected to mention he runs a fortune-500 company if it hadn’t made national news. But he also knows that if you don’t ask for something, nobody can deny you it. He and Tim tend to run their mental gymnastics on a similar course. Probably part of why they get along so well.

It’s the very same reason why, instead of asking for clear communication, what comes out of his mouth instead is, “You can pout all you like, princess, but that don’t make me any more of a mind reader. The sooner you tell me what you’re after, the sooner I can tell you to fuck off.”

Red Robin pouts even harder and straightens up, and Jason panics for a second that he actually is about to fuck off. A baseless worry though, when there’s still shit for Tim to poke his nose in. His frown only turns into a satisfied smirk as he points out the false wall in the office he’s decided they’re now investigating together.

~~~

Jason’s pretty sure he solves the mystery of what Tim’s after about two weeks later.

Tim has turned Jason’s couch into a battle station; laptops, photos and files strewn around him. The coffee table is marginally less cluttered thanks to Jason only just having cleared the empty mugs and energy drink cans away. They’d returned from an extremely fruitful bust on a trafficking den that was the product of days worth of prep, and Tim is already picking up where they left off, pulling on the threads that will lead them to the next step up in the operation, not even fully out of his body armor and buzzing off the adrenaline of their success. Jason had barely gotten Tim’s jammed fingers in a splint before a laptop was being booted up and documents updated, dots connected.

Normally Jason is more than happy to let Tim’s ridiculous brain run ten steps ahead and in five different directions at once; had once watched him solve a different case from the one he was actually working on accidentally. But Tim’s been burning the candle from both ends even more dramatically this week, prepping with him for this bust in the evenings, and dealing with bullshit meetings at his day job (Jason resents being aware of corporate finance calendars). Jason hears the beginning of frustrated grunts and pronounced keyboard clacking as Tim’s fingers start to stumble over one another and he has to delete more words than actually make it into the report he’s writing.

“Alright, I’m calling it. If you crash here for the night you can get right back to it when you wake up,” Jason offers, like there’s actually any room for debate, sweeping up papers from the couch. And Tim must be even more exhausted than he realized, because he only gets half-hearted grumbling in response.

“You better save whatever you’re working on by the time I come back with blankets or I’m closing that laptop right on your fingers.”

And miracle of miracles, the laptop is already closed and atop the slightly precarious pile on the coffee table when he returns to the living room, Tim horizontal and watching him with pale eyes as piercing as ever, even behind heavy eyelids he can barely keep open.

Jason can’t do anything but drape the sheets over him, make sure he’s fully covered. Can’t help the words out of his mouth, not nearly as teasing as he meant them to be,

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

And in response he gets the warmest, sleepiest smile he thinks he’s ever gotten from Tim, nuzzling happily into the blanket before he’s fully asleep in seconds flat, leaving Jason to stare and will his heart to not beat out of his chest.

#jaytim #tim drake #jason todd #dcu #dead end ideas #this reads distressingly like semi-coherent sentences with some semblance of grammar as opposed to the usual half-baked rambling #concerning!#dont worry tho i still dont know what a consistent tense is

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therobotmonster · 1 year

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You can complain about the crassness of 80s advert-toons, but what came before wasn't good just because it didn't have a toy company paying the bills.

In fact, that was part of the problem.

(splitting this into its own post)

Pre-80s, your biggest player in TV animation was Hanna Barbera. Post-Cartoon Network kids won't remember, but before they had a network to fill, HB made low-cost dreck exclusively. Race-to-the-bottom, cheap-as-possible, formula driven dreck.

Some of it was dreck with potential and staying power, because you had guys like Alex Toth trying their best to make good stuff despite being given the budget of a Viewmaster disk.

Kidvid in the 80s was the first time, en-masse, someone cared about the quality of kids' entertainment on TV. Not kids' edutainment, PBS existed for awhile, but actual get down and have fun kidvid. Prior to that you had the distressing puppet shows from Sid and Marty Kroft and everything else was 'what will the kids care?' low-end channel filler.

(Channel filler that was, by the way, still selling toys and candy. Just not themed after what the kids were watching)

Then in the 80s, suddenly a lot of people care about the quality of the show. They care because the show is a very expensive ad campaign, but suddenly the avenue to maximized profits drove through a show that was actually engaging and entertaining to kids.

At the same time, your animation industry was flush with new money and a desire to not see that snatched away by another 1960s parent panic that killed the Sugar Bear cartoon. So the studios did everything they could to not make the shows the advertisements they were assumed to be. The goal of elevating the project to avoid feeling like an ad-writer also slipped in. You get stuff like Real Ghostbusters, Spiral Zone, Bravestarr, some very impressively animated and written shows...

And before that, remember, was Jabberjaw, Huckleberry Hound, and fucking Clutch Cargo.

Yes, that is a pair of human lips projected onto a blank face because they couldn't afford animation.

And everything that wasn't a toy-toon had to have a bigger budget to compete. You don't get Thundarr the Barbarian until HB has He-Man breathing down its neck. There is no Le Mondes Engloitis if they don't have the merch wave washing over France. The Disney Afternoon was only what it was because it was trying to contrast itself from the figure aisle.

There is no BTAS or Gargoyles without the action figures.

New Google makes searching for the quote basically impossible, but one of the leads on G.I.Joe has a quote along the lines of: the fantasy of G.I.Joe was not a war fantasy. The fantasy of G.I.Joe was the idea that when you get in trouble, you have a large group of friends who will be there to help you through it.

And one last dirty little secret. Before they could make cartoons based on toys the toy market was still driven by licensed stuff, it was just stuff based on live action properties:

The 80s are seen as this time in which kids were deeply exploited, and all the money made in the kidvid and toy industries is seen as the evidence of that. The idea that the boom happened, even in part, because kids were actually getting media and toys they wanted never occurs to them.

And what did youtube make into the face of kid's entertainment?

If the YT kidverse had to deal with the regulations and rules of 1980s advertising cartoons none of that would have happened.

No one wants what these guys are selling.

#toyetic #80s nostalgia #toys #cartoons #advertoons #advertising #hanna barbera #retro cartoons #the discourse

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phantomrose96 · 1 year

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Oh okay so I have a Pikmin theory.

So for starters: Pikmin 1->2->3 are chronological. Pikmin 4 is a sort of AU of Pikmin 1, precedented on Olimar not making it off PNF-404 alive (sort of a bad-end of Pikmin 1, but also with various other AU differences).

This leads me to wonder... is Pikmin 4->2->3 arguably a canon sequence of events? Cuz either the differences between 1 and 4 have knocked canon off course, and as such 4 will never lead to 2 and 3. Or you can string them together in a way that makes 4->2->3 a plausible canonical chain.

The biggest thing that stands out to me is Louie. In 1->2->3, no one was ever sent to rescue Olimar in 1, and the second he arrives home in 2 his boss informs him that Louie was attacked ("attacked") by a space rabbit that ate the precious cargo of golden pikpik carrots, launching the company into massive debt (and he forces Olimar back to PNF-404 to treasure hunt to pay off the debt.) It's later revealed Louie was never attacked, and he ate the cargo himself.

In 4, LOUIE is sent to rescue Olimar. (He never does. He completely gives up because he forgot what Olimar looks like, and then becomes the biggest pain in your ass after YOU rescue Olimar, because Louie starts taking hostages and running from you insisting he never wants to leave PNF-404 for... some unclear reason?)

This feels like it could break 4->2->3 as a plausible canon, considering Louie is not home on Hocotate to eat his whole cargo (fucker). But I realized something.

Pikmin 4 starts more or less around when Olimar's life support runs out and he dies. You get his SOS signal not long at all before this happens. And TBH, it's probably a good additional in-game month in 4 before you actually rescue Olimar and encounter Louie. In a good-end run of Pikmin 1, Olimar needs to repair his ship and escape PNF-404 before his life support runs out. So in short: Louie fucks up the cargo sometime prior to Olimar's life support running out, and Pikmin 4 is set after his life support runs out. (Technically, they changed the amount of time his life support lasts between 1 and 4, but I figure that was to trim down Olimar's Tale in 4 and not actually for a canon reason).

My point being, Pikmin 4 being largely set after Olimar's life support runs out means Louie had plenty of time to fuck up the pikpik carrot cargo.

Then there's the fact that in Pikmin 4, Louie is desperate to STAY on PNF-404 for reasons he refuses to ever explain. Maybe, because, ya know, he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. He knows he's responsible for plunging Hocotate Freight into what was essentially $10 million of debt. Louie doesn't want to be charged with $10 million worth of theft. And without Olimar bringing home the bottle cap, there's no plan for repaying that debt.

Louie maybe wants to stay on PNF-404 because he's not going the fuck to jail.

All this to say: I think 4->2->3 is actually a completely reasonable canon sequence, if you figure the "Louie lost (ate) the $10 million of golden pikpik carrots" happens in the background, right at the start of Pikmin 4 before Olimar's life support has run out. Olimar's SOS comes through, and President, desperate for his only competent employee back to help fix this, sends Louie to PNF-404 on a rescue mission. On PNF-404, Louie figures himself a fugitive who'd rather spend his days cooking bulborbs than ever return home to Hocotate to potentially face the music of his "this was definitely a felony" crime, and so he kicks and screams and fights to stay on PNF-404...

...And you drag him home anyway, along with poor rescued Olimar who's died and come back to life... just in time for their boss to be like "YOU idiots, go get me out of debt! Go back to PNF-404"

#chrissy talks pikmin #pikmin #pikmin 4 #pikmin 1 #pikmin 2

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siilvan · 1 year

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like real people do

characters: yuri

summary: after a mission goes badly, yuri comes to you to air out his frustrations, and what was a complicated situation ends up becoming something more.

genre: explicit, light angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: cursing, mentions of canon-typical violence, brief mentions of blood/injuries, friends w/ benefits situation, soft dom!yuri, slight possessive!yuri, oral (f!receiving), fingering, lil' hand kink, tattoos <3, unprotected piv, creampies, overstimulation, manhandling, praise, some references to religion, idk yuri's a simp, he's drowning in guilt and pussy

word count: 5.3k

note: this is going to get zero notes, but do i care? no. i'm writing for yuri and forcibly shoving him in everyone's faces until people love him. he's my favorite character and that is going to be VERY obvious here. i have more fics planned. so many. everyone thank @froglights-and-pearls for reminding me of who i am.

aaaand a big thank you to @sofasoap for proofreading this <33

"well, that was a fuckin' bust, yeah?" soap comments after collapsing into a seat, earning pointed looks from the rest of the group as you all boarded the transport helicopter.

gaz slumps down next to him and exhales heavily, shaking his head. "think that's putting it lightly, mate." he chuckles, tapping soap on the shoulder.

ghost takes a seat on soap's other side, rolling his neck to stretch out sore muscles - he took a nasty hit during the mission, his mask partially torn on the cheek and revealing bloodstained skin. you end up sandwiched between price and yuri, tilting your head back to rest against the wall as the adrenaline coursing through you dissipates.

to say that this operation went horribly would be an understatement. you all managed to escape with your lives intact, but the valuable cargo that you were hunting down was lost. you fought to get this lead in the first place, and now you're returning to base with nothing to show for your work other than damaged bodies and morale.

your head rolls to the side, and you end up staring at yuri's side profile. he's hunched forward slightly, a pensive look on his face, brows knitted together from clear frustration.

it’s been a few months since nikolai introduced yuri to the team. after laswell brought up makarov in that chicago bar, everything seemed to move at the speed of light; the invasion of al-mazrah, calling a ceasefire with shadow company, teaming up with farah's forces, mobilizing again before you could even catch your breath... the only good thing to come out of this hectic situation was your newest ally.

yuri was an interesting case from the start. nikolai claims that the two go way back and, after hearing the way he talked about the man prior to your first meeting, you're inclined to believe him when he describes yuri as "one of his best."

his status as a member of nikolai's faction is enough to pique your curiosity - you find out that he's ex-spetsnaz as well, but what catches the entire squad's attention is the offhand comment that the pilot makes.

"he's the only person i know that hates makarov more than you, price."

none of you get the chance to ask him to elaborate, and you've since reached the point where his explanation doesn't matter. yuri fit into the team fairly easily, and trust was quickly built upon after a few missions together. he seemed to understand the enemy just as well as the captain, if not even better. soap made a joke about yuri knowing him a little too well at one point, which he brushed off with a dismissive shake of his head.

the sergeants were the first ones to warm up to him, with price and yourself on their heels. ghost, always wary of anyone new, is a little slower to trust, but after yuri took a bullet in the leg for him, ghost was quick to welcome him into your group.

your lips twitch into a tired smile when yuri glances at you from the corner of his eye, his shoulders dropping slightly upon seeing your face. his hardened expression softens for just a moment, and you mentally celebrate the small victory while nudging his foot closest to you with the side of your boot.

the ride back to base is mostly quiet, save for price updating laswell on the situation over the radio. you're all dejected over the loss, even after price reminds you to not let it get to your heads.

yuri seems especially upset over it, though. you doubt the rest of the team picks up on his mood, but it's clear as day to you.

you've spent a fair number of nights under the man, after all. you'd be ashamed if you couldn't read him by now. the subtle flexing of his fingers wrapped around his gun, the way his pupils dilate as he loses himself in his thoughts, the clench in his jaw - you recognize the signs faster than your own reflection in a mirror.

he's angry. pissed off, actually. yuri doesn't often let his emotions show, preferring to keep up a façade of cool collectedness, but it slips out on occasion.

and when it does, you catch it. you always do.

the chopper touches down on the airstrip eventually, and you relegate yourself to the back of the group as you step out onto the tarmac. price excuses himself to his office while ghost heads off to the medical bay, and the sergeants make a beeline for the showers as soon as their boots hit the ground.

you watch as yuri wordlessly sets off towards the training grounds. it's a habit he has: airing his grievances out on a target.

you, meanwhile, loosely trail behind the sergeants and hop in the shower, rinsing off the grime from the battlefield and willing the loss to wash away with it. you stop by the mess hall for a bit, running into a patched-up ghost, before heading off to your room.

the base that the task force is currently staying at is a bit odd compared to most, in that you have more privacy than normal. while most places offer you cramped barracks or small dorms, the team was given proper rooms in a separate wing. privileges, gaz joked upon your initial arrival.

you're left to your own devices until a while after the sun sets. there's a knock at the door that you almost immediately recognize. you've heard it before, always after night has fallen and the sky is blanketed in darkness.

you trudge across the room and swing the door open, revealing yuri standing on the other side. his gaze stays low, not quite looking at you, but not quite looking away, either. you instinctively move to the side, allowing him to step into the room. the door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you staring at him as a silence hangs in the air between you.

"need something?" you ask, breaking the silence with a soft voice. his eyes finally flit up to meet yours. there's something swirling in those pale eyes of his, an internal conflict that you've never been able to understand or pull out of him.

"company," he mutters, and you know what he means from that single word.

"destroying a few more targets didn't help, huh?" you chuckle, coming to stand in front of him. you slowly slide your hands up his arms, skimming over his shoulders and cupping his jaw gently. "you look angry, yuri."

he huffs, warm air puffing against your cheek. you can smell the tobacco on his breath. he's been smoking, yet another habit that he tries to avoid showing, especially after you commented on it.

"the only thing that will help is you," he replies, hands settling on your waist. calloused fingertips carefully dig into your flesh underneath your clothes, pulling your body closer to his. "only you can make the anger go away." he adds, thumbs tracing gentle circles into your skin.

you hum, keening at the subtle praise. your palms slide down and press flat against his chest, his heartbeat thrumming strong under your fingertips. you two established a set of rules at the beginning of this arrangement, and you've both been rigid in keeping to them. no kissing, no marking, no "i love you's," no jealousy—

no feelings. this is purely for pleasure, for keeping each other sane outside the battlefield. feelings would only serve to complicate things, and you already have enough on your plates as-is. the rules of engagement were clear, though there were those rare times that the lines blurred.

such as yuri's lips dragging across your sensitive skin after his head drops to your neck. he wouldn't kiss you, he wouldn't suck or bite, but the featherlight trail that he would trace might as well be a mark of its own. you angle your head back, a low sigh falling from your lips. his heartbeat speeds up just barely under your touch, your own picking up speed to match.

you let him walk you backwards toward the bed, the backs of your knees pressing into the edge of the mattress. he lifts his head and leans in close to your ear, his next words mumbled against your skin.

"on your back."

you obey without complaint, pulling your hands away and crawling up the bed, laying on your back and propping yourself up on your elbows.

you watch as he stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes never straying from yours while he pulls off his gloves and drops them somewhere behind him. the gauntlet on his forearm goes next, and you stare with great intrigue as he easily undoes the straps holding it in place and tosses it aside, the hard material carelessly clattering against the carpet. your eyes fall from his, landing on the various tattoos that adorn his hands and forearms, the ink telling a story that you're sure would send your adrenaline rushing.

he sinks to his knees after a second, blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs as he pulls your body across the duvet towards him. like clockwork, he slides your uniform pants and soaked underwear down your legs before grabbing your thighs and spreading them, leaving your core completely exposed under his heated gaze.

he doesn't give you a chance to blink as he dives in, hot tongue licking a stripe up your slit and sending your head flying back against the bed. you push your hips up towards his face as he laves over your folds, fucking dripping the second his eyes landed on you after showing up at your door, pulling a shameless moan from your lips.

contrary to his usual generosity, yuri entirely avoids your clit as he stuffs your cunt with his tongue, greedily lapping up your arousal before pulling back and making wide circles around the sensitive bud. he teases it with a small flick and dips his head to plunge into your sopping hole again, humming and sending vibrations coursing through you.

you whine, fisting the duvet and squeezing your eyes tightly shut. "fuck, yuri— stop teasing—"

he lifts his head from your cunt and groans, throaty and utterly debauched. "patience," he mutters, heaving one of your thighs over his shoulder and digging his fingers into your hip. "you know i'll take care of you."

you choke on a sob when he flattens his tongue against your clit, circling around it and drawing it into his mouth. he sucks on it before delving into your heat once more, his nose nudging the bundle of nerves and making your back arch off the mattress. the lewd sounds filling the room as he fucks you with his tongue light a fire under your skin, covering your body in a thin sheen of sweat as you moan and clamp your thighs around his head.

he moans into your cunt, hands gripping your thighs as his hips jolt forward, eating you out like a man starved.

"yuri— oh, fuck—" you gasp. "please, please— 'm so fucking close—" you're not sure what you're begging for, what you always end up begging for, but as the coil in your stomach tightens, you can't find it in yourself to think about it any longer.

your jaw goes slack, mouth falling open as his tongue swipes up your arousal, his nose pressing into your swollen clit and dragging a stuttering moan from your parted lips.

"oh my— fucking god... yuri—" you whimper as your cunt pulses and spasms around his tongue, gushing into his mouth with another moan of his name that bounces off the walls of the room. he groans into your wetness and eagerly laps it up, working you through your orgasm as you grind against his face, chasing the sweet pleasure.

after your legs go limp on his shoulders, yuri resurfaces from your cunt, hands massaging your thighs while your breaths come out in pants, chest heaving.

"just like that," he whispers, smearing your slick across your inner thigh as his lips drag across your skin. you look down at him, seeing his steely gaze already trained on your blissed-out expression. "you can give me another, hm?" he asks, brows briefly raising with the question.

his voice has dropped low, his russian accent thick and heavy, words slightly slurring together as he stares up at you. his pale irises are hardly visible around pupils blown wide with lust, and you swallow back a pathetic sound at the sight.

"you can give me another." yuri echoes, more as a statement of fact than a question this time. he knows he's right— you know he's right.

you suck in a breath as two fingers prod at your aching heat, sliding up and down your glistening folds and gathering a mixture of your slick and his saliva.

"fuck, just— please—"

your pleads are cut off by his fingers plunging into you, sinking right up to the knuckle and making you writhe against the bed. they're thick, stretching you open as he curls them inside you, scraping against your gummy walls and teasing that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back in your skull.

a third digit prods at your entrance after a moment, leaving you moaning and frantically searching for purchase on the bedsheets after he adds it in, pumping three fingers inside you.

"taking me so well..." he grunts, pressing his thumb to your puffy clit and circling it in tight, fast motions.

you buck your hips into his touch, legs shaking as your cunt clenches around his digits like a vice. his unoccupied hand releases your thigh and skates up your side, wrapping around your wrist and distracting you from his ministrations for a second.

he suddenly yanks you towards him, making you sit up and stoop over him. one of your hands lands on his shoulder, holding yourself upright as he continues fucking his fingers into you.

"look at yourself— look at how good you're doing for me." yuri sighs, holding your wrist tight to keep you from falling back. you whine, forcing yourself to tilt your head and stare at where his fingers disappear inside you.

the noises coming from the spot are obscene, lewd squelches accompanying every thrust in and out of your dripping core. you admire your own mess until your attention shifts to him— his fingers, his hand, working you open and sending you to cloud nine.

you've been horribly attracted to his hands ever since he first touched you with them. they're calloused, rough, experienced like you'd expect from someone in the field; but, the ink adorning his skin is what catches your eye. there's crosses on his fingers— holy symbols— and you watch as they drip with your arousal, black ink shining with the wetness coating them and dripping down his wrist.

it feels sinful, like you're fucking in the pews of a church. the rush of it makes your body grow hotter, heat flooding to your cheeks as you bite back a moan.

"take off your shirt." he says, eyes fixated on your drooling cunt.

you manage to tear your hand from his shoulder and slip your shirt over your head, your bra quickly following suit and landing in another small pile of clothes somewhere nearby. yuri's gaze flits up and lands on your breasts, a groan rumbling deep in his chest.

he mumbles something in russian before leaning in, drawing his tongue across one of your nipples and taking it into his mouth. you moan as he greedily sucks on it, your hand cradling the back of his head and holding him close.

it's risky— you two are toeing the line, pushing the rules you established at the start of this relationship.

he moves to your other nipple a moment later and lavishes it with the same treatment, reducing you to a needy, whiny mess. by the time he pulls back from your breasts with a wet pop, there's dark hickeys left in his place.

that's a rule broken.

his head dips back down and his mouth replaces his thumb, hot tongue swirling around your clit as you're suddenly brought back to the present with a loud moan. his hand squeezes around your wrist, reminding you that he only let go long enough for you to strip off the remainder of your clothes. you twist your arm, forcing him to loosen his grip—

he places a few more licks to your clit before wrapping his lips around it, and you moan as the vibrations bring you closer to your second orgasm of the night. you escape his hold only to search for his hand, blindly reaching for it as the pleasure forces you to screw your eyes shut. you fumble after finally finding it, but yuri's quick to help, interlocking your fingers and allowing you to squeeze his hand in a near-death grip.

fuck, this is getting too intimate. he's already broken one rule, and you're just about ready to break the rest. he mirrors your action, holding your hand as you teeter over the edge, your orgasm rapidly approaching.

"so close— 'm so close, yuri. fuck, please—!" you moan, trembling like a leaf in the wind as your orgasm slams into you.

he pumps faster still, letting you ride out the waves of pure bliss until you're whimpering and attempting to move your hips away. yuri lifts his head and hunts for your gaze, locking eyes with you as you hazily look down at him. he pulls his fingers from your folds and hums, satisfied, before pressing them to your lips and cocking his head to the side.

you know what he wants. you take his fingers into your mouth and lave your tongue over them, tasting yourself as you clean your release off of them. he watches you, shifting as his other hand releases yours and reaches for his belt.

"tastes fucking heavenly." he utters softly, sending a shiver down your spine.

he pulls his fingers out and chuckles at your pout, before nodding at the pillows behind you. "get comfortable. we're not done yet."

he sits up on his knees and starts to unbuckle his belt as your tongue darts out to wet your lips. instead of climbing up the bed, however, you reach out and start pawing at his shirt, tugging at it with a small noise of complaint.

yuri lets you undress him, a quiet sigh escaping him as your nails gently scrape down his chest and stomach, trailing over rigid muscle and old scars that he hesitated to tell the stories behind and often disregarded whenever you'd ask about them. you toy with the waistband of his cargos, earning an amused huff and yuri pulling your hands back.

"lay back," he commands in a warm tone, lips twitching into a small smile. "let me take care of you."

your gaze narrows at him, but you comply nonetheless. "thought you came to me for stress relief, not spoiling me."

you hear fabric hitting the floor before he's moving on top of you, caging you in with his hands on either side of your body. "spoiling you helps relieve my stress." he replies, giving you a look as if what he said was an obvious fact.

"lucky me, then." you laugh before cutting yourself off with a sharp inhale as the head of his cock prods at your entrance, dragging through your folds and coating itself in your arousal. his cock sits heavy against your core, a firm weight grounding you in the moment.

yuri grips the base of his shaft in one hand as the other rests next to your head, a tight fist in the sheets. you raise your hips slightly and let out a whine, lifting your arms to grasp at his shoulders as his cock slowly pushes in. a deep groan escapes him as he sinks deeper and deeper inside, your gummy walls fluttering and pulsing around him.

"fuck," he rasps, bottoming out with one final push. "missed this— it's been too long. needed you under me days ago."

you breathe out a moan, tossing your head back against the pillows when he dips down to your neck, panting against your feverish skin. he pulls out, dragging back until the tip just barely slips past your entrance, before snapping his hips forward and burying himself to the hilt.

you're already fighting back a sob as he sets a brutal pace, bullying his cock into your aching cunt, your hands clinging to him anywhere you can find purchase. his shoulders, back, arms— your nails dig into his skin, leaving angry crescent-shaped marks wherever they land. the bedframe creaks under your shared weights, headboard knocking against the wall with each pointed thrust.

after seconds of searching, your hands end up sliding up to his jaw, and you nudge him until he moves from your neck, his face hovering just above yours. your fingertips trace over his jawline tenderly as his forehead comes to rest against yours, your breaths co-mingling. it's too much. you manage to catch his gaze, eyes locking while the tips of your noses brush together. it's not enough.

"what are you doing?" yuri whispers, voice hoarse. he doesn't make any move to pull away; he seems to soften under your touch, if anything.

fuck it.

you surge forward, closing the small gap between you. his movements almost immediately stall once your lips connect and, for a split second, complete terror floods through your veins as the severity of the act hits you.

his hand flies to your face, cupping your cheek and holding you in place as he deepens the kiss with a quiet moan. you squirm under him, your hips pinned to the mattress and flush with his, impatiently seeking out more.

more stimulation, more pleasure, more him.

"we shouldn't be doing this," he mutters against your lips after prying himself away. "the— the agreement—" he adds, though the words die on his tongue as he kisses you again, hungry, like he's been starving up until this point. you try your best to keep up, even as the sheer possessiveness of the kiss easily steals all the air from your lungs.

you break from the kiss only when you're forced to, taking staggering breaths while his hand leaves your face and trails down your side slowly, landing on your thigh once more. he kneads the flesh before pulling your leg to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock to push in that much deeper.

"you deserve better than this." yuri says, pressing his forehead to yours.

with an airy chuckle, you shake your head. "i want you—"

yuri lets out a sound akin to a whimper and a moan, his iron grip on you only tightening when you roll your hips into his. "i'm not— hah, fuck— you feel like heaven… i'm not worth it. i don't deserve it."

you shush him softly, thumbs stroking along his cheeks as you press your lips to his. "let me give you a little peace." you murmur, letting out another heady moan after he starts rocking into you again, his cockhead brushing against that spongy spot inside you that has your back arching off the mattress.

"i only know peace with you in my arms." he replies with a choked sigh. the pressure in the pit of your stomach rapidly builds - between his words and his cock practically rearranging your guts to fit itself deeper inside, you're rendered little more than a breathless, desperate mess pinned underneath him.

it doesn't take much longer for you to reach your peak, barely having the chance to give proper warning before it's washing over you.

"fuck, m'gonna cum—!" you cry, fat tears gathering at your waterline and threatening to spill over.

yuri groans, gravelly, drowning in his own pleasure. "that's it, just come undone for me... show me how good you feel— how good i make you feel." his voice drops, a near-growl lacing his words by the end of the command.

"please, любимая— i need it, i need to feel you..." he says against your lips. "you can do it, i know you can, just one more for me."

that's all it takes to send your next orgasm crashing over you, your legs shaking and mouth falling open in a broken moan of his name. he keeps fucking you through it, hands grasping and kneading at your soft skin hard enough to bruise in the morning, pressing his body flush to yours as he chases his own release.

"good, good... i knew you could do it, my good girl," yuri utters, thrusting sloppily into your heat. "almost there— going to fill you up, nice and full— you've been so good, done so well for me. so proud of you."

he finishes with a guttural moan, pressing impossibly closer to you as warmth floods your insides, some of his cum spilling out of your overworked cunt as he gives a couple more thrusts before stilling, both of you breathing heavily. you stay there for a few seconds, yuri's hands running over your flushed skin as yours run along his shoulders and back, silently basking in the moment.

"i don't deserve you," he says, voice quiet as he kisses a small trail to your ear.

you trace abstract shapes into his skin, smiling to yourself at the way he leans into your touch. "we wouldn't be in this position if you didn't," you angle your head and pepper the side of his jaw with chaste kisses. "we are really bad at following our own rules, though." you add with a chuckle.

he hums, agreeing, and pulls back enough to look down at you. a beat passes before your spent pussy throbs, feeling his half-softened cock start to harden again.

"just one more?" he asks, watching intently as your eyelids droop at the sensation.

"no, yuri— i can't—"

"you can, you've done it before." he reassures you, capturing your lips in a brief, but sweet kiss. "just one more, okay? i promise, just one."

he sits up and drags you along with him, sliding out of your cum-soaked cunt and turning your tired body over as you whine and grumble about it. your front is laid flat against the pillows and your hips propped up, his hands massaging them while he shushes you gently.

yuri presses into you again, his cock sliding past your folds with little resistance and nestling deep inside you with a single push. you whimper from the overstimulation, clit throbbing and legs shaking as you try to hold yourself up.

all it takes to make you moan and bury your face in the pillow is a sharp thrust, his pelvis slamming against the backs of your thighs as he starts a pace you weren't at all expecting. how does he still have so much fucking energy?

"see? i told you— my good girl, my perfect girl, you can give me another one." he muses, rutting into you and savoring each lewd sound that leaves your mouth and soaking wet cunt.

"i can't— 's too much, yuri—" you sob, tears finally spilling over and streaking down your cheeks as he tugs you closer, your tired body sliding up the mattress every time he slams back into you. "please, 'm gonna fall— too weak, too much—" you babble between sniffles and ragged gasps, fisting the bedsheets.

one of his arms circles around your middle and pulls you back, forcing you to sit up on your knees as he holds you to his chest. your head falls forward almost immediately, struggling to keep upright, and his free hand wraps around your throat, carefully but firmly moving your head to rest against his shoulder. he's not choking you, he's not even applying enough pressure to affect your airflow, but it made your breath hitch nonetheless.

"you can take it. just one more, just cum for me one more time," yuri says, dipping his head to press wet, sloppy kisses to your shoulder and neck. "my perfect girl, my sweet fucking girl— want to fill you up, милая. make you drip with me." you wince when his teeth sink in to your skin, leaving painful marks that he soothes with a lick and another kiss, before sucking dark hickeys wherever his mouth can reach.

you frantically grab onto his arms for stability, laying your head back on his shoulder as his hand leaves your neck and travels down your front. it lightly skims over your bruised nipples and makes you shiver, before sliding down your stomach and reaching your clit. he settles two fingers on it, grunting against your pulse as your abused walls clamp down around his length like a vice.

you're dizzy, head spinning as you feel your climax approaching, the pleasure coiling deep in your stomach and causing you to cling to him that much harder.

"yuri... i'm gonna— fuck, please, i wanna cum—"

"i know, i know—" yuri buries his face in the crook of your neck, biting down to muffle the animalistic sounds pouring from his lips. "cum for me, just one more. you can rest after, i'll take care of you, just give me one more—"

you break with a sob, his name falling from your lips like some kind of mantra as your cunt gushes and spasms around his cock.

your body might as well be boneless with how much you're trembling, held up entirely by yuri's arms around you and his own body supporting you. true to his word, he lays you down again, your upper half limply resting on the bed as he grinds into you, barely pulling out before slamming back in.

his pace is frantic, uneven, as he literally fucks you into the mattress, and you don't even have the energy to help him get off like you want to. all you can do is moan and look at him with half-lidded, glassy eyes from over your shoulder, watching as he nears his own peak.

"please, want it inside... please, yuri—" the words slip out, almost inaudible over the sounds of your shared panting, the bed creaking, and the arrhythmic knocking of the headboard against the wall. you'd pity whoever has the room adjacent, if you could even remember any names other than yuri's.

your begging seems to be what finally sends him over the edge, his cum spilling into you again as he lets out a broken moan and a string of curses in russian, your slick walls fluttering around him and trying to milk his cock for everything it has.

he nearly collapses on top of you after a few more thrusts, his body falling in line with yours as he lets some of his weight rest on you. you're both spent, taking in greedy gasps of air as you gradually come down from your highs.

yuri's the first to move, pulling his cock out of you and shifting to hover just above your body, his upper half still comfortably pressing into yours. a gentle hand runs along your side as he peppers your shoulders and the back of your neck with tender kisses, his warm breath fanning over you.

"we, um..." you clear your throat upon hearing the hoarse tone. "we're screwed, aren't we?"

he chuckles, leaning in to kiss the spot below your ear. "yes, we are."

"i think i prefer it this way."

"so do i."

translations:

любимая (liubimaya) - my love/beloved

милая (milaya) - dear/darling

taglist: @sofasoap

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod mw3 #mw3 #mwiii #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #cod yuri x reader #yuri x reader #cod yuri #yuri cod #sylph.writes

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alltheirdamn · 9 months

Text

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 5

Summary: Are you strong enough? Warnings: unprotected PIV sex, cock riding, creampie, cum eating, some light teasing (?), reader being a lil bratty, angsty emotions, etc. Word count: 3.3k A/N: i can't say this is my best chapter, but it's leading up to some stuff i've already written and absolutely LOVE... so just hang tight <3

tag list: @deceiver-of-gods @drunkennunicornn @orcasoul @spacecatbowtie @dins-riduur-anthe

Mando had your ass on the sand for the third time in less than an hour.

After cleaning up the mess you both had left in the cargo hold and taking a much-needed shower, he offered to teach you some defense moves while you were still on Adelphi. The sun's heat drenched you in sweat, but you were enjoying sparring with him. He didn’t give you a weapon, which wasn’t great when you were fighting against a Mandalorian, but you were trying to hold your own.

“Your footwork is sloppy,” he snapped, blocking another jab you threw.

“Sorry, I haven’t spent my entire life becoming a human weapon!” You yelled, exasperated.

He scoffed at your words, advancing on you again. He managed a soft blow against your ribs, and you stumbled backward, clutching your side. Maker, you were getting annoyed. Charging at him, you changed your angle, ducking down to angle a kick at his thigh as he swung toward you. Your shin made the impact, forcing him down to a knee with a grunt. Taking advantage of his position, you swung your forearm around his neck and locked him into a chokehold from behind. His gloved hand wrapped around your bicep, lightly squeezing as if to say you won. But you didn’t release him.

Lowering your mouth close to the edge of his helmet, you whispered, “If I had my blade, you’d be dead.”

“Think so?” He growled.

The hand on your bicep yanked you forward, and it took you a dazed moment to realize he had flipped you over his shoulder and onto the sand. His body straddled yours, one hand pinning your right arm to the ground, the other holding a knife at the base of your throat. Not just any knife—your knife.

“What the fuck,” you exhaled.

Mando rocked back onto his heels, flipping the blade so the handle was toward you. You blinked back the sweat rolling into your eyes and snatched it from his hands.

“You had this the entire time?”

You sat up to shove at his breastplate, the knife clattering against the beskar. He wrapped a firm hand around both your wrists, pulling you flush with his body. Everything in your body tensed as you felt every hard edge of his body against yours. Despite your anger, you clenched your thighs together, hoping to subside the need to have him inside you again.

When was it appropriate to ask him to fuck you again?

“You were my bounty,” he stated. “Couldn’t let you have a weapon.”

“I’m still a bounty,” you reminded him.

“Not to me,” he said.

Everything in your mind fizzled out to nothing at his words. If you weren’t a bounty in his eyes, then what were you? A companion? A nuisance? Whichever it was, something about how he said those words warmed your heart. You were just a person to him—not a body to sell or a person to imprison. Maybe you were becoming an equal, someone he could get used to being around. But you had to remind yourself no matter how much you enjoyed his company—or his cock—you needed your freedom back.

“If I’m not a bounty to you, why keep me around?” You asked.

“I’ve already told you. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“But that’s not your job,” you argued. “I’m grateful for your protection, but I have a life I want to return to.”

“And you’ll have that.”

“When?” You pressed.

“When Kesi is dead.”

You rolled your eyes and pried yourself away from his body. Kesi being alive wouldn’t stop you from living a free life; you couldn’t keep living in fear. The longer you spent with Mando, the further it would take you from everything you had built. You barely had months of freedom—you wanted forever. If you had to go into hiding until the threat over your head subsided, that’s what you’d do.

“I can handle myself, Mando,” you shrugged, flipping your blade in your good hand.

“I don’t know who has your puck.” He sounded agitated. “I’m not risking it.”

“Why do you care so much?” You laughed as your eyes roamed towards the water lapping against the beach shore.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice softer now.

You shook your head and stood up, brushing the sand from your clothes. Pocketing your knife, you retreated towards the Crest to shower. You weren’t angry with him, not necessarily, just confused. You appreciated his help, the safety he provided, and the companionship, but you knew eventually he’d have to move on. His life didn’t require another person; you knew he preferred solitude. Soon enough, he’d tire of you, and when Kesi was gone, you’d be back on your own. That’s what you wanted, but the longer you stayed with him, the harder that reality would become. Attachment was never something you wanted, not after losing your parents. And attachment wasn’t a part of his Creed. Neither of you could endure that in the long term.

After showering off the dirt and sweat of the day, you ventured into the hull to find Mando sitting against the wall, cleaning his rifle. He didn’t acknowledge your presence as you exited the refresher, your body covered in a sleep shirt and shorts. You could still feel the tension lingering between the two of you from earlier, and you didn’t know what to say to fix it. He was stubborn, but so were you, and you didn’t know who’d cave into speaking first. So, you stood there silently, watching as he polished the barrel of his rifle.

“Need something?” He huffed, his attention still fixated on his weapon.

“Sorry, am I bothering you?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

He turned his helmet toward you, slowing his moments on the rifle. You shifted your weight, trying to relieve the warmth coursing through your core. He was agitated for some reason, and for some reason, that turned you on. Maker, you liked pushing his buttons.

“You’re staring,” he commented, not looking up to acknowledge you.

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Says the man, always brooding and staring at me.”

“Because you’re beautiful,” he muttered. “And a pain in the ass.”

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you laughed again, this time more genuine. Mando set down his rifle and cleaning cloth, turning towards you. He captivated you with a faceless stare, and you felt an involuntary pull toward him. Making your way to where he sat, you stood between his legs, watching as his helmet tilted up to meet your eyes. Giving him a smirk, you positioned yourself in his lap, relishing how his arms wound around your waist, his large hands splaying across your lower back.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You whispered with a smile.

“And a pain in the ass,” he repeated.

Despite his teasing, you felt his cock harden underneath you. With a slow move of your hips, you rolled your aching clit against his pants, letting a breathless moan escape your lips. A low growl escaped his chest, and his fingers flexed on your back.

“Still think I’m a pain in the ass?” You taunted, rolling your hips against him.

He hummed, pushing and pulling you against his thick cock until you were whimpering in his arms. The give and take of power between the two of you was intoxicating, and you needed to feel his cock inside you again.

“Use your words,” he whispered as if he could read your mind and its wandering thoughts.

“Need to feel you,” you babbled. “Need your cock, Mando.”

His hand found its way down to the zipper of his suit, the other hand pulling your sleep shorts to the side. It was embarrassing how drenched you already were for him, but you couldn’t help the response your body gave to the way he unraveled you completely.

Mando gripped the base of his cock, lining it up with your aching wet cunt, teasing his way into you one inch at a time. Slowly, so slowly, you sunk onto his cock, the pain biting into you as you stretched to fit around him. His hands dug into your hips, urging your body to move against his. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers digging into his cowl as you ground down onto his cock. It filled you completely, forcing you to be mindless and drunk on the need to cum. Some deep urgency to please him flooded you, and you circled your hips harder… faster…

“So fucking beautiful,” he groaned.

Your body seized as your core tightened around his cock, your clit grazing against the hair on his pelvis. How could sex feel this good? It never felt this way before; it was always a constant battle. But Mando made you feel alive, made you feel powerful and beautiful. You rocked against him harder, your fingers tightening around his neck. His hands groped further down, squeezing the supple skin of your ass. You let out a whine, pressing into his touch.

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Just like that.”

His words set you alight, your body moving rhythmically with his until you were on the cusp of release. He knew it, too, pulling you down harder against his body. Mando’s legs flexed under you, and you shuddered as the orgasm rippled through you.

“Fuck—Oh, fuck!” You cried out.

Mando let out a strangled moan as he spilled into you, filling you with his own release. Your forehead rested against his helmet, your body heaving for air. Every nerve inside your body fizzled through the remnants of your orgasm, your clit swollen and pulsing from grinding against him. His hands were still all over you, trailing up your back and playing with the ends of your hair that loosely fell over your shoulders.

“Maker,” you whispered, mouth a breath away from his visor.

He let out a light chuckle, easing you off his cock until you stood on shaky legs. His finger traced down your body, slipping between your thighs to collect the cum that leaked from your aching cunt. Bringing it up to your lips, Mando watched as your tongue darted out, licking up the remains around his leather-clad finger. The taste of him on your tongue was deathly arousing, and you contemplated urging him into another round. But you reminded yourself that this attachment growing inside you wasn’t for the best and that the more you gave into him, the less of yourself you would have. Piece by piece, he was collecting the scraps of the person you were, and you were clawing at the ground to retrieve them.

No man would control you again.

“I’ll, uh, let you get back to it,” you babbled. “Don’t want to keep distracting you.”

Mando had tucked himself away by now, tilting his head to watch you as you adjusted your shorts. You were all too aware of yourself at that moment and how horrified you were for having caved—yet again—into that nagging need for connection. The sooner he killed Kesi, the sooner you could run from him and all the surmounting emotions flickering inside you.

Without another word, you retreated to the bed, curling up into a ball and clinging to the blade hidden under the pillow. It was the last piece of yourself left you had, and you grasped onto it so tightly you felt the indentation of its handle under the bandage around your palm. To feel pain was better than feeling the mixture of emotions you could not place.

Distance, you told yourself. You needed distance.

Mando didn’t understand her; how could she go from euphoric to reserved in seconds? One moment she was licking cum off his fingers, and the next, she was tucking herself away in the furthest corner from him. He didn’t regret fucking her—he couldn’t stop thinking about it—but he was afraid she regretted it. But how her body responded to him told such a different story, and he needed to understand what scared her. There was a cliff note in her story that forced her to retract inwards, and Mando was so fucking determined to understand what it was.

And he didn’t know why he cared.

He kept to himself in the cockpit for the evening, watching the sun pass over the sky until he was drenched in nightfall. Mando continued to think about her and her story–who she was. Terrible thoughts embedded themselves into his mind, and he sorted through the possibilities of her past. None of them settled the growing ache inside his chest. He had drawn himself too close to her, and the thought of letting her go in the future was tearing him apart. But she wasn’t his. She was a bounty, someone to look after, someone to protect.

Nothing else.

Well into the night, Mando heard her voice floating through the ship—another one of her nightmares. Mando climbed down the ladder through sleep-hazed eyes and watched her in the darkness of the hull. Her face was buried in the blankets, her body shaking as she muffled her cries. He contemplated intervening but thought better of it after his past experiences. Instead, he lowered himself against the bottom of the ladder, letting his helmet fall back against the steps, and willed himself back to sleep. At least she wouldn’t be alone.

“Mando.”

He stirred awake, blinking away the dreamless sleep he had fallen into. She stood above him, her arms crossed and brows furrowed, her blade clutched tight in her hand. She had changed from her sleep shirt and shorts, foregoing them for her usual tight pants and top.

“I want to spar again,” she said, toneless. “Get up.”

Like a moth to the flame, he followed her. The sun had barely crested over the horizon, the waves lapping against the shore the only sound for miles. Mando felt on edge, worried staying in one place too long would jeopardize her safety. But if she insisted on fighting, how was he to refuse?

“No weapons,” he ordered, nodding towards her blade glinting in the sun. Her knuckles were white as she tightened her grip, her rage starting to spill over into her actions. Mando didn’t understand her anger, but he knew the sooner she released it, the better it would be for the both of them.

She tossed her blade aside, letting it hit the sand with a soft thud. Without warning, she charged at him, her face contorted with an aggression he had yet to see from her. Sadness, fear, pleasure… he recognized those emotions on her face. Anger, rage, aggression… it looked so foreign. He readied himself for her first punch, deflecting it with a sidestep. Her body stumbled forward, and he spun around to catch her fist as she threw another punch. She ground out a curse, driving her knee upwards into his stomach. Mando doubled over, letting his guard down for a split second, only for her to take advantage and shove him down into the sand.

“I’m down,” he groaned, rolling onto his side.

But she was relentless, lifting her foot to kick his thigh. Mando quickly caught her leg, toppling her backward until her body hit the sand hard. She coughed at the impact, her head rolling to the side. He tracked her focus, seeing her zone in on her blade a few inches away. Kicking it further from her reach, he climbed above her, pinning her arms above her head. Her cheeks were flushed red from the heat, and her chest rose and fell with heavy panting.

“Feel better?” He grunted, watching her writhe under his hold. Her lips curled back, her sharp tongue throwing another slew of curses at him.

“I want to go again,” she growled. “Weapons.”

Mando’s fingers tightened around her wrists as he shook his head.

“No.”

“I want a real fight!” She argued.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She squirmed under him, hitting her head against the sand in defeat. Mando released her wrists, slumping over beside her. He watched as she stared into the sky, eyes squinting in the sunlight. Her features had softened, but that lingering rage still burned under her skin.

“Kesi killed my parents,” she whispered.

Mando tensed at his name, the urge to kill him growing stronger. He had done more than hurt her; he had taken something from her.

“My dad,” she continued, “He had gotten mixed up with some bad people, and they sent Kesi to do their bidding. Things would have been fine if my dad wasn’t so fucking stubborn, but he wouldn’t give Kesi what he wanted. One thing led to another, and Kesi killed them both. Didn’t even break a sweat. And I didn’t do a damn thing to stop it. I couldn’t fight.”

Tears streaked down her cheeks as she composed herself, shuffling up until she could wrap her arms around her knees. Mando reached out to touch her, but she shrunk away, reverting to the person she had been when he first found her. She wiped away the tears from her eyes, shaking away the memories plaguing her.

“That’s why you have nightmares,” Mando said. It wasn’t a question; he understood now.

His past had plagued him, the memories of his parents still lingering in the depths of his mind. Mando tried hard not to dwell on his childhood or the life he had before the Separatist attack on his home planet of Aq Vetina. His Clan was his family now, and he wouldn’t allow the past to wreak havoc on his mind as it had done when he was a child. He understood her pain on a deeper level, but he was so far detached from his own he felt helpless at the moment to try and help.

“There are worse things that haunt me,” she murmured, capturing his gaze.

Before he could speak, a hailstorm of blaster shots rained down against the shore, pelting the sand as they soared closer to them. In a frenzy, Mando grabbed her, forcing her to run alongside him towards the Crest. The ramp hadn’t even fully shut by the time he jumped into the pilot seat and navigated the ship into takeoff. She clamored into the cockpit, taking the seat beside him with a heaving breath.

“Who the fuck is that?” She yelled, pointing towards the ship angled across from them in the sky.

“I don’t know, but we’re leaving,” Mando exhaled, punching the Crest upwards and into the atmosphere.

The ship tailed them through the atmosphere, targeting the backend of the Crest with more blaster fire. The Crest dipped to the right to avoid a hit on the engines, and Mando zeroed in on the target screen in front of him waiting for their ship to lineup in range to strike. Normally, this kind of fight wouldn’t elicit a sense of fear within him, but having her next to him awoke a whole new array of emotions. It wasn’t him they targeted; it was her. And he knew it.

Finally, their ship locked into target range, and Mando’s finger curled around the trigger to light them up. An explosion of orange coated the dark space around them, the stars illuminating the destruction left behind them.

“Fuck,” she muttered, peering out through the windshield.

Mando punched in the coordinates for a new planet, sending the ship into lightspeed. He sat back, his head rolling to look over at her. She was shivering against the leather seat, blade in hand; he couldn’t even recall her reaching for it as they fled the beach.

“They were coming after me, weren’t they?” Her gaze slid away from the view outside the cockpit, and aligning with his beneath the helmet.

With a stiff nod, Mando confirmed her fears. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, nodding a few times as if to make sense of the reality surrounding them now. She was still a bounty for reward; if not for him, for someone, and Mando would rather die than let anyone take her away.

Despite the battle raging inside him, she was his.

#din djarin #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian #mando

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aishangotome · 3 months

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Elbert Greetia: Chapter 19

Chapter 18 His POV

♡———♡

(......My head is still spinning......)

Right after finding the coffin with Elbert's name on it, we snuck onto the Bernard Trading Company's cargo ship, blending in with the cargo.

(Is Elbert okay? What was that coffin all about......?)

As if to fuel my anxiety, the sound of waves crashing against the ship echoes on the deck.

William: Kate, from here on out, it's going to get a little dangerous.

William: I suggest you focus on what's right in front of you.

Kate: ......I'm sorry.

Without even turning to look at William walking ahead, I'm reprimanded and hastily pull my thoughts together.

William: ......That coffin had the Bernard Trading Company's crest on it.

William: It's not something they're handling on behalf of someone else.

(The company's crest......? So that means......)

Kate: Are you saying that the person targeting Lord Elbert is someone from the company?

William finally turned to look at me and smiled slyly, as if to confirm my suspicions.

William: If that's the case, then the mission to take down the head of the company might lead to saving Elbert.

William: Don't you think that quick mission completion and information gathering are essential to saving him?

Kate: ....!

(Indeed—William is right.)

William's words push me forward, and my mind clears.

William: Can you focus?

Kate: Y-yes, thank you.

William: That's good.

Sailor: !? Who are you!? How did you get in here......!?

Just then, a sailor who seemed to be patrolling the deck swung a lantern at us.

William: Oh, perfect timing.

Without flinching, William took an elegant step forward—

William: "Tell me where Gabriel Bernard is."

Sailor: He's in the third cargo hold! Wh-what!?

(It's William's ability.)

The power to make people move as he commands—I remember when he controlled me, and a shiver runs down my spine.

He gave a perfect smile to the sailor who had readily confessed.

William: Thank you for the valuable information. Now then––"Stay there in silence until dawn."

Sailor: Huh!? ––!

The sailor froze, his feet seemingly sewn to the deck, clutching at his voiceless throat in a panic.

Alfons: Heh heh …… How pitiful. You should have called your comrades sooner.

Roger: Too bad. There's no one within earshot from here.

Ellis: Is that so? Then it doesn't matter if you can make a sound or not.

William: Well then, shall we go?

Kate: Y-yes!

They pass by the sailor and hurry towards the third cargo hold.

(...Lord Elbert)

I don't know if he's ahead.

But one thing's for sure, he's being targeted by the Trading Company.

(As William said, if I meet Gabriel Bernard, I'm sure I'll find a clue.)

(Please be safe––)

In the distance, the sound of waves crashing can be heard.

Elbert's POV

––I woke up sprawled on the ground like an insect.

???: Ahh... have you awakened?

Elbert: Ugh... huh...?

Not knowing whose voice it was, I looked around in the dim light.

I tried to move my body, but it felt like I had been hit with something, and there was a dull pain in my head.

Then, in my throat too––

???: It seems it's difficult to poison a sleeping person after all.

???: This time, we must make sure they ingest a lethal dose.

Elbert: Wh...where...?

The voice I squeezed out of my burning throat was hoarse.

My consciousness was gradually clearing up, but my body wouldn't move as I wanted it to.

???: Ah! But you may have to be thankful that you didn't die!

???: Your voice is beautiful too... Now that I know it.

The man who appeared from the other side of the faint light was a middle-aged man with gray hair.

His well-tailored clothes were decorated with jewelry... and he was holding something like a medicine bottle in his hand.

Elbert: Where...is this...?

Man with Gray Hair: It's a warehouse on a cargo ship. If you listen closely, you can hear the waves, right?

Elbert: ...Ugh...

I tried to continue speaking, but it was impossible.

Perhaps because of the poison I was forced to drink while I was asleep, a strong nausea burned my throat.

The scorching heat circulated inside my body, and my limbs grew cold in inverse proportion.

--Cold, it feels like death.

Man with Gray Hair: Ah... these blue eyes, I must absolutely preserve them.

The man crouched down beside me and gently lifted my chin as if touching a piece of jewelry.

Man with Gray Hair: Should I just preserve your entire head in formalin?

Elbert: ... What... are you...

Man with Gray Hair: Ah, I apologize for the late introduction. I am Gabriel Bernard.

Gabriel: At the auction, I was captivated by your beauty.

Gabriel: I couldn't help but desire to make you mine. The moment I saw you.

Gabriel: I wanted to add you to my collection.

Elbert: ... Collection...?

Gabriel: Just like you, I collect beautiful things.

The man's eyes were filled with a crazed obsession––

It looked so familiar.

(Ah...)

(... It's like looking in a mirror.)

Elbert: ... Indeed.

Gabriel: Hmm?

Elbert: Indeed, you... you're the same as me.

Elbert: Hiding behind selfish reasoning... forcing your desires on others... and hurting them.

The man in front of me, the man who raped my mother, the doctor who tried to do the same to me--

The sight of myself handcuffing Kate flashed before my eyes.

Nausea welled up again, not from the poison invading my body, but from disgust.

Elbert: You... the man who violated my mother... the doctor who assaulted me... me...

Elbert: We're all the same... ugly creatures.

Elbert: Deserving of retribution... of punishment...

(What I did to those I threw into that room, and what he's doing to me now, are no different.)

(Whatever the reason behind what drove me, him, to madness...)

(Our actions are greedy, selfish, ugly--)

(--and far from forgivable.)

Gabriel: Your mother? A doctor? I don't quite understand what you're talking about, but you're not ugly at all!

Gabriel: You're beautiful--so die and become mine.

Gabriel: Of course, this act isn't a punishment for you either. This is love, my dear, the power of love.

A medicine bottle is pressed against my mouth, a burning pain shooting through my lips.

Elbert: ...Ngh...

Gabriel: Whoa!?

With my weakened body, I tried to turn away, twisting my body.

The medicine bottle slips from the man's hand, shattering on the floor.

Gabriel: Oh no, what a waste.

Gabriel: I'll have to get a spare. Where did I put it...?

Gabriel releases Elbert's jaw and starts rummaging through the shelves, coughing.

Elbert: ...Why--

--why did I resist just now?

I deserve to be punished.

I should have wanted to sink to the bottom of the deep, deep sea.

Kate: Elbert...

Elbert: ...!

Her voice echoes clearly in my ears--

And suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by the fear of creeping death and a burning impulse.

Elbert: ...I really--

Elbert: --...I'm the worst...

If all I wanted was to be forgiven, I could have given up this life long ago.

Yet, I clung to meaningless atonement.

I hesitated so much to have her.

I hurt her and was struck by the grief of being cut to the core.

Kate: No matter what sins you carry... I love you.

Kate: Don't throw away all your happiness to atone for your sins.

Kate: I want you to smile. I want to make you happy, Lord Elbert...

Elbert: ...Happy...

Elbert: ...I...

Elbert: ...I... I want to be happy.

--I always have.

No matter how sinful my life is, no matter who forgives me... even if I can never forgive myself.

(I just couldn't... give up on being happy.)

(I can't give up.)

(I--)

(--because I'm greedy.)

Elbert: ...Kate.

Elbert: Kate, Kate... Kate.

Elbert: I want... to be happy... with you.

Even now, when I have you locked in that room, I crave your smile, your words, your gaze, everything about you.

I want to see you, I miss you--I want you.

(If you, whom I have hurt, still...)

(If you still wish to be by my side...)

Elbert: I...

No matter how many times the roaring waves beckon me to the distant horizon...

Elbert: ...I want to return to the shore where you are.

I dragged my powerless body and crawl towards the door.

An excited male voice rains down from above.

Gabriel: Oh... even crawling like a caterpillar, you're so beautiful...! You're a miracle!

Elbert: ...--

Gabriel: Oh, but don't scratch the floor like that. I don't want damaged goods in my collection.

(If I could see you, there are so many things I need to apologize for.)

For not listening to you.

For forcing my desires on you and treating you like an object.

For using you as a tool for atonement.

(And then--)

My arm is grabbed, and my vision inverts.

Mad eyes capture me.

Gabriel: Now, with this poison, you will be complete.

Gabriel: As the most beautiful corpse in the world.

Ellis: Third cargo hold... this is it.

A cold door appears in the dim, narrow corridor of the ship.

(The head of the trading company is inside.)

(Surely, there's a clue to Elbert's whereabouts--)

Ellis: I'll keep watch outside.

William: Yeah, thanks.

Alfons: ...It's locked.

Roger: Stand back a bit.

Roger kicks down the heavy door--

Kate: --!

Her breath catches at the sight before her.

Elbert, pale as a doll and lifeless, is being held by a gray-haired man.

Kate: Lord Elbert!!

Elbert: ......?

His golden hair trembles slightly.

Elbert's sea-blue eyes open faintly, and their gazes meet.

(...Elbert...)

Elbert: ---...

His lips clearly mouthed my name for a moment.

Man with Gray Hair: What do you want? I'm in the middle of something important, so please don't disturb me.

William: You're Gabriel Bernard, aren't you?

Gabriel: Indeed. But any business discussions will have to wait.

Gabriel ignores William and presses something like a medicine bottle to Elbert's lips.

I don't know what's inside, but my instincts sound the alarm.

(Don't let him drink that--!)

I reflexively grab a nearby cloth bag and throw it at the man.

Gabriel: Ugh!?

The moderately heavy bag hits the man's arm, and the mouth of the bottle is pulled away from Elbert just in time.

Gabriel: What are you doing!? If you hurt him, what are you going to do about it!?

The moment Gabriel yells at us like he's going to bite--

William: --"Don't move."

Gabriel: !?

By the "King of Self-Righteousness'" command, he instantly becomes an absolutely obedient slave.

William: "Put Elbert down on the floor. As slowly as possible."

Gabriel: Wh-What...? M-My body... it's moving on its own--!!

Following William's order, Gabriel gently lays Elbert's body on the cold floor.

(Elbert--!)

William: Kate, thank you for your support.

William: Everyone, leave this heinous criminal to me, and take Elbert--

Kate: ...!

Her legs move as if on their own, and she rushes to Elbert's side without a second thought.

Kate: Lord Elbert... are you alright...? Lord Elbert!

Elbert: ...Ugh...

(His skin is ice-cold... what happened...?)

As I try to lift his limp body, Roger, who has rushed over, lends a hand.

Roger: El... El, can you hear me?

Alfons: Paralysis while conscious... it's a neurotoxin.

William: It seems you've taken quite a liking to my dear friend.

Gabriel: H-Huh--

William: What poison did you give him? --"Answer me."

Gabriel: M-Monkshood...

Roger: ...Monkshood?

Roger's expression darkens instantly upon hearing this.

Kate: Is that--

Alfons: --A deadly poison.

Alfons mutters in a voice devoid of intonation, something I've never heard before.

Alfons: A tiny amount can be fatal... and there's no antidote for monkshood poisoning.

Kate: What should we do, Roger...?

Roger: ...If he can still breathe on his own, there's still hope.

Roger: Force him to drink water and make him vomit as much as possible. After that--

Roger: We can only pray that he hasn't been exposed to a lethal dose.

Kate: ...

Elbert: Ha... Ha...

Elbert seems unable to speak anymore, only taking shallow breaths.

But those deep, ocean-like eyes, barely open, stare at me intently.

Kate: ...

I rouse my heart, which is about to be dyed in despair.

(I won't give up.)

(Elbert wouldn't give up either.)

I hold back my tears and smile.

Kate: It's okay, Lord Elbert. I'm here.

Elbert: ......

Kate: So let's do our best together.

Elbert only breathes heavily, but when I squeeze his cold hand, I feel him squeeze back slightly.

Alfons: ...There's a back-alley doctor's clinic near this port.

Alfons: We never know when we might be attacked here, and we're limited on water.

Roger: We'll move him there.

Kate: Yes...!

We follow Roger, who is carrying Elbert, and leave the warehouse.

After Kate and the others hurriedly leave, the air in the cargo hold slowly cools.

William: --Now, it's time for judgment.

William's declaration shakes the silence, and Gabriel falls into a panic as if a drop of deadly poison has been dropped on his tongue.

Gabriel: Wh-What...? J-Judgment!?

Gabriel: Wh-What sin have I... what are you people anyway!?

William: Who are we? Let's see...

William: We're not good enough people to introduce ourselves to a dying sinner.

William: Let's just leave it at that.

Chapter 19 Premium Story

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#ikemen series #cybird #cybird otome #cybird ikemen #ikemen villains #ikevil translations #elbert greetia #elbert greetia translation #elbert greetia main story translation #elbert greetia main route translation

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yuesgirlfriend · 1 year

Text

awaken, my love!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

warnings: AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, third person POV, oral sex, PIV sex, praise kink, shy!simon, first time (ambiguous)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

This is the end of us, Sleeping with the moon and the stars I know where you've been, oh You can see us far then near

Let me into your heart!

-Me and Your Mama/ Childish Gambino

“Well, this is the place,” she says, setting her keys and bag down on the counter. Simon is as noiseless as always, following behind her silent but for the soft shut of the door and click of the lock.

Outside, the hum of traffic and sounds of the city are easy to hear through the thin walls. She glances nervously at him, barely able to meet his eyes as he takes her space in. He seems too big in her tiny flat, like by just walking in he made the walls shrink around him. God, was it always such a mess? The peeling wallpaper and dingy couch and perpetually leaky sink didn’t seem too bad that morning. Something familiar twists in her stomach, heats her face.

She can’t even remember the last time she had company over. What are you even meant to bloody do?

She settles for grabbing his wrist and leading him bodily to the couch. “Ah, uh, please- take a seat.” He only looks a bit ridiculous, a huge tank of a man squished on an blue loveseat with frayed seams she found at Goodwill. What does he think of this little home she carved out of a mold ridden pocket of the city? Why does she care so much?

The awkward hunch of his shoulders and untidiness of his blonde hair brings her back to herself. Laughing a bit, she sits down next to him. She can feel the heat of his body from where their thighs brush and shoulders press together. Something like anticipation coils in her stomach.

Suddenly, she’s feeling brave. She takes one of his (intimidatingly large) hands in hers. Turns it over, traces the lines of his fingertips and the soft material of his fingerless gloves.

She presses a kiss to the center of his palm. His eyes seem unfocused and- it’s not her imagination- trained on her lips.

His hand is warm and surprisingly gentle when it cups her cheek. And his lips against hers even more so. Soft, slightly chapped, their mouths slide together, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, and all she can giddily think is we’re kissing, he’s kissing me, over and over like an idiot.

She pulls away for half a second to catch a breath, stupidly sighing his name, and he crushes his mouth against hers with an unexpected vengeance.

Their mouths work together, euphoria threatens to burst from her chest; But something keeps knocking at back of her head. A half dreamed, half baked fantasy. Simon breaks away from her lips and moves to kissing along her jaw and neck and- god, that feels nice- but she wants-

Out of nowhere, she jumps to her feet, startling him. Outside, cars honk and someone shouts. A train’s breaks squeal and rattle in its tracks.

“I- are you alright?”

Simon’s sitting on the couch, face flushed and scarred lips kiss bitten. His ears are pink. And between his slightly spread legs, something waiting for her. His hands clench into fists, like he can feel her eyes on him.

“I’m doing lovely.” She sinks to her shaky knees between his. The nerves from earlier are coalescing into something white hot in her chest, between her hips. “Thanks for asking.”

She runs a greedy hand along the inside of his thighs, feeling the heft and weight of the muscle there. Thick, strong- she wonders absently what the hell he does for a living to look like this. She wonders less absently what else must be thick and strong.

He’s clearly feeling something- when she risks a glance up, his eyes are nearly all pupil, his mouth slightly parted, his chest barely moving. When she gives up any subtlety and nuzzles her face into the heavy, cargo pants-covered bulge, his breath hitches, but he makes no move to touch her. He doesn’t grab her and force her down, or tug hard on her hair. The polite man takes whatever she will give him.

His eyes close completely and his hips buck just a bit when she runs a hand over his clothed groin, gives him a gentle squeeze. “How’s this, love?” She asks, unable to stop herself from laying a kiss on him. “Feels nice?”

His answering yes is so low she can barely hear it. Nonetheless she unbuttons, unbuckles, unzips her way to- at last, victory.

Surprisingly thick and as flushed as his face, his cock rests in her hands quite nicely. She gives him a few gentle tugs, eyes trained on how he tips his head back, how his chest somehow heaves silently. What would she have to do to make him give up his control? How far would she have to go?

She settles on swallowing him down as far as he can go in one full swing. It’s alot to take, but she’s no quitter. He’s thick and heavy on her tongue-and his answering gasp is music to her ears.

Breathing through her nose, she lets drool gather along him, running her hands along his twitching thighs. One of his shaky hands grabs hers- the other holds on for dear life to her squished (also Goodwill) couch pillow. She smirks around his cock, humming, pleased. His hips jerk at the sensation.

She releases him, just for a second, wrapping a hand around him to keep him company. His hips are making desperate little bucking motions into her hand, clearly against his will. His eyes are unfocused and trained on his cock in her fist, but when her other hand squeezes his, he meets her gaze- dark eyes hold hers for only a few seconds before it clearly becomes too much.

He shakes his head, tipping his head back, hips jerking when she begins to move her hand. He seems a bit less restrained, but not quite there yet. She swallows him down again, sighing through her nose, like this is just what she needed after a long day, to hear his helpless muffled sounds.

Suddenly a big hand is on her head, against her cheek, not helpless after all. Mouth still hugging his cock, she looks up through slightly teary eyes- his face is that of a man holding on by a thread, panting and flushed.

But there’s a gleam in his wine-dark eyes that wasn’t there before. So she generously lets him sink down to the earth beside her and crush his mouth to hers. And lay her on the carpet. And fold his body over her, covering her like her own night sky.

And she lets him kiss his way down her clothed chest and belly, hiking her blouse up to her chin and unceremoniously tugging down the waist of her skirt, like fully undressing her would take too much time.

He won’t reach under her skirt though or pull it down all the way- he just laves kisses against her tits like they’re not in a faded beige bra. Wanted to do this for ages, she barely hear him as he mumbles into the flesh of her hip. She wants more, though, she wants it all- his white hot tongue on her nipples, his hands on her waist and neck, his-

“Simon. Simon, c’mon.” Her hips squirm against his thigh. For Christ’s sake, his cock is still out, flushed at the head and twitching with every unconscious rut of his hips.

“Fuck. Like it when you say it.” His lips meet hers again, and its good, so good, but she needs-

“Simon, come on, put it in. Inside.” She pants against his lips, feeling out of her mind, unable to formulate a real sentence. “Come on.” Her hand moves with a mind of its own down to where he’s hard and wants her.

“In- in a minute, yeah?” He’s breathless and moving down, hiking her hips up to his face and- oh.

He doesn’t work her up to it or tease her at all; he just dives in with his mouth already open. She’s wet down to her thighs already, but at the feeling of his tongue where she’s sensitive and wanting has her burying a scream behind her palm.

His tongue runs circles over her clit and slowly a finger eases inside her where she’s slick and already clenching with the waves of an approaching orgasm. She clings to the carpet, but its not enough. Her hand travels to his hair and clenches hard- and he moans where his mouth is wrapped around her clit. Groaning louder than he did when she had her mouth on him. She tugs again, and he moans again.

The corners of her mouth twitch up. “D’you- ah, ah- like that?”

No response from him other than dark eyes meeting hers even as he doubles his ministrations on her cunt. “Oh- god-” She moans at the feeling of his eyes on hers and drops her head back, feeling the waves rise again, higher and higher, until her orgasm snaps through her body.

She isn’t even finished twitching before he’s climbing over her again, rutting into her hip, and shoving his tongue into her mouth- she takes it all with the gummy high that comes on after coming.

“Fuck, can I? Please, love?” He pants into her mouth, thread of control long broken.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mere,” she says, kissing him and pulling hum closer. Wrapping her legs around his waist. Feeling the length of him prod at and then slip inside her, one unrestrained thrust at a time.

“Fucking hell-” he moans desperately. He’s so heavy inside her she could weep.

Sighing into his hair, she tightens her hold on him as he presses his hips to hers and grinds. “-Ah- sweet thing-”

She floats somewhere warm and comfortable as Simon pushes out helpless ah ah ah’s out of her mouth, and as his groans get heavier and his thrusts get faster, sloppier. Unable to move from under his weight, forced to recieve his biting kisses and panting praise of feels good, feels so good, so tight around my cock-

“That’s it, Simon,” she says, dizzy with the force of his praise and his frantic thrusts, when he mumbles m’gonna come, love, please- “come in me, oh- take what you need, baby, give it to me-”

A flush of white hot heat deep in her as he groans against her lips, some desperate grinding as deep as he can go, and he’s done. Trembling on his elbows, shoulders shaking when she gently runs her nails between his shoulder blades and rubs a palm across the soft fabric of his sweatshirt.

He’s still for a good while. She can’t really fully breathe with his whole weight pressed on her, but she doesn’t mind- it’s comforting. Like a weighted blanket, or maybe a very large cat. Eventually, though, the situation between her legs gets too uncomfortable to ignore.

“Simon. Hey. I can’t breathe.” She pats his shoulder. The kids upstairs stomp and shout, a car honks outside.

He doesn’t respond beyond his shoulders shifting as he breathes deeply. She nips at his ear, tugs at a lock of his hair.

“Hmph?” he lifts his head up, shifts a bit, bleary eyes meeting hers.

“Hi. Did’ya fall asleep?” Her chapped lips stretch around her grin. He just looks so soft.

He shifts onto his elbows, taking some weight off her. “No, I- I think I just- blacked out.”

She laughs and watches his face face change from punch-drunk to something like exasperation, but fonder.

“There y’are again. Always laughing.” His voice is tinged with humor but still quiet, as always. He buries his face in her neck. Hiding from her, she thinks. “What’s so funny, hm?”

Don’t go back to hiding, she thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, she giggles- “If you don’t want me to laugh, don’t be so sweet.”

He scoffs, avoids her eyes, but his ears are tinted pink again. “Yeah, sweet like sour milk.”

She runs a hand through his short, mussed hair, and hums. “Hm. No.”

He pushes up to his knees, rubbing her bare thigh. She scrunches her nose at the feeling of him finally leaving her body.

“Will you stay for dinner?” The words leave her mouth before she can reign them in. Before she has time to worry about his response, he slips an arm around her back, tilting her up.

“C’mon.” His eyes are gentle, something behind them she can’t name. “Lets get cleaned up for dinner.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw ghost #cod mwii x reader #simon riley x reader angst #call of duty #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley headcanons #fic #tumblr fic #ficlet

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joelalorian · 2 months

Text

Beacon of Hope

Frankie Morales x f!reader | 2.5k words | 18+ MDNI

Welcome to my contribution to @almostfoxglove's angst challenge. I was given the character Frankie Morales, this moodboard made by Freya, and the song Siren by Kailee Morgue. I went outside my comfort zone in both genre and style with this one. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Rough weather leads to a helicopter crash. Is it real or all delirium?

Warnings: None really. Just some cursing, angst, and confusion. My blog as a whole is still 18+ mdni. No use of y/n. Little to no description of reader.

The weather turned on a dime. Rotor blades sliced through the rain and wind as Frankie fought to keep the collective and cyclic controls steady, feet working the pedals for the rear rotor. Lightning flashed ahead and the helicopter dropped altitude.

“What the fuck were they thinking?” he shouted above the ruckus just to hear himself think. His new boss was an asshole, never accounting for weather in his need to keep business going. Hence, Frankie found himself sweating bullets, flying solo through a sudden squall to transport cargo. He’d be shocked if he made it through. Shame, too. He’d been looking forward to a night out with the boys for one of Benny’s fights.

Various thoughts flashed in Frankie’s mind as he squinted through the rain-beaten windshield. He worked hard to get his life back on track after that debacle in South America. He never told the boys, but he kept just a bit of his share of the money, needing it for a fresh start. He paid fines to clear his name and get his pilot’s license back, finding a job with an only slightly shady transport company.

Frankie got to fly everyday and that was all he really cared about, especially after he returned from South America and found out his woman had lied and cheated, their baby wasn’t actually his. She left him for the baby’s birth father and Frankie hit rock bottom before scraping himself off the floor.

All that he’d been through, and now he might die in a helicopter crash over the middle of the god damned ocean, and no one would even know where to look for him.

Fuck.

He should try to land, but where?

A flash of lightning lit up the world around him, and Frankie scanned the horizon. Aha! A small peak ahead looking like an oasis to a dying man, he adjusted course to head toward the island. Wind buffeted the aircraft; thunder cracking so loud Frankie could hear it over the noise of the rotors.

Another bolt of lightning shot across the sky, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Oh fuck.

“Mayday, mayday!” he shouted into the mic of his headset, calling out the aircraft’s tail number and coordinates to anyone listening on the other side.

The next thing Frankie knew, the instruments were fried. No amount of punching or yanking would get the aircraft to respond, and it spun, plummeting until Frankie could see the rough seas rising to meet it. Without thought, Frankie undid his harness and fled the pilot’s seat. Wrenching the door open, he jumped into the raging sea with the helicopter merely twenty feet above the cresting waves.

Seconds became minutes became hours while Frankie fought against the waves, gulping water and swimming toward the glimmer of the island ahead. At some point, the storm waned, waves settling, and Frankie let the tide carry him to shore where he collapsed on the wet sand in exhaustion.

The sun beating down on the back of his head, water lapping at his bare feet, roused Frankie back to consciousness. The grainy, damp sand worked its way into his scruff and stuck to his dewy skin, causing it to itch relentlessly. He sat up, scratching at his chin, and took in his surroundings.

Nothing but water before him for miles.

Well, that was not encouraging, at all.

Turning his head with effort, his body having taken a beating during the crash and subsequent fight for his life, Frankie assessed the empty beach and hilly forest beyond. Not a soul in sight.

Where the fuck was he?

Frankie stood on shaky legs, toes digging into the gritty sand to find balance. Only then did he realize his bare feet.

“What the hell happened to my shoes?” Running his fingers through tangled locks, he realized his beloved hat was gone, too. Mouth dry and brain fuzzy, Frankie felt ill prepared for this particular situation.

With a downtrodden sigh, he walked along the water line, the wet sand making it easier, and scanned the area. A quarter of a mile into his journey, Frankie came across footprints in the wet sand. Noticeably smaller than his own, his heart leapt in his chest.

Was someone else out there?

Or was he hallucinating?

It could go either way, Frankie guessed. He was slowly dehydrating.

With little else left to do, he followed the footprints, searching for any other signs of human life along the way. Oddly, there was no other sound on the island other than the gentle crash of the waves on shore. No birdsong. No rustling of little critters in the brush. Nothing.

Strange, that.

Rounding the tip of the island, Frankie froze.

A lighthouse stood before him, just taller than the trees behind it.

He ran towards it, desperate and eager to find someone, anyone, on this godforsaken island. Or at least a way to call for help. His feet padded up the dilapidated steps, careful to avoid any jagged edges, and wrestled open the weather-beaten door.

“Hello?” Frankie called, voice echoing between the concrete walls as it carried upwards. When no response came, he climbed the winding staircase to the top, the metal steps painful beneath his bare feet.

His breath left him when he reached the pinnacle. A panoramic view of nothing but water for miles and miles in every direction met his weary eyes. Caught up in the view, it was an afterthought to glance at the light fixture occupying much of the space, and the ethereal woman standing next to it.

Beauty incarnate in ways Frankie could not even try to describe, like a siren beckoning him. He merely stared at you in wonder.

“’Lo,” he greeted when you smiled at him.

“Hello,” you replied, voice like angelic music, a cool breeze in the heat of summer, a breath of fresh air.

The edges of Frankie’s vision went blurry, and he stumbled, falling back against the wall where he sank to the ground. The image of you approaching him with furrowed brows, lips moving but no sound hitting his ears, was the last thing he saw before the world went black.

Days passed and Frankie lost track of them. His waking hours spent learning everything he could about you – what you were doing on the island all alone, your name, your favorite color – all the important things.

He kept losing consciousness in the middle of conversations, which worried him, but not you. A constant smile alight on your face, you greeted him every time he opened his eyes. You didn’t talk much, but always answered his questions. You never asked any of him, which he should have found beyond strange, but his brain still wasn’t working fully. Come to think of it, you spoke in riddles a lot, which confused him.

“Would you ever leave here?” Frankie asked while you gave him a tour of the far side of the island. The sun still rising, morning sky a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges which didn’t bode well for them. A storm was coming.

“To where would you have me go? This is where I reside. This is my beginning and my end.”

There you went again, confusing the hell out of him with your answers and dazzling him with your beauty. Frankie’s brows pinched together as he tried to figure out what to say next. Finally, he settled on, “You could come with me, back to Florida.”

“If only the fates would allow.”

On and on it went like that for days. Belly aching with emptiness, and mouth dry with overwhelming thirst, Frankie lost focus of everything but you. He would have jumped from the top of the lighthouse had you asked him to. Instead, you talked him through fixing the mechanism preventing the lighthouse from serving its purpose. The rest of the instruments, including the radio controls, were a loss, though.

You handed him tools just when he needed them, all the parts necessary to get the light working again ready and waiting in your hands before he could even voice the need. It should have weirded him out, but it didn’t. Nothing weirded him out or worried him with you at his side.

Storms battered the reinforced walls of the lighthouse as he worked. Finally, the light blinked, spinning its circle to shine brightly out to sea. Frankie stood with pride for a few moments before lightheadedness kicked in and he slumped down to the ground.

Your siren song roused him a solid day later.

“The time is nigh. The winds of change are upon us.”

“Wuh?” Frankie questioned groggily. You were making even less sense than you normally did. “What are you talking about?”

Your hand ghosted against his cheek, the lightest brush against the grown in scruff. He could only imagine how haggard he looked. “It’s time, Frankie. You must go.”

His eyes widened and he bolted to his feet at the high-pitched whine of a boat engine in the distance. Pressing his face to the glass on the western side, Frankie gulped at the sight of a Zodiac boat barreling toward the island, three men onboard. He watched the boat bounce along the water for a minute before turning back to you.

“Come with me,” Frankie said, voice pitched low. “Come with me, please. You saved me. I can’t leave you behind. Let me save you.”

You smiled warmly, eyes shining with emotion. “Could that I would, my Frankie. My place is here,” you replied, arms spreading wide in a gesture to encompass the island. “My soul is linked to this place and it’s a link that cannot be broken. There is nothing left of me to save.”

Frankie’s vision swam, your form going blurry and blinking in and out of existence. Certain he was about to lose consciousness again; he slid down to the floor. “Please,” he tried again in a choked voice before his vision went black.

“Fish! Come on, man!”

Someone jostled his shoulders, bringing him back to reality. Frankie blinked his big brown eyes open.

“Fuckin’ finally!” Santi heaved a sigh and helped Frankie sit upright. “You okay?”

Blinking rapidly to jumpstart his brain, Frankie shrugged. “I dunno.” His voice sounded different to his own ears, and by the way Santi flinched at the raspy sound, Frankie knew he was in rough shape.

“We’ve been searching for you for days.” Santi glanced around at the roughshod condition of the aged lighthouse. “We spotted the light, finally. I’m shocked this thing is even working. Everything else is fried.”

“We spent days getting it to work,” Frankie replied groggily, not catching the confused expression on Santi’s face.

“We? Who, you and the mouse in your pocket?”

Frowning at Santi’s joke, Frankie shot to his feet and glanced around frantically. “Where is she? Where did she go?” Fighting off the lightheaded feeling, Frankie bolted down the stairs.

“Who? Francisco! Who the fuck are you talking about?” Santiago chased after his friend, catching him at the base of the lighthouse where Will waited, watching his brother root around in the sand.

“Where’s the fire, Fish?” Will asked when Frankie burst through the creaking door.

“God damnit, Frankie!” Santi grunted, catching the dark-haired man as he slumped to the ground. “Based on the looks of it, you haven’t had anything to eat or drink in days. You can’t be running off like that.”

Dark coffee eyes rolled around in his head, fighting to meet his friend’s gaze. “I need to find her, Pope. Help me find her.”

The others shared confused looks. “Who is he talking about?” Will asked.

“I have no idea,” Santi replied. “He just keeps asking where ‘she’ is.”

Shaking his head, Will bent a knee to be closer to Frankie. “There’s no one else here, Fish. Benny and I scoured the island. Everything here has been long abandoned.”

“No, no, that’s not possible! She was here with me. She helped me get the light working,” Frankie begged them to believe him, but even he was starting to doubt himself.

“Hey! Check this out!” Benny stepped back from where he wandered off, an aged glass bottle in his hand. Holding it up, he popped the top open and removed a rolled paper. “It’s like a message in a bottle.”

The four friends gathered around to read the letter.

To my dearest love,

As the waves crash against the rocks and the wind whispers through the lighthouse, my heart aches for you. Each passing day feels like an eternity without your touch, your laughter echoing through these empty halls.

I watch the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of your ship returning to me, carrying you back into my arms. The beacon of this lighthouse remains lit, a testament to my undying hope that our love will guide you home.

I have written endless messages, casting them into the sea, praying that one day, they will find you and bring you back to me. But my hope is growing dim, as is my life. I can feel the despair taking me apart, bit by bit, and soon, there will be nothing left of me but flesh and bone, and then nothing.

I will haunt this lighthouse for an eternity waiting for you.

Forever yours.

Frankie sucked in a shocked breath. Your name was signed at the bottom… and the date was marked as fifty years ago, to the day, according to Santi’s watch.

He reached for the letter, almost ripping it in his haste. You were but a ghost, a figment of his delirious imagination. He couldn’t believe it. He hallucinated and nearly fell in love with a ghost.

“Come on, let’s get outta here. We need to get Fish to a doctor,” Will said.

“Yeah, lesgo…” Frankie said absently, words blending as darkness swept him under again.

When he next came to it was in a hospital bed, an IV attached to his arm, with a woman who looked just like you checking his vitals.

“Hello, Frankie, it’s nice to see you awake,” you said with a bright smile. At the way he squinted his eyes, you added, “Does your head hurt?”

Frankie shook his head, unable to wrench his eyes away from yours.

“Do you feel any discomfort or pain?”

Again, he shook his head.

“So, what do you feel?” you asked with a cheeky wink.

“Hungry,” he grunted in return, pouty lips curving upwards at your tinkling laughter.

When Santi visited later that day, Frankie recounted his harrowing tale, including the parts about you. He listened quietly, brows furrowing for much of it. Once the story ended, Santi shook his head.

“Fish, we found you unconscious on a small, uninhabited island two days after the crash. It looked like you hadn’t moved from where you washed ashore. There was no lighthouse.” Santi broke the news gently, knowing Frankie was still out of it. “You must have dreamt it all.”

“No, that can’t be…” his voice faded to nothing.

fin

#almostfoxgloveangstchallenge #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie x f!reader #angst #confusion #dream or reality

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