#more cushion and comfort at half the price

[burritosandpeppermint]

Time or Age?

Either my feet got used to wearing boots for months for the first time in my life and the transition to regular shoes is going to take a while

OR

I've hit that age where flat rubber-soled shoes (Vans, Chucks) just can't offer my feet what they need anymore. Lame.

[soap-ify]

to relax in your arms

simon "ghost riley" x gn!reader

wc — 1.2k

cw — pure fluff !! subtle suggestive undertones, just reader being burnt out and simon being there to help.

notes — decided to join the tumblr cod fanfic gang . . anyways !! a little fluff because mw3 early access is tomorrow and it could be angsty.

simon is observant, very observant. it's a trait you loved and hated at the same time. yes, he knew of your every cute little quirks, but at the same time, he was able to read your mood too easily — no matter how much you try to hide it otherwise.

so it wasn't a surprise when you were completely burnt out after a week long of paperwork you had to finish up for your crappy job, completely draining you out of energy. you were sat on the couch right now, inside the cozy little apartment you shared with your boyfriend. he was standing in the corner of the living room, those stern brown eyes watching your exhaustion from a distance. he was dressed in a pair of grey shirt and black sweatpants, having had just stepped out of the shower, all fresh.

he had arrived early today, price having had let simon leave the base quicker for the sake of the latter spending more time with you. but seeing you curled up tiredly on the couch; your laptop half open on the coffee table alongside the scattered papers, your face hidden in the cushion whilst your arms were wrapped around your knees — it made something in simon lighten up, a protective instinct that was always seemingly there. a need to comfort his lovely partner.

"poor baby." he cooed in his deep, gravely voice that caught your attention, indicating his presence. though you were too tired to lift your head up and greet him with that sweet usual smile that always adorned your lips. he took this time to kneel besides the couch you were curled up on, his rough yet gentle hands rubbing up and down your arms, coaxing your head up, tired eyes meeting his.

god, you were a mess. your eyes had visible dark circles, body all stiff whilst loose strands of hair were on your face. he knew this feeling too well — being so insanely burnt out that one just wished to disappear and run off to a paradise, seemingly for some rest that would last forever. though he wouldn't let his sweetheart think like that.

his fingers carefully brushed the loose hair strands off your eyes before cupping your face, his palms feeling the squish of your cheeks. "m'gonna help you relax up, 'kay?" he mumbled softly, earning a tired nod from you. he was quick to shut your laptop down and tidy up the table before his strong arms scooped you up the couch, your head instinctively burying in his neck. god, he always smelled so good.

he carried you towards the bathroom, his right foot nudging the door open. he carefully set you on your feet, hands skillfully taking off your shirt and pants alongside your undies. you were so pretty, small against his imposingly tall and muscular form. he loved you so fucking much. a sense of intimacy spread in the bathroom as he gently led you to sit inside the tub, opening the tap as warm water begin to fill the tub, soon engulfing your body in a familiar, comforting warmth.

simon went away for a few seconds and came back with a bowl of rose petals he had secretly saved up for a time like this. he poured the rose petals in the water, watching them spread out and float around your bare body. the prettiest fucking sight ever. you couldn't help but giggle at his little surprise, causing him to crack a small smile that you were still getting used to seeing. he had stopped wearing his balaclava around you, and whenever you saw his bare face and the littlw scars, you couldn't fathom out how such a gorgeous man like him was with you. though he had told you countless times that you were the prettiest thing ever, and deserved everything.

"like my surprise, love?" he asked teasingly and knelt besides the rub, earning a happy nod from you.

"yes, si." you mumbled softly, your voice a bit hoarse from the exhaustion. the warm water was doing wonders on your stiff muscles, and the scent of rose that enveloped the bathroom was so comforting. you closed your eyes and let yourself relax in the warm water.

simon grabbed a bar of soap and gently lathered it up your shoulders, his hands carefully massaging and undoing the knots. a soft groan left your lips as you leaned into him, your breathing getting slow and calm. "you won't get in with me?" you asked in that sweet voice of yours that always made him melt.

"not tonight, love. tonight's all about gettin' my baby cozy and relaxed." he chuckled quietly as he washed you up, his hands going towards your chest in order to gently caress it — chaste and loving movements. in any other situation, his hands would be doing so much more to you, but right now, you were too exhausted for that and he knew it. you were his number one priority after all.

you were starting to get sleepy, all relaxed under the caresses and rubs of his soft hands. "si..." you yawned softly, head leaning forward to press soft kisses on the bridge of your nose, his right hand coming up caress the back of your head.

"so tired, mmh? workin' so hard all week, not taking care of yourself at all." he whispered huskily into your ear, causing you to whine and give light punches on his arm, a cute pout on your lips that he immediately kissed as soon as it appeared.

you were always so sweet to him, taking care of him after rough missions or after a painful nightmare. it was his turn now to take care of you, to let you relax. after a good few minutes, he turned off the tap and took off the plug, watching the water drain out of the tub. he scooped you out of the tub and nicely dried you up with a towel, ruffling your hair up before he carried you to your shared bedroom.

he sat you down on the bed, dressing you up in a pair of his boxers and black shirt that was clearly oversized on you, making you feel all cozy. "thank you so much, si..." you sighed happily, your eyes half-open while your usually loud mind turned into a state of pure bliss. you laid down on the bed with a sleepy yawn, stretching your arms and legs out. fucking hell, you looked adorable.

he laid down besides you, his arm quickly wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer, your head pressing against his firm chest. "love you, si... love you, love you, love you." you sleepily babbled, snuggling into him, your fingers clinging onto the fabric of his shirt whilst your eyes fluttered shut.

"love you too, baby. now hush, go to sleep. m'gonna keep you all cozy." he whispered softly, one arm reaching out to turn off the lamp and pull the blanket over you both. he sighed softly, his eyes soon fluttering shut too whilst he held you protectively, feeling your body relaxing as you entered a state of well needed sleep.

"goodnight, love."

[rodolfoparras]

Don't mind me just imaging old man price and unconsciously caressing his happy trail while cuddling watching TV 😖

Okay but imagine this…

Old man Price sprawled out on the couch wearing nothing but a pair of ratty sweats he’s stolen from you, watching whatever show is playing on the tv that he’s not really paying attention to.

He momentarily pauses his show to look at the clock hanging on the wall, noticing there isn’t much time left til you’re back home again.

Sometimes Price hated being retired and longed for the days where the two of you would be out together on the field, working and enjoying each other’s company.

However he couldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed the comfort of being in your shared home, wrapped up in your blankets and wearing your clothes that still smelled of cologne while watching his shows and hearing the rain enviously tapping on his window.

The sheer thought of it has a contented sigh escaping his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he sink further into the cushion beneath him.

All that’s missing is for you to crawl up by his side, insisting that two full grown adults can fit perfectly on the very small couch, a back and forth argument that would only result in pecks being placed on his lips, as your eager hands touch all over his body.

While thinking about it, he starts moving his hand in lazy circles on his soft abdomen, in the same way you’d do it, with blunt nails lightly scratching at his skin and fingers tugging at the coarse hair dusted on his body. Although his hand feels nothing like yours, this little fantasy of his is enough to have blood pooling to the lower half of his body.

Without even realizing it, he spreads his legs, the blanket that’s been covering him carelessly falls to the floor and his fingers latch onto his nipples, tugging at taunting the sensitive numb, in the very same way your own fingers would do it.

A shaky breath escapes his lips, cock twitching in excitement and hips effortlessly buckling up in search of any sort of friction he could get.

If you’d been here you’d tease him more, make him beg and whine and whimper before you touched his cock but you aren’t here and he’s oh so eager to have a hand on him so he quickly shuffles down his (your) sweats and wraps a hand around his length.

His cock is warm and already fully hard, precum trickling down his knuckles. Despite his age you never fail to make him feel young again, playing his body like a flute even if you're not physically there.

He can't help but smile at the sheer thought of it but it quickly drops from his face as he starts languidly stroking himself.

“O-oh“ he moans out, eyes squeezing shut and hips bucking up into his own touch.

He continues to indulge in his little fantasy, pretending you’re there on the couch with him, your body weight caging him in, the smell of you surrounding him and with your face smiling down at him. As he does so he feels himself increase his pace, slowly but surely inching closer to the edge.

“Please sir please” he hears himself say, desperately asking for you, to be here, to touch him, to make him see stars in the way only you can.

It doesn’t take much before he’s tipping over the edge, a string of curses tumbling past his lips as ropes of cum paint your sweats.

For a moment he’s so lost in bliss, eyes squeezed shut, hand still stroking his dick before he’s broken out of his trance by the sound of a familiar voice calling for him.

“Sweetheart what are you doing?” And as he opens his eyes he’s met with the familiar sight of you standing there in front of him, eyes swirling with desire while smiling down at him.

[bitchb0ybunny]

How TF141 would react to you crying when they pick you up..

Cant sleep, have a doctors appointment real early in the morning, and can't get this out of my head as a plus-sized person. Please enjoy this, I'm so tired :3

-Ghost would probably be one of the only ones of the group to actually understand why you started crying.. He's seen you stare at yourself in the mirror, he's watched you change clothes a million times because you didn't like how your stomach was showing, or how the open back of a top showed off your back rolls, or how your thighs refused to be contained by the leggings you squeezed yourself into over the course of fifteen or so minutes. He knew you didn't like your body, and that because of your size and weight you hadn't been picked up in a long time. Nobody had even attempted it since you were young.

So when he randomly picked you up at the grocery store and held you up so you could reach something on the back of the top shelf, holding you up as if you weighed nothing because he most certainly has had to carry and/or hold a lot heavier things, he knew why you started crying almost immediately. When he you eventually grab what you couldn't reach beforehand, he sets you down and holds you tightly, letting you cry and mumble for a few minutes before you two kept shopping. "Shh... shh... it's alright, sweetheart.. No, no, you're not to heavy for me, not even close... Let it out, your alright.."

-Soap would be confused.. Why are you crying? He just picked you up and moved you to a different couch cushion so he could sit with you. Did he hurt you? Why are tears streaming down those adorable little round cheeks? Did he grab you too hard, move you too suddenly and scare you? You had looked half asleep, so maybe? Had he made you uncomfortable, overwhelmed you maybe? He was confused and worried, he thought he did something wrong.. Doesn't really know what to do, but will comfort you as best as he can once he finds out why you started crying. "Bonnie, I dinnae mean to hurt ya-... Ya didn't expect me ta move ya? 'Too heavy'? Sure, yer a bit of a challenge, but I'm a strong lad. I've carried 'lot heavier."

-Price Probably a mix of confusion and understanding.. At first, he was like Soap. He thought he hurt you, he's been a Soldier for 20+ years so sometimes he forgets his own strength, but would immediately understand after asking a few questions..

"Did I hurt you, love? You a'right?.. Awh, don't give me that, sweetheart. Just cause I got a bit of a tummy don't mean I can't pick you up, I'm still a Soldier y'know." Would definitely laugh a little at his own comments or jokes.. He's got that 'I dont care, Im old and tired' kinda view on it. "'m old, tired, and scarred. Just happy someone as gorgeous as yourself finds the time to love me, I don't care if you have stretch marks or rolls or somethin... Hell, I got 'em too."

-Gaz would probably be confused as all hell, but still try and comfort you.. He had just picked you up cause he wanted a quick snuggle, after all. "Hey, hey, what're those tears about, beauty? Don't cry, y'got nothin to cry about right now, I gotcha.." Would definitely hold you a bit tighter, rubbing his hands along your sides even if you have rolls that make it a little bit difficult. He loves your rolls & your chub, loves to trace along your stretch marks when you cuddle at night.. He figures it out a little while later, but doesn't say anything to you. He doesn't want to make you embarrassed.. But you do notice that he's picking you up more often, often picking you up while giving you a big 'ole bear hug.. He loves you, after all, so why not use his extra muscles from work to show that?

[loveliestlovelygirl]

Everything You Hear

finnick odair x fem!reader

synopsis: celebrity escort, finnick odair makes weekly visits to the noble woman you serve. sometimes, things between them get really loud at night. you hate to admit just how many times you've put your ear to the bedroom door, imagining he is yours instead.

w.c: 1k+

highlights: {minors dni} in-universe, implied sex-trafficking, sexual content, voyeurism, secret pining made known, confessions

When Finnick Odair knocks on the entrance door of your lady’s Capitol penthouse, you are to answer immediately and allow him inside, give him a place to sit and food to eat. In your care, he does not want for anything while your lady is away. You are to ensure that he is comfortable and ready for her arrival.

Which is just what you do when he drops by unannounced while she’s away at a banquet. You recognize the sound of his closed fist beating against the door. He knocks only twice and then waits. Opening the door, you find him leaning against the wall with his legs crossed and hands in his pockets. His sea-green eyes scroll up your body, landing on your face.

You curtsey. While Finnick is a familiar face to you, he is a celebrity to all of Panem and worthy of your respect, even if he’s your lady’s escort. You’re not entirely sure why she has a relationship with someone like Finnick. She never speaks of that with you, and you don’t ask. It’s not your place to ask of such things.

“Finnick,” you say timidly as he walks past you towards the long sofa in the parlor. “Is there anything I can get you?” In the past, you had called him Mr. Odair to show your reverence for his celebrity, but after a while, he insisted you use his name. That still makes you feel special every time you think of it.

His smile is so wide and so bright. You don’t understand why he looks so happy to see you. To him, you are nothing. In comparison to him, you are nothing, just a servant of the woman he pleases.

“Just a glass of water with—”

“Three ice cubes,” you finish for him.

He smiles again, oh so brightly. “You remembered.”

You give a soft nod before disappearing into the kitchen. You fetch a clean glass for him and fill it with cold water from the filter. You drop three, exactly three, large ice cubes into the glass, and walk back to the sofa. When you deliver it to Finnick, your hands shake. It’s rare you’re so close to him. Beside him you’re blinded by your adoration for him and his glorious presence so much so that you forget yourself and lose track of how long you stand there before him. By the time you realize you’ve been staring, he’s sipped half the water.

Finnick pats the cushion beside where he sits. “Have a seat.” It’s not a question. He’s given you a command. And you have no choice but to answer him. You’ve never sat beside his golden body in all of the times you’ve entertained him briefly.

His white shirt hangs open just a tad too much. Finnick wears one necklace that’s shaped like and arrowhead. Is it meaningful to him? Or just a fashionable expression. What you know with certainty is the chest that bears it is strong and so lovely. Has your lady ever taken a moment to appreciate his beauty like this? Or simply enjoyed the pleasure of his company.

“Why are you nervous?” he asks, turning his body toward you.

He must have picked up on the way he makes you tremble so. Or how you can hardly look him in the eye when he’s talking to you, trying to protect yourself from falling for him even more. Someone like you could never fall for Finnick Odair.

“It’s nothing,” you dismiss, too afraid to reveal your heart to him.

“I think I know,” he says smugly.

“I promise you, you don’t.”

Finnick leans back and stretches his arm out on the sofa top. “It’s all in the eyes. You can’t hide it.” He leans in close. “Just admit it. You feel something for me.”

Inching away, you shoot him a spiteful glare. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“Comes with a price, you know.” He gets even closer to you. “It all makes sense to me. I come here all the time. I’m nice to you. I flirt with you. It’s only a matter of time before… you want me.”

You laugh lightly, uncomfortably because… it’s true. He’s a perceptive guy. He certainly didn’t win the Games at fourteen because of his good-looks and old-world charm. But you realize that-- all the times he looked at you just a little too long, offered you a bite of his food, or complimented you—he meant to woo you. You’re sure he has some ulterior motives, for why would he want anything to do with a servant girl.

When his fingers lightly graze your shoulder—it’s the first time he’s ever touched you—you let out a whimper. You get this bubbly, hazy feeling in the pit of your stomach. How you’ve longed for his sweet touch.

“But you see… you’re a little different than those on my weekly ‘to-do’ list. You can’t offer me anything in return. But I think—I think that’s kinda nice, don’t you? You’ve always been kind to me when I’ve offered you nothing in return but a little flirting. You’re a sweetheart, you know that right? Pretty too.”

Your face heats up. You feel it on your cheeks when he calls you pretty.

“So… call me sometime? I know you have my number. You’ve probably have it memorized, right?”

Of course, you do. But you’d never admit to it. “Finnick, what are you saying?”

He leans over you, his chest touching you back as his lips move close to your left ear. “Everything you hear… if you want it, can happen for you. I wouldn’t mind. Intimacy when both parties have no secret motives… is a luxury I’m not typically given.”

“You’re offering me… sex?”

He shrugs. “If that’s what you think is happening in the other room. It’s up to you.”

You search his face for answers. His mysterious smile tells you nothing at all. How could someone like him not be afforded the luxury of intimacy. From what you’ve heard, he’s intimate with many. You wonder what he means by secret motives. What could he mean?

“Just think about it,” he teases, “when your ear is pressed against the door, and you hear her crying out my name. That could be you, anytime.”

Those words sink in, crashing into your soul. For a long time, you’ve yearned for him. You suppose he understands exactly why.

The things you’ve heard when you push your ear to your lady’s wall or the door. The beautiful sounds of what happens in the other room. Is it finally your turn?

add yourself to my taglist!!

[sinfulscorchings]

(𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕜𝕪) 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕪 𝕛𝕠𝕙𝕟𝕟𝕪 . *. ⋆ 𝕛𝕠𝕙𝕟𝕟𝕪 '𝕤𝕠𝕒𝕡' 𝕞𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕤𝕙

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ⋆ ꜱᴏᴀᴘ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ⋆ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʙ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀꜱᴋ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʏ ꜱᴇᴀ ꜱʜᴀɴᴛɪᴇꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴀʏ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇɴʏ ʜɪᴍ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ⋆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ʜᴜᴍᴏʀ, ᴅᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ, ꜱᴇᴀ ꜱʜᴀɴᴛɪᴇꜱ (ꜱᴏᴀᴘ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴇᴍ), ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴡᴀᴄᴋ ᴘʀᴇᴍɪꜱᴇ ᴏɴ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ʙᴜᴛ ʙᴇᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ, ɢᴀᴢ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟ ʜᴏᴍɪᴇ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ꜱᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ ɪɴᴛᴏ ꜱᴏᴀᴘ ɪᴛꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜱɪᴄᴋᴇɴɪɴɢ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⋆ 2ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ⋆ ʀᴀɴᴅʏ-ᴅᴀɴᴅʏ ᴏʜ, ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ʟ��ᴅɪᴇꜱ, ᴡʜɪꜱᴋʏ ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴏ'

⋆ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʙᴇ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪᴍ ᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏ ᴄᴏᴅ ꜰᴀɴꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 . *. ⋆

The unmistakable sound of stentorian banter echoing through the pub walls leaves no room for your eyes to linger anywhere else. Price reluctantly allowed his men to have a lax night off base before they were off on another long op in the Afghan valleys, and you’d been hooked by the arm and asked so cordially to join by the dashing scot sergeant. 

Soon enough, you’re being led by the hand out of the base and piled into the back of a cabbie squished between him and Gaz and headed straight to the nearest pub. You stood no chance against that handsome smile and bright blue eyes, anyway.

His laughter now demands all your attention and brings your heart to a halt every time you catch his gaze.

Soap is drunk. Very, very drunk. You’re unsure if you’ve seen him so loose with his body, sturdy shoulders swaying to an invisible tide, firm hands twitching and curling around his glass. He leans against the booth the rest of the task force is sitting, smile bearing low, lazy yet purposeful, lashes so perfectly framing those little pockets of sky.

No matter how long you look at him, you don’t think you’ll ever get over how pretty he is. Whether or not he’s aware of how smitten you are doesn't stop you.

You wouldn’t say you had a crush on Johnny. That word was so… juvenile. And putting on labels on feelings like this are too difficult, anyway. Rather than trap it in a box, you’ll just let your feelings roam and flourish how it pleases. 

Your feelings have previously decided to make your heart leap every time you see his handsome smile, then even more when it’s directed in your direction. They also decided his words are gospel worth wrapping your mind around for hours late at night, hoping your over-analysis will lead to a hefty payoff instead of delusion. 

His loud groan takes you out of your slow descent into dissociation.

“Bunch o’ baws, ye are,” he complains. Ghost leans back further into the booth cushion, getting more comfortable as he observes Johnny’s state. He doesn’t have to worry about getting up any time soon; he knows you would lunge immediately to pick him up when he inevitably flounders his way to the ground.

“Baws?” Price asks, bringing his glass of half-drunk whiskey to his lips.

“Aye,” Soap responds, “Baws. th’lads that hang under ye knob.”

The party stares in absent confusion. Soap groans.

“J’st forget it.”

His hand waves through the air dismissively before landing on Gaz’s shoulder. 

“At least ye can join me for a song, aye?”

Gaz tilts his chin down, lips pursed.

“A song?” His tongue slips over the sound he tries to make. Though still drunk, Soap makes him look merely the slightest bit tipsy beside each other.

Johnny mutters something along the lines of ‘yes’ before he leans down, hollering in the quietest, yet boisterous voice, barely in tandem with the staff notes,

“Now we are ready to sail for the horn!”

Gaz immediately jolts up from his seat as though summoned, hand landing on his opposite shoulder and gripping it. They sing in unison, louder than before,

“Weigh hey, roll and go!” 

Soap cheers as he successfully recruits another to his cause. 

“Our boots and our clothes, boys, are all in the pawn—“

The two wrap an arm around each other. Johnny still has his fingers curled around a half-nursed glass but pays no mind to how it sloshes and spills while he belts proudly.

“To be rollicking randy dandy-oh!”

“ Christ ,” Simon rumbles, rubbing his forehead over his balaclava, elbows braced on the table. “Didn’t come to the pub to hear Johnny’s damn singing.”

Your attention shifts from the singing muppets to the two remaining men sitting in the booth with you. Price nods in agreement.

“Didn’t expect anything more or less,” he remarks. Simon shrugs and leans back into the cushions.

“S’pose so.”

You tilt your head, lips downturned in an almost pout, and beckon,

“Well, I find it entertaining.”

Price huffs, rapping his fingers against the table.

“‘No surprise to us, love.”

The squeak you barely manage to keep in your throat constricts any chance you had of coming up with a quick, witty reply. Instead, you cough and push your eyebrows together.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Price opens his mouth, but then a large, warm hand is placed on your shoulder and coaxes you to turn. You turn just your head to face Johnny. He flashes a toothy grin. Your heart melts for him even more.

“Won’t ye join me, bonnie?”

You frown, hesitantly placing your hand over his, and whine gently,

“I dunno, I’d rather not strain my voice or—“

“Ah, c’moan!” He leans in further, and you can practically taste the liquor on his lips from the proximity. “Ye ken th’words, dinnae ye?”

His insistence has you rolling your eyes yet still equally pliant. Of course, you know the words. You know them to every single one of his shanties, only due to his constant singing. Practically every time you pass by the men’s showers or the barracks or the rec center or the damn shooting range you hear his cheerful croons; in vans and trucks and plans on ways to ops, he entertains himself with the music and gets Kyle to sing along with him in grand, rather silly voices. It doesn’t help that you're so infatuated with the sound of his voice and the glow of his presence that it’s hard not to pay attention.

You sigh.

“I do, but–”

“Then ye should join me!”

Barely managing to resist, you curtly shake your head. Soap leans his head back, gaze piercing the ceiling, and boos.

“Fine,” He concedes, or at least you think; his lips curl into a mischievous grin. “If ah’ament convincing ye, listen to one more song.”

He releases you from his grasp and winks cheekily before he wraps an arm around Gaz and begins the next song. But the mere moment you hear the first lines, you know he deliberately chooses it for the reaction it would elicit out of you.

“We are outward bound for Kingston town, with a heave-o, haul!”

It does exactly what he intends. Your mouth falls ajar and you giggle, crossing your legs and adjusting to face him better. The two sergeants sing loud and in an expanse that reaches the whole bar, but not once, does Johnny sever the connection between the two of you with your eyes. He keeps his stare right on you.

“And we’ll heave the old wheel round and round, good morning ladies all!”

At this point, they’ve easily caught the attention of other patrons, cheers ringing from different corners and agreement with the sentiment. They’ll gladly say hello to any ladies that might find a liking to rowdy drunkard men. Gaz turns to rile the crowd further, but Soap doesn’t.

As he reaches the end of the final verse, the words begin to slur.

“So a long goodbye to all you dears, with a heave-o, haul!”

His swaying comes to a gradual halt, but Gaz puffs his chest out and belts out proudly instead to compensate. Johnny’s eyes are on you, steady while he sings.

“Don’t cry for us, don’t waste your tears, good morning bonnies all!”

The subtle lyric change comes so naturally you barely register it. They finish their song and the bar cheers, delighted and inebriated, while Johnny stumbles back to the booth and leans a hand on the cushion, caging your body with his.

“Did that convince ye, hen?” He speaks in a brash, cheeky manner. You chuckle softly, cheeks swelled with unbridled delight, before belting out strong and proud,

“Whisky is the life of man—“

As if they couldn’t get any brighter, Johnny’s eyes light up. He finishes the phrase for you.

“—Whisky, Johnny!”

Without warning, his warm hands grasp your waist and lift you to your feet; you yelp quietly and he smiles. 

His grasp leaves quickly thereafter; you solemnly droop your shoulders with the loss of sensation. But then his hand clumsily interlocks with yours and he pulls you to the center where Kyle bends at the knees in eager anticipation. 

It must have been those pesky delusions of yours again, but everyone’s eyes were on you. You and Johnny with your hands interlocked with yours and his little smile that’s so intimate that you could be certain it was only meant for you.

It was so much. Maybe a little too much.

Flushed, your lips seal shut and you cover your mouth, face red and warm. Johnny’s hand comes to grasp that wrist, his hold surprisingly firm.

“None o’ that, bonnie,” his voice is hushed, as if it’s a secret between you. “Dinnae hide that pretty face. Sing wi’ me.”

Your lashes flutter when you finally look Johnny in the eye. Instantly, the moment his stare seeps into your skin and travels down your body, through your spine, lands in the pit of your stomach and makes the hair on your legs stand up, you look down again. Fuck, bad decision. Even when he’s this plastered his stare is intense enough for you to hitch your breath and anticipate a flush rushing to your cheeks. He’s a goddamn warlock; there’s no chance you’ll break free from his spell.

He starts for you.

“O, I drink whiskey when I can–”

You continue the song, lips gently parted.

“--Whiskey, Johnny!”

The smile he graces you ( and just you ) with makes your stance weaken even more. His hand is still interlocked with yours though, and something in you thinks he wouldn’t let you sink to the floor.

Gaz appears between the two of you, a hand on one shoulder each.

“I drink it out of an old tin can–” He belts.

“--Whiskey for my Johnny O!” You finish for him. Johnny cheers and raises your conjoined arms in a lazy air fist. 

“That’s whit a’m talking about!” He exclaims. Before you realize it, his hand is slipping from yours and reaching to ruffle your hair with a kind of joyfulness only he could wear so casually and still make your chest swell. It's that damn look again, isn't it? That's the one that makes you so defenseless to anything he might throw your way. 

If one day you could see him look at you like that without the aid of alcohol, you’ll have earned the smile you adorn.

Price flashes an unimpressed look in your direction through the rim of your glass. You frown and move your stare to Simon. He's wearing a similar look. 

Buzzkills.

"Let me have this," You mouth. Their reaction remains unknown to you as Johnny spins you around and grins wickedly.

"`Another dram?" He offers.

"Oh, no," You respond, pressing your hands against his pecs. You disguise it as a means to push him away to give yourself space to breathe, but truly it might be another excuse to feel his body. "You've had enough. And I think the boys are about ready to leave."

Before there's time to process it, Johnny is leaning down, pressing his forehead to yours, noses squished together. Every move is lazy yet so deliberate at the same time (though that might be your delusion speaking). You can smell the lingering taste of alcohol on his lips and every time he exhales, too close to see, hear, breathe anything else but him.

"If ye say so, bonnie," he sighs, lashes fluttering. "But before we leave, how about one last song?"

Johnny leans back and licks his lips before taking your hand in his. You sigh, equally disappointed in yourself and lovingly admiring the sergeant.

Really, could you ever say no to him?

[kaydenverse]

grocery emergency

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader x john "soap" mctavish

18+ MINORS DNI

genre: smut with fluff mixed in

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i swear i'm trying to get more works out i've just had a rough start to my year so bare with me for the time being lmao but enjoy this that's been sitting in my google docs for like a month

content warnings: gender neutral reader, phone sex, excessive swearing, teasing, switch reader, switch simon, switch johnny, quickie, price is so done, gaz is a little shit

summary: why the fuck haven’t we as a society figured out how to teleport yet? johnny’s got somewhere he needs to be and it’s not standing in a hallway on the phone on base. 

“how much longer are we gonna be here, cap?” johnny questions as he lightly taps a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of him and straightens them out. he neatly sets them back down on the table before sitting up a little to stretch his back. 

johnny sits cross legged on the floor in front of the polished coffee table. although it would probably be better for his back to sit on the cushioned black leather couch opposite of him where kyle had been sitting before he went to grab a file price had asked for. but still he swears the floor is more comfortable. his tailbone is starting to hurt though, he realizes.

he’s still going to sit on the floor

“i’ve got one more folder and gaz is going to bring another one in a couple minutes,” price sighs, his office chair creaking as he leans back into it. “we should be done after those and you'll be free to go, son.” johnny’s heart swells a bit at the nickname but instead of telling price that, he huffs which makes the captain chuckle.

the five of you had gotten back from a successful mission in moscow, just a simple recon, a few days ago. now you had to do the boring parts of your jobs, the long debriefings and the piles of paperwork.

you and ghost had remained tucked away at the top of an abandoned building with your sniper guns to cover soap, gaz, and price while they had raided the warehouse across the street. because the three of them had been in the main action, naturally, they had more paperwork to cover than the two who kept look-out from a distance. 

but don’t get anyone wrong, of course the two of you still did a phenomenal job of dropping any and all of the strays who tried to escape the wrath of your three teammates. they were sorely mistaken when a bullet from your gun would lodge itself into their necks. 

johnny sighs as he picks another folder up and flips it open. his mind begins to wander before he’s even gotten halfway through the first page.

he’s thinking about this morning.

again. 

-

in all honesty, earlier that morning, johnny had deeply considered turning his car back around and called in sick because of how desperate and clingy his two partners had been while he had gotten ready. he to go in and finish up some leftover paperwork with price. he had swatted both your hands and simon’s away from dripping past the waistband of his pants. 

“stop it.” johnny said sternly as he grabbed your wrist when your fingers began to work their way down his happy trail yet again. “i’ll be gone for barely half a day, maybe less, we’re almost done with everything. you can wait.” he snickers. you groan in defeat and slump forward so your right cheek presses up against his back. simon leans in the doorway of the bathroom with his arms crossed over his chest. 

he would gladly stay and let your hands wander all over him but he knows he’ll be at least an hour late because johnny likes to take his time with you in the mornings. price wouldn’t be too excited about the late arrival. not after the last time that happened.

“i’ll just fuck simon then.” you resort, your voice still laced with drowsiness from having woken up to johnny’s 7 am alarm. you still keep your arms locked around johnny’s waist and one corner of simon’s mouth perks up at the suggestion. the messy blond hair atop Simon’s head that curls around the tops of his ears and the sleepy look in his eyes only makes your sexual frustration grow. 

“no.” johnny says, plain and simple. he combs a hand through his mohawk. “wait until i get back home, both of you.” he locks eyes with simon through the mirror he’s standing in front of. 

simon hums with his head held high as he strides over to the two of you. he kisses the top of johnny’s head, catching a whiff of johnny’s eucalyptus scented shampoo. he then kisses the top of your head that smell like your own shampoo. he makes sure what he murmurs to you is loud enough that johnny can hear too.

“you can fuck me all you’d like once he’s left for work, darling.” simon’s sleepiness adds an extra gruffness to his already deep voice. that alone nearly made johnny call price and ask to do the paperwork tomorrow.

nearly. 

“sure, go ahead.” johnny turns around to face the two of you. “but if you do so and i find out, i won't let either of you cum for a week.” the almost cold tone of his voice as he speaks and the cocking of his head makes you go weak in the knees and simon grins. “and i always find out.” 

“not always.” simon says in a very matter of fact way. the grin that plasters across johnny’s face is devilish. if simon hadn’t grabbed ahold of your hip when he’d kissed your head, you’re almost sure that your knees would’ve completely given out from how wonderfully taunting johnny looked. 

“i pay good attention to detail, lieutenant, i always know.” he gives you a peck on your lips then simon’s before slipping out of the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day. 

-

johnny is pulled out of his thoughts when his phone begins to vibrate on the table. normally he would  let it send whoever had called to voicemail due to his current task but his heart jumps when he sees your contact name and the contact picture of you smiling softly at the camera. in that photo, he can tell you're looking at him and not the camera because of the look of adoration on your face. 

he glances up at price who nods to let him take the call. you don’t often call him when he’s at the office and you’re home. you’d usually just text him and let him respond when he can so he assumes it must be important if you’re calling. 

“hey, what’s up-“ johnny is almost immediately cut off by you speaking. 

“can si and i please fuck? we were going to wait until you got home, i swear to god we were, but i feel like i’m going to fucking explode right fucking now. you can stay on the phone if you want to.” you’re so straight to the point that a cackle from simon can be heard through the phone. 

johnny is ridden speechless for a few seconds at such a forward request. he can hear the desperation in your words, you’re not even trying to be subtle at all. he blinks before he speaks again. 

“sorry cap, grocery emergency.” johnny stands up to excuse himself. price is a tad confused but lets him go to solve the problem. johnny eyes clock above the door before walking out into the hall. 

“you’ve got seven minutes. go.” johnny leans back against the wall with his free hand shoved into his pocket. immediately, johnny can hear the two of you begin to shuffle around. he can also hear the sloppy kisses that are exchanged between the soft thuds of clothing hitting the floor. 

“simon,” you say in a stern manner. “let me ride you.” the bluntness in your voice makes johnny exhale a small laugh. 

you will forever be a stubborn one in bed.

“but-“ simon sounds winded, sounds like you’d refused to let him take his lips off yours to breathe. 

you had. 

“ah,” all shuffling on the other end of the phone ceases at the sound of johnny’s voice. he hums in approval as the scot waits until a new recruit, who’s name slips johnny’s mind at the moment, to quickly shuffle past him and down the hall. they exchange a silent nod of greeting before the recruit disappears around the corner. “listen to them. since you decided to be such a brat this morning.” he then continues in a slightly hushed tone. 

johnny can clearly visualize simon giving the phone a glare that he just knows simon just gave as he allows you to settle in his lap. the phone falls silent again and johnny grins proudly.

you’re both waiting for his next call of instruction. 

always so good for him.

“well? hurry it up, you’re losin’ time.” johnny glances down at his watch to see you’ve both got just over five minutes left. the shuffling resumes followed but a pleased groan from simon. johnny knows that kind of groan from the many times he’s pinched simon’s nipples. 

“no teasing,” simon’s voice has pitched up ever so slightly. johnny shivers delightfully at the small detail. “no time for that.” 

“so needy.” you coo which you then follow up with a low moan. when the wet sounds of you picking your hips up and then quickly dropping back down spills through the speaker of johnny’s phone, he swears his knees almost buckle. he leans his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling. 

you’d both prepared for him to give in, touched each other before you’d called him.

he makes a mental note to praise the two of you on this silly little scheme later on. 

oh, how he wishes he was there. 

oh, how he wishes to sit himself on the end of the bed and watch his partners desperately pull orgasms out of each other. 

oh, how he wishes he can see simon’s glossed over eyes peak over your shoulder and moan out a whiny ‘please touch us.’ to johnny. 

“stop trying to hold your tongue, let it out si.” your sultry tone makes johnny let out a shaky breath.

oh, how he wishes he were there. 

simon groans as the wet sound over the phone picks up in pace and volume. johnny clicks the volume up on his phone two clicks. any louder and anyone who were to walk by would very clearly hear sounds that one certainly wouldn’t make at in grocery store. 

“three minutes.” johnny glances down at his watch again. he could swear his soul left his body for a second when he hears a faint gag followed by a chuckle from you. 

“so fucking pretty sucking on my fingers like that.” your voice is much closer to the microphone now. you’d picked up your phone and held it as you ground your hips down onto simon’s. johnny can now clearly hear simon’s panting and shaky groans. 

simon always likes to joke that if anyone, and i mean anyone, somehow knew just how pathetic simon could get at the hands of you and johnny, he just might have to kill them.

 he’s obviously kidding.

maybe. 

“johnny,” simon breathes out and johnny thinks he’s about to collapse. the name is muffled, almost slurred really. your fingers pressing down on simon’s tongue force him to sound like that. 

why the fuck haven’t we as a society figured out how to teleport yet? johnny’s got somewhere he needs to be and it’s not standing in a hallway on the phone on base. 

unbelievable. 

“you gonna cum for us, si? come on make it quick, you’re down to two minutes.” johnny hums and both of you make a noise of pleasure at that. the drop in johnny’s tone makes his accent sound thicker in the best way possible. on top of that, the time limit is exciting you far more than either of you had anticipated.

“fucking-“ you’re words fizzle out into a whine when johnny hears the way simon begin to meet your bounces on him. that skin-on-skin noise that johnny loves to hear so much grows louder. “i’m gonna fucking cum.” he then hears you drop the phone. he can picture the way you start shaking atop simon when your incredibly pleased sob fills johnny’s ear. 

“there you go, just like that.” simon sighs as your fingers slip out of his mouth. he wraps an arm around your hips to move you himself. johnny’s hips twitch at the rasp in simon’s voice. he’s starting to wish he didn’t leave you both on edge this morning. 

he should’ve known his two bratty partners would  both do this to him.

“45 seconds or i’ll make you stop and i’m not touching either of you until tomorrow instead of when i get home.” johnny keeps his voice flat to hide how needy he’s starting to get.

that’s a lie.

that’s a lie and all three of you know it. 

he’d have his hands on both of you before the front door is even fully closed and locked regardless of how long you take. 

not even a full two seconds later, you’re squeezing your knees around simon’s waist. “come on pretty boy.” you moan out as you fall apart. and that pet name has him spilling into you seconds later. johnny can feel the tips of his ears burning bright fucking red. 

he’s hard now and there’s nothing he can do about it until he gets home to you two.

“finished with 15 seconds to spare.” johnny’s makes sure you can hear the smile in his voice. “i’m impressed.” 

“well having been on edge from this morning really helped.” you’re panting and feel like mush in simon’s lap. 

“you’re an arse for that by the way.” simon grunts. johnny snickers and shrugs his shoulders. 

“you liked it though, both of ya did.” johnny points out and takes the beat of silence as confirmation.”but seven minutes are up, i gotta go.” he says reluctantly. he feels like he should stick around for aftercare for a bit but he is unfortunately needed elsewhere. 

damn that all of that paperwork, why can’t it fill itself out? 

but he knows you two can take care of each other. he smiles at the thought. 

“you brats both did so well. i’ll decide if that little plan is punishment worthy or not later. that was a genius plan by the way.” johnny chuckles. his heart swells both of your laughs. such wonderful sounds. 

“i love you, johnny.” your voice is back next to the speaker again. his heart somehow manages to swell even bigger when you kiss the phone. 

“i also love you, mctavish.” simon adds. he kisses the phone as well but only because you silently insisted that he did. he pretends to hate doing that. 

“i love you both too. i’ll be home soon so please be good until then.” johnny says, kissing the phone two times for his two favorite people.

“be good until then” you playfully mock the mohawked man’s accent. simon can’t help but snort at that. 

“very funny.” johnny chuckles. “and please actually go to the store, we need more milk.” he doesn’t notice kyle standing in the doorway of his office a few feet away with a file in his hands until he hangs up and turns to walk to price’s office door again. johnny’s face flushes at the amused look on his teammates face.

“how long you been standin’ there, mate?” johnny shyly slipped his phone into his back pocket. 

“opened the door right when you were telling your brats how well they did.” kyle teases. thankfully, that’s all that kyle says before opening the door to price’s office and walks, leaving the door open for johnny to follow him back in. 

but, kyle will be bringing this back up later over comms next mission. 

and price is going to question his life choices when he has to get the four of you back on task.

he pauses so he can quickly… adjust himself… before opening the door to price’s office again. 

“groceries sorted out?” price raises his eyebrows at the sergeant who once again seats himself in the chair across from his desk. 

“sorted out.” johnny nods, praying that price can’t see how red his ears are.

price sees, he always does. 

johnny flushes even harder at price’s next words while kyle erupts into laughter. 

“now let's get this paperwork sorted and quick so you can get home to help with those so-called “groceries” yeah?”

[roselightfairy]

I know it’s been a million and a half years since there was any modverse collab content, but in honor of the WIP prompt reminding me that this existed - and our own sweet friends at home - have some modverse kitty content from me and @deheerkonijn to you!

(elf cats live a long time shhh)

...

The furniture in the parlor was . . . stiff.

Not hard, exactly – the sofa where Gimli sat was cushioned enough that no one could have complained, and even if that had been the problem, there were enough throw pillows (lying scattered across the floor where Legolas had tossed them) to remedy them. It was just that it was almost . . . a little too upright to be quite comfortable, as though made for someone with better posture than he had – even if Legolas, lounging horizontally with his legs across Gimli’s lap, seemed to belie that thought. It was like everything in this manor so far: ornately-carved taps and deep-basined sinks; vast archways and tall, narrow windows with fastenings too high to comfortably open. Beautiful architecture: a building made to be looked at, not lived in.

And yet live in it they did – Legolas, who had navigated this place as easily as he did his apartment at home, knowing exactly which staircase to tug Gimli up to dump their luggage unceremoniously on the bed, rummaging unself-consciously through a tall liquor cabinet to help himself (and Gimli, too) to wine that would have come with an absolutely forbidding price tag in Minas Tirith. Thranduil, who had walked in on Legolas doing this in the kitchen and made no comment but a droll, “More excited to see the wine than your own father, then?”

He sat perfectly upright across the room in his own armchair now, nodding along as Legolas spun an epic narrative of their train journey here. Gimli sat quietly and watched him – watched them, father and son, the ways they took up space in this sitting room. Thranduil’s posture made the space into a council table, the armchair into its head; he sat as though holding court – but Legolas was the one who ran it, whose conversation held the room in rapture, both of them rotating into the captivating orbit of his presence. Gimli wasn’t sure how he felt yet about the Prime Minister of Eryn Lasgalen, but this at least he could admire – that he had made this place, stiff and upright as it was, a home for Legolas.

“– and then he was like, ‘Who do you think you’re visiting, the PM?’ and Gimli just said, ‘Yes,’” Legolas was giggling now, nudging Gimli’s thigh with a heel. “Completely straight-faced! I couldn’t stop laughing. Tell him the rest, meleth.”

Gimli laughed, despite himself – and was this a skill that Legolas had inherited from his father, then? He could feel the effort to put him at ease, to spread Legolas’s own comfort into Gimli – and it was working, softening the room around him like the furniture at his back.

He closed a hand fondly around Legolas’s ankle, trying not to track Thranduil’s eyes tracking the motion. “There’s not much more to say,” he said. “Or, at least, he didn’t seem to think so. Shut up for the rest of the train ride. Not a peep.”

“It was great,” Legolas interjected. “You would have loved it, Dad.”

“I’m sure I would.” Was that smile indulgent or tolerant? Either one was more than Gimli had dared to expect. “Well, I am glad you made it here, at any rate.”

“Me too.” Legolas twisted to aim his most endearing hopeful smile right into Gimli’s face. “I’m glad to show Gimli this place finally.”

“I had hoped you would manage it before your wedding,” said Thranduil. “Some other fathers might have hard words to say about that.” This with an arched eyebrow to match the wryness of his voice. “But, ah well, at least you came eventually. Oh – hello, Smudge.”

Gimli blinked, the non sequitur soaring directly over his head. Had he missed something? – but then, even as he opened his mouth to speak, a patter-clacking interjected in the silence and he turned towards the sound to see a slender tortoiseshell cat slinking its way through the gap in the half-ajar door. It moved very slowly, one dainty paw in front of the other, pale eyes narrowed as it took them all in.

“Smudge?” Gimli said.

“Smudge!” Legolas exclaimed with delight at the same time. “My best friend! Oh, Gimli, she’s been around forever. How is she doing, Dad?”

“See for yourself.” The cat – Smudge – made her way slowly across the room, pausing in front of the couch where they sat even as Legolas dropped a hand to the floor. She sniffed delicately at his fingers, nosing up and down his hand before stretching her head forward until his fingers parted around her ears – but just as his hand contracted to scratch her head, she turned deliberately away, letting his fingers drag along the full length of her body before leaving him to hop up onto the arm of Thranduil’s chair.

“Oh,” Legolas laughed. “Is someone mad at me for being away?” His voice turned into a croon at those last words, the tone he used when mock-scolding Athelas and Simbelmyne. “Were you so, so lonely without me?”

“You might have come back to visit earlier for her sake, if not for your father’s.” Thranduil’s long-suffering tone was spoiled by the twitch of a smile at the corners of his lips – and, to Gimli’s amazement, by the way the cat shoved her head into his hand, his fingers curling around the top of her head to scratch vigorously behind her ears. It might have looked regal, a monarch with his cat, except for the loud purring of the cat and the speed of his scratching fingers – not halfhearted at all, whatever he might claim.

“How are the kittens?” Legolas said. “I haven’t seen a picture in weeks – they must be so big!”

“Big enough to cause trouble.” Thranduil waved his unoccupied hand dismissively. “They’re around somewhere – they always turn up just when you don’t want them. Just like her.”

Did his voice – was that a shade of Legolas’s own croon in his voice?

“Smudge,” Gimli repeated, looking at the cat with a new respect. His first day in the home of Lasgalen’s Prime Minister and he had somehow already seen him soften!

“Smudge,” said Legolas, so fondly Gimli could practically see the hearts in his eyes. “She’s been around since I was a little kid; she’s like the mascot of this place. Cats live a long time here,” he added, at Gimli’s questioning look. “Must be the air.”

The air, or maybe the elves themselves – something about them that kept everything around them just a little younger than it should have been, just a little more sturdy. “How old is she then?”

“Late twenties now?” Thranduil mused. “She was only a kitten when she moved in” – moved in, Gimli noted, as if it had been a business negotiation – “but we didn’t know how old exactly.”

“But I was only a few years old,” said Legolas. “So yeah, must be late twenties. She was my best friend when I was little, Gimli. But she’s got a good few years left in her. Don’t you, Smudge? Come here!” He clicked his tongue.

Apparently, the cat’s ire was no more serious than Thranduil’s, for she hopped down from his chair and pattered her way across the floor back to Legolas’s beckoning fingers. When she reached them, though, he swept a hand under her and scooped her tiny body into the air as she squawked in displeasure. But Legolas only laughed, holding her up above his head as her paws flailed in the air.

“Ohh, you’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you,” he cooed, and lowered her onto his chest. “Come here, yes, that’s it.” In the same motion she had applied to Thranduil, Smudge drove her head into Legolas’s face, their noses colliding as Legolas giggled again. “Do you forgive me for leaving? Yes, I missed you, too. Oh, yes” – He laughed helplessly as the cat nuzzled his face, his neck, her paws now kneading at his chest. “Come here, I have someone for you to meet.” And without further ado he scooped her up again, sliding his whole body upright in the same motion, to present her to Gimli.

“Be careful,” Thranduil warned. “She doesn’t always take to strangers.”

“It’ll be okay,” said Legolas. “Just give her your hand to sniff.”

Gimli extended it cautiously. He’d never been much of a cat person – had never really understood how they ticked. But if this cat loved Legolas, surely they had at least that in common, right?

Her whiskers tickled his fingers, her nose cold and wet and velvety as it brushed just against his fingertips: once, twice. She withdrew, as if thinking – and then, cautiously, she nuzzled up against him just as she had with Legolas and Thranduil.

Gimli glanced to Legolas, and at his encouraging nod, he dared to scratch her behind the ears, too.

“She likes you,” said Legolas, grinning. “See, I told you she would!” He rested a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, warm and reassuring and meaningful. “Everybody does.”

In that moment, Gimli wasn’t sure Legolas was talking about the cat.

He flicked his eyes across the room to where Thranduil still sat, watching them – still with that tiny, almost soft smile, as though at the sight of his son, all of his dryness couldn’t help but fall away.

At least they had that in common. And Gimli felt, all of a sudden, a rush of fondness for Thranduil – for his father-in-law – for the home he had made for Legolas here, for the love he felt for his son and his cat. For sharing his fancy furniture and his expensive wine with Gimli, for welcoming him here, for the sake of the person they both loved.

And as an irrepressible smile began to bloom on his face in turn, as he relaxed back into his seat, Gimli thought that the sofa might have become just a touch more comfortable than it was.

[fortisfilia]

Promised Part 14 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 3.6k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 13 | Part 15

Part 14 - Gaunt Manor

The weeks after Nagini had shed and you had added her skin into the antidote got more and more exhausting. The potion needed tending up to twelve times a day now and unfortunately, you didn’t own a time turner. Both Tom and you had not gotten a full night’s sleep in a while and it started to show. Every day that went by seemed to last for an eternity while the circles under your eyes carved deeper and deeper by the minute.

The curriculum had gotten more challenging, as the teachers were preparing their students for the N.E.W.T.s. Homework was harder and more time-consuming than in the years before and you had to study for hours afterwards as well. These things alone were enough to wear out most students from year seven. Because of that, thankfully no one got suspicious of how drained you looked. Except for Camille. She had started to ask a lot of uncomfortable questions whenever you had left to take care of the potion. She knew you too well. Sneaking out every two hours to go to the Come and Go Room on top of your studies and school work had drained you to the point where you must have looked like a walking corpse.

One day, when Professor Leveret dismissed you after an exceptionally long Astronomy lesson in the late evening, you had reached your breaking point and were on the brink of tears, pondering about failing every single subject at the end of the term. There was little to no energy left inside of you. So little, you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry, but merely stared into space with reddened eyes and parted lips. Tom brought you to his room that night and went to the Come and Go Room alone. And when you were in bed, you were too tired to fall asleep. You never knew that was even possible. But once you weren’t distracted anymore, your mind started to wander. It was impossible to keep up with everything at once. You would either fail your N.E.W.T.s or spoil the potion. The latter would be worse of course and for no price would you let your sister down, so you mentally prepared yourself to leave Hogwarts without graduating. Oh, there were the tears. Finally. They ran and flowed along with hollow sobs and wouldn’t stop now that they were coming. 

What if the Gaunts were so appalled by your failure that they would call the wedding off before you could cure Elsie? They could easily paint you as a disgrace for not completing school and make your sister pay for it. No matter how it would turn out, they would take it out on her. The plan had worked so well until now and yet you were still desperately trapped inside Marvolo’s web. 

Half an hour must have passed when Tom came back. The cushion beneath you was damp from the tears that had rolled down your cheeks and you held your breath to prevent another whimper from escaping your mouth. You hastily wiped your face and turned your back on him, trying to breathe slowly and act as if you were asleep. But he noticed, of course. And even his well-chosen words of comfort couldn’t ease your mind. You couldn’t let yourself fall into his touch and allow yourself to drift off to sleep because you knew that in two hours, the circle would start once again.

The next day, when you sat on Tom’s sofa together to study for Transfiguration, and you had just started reading the same paragraph for the third time since you just couldn’t concentrate, it just rolled off your tongue.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tom looked up from his book. “What, the twentieth chapter? I just-”

“No, not this,” you sighed and threw your book on the coffee table. “I mean everything. This whole situation. It’s too much.”

“Well,” he said and laid his book aside too. “It certainly is a challenging time. The N.E.W.T.s, the schoolwork and the antidote.”

Challenging was an understatement. “I just need a full night’s sleep, or two. And you do too. We need help, it’s inevitable.”

“Help?” he asked, brows raised. “What do you have in mind? Ask Hilt to look after the potion?” His expression changed once he had seen how you shifted. “No. Don’t tell me that’s what you were thinking.”

“I thought about asking Camille for help. She wouldn’t tell anyone and she’s always been great at Potions,” you explained. “And then I thought, Ben would ask her where she’s going all the time. He wouldn’t leave her alone anyway. So I considered telling them both.”

Tom looked like he had been petrified for a second, not moving a muscle. “But you’d have to tell him about the pact.”

“I know.”

“That’s what he was after since the beginning.”

“Yes. But I think we can trust him.”

“You think?” he asked. “Why, because he’s stopped Freda’s quill? That’s enough to gain your trust?”

“It’s not like we have a lot of options, Tom,” you replied, slowly but surely getting annoyed by his constant suspicions. “Camille wouldn’t be with him if he was a snitch.”

“We will just plan better. It won’t be easy, but we-”

“No. This is too much work for two people. Just look at us. We’re both barely keeping up. It won’t be long until we’re completely worn out. We need help.”

Tom’s brows were furrowed, still not convinced even if he understood. You stretched out your hand towards him and waited for him to hold it. “If we don’t ask for help we’re going to mess up. I’ll either fail my N.E.W.T.s or the antidote won’t be finished. No matter what happens, Elsie will pay for it. Please.”

Camille and Ben looked at Tom and you like you had both lost your minds when you took them to the seventh floor. They had asked so many questions on the way there, but you were far too tired to answer them all. Besides, they would just be able to see for themselves in a bit.

When you arrived, you said to them once more, “I’m going to show you something now. And it is unbelievably important that you understand this needs to stay between us. No one else must know.”

Camille and Ben nodded, both with serious and still confused looks o n their faces.

“And might I add,” Tom said as he looked directly at Ben. “That my memory charm is very powerful. If you can’t keep your mouth shut I’ll obliviate you and I might even make you forget that you have magic running through your veins.”

Ben nodded again. “Alright mate, I got it.”

The door to the Come and Go Room appeared and the two wore the same expression that you must have had when you had first seen it. 

“Come in,” you said as you opened the door.

The room was a bit tight with the four of you in there. You stirred the liquid inside the cauldron like you did each time while Ben and Camille looked around curiously. 

“A potions room?” Camille asked once the door had been closed. “Now, can you please tell us what’s going on?”

You looked at Tom, who stared back at you, lips pressed together and still unsure if what you were about to do was a good idea. But still, he nodded. He had every right to be suspicious, you had to admit now that you had brought them there. But Camille was to be trusted and frankly, you were far too tired to think of any consequences.

So you began to tell them everything from where it all had started, a day before the school year, at your house. Camille knew half of the story already, but once you told them about the Gaunts and that they were the ones who had cursed Elsie, she stood there wide-eyed, just like Ben.

“And this is why I wanted to ask you both for your help with the potion,” you said once you had told them every detail. “If you don’t mind of course. If you’re willing to help, everyone would just have to come here three times a day. That would make our lives a lot easier.”

They didn’t even need to look at each other and nodded right away.

“Of course,” Camille said. “It all makes sense now. Oh, you must be exhausted. Twelve times a day?”

“I can come more often if you want,” Ben chimed in. “I don’t have as much to do as you, my N.E.W.T.s are still a year away and I wouldn’t have bothered studying much this year anyway.”

“What a surprise,” Tom muttered, even though there was a hint of a smirk on his face.

“One more question,” Ben said. “What about the last ingredient? Banshee tears you said, right? Where are you going to get those?”

“Well. That’ll be the final obstacle.”

“My uncle owns a flask,” Tom explained. “He and my Grandfather will be out next week and we’ll go and try to get them. Our house-elves will be on high alert however, so it’s going to be risky.”

“So,” Ben said. “When are we going?” 

“We?” Camille and you asked simultaneously.

“You can’t sneak your way in anyway with the elves around, right?” he said. “Four people are a better distraction than two. I’m in.”

“You weren’t even invited in,” Tom said.

“I don’t care,” Ben shrugged. “I’m still in if you need me.”

Tom sighed as he walked in circles around the cauldron, his hand covering his mouth while he considered Ben’s offer. “As much as I hate to admit it,” he then said. “I think you might be right. A distraction could be of benefit.”

“See?” Ben chuckled. “The muggleborn isn’t that dumb after all.”

“Oh brush off the arrogance, Hilt. We don’t have the flask yet.”

“Boys, please. Let’s discuss that another time and let me show you how to tend to the potion.”

You spent the following week planning for Saturday, when the Gaunts would leave their manor to attend the honouring of the Order of Merlin. You had also gotten some most needed hours of sleep. Not only that but just knowing that Camille and Ben were taking some weight off your shoulders made it much easier to concentrate on school and homework as well. 

On Saturday evening, when you met at the school‘s fireplace connected to the Floo-Network, you went over your plan again.

“And don’t forget,” Tom said. “There are two house-elves. They’re loud, but not very bright. Much like some Gryffindors.”

Camille stifled a laugh and looked over to Ben.

“Mate,” Ben replied. “Can you stop bullying me? I’m helping you out here.”

“Sorry,” Tom answered and bit the inside of his cheek. “I was just joking.”

“Oh yes. Riddle’s first joke in eighteen years and of course I take the fall.”

“Guys,” you scolded. “Get it together. Do you remember everything?”

“Yes,” Camille replied. “We are Theresa Carrow and Connor Prewett, your new and very pureblooded friends. We’ll be distracting the house-elves while Tom and you look for the flask. Once you got it, Tom will obliviate them and we'll come right back here.”

“Alright then,” you said as you watched Tom disappearing inside the fireplace. “See you there.”

The green flames consumed you whole once you let the Floo Powder fall and transported you swiftly to Gaunt Manor, where you found yourself in a dark hallway, the reception hall, perhaps. 

Tom was there already and offered his hand for you to step out of the fireplace. Camille came next, followed right by Ben. Before you could say anything, you heard two raspy, high-pitched voices coming your way.

“Who is it?” one voice asked. “Master? Is it you?”

“Show yourselves,” the other voice croaked and the elf snapped her fingers, making all the candles around the room light up. It still was dim, but you could see them a bit better now. Both of them were wrinkly and old, their faces scrunched up in suspicion. They didn’t look like the elves at your home but were hunching and worn out, completely different to Tummy. The male elf, Scrook, missed a large piece of his left ear and the female one, Hokey, walked with a severe limp.

“Master Riddle,” Scrook said once he had detected him and bowed tediously. “What do we owe the honour? Master Gaunt didn’t tell us you would visit today.”

“He didn’t?” Tom asked. “He must have forgotten. I told him that I’d come by today. Isn’t he here?”

“No Master,” Hokey answered. “They just left thirty minutes ago. Should we inform them for you?”

“Not necessary. I just wanted to treat my friends to dinner, you see. May I introduce you to Miss Carrow, Mister Prewett, and my fiancée.”

“Oh, networking, yes,” Scrook said and bowed once again. “Welcome to Gaunt Manor.”

“Shall we prepare some food for you, Master?” Hokey asked.

“Certainly. Bring my guests to the sitting room, will you? I’ll join in a bit.”

“Of course, Master. Of course.”

The two elves escorted Camille and Ben to the back, bickering and wrangling like an old couple.

“Quick now,” Tom whispered to you and walked the opposite way, towards the basement. The whole mansion was cold and dark, mahogany bleakly spread across the floors and even on some walls. The marble staircase in the entrance hall might have looked impressive, but only added to the frigid aesthetic of the house.

“Allow me to ask, Mister Prewett,” Scrook said while Ben and Camille took a seat. “What magical family do you belong to? I’ve never heard your last name before.”

“I, uh. I’m related to the Black family,” Ben said.

“The noble and most ancient house of Black,” Hokey crowed. “What an honour.”

The corridor to Morfin’s chamber was long, you had walked there for at least a minute, and it got even colder with every step you took. When you finally reached the door at the far end, Tom halted and you took a deep breath. He turned the doorknob, but the entry remained closed. 

“Locked,” he said. “Alohomora.”

The door stayed shut. Tom frowned. That would have been too easy.

“A different spell?” you asked. “Or is there a key somewhere?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s a charm.”

Merlin’s beard. What could it be? What could Morfin have done to lock the door? Something that only he or Marvolo would be able to use.

“What about Parseltongue?” you asked. “Does Morfin know it too?”

“Yes,” Tom answered and proceeded to speak unfamiliar words in the language. The doorknob clicked and sprung open by itself. “There we go.”

Meanwhile, in the sitting room, one of the elves got more and more interested in Ben and Camille’s backstory. “Can Scrook offer you a drink Miss? Sir?” he asked, while Hokey was busy in the kitchen. “Please, if you don’t mind, Mister Prewett. Would you tell me how exactly you’re related to Arcturus Black? Master Morfin is on good terms with him and I wonder why I’ve never heard of you before.”

When you entered Morfin’s chamber you were surprised by its size. It was almost as large as the entire Potions classroom in Hogwarts. Dead bats and shrunken heads were hanging down from the low ceiling here and there, along with strange feathers and strings that must have been some creature’s strands of hair. Despite its size, the room was crammed with bottles, finished potions and ingredients of all sorts. It wasn’t messy, not at all, but very chaotic for anyone unfamiliar. 

“Morfin arranges everything by type,” Tom said. “Liquids from living creatures must be in this corner then.”

You both started opening one drawer after another and looked for anything that could possibly be Banshee tears.

Ben and Camille still got cross-examined by Scrook. “Interesting, interesting. Mister Black is your great-uncle, you say. Have you met him lately?“

In the chamber, you had searched for over ten minutes already, and gone through hundreds of little flasks. The number of different liquids in this room must have been in the thousands. Slughorn’s stock was absurdly small compared to this. 

“Can’t we just use a summoning charm?” you sighed, going through your fifteenth drawer of vials filled with animal blood.

“No,” Tom said while closing a drawer. “The elves would notice it immediately.”

You shoved yet another drawer shut. “Bloody hell. What if it’s hidden?”

“That’s possible,” he mumbled, still scanning over all the flasks inside the cupboard.

“Wait,” you said. “What if we’re looking in the wrong place?”

“All liquids are here, as I said.”

“Yes, but I just remembered. Slughorn said this years ago. Banshee tears when stored, turn into tiny, pearly white crystals.”

Tom lifted his head to look at you.

“Where are the solids stored?” 

He pointed at the opposite corner of the room. “Over there.”

At the same time, Hokey brought appetisers into the sitting room. “Enjoy,” she grumbled, her tone not fitting her kind words.

“Thank you,” Ben said after he and Camille had taken some canapés from the tray.

Both elves froze, deeply offended. “Sir, you have not just thanked Hokey, have you?” Scrook asked.

“Of course not,” Camille answered, holding her head high. “What are you thinking? He thanked me for handing him a canapé.”

“I see,” Scrook said, eyes narrowed. “I’ll go and look for Master Riddle now. He’s taking awfully long, whatever he’s doing.”

“No!” Camille and Ben shouted which led the elf to turn back around.

“No,” Camille repeated, her voice a lot calmer. “I’d like to know more about this house. Can you tell us how long you have worked for the Gaunts?”

In the chamber, you went through the flasks and glass containers on the other side of the room, where the solid ingredients were stored, while Tom still roamed the liquids. And finally, between fairy wings and unicorn liver, lay a tiny flask of Banshee tears.

“Got it,” you called. “There it is.” 

Tom walked right over and checked out the flask too. “Very smart thinking.”

“Let’s go.”

Scrook had gotten disturbingly close to Ben. “I’ll gladly tell you all about this house, Miss,” he said, not taking his eyes off the boy. “When Mister Prewett reveals his real name.”

“My real name?” Ben asked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not a pureblood, are you?” the elf hissed. “I can smell it.”

“Excuse you, elf! I must have misheard you,” Camille bellowed. She was a much better actress than Ben. “You surely didn’t mean to insult Mister Prewett in that way. Now apologise.”

Before they knew it, Scrook had gripped Ben’s hand and pulled it towards himself, sniffing at the inside of Ben’s underarm. “I knew it!” the elf yelled. “Mudblood! Hokey quick, alarm the Masters!”

Hokey came running in from the kitchen at the same time as Tom and you arrived in the sitting room. All three of you stood there in the archway and looked at Camille, Ben and Scrook in disbelief.

“Traitors!” Scrook screamed and accidentally knocked the tray of canapés off the table. “What have you done, Master Riddle? Bringing a mudblood into these halls.”

Ben had finally wrenched his arm away from the elf, holding on to it tightly while standing up straight, his chest heaving.

“The Masters must know,” Scrook whined and turned around. “We have to tell them immediately, Hokey.”

“Enough,” Camille said as she rose from her seat. “Stupefy!”

In an instant, Scrook fell to the floor without another word, completely unconscious. Hokey let out a yelp at the sight, turned around and ran toward the kitchen. 

“Quick, before she apparates,” you shouted.

“Stupefy,” Tom called with his wand pointed at Hokey. “We don’t have much time. The charm wears off on elves much quicker than on humans.”

Ben and Tom dragged the two elves to the entrance hall and dropped them next to the fireplace, while Camille cleaned up the mess on the floor, where the canapés had landed.

When you had gathered by the fireplace again, Scrook already opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

“Leave,” Tom urged and pointed his wand at the elves. “Obliviate.”

Camille went first and disappeared into the flames, followed by Ben and you.

Back in Hogwarts, when Tom stepped out of the fireplace, you finally felt like you were able to breathe again.

“We did it,” you said and fell into his arms. “I can’t believe we really did it.”

Tom held you for a moment, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, then moved his head and looked at Ben when he let go. “What happened?”

Ben still hadn’t calmed down. He rubbed his hands on his trousers and shook his head. “I don’t know. They were shocked when I thanked them for serving us food. Then the elf said he could smell that I’m not a pureblood.”

“You thanked them?” Tom asked. “Elves don’t accept that.”

“How am I supposed to know that? I’ve never seen a house-elf before.”

“Forget about that now,” Camille interrupted. “Did you get them? The Banshee tears.”

“Yes,” you said and pulled them out of your pocket. “We got them.”

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 15

Tags: @ariachaos @daardyrnitta

[secret-cod-thoughts]

John Price... I have no other words...

John is definitely that type of guy that will have you under his desk, sucking him off while he talks to someone. Don't even try to deny it, 'oh, he's too old'… NO! HE FUCKING CAN AND WILL!

You are under his desk, a soft cushion under your knees because he's not a monster, he wants you to be comfortable, while your mouth is full... I imagine his cock to not be too long, around 6 inches, but GOD it's THICC, I'm talking enough to fill up your mouth where it's slightly uncomfortable for your jaw.

He has you on your knees for a good half of the day, in intervals because he has his limits too. His hand in your hair, his other writing down reports and signing off in things, while the hand in your hair softly moves your head back and forth on his cock...

Drool and jizz, going down your chin and neck in a slow cascade, your mind peacefully blank as you let yourself be used for your Captain's release. Sometimes, he'll speed up your head, other times he'll make you cockwarm him with your throat, all the while calling you a good boy/girl for doing SUCH a good job...

(That's it, darling... Doing so good for me, pet. Just stay still for a few more moments for me, then I'll fuck your throat to your heart's content... Good girl/boy...)

[dudecreature]

His Observation

Ghost x GN! Reader

Synopsis: During a quiet moment on base, Ghost has an opportunity to observe the group after a late-night movie. and he definitely doesn't show favorites Word Count: ~600 Proof Read: yes

The soft light of the television illuminated the room and the soft chatter of the end of some movie playing brought the otherwise silent room to life. To the untrained eye the stillness of the room, along with the soft snores that came from the group in the room, one would presume that no one was awake. A figure leaned in the doorway with a mug in hand, wearing a plush hoodie and the oldest sweatpants someone could probably ever have, but hey they were comfy. The gruff man in the doorway shook his head at the sight, three piled onto the couch and one in his own chair.

“Of course Price gets a spot to himself”

The man shook his mask-clad head and looked towards the couch once more. The poor lighting only barely allowed him to see the figures' faces, he had to squint though. Soap on the middle cushion of the couch, arms crossed over his chest with his head leaned back at an uncomfortable angle. His legs propped up onto the coffee table crossed at the ankle. Ghost knew he would hear a complaint from the Scottsman in the morning, already rolling his eyes at the idea of having to hear him whine and bitch about how sore his neck was.

He looked to Soap’s left and saw Gaz with his legs thrown over the arm of the sofa. Gaz’s head lay on Soap’s lap, a forgotten blanket half slid off the lower half of his body, and his cap fell onto the floor under the latter's legs. One of Gaz’s arms was on his stomach, under his shirt looking to be mid-scratch while the other arm was hanging off the edge of the couch. Ghost seemed to zone out for a second before blinking himself back into the present, he looked at his teammates' faces, ensuring no one had woken up amid his eerie observation of them. 

A shuffle to the right of Soap snapped Ghost’s head in the direction of the disturbance. A figure curled into Soap’s side, attempting to get as close to the warmth he radiated as it could. He knew that it was you, the huff you let out was distinctly yours. He had heard it many times, when you got frustrated at something you were doing, when he would make an incredibly bad joke, hell even when you were just sitting. You had told him that it wasn’t a huff of annoyance but your body simply remembering that you needed to breathe. He saw your huddled figure shiver ever so slightly and waited to see if you would wake. He did his best to ignore the slowly dropping pit in his stomach at the scene, it made him silently curse at the fact that he didn’t join the group for the movie.

He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off with a quick click. As he headed back to his own room with his not-so-hot tea he smiled to himself as he thought back to the image of his friends. He shut the door to his room with a soft click and readied himself for bed, finally feeling tired after seeing the group's comfort. 

---------

Once Ghost had left the room you were able to smile to yourself. Somehow you had sensed his presence at the doorway and it had roused you. You pull the newly laid blanket a little closer fully shutting your eyes and let yourself be lulled to sleep at the idea that he really did have a soft side.

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Thank you for reading! If you have a request send them my way and I will do my best

(=´ﻌ｀=)

[aramis-dagaz]

Writober Day 9: Veil, Cute

((Jacky is from Faded Scars and used with permission))

It was like entering another world the moment they stepped inside.  Jacky could identify the exact moment her nose was enveloped by the heavy scent of spices, incense, and exotic wood.  Shelves and tables everywhere held all manner of artifacts, art objects, and who knew what else from lands far away.  Carpets, tapestries, and billowing lengths of gossamer cloth threaded with gold, silver, and other metallic threads covered just about every other surface not displaying wares for sale.  They all could’ve been mere knicknacks in their home country, but Jacky couldn’t tell just by looking at them.  They might as well all be valuable treasures, any one of which could be hers for the right price.

They walked further into the shop, the tables and shelves seemingly guiding them deeper inside, the wares on display becoming more ornate and otherworldly to further entice them.  Jacky had never been inside this place, but had heard plenty of stories and rumors.  It was indeed as wondrous as they said.

A short, slender feline stood against the back wall, whittling away at a piece of wood with a simple knife that nevertheless glittered in the soft, warm light.  Compared to the breathtaking sights around them, she was dressed in a comparatively simple tunic and trousers, though the subdued embroidery of her clothes revealed their foreign origins.  She looked up at them as they approached, a thin cigar or incense stick in her teeth wreathing her scowling face with heavily spiced smoke.  She silently pulled back a gauzy curtain, revealing an open door leading into a dark room.  She jerked a hand with two thumbs on it into the back room.

Jacky glanced back at Rails, who seemed to be less entranced with the place than she was.  He curtly nodded at the feline and ducked his head as he stepped through the doorway.  Jacky followed him, the door closing behind them and leaving them in momentary darkness as their eyes adjusted.  The cloying scents of incense and spices were stronger here, along with a strangely alluring perfume and what smelled like…coffee, unlike any she had ever smelled before.

“Welcome, friends,” a voice purred in the dim light.  A soft red glow appeared, briefly illuminating a dark feline face and glittering golden lines around ears and half-lidded eyes.  The glow dimmed, and thin, exotic-smelling tobacco smoke billowed out towards them in intricate, graceful curls.  “Please, have a seat.  You’ve come a long way and faced many dangers to return my cargo back to me, so make yourselves comfortable.”

They stepped towards the low table before them, settling down in low papasan seats filled with lush cushions and pillows.  Laying back in them gave Jacky the sensation of being gently enveloped by the arms of a tall, handsome man dressed in fine silks.  She cleared her throat nervously and leaned forward so she was sitting upright.

The dim light from several lamps and lanterns around the room grew slowly brighter, revealing their host and the shop’s proprietor, Polgara the Antiquarian.  She lounged languidly on a low couch dressed in a white silk dress trimmed with turquoise beads and golden thread.  Her black fur was highlighted by golden paint around her eyes and arms, with simple golden rings tattooed around the extra fingers and thumbs on her hands.  One such eight-fingered hand held a thin, straight pipe made from gold and ebony, trailing thin lines of smoke into the heavily-scented air.

Polgara gave them a smile that was both sly and warm.  “Refreshments?  I imagine you are still weary from your journey.  Tea?  Coffee?  Something stronger?  Or perhaps more soothing?”

“Tea, ma’am,” Rails said.  “Surprise me, I have a feeling you have quite the variety.”

“Oh, most certainly,” Polgara replied.  She turned to Jacky.  She suddenly felt she was simultaneously being given the slender feline’s full attention while she was calculating several moves ahead.  Jacky felt more than a little ill-prepared to engage with this woman about the weather, let alone any kind of business dealings.

“Er, uh, I think I smelled some coffee coming in here.  I’d like some of that, if you don’t mind,” she said, feeling a bit awkward.  “Uh, sweet, if that’s okay.  I’m not a fan of bitter coffee.”  She hoped she didn’t insult their host with the particular request.

Polgara’s thin, gold-painted eyebrows rose, impressed and intrigued.  “Ah, a very good nose you have.  I think I have just the thing for you.”  She gracefully turned the bowl of her thin pipe down, gently tapping it against a shallow, polished brass bowl, sending a beautiful, bell-like chime ringing throughout the room.

Jacky shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  Rails spoke and dressed properly and carried himself like a gentleman, even after hopping off a train that escaped a running gun battle.  She was just a rough gunslinger whose only good quality was that her manners weren’t quite as coarse as others of her ilk.  She hoped they would get paid soon after the drinks so they could be on their way.  She didn’t belong in circles like this.

The scent of sweet cream and coffee filled her nostrils and she looked over at her elbow.  Resting on a small tray was a delicately ornate cup filled with a frothy dark liquid.  She looked around, but couldn’t see where the cup had come from.  She glanced back over at Polgara, who gazed back with eyes touched with silent laughter as elegantly inhaled from her pipe.

Jacky picked up the cup, inhaling the steam deeply.  It smelled heavenly.  Sweet, but not excessively so, with the warm, earthy scent of exquisite coffee.  This was such a far cry from the swill she normally had in tin pots over campfires that were practically burned into bitter tar.  This was truly something else.  She could just sit here and smell it without tasting a drop and it would be a wondrous experience all of its own.

She took a sip, and nearly sighed in delight.  Whatever was used to sweeten it was amazing in its own right, rich cream heightened by just the right amount of sugar and vanilla.  But the coffee itself, she was used to having to counter overpowering bitterness with overpowering sweetness.  Though strong and robust in flavor, it complemented the sweetness, seemingly welcoming it into itself.  It was a brew that she had been seeking her entire life and resigned to never finding.

“Everything to your liking, I trust?” Polgara said, her purring voice gently interrupting her reverie.

“Exquisite, as always,” Rails said, his rough voice sounding smoother and content.

Jacky started when she realized she had been spoken to.  “Oh!  Uh, it’s…it’s very good, ma’am.  My, um, compliments to your–”  Dangit, what was that fancy word?  “–to whoever made it.”

Polgara smiled and nodded her head to them in a seated bow.  “It’s the least I can do.  After all, you’ve done a great service for me.  Speaking of which…”  She tapped the spent tobacco from her pipe, the brass bowl ringing again.  The scent of exotic wood and a muffled jingling of coins drew Jacky and Rails’s attention to the space between them, revealing a small chest of reddish brown wood and golden metal.  Rails carefully picked up the chest and opened it, revealing a pile of shining silver pesos.  Jacky couldn’t help but be awed: she’d seen the silver coins before, mostly chopped up into smaller bits, but never so many in one place.  They looked like they were straight from the mint.  She was expecting to be paid with a stack of banknotes.

“Everything we agreed upon is there, though feel free to count them if you’d like,” Polgara continued.  “And keep the box, to help you carry it all.”  Jacky tried to keep herself from choking on her coffee.  The box alone was likely worth half of all the coins contained within.

“Thank you for your generosity, and I trust everything is as it should be,” Rails replied.  “You’ve dealt with me fairly before.”

“And such pleasurable and profitable dealings we’ve had, my friend,” Polgara said with a warm smile.  “In fact, I have another proposition for you.”  She glanced over at Jacky, her eyes enigmatic and calculating.  “For both of you, if you are interested.”

Rails looked over to Jacky, gauging her interest.  She shifted in her seat, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the attention.  “Well, I’m willing to hear you out, ma’am,” she finally said.

“Wonderful!” Polgara said, as though refusal hadn’t entered her mind.  “You see, the cargo I had you retrieve is already sold to a customer up in San Lantros along with several other items.  After this…debacle…with transporting it here I need to make sure the shipment is well protected by people who are capable, people who I can trust.”  Her eyes flicked between Rails and Jacky.  “You two are more than capable, and if Rails trusts you–” she gazed deeply at Jacky “–then so do I.

“Of course, you won’t be doing this without ample compensation, thus my proposal.  As it turns out, the railroad company that owned the train had written off the rolling stock and cargo as a loss and sold the salvage rights off to recoup said losses.  Given that you recovered everything almost entirely intact, said salvage rights amounted to buying a fully-loaded train for a song.”  She inhaled from her pipe, smiling deviously.  “Oh, and what a song it was.  It’ll stay within my heart for quite a while.”

She leaned forward, slowly twirling her pipe in her many-fingered hand.  “I’d like to give this train to you, my dear friend.  The cargo I’ve already sold back to their owners, but I know that you’ll turn even an empty train into far more than I can pay you for a simple delivery.  Just make its first run to my customer in San Lantros, and it’s all yours.  What say you, dear friends?”

Rails was quiet for a while, his face pensive under his mask as he quickly calculated the business he could conduct with such a gift.  Jacky suspected it was merely a formality for his own sake, as when he finally answered it sounded like what he wanted to say right from the start.  “With such generosity, how can I say no?”  He looked over to Jacky, his mismatched eyes sparkling.  “Of course, I can always use someone who can handle themselves in a fight as a guard.  Up for another job, Jacky?  We can make quite a bit just from a single cargo and mail run up to San Lantros and back.”

Jacky quickly took a long drink from her coffee to give her time to think.  “Well, how much are we talking here?” she asked cautiously.

“Easily two thousand pesos after coaling and maintenance costs, and that’s just from farming and household goods,” he responded with no hesitation.  “You’ll get an equal share of that with an additional crew of about four and a double share going to the operations fund.”

Jacky tried to calculate what that would amount to, but settled on trusting that it would be a lot of money.

“Okay, I’m in,” she said, hoping she hadn’t signed herself up for a world of trouble.  She looked over at Polgara, who was looking exceptionally pleased.  “Any particular trouble we should know about with this shipment?”

Polgara waved a many-fingered hand dismissively.  “It is very valuable, of course, so your standard risks of robbery and other dangers of transporting expensive goods.  If you’re worried about more exotic dangers, well, sorry to disappoint.  I can recommend a few good penny dreadfuls if you want to experience the dangers of running cursed cargo, though.”

“Uh, no thanks.  I’m fine with little excitement in my work.”

“Boring is good, sometimes,” Polgara agreed.  “Now, it will take a week or two to fully transfer the train legally over to you.  The B.R. Central Railroad Company is trying to renege on what amounted to selling their train to me, as is expected.  However, I have a few lawyers who owe a favor or two to me, including a couple on the railroad’s retainer.”  Her grin became downright diabolical.  “Take the time to relax and prepare.  I’ll let you know when your train is ready for you.”

She then leaned forward, resting her chin on the back of her hand.  “Now, tell me how you managed to retrieve this train and its crew from the Lowry Gang,” she purred eagerly.  “I’m certain it was quite exciting…”

[dindjarinandlysakane]

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 27 - Morning light

When Din Djarin meets a beautiful cake seller from Nevarro, do you think he’s just going to stand back and let her suffer at the hands of her abusive boyfriend? After a lifetime of heartache and pain, Lysa Kane realises she’s not on her own any more and finds an unlikely friend in the Mandalorian. And Din Djarin does not like men who treat women like that, not one tiny bit. Friendship/comfort and maybe something more…

Masterlist

Chapter 27 - Morning light

----

BEEP.

BEEP.

Din glanced over the Comm device on the table.

He knew of course that he needed to answer it, but at this very moment did not want to move a muscle.

He glanced down at Lysa, still sleeping peacefully, against his shoulder.

Din’s arm and legs had gone numb hours ago, but it was a small price to pay for ensuring her a restful sleep.

She had been through so much, and whatever Din could do to help her get over what Crix had put her through for so long, then he would do it.

She felt so warm beside him.

Her body pressed against his. 

Her breathing- soft against his neck.

Even with his tunic covering him up to his chin, he could still feel the gentle flutter of her breaths against him. Still feel the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest against his beskar.

Din would have been content to stay like this with her for the rest of time. So close to her. Protecting her.

But there was that stupid beeping now, preventing him from doing that.

He knew he needed to answer it. For it could be information on Crix or his whereabouts. And yet Din yearned to stay with Lysa in his arms. Just as it should be.

Letting out a short sigh and being very careful, Din reluctantly retracted his arm from around her shoulder, shifting easily out from the space beneath her.

Lysa moaned slightly in her sleep, and Din swallowed hard at the reaction it immediately caused his body to have.

He cursed himself for these primal urges, knowing they were a distraction he could not afford himself now. And besides, a woman like Lysa would never want a man like Din. It was impossible.

Gently lowering her head and shoulders down onto the cushioned ledge, Din drew back as she snuggled her head into the soft material. Still sleeping soundly.

Din quickly moved over to a carbon storage container which stood just outside of the Refresher, picking out the softest blanket he owned, before placing it gently over her.

Her dress was rumpled and her hair tangled around her face, but to Din she looked like perfection. The kind of person he had thought he’d only ever imagine in dreams.

Not sleeping peacefully on his window ledge.

BEEP.

BEEP.

Din clenched his jaw at the disturbance, before letting out a huff and dragging his attention from Lysa. Instead crossing the room and plucking up the communicator and taking it outside where he knew it would not disturb her any more.

-----------

“Mi-tah.”

Lysa gave a small groan, shifting slightly.

“Tah,” came the noise again, breaking her from her dreams.

Opening a bleary eye, Lysa found herself face to face with a pair of large black eyes, a mere half inch from her face.

She took in a breath, pulling back suddenly and sitting up, finally realising where she was.

Sunlight poured in through the window beside her, as Lysa, lying across the cushioned window seat, grasped at the thin blanket that had been placed over her…

…her mind suddenly flitting back to the early hours of the morning and why she was here.

The ledge beside her was empty. Din, who she had fallen asleep on, was no longer there beside her.

But someone was…

Lysa stared down into the face of Grogu, who had been standing on the windowsill beside her, peering into her face. Obviously wondering what she was doing sleeping in his living room.

“Hi, sweet boy,” she said warmly, letting out a breath and giving a small smile.

“Mi-tah,” he repeated purposefully, and Lysa tilted her head, not quite understanding what he meant.

“Did you sleep ok?” came a sudden voice from her left, and Lysa swung her head around to see Din, in full beskar armour, emerging through the open doorway to the cabin.

Immediately Lysa felt her cheeks flush pink, as she grasped the blanket up to her chest embarrassedly.

She gave a nod.

“Yeah…I did in the end” she said poignantly, offering him a smile of humble appreciation. “Thank you.”

Being so close to Din last night had made Lysa feel more at ease than she had felt in a long time. It all just felt so natural with him. So right.

And if she was being truthful with herself. The feeling of him pressed up behind her, had stirred a feeling low in her belly she had not felt in a long time. A natural reaction that went hand in hand with the closeness and the longing she felt for the Mandalorian now.

Her flush deepened now as she thought on this, so much so, that she tore her eyes from Din’s, gazing out of the window for a moment before looking back to him.

“Have they had any luck?” she asked in a hopeful voice, gesturing with her head out towards the flats she knew the Marshal and his men had been patrolling all night.

But Din’s statuesque silence said it all before he even answered her.

“IG-11 told me they had nine men out there looking for him, but they haven't found anything yet,” he replied, as Lysa nodded.

Of course they hadn't. She would never be that lucky.

All she wanted now was for this to be over. And yet even after breaking free from Crix’s clutches, it still felt like he had a hold over her.

“I made you some tea,” said Din in a sudden gentle voice, nodding over to the low table just a few feet away.

And there, just as he said, was a steaming brown terracotta cup filled with a fragrant tea.

Lysa’s heart fluttered.

She looked up at him again. “Thank you.” Thanking him now for the second time this morning.

Din Djarin having done more for her in a few short hours, than Crix had done in years.

She hated the fact that she had put up with the abuse and the torture for so long when someone like Din was here, so caring, so full of kindness. Something Lysa had not experienced from anyone in a long time.

She was truly grateful for all that he had done.

Gracing her with one final nod, Din turned and left the cabin once more.

“Patu!” called out Grogu, quickly hopping down from the seat and waddling off after his father.

Lysa watched him go, before turning back to her tea.

……

Din stood by the N-1, tools out on a patch of ground beside him.

It was mid-morning, the sun already high in the sky.

Toying with a large wrench in his hand, Din peered into the open compartment of his ship, a little distracted..

If he was honest there was nothing on the N-1 to even be tinkered with. His ship was running well and Peli Motto had sorted out any issues he had on his last visit to her.

But Din had been lingering out here, busying himself, merely to give Lysa space.

He knew she likely needed it.

Last night would have been intense for even the strongest of people.

But who was he kidding?

After what she had put up with for so long, Lysa was likely the strongest person he knew.

But knowing that she must have long-since drunk her tea already, Din half wondered whether he should go in to check on her.

But as fate would have it, Lysa emerged onto the porch a second or so later. As serene to him as a mirage in a desert.

Din quickly looked over at her, still in her rumpled cream dress, but he noted that her long golden hair was slightly damp around her shoulders.

Lysa offered him and Grogu, who was sat on the ground next to the pond nearby - distracted by a frog, a kind smile.

“I used your sonic shower,” she said in a gentle voice. “I hope that was ok?”

Din promptly gave a nod, tossing his wrench back into his toolbox and strolling casually over to her. But his heart inside his beskar, betrayed his cool demeanour, thumping loudly inside his ribs.

“Of course,” he replied in a low voice. “If there’s anything else you need just go ahead. I have food if you're hungry…”

Din knew that he would give her the entire galaxy if she asked for it.

But Lysa tilted her head, smiling down at him, as he came to stop at the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch where she stood.

To him, at this very second, she looked so beautiful. And the helmet-wearing Mandalorian couldn’t help the way he stared up at her, frowning beneath his beskar in longing for her.

“There is one thing…” she said. Her expression turning to one of mild apprehension.

Din’s frown deepened slightly as he nodded, prompting her to continue.

“Well….I’m guessing it might not be a good idea to go back to my home to stay…not while Crix is still out there at least,” she said, in a quiet voice, a look of worry crossing her pretty features for a brief moment, before she relaxed once more. “But do you think I’d be able to go there and pick up some…things?”

Her hands absentmindedly smoothing down the front of her cream dress nervously.

“Clothes and stuff, y’know…” she continued. “I’ve been wearing this since yesterday and it’s still dusty from working all day. I just don't feel very….clean. Even with a shower.”

The tops of her cheeks flushed slightly as she said the words.

But as much as Din understood, he felt a little wary of Lysa going into the city while Crix was still on the loose, and likely looking for revenge.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea-” he began, but Lysa gave a sudden playful frown, shooting him a look.

“Ok then,” she said crossing her arms over herself and stepping down two of the steps before her, until she was stood, just a step above Din, her hand resting easily on the railing beside her. “ In that case, do you have any clothes I can wear?

“I…uhh…” Din said quickly, staring up at her, a feeling a little lost for words.

Din had to admit that he didn't own any clothes save for a couple of dark tunics that he normally wore under his beskar. Nothing appropriate for Lysa, that was for certain.

“Well then what do you propose?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him and pursing her lips. “That I just walk around here naked until Crix is found and I can go home?”

At her words, Din gave a hard swallow, feeling his brow begin to perspire, trying as hard as he could not to imagine Lysa’s gorgeously naked body strutting around his cabin.

She was just a foot away from him now peering down at him with a playful grin, knowing full well she had him cornered.

Din gave a huff.

She knew how to play him, that was for sure.

The Mandalorian almost rolled his eyes behind his helmet before speaking.

“I don't think going anywhere on your own is a good idea. So…perhaps I can take you back to your apartment,” he said finally, his voice low and husky, placing his foot suddenly to the step that Lysa was stood on, penning her in slightly with his knee.

He saw Lysa glance down at this for the briefest of seconds, before narrowing her eyes and smirking up into his beskar-covered face once more.

“Like a chaperone?” she commented, sounding happy. Her words harking back to the time Lysa had first asked Din to escort her to the market. The first time Din had felt that real tug at his heart when he looked at her. That pull that told him that this was something more than just a fleeting moment of fancy.

And Din could only smile up at her now, giving a nod, as he replied.

“Like a chaperone.”

……………………………………….

Are you guys still enjoying this?

@its5-15wakeup @thecraftyartist @crazypaine @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @marysucks-blog @siimiasoi

[thetruearchmagos]

Delightful Dining

Bardish Roasthouses, In Brief

Hey folks! Managed to squeeze this bit of Worldbuilding out, just about. Hope you like it!

Tagging @athenswrites @theprissythumbelina @hessdalen-globe @caxycreations @thatndginger @username-cause-i-need-one

The Practice

The Bardish Roasthouse is a form of dining establishment commonly found in the urban centres of the Republic of Bardin. As the name would suggest, they primarily serve large portions of various forms of roast meat, commonly lamb, beef, and chicken, accompanied by assorted dishes unique to each individual House.

Roasthouses are primarily communal establishments, catering to large groups of diners. Their basic configuration centers on an 'island', where the large pillars of meat roast on spits while displayed to diners arrayed around them. Low tables surround the island, which can fit half a dozen or more, seated on cushions or the lavish carpeting. Rice, stewed vegetables, and rich pastries are common accompaniments to the meat, though more exotic dishes are served by some less orthodox Houses.

The History

A stable fixture of the modern Bardish culinary scene, the Roasthouse is the product of a long tradition of communal dining dating back centuries, well before the earliest historical records of the region were made. It is thought that they are an evolution of the practices of the once nomadic forebears of Bardin, who lived off the land as they drifted across the region and relied on shared cooking utensils and equipment. Having settled down to form their numerous city states across the North Alphanian coast, many of their practices were adapted to suit more sedentary lifestyles.

The Roasthouse was one such adaptation, providing a fixed location for a community to gather and feast. And yet, while the basic communal spirit of dining remained a key element of the Roasthouse 'experience', some such establishments would take on a different role in the rapidly changing social fabric of Bardish life and society.

As the region's commercial interests and political machines both rapidly expanded, many Roasthouses began to cater exclusively to these upper crusts of society, with prices to match. They became a comfortable place to settle matters of business, and a confidential one for the countless political movers and shakers vying for the chance to shape the course of the land. Such establishments would gain an air of mystery to them, surviving even the formation of the Republic and unification of the realm to continue serving these special customers.

Because of this, many Roasthouses would never entirely shake off their association with shady dealings and unseemly practices. A number of famous Bardish commercial and political scandals have featured private Roasthouse dealings prominently, occasionally leading to calls for their investigation. However, as the general quality of life of the Bardish citizenry continues to stay fairly well off, the institution of the Roasthouse has again opened itself to all comers, and has remained a major element in that society's rich social fabric.

The Manners

Probably the most curious aspect of the most traditional Roasthouse experience comes with the cutlery, or lack thereof. Aside from the region's common practice of dining with hands, it is often expected that diners will come to the table with their own sets of cutlery. Such items often serve as an excuse to display one's wealth and taste to their peers, or act as identifying symbols connected to various regions, organisations, or professions. For a commonly subdued society, this practise is often seen by foreigners as an unusually ostentatious display.

[genjispeace]

Price of Love - Chapter Four

A knock on your door pulls you out of a sleep that wasn’t quite long enough. You sigh and try to fight back a yawn, but it slips out anyway. You pull yourself away from the warmth of the bed and manage to trudge to the door, yanking it open. You expect to see Genji standing there, but he is nowhere in sight. Instead, Reyes stands on the other side of the door with his brown hair tucked into a beanie and his hands behind his back. His dark eyes scan you up and down. You shift your weight to your other foot, feeling bare under his gaze. He tuts, then his gaze raises to your eyes. 

“Good morning,” he says, the gruff in his voice still there. 

“Morning,” you say, but it sounds more like a question. Why is he here? 

“Walk with me?” He says. You hesitate. Him and Genji didn’t seem to agree on things earlier. If Genji is the one that you feel like you can trust, can you trust Reyes? He pulls one of his hands from behind his back and drops a pair of slippers to the ground in between you. You stare at them, the fuzzy blue fabric sticking out against the floor. They look comfortable.

“An extra pair. You can walk barefoot, if you would rather,” he grunts. You step into the slippers quickly. You genuinely think he would drag you where he wants you to go, so you want to make it easier on yourself. The soft material cushions your feet in a perfect way. He steps out of the doorway and you follow, the two of you starting to walk down the long hallway. 

“Where are we going?” You find yourself asking after a few minutes of silence. 

“To see a colleague of mine,” he says simply. You try to think about who you know that you could be going to see. You know him and Genji work together, but something in the back of your mind tells you not to ask about that. 

You long to ask another question, twenty more maybe, but nothing comes out. You know you need as much information as possible, but Reyes doesn’t seem like the type to easily give away answers. Instead of talking more, you start trying to memorize each turn you take and try to commit a makeshift map in your head. You eventually reach a door that Reyes pushes open, not even checking to make sure you are following him. 

As soon as you take a step in, the smell of chemicals starts to choke you. It’s almost a doctor’s office, but something deep in your chest tells you that isn’t the case. Different machines beep around you, vials of multi-colored liquids line the wall. There’s a desk in the middle of the room, the person in the chair seemingly waiting on your arrival. 

You know the person in that lab coat. Moira.  red hair is cut short and her striking multi-colored gaze watches you. Her eyes trail down to your chest, to the hems of your shirt, then back up. She snorts, as if she’s biting back a bitter laugh. 

“I hear your condition is improving,” Moira says. Her voice is kind, but there’s something lurking under those eyes that you don’t quite trust. 

“Angela helped me,” you say quietly.  Reyes leads you to the desk Moira is seated at, dropping into one of the chairs and motioning at the other. You drop awkwardly into the white chair. It feels stiff under you.

“She isn’t the only one that has been helping you,” Moira says. Does she mean Genji? You do your best to not react to her almost accusatory tone. 

“Why am I here?” You try to shift the subject away from Genji.

“We bought you. Surely you haven’t forgotten that already,” Moira chuckles with the words. You aren’t sure if it’s how she talks or if it’s directed at you, but all of her words seem to have a bite to them. 

“I meant in this room.” You narrow your eyes. You don’t want half-answers.

“We just want to ask you some questions,” Reyes finally speaks again. 

“I’ve told you already. I don’t know anything about Talon,” you snap out. How many times are you going to have to say that?

“You don’t think you know anything. Memory is strange sometimes.” Moira leans back in her chair and brings her hands together, steepling her fingers. Genji’s words come back to you. Moira could dig in your head for things you may not actively remember. 

“Anything I may have learned is gone,” you mutter. You truly don’t think you know anything, but if you happened to subconsciously pick anything up, it is gone now. 

“Maybe not,” Reyes says, leaning forward in his chair. He rests his elbows on his legs and his eyes lock with yours. A shiver runs along your neck, like an ice cube was there. 

“I could get it out,” Moira says. Isn’t that exactly what Genji asked her not to do? You shake your head. 

“You are not touching my head,” you say, standing from your chair with your words. You turn to leave the room, but only get a few steps before Reyes appears in front of you, a thin cloak of black smoke surrounding him. You jump, a scream almost escaping your throat. He was just…

“Did we say you can make that choice?” He growls out. A cold hand presses against your temple, a sharp nail scratching against your skin. You know it’s Moira without turning around, but how she moved so quickly and silently is beyond you. 

“We own you, now. Whatever is in this head is mine now,” Moira’s words bring a chill to you. You truly believe she will dig into your head without any concern about what may happen. Reyes watches you closely, and you can feel Moira’s eyes on you as well. You try to think of something quickly, but no idea comes. You couldn’t run, Reyes has you blocked in with his body. 

“Moira, enough!” A voice calls out from behind Reyes, by the door you came through. You try to look over his shoulder, but he’s taking up too much space. “You said no harm would be done!”

“Angela, we are not all entitled to the same patience you are,” Moira calls back, her fingers still on your temples. You hear high heels clicking on the tile and eventually you can see the blonde that was yelling at Moira. Reyes tries to block her off, standing in between you two. You reach up and plant your hands in his chest, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge. You start to feel cold sweats along your neck and your heart picks up in your chest. Could Angela convince them to let you go? 

“Moira, let them go,” Angela says, her voice sounding like it is between gritted teeth. You try to wiggle out from under Moira’s touch, but she digs her nails into your skin and pain radiates from where they connect. A shrill scream escapes your throat as your head starts to throb with her touch. 

“Come on, Angela. They could be so easily forgotten about, and we could gain insight on Talon. Think of how many lives we could save,” Moira says. Her voice is thick and sweet, as if she is trying to persuade Angela. Moira digs her nails in fraction more, and the pain spiderwebs throughout your body. A few tears start to escape your eyes and run down your cheeks. Angela starts to say something, but is interrupted by something. You try to look past the tears muddling your vision, and see a long blade pressed against Reyes’s throat. It partly glows a shade of red. Reyes starts to back away from you slowly, raising his hands up. 

“You fool,” Moira mutters out. Her grip eases, but not enough for you to be able to slip away from her. You look to the other end of the blade and your heart jumps in your chest when you see Genji there. His red eyes are shining bright and his gaze is focused on where the blade is hovering above Reyes’s throat. 

“Let them go.” Genji’s voice is low and muffled by the mask. You can’t help the feeling of relief you get when you hear his voice again. 

“Genji, enough. They aren’t your little plaything,” Reyes bites out. You wince at the way they look at each other, like they could rip each other’s throats out in the blink of an eye. They probably could. 

“What happened to no harm?” Genji asks. His voice is practically laced with venom. 

“Since when do you care about that, hm? If I recall, you were all too joyous to slit the throat of every Talon member you’ve seen. You have just as much blood on your hands as I do,” Reyes yells back. You scowl. You knew Genji was dangerous. He had to be. But…hearing that he has taken joy in killing people feels like a complete shock. That is nothing like the Genji you met, like the one who bandaged your neck last night, like the one who brought you clean clothes. 

“This is different,” Genji whispers. 

“It isn’t,” Moira says. “I’ll do the same thing to this one as I have to everybody else. And you will move on.”

Moira barely finishes her sentence before her nails dig back in and the pain returns. It feels like she is sucking your very lifesource out, and another scream escapes your mouth. Voices start yelling, but they all fade together as the pain starts to take over. You try to say Genji’s name, but you aren’t sure if the words form. 

The only warning that Genji moves is the wisp in the air. Hands wrap around your waist and pull you free from Moira’s grip, the pain immediately subsiding as you are out of her grasp. Tears continue to stream down your cheeks as you are nearly carried out of the room. You lean against the body carrying you, knowing that it’s Genji. You feel safe in his arms, even if you know deep down that is probably misguided. You whimper against him, holding back a sob. He doesn’t let go of you until the two of you are in a room and the door is closed behind him. He sits you down gently on a chair, but you barely notice. Sobs continue to rock your entire body, not just from the pain Moira was inflicting, but from everything else too. 

Genji reaches out to comfort you, and you actually wince away from his touch. Reyes’s words keep repeating through your head like some sick mantra. Genji’s hands are just as bloody as theirs, just as bloody as Moira’s, who you truly believe would have killed without any hesitation. It’s all so confusing.

“I won’t hurt you,” Genji says softly, but doesn’t try to touch you again. He kneels on the floor in front of you, but just lets you cry it all out. And you do. You cry until your eyes burn and your lips are quivering. You cry until your throat starts to sting and your chest feels heavy. 

Eventually, once your eyes are swollen and your face is blotchy, you finish crying. You raise your face and see Genji still kneeling on the ground, carefully watching you. The usual shine in those crimson eyes is gone, giving them an almost dull appearance. He starts to reach out to you, but he pulls away quickly. You sniffle as you look at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Is it true?” You whisper out. “You’ve enjoyed killing people before?” 

“Yes, but not without reason,” Genji says. Part of you is happy he didn’t try to lie to you, but part of you still wishes there was another answer. 

“What’s stopping you from killing me too?” You say with another sniffle. It’s a petty thing to say, and you know that, but you can’t help it. 

“You’re…not like them,” Genji says after a pause. It’s like he can’t decide how he wants to say anything. 

“What does that even mean?” You laugh, but there is no humor to the sound. 

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. 

“Will I ever be able to go home?” You change the subject. You want away from all of this, away from Moira, away from Reyes. 

“I don’t know,” Genji repeats. He leans forward, until he is up on his knees and just a few inches away from you. Your fingers twitch with the desire to reach out to him. You can’t deny how drawn you are to him, whether that be a good thing or not. You shouldn’t trust him. 

“Just give me some time, okay? I’ll figure something out, and keep Moira away from you,” Genji says. His crimson gaze watches over you, flicking across your face wildly. You find yourself nodding, despite the tiny voice in the back of your head screaming not to trust him. 

“How will you keep Reyes and Moira away from me? They seem…motivated,” you say quietly. The pain from Moira’s touch still lingers under your skin, and you’re pretty sure you might see Reyes’s face in your nightmares.

“I’ll figure something out, but for now, I want you to stay as close to me as possible, okay?” Genji says. It makes sense. He wants you to stay near him so that he can protect you from them, but your mind seems to only want to focus on the fact that Genji is just as deadly as they are. 

“I’ll protect you here, okay?” His voice sounds so genuine, you find yourself almost melting. If he’s lying to you, he’s damn good at it. 

“Okay,” you whisper softly. Part of you believes that he will truly protect you. Though, you don’t know if that is you being foolish. 

[stardustandash]

In the Quiet of the Night - Jedi Survivor

Read on ao3

The kids are finally, finally down for the count. Sure, Cal’s passed out on the sofa in the lounge and BD-1 is getting oil all over the cushions, but at least he’s sleeping. Merrin at least had the sense to drag herself into her room and he hasn’t heard anything coming out of there since, so she’s probably asleep or at least keeping herself out of trouble. The Mantis is safely on autopilot in hyperspace, and unless something crazy happens, like a whale crossing through their hyperspace lane, there’s no danger to worry about up front.

Greez has the finest bottle of booze stashed on the Mantis in hand. He’s had it for years. Never felt like there was the right occasion to open it before, but now Greez has a whole newfound appreciation for how fast life can pass him by. He makes one stop on his journey through the ship. Where he’s going he’s going to need something warm. Great Uncle Alzi’s hand-knit blanket should do just fine. After all, any latero blanket stitched on four needles at once was far superior to anything else the rest of the galaxy deemed comforting. He wraps it around his shoulders as he continues his weary march through the quiet ship. It’s just him and the engines awake now. He supposes he should be grateful Cal is out in the lounge adding even more stains to the already ruined potolli weave. Kid sleeps lighter than a kriffing scrap rat on a gallon of caf and would absolutely wake up if he was on his usual bunk as Greez slips through the engine room and down to the lower decks.

Its rare that the Mantis’ lower decks are in use. There’s a few extra bunks down here, probably meant for the crew of whatever rich asshole owned the ship, but they’ve remained empty of people the entire time Greez has had her. Instead they’re full of odds and ends accumulated over the years. Cal’s put some new stuff in them, but they’re still mostly full of the junk from before the kid even joined the crew. Greez makes his way past the bunks to the big door right in the belly of the ship. He takes a breath, wraps the blanket tight around his shoulders, and enters the code to open the door.

A wave of cold air washes over him. The cargo hold on a luxury yacht comes with climate control separate from the rest of the ship. Greez used to use it as extra cold storage for food. Longer between resupplying meant they could stay moving and keep out of reach of the Empire. It’s been turned to the coldest setting. Freezing, actually. The cargo in the Mantis’ belly now is the most precious of all and the cold is protecting them.

Two shrouded figures lie as ceremoniously as they can atop the empty cargo chests strapped to the floor of the hold. Greez stands before one. Even with the lumpy wrappings he knows its Cere. He could recognize her anywhere.

The first tears that come aren’t a surprise. They run warm down his chin and he scrapes a hand over his face. This is been a bad idea. Most of his ideas are bad ideas, and the person who was always able to tell him that is, unfortunately, the same person lying beneath the dusty cloth in front of him.

“Oh, shove over a little will you?” mutters Greez.

He says that, but Greez doesn’t dare touch Cere as he hops up to sit on the cargo crate by what he thinks is her hip. He gives her shrouded face a glance before popping open the bottle and taking a deep, long drink.

“I don’t think I can do this without you,” says Greez. “The kids, the Hidden Path stuff, any of it.”

He rolls the bottle between his hands. Cere had been the one to buy it. To celebrate when they found a Jedi. Neither of them had bothered to point out that the bottle had been half off in a pawn shop on Corellia and therefore just about in their price range. Then their Jedi turned out to be a jumpy little whisp of a kid who barely qualified as either a Jedi or an adult, but that didn’t deter Cere. Or the Empire. Cal had a target on his back no matter what, and despite all his talk Greez wasn’t exactly heartless enough to toss a teenager to the wolves. The celebratory drinks therefore turned into celebratory meals. Not that Greez complained about the chance to show off his cooking. The kid was too skinny then, he’s still too skinny now, and has always been appreciative of Greez’ cooking. Merrin too.

Greez likes his role on the ship. He is the Captain and the cook, and sometimes he has a hand in teaching Cal and Merrin a little bit about life in the big wide galaxy. But he isn’t the one the two of them rely on. Cal and Merrin need Cere. They need her wisdom and kindness and all that Force crap that the three of them love so much.

 The drink goes down smooth. Too bad. Greez longs for the burn that lets him know he’s being self-destructive.

He could so easily let himself spiral. Greez has been there before. Lost in booze and sabacc and getting in with the worst sort of people the galaxy has to offer. Then he had the two best wins of his life, first the Mantis, then Cere. He might not have won the game against her but he ended up with a friend for life. More than a friend. There isn’t a word for what he and Cere are, were, to each other. They were family without blood, partners without romance, a package deal. Even if they had gone their separate ways to opposite ends of the galaxy they were still them. Greez sighs heavily. It felt like they had more time. That they would have this new adventure then maybe he and Cere would settle down on Tanalorr together with her Hidden Path. Cere would grow her archive and he could cook for the refugees. He is sure the planet was full of new and unique ingredients, and BD-1 can make himself useful by scanning them for potential poison.

Now that future is gone. Cere is still and cold beside him. No more smiles or quiet jokes. No more complaints about the lack of quality teas on board or Greez’s cautious nature. No more late nights with a stiff drink and the quiet notes of her hallisket.

One cautious hand finds its way to Cere’s shoulder and the stiffness there feels so wrong. It hits him for real then, that this isn’t some kind of awful nightmare. The dam breaks, and Greez cries in earnest. The cargo hold is reinforced, so the kids won’t hear his wailing as he loses himself in his grief. He buries his face in two hands to hide the sight of her body, the other two gripping the bottle and Cere like they’ll go flying off without him to tether them. His chest heaves with sobs as he curses anything he can think of from the Empire to Cere herself in a voice that’s wet and garbled. Without really thinking he lifts the bottle, ready to throw it across the hold, when he blinks back to reality and slowly lowers it to his lap.

He's too old for this, Greez thinks. He feels all of his years weighing him down as he rolls the bottle between his hands. He’s too old and the kids are too young and kark it all Cere was too damn good for this galaxy.

“Wish you were here to tell me I’m being stupid,” says Greez. “Spout some of that Force crap about ‘not really dying’ or whatever. You know I’m no good at this emotional kinda stuff.”

The silence of the cargo hold echoes around Greez and he pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders. It’s freezing, but he can’t bring himself to get up and leave yet. The kids are asleep, the Mantis is bound back for Koboh, and he can afford one night to grieve the loss of the most important person in his galaxy. Tomorrow he’ll be strong for Cal and Merrin, and back to figuring out how to deal with that traitorous bastard Bode. But for tonight, here alone, he will sit with his grief and try to piece himself back together.