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thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 month

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Bratty!Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Tired of your antics regarding how cavalier you take your sexual relationship, your lieutenant cuts you off and that has you immediately plotting. You know you can get him to break and all it'll take is one purchase. How can he keep his resolve when he sees what you've bought? And how will he act when he catches you?

Word Count: 6.8 k

Warnings:

The office is silent now except for the distant sounds of movement filtering in from outside the door of people coming and going through the building. Your shirt clings in a rumpled mess to your body, sweat speckling across your limbs from that specific heat that gets shared between two bodies, euphoria still running through your veins when the man sitting beneath you speaks. “We’re not doin’ this again, so get that straight. Understand?”

You tilt your head to the side and raise a curious eyebrow, staring back into the face of your lieutenant as he gets you to your feet and grabs his shirt to throw it back over his head, covering his sweat-glistening torso. “Care to explain what you’re talking about or am I meant to just guess?” you ask with snark in your tone as you pick up the rest of your clothing off the floor.

Buttoning his pants and re-buckling his belt, he takes his time before answering as you finish and stand there impatient and agitated. “What the fuck did I say about startin’ stuff with me when I’m busy?” Lt. Riley questions back, his voice harsh. “Did ya think I was jokin’ or are ya just hell bent on gettin’ caught? Cause that’s what’s gonna fuckin’ happen if ya keep temptin’ me in the middle of the day.”

“You could turn me away,” you say with a roll of your eyes, “ever heard of self-control?”

Stepping up close to your body, the lieutenant grabs you by the chin and looks down his nose at you. “You’re too much of a distraction. And ya need to be taught a lesson, sweetheart; when I say somethin’ I fuckin’ mean it. Consider this my self-control.”

“Oh, gonna punish me now?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you pull your face out of his grasp with a flick of your head. “Okay, go ahead. Let’s see what you got.”

“Ya ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from me til I can be sure you’re gonna listen. You’re cut off, sweetheart, and until ya can learn, we’re done with this.”

You hold his gaze steadfast, not intimidated in the least. If he wants to play this game, then you’ll play it, but if he thinks this is going to end the way he wants, he is going to be sorely mistaken. “Fine.” You don’t argue, there is no sense to. “Have it your way, sir. Is that all?”

You’ll have it your way soon enough. All it’ll take is patience.

He doesn’t say anything, opting to sit back in the chair behind his desk without uttering another word. It is a gross miscalculation on Lt. Riley’s part not to immediately take your acceptance if his reprimand as a giant red flag, but if he isn’t willing to put his knowledge of your competitive temperament to use then that is fully on him; he is a big boy and since he wants to talk about consequences, then he should be ready to receive his own.

You double check yourself in silence before you leave his office with a smug sense of satisfaction, though a plan isn’t in mind just yet. It doesn’t matter really, the bigger they are the harder they fall and you are confident that you can make him fold with very little effort because despite being a man of mostly mystery, you know the intimate details of what makes that 6’4” military officer weak.

The day isn’t even over before you already have a plan in mind and it all involves one very specific item. It’s a shame you have to order it, but the time it’ll take to come in the post will work in your favor. Lt. Riley needs time to cool off, to miss his pretty thing, to let his appetite for you get ravenous again.

Patience was never your virtue unless it came to getting something you wanted, so you bore your restlessness in silence as you waited for your order to come in. You give the lieutenant his space without a fuss, letting him believe his little delusion that at any moment you’ll come crawling back ready to obey him just as he wants.

A week passes and then nearly another when finally you are gifted with your prize that comes in the evening mail that Friday. You can taste the sweetness of your retribution already as you rip into the package and pull out the smallest, tightest pair of jet black hot pants with white trim. No more keeping this body for his eyes only; if he doesn’t want to give you the attention you desire then someone else will.

You rush to your barracks the second the day comes to a close with your package in hand; you have only a short window of time to pull your entire plan together or you’ll be forced to wait till after the weekend and you are tired of waiting. Tonight is the night that you make your lieutenant come crawling back to you and stop with this nonsense.

The tiny swath of fabric covering your ass barely hides a damned thing from view, hugging around your hips like they are painted on and resting at the very top of your thighs so that the underside of your butt peeks out from below the hem. There is a slit that goes up the side and it is doing its job in making your legs look extra long while also showing as much skin as possible. It leaves almost nothing to the imagination for anyone who happens to look your way… and boy do you want as many eyes on you as you can get.

Let’s see him be steadfast in his resolve to teach you a lesson now.

With a head full of devious thoughts, you leave your room and head out onto base and into the oncoming night. Shoulders back and head held high you walk past the buildings with confidence on the way to your first stop of the night: the officers building. You had checked the clock just before you left, it’s nearly time now. He’ll be leaving his office soon and you need him to catch sight of you on the way to your second destination: the rec center.

How lucky it is that the lieutenant is a man of routine and so giving it another minute or two you step out in front of the building and start heading directly for the rec, though at a slower pace than usual. And sure enough, when you’re still within eyeshot, you hear the front door to the building open.

Stepping out into the cooler evening air, Lt. Riley looks up and his sight is captured by a figure moving just up ahead in the distance. People coming and going isn’t abnormal on a military base, but what really catches his attention is the familiarity of the body and the way that body is dressed. He is stunned in his tracks because you are barely wearing anything at all with shorts that look like they’ve been painted on. Paired with the tight black tank top you’ve chosen and you might as well be naked for all the covering it does. After a good almost two weeks of no action, the man is starved…but also curious as to where the fuck you are going dressed like this.

The best thing would have been for the lieutenant to turn tail and walk away, leave it and you alone, but as smart as Lt. Riley is when it comes to temptation the man is a goddamn fool that cannot help himself.

You are a good bit ahead by the time he takes action and decides to follow you, but he keeps the pace as heat floods his body from staring at the back of you walking away, desperately wanting to take a bite out of all that juicy meat tempting his gaze as it bounces with each sure-footed step you take. Fuck, he is a sucker for all the plump, tender parts of your body and having them on display like this is a regular buffet that he can’t help but soak up even with his nosiness into what exactly has you looking so killer.

Those auburn eyes of his continue to follow you as you come to the front of a building and enter. Now that you are out of view, he can think more clearly and he realizes that it’s the rec center that you’ve just entered. The closer the lieutenant gets, the more he catches raucous sounds of many voices braying like a pack of crazed hounds, making him quicken his steps that match his rising blood pressure until he stands just outside the doors to peer in without being detected yet.

Through the glass doors he can see towards the back of the main room that a group of privates surrounding the single government bought pool table with cues in hand are now circling you like wolves circling a wounded deer, practically begging you to join them for a few games while he knows that its only to get you to stay longer so that they can enjoy the view. It makes his blood boil to watch them ogle you like that, getting far too close to what isn’t theirs.

…to what belongs to him.

Standing in silence, now cloaked in darkness as night has fallen, he watches angrily as a private gets bold enough to place his hand at the small of your back just as you lean over the table to make your first shot and suddenly he is seeing red. He can barely comprehend anything through the angry haze clouding his vision, but he can feel the cold steel of the door handle in his hand as he wrenches it open and stalks inside as if he is ready to kill.

All eyes immediately drift towards the source of the sound. You look up through a giggle to see the form of the lieutenant standing there, sharp gaze boring straight into you specifically and the man who still has his hand on you.

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere,” that deep voice booms through the small space to quiet the rowdy bunch.

“Is there a problem, sir?” one of the more brave privates speaks up.

His sight doesn’t leave you. “Seems we need to have a chat about propriety,” he growls. “This is a military base, not a fuckin’ strip club.”

You smirk. “I don’t know what kind of strip clubs you frequent, sir, but I can assure you that this is more clothing than most will allow.”

A few of the privates snicker behind you, impressed with your audacity to backtalk someone as imposing as the skull-masked officer and that does nothing but add fuel to the fire.

“Come with me- now.” His voice is firm.

A collective “ooooh” passes around the bunch that is quickly quelled with one harsh glare. “If I were ya I would get back to my fuckin’ game,” Lt. Riley barks. “Or would you lot rather be placed on permanent fire guard to drive the goddamn point home, since ya want to meddle in an officer’s business?”

His command is absolute and none of the privates have the balls enough to question it. Quickly they scramble back to their game, keeping their heads down and eyes locked to the table. Whatever trouble you are about to get in is none of their concern, not when being reprimanded by the imposing lieutenant is on the line.

Satisfied, those amber eyes snap right back to you. “Move, now,” he demands and points towards an area of the rec that is blocked off by a wall, essentially cutting the room in two and will give enough privacy that the others inside won’t be able to witness what is about to transpire.

“Of course, sir,” you say in agreement without a syllable of dissention.

Turning on your heels you take off in the direction pointed out to you, walking ahead of the masked officer eagerly. He’s mad; there is no need to turn around, you can feel his glare on you the entire walk over and it makes you smile. You’ve hit the nerve you had hoped to. Now to bring it all home and get your lover back the way you want.

As soon as you make it behind the cover of the corner his hand is on your waist as he shoves you into the wall with brute force. Your back hits it and you let out a surprised gasp. He stands towering over top of you, a powerfully intimidating figure with a massive presence to match as he glares you down with fire in his gaze.

“Can I fucking help you?” you ask as you quickly regain your composure.

Christ, when you want to get his attention you sure know how to do it. “What the fuck do ya think you’re doin’, hmm?” he questions back heatedly. “Puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for all the privates? Do ya fuckin’ think this appropriate, what ya got on?”

Something about having this conversation with the barrier of his balaclava covering his face infuriates you as if this was any other time he would have already had it off his face. “You think you can just treat me like everyone else after all we’ve done? Fuck you; take off the mask when you’re talking to me.”

His eyes narrow as he shakes his head side to side. “You don’t get to make demands a me anymore, princess.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge back. “That what you think?”

Leaning in a bit closer, you can feel the heat of his breath even as it filters through the fabric. “That’s what I know. Now answer the question. Do ya think this is appropriate?”

Your shrug is nonchalant. “For field work? Well, it depends on the climate I suppose. That doesn’t really apply here does it, since we are still on base. Why? Do you have a problem with it?”

A sharp hiss of air exits rapidly out of his nose. “Like hell I do,” he says and suddenly you can make out the feel of his fingertips as they toy around with the fabric at the edge of your shorts. He lets them brush against your outer thigh as he follows the line of the hem up the slit that goes higher towards your hip. There is electricity in his touch and it makes your pulse start to race. “You're distracting my men. An outfit like this is askin’ for attention. Whose fuckin’ attention ya tryin’ to get, hmm?”

“Who said anything about attention?” you question him back as if you can’t possibly understand what all the fuss is about. “I just wanted to be comfortable. You know, unwind and all that after a long week.”

“Comfortable,” he scoffs as he rolls the fabric in between his fingers. “Ya barely have a god damned thing on.”

“Maybe that’s how I feel most comfortable,” you push, your reply a little more breathy. “You of all people should know that.”

Oh you are walking on thin ice, lying to him like this. He is not that innocent that he can’t tell what you’re doing and you are not that naive to think that he won’t immediately figure it out. Harshly grabbing your chin, he holds your face firm in his grasp as his dark eyes shadowed within the confines of his mask stare back into your own.

“Don’t ya lie to me, sweetheart,” he says, that gruff voice metered and unyielding in its severity. “The way ya were just eatin’ up how those boys reacted, I know ya didn’t fuckin’ dress like a slag for nothin’.”

“Are they not allowed to look, Simon?” you ask without missing a beat and using his name as if it’s a curse.

The question hangs in that air as Simon shifts in his stance while not saying a word, eyes narrowing as he realizes that there is no right way for him to answer that without giving himself away that he has dug himself into trouble.

A smug grin crosses your lips before you try to lick it away. “Ah, so that’s the problem right? That they were looking at me? Strange, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were… jealous. But that can’t be right, can it Simon? Because I thought I was cut off and that you were done, so it’s all fair game yeah? Unless there is something you want to fess up to?”

Simon’s chiseled jaw twitches under his mask as his eyes shimmer; you are pushing it, though why is he even surprised. “Ya better watch it, luv,” he warns under his breath as his grip along your chin tightens. “You are playin’ with fire and if ya ain’t careful, your pretty little fingers are gonna fuckin’ burn.”

And before you are even made conscious of it, your mind immediately knows what to say in response. You hold his gaze steadfast in your own. “Make me.”

Those two little words and their variations are Simon’s kryptonite and you know it; that’s what got you on his cock in the first place. Nothing else can make that man go feral than a threat from a bratty bitch that puts him in the position to show them the consequences of what their cocky attitudes get them.

You smirk, satisfied with how you seem to have the upper hand in this little confrontation. Simon is now in a place where he will either have to admit he still wants you and that his threat meant nothing or he will have to let you go… and you know by the rapid increase in the rise and fall of his chest the longer you stand between him and the wall that the latter is looking less and less likely.

“Still waiting on your answer,” you say with a smug, satisfied grin spread across your lips, “or is it that if you say anything, it’ll make it clear that you are now regretting a certain… decision… you so hastily made?”

God, you know just how to rile him up in the exact way that both infuriates and entices him. His devil with a pretty face, his sin that feels like heaven; he is drawn to your stubbornness like a moth is drawn to a flame.

“Ya vicious little bitch,” he says, the words sharp.

Gotcha, you think to yourself. You have that serious military officer right where you want him. Now all you have to do is go in for the kill. You take a step into him even with your chin still secure in his grasp. “Oh yeah,” you respond, your voice husky. “As if you don’t fucking love it.”

You are met with only silence as a shiver runs straight through him. He’s barely able to react in time to hide its presence, but grits his teeth hard and stifles any movement other than the rapid breaths he continues to take.

“Cat got your tongue?” you ask and wait for a response that doesn’t come; you don’t expect it to. “That’s what I thought. So, here’s how it’s going to work: I’m gonna wear what I want, when I want, and if you don’t like how others react to my wardrobe then that’s on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a game to return to.”

Pulling your head back forcefully out of his grip, his strong, rough fingers release your chin and he watches as you make your move to step past him, but he can’t let this go like he had originally planned. This is the game you both play and he just can’t quit you. You are his, his, and he isn’t going to just let you forget that. You barely take the first few steps around him headed back the way you came when you hear Simon mutter under his breath.

“Fuck,” the sigh hits your ears before his arm jettisons out and grabs you by the wrist.

Your body is spun around and pulled into him, your back flush against his warm chest as he leans himself back against the wall. His hand shoots up to cover over your mouth, cupping across your cheeks to stifle any sound that may come from the shock of his action. Sure enough you gasp into his palm as he straps you to his chest by locking you in place with his other arm.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, princess,” he grunts lowly into your ear.

Stoic and silent he pushes a knee up through the gap in your legs to widen them before his hand slinks down your abdomen, over your pants, and comes to rest against your sex. That large palm now nestled in between your thighs presses up into you and it only takes a few seconds for Simon to realize that he can feel the lips of your pussy straight through the thin fabric of your pants without any barrier. No panties, really?

You fucking witch. You planned this, didn’t you?

There are still soldiers hanging about, out of sight for the moment, but still not something that is conducive for such an encounter. He wouldn’t risk something like this…would he? What you think is going to be a quick touch and pull back turns into his hand locking to your pussy as he begins to massage it through your pants. He pushes his fingers up through the cloth until he can feel the outline of your clit on his fingertips.

A quiet chuckle falls from your lips behind his handmade muzzle as his fingers make contact with the crotch of your shorts and you feel his chest jerk as he struggles to catch his breath. Feel something you like, lieutenant? you think as the corners of your mouth upturn against his skin.

A moan barely squeaks out from around his hand before he presses it harder against your lips. “Don’t need someone catchin’ us, do we? Not til I’m finished with ya.”

Those heated words cause your heart to race violently, thudding strong against your ribcage to match a certain throbbing growing in strength between your thighs.

“You gonna keep quiet?” he asks and you nod in his hand. “Don’t make me regret it or else, princess.”

Simon removes his palm and wraps his arms around your waist; you’re not going anywhere. “We could still get caught, you know,” you say softly, stumbling over your words as his fingers continue to play.

“Ya should've thought of that before ya tempted me with this fuckin’ skin, luv,” he murmurs against the side of your head. There is no way in hell you are getting out of these shorts without him fucking you out of them, he will stop only when he can feel a wet spot soaking through the crotch. “ ‘Sides, maybe I want that prick that had his fuckin’ hands on ya ta see that he doesn’t stand a chance.”

He won’t, he has never been the type to share but the threat serves its purpose. The boys at the pool table continue to distract themselves, but who knows how long that will last. If they come creeping over, there is no way they won’t instantly know what is happening. And yet over and over his large fingers grind against your clit until it begins to ache.

“Gimme your hand,” he searches for the appendage, only to be met with resistance once he locates it.

“I said give,” he reiterates the point in that more authoritative tone he is used to using with his men.

You shake your head that still rests in his grasp; you don’t want to make this easy for him. If he wants something he is going to have to work for it. Encapsulating your wrist in his hand, the muscles along his forearm strain as he drags your arm up from your side. He takes your hand firmly in his, fingers lacing themselves over the top of your own as he descends them both down the front of your body and slips them into the waistband of your shorts. No time is wasted in bringing them directly between your legs, parting through your warm, soft lips, and nestling both sets of fingers inside.

“Gonna need ya ta participate in this part,” he says, low and bassey at the side of your face. “You’re fuckin’ achin’ bad, aren’t ya? Christ luv, I can already feel how swollen your clit is.”

Simon keeps your conjoined fingers resting up against that tiny bundle of nerves. There is a tension-filled pause as he takes a deep, labored breath as the end of his thought hangs anxiously in the air, waiting for him to finish it. His lips are right at the threshold of your earlobe, you can feel their presence as they ghost near the tender flesh, the skin tingling as his warm breath wafts over the area.

You suddenly realize the lack of oxygen filling your lungs as he finally speaks. “Let’s make it worse,” he growls.

A shiver snakes through your spine as he forces your fingers to work in tandem with his in rolling circles over your sensitive clit, stroking again and again in a steady rhythm that he has set.

“Best hope they decide to leave soon, sweetheart,” he breathes the words into your ear as he rests his forehead against your temple. “Cause if ya want me to let ya fuckin’ come, they’re gonna have to be gone. Until then we’re just gonna have to keep ya wet and fuckin’ ready.”

His phallus pulses against your ass through his pants, bobbing with his racing heartbeat as it prods into the cheek of your ass. A struggled, shaky breath escapes your lips as he moves his hips to press it into you; your sanity is hanging on by a thread. All you want is for him to bend you over, rip your shorts down, and thrust inside, but no matter how much you rub against it he does not take the bait.

Time passes so much slower as you stay strapped to him, his hand and yours shoved down the front of your shorts keeping you wet. Your sanity is beginning to wane; no one should be expected to keep it together when a lover who knows your body like the back of his hand is using everything to his advantage to keep you aching.

Pressure gathering in the pit of your stomach only to dissipate before it can ever come to fruition, over and over Simon brings you to the brink only to back off once you get close enough. It feels like eternity in the haze of his capable fingers working your body before the men finally decide that they have had enough with standing around the quiet center when the local bar is just a short drive down the road and head out, completely forgetting that they haven’t seen either you or the lieutenant for quite some time, but they also haven’t seen either of you leave.

The moment the door shuts and the last sounds of talking can be heard drifting off into the distance, you are released and again turned only to be shoved back against the wall. Simon is immediately pressed against you, one knee collapsing into the wall between your legs as your hands greedily claw at the cloth gathered at base of his neck, fingers pulling up the bottom of his mask without hindrance so that they can get underneath it and push it up to expose his hungry mouth. A devilish, toothy grin waits to meet you as the fabric is removed; he’s proud of the desperation he has left you in.

“They’re gone,” you say with a heavy bit of neediness. “I did what you said.”

“Ya want me ta give it to ya now, that it?” he asks with a smug sense of self satisfaction.

“You promised,” you shoot back, the agony of waiting becoming unbearable the longer he takes.

His face inches in closer to yours, hot breath meeting and wafting over the skin on your lips as he exhales. “Ya think this is gonna be some sorta reward?” he asks, his voice lowering into the deeper part of his register, that gravely vibrato that turns your legs into jelly just from the sound.

Those full lips of his ghost over your own, making the skin quiver from the proximity. Your mouth parts open as suddenly you feel like you can’t get enough air while waiting in misery for him to break and crash on you with all of his desire. A breathy gasp escapes through the gap as that thick thigh of his presses up into your pussy. He has you right where he wants you now.

“Ya still got a fuckin’ lesson ta learn, princess,” he says. “So, I’m gonna have ta fuck the attitude til it comes drippin’ right out of ya.”

And with that he leans down and forcefully connects your lips together so that your head hits the wall behind you. Fiery and aggressive he embraces your mouth again and again, lips fighting for dominance with each new connection. Breath and spit are shared as the wet smacking sounds of skin on skin hits the air and fills up the quiet of the place.

You haven’t gotten your fill yet, but suddenly you find your body being lifted into the air and carelessly flung over one of his broad shoulders as he drags you back into the middle of the room. He eyes his destination the moment it comes into view from around the wall and quickly makes his way over to it; somewhere he can put you so he can get to work.

Your backside makes contact with the smooth felt of the pool table as Simon sets you down on top of it. The cool surface of the rails raises goosebumps on the back of your thighs as he situates you right at the edge. No longer pressed together, a spot of cold radiates from his thigh and he looks down to see a present you have left for him right on the fabric.

“Look what ya did,” he growls, pointing to the obviously darker patch on the inner thigh of his jeans. “Made a fuckin’ mess.”

“Whose…ng…fucking fault is that?” you whimper, adjusting yourself as every little movement puts pressure on your aching clit.

“And I’d do it again ta keep my brat in line,” he smirks as his irises sparkle like a predator locking on to its prey. “Now, open your fuckin’ legs.”

You widen the gap between your thighs more, but he still has to use his hips to shove them open enough that he can fit in until he is right up against you. The sharp edge of his teeth cuts into the plump flesh of your bottom lip as he sucks it into his mouth to give it a hard nip. He swallows down the harsh groan you produce at his delicious brand of roughness like it’s honey. Every single sound you make in response to his actions is music to his ears.

“Need ya ta know this type a shit isn’t gonna fly with me.”

Fingertips play around the perimeter of your cunt until he hooks them through the cool, damp crotch of your pants and wrenches them to the side to expose your entrance. “Let’s ruin these fuckin’ things,” he smugly says as he works with one hand to undo his pants and slide both that and his boxers down his thighs until his cock pops out of the waistband and stands hard and throbbing for you. “Don’t ever wanna see these goddamn things again after tonight.”

His vice-like grip on the crotch of your shorts causes a few of the overly taut threads to snap as he holds the fabric out of his way to align the swollen head of his cock with that dripping, aching hole he’s been working so that it’s already ready to take him in. You can feel the tip of his hard girth push against the moist skin before he bucks his hips and it strains through the barrier. His grip moves to your waist to force your body further down on him as you whine, the stretch overwhelming, but divine.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, princess? Why you wore these tight fuckin’ things, yeah? Ya tryin’ ta make me take ya like an animal?” he grunts, the feel of your tight, silky walls fluttering around his cock as he fills you full threatening to send him straight to hell.

“The moment I saw ya in ‘em I thought I was gonna lose control. Been a while since I had ya. That on purpose too?”

You fall backward against the table, your back arching up off it and your eyes roll back into your head as he pulls you down while slamming the length of his phallus up into you until he reaches the base. He doesn’t give you a moment to gather your sanity and instead snaps his hips into you, the intensity in each stroke causing your body to jolt over the felted surface.

“Look at me,” he grunts as he reaches out to grab at your chin and pull you back up to him, “look - at - me.”

You’re unable to deny him when he’s thrusting so deep and your eyes open to meet his gaze again. “You’re mine, ya hear?” he breathes the words desperate and firm. “Nobody else can look at ya like this, got it? Nobody.”

His breath hitches a moment as a shudder runs through his cock from the way you tighten around it. “Those boys out there mighta gotten a show tonight, but that’s the last they’ll ever get,” he growls more intensely. “Don’t even want ‘em to think they have a fuckin’ chance wit ya cause you belong ta me. You were made for me, princess. Only me.”

Harder and harder he pounds into your pussy with a need that feels like it cannot be quenched no matter how deep he goes. “And nobody else - nobody else- ya don’t need anyone else ‘sides me. Say it.”

A pathetic whimper is all he gets in response as his cock digs in deep, but that isn’t good enough. You’re gonna do exactly as he says and repeat it - out loud. His grip around your face tightens.

“Say it,” he demands again.

“Don’t… need a-anyone…else…” you stammer out as it is a struggle now to speak.

Then you hear it, the distinct sound of fabric beginning to rip. The seam along the crotch has had too much strain put on it and it is starting to give, threads ripping more steadily the harder Simon thrusts. God, that sound is the catalyst to you suddenly feeling wild, like all you want him to do is shred the fucking things off of you by screwing you out of them. It’s at that moment that familiar warmth begins to gather in your belly. It won’t be long now and you’ll be spilling.

“Say: you’re the only one I fuckin’ want,” he insists as he clenches to make his cock pulse inside of you.

Simon’s wide hand slides down from your chin to just at the base of your throat where he wraps it around and gives it a light squeeze for emphasis. The pressure feels like heaven amongst all the stimulation and trying to keep your eyes on him and speak at the same time is nearly impossible, but find your words soon enough.

You lick your parched lips. “You’re the only one I want, Simon,” you moan.

“Again.”

“You’re the only one I will ever want, Simon.”

Another couple of desperately strong thrusts. “And you’re gonna listen from now on, yeah?”

“Yes!” you blurt out.

He pulls you by the throat so that you meet him in a kiss as his hips never stop snapping into you. “Such a fuckin’ obedient girl for me,” he groans against your mouth as he breaks free from it. “Now, let’s make ya come so ya never fuckin’ forget who it is that ya belong to.”

Releasing your neck, Simon brings his hand down, parting through your dripping lips to find your clit so that he can rub over it as he thrusts. There is not much more you can take now; all his work before has done its job to perfection and your body is falling apart so rapidly it feels like the nosedive off that first ddrop of a rollercoaster.

“G-gonna… gonna come, baby,” you stammer out. You bring your lips in closer to his, desperate to kiss him again, but the pleasure is just too much to handle that you devolve into simply panting instead.

He inhales in ragged breaths the sweet air from your mouth, his teeth grinding together the harder he thrusts. All those days without you have been frustrating as he waited for you to come crawling back. He missed the feeling of you wrapped around him and right now he needs you to come on his cock.

But this isn’t going to teach you what he wants. Pulling out amidst your whined protests, he pulls you off the table onto your feet and spins you around before pushing your upper body down while guiding you to spread your stance wider and ripping the crotch of your pants aside again, this time he doesn’t hesitate to enter you.

From this angle the penetration is even deeper and as his finger finds that tiny bud of nerve endings again, you are right back where you want to be - a mess ready to explode.

“Come for me.” He is demanding while trying to hold it all together. “Now.”

Harder and harder he pushes, thrusting and stroking, and like the flick of a switch all that heat and all that pressure culminates in an explosion that has you crying out loudly as you come with force, your back arching to pull you away from his grasp. Waves wash through your body as the intensity of your orgasm shakes through you until your legs are vibrating around his hips.

The moment you cry out he allows himself to let go, finally finished with his task, and fucking you through your orgasm he comes so hard that he has to grab the sides of the pool table to keep himself upright. Grunting like an animal he coats your walls and thrusts his cum continuously back up into you until he is spent and cannot go another second.

Simon stays inside as you both come back down from that exhilarating high, two glistening bodies conjoined at the forehead with eyes closed until he has enough strength to pull his sensitive cock carefully out of you. Both of your mixed juices follow his cock out, dribbling out of your entrance to collect in the crotch of your pants as they snap back into place now that there is nothing keeping them pushed aside.

You flip yourself back over and lean against the edge of the table to look down at what’s left of your shorts. They are completely soaked, drenched in so much of your juices that they look wet. The ruined fabric clings to your body as if it’s glued on and you are left feeling cold down there as Simon pulls away.

“That’s better,” he says with satisfaction as he studies his handiwork of the ripped, saturated fabric. “And so is this.”

A more gentle kiss is placed on your lips this time, one in praise of you doing so well for him. You reciprocate the feeling by cupping his face in your hands.

“And we’re not gonna have any more a this, right?” he asks as he pulls from your mouth.

Looking into his eyes, a subtle smirk contours your lips. “We’ll see,” you say as Simon shakes his head.

He wouldn’t expect anything less.

“So,” you continue, “I’m just wondering if you thought about how I’m going to leave here, now that I look like this. Gonna need something so I don’t have to cross base.”

Across the way he spots a random jacket hanging off the back of a chair, left by one of the privates no doubt. Looks big enough and he returns with it in hand. Carefully he circles the sleeves around your body and ties them in front to cover you until you can get back to your room and change. Don’t need anyone seeing anything they shouldn’t.

“I did really like these by the way,” you pick as Simon pulls you by the knot in the sleeves wrapped around your waist back into him to catch your lips one last time with his.

“Don’t ya worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna be gettin’ you a new pair, ones that I chose,” he says. “Cause I’m gonna be the only one that gets to enjoy this fuckin’ view from now on. And it’s a view you’re gonna give me ‘gain and again, darlin’.”

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greenboyfriend · 8 months

Text

choose something cold... (tarot card reading)

"what do you need to know?"

image 1: it's cold. I mean, really cold. but your blood is warm, even if your fingers are blue. where's your soul? image 2: a framed painting depicting a wintry landscape, complete with a log cabin, whose blue smoke trickles from its chimney and blends in with the world around it. image 3: three ornate glasses, made of ice. are those cracks intentional? or just by virtue of its design? image source not everything may resonate with you, and that's ok! take what does & leave the rest. don't force it.

1.・。.・゜✭

there’s an opportunity being presented to you. it may be a celebration of some kind, or just something that has a lot of excitement surrounding it. what i’m getting most of all is that this may be a chance to find freedom. with the seven of swords reversed, maybe you’re the type of person to handle your problems on your own, “lone wolf” style. there’s a million reasons why someone might do this, but for you, you’re afraid or distrusting in others. when you opened up in the past, maybe it didn’t end up so well for you, and this has made you keep things mostly to yourself. however, the four of wands reversed tells us that this lone wolf energy is blocking you from fully enjoying yourself. “freedom”, in this sense, is the freedom from yourself, or rather, your fear. in the original Rider-Waite-Smith deck, the seven of swords shows us a man with his arms full of swords, shirking off to his own devices. for you, these swords represent an unnecessary burden, being wary or even afraid of others to see your true colors/problems/ect. opening yourself back up again is a task much easier said than done, i know. but the 6 of cups shows us what this looks like, once fully realized. when we talk about our problems and emotions, we’re able to release and/or deal with them more easily. i’ve definitely been in the position of worrying endlessly about something, just to finally open up to someone, and realize that the answer was sitting in front of me all along. the six of cups represents this as having a “clean conscience.” being, you’ve released yourself from carrying a burden all alone, and have found freedom– the four of wands. finally, the king of cups reversed reminds you to have patience, and to be tolerant of others. not just one person can supply you with all the information or support you need.

(6 of cups, 7 of swords reversed, 4 of wands reversed, king of cups reversed)

2.・。.・゜✭

you’re in a period of transition, be that between attitudes or people. this change has you feeling down. maybe not emotionally destitute, but not in the best spot, either. as you wade through these waters, know that the queen of swords is by your side, and will lead you to better times. the queen of swords is someone with a good head on her shoulders, and will always tell the truth. she is very forthright, and doesn’t do any under-the-table dealings. she holds herself to these standards because of her past experiences, and knows that an honest, open approach will best suit her motives. you may embody the queen of swords already, and if you do, great! if you don’t, that’s ok, too. but it’s time to start really leaning into that kind of energy. don’t conceal the truth– both to yourself and others–, and let yourself have a laugh every once in a while! the thing about being experienced is that you know not to take everything so seriously. the queen of swords can see the big picture, and knows that, even if right now is tough, later will be much better. the place/person/vibe you’re coming from is represented by the knight of wands. i’m getting, cockiness– to the point where you/they were being presumptuous. this might also have had to do with someone being hot tempered, and restless, where they couldn’t handle being bored, so they’d decide to pick a fight. this energy is still here, but not necessarily causing harm just yet. what’s really impeding your path towards healing is the knight of cups. the knight of cups reversed is in direct opposition with the queen of swords, in the sense that he allows his emotions to take control of him, rather than accurately assessing the truth of his situation. he may let his imagination become overactive, and begin believing things that aren’t true. where the queen of swords faces all her dealings head on, the knight of cups may shade the truth, dance around the issue, or simply hope someone else will deal with it. he may also tend to isolate himself from others, which only worsens his imagination into spurring up unrealistic scenarios and focusing too much on his own “failings.” i’m thinking… you’re going to need to temper the knight of cups with the knight of wands. use that fiery, self confident energy to seek out the truth, rather than make assumptions. and, in turn, the knight of cups can help to deplete those feelings of restlessness through introspection. most importantly, keep your head level, and honor the truth above all.

(queen of swords, 6 of swords, knight of wands, knight of cups reversed)

3.・。.・゜✭

so… there’s a lot to unpack here, image 3! i’ll start with this, the energy of the queens of wands and of pentacles are important right now. the queen of wands seems to be especially important, urging you to work hard to maintain her optimism, confidence, and enthusiasm. this situation will require you to be a sort of “soft” leader for others, where you can be looked to for inspiration. if you’re able to serve as a role model through keeping your head up even when the going gets tough, and to do so with strength and vigor, it will not only help you and your purposes, but will also inspire those around you to do the same. the opportunity to embody this energy is not fully here yet, but once you hear the call, you’ll know it’s for you. strike the iron while it’s hot and give it your all! no time for dilly dallying. in being a leader (even if you’re not completely cognizant of it) you will have to temper your generosity with what you know to be true. so, for example, if someone is late to a meeting one time, you may give them the benefit of the doubt. but if they’re continuously late, some changes need to be made. this can also apply to other situations, where you will need to decide between your loyalties and what’s true & just. you may have already experienced scenarios like this in the past, so it will help you to call back to those times for foresight. doing what is fair may be difficult in the moment, but will lead to the best outcome. the queens come together here to guide you on your way. keep trying! you know that you’re resourceful, so don’t be afraid to try your hand at solving problems. it may also benefit you to remain down to earth during this time, and not to try to control what others think or say. at the end of the day, you are your own person, and what a wonderful person you are! finally, we arrive at the page of cups. i’m getting a very loving, forgiving energy from this card. it may benefit you to invite that energy into your life, both towards yourself and others. when a challenge faces you, or someone is less than nice, decide to turn away that anger with love. consider, what may compel them to act this way? maybe they’re going through something you don’t know about. it’s not that you need to nurture them back to good health, but realize that maybe, they’re just not worth your time, and a simple nod & turning of the cheek will do you both some good. most of all, listen to your intuition to tell you whether or not this argument/situation is really worth getting into.

(queen of wands, 8 of pentacles reversed, 8 of wands reversed, queen of pentacles, ace of swords, 3 of wands reversed, page of cups)

#tarot #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick an image #pac #spirituality #spiritual #witchblr

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prentissluvr · 1 year

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feverish — joel miller

gn!reader, platonic!reader, fatherfigure!joel , sickfic , cw : mentions of fever & coughing, sickness in general, mostly unedited , wc : 1K , anon i hope you enjoy it !! <333

joel notices immediately when you begin lagging behind him and ellie. but you don’t say anything, so neither does he, just pausing occasionally to let you catch up.

in the end, it’s ellie who says something.

“hey, are you okay?” she asks you once you’re all settled by the fire. joel, whose attention seems to be solely on the meat he’s cooking, is peering at you subtly, listening intently for your reaction.

“i’m fine,” you wave off her concern, “just a little tired today, is all.” your answer’s not a complete lie, it’s true that you’re tired, but what you don’t tell them is the way you can feel the sickness starting to settle in your bones. really, it was yesterday you first started feeling it, but it hadn’t begun to slow you down until a few hours into hiking today.

“well then, we’d better get to sleep right after eating,” joel advises. “best get as much sleep as you can for tomorrow.”

you heed his advice, curling into your sleeping bag the moment you can in hopes that good enough rest will prevent you from truly falling ill. ellie talks for a few minutes the way she normally does before sleeping, but joel cuts her off earlier than normal tonight for your sake. with that reasoning, she actually listens to him and settles down to sleep herself.

—

your hopes of escaping sickness are unfairly stolen from you in the morning when you wake up with the sun, groggy and completely out of it. your nose is stuffy, throat sore, and limbs heavy when you rustle about in your covers. you just turn to your side and do your best to drift back into what turns out to be a quite restless sleep.

the next time you wake, it’s to ellie gently nudging your shoulder for you to get up as joel finishes cleaning up camp. you groan in protest, halfheartedly pushing her away.

“it’s almost time to go,” she says, “joel let you sleep in.”

you let out a huff of breath, wishing you could lay in bed all day before struggling to sit up. rubbing at your eyes, you take in the state of your tired, compromised body and decide it’s certainly best if you say nothing about it. no reason to make anyone worry or slow down your journey.

so you push past your discomfort, standing up and quickly packing up your bag. but your plans to cover up your sickness do not go as well as planned when you begin coughing and sniffling uncontrollably.

about the fourth time you lean against a tree to support yourself during a coughing bout, joel stops completely, handing you water and waiting until you’re done to speak.

“you’re gettin’ sick, kid,” he states, very aware that you’ve been quiet in order to prevent causing an inconvenience to him and ellie. you shake your head, so he continues. “you can let us know if you’re not feeling well, you know? that’s not something you can control. what d’ you say we make camp early and rest for the day?”

“no!” you exclaim, “no, that’s alright, i’m fine. i swear. i don’t even feel that sick, it just sounds like it,” you try to explain away the actual extent of your sickness.

he says your name, gentle and firm like the hand he places on your shoulder. “you look like you could fall over any second. i ain’t buying any of that, alright? you need to rest so that you don’t get more sick, you understand me?

you want to keep trying, to convince him and a watching ellie that you’re fine, but it seems you can never argue with that tone of voice he uses when he’s truly serious about something.

“fine,” you relent with a sigh, feeling half grateful, half guilty, and one hundred percent sick as you trek along until you find an appropriate campground.

joel orders you to lay down when you try and help set up, only asking you to move once a fire is going so that you can soak up it’s warmth. as you lay there, it seems as if all of your stubbornness is catching up to you, and you can’t resist it when your eyes drift closed despite the sun still being clear in the sky.

with a mind too groggy with sickness and sleep, you don’t process much even when you’re awake. ellie stays close by to your laying form, silently worried by the sickness that’s visible in your face and the coughs that wrack your body. she jumps up each time joel asks her to do anything, eager to help you rather than just sit by and do nothing. joel too is dedicated to caring for you, his soft palm feeling your forehead for signs of fever as you slip in and out of sleep. he does his best to create a broth from bones and freshly hunted meat throughout the hours that you sleep for you to eat when you wake.

when you squirm uncomfortably in your sleep with your brows furrowed, he does his best to calm your distress with gentle touches. past memories of caring for a sick child are clear in his head, both hurting his heart but helping him to help you the best he can.

you try to resist his help again once you wake, but the weakness in your limbs doesn’t let you get far, so your resolve crumbles far faster this time. he helps you drink and eat all while ellie does her best to cheer you up with corny jokes and over exaggerated retellings of things that have happened throughout your journey all together. it works well, her words resulting in your laughing so hard that you begin to cough and a non-threatening glare from joel in her direction.

but soon, you tire again, so joel insists you go back to sleep, just as twilight fades into total darkness. you don’t argue this time, nor at all the next day as he and ellie patiently nurse you back to health until you’re spry and well again.

#joel miller #joel miller x platonic!reader #platonic joel miller #father figure joel #joel miller tlou #tlou show #joel miller x gender neutral reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller comfort #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller angst #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fluff #tlou joel #joel miller father figure #the last of us

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xyziiix · 19 days

Text

•𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽• VIII

•Pairing: Mid-honour!Arthur Morgan X Fem!Reader•

•Shit Summary: The gang hadn't been in Horseshoe all of one week, and already the boys were causing trouble in town•

•warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, SMUT: unprotected p in v, short but sweet fingering, not that graphic (probs is) reader is described as female with female biology and wearing feminine attire, no use of Y/N — and I plan to keep it that way for future chapters — reader can be lifted up? Other than that no detailed descriptions of reader•

•Long but important A/N at the bottom!•

•This is not proof-read as I was too impatient to post•

•series masterlist•

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

←LatestChapter

This breeze was much more welcome than Colters gale, this one refreshing, more gentle — unlike the sharp, unforgiving winds that’d mercilessly flown through the glacial terrain, it was something you’d be happy to forget.

The day is dunked in warm pinks and orange hues from the setting sun, dusky fading light, the fingers of the trees sharp and black against the horizon. Horseshoe Overlook did have a stunning view, you’d give it that.

Pots and pans clatter near Pearson’s wagon, followed by a rusty voice damning the cookware to hell and back. The nearby fire pits crackle and glisten with heat. The faint scent of pine and smoke tickling your nose, and the quiet chatter of fellow gang members serenades the peaceful atmosphere of camp.

Well, mostly quiet.

Said peacefulness is cruelly interrupted when you hear a bark of your name, the familiarly rigid tone making your shoulders stiffen. And with a schooled, but validly wary, expression, you slowly swivel on your stool to see Miss Grimshaw stomping over to you.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Susan asks you, in a voice that’s hard, yet somehow shrill enough you worry that nearby glass would shatter.

Your brow lifts, and you stare at her, deadpan, as if it was a trick question. “What’s it look like I’m doin’?” You wave a hand over the heap of clothes on the table in front of you, a needle and thread held in said hand.

“It looks like you’re just starin’ off into space, girl.” She manages to speak so quickly that one might worry her tongue would tie itself into a knot. Should you be so lucky.

You give her a look, one she’s had to see on your face and deal with since you were a delinquent— a cross between a smile and a pout, as if you were just as clueless as her. With an exasperated sigh and a pinch on the bridge of her nose, she regards you with a weary shake of her head. “Those clothes ain’t gonna patch themselves.” The bite in her tone reappears, though you know it’s just for show, as she gestures to the clothes sprawled out in front of you.

“Guess I better get a move on then.” You make a show of gathering a worn shirt, fingers skimming over the fabric until you find the gaping wound in the fabric. The woman huffs, somewhat satisfied, chin jutted up as she strides away from you, probably to scream at someone else who wasn’t breaking their back or chaffing their fingers to her liking.

That same gentle breeze flows through camp, barely moving a few strands of hair away from your face. Bored, you place the shirt back on the scratched table, indents from five finger fillet scarred into the surface. You glance over your shoulder, eyeing the hitching posts where Artax was loosely tethered. Poor horse hadn’t left camp either, he was probably just as restless as you.

Arthur hadn’t been around since early afternoon, something about meeting the boys in Valentine. Meanwhile you were stuck at camp, had been since the gang settled into the charming Overlook.

It wasn’t that you were against doing your share of the work that needed doing, it weren’t like that at all… you’re just more… in your own element when you’re slinging a revolver at your hip, not fumbling with needles and thread or bent over a wash basin to scrub at stubborn stains.

Miss Grimshaw was also aware of that, which is probably why the woman was — not so discreetly — circling the perimeter of camp like a baited shark. You briefly calculate the amount of time it’d take you to reach your mount and surge out of the tree line, but an anticipating Susan would probably tackle you to the ground before that could happen.

The cadence of jingling spurs catches your attention, eyes flickering towards the source. And you’re shocked at what you find.

Arthur was a few feet away from you, deftly angled in a way that made it clear he was trying to sneak past you. He was marred by a thick coating of drying mud, he wouldn’t have been easily recognisable if it weren’t for the subtle, familiar swagger in his posture. He looks tense, frustrated. But you’re more concerned as to why your outlaw looks as though he’s been rolling around with the hogs.

“Arthur,” your voice is unintentionally shrill as you stand up, his lips twist into a tight line, face etched with lines of frustration and streaked with mud. “What the hell happened to you?”

He dismissively waves you off as he beelines towards the wagon, you’re hot on his tail and your needlework is forgotten on the table — Grimshaw be damned. He bats the canopy flaps out of his path upon entering the private space, and you quickly slip in behind him, the warm glow from the oil lamp a contrast from the evening sky outside.

“Bill and his incapability t’keep the bluster outta his mouth, that’s what.” Arthur practically growls, and you watch, dumbstruck, as he yanks his satchel off of his shoulder and drop it onto the side table — flakes of drying mud breaking off of him at every movement.

“That don’t explain why—“ you pause at the crimson that coats his knuckles, barely noticeable under the grime. “You got into a fight?”

“Weren’t me that started it.” He grumbles defensively, his back to you as he removes his hat, giving a half-assed attempt at shaking the dirt off of it before slapping it onto the table next to his satchel, and you cringe at his mud-caked hair.

“Arthur, we ain’t even been in the Heartlands one week,” your rant starts strong and exasperated, your hands perched on your hips and your brows furrowing so tightly together that Arthur resists the urge to smooth it out with his thumb as he turns to face you.

His expression remained unreadable as you continued to chide him, only a handful of your words registering to him as he instead took in your own appearance — his eyes drawn towards your bosom, and the way your hand placement accentuated the swell of your hips. Even when you’re looking at him like you could smack him upside the head, which he wouldn’t put past you, he can’t help but admire your… you.

“Are you even listenin’ to me?”

The snap of your fingers makes him blink back to reality, his brows slowly knitting as exasperation spreads over his chest at your lecturing, causing a lengthy sigh to be pulled from his nose. “I don’t wanna hear it, woman.” He tells you gruffly as he peels his jacket off with a grimace. “Gotta get this shit off’a me.”

“Why didn’t you get a bath at the hotel?”

“Didn’t wanna stick around after that shit-show.”

Your lips pursed as you watched him move around the small space, unsure what to make of the state of him. You’ve seen him in worse conditions, streaked with crimson rather than dirt, reeking of copper and gunpowder rather than the heady scent of earth, but it was still aggravating considering you’d cleaned up earlier just for it to get messed up again…

“You joinin’ me?” Arthur’s voice broke you out of your brief reverie, your brows inching up, searching for clarification, “gonna have t’go wash up by the river, ain’t I?” There’s an edge in his voice, one you can’t quite put your finger on, but the subtle glance he gives you is a hint.

The rest of the scolding you had for him dies on your tongue. Though, you try and feign an air of resignation — like you were doing him a favour, despite the way your heart skips a beat at the prospect of joining him to bathe.

“Fine.”

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

The sun had since laid its head, the sky now spilled with ink and navy, dotted with countless stars that flicker over the dark canvas of the night. Tall, douglas fir, serve as an outcrop for the crescent moon in the far distance.

Arthur had opted to wait for the sun to finish setting, because while he’d rather not sit in his own filth and reminder of the fight he’d had, the Dakota river — though being closest water source to camp — wasn’t very secluded. And he wasn’t gonna take any risks.

Though the night served as privacy, and there’d be very little chance of any passers-by at this hour. Plus, if something were to happen, Arthur’s gun laid only a few feet away on the shore, along with the rest of his dirtied clothes, your own a growing pile as you had yet to enter the water.

Arthur was already in hip-deep, eager to scrub away his sins, his back to you as he cupped water, dragging it over his skin to wash away the grime and hints of dried blood — not all of it his own.

The smooth pebbles and stones were cool under your bare feet, though probably not as icy as the waiting water in front of you.

The air is crisp, carrying an earthy odour, perhaps from the river foam, or from plant material decay. There’s also tinge of something salty… but fresh is the most accurate description of your surroundings.

The tender breeze strokes your skin, while is being gradually exposed, your blouse falling into the pile of clothes by your feet. While you undress, your eyes are stuck to your lover like a magnet, taking in the way the pale skin of his broad back — a contrast to the sunburnt, more tanned, skin of his strong arms — seemed to look so smooth in the moonlight… there were a couple thin scabs littered over his shoulder blades, the curve his spine trailing down his vast back, dotted with two dimples at his lower back before the rest of him disappears under the waters surface.

Your chemise joins the heap, followed by your bloomers, the last barriers of clothing removed, bared to the world, to him.

Without further ado, you gingerly step into the lapping water by your feet. You swallow a gasp, your body taken aback by the temperature difference, though you acclimate to it quickly, your arms wrapping around your chest as you wade over to where Arthur was. The water grows deeper the further you go, the current pushing against your legs and thighs, though not strong enough to wash you away.

The closer you near, the more you can take Arthur in. Most of the dried dirt was off of him — save for a streak on his shoulder and neck — droplets of water racing down his forearm as he splashed water onto his chest.

The dark water lapped at your waist now, and you move around him so that you were facing him.

You frown.

Underneath the grime, you can see the aftermath of his fight. There’s an ugly, yellow and violet bruise blossomed over his ribs, another one splotched on his strong jaw, darkening the stubble that grows there.

Arthur seems to notice the worry spurting inside of you, of course he does, and his gaze lifts to meet yours as he scours the muck off of his forearm.

“M’okay, darlin’.” He reassures you, cupping the cold water to start washing the streak off of his neck, head tilted back slightly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “should see the other feller.” He adds, his cerulean eyes glued to you. His tone isn’t as curt anymore, his frustration having died down, plus, his appreciation for your concern softens him inside.

You still huff, not entirely convinced when evidence of his injuries was staring right back at you. Arthur’s lip twitches.

“C’mere.” He tells you, voice resonant as he drops his hand from his neck to instead hold both of them out to you, beckoning you with a twitch of his finger.

The water that’d been clinging to Arthur’s hands, callous and firm, rivulet onto your own skin when his palms curl over your sides, trailing down your waist, the curve of your hips… Arthur’s gaze chasing the droplets. So pretty…

Your own hands lay on his broad shoulders, fingers accidentally pressing into one of the thin, shallow, but still tender slices on his skin. He sucks a small breath through his teeth. You notice.

“What’re these from?” You ask, voice quiet, flowing with the gentle sounds of the running river.

“Got tossed through a window at the saloon.”

You lean back, brows jumping up, “what?”

“M’alright,” he repeats with a puff, hands tightening on your waist before sliding down to your hips.

“It ain’t alright,” you argue, your hands pressing against his chest, the wry hair on his sternum tickling your palms. “Dutch said we ain’t supposed to cause trouble—“

“I know what Dutch said, sweetheart.” he sighs, exasperated with you, though he only pulls you closer. He then adds, a vexed plea, “let’s just forget ‘bout it for now, hm?”

He doesn’t let you argue further, tilting his head to nudge your nose with his own, his breath — carrying the scent of cigarettes and the acidic tinge of whiskey — hot against your parted lips. His hands shift on your hips, splayed, coarse fingertips pressing into the meat of your ass as he kisses you.

He tastes of tobacco, as well as the liquor that you could already smell on his breath, his stubble scratching your face as he groans into your mouth, the noise snatched up by your tongue.

It was as though he was trying to devour you, swallow you whole, or perhaps he was just trying to distract you from giving him an earful.

A thread of saliva stretches between you as he pulls away for breath, catching the moonlight before snapping. You wet your lips, the taste of him lingering on your tongue.

Arthur glances around momentarily, before spotting a boulder that had risen from the rivers surface. Perfect.

“Arthur?” You rasp as he starts steering you backwards, the water sloshing around both of your legs. Though after a couple steps, his rough hands drop down to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up with a grunt and carrying you the rest of the way.

You hiss as the cold face of the rock meets your back, a few jagged pieces digging into your skin. Arthur’s lips are back on yours, tongue pressing into your mouth with another rumbling noise of need.

You throw your arms around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the sunny strands of hair at the nape. It’s grown out over the weeks, you think you prefer it longer.

You both reluctantly part to catch your breaths, lips swollen from his kisses and cheeks hot from the lack of oxygen. With one hand on your thigh, holding you up — the rock behind you holding most of your weight — Arthur presses a calloused thumb under your lips, gently prying them wider so he could roll his tongue over yours in one more brief, but deep kiss.

You can feel him, stiff and heavy against your navel, a hot and sticky bead of milky white smeared from the angry red tip.

“Arthur,” you whine, readjusting your grip on the back of his neck, both his hands back on your rear to keep you up at his level. Need burns between your legs, a blazing fire of want only he could tend to. “Please-“

“Please what, sweet girl?”

He damn well knows what. His eyes — darkened with lust — hold something knowing, something amused. He enjoys seeing you like this, it makes him rather smug, evident by the smirk he poorly suppresses.

Another whine, your cheeks and neck burning hotter than fire as you shift restlessly against him, ankles crossed behind his back. Was he really gonna make you say it?

“You know what I want.” You counter, though your breathless, needy tone bellies the demanding facade you tried to display.

Arthur wets his lips, and you unconsciously do the same, gaze drawn to the movement of his tongue. He makes sure you’re steady against the rock as he removes one hand from you, grasping his cock and dipping his chin so that he could let spit drop onto his length, slavering it over himself before nestling his hips more snugly against the warm apex of your legs.

But, instead of immediately giving in, he slips a hand between you, the rough pads of his fingertips inching down the thatch of hair between your legs, spreading your dewy folds and running a finger up the seam of your body.

He muffles your unsteady sigh with a lingering press of his lips to the corner of your mouth. “Gonna get you ready f’me,” he explains, the rumble of his voice vibrating against your skin, two thick digits nudging inside your cunt. “Don’t wanna hurt you, peach.”

It’s a sensible idea, but you’re already impatient. “Now, Arthur,” you plead, arms tightening around him, holding him to you, wanting more and more and all of him. “I can take it.”

He crooks the two digits inside of you, causing your breath to hitch, raising a brow at you in hesitation.

“I can handle it,” you insist, desperate. How could he ever deny you?

Slipping them free, he takes a moment to line himself up with you before adjusts his hold on you again, fitting underneath the curve of your ass and tugging you more securely against him as he pushes forward.

He slowly splits you open, his cock sliding into you and carving out a place for itself. Your head tips back against the boulder behind you, and he sinks deeper with a grunt. He bottoms out, balls flush against your ass as he tilts his hips upwards to reach an angle inside of you that has you seeing stars.

It punches the air from your lungs, being so full of him — a feeling you’ll never completely get used to. His grip on you tightens, blunt nails digging into the fat of your thighs as his head drops to the juncture of your shoulder, a throaty groan reverberating against your heated skin. He lets you take several moments to adjust to him, while he’s currently trying not to finish just from the feeling of being inside of you.

He brushes soft, wet kisses along the curve of your shoulder and neck, lowering his head to flutter his tongue over a pebbled nipple, pulling it between his lips, his mouth like liquid molten around the bud as he finally starts to move.

He draws back an inch or so before shoving his hips flush against yours again, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock pressed against the softer thatch covering your mound. The drag of his length, the friction, has your temples growing hot and thoughts even less coherent.

He does it again and again and again, his body fitting into yours like the last piece to a puzzle, the two of you moving in synch like a familiar song and dance.

The moan you’ve been holding back spills out of you, mingling with his own guttural exhale.

“God -“ Arthur grits his teeth, fucking you with deep, steady plunges of his hips, the rock face pressing harder against your back to the point you’re sure there’ll be bruises that you’ll proudly wear, you’ll wear it along with the marks his fingers are no doubt brushing into your thighs and hips. “Look at you, s’pretty like this, darlin’, my pretty girl.”

He really is enraptured by you right now… his breath ragged as he watches you with a slack jaw, taking this moment in, not daring to look away so it’s burned into his memory. Maybe he’ll sketch the view of you like this into his journal later…

The way your back arched against the slick rock he has you pressed onto, the way the droplets of river water — that had transferred onto your skin from his beard — rivulets down the curve of your neck, the valley between your breasts… slowing down at your abdomen before disappearing into the soft curls covering your mound.

…

Yeah, he was definitely drawing this later.

Arthur swallows your next whine, his tongue tangling with yours in a sloppy, uncoordinated and desperate kiss. Your hand buries into his hair again, eliciting another groan from him, your other hand pressing against the uninjured side of his jaw — the coarse stubble scratching your palm. He uses his grip on your ass to bounce you, grinding you against him, sending heatwaves rolling down your navel.

You can feel it, rapidly building inside of you. Like a Jack-in-the box, winding up taut until it unexpectedly bursts.

He breaks from the kiss, his pants mingling with yours as your foreheads press tightly together, your eyes fluttering shut as his eyebrows pull in concentration.

“Arthur, I’m —“

“I know,” a kiss is brushed onto your burning cheek, then he’s nosing against your jaw, breath ragged and a shudder running through his body — signalling he’s also near his peak, “I know, sweetheart… give it t’me, c’mon.”

There’s a certain demand in his words that has the coil pulling rigid, then it snaps.

You can only hear the blood rushing in your ears, not the sounds of the water rushing, not the wet smacking of his hips into yours, not even the delectable grunts being pulled from Arthur’s throat. Your body locks up, inner muscles constricting around his cock, coating the length, base and balls slick with your release. White-hot pleasure burns through your body, desire pulses in your veins and you feel like you’re melting. Turning into liquid ecstasy to be carried away in the current that laps at the both of you as well as the rock behind you.

Arthur isn’t far behind.

“Shit… atta girl,” he grunts in approval, the rut of his hips stuttering at the sensation of you coming undone around him, clenching down on him so hard it yanks a strangled gasp low from his chest. He tugs you flush against him, breasts pressed up against his chest, and he hitches your thighs higher up his hips, hoisting you back up before you can slip down the face of the boulder.

His thrusts shift into a vigorous grind, a whimper exhaled from your lips as the coarse hair covering his pelvis tickles your overly-sensitive clit. And at last second, he forces himself to pull out of your cunt.

Hot strings of spend shoot out of the weeping tip, splatting onto your abdomen, leaking down your skin and drying into a sticky mess. Arthur’s head falls back onto your shoulder, groaning and panting as his arms completely envelope you — one wrapped around your waist and the other following the curve of your spine, large hand cradling the back of your head, keeping you tucked against him as he empties himself.

Arthur isn’t a holy man, but by the way he’s chanting your name like a prayer as he releases, one would think he’s a devout believer.

Several moments go by, heart rates finally starting to steady, no longer beating against your rib cage like a wild animal trying to escape., Arthur gives you one last kiss, this one tender and affectionate, before he carefully sets you down.

You’re a little reluctant to untangle yourself from him, using him as an anchor to ground yourself, though you’re forced fully back to the present as your feet dip back into the chilly water, soles meeting the slick rocks under the surface, fresh water lapping at your hips again.

“Y’alright?” Arthur breathes, holding you steady until you use the rock behind you for support, legs feeling light and akin to jelly. Arthur releases a quiet groan as he rolls his shoulders, swallowing as he cups water to gingerly wash his softening cock, all the while keeping his gaze on you, ensuring you were fine.

“M’okay,” you reassure him, sighing as you shift your weight, getting the feeling back into your legs. You take a moment to also wash yourself, cleaning his release off of you, the evidence of your encounter carried down the gentle current.

He looks at you, his eyes softening, something that bellies the gruff outlaw he presents himself to be. He wades a step closer to you, calloused palm gently curling around your upper arm, guiding you towards him, hand sliding down to take yours.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to camp,” he murmurs, planting an affectionate kiss to the side of your head before starting to lead you back to the shore where your clothes laid waiting.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ freezing.”

Arthur chuckles in agreement.

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

*awkwardly* heyyyy guys… long time no see, huh?

-‘long time’? It’s been a fucking year bro

Yes! Yes I know! And I come bearing gifts and many apologies.

I will start by saying that writers block is a real mf thing. This has been in my drafts for ten months, and please believe me when I say I was looking at this every few days with the intention to finish it and post it… but as soon as I get it up my mind goes blank.

It’s also been more than that, I know a year is a really long time to go without posting, but, I’d like to think that over this year my writing has matured and evolved a little… had a bit of spice added to it 🤌— not that I think I’m the next goddamn Shakespeare, but I know it’s improved when I’m looking back at previous chapters and cringing while reading the shit I wrote.

I know it sounds like a piss take when I say this, but I have the full intention of finishing this story — I wish I could tell you guys the shit I have planned, shit that’ll make you happy, sad, horny, the whole works. But I ain’t gonna tell you cause I ain’t spoiling nothin’. It’s just hard for me to connect the dots and fill out the gaps between all the important plot points I have planned out, my head works in weird ways. All I’m gonna say is I promise I’m gonna try and get back into a regular schedule of posting this story.

Side note: sorry to others who come across this who have been waiting and sending asks about the other wip stories I have on my masterlist— I was really overestimating myself thinking I could be righting multiple series at the same time 😭🤦‍♀️ while I do have drafts (that need to be heavily edited) of these fics, I wouldn’t be expecting to see them anytime soon — because I’m prioritising this story for now. At least until I find the motivation to regularly post and not just once every six — or in this case, 12 months.

Also, I know this is gonna sound strange, because while I do know where this story is going and ending — as in the general direction — I’m still figuring out some things, like certain cannon points that I’m gonna incorporate reader into, reader and Arthur’s dynamic, who reader is personality-wise… there’s a lot going on up here rn *taps temple*

Oh, and one of the biggest things I’m trying to decide about Arthur is how I should go about his honour… for the first eight chapters he’s been leaning towards higher honour — at least that’s how it’s been in my head, though it might be hard to tell by my wack-ass writing for the last seven chapters — so I’m torn between making him dip down into low honour for a while… and splice things up a bit, maybe shake the dynamic of him and reader… or if I should just stick to high honour. Because I know that some people (I am some people) who prefer HH Arthur. Please share your thoughts via anon asks or commenting… I would love the advice!

One last thing! If I go about two weeks or more without posting WITHOUT a valid excuse, everyone has permission to bully and peer pressure me back into being active!

I’m very sorry my luvs here’s an Arthur edit🫶

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

Tag list! (PLEASE LMK IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED IN FUTURE CHAPTERS):

@flw3rrr @vena91 @sickvictorianangel @sykeswrites @babyttsumu @rexibn

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

#Spotify #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #smut #fanfic #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #LikeAWestern

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daisybianca · 2 years

Text

pairing: mick schumacher x femalereader

summary: mick loves to give you hickeys. but now, after a restless night of love and sweat, you have to cover them up so as to accompany your boyfriend to a race as one of the most adored wags of the paddock.

warning: mostly fluff, mentions of sexual activities, slight swearing

"FUCKING HELL." You muttered as you examined your latest love mark.

The night before was sensual, and Mick--like always--had made you feel special and so goddamn sexy. However, he had also given you multiple hickeys that seemed to cover most of your neck. And today just so happened to be the day you ran out of concealer. You were moody and had to accompany your boyfriend to the upcoming race in a couple of hours.

“What is it, baby?” Mick grumbled; he was still in bed and had lazily only covered himself in the top white linen sheet you had picked out for his birthday.

He looked like a mess, and from his actions last night, you didn’t expect him to be able to get out of bed until past noon. You wish you could just stay with him in bed, but since it was a race day, you had to cover up the mess your boyfriend had made.

“Mick… you covered my neck in hickeys.” You replied as you rummaged through the drawers of your vanity.

All this sudden movement caused Mick to finally sit up in bed. Yawning, he slowly moved toward you. “What’s wrong with my love bites, babe? You didn’t seem to hate them last night.” You stopped looking through your drawer and turned to glare at him, but it fucking backfired. Even in his sleepy state, he still managed to turn you on. His colorful eyes were dazed out, and his silver locks were pushed off to the side, and he had clearly had his fair share of hickeys as well. But knowing him, he would most likely not even cover them for the race. More likely than not, he’d walk around the paddock in a tank top and show everyone the hickeys you had given him.

“Baby, don’t be mad, but I can’t go around the paddock with a neck covered in hickeys. My neck looks like a fucking giraffe neck.” Mick laughed at your words and his blue eyes lit up.

You finally found some old concealer hidden in the back of the last dresser drawer. You smiled and began applying it on the soft and sore surface of your neck.

Mick scoffed as he watched you apply the cover-up. “Baby, you should just know that I’m going to give you even more now that you said you hate them.”

“I don’t hate them. I just can’t go to your race with them. Besides, you can cover my belly with as many hickeys you want.”

“Really? Can I start now?” His eyes were widened and filled with joy, but you couldn’t waste another minute or else you both would be late. “How does 1:30 sound?” You bargained.

He frowned and shook his head. “Sounds like ages, babe.”

“Oh well, if you behave, you might just get blown after you finish marking up my stomach.” With that, you finished applying your makeup and began to collect your things in order to shove them into your backpack. Only to have him pull you in close.

“You don’t need makeup, you know that, right?” You shook your head and kissed him. “I know. But, if you don’t get ready for the race right now, I’ll take away your hickey privileges." Mick kissed you and ran to the closet so as to grab his clothes.

●○•°•○●

requests are always open for my wags <3

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Burning up

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: 2,412

Trigger Warnings: none really, mostly fluff. Some swear words.

Summary: the reader is sick and Dean takes care of her. Lots of fluff.

Requested: yes, by anonymous. Hey =) just wanted to thank you for writing and sharing your stories 🤍🙏🏻💐Absolutely in love with them. Are u up for a sick/hurt and comfort fic? Love 🤍

A/N:this was so much fun to write! I went with the sick side of things, I’m sure I’ll write another hurt one soon. Requests are still open. :)

Masterlist

I groan, opening my eyes, my head beginning to throb immediately, causing me to close them again. Nope. Getting up early is not happening today. I shut off my alarms for the morning and return to sleep.

I wake up a couple hours later, soaked in sweat, every muscle in my body aching and fever raging through my body. It’s already ten o’clock in the morning, yet the desire to get out of bed is none existent. I drift off again, my restless sleep filled with awful dreams. I’m slightly disturbed from my rest, when my door creaks open, one of the boys checking on me as I’m normally awake hours before. However, they don’t say anything, just quietly back out of my room in the bunker and shut the door behind them. I fall back asleep once again, praying that I feel better the next time I awake.

“Hey, sweetheart, you okay?” I hear Dean ask, sitting down next to me on my bed. His hand coming to rest in the middle of my back. I open my eyes and peer at him, wincing from the bright light filling the room.

I groan in response, turning my head away from him and squeezing my eyes shut.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, I can hear the concern in his voice even though I can’t see his face. He reaches over, and brushes my sweat soaked hair out of my face, his fingers glancing over my forehead quickly. Before he places a full hand over my forehead, I hear him let out a sharp sigh.

“Y/N, you’re burning up. We gotta get your fever down sweetheart.” He says quietly, pulling back the layers of blanket I’m buried under. I groan, fighting him and trying to pull the blankets back up. I hear him chuckle slightly, his hands rubbing my back gently. An unintentional moan leaves my lips, embracing his touch easing my stiff muscles.

“I’m going to go get you some Tylenol and water, stay put. I’ll be right back.” He says, leaving the room quietly. I try not to miss the way his hands felt on my body, the ease that he worked the kinks out of my muscles. The fire it ignited inside of me. Dean and I had slept together a handful times, mainly in moments of desperation and weakness, but never anything serious or exclusive, although that’s all I wanted, everything I could ever want. I ease my body into a sitting position, pulling my sweatshirt off my sweaty body, leaving on the tank top underneath. I push myself over to the edge of the bed, moving to stand up, a wave of dizziness overtaking me. I stand up, but only make it a couple of steps towards the bathroom before I’m reaching for the nearest object to steady myself. Which happens to be the dresser, I put my back against it and slide down to the floor. I rest my head on my knees, hoping that the wave of dizziness and nausea will soon subside, and stop crashing down on me like a damn tsunami. Dean renters the room and I hear him turn around when he realizes in no longer in bed.

“What’re you doing, sweetheart? I told you to stay put.” He says, placing the water glass and medicine bottle down on my side table.

“Wanted a shower, body hurts.” I say, my head still buried in my knees, unsure if he heard or understood me. He then crosses the room to my side, crouching down in front of me. He places his hands under my armpits and gently lifts me to my feet, keeping a firm grasp on my waist, helping me walk towards the bathroom. He sits me down on the lid of the toilet, making sure I’m not going to fall over.

“How about a bath instead? I’ll help you, don’t want you slipping and hitting your head.” He says, his hand cupping my chin and making me look at him.

“No, I don’t need help. I’ll be okay.” I protest, trying to shoo him towards the door but he doesn’t budge.

“Dean, I don’t want you to see me like this.” I say, rolling my eyes at his stubbornness.

“Y/N, it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before if that’s what this is about..” he says, chuckling slightly before he sees the look on my face telling him silently to shut up.

“I’m just a fuck buddy, I don’t need you taking care of me and seeing me in this moment of weakness.” I mutter, my tone bitter a sentiment that I never would’ve confided in him, if I wasn’t half out of my mind with sickness. Or so I told myself.

His face falls, momentarily, confusion then taking over his features. His takes my hand in his own, stroking it gently with his thumb.

“Y/N, sweetheart. You’re not just a fuck buddy, you’re my best friend and I care about you a lot. Taking care of you while you’re sick doesn’t make you weak, it’s something you’d do for me. Something you have done for me.” He says, while his words are true, his use of best friend stings a bit. I knew it would never be anything more than that. I resign myself to accepting his help, nodding silently. He takes a step towards the bath and turns the water on, checking the temperature with his hand before filling the tub. He turns the light off in the bathroom, lighting the candle that I keep on the counter to provide a small source of less harsh light. An action that I appreciate and quietly thank him for doing. He nods, reaching to help me stand in order to take what little remaining clothing I have on, off.

His hands steady me gently, his fingers barely applying pressure to my skin, and helps me clamber into the tub. The warm water engulfs me and immediately begins to soothe my sore muscles. He tucks a folded towel behind my neck, giving me something to rest my head on and again, I thank him for his gentleness.

The ache in my muscles is improving, thanks to his actions. Yet the ache in my heart is growing, insatiable, the need for something more with this man unquenchable. I’ve had these feelings for him since we were teenagers, which I convinced myself that they would go away before adulthood. Yet they didn’t. The first time we slept together was after I got hurt on a hunt, emotions running extremely high. That’s what we chalked it up to, a bad choice in a moment of emotional weakness, Ouch.

The second time was after Sam died, before Deans deal with the crossroads demon. Another moment of emotional turmoil and weakness. Ouch, again.

The third time, was the night before the hellhounds came for him. My heart so empty and terrified for him, that I craved any kind of physical affection from him which he partially satisfied. The next day he was gone, I watched the hell hounds tear him to shreds, soul shatteringly devastating.

The fourth time and most recent, was after Dean came back from hell. We hadn’t talked about that one, but I chalked it up to me being the first woman he saw this side of hell. The first piece of ass he could get his hands on, and I was more than willing. My heart still broken from the time of him being gone. Sam had left me too, going off to try and bring Dean back but not wanting me to come along as I would “slow him down.”. Being with Dean after he came back from hell, felt different. But once again, my hopes were dashed when he apologized the morning after, telling me it shouldn’t have happened. Ouch.

I’m snapped out of my chain of thoughts by a cold wash cloth being pressed to my forehead, a straw held to my lips and two little red pills offered to me. I take the pills from him, accepting a sip of water to wash them down with before closing my eyes once more. I know Dean is near, but he’s quiet. I open one eye, glancing towards him and he’s sitting respectfully, with his back against the edge of the tub. Watching out for me, but respecting my privacy as much as he can. A gesture that pulls at my heart just that much more.

The words that leave my mouth next can only be explained by one thing, confusion and insanity caused by my fever. Or that’s what I’m telling myself, anyways.

“Dean?” I ask, lowering myself into the water a little more attempting to calm the chills racking my body. He hums in response, assuring me he’s still near.

“Why can’t you see how much I love you?” I ask him, my voice small. Almost quiet enough that I could convince myself I didn’t actually say it out loud for him to hear. That I didn’t just expose my heart completely on my sleeve for him to reject.

I can tell I’ve caught him off guard because he stiffens, his body language screaming run, flee, she’s insane. All of these things happen simultaneously and quickly. Yet the fear and anxiety of a ruined friendship is bubbling up inside of me.

“Forget it. Can you leave? I’ll be fine.” I say, closing off and moving to pull the shower curtain closed.

“What-wait Y/N.” He says, turning around to grab my wrist stopping me in my tracks. His eyes are locked on mine, questions swimming through his eyes but he’s not verbalizing them.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he says, taking a breath to compose himself, I look away from him and staring at my knees, that I’ve pulled up to my chest. Here it is, the great let down. The I love you, but not like that. It’s me not you speech. The one I’ve had in my head a million times, convinced that I had no chance with him. But that’s not what leaves his mouth. “Stop that, look at me.” He reaches out, gently turning my face to look at him once again. His eyes never leaving my face, never wandering, his gaze unfaltering.

“I saw the way you act towards me, but I couldn’t get my hopes up to believe that it was love for me Y/N. I couldn’t bear losing our friendship by mistaking friendship for more than that. God, sweetheart, I love you more than I thought possible.” He says, his voice faltering towards the end, barely a whisper. I blink once, twice, three times before his words finally hit me. He loves me.

“When I came back from hell, you were the first person I wanted to see. You were the first thought on my mind, not Sammy. Maybe that makes me a terrible brother, but when I told him that he asked me why I hadn’t grown a pair and just told you. Y/N, you were never just a fuck buddy. It breaks my heart to hear you say that. I’ve wanted more since we were teenagers, but I was too much of a coward to seek that out. So I threw myself at other women, but none of them ever compared to you. Shit, please don’t cry sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He wipes away a tear from my face, a tear I didn’t realize had started to fall. I look back at him, watching him closely before I start laughing. He looks taken aback and concerned, unsure where my reaction is coming from.

“You’re- you’re telling me we could’ve been together for years by now? Why couldn’t I have had a fever induced feelings confession years ago? Hell, this is comical.” I say, still laughing softly. He laughs too, rolling his eyes, yet the smile forming on his face bringing a smile to my own.

“I love you, Dean, more than anything.” I say, resting my head on my knees once more, keeping it turned towards him so I can watch his expression. I shiver slightly, the water having cooled off since I got in. He notices and quickly drains the tub, helping me stand up and wrapping me in a towel. He lifts me out of the bath, his hands under my arms, before he pulls me straight into his chest. His arms wrapping tightly around me, holding me pressed against him. I melt into his embrace, hugging him back with all the strength I have at the moment.

“I love you, too, Y/N. More than anything.” He mimics, pressing a kiss to my temple before he tucks his finger beneath my chin and raises it, leaning down to press the most passionate kiss to my lips. My eyes fluttering closed, leaning into him and kissing him back. Conveying every hidden emotion I possibly can into this kiss.

“Dean, I’d love to stand here forever, I really would. But ‘m freezing here.” I mutter, beginning to shiver more violently. He chuckles, and begins to help me get dressed into the clothes that he had, unknown to me, laid out when I had first gotten into the tub.

“Back to bed with you.” He says, gently guiding me towards my disheveled sheets. Once I climb in, he shuts the curtains and turns off the lights in my room. He then walks towards my bed once again, shedding his jeans and T-shirt and climbs in next to me. His hands quickly find me, pulling me into his chest, tucking my head beneath his chin. His hands quickly coming to rest on different points of my body. One at the nape of my neck, working it’s way into my hair. The other, on my hip rubbing circles into my exposed skin. The feeling of closeness that this brings, is indescribable. The peace that over takes me, the relief that floods my thoughts. The emptiness this fills.

“‘M tired De. But I’m scared that this was just a fever dream, I don’t want it to be over when I wake up.” I mutter, my eyes already mostly closed. His touch lulling me into a sleep, much more peaceful that I thought possible with a fever running it’s course.

“Sleep, sweetheart. It’s not a dream, I’ll be here, I promise.” He whispers, pressing one more kiss to my forehead before I doze off, fully embracing the open arms of sleep.

Masterlist

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velvrei · 1 year

Text

get to work

pairing : barry (obx) x reader

summary : rafe gets grounded but is in need of his supply, so he sends y/n to get his stuff for him.

warnings : smut, switch!barry (mostly sub), finger sucking, mentions of oral (f receiving)

a/n: this is from my ao3 a while ago so it’s kinda cringe my apologies in advance

nsfw below the cut .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was all so unexpected.

You met Barry through your childhood best friend, Rafe Cameron. He was trapped inside his house because Ward grounded him, which meant he had no way to get his supply. You, being the sweet angel you were, offered to get it for him and drop it off in a disguise to his home. What would Rafe do without you?

You wanted Barry as soon as you laid eyes on him. You couldn’t stand another restless second without his skin on yours, you made it your goal to make that happen by the end of the month. That’s how desperate you were.

Yes, it may seem absurd to obsess over a man you rarely know, but that day when you went to get Rafe’s supply, something sparked. He had a delicious sliver of lust in his eye, and when he first spoke it took him a minute to process what was happening.

Your boots scrapped along the dark pavement as you approached his apparent trailer. Rafe somehow bribed you into stopping by his drug dealer’s place to pick up his shit, a butterfly formed in your stomach at each breath and step you took.

You knocked on the door frame, no door, huh. “Hello?” You saw a man with a faint mustache sitting on a grey couch reading some book, but he sat up from his slouch as he heard a feminine voice.

“Can I help you?” He asked, throwing a tiny bookmark into whatever the hell he was reading as his gorgeous eyes shot to yours.

“Yeah, actually, I’m here to pick up Rafe’s shit. That cheeky bastard got himself grounded, he can’t leave the house until further notice and he really needs his shit or he’ll lose it.” You explained. He motioned for you to sit down in the space across from him and you did just that.

He raised an eyebrow, slightly tilting his head, “How I know you ain’t lying, missy?” He teased, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. You smirked, “Cause I’m paying for it, mister. I can also call Rafe if that’s necessary.”

His eyes achingly traced your body. “Oh, you came prepared. I like you already. Does that mean you’ll be coming here more often? ‘Cause I’d love to see your pretty face come back at least a couple times a week.” His words made your abdomen ache.

“Maybe I will. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

And now somehow you were here, after at least seven more encounters with that filthy hot man, stood outside of his lounging space, except this time Rafe didn’t need anything, this time is was all you.

When you walked through the doorway and Barry heard your footsteps, he smiled, looking up and pausing his book as he had many times before. “Didn’t I just give you Rafe’s shit yesterday? What brings you back here, baby?”

You tried your hardest not to jump to his arms at that. “You.” You stated. He appeared to be taken aback by your sentence, but when he composed it fully he seemed to be open to it. “What do you mean, me? Like you-”

“I want you Barry. I need you. I got to have you.” You confessed. Your words made his pants tighten. “Oh yeah? You really need me that bad, huh?” He taunted, his face inches away from yours as his eyes scanned your prepossessing figure.

“I do, yes. How can I ever get what I want?” You asked, playing along. He smirked, his hands finding place on your waist. “I think I have a way,” He smiled, pushing you onto the couch he was just sitting in them crawling onto his knees.

“Oh?” You sassed. You slowly undressed yourself, each second he wasn’t touching you drove him crazy. He mumbled, “Hurry up.” You stared, “What was that?” You questioned. He looked up at you impatiently, his eyes had that same sparkle from the other day. “Nothing, I’m sorry.” Sorry? Where did this come from?

Once you were fully undressed, his face lightened at the sight in front of him. Your index finger glistened your slick, you lifted his chin upwards, eye contact remaining as his plump lips wrapped around your digit.

“Sorry? Where did that come from, my love?” He trembled at the pet name, swirling his tongue around your finger. You waited a couple seconds before trying your sweet talk again, “You’re listening so well, honey,” You praised. He just sighed around your finger.

“You like that? You like when I praise you, huh, Barry?” He slowly nodded, a mischievous grin forming on your face. You pulled your finger out of his mouth. His hand came up to stop you, he brought your hand back, lightly kissing the top of it. You shivered, “God, Barry, either I’m mistaken or you like to be dommed.”

He gently let go of your hand, “I do, by pretty women like you,” He answered, smirking. That was simply all it took, that was all you needed to continue. “Well, honey, you better get to work, then.”

Your hands gently tugged on his ponytail holder which had almost fallen out. Your hands wrapped around his luscious curls, redoing his ponytail as you directed Barry’s head toward your womanhood.

He gave you a sly grin, then began his assault on your cunt.

#barry obx #barry smut obx #barry outer banks #barry x reader #barry x reader obx #smut #velvrei #smut imagine #trending #writing #barry sub obx #barry outer banks smut #barry obx smut

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Cause of Action 2

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Your first week is tame. Boring, even. Your desk mates are quiet and cold. They barely even talk to each other. You suppose they have a lot of work to do, a lot more serious work than you. Your own tasks are rather tedious but menial nonetheless.

You find your sight blurring as you scroll through a case brief. You have your elbow on your desk, cupping your chin at your mindless perusal. The subtle click of the mechanism slips through your trance but doesn’t quite register. It isn’t until a dark shape stands in your peripheral that you finally break your near-comatose state.

“Mr. Barber,” you greet, barely able to conceal your surprise, “hi.”

“Just checking in,” he says as he rests his hand on the cubicle wall, “and I had a favour to ask you.”

“Uh, sure,” you keep your hand on your mouse, tapping the wheel nervously.

“Think you could start late tomorrow? You’ll see in the calendar there’s a late meeting and I won’t be in until noon anyway,” he explains, his free hand hooks on his belt. He does that, he stands like a disapproving dad and it makes your bones rattle.

“Right, uh, yeah, I can do that.”

“Great,” he smacks the cubicle wall and it shakes just a little, “you grab a donut from the break room?”

“Donut?” You pique at the mention of sugar, “oh, well… I’m tryna cut back.”

“That’s too bad. I got ‘em from this place about a block down. They’re great. I love the boston creams but the crullers aren’t bad either.”

“Hmmm, maybe at lunch,” you shrug, “thanks, Mr. Barber.”

“No problem, just a little pick me up for the office,” he looks around as the office drones continue on without acknowledgement. “I’ll let you get back to it then.”

“Alright,” you smile and swivel back to your screen.

He lingers for a moment before he strides off. You glance over as he enters the break room. The smell of coffee soon stirs in the air and makes your stomach grumble.

“Eh, could use another cup,” Marnie sighs but makes no move to fulfill her wishes.

You ponder a second coffee but think better of it. Caffeine usually has you addled and you’re already restless sitting around at a computer. You refocus on the case brief as Mr. Barber’s shadow approaches the door.

It’s strange. He seems so nice but the rest of this place is so miserable. Well, it is work.

📓

The late start to your day throws everything off. By the time you get to the office, you’re exhausted already. You couldn’t sleep in despite your efforts so much of your morning was spent in anticipation of starting work.

As you get to work Marnie is on her lunch and Taylor is huffing at his phone screen. He tends to be on that more than his computer. Mr. Barber greets you in passing as he appears with a cup of coffee. He retreats to his office as you settle in at your desk. There’s a small container waiting for you with a note.

‘Hope it’s not stale.’

You flick the post-it and tilt the container to see through the clear plastic. A donut dressed up with graham crumble and what appears to be strawberry jam. It looks delicious and dangerously high in calories. Still, a nice gesture. You would feel bad to reject it.

You get started, the day dragging by as usual. You pick away at the donut, trying hard not to get any crumbs or gooeyness on your keyboard. You get a few messages from Mr. Barber about new tasks but he’s mostly cloistered in his office, explaining that he’s on calls all day.

Marnie packs up first, then Taylor. Once they’re gone, the office takes on an eerie hue with the dimming sky outside. The tinted yellow bulbs do little to ease the ambiance. You clack on keys ambivalently, all caught up and anxious.

The door clicks and you spin to face your boss. You have no chill left.

“Oh, hi,” he buttons his jacket, “uh, you ready?”

“Ready? I thought the meeting was here?”

“No, uh, my client changed his plans,” he checks his watch, “you’ll get overtime for the extra hours.”

“Um, alright,” you stand up and stretch out your legs. Mr. Barber nears as you grab your purse and swipe up your phone from the top of your desk. “That’s fine, I guess.”

“Sorry, I know it’s weird hours but the guy’s not exactly a negotiator. Hence why he hired me.”

“No problem. I signed up for it, right?”

“I like that attitude,” he grins, “so, you like the donut?”

He peeks over at the empty container forgotten beside your monitor. You push your shoulders up and bite the inside of your lip.

“Yeah, very sweet,” you say, “thanks.”

“I’ve never had the strawberry so I’ll take your word for it,” he gestures you ahead of him towards the door, “better get going.”

“Sure.”

You lead the way and he locks the door behind him. He follows you down the narrow stairs as you cling to the banister. Your heels make the descent treacherous.

As you come out under the greying sky, Andy exhales heavily and checks his watch again. “I’ll drive.”

“Oh, uh, thanks, Mr. Barber,” you utter. You assumed it might have been just down the block. The mystery of it all is frustrating. You should’ve checked the calendar.

“Andy’s fine,” he corrects, “for tonight. Oh and a bit of advice, you don’t have to put up with my client. He says anything untoward, you let me know.”

He guides you down to a dark car parked by a meter. You near the passenger’s side and watch him come up the other.

“Should I be worried?” You ask.

“No, but he can be… direct.”

“Ah, right,” you nod, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Nice girl like you, I’m sure it will be,” he agrees as the locks slide back noisily.

He opens his door and sits in the driver’s seat. You get in and buckle up as he checks his mirrors and fiddles with a few switches. He seems almost more anxious than you.

“I won’t feel so out of place with you around,” he remarks as he puts his signal on and looks over his shoulder.

“Oh?”

“You’ll see,” he girds as he pulls out.

You wish he would just tell you where you’re going but you’re too embarrassed to ask. If he knew you didn’t even bother to check the calendar, it might not look so good on you. And you need him to give you a glowing reference. You can’t have the only experience on your resume be tainted by your own carelessness.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #drabble #au #defending jacob #the club #series #cause of action

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fe-fictions · 8 months

Note

I need my husband saizo. Can we pregnant corrin who isn’t able to sleep cause the baby is keeping her awake

(Starting 2024 with some sweet Saizo fluff!! Enjoy :'3 )

Saizo was always a light sleeper. You, the princess who bore the weight of two kingdoms and a supernatural plain of existence’s futures on your shoulders, were not.

You could sleep through just about anything.

Except, it seemed, your sixth month of pregnancy.

“Dammit…” You sounded incredibly upset, and rather agitated when he felt the bed shift next to him. “C’mon, why are you doing this to me now? It’s not a good time for this…”

Saizo rose slowly, quietly, checking to see what was going on. You weren’t talking to anybody else in the room…that you noticed.

“Please...I just want to sleep.”

“Corrin? Who are you talking to?” He spoke quietly so as not to frighten you. He was deeply slightly concerned.

“It’s the baby.” You replied hopelessly, tilting your head to acknowledge your awake husband. “I-I’m sorry, did I accidentally wake you up with my complaining? At least one of us should get a good night’s sleep.”

“If you do not sleep, I do not, either.” He stated simply, sitting up fully. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know…I’ve never had a living creature inside of me that won’t stop moving around. Should we summon a cleric? Sakura might be more knowledgeable, but I’d hate to wake her.”

“Hmm. Let me check the medical journals before we summon anyone. It should not be so difficult to resolve…unless you are feeling pain or discomfort.”

“No, just…can’t sleep.” You sighed, flopping back into your pillow with a groan as said baby kicked again for good measure. “It’s unnerving, feeling him move about so much.”

“Saizo. Be still.” His voice was gruff, but lacked the usual bite when pointed at others. He rose from the bed and found the journals, re-settling himself at your side with the candles lit to provide some visibility.

“Let us see…the second trimester…” He thummed through it, muttering to himself as he searched voraciously for a solution to his wife’s struggle. There were few things he hated more than being incapable of helping you, after all.

You smiled softly to yourself, watching as he was all but glaring at each word on the pages, hoping the next would hold the answer he sought.

“Here we are.” He leaned back, gently pressing his hand to your baby bump as his reading came to a pause. “It states here that, if the patient restless or is incapable of sleep due to excessive movement…they should lie on their side.”

“All right,” You agreed, carefully shifting so that you were no longer on your back. His hand lingered, as if testing for more movement.

He clicked his tongue when he received a defiant kick. You just sighed looking up at him from the pillow. “What else does it say?”

“Hmph. It’s mostly preventative behaviors you are supposed to do before sleep; lie down an hour beforehand…drink warm tea…light stretching…”

“I already do most of that. And I did before tonight, too.” You frowned. “I suppose I’m out of options.”

Saizo looked displeased; was there truly nothing else he could do? Turning the page, there only seemed to be a few other solutions. “Perhaps it is time to take up the offer from Hayato, to sew a pregnancy pillow. This says holding one of those when sleeping helps reduce movement.”

“But you’re my pregnancy pillow.” You protested. He coughed to disguise a laugh; were you always so ridiculous?

“Don’t speak nonsense. I’ll ask him about it come morning. But I suppose for now, the only other immediate option would be to talk to him. It’s not as effective, but talking to the child apparently helps in soothing them.”

“You know…that does sound plausible. He doesn’t seem to react very much while you’re talking.”

“I doubt that's the case. He still kicks when I speak." Saizo reminded you, as if you didn’t have the little one inside yourself and couldn’t feel every single move. You shook your head, patting his hand.

"But it's only after you stop talking. We ought to test this theory...could it be that he’s just lonely?” You wondered aloud, resting your hand over Saizo’s. “Is that why you’re so restless, my dear? It’s been too quiet?”

“Preposterous.” He scoffed, but fell silent all the same. You both looked at each other, waiting to see what would happen. Hardly half a second passed after he spoke, and immediately there was a kick.

“See? Keep talking!” You ushered him to continue, smiling bright. Saizo rolled his eyes, but complied all the same.

“If you’re going to keep your mother awake just because you cannot hear me speak, we will have many problems in the future, little one.” He spoke with great warning, and he paused to test the theory once more.

A few moments passed, and sure enough, another little kick.

It was getting more difficult for Saizo to mask the joy that was filling him every time the baby reacted to his voice. To think he was not even in the world yet but he knew who his parents were.

He was a miracle. A wonder.

He just…wouldn’t stop kicking his mother.

Saizo sighed when a tiny fist pushed into his fingertips. He shifted in the bed so that his head was in your lap, a delightful change for you. Instinctively your fingers ran through his hair, stroking it softly as he tended to his son.

“You are the sixth in a prestigious, honorable legacy of royal ninja. It is unbecoming behavior, treating your mother like this. A proper ninja would never be so disrespectful of her needing rest.”

You could’ve sworn you heard him stifle a chuckle when another hand bumped his cheek. His hand gently ran over your belly, attempting to soothe him once again.

“It is all right if you do not hear our voices, sometimes. Just because you cannot hear us does not mean we aren’t here. Besides, when I am away on missions, I will not be able to tell you stories. I’m afraid you’ll have to be able to live without me every now and then.”

“But it’s never forever.” You quickly added, always nervous when he spoke in such a way. Even saying something like “living without him” in the context of a few weeks…it did bother you terribly.

Saizo glanced up at you, taking your hand in his with a soft squeeze.

“Right. I would be a fool to abandon either of you. I have no plans of leaving you behind. I promise.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your fingertips.

As if you weren’t already deeply in love.

“So rest, dear one. It is long past time for all of us to be asleep. But we will talk again come morning.” His promise led to one last pause, waiting to see if he would continue his protest.

You waited…and waited…and then…

“He’s asleep.” You breathed a sigh of relief, both of you relaxing. At last, you were rewarded with a restful sleep.

He ran his hand across your baby bump one last time, before carefully slipping away and coming back up to his side of the bed. You leaned into him, welcoming his arm coming around your shoulder and gently taking you into his side.

“At last.”

“Thank you, Saizo...you're a miracle worker.”

“Do not thank me for doing my duty as your husband, and as his father. I will always be glad to ease your burdens.”

“That is why I’m grateful.” Your hand settled on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. “And it is also why I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now hush. We may rouse him again if he hears we are still talking.” He kissed your forehead quickly, and you could feel the heat of his face against your skin. He was such fun to tease.

You were blessed with the next few nights of peace and quiet. Especially now that you had a secret weapon.

Saizo made sure to be with you come bedtime, so that he might tell the baby about his day and soothe him with his voice.

You knew your husband took great pride and joy in the fact that he could do this for you, and that his son loved the sound of his voice.

So even on nights where he had to assist Ryoma with something late into the night, or had missions that would take him away, he made certain that he was there to help you both get a good night’s sleep.

The only thing that could have possibly made it sweeter, was when the little Saizo was born. He recognized his father’s voice and calmed without hesitation.

Your husband already adored his newborn son…but you were certain they’d be inseparable, bonded by the love of father and son (and said father’s delightful voice).

Though to be fair, you weren’t counting on Saizo the Sixth to have an “Asugi the Rebellious Teen Ninja” phase.

#saizo #corrin #fe 14 #fire emblem fates #fe fates #fe: fates #sairin #saizo x corrin #saizo x kamui #fe fictions #fe-fictions #f!corrin #fem!corrin #f!mu #pregnancy prompt #pregnancy fluff #just so much fluff #we love saizo ;;;;;

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kacievvbbbb · 1 month

Text

🎼🌸PlayList 🌸🎶

Thank you everyone that gave me Mishanks song recs!

They were so great and I got a lot of new music (which was the real goal) but yes Thank you so much for sharing! 😊🌸

I got very inspired and thought I'd share some of the songs that really started to feel very Mishanks to me.

Change “I don’t care that you’re a stoner” to serial killer and this is definetly Shanks about Mihawk vibes .

I don’t know very Mihawk about the whole situation and their falling out. He’ll never say it out loud tho.

Yes Hozier because again nobody does Longing and reminisce quiet as well. Mishanks “Young and Wanted” vibes. If there was ever a time it was just a time it was just the two of them wrecking havoc on the seas this would be the soundtrack.

Mihawk. I don’t even have to explain once you listen you’ll just know

Honestly. This is mostly because this would be a great sex scene song. I don’t even like sex scenes in shows but I’m suprised this song has never been used and this just proves that’s because they lack taste. Also slightly toxic devotion very them.

Very Mishanks break up vibes.

Again I don’t even need to explain how this is Mihawk.

Honestly thins feels very much like a companion piece to Too Sweet. Except this is more from Shanks POV. It’s just the same vibes

I don’t know why but it’s giving Mihawk

And

Again Shanks and Hozier both being obsessed with their babies.

Honorable mentions cause I hit the Audio limit 😭

Mama’s boy by Dominic Fike

Not to steal from satsuga which is where I first heard it. But again love to dig into Shanks’ parental abandonment trauma and this is a good song for that. Also his fear of Mihawk’s growing bored of him.

Wasted Summer by juju

Again not to steal from satsuga. But very young and wanted.

Nobody’s Soldier by Hozier

Thank you hozier for releasing this just in time to make this list. Very early Mihawk. Young and Ungovernable.

BONUS

some goth family ones.

Second Child restless child by the Oh hellos

Is very Zoro in the goth family AU. Very second child technically youngest but with strong middle child energy.

Seventeen by Sharon Van Etten

Very Mihawk looking at these children who still have dreams and feeling like an old man.

Seventeen Going Under by Sam Fender

I don’t know what to say You just need to listen to how Zoro this is.

I wish I had something for Perona but I think I just don’t listen to any music she’d be into 😭. The closest I can come up with is Ribs by Lorde

I didn’t mean for this to get this long 😭. But yeah was very inspired by all y’all lovely lists and recs. Was very fun to go through! Let me know if you give any of these a listen and what you think!

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bisexualnerd · 2 months

Text

Writer tag game

I wasn’t tagged, but I saw the game randomly posted by another user so I want to play anyway! (red for fic links and blue for series links)

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

35 (and only one draft because I don't really like working on multiple projects at the same time)

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

395,306

3. what fandoms do you write for?

I write the most for Batfam, mostly Tim and Jason but usually, the whole fam (more or less) is also there.

I write a bit more for some other fandoms but there are only one or two fics for each (2021 Produce 101 - Chuang Zao Ying, Hollywood Undead (but these fics are not finished), Julie and The Phantoms (1 fic - finished), Arsenal Military Academy + The Legends (they are kinda connected in 1 fic) and I have like, one translation project too.

I'm hoping to write Star Wars fics one day too. Really like the whole time travel thing and Obi-Wan is my beloved.

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Monster Under My Bed (The Monster Down The Hall)

"Back Away From Him."

if i lose everything in the fire, i'm sending all my love to you

Cold

A Pile of Sleeping Birds

5. do you respond to comments?

All of the comments, definitely. I really enjoy reading and replying to them and sometimes, I even come back to re-read the comments to feel validated 🤣

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I write angst a lot but I have a thing for happy endings. But if I look at the fics individually and not like, as a part of a bigger series, it might be i have so much to say but you're so far away. But if not just the ending but the whole plot in general, it can be any fic really (I would recommend Restless Heart Syndrome, And Now You're Home, The Monster Under My Bed (The Monster Down The Hall), and What The Heart Remembers).

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

They all have some sort of happy endings (though some fics that are a part of a series might not but the series will have happy endings). But since all I have talked about is Batfam, I would recommend this from Julie and the Phantoms. I don't write romance often, but this is just a short soft, cute love story of two ghosts (Reggie and an OC based on his real-life wife) plus some humour in the band - ‘Cause I’m Not Too Far And You’re My Favorite Place. I was very satisfied with how it turned out and I still come back to re-read for my own enjoyment a few times so I hope you guys will give it a chance.

8. do you get hate on fics?

My most controversial fic would be Hold Me Close, Don't Let Go (Watch Me Burn) but it's not like people showed hate to me. They just didn't like the story and how I wrote it so there were some unpleasant comments. The newest one, I think I did well with my response. It's a rather heavy fic because I went through a really rough time when I was writing it (along with many others) so if you want to read it, be careful.

9. do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't. My fics are all rated G or T (mostly because of swearing and violence, and also some with suicidal theme or idealisation because I did have a really bad time).

10. do you write crossovers?

Just for two fandoms, Arsenal Military Academy & The Legends, because they share the same lead actor and actress so I thought it would be fun to write something about reincarnation. It's Then and Now, Forever and Always.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think I'm famous enough for that.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, into Chinese, actually. It's The Monster Under My Bed (The Monster Down The Hall). The link to the translated fic is in the fic.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Not really. I planned my current series How To Steal A Brother with my friend Den and she is also my beta-reader for this series but I still write all of the stuff, which she reads and corrects the mistakes for me later.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

That's hard to choose. I really like Robin (Dick Grayson) and Starfire. It was like my first ship ever because I watched Teen Titans as a child. I also like Marinette/Adrien, very cute but the secondhand embarrassment is not very healthy for me (at least she has gotten better at interacting with him). The Doctor (10th) and Rose was one heartbreak that got me crying like a baby in 8th grade.

So honestly, I don't think I can pick because those were the three that came to my mind first, but I still have like a few dozen left.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

The Hollywood Undead fic - When Gravity Pulls You In. It was a really fun idea but then I ran into a big writer's block and I haven't recovered for this fic. I have been writing for Batfam again but I doubt I can go back and finish this one (at least anytime soon).

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't think I'm too good with dialogue but I do have a strength in describing and like some sort of metaphor (English is not my first language so this is a difficult question to answer). I don't know if this is also considered a strength but like I said, I don't really write many fics at the same time so I can manage them pretty well. Most of my fics are completed before I move on to another one.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. And I forget a lot of stuff so I have to go back to the earlier part so the plot won't be inconsistent. And of course, I write in English, which is not my mother tongue, so sometimes, I lack vocabulary or my grammar can feel weird.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I mean, I would add translation or explanation very subtly in there. But I saw a Star Wars fic where the writer had like, floating texts or something for the conversations in Mando'a so like, I will research on that if I need to write in another language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Batfam. Tim-centric.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Damn, that's like asking a parent for their fav child on national television.

In terms of like, wording and metaphors and descriptions and all the technical stuff - And Now You're Home - because some of my fav paragraphs are in here. In terms of logic, time can never change for the flying bird under the summer sun because I went crazy with all the planning for the whole time-travel-but-nothing-changes-the-future thing. In terms of plot, i'm so out of touch with everyone, and everything's a blur to me. This was one of my earlier ones but when I came back to this earlier this year, I found it so enjoyable and fascinated. I couldn't even believe I wrote this one. But it is a part of a series so you might want to check out I've Got You Brother.

This has been fun and I have been shamelessly PR-ing my fics. I don't really know who to tag so anyone else who wants to play, go ahead and have fun!

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ctheathy · 1 year

Note

hey! Could I request a Reader x secret history tails who fall asleep alot they could be sitting on the bench in a park and reader just falls asleep or at his work table and tails just hears a tiny bang on the table and he turns around and readers just asleep with drool on the table😭

Secret History Tails w/ sleepy!Darling

Secret History Tails x Reader

Fluff Headcanons

Short Concept

Author’s note : Hello, Nonnie//Anon!! Of course you may, thankies for requesting =} Once again, my apologies in case it’s somewhat shorter than the average post. I’m just kind of lacking creativity on what to say, but I tried making it as long as possible. Hope you enjoy💞🌷

SH Tails from TSAA was chosen again aswell, as I do believe people have gotten mostly attached to the more recent behaviour of his.

The two of you are already implied to be in a relationship to begin with <3

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Insomnia mention • Pills offering

You already have to go through quite the draining sh1t by just dating this absolute menace of society. It’s always something new, hopping from one dimension to another, travelling through the multiverse itself, needing to blend in in some other universe’s reality; It’s ... Quite much for one single creature to handle to say the least, if not even too much. If anything, I can totally see the two tailed fox himself being rather restless when needing to go to bed for the night, and sometimes even failing to do so at all due to the paranoia getting to him. Because of this, your little habits of tiredness didn’t really surprise the mobian much, but this absolutely did not stop the fox from mentally freaking out over both your actual health and much less the idea of him being the cause behind all of it.

When the two of you are in a committed relationship, he becomes a fairly overprotective and worried lover over you and your wellbeing. He’s constantly checking up on you, questioning whenever you’re taking good care of yourself and making very well sure you keep up with your basic common needs for a healthy lifestyle. So when the thoughts drop in about him being the main cause behind your worn out presence, he is kind of an emotional wreck. He is literally close to ripping the fur from his Tails in a moment of unrestrained anxiety. It’s only when you gently hold his hands after preventing them from hurting himself in the pressure and quickly let him know that you just feel somewhat sleepy on a regular basis and just cannot help it at times that the tension has lessened slightly. He’s still worried about you feeling as tired as you do, however, the question whenever you’ve slept well the night beforehand always wiggling its way into the conversation or if it would perhaps be a better idea if you’d go right back to bed for the day instead.

He’d likely offer you pills for the night in his worry, confusing your state with something serious and damaging to you. You’re his precious beloved, he genuinely cares for your health and wants you to be okay on a daily basis, not just let it be ruined due to some poor sleeping habits. Though if you tell him you’re just fine laying on that--that hard and dirty table, he insists you use his tails as your own personal pillows, he can work just fine without them-!! If anything, the whole working thing may as well go to complete waste when it’s about you. He’ll pick you over his inventing each and every single time, just cancelling his plans for the day in order to sit down with your head in his lap, almost wrapping himself around your form completely and stroking your locks with love and care. Don’t even make me mention anybody who came by uninvited along those personal moments; he’s literally glaring daggers at them and sometimes even flipping them off outside of their view, the thought of them waking you up lingering in the back of his mind.

I can definitely picture him putting his work to the side to take daily naps with you aswell. He has quite the bad sleeping schedule for his own case, yet those have usually just fallen on dear ears. To himself, atleast. Please drag this little hypocrite to bed along with you. He’s one to literally force you to bed when the sleeping habits are shown enough of times, and although he’d refuse at first hand, I believe with a little bit of pushing you’d easily get him to lay right next to you. It’s not like the decision was that regrettable for his own self after a little while, anyways. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself in the spooning position, and the look of utter peace on his expressions honestly made it even a hundred times much more endearing than beforehand.

After a little while he calms down and starts to try accepting this demeanour as nothing more than normality. He tries letting out nothing more than a singular chuckle when he notices that you have fallen asleep in your chair once again. He does however, still tend to show concerns for your neck and any seeming uncomfortable positions in the process, but those again would easily be minimised by the softness of his tails laying right underneath you. And if anything, he’s honestly started to grow rather comforted by your sleepy nature, it giving him a sense of trust between the relationship and it seemingly having quite the positive effect on his own improved slumber rythm aswell; may that be through his calmed mindset when hugging you close when laying in his lap, or you simply just dragging him to bed right with you. Perhaps it’s not even all that bad to begin with after all,

Cause atleast now he has the capability of holding that lovely and soothing sleeping form of yours into his own arms

#secret history tails #mashed tails #sh tails #yandere tails #tails x reader #secret history tails x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader

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chicago-pd-is-weird · 4 months

Text

Hank Voight Oneshot

Synopsis: When Hank is injured in an explosion, the team comes to the hospital to comfort him, each in their own way.

Requested by: @andgry4

Hank had always gone first. That was his policy. He couldn’t wait for the bomb squad. He had to go in.

“Stay here, everyone stay here!” He commanded. As he met Erin’s eyes, he could tell she didn’t want him to go. She wanted to protest, but Hank’s look kept her in place.

“Hank,” Erin started, but Hank didn’t care. He slowly pushed open the door.

“Everyone back up,” he said, looking back to Erin, Antonio, and the rest of intelligence. All of them were ready to jump in with Hank, to literally ride or die. But he wouldn’t have it. Reluctantly, all of them backed up into the street. Hank nodded and looked back into the house, to the woman’s screams. He let out a breath, then stepped inside.

He knew every step could be his last. Turning on his flashlight, he walked through the house, slow and careful. He checked every step before moving through, toward the begging woman. Every step made his heart beat faster, but somehow he couldn’t find the woman. “Where are you?!”

The woman didn’t answer him directly, continuing to beg for help. “Please, please help me! Please, I’m over here!”

Hank, although calm on the outside, had adrenaline pumping through his veins. He couldn’t see her anywhere. He moved by sound, getting to the middle of the house. The sound was the loudest, but looking around with his flashlight, he didn’t see her.

The sound then stopped, and some mechanical clicking could be heard. Hank looked down, and saw a small tape player with several wires sticking out of it, leaning to some barrels.

“Shit,” he mumbled, then turned and ran toward the front of the house as it began rapidly beeping. He was nearly there before it exploded, and he was pushed out onto the grass, debris landing with him, fire everywhere. The last thing he remembered was a blaze and hearing several voices yelling his name.

—

“So how long?” Hank huffed. He hated hospitals in general, mostly because Camille spent her last few days in one.

“A week,” Will Halstead replied. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but we need to keep you here at least that long to make sure no complications arise. And to make sure you rest. I know if I let you leave, you’ll go right back to work.”

“Damn right I will,” Hank replied, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“You got blown up and had to have surgery. You’re not ‘fine,’ you’re recovering.”

Hank huffed again, crossing his arms despite the pain it caused him, even with the medicine in his system. “Alright, fine then.”

“Good,” Will replied. “Now rest. Your body needs it.”

Hank grumbled in reply, but let his eyes close and his body rest, as suggested. He did need it, despite his protests and tough exterior. He’d never admit it, though, as he relaxed into the bed, listening to the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside him. It wasn’t too comforting, but it was constant.

—

Three days in, Hank was nearly restless. His body definitely wasn’t ready to leave, but his mind was. He tried too hard to push himself beyond what he was physically capable of, despite protests from all the doctors. They even sent in a shrink to talk to him, which he refused. Not to mention the hospital food was not great. Everyone had been in and out to see him once or twice, but only briefly since they were working the case. They’d comforted him and let him know that Trudy had taken his place for a few days until the case was solved and the perp was behind bars.

Hank wouldn’t want any other sergeant to step into his shoes except Trudy, so it brought him some comfort to know his unit was in good hands. Nevertheless, he begged for every detail anyone would spare when they visited him.

Finally, when the case was solved, Alvin came into the room to give Hank the news. He sat beside him, handing him a burger he had snuck in his coat pocket. He also handed Hank a small bag of fries from his coat pocket. “We got him. He won’t hurt anyone else.”

“And the woman?” Hank asked, his mouth already full from the delicious burger.

“She was already dead. The recording you heard had been taken when she was first kidnapped.”

Hank sighed as his heart sank. “Damn it.”

Alvin nodded, letting the silence wash over them as they both ate.

After a few moments, Hank spoke again. “How’s everyone else taking it?”

Alvin shrugged and met his eyes. “I think better than you are.”

“I got blown up for a dead girl. Of course I wanted to save her. If I knew she was already dead-“

“If we knew she was dead, you wouldn’t have gone into that house and gotten your ass blown to smithereens.”

Hank glared at Alvin, but knew it was a joke. He rolled his eyes as he finished his meal, crumpling up the paper and tossing it across the room into the garbage can. “Thanks,” he said, shooting Al a pointed look.

“You’re welcome,” Al replied, standing up. “Everyone wants to see you today, yaknow? Since the case is closed.”

“Yeah,” Hank grumbled. He welcomed the company, seeing as he was going insane just sitting there, but hated that they had to come see him because he was stuck in the room. He was frustrated.

“I’ll bring some whisky later.”

“Thanks,” Hank replied, nodding to his closest friend as he left the room. Hank sighed, readjusting in the bed and sitting up, despite the pain it caused him. He groaned, leaning back just as Erin came into the room.

“Already trying to leave?”

Hank cracked a small smile. Erin always made him smile. “I’ve been trying to leave since they brought me here.”

“I know,” she replied. “Last time I was here, you were chomping at the bit. Looks like you mellowed out a little.”

“No, just got tired.”

“Hank Voight? Tired? You must be getting old.”

Hank rolled his eyes at her, but she took his hand. He looked down as both of her hands engulfed his. “Old? That means you’re getting old too.”

Erin laughed a little, shaking her head. “You know… when you came out that door, and the whole thing blew, I… I saw your body fly. I thought you were dead.”

Hank looked her over. “Takes a lot more than that to kill me.”

“We lost Camille six years ago. I just… assumed the worst. It’s like all the feelings from her death came back to me all over again.”

Hank squeezed her hand. “Now you know how I feel about you when you throw yourself headfirst into danger.”

Erin laughed dryly, using one hand to wipe her face, tears spilling over. “Yeah, well, I’m thirty years younger than you.”

“That many?”

“I’m glad you’re finding this amusing.”

Hank smiled again. It made him happy to be around her. From day one, Erin has cheered him up, even while at work. She filled part of the gap Camille had left in his soul.

After Erin had left, Hank was tired, more so than he expected. He realized maybe it was good that he was forced to rest in the hospital. Otherwise, he might be on his office couch right now, napping. He closed his eyes and listened to the steady beeping once more, coaxing him into a light slumber.

He didn’t open his eyes again until he heard the door to his room slide open. Drawing in a breath, he opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Antonio walked in and to his bedside. “Hey, how are you doing?”

“Fine,” Hank replied with a shrug. “They told me to rest for the week.”

“Yeah,” Toni replied. “I wish I could rest for the whole week.”

“No you don’t,” Hank replied, looking to him. “That’s why you’re part of my unit.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Antonio said with a shrug and a soft smile. “That means if you’re anything like me, you’re going stir crazy.”

“You read my mind.” Hank shrugged.

Antonio hummed and patted his shoulder. “Then that also means you’re exhausted and should rest.”

“You think so?” Hank stated, sarcasm dripping from his words. He didn’t want to rest and was frustrated he had to. “So who’s running the unit for the next four days?”

“I guess Platt, loosely,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ll make sure everyone stays on topic, though. Don’t worry.”

“I can always count on you.”

Antonio smiled slightly, then pulled something from his pocket. “Oh, here, Diego wrote you a get well note.”

Hank hummed and took the folded paper from Antonio, inspecting it, then opening it up to read it. It was short, but sweet.

Dear Sgt. Voight,

I hope you feel better soon. You need to keep saving people like me from the bad guys. Thanks for helping my dad and me.

Sincerely,

Diego Dawson

Hank smiled up at Antonio. “Tell him thanks.”

“Sure,” Antonio replied. “He couldn’t spell ‘Sergeant,’ so he used the abbreviation.” He laughed, then patted Hank’s shoulder again. “Get some rest. Seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank replied, waving his hand dismissively as Antonio left. He chuckled softly and set the card on the table beside him. Then, he allowed himself to close his eyes once more.

The next day, Kim was the first one to visit, bright and early. “Hey, Sarge,” she said softly as the door pushed open. “How are you feeling?”

Hank looked up, having already been awake. “I’m alright. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Oh, we cleared it with Platt. I hope that’s alright.”

Hank looked at if he was thinking about it for a moment before nodding. “Alright, I guess so.”

“Good, cause I brought breakfast. Al told me what you like.” She pulled out a small paper bag from beneath her coat. “Sausage, egg, and cheese bagel.”

Hank smiled, taking the bag of food from her. “Thanks, Burgess.”

“Well, I mean, you were there for me when I got shot. Only fair I’m here for you now.”

Hank nodded, looking at her as he ate. She also had a bagel sandwich, taking a seat beside him to eat with him. “How have you been? Really, I mean, adjusting to intelligence is a hard move. Everything been good with Olinsky?”

“Yeah, Sarge. It’s all really great. Thank you.” Kim smiled brightly. “Although, can I confess? There’s just one thing that’s bothering me about working here.”

Hank raised a brow, but nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I just really hated seeing you blown up, you know? Is that going to be a regular occurrence?”

Hank laughed softly, shaking his head at the young officer he’d recently taken into his unit. “I dunno, Burgess. It’s never happened before. Is you getting shot going to be something I should worry about?”

“Gosh, I hope not,” she replied, shaking her head with a smile. “I never want to do that again.”

“Yeah, I can understand why. Hospitals suck.”

“I know, right!” Kim said, nodding. “Like, I’m just supposed to lay there all day?”

Hank smiled. “You know, they say doctors make the worst patients, but I doubt that. I think cops are by far the worst.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The two of them chatted for a bit longer, Kim finishing her sandwich, then pulling out another bag. “Here, take one.” She opened the bag and held it out to Hank.

When he peered inside, there were two donuts. Hank smiled and took one out, a chocolate frosted one with sprinkles, leaving Kim the strawberry frosted one with sprinkles. “Cheers,” he said, holding out the donut.

“Cheers,” Kim mirrored, pressing her donut to his for a moment before they both ate.

Later on that day, Hank was practically restless, and he gave the nurses hell for it. He wanted out. He needed to leave the room and the bed. When the door to his room slid open, he sighed heavily, looking to see which nurse had come to calm him that time. He was surprised to see Adam and Kevin walk through the door, Kevin pushing a wheelchair.

“Please tell me that’s for me.”

“That’s right, Boss. We’ve come to temporarily release you from your captivity.”

“Thank goodness,” Hank said, already sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Kevin and Adam helped him up, which he verbally refused, but physically needed. When they got him settled, Kevin pushed the wheelchair as Adam walked alongside them.

“Just a few more days, then you’re out of here, Boss.”

“Can’t come soon enough, Ruzek.”

“I hear that, Sarge,” Kevin chimed in. “If it were me, I would’ve run away by now.”

“Kev, shut up, the nurses said not to give him any ideas.” Adam laughed and shook his head. “They told us you’ve been giving them hell all day.”

“Yeah, that’s why we bargained to get you a wheelchair. As long as you stay in the wheelchair.”

Hank hummed in thought, then nodded. “Fine. Only because I know if I run now, Maggie will strap me to that damn bed.”

“If you ran now, Sarge, we’d be your wingmen.” Kevin laughed earning another small slap from Adam.

Adam smiled. “You gotta rest, though. That way you can take intelligence back.”

“Yeah, how was today without me?” Hank looked up at Adam and Kevin behind him. The two looked at one another, then both shrugged in unison.

“It was… something. Let’s just say it’s a good thing we don’t have a case right now,” Adam said, seemingly disappointed. “Look, it’s all fine and good, Boss, but without you, we don’t really have a structure. I mean, Antonio stepped up to fill in your shoes, but… they’re big shoes to fill.”

Kevin nodded a little in affirmation. “Yeah, I think he could do it, eventually, but he’s not you, and we’re expecting you from him. It’s just not fair. He was set up for failure.”

“So he doesn’t get the same respect you do,” Adam continued. “And it causes issues between all of us. Platt tried to help out, and it did help some, but she’s not you either. We followed her orders because we had to. She outranks us.”

Hank sighed softly as he listened to the two go on about the day. He wanted to leave before, but the urge was now magnified by a thousand percent. He needed to run his unit. He didn’t want to sit in the hospital, knowing they were in turmoil and therefore in danger if they were out in the field.

When the silence overtook the three of them, Adam chimes in first. “You okay, Boss?”

“Yeah,” Hank mumbled. He was discouraged and overall tired, tired of lying in bed and doing nothing, but what else could he do? He doubted Will would let him out of the hospital, let alone clear him to go back to work. His body was tired from moving so much that day. His mind was tired from fighting. He was just tired.

Adam and Kevin seemed to pick up on this and helped Hank back into his bed once arriving back at his room. They said their goodbyes and parted ways, letting Hank rest. He took the opportunity to close his eyes, drifting off again.

Later that night, Jay came in, Mouse in tow. The two of them brought Hank some dinner, takeout from a Chinese place he liked. Hank thanked them, looking between the two of them. “How was today?” He asked, chomping at the bit to be back.

Jay shrugged. “It was fine, I guess. Not the same without you.”

Mouse nodded in agreement, though he was a man of few words outside of when he was working. “I agree, Sergeant.”

Hank hummed as he picked at the food. “Can you talk to your brother and tell him to let me out of here?” He met Jay’s eyes. Although his tone was lighter and joking, his eyes were serious, a heavy weight on his shoulders. It was as if they could physically see what was weighing Hank down - being cooped up in a room and seeing his unit spiral without him. He took care of his unit and seeing them like this wasn’t right in his mind.

Jay nodded. “Look, I’ll see what I can do. But you have to stop fighting the nurses. April and Maggie are ready to slip sedatives in your IV.”

Hank laughed dryly. He didn’t care anymore, in fact, he wished they would do he wouldn’t have to spend his waking moments waiting to leave the hospital.

Mouse looked over Hank, then looked to Jay. “How much longer?”

“Three days,” Hank groaned, putting his hands to his head and leaning back on the bed. “All I’ve done is lay here. I’m going insane.”

Jay moved out of the room to talk to his brother, to see if there was any way Hank could be discharged earlier. Mouse sat down awkwardly beside Hank’s bed. “Look, you should eat. You need to eat to get better.”

“I don’t need a lecture on how to get better. I just need to do it, now.”

Mouse shrugged a little. “Look, I’ve known a lot of guys like you in the army. It’s tough. I get it.”

“You’re not the one lying in this damned bed, Mouse.”

“You’re right,” he replied with a shrug. “But I’ve been there. You’ll get through it.”

Hank huffed. “Be honest with me. How bad was it today?”

Mouse met Hank’s eyes, then sighed. “Pretty bad.”

Hank leaned back in bed, closing his eyes. “See, I need to be out there.”

Mouse thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Does a mama bird carry her babies to teach them how to fly?”

“What?” Hank asked, looking to Mouse with a cocked eyebrow.

“Well,” Mouse said, leaning forward in the chair. “You see, a mama bird doesn’t do that. She pushes them from the nest and lets them fly on their own. It might take some getting used to, and they might fall down, but the baby birds learn to fly.”

Hank blinked, taken aback. “Are you… comparing me to a mother bird?”

“Alright, look, that’s not the point. The point is Intelligence needs to figure out how to work without you, so that someday in the future, the far future, hopefully, it can run without you.”

Hank looked over Mouse, then slowly nodded. “I guess…” he mumbled.

Jay came back in after a moment of silence between the two of them. “Hey, Will said it’s a no-go. Sorry, Sarge. I tried my best. Even bargained.”

“Thanks,” Hank replied, glancing to Jay. “It’s alright. It’s only… three more days.” Hank sighed once more. Of course, he was already halfway done, but that didn’t mean the last three days wouldn’t be a slow drag.

“Try to stay optimistic, Sarge. Call us if you need anything, alright?” Jay walked over and patted Hank’s shoulder to give him comfort before the two of them left.

Hank laid awake for a while, thinking about everything Mouse had said. He mused, his mind wandering to other things, then he eventually fell asleep.

—

The next two days came and went without much event. The Intelligence members came and went, bringing food and small gifts to help Hank not go crazy, like magazines and newspapers and whatever else they could get their hands on.

Finally, the last day arrived. Hank was getting ready to get discharged. Although Will didn’t clear him for field work, he told him he could return to strict desk duty. That didn’t bother Hank much, knowing it was only temporary. He just wanted to be behind his desk - period. Even if it meant he napped back there. Although he had gotten much stronger in the last two days, he was still in a lot of pain, and he was very often tired, even though he hadn’t been doing much.

Hank was buttoning up his shirt when someone came into the room. Who stood before him, but Trudy Platt, of course. Hank smiled slightly to her. “Trudy, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, I heard you’re getting out of here. Figured you’d need a ride seeing as you came here in an ambo.”

“That’s a pretty good assumption.” He leaned on the bed as he walked, Trudy moving over and offering her arm, which Hank took. He had been offered a cane, but refused it, though he needed it.

“So, you’re cleared for desk duty?”

“It’s something,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ll have Mouse to keep me company in the office.”

Trudy nodded as she helped him out to her vehicle and into the passenger seat. “I’m just downstairs too, if you need me, Hank. I know you don’t like to ask for help, but I’m here for anything you need.”

“I know. Thanks,” he replied, nodding to her and looking down at the cane that was leaning against the passenger seat. “Damn it, they gave it to you?”

“Yep,” Trudy said, closing the door then getting into the driver’s seat to take Hank back to 21. “Can’t escape it that easily.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Hey, when I got shot in the ass, I used a cane for three months. I was thirty-something.”

“Yeah, I remember, you milked it every time I saw you.”

Trudy nodded. “And now’s your payback. You’re welcome.”

“Very funny.”

When they arrived back at the district, Hank used the cane and Trudy’s arm to get himself up the many stairs that were between him and his office. It took much longer than it usually did, but he was able to make it. The whole unit stood and clapped when Hank walked in, Hank waving his free hand to dismiss them. Then, he walked into his office and sat down, Trudy making sure he was comfortable. He spoke a soft ‘thanks’ to her, making a mental note to get her a gift later. The rest of Intelligence gathered in the doorway to Hank’s office, watching him as he got comfortable at his desk.

Hank looked up at all of them, then nodded. “What’s next?”

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monako-jinn-stories · 3 months

Text

Howzer X Fem Jedi Reader

Rebels on the Run

Hey guys! I totally have been here the entire time and not like disappearing off and on for the past two years or something but anywhoooooooo listen to this song while reading this chapter 🙃 bonus point if you know what show it's from 😏

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Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Taungsday. It’s finally the day that your escape is supposed to happen. You wake up after a night of restless sleep, and roll over to look out of your makeshift bedroom. Howzer had tried to argue that the two of you should stick together, but you convinced him that you could handle staying at the hideout alone. You were more worried about leaving him in a city, but you couldn’t leave behind what you had here.

You quickly get up, dressing for the day and looking around the hideout. You won’t exactly miss this place, but you’ll never be able to forget your time here, no matter how much you might want to. Nor can you ever forget the events that led up to your current situation.

Quietly, you make your way out to where you had stored your speeder, climbing on after securing your mask. After a silent moment, you sigh, hands gripping the handles a bit tighter. “I’m coming back to bring you home,” you mumble to yourself. A wave of familiarity washes over you, and you can sense each of them near you. “I won’t let your sacrifices be forgotten.”

The landscape is the same as that first day you were stranded, yet you feel as if it is a completely unknown place for you. And it mostly is, because you have never returned to this spot since that day. It’s easy for you to find, however, because you follow the lingering presence in the force.

It doesn’t take long for the wreckage to come into view. Apparently, the Empire hadn’t made its way out here yet, or bothered to clean up the scraps. All the more secure for you, as you could pass for a scavenger and hopefully avoid any complications.

You scan the area, looking for any sign of life around you, or technology that could betray you. After doing a full walk around of the wreckage while searching the horizon, and double-checking by using the force to sense life around you, you determine that it’s safe enough to proceed with your plans. Walking toward the marked spot, you feel emotions coming over you again, and memories that you’ve been suppressing begin to flood your mind. The wave is powerful, causing you to stumble. Your head goes dizzy, and soon enough you’re falling to the ground, overcome by flashbacks.

***

Howzer paces the room, eyes fixed on the chrono as he waits for a holo from Rex or Echo. He hasn’t heard anything from you lately either, and he is unsettled by the overall silence that surrounds him. It’s only ever this quiet before something major, or disastrous, happens. At least, that’s how it is in war, and the current situation is not far from it.

A sudden beeping starts from his holotransceiver, and he recognizes it as the pattern they’d set in place to alert him of when the ship is heading to the dock. He stops his pacing to grab his bag and slip it onto his back, silencing the beeping before he heads to check out of the room.

“How was your stay?” the Twi’lek receptionist asks.

Howzer barely glances at her, and quickly slides her the room key. “Good, thank you.” He doesn’t stick around for more chatting, heading off in a rush to where his speeder is waiting. As soon as he slips his mask on, he tries to contact you. “Wizard? Wizard, comm in,” he mumbles while climbing onto the speeder. Silence is all that comes from your end, and his grip tightens on the speeder’s controls. “Wizard! You need to comm in!” Again, nothing. Another round of silence only alerts his nerves more. “Dank farrik,” he mumbles, “where the kriff is she?” A patterned beeping from his holotransceiver lets him know that Rex’s ship has landed, and that he needs to be there soon. With a stressed sigh, Howzer kicks the stand and takes off, speeding toward the ship dock.

***

When you come to, tears are streaming down your face. Codo’s death, Order 66, Jawa Squad. The screams, the pain. The endless void that now surrounds you in the living force. But this is not the time to linger on the past, this is the time for escape. You wipe your tears and stand up on shaky legs, making the last few steps to where they are buried.

You fall to your knees again, this time to get closer to them. They’re so close, yet when you reach out, you can’t feel the life force of Sans, Hex, or Steele. All that remains are their bodies below you and their helmets to be recovered. You gently place your hands on the ground and use more of the force than you have in a long time. You strain to unbury their helmets, to take them with you wherever you go. They’re your squad, your loyal troopers and friends, but most importantly, they’re your family.

A small rumbling surrounds you, and the ground shakes as you stress your connection to the force. Leaving power dormant will only make it harder to access later on, one of the first and most important things Codo had ever taught you. Don’t be afraid to go against the Jedi Code, something you had heard was your father’s own way of using the force, and something you’d kept in the family.

The rumbling grows bigger, and the shaking gets rougher. You squint your eyes against the rising cloud of dust until you feel the helmets breach the surface. You let your hold ease, and you let your eyes widen to look at them. Tears well up in your eyes as you analyze the scuffs, scratches, and dents. The chipped paint tells its own story, just as every other imperfection does. Imperfection, however, was never a word you’d thought to associate with Jawa Squad. And it’s only with this thought that you notice something strange.

The rumbling still continues, getting louder, and the shaking gets stronger. Your instinct is to run without looking back, to leave and never return to this spot.

But you turn and stare at the incoming squadron of imperial soldiers.

***

“Plans have changed,” Echo informs Howzer as he hops off the speeder, having just arrived at the hangar, “Imperial troops are on the move and extra patrols are being sent out. An inspection crew is on their way here, so we need to leave, now.”

“Y/n isn’t here yet,” Howzer says while running a hand through his hair.

“How long will it take for her to get here? We don’t have much time.”

“I…I don’t know,” Howzer admits, “she hasn’t even commed me since she left.”

Echo lets his eyes fall for a moment, a bad feeling washing over him. “Our reports…they included that there was a Jedi. The imperials are going after them.”

“What?!” Howzer’s attitude changes, and he immediately steps toward his speeder, but Echo’s hand stops him from going far.

“You can’t go after her, you’ll be killed,” Echo says firmly, “we have to go, now.”

“I’m not going to just abandon her!” Howzer replies harshly, “I have to go after her!”

“Think for a second, Howzer,” Echo says, “what is the likelihood that you make it to her? And then what is the likelihood that you both survive?”

“You can cover us as I rescue her, or better yet, we can fly over together to find her,” Howzer suggests desperately.

Echo shakes his head, “It’s too much of a risk, we need to get you and the rest of our brothers out of here before it’s too late.”

“Is everything alright out there?” Rex says from the top of the boarding ramp, “we need to go. We still have another stop a little ways over and the imperials are already on our trail.”

“Yes, we’re just about to board,” Echo responds briefly, “right, Howzer?”

“I’m not leaving her,” Howzer says through gritted teeth, tears of fear and anger filling his eyes.

“What would she want you to do? Stay here and die with her, or go on and survive and tell her story? We don’t control who lives, who dies, who tells our stories, but you’re being given the chance to be the one to tell hers.”

“He’s right, Howzer,” Rex adds, “if this is about your Jedi girl, then Echo is right. We have to leave so that we have the chance to keep bringing light to our tragedy, as well as the fall of the Jedi.”

Howzer clenches his fists, the tears beginning to spill over. He closes his eyes and tries to think, to feel what you would want, and a wave washes over him. It’s a gentle one, calming, letting him know it will be okay.

Go, Howzer. Survive.

***

The imperials surround you, and your mind goes blank as over a hundred blasters aim at you. There’s an imperial officer walking toward you, talking to you, telling you to surrender, but you don’t actually hear any of that. You hear the screams of the Jedi who were slaughtered because of Order 66. You don’t blame the clones, they couldn’t help it. It was Palpatine, it had to be.

“Put down your weapon, I won’t ask again!” Colonel Belkor Dray says harshly, his own blaster now aimed at you.

You hadn’t even realized that you’d had your lightsaber in your hand, though the cold metal bites at your skin. You haven’t used it in a fight for quite a while, but you find yourself easing into it.

Dray’s blaster is the first to go off, and when you deflect the bolt back at him, the others soon pull their triggers. Bolts are all around you, but it’s a familiar dance. Twisting, bending, swinging your lightsaber, thrusting your arm out to use the force. The new TK Troopers are nowhere near as accurate with their blasters as the clones are, a helpful flaw.

Even so, there’s still too many of them for one person.

You feel yourself getting closed in on, and your heart starts beating faster. You’ve never fought this intensely against other sentient beings before, and they’re tougher than droids. One of their shots knicks your side and you cringe from the pain, putting you into the path of another while dropping part of your guard. You grit your teeth and suck in harshly, trying to ignore the pain of the two consecutive shots.

“Put down your weapon, Jedi scum!” one of the TK troopers shouts, “this is your final warning!”

“How much of a warning can it be considered if you’re still blasting me?” you shout back, thrusting a hand out to deflect bolts and throw backwards the troopers who shot them.

“You cannot survive this many opponents,” Dray warns from somewhere behind the troopers, “If you surrender now, we will give you a quick death after we interrogate you on the whereabouts of other Jedi who may have survived Order 66.”

“I will never give up information to the Empire,” you shout over the blasters. “There is nothing you can do to get me to talk!”

“What if we torture Captain Howzer?” Dray questions as the troopers part briefly, giving you a view of his smug grin. You falter, showing your weakness for Howzer, and the imperials take advantage of the opening.

The shots pierce through your body and time begins to slow along with your heart beats. “Howzer is your weak spot, I see,” Dray comments as you try to fight the pain. “It is a good thing that we already have him in our custody then.”

“No…” you say through gritted teeth, “you’re lying, I can sense it.”

“Can you now? When was the last time you polished up your Jedi abilities? Surely they must not be working properly.”

“That’s not how this works,” you guess, though you are not entirely sure about it yourself. You stumble slightly, fighting back the images that try to cover your view. A familiar sense flows through you, however, and you find yourself thinking of Howzer. You don’t want his death on your conscience, so you do the one thing you know you can; you speak into his mind.

Go, Howzer. Survive.

A second later you feel your training become your instinct. Your mind clears as your heart slows even more. Time follows suit, but it helps you block out the sound of Rex’s ship flying over you, and the feeling of Howzer begging you to survive as well.

You are a Jedi. The words fill your mind from somewhere in the force, and you ease into the swing of your saber. You have survived the horrible, and helped another person escape this hell. Qui-Gon appears in your mind, nodding to you with a gentle smile. You have done well, my daughter.

Your mind clears as another blaster shot comes toward you. Your saber barely reaches it in time to block it, but another one hits you from behind. My padawan, your trials are over. Codo fills your mind now, and you falter at seeing him again after witnessing his death firsthand. You have become a Jedi Master. You have reached the end goal.

You have saved those who needed to be saved, Ringo says as he replaces Codo. You have taught those who needed to be taught. You have fulfilled your destiny. You feel tears building in your eyes, and fight harder than ever before to defend yourself against the imperials. They’re closing in, though, and you’re losing strength as more shots pierce your body.

You were the best general we could have asked for, Steele says as Ringo leaves. Hex joins him at his side, You led us valiantly into battle, and out the other side. They exchange a brotherly look before saluting to you. The Grand Army of the Republic thanks you for your duty and dedication, they say in unison.

Your arms begin to tremble, from both strain and emotions. My cyare, Sans says as Hex and Steele fade away, we can be together now.

Your tears finally spill over, and you can feel yourself relaxing. Y/n, it’s time. You’ve done all you need to do. Come be with us, with me.

“I’m coming, Sans,” you whisper to yourself, “I’m coming to be with all of you,” you add while your grip loosens on your saber. The grip on your saber’s hilt is replaced with the hold of Sans’s hand.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. A smile covers your lips as you let the force envelop you. Sans pulls you closer, further into the warmth and peace. Blaster shots continue to riddle your body, but you don’t feel them anymore. All you feel is the joy and relief of being reunited with those you had lost. Your eyes never leave Sans’s, your mind set on being free. Finally free.

***

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay? We haven’t heard anything about y/n since the imperials claimed to have caught her,” Echo says as Howzer joins him and Rex in the cockpit. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“I need to try to find her, or at least find out the truth about her fate,” Howzer replies while scratching at his beard. The last information that anyone had received about y/n was that she was being held captive on Ryloth by the imperial troops. Her body was alive, but her mind was, well, they couldn’t explain that. No one could figure out what had happened, but everyone except Howzer had given up on her and settled in their minds that she was gone.

“What are you going to do if she can’t be ‘woken up’?” Rex asks as he turns in his seat. “We don’t exactly have any Jedi that can help with this.”

“Can’t we get into contact with Ahsoka? Or even Ventress?” Howzer suggests while settling into his own seat. “They might be able to figure something out.”

Rex shakes his head, “Ahsoka needs to remain low and out of sight. She might not have been a part of the Jedi Order when it fell, but the Empire still has a bond out for her. I’m not going to risk getting her captured.”

“Ventress is out of the question as well,” Echo chimes in, “she may have helped Omega, but we still can’t trust her. She was a Sith apprentice at one point during the clone wars.”

“But she's not anymore,” Howzer replies, “and shouldn’t her willingness to help Omega be a sign that we can trust her?”

“No. Besides, we don’t even know if y/n is still alive, so we can’t be calling in force-users to help us just yet,” Echo explains.

“If we do manage to find her, and if she is alive, then we can see about sending an encrypted message out for those who may be able to help us,” Rex suggests, “but there is no guarantee it will work.”

Howzer sighs, nodding his head in resignation. What are the likelihoods that the Empire kept you alive? What would they gain from it? What is their plan? Perhaps they wanted to use you for the same experiment they performed with Omega and the other force-sensitive children. Howzer hopes that’s not the case, as that would mean you’re probably suffering in their hands. But, if not, then that means you’re likely dead. Neither option is what Howzer wants, and he doesn’t know which one he’d prefer.

“Strap in, we’re exiting hyperspace and it’s going to get a bit bumpy while I try to avoid detection,” Echo says to the others as he begins pressing buttons and flipping switches. “Rex, can you make sure those on the ground are ready?”

“Already on it,” Rex replies while typing furiously on his commpad. Howzer sits quietly, nerves running like they always do on missions like this. Their main priority is to get those clones who have agreed to be rescued and avoid as much imperial attention as they can. If they’re able to successfully pull this off on time, then a search and rescue mission for you could be possible if they receive necessary information.

Howzer’s attention refocuses when the ship’s power is shut off to avoid scanners. Displaying flying lessons from Tech, Echo expertly maneuvers through the rocky formations that line the planet’s surface. Flashbacks fill Howzer’s mind of the places he and y/n explored, and he can’t help but feel an emptiness inside of him when he thinks of you now. He can’t shake the bad feeling that flows through his veins.

“Hold on, it’s about to get rough,” Echo says, eliciting a reply from Rex, “it’s not already?”

“You don’t know rough unless you’ve flown with Omega before,” Echo jokes, “that kid has a lot to learn.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know rough landings if you’ve never experienced general Skywalker’s…abilities.”

“I can remember them very well, actually,” Echo says, “and it makes me wonder if he and Omega are related.” The two clones break into laughter as Echo switches the power back on and guides the ship to a port. Howzer ignores their conversation, instead focusing on the view in front of them. The imperial base looms below, and they’re about to break in.

***

Blaster shots fill the air as the clones try to create an exit, but the imperials aren’t letting up. Howzer signals to Rex and Echo before making a move. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as his hand settles around a grenade. He pushes the button to set it before hurling it toward the imperials. This time, it creates a gap significant enough that they won’t be able to recover.

“Go boys, go!” Rex shouts from somewhere to Howzer’s right, and at that command all of their brothers surge forward and continue blasting the TK’s. Bodies line the floor, but thankfully most of them are imperials. “Howzer, stay with us!”

Howzer snaps his head forward, resisting the urge to run down the hallway into the main part of the base. He wants answers, but more importantly, he needs to get out. He blasts a TK that pops out in front of him and rushes through the door. As he does, he makes sure he’s the last clone trooper out before shooting the control panel and trapping the imperials in the base. The autopilot on the ship flies around the corner right as Howzer finally makes it out into the port area.

“Everyone jump on!” Echo shouts as he jumps up first, pulling himself up the rest of the way. “We need people on the guns and someone to fly this thing!”

“I’ll take the pilot’s seat,” someone shouts from within the bunch of troopers.

“I’ve got guns!” another one shouts afterwards. Howzer and Rex stand watch outside the ship as everyone else boards. Anxiety runs through Howzer as he anticipates more imperials coming out to shoot at them, but after enough time, Howzer realizes there won’t be any.

“What’s going on?” Howzer asks Rex who just shrugs in return.

“I won’t question things until they start to go bad,” Rex replies before motioning to Howzer to climb onto the ship as well. With everyone on, the pilot takes off and heads toward the edge of the atmosphere, racing the imperial ships that are on their tail. Thankfully, they get far enough out to jump to hyperspace, getting away from the danger.

“Got that ID scrambled yet?” Rex asks Echo as he walks by with Howzer.

“Workin’ on it, Cap,” Echo replies. “Howzer, there’s a high ranking guy in the bunk area, you should ask him about y/n.”

Howzer looks toward the bunks, his body suddenly feeling like lead. He doesn’t want the bad answer, but he isn’t sure if there’s a good answer for him. “Alright,” he says, “I’ll uh…I’ll let you guys know.”

Rex and Echo nod at him before watching him walk away. “You know, don’t you,” Rex asks Echo when Howzer is out of hearing distance.

“Yes, I do. I was trying to figure out who might know, and then he told me.”

“Will Howzer be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Echo says while finishing up the scramble. “Honestly…from what I heard, and what that guy had heard, she was ready and resigned to death. She apparently fought until Howzer was free, though, before she gave up. She’s entirely dead, not just her mind, but her body as well. I can’t understand why she would just…give up,” Echo sighs, shaking his head. “She was happy with Howzer.”

“But she was more happy before,” Rex says knowingly. Echo looks at him curiously, and Rex sighs before taking a seat. “The 17th battalion. Commander Sans was in love with y/n, and she very obviously loved him back but wouldn’t do anything about it. Captain Hex and his twin Major Steele both were like brothers to her, as well as the rest of their main squad, Jawa Squad. It was Sans, Hex, Steele, Medic Aid, ARC-Trooper Bomber, and Sergeant Tie. Aid, Bomber, and Tie died during the war, and Sans, Hex, and Steele were ordered to kill her during Order 66, after she’d witnessed her Master’s own slaughter. They then killed each other to avoid being controlled any further. Her best friends’ child, Ringo, was a padawan slain at the Temple. Everyone she loved was killed, so I can understand. All of her Jedi friends and trooper brothers.”

“She had been willing to give her life throughout the entire war to save the lives of others,” Howzer says quietly as he walks back into the cockpit. Tears roll slowly down his cheeks as he cries stoically. “She was finally able to give the ultimate sacrifice to save someone she loved.”

“Howzer,” Rex says sympathetically, “are you-”

“No, Rex,” Howzer sighs, “I’m not okay. But…at least I know she’s happy now. Truly happy, with the person she loved more than anyone else.”

Echo exchanges a look with Rex before walking over to Howzer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think she left because she wanted to be with Sans, or because she loved him more than anyone else. I think she left because…” Echo says, trailing off for a moment to look out of the cockpit at the streaks of light, “she made sure that the person she cared about most was safe, and once she assured that, she was ready for her time.”

“She should’ve stayed to keep making sure I remained safe,” Howzer scoffs.

“You know she was tired, though,” Rex says, “she was tired of running and hiding.”

“So am I,” Howzer sighs.

“And that’s why we’re helping others escape, we’re letting them tell their stories. Now it’s your responsibility to live and tell her story, along with your own. Remember what I said about that?” Echo says gently.

“Yeah, I do,” Howzer says, “you have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story. And I lived, so I will tell her story.”

“And don’t forget your own,” Echo says, “because you survived with each others’ help.”

“Yeah, we did,” Howzer says, “and now I will help her memory survive. The memory of the rebels on the run.”

Sorry if this was kinda a bad end to this story :/ i really have lost all motivation for it and it took like 2 months to write this. I at least hope it's enough to satisfy anyone's want of an ending to this story 🥹

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