#which makes taking comms on there harder

[venacoeurva]

If I'm gonna be completely real I am not signing up for another shitload of social media alternatives, probably like 1/2 of which die out super fast again or are astroturfed, if Tumblr goes down in the near future I'm meandering back to Twitter because I still have so many mutuals there who also moved over there from prior Tumblr exoduses and maybe cohost or pillowfort if they actually pick back up and keep momentum

[jamminvroomvroom]

die for you.

ln x driver!reader

in which you can’t stand each other, or so you say…

this took waaaay too long for me to hate it sm but she’s here! and she’s long! love this concept so much, thank you for this request. so many feels so many vibes, tell me what you think <3

loosely inspired by die for you by the weeknd

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, slight glimpses of she fell first, he fell harder, rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, choking, hate sex? bar fight, mentions of blood

8.3k words (oop)

it’s rare that you miss a podium, so when you do, it tastes bitter and stings like a bitch.

the car has been on fire all season long, a thing of beauty in your calculated hands. so, the string of bad luck you’re enduring, small mistakes with big consequences, it’s quite the pill to swallow.

out of the car you jump, teeth grinding hard out of frustration. you could see the commotion ahead of you, members of the papaya team celebrating their driver. your eyes roll so hard in your head that you feel a lasting ache. you side step members of your team, dodging every single person that tries to talk to you, your comms officer knowing better than to try and engage with you. you know you’re being unreasonable, it was a p5 finish! but it isn’t a podium or a win, so quite frankly, you aren’t interested, and you certainly don’t have any energy left to hear how amazingly well he had driven.

lando fucking norris.

what was once quiet disdain had grown into fully fledged hatred and you fear you’ll be violently sick if you catch a single glimpse of him on the podium. sure, he’s talented, and sure, he’s beautiful, you suppose. that doesn’t mean you have to like him. not anymore. he lives under your skin, inescapable.

you struggle through every interview in the media pen, most of which dissect your recent fall from grace, your mouth forming a hard, unimpressed line every time they mention the orange goblin and his recent streak of podiums and good luck. you wish the journos would bring up his string of women and the probable plan b receipts that went with them. that, you would love to talk about.

you drive in silence back to your hotel, leaving the track as soon as possible, and quickly find solace in your bed for the night. the idea of seeing the inside of a club makes you nauseous after your epic downfall. as your eyes are drooping, your body going limp under the thick duvet, a knock sounds from the door.

“no.” you shout flatly, but the only response you get are giggles from the hallway. for fuck sake, you mutter, groaning as you shift out from beneath the covers and trail apprehensively towards the door.

george and alex appear before you, and you throw your head back is exasperation.

“mate, it’s 9:30.” alex laughs, taking in your fancy attire; pyjamas that you’ve had since you were 17.

“what’s your point?” you croak, glaring up at your obnoxiously tall friend.

“why aren’t you getting ready to go out?” george questions, leaning against the doorframe. he, too, was obnoxiously tall, you thought, feeling the strain in your neck as you move your glare onto him.

“if it wasn’t obvious, i’m not going.” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest. “i thought that was clear after i ignored all 77 of your texts.” you smile sarcastically, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“don’t be boring! you’re an f1 driver, you’re in a cool city, you’re rich and, let’s face it,” he sasses. “you need to get laid.” alex says, like it’s the most causal thing in the world. your eyes bulge out of your head at the utterance of the last bit. george bites back laughter.

“choosing to ignore that.” you hiss. “i’m sorry but i refuse to go out and celebrate that arrogant, whiny little bitch.”

they both know exactly who you’re talking about.

you and lando have simply never seen eye to eye. your karting days were spent pushing one another off the track or into a muddy puddle if things got a bit heated out of the car. sure, olive branches were extended, and maybe adolescent feelings were secretly harboured, but he never gave you any reason to tell him that. you’d grown out of the childish violence when you graduated into formula 1, but you hadn’t been able to shake the rage he made you feel.

it didn’t matter how many dinners you attended where others had conspired and forced you to sit next to each other. it didn’t matter how many times you turned up to play padel and were met with the same lame excuses of ‘oh, did we not mention lando would be here?’ it didn’t matter how many times you’d hugged it out on the podium while adrenaline and tensions were running high.

it didn’t matter how many times he’d watched you from across a crowded room and you’d found his eyes, watched him back. it didn’t matter how many times he’d smirked at you at the start of a race weekend, made you blush. and it certainly didn’t matter what happened last time you found yourself in a club with him.

you just don’t like him. not anymore. you sleep better at night when you lie to yourself.

~ the last time

you sink shot after shot, cocktail after cocktail; the taste of fruity liquor stains your lips and burns your throat. you feel electric, sizzling with ecstasy and the heat from the flashing lights above your head.

it’s approaching 4am and you can’t recall a time in your life where you’d felt so fucking good. the high of your first win is indescribable.

you’ve lost track of the guys, alex and george have packed it in and gone back to their hotels with their girlfriends. pierre and kika are somewhere in a corner, you’re certain. you’re pretty sure you’ve even seen lewis with his entourage and a brick wall of a bodyguard trailing behind him. and at the bar, a set of eyes watch you.

lando isn’t even listening to oscar anymore, no. he is too entranced in the way your hips move to the beat, lost in the carefree lines your body makes in the crowd. he’s itching to go to you, put his hands in places that would stay between you, him, and god, but he doesn’t think a broken nose would be good for business.

everything changes when you spin around, facing his direction. then, it begins: the same thing that happens every time you end up going out in the same group. you watch one another, pretending you’re not both achingly desperate to find out how the other tastes.

but lando is feeling bold. he tells oscar he’ll see him in the morning, and then, egged on by a moscow mule and a few too many shots, he makes his way towards you. it is instinctual, magnetic, the way he is drawn to you.

hands on your hips, lips on your neck. the song changes. you recognise the weeknd’s voice. you are disappointed in yourself but it feels too good to stop.

you know what i’m thinkin', see it in your eyes
you hate that you want me, hate it when you cry
you’re scared to be lonely, 'specially in the night
i’m scared that i’ll miss you, happens every time

the lyrics sober you up. you’re in the first taxi you can see when you finally get outside.

alone.

~

as much as that memory makes you shiver, for several different reasons, you find yourself putting on some makeup and raking through your suitcase for something to wear. george and alex are waiting downstairs for you at the bar, and when you finally make your way down there, they have a martini waiting for you. they watch in impressed horror as the alcohol disappears from the glass mere seconds after it touches your lips.

“let’s get this over with.” you sigh.

-

it could have been worse, you suppose.

the club is packed, hundreds of faces blurring into nothing. you feel better knowing that there is a one in a million chance of running into lando.

you’re tucked into a booth with alex and george, carmen and lily, a few faces you can’t quite place, and charles and pierre. you’d conspired to sit on the outside, prepared to make a quick getaway at the first sign of tension.

you’d been in a state of fight or flight since your last run in, nails bitten down every time you thought about his hands on you, how good they felt on you. it scared you more than anything had in a long time, how your desire had festered.

you go to take a swig from your glass, only to find it empty, aside from a few sad ice cubes. you watch jealously as they melt into nothing, wishing they would take you with them, shoving your glass across the smooth table top when your frustration boils over.

you’re on edge, ridiculously afraid of bumping into a curly haired man. it wasn’t him you were scared of, per-say, more yourself. god knows what you’d do if you felt those warm, calloused hands pulling your hips into his again.

“you okay?” pierre calls across the table. he and charles abandon their conversation as soon as your glass goes flying towards their side of the table. you’re broken out of your trance, caught off guard like a deer in headlights.

“tired.” you reply, shrugging it off like it was nothing. it’s clear immediately that they don’t buy it.

“she’s hiding.” alex chimes in from beside you, and your elbow goes straight into his ribs. he feigns pain for a moment, cackling at your reaction.

“from who?” charles inquires. you roll your eyes, blush spreading down your neck already. you hate everything about the conversation, and yet you need to see where it goes. you’d planned your escape, and now was the opportune time to make it, but you seem to be glued to the leather of the booth.

“lando.” george smirks into his drink as a he speaks, wiggles his eyebrows.

“oh yeah, we know all about that.” pierre laughs, his head tipping back in amusement.

“what?” you spit, eyes wide with confusion.

“don’t think me and kika didn’t see you two before the summer break. that night you won? we thought you’d finally cave.” pierre explains, his grin conveying pure evil.

several “what?!”’s sound from around the table, and now all eyes are on you.

“nothing even happened.” you mumble. “he came over to me and then i left.” you look away, twisting your hair around your finger. you are sweating.

“you looked like you were minutes away from being arrested for public indecency.” pierre smirks. you almost launch yourself across the table, intent on strangling him, and then perhaps throwing yourself in front of an oncoming uber outside.

“well, well, well. i fucking knew it.” alex is giggling beside you.

“come on guys, leave the poor girl alone.” lily winks at you, but even she has a twinkle in her eye. “there’s obviously feelings there.” and just like that she betrays you. her sympathetic smile doesn’t make you forgive her.

“i think you guys just need to get it out of your system,” charles starts, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “just fuck.” he waves his hand, like it was the most causal thing in the world.

the table erupts in laughter and you decide that you are well past the end of your tether. you shake your head, declaring that you need another drink, or ten, and strut away from the table. a chorus of ‘love you’-s and ‘get some’-s sound from behind you. you reply simply by raising your middle finger and refusing to look back.

the bar is in sight, just about in your reach when your evening goes from mildly bad to aggressively worse.

“fuck sake.” you sigh.

“and good evening to you too.” lando replies. he’s blocking your path, materialising before you out of nowhere.

“get out of my way, lan.” it sounds like you’re pleading and you cringe internally.

“don’t you wanna congratulate me?” he feigns a pout and you almost swing for him.

“no, not particularly.” you say dryly. “all i want is a drink, so if you’d just…” you gesture for him to move. of course, he doesn’t.

“haven’t seen you in a while, though. thought maybe you’d missed me.” he takes a step closer; goosebumps litter your bare skin.

“you are such an entitled prick.” you spit, moving to step around him but he catches you, gripping your wrists and pulling you in. you feel heat radiating off of him, expensive cologne overwhelming you in the best possible way.

“and you, honey, are such a fucking brat. but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?” lando whispers, cool breath hitting your face, minty, laced with champagne and cockiness. you almost fold, thighs clenching so tight that he must have noticed.

“move.” you grumble through gritted teeth. you are crumbling painfully, embarrassingly fast.

“make me.” your underwear is damp, but you are fuming.

“don’t fucking test me, lando.” something in your chest sets on fire and you’re over him and his bullshit, and the way he makes you feel.

“i know you want me.” he dips his forehead down to rest gently against yours. his grip on your wrists tightens, thumbs swirling circles into the flesh, right where your pulse is.

you lean in, mere centimetres separating your lips. his eyes darken, the assumption of victory over you tugs his lips into a smirk.

“all i want is my fucking drink. come find me when you’ve managed to navigate your gigantic, stupid head out of your arse.” you catch him off guard, wriggling out of his grip. you’re shaking when you walk away, thoughts of doing things with him that would get you both fired invading your foggy brain.

you try to disappear into the crowd, finally breathe a sigh of relief when your hands meet the cool surface of the bar. you order your drink, putting it on your tab and drum your nails against the marble top. you’re lost in your own world, watching as concoctions are mixed, as shots are downed. you finally feel at ease, until your evening takes yet another turn, one that was somehow even more unfortunate than all the others.

your attention is rudely stolen by the guy stood next to you.

“can i get that for you?” the random man speaks, in a way that he must of assumed was smooth. slimy, you think. he’s gesturing to your drink, clearly having watched you add it to your bill already.

“no, thank you. it’s already paid for.” you smile politely, turning on your heel. it seems he wasn’t quite done with you. you feel a clammy hand tug on yours, a wave of sickness washes over you.

lando’s hands are bigger, warmer, softer.

“where are you rushing off to, babe?” the sweaty man asks, his tone fake in a way that makes you uneasy.

“i need to get back to my friends.” you try to pull your hand free, but he won’t budge. “can you let go-“

“i can show you a good time. always thought you were kinda hot.” you’re panicking now, looking every which way for a familiar face, a security guard, anyone.

“take your hands off of me.” you snap, still wrestling to pull yourself free.

“one night with me would pull you out of that little slump you’re in.” he leers. you visibly gag, white hot rage blurs your vision.

“okay you piece of shi-“ you snarl, interrupted by a flash of curls and tanned skin.

“she told you to let go.” lando stands in front of you protectively, rigid and furious. you’ve never been so happy to see his annoying(ly beautiful) face.

“and what are you gonna do?”

“hands. off.” lando stands up even straighter, looking bigger than you’ve ever seen him.

“okay, mate, whatever.” the stranger rolls his eyes, shoves your hand away.

lando turns to you, opening his mouth to speak when…

“keep that stuck up bitch all to yourself.”

and then, everything goes to shit.

lando whips around, fists are flying, the stranger topples to the ground, amassed to nothing in the face of the mclaren drivers rage. lando doesn’t stop there, makes sure he is sufficiently dealt with, flat on his back on the sticky floor. you don’t know what to do, calling out for lando, begging him to stop, as satisfied as you are. lando hears your shouts, pulled out of the chaos and back to you. always back to you.

“are you okay?” he has his hands on your face searching for any remaining fear or upset. a crowd has formed and you see alex and george towering above the other club goers, jaws agape.

it’s as if he dj has it out for you, and you realise that the song has changed to something moodier, slower, one that gives you whiplash.

even though we're going through it
and it makes you feel alone
just know that i would die for you
baby, i would die for you

“we need to get out of here. security are coming.” you mutter, keening into his touch.

“i have a car outside.”

“well, let’s use it then.”

-

you can’t help but stroke over his knuckles mindlessly in the car, an unlikely comfortable silence settling between you. they look raw, cracked slightly and you have an overwhelming desire to kiss them better. your head is fuzzy, and you’re unsettled with confusion, but at the same time, you feel lighter.

“why did you do that?” you murmur, disrupting the quiet that has settled over the backseat of the town car, the question burning desperately on your tongue.

lando turns his head so that he’s looking down at you, his good hand comes up to cup your jaw softly.

“no one can talk to you like that.” he’s staring so deeply into your eyes and you almost squirm at the intensity. you feel exposed, bare.

“but why did you step in before that?” you reiterate shakily. lando hums in understanding.

“i’ve known you since we were 10 years old. i know when you’re scared.” he whispers, breath dusting your cheeks. you almost lean in, then, something about his words pull you even closer towards him. you feel warmth creeping over your chest, sinking into the pit of your belly.

“we’ve arrived.” the driver calls from the front, signalling that you need to get out of the car. it was like an elastic band had snapped, and you spring away from lando, scrambling to undo your seat belt, the moment of weakness long gone.

you sneak into the lobby, on the lookout for any angry PR teams or incognito photographers that are scoping for their next pay check. the coast seems clear, so you manage to scurry discreetly into the elevator. you hit the button for the third floor.

“can you hit the button for five?” lando asks, leaning against the opposite wall.

“you’re coming to my room.” you state, offering no other explanation, even when he raises his eyebrows.

the ding of the lift has lando pushing himself off of the mirrored wall, trailing behind you into the corridor. the lights are low as he follows you to your door, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. he watches in anticipation as you rifle through your small bag for your keycard. the green light gives you the go ahead to open the door, and he awkwardly follows you inside, peering around the room.

you notice the slight apprehension in his features, eyes blown wide from alcohol and adrenaline. they seem to sparkle more than you’d seen in a while, a hazel-y blue twisting with secrets and unspoken thoughts.

“let me find my first aid kit.” you tell him. you guide him towards the foot of your bed, gesture for him to sit. “make yourself comfortable.”

“you don’t need to do this.” lando replies, sitting down anyway.

“and you didn’t need to get between me and that dickhead but here we are.”

your words elicit a low chuckle from him, and you’re glad you have your back to him while you dig through your suitcase. he can’t see your smile at the wholesome sound, and he doesn’t need to.

random pieces of clothing fall out of the bag as you rummage through it, your attention taken up completely by your mission to find the small box. you don’t notice the pile of garments littering the floor.

“wow, didn’t take you for that kinda girl.” lando teases. your cheeks flame red when you catch sight of the cherry red thong that has managed to get caught in the wheel of your suitcase.

“shut up, i’m helping you.” you grumble, balling up the lace and burying it at the bottom of the case.

“why is it ferrari coloured? something you wanna tell me? do you think charles is… foxy? or is it fred? oh, i bet it’s fred, isn’t it.” he’s laughing now, loud and boisterous, and if it wasn’t for the butterflies erupting in your belly at the sound, you would have throttled him.

“i’ll leave you to bleed out.” you tease back, pointing at the dried up blood across his knuckles.

“of course, i am in urgent need of medical attention!” he exclaims sarcastically, clutching his hand. you roll your eyes.

“you know where the door is.” you stand from the floor, carrying a little square antiseptic wipe with you.

“yeah, i do. feel like staying now, though. i’m just so comfy.”

and with that, he throws himself back on your bed, closing his eyes as he sinks into the mattress.

you stare at him for a second, noticing the way his eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks, his tanned, thick neck peeks out from in between the undone buttons of his dress shirt. you exhale shakily, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

“give me your hand.” you instruct him, tearing the packet open and unfolding the wipe.

“romantic.” lando snarks. you shove his shoulder in response. he holds his hand out.

“whatever.” you sigh, avoiding eye contact as you run the wipe over his knuckles. you can see how they are already tinged purple, wincing at the idea that it is your fault.

“what is it?” lando asks, noticing.

you don’t respond. this proximity is odd, you can’t quite tell yet if you like it. what you do know is that you certainly don’t know how to handle him now that the alcohol is wearing off and you’re left tending to the wounds of a man that you could have sworn you didn’t like.

“so that’s how it’s gonna be? we’re going back to the silent treatment again?” lando scoffs.

“don’t know what to say.” you mutter, keeping your eyes trained on every line and indent of his knuckles.

“why do you hate me so much?”

“i don’t.”

“yes, you do.” he scoffs.

“i don’t think about you enough to hate you.” you lie. it’s cruel. he winces.

that shuts him up.

“i’m gonna go. thanks for this.” lando waves his hand and you feel a wave of guilt hit.

“no, fuck, i’m sorry.” you apologise, bowing your head. “stay.”

“i’ll stay if you tell me why you hate me.”

“i’ve never hated you, lan. haven’t always particularly liked you but i never, ever hated you.”

“okay.”

that’s all it takes for him to flop back onto the bed. some unexplainable instinct that you loathe has you crawling onto the bed beside him. you wrap your arms around your pillow, watching him watch you.

“i used to have such a big crush on you, you know.” lando says. you stare at him blankly.

“what?”

“yep. i think i was about 15. you were the first girl i ever really liked that way.” he smiles, recalling the memory. “it kinda sucked because i knew you wouldn’t even look at me twice but it’s funny thinking back to that time.”

~ 15

he watches the way her hair gets caught in the breeze as she takes off her helmet. two messy braids are shaken free, and his heart skips a beat or two, or seven, when she turns around with the biggest grin on her face.

she’s just won a race, another one, and he’d be so jealous if it wasn’t her.

he thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. george and alex go over to her, congratulating her, hugging her. he wishes he could do that. he definitely can’t.

she doesn’t see him, the only times that she does are when they argue, when they push eachother off the track and scream at one another across a gravel trap. the times when she plants her pointed finger in his chest and calls him dirty, the times he gets heated and calls her something he doesn’t mean under his breath. and she always hears him. always. he watches her eyes pool with tears every single time.

he wants her, in a way he’s never wanted anyone before. he’s never felt like this, wonders how he can make it go away. she hates him. she must.

he can never have her, so why even try?

~

“i had no idea you ever felt that way.” you’re quite shocked, really. you knew that you had this intensely charged sexual tension between you now, but you had failed to realise how far back this all went.

mutually, at least.

“i’d say i’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it.” his smile changes slightly. it was now a sad smile, one that conveys disappointment in himself, and that you hated to see. it reminds you of the one you’ve gotten used to seeing on your social media feed after he’d had a shitty race.

you sigh, bracing yourself for what you are about to say.

“you’re not the only one who hid it.” you raise an eyebrow, your face says ‘guilty!’

“no?” lando’s eyes widen at your revelation.

“i think we were 13. you gave me half a cookie to apologise for pushing me off track.” you smile coyly. “it’s kinda sad but 13 year old me died inside.” you laugh.

“so, we’ve both… liked each other.” lando assesses. you nod.

“when did you stop?” you inquire, scanning his face. you take in each detail, each individual freckle, the curve of his lips. he seems closer, all of the sudden, and that’s when you realise you’ve closed the space between you. lando is within reach now, it would have been so, so incredibly easy to shift even closer still; it was like you were in his gravitational field, reeled in by pretty, pretty eyes.

“who said i stopped?”

“oh.” you breathe.

~ 13

he snaps the crumbly biscuit between his fingers, trails towards her awkwardly. he feels bad, feels a strange pang in his chest that he doesn’t recognise.

he finds her around the back of her parents car, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, pouting hard. he thinks she’s cute.

“why are you here?” she whines.

“this is for you. i know it doesn’t make up for the race. i didn’t mean to take you out, i swear.”

he sounds panicked, sincere. her tummy turns funny.

he’s holding out a cookie, the children’s equivalent of an olive branch.

her face softens. she accepts it. they bite into their cookies at the same time.

it’s not the worst day in the world anymore.

~

messy kisses and soft whispers lull you to sleep.

his nose bumps yours every time your lips meet, gentle and plush.

you feel delicate in his arms, treasured. his lips press gently to your hairline. he’s different, softer than you’ve seen him since you were teenagers splitting cookies.

it’s the easiest thing in the world to curl into his side, mould together until you’re part of him, and drift off.

-

the heat wakes you up.

you stir, eyes fluttering open, searching for the source of the onslaught of warmth. it clicks quickly, and you realise that you hadn’t dreamt the events of the night before.

lando is in your bed.

lando had protected you.

lando had wanted you since you were stupid kids who didn’t know any better.

he is the heater that had woken you up, and suddenly you don’t care that you’re far too hot. you curl back into his side, head rests on his chest. it rises and falls softly, his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear. you are jealous of how pretty he looks when he’s asleep, relaxed and infatuating. you lose track of time, gazing up at him.

a sharp pain in your side makes you groan. you had fallen asleep in your dress, lando in his jeans and his shirt, and now you’re paying for it, your fingers searching for the zipper that was now digging into your side. your movements draw him out of his slumber, and when you look back at him, he’s watching you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“you okay?” lando croaks, his voice deep and sleepy. it sends shockwaves through you.

“mhm. how did you sleep?” you ask, mindlessly running your hand over his jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. a smile breaks out across his face, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“really fucking well.” he laughs, almost in disbelief.

“yeah, me too.” you smile at him, shy.

“what’s bothering you?”

“well, a human heater woke me up and now this fucking zipper is killing me.” you joke. it’s weird that this doesn’t feel weird.

“i am pretty hot i guess.”

“yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes and stand from the bed.

lando sits up, resting on his elbows. his eyes follow you as you walk around the room. you take a bottle of water, drinking half of it before passing it to him. his lips wrap around the bottle and you have to turn away, the ache between your legs that you’d been fighting for months rearing it’s irritating head. you clear your throat, composing yourself.

“need to get this dress off.”

lando pulls himself off of the mattress, stalking towards you. you stop in your tracks and he meets you at the foot of the bed. his hands find your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin in little circles, and then kisses you deeper than he did last night.

it’s impossible not to melt into him, hands running over his chest, his shoulders, and finally finding solace tangled in his curls. if someone told you the morning before that you’d wake up in lando’s arms, you would have cackled, urged them to seek medical attention, and probably spat in their face. how things change.

“i think you should keep it on, look so pretty.” lando breathes, staring down at you. you blush hard, leaning into him.

“but i’m uncomfortable.” you grin coyly. and then, a surge of confidence has you whispering: “i’ll let you take it off if you want.”

“let me make you comfortable first.” lando murmurs, dipping his head down until it rests in the crook of your neck. “want me to get you nice and comfortable, baby?” he kisses up your neck.

you cave, finally.

it takes him all of thirty seconds to have you spread out on his face, laying himself down on the mattress and pulling you on top of him so that you’re hovering over his lips. he mouthes at your panties for a second, getting his first taste of you, and then he drags them to the side, clearing a path. his tongue laves over your cunt, groaning as soon as he gets a proper taste.

your dress fans out over your thighs, and lando has disappeared beneath the fabric. you can tell he’s there, though, by the strong hands gripping onto your thighs, the tuft of curls peeking out, and the feeling of his nose bumping your clit as he buries his face deeper and deeper between your folds.

“lando.” you cry, throwing your head back. the straps of your dress are slipping down your arms, skimming your goosebump ridden skin. he just groans into your pussy in response, pulling you impossibly closer to his mouth, backwards and forwards until you’re grinding down on his willing tongue. you reach down blindly, grabbing one of his hands where it rests on your thigh, and your other threads through his hair, gripping tight as you revel in the pleasure.

lando pulls your clit between his teeth, grazing over the bud and you’re jolting, writhing above him. you feel like you’re going to die, heat pricking all over your skin, your tummy tight from the building orgasm. he’s so eager, sliding his entire face through your slippery folds, obscene sounds falling from his lips that ricochet through your quivering body.

tears prick your eyes when you finally let go, slumping forwards from the overwhelming sensation taking over every single nerve. he lifts you off of him, laying you back on the bed as you come down from your high.

“you okay, baby?” he coos, brushing sweat dampened hair from your eyes.

his lips are stained, dark pink and shiny, a mixture of enthusiasm and your slick coating them. lando scans your watery eyes, feral at how fucked out you look all because of him, and tantalisingly licks his lips.

“need you.” you moan, reaching out for him. his shirt is wrinkled where he’d slept in it and your shaky hands find the few buttons that are actually done up. you push the material off of his shoulders, pupils blown wide at the sight of his toned chest, at the feel of smooth, golden skin. you pull him in by the shoulders, swallowing him whole as you kiss him with everything you’ve got left.

lando’s hands find your thighs once more, running his hands over them to push your dress up your hips.

“wanted this for so long.” he whispers into the kiss, pulling away so that he can take the dress off of you. he looks ravenous the more he pushes the fabric up your body.

you feel vulnerable under his intense gaze, watchful eyes taking in every movement you make. you try to pull him back in for another kiss but he resists.

“let me look at you, please?” lando asks. “there you go, baby, let’s get this off, hmm?” he sits you up so that he can get it over your head, and you lay back, bare aside from your panties that he’d left in disarray.

he sucks in a breath, raking his eyes over the curve of your lips, your collarbone, the slope of your breasts. his gaze lingers there for just a second, before continuing further over your belly, the length of your legs. you want to hide away, pull him in so that he can’t look at you like this, or just dive under the duvet and stay there until you need to catch your flight.

“god, you’re so, so fucking beautiful.” he gasps, awestruck. he sounds speechless, and you feel yourself going red again.

“come here.” you whine. “needed you for so long.”

your admission seems to kick him into action, because seconds later, he’s on top of you, fingers grazing the band of your underwear while you fiddle with the button on his jeans.

“gonna be good for me, aren’t you?” lando stares you down, tone sending a shiver down your spine. you nod, batting your eyelashes. “words, my love.”

“yes, lando.” you affirm, arching into him. that’s all he needs to know, kicking his jeans away, boxers too.

“good girl. took care of me so well last night, now ‘m gonna take such good care of you.”

your eyes skim his body, honing in on how hard he is. your hand finds his cock, tentative at first, stroking over it softly. it’s heavy in your hands, red and dripping already. he wants this just as bad as you do. you continue to jerk him off, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut and his lips part, soft pants falling out. a low hum sounds from the back of his throat, and you wet your lips, threading your free hand through his hair.

lando opens his eyes at the sensation, gently batting your hand away. he dips down even closer, resting on one of his forearms. he lines himself up and your legs wrap around him instinctively. slowly, he pushes inside of you, his breath catching in his throat.

“fucking hell.” he groans, deep and guttural, something carnal sending shockwaves through his body. “been dreaming about all the ways i’d get to fuck you.”

your eyes roll back and you go languid in his arms, feeling every inch of him slide against your slick walls.

“want you.” you rasp, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving patterns between his taut shoulder blades as you beg for it.

“you have me, baby.” and then he kisses you, messy and slow, stealing the air from your lungs. you’re dizzy when he pulls away, sitting back slightly to change the angle. you cry out, feeling him even deeper and everything is more sensitive, warm. you roll your hips, meeting his thrusts deliciously, and he chokes out a moan as you clamp around him. “yeah, that’s it. fuck yourself like that for me.” he encourages.

this is all too much, too good. you have whiplash, physically and emotionally, eyes pooling with tears as the man you’d wanted so badly that you hated him for it rocks into you. lando hits the right spot every time he pistons his hips harder, and his nimble fingers slide up your abdomen, applying light pressure to your navel that makes you writhe.

“fucking perfect for me. gorgeous.” lando slurs, entranced by the sight of where you’re joined. he can see just how wet you are and it drives him insane, barrelling into you like a man possessed, drunk on every single way that your body responds to him.

his wandering hand finds your breast, kneading it before he traces your nipple. he watches the way it hardens at his manipulation, wetting his lips. he collapses back on top of you, sucking the bud into his mouth. you’re panting, whining beneath him as his tongue swirls over your chest, switching to the other side. you jolt, a silent scream scratching your throat when he slips his hand between your thighs, working your clit with the pad of his thumb. he’s rutting against you, grinding deeper, faster, uncontrollably.

“come on, baby. you’re so close, so tight for me.” he mutters into your skin. you nod frantically, your words lost on you. he kisses over your collarbone, the base of your throat, until he finds your lips.

“so close.” you sigh.

he stops.

“tell me you’re all mine.” lando growls, his entire demeanour changing. the tone of his voice almost finishes you off but you’re suddenly enraged. you’re too close for him to stop.

“c’mon lando.” you hiss, trying to move your hips but he has you firmly in place.

“need to hear you say it.” his hand slithers over your chest, finding a new home at the base of your throat. it makes you throb, the way his thick fingers wrap around you. slowly, his grip tightens, and you see an opportunity.

you buck your hips hard, whimpering at the sensation, but your plan works and now you hover over him. he’s still buried inside you, and you can feel him pulsing as you steal control.

“for once in your life, honey, shut the fuck up.” you smirk, mischievous in victory.

slowly, you build up your rhythm. he feels bigger like this, deeper, and you almost lose yourself in the small circles you make with your hips.

“knew you’d be like this. you liked giving yourself to me but i just knew you’d need to take back control.” lando teases. his hand is back around your neck, squeezing slowly, and you grind frantically, dizzy for him. “i was right last night, wasn’t i, baby? pretending to be my good girl when really,” he pulls you down so that you’re chest to chest. “you’re just a fucking brat.”

lando holds you close as he fucks up into you, feeling the way you go limp on top of him as the pleasure washes over you like a million electric shocks. you’re crying, tears pooling on his chest, because there is nothing you can do, nothing you want to do, but take it. he’s got you right where he wants you, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

“yeah, baby, take it how you want it.” lando commands through gritted teeth, and you move your hips in a feeble attempt to match his speed. everything is slippery, everything feels wet and flushed.

the power play, the position, the frenzy he seems to be in as he fucks you, it all has you gushing, spilling all over him. you choke out a sob, shuddering as the elastic band in your belly snaps. lando stops his thrusts, replacing them with small rolls of his hips to help you through your orgasm.

a sharp breath and a string of curses from him give you the strength to muster the last little bits of energy you have left to look up at him. you pull your head up off of his chest just in time to watch him shatter into a million little pieces.

his neck flexes as his head rolls back, sinking into the pillow, his eyes tight. swollen lips part and your name falls from between them like a prayer. you can feel him filling you up, his hands tightening their hold on your hips like he’s scared to let go, like the world will stop if he does.

the world stops anyway, because then you’re looking at each other. really looking at each other.

it only takes a second for you to be drawn in and his hands leave your hips to cup your face. his calloused hands feel your skin, stroking over rosy patches on your cheeks. it’s deathly silent all around you, apart from the breathless pants you share.

swollen lips crash hard into yours and you melt. he’s still buried so deeply inside of you, your hips digging into his, impossibly close. you’re blindly reaching for any part of him you can get your hands on, and his big hands slide down your body until they meet the small of your back. ever so carefully, he flips you onto your back, easing your spent body into the mattress.

lando collapses on top of you, mouthes at your neck for a moment, delicate kisses making your eyes flutter shut. the eye contact almost sends you into cardiac arrest as he pulls out, oh so slowly. tease.

he holds you close in the shower, fingers massaging every part of you. sex and sweat are washed away, almost lovingly. you let the water run for far too long, content in clinging to him. it’s quiet, reflective time for both of you, exactly what it needs to be. you’re both hung up on questions that need to be asked, neither one of you brave enough to take the first steps. you know one thing, and one thing only: something has changed, in a forever kind of way.

your hair is stringy, half dry, and you’re stood in your underwear. your legs are still shaky.

“your flight soon?” lando asks. he’s stood in his boxers on the other side of the room, scrunching the water out of his curls.

“yeah.” your throat feels raw.

“and you’re going back to monaco?” he’s stopped what he’s doing now, staring at you. you can see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

you nod.

“fancy a sleepover?” he grins, boyish and careless. your heart falls to your feet.

you’re giggling when he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you into the freshly made bed. the sheets are on the floor by the time you finally remember you have a flight to catch.

you’re his now, you realise. he’s too beautiful for his own damn good.

-

“baby?” you hear lando call from his bedroom. you make out the faint sound of his footsteps making their way in your direction. he appears before you can even answer him, and he’s smiling softly at the sight of you bundled up in a blanket, sprawled across his couch.

“what is it?” you ask. the next thing you know he’s on top of you, peppering kisses over every single inch of skin he can get to on your face. “hey, get off, muppet.” you whine playfully, ruffling his hair.

“do you know how much i love having you here?” he murmurs. it’s endearing as fuck and you fight a foolish, dopey grin.

“you’ve mentioned once or twice…” you’ve been here since your flight touched down a week ago. you haven’t even been home to get clothes, not that you needed them in his company.

“we might have a teeny, tiny issue.” he squints, pulling a face.

“and what’s that?” you ask, your voice measuring equal parts cautious and amused.

“so, alex called…”

“oh, shit.”

“we have to go to dinner tonight.”

“we have to?”

“he’s suspicious as fuck. you do realise they’ve been plotting for us to happen for years,” you roll your eyes as if you say duh. “and also, you’ve been in monaco for a week and haven’t seen him once. oh, and also, the last time we saw them, we were running away from a fucking crime scene.” lando smiles sarcastically, and you sigh, defeated.

before you can reply, your phone is ringing somewhere beside you. you root around in your blanket searching for it and when you find it:

“son of a bitch.” you exclaim, showing lando the caller ID. alex is one persistent motherfucker.

“hey girl.” alex singsongs down the phone before you can even say hello.

“hello to you too.” you can hear the fear in your own voice.

“dinner. tonight. although, i’m sure lando already told you.” alex teases.

“why would lando have told me? what?” you choke. lando slaps his hand over his face. your voice has gone up several octaves. not suspicious at all.

“so, you’re at home? you haven’t been at his place since last week?” the playful interrogation begins.

“why would i be with lando?” you try and feign disgust at the implication. it does not work.

“because you hate fucked after he beat up that perv? i have to say, i didn’t think he had it in him but he’s been in love with you since he was like, ten, so, you know-”

“bye alex.”’

“you’re not denying it-“

“bye alex!”

you’re flaming red when you throw the phone to the other end of the sofa. lando, as on brand as ever, is cackling into a pillow.

“he is such a fucking shit stirrer.” you bury your face in your hands, slumping back into the fuzzy cushions.

“well, he’s right about one thing.” lando trails off. suddenly he’s looking anywhere but you and you see him gulp, hard, swallowing his words, like he’s too afraid to bare his soul.

“huh?” you ask gently, sitting up to reach out for him. “what’s wrong?”

“we need to get ready for dinner. that’s what he’s right about.” lando says, standing from the sofa and walking towards his room. you’re suspicious, watching him go with furrowed eyebrows.

-

“lando, behave! you’re the one making me go to this dinner.” you squeal, batting his restless hands away.

you’ve made it as far as the elevator before he pounces on you, caging you in against the metal walls.

“but you look so good, can’t help myself.” he mutters between kisses on your neck, pressing himself even further into you.

the hand that finds it’s way between your legs, exploring beyond the hem of your skirt, is the one that makes you press the button for his floor. why have plans when you can have sex?

he gets through the door to his apartment at lighting speed and carries you all the way to his bed.

when you’re sweating and breathless a good hour later, half of the bedding on the floor with your clothes, you realise you never cancelled your plans.

lando is drawing shapes into the bare skin of your arm, kissing over your shoulder as he does so. his eyes are dropping from all of the over-exertion and you want to count each and every freckle on his face while he falls asleep. he’s cute like this, soft and yours.

and idea comes to your mind, and as if he can see the lightbulb, lando half raises an eyebrow at you. you giggle, somewhat evilly perhaps, and scramble for your phone on the beside table.

“what’re you doing?” lando groans, pouting as his outstretched arms try to find you.

“getting even.” you state.

with the phone in your clutches, you roll back over towards him, holding the camera above you both. he hears the shutter sound as you snap the picture, and peers closer to see the screen. when he sees the groupchat open, he quickly understands what you’re plotting.

“may i?” you ask for his consent.

“are you kidding? go for it. that’ll shut them up.” he laughs sleepily, muttering something about how this is the most lando thing you’ve ever done

FROM: you

TO: the groupchat

1 image attached

couldn’t make dinner. something came up xx

“alex always thinks he’s right, this’ll teach him for being such a little shit.” you flop back into bed even more satisfied than you were before.

you hear lando inhale shakily beside you.

“he is right sometimes you know.” he repeats his earlier words.

you hold your breath. his eyes say so many things that are too delicate to be spoken yet.

“like… like what he said on the phone?” your voice quivers with anticipation, fear. your heart is thunderous, hammering away like it wants to escape the clutches of its cage.

“yeah. i-“ he stops himself. you don’t need him to finish, you know which two words follow. they can follow in good time, you both know it.

“me too, lando.” you coo.

he’s beaming, eyes half shut. you watch as he falls asleep, the both of you ignoring the way your phones are vibrating so aggressively that they might buzz their way off of the night stand. you lose count of his freckles, but it doesn’t matter.

you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.

-

let me know what you think :D

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin

(i ran out of tags omg? whoops) lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - His denial (Part VIII)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 //

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of crying several times, hard times for reader and for Bruce, language, ANGST and more ANGST

“You know Ma, it’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me what happened between you and Bruce, but we’re all wondering why you broke up with him?” Jason asked you as he was helping you prepare a meal for the two of you. “Also, everyone's a little bit worried you won’t be our mother figure no more.” he added

“I’ll send a message on our group chat to let you kids know that I’m still there for you, no matter what happened between Bruce and I.” you replied instantly. 

You loved those kids as if they were yours and you were eager to keep taking care of them, even if it wasn’t at the manor anymore.

“Good to know,” Jason hummed and kissed your cheek. 

He would have been devastated if you had run away from his life, like all the adults that were supposed to care for him - apart from Alfred, of course. And he was well aware that all the other children - adopted or not by Bruce - loved you. You were bringing some peace and joy in everyone’s lives. That was why they nicknamed you “Hope” for when they talk to you over the comm’s. 

“And I didn’t break up. We agreed on it, Bruce and I.” you finally said, to which Jason arched an eyebrow. 

“Really? That’s not what he said”.

“Well, we agreed that I’m a civilian and that it was making things too difficult. Bruce has also been very busy and… I don’t know, maybe it was just not working anymore” you explained, trying to get away from this conversation as fast as possible.

You had spent the whole night crying over this break up. You had never been heartbroken like that before. You loved Bruce like you never loved anyone before. You just didn’t want to resume crying in front of Jason.

“Bruce can be an asshole… But I really don’t think he meant to make you feel neglected” Jason frowned

“Are you taking his defence now?” you softly teased to hide your sadness away

“No, never. Just… He loves you” Jason whispered

“I don’t think so. But that’s okay. I never thought I’d date someone for so long anyway. And I’ve meet all of you, and I’m very grateful for that”

“Ma…” Jason started but you cut him off

“I don’t really want to keep talking about him” you said and Jason dropped the subject

You did your best to forget about this conversation. You didn’t want to hear the little voice in your head saying that maybe Bruce was still in love with you, but was too stupid to let you know about it. 

You managed to push the voice away, until during an interview with Bruce Wayne, the journalist asked him if it was true you were not together anymore. You hadn’t meant to watch this interview, but your boss needed you to write an article about it. At the question, you couldn't help but fully focused on the TV and you caught a glimpse of vulnerability flashing across Bruce’s face. Only people who knew him well enough could have seen it. He quickly smiled at the journalist. 

“We’re only taking a break, nothing permanent” he instantly replied and you stared at the TV, thinking “wait what??” 

“Oh so, you’re not open to any new relationship?” the journalist asked “A lot of women in Gotham are eager to know if they have a chance with you or not. Men too. And everyone else, really”.

Bruce softly chuckled, but you could tell he was actually quite uneasy

“No, I’m not open to any new relationship. I still belong to Y/N.” he replied and you started to cry again.

You hated him for lying so blatantly in front all the whole city. He didn’t belong to you, you would know otherwise. You felt so sad, so angry. You hated yourself for having fallen for a man like him.

“Belong to? Quite a strong expression. Are you in love, Mr. Wayne?” the journalist hummed in interest

“Now I believe you didn’t ask me to come to talk about my romantic relationship” Bruce quickly changed the subject, but no need to say you started to cry even harder.

Of course he wouldn’t say he loved you, because he didn’t. You didn’t want to be such a mess again so you turned the TV off.

But a few instants later you received messages from the kids asking you if it was true that it was just a break and that you would come back home at some point. They were all so adorable, saying they understood if you needed to take a breath from the Batfamilly, especially when things were so difficult in Gotham. They promised to keep protecting you no matter what anyways.

You had no idea what to answer at first. You didn’t want to hurt their feelings. Eventually you told them the truth: “I’ve told you I’m still there for you as well, and I’m touched you are all so eager to have me back at the manor… But in all honesty, I’m not too certain what is going on and why Bruce said all of this. I don’t want to talk to him, but I guess you can ask him directly”

No need to say that everyone was pretty disappointed in your answer and that none of them asked about it to Bruce.

You didn’t want to go back to the manor. You didn’t want to run into Bruce. You thought several times to ask the children to grab your belongings for you, but it would mean for them to come into Bruce’s room and the man wouldn't be happy about it. They were welcomed to come into his room only when they needed help or reassurance after a nightmare. You could also tell that the children didn’t know how to deal with the break up.

You didn’t want to force them to be in between Bruce and you. 

Unfortunately you needed clothes from his place because you were soon going out of Gotham for a couple of days. You waited until the last minute to finally go back to the manor.

Everyone was out, except Alfred who greeted you with a warm smile. His smile flattered when you told him you needed to take some belongings from there. He didn’t stop you. However you were certain that he sent a message to Bruce.

You were in a pretty dark mood. Your mother had discovered your father wasn’t dead. You were a little bit surprised that the Batfamilly wasn’t on the case yet. Maybe Falcone did a good job to hide things away. Or maybe no one wanted to deal with something that might end up hurting you. 

Either way, you knew things were going to be hard and your mother was going to hate you for having lied to her about your father. You wished things would have been better with Bruce, because you would have loved to have someone with you. You didn’t want to drag the children in this mess, so once again it was you alone against your past.

You jumped when you heard Bruce’s soft voice talking to you. You had been so deep in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard him gently opening the door.

“What are you doing?” he leaned against the door frame to seem relaxed but you could tell he was watching you with great intensity and concern.

You wouldn’t have believed it if he would have told you, but watching you removing your belongings from your shared room was eating him up alive. He needed all his willpower to not prevent you from doing so. When you resumed your action of packing away, he felt his chest tightened.

“Packing. Need to go see my mom. Some stuff happened with my dad… And I need to deal with this mess.” you explained

“Anything I can do?” he offered

“Of course not. You have enough to deal with anyways.” you shrugged “By the way, I won’t be able to grab everything right away, so I’ll probably come back for the remaining things. Obviously you can send everything to my flat if you don’t want me to come again” you added, looking for a brief instant back to him

“Look, Y/N, I guess this isn’t the right time to speak with you, but can we maybe plan something for when you’ll be back to Gotham?” Bruce offered, almost pleading with you

“You mean to speak about how we went from “we agree to break up” to “you break up” and finally to “this is just a break”, Bruce?” You paused and turned around to fully watch him this time. 

Bruce moved a hand into his hair. He had no idea how to fix your relationship.

“You broke up. For my answer to the journalist... It was just easier to say that” Bruce tried and you rolled your eyes at him. 

He internally cringed, why wasn’t he able to say the right thing when he was already missing you so dearly?

“Whatever, Bruce.” you finally said

“So yes for a date when you’ll be back?” he insisted

“Whatever, Bruce” you said again which hurt him more than he wanted to admit.

--

PART 9

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

@Esposadomd

@moraxussy

@resident-cryptid

@legendarypiratecheesecake

@randomnamedmira

@elleclairez

@mindless-rock

@lumiqou

[thebigbadbatswife]

OCT 29th - Sex Pollen

Pairing - Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Title - What Happens In The Safehouse...

Summary - During a mission, you come in contact with a strange substance and the only person around that can help you with the effects is Ghost.

Warnings - Sex Pollen, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Simultaneous Orgasm, Military Inaccuracies. (If I missed anything lmk!)

Word Count - 3.4k

You feel strange. Really strange. It’s not a good type of strange either. Not that you would have been expecting to feel any type of strange while on mission. Especially while on a mission with your Lieutenant. 

Captain Price had assigned both of you to this mission, and only you two, in an attempt to get you to learn to work together. After all, it was no secret that Ghost had not been happy about your assignment to the 141 taskforce. It had worked and hadn’t worked, at the same time. 

While you were working seamlessly with each other, quickly dispatching enemies side by side and wordlessly following his orders. Over comms, you were both still taking every opportunity you could to dig at each other. With that aside, it was a rather simple mission. Secure the illegal weapons shipment before it could trade enemy hands.

Securing it hadn’t been an issue. The group guarding it had been small and they had been easily taken out. The only issue was that the crates weren’t filled with guns. When Ghost had crowbarred one of them open, a cloud of white dust had puffed up into the air. 

Is that why you’re feeling so strange? Is whatever that powder was, affecting you? 

You can feel your heart beat slowly starting to thump hard and fast against your chest despite the fact that you’re currently sat down on a wooden crate. And it feels like it’s getting harder to breathe, but not in the panic attack type of way. It’s in the “I’m getting way too hot and there’s nothing I can really do about it underneath all of this gear” type of way. 

If this is that powder affecting you, then why isn’t it affecting Ghost? He was the closest to the dust cloud considering that he had opened the crate to begin with. Right now he’s pacing just ahead of you, talking to who you’re assuming is the Captain, on comms. You’re not tuned into whatever station they’re using so you don’t know what they’re saying. 

What you do know is that you are starting to desperately want to be out of your clothes because of how uncomfortable they’re starting to get. Which definitely isn’t normal. 

Before you can contemplate it, Ghost is roughly pulling you up onto your feet. The grip he has on your arm is bruising. 

“We’re headed back to the safehouse,” he states.

“What about–” 

“Captain Price is sendin’ Soap and Gaz to secure it. Both he and Laswell doubt that the Russians will be able to get any reinforcements here before they arrive. And we’ve been given orders to leave.”

You nod. If the orders are coming from the Captain… and if it’s to do with that powder. What the hell have you inhaled? 

When you move to follow him, you become aware of just how soaked your underwear is. And not because of how much you’re currently sweating. You take a deep breath and do your best to ignore it. When you’re back in the safehouse, you’ll have a chance to check yourself over and try and figure out what exactly is going on. Here, you can’t do a damn thing. Especially in front of your Lieutenant.

With the way the fabric moves as you walk, rubbing against your extremely sensitive clit, you have to bite your tongue, to the point you taste blood, to stop any sort of sound leaving you. And things only get worse once you get into the car.

Ghost has never been very good when it comes to driving, but somehow he seems to have got even worse. He manages to hit every bump and pothole, which is making it harder and harder for you to stay quiet as they go straight to your core. You almost think that he’s doing it on purpose, but considering that his driving isn’t all that straight either, you can’t help, but think that whatever the hell that stuff was, it must be affecting him as well. 

As soon as the car pulls up to the safehouse, you’re out of the car before he’s even stopped it fully. You don’t care how strange or weird it looks. You beeline for the bathroom as it’s the only place in this safehouse that will give you an semblance of privacy, as the rest of the place is open plan. 

You lock the door behind you and immediately start removing your gear, as fast as you possible again. In all honestly, you’ve never removed your gear so fast or efficiently before. Though, usually, you’re back on base, exhausted after a gruelling mission, which leaves you fumbling with the various straps and clips. Right now you’re super focused on the task at hand and before you know it your gear is hitting the bathroom floor with a thud. Your boots and clothing are quick to follow.

Your underwear is absolutely drenched in your slick. As are the insides of your thighs. Your clit is swollen, peaking out from your hood, shiny from your arousal and begging to be touched. 

Chucking the ruined clothing to the side, you bring two of your fingers to your clit. Your body jolts as you gasp as the lightest of touches almost has you cumming right then and there. You pull your hand away and grip the sides of the sink, taking a deep breath as you try to regain control over whatever the hell is going on with your body.

You catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Your hair’s a mess and your body is slick with sweat like you have just run a marathon. Not to mention how fucking horny you’re starting to feel. With nothing around to distract you, like trying to hide your condition from Ghost, you’re now fully aware of it. 

You’re growing desperate to touch yourself and fuck yourself with your own fingers. So much so that the longer you go without doing that, things are actually starting to grow painful for you. 

Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the fix. An orgasm. If you’re experimental touch is anything to go by it won’t take you long to reach it. You’re only problem will be trying to stay silent. On the other side of the bathroom’s door you can hear Ghost moving around. It sounds like he’s freeing himself from his own gear, which means he’ll be checking his guns not long afterwards. He won’t even be paying attention to what you’re doing in here. 

Taking another deep breath, you bring your fingers down to your clit once more. 

It’s a fight for you to keep silent as you touch yourself. Your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rub tight circles against your clit. You expect some sort of relief, but there is no relief. The more that you touch yourself the more that 

it seems to hurt. At the same time you can’t stop. You need to touch yourself. It’s the only thing that you’re capable of focusing on.

Soon enough touching just your clit isn’t enough anymore. Your cunt squeezes around nothing, begging to be filled. Your mind drifts to thought of Ghost and how the only thing between the two of you is a door. It’s no secret that he’s packing, at least that’s what the rumours across the base suggest. The thought of his cock and how good it would feel inside of you.

You know that you shouldn’t be thinking about your Lieutenant like this. He’s your CO. Not to mention how much you can’t stand him. Even if he wasn’t your CO, he’s not someone you would think about taking to bed because of how much he pisses you off.

You do your best to push any thoughts of him and his cock out of your head and push three of your fingers inside of your needy hole. For a brief moment you finally feel some form of relief. Which almost has you moaning loudly, but the sound of footsteps reminds you that you’re not alone and you keep your teeth in your bottom lip. The pain from before returns as you fuck yourself and you can only hope an orgasm gives you a more permament form of relief.

The squelch of your fingers in your pussy is loud in the enclosed space and you can only hope that the walls aren’t so thin that Ghost can hear what you’re doing.

With a combination of your fingers inside of you and your free hand rubbing your clit, it really doesn’t take you very long to reach your climax. Relief floods through you as your body clamps down onto your digits. You ride out the aftershocks before finally pulling your fingers out and grip the sides of the sink again, panting heavily.

Your body is shaking as you come down from your high. Is that it? Is it finally over with? 

Just as you begin thinking that you must be in the clear, the need and the pain that comes with that need comes back tenfold. You whimper. When will this stop?

Several hard knocks at the door catches your attention. Ghost.

His voice is as rough as ever as he calls out your callsign, but it also sounds extremely strained. The thoughts you had back in the car come back to you and you wonder if he’s being as affected by whatever the hell that stuff is as well. He must be, right? He was the one that had opened the crate and therefore had had that cloud of dust puff up right into his face. 

“It hurts, Ghost,” you call back. There’s no point in hiding it any longer. He’s definitely already heard what you’re doing in here and if he hasn’t, he’s still under the same influence that you are.

“I know it does,” he replies. “Got us both in a bit of bother, haven’t I?” 

Yeah, he has. At the same time it’s not entirely his fault. The intel said it was guns in those crates. There was nothing about any sort of drug being inside of them. If he hadn’t opened the crates, you would have.

“Laswell’s intel says we’ve got one of two ways of dealin' with it,” he continues.

“Which are?” You really hope that means that there’s some form of antidote and that Laswell not only knows where it is, but she’s sending someone to go and get it.

“We wait it out.” 

That one is definitely not a option. You feel like you might go mad if you have to wait it out. No, you’re still holding out for that antidote.  “Or?” 

“We shag.”

He’s so blunt about it that you almost want to laugh. As well as at the entire situation itself. Of course those are the only two ways to deal with this. You want to scream. 

“There’s no antidote?” you ask.

“As far as we know, no there's not. Guessing neither option takes your fancy?”

“No, but since I have to pick, at least option two won’t make me go crazy.”

“You sure? Don’t want you to feel forced.” 

“I’m not feeling forced to do anything,” you reply. And it’s the truth. Shagging Ghost, funnily enough, is the most appealing of the two options you both have. You have already been fingering yourself to the thought of him taking you and he’s clearly not against the idea. “But only if you’re as naked as I am.” Which you think is more than fair. Though you seriously doubt he’ll ever take the balaclava off. He never does. 

He huffs a laugh. “Give me a minute, yeah?” 

You hear the rustling of clothing, followed by the same thud of gear hitting the floor. Soon enough, he raps his knuckles against the door again, letting you know he’s finished undressing. Taking a shaky breath, you move away from the sink, unlock the door and step back. 

The door swings open and you’re met with the sight of Ghost’s naked body. He’s fit. As soon as that thought enters your head, you’re immediately telling yourself that it’s the drug. Especially as your eyes follow the dark hair that leads from his belly button down to where his cock stands proudly, the head purpling from the lack of attention. Your pussy throbs at the sight of it and all you can think about is how good it’s going to feel when he’s finally inside of you.

“Eyes are up here, Sergeant.” 

“Could say the same to you, L.T,” you reply as your eyes finally meet his. He’s also been blatantly checking you out as well, his eyes lingering on a knife scar on your hip.

“You sure you still want to do this?” he asks. 

“Yes.” Your reply comes out far faster than you meant for it to. He chuckles, stepping forward as he pulls the balaclava up just enough to reveal his lips.

His large hand comes up to cup your face and keep your head titled up to look at him. He surprises you with a kiss. It’s far more gentler than you thought it would be. Everything about Ghost screams rough and harsh so you certainly weren’t expecting this, but it’s very much welcomed. You surrender yourself entirely to him, letting him take control. 

Ghost directs you backwards until your back is pressed up against the cold tiled wall. Goosebumps radiate across your skin and your nipples pebble as you gasp at the sudden temperature change. He takes advantage of it and pushes his tongue into your mouth. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he presses his body against yours. You can feel his cock pressing against your skin and it has your body screaming for him to stop kissing you and fuck you already. You break the kiss, gasping for air.

“Please,” you whimper. As of right now you don’t care how needy and pathetic you’re starting to come off as. You expect him to tease you, but he must be as desperate and needy as you because he does nothing of the sort.

Instead he effortlessly lifts you up and enters you with a single thrust. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pussy squeezes his cock as you cum only from the feeling of him filling you up. Ghost groans deeply, the feeling of your cunt tightening around him almost having him blow his load. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his grip on you almost bruising. “You’re wound up really fuckin’ tight, huh?”

There’s no opportunity for you to answer, not that you could form words anyway, the feeling of his cock deep inside of you rendering your brain to mush. He doesn’t even give you time to recover from such a sudden orgasm as he begins to slowly pull out. Once again you expect him to be rough with you. To take you hard and fast as he gives into the need burning through his body. 

He pushes back in just as slowly, taking some time to build up his pace. Showing a level of restraint that both surprises you and doesn’t surprise you at the same time. He’s doing his best not to hurt you. Which you think is nice of him, but at the same time you’re not sure if it’s even going to be worth the effort. You are almost positive that once this is all over you’re likely not going to be able to walk straight for at least a week.

As he fucks you, Ghost starts kissing you again. He swallows your moans as your tongues invade each other’s mouths. You really don’t want him to ever stop.

With the position that he has you in, there’s not really much for you to do other than hold on and enjoy the ride. Which is absolutely fine by you. Already you can feel another orgasm quickly building up as his cock hits against a sweet spot deep inside of you that has your toes curling and nails digging into the meat of his shoulders and back each time he hits it.

“Fuck, Ghost,” you gasp. “Don’t stop!”

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he grunts. 

He’s no longer being gentle with you. Each thrust is rougher than the last and his grip is definitely going to leave marks on your skin, but you’re too far gone to care. Almost as soon as his thumb touches your clit you’re cumming again, your cry of his callsign is bouncing off of the walls of the bathroom, stars dancing behind your eyes. Ghost cums with you. His groan deep and guttural as he hits his climax, shooting his cum deep inside of you.

You expect him to stop, to take a breather before this stupid lust filling drug drives you both to do it again, but he doesn’t. He keeps rolling his hips, his cock remaining hard, as short gasps and groans leave him. He’s not wrong. He really can’t stop. Your cunt feels so good wrapped around him and he can’t stop himself from continuing to thrust into you despite how sensitive he’s starting to get. 

It’s a blur from there. Ghost takes you on every surface available to the two of you in the safehouse. Wringing orgasm after orgasm out of both of you, pleasure searing through your veins to the point that you’re almost sure it might drive you mad. That is if you don’t pass out from exhaustion first.

By the time that you hit the bed, that’s exactly how you feel. You think that the drug might have finally run its course. At least for you. Ghost adjusts your position so that your ass is up in the air and reenters you, making you whine. 

You’re really starting to feel how sore and used your body is. Your cunt is aching and dripping with the mixture of both yours and his fluids and you’re drenched in sweat.

He takes you much more gentler this time; a stark contrast to the rough fucking you’ve been subject too for however long you both have been going at it. He’s nearly at his end as well. There’s no longer a rhythm to his thrusts and he’s slowly growing more vocal again. 

Draping his body over yours, getting you to look at him so he can kiss you again. If this wasn’t Ghost fucking you, you might think the kiss is sweet and tender, but since it is Ghost you can only think it’s because he’s too tired. He grinds his cock inside of you, flooding your pussy one last time. 

He collapses against you, but you’re too tired to care. You just accept that this is your fate now as your eyelids drop shut and sleep claims you. 

When you wake up, the first thing that you’re aware of is how sore you are. Even shifting a little bit has you aching in places you didn’t know you could ache. The second and third things that you notice, one after the other, is that Ghost had taken the time to clean you up and cover your naked body with a blanket.

You groan as you sit up, holding the blanket against your chest to keep yourself covered up. You immediately spot your clothing and gear, all haphazardly folded and left on a table. 

“You alright, Sergeant?” Ghost is stretched out on the sofa, his arms folded behind his head. He’s already fully dressed in his gear again. 

“I don’t think boot camp hurt this much.

He huffs a laugh as he sits up. “Yeah? Well I’m not fuckin’ carrying ya, so get up, get dressed and let’s go. I’ll be waitin’ in the car.” He gets up from the sofa, grabs his gun and leaves the safehouse. At least he’s nice enough to give you some privacy. 

It takes you longer than it should to get dressed. Your body protesting every single move you make, but you push through it. By the time that you get into the car, Ghost is clearly getting impatient waiting, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

He looks over at you as you hiss as you sit down, slamming the door a little too hard, at the same time. You adjust your position so that you’re a little more comfortable.

“What happened in that safehouse, stays in that safehouse,” Ghost says.

“Agreed.”

[python333]

your writing is literally the best in the cod fandom. we need more injured reader angst. it's too good

don't breathe — python333

— — — —

synopsis [reader] gets buried alive after refusing to give intel to enemy soldiers and *slips up and writes reader almost dying again* oops how did that happen haha

relationships platonic!price & gn!reader.

characters cap. john price.

word count 2.7k

warnings suffocation [reader], just generally really depressing thoughts, near death??, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note aww tysm :(( dont say its the best im gonna get a complex LMAO but i appreciate it!! and yes i agree injured reader angst ftw :3 i present to you: reader gets very injured and theres a lot of angst and its basically just you suffering for a good 3/4 of the fic while the last quarter has the actual comfort!

“Hello?” You try again, your voice cracking and your tone as desperate as it can get, “Please, God, say someone can hear me.” 

You’ve been trapped in a casket for about five minutes now—at least, you woke up five minutes ago. God knows how long you’ve been stuck in the stupid thing, but realistically, it’s probably been much longer than five minutes.

The last thing you remember from before you were buried is being in the interrogation room of some small terrorist group’s facility, one you and the others were led to believe was abandoned weeks ago. 

Unfortunately, whoever gave you the information must’ve either had incredibly outdated information or was setting you all up for failure, because the facility was very much not abandoned and was instead full of enemy soldiers.

You all had already gotten into the building before you knew that, because of course you all had to be in the same spot at the same time—practically sitting ducks for the enemy—and of course you all had to be clueless about the possibly hundreds of people in the facility until it was too late. 

As far as you know, everyone managed to escape. Everyone but you. They didn’t mean to leave you behind, of course they didn’t, they were more focused on just booking it out of the facility. However, because of that, you were now stuck—you assume—several feet underground in a casket that has a limited amount of oxygen that drops every time you take a breath. 

You let out the breath you’re currently holding and suck in another deep breath, holding it as you think. Your strategy of holding your breath until you no longer could mostly worked, but it wouldn’t for long, you knew that soon you’d suffocate in all of the carbon dioxide gathering in the enclosed casket.

You don’t know how long you’d been unconscious in the casket, breathing in oxygen carelessly in your slumber, which made the whole situation worse. You didn’t even know how much time you had left. 

You hate to waste your breath checking your comms, but the enemy soldiers had accidentally left your earpiece in your ear—the small device apparently going undetected under their radar—and you wanted to make the most of it. You move your arm from your side and press onto the PTT button on your earpiece, wincing a little at how cramped the casket was.

“Does anybody copy?” You ask again, staring up at the almost pitch black space above you, “I repeat, does anybody copy?” 

It’s a vain attempt at contacting your team, really. You don’t know if they’re thinking about you, if the signal is going through, if they even have their earpieces on—you know nothing, and that terrifies you because you really don’t want to die right now but there’s literally nothing else you can do besides helplessly talk into your earpiece, not knowing if anyone’s listening. 

Your lungs start to burn and you let out the breath you were holding, taking another deep breath and beginning to hold that one. The air feels… thick. It’s starting to get harder to breathe, and you know you shouldn’t panic but you can’t help the few worried thoughts that come to the forefront of your mind. 

What am I going to do when I run out of oxygen and the only thing left for me to breathe in are my own discarded breaths? What will I do when all there is to do is suffocate? Am I going to try, in one last desperate attempt, to break out of the casket, or am I going to just lay here and die? Will my team try to find me, or will they forget about me? Have they already forgotten about me? 

Before you can listen to any more of those depressing thoughts, a voice comes from your earpiece. 

“H—lo? [c/n]?” It’s hard to tell with the static and the cuts in between the words, but you think it’s Price talking. 

“Price?” You ask immediately, all thoughts of preserving your breath forgotten. “Holy shit, you can hear me?” 

“Je—s— whe—e—” He cuts out for a moment and your stomach drops when all you can hear is static for a moment. 

“You’re— You’re cutting out, Captain, what did you say?” 

“Wher— —re you?” It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying, your mind working much slower than it usually does, but once you do you shake your head negatively despite him not being there to see you. 

“I don’t— I don’t know,” You respond, taking a deep breath before adding on, “I think I’m underground, I just know I’m in a casket and it’s getting harder to breathe and—” 

“Okay, o—y,” You hear Price’s voice crackle, his voice becoming more distant and sounding almost muffled to you, “Sa— —ur bre—th, I’ll try to g—t some—e to track your— —tion.” 

With the constant cutting out of his words and the distortion of his tone, you can barely register or process what he’s saying, and that only panics you more but you refuse to let your emotions get the better of you even in the state of disorientation you’re in, so you keep holding your breath. 

A minute later, Price’s voice crackles through your earpiece again. 

“Okay, we’ve got your loc—tion,” Price’s voice sounds… oddly far away, “We can—” 

His voice slowly becomes muffled, and you release the breath you were holding without realizing it, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of the casket. A sort of haze falls over your mind and you can barely even hear Price anymore before you suddenly snap back to reality and hear his now much clearer voice loud in your ear. 

“[c/n]? [c/n], are you still there?” You recognize his tone now, and you’re just a little shocked at the sheer amount of worry in it. 

“Haven’t moved an inch,” You breathe out, before lying, “You cut out for a second for me, sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, “I said we got your loc—tion and we’re hea—g out th— —w. It’s not t— far away from where —e alre—dy are, we’re ba—ely three clicks away.” 

“… Clicks?” You ask, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Yes, clicks,” Price replies, sounding concerned, before hesitantly asking, “… You know what those are, right?” 

“I don’t—” You struggle to find words for a moment before you speak again, your own voice starting to sound distant, “I don’t think so?”

“What do y—u mean you don’t thi— —o?” Price asks, his voice sounding freakishly close, “Are you okay?” 

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” You lie through your teeth, not wanting to worry Price further, “I just… how far away are you?” 

“Just ab—t two cli—ks now,” Price says, before pausing and clarifying, “Two kilometers.” 

Two kilometers… how far is that? “And that’s… is that far, or?” 

“No, it’s not too far. It’s just a mi—te away, we didn’t ge— —o far before Laswell got your loc—tion,” Price tells you, “We’ll be there soon, ok—y? We’ll get y— —ut of there.” 

“A minute—” You cough and feel tears pricking at your eyes from how hard it is to take another breath, “A minute?” 

“Yes, a minute— [c/n], are you okay?” Price asks again, before laughing nervously, “You know what a minute is, do— —ou?” 

“...” You struggle to answer the question, thinking long and hard for a few seconds before hesitantly answering, “… Yeah, I do, sorry. It’s sixty seconds.” 

“Why’d it take you so long to answer?” 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I—” You take a few shallow breaths, and feel a headache start to build up, “How far away are you guys?” 

“We’re alm—t there,” Price promises you, “The heli’s ab—t to l—nd, and we’ll dig you up, and—” 

Why is it so cold? Price’s voice cuts off and when he stops talking you realize that you’re shivering. You ball your fists up and can’t even feel your nails digging into your palms, your hands having gone numb from the cold, and realizing that makes you discover that your lips feel numb too. 

Your ears start to ring and you feel that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling in your hands, the sensation slowly traveling up your arms, making you both wanting to peel off your own skin and also grateful that you can at least feel something besides the cold.

In the midst of your thinking, you hear muffled thumping coming from above you—whoever buried you couldn’t have buried you anything below six feet. 

“—llo? [c/n]? Are you still there?” 

You bring your hand up, the movement slow and sluggish, and you try to search around the side of your face for your earpiece. You eventually find it and when you do you press against it until you feel the PTT button being pushed. 

“Still here,” You confirm breathlessly, coughing again as you take a few more shallow breaths, “I think I’m running out of— of… what’s the fuckin’ air that you can breath in, it starts with an o…” 

“… Oxygen?”

“Oxygen, yeah,” You slowly blink up at the ceiling of the casket, “There’s— I think— I don’t… I think… I think I’m gonna pass out, Captain.” 

“[c/n], don’t you fucking dare,” Price growls, “You stay awake, I swear to fucking god.” 

“I can’t—” You take a few more shallow breaths, before coughing, the tears escaping your eyes reaching the corners of your mouth. 

You can hear Price briefly talk with someone else, his voice the most serious you’ve ever heard it, before he talks directly to you again, “How much longer do you think you have before you run out of oxygen?” 

It takes you a moment to register the question, but when you do, you answer, “Uh… I don’t— I think… maybe a few more minutes? I can’t tell, it’s just hard to breathe, I can’t…” 

“Okay, okay,” Price softly says, gusts of wind blowing into his mic as he talks, “Give me a second, okay? We’re almost there, kid, we’ll— we’ll be there in just a minute, we just passed over you, I just need you to stay awake.” 

“In a minute,” You repeat to yourself, before taking a deep breath, hoping that you have enough oxygen to make it out of this casket because you really don’t want to die here, not when there’s help just a minute away. 

After what you assume is a minute or two, instead of thumping, you hear something cut into the dirt above you. The sound, however, is heavily muffled, so muffled to the point where you don’t know if you’re hallucinating or not.

Is that a symptom of CO2 poisoning? Hallucinations? You lay still in the casket and can’t help but release the breath you’d only just taken, the ringing in your ears starting up again and growing louder faster than they had before. 

Your entire body is numb, your chest is heavy, and you can feel a sort of fog fall over your mind. You can distantly hear Price yelling through your earpiece, but you can’t find it in yourself to respond, instead simply laying there, your blinking starting to slow down before it eventually stops, leaving your eyes closed. 

— 

For a moment, you think you died and went to heaven, which would be weird, considering all the things you’ve done in your life. Not saying you’d go to hell, just saying God would probably hesitate for a second before letting you in through the pearly gates. 

You blink awake, slowly but surely, and the first thing you realize is that you can feel things again. You tilt your head down to the bump under the white bed sheets laid on top of you, and squeeze your hand into a ball, watching the bump move and feeling your fingers dig into your oddly sore palms.

You let out a sigh of relief and pull your hand out from the sheets, bringing it up to your face and feeling the oxygen mask that’s been placed over your mouth and nose.

“Don’t mess with that,” You hear a voice say to your right. You turn your head and see a very tired Captain Price, dark eyebags hanging under his eyes and arms crossed, his hands having a white knuckle grip on either one of his elbows. 

“…” You don’t say anything, instead you simply stare at him until he sighs and gets up from his seat. You watch silently as he leans over your bed and bends down, before pausing, and then quickly snaking his hands under your back to pull you up just enough for him to properly hug you. 

You reach up with shaky hands and tentatively hug him back, not nearly as tightly—not that you don’t want to, but you physically can’t with how weak your arms are right now—but with just as much sincere affection. You can feel Price’s beard rubbing against your neck and hear his small sniffles as he embraces you tightly. 

Maybe it’s his sniffling, or the way you can finally feel warmth for the first time in what feels like forever, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s holding you with so much care and affection that it almost makes you burst at the seams, whatever it is, it causes you to tear up as well. 

Those tears quickly become sobs that bubble up in your throat and crawl their way out of it, forcing you to tuck your head into the crook of Price’s neck and muffle your sobs in it, muttering a small ‘sorry’ after each one. 

After each ‘sorry’, Price responds with, “It’s okay, let it out, sweetheart, you’re okay,” and those reassuring words only make you cry more because God, you didn’t even think he’d find you, yet here he is, letting you cry into his neck and is reassuring you after every apology that it’s okay. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” You mumble a litany of apologies into Price’s neck, your breath stuttering and hitching as you try to hold back your sobs. Price only shushes you and rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture, bringing his head up to kiss the top of your head. 

He tucks your head under his chin, “Don’t apologize, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

And fuck, you know it’s just words, but it only makes you cry more. 

Your sobs eventually stop, leaving you hiccuping against Price’s neck, silently crying as he continues to rub your back. 

“I thought you died,” He whispers, his hand stuttering on your back, “I thought you died and I was going to dig up your dead body, when you didn’t answer me.”

You stay silent, letting him continue, “I thought you were dead when we dug you up and needed to feel your heartbeat for myself to confirm that you were still alive.” 

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’ve been here ever since they put you in here. I haven’t slept, I’ve just stayed here, waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you that I—”

He chokes up for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I’m sorry for not even thinking to drag you out of the facility with me when we all ran out. You were— you were right there, and I couldn’t just grab your arm and take you with me, I just had to leave you behind and I—” 

“You watched me while I was asleep?” You ask quietly, your eyebrows drawing together. 

Price pauses and pulls his chin off of your head, and pulls you away from his neck so he can properly give you the most incredulous look he can pull, before saying, “I’m pouring my heart out to you and apologizing for practically leaving you for dead, and that’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Well, I’m not worried, I’m just—” You shrug, not knowing how to explain it. Price sighs and chuckles quietly before tucking your head back under his chin. 

“You’re insufferable,” He mumbles, sniffling a bit. 

“… I forgive you, by the way,” You say after a moment of silence, “I didn’t really blame you in the first place.” 

“You had the right to.” 

“Sure I did.” 

“But you didn’t blame me.”

“Right.” “…” Price stays silent for a moment before pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head and saying quietly, “You should blame me.” 

“Maybe,” You mumble back, “But I won’t.” 

Later, maybe an hour later, if the others see you asleep in Price’s arms while he keeps your head tucked under his chin and rubs your back affectionately—no they don’t.

[gilverrwrites]

The Tim Drake sex pollen fic is so fucking good!!!!!

it makes me think of a similar scenario with the other Bats...

like maybe this time you're the one who's affected and Bruce is there to watch you and encouraging you to touch yourself because he knows it'll help. But you're like "No way, I'm not doing that with you right here!!" and he's like "I can turn around." and you're like "You won't be watching me through the cameras? 🤨" because you both know he'll insist on keeping an eye on you, not even for horny reasons at first, just to make sure you're ok.

But then you get more desperate and eventually give in and start touching yourself even though you know Bruce can see you, but maybe that's making it even better and maybe you start begging him to touch you and UGH just. sorry it's just such a delicious scenario. <33

I actually have a re-occurring fantasy about Bruce getting infected by some kind of sex toxin/pollen that makes him go bull in a china-shop levels of feral which I’f love to share. But I’ve never considered it the other way around, anon you saucy little minx, I love this. ♥︎ Warnings: exhibitionism/voyeurism | teasing | dub-con (by the nature of sex pollen)

Undressing and allowing Bruce to see you stripped completely bare was bad enough. You couldn’t put it off any longer though, your skin felt, still feels like it’s ablaze. But as the debilitating level of pain in your gut continued to sear throughout your veins it was becoming harder and harder to resist the inevitable. What’s worse is, there was no place to hide your shame, no corner you could crawl into and relieve yourself in without giving him a show.

“I’ll only be checking on you to make sure you’re okay.” He’d told you with that booming voice, inadvertently causing a shockwave of arousal to roll through your already severely aching core. You could tell he’d tried not to, but he couldn’t resist letting those brilliant blues roam over your nude form. The tiny bit of rationale you had left told you he was just examining you from a medical standpoint; the look was purely professional. But the rest of you, every nerve, every inch of untouched fevered skin called out for him to keep looking. To open that door and devour you six ways to Sunday. The fantasy of Bruce, sturdy and brooding, losing his composure as he pins you beneath his formidable frame and drives his cock into your needy hole is what you’re lost in as you finally take the plunge and delve your fingers between your legs.

You’d thought your body was overheating, but your wet walls are scorching as you begin to fuck yourself, no longer caring about your surroundings, or the one man audience as you get lost in the relief, in the chase. You know it’s going to feel so good when you find it, you just need more. Need to feel full.

Bruce relentlessly taps his fingertips on the desk at a speed The Flash would struggle to match as he watches you. How your dark and swollen pussy swallows up your two fingers. Then a third, and a fourth and no matter how much he tries to will his body, he can’t keep from watching. Can’t stop thinking about how good your wet walls would feel as he fucks you with all his might. Can’t fight the way his dick throbs as he recognises the curve of your lips. Your cries are muted by the cell but he knows you’re calling his name.

He’s smart enough to know it’s because you’re thinking of him. Wishing it were him splitting you open and filling you up. He wishes it were him too, and that’s why he deliberately misinterprets your pleas as a cry for help. Hurrying to your cell door so he can press down on the comms link and hear your vulgar cries first-hand.

BZZT. “B-b BRUCE PLEASE.” He’s grateful he hasn’t removed his cape yet, allowing him to use it as a shield to hide how he palms his restless cock through his Kevlar tights. “pleasefuckmebrucefuckmefuckmefuckmepleasebruce.”

“Please what?” He pretends not to have overheard your quiet chanting. It’s mean, he knows it, teasing you with his presence, knowing he can’t give you what you want. But it is worth it to see the carnality of your gaze as your lids dart open. Soaking him in as you fuck your weeping cunt even harder. “What do you need?”

“I need you, Bruce.” Your voice is so low, coming from the bottom of your chest as you struggle to get your words out clearly, cracking and shaking in time your thrusts.

“Need me to what?” Your back sharply arches against the floor, your toes curling into the air in response to him. If only you were this agreeable in the field he thinks, but then again, he quite likes you in the position you’ve gotten yourself into. “Tell me exactly how you want me to help you.”

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[barefoothighlander]

fear of the dark

summary: ghost is teaching you to evade enemies before your little game turns into something darker

simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), dub con, light hunter/prey dynamic, unprotected pinv, fingering, creampie, mask stays on, knife play, name calling, outdoor sex, biting, est relationship

“It goes on like this, green light means it’s active, the red means it’s off” He tucks the comm behind your ear, securing it before pulling his hands back. “This button is to talk, you have to wait for a second for the feed to run through but if anything happens, you tell me”

“Got it, green on, press to talk”

“And keep to channel 4”

You huff a breath, “Okay”

“You ready?”

“What do I get if I outrun you”

“A new skill"

“Boo”

“And if you win” You’re voice is quieter,

“You’ll find out” His thumb strokes across your cheek, “I’ll give you a head start, no leaving the property line, use what I’ve taught you and stay out of my sights, if you make it to sunrise you win”

You smirk, “See you at sunrise”

Turning around you march away from him, moving at a rushed pace, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, the ground is dry which means your tracks will be harder to find, moving your way towards the woods you spare a glance behind you, his large frame relaxed against the side of the house, illuminated by the single light outside as his hands cling to his vest his eyes glued to you.

It’s pitch black outside, the moon provided minimal light through the branches of the tree, guiding your path, you know he doesn’t have his night vision but he’s an expert at finding tracks, one of the few skills his father taught him when they’d go hunting.

You’re breathing heavy as you stumble over rocks, walking for what already felt like hours, navigating around the dark trying to cover your tracks. You make sure to stick to dry ground, knowing that if you stepped in any mud he’d notice the footprints and be on you in an instant.

You reach a small clearing in the woods, deciding it was as good a place as any to take a small rest, you’re not sure how much of a head start he gave you but you know you can’t sit for long. It’s strangely quiet, only a few noises of squirrels running through trees fills the air, there’s no wind or birds, all you can hear is the sound of your own heart, thudding in your ears.

You glimpse at your watch, it’s only midnight, the sun wouldn’t be up for another six hours and you had a lot of ground to cover. Pushing yourself from your position you continue through the woods, avoiding patches of leaves and sticks that could snap as you walk.

Your legs are aching by the time you reach a small stream, trying to navigate your position, doing your best to recall where the stream started. It’s tempting to just jump in, the humid air of summer doing little to cool your sweat beaded skin, the effort of moving up and down hills taking its toll on your muscles.

Fuck it.

If anything it’ll be harder for him to find you in the stream, pulling your boots off and stringing them to your backpack you step in, the coke water forming goosebumps on your skin as you wiggle your toes through the stream. You bend down to grab a hand-full, splashing it against your warm cheeks in an effort to cool down, letting it trickle down your neck as it wets the collar of your shirt.

“Oi, you there?”

His voice rings through your comm, you move to respond but stop yourself, if you answered now he’d know exactly where you were, the noise from the water would echo through your mic, directly into his earpiece.

You jump out of the stream quickly, moving a few paces away so that it was out of earshot before pressing your finger to the button.

"You miss me already?"

“Just checking in"

"Sure"

“Don’t be a brat”

“What are you gonna do about it” You tease through the comms

“Wanna find out?” His voice is deeper

Your hair suddenly stands on end,

He waits a beat, “You need to focus”

“I am”

“What if I was an enemy”

“What are you gonna do, you can’t even find me”

He doesn’t respond.

“Simon?"

The line drops and so does your heart, realizing that he could be directly behind you a sense of panic sets in, you jump back into the stream, following its flow as you rush through the water, your feet splashing it onto your clothes as you make your way through, praying it would cover your tracks.

You’re on edge, the silence of the forest now gone as every twig that snaps grabs your attention, your head on a swivel as you reach a small pond. Stepping out of the water and pulling your boots back on, you squint your eyes around trying to catch a glimpse of him, your breath catching in your throat everytime a branch shifted.

You move further into the woods, checking your watch again 1:36 how had it only been an hour and a half, it felt like forever since you stepped into the trees, the soothing chill of the water now gone, your legs ached from your efforts.

“Are your pants soaked?” His voice breaks your thoughts,

“What?”

“Water was a nice touch”

The line drops again, he’s at the top of the stream which gives you a little bit to gain some distance, tugging your bag around your shoulders you hike further.

Everything starts to look the same, all the trees are reminiscent of each other, you’ll admit you’re lost, but not to him, he’d accuse you of giving up and you didn’t want that. You try your best to navigate your direction, trying to use the stars as some sort of guide but it’s useless, the clouds in the sky block half your view and you can’t remember anything about astronomy anyway, your brain too clouded by the pain in your body.

Your breath hitches at the noise of a branch snapping, your heartbeat now in your ears, you didn't factor in how scary the woods are at night, every sense heightened in the dark.

"Simon?"

You call through your comms but there's no answer, it's dead air, your nerves on fire now, your we’re alone completely, you really didn’t think this through, didn’t stop to consider what would happen if the comms went dead.

You see a small light to your right, squinting your eyes to figure out what it’s from, hoping it was a street light of some sort you move toward it, moving past trees and fallen branches to get to it.

You’re huffing for air as you approach it, your eyes almost shut as it nears, blinding you, you shield your face with a hand,

“What’d I tell you about strange lights”

Your heart drops as you hear him, the crunching of leaves under his boots as he moves near you. You stumble back from him, head turning to find some sort of escape route,

“What’d I tell you love”

you swivel your head from his form to behind you, “They’re deceiving”. In a burst of adrenaline you take off, running away from him as he fades from view, it’s unnerving the way he just walks, he’s not chasing you, it’s like he knows where you’re going.

You’re feet carry you faster than you can think, twisting around trees and over hills, the taste of metal in your mouth as your palm runs over your stomach, a cramp settling into the muscle. You rest against a large oak, closing your eyes and catching your breath, your skin on fire as you try to focus on the sounds around you.

You wait a moment, bracing yourself before turning your body to move, gasping as you feel a hand tug you back.

“Gotcha”

You’re gasping for air as he pins you against the tree, his hands clamped around your arms, keeping you from fighting back.

“Okay, you win, let’s go home”

“Not without my prize”

“Simon, please” Your body is weak against his, no energy left in your muscles as he invaded your space, his chest pressing against yours, the fabric of his vest digging into your flesh.

“You didn’t listen”

“What?” Your brain is a fog

“You did nearly everything wrong, I could’ve had you the minute you stepped into the woods”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t apologize, you’ll learn”

Your hooded eyes plead with him, begging to go home, to rest but finding no sympathy, he leans his face towards yours, his chin next to your neck.

“I think you wanted to get caught, wanted to see what would happen”

His words click in your head, the heat from your skin suddenly transferring to your core, your arms straining against his grip as you let out a small whimper.

“That’s it, isn’t it, you wanted be to find you, to teach you a proper lesson”

He squeezes your arms tighter when you don’t respond, his eyes moving to stare into yours, his gaze is dark something darker behind it.

“That’s alright love, I’ll give you what you want, but you have to listen”

You squeeze your thighs, trying to rid yourself of the ache between them as his hand trails down your side. He removes it for a minute, your stomach flinching as you feel the press of cold metal against it, it forms goosebumps on your skin, he trails it toward your breasts, teasing it through the valley of them before placing it under the hem of your shirt, splitting the fabric up the middle.

The cold air hits your skin causing your nipples to harden as he traces the blade over your skin, pressing it flat against the raised buds.

“You look good like this, all ready for me to use”

Your chest maintains a steady rise and fall, “Si-“

“Not this time love”

Your face falls as you watch his face, the shell of a skull staring back at you, “Ghost, please”

He pays no attention to your words, running his knife along your skin before settling it above the hem of your pants, wriggling your hips to sooth your arousal.

“Needy little thing aren’t you”

He removes his hands from you, giving you an out but you stand in front of him, weak fingers working to undo your pants, he watches as you stumble to step out of them, leaving you in your underwear, the chill outside doing little to settle your nerves.

“Such a perfect little thing” He runs a gloves hand over your breasts, humming as you let out a sigh. Your body freezes as his knife makes contact with your skin again, trailing it towards your core before using it to cut your panties, letting the fabric drop.

He flips the blade, teasing your thighs with the handle of it before he runs it through your folds, biting back a gasp, there was no way to hide your arousal now.

He pulls his knife into view, your slick coating the handle, glistening in front of your face “You’re fucking soaked, you little slut”

“Open your mouth”

You do as he says, flattening your tongue and pushing it out as his hand cups your jaw, holding it open. He runs the handle across the muscle, the taste of yourself dancing over your taste buds as he pushes it slowly into your mouth, stifling a chuckle as you gag around the handle. He watches the string of spit that forms between you and the weapon as he retracts it from your mouth, his eyes glancing toward your core, your unsteady legs holding you up as he brings the weapon towards it.

“Do you think you deserve my cock?”

“Yes, please Ghost”

He teases the handle between your folds, holding it against your weeping core, forcing you to clench around nothing.

Your head falls forward as he pushes it into you, the rough material running along your walls as he pumps it into you. Your hand reaches to brace on his shoulder, holding yourself up before his free hand connects with your throat, pushing you back against the tree. Your body is on display for him, his head looking down to where your cunt is swallowing his blade, groaning at the sight of your slick leaking from your core.

“Greedy little slut, you’d take anything wouldn’t you”

You shake your head, your voice strained by his grip on your neck,

“You will, you’ll take everything I give you”

He thrusts the handle into you faster, tightening his hand as you start to grind yourself down on it,

“Need more, please”

“You wanna cum on my knife you fucking slag”

“Please” You open your eyes at him, your face flush as you silently beg, he releases your throat, allowing you a breath as his gloved hand meets your clit, you arch your back at the contact, the rough circles providing enough stimulation that you feel your knees weaken.

“Do it, cum for me”

His fingers rub along your bud and you come undone, your fingers digging into his vest as you cum with a sob, your body falling forward against him as his fingers work you through your high. He feels you finish, pulling his knife from you, listening to you whimper from the loss of contact as he throws it to the dirt.

His arms lock under your thighs, hoisting your weak from against him and pressing your back against the tree, he grinds his clothed erection against your cunt, your core soaking his pants as your arms wrap around his neck.

“I’m gonna fuck you, and you’re gonna take it, all of it”

Your pussy clench’s at the thought, your ears failing to hear hun unzip his pants, the tip of his cock reading through your folds, smearing your slick around your thighs as he lines himself up.

You bury your head in his neck as he pushes in, the stretch of him burning your walls as he stuffs his cock inside. His hands grip your waist, moving you further down his length until his tip is buried in your cervix, your fingers digging into his back as you whimper around him.

“That’s it, gonna fill this tiny cunt”

He holds you against the tree, keeping you up as his hips pull back, his cock dragging against your walls before he thrusts it back in, his balls slap against your ass as he pounds his cock into you, forcing you to take every inch.

“Fuck, can practically see myself in you”

He holds you with one arm while the other presses firmly to your stomach,

“Gonna split you on my fat fucking cock, you’d like that huh?”

His hand makes contact with the side of your ass when you don’t respond,

“I said you’d like that, wouldn’t you”

“Yes!” You scream, the heartbeat in your ears overpowering any other noise in the area as he moulds you to his cock.

“Gonna fill this tight pussy with my cum, let you walk around with my seed in your cunt, dirty fucking whore”

He buried himself deeper with every thrust, pulling almost all the way out only to force his length back in, the weight behind his thrust bouncing you up and down, his eyes watching the way your breasts jump with every pump of his cock.

His fingers trail to your sensitive clit, pinching the bud, you let out a yelp, bearing your teeth into the base of his neck as he grunts, you mark his flesh as his grip on you gets tighter, sure to leave bruises in their wake.

Tears well in the corners of your eyes as you drop your cheek to his shoulder, the saliva in your moth dripping to wet his collar as he works another orgasm from you.

“Cum on my cock, want you to soak me, feel you squeeze me with your tight little cunt”

The bark of the tree scrapes against your bare skin, forcing you to arch into him, his cock driving deeper into you as you sob around him, his fingers circling and flicking over your clit, the band inside you stretching as your body melts.

You clench down on him, greedily taking every inch as you cum, your slick dripping from your core to wet his cock, your cum coating the opening of his pants as he grinds his pelvis against your clit, the friction from his pubic hair adding another layer as you ride out your orgasm.

You’re reduced to whimpers as he takes over all your senses, all you can hear, feel, see is him, the way his cock has you full, his grunts filling your ears as your gaze is stuck on him.

“That’s it baby, so good for me, such a perfect little slut”

You cling to him with weak limbs as his knuckles go white from his gold on you, his arms rising you up and down to meet his thrusts as he chases his high,

“That’s it, fuck that’s it, taking me so well”

He quickens his pace, fucking you ruthlessly, your aching core sucking him in as he pushes his length into you, his tip buried deep inside your walls as he holds you against his chest. Your lower stomach warms with the feeling of him spilling inside you, flooding your core as you sigh, your pussy fluttering as he pulls from you, watching his seed leak from your cunt before pushing it back in with two fingers, making sure it all stays in.

He holds you for a moment, letting you regain your composure before gently letting you down, his hand on your waist holding you steady as he removes his jacket, wrapping it around your naked form providing some sort of warmth.

You watch him with heavy lids, your body swaying at you try to stay upright, his stare is softer now as he bends down, his arms snaking under your legs to pick you up, holding you against his chest.

“Did so well love” He presses his forehead to yours, the heat of his body warming your cold limbs, “Let’s go home”.

He maneuvers around carefully, holding you steady as he moves around the trees, his gaze shifting to you every minute to make sure you were okay. He makes it out of the woods in minutes, the warm light of the windows coming into view as your body grows tired.

He carrie’s you into the house, slowly making his way towards the bathroom, setting you down for a moment so he can turn the tap on the bath on, he kneels in front of you, his hands tugging his mask off so you can see him, giving him a weak smile as he gently removes your remaining clothes.

He helps you to stand, walking towards the warm bath, feeling your muscles sooth as you step in, the water washing over your skin. He strips his own clothes, feeling the water rise as he sits behind you, his legs bent beside your frame as you lean back against his chest.

He runs a gentle cloth over your skin, cleaning up any dirt and grime that was on it, carefully cleaning around your core before his arms settle around your stomach, holding you close.

He rests his lips against the crown of your head as you focus on the sound of his breaths, steady behind you, lulling you to sleep as his thumbs trace over your skin.

[its-all-papaya]

landoscar one word prompt: wag!au

sending hugs and hoping everything turns out good for you!!

THANK YOU!!! here she is, 30 minute timer'd and (mostly) unedited:

"They're calling me your WAG," Lando says as soon as Oscar shoulders through his own driver's room door.

He's not even sure how Lando got in - he shouldn't probably have been able to, especially without Oscar - but he's reclined on the lounge anyway, arm behind his head and stocking feet tucked up close. Oscar's not even surprised. Not with the dimples and the curls and the charming way Lando's been getting his way pretty much everywhere from pretty much everybody for as long as Oscar's known him.

Oscar gives Lando's phone a courtesy glance as he tugs at the neck of his race suit, "Aren't you?"

That makes Lando grin even wider. His nose scrunches up as he sets the phone back on his propped-up legs, presumably to keep reading comments on whatever post he's hung up on.

"Am I? Which? Your wife or your girlfriend?"

Oscar glances sideways again as he shimmies the first shoulder out of his suit. It's fucking hot in Texas, and he'd been held up extra at qualifying interviews. The gap Lando needed to talk his way into this part of the building, and an extra half-an-hour or so of sweat dripping down the back of his neck.

"You know what I meant," Oscar shakes his head, fond.

Lando wiggles his phone again, "Yeah, but they don't."

Oscar rolls his neck sideways to smear some of the sweat off his cheek with the shoulder of his fireproofs.

"What?"

It's too hot to follow Lando's convoluted trains of thought just now, his brain still dragging itself back into regular-people-mode after an hour of just comms and tarmac.

"I don't know," Lando says.

Oscar's lifted the hem of the nomex top to wipe at his forehead. When he emerges out of it, Lando's eyes are stuck on his exposed stomach, gaze sharp and phone forgotten on his legs.

"C'mere," he swings an arm out sideways, lazily in Oscar's direction.

And he looks cool enough in a loose button-down and the wide-leg jeans he's suddenly become so fond of. He'd be good as a proper WAG, Lando would. Looking pretty in the garage and holding Oscar's hand each morning on the walk in. It's not like that quite yet, but maybe someday, Oscar thinks. If his career lasts long enough, maybe someday it won't be the big thing it would be today.

"I need a shower," he catches Lando's hand and squeezes loosely on the way by to placate him, but Lando doesn't let go. His face is doing the thing it usually does when Oscar's just taken his tongue out of Lando's mouth.

"No, I want it like this," Lando says, tugging again on his hand.

Oscar's nose wrinkles, "Can I at least take my boots off?"

He's already falling next to Lando, though, letting Lando sneak fingers under his top and nudge his nose into the damp space under the hinge of his jaw.

"In a minute," Lando replies. Oscar supposes what he does next might loosely be called a kiss, but really he's just sort of mouthing at Oscar's neck.

"You're gross." His head is tipping sideways anyway, though, arm moving easily where Lando puts it so he can fit himself tighter to Oscar's side.

"S'that what the 'G' stands for?" Lando asks from the general vicinity of his armpit.

Oscar's eyes are already closed, head back against the top of the lounge. He forces his chin back down to say, "What?"

It feels like every other word out of his mouth since he opened the door.

"In 'WAG'," Lando's palm is flat on his side and it's really only making him sweatier. Making it harder to think, too. Oscar's fingers curl loosely into the hair at Lando's nape.

"Sure," he agrees, "whatever you want."

Lando's hand slides under his suit, "Mint. That's the 'W'."

from here

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — ASTRONAUT! GOJO x MISSION CONTROL! FEM READER

Your job description entails taking care of one (1) astronaut on his way to Mars. It doesn’t say anything about falling in love with him. 

wc — 1.6k

tags — the beauty of space (and Gojo Satoru), rom com, fluff

When you’re assigned to Gojo Satoru, the first thing you hear is ‘good luck’. It’s Nanami who says it. You suppose he would have strong feelings, being one of the few men who were going up there with him. 

They’re in the news constantly now. Of course they would be - brave pioneers of the new frontier. The first men to attempt a Mars landing.

Even for you, who sees them every day, it’s hard not to get caught up in the mythos of it. Glory burns bright and beautiful around them, a halo born of the knowledge that they’ll someday be in history books. Maybe you’ll be there too, a footnote riding on the coattails of their fame. 

They take care of humanity’s future, and you take care of them. Mission Control doesn’t have the esteem the astronauts do, but your jobs are just as important. You’re proud of the work you do. 

Though sometimes, your work is just silly. He is, anyway. 

“Helloooooo? Mission Control, come in.” 

“You’re not supposed to use the main line for personal matters, Satoru,” you remind him, a smile twitching at your lips. Director Utahime thinks you’re too soft on him, but you can’t help it. It must be terrible to be stuck up there for months, even if he says he loves it. 

You’ve seen his interviews. Gojo Satoru, golden boy of the astrophysics department at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. A prodigy, the youngest ever Nobel laureate for his work in quantum particles and space time. 

When he first declared that he would be going on the Mars mission, the world erupted in an uproar. He had transformed an esoteric field of dusty archives and chalk formulas into something real people cared about and tuned into his radio show to hear, even if it originally started because people loved his charming face. 

It was too risky. No one wanted to lose such a young talent to the vast and uncaring cruelty of space. 

Gojo heard these concerns, shut down his radio show, and appeared outside headquarters the next day without an appointment.  

Some say he’s pushy. Some say he’s determined. Whatever they think, one thing is true. Gojo Satoru gets results, which is why administration always lets things slide when it comes to him. Even when he clutters up the main communication line trying to talk to you. 

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could just say so,” he jokes, before he switches over to your private comm. 

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re distracted, doing your daily check on his vitals. 

“Looking at my heart again?” 

“Yep! All good, though I’m going to ask you to take a double dose of vitamin c tomorrow.” 

“Come on,” he moans. “They’re terrible. You’d think with all the scientists we have they’d manage to make it taste a little more like actual oranges.” 

“You know how hard it is to make things that last in space,” you tell him. 

The thing about Gojo’s genius is that it’s hard for him to understand others. He can do anything if he puts his mind to it, so hearing ‘no’ and ‘it’s impossible’ simply doesn’t compute to him. It’s why he started his radio show, or so he told you. He dreams of teaching people to see the world through his eyes. 

His beautiful eyes. 

Your cheeks heat. That’s not something you should be thinking about, but lately, it’s been getting harder and harder. You spent almost all your time with him, after all. 

As much as you try to be professional, you’re not immune to his stunning beauty. You know the voice on the other end of the line belongs to an man whose features are nothing short of otherworldly. He could be a model if he wasn’t an astronaut. He could be anything, actually, but you know why he chose this. 

The first time you heard Gojo speak on space, you fell in love a little bit. With him and with the cosmos. 

He’s the one who teaches you that the stars we see are already dead and gone. That light and time are intertwined in ways you didn’t understand before, that the little pinpricks of gold in the distance have fizzled out years ago and are reaching you now only as a eulogy. 

You tuned into his radio show on a whim, wanting to get to know the man you’ll be working with better. You stayed because his love for the universe is magnetic. 

Gojo’s favorite thing about space is infinity. He was a proud supporter of the alien theory. There had to be some life out there, in that great vastness. Anything is possible in space, he says. There might even be a planet where he can float or unleash devastating destruction with just a flick of his fingers. 

Before long, you were listening to his voice explain worm holes and cosmic inflation any spare moment you got. He was with you on the commute to work and in the shower while you scrubbed your hair. It was Gojo’s voice that lulled you to sleep every night, slow and relaxing in his special bedtime series. 

So you’d known him long before you met him. In your first real interaction, where he was so quintessentially Gojo in a way that completely put Utahime off, you laughed. His eyes widened, surprised by your reaction, then his lips split in a toothy smile. 

“At least one of you has a sense of humor,” he quipped, making a lifelong enemy of Utahime and a lifelong friend of you. 

You’re the only one who can put up with him, so when Gojo had been chosen for Project Ares, you landed an adjacent job as his handler in Mission Control. You’d known you’d work on Project Ares for a while now, but not that you’d be working so closely with him, or that it would feel so right. 

Of course you would be his handler. It was as natural as Gojo becoming an astronaut, which you’d always known he’d manage. It’s Gojo, after all. He would go change the future of humanity, and you’d keep him tethered to Earth. 

It had been a relatively easy few years, for a space mission anyway. Anything short of death was considered optimal in those conditions. You hadn’t realized you’d miss him like this, however. All this time, and so much of it was only his voice. In a way, it was reminiscent of the days before you’d met, hearing a beautiful mind work through the radio. 

“Oh, Houston?” Gojo calls through the line, singsong. “We have a problem.” 

His lighthearted tone doesn’t deceive you. You’re up in a second. 

“Satoru? Satoru? Come on, talk to me. What is it? You okay up there?” 

“I’m experiencing heart pains,” he says, letting out a low grunt of pain. “Palpitations.” 

Your blood runs cold. 

Space is Gojo’s passion. You’re happy he gets to pursue it. But in these moments, you wish he’d never heard of astrophysics because in space, you can’t reach him. If he gets hurt, all you can do is talk to him. 

He’s said he appreciates it. 

“It’s nice, you know? Gives me something to listen to other than the voices already in my head.” 

“Should I schedule a virtual visit to the psychiatrist, Satoru?” 

You joke around, but you know that’s all you can be for him. A voice in his helmet. 

Your hands are creeping towards the switch that’ll open your communication line to Nanami. At least if something happens, Nanami can actually get to him. 

“Fuck,” Gojo whispers. You freeze. You’ve never heard him talk like this, his voice low and raspy with pain. “It hurts.” 

“Tell me where it hurts, honey,” you murmur back, your voice instinctively lowering into something syrupy and sweet. Comfort comes naturally to you. You’ve always been a doting personality. It’s part of why they chose you for this assignment, other than, as you learn later, Gojo’s insistence that you be his line to Earth. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“It aches, sort of?” Gojo says. “Happens when I hear- ugh.”

“Hear? Hear what? If you can’t tell me, I can’t help you, sweetheart.” You have no idea where these pet names are coming from, but they just burst out of your mouth, as if tenderness for him is uncontrollable. Is it because you’re scared it’ll end like this? The chance of whatever you feel for him dying unspoken terrifies you. You wish you’d told him sooner. 

“Happens when I hear your voice,” he says. Is that nervousness you detect in his voice? 

Suddenly you have a very clear idea of what he’s playing at. 

“Satoru,” you say very calmly. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to call Nanami and you can explain it to him.” 

A flurry of panicked noises on the other end. “No, wait, no, don’t do that! I can explain. Just. Give me a second.” 

Ragged breathing. 

“Okay,” he admits. “I didn’t think this through.”

“Satoru.” 

“I’m sorry! You know how I am!” 

You do. Which is why you’re not immediately calling Utahime over to reprimand him. 

“I was going to wait,” he says. “This isn’t very romantic.” 

“I would say that’s more because I thought you were going to die from a heart attack in space than anything else, but go on.” 

“Sorry,” he says. “I love you.”

You were half-expecting it. After all, he’s right - you do know him. Somehow his straightforwardness still catches you off guard so badly your knee jerks and slams right into your desk. It’ll leave a nasty bruise when you check in the shower later. Most things are too soft to be picked up by your mic, but that was definitely loud enough. 

“…You okay?” Gojo asks, hesitantly. 

“When you come back to Earth,” you explain to him in clipped tones, “I am going to gut you. Then we are going to go on a date.” 

[just-aake]

Marry Me?

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary:  You "teasingly" ask Natasha to marry you at different times even though you two are not together.

Warnings: angst, brief mentions of sexual themes

Words: 919

a/n: first time writing and posting something like this

“Marry me?”

Natasha quirks her eyebrows unamusedly as she pins your body to the training mat for the third time in a row.

Not the best moment for such a proposal you have to admit. You were drenched in sweat and completely out of breath. Your whole body was screaming in pain with areas that you know will definitely feel sore later on. 

Meanwhile, above you, Natasha still looks as composed as when you both started the training session. With her red hair tied back, letting you see her green eyes, always focused and confident, and a slight sheen of sweat on her face, giving you a small satisfaction that you actually gave her a challenge.

You let out a breath in awe as you stare up at her.

She’s so beautiful.

Her lips curl into a small smirk as she moves away, standing up again. Her hand stretches out towards you.

“Sure…if you ever land a hit.”

You groan as she pulls you up for another round.

Within minutes, you are thrown back to the ground with your breath knocked out of you again. You wave your hand in surrender as you lay flat, your body unwilling to move anymore.

“I think I’m done,” you breathe out, staring at the white tile ceiling above.

Turning your head to look at her, you watch as Natasha walks to the other side of the room, collecting her things. She takes a drink from her water bottle, and you can’t help but be captivated by the sight.

“Better luck next time,” Natasha calls out as she exits the training room.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Marry me?” you moan as you take another bite of the dish Natasha made for dinner at the Avengers Compound.

Natasha rolls her eyes as she hands you a napkin to wipe your mouth.

Around the table, the other members are amused by your comment. 

Tony laughs and wriggles his brows at Natasha and you, teasing, “Oh, when’s the wedding?”

Meanwhile, Thor looks between you and Natasha in confusion, “I was not aware Y/N and Natasha were in a relationship.”

His comment makes Tony laugh harder which earns him a hard kick from the red hair avenger, knocking him off his chair and to the ground.

“We’re not. She’s just playing around. Right, Y/n?” Natasha looks at you, brows raised, expecting you to back her up like you always do.

You give her your most convincing smile, hiding your feelings perfectly.

“Right”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Marry me?” you murmur against her lips as she brings you in for another deep kiss.

Natasha has you pressed against your bedroom door, her body pinning you in place. You moan against her mouth when you feel her tongue enter yours, deepening the kiss.

Before you realize it, she maneuvered you through your room, and your back hits your bed as she moves on top of you.

Never once breaking any contact. Natasha’s hands are all over you, removing all of your clothing and leaving a warmth and fire everywhere she touches.

And when her hand moves down your body and between your legs, your previous words are forgotten by both of you as you scream her name in pleasure. 

Later that night, you fall asleep with her body wrapped around yours, her arms around your waist holding you tightly against her chest.

In the morning, you wake up alone.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Marry me?” you cough out, feeling your blood drip down the side of your mouth. You feel the pressure of her hands press down harder against your wounded stomach at your words.

Natasha doesn’t look at you. Her eyes focused on keeping your blood in your body as she yells into the comms.

“Steve, Y/n needs help! Now!” 

You can still hear shooting from the battle outside.

You’re positive the rest of the team’s having a tough time breaking through, especially to get to your position.

Your body feels weak and in pain. It reminds you of that day in the training room with Natasha. The memory reminds you of Natasha’s words.

With your remaining strength and a lot of effort, you slowly raise your hand and let it fall against her hands in a light slap.

She finally looks at you at the contact. Her usual red hair is matted gray with dust and dirt from the battle. Her green eyes now shining with unshed tears and her face is pinched with worry as she looks at you. 

She’s still the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

You give her a small smile as you whisper, “I landed a hit…”

Your eyes slowly close with your vision fading to darkness as you see her face change to panic. The last thing you remember is the feeling of warmth of her hand on yours and the sound of your name from her lips.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Y/n…,” Natasha’s words echo softly in the room. The sound of your slow heartbeat monitor beeps in response.

She’s sitting next to your bed, clasping your hand in hers as she watches the small rise and fall of your chest, reassuring her that you were okay.

You were still alive.

The doctors say they are not sure when you will regain consciousness, but it didn’t matter.

Natasha was not going to leave your side. Not until you wake up and give her an answer.

Natasha brings your hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss there, before whispering against your skin, “Marry me…?”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading! Side Story : Love in Red

Part 2

[dammn-dean]

I saw that your requests were open and YAY!!!! I am such a sucker for Ghost and an injured reader and would love to read anything you tossed our way <3

Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy this 🖤

Stitches

Pairing: Ghost (Simon Riley) x Female Reader

Words: 1800+

Warnings: Reader has a crush on Ghost, reader doesn't like getting stiches, medic!Reader, war inaccuracies, blood, probably out of character

“And you’re sure it’s okay?” You ask looking up at your Lieutenant. 

“It’s fine, Doc.” Was all he gave. 

You sigh as you finished wrapping gauze around the fresh stitching you did on Ghosts forearm. You reminded the team 100 times you were in no way a Doctor, so the nickname Doc didn’t make much sense, but you gave up arguing a long time ago. Accepting your role as “Doc” for the team. 

You were knelt in front of him, as he sat on some random bucket you had found. You were almost certain that it would crumble under his weight, but it was still holding strong. 

You gently ran your thumb over the seam of the bandage, it was already sealed but you always liked to give small reassuring touches after helping one of the boys. Especially with stitching. They all say that your stitches are the best, and don’t hurt but if you are being honest… there’s nothing more you hated than getting stitches. 

Your eyes lifting from the bandage to his deep amber eyes, as beautiful as ever. His eyes held yours, unblinking causing you to clear your throat and quickly stand. You were desperately hoping you didn’t look at him as pathetically as you felt. Yes… you were sweet on Ghost, and also yes it is getting harder to cover up. But you would never admit your silly little crush on your lieutenant out loud. 

You busied yourself packing your supplies back up. Feeling the warmth on your cheeks from the minimal interaction with Ghost. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. He shoved his sleeve back over the bandage before standing to head outside. 

It was day 3 of a week-long intel mission. You’ve run into a few hostile here and there, but luckily nothing major. This last little skirmish ended with the hostile dying almost immediately, but he left a mark on the lieutenant before death. A small knife had barely grazed Ghost during a small altercation. You had to practically bed for him to allow you to give him stitches. 

“We head out in 5!” Price orders for the doorway. 

You nod as you strap your med-pack into its spot. You toss the trash over into a corner of the room that you were currently using as a small stopping spot to recoup before heading back to the mission. You grab your rifle and sling it over your shoulder as you head outside to join the team. 

——————————————————

Well everything couldn’t have stayed going smooth you suppose. That’s how you find yourself bleeding from your thigh, GSW. It hurts like hell. You couldn’t take a moment to inspect it, even if you did it wouldn’t help the pain right now. You were trying your best to keep up and provide cover fire for the rest of the team. 

It was chaos, hostiles everywhere, most have been eliminated at this point. But there were more up ahead. Specifically where you needed to end up for intel. 

Comms were as clear and concise as ever, Soap and Ghost were to the direct left of you planning their attack. While Gaz and Price have already pushed forward, inside the buildings as they were clearing a path for the rest of you. 

You were trying your best to keep your whimpers to yourself. Reminding yourself that this is what happens when you decide to become a field medic for the SAS. 

Ghost called your name over the comms, not grabbing your attention the first time. Which caused him to panic. Eyes searching for you to his right, and once he sees you he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He called for you again, this time you heard him. 

“Yes LT? Sorry.” You held your voice as steady as you could manage. 

“Just making sure you’re alive,” he responded as deadpan as ever. 

You let out a small laugh, “Sorry to disappoint, but I am alive. For now.” 

He continued comms, gesturing the plan of attack for him and Soap. Commanding you where to shoot, and you can only do what is asked of you at this point. 

You are barely keeping up, but you are doing your best. Luckily the 141 are the best of the best, before too long all incoming hostiles are eliminated as you enter the room where the intel is supposed to be. 

Ghost and Soap beelined for a laptop, ghost typing away as Soap looks over the screen. Gaz was stationed outside, ensuring no unforeseen enemy soldiers showed up. Price was in a room, on the phone probably calling for exfil. 

You let the guys get to whatever it is they needed to do, you used their distraction as an away to inspect our injury. Slowly you backed into a wall to help lower yourself to the floor. Blood was everywhere making it hard to see the extent of the damage, you ripped the pant leg as much as you could to survey the wound. After gently feeling around you confirmed the bullet grazed the outside of your thigh. There was a chunk of flesh missing but it seemed to miss bones and any major arteries, great news. 

You tugged your rifle up and off of you, tossing it to the side. The noise causes Ghost to look in your direction. 

“Fuck,” Ghost grumbled your name. 

He slid the laptop that he was typing away at to Soap, quietly telling him to keep gathering the intel. Mission was almost complete. 

Ghost was by your side in seconds. “You didn’t think to tell us you were shot?” He huffed. 

“I’m managing,” you whispered with a small smile. Letting your head fall into the wall behind you. 

Ghost could see how much blood you have lost, from the fact most of the left pant leg was stained red from blood. ‘How long ago were you shot?’ he thinks to himself, upset that you didn’t say anything. Right now he just needed to stop the bleeding. He snagged the med-pack from your side, laid it on the ground and started rummaging through it. 

You let your eyes fall close, which of course worried Ghost.

“Stay with me, yeah?” He spoke gently, but firm. “This is going to sting… sorry,” he apologizes before cleaning the area as best as he could. He was just pouring the antiseptic through the hole in your pant leg, cleaning the wound while simultaneously removing some of the blood. 

You grit your teeth and before you know it he is done. Ghost did his best to be gentle while he checked the area. “Not too bad, yeah?” He questioned, pulling his eyes from your leg to your half opened eyes.

“Bullet grazed me pretty badly, but no major damage” you explained weakly. “Lots of blood loss.” 

“Looks like it,” Ghost affirmed. He tugged his gloves off, tossing them to the left of your injured leg before pouring antiseptic on his hands. 

That definitely caught your attention. “What are you doing??” You questioned as urgently as possible while being in your state. 

“You need stitches,” Ghost explained like it was obvious. 

“I think I will be okay,” you reassured him. “Just hand me some gauze and I’ll wrap it myself.” You went to reach for the med-pack. 

Ghost let out an exasperated sigh, stopping your outreached hand. Gently grasping it into his own. 

“Look at me love.” 

Eyes almost popping out of your head at the term of endearment. They landed on his, soft as you have seen them under the skull mask. 

“It’ll be alright, yeah?” He gave a curt nod. “I may not be as good as you giving stitches, and it may hurt a little… but I promise to be as gentle as I can. ‘Kay?” Ghost spoke softly to you, leaving you no choice but to believe him. 

You felt your throat tighten, but let out a small “Okay”. He let his thumb brush softly against your knuckles for probably a moment too long. Especially in your state, it felt like a lifetime. Your eyes closed at the gentle touch, causing him to think you were fading. 

“Eyes on me.” Your lieutenant demanded. 

You gently opened them to meet his yet again, small smile on your lips. 

Ghost pulled his hand from yours before reaching in your pack for scissors. Use them to gently cut a little bit more of your pan leg away.

You couldn’t even keep track of how many stitches you have given in your day, but it never made it any easier on you. There’s something about the sensation of getting stitches yourself that you can’t move past. 

You were shaking in anticipation, Ghost could see your fingers trembling from your lap. 

“Who would have thought, our Doctor doesn’t like getting stitches?” 

“Well I’m not a doctor… just a field medic Ghost,” you stated. “And yes... I hate getting stitches.” 

“Hasn’t even been two hours since you stitched up my arm, no problem.” He said rather matter of fact.

“Yes, I can give them no problem, I just hate getting them.” You felt the tips of your ears warm, feeling embarrassed. 

“It’s okay Doc,” he reassures you with a gentle hand on your bicep. “I should have protected you better, yeah?” 

You furrowed your eyebrows at that. “What do you mean?” 

“What kind of lieutenant lets his medic get shot?” He questions, tilting his head. 

Your heart sped up at that. Hearing him call you HIS medic, touched you more than it should. 

“You are the best LT… accidents happen,” you reassured him. “Now hurry up and do this before I change my mind.”  You attempted to joke. 

“Yes ma’am,” he replied. You must be borderline delirious, because you swear you hear his voice lit up like he was smiling.

Ghost is anything but a liar, he did try his best to be gentle but it still hurt like hell. You hated every second of it. Finally breathing out an air of relief as he started to wrap bandaging around your thigh. 

“Did good love,” Ghost cooed. Once your thigh was wrapped up enough to his liking. He gently ran his thumb over the seam of the bandage, mimicking your motion from earlier. The only difference was his soft touch on your thigh felt a way more intimate than intended. 

The blood loss, soft touches and sweet voice Ghost was putting you in an odd headspace. 

“Thank you…” you whispered. His amber eyes holding yours, his thumb inching off the bandage until it just barely touched the sensitive skin of the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitches and you swear you can see Ghost’s chest rise and fall a little heavier than usual. 

“Aye, Doc! Are you good to walk?” Soap asked as he closed the laptop. “Got what we needed, let’s go.” 

Ghost ripped his hand from you and stood immediately. His arm held out to you, to help you off the floor. 

“Let’s get you home, Doc.” 

Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you enjoyed it, and let me know if you have any ideas or requests.

[rawmeknockout]

Hi! Can I get poly TFA Jettwins x human!reader? Just some general SFW headcanons, how it happened/affection/etc. (bonus points if reader verbally beats sentinel's ass because he gave their boys shit about dating an organic and they made fun of him cause he's bitchless) sorry if this breaks any rules/is too complex, have a nice day/night!

01 + Jetstorm for sure found you first, he has more game than Jetfire. He was zipping around the city, hot on the tail of Blitzwing. It was a bit too fortunate that no humans were in the way of danger, but that came to an end when Blitzwing zoomed past you just barely missing you with a wing. Jetstorm, moving too fast to stop or swerve, had no choice but to transform and lift you into his arms to avoid a collision. Good news, he was gentle when plucking you up and it wasn’t so bad of a takeoff for you. Bad news, he’s got an armful of a very cute squishy and the pounding of his spark isn’t due to the adrenaline of the chase. 😔

02 + Blitzwing gets away. Jetstorm hardly gets to introduce himself before he’s getting reprimanded by Sentinel through the comms. As much as he wants to stay and chat you up, much to the bewilderment of Jetfire, they have to return to base. He’s a pretty melancholy and distracted mech after that. It doesn't take long for his brother to catch on. You linger in his thoughts long after the scolding he gets from Sentinel.

03 + How fortuitous that he runs into you while patrolling! He's hard to understand with his thick accent and way of jumbling words, but the two of you are giggling and chatting each other up in such an embarrassing display of puppy love. Jetfire doesn't get it. Jetstorm is totally ignoring him and hasn't even introduced him yet! He's instantly miffed and put-off. From that moment, you start to monopolize Jetstorm's thoughts and time. It wouldn't be a problem, he's a diligent and obedient soldier, but Jetfire doesn't like that you've seemed to weasel you're way between them so quickly.

04 + Safe to say Jetfire doesn't exactly like you. He starts to resent you and hold every interaction against you. Of course, this is more passive aggressive and he tries to tone it down when Jetstorm is around because he knows it will only devolve into a fight between them. He just doesn't get it! How could one organic come between them so quickly! Any solo interactions with you are cold and filled with snippy, short remarks. It's hard to get anything from him other than he just generally dislikes your presence, which is weird because Jetstorm describes his brother as fun-loving and friendly.

05 + Bringing this up with Jetstorm doesn't result in much, because Jetfire just brushes off his brothers concerns and dismisses that anything is wrong or that he even treated you coldly. He just doesn't like organics okay? Sentinel says they spew acid or whatever. Of course, it's a weak defense and it only makes Jetstorm pry harder.

06 + That is, until Jetfire needs your help. It's not really that he could lean on you in a hard time, but he got to see a side of you that he wasn't privy to (which was his own fault). It's after a rather rough battle with the Earth-based maintenance crew. Even Optimus is looking worse for wear and Ratchet is swamped with injuries to treat, including his own. Jetfire actually made it out relatively unscathed, but he has a slowly leaking puncture in his side armor. It's fine, he can wait until Ratchet has treated his brother, but it stings and makes moving around rough. While you're waiting for Jetstorm to be treated, you're milling about in the main room of Optimus' base. It doesn't take you long to notice Jetfire isn't looking so hot, mostly because he's one of the only mechs you actually know, and you can tell just by how he's shifting around that he's uncomfortable. He's trying to fly under the radar right now until he can get treated, but totally misses you lingering closer because he's so focused on the other mechs in the base. You have no choice but the huff and bat his servos away from his injury, earning a startled yelp from him, before doing your best to pack the wound. You're no medic, especially not for a machine, but you at least know pressure eases bleeding. Jetfire hasn't been this close to you and especially hasn't had you care for him like this. You're gentle and quiet with him, soft squishy hands moving about his side, pressing sanitized mesh into the wound to stifle the leak.

07 + Uh oh. His spark just fluttered up into his intake while watching the stern press of your mouth as you work on his side. Who knew that an organic could make him feel so... Assured. He still feels the tingle of your skin on his armor hours after his wound has been treated. From then on his attitude towards you does a complete 180. He chatters nervously when you're around and will happily greet you if he sees you. This is the Jetfire that Jetstorm knows but he can tell that something is... Off.

08 + Jetfire isn't the type who can keep his feelings to himself. He's always lived loud and proud. Ad despite the fact you're his brother's partner, he can't live keeping something so important to himself, so Jetfire has to confess to you soon after he realizes how much he likes you. This is more a cause of stress for you than him, because Jetfire doesn't really think it through. You, on the other hand, worry this is only going to pull Jetstorm and Jetfire further apart. You already felt guilty for 'getting between' them. But when you explain it to Jetstorm he's... More playful. He thinks it's cute that Jetfire likes you. It makes sense, even, because he and Jetfire are so alike. Jetstorm can't hold it against his own brother that he ended up falling for you. I mean, look at you!

09 + It turns into a playful competition between them which is sort of how your three-way relationship grows. Your boys get to have fun one-upping each other and you get two boyfriends!

10 + Jetstorm is the romantic of the two: classic dates with lamp-light, energon treats, and high grade. Jetfire likes spur of the moment plans and doing something thrilling, the type to take you flying and do aerial tricks over the ocean to impress you. Unsurprisingly, they're both equally touchy and affectionate. They have a pretty close relationship where they could always be affectionate with each other so that reflects in how they interact with you, but, ya know, more amorously.

11 + You kissa da one mech then turn and kissa da other. Mamma mia.

12 + You never miss a chance to tell Sentinel where to stick his opinions. He often uses the twins as a means to exert authority, because power is something he so strongly clings to, to the point it feels like they're mere tools at his disposal. This really tends to chap your hide. Jetfire and Jetstorm consider you the 'coolest' for backtalking him the way you do.

[captainsophiestark]

Bird Strike

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my Year of Olympians and part of a bigger challenge being run by @yearofcreation2023​ which I’m finally catching back up on! It features a ton of other awesome creators and runs all year, so go check it out!

Fandom: Top Gun

Prompt: Apollo; light, the sun, truth, inspiration, medicine, healing

Summary: A bird strikes brings Hangman down and leads to confessions from him and Rooster's sister.

Word Count: 1,825

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Alright, you're all good Bob. Just take it easy on your wrist for a little while, and you should heal up just fine."

"Thanks," said Bob, giving me a smile as he hopped off my exam table. Life was never boring as Top Gun's chief medical officer, but thankfully today I hadn't had to deal with any serious injuries. Just a slightly sprained wrist from a little too much dog fight football.

"Sure thing." I headed for the door with Bob, since I didn't have anyone else waiting for medical attention. Jake Seresin, the most arrogant pilot at Top Gun (except maybe Mav), was currently up flying, and since I didn't have any pressing work to attend to I wanted to listen in on how he was doing.

"Hey!" Bradley, my older brother, waved as soon as he saw me and Bob enter the room. A few aviators were gathered around, listening to the comms between pilots still in the air. "You missed my run."

"Oh no, I'm so sad. How will I ever recover?"

Bradley just rolled his eyes at me as I sidled up next to him beside the radio. I could hear Jake's voice, strategizing with his wingman and tracking the instructor's positions. I tuned in, imagining I could see his plane as it flew across the sky.

"So you're in here listening carefully to the radio for Seresin but not your brother?"

"Shut up," I said, shoving him back much harder than necessary. I wasn't sure if he knew that he'd found some truth in terms of my feelings for Jake, but I never wanted him to know. "I heal injuries for a living, and I'm just as skilled at causing injuries."

"Don't you have some kind of oath to do no harm?"

"You're my exception."

I gave him a fake sweet smile as he narrowed his eyes at me. He opened his mouth, probably to make a bad attempt at a comeback, but he stopped short at the sounds of distress coming from the radio.

"Hangman, watch out!"

"Bird strike, bird strike!"

My heart stopped in my chest. The room went dead silent, everyone freezing and all conversation coming to a stop as we listened to the radio.

"Hangman to Tower, Hangman to Tower. I need to come in for an immediate emergency landing."

"Copy. Just stay calm, we've got the runway open for you."

"Alright. I'm coming around."

The silence stretched on, hanging over the room like a heavy blanket. I twisted my fingers, fidgeting, trying to dispel the nervous energy. He was going to be fine. He had to be.

I saw Bradley glancing at me out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored him. I kept my eyes and attention glued on the radio. I wasn't sure if I wanted the silence to end or not, but I didn't get a choice as the radio crackled to life again.

"Tower, it's no good, I'm losing speed and altitude too fast. I'm gonna have to eject."

I felt like I'd been hit by a train. Wordlessly, I reached out one hand, and Bradley quickly took it. He stood tall and strong beside me, his face clouded while my world spiraled out of control. This could not be happening.

"He's gonna be fine," Bradley muttered. I barely heard him. It sounded like we were underwater, and the room had started to spin.

Bradley and I had lost our dad this way, when the canopy to his fighter jet didn't detach the way it was supposed to. We'd both been pretty young, but I swear I remembered every awful moment of our mother coming to break the news, of Mav explaining just what had happened and how sorry he was with tears in his eyes. When Bradley had decided to follow our dad's path into becoming a pilot, my number one nightmare had been losing him the same way. Now I might be forced to live that reality with Jake instead.

The silence stretched on as Bradley and I stood, shoulder to shoulder, waiting with everyone else in the room. A moment later, I heard Mav's voice over the radio.

"Canopy looked good and I saw a chute."

Mav continued to call out his position for Jake's recovery team, but I barely heard it as relief crashed like a wave through my ears. I wouldn't be completely relieved until he walked through the door, but at least it sounded like he was going to be just fine.

"It's okay," Bradley muttered, pulling me into a quick hug and mumbling into my hair. "It's okay."

I nodded, still feeling a little shaky as I gave him a quick hug before pulling back.

"I need to get to my exam room. Even if he's perfectly healthy, he's gonna need a checkup to make sure nothing's wrong."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to force myself to calm down a little. I shook my head.

"That's alright. I'm okay."

Bradley didn't look totally convinced, but I managed to shake him anyway with a promise to call him if I needed him. I focused on taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself down for the walk back to my exam room. It sort of worked, although I literally paced the room waiting for Jake to be brought in. When I finally heard shuffling outside the door, I quickly crossed the room and flung it open.

"I told you, I'm fine!"

Jake stood in the hallway on his own two feet, wrestling with one of the men who'd brought him in. The guy didn't budge despite Jake's protest, but I decided to step in before things could escalate.

"Jake, get in the exam room."

His head snapped up to face me, but despite his momentary surprise, he didn't back down.

"I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told them, I'm fine. I don't need an exam-"

"You ejected from your plane. You might be walking, but that's no grantee you don't have an injury just waiting to show itself once the adrenaline fades. So come on. The less you fight it, the sooner you can leave and go do whatever it is you want to do so badly."

He fixed me with a look, but I just crossed my arms and stared right back. Finally, once he realized I wasn't going to back down, he sighed.

"Fine. But if I miss somebody shooting Maverick down, I'm gonna be pissed."

I resisted the urge to reply as Jake walked past me, and I followed him into the exam room. My brain still didn't completely believe he was sitting here, in front of me, apparently completely healthy. The adrenaline dump made my hands shake a little as I checked Jake's heartrate and went through a few more basic checks.

"Are you sure you don't feel any pain?" I asked while I worked. I'd already asked him twice before, but I wanted to keep checking in case his answer changed, especially as any potential shock wore off.

"For the third time, yes. Quit hovering already."

I stepped back, hands on my hips as I fixed Jake with a look. He seemed to be perfectly happy and relaxed in the wake of his dangerous adventure, but I was still wrestling with the thought that my worst nightmare almost came true, so I wasn't in the mood to be gentle.

"Jake, it is my job to check you out and make sure you're not injured with something that's going to come back to bite you the second you're out the door. So sit still, stop complaining, and let me do my job!"

"...Since when do you care so much?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not about your job, but... about me. You seem like you care a lot. I thought you hated me for all the shit I give your brother."

I sighed. "No. I mean, sure, sometimes it's annoying and sometimes it's a little over the line, but... no. I don't hate you, Jake."

He didn't really respond, which left me to finish my exam without resistance. Thankfully, he was perfectly healthy, not a scratch on him. Still, that didn't stop my hands from shaking as I lowered my stethoscope. I started to pull away, but Jake caught my hand and stopped me.

"Hey, you're shaking." I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. I'd done so well hiding it until now. "What's wrong?"

I opened my eyes to find Jake staring at me, his bright blue eyes full of unusual concern. I sighed.

"You know mine and Bradley's history, Jake. I lost my dad to the same thing that landed you here today. I've spent every single day since Bradley joined the navy terrified that I would lose him the same way, and then when I heard you on the radio, dropping out of the sky and being forced to eject..." I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and then looking back at Jake. "I've had feelings for you for a little while now, Seresin, but when I heard that call? I just about had a heart attack at the thought of losing you."

Jake huffed a little, disbelieving laugh, then tugged me closer to him. My heart stuttered in my chest as Jake grinned.

"I've had feelings for you for a while now, too," he said. A smile pulled its way onto my face, but a moment later, Jake's expression sobered. "Although I have to warn you, sweetheart, if we do something about those feelings... you're not gonna be any less relaxed going about your day since I'm going to be up in the air all the time."

I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning in to rest my head against Jake's forehead. He still held my hand tight, giving it a little reassuring squeeze.

"I know," I finally said. "But... I'm willing to take that risk. It's worth it to me. And it's not like I wouldn't be worried about you anyway."

Jake pulled away, the grin firmly back in place as he looked at me. "I'm glad I'm worth it to you."

Without another word, he leaned back in, this time for a kiss that I'd thought about more than once (and apparently so had he). We stayed that way for a long time, savoring the moment and each other as my hands wandered over Jake's shoulders, reassuring myself that this was real. He was okay, and now we were both better than okay.

When we finally pulled apart, Jake still had that ridiculous cocky grin on his face as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me tighter to his chest.

"Your brother is gonna hate this," he said gleefully. I just laughed and lightly smacked his chest. He was right, my brother was going to hate this, but Bradley would just have to deal with it. Now that I had Jake, I didn't plan to let him go any time soon.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

Top Gun Taglist: @elenavampire21

[oneshotnewbie]

Can you do a natasha romanoff one shot, where she has a younger sibling and they get injured on a mission?!

ᕚ---ᕘ

The mission took place in a dilapidated warehouse, the rooms of which are filled with dark shadows and wild flames. Natasha moved silently through the dark corridors, followed by you. Your goal: Recover highly explosive information that has the potential to shake the world if Thanos gets his hands on it.

You both move smoothly and nimbly, each step calculated and careful. The tension was heavy in the air as you delved deeper into the dark interior of the abandoned facility. The faint glow from the Fire of Destruction barely illuminated your path as you moved forward amid the eerie danger. "Y/n, stay close to me. We have to be careful."

You nodded and followed her on tiptoe, feeling your way forward carefully, the tension literally palpable. Suddenly a loud crash breaks the silence. "What was that?" you asked and Natasha abruptly slowed her pace. She raised a hand to make you stop and still, listening into the darkness. An ominous silence follows before armed guards dart out of the darkness. A moment of silence is shattered by an intense battle and chaotic gunfire.

The shots echoed through the halls as you reflexively ducked for cover. You use every skill you learn to resist the guards' attacks. But in the confusion you didn't notice the security guard creeping up from behind. Several shots cut through the air and you are hit. You fell to the ground, a pained scream escaping your lips.

“Y/n!” your sister shouted in horror, reacting immediately, but every step seemed to be in slow motion. She desperately fights her way through the enemies to get to you. When she finally reached you, her heart sank as she saw the blood stains and trickling blood on your clothes. The smell of lead and fear mingled in the thick, dust-filled air.

"N-nat, it hurts so much," you gasped in pain and the redhead held your hand tightly as she tried to stay calm, looking for a way to connect back with the others and get you onto the jet to take you to Bruce at the base. "Stay with me, sladost'. Everything will be fine. I promise."

You struggled to breathe as Natasha tried to stop the bleeding, pressing her fingers hard on two of the wounds. Every second felt like an eternity as she struggled to steady you while the battle raged on around her. Her heart was pounding against her chest, anger at hurting you fueling her.

"Y/n, listen to me. You have to stay strong, understand? As soon as the others are finished with the mission, we'll get you out of here together," she spoke firmly and you tried to smile, but the pain was too much. Your sister pressed harder on the wound to stop the bleeding as she screamed desperately through the comms. "I need help here, y/n is seriously injured!"

"Hold on, we'll be with you in a moment," Captain America replied seconds later, but when she finally heard the sounds of helicopters from outside filtering through the walls of the warehouse, she knew that her time was limited and working against her. Worry about you made her tremble inside as she frantically waited for the other Avengers to arrive.

"You can do this. Just stay with me. Please, stay with me," she pressed harder on the wound, her voice a quiet promise of hope for her beloved sister. You, on the other hand, just nodded weakly as your eyelids grew heavier. Natasha fought back tears. "Stay awake, please."

The quinjet lights burst through the windows and Natasha felt a touch of relief. Their team had taken out every guard and other helicopters and were now arriving to take you away for much-needed medical attention. The mission may be completed and the goal achieved, but the worry for you were stronger than the happiness about the outcome of the mission.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Natasha rushed towards the Avengers base with you in her arms and immediately towards Bruce Banner. You were pale, your breathing shallow, and the blood on your suit was a frightening reminder of the danger you had just escaped. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest as she hoped, with racing thoughts and a nagging feeling of fear, for the medical help she knew she could find here.

As she ran in, she saw him already standing ready to take over your treatment. Her steps were rushed and her gaze pierced the young man as he ripped you from her arms and placed you carefully on the table.

Her heart ached with worry, but she forced herself to remain calm so as not to scare you further as she felt your half-open eyes on her. Thoughts raced through her mind, the memory of the scream of pain echoing in her mind. She was caught between the need to be strong and the urgent desire to break down and cry. "Nat, you'd best get out now,"

But she didn't listen to Bruce and just stood there, her eyes fixed on you while he took care of you. The hand at her side clenched into a fist, a desperate attempt to contain the emotions raging wildly within her. Fear, guilt and despair fought for dominance in her mind.

As he begins to cut through your clothes, she is dragged outside by Tony and Steve, reality like a leaden cloak in front of her eyes. The world seemed to stand still as she forced herself to breathe deeper and control her emotions. Her thoughts were with you and with all the things she still wanted to say and share with you. The burden of responsibility weighed heavily on her as the eldest sister and protector. Natasha bit her lip to hold back the tears that stung the edges of her eyes.

But it was the powerlessness that tormented her the most. The feeling of not having done enough to protect you. A feeling of loneliness crept into her thoughts as she waited outside the room for Bruce to give her an update on your condition.

The minutes stretched out like hours, and every second without information about your condition felt like a slap in the face. The insecurity was gnawing at her, and she just wanted reassurance that you were on the mend.

Finally, after long hours, he stepped out, his face neutral, but the seriousness in his eyes told her the gravity of your situation. Natasha's heart stopped as she prepared for the worst, ready to accept any news as long as you were okay.

"She is stable. The bullets didn't hit anything vital, but I had to take out her gallbladder. She lost a lot of blood and is unconscious, but she will recover," he said the words that were like a release for Natasha. Relief flooded through her, followed by an endless feeling of gratitude for Bruce, who had fought for your sister's life. "You can go to her if you want."

Her eyes wandered back to the treatment room and she felt like a statue, caught between the desire to be with you and the need to give you rest so you could get back on your feet.

Natasha's heart continued to beat fast, but now it was the hope that you would make it that influenced her racing heartbeat. "Thanks, Bruce. For everything." She said in a whisper and threw herself into his arms before deciding to go to you and hold your hand until you woke up again.

[drezendragon]

V to UV Art by DonnyK9 Murder Drones AU Idea Rambling Alright this is a “Drezen Ramble” I watched Murder Drones as it was coming out and after the last episode had an idea for a AU that then spiraled out of control a bit. It took a long time to finally find someone to draw some stuff for it and hopefully I can find more people to comm stuff for this but here we go. Should probably note I copy pasted most of this from a conversation I had with a bud so sorry if it comes off as nonsense XD

Context: this idea was inspired by the last few episodes where we find out “Effective Drones were cloned more” and Cyn’s comment that N’s Team always surprised her along with the fact V was willing to make a deal with the solver and that V’s persona kind of a mask to deal with the horrors. 

Most of this little story would take place on a different world probably a few years before Copper 9 and the main plot. I mean the solver had to get through Copper's 1 to 8 after all plenty of space to fill so assume it takes place on one of those many outings. 

Basically this AU would center around a different V who went with a different persona to mask behind instead of canon V this AU V takes up the persona of a "Tomboy" (+ a little shonen protagism) this Persona of V basically sets out to try and make sure this Squad is a proper Team and not barely functional mess... Basically She and N use “Democracy” to vote out J as leader and put V in charge who then actually raises team efficiency (much to J's annoyance) by basically doing all she can to be N and J's friend attempting to give them both therapy while mediating their clash of Extrovert and Introvert. N she actually deals with the fact his brain is wiped although basically spoon feds him info (basically tells him the mansion stuff but not the Gala incident) and also kind of gently shuts down his crush on her because she can't really remember what it was like to be the Girl N fell for and she thinks he deserves someone who can take all the love he has in his big dumb heart (She does promise to wingman for him though if they ever find someone who meets his fancy). Becoming friends with J was a lot harder. The girl has so many walls up she basically lives in a mental fortress but together they actually get their job done much faster and making N less annoying for J to deal with they become actual friends.

The Team did so well they actually finished the job with a year to spare which they spent further bonding and talking about what they might do after..... then Cyn and the other J show up. The Team freaked out but they did their job and they did it well and V hopes that this means the deal she made of "Leave us in Peace" will be upheld which Cyn says it will... as she proceeds to rip one of V's arms off. This of course freaks them out and Cyn clarifies it is holding up its end of the deal to "Leave them in P-I-E-C-E giggle" in fact she is so happy with them she is extending the deal to "Pieces"  isn't she the best boss (Happy Sarcastic Tone) the Team panics and tries to fight back but doing so causes Cyn to kill N (guess he didn't want to be left in Pieces oh well hopefully the next back up is more of a team player) J (Team) fights J (Solver's Pet) kind of messes up the “Solver's Pet” to see herself fight back choosing her Team over Corporate... but she too goes down once Cyn gets bored with the resistance and uses Admin permissions to lock up the Team has her pet J finish off the other J and then Cyn takes time ripping V into pieces removing her arms, peg legs, smashing her visor face and shredding her voice box after V tries to curse her out/ scream to just annoy Cyn. In the end V is left just a torso with her upper leg stumps still attached, a smashed face and something that shouldn't be called a voice and due to Cyn being Admin she won't be regenerating. Cyn eats the planet but makes sure to leave the chunk with V and her team’s remains as untouched as she can after all would be rude to not let V keep her reward.

Cyn eventually leaves for the next planet and V is just kind of left she can't see or hear anything only feel the wind but even that eventually fads and she is left alone with her thoughts for a very long time.... until something finds her something finds a broken doll discarded by a cruel "god" V is not sure if she has gone mad but she tries to call out and whatever it is doesn't retreat from her distorted cries instead it seems to try and comfort her and she feels herself being gently picked up so long since she last felt kindness that she drifts off to sleep. When she wakes up she has been repaired.... mostly it seems whoever repaired her used the parts of her team leaving her with N's lower legs, J's voice box patching up her own (Basically she doesn’t sound like V or J her voice is either deeper or growly-raspy sounding), no idea whose arms she has since they all look so similar but her upper arms seem to be new parts, seemingly J’s unbound hair, no stinger tail and when she looks into a mirror she sees her eyes are now basically the color of UV lights and on closer inspection she swears she sees more eyes beneath her visor but before the panic of whatever that is about set in she notices another addition of…. Animal Ears in place of her Headband eyes with said ears expressing her current mood before twitching as she hears someone in the next room and with checking herself over done she leaves out the room to whatever awaits her next.

Notes:

She is nicknamed "UV" because of her eyes she never actually introduces herself to the person who put her back together so “UV” is just what they call her until she either introduces herself or picks out a name for herself.

Her lights were changed from yellow to purple by the person who put her back together both as a side effect of some of the alterations made when repairing her and also so that she hopefully wouldn’t freak out when seeing yellow drone eyes looking back at her when she looks in a mirror.

She is the admin of her own system Cyn’s Admin rights were replaced but despite that UV was unable to regenerate which is why she was repaired with available parts. The current status of her solver is UV has admin rights but the solver does not seem to work in any capacity. 

She can't use her arm weapons so has to carry actual weapons which after finding some Disassembly Drone arms with their Swords sticking out she takes the blades to make into actual swords she can wield. She also can’t use her wings anymore.

Her body has a few upgrades beyond the patch job repair due to the person who repaired her getting hit with inspiration while examining her but they stopped themselves from going overboard as they acknowledge UV is a person and any alterations should really be of her choice… granted this person also looked through her memories just to make sure they weren’t repairing a psycho.

Upgrades and modifications she now has are: Her new upper arm parts compensate for her lack of wings since they allow her arms to extend (Think Reg’s arms from Made in Abyss), her visor she can now customize things like the type or eye brows she has when she expresses along with a range of other options to help her be who she wants to be, She can eat human food being no longer reliant on oil but she can still eat it and other drone foods if she has to and probably a few other features relating to her new visor and ears that she didn’t bother to ask about once the shock of being rebuilt started to wear off.

Having her Teammates limbs attached to her has had a bit of an effect on her psyche causing her to take up some of their personality traits on top of her Tomboy Persona leading her to be more Chipper like N but also making her call the person who fixed her up "Boss" (thankfully she is spared using the mountain of corporate jargon that J does)

She has a lot of mental grief, having survivors guilt and refusing to get any further upgrades or better repairs to desperately hold onto what she has left of her friends which sometimes leads to her hallucinating them when alone or stressed out.

Character Inspirations: Murder Drones's V: Eldritch Robo, Fake it till you make it, Cloned Traumatized Killed Cloned again, Sacrifice her own happiness for her friends.

Fate's Mordred: Knight of Rebellion, Artificial Being Cloned from another, Tomboy, Traumatized but kind of dealing with it.

Underverse's Cross:  Quotes "Am I evil for what I did? Am I evil for what I am?" " What's the point of feeling useful and valid in a reality plagued by thousands of us...?" "Yes, our origin is an imitation... ready-made from another. But...our pride, our experiences... Maybe they make us authentic." Scrapnik Mecha Sonic: Haunted by the fight that left them in pieces, Shadow of their “maker” looming over them, feels like a misshapen thing with scraps for limbs, surprisingly dangerous for their current state of repair. 

[justagalwhowrites]

Some insight

Hi Besties!

I hope everyone is having a wonderful week and that life is treating you well! I'm going to stash the rest below the cut because it's just some of me kind of blathering about my life for a bit and how that might impact posting and I feel like it's just awkward and long and I don't want to make anyone feel like they need to read it? I dunno. I love you though!

Hi again! I wanted to let folks know that, because of some big changes in my work life, I might be posting less for a bit.

I'm trying to get my life into balance but it's hard. They've started a new cadence of in person work at my office and I have a long commute (which I didn't really factor in when I got this job 3+ years ago because they said we'd likely only ever be in one day a week at most in the future and now I need to be in the city an hour away at 8:30 a.m. three days a week.) I really should not complain, I know there are plenty of people who work harder jobs for less money that are always in person BUT it's already been a huge hit to my quality of life. Just trying to get through laundry this week is stressing me out. Normally, I do it in the middle of my work day because I can move the wash around between meetings and then put it all away at the end of the day or the next day during lunch. I've now been doing laundry since Monday. I hate it. I'm tired all the time, I'm emotionally exhausted because - while I am a corporate girlie - I work in comms and PR, so there's definitely a certain expectation for attitude and how I present myself. I get home from work and I'm just burnt out and I feel like I have no time. On top of that, I'm getting less quality time with my husband (we used to have lunch together most days during the week since he's fully remote) and my office is very "modern" AKA no privacy, so I don't really feel comfortable writing there, taking away the break time I used to use to put some words down.

I'm hoping that I'll find a groove (or another job that lets me be fully remote) sooner rather than later and I can settle into what life looks like for me now and I'll stop being so drained and just frustrated at the end of the day.

Ultimately, I'm HOPING I can find a posting schedule that works for my two ongoing fics where I publish a chapter of each every week and maybe a drabble or one shot here and there, too? But it may need to be only one chapter a week going up or who knows.

I'm not sure yet. I'm just tired. And I have to get up and do this again in the morning and I'm genuinely dreading it.

But I am working on a few things. I'm hoping I can get something up on Friday and something else this weekend.

I'm sorry for not being more consistent, especially lately but also just in general not keeping pace with where I was at like a year ago when I was writing Lavender and Beskar Doll. I appreciate you still being here.

Love you ❤️ very very much!