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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 9 months

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Kiss It Better - Sebastian Vettel

"Baby, is there any way you can keep the bees down the other end of the yard? I don't mind them, but I don't want to get stung," you said as you propped your feet up on the outdoor coffee table under the veranda.

You knew Seb loved his bees, and you loved them too, but you didn't want them buzzing around you all the time. "Once the flowers grow up there, they won't come down here," he explained, stepping out of the glass doors and handing you the water you had asked for.

"And they won't sting you, I promise," he said, taking a seat next to you. You watched as the bees buzzed around, landing on the flowers in the planters that you had all around the garden. You and Seb had bought the house a little over a year ago now, and it was certainly your forever home.

"So, I was thinking we could put the swings over there?" He said, pointing at a section of the garden that had the trees shadowing it over. "You're already thinking about swings?" you smiled as he ran a hand through his blonde hair.

"Yeah, we've only got a month to go, we need to think about these things," he said as if it were the most obvious answer ever. Seb ran a hand over your heavily swollen stomach, still never getting used to the feel of it. "Even so, they won't be able to go on the swings until they're older,"

"I'm still putting the swings over there, and I will use them until they are old enough," he laughed. Seb was pretty much still a big kid himself. Well, a big kid who loved to race really fast cars, take care of the environment and the people he loved.

"You stay here, I need to water the plants," Seb smiled, pushing himself off of the seat and heading to the hose. Of course, all of the water he used to water the plants was rainwater collected in a drum by the side of the house, but it was covered in plants so it wasn't sore on the eyes.

"OK," you said. Watching Seb watering the plants was just like seeing him in his element. Sure, racing was also his thing, but tending to the gardens and all of that kind of stuff was what he did now.

He leant over the bushes to get all of the plants, but you heard a sharp intake of breath that sounded like a hiss. He dropped the hose and ran to turn it off. "Hey, you alright?" You asked concerned, sitting upright. "Yeah, yeah. I just caught my finger on one of the rose bushes," he said, holding his finger.

You could tell he was trying to hide it from you, but the blood dripping down his hand couldn't be concealed. You looked at it wide-eyed, and he noticed. "Honey, don't worry-" he started, but you were already in full parent mode.

"You sit down, I'll go and get some stuff to clean it up and a plaster," you said, standing and waddling through to the kitchen. You heard footsteps behind you, following you through to the kitchen. You were ignoring the ache in your back and hips as you walked, simply worried about Seb.

He stood behind you, holding his finger. "It's really not a big deal, you go and sit down," he tried to tell you, but you weren't having any of it. You pulled his other hand away to reveal the nasty gash down his middle finger. "Does it hurt?" you asked, ripping a paper towel off the roll and holding it to the wound.

"A bit, but not as much as I know your back hurts," he said, giving you the puppy dog eyes that made you melt. "Honestly, honey, I can take care of this. You need to sit down," he said, blocking your path to the cupboard that had the medical supplies in it.

"I don't do anything anymore, Seb, and I appreciate that, I really do. But, please just let me do this for you," you said, gently pushing him out of the way so you could get the stuff you wanted. "Fine, but promise me you'll take it easy for the rest of the day, OK?"

"I always take it easy, Seb," you chucked, causing him to chuckle along. You found the cupboard and bent over to retrieve the first aid kit from the bottom shelf, but you couldn't really reach. Your bump was in the way and heavily restricted your movements.

"You need some help over there, or are you good?" Seb teased, leaning against the counter next to you. "I've got it," you said through gritted teeth, focusing fully on reaching the bottom shelf. Seb watched for a moment, then deciding that he had had his fun and needed to help you.

"OK, come on, let me help you," he said, moving so he was behind you and gently pulled you up with his hands on your waist. "Sometimes you have to let me help you," he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against the skin.

Playfully, he peppered a few kisses down your neck, his hands gently tracing over your stomach. "Hey, I don't want you getting blood on me," you laughed, wriggling away from him.

"Sorry, sorry, I just can't help myself," he smiled, getting the first aid kit back out and handing it to you. "OK, this is going to hurt," you said, ripping open the package of a disinfectant wipe. "Nothing I can't handle," he said.

You took his finger and wiped it clean, and the blood definitely made it look worse. Seb winced slightly, "Yeah, that does kind of hurt," he said, his cut stinging.

"Sorry," you said, making sure the wound was fully clean before unwrapping a plaster and sticking it onto his finger. "Better?" you asked, looking at your handiwork. You had done a pretty good job, if you did say so yourself.

"I don't know, I think you've missed something out," he smirked, giving you the puppy eyes again. You just couldn't resist those big blues. You lifted his finger to your lips and pressed a soft kiss onto the area, and you saw as a huge smile spread across his face.

"Much better," he smiled, "Now come on, let's get you sat down," he said, looping an arm around your waist and walking you back outside. Helping you back down onto the seat, you propped your feet up.

"Does your back feel any better sat down?" he asked, standing in front of you with his arms crossed. It showed off every muscle in his arms perfectly, and you tried to ignore how crazy your hormones were going right now.

"I never said it hurt?" you said.

"A good husband knows these things, you know?"

"I guess a good husband does know these things, because you are spot on," you smiled, thinking about how lucky you were to have him. "Aw so I'm a good husband? I am flattered," he teased.

"Lay off it," you laughed as he came to sit next to you.

"Do you want a massage?" He asked, trailing his fingers lazily up your arm.

"That is all I want right about now," you said, your back already feeling soothed at just the thought of it. "What about me?" he whined like a child wanting his mother's attention. "Sebastian, wanting you is a given. Now, get massaging," you playfully commanded, turning your back to him.

"Yes ma'am," he giggled, gliding his hands over the span of your back. He worked his fingers into the overworked muscles in your shoulders and back. Carrying the extra weight of a nearly full-term child was difficult work, and it was showing.

When he hit a particularly sore spot, you couldn't help but let out a small groan of happiness. "That good, huh?" he teased, and you could hear the cheeky smirk that was on his face by how he spoke. "Yeah, it really is,"

"I can show you something else that's that good," he said, as he tugged you closer to him. Slowly he planted some more kisses down your neck and across your shoulder. "Hey, not now," you chuckled. "But you're already pregnant, I don't see the problem," he smirked against your skin.

"Seb, go finish watering your plants or something," you laughed, pushing him away.

"Fine, but only because you told me to," he smiled, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. Swiftly, he knelt down and pressed a tender kiss to your stomach. "Don't you move, and I mean it," he said, going to turn the hose on again.

"I won't," you said, thinking you probably wouldn't be able to move, even if you wanted to. You looked out onto the garden of your perfect home, where your perfect husband was tending to the plants and his bees.

And to top it off, you had your perfect child on the way, and your life was shaping up to be the best one you could ask for.

A/N - If anyone has made a request, I promise I am working on it! It's just taking a bit of time. If anyone else has any, feel free to submit 💖

|masterlist|

#f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #fluff #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel imagines #sebastian vettel fluff #sv5

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nina-ya · 7 months

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Patching up Laws Wounds

Zoro Law Sanji Shanks Ace Luffy Sabo Doflamingo

Pairing: Law x GN!Reader CW: Needles, suturing, mentions of cuts, poor medical knowledge on readers part. WC: 973

A fierce battle has left everyone in the current state they’re in: battered, cut and bruised. Your Captain, Law, has taken the time to help patch up the rest of the crew, but has refused to look at his own injuries deeper than just wrapping them up. Every attempt to aid him was met with stern orders to leave him alone, choosing to deal with his injuries on his own despite his state of exhaustion from the battle and overuse of his devil fruit. However, you are not one to back down. When Law had told you to shoo, you planted your feet firmly and simply said, “No.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, clearly taken aback. “No? Did you really just say no?”

You nod at him. “Yep. I will not just leave you like this, Captain. You’re far too exhausted to treat yourself so no, I will not leave you. Let me help.”

His expression is a mix of disbelief and amusement. “You know this is insubordination, right? Refusing to obey my orders?”

You reply without hesitation, “Throw me in the brig, make me scrub the ship top to bottom, punish me for insubordination however you please, but let me help you.”

He stares at you, face almost blank, before deeply sighing and agreeing. “Fine whatever. I guess you’re the person I would rather trust with this.”

With a nod, he leads you to the med bay of the ship and takes a seat on one of the patient beds. He unwraps the bandages on his body to reveal that it’s littered with cuts and bruises, leaving you gasping in surprise. “What? You wanted to help,” he remarks with a hint of sarcasm.

You couldn’t hide your astonishment “I didn’t expect you to have so many wounds on you!”

He rolls his eyes at your reaction. “I did do the majority of the work; it should be expected.”

“Shut up…” you grumble as you inspect his injuries. You examine the wounds for a moment before muttering “hmm… it looks bad… you might have sepsis, yeah the wounds look like they’re herniating and you might also have some melanoma.”

He looks at you utterly bewildered at the sentence you just uttered. “Huh? Do you even know what you just said?”

“I’ve been nose-deep inside your medical books, picking up a thing or two,” You reply with confidence.

“But sepsis? Herniating? Melanoma? Those are all serious conditions. Do you even know what those words mean?”

You shook your head “Nope, but since I’m now your temporary doctor you’ll have to settle with my medical knowledge for now.”

He lets out a groan. “Well, let me help you out, temporary doctor I do not have sepsis, nothing on my body is herniating and I sure as hell don’t have melanoma. I have internal bleeding and a bunch of lacerations on my body that need to be stitched up.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah oh, now go get the suture kits, you know where they are right?” He asks.

You nod and grab a few suture kits. You lay them on the table next to you and open one up.

“The one on my abdomen is the deepest, so stitch that one up first.” Law instructs.

You pull out the needle and suture and grab some forceps. You take a look at the wound and start suturing. Your first few passes of the needle are rushed and unsteady. You hear law wincing above you when he finally snaps. “I asked you to sew me up, not maim me!” He sees your reaction and takes a few deep breaths calming down. “Sorry… Here, let me show you. He takes the needle and forceps out of your hand and starts suturing up his own cut with precision and accuracy. He hands them back to you. “See? Like that. Try again.”

You go to start suturing again, but your hands are a bit shaky from the nerves. He notices this and sighs. He places one hand over your own to stop you and uses the other to grab your chin and tilt it up to meet his gaze. “Calm down. It’s only a suture,” he reassures you, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Just take a deep breath and try again slowly and calmly.”

The action of him grabbing your chin like that surprises you, but his words and the comforting gaze in his eyes is enough to calm you down. You nod at him and take a deep breath before starting your sutures again. You are slow and meticulous, hoping to not hurt the Surgeon of Death that is sitting right in front of you. You focus intensely, your eyebrows furrowing and your tongue slightly poking out of your mouth as you do so.

Adorable… Law thinks to himself. His gaze grows soft as he continues to watch your handiwork. He encourages you along the way, muttering small praises.

Once you’re done you look at him with anticipation. “Done, is it okay?’

He runs his finger over the stitches and a smirk forms on his face. “Not bad… though you can do better.”

You frown slightly at his critique

“Luckily for you though,” Law continues, “I have plenty more wounds that need stitching. So come on, get stitching.”

You begin stitching up his other cuts as well. The moment is intimate in a way. You two fall into a comfortable silence and he just watches you with utter affection as you mend him. By this point he is very much able to patch up his own wounds, but he needs an excuse to get close to you, to feel your touch. The Captain may not admit it out loud, but he has fallen for you and cherishes every moment he has with you, even if a little pain has to come with it.

#trafalgar law #one piece #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #one piece fluff #one piece x reader

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i314flix · 10 months

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ONE MORE KISS !

— george weasley x fem!reader | the one where you wait for george, who volunteers to be one of the seven potters, at the burrow.

( 1.1k words ) pg-15; fluff, semi-angst, established relationship au; unedited.

This was nerve-wracking. You didn’t even know why you agreed to be on this side of the team despite being aware that you were perhaps better in the field (being an aspiring Auror and a good one at that), and was absolute rubbish when it came to waiting.

Though yet again, it was George Weasley who made you promise that you weren’t going to volunteer to be a Potter duplicate for the said chosen one’s safe travel to the Burrow, the place you were already in at the moment, as he reckoned that it was enough that he had to worry about his father and brothers being with him for the task; he didn’t want to be preoccupied thinking about whether his girlfriend was managing herself well too.

“I’ll be careful,” George promised you before the both of you parted earlier, a kiss planted on your forehead, “I’ll meet you at the Burrow, safe and sound, alright?”

You only nodded, not knowing what to do or say. You wanted to stop him from leaving, to convince him that it was too dangerous—however, you also knew that it was selfish of you to do so, considering that what he was going to do was not only for the betterment of Harry Potter himself, but possibly the whole wizarding world.

A loud sound of crashing coming from the front yard pushed you out of your trance and you stood up from your seat to run outside, quickly followed by Ginny who had been quiet and pacing around the house in anxiety before she heard the crash too.

It was Hagrid and Harry, the real Harry you presumed as Ginny launched towards him so that they could embrace. You let out a breath, relieved that he was here unharmed, but admittedly not relieved enough as there was still no sign of George.

Though as if on cue, two men suddenly appeared on the right side of the lawn via apparition and you recognized them to be Remus and George immediately, with the latter being supported by the former.

It dawned on you that George was injured. The side of his head was bleeding.

“I’m good, I’m all good,” were the first words he uttered to you once you were close, grabbing his other arm so you and Remus can carry him to the Burrow together.

You couldn’t reply. Your heart was thumping so hard inside your chest. You were just thankful that he at least still had the strength to stay conscious and talk to you as he was being led to the sofa.

Once he was laid there, Remus approached Harry while you rushed to get some medical supplies that could help his condition. Molly tended to George then, brushing his hair and whispering thanks that he didn’t arrive in a worse condition, before she went to you and said that you can be in charge of George as she waits for her other family members’ arrival.

“Sweetheart,” George murmured, staring at you kneeling beside him and taking out a bunch of bandages and some healing potion to help with his blown up ear, “I’m fine, I promise.”

Still, no sentence was spoken. You remained acting busy, just rummaging through the medical kit even though you’ve already got what you needed. You were annoyed by what he just said, but you didn’t want to show it, aware that it might be ridiculous to do so as it wasn’t like George wished to get himself hurt.

“Sweetie,” he repeated, voice hoarse and tone more pleading, “look at me, will you?”

You didn’t oblige. You just zipped the bag close and placed it on the floor.

“____.” He called your name, stern and demanding now with a hand holding your wrist to stop you from moving too much.

You finally looked at him, his eyes turning soft at the way yours started to water. You were a strong girl, he knew that, and you didn’t like showing your vulnerability to anyone or in any circumstances unless it greatly affected you—and judging by how you were forcing yourself not to cry or show too much emotion because of what happened to him, it was clear to him that you were so affected by this and that he indeed made you worry so much to the point of wanting to sob.

“I’m okay,” he said again, bringing your wrist over his chest, just so your palm can rest on where you can feel his heart the most, “it’s still beating for you, love.”

You inhaled sharply, a lame attempt to stop yourself from fully crying, and nodded. “It is.”

“It’s just my ear that was messed up. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

“It’s still an ear, nonetheless.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got another one.”

You closed your eyes momentarily. There was no point in arguing. “Whatever. Let me start—” you were supposed to pull your hand away from his chest to start healing him but he stopped you. “What?” you asked.

“Give me a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

“A kiss, yes.”

“George, you’re still bleeding and—”

“Just one, please,” he cut you off once more. “I thought I almost didn’t make it, you know. Then I kept thinking what if it really was the end of it all, and then I remembered I only kissed you on the forehead before I left, and that would’ve been the last kiss you had from me.”

He truly had a peculiar mind. You ought to think that there were better things to think of when you were perhaps on the brink of death, and yet what he was thinking of was that he never gave you a proper kiss on the lips.

“You’re a bloody idiot, love,” you said, leaning in to give him one peck on the lips, “and quite literally too, that is.” You gave him another kiss, this one fuller and with George placing a hand on your back to press you further towards him.

It was only when the both of you heard Fred cough that you pulled away, glancing behind you to see his twin brother looking at him with worry.

“Sorry to steal him away from you, ____,” Fred said as you stood up, granting him the permission to go to your previous spot. “Just had to check on this clumsy git.”

You chuckled, hugging Fred quickly too in gratefulness because he was fine as well, before going to the kitchen and preparing something for the whole lot to eat with Molly.

As you waited for the water to boil for some tea, you leaned on the counter and gazed towards George who was still conversing with Fred.

The moment your eyes met for a brief second, he had the nerve to wink.

You smiled.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagines #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #weasley imagines #weasley x reader #george x reader #george weasley fanfiction

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sapphickorro · 1 year

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All Mine´ˎ˗

Pairing(s) - g!p knight!Natasha Romanoff x princess!Reader

summary: After getting betrothed to a princess, your love for your knight still lingers.

warnings: angst, angst with comfort, happy ending, 18+, girl penis Natasha, oral sex (r receiving), vaginal sex, p in v, unprotected sex, daddy kink, breeding kink, top Natasha, bottom Reader, arranged marriage

word count: 3,209

A/N: Excuse me if there’s any typos, I proofread to the best of my abilities. Also, medieval knight Natasha brainrott.

ao3 - masterlist

You’re in the middle of applying lotion onto your legs when you hear a faint knock on your door.

“Come in.” You presume it was one of your maids coming in to give you something your father had sent.

The door opens, bright locks of red hair peeking through. You stand up from the edge of your bed, “Nat?” You ask.

Your suspicions were proven correct when Natasha’s full body reveals itself from behind the door. You gasp, running towards her with your arms out. She smiles at your enthusiasm, laughing as she closes the door behind her. She holds her arms out for you embracing you in a giant hug, her arms on your waist lift you up into the air with your arms screwed tightly around her neck.

“I was only gone for a week, princess.” She drops you back onto the floor, still not letting go of your hold. “It was the longest week of my life.” You whisper up at her, tiptoeing to plant a kiss on her lips. She kisses back so tenderly it makes your heart swell up.

You step back to take a look at her full body, she’s in a tank top and shorts, her strong muscles out on display for you to gawk at. Your gaze drew onto the cuts and bruises littering her skin, her face was still bloodied, open cuts above her eyebrows and on her cheeks.

“Did you not see the medic before coming here?” You furrow your eyes, stepping away to grab your first aid kit by your bedside table. “I didn’t see a need to.” You sigh walking over to grab her hand. You drag her onto your bed, pushing her down on the edge. You sit next to her, opening the first aid kit.

“What have I told you about letting your team do the work rather than rushing in and getting yourself hurt?” She chuckles at your concern, her face warming up at the sight of your distress over her.

You use a towel to wipe off all the dirt and blood before applying alcohol to cleanse the wound. Natasha hisses at the contact of the alcohol filled gauze on her skin. “Quit it.” Your voice is stern. “What? It hurts.”

“No, I meant to quit risking your life out there.” You mutter out at her, avoiding looking at her eyes.

“If I had to fight a thousand more dragons and goblins to protect you, so be it. That’s a thousand more before seeing you safe.” She takes your free hand, placing a kiss on the back of it.

“You’re such a flirt, you know?” You roll your eyes blushing at her.

“What? I’m serious.” You smile at her, lowering your hand to cup her cheek before capturing her lips. She eagerly reciprocates, placing her hands onto your hips.

You lean on your back, allowing Natasha to lean over you. She whispers on your lips “I’m too sore in my body, let me pleasure you tonight.” You nod, whispering out an, “Okay.”

Natasha peppers kisses over your body, going from your shoulders to your thighs. The bottom of your white lace nightgown gets pushed to your stomach as Natasha eyes your white underwear hungrily.

“God, I can’t wait to worship this pretty pussy.” She slowly slips off the panties from your legs. You lift your hips to help her pull them off. She teases you more by spending more time marking your thighs.

“Nattttt,” you whine out, “I need you.” Your chest raises to look down at her, your elbows supporting your upper body. Natasha decides not to tease you any further and swoops in, licking a long stripe over your pussy.

You moan out, tilting your head to face the ceiling. Natasha’s hands come up to raise your legs over her shoulder. “Look at me while I eat you out princess.” She says, raising her head to look at you. Your head drops back to look at her, staring at her lust filled eyes. Her eyelids hooded and green eyes piercing your soul. She prods a finger in your hole before slipping it in.

“Your pussy swallowed my finger up, are you that needy for me?” She chuckles, lowering her head back down onto your bud, peppering kisses as she slowly slips her finger in and out of you.

“Faster, please.” You whimper at her slow pace. She slips a second finger in and starts to move her hand back and forth faster. Her tongue moves more rapidly against your clit. Your moans get louder, filling up the quiet room. You’re thankful that your bedroom is on a separate floor from everyone else, otherwise you would’ve been more embarrassed about the unfiltered noises escaping your mouth.

Your eyes are still focused on Natasha’s. Your breaths come out heavy and your fingers clench together, forming a fist. Natasha can tell that you’re close, her finger starts pounding into you. She curls her digits into you after every thrust, hitting your g-spot every time. You feel the pressure building up, “Natty, g-na cum.”

“Cum for me, let me taste all of you.” She mutters onto your clit, sending vibrations through your body. You fall apart orgasming with her name slipping out of your mouth.

Natasha slows her pace, guiding you through your orgasm before slipping out. Your elbows give out, dropping you onto your back, your head hitting your pillows. Natasha pops her fingers into her mouth before sucking them off with a moan. “You taste, divine.”

You smile at her, “Didn’t know you knew so many big words. Thought they’d all fly out of your head with the way you get your ass beat by goblins.” You giggled at her offended expression, she dropped her body weight onto you making you squeal. “I know lots of words.”

When the two of you settled down and got ready for bed, her arm rested on your waist, spooning you from behind. The silence is peaceful – welcomed.

“My dad wants me to get married.” You whisper out into the dark room, unsure if Natasha was still awake. “He’s betrothing me to Princess Kate of the Bishops.” You add.

For a while, she doesn’t answer, making you think she went to sleep. “When?” You hear her voice from behind you. It’s soft and you can tell she’s hurt by your announcement.

“Sometime during this week.” You feel her arms tighten around you. “Why didn’t I know any of this?”

“Because you just came back from being gone all week.” Natasha doesn’t respond, opting to place her head in the crook of your neck. Her arms wrapped tightly around you. You know she’s upset.

That night, the two of you are unable to sleep, knowing that these might be the last nights the two of you spend together.

The day of your wedding finally rolls around. You were arranged to meet Kate just hours before the ceremony began to get to know her. A carriage carrying your father and Natasha ride you towards their kingdom.

You’re sat next to your father with Natasha across from you. She’s in her knight attire, making her look larger than she already is. The two of you don’t look at each other the whole ride, scared that one of you might break and say something unruly in front of the king.

When the carriage stops, the door opens revealing another knight holding his hands out for you. You accept graciously, walking out with Natasha and your dad following behind.

“Princess Y/N! Welcome!” You turn your head towards the voice, you notice the queen walking towards you with her daughter following suit.

“Your highness, it's a pleasure to meet you.” You curtsy your dress, saying the lines that your father fed you on the carriage. She laughs softly, “Oh please, call me Eleanor.”

Your dad and her start a menial conversation when you’re pulled to the side by Kate. “You are more gorgeous than my mother painted you out to be.” She bows, taking a hand in her own, leaving a soft kiss on the back of it. It’s soft but doesn’t leave the same flame that Natasha sparks when she kisses your hands.

“I wonder how she described me then,” you grin at her. “She said you were the fairest maiden I’d ever see. To me, you’re more of an angel who’s cast their wings down onto Earth.” Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Natasha grimacing at Kate’s unabashed flirting.

“I see you two are getting along quite well.” Your father says, interrupting the two of you. Kate turns her head, “I know that we were arranged, but I can tell that I’m already falling madly for your daughter, your highness.” Kate says, smiling at your father.

You could tell that Kate was a flirt, a people pleaser perhaps. You were flattered by the things she said, you just wished that they came out the mouth of Natasha instead.

They guided you into their Castle, their servants and maids grabbing all of your luggage while your knights stayed close behind. You are led by Eleanor to a fitting room, maids already lined up in there ready for you. “Your wedding begins in a few hours, let’s get the brides ready shall we?” Your dad eagerly nods in response to Eleanor.

You are pushed inside, Natasha tries to follow but is stopped. “I need someone strong like you to help me set up the chairs.” Eleanor plants a hand on Natasha’s armored shoulder. The door closes in front of you before you can say bye. The maids usher you down onto a seat, pulling out dresses for you to pick from.

You look at yourself in the mirror, you admit that you look stunning. Your hair is loose and curled. Your sheer floral dress accentuates your body. Your breasts are pushed up, making the soft innocent dress have a tint of sexiness to it. The dress drags over the floor with a large train, having the maids carry it behind you as you walk out. The veil on your head suddenly feels heavier as you walk closer to the doors that lead to your ceremony.

When the doors open, all eyes turn towards you yet your eyes land on one person only. Natasha’s standing next to the spot you’d stand at as your personal guard. You notice the tears in her eyes, her stoic expression maintains as to not show any emotion but you see through her facade. When you finally reach the head of the altar, your eyes glaze over Kate’s body. She’s in an all black suit, her hair’s tied up in the back with curls flowing down from her curtain bangs.

She smiles at you gently reaching her hands out to grab yours, you reciprocate her smile, holding onto her hands.

At the end of the wedding ceremony, everyone heads back to their sleeping quarters. The moon starts to show through the sky. You undressed into your lace nightgown, Kate’s in her sweatpants and tank top. The two of you sit on the bed, neither of you speaking or looking at each other. Kate breaks the silence, “Do you love her?”

“Who?” You turn your head towards Kate. She’s looking down at the bed fidgeting with her hands.

“Your knight, what was her name again?” She looks up to meet your gaze. “Natasha? No way, that’s ridiculous.” You fake laugh at her, pretending to be against that idea.

“You can be honest around me. I’m not mean like those other princes and princesses. I won’t put it against you if you do.” Your expression drops, realizing she caught on. You nod solemnly in confirmation, adverting your eyes to not meet her gaze. “I could tell. She was the only one that looked away during the nuptials – and, from the longing gazes the two of you sent to each other during dinner.”

“I’m sorry.” Your hands fidget on the blanket now. “Don’t be, I understand that her love came before mine.”

The two of you don’t speak, your head’s turned in shame from admitting your feelings for you knight to your now wife. “So I assume we won’t be consummating the marriage?” She tries to joke.

“W-well, I’ll do whatever I must…” You dreaded the thought of consummating the marriage with someone other than Natasha. You knew that you’d have to do it if Kate wanted to though, you were born with the task of bringing an heir to the bloodline.

“If your heart isn’t in the right place, nor is your body. You should go down the hall to the first door on your right, Natasha should be there.” Your eyes widened at her, shocked. “Why would you let me see her?”

“My mother and father never had a good relationship, they too were in an arranged marriage. I’d rather see you with another woman than for us to resent each other.” Her sad smile causes you to lean in to give her a hug.

“Thank you.” You whisper out, a genuine smile making its way onto your face. You notice her smile gets larger at the sight of yours. You run out the room, sneaking down the hall to Natasha’s room.

“Who’s there.” You jump at Natasha’s raspy voice in the dark room, her hands placed in front of her ready to fight. She lowers her hands when she catches a glance of your face shone by the moonlight.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? If Kate finds you-” You cut her off, “Kate knows.”

“Knows what?” She urges you to expand. “Knows about our relationship.”

“What? Is she furious? Did she send you here to break it off with me?” Natasha rambles. ”No, none of that.”

“She said that she's okay with me seeing you, she was the one that told me which room you were in.” Your hands find their way to Natasha’s shoulders, soothing them as they relax from being so tense. “Why would she do that? Isn’t she madly in love with you?”

“Well, she’d rather me happy and in love than upset in despair.”

“Maybe she isn’t as bad as I thought she was.” She smiles at you before catching what you said, “Wait, you love me?” You roll your eyes at her.

“Of course I do.” You lean up to plant a kiss on her lips. Natasha furthers the kiss by slipping a tongue in your mouth. You let her in your mouth without a fight. She walks you back towards her bed, the heated makeout session pausing to push you down onto the mattress. You sit up, running your hands over her muscles.

She pulls her tank top off from her chest revealing her breasts. “You’re so hot.” You plant kisses over her chest, giving hickies you know she’d wake up to the next morning.

“Lay on your back.” She pushes you down on your back, her hands grope your body through your nightgown. Her lips press down onto your lips again. She kisses you fervently as if she hadn’t seen you in years.

“You looked so sexy in that wedding dress. Did you wear it for me?” You moaned out a, “Yes,” as her hands started traveling down your gown, tugging it over your head. The cool air hits your nipples, hardening them.

Her hands cup your breasts, groping them roughly as her lips bite and mark your collarbone. Her tongue travels down to circle over your nipples. You’ve never seen Natasha so possessive. You’re embarrassed to say that it turns you on even more.

Natasha pulls her hands away to slip off her boxers, her hardened cock stills in the air.

“I need to be in you so bad princess, want me in you?” She strokes her cock, your pussy is drenched from the sight of its length. “Please, I need you in me Natty.”

She slides off your underwear, placing it into her fist and stroking the wet spot over her cock. “Fuck baby, you’re so wet.” She tosses the underwear over her side before lining the tip over your pussy. Her hands push your thighs apart from each other, placing your legs over her thighs. She slowly starts to insert the tip into your hole, already stretching you out with just the tip.

“Your pussy’s so tight.” Your hands hold onto her shoulders, gripping them.

“Too big.” You whimper, feeling her cock slowly enter through you.

“I know princess, I promise it’ll feel good.” She soothes you by peppering kisses over your cheeks. Her strong hands hold onto your waist. When she finally bottoms out, she stills inside of you, waiting for your approval to move. You take a deep breath nodding towards her.

She starts to rock her hips back and forth, her length sliding in and out of you at a slow pace. “Fuck, you feel so good princess.” She’s grunting at every thrust, her eyes staring into yours making you shy away from her.

One of her hands reaches under your chin to tilt your head back to look at her. Your eyes meet her possessive gaze. Your mouth opens as tiny whimpers fall out.

Natasha starts to speed up her pace, her length hitting your cervix every time. “Daddy, you’re so big!” Your eyes clenched shut as pleasure courses through you. “You need daddy’s cock?” She grunts her hips bucking into you at full speed. The bed creaks along her rapid movements.

“Yes, need daddy’s cock so bad.” You whimper, your arms come around to wrap over her neck, pulling her in closer.

“This pussy’s all mine, no one else's. Isn’t that right?” Your moans come out almost pornographic. They echo throughout the empty room, not caring if anyone else can hear the illicit noises coming out of your mouth.

“Yes, I’m yours. All yours.” Your back arches with your head pressing further into the pillow.

“Gonna cum with me baby?” She asks, rubbing your clit with her thumb sending further shocks down your pussy. “Yes, pump your cum into me daddy.” You whimper.

“Gonna get you all round and full, give you an heir. Want that from daddy?” You nod fervently. Moans spilling out in place of words. You feel Natasha pause her movements as a rush of liquid enters your body. Your orgasm follows after, your thighs clenching tightly onto her waist. Your moans are synced up with Natasha’s moans. She places her head into the crook of your neck, slowly pumping her hips more to ensure all her cum enters you.

“All mine.” She whispers onto your skin before pulling out. She leans back to admire the white liquid spilling out of you before scooping it back into you with her fingers. She chuckles at your blissed out face, dropping kisses onto your forehead before grabbing her discarded tank top to wipe the sweat off your face.

She drops back down onto the bed next to you, hugging your face onto her chest and pulling the blankets over your bodies. “I love you.” You whisper into her chest.

She smiles, wrapping your hands behind your back and entangling your legs together, “I love you more, princess.”

#﹔﹒ korro writes﹒ ෆ #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you

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twinksrepository · 2 months

Text

A kiss where it hurts

Rating: 16+ (for implied naughty Dante)

Pairing: Dante X F!Reader

CW: blood, injury, Dante being a horn dog, medical inaccuracies

Word count: .6 K roughly

A/N: Dante gets hurt, and for the first time needs you to provide some doctoring

“Ow”

“Well stop squirming and it wouldn't hurt so much.” Ignoring the pout on Dante's face as you focus on the final slash on his chest.

“Maybe if you were more gentle with that thing.” Huffing as his hands grip your hips a little tighter in response to the pain.

“Forceps, and if you had been willing to lay down I would have better control over what I'm doing.” Adjusting the frames of your lenses so the light above the telescopic lens shines right in the space between his split skin. “Seriously what made you think it was a good idea to slice off a demon's arm while it had its fingers in your chest?”

“You have terrible bedside manner you know.” Grousing at you before letting his head fall back onto the couch headrest. “I didn't think the damn thing would leave parts of itself behind in me.” For the first time since you met Dante the suave devil hunter needed actual medical assistance, stepping inside his office where you had been reading while waiting for him to get back from his most recent job. The dumbass had refused to lie down after you ran to get your travel kit and pulled a set of gloves on after washing your hands in his bathroom. So here you were with him sitting on his couch while you dug the talons from his chest while seated in his lap.

“I have great bedside manners, too bad this isn't a bed so you don't deserve any of it.” Leaning back to scowl at him. “Seriously, stop squirming. I can't get the last one if you keep moving and your body keeps trying to heal around the object.”

“It hurts! How would you feel if I was rooting around in your insides?” Biting his lip in annoyance as you shuffle your hips and roll your back before using your fingers to spread the wound open once more.

“Stop breathing for five seconds.” You order, using the brief pause in his chest expanding to finally catch the edge and carefully extract the foreign object from him. “Got it.” Turning your forceps with the light shining at the end of the tool as you inspect it to make sure part of it didn't break off inside of his chest. “For the record, technically you route around in my insides all the time.” Dropping the talon inside a small tray for disposal with the others. “Just that it's the fun parts.”

“Very funny Doc.” You can already see the difference as some of his coloring starts to come back and the brief pinch of his jaw disappears as the pain quickly fades.

“Want me to stitch these up?” It might be a wasted effort since the first one you removed is already starting to heal on its own as if it never existed in his pale skin.

“No, but I'll settle for a kiss to make it feel better.” Grinning like an idiot as he wiggles his eyebrows at you as if you hadn't noticed his other problem as you sat in his lap.

“Down boy.” Laughing a little as you pull off one glove and drop it into the same container before removing your glasses and killing the power to the light attached. It's awkward but you bend your back more to plant a quick kiss above the wounds. “Feel better?”

“No, but maybe you need to kiss lower, since that's not where it hurts.” You snort in response, then again you always knew kisses don't help make pain go away, but it's fun to pretend.

#dante devil may cry #dmc5 #dante x reader #dante x you #dmc 4 #devil may cry #dante #dante sparda #x reader #twink writes

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waklman · 1 year

Text

Not Strong Enough

summary: bradley struggles to understand his grief or you ask bradley why he doesn’t like when people take care of him.

warnings: heavy talks of parental death, mental health, and medicine/medication. 18+ blog.

word count: 1.8k

this is for boygenius fans who also took the line ‘once i took your medication to know what it’s like’ line quite literally bc haha same 👍🏻, not sure if it'll even translate well but lol

something ‘bout you masterlist.

Bradley Bradshaw had been a freshly twenty three when he first discovered that yellowed pill bottle hidden away in his bathroom cabinet. For all these years, the plastic casing was stashed behind a deteriorating box of waterproof band-aids and a decade-old bottle of rubbing alcohol, not meant to be found by anyone else but Carole Bradshaw.

So, when his innocent search for a first aid kit ended with him blankly staring at a cluster of tiny blue tablets spilled into the palm of his hand, the first thought that crossed his mind was to put it away. He knew his mother was no longer around to finish off her prescription, he should put them back where she had originally left them. It’d be wrong if he were to toss them down, especially when they weren’t his to take.

But Bradley Bradshaw did it anyway.

In swallowing down the expired medication, cupping a handful of sink water to aid himself, a sick expectation had welled up within Bradley that night. A part of him hoped that once they dissolved in his stomach—he’d finally be able to understand why she needed them in the first place—that it would give him a glimpse into the mind of the woman he was so curious about. That, if he just had a mere taste of what Carole Bradshaw had taken daily without his knowledge, he'd somehow be closer to her in that way.

Once they settled, Bradley would be able to encapsulate her essence, gaping that bridge he wedged between them. Perhaps then, he'd stop feeling so guilty for looking like a splitting image of her dead husband while she was combating her grief.

But for a plastic tube so brightly colored, it held something so unbelievably numb.

Laying stiffly across the bed he’d already started to outgrow, limbs dangling off the ends of the mattress, a black hole began to materialize—tearing right through his chest that night.

Carole Bradshaw never had to outwardly say it, but Bradley knew she struggled with things he couldn’t begin to fully comprehend as a young boy, barely grazed by the cruelty of the world. So, he did his best to not be another problem for her to deal with growing up, as she had fair share of those in her lifetime.

In elementary school, Bradley was the only student seated quietly, scribbling drawings of airplanes into his name tag with a thick blue crayon, while everyone else cried for their parents on the first day of school. It had been a strange revelation for a child to come to, that he needed to learn how to be alone—how to be without his parents, in case they both weren’t there anymore.

Yet, by the second grade he came to terms with that.

And throughout highschool and college, Bradley made sure to stay out of the line of trouble, for the sake of his mother who made herself sick with worry. Despite what others may think, Bradley paid special attention to his grades, in the same way Carole tended to the burst of star shaped lilies planted in their backyard. And in times where he felt alone during his youth, it almost felt cruel to voice that back to his mother when she asked him ‘How was your day sweetheart?’

It was only when she passed that he finally cried out to her, gripping onto that limp hand by the hospital bedside. It was only when Bradley was truly alone in his life that he felt it was enough to finally say it outloud.

But in his true nature, Bradley bounced back.

The realization that came to him when he was a child, that he’d eventually stretch out the rest of his life alone, hit him again. Moving forward, he had been so sure that he’d be fine with that. There was no room to feel a semblance of pain if he kept everyone at an arm's length away. It somewhat worked to ease him off the loss of Carole, and it should work with everything else in life. But, the universe had different plans for him, when they led him to you.

It had been another night you two spent staring at the stars, sitting on the same blanket on his front lawn, where Bradley found himself not thinking twice about everything he said. Maybe it was the comfort the night sky provided him, or maybe it was because he was just talking to you.

“Hey Bradley?” you call out for him, cutting through the silence. “Why don’t you let people do things for you?”

Bradley keeps his eyes trained on the lights dusted besides the full moon, knowing you were looking at it too. “What do you mean?” He softly asks, delaying a bit.

Slowly, you turn your head, admiring freckles that speckled across his cheek. They lightly danced over the scars adorning his face, and just barely kissed over the tip of his nose. And despite the array of stars twinkling right in front of you, trying to catch your attention again as they glimmered—you had always found him much more mesmerizing.

Bradley Bradshaw was a once in a lifetime sight you had the privilege of seeing up close. And for that reason, you can’t look away from him, not now at least.

“When people let you skip them in line, you don’t do it,” you warily pause, watching Bradley nod as you start. “Then you do that thing where you buy your own beers before your team gets to the Hard Deck, so they don’t beat you to it,” you bite your lip, digging through your list of observations.

“And you have this look when I do stuff for you, like, you don’t understand why I’m making you lunch or why I’m buying you stupid things that remind me of you,” you finally share, stretching your legs out.

The silence that lingers after is heavy.

Bradley takes in a quiet breath, reminded by the life sized teddy bear you lugged into his apartment just last week. “It’s not something I’m used to,” he provides weakly, recalling the way you excitedly screeched at him when the bear fit perfectly on his couch. He’s still not looking at you as he continues. “It’s..it’s dumb. But the idea of someone looking after me, even if it's in a small way. I just…it feels weird for me.”

Everyone he knew, acted as if they hit the jackpot when someone else confessed that they loved them ardently. But while others wished for a moment like that, Bradley wished against it—it would be too burdensome for him. Bradley never wanted someone to love him again, not until now.

“Do you…not like when I do things for you? Is that something you don’t–”

“No. When it’s you, it feels different, ” he cuts you off suddenly. “When you pack me lunch, I feel good eating it. I don’t…I don’t feel guilty eating it,” his head drops, hanging forward like a weight. There had been so many times he secretly threw up his own mother’s cooking, thinking it would hurt less if he didn’t take her token of love. “I hate feeling bad about things like that, it’s not normal,” he confesses.

You blink back the tears coating your eyes, not wanting to lose sight of his starlike freckles. “I want to help you feel good Bradley,” you whisper, fingers twitching at your side.

Swallowing thickly, your eyes dart between the solemn expression he’s wearing and the scrunch his fingers give the thin blanket below him. “I want you to feel okay with being loved, you deserve it as much as anyone else does. I want that for you now, and I think…I would’ve wanted it for you if we were both kids.—if I was lucky enough to know you when I was ten.”

At that, Bradley finally smiles, and it doesn’t seem so tasking to do so. “Would you have sat next to me in class?” He finally turns to you, starting a study of your face, realizing that you glow brighter than the stars shining above both of you.

“In class, and during lunch time. Then we would have hung out during recess too because obviously I win you over with my charms,” you softly smile at him, playing with the idea.

It’s too late for it now—the possibility of you two growing up together as kids. But a part of Bradley likes to imagine it anyway.

If you had been there during his quiet walks home from school, it would have kept his tears from falling. If you fell over in a heated game of tag, he would’ve kissed over your bruised knees like he does now. And if you were there when he came home to an empty house, he wouldn’t have taken Carole’s medication to know what it’s like to be someone who loved him.

“What if all I did was draw the ugliest airplane models?”

“I was a pretty weird kid. I’d probably sit there drooling while watching you doodle,” you confirm, biting your lip to suppress a small laugh.

Bradley extends his hand out to you, uncurling your lip from your teeth to hear it spill from you. Right as he does, you finally giggle in his palm. “Hey, don’t start droolin’ on me Babybear,” he warns, laughing with you.

With his hand cupping your cheek, he leans in to press a quick kiss to your smiling mouth. “I wish we could’ve been kids together,” he cements, pulling back.

“Bradley,” you lean into his hand, warming his calloused palm. “Did you forget about us snatching the last toy plane right from that kid in Target the other day?”

Bradley lightly shrugs, tracing his hand up to tousle your hair. “We have more fun with that plane than he ever will,” he decides, leaving his hand there, holding the top of your head firmly.

Head clamped under his fingers, you nod. “I bet he wishes he could fly it as high as we do when I’m sittin’ on your shoulders.”

“That’s right,” he gradually nods in agreement.

“Speaking of, let’s go back inside and fly it after you take your medication,” you sternly point a finger at him, pairing it with a look.

Bradley mindlessly begins to draw an outline of a plane into your scalp, using his index resting over the back of your head. “Will you feed it to me?”

“That’s a silly question. You know I always do,” you tilt your head slightly.

Bradley softens, finishing off his invisible sketch, adding the detail to the airplane wing.

“Yeah, you always do,” he echoes.

Lieutenant Bradshaw had been thirty nine when he first discovered he’d been prescribed the medication his mother once took. Instead of her name printed across the label, there was his name. Bradley Nick Bradshaw.

But, when it finally came time to take it, Bradley was never shaking above the sink, apprehensive as it spilled out into his palm, no. Because you were always there, softly whispering I love yous as you gently dipped it into his mouth.

Bradley Bradshaw was never left curious about how it felt to love someone like him, not when you kept telling him how rewarding it was.

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @s0uz4s @bradswolfe @swiftsgirlfriend @djs8891 @cherrylipgloss-baby @mannsachds @strokesofstokes @grxcisxhy-wp @anna1523 @coconut152 @goosterroose @chicomonks @pedrohoe04 @cruelmissdior @angelbabyange @shanimallina87 @ohgodnotagainn @cottagecori @maplesyurp07 @atarmychick007 @Olivia21blunt @s-u-t @hangmanscoming @geraltsaxiii @wkndwlff @sammyrenae68 @bradshawed @roosterbruiser @gracelyn-writes @bubblegumbeautyqueen @angeliccks @zombiedeathsworld @blueoorchid @averyhotchner @laylaskywalker

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster x y/n #tgm fic #rooster x you #rooster x y/n #rooster angst #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader

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spooky-bunnys · 1 year

Note

Request idea so the reader is a gardener for the phantomhive manor and Sebastian sometimes sees the reader take food scraps, milk and a few medical supply and heads deep into the garden. Sebastian out of curiosity secretly follows the reader and sees that the reader is feeding a bunch of stray cats and tend to the wounds some of the cats have

I added a twist. Hope you Enjoy!

Momma Cat

Sebastian x Male Reader

If there was one thing the workers were thankful for. It was (Name). He helped Finny with the garden. So when he messed up (Name) would do what he can before Sebastian or the Young Master found out. Which is what happened right now. Finny had planted the wrong roses so (Name) was removing the roses planted and replanting the correct roses.

As he got more towards the middle of the garden he heard hissing. Alarmed (Name) jumped up. He knows the Young Master is allergic to cats but....they're so fucking cute! (Name) quickly made his way to where he heard the noise. When he made it to the center he stumbled across what looked like a slightly pregnant black cat.

What surprised him was that she was fighting an orange tabby cat. She looked to be losing and he couldn't handle the thought of what'd happen if she did. (Name) quickly grabbed the orange cat by the scruff of his neck. The cat upon being picked up froze. (Name) shook his head and walked away from the other cat. When he made it to the forest (Name) ushered the orange cat away before returning.

When he returned he noticed how injured and hungry the future mom cat looked. So (Name) quietly snuck into the kitchen. Snatching some bandages (He makes sure to have a first aid kit in almost every room because his friends are always getting hurt), a small bowl of milk, and some chicken scraps from his earlier lunch. When he came back the black cat instinctively hissed at him.

(Name) instantly raised his hands before slowly lowering the bowl where he mixed the chicken and milk. Not tasty for a human but the cat loved it. (Name) slowly got to work on cleaning and aiding her. He made sure to keep his hands away from her stomach knowing she'll definitely attack him to protect her kittens.

After he finished he softly scratched behind her ear. Enjoying the sound of her pur. "Well my little queen of darkness I must return to my work. Come again if you ever need anything." (Name) walked away from his new found friend. Happy he was able to help her. What he didn't expect was for his new friend to actually come back.

The newly named Queen kept coming back to the Phantomhive manor garden. Luckily (Name) was always able to sneak bits of milk and scraps. Sometimes bandages if needed. This continued for months. (Name) was never caught by his friends, Sebastian, or even the Young Master.

That is until Queen had gone into labor.

(Name) quickly ran into the kitchen not even looking to see if anyone was inside. He quickly grabbed a blanket, his first aid kit, milk, and more scrapped food. Before making his way to Queens "bed" as he called it. While this was happening he didn't notice Sebastian cleaning up after another one of Bard's "accidents".

He didn't notice Sebastian silently following him either until it was too late. As (Name) was helping Queen by cleaning off the kittens and shredding the food into the milk for her. Sebastian was watching in awe. He just watched what was probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "My what a beautiful sight~" (Name) jumped and hid Queen and her kittens. Frantically trying to come up with an excuse.

"Mister Sebastian! I-Its um not what it looks like!" Sebastian raised a eyebrow smirking. "Whatever do you mean? I watched you help the beautiful feline birth her adorable kittens." (Name) blushed in shame. He'd been caught red handed. "I'm sorry sir. I had found her a few months ago. I didn't want anything to happen to her and she kept coming back. Please don't tell Master Ciel."

Sebastian gave him a closed eye smile. "Alright I won't tell the Young Master. As long as you introduce me to your little friend there." (Name) smiled brightly showing Sebastian the cats. He started introducing them starting with Queen before going to her kittens. Once he was introduced Sebastian asked a question (Name) honestly wasn't expecting.

"Queen? Why give her such a name?" (Name) blushed bashfully. "I uh called her my little Queen of Darkness when we first met and she started answering to Queen so it just kind of stuck." (Name) rubbed the back of his head as Sebastian gave a chuckle. "It quite fits actually." They turned back to the cats. (Name)'s gaze soften nodding. "Yeah it does, doesn't it?" Sebastian looked at him from the corner of his eye. He made a promise right there.

He will marry this human.

#male reader #x male reader #black butler x male reader #black butler #sebastian michaelis x male reader #sebastian michaelis

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vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 6 months

Text

How to Plant Snapdragons (pt. 7)

Task Force141 + König + Keegan x Female Criminal!Reader (except Captain Price, because he'll be like a father to the bunch, and König and Keegan won't appear until later on in the story)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: The Trio helps you take a bath, but shit took a bit of a turn

You are currently reading Chapter 6. Here is Chapter 6 and the Masterlist!

CONTENT WARNING: Attempt at Dad Jokes, Fluff, A bit of Angst (?), Implied Sexual Content WORD COUNT: 3.5k

You had a fair share of stitches, from recklessness and even from being careful. Your line of . . . work gave you a fair share of wounds, something you couldn’t avoid no matter what. And while you had those downsides, it got pros, like being surrounded by three hot men right now.

Soap winced as you squeezed his hand, feeling one of his bones pop. Gaz ran his fingers on your scalp, massaging your scalp to keep you relaxed as you rested your head on his chest, Meanwhile, you watched Ghost put a needle in and out of you, seemingly taking his merry time. He would give your thigh a tap or gentle squeeze whenever you flinched or whined as the needle went in, but he knew you couldn’t help it when there wasn’t any numbing medicine to give you.

Those pats and squeezes did nothing but make knots in your stomach and heat pool up between your thighs. Under normal circumstances, you would rub them together to please yourself, but at the moment, Simon was still holding one and would glance at you whenever you moved.

Poor Soap was getting all the bones in his hand popped from your grip as restrained yourself from shoving Ghost's face into your cunt and have him work on it instead.

“Done,” Ghost announced, tapping your thigh.

“Thank you.” You sighed in relief, lifting your head from Gaz’s chest, and looked down at your stitches.

“Hold on,” he demanded and turned to his medical kit, looking for something. It didn’t take long for him to pull an adhesive bandage out, making you raise a brow. “You’re going to take a shower, right?” Once again, he gently lifted your thigh and placed a bandage over the wound.

“Why the adhesive bandage?” you retorted, but let him do what he wanted to do.

“It’s waterproof. I’ll change it after you’re clean.” He then looked at your hand, carefully taking it. “As for this, I’ll find plastic to cover it, so we won’t need to change it.”

“Alright.”

With that, he left.

“Want us to help you bathe?” Soap offered and smiled gently at you, head tilting a bit.

You felt your cheeks heat up and something flipped inside your stomach. You couldn’t help but smile back and nodded hesitantly. “If you guys don’t mind.”

“You’re quite adorable when flustered, aren’t you?” Kyle commented and chuckled as you gave his leg a small kick.

“Shut up,” you grumbled.

It didn’t long for Simon to come back with a red plastic bag and a roll of cling wrap in his hand. While Ghost began to wrap your hand in plastic, Gaz took the initiative to draw you a bathe. You almost laughed out of ridiculousness when you lifted your now plastic-covered hand, but kept your lips shut tight so as not to offend the Lieutenant and his efforts.

Soap picked you up and placed you on the cold floor. He gazed at you for a moment, finding any discomfort in your expression, before tugging on the ties of your robe. You let him slip it off you, calloused fingers brushing on your skin and fixing the strap of your bra that had fallen off, goosebumps chasing after. “Let’s keep this on, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You licked your lips, feeling a bit embarrassed now as you stood in front of them in your undergarments—even Ghost who was supposedly avoiding your touches, kept an eye on you. Such a confusing man, he was.

“Come on, Bonnie.” He placed a hand on your waist, guiding you towards the tub. Without hesitation, you climbed in and quickly submerged yourself in the warm water. The heat eased your muscles and a sigh left your lips.

“Move here,” Gaz ordered, patting the edge of the tub. “I’ll wash your hair.”

You inched closer to the edge, resting your back against it. “My shampoo and body wash are in that pouch.” You nodded at the one near the sink, which Ghost opened, and fished out a couple of bottles. He silently walked towards you, passing them to Gaz, before going back to the sink, where he leaned his hips.

Gaz reached up for the showerhead, soaking your hair, and poured a generous amount of shampoo on his palm. He was gentle with your hair, scraping your scalp and giving it occasional massage. You hum in satisfaction, watching Soap squeeze some body wash to a loofah, making it bubble up, before dragging it on your arm.

“You guys are giving me too much,” you whispered, voice soft and small, compared to the tone of the voice you had shown them—loud and obnoxious.

“Too much what?” Soap asked, applying more . . . soap on the loofah. You snorted and he looked up at you with a frown. “What’s funny?”

“What did the soap say to the faucet?”

He rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, don’t tell me.”

“Don’t listen to him, I’d like to hear it,” Ghost ordered, amusement evident in his voice.

Johnny shot him a glare. “Get out, LT.”

“You . . .” You giggled, body trembling at the thought of your joke and the way Soap stared at you. “You turn me on—” you cackled, slapping his arm with your good hand.

“Good one,” Ghost said, huffing.

Kyle shook his head. “Oh my god.”

Soap groaned. “I hate ya guys.” He moved to your neck and glanced at you before proceeding down at your chest, and then to your stomach.

“Okay, for real, what are we giving you too much?” Gaz asked, reaching for the showerhead once again, now that he was done with your hair. “Close your eyes. I’m going to rinse your hair.”

“This,” you lowered your head and closed your eyes, “Is this how you treat a criminal?” Water dripped down on your face as Gaz held the shower over your head, gently washing the shampoo off.

“What crime did ya commit?” Soap questioned in a casual tone, waiting for his fellow Sergeant to finish.

You remained silent, his words echoing in your mind. After a few moments, Gaz turned the shower off, putting it back in place, before he gathered your hair, wringing it out. You opened your eyes and found Johnny beckoning you around. You did and let him wash your back, and then he motioned a hand, making you stand up.

He washed your legs, his focus absolute even when his hand moved between your thighs, so dangerously close to your aching folds. Then, he went up to your face, tossing the loofah away. You closed your eyes and let his hands rub your face, removing the rest of the camo paint left when you tried to wipe it off as soon as you got exfil.

“Keep yer eyes closed, dove,” he said and started to rinse off the soap and bubbles on your body. As he went down, you opened your eyes and found Gaz turning off the water, taking the showerhead from Soap, and putting it back over your head.

Ghost grabbed a couple of towels, along with the bathrobe from the hooks on the wall, and approached the three of you. Soap helped you remove the hook of your bra, making your face burn, before he put a robe over you. The three of them looked away as you slipped off your panties, setting it down on the edge of the tub along with your bra. Soap and Gaz guided you to the bedroom, whilst Ghost went to the living room to pick up your bag.

Gaz dried your hair with an extra towel, squeezing the excess water from your locks. Ghost came in with your bag and placed it down on the bed. You rummage through it, taking out undergarments, a baggy t-shirt, and shorts, so you won’t need to fight the monitor again.

You slipped on your panties and bra, sighing when you realized you couldn’t put it on with one hand. “Uh, guys?”

“What is it?” Soap questioned and mouthed an ‘oh’ when you turned your back to him, showing your unclasped bra. He reached towards you, skillfully hooking it.

“Thank you,” you mumbled and watched Gaz pick up your shirt, putting it on you, before your shorts. “I feel like a kid.” You chuckled.

“Are kids the only ones wanting to be taken care of?” Kyle asked, wiping the droplets of water on your face and pinching your cheek.

You grinned. “I guess not.”

Price entered the room, fumbling out the phone from his pockets which you had handed him earlier, apparently obtaining it from one of the militia before. He thought it was good thinking to take a device from an associate of the target when Fabricio himself lacked one. You never failed to surprise him with your quick wits, no matter how crazy and unhinge you were.

Several voices swam to his ears as he locked the door behind him, his eyes traveling across the room, and he found two of his boys—Simon and John—and you on the couch, watching a movie. He approached the three of you, batting a glance at the show you were so focused on.

“Where’s Gaz?” he questioned, brows raising when the woman and the man on the television started making out and noticed Soap grabbing a cushion to put on his lap.

“Took a shower.” You nodded towards the bathroom.

He brought his eyes off the TV and huffed at the bandage around your hand and thigh. He nearly shook his head at your clothes, a simple baggy t-shirt and shorts—not the standard outfit of a soldier, even when off-duty. But then again, you weren’t a soldier in the first place, and he’d left you off, considering your performance at the mission.

“We found nothing here,” Price announced, handing you the phone, which he had one of Graves’ hackers look into. They had only found a bunch of pictures of naked men and women the owner had probably made out in the streets, some conversation with Fabrcio through a group chat but nothing useful.

You shifted your attention to the device in his grasp, carefully taking it from him. You stared at it for a second, before getting up from the couch. Soap and Ghost watched you stand up, ready to catch you in case you went out of balance. But you held your ground and padded towards the open balcony, where you threw the phone off, like pitching a ball.

“Bloody hell, why’d you throw it?!” Price exclaimed, jaws slacked at your actions.

You frowned. “You said it’s useless—”

“I was going to let you use it!”

“Oh, damn,” Soap mumbled, taking a swig from the can of beer he had in hand.

You stared at the Captain for a second, before placing your foot over the railings of the balcony, making Price and Johnny scream and quickly drag you back inside, no matter how hard you held onto the bars. Ghost closed the doors of the balcony and remained in front of it.

Gaz stumbled out of the bathroom, a towel barely hanging around his waist, a frown creeping up his face as he saw Soap holding you down on the floor. “The fuck’s going on?” he asked, blinking at the face you were making—nose scrunched, lips in an arch, and brows knitted aggressively to the point you looked like the Grinch.

“She was about to jump off the balcony after she tossed out the phone I was going to let her use.” Price sighed in exasperation.

“You should have told me sooner, sir!” you cried, planting your face on the cold floor and sniffing the snot threatening to come out. “No, I should have let you finish. Why the fuck did I throw it? I’m an idiot. Stupid, idiot, fool, dumb—”

“Come on now,” Soap picked you up from the floor and placed you in his lap, cupping your face in his hands. “Don’t cry. It’s just a phone.”

You grabbed his wrists. “Exactly. It’s a phone. It’s been months since I last held a phone, laptop, tablet, or computer, or saw social media, Soap. Months. I can’t read the stories or the comics I used to read or play games. I’m going insane—”

“If you ask me, people already think you came from the mental ward,” Ghost remarked, leaning against the doors of the balcony.

Your head snapped in his direction, glaring at him. “Fuck you, sir.”

He scoffed.

“How about I lend you mine for tonight?” Gaz questioned, waving a hand.

Your head slowly turned his way, eyes glancing up and down at his half-naked figure. You wanted to lick his abs and pepper his body with kisses, but that wasn’t what you were supposed to be focused on right now. This absolute sweetheart just offered to let you have his phone!

“Say again?” you croaked, wanting to make sure you heard him right.

“I said, I’ll let you have my phone for tonight,” he repeated. “We’ll have to watch you, though.”

You jumped up to your feet, spreading your arms wide and stomping towards the sergeant. “Come here, love. I’m going to kiss you.”

Soap’s mouth flew open, Price had a grimace, and another unusual cringe made its way to Ghost’s face.

Gaz frowned, his face heating up. “I’m sorry?”

“I fucking love you.”

“Aren’t we going too fast?”

“Aren’t you muppets going to sleep?” Price asked, shaking his head in annoyance, motioning his thumb towards the open bedroom door behind him.

You waved a hand in disapproval. “It’s still early, Captain. Why don’t we drink for a while?”

He glanced upward, seemingly thinking it over, and nodded. “I guess, it doesn’t hurt.” Then, he pointed at Gaz. “And you damn exhibitionist, put some clothes on.”

A groan escaped your lips as you steered from your sleep, blinking the drowsiness away. You frowned, feeling something heavy around your stomach and you looked at your side, finding Soap’s arm around you, and on the other side was Gaz. Both were snoring softly yet seemed to be heavily asleep. The alcohol must had gotten them too much. You carefully removed their arms around you and slid off the bed, eyes glancing around the room for Ghost.

“Did he sleep in the other room with Cap?” you mumbled to yourself, batting an eye over the sergeants on the bed and slipping out of the room.

You padded towards the kitchen, turning the lights on. You rummage through the cabinets, trying to find a cup or a glass, but you only found some kitchenware. You put your hand on your hips and sighed. “You know where are the glasses, Lieutenant?”

“How’d you know it was me?” Ghost emerged from the shadows, approaching you. “They’re up in the cupboard.”

“Figured no one was as quiet as the Ghost.” You smiled and hauled yourself up on the counter, opening the cupboard.

His lips parted under the balaclava he still had on, confused about your actions. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Getting a glass?” you grabbed one and shut the cupboard close, wincing at the loud thud. You batted an eye towards the bedroom where you came from, but neither heard nor saw anything that indicated the sergeants had awoken. “It’s faster this way.” You jumped down on the floor, your bare feet silencing the impact.

“It’s because you’re small,” he quipped and tilted his head mockingly when you shot him a glare.

You waved the glass at him. “You do not tell a short person that they’re short, sir.”

“Doesn’t hide the fact that you’re small.”

You pulled a face and headed towards the fridge. “Just because you’re a freaking beanpole doesn’t mean you can offend short people.” You grabbed a bottle of cold water and poured a generous amount into your glass.

“You know what they call it when a short person waves at you?”

You quickly drank the water. “No, tell me.” You turned to the sink and placed the glass down, turning the tap open.

“A microwave.” As soon as the words left his mouth, you splashed water at him. “What the—are you serious?”

You laughed at him, gathering water in your hands again.

He pointed at you warningly. “Don’t you dare.” But that wasn’t enough to stop you. You splashed water at him again, but this time, he dodged most of it. He glared at you, sending shivers down your spine, and you bolted away from the kitchen. “Where do you think you’re going?”

A silent giggle rushed past your lips, rounding the dim living room with Ghost on your tail. He didn’t seem to mind the childishness of your actions and even went with the flow, not bothering to catch you just yet, until he finally grabbed your hand, pinning you on the couch. He got up over you and you struggled under his grip, still laughing softly.

“You’re wounded, you shouldn’t be moving too much,” he said in a low voice, staring down at you in the dimness of the room.

“I’ve experienced worse, sir,” you responded in a soft voice and you felt his grip loosen. “I’ve had worse.”

“You’re not just a civilian who got caught committing a crime, are you?” he questioned, eyes narrowing at you. “There’s a reason why Shepherd got you.”

You sighed and averted your gaze, squeezing them shut, before you opened them and met his eyes. “How come you can touch me easily, but you avoid me when I touch you?”

“Don’t avoid the question, sweetheart.”

“Would you believe me if I told you?” You waited for his answer, but it never came, and you forced out a laugh, smiling. “The Captain knows. I told him, but not everything. And believe me, even Shepherd couldn’t get what I told the Cap out of me.”

Ghost pondered over your words, staying silent as he let go of you. He and the sergeants had stayed silent about the scars they had noticed on your body throughout your time in the bathroom. Upon inspection, he realized those scars weren’t the same as the ones he got on the battlefield, and there you go, confirming he was right. Shepherd had tortured you for something, and you believed that you could trust Price enough to tell him what Shepherd wanted from you.

He got off you and sat on the couch. “I don’t like it . . . when people touch me.”

You huffed, but it sounded more like a laugh. “Fuck me. You could have told me that sooner or maybe, threatened to cut off my hand.” You paused and sighed, inching away from him. “Sorry. I should have seen the hints.”

Silence blanketed the dim living room, making the light of your monitor brighter. You patiently waited for him to speak or make the first move, but he remained still. You sighed once again and got up on your feet. He looked up at you and you dipped your head low for a second.

“I’m sorry, too, for splashing water at you, sir. Good night.” You turned away from him, heading towards the bedroom.

“I don’t mind it.”

You stopped in your tracks, looking over your shoulder with a raised brow. “That I splashed water on you?”

He stood up and walked toward you, towering over when he halted in front of you. “I don’t mind it.”

You blinked at him in confusion, your brows knitting lightly. “Okay?” you mumbled, the statement sounding a bit more of a question, and watched him silently walk away, entering the other room where Price was. You glanced around the place, trying to register what the fuckity fuck Ghost tried to tell you, before shrugging and grunting.

You slipped back into the bedroom and carefully slid in between the sergeants. You croaked out a curse when you noticed their eyes open, staring at you. "Fuck's sake. Since when are you two awake?"

"Heard a thud," Gaz whispered and leaned closer, his warm breath kissing your neck, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

"Sorry," you said in a small voice.

"I don't mind, love," he replied, a bit jokingly, a mock to how you called him love earlier. "Was what you said true? Were you going to kiss me because I lent you my phone?"

Your face slowly heated up, remembering the words you blurted out before without thinking.

Soap inched closer, resting his cheek on your shoulder. "Am I going to get a live-action?" He asked teasingly, making your breath hitch and your heart hammer against your ribs.

"Cap’s going to kill me if I kiss any of you," you said in a calm voice, staring at the ceiling that never looked so good until now, and hoping it was a good answer.

"No, he won't," Soap claimed, breathing against your neck.

You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips as he sucked on the skin, softly biting.

“So, I’m the one who’s gonna get the live-action instead?” Gaz asked, propping his head on his hand.

Okay, fine. To the Hell with it.

The next chapter is Here!

You can also read it on AO3!

Taglist: @yyiikes, @the-faceless-bride, @sae1kie, @sarahedwards16, @kenma-izhu, @kkaaaagt, @cassiecasluciluce

Note: EEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH Stay tuned for the live-action! (I said this is slow burn wadafak happened) Also, you can see who got the most scenes here THATS BECAUSE WE ARE FUCKING IGNORING THE CANON

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xxdemonicheartxx · 10 months

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The flights and their major exports

Ice: furs, fish, culinary or food grade ice, unique and seasonal herbs, spices and flora that only grow there in the spring, super rich culinary culture has formed here and it attracts tourism and foodies, cooking oils and fats, seeds and nuts for consumption

Nature: lumber, meats, spices, fertile soil, insect cuisine, perfumes, freshwater fish, houseplants, seeds and shoots for farming, decorative plant or wood working, plant based oils for cooking or fuel

Light: wheat, plant based fibers and fabrics, paper and or papyrus, chalk and marble, huge bread and baked goods industry, baskets, porcelain, exotic percivore cuisine, pigments, seasonal fruits

Earth: cactus fruits, minerals and stones, gemstones, terracotta creations or construction pieces, ceramic work, glass tile work, roots and tubers, fossils, pigments,

Wind: rice, grains, construction grade bamboo, paper, rice paper, fabrics, plants and small birds for consumption, instruments (specifically wood-wind), silks, ribbon, sonorous sculptures

Shadow: fungal harvests, wire craft, tactical suits and mantles to conceal the body, iron weaponry with decorative detailing, insect and plant exports, huge root farming industry, lantern exports, candles, woodturned tools/utensils/decor/etc

Water: shells and abalone, fish, seaweed and kelp cuisine, boats and boat blueprints, crustacean cuisine, huge huge huge provider for the pescatarians, opal

Lightning: machinery parts, batteries, cactus harvests, insulation for both heat and electricity, exotic insect cuisine, dried and aged foods, electricity is produced in excess enough to provide immediately to the surrounding territories

Arcane: stained glass, lumber from the starwood strand (has unique properties and could be used for construction or artistic works), magical batteries made from the crystals, tomes and books, lenses, exotic herbivore cuisine, luminous pigments, tapestry work

Plague: immunizers/immunizations, craft and construction grade bones, leather, ale/mead/wine/whiskey/etc because they have the most intricate and detailed brewing and fermenting processes due to the understanding they have surrounding bacteria, pickled foods and pickling kits, surgical grade tools, cheeses, dry aged meats, medical practices unlike any other

Fire: weapons and armor, exotic carnivore cuisine, glasswork and glass blowing, obsidian and basalt export, geothermic energy(they can provide power enough to the surrounding territories) intricate mosaic and tile work, mineral exports, ceramic exports, blackened foods, metal shells and armor for vessels and vehicles and mounts

These are just what I can think of by examining the map and element at face value, there are millions of things these places can produce and export but I think these are the big ones or what they are known for, maybe even just the best quality versions of the export! If you want to use these ideas or add your own feel free!

#fr #dragon #flight rising #flightrising #fr headcanon #worldbuilding

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love-bugsy · 8 months

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the worst thing about love is… | jason todd (chapter 1)

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

tw: stitches, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, completely ooc Jason but he’s like my own lil character now and I’m protective, very inaccurate medical terminology and procedure lol

only jerks steal other people's writing (just don't repost, mate)

There’s a dead man on your fire escape.

Well. He’s not actually dead, but his pulse is weak when you drag him into your living room, out of the relentless Gotham rain. Pulling your hand away from under his mask, you crouch down, peeling off the worn leather jacket around his shoulders and unbuckling his pauldrons. You feel around his back, brows furrowed. You can’t feel anything through the padding in his rain soaked shirt.

Hands wandering down to where his front is flat on the floor, you press down on his side, eyes widening when your fingers come back slick with blood. You go into autopilot, flipping him onto his back and yanking up his compression shirt. You might’ve gasped at the knife wound if you weren’t working on instinct. It’s bad.

Shoving away the doubt clawing at the base of your skull, you steady your trembling hands. You’ve been trained for this.

Don’t feel, just do.

The cut is long and serrated, and deep as all hell. It slices through the middle of a jagged, Y-shaped scar that chains over his shoulders like a noose. Jesus.

It’s like he was stabbed and then dragged across the floor, cutting diagonally across his torso. How is he even still alive? Your hands move faster than you can think, completing an internal checklist as you go.

Breathing? Fast and shallow through his modulator, no obstructions. Bleeding? Applied tourniquet to epigastric region - transfusion isn’t even an option… Your brain works overtime, sifting through diagnostics lectures - penetrating abdominal trauma, debrided of devitalised tissue, no visible debris… You trace the edges of the wound looking for inflammation or fluid buildup; signs of peritonitis, but the weapon seems to have missed any internal organs. Lucky. Even luckier that he landed on a surgical resident’s fire escape.

Reaching over to the lamp by your couch, you shift it so that it shines directly over his abdomen. A last check of his wound confirms that there are no external indications that you should conduct a laparotomy. You just have to sew him up and hope to god the knife didn’t puncture anything internal.

You keep a hand planted firmly over his tourniquet, applying constant pressure, reaching for your backpack. Dragging it over, you use your teeth to open your suture kit and your free hand to sterilise his cut with Betadine and alcohol, wiping gentle circles outward from the wound. You dip your needle like Achilles in the Styx, hand and all, into the sterilising liquid, tugging a glove on with your teeth.

You grip the needle driver in your dominant hand, pickups clutched in the other and take a steadying breath. There’s a stillness to the room, quiet save for your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The wound is large - high tension - so… mattress sutures… horizontal so the tension is spread over the edge of the wound.

You take your first bite, adrenaline driving your needle into a clean stitch. You reverse it, passing through his cut again, before tying it off with the practised motions of a thousand surgical knots tied on yarn and thread and fraying jeans. You settle back on your knees after the first suture, readying yourself for the stitching to come, and start the next one.

Hours later, you haul him onto your couch, sitting him up on the arm rest to take pressure off of his dressed stitches. Frowning deeply at how uncomfortable he looks - even unconscious, you tuck a throw pillow under his scuffed metal mask.

Leaning close to check his breathing, you hear crackling slow and deep through the helmet’s voice modulator. Bone-deep relief floods your system, a little sigh leaving your mouth involuntarily. Sitting heavily against your coffee table, you press the heels of your hands into your weary eyes.

He’s stable. For now at least.

Head bumping against the edge of your couch, you breathe in deeply, fighting the anxiety twisting in your ribcage. The couch smells like rubbing alcohol, stinging your nose so badly your eyes water. It’s followed by something familiar - underneath the heady scent of petrol and metal - like… if you mixed Gotham up into a single smell; rain and smoke and wet pavement. He… he smells like-

“Jay!”

The faulty fluorescent lights - courtesy of your parent's small family diner - seem to flicker in tandem with your strident yell.

Your best friend looks up at you through a mop of dark hair, collarbones poking out of his thin t-shirt, second-hand leather jacket chucked haphazardly on the other side of the booth. He’s stolen your copy of Jane Eyre, flattened with one hand next to a plate of old fries you’d scrounged for him.

You tug your book from his grasp, tucking your pen into the pocket on your apron. He looks up at you with a mouth full of fries, infuriating confusion written across his face.

“What? You promised I could read it.” You sigh in exasperation.

“When I’m finished! And-” A dramatic gasp rips from your mouth when you examine the book. “Are these- grease stains?” You take the book in both hands, swatting Jason with it.

“What so it’s okay to hit me with a book but not get grease- fuck, jesus, okay, okay!” You raise the book over your shoulder with both hands.

“Do you yield?” His mock-angry expression almost makes you laugh, a hand held up near his face to shield from your attack. There’s a soft twist to his frown, like he’s trying to stop his mouth from pulling into a grin. He raises his hands in surrender, and you relax your hold on the book.

Rookie mistake.

Jason darts forward, faster than you can blink, grasping your waist with both hands and dragging you towards him. He yanks the book from your hands and lets you go, grinning childishly at you with the book in his hands. The cat with the canary.

You throw your hands up in exasperation before planting them on your hips like a disappointed mother. The admonishment on the tip of your tongue turns into a weary sigh when you hear your parents calling for you from the diner kitchen. “Fine. But you actually have to try to not spoil it this time.”

Jason crosses his fingers over his chest, “Scout’s honour, birdie.”

You try not to flush at the nickname, just like you do every time he says it. Still, you fold like a stack of cards.

(He spoils it the next day.)

When you wake two hours later for rounds (at the ass-crack of dawn), he’s already gone. You pad quietly around your kitchen making coffee from day-old grounds, cautious not to disturb the sanctity of the early morning (or the ghost of his presence).

The only evidence of him is alight in the dim light that spills over your kitchen counter and into your living room - the deep indents in your couch and the bloodstains on your carpet… The rain on your wood floors, from the fire escape window you’re sure you didn’t leave open.

hi, hello, uhh this is the first fic I've ever posted so bear with me. if anyone actually sees this, i do apologise for the inaccuracies and lengthy prose. also, this will be a series so stick around if you like slow updates, slowburn and second chances. thanks for reading my rambles.

with love, bugsy

#series: the worst thing about love #love-bugsy #jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd reader insert #jason todd imagine #x reader

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multi-kpop-fanfics · 1 year

Text

tw: hybrid!AU, roommates!AU, wolf hybrid!Seungcheol, bunny hybrid!reader (fem bodied), dom/sub dynamics, power play (, breeding, mounting, knotting, mentions of heat and medication, manhandling, degradation, use of petnames

happy birthday @lipglossjun!

tagging @horanghoe ty for the inspo love <3

Living as a hybrid can cause a lot of difficulties on your daily life - especially when it comes to sharing an apartment with someone.

Specifically as a bunny hybrid like yourself.

As nature intended, bunnies are regarded as prey, whereas bigger, more feral animals are regarded as predators. Such as wolves.

So, imagine how terrified you were when you found out that your roommate is a wolf hybrid.

Although this fear was quickly dissipated because Seungcheol has proven to be a very cooperative and sweet person, despite his very much scary exterior.

Maybe it was because he's really bulky and strong, or maybe because he has the scent of an alpha wolf.

Oh, about that - there's another problem that comes with the hybrid starter kit - ultra sensitive senses and the occasional heats.

The second one can be bearable with the right suppressants, but smelling your roommate's scent on a daily basis? That's fucking torture.

Seungcheol's natural musk, combined with the cologne he uses is enough to send your mind spiraling down the nine circles of Dante's inferno and backwards and your insides burning like a furnace and your panties soaked beyond salvation.

You wonder if he's experiencing the same struggle you do, or maybe he has nerves of steel and patience of a saint, because quite frankly, Seungcheol seems utterly unbothered.

That is, until your heat comes the same time his heat does.

And it's the worst case scenario - late Saturday evening, no pharmacies open and you've ran out of heat suppressants.

Your legs feel like jelly, your entire body is on fire and you're beyond embarrassed to go ask Seungcheol for some pills because your heat is actually bad this time.

You're softly knocking on the door of his bedroom, suppressing your whimpers as much as possible, his scent immediately invading your nostrils.

"Y/N, please don't come in" you hear Seungcheol from the other end, strain evident in his voice.

"Cheol, please, I need some of your suppressants, I ran out of mine, please!" you beg with a whiny voice.

The door flies open and you flinch, your eyes meeting Seungcheol's dilated pupils. He's only wearing his boxers, sweat dripping down his body, his musk now ten times stronger than before.

"My suppressants didn't fucking work" he groans, "And your heat doesn't help at all, bunny"

"You're not better than me!" you whine in defeat, knees growing weaker by the second.

"If you don't leave now, I don't think I'll be able to restrain myself, Y/N. And trust me, you don't want to mess with a wolf's primal instincts" he warns you, but your own primal instincts have already taken over you.

Which is exactly the reason you're currently naked on his bed, your hole stuffed with his cock.

"Cheollie, your c-cock!" you whine, your fluffy little tail trembling every time Seungcheol rams his cock in your cunt, his hands keeping you locked in your place.

"God, look at you, letting a big, bad wolf like me mount you and fuck your tight little bunny hole" he growls on top of you, "Is that what you wanted, angel? To be fucked like a whore in your heat?"

"W-want you to fuck like that all the t-time" you whimper, "Your scent d-drives me nuts, can't stop thinking about having your cock in me"

"Fuck, bunny, you're gonna make me drool, the room is full of your scent" Seungcheol lets out an obscene growl. He plants his knees on the mattress, bending his head down to lick a long stripe on your back, making you shiver, your tail wagging excitedly.

"What is it, bunny? Wagging your lil fluffy tail? You enjoy being preyed upon by an alpha wolf?"

"Y-Yes, I'm an alpha's p-prey, y-your prey" you stutter, pussy clenching around his cock, your slick dripping down your thighs.

"Fucking right, bunny baby - my precious prey, shit - Gonna take my knot like the good little bitch you are, take my cum and keep it all in" Seungcheol moans in your ear, his wolf instincts fully integrated into his brain.

You scream his name when you cum, feeling his knot expand in your hole, his cum flooding your pussy but not a single drop escapes, the knot successfully keeping you still.

Seungcheol collapses on top of you, his knot still firm inside you, trying to catch his breath. You're still panting like crazy, a small whimper leaving your mouth when he gently holds your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

"I'm sorry" he mutters.

"Cheol, why are you apologizing?"

"I was too rough on you-"

"You know that's not true"

"But-"

"No, I wanted this and I can handle this" you insist, trying to move, but you fail miserably, legs twitching from hypersensitivity.

"Y/N, wait, fuck, the knot-"

"H-How the fuck is it still so hard-"

"I'm on my heat, remember?" Seungcheol lets out a breathy chuckle, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

"Good thing I'm on my heat too then" you grin like an imp, "Because bunnies are known for their stamina".

Seungcheol growls at your response, planting his palms on the mattress on each side of your head, bucking his hips in you, jutting his thick knot deeper inside you.

"Don't make the big, bad wolf angry, little bunny, or else he'll bite you."

#svthub #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #svt scoups #choi seungcheol #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen

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lovemyavatar · 1 year

Text

STAR GIRL

| Lo'ak x F!Avatar Reader |

summary: Eywa isn’t supposed to choose sides. she maintains the balance of life. so, a question arises. are you worth saving?

warnings: descriptions of injuries, sibling shenanigans, protective mama Neytiri is kinda mean, this is super long but it was necessary

notes: we’ve got a slow burn, folks

dialogue in italics is Na’vi translated to English

before chapter two

Chapter One

Five Years Later

Pandora, in all it’s beauty and mysticism, is harshly unforgiving.

The land takes as easily as it gives. The People talk about maintaining a balance. They say Eywa takes no sides.

You beg to differ.

“Come on, Y/N!” A voice, hoarse with panic, shouts.

“I’m trying! What, do you think I’m just having fun over here?” A groan breaks the tension as you pull with all of your weight.

Your human body, admittedly, is not in the best shape. It’s to be expected, considering that these days you spend more time in your Avatar than your natural form. But right now, you’re regretting not keeping up with your movement routine.

Keeping your human body healthy and mobile has proven to be the key to performing at a high level in your Avatar. The two, however separate, are deeply connected. You’ve had to learn that the hard way.

The lab door slams shut with a loud bang as you finally manage to drag your colleague inside. She’s dead weight, unconscious and bleeding heavily from a large wound in her side. You rip the oxygen masks from your face and hers, letting them fall carelessly to the floor.

Something clatters and tumbles at your back. You turn, seeing that Meg, your supervisor, has shoved everything off the nearest flat surface. She rushes to your other side and the two of you hoist Sam onto the table. Tension and anxiety are palpable between you as you both take a few seconds to catch your breath.

Your eyes rake over the form before you, catching on the rapidly growing red stain near her right hip. Silently, you both jump into action. Meg runs toward the back of the lab while you spin around to grab the closest med kit.

It pops open easily and you rifle through it, an irritated growl filling the lab as you come up empty.

“Who the hell used the last Tylenol?” You shout to no one in particular.

Supplies have been dangerously low for almost a year now. Shipments from the main lab have been coming less frequently than ever before. And when they do show up, they have half the cargo you’re used to receiving.

Survival on Pandora has always been a challenge, but now, it’s nearly impossible. Medication in particular has become so scarce, you’ve had no choice but to develop your own alternatives from the moon’s resources.

It’s a bit of a passion project, if you’re being honest. You enjoy the work. Experimenting with the incredible flora surrounding you makes the hard days worth it. Not that you’d admit that to any of your fellow scientists.

Meg comes barreling through the narrow hallway, arms filled with medical supplies. Her gaze snaps to you, still digging through the med kit. It’s obvious in the way the light—the small flicker of hope in her eyes—fades away that she knows. She knows you have nothing.

She returns to Sam’s side and begins slicing her shirt open. With another frustrated grunt, you shove the useless med kit to the side and rush to your work station. You rip open the small fridge beneath your desk, grabbing a thin vial of bright purple liquid.

Nectar from the Healing Rose plant sloshes inside as you race to the other side of your station. You only have a few of these vials stashed. The essential liquid is very hard to find. The huge flower it comes from grows in heavily wooded areas. Otherwise known as areas you and your team try to avoid at all costs.

The locals are not a particularly welcoming bunch. It’s better for everyone if humans stay far away from their territory. Which, to be fair, is all of Pandora. But there’s been an unspoken agreement since the war between humans and Na’vi nearly twenty years ago. They’ve given humans these small spaces, the labs they live and work in, and don’t interfere. They expect that you all do the same.

It’s days like these, that you wish more than anything you could just talk to them. Days like these, when one of your own accidentally gets too close and pays the price.

You glance at Meg over your shoulder, catching the moment she sees the wound for the first time. She recoils, lips twisting with disgust and sorrow. You jerk back around, pausing for a moment to let your eyes close tightly. After a single deep breath, you continue your search.

You jerk a drawer open, fingers curling around a large, prickly Dapophet leaf. In two strides you’re back at the table, moving quickly to unscrew the vial of nectar.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Meg removes one hand from where it was applying pressure to the wound, gesturing for you to stop. “We have no idea what that shit will do to her.”

She’s right. Despite the countless hours spent curating natural remedies over the last several months, none had been tested on humans. On rare occasion, you’ve tried them on your own Avatar with some success.

“What other choice do we have?” You barely recognize your own voice through the desperation.

You know it’s risky. These substances aren’t designed for humans. They’ve grown and developed on an alien moon, for its native inhabitants. Neither of which want you here.

But you’re running out of time. The neurotoxin laced arrow struck your friend nearly ten minutes ago. Her chances of survival are drastically dwindling with each passing second.

Meg gives you a hesitant nod of approval. You slide one hand beneath Sam’s head, using the other to part her lips and pour the vial of nectar into her mouth. Once you’re sure it’s gone down her throat, you move quickly to grab the Dapophet leaf.

It snaps easily between your hands, quickly coating your skin in a clear, thick goo. You waste no time in smearing it into her open wound. Several tense moments pass as you work, Meg watching in a frozen stupor from the other side of the table.

Finally, when you’ve covered the entire area, you step back. Your hands, now soiled with blood and organic matter, fall to your sides. You can only hope that the plants, both of which contain healing properties, work together to keep your friend alive.

Meg leans down tentatively, placing two fingers against Sam’s neck. After a few beats her face goes slack, eyes closing with a sigh of relief.

“She has a pulse.” She looks up at you, eyes glistening with moisture.

You fall back against a nearby work station, muscles going slack. There’s no promise she’ll survive, no guarantee she hasn’t lost any cognitive function. But for right now, you’d saved her.

For right now, Eywa was on your side.

Tiny speckles, invisible to the naked eye, dance across your vision.

You watch them twist and wiggle against the glass plate, as if trying to find a way out. The minuscule dots seem alive. They are alive. More alive than they should be. These samples, no matter how many hours spent staring at them, never cease to amaze you.

Every single piece of Pandoran flora you’ve studied shows signs of intelligence. Levels of intelligence previously unknown on a cellular level. It’s remarkable, as are most things on the moon.

You push yourself away from the microscope, running a hand down your face with a deep sigh. Exhaustion weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you can’t bring yourself to stop working. With another push, the wheels of your chair spin you in a slow circle. Your head falls back, eyes going unfocused toward the ceiling.

Another sigh fills the lab. You slowly rise to your feet, achy muscles protesting every movement. Still, you push on, making your way toward the back of the lab.

“Where ya going?” Meg doesn’t move from her position, hunched over a laptop at her own work station.

“I just need one more sample.” You say offhandedly, not even stopping to look at her as you enter the narrow hallway.

“Oh, no no.” You hear the scrape of wheels on the tiled floor and groan. Gentle hands grip your shoulders, stopping you. “We’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Come on, Meg. I’m gonna be staring at this stuff all night.” Your plead with her, eyes darting up to meet hers.

Her face softens and she lets out a sigh, head falling forward. You both know you aren’t asking to get a sample. You’re asking for a moment of peace, a moment of reprieve from the suffocation of the lab.

Your skin feels too tight, too dry. You’re jittery, fingers twitching and legs bouncing. Despite the fact that you could fall asleep standing up, there’s a pent up energy within you that’s begging to be released.

You feel all wrong, the weakness of your human body a constant reminder that out there you’re something more. Something greater. After the day you’ve had, you just need to feel it for a little bit. You need to feel like yourself again.

“Fine, but you have to go now. A big storm is coming in.” She finally concedes and you jump up with excitement, a grin splitting your lips.

Not even five minutes later, you’re strapped into the link pod. Meg pushes a few buttons to your left before leaning over the open door.

“You have one hour. Not a minute longer. Got it?”

“Got it, chief.” You give her a mock salute and she rolls her eyes with a chuckle.

The door closes with a click, and you’re off.

A giggle bubbles in your chest as you jump over a fallen log, the ground beneath your feet bursting with light as you land deftly on the other side.

You practically skip through the dense forest, eyes locked on the earth to watch it come to life. It’s one of your favorite things about Pandora, the way every single aspect of the moon is it’s own life form. Even the ground, hard and unforgiving, is beautiful.

Your arms stretch outward as you balance on your toes and spin. The large, thick leaves surrounding you feel smooth to the touch as your fingers slide along them. A trail of light glitters in their wake, your gaze tracking it the whole way.

The sun hangs low in the sky, and you know it’s almost time to return. The thought alone makes your stomach drop with disappointment.

Without warning, something plops on the top of your head. It tilts back, a lazy smile pulling at your lips when a flurry of raindrops dot your skin. They’re cold, leaving tiny pricks of sensation along your face.

Another laugh fills the otherwise quiet forest and you spin around again. All tension melts away from your muscles and you finally relax for the first time in days. You can only last so long in your human body. You’re like a ticking bomb, stress only growing the longer you’re away from your Avatar.

Finally being out here, being free, is a much needed release. But it always has to end.

When the rain picks up, you decide it’s a good time to head to the lab. The sun is setting quickly and like Meg said, the incoming storm is supposed to be a big one. Dark clouds blanket the sky as you jog back the way you came.

Within minutes, it’s pouring. Harder than you’ve ever seen it. Huge, fat raindrops drench your clothing and fall into your eyes, making it difficult to see. Fingers swipe over your face repeatedly, but it does little to help.

A rushed pace carries you through the forest, but the earth is just as soaked as you. With each leap or duck, your balance is tested. Despite this, you break out into a sprint at the sound of thunder rolling nearby. One arm moves up to shield your face while the other bats away any foliage blocking your path.

Darkness looms overhead. The bioluminescence surrounding you isn’t nearly enough to light the way, but it’s all you have. After several minutes of frantic—and mostly blind—running, you must be close to the lab.

Your legs slide forward as you come to a halt. A pained grunt falls from your lips as you crumble into a heap on the forest floor. You look up, arm still acting as a makeshift umbrella, and freeze.

There’s nothing in front of you but dense trees.

“No, no.” You mutter, head jerking in every direction to confirm your worst fear.

“Shit!” Your panicked voice echoes through the forest.

You’ve gone the wrong way. Despite taking this path countless times, you somehow got turned around and now you’re even further from the lab. And dangerously close to Omatikaya land.

Thunder rumbles the earth beneath you, louder than before. Only a few seconds later, a bolt of lightning cracks across the sky. All you can do is watch in stunned horror as it comes right toward you. At the last moment, you duck against the mossy ground, rolling into the fetal position.

A deafening bang makes your ears ring painfully. Something cracks and splinters loudly. You peer up through your arms, eyes widening at the sight of a tree, only a few yards away, bursting with flames.

It towers higher than you can see, split in half by the impact. The heavy leaf-filled top angles toward you, quickly plummeting to the ground. You scramble upright, slipping a few times before catching your feet.

You don’t stop running for several minutes, heart slamming in your chest so hard it hurts. Trees fall, animals cry out, and rain continues to pound against your skin. For a moment you’re blinded by it all as you desperately climb to higher ground. Something snags against your ankle, easily tearing the flesh and knocking you off balance.

And just like that, you’re falling.

Breath lodges in your throat. Instinctively, your eyes squeeze shut. Your arms wrap tightly around yourself, hoping they will protect you. Your stomach flips violently as vines and branches slam into you on the way down.

Then, you land. You fall unconscious instantly, the moment your head slams against the forest floor. The surrounding area stills as animals scatter. Rain splatters over your body, limp and curled in on itself.

Nearby, a cluster of woodsprites floats serenely through the storm. They seem to take an interest in you, gently wafting in your direction. One by one they find a location to land, until your entire body is covered.

At this moment, it’s as if Eywa herself makes a decision. It’s as if Eywa herself guides your queue, as it tentatively moves to intertwine into the very earth beneath you. Another bolt of lightning strikes the ground, only feet away. The forest floor illuminates brightly, casting a beacon up toward the sky.

Your body spasms before falling limp once more.

“I’m not lying!”

Slowly, sounds of the forest filter into your ears. It’s gradual. First, everything is muffled as if you’re underwater. You wonder for a moment if you are underwater, but a shaky breath confirms the opposite. Your head lulls to the side, eyes squeezing tighter against the bright sun above.

“Isn’t that what a liar would say?”

You drift into unconsciousness again, only to be promptly reawakened as something jostles your side.

“Bro, watch where you’re going.”

“I’m serious, I know her!”

Your brow furrows with confusion as you try to piece together the conversation happening around you. So far, there are two voices. They’re speaking Na’vi, but your trained ears easily translate the words.

“What are you talking about?” A new voice asks skeptically.

“Nete, remember when we were kids, we stayed out too late and we had to tend to the Ikran for two weeks? When I saved that girl? That’s her!”

“That literally didn’t happen, Kiri.”

Kiri? No, it can’t be. You perk up slightly, willing your eyes to open. They don’t cooperate and you’re forced to listen blind.

“Shut up, idiot. It happened. And she’s right here to prove it!”

A searing pain ignites in the back of your head as you jerk to the side again.

“You were just having one of your episodes, spacing out and telling stories like always.”

A growl that sounds distinctly like a warning cuts the steadily building tension. “Lo’ak.”

There’s a quiet scoff before silence falls over the group. You realize then that you’re laying in something. It’s huge and rough against your skin, and shelters you from the ground as you’re dragged against it. You wiggle your fingers, but immediately stop as pain shoots up your arm. One of the voices grunts and you’re jostled again.

“Her clothes are weird.” Another new, younger voice chimes in, breaking the silence.

“Dad is going to kill us. I don’t even know why we’re bringing her back.”

“She’s hurt.”

“She’s a Dream Walker. Oh, Eywa. You’re dealing with mom.”

As quickly as you’d come to, you fade away again.

You’re like nothing he’s ever seen before.

The structure of your face is not entirely Na’vi, but not outwardly human. He can tell, even with them closed, that your eyes are too small for your face. Your nose, although covered in bioluminescent freckles like others in his clan, is narrower than it should be.

Even from his position across the tent, he notes the small hairs that frame your brow bone. His soft gaze trails from your face to the slow rise and fall of your chest before finally catching on your hands.

You look like him. Like his dad.

Demon blood. Half-breed. Freak.

Avatar.

The Avatar program is something he knows of only in stories. A long forgotten mission that ended before his birth. He’s heard countless tales of his dad’s time as a Dream Walker, but it’s the stuff of legend. Not reality.

They aren’t supposed to be here anymore.

Aside from the few scientists who stayed behind after the war against the sky people, he’s never met another Avatar. He’s definitely never met one his age. When she patched you up, his grandmother and Tsahik of his clan, Mo’at, estimated you to be around twenty. Or, your Avatar to be twenty.

His lips purse in thought as he wonders what your human form might look like. How old you really are. And if it—

His back straightens at the sound of stirring across the tent. It’s the first movement you’ve made in hours. He’s instantly rigid, muscles taunt as he swiftly draws his bow.

Pain is the first thing registered when your consciousness drags itself to the surface. A groan fills the quiet space, limbs twisting to test your range of movement. First, wiggling your fingers feels okay. Moving your arms is tolerable. Your legs, however, are nothing but razor sharp soreness.

Your eyes peel open slowly, fluttering a few times as they adjust. They’re met with darkness. Not true darkness, but the in-between twilight you’ve grown to expect from Pandora. Whatever you’re laying on is firm. With a wince, you shove your elbows into the stiff surface. It takes several seconds to muster the strength to push yourself upright.

By the time you’re finally semi-vertical, you nearly fall back down at the sight before you.

A tiny, startled gasp fills the tent. The shaky inhale is barely perceptible, but his ears twitch at the sound. The way your chest rises and falls quickly stirs something within him. He feels a tug in his chest as he watches your eyes widen with fear.

Slowly, he lowers the bow.

His eyes never leave yours as he peels one hand away from the weapon. His thumb presses into the microphone wrapped tightly around his throat.

“She’s awake.”

You try counting your heartbeats. They’re way too fast, but you can’t seem to catch your breath. Despite instinct telling you to take in as much of your surroundings as possible, you can’t look away from the man in front of you.

His stare is hard to read. It’s cold, but curious. Harsh, yet rimmed with softness and depth. His large yellow eyes don’t waver from yours. He’s lowered his weapon, but it still sits at the ready across his lap.

Not more than a minute later, a whole hoard of Na’vi file into the room. You begrudgingly tear your gaze away, attention briefly jumping to each newcomer.

First there is a woman, slender and graceful in the way she moves. She regards you with a snarled lip and hard glare. A man follows closely behind, hands clasped tightly behind his back. He tips his chin in scrutiny as his eyes rake down your form. A child hovers at his side. She avoids you entirely, her face smooshed against his thigh.

A girl is next, and when you see her, your back stiffens with recognition. It’s Kiri. The girl who saved you all those years ago. She’s older, of course, but those large kind eyes are unmistakable. Your heart rate skyrockets once again.

So, you weren’t hallucinating earlier. She was part of the group that brought you here. Your gaze flits back toward the others in the tent, wondering if the voices you heard belong to them.

The final figure steps into the tent, and a swallow catches in your throat. You choke and sputter out a few coughs, all eyes snapping in your direction. Your hand moves up to soothe the spasming muscles and you offer what is hopefully a friendly smile.

After your encounter with Kiri nearly five years ago, you’d become obsessed with the Omatikaya people. Every moment of free time has been spent studying them. Their culture, beliefs, language, and traditions. You’d researched until your eyes crossed with exhaustion and still, it wasn’t enough.

Your favorite story was that of Jake Sully. Human turned Dream Walker turned Toruk Makto. The current Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya people. A widely revered warrior who guided the Na’vi to victory in their war against the humans two decades ago.

And he’s kneeling right in front of you.

“What’s your name?” He speaks in English, voice surprisingly tender.

You realize he’s just assumed you don’t understand Na’vi, but you don’t mind keeping it that way.

Your mouth opens and shuts for several long beats. If you’re being honest, you’re a bit starstruck. This guy is a legend. A fierce leader. You’ve read so many things about him, even watched some of his early video logs.

You finally manage to squeak out your name quietly, throat dry and hoarse.

He nods encouragingly and adjusts his weight beside the bed. “What are you doing here?”

That’s the golden question, isn’t it? You know what he means, though. He isn’t talking about your presence on the moon. He wants to know why you were on his land.

“I was…” You spare a glance toward the room, but instantly jerk your attention back to Jake at the sea of judgemental eyes staring back. “I just got caught in the storm.”

“You from a lab?” A simple nod is your response, to which he hums under his breath. “Which one?”

“Ma Jake…” The woman behind him suddenly hisses in warning.

As he stands and turns to face her, you take a moment to look closer. You realize she is Neytiri, wife of Jake Sully. She’s fiercely beautiful, a dangerous sense of confidence oozing from her firmly squared shoulders. She’s a formidable force, with a fearsome reputation rivaling her husband’s.

“You know she won’t survive the night on her own.” He speaks quickly in Na’vi, a tired sigh leaving his lips as if he knows how she will react.

She hisses with displeasure, head jerking in your direction although her hard stare doesn’t leave him. “That is not our problem. Demons are not allowed in this place.”

“Sweetheart, she’s a scared child. Look at her. What kind of damage could she do in one night?”

“All they do is damage. She will find a way.”

Your gaze shifts away from the pair as they continue bickering. First, you find Kiri’s eyes. She holds your stare for a few seconds, hers swimming with recognition and something else. Something darker. She crosses her arms tightly and looks away with a frown.

Your brow pinches at her curious reaction, but you try not to take it personally as your attention moves to the two older boys flanking Neytiri’s sides. One of them clearly resembles her. They share the same slender build, down to the delicate structure of their faces.

You realize quickly that these must be their children. It would explain the way Kiri’s physique resembles an Avatar’s more than a native, considering Jake’s genes. A quick glance at the other Na’vi in the tent confirms that one of the older boys shares your Avatar traits as well.

The Na’vi on Neytiri’s other side is a spitting image of Jake. He’s still looking at you. You can feel it. Can feel the burn of his gaze as it tracks every one of your slight movements. Your eyes meet his, breath hitching at the intense heat behind his stare.

You have to look away after only a few moments. For some reason, your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest. With your attention now on the floor, you tune back in to the conversation still going on around you.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

“Ma Jake…” Neytiri reaches for him, but he silences her with a shake of his head.

“It is decided. Neteyam, you will—”

An irritated scoff fills the tent, and all eyes swivel to the boy who moments ago held your attention. Jake drops his chin, brow raising in silent challenge.

“What? I didn’t watch her hard enough?”

He knows it’s immature, but he can’t help the resentment that swells inside his chest. Neteyam, the perfect son. Neteyam, the perfect soldier. He never fails to get exactly what he wants. And him? He’s always left in the shadow of his older brother’s greatness.

“Lose the attitude, Lo’ak.” Jake simply frowns at him before moving on.

Lo’ak. You repeat the syllables in your mind several times. His name is Lo’ak.

“As I was saying. Neteyam, you will show her where to sleep. Understood?”

The boy, Neteyam, nods without hesitation. “Yes, sir.”

“Such bullshit.” Lo’ak mutters, mostly to himself.

“Take that tone again and you’re grounded for a week. You read me?” Jake’s voice sharpens to a hard edge you haven’t yet heard. He points a threatening finger in his son’s direction, brow creasing with displeasure.

Lo’ak’s ears flatten against his head as it lowers under the weight of the admonishment.

“Yes, sir.” He grits the words out, jaw tense.

Finally, Jake turns his attention back to you. He clears his throat, casting one last weary glance toward his family. “You can stay here for the night. In the morning, we will help you find your way home. My son, Neteyam, will show you where to sleep.”

You nod appreciatively, nervous to look away from him. His gaze is kind, unlike the rest of your visitors. “Thank you.”

With that, everyone starts to disperse. Kiri’s eyes linger on you for a fleeting moment as she guides the youngest from the tent. You test your limbs again, cringing against the intense soreness of overworked muscles. It feels like you’ve run three marathons back to back.

Just as you wobble shakily to your feet, Neytiri speaks again.

“Neteyam,” He turns to look at her, finding her hard stare pointed directly at you. “Watch her. I don’t trust these demons.”

He nods in understanding and gestures for you to leave the tent. You swallow down the remaining uncertainty and follow his lead. Exhaustion pulls at your insides, so strong you could fall asleep where you stand. You have no choice but to accept Jake’s offer.

The second your Avatar falls asleep, you’ll wake up in your human body anyway. The sooner that happens, the sooner you can assure Meg that you’re fine. And try to convince her not to kill you.

Neteyam moves quickly through the village. You keep your gaze trained on the ground, because you know the second you take in the vastness of Home Tree, you won’t be able to sleep. The scientist within you will demand that you spend the night studying the massive structure.

Your tired muscles struggle to keep up as he weaves through tents and hallowed out alcoves. He doesn’t glance back once, simply expecting that you’ll still be there behind him. There’s movement in your peripheral vision and you know that people are staring. You just keep your head down and stay as close to Neteyam as possible.

You follow him up two levels of branches, finally landing on a large canopy of hammocks. At least a hundred intricately woven hanging beds wind all the way around the tree’s massive trunk. Neteyam points toward one wordlessly as you struggle to catch your breath beside him. He’s completely composed, not the least bit taxed by the journey.

Your eyes fall closed, and after a deep breath of courage you leap from the branch into a hammock. The whole thing sways and you desperately hang on, freezing on your hands and knees. Once it settles, you slowly and carefully lay down, shakily falling into a tense position on your back.

“Thank…” When you turn, he’s gone. “You.”

A sigh leaves your lips. You shouldn’t have expected anything else. You know you aren’t welcome here, and the only reason you have a safe place to sleep is that Jake Sully was once like you. If he wasn’t the Olo’eytkan, you’d be dead already.

Within seconds your heavy eyelids fall closed. You’re so exhausted, you couldn’t keep them open if you tried. You hope Meg won’t be too mad at you, the last thought that crosses your mind as you fade in and out of consciousness.

Only a breath later, you fall into a restless sleep.

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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year

Text

Can’t Lose Family / Joel Miller Imagine

Request: Joel request- him helping Reader get her medications and she repays him with a kiss even though they aren't together?

This turned into a much cuter found family fic than I meant it too lmao but also sorry not sorry @miraclesabound!!

Warning: strong language, fighting infected, mentions of guns and knives, mentions of what happens with Sam and Henry, mentions of blood, and mentions of Sarah!

This one’s pushing 4,000 words lads which has to be my longest one shot - I spent all day writing this, so if you enjoyed please support me by commenting and reblogging!

(I do not own the Last of Us or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @manny-jacinto.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

If you found one more goddamn empty first aid kit, you were going to tear a clicker’s head clean off its stupid mushroom neck.

It hadn’t been an easy journey even getting to this point. Despite Ellie’s numerous protests, snide looks, and even grabs at your jacket with a ‘questioning your sanity’ kind of look, you and Joel had both agreed that a supermall was the best next place to look for the specific kind of medication you needed.

‘It’s the only place left in this state we haven’t already scoured’, he had muttered from in front of you, pulling up Callus’ reigns and bringing the horse to a sudden halt. The building seemed to loom up from the corner of your eyes like a shooting spore; beams of light seemed to light up its cracks, spraying dust upwards through the shattered windows and clawed bricks until they flew out and danced across the sky. It whistled with every blow of wind, grumbled and heaved with the weight of its walls, howled with the furious screeches of the horde of infected that vacated the forgotten premises.

From where she was sandwiched between the two of you, Ellie managed to squeeze her head out past Joel’s shoulder and scoff. Your grip on her shoulders tightened as she tried to turn her head back to throw you an averse scowl. ‘If you guys go in there and make it back in one piece’, her words are jolted by her nose face planting into the back of Joel’s jacket, Callus rearing up his front legs and whinnying at the piercing cry of what sounded to be a recently turned runner convulsing about in horrendous pain. You straightened her back up on the saddle, and she let you wrap your arms around the top of her stomach to keep her balanced. ‘I swear, I’ll eat my backpack.’

Joel just looked past his shoulder to give her a bemused look.

‘Still would be better than having to hear another one of them lines from your joke book.’ Ellie slapped him on the shoulder, but she couldn’t hide the fact that she was looking down at the sprouting shoots breaking through the strewn concrete on the road to hide her growing smile. ‘Shut up old man. You can never escape Will Livingstone.’

You tapped Ellie’s shoulder, and when she turned to see the mischievous glint in your eye, she nodded with a grin. ‘Hey Joel’, you started, waiting for his grunt reply. ‘Do you know the last place I went before the outbreak was too a zoo?’

‘Is that so’, he sighs, not even bothering to turn his head with the foresight to realise where this was going. Hearing Ellie snicker into her hand, her other clutching into his shoulder with anticipation also brought some clarity. ‘Yeah, the only animal there was a dog. It was a Shizu. Get it? Get it, a Shit-zo-’. Joel just gave a groan that erupted from the pit of his stomach, pretending not to laugh as Ellie erupted into giggles, throwing her head back against your chin.

Joel gazed forward, looking out past the large stretch of empty highway and over the impending treeline speckled in the distance towards the swirl of dull pink and sweet lavender that had begun to transfigure the sky. ‘Yeah, see, this is the problem’, he grunted, ‘maybe being a runner wouldn’t be so bad.’ He couldn’t hide the fact that he was beginning to grin too.

Ellie snorted, and waved her hand out towards the upcoming building. ‘Well if you go in there, I think your wish will come true.’ Her words brought a fresh wave of silence over the three of you; the kind of forlorn, contemplative stillness that hadn’t shrouded itself over your little makeshift family since you all lost Sam and Henry-. You shuddered, not wanting to go back there anymore. It had been hard enough burying them, let alone trying to deal with the solitude of Ellie’s guilt and the barricading walls Joel had thrown back up at even the mention of the too small grave. It had been hard, the last few weeks, and you didn’t want the people you loved most in this derelict world to fall back into a hopelessness you had fought so hard to drag them out of.

You didn’t miss the way Joel had glanced back down at his watch though, his face hardening as he steered Callus on.

‘It will be alright, Ellie’, you patted her shoulder and winced as the sound of more infected began to ring out through the dusk and pierce your ears. Ellie shook: not with fear of them, but with terror at the thought that it could take just one wrong move, one wrong moment in this life for her to be left alone again. To be left behind. To lose everyone she loved, yet again.

But she was brave, and strong, and ready to fight for every scrap she had in spite of the world’s indifference. ‘I know,’ was all she whispered as the three of you came to a stop in front of the mall’s perimeter. The resignation didn’t last too long, though; as soon as Joel had given you his hand to help you down onto the curb, Ellie had started up again at the groans of the building’s floors constricting with the cold.

As Joel had given you a boost up past the half-blown brick wall leaking frost out from the west side of the building, Ellie had thrown her hands up in disgust. ‘Fine!’, she grabbed Callus’ reigns and led him over to a bent piece of iron fence at the edge of the perimeter. ‘If either of you fuckers decide to become infected, I’m gonna kick your shins!’ Even with the crossed arms and huff that followed, when you turned your head to look back at her, she had given you a silent, pleading nod warning you to both come back in one piece. With a final reassuring smile in her direction, you had left the girl stroking Callus’ back, and leant down to heave Joel over into the grave darkness.

The first thing you heard was the sound of sneakers pounding through the walls, the huffing and sliding of about ten bodies coming running towards you. Drawing out your knife from your back pocket, you readied yourself for the oncoming onslaught, but it never arrived. Instead, you were blinded by the sudden flash of gunfire as Joel stepped in front of you, using himself to shield himself from the infected unhinging their mouths and running into the gunfire. Only when he was sure the last one had stopped twitching on the ground did he lower his gun and turn to look at you, raging frenzy clear in his eyes.

Yet he was so gentle. So, so gentle with you. He clicked on his torch and clipped it onto the lapel of Frank’s old plaid shirt, stained once again with the scent of blood. He reached out a hand towards you, chest heaving as he turned his back to the litter of bodies now staining the linoleum floor.

‘Are you- are you alright?’ He didn’t know exactly what to do, bless him. So unsure as to how, or if he should show affection anymore. His face fell stern as he looked you up and down, yet his fingers itched against his thighs and clawed at his jeans, as if he were desperate to touch you and make sure himself. You reached out to him with one arm, and he tenderly took your wrist within his fingers. He couldn’t quite bring himself to hold your hand yet, to allow himself that sort of vulnerability, to ever give in to that sort of familiarity with another person again, but it was a step in the right direction.

‘Are you okay?’ The question was more desperate now, more sober, and the most genuine reflection of his pounding heart as he flipped your hand over and used his pointer finger to check your pulse. Sometimes, when the three of you got into tough scraps, it would be the only thing that could bring him back from that fear induced rage. You pretended not to feel his thumb shake against your wrist bone, instead nodding and dragging your fingers down to squeeze his own. ‘Let’s keep going. Ellie will be freaking out by now.’

‘Yes, I am! What the fuck was that!’, you heard echoing in from outside, the alarm in Ellie’s voice filling the vacuous hallway.

Joel managed to huff out a laugh, before shouldering his gun back round his side and nodding at you. He swallowed thickly, but even as you brushed past him to head further towards the shops, you could see how desperately he was scrunching his lips to try and push away the worry that flickered in his eyes.

And now? After all that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You kick the empty case clear half way across the store, grunting in victory as you hear it smash against the legs of a frayed mannequin and toss it down onto the floor. An ash cloud of dust sprays up at the movement, making Joel cross his arm in front of his mouth and hack a cough as he’s sprayed in white.

‘We still haven’t tried the door behind the counter.’

‘Joel, we’ve tried every damn door in the country. Plus, it’s sealed shut, and I don’t see you packing any shivs to open it.’ You sigh and squat down to the ground, holding your head in your hands for a second. You only open them once you realise the thudding sound you hear is Joel moving over towards the back wall of the pharmacy, straight towards where a huge mass of spasming, bloated fungi seems to be pulsating on the wall.

‘Are you out of your damn mind?’, you seethe, as Joel reaches into his backpack to strap his gas mask on.

‘On the contrary, I seem to be the only one in this room with any sense.’ Although his words seem to bite, you can hear the mocking tone drip through the crinkled words as they rasp out past the ventilator. Joel joins you in squatting down to the floor, although his movement is done a lot less gracefully and with a lot more complaining about sore joints. He moves the light away from where its strewn over the floorboards to land straight in the middle of the heaving mess, and the sight nearly makes you gag in shock.

‘Ugh, Jesus’, Joel mutters, his face contorting in disgust as he clenches his fist open and closed in preparation. The figure clenched into the wall in front of him was barely recognisable: it’s drooping face was now sprouting from behinds its eyelids, mouth open as if in a never-ending frozen scream, its lab coat caked in dried old blood that seemed to suggest he wasn’t the only one to die in this dank room. ‘Well, here goes nothing.’ Tentatively inching his hand forward, Joel waits for the poor bastard to come tearing off the wall and clamp its three teeth left around his fingers. Thankfully, both for his sake and your heart, which had decided to start pounding through your ears, Joel is successful in inching the infected’s hand out of the way. He reaches into the breast pocket, sighing in relief and turning towards round to your expectant face.

Perched between his thumb and pointer finger is the rusted tip of a key.

‘Bingo’, he whistles as he stands up, stretching out his back and clicking his spine back into place. You shake your head as he heads off, following him round the counter edge and butting him out of the way once he reaches the back door. Shaking the handle one more time for good measure, you nab the key out of his hand and ignore the cry of indignation he gives you.

‘It’s my stuff we need, so I go first. Those are the rules.’

You slot the key into the lock and give it a firm twist.

‘Absolutely not.’ You nearly jump when you feel Joel’s hand firmly clamp down on top of your own, effectively trapping you against the doorknob. You glare over at him, but feel the bitter remark you were about to whip out about how ‘he always puts himself in danger before me or Ellie’ dies on the tip of your tongue when you see how scared he looks.

‘I go first.’ You tut. The grip on your hand grows firmer. His breath hitches as he bends and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close now, you can feel the rapid air escape his nose and brush over the side of your cheek. For a moment, neither of you are able to move; you’re both caught in some invisible entanglement, some building consequence the two of you have never been brave enough to breach before, some kind of tender understanding. You nod your head, realising now just how earnestly the two of you had been dancing around it: how the whole time you had known each other, one was always preparing to die for the other.

‘Please...I go first.’ His gaze drops to your lips, and then to your nose, and then finally settles, for the first time in a while, firmly on your eyes. Unwavering. Resolute. He lurches forward on the balls of his feet, and for a second you think he’s either about to headbutt you or kiss you. Instead, he gently uses his side to butt you out of the way, before turning his efforts to shouldering the door open in three abrupt pushes.

He lurches in, the door giving way before he expected it and taking his feet out from under him. He rolls to the floor, grunting with the effort as he nearly side rolls straight into the side of an empty rack of shelves. With the light in the musty room as bright as a grave, you’re left trying to figure out where Joel has gone by the sound of an empty pill bottle rolling across the room.

‘Joel? Joel! Where the fuck are you?’, you whisper, reaching your arms out and crouching down to try and find him in the darkness. ‘Shit, is that you? Are you alright?’ You grip onto something soft and squishy, Joel’s leg? It seems clad in denim, although slightly torn, as if he had skinned his whole knee slamming against the floor.

You realised your mistake only a second too late. Instead of the welcome, gravelly honey voice of one Joel Miller, and perhaps even the calloused fingers cupping your cheeks before taking your own to lurch himself back up, you were met by the spitting shriek straight into your face. ‘Oh, fuck!’

You roll backwards, slamming the back of your head straight into an iron railing. ‘Oh, doubley fu-’ Your shout is muffled by fingernails scraping over your forehead, a hand grasping onto your face and digging in until you could feel blood begin to run down the bridge of your nose. Grappling with your hand, you simultaneously try to pitch your knee up to stop the clicker from completely detaching from the wall and clambering on top of you, and wrestling past its bumpy elbow to reach the knife stuck behind your back. Gnashing teeth leaves drool dripping down onto your neck, and you groan with the effort of trying to stop them from tearing a chunk out of your jugular.

You finally manage to grasp onto the hilt of your knife, trying to lift up your backside to slide it out of your pocket and straight into the skull of the infected on top of you. It doesn’t matter though. A second later, it feels as if molten is being poured in gushes down onto your bare skin; you stifle a shudder as the blood leaks out from the clicker’s eye sockets and sprays over your shoulder blades. You squint, just about managing to make out the outline of Joel’s clenched teeth and furrowed brow as he pulls the crowbar he had managed to find out of the thing’s skull. Pushing it to the side, it flops unceremoniously onto the floor.

‘Jesus...’, you warble out, still slightly in shock that you had come so close to the end right there and then. So clumsily close. So stupidly.

Joel doesn’t give you a chance to finish your thought. You swear it must have hurt when he threw himself down onto the ground, not even pretending to be calm and collected as he comes sliding on his knees over to you.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘H-huh?’

His hands are shaking as they reach up to roam over your face, his movements rapid and rushed and so carelessly unlike him that it only winds you deeper into your confused stupor. Before this - sure, he may have been concerned, but it was always hidden behind a thick wall of confidence and level headedness. But this, this was different. He was gripping onto the sides of your face as if the skin was about to peel away from your body in front of him; he was trembling in the way only a man marred by ghosts could be. As the flashlight blinked across the floor, the glass smashed into fractured shoots by Joel’s fall, all his mind can see with each glare is Sarah suspended in front of him.

‘Are you hurt?’ His voice is shaking as he speaks, tilting your face back and forth as if he’s scanning you for any scrabs and bites, yet his fingers are moving too quickly to truly take any of you in.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine. I just, ah-’, you cup his hands and bring them to rest within your own, both of you using each other’s weight to try and lever yourselves to a standing position again. ‘I think my ankle is twisted slightly.’ You watch his eyes widen, and try your best to shoot him a reassuring smile despite how shaken you were feeling. ‘It’s alright, it’ll be fine once I shake it off. Especially since I see another med-pack over there.’ You let go of one of his hands to point past his shoulder, finally coming back to yourself when you spot another plastic box hanging, squished in between the pharmacist's desk and the wall.

Despite the elated glow that seems to suddenly gleam in your eyes as you hobble over bits of broken glass and clamber over the smashed up computer monitor, Joel doesn’t let go of you the whole way. Not even when you unclasp the lock and throw the lid back, tilting your head back and laughing in near hysteric delight when you see the full bottles still nestled in dust inside. They move from your hands, up your arms and around your shoulders, squeezing your biceps as the two of you make your way quietly back through the supermall and back out towards the hole to freedom.

‘Fuck me! I thought you guys were gonners for sure!’ For a second, as you glanced out and saw Ellie bent over with her hands on her hips with the relief of seeing the two of you dumbasses hobble back into view, you thought the young girl was going to collapse to the ground. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned back to you with a surprisingly serious look on her face. ‘Did you find any comics in there?!’

‘Are you kidding-’ Joel murmurs out with a huff, waving his hand at her in dismissal. Ellie only raises her hand in a shrug before flipping him off, but the two of them are both smiling as Joel offers you his hand. You take it easily, but before you drop down to the grass again, you surprise Joel Miller for about the third time that day.

Before he even has a chance to blink, you lean towards him and press your lips against the side of his stubbly cheek. His eyes widen, but even as you press a second, quicker kiss against his cheek, he seems too stoic to pull away. When you finally do, he raises two fingers up to the wet patch now gleaming on his skin, and looks at you with a rapturous confusion.

‘Thank you. For everything. For still being here’, is all you whisper with a final look back at him, before falling down through the sliver of dark orange that still falls like firelight between the breaks in the pine trees. Ellie welcomes you back energetically, nearly knocking you over with the speed in which she comes running towards you and wraps her arms around your midriff, squishing the side of her face into your chest.

Joel watches the two of you for a moment: the way Ellie looks up at you as if you were pure unbridled hope as she unlatches herself from you, the way you grab her hand and help her hop back up onto Callus’ back, coming to rest on the side of the saddle before animatedly falling into conversation with her, most likely checking up to make sure she was doing okay with all of this.

He blinks back the wistfulness from his eyes as he stands on the stone strewn crag of the building, the soft ground suddenly seeming so far away. As he watches you, he tries to figure out what he feels: love? Longing? Guilt? Before he even notices, he finds his gaze has drawn itself back down to his wrist, the shattered clock face seemingly staring him down and stifling whatever happiness he was trying to feel.

He covers it with his hands, rubbing his fingers over the side as if it were burning his skin and he couldn’t bear to carry the weight of it anymore. But then you call over to him, and Ellie waves her hand up and beckons him to come down with a bright grin and yell, and suddenly the heaviness seems to unburden, to unlatch its grip on his stomach.

Sure, the misery of his past still haunted him, still dragged behind his head as he jumped and landed on the ground with a thump. But as he slowly jogged back over to the two of you, the shadows were beginning to lift. The light was beginning to break through, and Joel Miller couldn’t remember feeling so bullishly light in all his life.

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