#and nobody back home is like that at all. they don't mask and they say things like 'it wasn't so bad the last time i had it' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wingedhallows · 4 months

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you don't know shit ; the marauders

pairing: the marauders (+ lily x reader ; platonic ) | 1.6k words plot: Things had changed over the summer, you had changed. Why didn't you speak to them & why did you look more dead than alive? prompt: “you don’t know shit about what happened to me.” authors note: i just love angsty shit :)

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Spending the summer at home was hard, horrible even. All your friends decided to spend their summer together, at James Potter's house. You couldn’t join, not when your parents were fanatic purebloods with a grip so hard it bruised, literally.

Sirius had managed to run away, to flee from his parents' iron grip. You admired him for his bravery, but in all honesty, you were a coward, right?

Did enduring it all, pushing through every insult and curse make you strong or weak? You didn’t quite know. The train came to a halt, the whistle reminding every student to get off.

You had avoided them, your friends. You’d usually walk past the Hufflepuffs to the wagon the Gryffindors inhapitated but this year you didn’t. The Slytherin wagon seemed more comfortable, quieter than their wagon. Just to avoid their questions, their worry.

With your bag around your shoulder you exited the train, a heavy feeling on your chest. You could feel it, the way they stared at you.

You looked him in the eyes, Sirius. No smile graced your face this year, there was just nothing to smile about. Your mother had made sure that you’d remember that.

“Y/N, where were yo-” he stopped talking as you walked past them, not giving them the time of day.

“What the fuck.” You heard Sirius say as James rushed after you. “Hey, Y/N.” He caught your shoulder, a confused look on his face.

“Didn’t you see-”I did.” You paused before turning around. “Let go of me, Potter.” You spat, the cold look on your face was painful. You wanted nothing more than to jump into their arms, to give them the warm smiles they deserved.

You ripped your shoulder out of his grip and stalked off, tears threatening to spill. You were sorry, so sorry it hurt.

“Y/N!” Remus yelled after you, but you were too far ahead, thankfully. You would’ve turned around otherwise.

Breakfast the next day was weird, you sat at your house’s table, the Slytherins. Nobody talked to you, you had sat at the Gryffindor table the past six years for all they knew.

The boys stared your way, watched how you didn’t eat. The way your eyes looked lifeless and you hadn’t touched your cup once.

It made them sick.

“She’s not eating.” Sirius said, bread in his hand. James leaned over looking over the heads of his friends.

“Is she even breathing?” he paused, taking a sip from his cup.

“She looks dead.” Lily sighed, her head whipped around to look at you.

“She’s skinnier. What did they do to her?” Remus looked over his shoulder as well, the sight of you, how broken you seemed hurt him. It was devastating to see you like this.

The food made you sick and without another thought you stood, determined to get away from it, from them.

Their eyes were on you, you could feel it. Your eyes found James’, against your will because the look in his hurt more than the crucio curse your mother had sent your way when you arrived back home this summer.

Your heart began to pound as you caught a glimpse of them making their way over to you. Your feet began to walk faster, to get away. “Y/N!” You could hear Lily but you didn’t stop walking. You cut the corner, your shoulder almost hitting the brick wall in the process. "Y/N!" Stop!” Sirius's loud voice stopped you in your tracks, your breath hitched as your eyes widened.

“Just, stop.” he spoke quieter, a hand already on your shoulder. You took a breath, eyes closing in defeat before you turned around, face in the cold mask you were just so familiar with.

“What?” you spoke, voice almost too quiet to hear. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you.

“What the fuck do you mean, what?”

You looked away, anywhere but his face. “Did you need anything?” A sigh escaped you and James pushed forwards.

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been avoiding us like the plague since we came back.” You crossed your arms and nodded.

“What is wrong?” Remus said, a hand outstretched to grab your arm, you flinched away. “Nothing.”

Sirius scoffed. “You can’t fool us.” he shook his head.

“Something happened to you back home, tell us.” he tried. A cuckle escaped you, face in a frown.

“You don’t know shit about what happened to me.”

Lily took a step toward you, your herbology book in hand. You took it without saying anything. “How could we, you won’t talk to us.”

“I’m busy.” You paused and took a step back.

“Astronomy Tower, 8pm.” Was all you gave them before you took off. Lily tried to reach for you but you were too fast.

There they stood, 8 pm sharp. “She’s not coming.” Moony spoke, elbows on the railing. Lily sighed and sat down next to Sirius who had just lit his next fag. “Just wait.” He spoke, breathing out the smoke. “It’s not been five minutes yet.” He said, shoulder leant on the brick wall behind him.

The door squeaked and their heads whipped around, you could feel their stares. With a smooth movement, you swooped your own pack of cigarettes from your pocket. Sirius had sprung to his feet, his lighter almost lit. You were faster and lit the stick on your own. “I got it.” you almost whispered before he retreated with a frown on his face.

“So, you gon’ talk now?” James threw your way, impatiently. “God, James.” Lily spat and stood next to you.

“What? It’s the truth, she’s been avoiding us, not wanting to be around us. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.” He directed towards you, you sighed and took another drag of your cigarette.

“I will.” You said as you pushed your hand through your hair, desperately begging your heart to stop pounding.

You reached for your wand which was tucked in your right boot and took a breath before you called off the concealment charm and within a second the atmosphere on top of the astronomy tower changed.

Your friends now saw what you saw every day.

What the mirror showed you every time your laid your eyes upon it.

The scars of the objects your mother had sent your way in a fit of anger, the bruises of charms and hexes your father had used when you spoke back and the twitch of your eye, your lips of the many crucio curses you had to endure when you defended your friends.

“Oh my god.” Remus whispered, you took another drag of your cigarette. Your left eye still stung, it was probably blue too. You lifted your head, now looking at them.

“That’s why I couldn't talk to you.” You stomped on the done cigarette and sighed.

“I’m not as brave as you, Sirius.” Tears stung at your eyes, your chest tight.

“My parents are just like yours, selfish, hateful, awful people.” You paused and turned around, staring down the tower. The view was as beautiful as it had been the first time you looked down it. Absolutely breathtaking.

“I can’t seem to leave them, though.” Lily’s hand was on your shoulder now. “I’m too weak.” You let the tears fall, your clammy cold hands wiped at your nose.

“You’re not weak, Y/N.” Sirius spoke, no next to you, his elbow rested on the railing as well. “For all I know, you’re one of the bravest people I know.”

You stared at him now, your eye twitched again. You could feel it now, the pain, all over again.

“I’m not-”To take all of that, whatever your parents did to you and still stand here.” Lily’s hand rubbed your back as you tried to hold back the sob.

“You’re not at all weak, Y/N.”

Remus stood next to Sirius, his elbow on his friend's shoulder. A sad smile formed on his lips as he wiped the tears.

“We’ll take care of those.” He waved at the scars. “I’ve had my fare share of those myself.” he tried, a weak chuckle escaped your lips. An attempt to lighten the mood.

“There she is.” James grinned. “A smile suits you better.” You punched his shoulder softly and he chuckled at you.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” Lily waved you off, an arm now around your shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, love.” Sirius threw in.

“You’re not going back there, though. I hope you know that.” Sirius spoke.

“You could stay with us, I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind now that Pads is stayin’ with us anyway.” James smiled at you and you tried to give him a small smile yourself.

“Or with us, I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind if I explained.” Lily spoke as she rubbed your shoulder.

“You’re not alone in this.” Remus spoke, a hand on your cheek to wipe the tears.

“We hold together, no matter what.” Sirius said, a hand stroked your hair as he gave you a small smile.

“I love you, all of you.” You spoke, a new fag in your mouth now.

“You’re more than friends” You paused and lit the stick.

“You’re my family.”

James barked out a laugh and took a sip from the bottle he brought up here.

“To family then.” You chuckled and nodded. “To family, cause my own sucks.” Sirius nodded and took a drag from his fag as well.

“This family only.”

#the marauders #marauders imagine #marauders era #harry potter angst #harry potter fanfic #sirius black #sirius black angst #sirius black x reader #harrypotter #hp fanfic #the marauders angst #remus lupin #lily evans #james potter #the marauders x reader #the marauders x y/n #the marauders x you #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic

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nsharks · 5 months

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"Twix."

Blue says your name in a single exhale of relief. You didn't expect her to be awake. She sits with her legs outstretched by a barely-there fire as you enter the cabin, the busted door groaning shut behind you. Fatigue sinks you to the floor beside her. You're about to curl your numb hands within the long sleeves of your new jacket, but the burn on your fingers makes you wince from the friction.

“You're filthy." She reaches for your hand, gently inspecting the burn. "And someone hurt you."

"Well, technically, I hurt them."

Blue shakes her head, the tone of her voice hardening the moment she drops your hand. "You shouldn't have gone."

"It was important—"

"It was stupid. You saw how those guys tried to kill us!" She huffs out a breath before snapping her gaze back to the flames. "You... you didn't tell me you were leaving. You didn't even say goodbye. I just woke up and you were gone.”

"I didn't want to wake you this morning because you needed rest,” you reason.

"That's a shitty excuse," she grumbles back, gesturing to the pink bracelet on her wrist. "I may not have a lot of friends, but I do know they're supposed to tell each other things like this."

Your eyes trail down from the burnt skin on your fingers, red and bubbly, to the cheap, plastic beads encompassing your wrist.

"You're right," you speak softly. "I should have told you."

A few minutes lapse in thick silence. In the midst of it, you swallow a few chalky pills to help with all the pain. You've been conservative in using them so far, but with your additional score of medicine, you figure you can afford some relief. There's no way you'll be able to sleep with your bitten wrist throbbing incessantly.

You're about to lean against the wall and let your eyes flutter shut when Blue speaks again, this time her voice so quiet you wonder if you're imagining it.

"You know, I was excited to go on this trip," she whispers, still looking at the fire. "I even secretly hoped we'd run into other people, just because—" she pauses to swallow, "—because I never get to meet any. And the ones we have met, my dad always kills. Except for you."

She drags her sleeve over her face and it’s now you notice she is crying. A knot forms in your throat and, after the day you've had, you struggle to find the right words.

"He kills them for a reason," you settle on, voice equally hushed. "A lot of people are—"

"A threat, I know." Blue repeats the words like a bitter mantra, then looks at her bandaged leg. "What does it feel like?" she asks after a moment, sliding her glossy eyes to yours. “Killing a person. Ghost told me it feels just like killing an animal or a Grey."

You inhale, then fix your stare to the dark ceiling. "No— I don't think it feels the same. It's much worse. I still get sick from it,” you admit.

"How many have you killed?"

"I don't remember anymore, but not that many." Certainly not as many as Ghost has. "It was always in self-defense. Always because I had to."

"I wish nobody ever had to," she says.

"I know. Me, too.”

With a sigh, she carefully scoots closer to you. "I'm sorry for getting mad. I just want to go home.”

"Don't be sorry. I’m the one who is sorry." You shake your head and offer her a shoulder until both of you have your backs against the wall. Her hair tickles your cheek. A small hand slips around your waist in a tender embrace, her fingers latching onto the fabric of the jacket. The sore muscles of your core flex instinctively from the touch before you finally force yourself to relax. It’s just Blue.

"Your dad says we're going back tomorrow,” you whisper, jaw grazing the crown of her head. “Sleep. It'll be a long day again."

"A long day for you maybe," she murmurs against your shoulder. "I get to ride on his back."

"Lucky you." You drape the heavy blanket over your bodies. Together you are warmer, if only by a little.

Deft wind whooshes through the trees, kissing your wet skin. Splotches of wriggling orange and red follow the water's current, along with a trail of brown muck as you scrub your breasts, hair, and cheeks. The sight of fish makes your stomach grumble. It's been far too long since you've had anything but squirrel and deer and berries, but this is not the time or place to ponder a way to catch one. The blue wash of early morning lightens with each second that passes. You wring out your hair, rewrap your wrist, and put your clothes back on before carefully climbing up the slope, satisfied enough with your icy bath.

"Ready," you announce, blowing a white breath into your hands and rubbing them together. Ghost crouches down so Blue can teeter onto his back. The backpack full of ammo hugs his front. He appears exceptionally bulky with all the baggage, and yet, he makes it look effortless.

Together, you head towards the infamous bridge, if one could call it that. Silvery fog makes it hard to see more than ten meters ahead of you, but Ghost seems to have the area memorized. Your hands ball up in your pockets, feeling empty and useless. With no bow, you have to rely on Ghost to get you back. It's a weird thing. Though, you suppose if there's anyone you'd want to be stuck out here with, it would be him. His presence alone offers more safety than the measly knife around your ankle.

"Ghost, we should go behind her," Blue says when you reach the beam.

He steps aside to allow you on first. "Try not to go for a swim this time."

A flush of pink bites your cheeks, though you blame it on the cold. It's hard to believe just four days ago you slipped off this thing. With his hands preoccupied, Ghost can't hold onto your shoulders like before, but he lingers close behind and repeatedly orders you to keep your eyes on the bank.

Once you're all across, a calm quiet settles, a vast contrast to how talkative Blue was the first time around. It makes you absentmindedly pick the skin around your nails. By the time you reach the road, you've looked behind your shoulder at least ten times, half-expecting to spot a burnt face hiding among the trees. Squirrels prattle by. A starling calls above your head. But no people. You force your eyes onward and take a deep breath.

"So, uh, would you rather get mauled by a bear," you break the silence, stepping over a stray tire, "—or be struck by lightning?"

It takes a second for Blue to respond. "Oh. That's a good one. Do I have a gun while the bear attacks me?"

"No. No weapons. Just you and the bear."

"Then lightning." She pats Ghost's shoulder. "Could you take a bear?"

"On a good day, maybe," he answers.

"What about you, Twix?"

"No," you instantly scoff, kicking at a rock. "A bear would rip me apart. I would choose lightning because it'd be quick."

"Okay, I have one," Blue quips. "Would you rather be ripped in half, or fall off a tall building?"

"Ripped in half by what?" Ghost asks, tilting his head back.

"It doesn't matter." You can hear the roll of her eyes.

"It does matter. Might change my answer."

"Fall off a building," you interject. "The way down would suck, but I bet you don't feel a thing once you hit the ground."

"But you'd look like a dead bug," says Blue.

"I don't care what I look like. I'll be dead."

Ghost clears his throat. "My turn, then."

"No! You have to pick one," she exclaims.

"Building," he drawls. A shadow of movement passes to the right of you. You naturally flinch closer to them, but it's just a doe hunkering down tall weeds that reach out of the concrete. A chuff of breath leaves your lips as you look away, only to find Ghost staring at you. For a few seconds, his eyes flicker between you and the deer before he goes back to focusing straight ahead.

"Would you rather," he begins, "—chop off all your fingers, or take out your own eyes?"

"What do I use to take out my eyes?" Blue asks.

"Knife."

"I guess my eyes," she winces. "I mean, I'd rather get rid of two things than ten."

They both glance at you expectantly. A frigid gust of northern air takes hold of your hair, so you tuck the unruly strands behind your ears. "Uh, fingers," you decide after a moment. "I could probably live without them."

In the village, the air stinks enough for Ghost to come to a halt. Before, he was able to pass right through. This time, a group of fourteen or fifteen Greys seems to be trapped on the main street between a crumbled wall and a fallen telephone pole. He has to decide between expending ammo or time. It's not long before he nods to a small building and the three of you scale the rusted fire escape. From the safe distance of the roof, he takes out the Greys one by one with an accuracy that barely leaves a dent in the ample stockpile of cartridges. With the route cleared, he's saved at least an hour or two of precious daylight.

The fog lifts. The ambery sun tries to peek through the clouds, but the sky is bent on staying grey. By the time you are back, your blisters have blisters. Blue has fallen asleep, cheek smushed against the back of Ghost's neck. Relief, thick and palpable, tastes sweet on your tongue. The fence, the rabbit hutch, the much-cozier cabin; none of it is home to you, but still, it calls your name in a welcoming coo.

You have to aim Ghost's flashlight so he can unlock the gate. Blue stirs, but her eyes remain closed even when he pushes inside the cabin. It's shrouded in darkness. You prop the flashlight on the table as his boots scuffle against the floor.

He puts her to bed. As he does, you feel around for the sofa and nearly choke when your worn fingertips graze shabby fabric. Not icy water or solid wood or muddy ground, but something soft. You're about to sink into it, your bones desperate for the springy cushions, when he returns to the threshold of the hallway with an ugly, flannel sheet in his hands.

"Here."

It's hard to be certain if you thank him or not; your brain conjures up the words, but your voice doesn't seem to function quite right. One thing is certain: you accept the sheet, tuck it on with urgency, and then lay down, burying your face in the crook of the pillow and arm. You kick off your boots and let the darkness take you, swift and heavy. It could be a coma or death disguised as sleep, and you figure you'd still slip into it without fuss.

Those first days back are quiet. Blissfully uneventful. You sleep and sleep. In fact, you don't move from the couch except to relieve yourself and eat a little. Ghost and Blue don't seem to do much, either. Or maybe you just don't notice.

At one point, you wake up to a small stack of shirts beside the couch. All black. One long sleeve, the rest short. You change into one and continue sleeping.

At another point, Blue hovers above you with a whisper that draws out a groan from you. "Hey. Ghost is making me skin some rabbits. Apparently, it's the only chore I can't get out of. Do you want to help me?"

"I think I'm good." You stuff the pillow over your face to make your point.

"You've been sleeping for three days, you know."

"I could go for another three."

She takes the hint and staggers away. Walking now. You hear her right leg drag a little.

The sleep is good until it's not.

On the fifth night, you're no longer fatigued enough to keep the dreams squandered. They start as whispers. Hoarse and gritty. Then they get louder and louder, shouting your name until they are so loud it feels like someone is screaming in your ear. Different voices blend into an indecipherable cacophony. One screams in pain; another in anger. You feel someone's cold fingers take hold of your neck and are finally pried awake, flying up against the couch with fiery pants burning through your lungs. But all that's there is a dark room.

Sweat clings to every inch of you. It feels like everything is on fire, and all you want to do is cool down. You haven't bathed since the river. Catching your breath, you swing your legs down and quietly pad to the bathroom where you hope a little water is left. Luckily, in the glint of moonlight, you find a bucket used for washing hands and scoop some to your face. Then, you comb it through your sweat-laced hair.

You unwrap your wrist and brush your fingers over the bite. You dab some water on it. You can't see well, but you feel the constellation of congealed scabs beneath your fingertips. Scars. Wounds. Your nostrils flare as a you wonder if one day you'll be so covered in them you won't even look like yourself. It's a good thing there is not enough light to spot the reflection of your face in the mirror, because you're not thrilled to greet the one now on your brow.

On your way out of the bathroom, something solid and immobile blocks your path. You startle backward, sucking in air as you peer up at a masked face. Ghost. It's Ghost. You haven't spoken to him since getting back, and in this moment, you long for the ability to push past him, but his wide shoulders consume the narrow hall.

It's silly to think you can avoid him when you sleep in the same space now. The thing is— you have no idea what to think of him. Before, it was easy to settle on fear of how easily he could snap your neck, and annoyance for how he treated you. And then, when forced to, you could engage in a pragmatic conversation about how to keep yourselves alive.

But now, you don't know what you are supposed to feel around him, and you have spent zero time reflecting on it so far.

"Sorry. I was just, uh, washing my face."

"In the middle of the night?" he rasps, tilting his gaze down.

You teeter back a step, keeping a healthy bubble of space between your bodies. You're not sure why he hasn't just moved out of the way, or what he would be up and about for at this hour, but briefly, you wonder if he is suspicious of you. If after everything you went through, he still thinks you're trying to do something and might send you back to the shed. The three of you relieve yourself outside the cabin since the plumbing doesn't work, so it certainly does seem odd that you'd be in the bathroom during the night.

"I was sweating a lot." Inwardly, you curse at yourself. "I mean, I haven't bathed since we got back, and I..." You trail off in a whisper.

"And you what?"

"I don't know." You fiddle with the hem of the oversized shirt he gave you. "I'm not trying to kill you or your daughter in your sleep, though, if that's what you're thinking."

He simply stares at you. It feels like he can see right through you, and your eyes drop to your wool socks. Then, he murmurs, “I wasn't thinking that."

"Okay," you reply carefully. "Could you... please move, then?"

Finally, he steps out of the way, but you feel the burn of his eyes on your skin as you brush past him.

"Twix."

You pause, looking back. "Yes?"

A shake of his head. And then: "Take a proper bath tomorrow. You could use it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Will do."

With that, you crawl back onto the couch.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #zombie apocolypse au

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drmaddict · 3 months

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Spooky Girl

Summary: Ghost, Soap, Rudy and König have a girlfriend who just likes things, that are a bit spooky. (Just a few little scenes that my brain spit out.)

Wordcount: 2.497

Ghost

"Are you growing your hair out, L.T.?" Johnny laughed and flicked Simon's wrist.

Simon reacted as expected. Not at all. He stared at Johnny motionlessly.

"Fits the look, after all.", the sergeant winked at him.

Simon rolled his eyes and pulled his sleeve over the hairband on his wrist.

Johnny continued to grin. "My sisters say these scrunchies are best for the hair. There's less friction. So no split ends."

Simon continued to stare at him.

"Are you going to tell me why you've got that thing on?", he grumbled.

"No.", was Simon's simple answer before he turned back to his food. It was nobody's business. (Y/n) was nobody's business, or what was between them. It was still too fresh anyway. This was his first mission since they had met. He wasn't sure what to make of this relationship yet. He liked her. It wasn't because of that. He was just too used to being alone. It scared him. His therapist would probably have found a bigger, more important-sounding word for his emotions, but fear seemed appropriate enough to Simon.

She was weird. He was weird too. He had started to like the weirdness. He was probably too old for her. Maybe he wasn't. He'd never been in a relationship. He'd never had to discuss the fact that his hoodies were actually HIS hoodies until a few months ago. She had only told him that they were hers now, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. But she looked really cute in them. She'd beamed at him when he'd unceremoniously thrown three of his hoodies on her bed.

"Until I get back.", he'd mumbled.

She had then pulled her hairband off her head and put it around his wrist. The black satin with the little skulls on it was soft and had immediately clung to his skin.

"So that you'll really come back.", she had said and kissed him on the forehead.

"Always.", he had mumbled.

"Who is she?" Johnny asked him directly. He looked at him with gentle playfulness.

Simon snapped out of his memory. He looked into his friend's blue eyes. "You don't trust me with a 'he'?", he grinned under his mask.

"Well then HE definitely has long hair."

Simon shook his head in amusement. "A little one from home. It's still fresh."

"Photo?", Johnny continued to grin.

Simon shook his head.

"Oh come on!"

"No Johnny."

Johnny looked at him like a petulant puppy. "At least describe her.", he sulked.

Simon sighed and rummaged for a small photo in his pocket. The boy wouldn't stop anyway. He plonked it in front of the sergent and stared at it.

Johnny stared at the photo. "A goth chick?" Johnny reached for the photo, but Simon immediately pulled it back to him and put it away. Johnny looked at him in surprise. "Hot.", he grinned.

Simon just grumbled.

"Yes, I get it. I can see it. You fit together."

Another grumble.

Johnny grinned like an idiot.

"What?", Simon snapped at him.

"Does she have a friend?"

Simon just rolled his eyes. His cell phone buzzed.

A message from (Y/n). When he opened the message history, he saw a picture of a rabbit skull.

'For your collection?' it said underneath.

Simon looked at the picture. He had been glad, that she didn't see his little hobby as disgusting. But that she was now also participating in it. It was a beautiful bone. Completely intact.

'Beautiful. Where did you get it?‘

'Judas picked it up on our walk.‘

Judas was her dog. A stubborn but tough creature. It was probably her type.

'Put it on the ant farm. I'll bleach him when I come back next week.‘

'The three of us are waiting for you. ;)'

When he looked up again, Johnny was still grinning at him.

"The little one really has you wrapped around her finger."

Simon just raised an eyebrow.

"Good for you L.T."

Simon grumbled in agreement.

Soap

"What magazine did you cut that out of?" Kyle laughed.

Soap pulled off his boots. "Huh?" he groaned and looked at his friend.

Kyle pointed to Johnny's locker page and the photo hanging in it.

Johnny followed Kyle's suggestion with his gaze and immediately furrowed his eyebrows. "That's my girlfriend you douche!"

"That's never your girlfriend! She's far too pretty... Apart from the fetish make-up."

Johnny threw his boot at Gaz. "Don't talk about my girl like that!", he growled.

Gaz raised his hands defensively. A grin stretched across his face. "Oh come on."

Johnny continued to scowl at him. Simon came into the changing room and looked at them both wordlessly. Without another comment, he went to his locker.

"How can you always train with that thing on your head?", Johnny asked him.

"Habit.", came the curt reply.

Johnny rolled his eyes as Gaz clapped his hands with a laugh. "So you've got a type!"

Johnny looked at him in confusion. Simon paid him no attention at all.

"Dark and intimidating," Garrick winked at him and nodded towards Simon.

Johnny followed his gaze and a blush immediately appeared on his cheeks.

"I don't have a type!", he barked.

Gaz chuckled in amusement. "Sure."

Simon slammed his locker shut conspicuously loudly and disappeared just as wordlessly as he had come.

The two of them looked after him.

"She's very different from him.", Johnny grumbled immediately.

"Is she?"

"Yes, she's very reserved, but when you get to know her better, she's really funny. She likes to tell jokes, you know? Even if she's more into dark humor. And she likes her order, but accepts my chaos and she's not immediately put off by my job. Well, she goes to therapy, but she's actually really tough."

"Where did you two meet?"

"At a shooting range for my brother-in-law's stag party. She's really amazing. She could almost be a sniper and..." Johnny eyes widened.

Gaz grinned knowingly.

"Oh God! I'm dating L.T.!" Johnny exclaimed, overwhelmed.

"Really, how did you notice?"

Johnny threw his second boot at him. "What if I'm just trying to replace something with her?", he asked anxiously.

Now Gaz looked at him, confused. "What now?"

"Well... What if I subconsciously just saw her as a replacement. God I'm such an asshole."

"How many times did you try to enroll before you were finally eighteen?", Gaz asked him firmly.

"I stopped counting. What's that got to do with it?"

Gaz shrugged his shoulders. "You're nuts, but you know what you want. You've never accepted an alternative before."

Johnny looked at the photo in the locker. "No I never have."

Gaz nodded. "You clearly have a thing for mentally unstable Halloween decorations, but that doesn't mean you only want the girl as a substitute."

Johnny nodded. "Yeah, you're right. She's really great, you know?"

Gaz grinned. "I'll take your word for it."

"She always makes chocolate muffins, that look like the little coal men from Chihiro.", Johnny smiled at the photo. "And she can cook! I really put some weight on the last time, I was with her. It's almost like the good old times at grandmas.", he grinned to himself. "Even if it scares me a little, how relaxed she is with the house ghost."

"Please what??" Gaz blinked at him in surprise.

"The house ghost. She calls him Edgar. After the guy who built the house. She bought this old victorian house and at night you can always hear the back door banging open and shut and someone running up and down the stairs. But never up to the top floor. That was built on later. I nearly wet my pants the first night, when I went to see what was going on and this gigantic mirror fell on me. The thing was secured with six sturdy wall anchors! SIX! Well, I didn't set foot in the house for two weeks after that, but she says she's negotiating a deal."

Gaz looked at him with horror in his eyes.

Johnny shrugged his shoulders. "I'm used to it by now. But the noise is a bit annoying."

Gaz gave him a forced smile. "You see. You don't have anything like that with Ghost... No ghosts with Ghost."

Rudy

He was sitting in his small kitchen with Alejandro, listening to everything about Ale's last date, until they were interrupted by a loud noise.

Ale flinched in surprise and looked at the kitchen counter behind him. Rudy immediately ran to the counter and grabbed a cell phone. He wiped the green icon across the display and held it to his ear.

"(Y/n)s phone. Rodolfo on the line. - Yes, you forgot it here. - No, no problem. - Good. See you in a minute."

He placed the device on the kitchen table and looked into Alejandro's shocked face. "What? Was? That?"

"(Y/n) left her cell phone."

Ale looked at him like he was stupid. "What was that sound?"

"Her ringtone?" Rudy replied hesitantly. "Yeah... Her taste in music is a bit... special," he admitted, looking at the device again.

"A bit? It sounded like a pig had been tormented.", Alejandro said indignantly.

Rudy grinned. "Somehow that relaxes her." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I think the band was called... I can't remember. Lorna something."

Ale looked at him skeptically. "Wait. Is she coming over? I can finally see the mystery (y/n) with my own eyes?"

Rudy sighed. "Be nice, please."

"I'm always nice."

"Hmph."

Ale gave him an annoyed look. "I'll pull myself together."

"No subliminal threats.", Rudy stated firmly.

Alejandro started to speak, but didn't get the chance.

"And certainly no direct ones!"

The colonel fell back against the back of his chair, annoyed. It wasn't as if he had no manners. If anything, some even found his temperament attractive.

"Fine," he grumbled.

Rudy nodded in satisfaction as he heard the front door open.

"Hey." (Y/n) called down the small hallway.

Rudy stood up and walked towards her.

Alejandro didn't know what he had expected, but somehow he had always imagined her... pinker.

When Rudy spoke of his girlfriend, it sounded like he was talking about the sweetest creature on earth, who couldn't hurt a soul. Alejandro had envisioned a girl in a summer dress with pink lipgloss kissing Rudy on the cheek.

What he saw was a girl dressed in black. Transparent cut-outs, heavy boots and various buckles adorned her body.

Her lips, which Alejandro had always imagined to be pink, were painted black, just like her eyes.

She gave Rudy a quick kiss on the lips. "Sorry, I'm only here for a moment. Sofia got tickets for a concert today. I'd rather not ask how. Oh hi!"

She waved to Alejandro.

"This is Alejandro." Rudy introduced him.

He waved at (Y/n), overwhelmed.

"I'm (Y/n)." she replied quickly.

"You sure?" asked Ale before he could stop himself.

Rudy immediately gave him a warning look before turning back to (Y/n). "Be careful."

She kissed him again on the tip of his nose. "I'll text you when I get home. Bey Alejandro!" she called out and was already gone again.

Alejandro looked dully into the hallway. Rudy looked back with a raised eyebrow.

"Well I didn't expect THAT.", Alejandro said.

Rudy sighed.

"Oh come on! You described a lamb!" He threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "Not a little vampire. No matter how cute she seems to be."

Rudy sighed devotedly and sat down at the table.

"She's just like I told you."

"So... a black lamb?"

The corners of Rudy's mouth twitched. "Yes. That fits."

"To get back to the, let's call it 'music'."

"I don't get it either.", Rudy smiled with amusement.

König

"Little bat?" König asked his girlfriend cautiously. She was sitting in one of his shirts next to his legs in front of the couch, looking thoughtfully at her puzzle, while the movie of her choice was playing on TV.

"Yes Bear?" she asked without looking up.

His eyes darted to the television at a particularly organic sound, before quickly settling back on her.

"Um... I know I said 'My job is war and I can take more than nornal humans'."

(Y/n) looked up and grinned mockingly.

"But I admit that your warning was probably... justified."

She grinned at him openly. "No (y/n)! I've seen and done things-"

"All right!" he interrupted her. A woman on the television screamed. "Is this girl still alive?" he asked in disgust.

(Y/n) pressed a button on the remote control and the movie stopped.

"There's no way anyone could survive something like that," he huffed.

His little bat just took a sip of his coffee. "The lore is, that Art keeps someone alive ,until he's satisfied. He decides when you die."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It's horror. It's not supposed to make sense." She patted his gigantic thigh. "You held out very well, but you dropped out of the movie. You lost the bet. You have to order today.", she smiled mischievously.

He grumbled and reached for the tablet.

"No! You have to call! That was the bet."

He looked murderously at the phone. He hated ordering food. Which made no sense, considering his job and his career in it. He was a grown man. He made most people afraid, but still. These everyday situations weren't exactly easy for him. It wasn't like it used to be, but it would never be normal either. Nobody had to like him in his job. No one expected him to be polite. In the real world, there were all these rules and unspoken regulations.

"Like always?" he asked her. She just nodded and went back to looking at her puzzle.

Sometimes it was funny. They both weren't the most confident when it came to social interaction, even though the world always thought they should be. Him because of his body. Her because of her look.

They had started making bets. The loser had to make phone calls or tell the waiter in the restaurant that the food was going back.

He ordered the pizza and felt (Y/n) put a hand on his knee. He had started wiggling his legs again. A habit that had always upset his mother. She stroked his knee with her thumb and he brought his limbs back to rest. With a sigh, he tossed the cell phone towards the pillow. It was nice that he didn't feel any anxiety with her. It was nice to have someone who gave him the space to find peace.

"What kind of picture is this going to be?", he asked her, stroking her hair and looking at the dark puzzle.

"Blackness."

"Blackness?"

"Yes. It's just black." She grinned.

"Why?"

"Because we as humans like to play God. The nice thing is... There's a reference picture."

He grinned. He loved how she was amused by little things like that. He loved his little bat. Her and her bloody pointless puzzle.

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wlntrsldler · 4 months

Note

Hi, I loved “apple pie” so much!! Would you consider doing a part 2 with Jamie’s injury during the game and the reader taking care of him when they get home to Richmond? I feel like it would be so soft 🥹💗

sweet nothing | jamie tartt

based on the song sweet nothing by taylor swift

description: part two to apple pie, but can be read alone!

pairing: jamie tartt x actress!reader (she/her)

warnings: language-- it's ted lasso, what did ya expect?; tooth-rotting fluff! jamie being pookie asf. mention of sex but nothing crazy. mention of his dad.

wc: 1.7K+

Nobody in the owner's box spoke. Jamie was lying on the pitch, arms crossed over his eyes in pain. You could hear Man City fans hollering insults at him in the distance, but all of their noise was drowned out by the thumping of your heart. You forgot how to breathe.

You felt Keeley squeeze your hand, bringing you back to the present. You watched the physios help him off the field. The game continued but you were no longer interested. Instead, you found yourself staring at the boy sitting on the sidelines as he talked to Ted.

"Come on, Jamie," you whispered, biting your thumb anxiously. "You got this, baby."

With a pat on the back, Jamie re-entered the game. You cheered along with Keeley and Rebecca, tears pooling your eyes. You were so proud of him.

The taunts from Man City fans got louder as he walked toward his teammates. Jamie, looked around, rolled his eyes, and stuck his tongue out as he banged on his chest where the AFC Richmond logo was stitched on his kit. You laughed, wiping your eyes, enjoying how confident and full of life your boyfriend seemed to be even after getting injured.

You watched as he masterfully dribbled the ball, dodging three Man City players, before he got in position to kick the ball. The loud whoosh of the football rang throughout the entire arena and before you knew it, all AFC Richmond fans were on their feet cheering for the native Mancunian.

Jamie looked up at the owner's box where he knew you'd be and blew a kiss in your direction. Although you knew he couldn't see you, you blew him a kiss right back. As he was exiting the pitch, he was met with thunderous applause from supporters of his old team.

"That's how good he is," you heard Higgins say from behind you. "Jamie Tartt is a legend."

Your smile widened as you nodded in agreement. The camera crew focused on Jamie's expression as he allowed himself to marvel at the crowd's praise. He no longer had the cocky smile on his face, but rather, his face was relaxed and full of gratitude. This was a homecoming that he deserved.

When the full time was called, the team celebrated on the pitch. Jamie stayed for a bit, but excused himself to come find you. You were waiting for him in front of the locker room entrance, unable to contain your excitement when you saw him.

Briefly forgetting his injury, you ran to him, engulfing him in a hug that made him lose his balance. You peppered kisses all over his face, "I am so proud of you, Jamie Tartt. God, I love you so much."

He tried to laugh to mask the hiss of pain he let out when he put too much pressure on his ankle. You pulled away quickly, suddenly feeling horrible for nearly attacking him. You stepped away from him, "I completely forgot. I'm so sorry, love."

"No," he whined, immediately reaching out for you again. You reluctantly obliged and approached him, much calmer this time around. Jamie sighed in content, leaving light kisses on your neck, "Much better. Don't go too far."

"Jamie, you're hurt," you tutted, threading your fingers through his hair. He hummed in approval, still refusing to let go of you. You placed a kiss on his cheek, forcing him to separate from you to capture your lips in a kiss. You pulled away, "Let's get you to the physios, yeah? Make sure you're all good to go?"

Jamie knew you were right. He did need to get a thorough check-up. He nodded, intertwining his fingers with yours, "Let's go?"

You squeezed his hand gently, letting him lead you away.

Thankfully, Jamie was okay for the most part. The physio told him that he needed to take it easy at least until the next match, but he should be able to participate in light training after two days. Roy grunted in disapproval after hearing the news, but you could tell that he was relieved that Jamie wasn't hurt any more than he was.

The bus ride back to Richmond was rowdy. The boys were absolutely wild over their win-- as they should be, but it also meant that Jamie refused to rest the entire time. You were glad, however, that he remained seated the entire time and didn't put too much pressure on his hurt ankle.

It was nice to be around the boys again. You didn't realize how much of a community, a family, you created in Richmond. Jamie played a big part in that. Before him, you had friends in the industry who were shooting projects in England, but never anybody who's grounded and secured here. You craved stability, at least as much stability as you could get being an actress. You never thought you'd find it here, in Jamie.

"Hi, love," Jamie whispered from beside you. He had a hand on your thigh, "Whatcha thinkin' bout?"

"Just how much I missed all this," you motioned toward the loud, ruckus of the team around the both of you. You turned your head to look at him, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, "How much I missed you."

"Don't get all sappy on me now, love," Jamie teased, though he wrapped an arm around you to pull you closer, "I'm the one that's hurt here. I'm the only one allowed to be sappy."

You faked a groan, rolling your eyes, "I suppose you're gonna be a big baby for the next few days."

"Oh yeah," he answered too quickly. He chuckled, placing a kiss on the crown of your head, "Gonna get so sick of me. We're gonna lay in bed for two days straight. Doc said I had to take it easy, remember?"

"You know that also means no sex, right?"

He turned to you in horror. He shook his head in disapproval, "Well Doc doesn't know what he's talkin' about anyway. He obviously doesn't know that my proper fit girlfriend hasn't been home in so long and that rest wasn't an option for me when you're only back for a week."

"Knock it off," Roy grumbled from in front of you. "You guys are fucking disgusting."

"Don't worry, grandad. I'll save some lovin' for ya." Jamie made kissy noises as he spoke to Roy, making you laugh uncontrollably in your seat.

By the time you made it back to the facility, the boys were buzzing to celebrate the night out partying-- all of them but Jamie. You were waiting in the car park by his car, thinking that you'd drive it to his place while he celebrated with the team, but you were caught by surprise when he walked out with his bag, looking as cozy as ever.

Dani and Colin waved to him, both excited to spend the night getting wasted with the team. Jamie walked towards you, careful not to put too much pressure on his ankle, and handed you his keys.

"You don't mind driving tonight, do you love?" He asked. "Need to get my ankle sorted before the next game and I don't want to do too much."

"I don't mind at all. I figured I would be drivin'," you replied, unlocking the car. You and Jamie both got in, adjusting the seat a bit so you could drive properly. Before you pulled out of the facility's premises, you turned to Jamie, "Are you not going to celebrate with the boys?"

"Nah," Jamie said, so casually. He buckled his seatbelt, twisting his body to grin at you, "See them lads every fuckin' day. Love 'em, but I love ya more. You're only here for a week so I'm makin' the most out of it."

"Such a romantic," you teased, but his words made your heart flutter. Jamie didn't know the effect he had on you and honestly, even if you tried to explain it to him, he probably wouldn't believe you.

It was already hard for him to believe that you said yes to dating him. Sure, if you had asked him a year ago if he saw himself with the hottest up-and-coming actress, his prick self would've said, "Of course, I'm Jamie fucking Tartt." But now that he's finally allowed himself to be vulnerable and care about people, that facade he once had no longer seemed necessary. With that side of him slowly fading, he'd be lying if he said small parts of his confidence didn't.

That's why he's so fucking lucky that you decided to take a chance on him. You never did anything that made him doubt how much he meant to you. He spent so much of his life trying to figure out who actually loved him and who didn't-- massive thanks to his dad for that one-- that it's so nice to not have to worry about something like that.

You made him feel so fucking loved that sometimes the idea of it overwhelmed him, in a good way of course. All the times he wondered if he was worthy of love seemed so trivial now.

The both of you fell into your comfortable routine as if you hadn't been gone for weeks when you got to Jamie's place. It was like you never left. In between the mundanity of getting ready for bed, you gave each other kisses on the cheek, and hugs from behind, always somehow touching each other or so close to each other.

At the end of the night, you and Jamie were lying in bed, Jamie's head on your chest. You were absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, letting out a soft chuckle when he sighed happily. A few times throughout the night, he would get a video from one of the boys, pissed drunk, doing something so stupid, that you both could only hope that the paparazzi weren't there to see.

You talked to each other about everything that's happened over the last few weeks-- what restaurants you guys need to try together when Jamie visits you in New York, what new training regimen Roy prescribed Jamie, what Colin and Isaac were bickering about this week. You ended up falling asleep before Jamie because jetlag was finally catching up to you.

Jamie, who became the big spoon after you fell asleep, laid awake, unable to stop himself from smiling. This, he finally allowed himself to admit it, was something he could see himself doing for the rest of his life. With you sleeping soundly next to him, clinging to him like you never want to let go, Jamie lets himself deserve this good, loving life with you.

#ted lasso #ted lasso imagines #ted lasso oneshot #ted lasso imagine #jamie tartt #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tart x yn #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt oneshot #frances song fics #frances writes

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daniyummy · 2 months

Text

Simon Riley fucking you vs Ghost fucking you. (I know they're the same person, but he's Simon at home, Ghost at work)

This idea has me in a chokehold it's not even funny anymore. Obvi nsfw, don't like don't read, degrading, rough, breeding kink, marking kink, slight possessive!Ghost

Gentle!Simon, Rough!Ghost

Simon Riley who'd make sure you came at least once before he indulges in what he wants.

Simon Riley who'd coo praises in your ear while he thrusts into you deep.

"Such a good girl f'me, yeah?" "That's it, dove, nice and deep.."

Simon Riley who would never wear the mask while fucking you as it takes away some of the intimacy.

Simon Riley who has a slight breeding kink, filing you up with his cum until his balls are empty and your shaking from overstim.

Simon Riley who'd watch the mix of his and your cum drip out of your used cunt before taking two fingers and collecting the juices that fell out then pushing them back in as you whine from overstimulation.

Ghost fucking you though..

Ghost who will fuck your throat until your crying and he cums on your face, painting you with his cum.

Ghost who will finger you, yet the second you need to cum he pulls his fingers out and slaps your poor cunt.

Ghost who will thrust into you, giving you a few seconds to adjust to his cock before he destroys your cunt.

"Such a fucking whore for me. Impatient slut, couldn't wait until we got home."

Ghost who will never not fuck you with the mask on, Ghost doesn't care about the intimacy, he just needs to get off.

Ghost who will roll the mask up to his nose to nip at your neck, marking you as his.

"Nobody can fuck you like me, you're mine, slut. Say it."

Ghost who would turn into Simon the minute you guys finish give you aftercare, depending on if he has to be somewhere soon, or if he has the day off.

Has to be somewhere: He'll run you a quick bath, and while your bathing, he'll set out some clothes for you, a water and some snacks with a note that says something like, "I'll be back later. Get some rest, dove, I love you." And then he leaves.

Has the day off: He will immediately kiss you all over, mumbling praises before he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom, sets you on the toilet as he fills the bath, he'll place you in the bath before he washes you, asking if he was too rough (he asks like 20 times, just to be sure). He'll lift you out of the bath, dry you with a fluffy towel, he'll slide on boxers on you and him, yet leaves your chest bare for skin to skin contact, he cuddle you until you fall asleep and then he'll follow shortly after, snoring softly.

-------------------------------------★---------------------------------------

First post, tell me if you like it or if it sucks, I'm okay with some criticism just give me the benefit of the doubt, I haven't wrote stuff like this since my wattpad and heartstopper days 😭

-★⋆Dani⋆★-

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost headcanons #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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ghouljams · 7 months

Text

More of cowboy!Keegan and his barrel racer. They're fun, I love being able to write insane readers.

There's a reason he likes the crazy ones. Probably one he should talk about to a professional but it's easier to put it this way: being owned, is a hell of a drug. It's nice to sit in a bar and know exactly who's taking him home, even better knowing nobody in their right mind is gonna take his sweetheart away. No, no you're locked in, you're end game. Nobody and nothin' is getting your hooks outta him. Which means Keegan can sit back and watch you have fun without worrying who you might be having fun with.

"You're too hot to be drinking alone."

Keegan glances up at the woman setting her drink next to his on the table. She smiles in a way he thinks might be charming. Pretty, he'll give her that much, and bold he usually likes bold.

"Don't do that," he tells her, looking back at where you're leaned against the bar. You're a marvel the way you laugh at whatever shifty joke the bartender told you. You tap your finger against the bar as you wait for your drink, eyes sliding to look for him.

"What? Flirt?" The woman asks, Keegan hums.

"I'm engaged," he tells her, not that you know that yet. You catch his eye, your smile bright. Then your eyes hit the woman leaning over the table, and your smile falls.

"Me too," she laughs. Keegan raises a brow and spares her another glance.

"And where's he at?"

"Dallas," she shakes her hair back, glances around the bar, still giggling, "where's yours?"

Keegan tugs his drink closer, taps the bottom of the glass against the table, and leans forward to lower his voice. "Over there at the bar, starin' at you," he warns her. She smiles and gives you a little wave. Your eyes narrow a little more. The bartender sets your glass on the bar and you hardly glance at it. Keegan hums, it's hot watching you take the shot and barely break eye contact.

"Got it," the woman stands straight again, "I'll handle this." She says it like she's doing him a favor. Keegan smiles behind his mask.

"Be my guest."

Keegan takes his eyes off you long enough to look for Logan. He catches his eye coming out of the bathroom and circles his finger. Logan makes a face and taps his watch, the three of you had agreed on when you'd head out and it certainly wasn't time yet. Keegan nods towards the bar and both men glance your way in time to watch you grab the woman's hair and slam her against the bar.

"Kick 'er ass babe," Keegan calls to you, tugging his mask up to finish his drink. Logan grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet.

"Where's Hesh?" He yells over the din of fighting.

"He's havin' a dart," Keegan tells him, he glances at you, "Hey! Hey, grab her!" He sets his empty glass down and tugs his mask back into place. It's a small bar, but he's still quick the way he grabs you around the waist and pulls you away from the target of your aggression. You spit at her as Keegan hauls you out of the bar. Logan drops a few bills on the bar with an apologetic smile.

"Happens all the time," the bartender tells him, "city girls." He shrugs.

#cod x reader #x reader #keegan ghosts #keegan russ #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan x reader #keegan russ x reader #cowboy!keegan #f!reader #gn!reader #tried to keep it gender neutral but lmk #i love women who will actually just kill me #you own keegans ass and hes absolutely ok with that

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fabricated-misslieness · 11 months

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: earth 42 miles morales x spider gn reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: nokia vs. super-powered teen, who wins?

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 798 ~ part 1

"So... What did you mean "I don't want to kill you"?"

You look up at Miles from your position on his chest, then back down. How do you explain this? A spider bit you, and now you have powers. That sounded silly, didn't it? But there was no better explanation.

"Well, first off, a spider gave me these superpowers. You know, sticking to walls and stuff."

"A spider gave them to you." Miles laughs, and it definitely sounds like he doesn't believe you, "Did you swallow it in your sleep?"

"No, no," You groan, "it bit me."

"That simple? Hell," Amusement is written all over his face, and it's kind of annoying because you're being serious, "Imma have to do that myself."

"Look," You begin seriously, looking to catch his attention, "it wasn't a normal spider. I don't know what it was that made it so special but don't get yourself bitten by a venomous spider, now, I don't need you in a hospital."

"Okay, fine, but I thought the spider stuff was just part of your suit. Like you were some kind of spider-fiend." He waves his fingers to mimic spider legs.

"I'm not that good." You shrug, "You're the genius one. I designed the suit and the web-shooters, but even that was hard. Can't imagine doing it all over again." You shake the hideous thought off, "Point is, I got super-strength from it."

"How super?" Miles questions.

You sit up on the couch–much to his dismay–and say, "Do you have anything I can break?"

"Was there anything he didn't value?" was more the question. Miles thinks about it... well, the materials for his Prowler suit were very precious, and he already knew you could break those, so that was off the list. Kitchen appliances...no, his mom would kill him.

But then, there was something: his mom's old Nokia. She always said she still needed it. Just in case her smartphone broke, she had a back up. Then again, she was careful with her phone, with everything, so that was highly unlikely.

When Miles returns with the old phone, he hands it to you with doubt, "I don't know if you'll be able to break this. It's a Nokia, after all–"

Crushing it in your fist was too easy. Now, splitting it in half? That's a more garish display. It was sure to make your boyfriend speechless.

You take each end of the Nokia and bring them apart before he can even finish his sentence.

For a moment he stares, shocked, even as you place the poor phone on the coffee table and sit back to admire his expression. Honestly, it's priceless. A gaping mouth accompanied by two wide eyes that are glued to the sight of the Nokia.

"Awesome, right? Honestly, I think I could do worse things, but I've never tried–"

"Holy shit." Miles finally says. He picks both pieces of the phone in his hands to examine them.

...and just then, "Miles, I'm home!"

Miles tosses the phone back onto the table, making a loud clack! noise, whilst you push a hospital mask onto your face.

When Rio turns the corner, she gasps, "Miles... ¿qué le hiciste a mi telefono?" (what did you do to my phone?)

"I–nada, mami." (nothing, mom.)

"Ey, ¿como que nada?" She chastises, clicking her tongue, "¿Te volviste mentiroso o que?" (what do you mean, nothing? Did you turn into a liar or what?)

"Mami, ¡te lo juro! Tu sabes que nadie puede romper una Nokia tan..." This was not the right time to forget an expression, but Miles didn't know what to say. "clean como asi." (Mom, I swear! You know nobody can break a Nokia as... clean as this!)

"Y ahora vienes con tu espanglish." Rio sighs, placing a hand on her hip. "Young man, you are in trouble." (And now comes the Spanglish.)

"Mami–" (Mom–)

"(y/n)!" She finally notices you. You straighten up on the couch and hide your nervousness with a cough. "Oh, sweetheart, what happened to you?"

"Hey, Mrs. Morales, I got–I mean, I'm... sick." You muster up the loudest, longest, and most horrendous cough you have with all your being.

Rio almost seems to recoil at the sound. Regardless, she stands up straight, "I think we need to get you some medicine."

"It's fine!" You stop her before she can, waving your hands frantically. You really did not want to take a random pill or something. "Really, Mrs. Morales. I already had some."

"Then I can make you some soup. That is, if you're staying for dinner, of course." She shakes her head at herself, so inconsiderate.

You glance at Miles and he just shrugs, "Okay, sure."

When she goes to the kitchen to start up a broth, you turn back to your boyfriend. He seems relieved, because his mom was too distracted caring for you to properly find a proper punishment for him just yet, but he tenses up at the sight of your panic.

"Now I have to hide this from your mom too??"

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im00flynn · 11 months

Text

Hero of the day

Summary: You attempted to stop Miles from causing more anomalies in other dimensions by preventing his Canon event. while you do so, you get sent to another dimension and learn some things you didn't know before.

Warnings: Sort of Yandere, Angst, maybe some fluff. Red text = Earth 42 Miles

You knew as soon as Miles stepped into the machine to send him home, it was a bad sign.

All the spidermen came after him, preventing him from causing more anomalies.

"Miles Stop!" You yell out to him as you manage to end up inside with him.

before you could say anything else to back him out of his plan, you get sent to another dimension.

you hit the roof of an apartment building alongside Miles. As you get up from your spot, you realize something is wrong.

this place is different from your original dimension.

"[Name], Why did you follow me?" Miles questions you.

"I wanted to stop you from making a mistake you'd regret." You tell him while still wondering whether or not this place is your dimension.

"It's fine, let's just go to my place and protect my dad." He says as he takes your hand and swings away.

-------------------------------------------------------

After a while, you make it to his apartment. As you make your way into his room, you notice his room looks off.

'something is definitely wrong.' You think to yourself.

as you look around his room, Miles tells you that nobody else is home and that it's alright to look around the rest of the apartment.

Just as you're about to enter the kitchen, the front door opens, and in comes someone who you thought was dead.

Uncle Aaron.

"[Name], long time no see." He says to you while pulling you into a hug.

"Hey, it's um.. good to see you too.." You respond with an awkward smile.

you both separate from the hug, and he asks you, "Where's Miles?"

as soon as he said that Miles came in and freezes right in his tracks.

"Uncle Aaron," he says to himself in disbelief.

"Miles, when did you take out your braids?" he questions while holding out his hand for him to shake.

Miles shakes his hand but then pulls him into a hug.

it was a nice moment to see, but you were still on edge about all of this.

"C'mon, he gotta go. we got business to take care of," Uncle Aaron tells him while walking towards the front door.

"What about -" Miles asks before getting suddenly cut off by his uncle, "her too."

you both follow him to the roof of the apartment complex, while up there, you look around, and something catches your eye.

it's a mural of you. You're dead in this dimension.

"Miles.." You call out while still looking at the mural.

he comes over to you and looks to where you're looking and gasps, "Does this mean we're -" Before he can respond, he glitches.

Uncle Aaron looks over at the two of you, then to the mural with a stone cold, dead expression.

Before you could question anything else you feel a prick in your neck and suddenly you feel weak and tired, before you lose consciousness you see a somewhat familiar mask staring at you while holding your body in a loving matter. then you're unconscious.

-------------------------------------------------------

You later wake up, and you notice you're no longer on the roof but on a couch in what looks like a living room.

you look around to see Miles tied to a punching bag in the center of the room, with Uncle Aaron working on something in the corner of the room

you try to go over to Miles to untie him, but you don't get that far as you look down to see that you're chained to the couch.

The chain moving must have caught his uncle's attention because, when you look back up, he's staring right at you.

"What the hell is this? why am I chained to the couch?" You question him, but while you do so, you feel eyes staring at you from behind you.

you look behind you, look up the ceiling beams, and see the mask you saw before you lost consciousness.

the figure jumps down and slowly makes its ways to you, your eyes stare in shock, and you start to feel anxious.

The figure stops right in front of you and slowly rests its hand on your cheek.

"You're really here." The masked figure says to you while he begins stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Who...who are you?" You question while your heart starts to race.

Before he answers, his mask retracts to reveal his face to you, leaving your eyes to go wide and stare at him with disbelief.

"I'm Miles Morales, I'm glad to see you again, amor." He tells you before he goes to plant a kiss on your forehead

"Miles, please just let me go. I don't belong here and I need to go home." You tell him with pleading eyes.

he shakes his head and tisks, "Mami, don't you understand? you're not safe without me being there for you, I already lost my [Name], and I'm not going to lose another." He explains to you.

You look into his eyes with tears threatening to spill out, Miles takes note of this and pulls you into a hug.

"Don't worry princesa, If you stay here I'll protect you from any harm, okay mami?" he tells you.

you don't know what overcomes you, but you nod and accept his offer, and you hug him tighter

he's pleased when you accept his offer, and he places a kiss on the top of your head and then rests his forehead against yours.

"I'll protect you from any harm, mi amor."

A/N: I apologize if this was cringe or poorly written. if you have something you'd like me to write, feel free to request me to write it!

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #prowler!miles x reader #miles morales fanfiction

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 28 days

Text

Word count: 1600+

Warnings: none

Part XVIII | Part XX

"Where do you think you are going?"

You turned just in time to see a male stepping out of shadows. It was Azriel, his golden brown eyes shone in dimly lit hall, shadows dangerously danced around him. He sized up the redhead next to you and your hand on the knob of doors to a spare bedroom. His brows furrowed, his gaze wavered with momentary anger. In a single heartbeat Spymaster mastered his expression and let the cool unreadable mask slid on its place.

"You didn't make it far, princess," Lucien whispered to your ear.

"Good to see you, Shadowsinger," he said aloud, smirking as usual. "We got lost in this labyrinth-"

"I'm going back," you said with firm voice, ignoring Lucien's attempt to cover up for you.

Azriel paid no attention to Lucien, his eyes trained only on you, searching. "Why?" His voice was cold, without any emotions.

"I have to.. No.. I want to. Tamlin needs help. Moreover this isn't my home anymore. I like you all a lot, but my home is in Spring Court."

Azriel was silent, his face didn't give out any hint of emotions. He seemed to be choosing his next words very carefully. "There's more to it," he tilted his head to the side. "You have feelings for him, don't you."

It wasn't question, but you still answered. "I'm not sure what exactly I feel. However I'm sure I want to be there. As I said I like all of you, but it isn't enough."

Several emotions flashed across his face, too fast to be noticed by untrained eye. You could recognise only hurt and it caused your heart clenched. But you couldn't back out. Whatever you felt for Azriel in the past turned into something resembling siblings' love in last weeks. However confused you were at the start, after tonight and the almost kiss it was clear. You loved him, just not the same way he loved you.

"So.. are you going to tell my brother? Or call for him?"

He blinked, shocked. "I promised to protect you. Why would I do that? You said you want to go back at least million times since you came and even though you stopped saying it lately, it is in your eyes. The same sadness as the first day you awoke. I hoped it could change, but.."

Now it was your turn to gape at him in surprise. You didn't expect this from him. Azriel was Rhysand's brother, spymaster, his loyalty belonged solely to his High Lord. Behind you Lucien whistled lowly. Apparently he didn't expect it either.

"So you let us go?"

Azriel's jaw tightened as he stepped closer to you. Lucien muttered something about checking if the coast was clear and disappeared behind the corner, giving you privacy.

As soon as he left, Azriel's mask cracked, revealing his real feelings. A lump rose in your throat. Everything you saw, was so raw and unusually vulnerable and you were the one who caused it. However you couldn't take it back. You wanted to hug him, but it would only wound him deeper. And so you just stood there quietly and waited.

Now there were only a few inches between you and Shadowsinger. Air filled with the smell of cedar and early morning mist. Tips of his fingers graced over the back of your hands gently. You could swear he stopped breathing. Resting his forehead on yours, he closed eyes.

"I won't stop you from being happy," he whispered, his deep voice full of sadness. "Although I won't lie. I wish I was the one to give it to you."

Before you could tell something, he took a step back. Azriel cleared his throat, the cool mask slid back. "Go to my room and use the balcony there," he said in his spymaster voice. "Nobody will see you. It's safe. I'll try to get you as much time as possible, but once Rhys finds out you aren't here, it will take him mere seconds to find you. Be ready."

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes. There weren't words that could express your gratitude, so instead, you kissed his cheek. You held it for a second longer than you normally would do.

"Go," he whispered, gently pushing you away from him. His voice trembled a little.

Giving him last look you pivoted and walked in the direction Lucien disappeared in. You didn't look back. You knew he wasn't there anymore.

Lucien waited just behind the corner, leaning against a wall with arms crossed on his chest. He straightened up as soon as you appeared.

"Are you okay?" He seemed to be genuinely worried for you.

You nodded. "He said his room is safe to use."

Lucien didn't ask more questions and followed you.

It took just several minutes to get to Azriel's room. Once you were in, without looking around you ran to the balcony doors and out to the chilly night air. Spirits shone brightly as they migrated across the sky, sounds of party muffled by distance. Indeed, this room was enough secluded from the rest of the house to give you a privacy.

Lucien joined you shortly. "We have to jump to get out of the wards," he leaned over railing, looking down to the darkness bellow.

"I know," you breathed out, already nervous. For a moment, you wished to have your wings to avoid this unpleasant experience, but they were gone for centuries. That doesn't matter anymore, you had to remind yourself.

Lucien hopped up on the railing easily like a cat and offered you hand. You gladly accepted his help and he pulled you up in one smooth move. Strong gust of wind came from bellow, playing with your skirt. You didn't expect it, lost balance and your foot in high heel slipped. Lucien wrapped his surprisingly strong arms around your waist and stabilised you.

"Are you okay?" He quirked brows.

You nodded. "Thank you."

"So.. can we? Do you trust me?" You again just nodded. You were so nervous you couldn't speak.

Without hesitation Lucien threw himself to the emptiness taking you with him. You stopped the scream that fought it's way out with your hand. With the other hand you held on Lucien. You noticed he was grinning. The redhead had to be crazier than you originally thought.

As you flew through the wards you felt small pull. It took mere seconds and Lucien finally could winnow you away.

Your legs safely touched the ground, but immediately gave under you and you fell to the soft grass. Lucien didn't expect it and fell with you, landing on top of you. Both of you grunted.

"Next time you should warn me," he muttered trying to untangle himself from the skirt of your dress and stand up.

"There's going to be no next time," you breathed out. You were trembling too much to even try to sit up. "That was so scary." You hid your face in your hands.

"Oh, c'mon. It was fun. I'd gladly go and jump one more time," he teased you. Lucien tentatively pulled your skirt down and smoothed it out. Tilting head to the side he watched you.

"You okay?" His voice was suddenly so kind that you put your hands down to see if he wasn't mocking you. He crouched next to you, again offering you a hand.

"I thought we were going to die," you admitted.

"Nonsense," he snorted. "I wouldn't let you die. Look around. We made it."

You did as he said and looked around you. You were in the dark garden, air was filled with smell of roses, rain and freshness of spring. The outlines of a large building loomed in the darkness before you.

"Where are we?"

"That's Tamlin's mansion," he pointed to the building. It seemed to be abandoned, the only light was a reflection of the moon in the window glass.

"Let's go in," you scrambled to the feet.

Lucien caught your elbow, stopping you. "No, it's too dangerous. We have to wait till morning."

"I can not wait," you freed your hand from his grip. "I don't know how much time I have left before somebody finds out I'm gone. I have to go in. Now."

You began walking toward the mansion with Lucien in your heels. "Y/N, listen," he whispered urgently, looking around nervously. "I understand. I really do. You have my full support. But I am not joking. It is too dangerous even during the day when he will clearly see you and there will be no doubt about who you are. At night.. it's suicide."

You didn't listen. Your eyes found out something resembling doors and you headed for that.

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien hissed under his breath as you opened the doors with loud creak and stepped in.

The room you got into was familiar. It was the very same room Tamlin winnowed you to, but it was even messier and more destroyed than before. Lucien followed you closely.

"We have to get out of here," he was whispering angrily right into your ear. "Now! This is bad idea!"

Your eyes caressed the remains of the paintings with claw marks. There was nothing left here that Tamlin didn't smashed to pieces.

"Tamlin," you sighed, tears gathering in your eyes. As if in answer a howling shook the walls.

"Gods" Lucien next to you paled. "If he hurts you Rhysand will skin me alive."

Fox-boy snapped fingers and whole mansion brightened with light. "We better see him coming otherwise we are dead."

From the hallway you heard the sounds of paws and claws scraping against marble. It was getting closer. Soon enough a dirty and messy lupine head with antlers appeared in the broken doors, his eyes yellow and dangerous, saliva dripping from the mouth with bared teeth. He growled deeply. There was nothing left of Tamlin. In front of you stood a wild beast.

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #english isnt my first language #tamlin x reader #tamlin acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #azriel shadowsinger #lucien vanserra #sarah j maas #acotar x reader

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scatorcciogf · 2 months

Text

let the light in

¬ summary: spider!lottie saves you from a criminal. established relationship but reader doesn't know she's spidey yet :) ¬ warnings: cursing, gun mentions (nothing happens), slight violence + injury. gn!reader ¬ word count: 2.5k.... i swear this was supposed to be a drabble

it’s a quiet night tonight.

well. as quiet as it can get in the city that never sleeps. but you’re not necessarily in the city — you’re on the outskirts, waiting for a bus back home — so it's way calmer. you were visiting a friend, got a little carried away (see: watching three bad horror movies instead of just one), and now you're definitely gonna have to wait a while until you can catch a ride to the city.

you sigh, sitting down on the bench. you wish you had lottie there to keep you company, but she had to stay behind and study for an upcoming biochem test. you curse her for being such a responsible student and you curse nyu for existing, and then you take out your phone because you should probably shoot her a text.

at the bus stop now :) see u soon, you write.

you don’t expect her to reply quickly, considering that she usually leaves her phone in the other room when she wants to focus on something. you’re surprised to see her read it immediately, type for a few seconds, then disappear again. you’re about to ask her about it when she calls you instead.

“hard at work, i see.” you say in lieu of a greeting, and you can almost hear her eyes roll.

“i’m taking a break. don’t be a brat.”

“why’d you call?”

“i wanted to hear your voice. i miss you.”

you chuckle. “it’s been, like, six hours. you’re ridiculous.”

despite your teasing, you think it’s cute — and she knows that. she knows how easily you melt at her sweet words and soft smiles.

“well, i also wanted to talk with you while you wait. you know, make sure you’re safe. i don’t like the idea of you being out alone so late at night.” she argues.

“and that’s very sweet of you,” you say, smiling. “but there’s literally nobody here. you don’t have to worry about me, you should go study.”

she groans. “but this lesson is so boring. and i’m only revising now, anyway. it’s not that important.”

“lottie.”

“fine… but if you get kidnapped, don’t blame me.”

“as if you could do anything about it all the way from our apartment!”

“i would think of something.”

and you open your mouth to tell her to just go already, but your words die in your throat as you feel something hard and cold pressed against your back. the next voice you hear comes from behind you, not from the phone, and it's much deeper and rougher than your girlfriend's.

“hang up. right now.”

fuck. did you accidentally manifest getting kidnapped? you're frozen in both fear and indecision, bar your shaking hand. was that a gun or a knife? you want to tell lottie to call the police, but you're also afraid of what the man would do to you if you did. what if he kills you anyway? fuck, fuck, fuck.

“baby?” you hear her confused voice at the same time as he shouts: “i said now!”

you want to tell her you love her before you end the call, fearing that you might never get another chance, but you find yourself too paralyzed to speak. instead, you press the button and drop the phone, hearing it shatter as it hits the ground. you know she knows anyway.

the man speaks again, and you realize his voice is muffled by what must be a ski mask. “give me all your money. come on.”

you shake your head, eyes welling up. “i don't have anything on me, i swear.”

“don't make me hurt you. just give me your fucking wallet.”

“please,” you somehow manage to say as you show him your pockets are empty. “i already told you, i don't have my wallet with me.”

“and i don't believe you. what about your bag?”

you feel your heart rate picking up as he gets more aggressive in both his tone and actions — you're going to have a bruise with how strongly he's pressing his gun to you. if he doesn't actually pull the trigger, that is.

you slowly reach for your bag. you really don't have anything valuable in there, besides headphones and a water bottle. maybe he'll be satisfied with just that if he's particularly thirsty.

you open it up and shift it vaguely towards where he's standing. “see? no money. please just—”

you're interrupted by a sudden thwip sound behind you. weird sound for a gun to make, you think, before you realize it's not the gun that you heard, but rather what grabbed it. a thin, but seemingly firm, spiderweb-like fluid, swiftly tugging it towards—

spider-woman. holy shit.

“have you ever considered getting a job? it's this thing where you contribute to society and get paid, instead of mugging innocent people at night.” she says, tossing the gun aside.

your mind is still racing, but you have the common sense to step away from the guy. it's only when you turn to look at him for the first time that you realize he doesn't need a weapon to be able to hurt you — he's massive. and now, it seems, pretty angry too.

“not you again,” he growls. “mind your fucking business.”

she jumps down from the tree she was in, elegantly landing a few feet away from you. her gaze doesn't leave him, however.

“the safety of people who live here is my business.”

he scoffs. “what are you gonna do, then? arrest me?”

“something like that.”

he lunges towards her before she can make the first move, looking ready to strangle her. she's too quick for someone like him, though, and she dodges every punch he tries to throw her way. you assumed she'd immobilize him with the web or something, but then again, what do you know. maybe she's just too busy trying not to get beat up.

they spar for a minute or two, the guy holding up better than you thought he would. you should probably run away or call the police (scratch that, she just stepped on your phone and you swear you heard a crack! in between all the grunts and hits), but you're so captivated by the whole situation that you can't look away. it's not every day you get to see spider-woman up close.

she kicks his side and manages to shoot the web into his eyes while he's catching his breath. he winces and swears loudly, stumbling back. he's scratching at it, and you can tell it's very tough to get it off.

“oh, fuck this!” he exclaims before she can do anything else.

still functionally blind, he starts running away, slamming against you in the process. he's clearly not impacted by it because he just continues running off, but you are. it was too forceful for you to stay on your feet, and in a flash, you're on the ground, dull pain in your head from hitting the bench.

“ow…” you mumble, reaching to touch the back of your head.

you feel blood under your fingers. great. you think about telling spider-woman to call the ambulance before she goes to catch the bad guy, but she's hurrying towards you before you even have to ask. you can't see her face, but you can tell by her voice that she's worried.

“are you okay?” she asks. “oh, god, is that blood?”

you hum in response, starting to feel a little dizzy. your eyelids suddenly feel heavier, too.

“no, no, don't pass out. talk to me. what do you feel?”

you blink a few times, trying to stay awake. “i don't know… i feel dizzy. and in shock. and it hurts.”

she sighs. “i know, but you can't fall asleep, okay? please. you'll be okay, i just have to get you to a hospital.”

“aren't you going to run after him?”

“that guy? no, i'll just find him later,” she turns to look at your bag. “do you have any tissues or something? we should apply pressure to— you know.”

“no,” you shake your head. “it's fine, i'll just…”

you try to get up, but you soon realize you didn't just hurt your head. you feel sharp pain in your ankle, too. you're not entirely sure you could stand up if you tried.

spider-woman notices, and she seems even more concerned. “it's not fine. i'll carry you.”

“you can't exactly swing around if your hands are occupied.”

“then i'll walk,” she retorts, inching closer so she can look at your head. “are you sure you don't have anything we can use for that?”

“positive.”

she looks back into your eyes. “you're bleeding a lot.”

she's still for a few seconds. you wonder if she's finally considering the logistical nightmare that would be carrying you to a hospital. you wonder if she's just going to give up leave you there, bleeding and unable to move.

then, she takes a deep breath and removes her mask, pressing it firmly to your wound, and you wonder if you've gone insane, because the eyes you make contact with are lottie's, and there's no way that isn't a hallucination, right?

you don't get the privilege of processing this information, though, because the pressure is painful and makes you feel lightheaded again, and soon enough, you pass out.

— 🕷 —

your eyes sting when you finally open them. it's too bright in the room, both because of the sunlight and because of how… white and clean everything is.

so she did get you to a hospital.

you sit up, beginning to register the dull pain that's still present in the back of your head. you look around, and there she is — curled up on a chair beside your bed, blissfully asleep. you smile at how cute she looks, but then you remember last night, and your smile is replaced by a tight feeling in your chest.

she can't actually be spider-woman… right?

you clear your throat, not really willing to wait to find out. you hope the conversation you're about to have will be less confusing than the thoughts floating around in your head.

“lottie?” you call out.

her eyes immediately snap open, then widen when she realizes you're up. she shifts in the chair, clearly nervous.

“oh my god, you're awake. how are you feeling?”

“i'm fine.” you pause. “how are you feeling?”

she seems to stiffen. she just looks at you, as if she's trying to think of what to say.

“you know, since that guy got in quite a few punches.” you add.

she sighs, looking away. “i thought you were already passed out when i… when i took off the mask. your eyes were already closing.”

it's a confirmation, and you're almost surprised that she didn't try to act confused or change the subject. but it's lottie, and she's never been good at lying to you.

(despite the fact that she hid her superhero identity from you for the whole duration of your relationship. although, in hindsight, there were a couple of times where it was your own fault you didn't connect the dots.)

you shake your head. “no, i saw you.”

you can’t really read her; the look on her face — is it shame or relief? maybe it’d be easier to tell if she just looked at you, or said something. anything but the uncomfortable silence filling the room right now.

“i’m also fine,” she says after a few moments, “knuckles were a little bruised but i heal pretty quickly.”

you nod, relieved to hear that, ignoring how surreal everything about this is. you’re not sure which is harder to process — the fact that you had a gun to your back or the fact that the person who saved you from getting shot was spider-woman, who is actually your girlfriend. your chest feels heavy again. she finally looks at you, and you open your mouth to ask her something, but you both speak at the same time.

“how did—”

“i’m sorry for—”

“you can go first.” you say, offering a small smile.

“i’m sorry i never told you. i wanted to, but it’s just… difficult to get the words out. i didn’t want you to worry, either, that’s the main reason. you already have enough on your plate.” a beat. “but now that you know… it’s fine if you want to break up. i lied to you, and i know it’d be stressful knowing this, so.”

your eyes widen. “what? lottie, i’m not gonna break up with you.”

and, well, you’re pretty sure the look on her face is relief now.

“no?” she asks quietly, and your heart breaks a little as you realize she fully believed what she said.

“no, of course not. oh my god. come here.”

you shift a little to the side so she can sit next to you, and she does, albeit a little hesitantly. you pull her closer, enjoying the warmth as her body presses into yours. you slide an arm around her waist and pull her in for a gentle kiss, before putting your head on her shoulder.

“are you sure you’re not mad?” she asks.

“i guess i’m more in shock than anything else.”

she tenses a little. “i can’t believe this happened to you. i’m so sorry, i should have stopped him, i…”

“lottie.” you look up at her. “you did what you could. which, speaking of, how did you get there so quickly?”

she grins. “i have my ways.”

you roll your eyes, then close them again, burying your face in her shoulder. a few moments pass where you’re just holding each other in silence, and if you hadn’t just woken up from a coma, you would fall asleep on the spot. as it is, though, you just sit there, breathing in her perfume.

“does anyone else know?” you ask after a while.

“not really, no. i didn’t want anyone to get wrapped up in this.”

“really? i figured you’d have laura lee as your sidekick or something. you know, have her pray for you every time you go out to do your thing.”

she laughs. “i didn’t think of that. it’s not an entirely bad idea.”

you weakly slap her on the arm. “hey, no. i’m helping you now. i won’t tolerate competition.”

“helping me? you don’t plan on getting a costume of your own, do you?”

“mmm, i was thinking more along the lines of patching you up when you get home. i like seeing you shirtless.”

she grins and pulls you in for another kiss, a little less gentle this time. she slides her arms down to your waist and you let her press your bodies together as tightly as physics allow, melting into her. you still have a lot of questions — both about the life she’s been leading behind your back and the life you two are going to have from now on — but they can wait. for now, you’re content with just getting to kiss her senseless until a nurse comes for a check up.

#💐 — fluff #🩹 — angst #lottie matthews x reader #charlotte matthews x reader #yellowjackets #spiderlottie au :D #if u want any sort of continuation of this pls lmk!!!! it's a really fun au

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asarajaa · 24 days

Note

OKAY. MEETING BACHIRAS MOM FOR THE FIRST TIME. 🤭🤭🤭

(no pressure if you don’t want to do it ofc bbg<3 )

Ofc bb but have patience, I’m a little bit down cause I didn’t like at all my last post so yk 😭✋🏽

Omg I’m so dumb, I answered it without the fic made HAHAJJAJAJA, when I got it I’ll put it here and I’ll tell ya, k love? Have some paciencia 😽💗

Update: k so I already did it so here you go my love, hope you like it <3!

Warnings: fem!reader Words: 656 Disclaimer: English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings! Taglist: @merlucide

Meeting Bachiras mom for the first time

₊˚ෆ To help me with this, I will pretend it is the second part of the Bachira falling in love hcs.

₊˚ෆ Indeed, his mom liked you.

₊˚ෆ First of all, when Bachira got home and told her mom about you, she was super enthusiastic to meet you!

₊˚ෆ After Bachira made a move and you guys become boyfriend and girlfriend, the next step was meeting each others parents, being Bachira the first.

₊˚ෆ When the time came, you were extremely nervous, Bachira tried everything to make you feel less nervous but obviously it didn't work.

₊˚ෆ You wanted to everything go great. Your friends always says that is like having a second family and that creating a bond with his mom is important bc she's gonna be like a second mom to you.

₊˚ෆ You made yourself a list of 5 rules to follow when you meet his mom (which made Bachira laugh at you because- babe, my mom is super chill you don't need to do those things.)

₊˚ෆ Rule number 1: Do not show empty handed. It doesn't matter if you give her flowers, some dessert or a gift, Bachiras mom will appreciate it and think that you're a very nice and sweet girl. She's the type of person who appreciates the small things so giving smth to her will be perfect.

₊˚ෆ Rule number 2: Dress modestly. Look, Bachiras mom wouldn't care if you go with some jeans and a cute top, in fact, she would compliment you. But if you go dressed like if you're going to some club she would not think bad of you but neither she'll think good of you. I believe that as an artist she's very into the fashion world and if you're meeting her with a cute outfit she'll like you.

₊˚ෆ Rule number 3: Don't try to be somebody that you're not. She want to meet the person her son fall in love with, no one else. She'll like you just the way that you are! As an artist, Bachiras mom know about being judge so don't worry about those things.

₊˚ෆ Rule number 4: Always offer to clean up. Of course, she wouldn't let you, but it would be nice seeing the effort of your actions that his son never stops talking about.

₊˚ෆ Rule number 5: Try having a one on one time with her. Women to women bounds are super special so you have to use the opportunity to grow a very strong relationships. Honestly, she always wanted a daughter so just talked with her about girl things and it would be awesome!

You and Bachiras mom were left alone, she told Bachira to go to the store to buy some dessert (you bought flowers) so now you girls were alone.

"So, how did you knew you wanted to be an artist Mrs.Bachira?" you asked her enthusiastic, the dinner went awesome and you guys were having a great time.

Bachiras mom loved your question, nobody usually ask her about her profession and you were actually interested.

As the night went by, you girls ended up having a girl talk about the latest in fashion, the new tea about celebrities, skincare and make-up.

When Bachira came with the dessert, he was confused. He left you guys silent and when he come back you were sitting next to each other talking passionately about some new viral linase mask that gives a botox effect. Although he wasn't complaining either.

"Word of mouth is that the mask also works to give definition on the curly haired girls." you said showing her the video of a girl trying it.

"Really?" she said leaning to you "Bachiras cousin has curly hair, i'll show it to her."

₊˚ෆ She loved you, like she would call you some days to exchange tips and your calls last hours.

₊˚ෆ Bachira was more than happy when he find out, It seemed perfect to him that the two women in his life got along so well.

nksdhfsbfv idk what I did.

I feel like It was too short, great rules tho

28/04/24

#sofis loves #bllk bachira #asarajas works #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #asarajas works (bllk)#bachira meguru #bllk x you #bachira x reader #blue lock bachira #bachira fluff #fanfiction

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 6 months

Text

Fit for a King - WIP - “Sit” (Dual POV)

Fit for a King - Masterlist

a/n: this got kinda long, progressing their relationship

(nsfw, almost pure smut, some secrecy, overstimulation)

Everybody's getting on the truck after we stow away all the stuff in the other one. I'm the last one to jump in and 9 pairs of eyes are looking at me (the rest of their faces are covered by the masks) as I'm left standing. "Are you kidding me?"

Nikto is the first one to chime in. "I don't think they factored in the median size of a KorTac operator when saying that these trucks can carry 10." Some of them chuckle. "And I'm supposed to stand now?", I ask them, pulling up an eyebrow. There's a little scuffle as they rearrange when the man right next to me catches my wrist and says: "Sit."

The scuffling stops as the remaining 8 pairs of eyes land on the one offering me his lap to sit on. Even sitting down he's almost at my eye level. Aksel clears his throat and says: "We made some space on the bench." Between him and Nikto was now a hand’s breath of bench unoccupied. It isn't even enough space to fit a small child.

König scoffs and pulls me into him, so I land on his thigh. "Gonna talk to Horangi.", he says, so everybody hears it. "It's unacceptable not to have enough room for every operator." I put my hands on my own lap as he stabilizes my back with his hand, for the others not to see.

Nobody says anything else and I just try to ignore the situation. And how it makes me feel. How he makes me feel.

Last night when I was this close to him, two of his fingers were inside me and I was seeing stars. Now I can feel his thigh against the very same parts and I will my thoughts to steer away from the path they're heading down now. (Also ignoring the fact that he stole my fucking panties.)

______________________________________________________________

She's sitting on my lap.

She. Is. Sitting. On. My. Lap. Again.

The options were limited. I wasn't gonna let her sit between Aksel and Nikto, those asswipes. The gaze I shot them when they offered her the small spot between them to squeeze herself into, lesser men would've cried. I saw the reactions on their faces and I realized: I need to calm down. I gotta pump the breaks. Like the truck is doing right now and her ass gets pressed into me, onto my thigh. I grit my teeth as I feel the plump curve of her booty against me.

I said I wasn't gonna do anything, that we couldn't do anything. Then I had to go and finger her yesterday because I thought, oh, it's only for her pleasure, to give her comfort, make her feel a bit better. And then I had to taste her because I couldn't help myself. And then I wanked myself to sleep with the same hand that has been inside her.

Jetzt haben wir den Salat1.

And now what. Now she's sitting on my thigh, looking like a personified angel in tactical gear, even with the mask on. Her faint scent makes me want to eat her up, throw her down on the floor, tear her clothes off and fuck her, right here and now. Give the others something to really turn their eyes away from. I can feel my blood starting to boil as I look around the truck, every one of my mates looking away as soon as I meet their gaze on us. I'm getting annoyed and we still have some way to go.

Suddenly I feel a hand on my knee and another pair of eyes on me. I meet her eyes as she leans down a bit whispering: "Everything okay?" I can't form any words that's why I only nod. She hesitates for a few moments but accepts my short answer and looks to the front again. Her hand stays on my knee though, softly stroking ever so often, until I feel how it calms me down having her touch me. Herrgott2, I'm so fucking touch starved.

_____________________________________________________________

I'm in my room reading the dossiers for the next mission. My head is already swimming from all the information and I'm already tired. When we got home from the mission and I could finally hop off König's lap (Schoß, that's what they call it in german), everybody scrammed in an instant, something better to do than to linger around.

I went for a shower, worked out and then I went to the shooting range, to drop some more dummies. When I was content with the shots, I got back to the room. The two operators with whom I share it are still out on another mission. And now I'm studying the dossiers. And I catch my thoughts steering towards König again. I even thought about looking into my old stuff from school when I learned german. More than about german vocabulary I thought about the last few days and how it confused the shit out of me, the way he is behaving with me.

On cue or talk about the devil if you will, he comes into the room without even knocking. I turn around on my chair to look at him while he closes the door and just stands there for a moment.

His tall figure dwarfs the small room, the tactical gear is gone and he's wearing a simple black sweatpants and t-shirt. The helmet is gone, but the hood is still on. Yesterday I only saw his hands, today I can see that there are tattoos on both his forearms. Mostly black and grey shapes, I can't make out what they are in this lighting.

"What are you doing here?", I ask him which seems to pull him from his frozen state. With three quick strides he's right in front me and drops to his knees. "I need another taste of you.", he says looking me into my eyes and the lust burning in them makes it unmistakable how he means that.

"I-" His brazen offer has me at a loss for words and when I don't finish the sentence, his hand trails up my thigh. "Please, it's been driving me crazy all day, I need to feel you on my lips." My chin is making its way to the floor as I look at the man in his hood, who had been domineering before, comforting yet unapologetic yesterday, and now is begging me on his knees. "Are you begging me to let you eat me out?", I ask him for clarification. He nods. "Yes." – "Okay.", I say and he doesn't need more than that. His hands are pulling at my pants and I help to get them of, reminded of what we did not that many hours ago. He drops the pants on the floor and doesn't waste any seconds to get to my panties. They're gone and I can anticipate the moment when he finally looks at me. His eyes are glued to the spot between my legs as I open them and drop my knees to the side. I see his brows furrow and his gaze flicks up. "Don't say anything.", I tell him. I shaved when I was under shower after coming home. A little treacherous sign. Of expecting to maybe or maybe not get laid. At least that's one possible interpretation.

I can't see the full expression on his face, but just his eyes speak volumes. He doesn't say anything, just chuckles and then his fingers grip my thighs and his head dives down between my legs. There is no hesitation, no teasing, no soft lead into it. He doesn't waste a single moment and eats me out like he was starving before.

It's his mouth on me, his lips pressing against me, his tongue pushing inside me and circling my clit. My hips buck up when he does this for the first time and all I get is a soft grunt and his hands gripping my thighs even tighter, so I can't escape a single one of his touches. It's everything all at once and I'm losing my mind fast. Soft whines and moans escape my throat and as he sucks on my clit for the first time, I come. Holy shit.

"Again.", he growls, not stopping any of the movements as I still feel the waves of pleasure crash over me, and my sounds get louder and louder. Before I can even register what he's doing, he pushes a piece of fabric between my lips. My panties! "Sssh, Prinzessin3, we don't want the others to hear.", he says, his voice hoarse, his mouth not really leaving my pussy, so the huffs of breath are tickling me as he speaks.

The moans and mewls are muffled by the fabric now, but it doesn't make the sound in this room less erotic. König's kisses, the hungry licks and laps, my muffled cries, the way it sounds when his knees shuffle over the floor as he tries to get even closer. I look down at him and the sight in front of me paired with his restless licking almost makes me come again. His head is framed between my naked thighs, his hood is spilling over my stomach, obscuring the view on what he's doing, his big hands are gripping the curve of my ass moving my hips to his rhythm. Suddenly he looks up and meets my gaze as I feel his tongue dipping into my wetness again and again. I can only feel and imagine what it must look like when his tongue dips down into me. And then he fucking winks at me. I come on his tongue hard, harder than the first time, and if it hadn't been for his arms holding me up, I would have toppled off the chair.

By now I'm also glad that he stuffed my mouth with the panties because of the sounds I'm making. Someone walking by would've surely heard me. Hot tears are running down my face as I whine about how it is too much. "Please, Liebes4, only one more, I wanna be soaked in your juices.", he tells me as one of his hands finds my pussy and one of his fingers sinks into me. He chuckles, the soft sound sending shivers down my spine. "Mmh, so wet again.", he recalls his comment from when he first pushed his fingers into me.

I’m so overstimulated already, but he is not letting up. Stretching me with an added digit, finding a rhythm with his mouth and his fingers that is driving me crazy. His fingers curl inside me, pressing into the most sensitive spot inside me with every move of his hand. His tongue is mercilessly licking over my clit, the pressure being too much and not enough at the same time.

And he is right. I’m so wet, I can feel it on my inner thighs. His fingers in my pussy, his grunts and moans, the flick of his tongue, my muffled cries fill the room once again and as I see stars form in front of my eyes, the almost porny background noises keep stoking my arousal. My hips move restlessly, searching for the friction that finally sends me over edge again. I think I almost pass out, screaming incoherent ramblings into my panties, and I’m sure I’m dropping his name somewhere during my sensual high. Good thing that that is damped by fabric in my mouth, because saying his name while I actually came, out loud and clear… that would have made it all too real. Closer than it already was.

I’m shaking from all the overstimulation and orgasms as he finally lets go of me and I slump down on the chair again. He gets up, just standing there, towering over me, looking down at me. I can’t say anything, just breathe to regain some kind of composure again. He leans down a bit, sending another violent shake over me in anticipation, but he only pulls my panties from my mouth and the relief on my jaw makes me sigh.

The sight of him is sinful, godly and perverted at the same time. His muscles are taut, no doubt he's as turned on as I am. His boner is tenting the sweatpants, the outline clear against the fabric even in the dim light. His hood is stained from my arousal, wet patches from the eyes down. His chest is heaving as he takes in big breaths. His hands are formed into fists, the knuckles white like he needs to restrain himself.

It would be an easy thing to reach for his pants, free his dick and I'm almost a 100% sure he would fuck me. But the same thought that seemingly has him just standing there, looking at me, also halts me, his words “We can’t do that” in the back of my head. Without another word he turns around and leaves. The door falls shut and I’m spent and alone again. Only when I get dressed again, I realise that my panties are missing. Again. God damn it, König.

_____________________________________________________________

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Verdammt. Ah, des is ja wieder super gelaufen5. I tell myself sarcastically in my head as I basically run down the hallway. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking! At least not with my brain. I can feel the weight of my boner between my legs with every step, and my balls are aching because they're so fucking blue. It almost physically hurts.

The way she was looking up at me, sitting on the lousy chair, her chest moving up and down, making her titties bounce just the slightest bit, her nipples hard against the fabric of her shirt. Her knees dropped to the side, her legs spread open, her pussy wet and ready for my cock. The wetness on her thighs glistening in the low light. The mental picture is clear in my mind, like if I still had her right in front of me.

I wanna be between her legs again. Her thighs hugging my face, my mouth pressed to her lips, my nose nudging against her clit with every eager lick. Fuck, I can still smell her. The way she tastes, smells, moves when she comes on my tongue is engrained in my brain now. After licking her taste off my fingers, it was hard not to think about her; now it's downright impossible.

I groan and the echo being thrown back at me and reminds me that I’m currently making my way down a very public hallway, sporting the hard-on of the century. Great. I take the next door right, heading to my quarters, when I almost run into someone. I curse under my breath. But it’s only Horangi. He wants to greet me, when he sees my state and just bursts into laughter. “Don’t. Fucking. Say. Anything. If you want to live to see tomorrow.”, I say between clenched teeth. Half-joking because the Korean is probably one of the few people who could actually take me. “My guy, what happened to you?”, he asks with a broad grin on his face. “Don’t fucking ask.”, I bark at him. He’s narrowing his eyes as he inspects my hood. ”What are those stains on your hood?” I freeze for a second, then I pull the hood down. Horangi is one of the few people who know how I look underneath. I groan as I see the wet patches on the fabric, they’re from… her. “Himmel, Herrgott nochmal6. Fucking hell.”, I curse in two languages as I try to push past Horangi. I see him shaking his head in the corner of my eyes as I pass him and I hear him saying something in Korean. I practically sprint to my room, shutting the door behind me with a bang and sliding down to the floor (which is a long way to go for a guy like me).

My hand dives down into my sweatpants, gripping my dick, freeing it, groaning when my fingers close around it and I just imagine that it is her touching me. My other hand lets go off my hood and pulls her panties from my pocket that are soaked in her spit. I wrap them around my base and move them along my length as I start to jerk myself off. I just need the release. Or else I’m gonna go back and take her. The pictures start to form in my mind all on their own. How it’s not my own hand that’s jerking me off, but hers. How she would kneel in front of me, taking me in her mouth, and I’d come all over her face. How I would pick her up and fuck her against the wall, burying myself deep inside her. How she would ride me, with me pulling her down on my dick. My own personal imagination porn only stops when I come all over my hands and her panties, staining my sweatpants and leaving little puddles of cum on my stomach. I sigh and curse again. I do a haphazard job at cleaning myself up, take my clothes off and just drop onto my bed, letting the post orgasm haze take me out.

Jetzt haben wir den Salat: literally 'Now we have the salad', a german way of saying: 'look at the mess we're in'

Herrgott: 'dear god'

Prinzessin: 'princess'

Liebes: 'lovely'

Verdammt. Ah, des is ja wieder super gelaufen.: 'Damn, that went well... NOT.'

Himmel, Herrgott nochmal.: 'for heaven's sake'

#könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig x fmc #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #dual pov

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thewritersaddictions · 2 months

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Drabbles: (COD) 141: Love Sick

At first, nobody says anything about it. Simon really doesn't remember that he has your lips tattooed into his skin for the rest of his life. It's just part of him, just as you are part of him and his life. It's something he's used to.

The military ball starts it all off. The envelope is in your apartment mailbox, so you saw it, opened it, and read it. The admission wasn't horrible, but that wouldn't be hard. It would convince Simon to get dressed formally and then persuade him to take you. He'd go if the rest of his mystery team was going. Now, here comes the waiting for Simon to come home so you can attack playfully with this new information.

It worked, thankfully. You waited for him to get comfortable. Changing out of his gear and into those sweats that always made you look at his ass and a black tee. Sitting on the couch in his lap, his arms wrapped around your middle, protecting you and keeping you close simultaneously. "Si?" He hums but doesn't take his eyes off the TV screen. "Something came in the mail today." You say, drawing a bit of his attention to you.

"What came in the mail today, honey?" he asks, splitting his attention between the TV and you. It's just an invite to a party that I think we should go to." Simon's brows pinch together. "You think we should go to a party?" he asks. You lean back a bit in his hold and look at him.

"The military ball." You answer, "I think we should go to the military ball." Simon's eyes widen, and his hold loosens. "Honey, I don't like events like that now." You know for a fact that Simon is telling the truth, but there's a part of you that just wants him to agree with you.

He takes you out on a date and shows you off to all of his military buddies. Hopefully, you will meet the man who keeps your man alive and has him return home to you.

It doesn't take much before you look at formal gowns on your phone. Simon isn't upset that you've convinced him to go. "Just wear your mask, Si, please. I really wanna go," you had said sweetly, nuzzling into his strong shoulder. He had only agreed because he couldn't say no to you when you kissed him like you did.

Simon went with you dress shopping. The local bridal store had a great selection to choose from, and it was always nice to have a hunk of a man standing guard. Stacking dresses in his arms, he helped you to the dressing room, and when you came out in that black-and-white formal gown, you wished you could have seen all of Simon's face.

"Look at you." He said as you walked out of your shared bedroom. Your hair pinned up and out of your face. Makeup lightly covers your cheeks and lips. He was just as handsome as you were pretty. A black suit that hugs him muscles in the best ways. He looks absolutely to die for. His blonde hair styled and slick back to keep out of his face, but the mask still overs most of his identifying features. His neck exposed for all to the red inked tattoos of your lips on his neck. He looks branded in a cutest but also hottest way.

"You ready to go dove?" He asks holding out a hand to pull you in close to him. He smells of cedarwood and vanilla, you breath him liking how you fit into his strong arms. "I'm ready Si." You murmur into his chest, and off the two of you go.

Price is the first one to notice the ink on Simon's neck. Price has known Simon for a long time now, so when Simon's attitude took a significant incline, Price could only assume that Simon meant someone great. Price pulls into a smile when he sees your arms interlocked with Simon's. With the doting way Simon looks at you, even from behind a mask, Price can tell that you are everything to him.

He doesn't rush over; he watches instead. Simon grabs drinks for the both of you and keeps a protective guard over you, always touching and keeping you close to him. He's proud of the man that Simon has become and senses that you might have something to do with it. Simons catches his Captain looking and then looks down at you; there are words spoken between you that Price can't hear. But then the two of you walk over to where he stands, "Hi, I've heard so much about you. You must be Captain Price." You say, offering a dainty hand out to shake. He takes it and smiles towards Simon. "You must be the girl that's changing our Simon."

You giggle and clutch onto Simons's bicep, pressing your cheek into the muscle. "I'm gonna see if they have any tiny little sandwiches, okay, Si." You say before turning to walk towards the food littered with food. "Si, huh?" Prices tease, "Where'd you find her?" Price asks, "I'm not sure. She was just there one day after I got home from deployment." Simon says, still looking at you. "Well, I don't think I have to tell you, but don't do anything stupid." Simon nods and shakes his commanding officer's hand before leaving to find his girl.

Soap and Gaz are standing off towards the back of the room. They talk and hold beers when they notice the big, tough guy act that Ghost consistently portrays, but it isn't how he's acting here, and a sweet girl is standing next to him. Kissing on his cheek and playing with his fingers. "What do you think that's about?" Gaz asks Soap; Soap's eyes are boring holes into the two love birds across the room. "I'm not sure, but I think Ghost has found himself a girl. Always thought he wasn't into relationships." Soap answers, and as the two of them talk, they watch Ghost and this dainty woman kiss on each other and touch.

"Why don't you two introduce yourself instead of gawking at them." Price says from behind them, scaring the shit out of both of them. "Oh, I don't think." Before Gaz can finish, they're both being pushed or dragged in Simon's and you's direction. "I think these two have forgotten how to be nice. Now introduce yourself to her." Price says there's a roll of Simons eyes. "Hi, I'm Soap, and this is Gaz." Soap answers. Your face lights up like your kid watching Christmas lights. "Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you all. I told Si that I really wanted to meet all of you. So glad we came now." You say, holding on to Simons's arm firmly.

Before Simon can even get a word edge-wise, Soap has his mouth gaped open and stares at the tattoo on his neck. "New tattoo, Lt." soap teases, and with a roll of Simons's eyes, he doesn't even answer him. "Oh, do you like them? Si got them just for me. He's got a few more." Simon's eyes go wide at the truth coming out. Airing his dirty laundry out for his whole team to see. "Oh, does he know? You'll have to tell us all about them, lass." There's a heavy sigh heard as Soap and Gaz whisk you away to talk.

Leaving just Simon and Price standing there with bottles of beer in their hands. "You should have known this was gonna happen." Price says softly, chuckling at the way Simons shakes his head. "I told her I didn't wanna go, but she's so hard to deny." There's a permanent smile on Simons's face, even if the mask hides it. Price can see it clear as day. "Well, maybe you should go save her before Soap and Gaz take her away and use her against you."

Completed on: 03/27/24

Posted on: 03/29/24

COD- @youdidntseemehere21

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uyuartik · 3 months

Text

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part iii

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can’t wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight.

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say.

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan.

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered. You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention.

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence.

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.”

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing? “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

“I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

===

“I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning.

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.”

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