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golden-cherry · 1 year

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deal - cl16 (3/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Charles takes you on an adventure, that you won't forget that easily.

Warnings: angst (talks about Charles dad), comfort, google translated French

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

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A/N: part 3! hope you enjoy it! feedback is appreciated!

Sitting on the passenger side of your own car is strange.

It doesn't feel completely wrong, but still, a queasy feeling spreads through you. Like when you lived with your parents. Whenever someone was visiting, your mom had said, "Just sit anywhere," and of course the guests didn't know that you had an unassigned assigned seat. And when they actually sat down in your seat and you couldn't sit in yours, you had the same feeling as you do now at this moment.

After you dressed for the weather, you grabbed your car keys and your camera. If Charles was actually taking you to the most beautiful viewpoint in the country, then maybe you could snap some pictures for your private Instagram account. Your little private photo album. With no followers, no obligations.

Charles car is at his primary residence, according to his statement. Except for a few cars, the underground garage where your car is parked is empty. Your roommate insisted on driving because, first, you don't know where the trip is going and, second, he doesn't want to tell you where to go. Grumpily, you threw him the key and he caught it with a grin.

Then Charles made himself comfortable in the driver's seat of your old Renault as if it were his birthright. Right hand on the wheel, left elbow on the door and head propped on his hand, he maneuvers you through the streets of Monaco. Black sunglasses sit on his nose and the radio plays a pop song that somehow gets played every time you get in the car. Charles whistles along with the rhythm.

You turn in his direction. "Are you going to tell me where exactly we're going?"

Instead of answering you, he just shakes his head briefly. He runs a hand through his brown hair once, whistling merrily along.

You roll your eyes and rub your forehead.

Not only did you just get in the car with a stranger - to be fair, it's your car and Charles isn't a stranger (anymore) - but he actually won't tell you where he's going. "Like I said, we're going to the most beautiful view," is all he replies.

You've looked it up. According to Google, there are about fifteen lookouts. And each of them is supposed to be the "most beautiful view in Monaco," according to the websites. You looked up the locations on Google Maps, but none of them are in the direction you're heading. Maybe he's trying to kill you after all.

"I haven't driven a real stick shift car in ages." Charles wraps his big hand around the gearshift knob to shift into the next gear. His bracelets slide from his forearm to his wrist as he does so. Without much jerking and very smoothly, you move forward.

You raise an eyebrow. "So you only drive automatic cars?"

Charles shakes his head. "My personal car - the one that's at my other apartment - is an automatic. The company car I drive is manual." His hand moves from the shift knob back to the steering wheel. His long fingers grip the worn, dark leather.

"So what do you prefer to drive?"

He shrugs. "I like both."

You purse your lips and look out the window. You drive past small boutiques whose clothes you could never afford, and see cars whose insurance per month is sure to exceed your former annual salary. But this is nothing new to you. This is Monaco, after all. "I've never driven an automatic car before."

Charles glances over at you for a moment. "Really?" You shake your head. "It's kind of like riding a bumper car. Two pedals, gas and brake." He has to grin. "But if you ever drive automatic, please don't crash into other road users."

"Haha."

Charles drives the car out of town. The view out the window changes from old houses, whose architecture enchants you every time, to rocks and trees. By now, a quiet song is playing on the radio, Charles has stopped whistling, and somehow you're enjoying sitting here, next to your roommate, who wants to show you new, exciting things.

It's been ages since you've been introduced to something completely new.

The brunette turns off the main road onto a path that you would have missed yourself. It's not paved, which is why the car jolts quite a bit as you drive along. Trees and bushes line the path, and it is so narrow that it would be quite difficult if another car were to come towards you. If you were driving, you would have peed your pants for sure.

But not Charles. He drives as if he were driving this route every day. He knows where there are big rocks that he has to drive around to avoid damaging your car - which wouldn't be so dramatic - and also where he has to countersteer to avoid driving over potholes deeper than the Mariana Trench.

When he stops after a few minutes, he turns off the car. Then he turns to you and takes off his sunglasses. "I know this place looks pretty shady, and I can understand if you don't trust me. But if you get out of here with me now, I promise you, you won't regret it." He pulls the key out of the ignition. "Unfortunately, we can't get any further here by car. That's why we have to continue on foot for a short while. If you want."

You took a leap of faith when you decided to drive here with him. And he didn't try to kill you last night. That's a big plus. And that's why you hold out your hand to him without giving it much thought. "As long as I can have the key."

A smile spreads across his face as he drops it into your hand. "Let's do it, then."

Charles wasn't lying - it's actually not a long walk. You walk side by side in silence, the key held tightly in your hand. There's not a whole lot of sunlight shining down on you through the trees, and you regret not taking a thicker jacket. You didn't expect it to be so cold in the shade.

And then you arrive. At the most beautiful view in Monaco.

You're standing on a small hill that can't be seen from the main road. There is a single tree here, which is why the sun can shine relentlessly on you despite the winter, warming the skin on your face. You take a few steps forward, not realizing that Charles is not following you as you take in the view.

From here, from this beautiful spot, you can actually overlook all of Monaco. The houses, the yachts, the luxury for which this country is famous. But you don't only see the typical postcard Monaco. You also see the green of the forests, small blue bays of the Côte d'Azur, which you have never seen - neither in reality nor on the Internet - and the Mediterranean Sea, which stretches out in front of you and whose sound you can hear despite the distance.

You feel Charles next to you, but can't tear your gaze away from the view. "It's..." You can't think of a suitable word to describe what you're looking at. None of the million words, both in English and the few in French, would do it justice.

"I know." His voice rings softly in your ears. "Shall we sit down?"

You settle down near the tree. The meadow is dry - thank goodness - as you sit down cross-legged, facing each other. For a few minutes, you enjoy the view in silence until Charles interrupts.

"My father showed me this spot when I was little." He plucks a few tufts of grass from the ground. "He liked to come down here when the world down there" - with a nod of his head, he points to beautiful Monaco - "got too stressful for him. Or too noisy. Or just too much." He smiles faintly. "With three young sons who liked to mess with each other, I can't blame him."

You watch as he grinds a few blades of grass between his index finger and thumb until they trickle down in small pieces. "Then he's lucky you're all grown up now."

Charles lips pucker into a thin line and he lets the remaining grass fall to the ground. He folds his hands in his lap and looks toward Monaco. Even though he has his sunglasses on, you can see he closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. "My father died when I was nineteen."

You don't know how to respond. You're glad Charles keeps talking. "Aside from my mother, he was the best and kindest person I know. He saw something good in everyone, even if they didn't deserve it. He..." Charles swallows the lump in his throat. "He always pushed me to be better, but always brought me back down to earth when I took off. He was never disappointed in me, ever."

You have to smile. "Sounds like a wonderful man."

Charles nods. "He was." He looks back down at his hands. "I miss him every day."

It's strange to hear someone talk about their parents like that when your own are the complete opposite. You can't remember your parents ever being proud of you. Their disappointment and criticism were your constant companions, which is why you couldn't wait to finally move out. And you haven't looked back since.

"I like to come here when I'm stuck. When I'm stuck in a situation where I wish I could ask him for advice. Or I'm feeling lonely." A faint smile returned to his face. "I may not get an answer here, but somehow - I don't know - I don't feel quite so alone anymore when I'm here."

You don't know what to say to him. You've known each other for less than twenty-four hours, were at each other's throats yesterday, and yet he's confided something so intangibly private to you, while you've been nothing but skeptical of him. Charles has revealed himself to you, laid bare some of his cards, made himself vulnerable. And he did so without much hesitation.

"You don't have to tell me who called you. Or whatever that person screwed up. But if you need to talk to someone, I'm here for you." He takes the sunglasses off his nose so he can really look at you, and hangs them on the collar of his sweater. The green of the woods behind you is beautiful, but nothing can compete with the green of his eyes. "That's what friends are for, after all."

You have to smile. "Are we?" You point your index finger at the distance between you. "Friends?"

You feel your question is justified. After all, your "friends" dropped you after ... after everything that happened.

Charles shrugs. "If that's what you want. After all, we live together. Of course, I don't want to force you into it, nor could I. You'd sooner smack me with a rolled-up magazine. I just think it's almost impossible for us not to become friends."

He is right. The apartment is not very big and there is no way you could avoid each other. Especially since you don't have any obligations anymore, no job to go to every day. You'll be hanging out at home all the time and you'll definitely spend all your time next to each other, as long as Charles has nothing to do either.

That you two will become friends is inevitable.

One look at Charles and you'll throw all worries out the window. Charles, who lets you live in his apartment. Charles, who lets you have the bedroom. Charles, who can cook incredibly well. And Charles, who takes you to the most beautiful place, even though it means so much to him.

He looks at you in surprise as you pull the car key out of your jacket pocket and toss it to him. Surprised, he catches it. "I guess I won't need to lock the bedroom door then, will I?"

Charles grins. "I promise not to kill you while you're sleeping." With his index finger, he makes a cross over where his heart beats in his chest. "I might try it when you're awake, though." He winks at you.

Your grin widens. "Luckily, there are still some magazines lying around at home that I can use to defend myself. Just please don't do it when I'm only wearing a towel. That would be an unfair fight."

Charles laughs. He laughs even though he has just expressed one of his deepest feelings and this place reminds him of someone he loved and lost. Even though he's poured his heart out to you. And yet he's sitting there, cross-legged, in front of you, and he's got his head thrown back and he's laughing so loud you're afraid he can be heard all the way to Monte-Carlo.

And good heavens - it's the most beautiful sound you've heard in a long time.

For a moment longer, you enjoy the moment. Despite the call and Charles past, a lightness has spread through you that you haven't felt in ages. The worries have not fallen off your shoulders, but they are no longer so heavy and you would like to thank Charles for that. But as soon as you can open your mouth, he's on his feet in front of you again, looking down at you.

"I didn't promise you too much, did I?" Confused, you look at him. "I mean, about the view."

You shake your head and stand up as well. Side by side, you gaze down at Monaco. "It's the perfect postcard view."

Charles watches you while you take some photos with your camera. You try to take a good picture from every angle, from every position, and as far as you can tell from the small display, some of the shots don't turn out too badly. When you turn around, Charles is standing right behind you.

"If you need another model," he puts his hands on his hips, "I'll volunteer."

You laugh. "Absolutely not. Or I'll get a crack in the lens."

He pushes his bottom lip forward and pouts. "Okay, wow. I'm going to take that personally. Then don't." He's about to turn away from you when you manage to grab the sleeve of his sweater. He glances briefly at where your fingers are gripping the fabric, and unsure, you let go.

"All right. One photo." You raise your camera. Charles tries to get a decent stance, puts his hands in his pockets, then decides against it, crosses his arms in front of his chest, drops them again, runs his hands through his hair. "You'll have to stand in style for me to take a decent picture."

A slight blush creeps onto his cheeks. "What exactly do you want me to do? What would you like?"

You smile at him. "Relax. This isn't a professional shoot, after all." You lower the camera again. "You said you have two brothers. What's the funniest thing you've been through together?"

Charles thinks for a moment and starts to grin. As he tells you about a Christmas when Arthur had been in charge of dessert but unfortunately switched sugar for salt, making the food inedible, you snap a photo of him. His smile is wide, a dimple adorns his cheek, and the wind ruffles his hair. You don't need to snap another. This picture is perfect.

" ... And then we went to McDonalds in the middle of the night to get ice cream," he finishes his story. He looks up. "Did you take a picture? I didn't even notice!" He stands close to you so he can see the camera's display. His perfume hits your nose. "Oh my God." He takes a step away from you, his grin wide. "I've never looked so good. Can you send this to me?"

The walk to the car takes longer than the walk there, in no small part because you don't really want to leave. You memorize every single step so you can find Monaco's most beautiful view again.

"Thank you for bringing me here."

He looks up from his feet and over at you. "I've never brought anyone here before." He smiles gently. "But somehow I felt like you needed this. To be away from it all for once."

"I appreciate that very much. I promise I won't tell anyone about this." You draw a cross with your index finger where your heart beats. Just like he just did. You know how much this place means to him. Never in your life would you bring anyone else here.

Your car comes into your field of vision. In a moment you would drive back home and everything you successfully repressed until just now would be waiting for you there. But it still can't spoil your mood. Not after the beautiful morning.

You hear Charles inhale to say something when suddenly his phone rings. Annoyed, he pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen before tossing you the car keys. You almost drop them on the floor. "I need to make a quick call." His voice tone is cold, definitely not as warm and mellow as it was just a few minutes ago. "Go ahead and get in the car. I'll be right behind you."

You nod to him and walk the few feet. You catch the beginning of the conversation anyway.

"Nous en avons déjà parlé. Je t'ai dit que je ne rentrerais pas chez moi pour le moment. Non, écoute, je n'ai ni le temps ni les nerfs pour en parler avec toi. Je suis en déplacement en ce moment. Cela ne te concerne pas". coming home – discuss – not your business

You unlock the car and plant yourself in the passenger seat, which, unlike a moment ago, no longer feels too wrong. While you can no longer understand what Charles is saying, judging by his facial expressions and gestures, it's definitely not a pleasant conversation. His face is flushed and he runs his hand through his hair several times before rolling his eyes.

When his gaze catches yours, you feel caught. As if you're watching him do something private that's none of your business. And for a moment you think that Charles is annoyed, telling you to do something other than watch him. But he just tilts his head and smiles softly before raising a finger in the air with his free hand. His mouth moves and it looks like "One minute" and some French word you can't make out by lip-reading.

You also answer him with a smile and look at the photo on the camera again. It's a little blurry and definitely not your best work, but it was taken from a beautiful moment and is one of your favorite pictures for that alone.

"Sorry." You barely notice Charles sitting down next to you in the car.

You drop the key into his open hand and look at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

He breathes in and out before putting the key in the ignition and letting the engine rev. He doesn't give you an answer to your question, but starts a new topic. "We're going to see Joris. I'd love to know how he got the idea to rent out the apartment without discussing it first." He doesn't smile, but his voice is no longer so callous. You just nod.

The situation is tense, and there's nothing you can do to defuse it except sit quietly and let Charles feel his feelings without judging him. You'd like to reach for his hand and squeeze it so he knows he's not alone. But you don't dare. The look on his face when you just touched his sweater-not even Charles per se-and the thought that you might be crossing a line burns into your brain.

You interlace your fingers in your lap and look out the window.

Of course, you don't notice that Charles' gaze briefly falls on your hands and that he wishes he could take yours in his for a little comfort.

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x female reader #Charles Leclerc one shot #Charles Leclerc angst #Charles Leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader #Carlos Sainz jr

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kokomos · 3 months

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ᝰ head–strong ˖ ࣭ ⭑ ☽

— starring CONRAD FISHER ! 𔓘

MDNI 18+

warning: explicit, sexual themes.

description: your boyfriend is a munch.

tags: fem! reader, gf! reader; established relationship, fem! receiving oral, eating out, smut

honey's note: tsitp fans rise pls!!! more to come <3

conrad’s a smart boy; you already knew this. though many people fail to realize the extent of his intelligence, how naturally skilled he is with romantic or even intimate affairs. he wouldn't call it this, but he plays you like a fiddle. each button he presses gets the exact reaction, consequence he was aiming for. you don't mind too much, though, even if he were to admit it—because what's a little shame matter when it's in exchange for the best head of your life?

times like these always start the same; with the hanging out on the bed, then some making out, and eventually he's got you all hot and bothered. perfect time for him to pop the question: “can i taste you?”

or maybe he's feeling like teasing you more that day, let his playful side run rampant for a change. forget hot and bothered—you’re aching for more, nearly starved from the way he keeps dangling the notion you desire most right before your nose.

kissing you with just enough fervor to leave you panting for your next breath, for more, he pulls back with the faintest of smirks. the look on your face, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed over, has him feeling a twinge of pride. he knows he's being a little mean right now, but he also knows you're a few seconds away from begging for it. he's a good boyfriend, how could he say no to you? especially when you blink your lashes at him and pout your lips just slightly, desperately longing for something only he could provide.

he’s gentle when he gets you on your back, legs spread and thighs resting just overtop his biceps. the hold he has on you, his face so close to the most sensitive part of yourself, is firm yet yielding altogether. any sound of displeasure, words to halt his actions—he’s perceptive, open ears because conrad fisher isn't a selfish man. he's caring, in most simplest of terms; though you would come to describe him as, knightly in the way he treats others—treats you.

kisses along your inner thighs signal what's soon to come, no pun intended. with your panties discarded to the side, bunched up with the wetness he'd already elicited from you, he places one last peck before moving to place one on your clit. the action makes your lower half jolt. even so, with the way he's got your legs hooked under his arms, the movement was already being restricting to a mild jerk of your hips. he'll let out an exhale through his nose, almost a chuckle that he manages to stifle just enough (thankfully). the last thing he wants is for you to get all sulky because he ‘laughed at you’—an argument, if you can even classify it as such, that had been brought up in the past. he can't really help it when every little thing he does gets you so riled up. it's endearing, as he puts it; and the fallacy literally dies on your tongue when you're cumming on his that night. “a way to make it up to you,” you vaguely recall him whispering before your memory went blurry from the way your body quite literally melted beneath his touch.

he really is such a smart man. what further way to prove it than with you?

soft, little kitten licks at your slit and his nose bumping oh-so perfectly into your clit. his tongue nuzzles past the entrance when he finally lets himself indulge in the way you taste. instinctively, your velveteen walls clench around the spongy mess probing your insides. he doesn't get greedy, though, no. he'll take his time exploring every crevice and dip in your core, treasuring and mapping out which parts really make you squeal. he knows you—knows you better than anyone. how to make your toes curl, your eyes roll towards the back of your head… all him. never would he dare voice the smug satisfaction he gets when you're holding back a scream of his name, hand clasping at your mouth to muffle the sound. when you reach that peak, he's quick to return back to tracing your clit with his tongue, docile and assuasive. his eyes, having been kept on you the entire time, now wait for yours to open. though heavy and lidded, you manage to meet the gaze of your boyfriend. the pure ecstasy, a result of conrad’s adroitness in regards to eating out, had prevented you from eyeing anything but the back of your head.

when your body settles down, chest no longer heaving from the orgasm, he’d send one lick up your clit before pulling off. with a few kisses to your thighs again, he lets you regain your lost composure before deciding to ask if he can continue. your hand tucking some fingers in the brunette tendrils atop his head let him know that now is the most opportune time for his request. he’d trail a few kisses up past your hips, ghosting your tummy and chest as he hovers above you once more.

“you did a good job, baby,” he murmurs the praise fondly. “got another one you wanna give me?”

ᡣ𐭩 with love , honey!!

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher headcanons #conrad fisher smut #conrad fisher drabble #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp imagine #tsitp x reader #tsitp drabble #tsitp fanfic

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ghouljams · 10 months

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Begging for someone to break into Bee’s house and König only finds out bc of the bug, so he takes care of it

Here's where we get more of König being insane about his crush. Introducing(formally) the perimeter alarm.

An alert pings on König's phone as he's herding the last horse into their stall. He pats the over-large animal affectionately as he tugs his phone free and swipes through the notifications. He frowns, opening the property map and scanning for where the break pinged. Your side of the farm, not good. Hopefully it's just a wild animal that's wandered too far from the woods and set off the alarm.

He pulls the back wall of the barn open, survey's his arsenal, then grabs a rifle and a few tranquilizer rounds. If it is an animal, he'd hate to hurt the poor thing. If it isn't... Well better not to take care of it on your property.

It's a short ride through the pasture to get decent sight lines. Your house is dark, that's good. König raises the rifle, steadying it against his shoulder. The small movements of the horse under him are a little tricky, but nothing he can't deal with. Grace under pressure is what got him the rank of colonel in the first place.

He sweeps his sights around your house. While the breach hadn't been too close, it did take him time to get here. No deer, no foxes or coyotes threatening your brightly painted chicken coop, no raccoons in your trash. König frowns, sweeping wider just as a flashlight wanders its way around the blind side of your house. That makes this easier. His brain clicks through calculations, before taking aim and watching for impact. The quiet thunk of his silenced rifle firing is like music to his ears.

The figure startles a little, grasps at the dart's entry point, stumbles and collapses. And they said he couldn't be a sniper.

König rides closer to the fence, and hops off his horse, fishing some rope out of the saddle bags. It's always so easy to hop your fence. He keeps his eyes on your bedroom window, careful to stay quiet as he makes his way to your back door and your would be intruder. It's only when he turns the man over and he feels the cold grip of malice that he really decides what he's going to do next.

The man awakes in a single chair, in a small concrete room. It's dark, the only light coming from a single bare bulb hanging over head. Across from him, König leans forward. Watching with his elbows resting on his knees as the man jerks and panics against his restraints.

"It is very fortunate that I found you when I did," König tells him, "I would not have been able to stop myself if you'd actually gotten into the house."

"Where am I?" The man spits, König clicks his tongue, shakes his head.

"Now now, you are asking the wrong question. You should be asking, 'who are you?'" König motions with his hand, "Go on."

"Fine, who the fuck are you," The man's face is red with barely contained rage.

"I'm the man that's going to kill you."

All the motion seems to drain out of the man, his muscles locking up in fear or perhaps realization as König stands. The little metal table he drags over shakes and bumps along the uneven ground. It's only the noise of it, the sort of slick friction of metal against plastic, that makes the man look down at the tarp covering the floor.

"Don't look so worried, this is going to hurt a lot, but not for very long." König pauses, picking up a file, "Well, not for me anyway. For you it will feel like an eternity."

"I- Whatever it is you want we can work something out," The man asks, begs, leaning back in his chair as best he can as König draws closer. "I've got money, you want money? Or- or- shit!"

"No money," This part is always fun, the begging, the crying, the last shred of hope, "you hurt someone very precious to me, and I can't let that happen again."

"I don't even know who you are," The tears are starting. König grips his jaw hard, forces his mouth open to give the file room to drag against the man's teeth.

"But I know who you are," König hums over the grating noise of file against enamel, the building panicked scream, "and that's all that matters, isn't it?"

Yes, König thinks, that is all that matters. It isn't as if the man is fit to answer the question anyway, what with the amateur dentistry happening. This is really fantastic timing on your ex-husband's part, well fantastic for König. He'd just been wondering if and when would be appropriate to rid your life of this scum. It wasn't like you'd miss him, truly no one would, but timing was -is- everything.

An extended business trip, a few bad investments, a drunken if slightly rabid text exchange. König kept close eyes on his targets, even if he told himself it was just to keep you safe. He knew every detail, every movement this bastard made. How convenient that his tour of stupidity would lead him right into König's hands. His car might be a problem, but it's nothing König hadn't handled before.

König pulls back from his work to stare at the bloody gums and nubbed teeth. The man sobs, gurgled bubbling spit turning red from the rough orthodontics as he tries to speak around the pain. König thinks he'll do the fingers next, maybe try inserting some metal screws into his legs. It doesn't really matter what tortures he puts the man through, it'll all be burned away in the end.

König wakes you up in the morning, his knocking on your front door thunders through your house. Although you suppose it could be anyone knocking on your door, you don't really get any visitors but him. You pull a pair of shorts on to answer the door, just barely awake enough to deal with people. Your alarm isn't set to go off for another two hours at least.

When you pull your door open you blink blearily up at König. His eyes dart over you, taking in your pyjamas as you rub your eyes with a frown. You don't know what was so important it couldn't wait for later in the morning.

"König s'early, what're you doing here?" You yawn. König's expression is soft and affectionate, it's too early for that.

"I thought I'd make you breakfast," He pulls his bandana down for you to see his smile. You hum and turn to go back into the house, figuring he'll follow you like always. König's hand catches your head and spins you to face him again, dragging you for a kiss. His fingers tighten their hold on you as his lips drag against yours. It's the sweetest good morning you've ever gotten. You wonder what's gotten into him.

#König really said “our farm”#cowboy!König #oc: bee #könig x oc #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig mw2 #tw violence #tw teeth #tw torture #tw stalking #König does some villain shit #he's gonna burn that man to ash and abandon his car at the airport #make everyone think he's just gone on a long trip #months later one of Bee's friends texts to see if he's contacted her at all

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eksvaized · 3 months

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Part Six [ Previous 〡 Next ]

As you sit on the bed, your posture is rigid, almost painfully so. Your back is unnaturally straight, thighs pressed tightly together in a futile attempt to maintain some semblance of control. Your eyes are fixed on Simon, unblinking, as if you're trying to memorize every single detail you hate about him. Your hair, drenched and heavy with water, clings to your neck and shoulders. The cool droplets are slowly seeping into the fabric of your shirt, soaking it until it clings to your skin. Despite all appearances suggesting that you are fully immersed in the present, that you're hanging onto every word the man in front of you is saying, your mind is a chaotic whirlpool of thoughts and emotions.

As much as you yearn to silence your mind, to eradicate the incessant thoughts that relentlessly hark back to the bathroom and what had happened there, they persist. They circle your mind like vultures waiting to swoop down on their prey.

The ghost of Simon's touch lingers on your skin. The memory of it branded deep into your memory. His touch is still palpable, almost as if his palms are still there, resting against your wet soapy skin. Even though his hands are now at his sides, the memory of how his fingertips traced your flesh, how they mapped your body, seeking out the spots that made you squirm, that elicited any reaction other than crying or whimpering, is still fresh in your mind.

"Are you even listening to me, Y/N?" Simon sighs deeply. It's a quiet sound filled with exasperation and something else that you can't quite identify. He shakes his head, and that gesture seems to hold more significance than you can comprehend right now. Uprooting himself from his spot, he grabs the chair from the desk and positions it next to the bed. He sits down. His body is now directly in front of you, his gaze unwavering.

You lower your chin in a slight nod, acknowledging him. Yet, no words manage to make their way past your lips. Your throat constricts at the mere thought of speaking.

"Then repeat the rules."

You bit the inside of your cheek. There's a pause that stretches between the two of you. A long, tense pause that has Simon leaning closer to you. His hands rub together anxiously before he wipes his palms against the fabric of his shorts. You catch a fleeting glimpse of an emotion etched onto his face, a longing for something that you can't quite place. Something about his expression tells you, whispers to your gut instinct, that if you don't want this conversation to veer into dangerous territory, you need to come up with an answer. And you need to do it quick.

"If I want to stay in... in my room—" You echo the first thing he has said to you, and you try not to cringe because this doesn't feel like your bedroom at all. It's too big, devoid of any personal touches, lacking in colour and warmth. And most importantly, it doesn't even feel like a room. It's just another cell that you will be confined in, a gilded prison with invisible bars. "—and not be put back in the basement, I have to behave."

You hope the answer will be enough to satisfy him, but Simon jerks his chin, urging you to continue, to say more. Your heart drops like a stone in a still pond, ripples of anxiety spreading outwards. You didn't listen to him. Well, you did, but only superficially, so now recalling what he was speaking about is a challenge that you are terrified of failing.

"I can't leave the room unless I need to go to the bathroom, and even then, I'm not allowed to turn the shower on or fill the bath by myself. If I want to bathe, first I need to get permission from you."

Each word is wrenched from your lips, akin to plucking thorns from a deeply embedded wound, one excruciating prick at a time. You speak at a snail's pace. Your voice is barely a murmur. And while you talk, you can't help but wonder why Simon suddenly allows you to wander around the house, even if it's only limited to one long corridor. Something seems off. The only reason he might allow it that you can think of is that he wants to test you, to see if you will attempt to escape. All of this leads to a sudden realization, one that you might have had once but forgotten in the haze of your fear — your attempts to flee must cease. The mere notion of escape must be buried deep within, hidden away like a priceless treasure, until you have earned enough of his trust.

"Downstairs is off-limits." That's the second rule.

"Good," Simon reclines in the chair, making it creak under his weight. After crossing his arms over his broad chest, he asks "What else?"

"I must learn how to fold paper flowers." Out of the three rules, this is by far the most peculiar. The rationale behind it is unclear. It leaves you puzzled as to why this skill is necessary, why he wants you to learn it. When Simon first informed you of this rule, he gestured towards a book which you had failed to notice earlier, resting inconspicuously on the nightstand. Instead of using plain, white sheets of paper, he specified that flowers must be made of the pages of the book.

When you tried to ask how to fold them, an art foreign to your hands, you were met with Simon's curt reply: Figure it out. His answer made it clear he probably didn't know how to do it, either.

An uncomfortable silence fills the room again. It's heavy and oppressive. You find it impossible to maintain eye contact, as if his gaze is a blazing sun that blinds you. Your eyes droop to your lap, tracing the pattern of goosebumps on your legs — physical manifestation of the unease that you feel.

Simon's watchful gaze is ever-present, observing your every move with hawk-like intensity. You felt like a mouse under his scrutiny, small and vulnerable. These silent moments are the ones you hate the most. When he is talking, it's easier to tune him out, to lose yourself in your own thoughts. But when he is silent, it's harder to ignore his presence, harder to pretend that you are anywhere but here. You long to be back in the comfort of your own home, nestled securely in your bedroom, far from here and far from Simon.

"Later tonight, you must get ready for our first date," he says and stands up. A hint of anticipation flickers in his eyes.

A sensation, unfamiliar and as intoxicating as a sip of aged wine, akin to hope, burns within your chest. The hope is like a lone candle illuminating the vast darkness of uncertainty. Could it be that he is planning to take you out to some remote restaurant? The idea dances in your mind. It's a sweet symphony of possibilities that you allow yourself to indulge in, if only for a fleeting moment. But reality, ever so cruel, crushes the budding dream before it can bloom. Simon, you remind yourself, is not one to act recklessly. He would never risk setting you free, letting you wander outside the confines of this house. This realization sends a shiver of anxiety rippling through you, leaving you to dread the unknown plans he has for you.

"In the wardrobe, there's a pretty skirt you could wear. I think it would fit you nicely," he suggests, but the tone of his voice leaves little room for disagreement. His words, veiled as a gentle suggestion, carry the weight of an unmistakable command.

"You should rest now," he continues, crossing the room like a prowling lion until the space separating you is no more than a whisper. As you raise your chin, the sight of his toned abdomen greets your eyes. The faint outlines of his muscles are visible through the thin fabric of his shirt.

With a firm yet gentle grip, he encircles your elbow, pulling you up. He steers you towards the bed. A part of you resists the notion of surrendering to sleep in his presence, but the prospect of temporary oblivion proves too enticing. Perhaps, you think, the comforting embrace of slumber will grant you a temporary reprieve from your grim reality.

Before leaving the room, Simon tucks you in with a gentleness that seems almost foreign. His lips softly press a ghostly kiss against your forehead. The touch is so unexpected that it makes you recoil instinctively. You clutch at the covers, pulling them tighter around your body, drawing them up until they're almost grazing your jawline.

The door closes with a soft, almost imperceptible click. Your ears strain, leaning into the silence, awaiting the metallic sigh of the lock sliding into its place. But it never comes. The tantalizing possibility of an unlocked door tempts you, whispers sweet promises of freedom, urges you to shake off the covers and confirm it for yourself. But something holds you back, an invisible chain forged from fear, and you remain as motionless as a statue.

All of this seems too good to be true, like a mirage shimmering on the horizon of a parched desert, too pristine, too perfect to be anything but a cruel illusion. After enduring what felt like an eon trapped within the lightless, cold basement, being in a room with windows, with the sunlight streaming in, feels like a dream. Yet, it's not merely a dream - it's a bewitching siren's song, luring you in with its alluring beauty only to hide a monstrous nightmare beneath its captivating guise.

You sigh and close your eyes, letting the sun's warm tendrils brush against your eyelids. Maybe you — Simon — should have closed the curtains.

You struggle, you really do, to fully comprehend what Simon wants from you. His behavior is a complex puzzle that is difficult to decipher. There are times when he treats you terribly — his temper flares easily, driving you to the brink of tears, and his harsh treatment makes you want to bash your head against the wall until it all is over. You are trapped, kept like a captive in the prison, unable to escape or breathe. He treats you like some kind of pet, an object under his control. He toys with you as if you are a doll, a plaything that existed solely for his amusement and whims.

But then, like the flick of a switch, his demeanor would change. He would morph into a boyfriend who appears to be overly controlling. Yet, if you squint and tilt your head just right, you could convince yourself that his actions are because of an overbearing concern for your welfare.

This is all so twisted, so warped. Just thinking about him, trying to unravel the enigma that he is, and formulating plausible explanations for his actions, is a mental exercise that leaves you with a headache.

And yet, despite it all, a tiny part of you, a minuscule fragment of your consciousness, betrays you. You don't want to feel any form of gratitude towards him; you resist the urge to be thankful. But no matter how hard you try, you can't quell the burgeoning feelings of gratitude that are taking root deep within you. Because, despite everything you had to endure thus far, you find a slight comfort in the fact that you are no longer confined to the dank, dreary basement.

A/N: I appreciate all the comments, likes and reblogs! you guys liking this really makes my day <3 and since this is a story that I write when I have free time, and when I just want to unwind, I don't have an outline for it yet and am just winging it, so if you have any ideas or suggestions for what you would like to see happen, I'm all ears! :) also, I was thinking of creating a taglist, so if you want to be added -- let me know.

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod #simon ghost riley #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost #cod ghost #cod x reader #cod fanfic #malheur #dead dove fic #fem!reader

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goddessofmischief · 6 months

Text

AUGUST (SHANKS X READER)

A/N: This is part of this series, which requests are open for! These fics are all one-shots, so they can be read separately. Also, I highly recommend listening to the song linked in the title while you read, and please leave a comment when you've finished!

It took six weeks and a shipwreck to get you into the arms of the man that you loved, and you didn't regret a thing.

Little known pirate fact: the Oro Jackson's final resting place is a little island in the murkier side of the East Blue, far from pirates or Marines or anything at all. Here it lies to this day.

It arrived at this spot on a fated morning on an afternoon in August, when you, Shanks and Buggy were embroiled in the most terrible of arguments.

The tension had not dissipated from the days earlier, when Shanks had unceremoniously declared himself Captain, and Buggy was comfortable voicing his feelings - almost all of his feelings - out in the open now.

Starting with this one.

"We're not moving fast enough," Buggy complained. He had this particular feeling a lot.

"The ship can only go so fast. You know that," Shanks chided, jokingly. "...You've been on it for years."

"You know that's not what I mean. The One Piece is out there and we're supposed to be trying to claim it - now everyone's trying to claim it, aren't they? - but we're still wandering."

"We're preparing for the journey!"

"Oh, sure, like we really need all these maps. The only one that we really need is the map to the Grand Line, and we haven't even gotten it yet."

Shanks had been dispatching the two of you out for maps for the past few months, and many of your efforts had ended unsuccessfully. Buggy was beginning to tire of it.

"We're doing the best we can, Bugs, you know that," you tried, and Buggy cut you off.

"'You know that,'" Buggy imitated, and you and Shanks blinked at him with wide, vacuous eyes. "You two are even beginning to sound like each other, you know that? What, do you two get off on bullying me?"

"Yes," said Shanks, at the same time you said "No, of course not."

"No, of course not," Shanks amended, all too late.

"Fine," Buggy snapped, grabbing his satchel.

"Hey, where're you going-"

"You're not threatening to leave again, are you?"

"No, idiots! I'm going down to the port for a drink. Don't join."

You and Shanks sighed, exchanging weary looks with each other as Buggy departed the ship.

"So... what do you wanna do while we wait?"

...

"Careful," you warned idly, watching Shanks jerk the captain's wheel from one side to the next.

"Sorry, I'm just - I'm still getting the hang of this, I'm not used to steering-"

"It's alright," you assured him. "We're all learning things."

He had promised you there was an especially appealing island close by - something he'd discovered on his own and was anxious to share with you.

"Maybe you could let me try-"

"It's fine, I got it-"

"Shanks, let me steer-"

"I can do it-"

"What are you trying to prove?!"

"Nothing!"

The ship found that island, alright. It slammed right into the rocks in front of it.

"Oh, my God," you uttered, hand covering your mouth. Shanks stared ahead in total disbelief.

The ship was wrecked. You crashed. The ship was crashed. You and Shanks crashed Roger's ship. You and Shanks crashed Roger's ship. Buggy would never forgive you.

It was your fault.

It wasn't really - you would realize this, later on - but in the moment, that's how it felt.

"Shanks?" You shook him a little. He was seemingly catatonic, still staring straight ahead at the rocks.

"We..."

You nodded, grimly, trying to get him alert again.

"Come on, we're stuck. We have to figure something out."

...

Well, at least it was a nice island to be stuck in.

You and Shanks started a fire on the beach, after hours of searching and confirming there didn't seem to be anyone else on the island.

"Can't believe we wrecked it," Shanks mused. "It was the only home I've ever known."

"...Buggy's going to kill us."

Shanks glanced at you, a hint of amusement on his face.

"That's really what you're worried about?"

"Aren't you?"

"I think I'm more concerned with how we're going to get off this island. I'm beginning to realize that we can't. I guess we could try swimming out, but- no, it's too deep."

"So, we're stuck?"

Shanks confirmed your worry with a weary nod.

"We're stuck."

...

You didn't speak to each other again for another four days.

There was enough fruit on the island to live on, enough water stored on the wrecked Oro Jackson. The two of you could barely look at each other, repulsed by the shame of what you had done.

On the fifth day, you began to worry.

"Shanks?" you called out, shouting his name loud enough that he should have heard it. "Shanks, look, we better start making more permanent plans-"

He didn't respond.

"Shanks, come on, I don't wanna fight-"

You stopped dead in your tracks. Your brain couldn't handle what you had saw.

Shanks, flat on the ground under a palm tree.

You realized he must've fallen - the flares beside him indicated he was trying to call for help - your fault again, everything is awful and it's your fault, Shanks was dead and it was all your fault.

"No," you whispered, breath scarcely escaping your body. You collapsed to the ground, searching his face for signs of life, cradling his head in you hands. "Wake up, please, wake up- please, I need you to come back, I don't want to be alone-"

Shanks coughed, suddenly breathing again, and you realized with a rush of relief that he'd only been unconscious. His eyes scanned over you, a little smile teasing at the edge of his lips.

"Are you an angel? Am I in heaven?"

You cried in relief, not even having the energy to make fun of his stupid remarks.

"No, you idiot, you're here on earth with me."

Shanks noticed your hand was resting over his heart, and he brought his own hand up to meet it.

"You were crying over me?" he asked, cockily. You shook your head as the tear tracks staining your face betrayed you.

"I thought you were dead."

"I think I was."

"Did you see Roger?" you asked, almost laughing.

"I don't think I was dead long enough," he said. "I had to come back, you see. Had to be where you were."

As long as you had known Shanks, you had carried with you a indecipherable ache. It was today that the ache finally rose out of you, and today that you bent your face down far enough to connect your lips to his - on purpose, this time. He met them.

"We're still stuck on this island, you know," you murmured, finally pulling away.

His eyes sparkled.

"I'd forgotten."

...

For the next three weeks, your life was a montage of sun-drenched beaches, bare shoulders and tanned skin. Water everywhere, sand in everything. Salt air stung your tongue and infused all your kisses.

You barely felt like a pirate anymore. Life was that good. You felt more like a creature of the sea, tossed by the waves, unbothered by the silly human things that had once so concerned you - what One Piece? What Buggy? What Mihawk? You and Shanks were connected by everything, ebbing and flowing out of each other like it was the only thing that made sense.

Despite this backdrop of love, there was one thing that was clear. You were going to die. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. The water from the ship would run out, and the fruit would run out, and then there would be no more left, and you and he would merely be skeletons left scattered on the shore, then dust.

"I can't even regret it," you sighed, head on his chest. "Not with everything that's happened."

"Do you think Buggy will miss us?"

"I don't know," you said with a guilty pang. "I guess I hadn't thought of him for awhile. I wish I could let him know what became of us. Mihawk, too."

"Could you not talk about Mihawk during moments like this?"

You laughed, kissing him lightly on the nose.

"I wonder how many sunrises we have left."

"Enough," he said, and after that the talking ended.

...

Little did you know, Buggy hadn't slept for weeks.

Okay, hadn't slept was an overexaggeration - he had little winks now and then, just a few, just to keep himself alive. He'd be no good to you or Shanks dead.

He'd been to four islands by now, and had scoured every one of them. What he really couldn't understand is how the Oro Jackson could have gone anywhere unnoticed. The citizens of the island he had been on recalled it in the port, when you dropped him off, and then it vanished like a ghost. The one ship every Marine in the world was looking for, and not one person would admit to seeing it.

It was killing him.

He couldn't imagine what had happened to you - Shanks, too, but he worried more for you, mostly for the reason that he was sure you would never leave him on purpose. It was possible for Shanks to have left, but you, too? Wouldn't happen.

The thought crossed his mind, once or twice, that the two of you had gotten sick of him and run away together, but it seemed impossible after how desperately you'd tried to keep him from leaving. You wouldn't just leave him now.

Maybe you were kidnapped. Or hungry. Or cold. Or-

Wait, was that the ship?

"Buggy!" he heard a chorus of familiar voices call out, frantically waving their arms on the beach. A familiar burst of red hair was immediately apparent amongst the grains of white sand.

"What the... the hell," he muttered, rowing the small boat he'd attained to look for you beside the crashed ship. He'd never realized how absolutely massive it was until it was in pieces. Even now, weeks later, rotted wood planks scattered the shore.

"Buggy!"

He barely had a moment to climb out of the boat and throw his oars aside before you and Shanks barreled towards him at full speed, both locking him in a tight embrace.

"You saved us," you whispered, burying your face in the nape of his neck. Shanks hugged him gratefully, too. It felt good having both of you back again. For a little while, Buggy had feared he would have to walk the world alone.

"What the hell happened?"

"Crashed," you explained, your cheeks flushed from the excitement.

"Did it just... did you not see the rocks?"

You shook your head, still completely overwhelmed.

"We thought we were going to die."

"I was beginning to think you were already dead!"

"You saved us," you emphasized, salt water stinging your eyes. "I could kiss you."

Buggy's face went blank, as did yours. Clumsily, you reached over and gave him a peck on the cheek, and smiled. In one fluid motion, you pulled back, and Shanks looped his arm around your waist. You and Shanks glanced at each other, still grinning, and you rested your head on his shoulder.

That was the moment he knew something had changed. Something was different, since the last time he'd seen you.

"You guys..." he tried to put the words together. "You guys... what, uhh, what did you guys do for six weeks?"

Buggy had a few guesses.

taglist: @sawendel @twinklesnake @literaturewithliz @sordidmusings @foggyturtleknightangel @toertchen @96jnie @lunanight1021 @trafalgardvivi

#shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x you #buggy #buggy x reader #op buggy #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #it was rare i was there

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amostexcellentblog · 8 months

Text

The Hangman's Guide to Winning Over Your Disapproving Admiral-In-Law

Step 3: Never, Ever, Let Him See You Cry

(Part 1 and Part 2)

Maverick: ...and the doctor says it's a miracle he survived at all. Jesus, it should've been me. The Darkstar was my project, I was the test pilot for all the earlier models, but I wanted him there with me, and I wanted to show that I trusted him.

Iceman: He chose this life, he knew the risks. We have to accept that Mav... But damnit it's easier said than done.

Hangman: *Shouts getting louder as he approaches* Rooster! ROOSTER! *Stops in the doorway, out of breath, still in a flight suit* Oh, Bradley... *Walks to his bedside* What.. Is he... Will he be okay?

Maverick: It's hard to say. The doctors say they've done all they can do, at this point it's largely psychological. If the spirit is willing he'll wake up within the next few days and he'll survive, get better and live out his life. But if he doesn't wake up then his body will start to shut down and eventually... They say the odds are 50/50, but I don't know.

Iceman: The thing is, even if he wakes up the doctors are sure he'll never walk again. Everything he's ever wanted, gone just like that, his career as a pilot, the navy, his engagement. How could he possibly want to wake up to all that?

Hangman: Engagement? What, you think he won't want me anymore just because he can't walk? Well tough luck Bradshaw because I ain't goin' nowhere! You tried to get out of this before during the uranium mission and I put a stop to it then too. You're never getting rid of me Bradshaw! Even if I have to steal your wheelchair and tie you to the bed! *Wipes the first tears from his eyes*

Hangman: Speaking of beds, remember we were looking at houses and I wanted that 5th floor walkup because you could see the ocean, but you wanted that 1-story bungalow because it had a yard? Well I guess you went and made that decision for me, you sneaky son of a bitch! But if you wake up, I'll forgive you. I'll even build you a ramp to the front door, and a deck out back so you can sit and enjoy that backyard you wanted so much. Course, I'll have to learn about carpentry and power tools first, but how hard can it be?

Hangman: Hmm... What else can I bribe you with? Ooh, if you wake up we'll have a fun new role playing opportunity. We can pretend we're in Coming Home and you'll be Jon Voight and I'll be Jane Fonda. Unless you wanted to try it the other way, but I don't know how well that will work... *Choked sob*

Hangman: I'm runnin' out of things to say here, Bradley. I guess the real reason you need to wake up is that I love you. I love those hick shirts you wear and the way you always have them buttoned wrong. Look like a giraffe, and I love you. I love how you can only play three songs on the piano, one of which is chopsticks, but whenever you see one you swagger over to it like you're Mozart, and I love the way you blush right up over your ears. I love you because you don't know how to kiss, always shoving your tongue down my throat like you have to map every inch of it because this might be your last chance. You jerk!

Hangman: I love you. Please wake up. I love the life we've had together, but I'm a selfish prick who wants more. Please wake up. I'll love the future life we'll make together and I promise I'll do everything I can to make you love it too... Please wake up Bradley... Please... I love you... Plea... *Breaks down in tears*

Iceman: Jake, my bubbe, when she was married back in Poland she wore a lace veil she'd commissioned from the finest lacemaker in Paris. When the war came and they had to sell everything they had to raise the funds to get out of the country, it was the only thing she kept from her old life. When her son got married, she gave it to my mother to wear as a welcome-to-the-family present. For our wedding, Maverick wore it wrapped around his arm. When you and Bradley get married, I'd like you to wear it.

Hangman:

Hangman: Thank you sir, I'd be honored.

#icemav #hangster #jake seresin #tom iceman kazansky #bradley bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #top gun maverick #Just to clarify Bradley does wake up #Was gonna have him do it at the end but it was getting pretty melodramatic as it was #Jake's “I love you” speech was inspired by Ball of Fire #this whole set up seems familiar but I can't remember if I borrowed it from something else #oh well

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boliv-jenta · 9 months

Text

Din Djarin x f!reader

WC:3.3k

Warnings: A little reference to adult fun times, nothing explicit. Minor illness.

Summary: When Din gets sick, he takes stock of what is important in his life.

Cyare, Buir, and Other Important Words in Mando'a

You've never seen his face, but you know every inch of it. Every curve of his perfect profile, every laughter line, every hair or lack thereof, on his sharp jaw.

It's all been mapped out in the dark by your hands, your lips, your nose as you've dragged them across his skin while trying to commit him to your memory. He promises that you will see him one day. One day when it feels right for him to become your riduur. He doesn't want it to be about him revealing himself to you. He wants it to be about him committing to you. He wants you to know him in every other way possible before you make that commitment to him.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as he sends a shiver down your spine with his lips parted against your neck as he breathes softly in the pitch black dark. The reassuring rhythm of his body and his warmth lull you back to sleep. The hours pass peacefully in the cabin until Grogu wakes up and the droid speaks from the soundboard that you constructed for him.

"Food." It says repeatedly for him.

Din takes longer to stir so you get up to prepare the kid's breakfast. After he slurps down his blue milk and happily munches on his food, you carry him to see his father.

When you arrive at your bedroom, you don't hear the fresher running as you normally would. Din is a creature of habit at home. He wakes, he showers, he puts on his helmet. Some days it is accompanied by his armour. More often than not at home he's taken to just wearing clothes. It was almost scandalous to see the curve of his muscle for the first time in that form fitting shirt that he'd picked up from the market one day.

"Din?" You call softly.

The breathing that was soft and steady earlier was now ragged as he coughed out your name in response. Setting Grogu back in his crib, with his stuffed frog for company, you return to your bedroom door.

"Can I come in? Is it safe?" Your hand hovers over the door control.

Eventually, he replies gruffly "It's dark."

The path to your bed is a short one and well mapped in your mind along with the rest of the room. It takes seconds to get to him, still laying on the bed. Your eyes are still shut while the door closes behind you, blacking out the room once more. Reaching a hand out you find his calf first and follow it upwards. His thigh jerks under your touch as he coughs.

Concern fills your voice "Din?"

The coughing subsides and his rough, unfiltered voice tries to reassure you. "I'm alright, Cyare."

The smell on his breath tells you he's not. Your father suffered from many illnesses involving his chest. The scent still haunts your memory.

"Should I get Grogu? He can…" Din cuts you off.

"I don't want him using his powers for things like this. He's just a kid." The short speech takes his breath away.

Another fit of coughing rocks him as you ease him back against the headboard. A quick press of your hand to his temple tells you he has a fever.

"You're burning up. How are you on your feet?" The way he leans into as he stands tells you 'not so good'.

"Rest for a moment. I'll be back." The bed creaks as it takes his weight.

Grogu has been busy while you checked on Din. He sits in the hallway. A cookie in one hand and his soundboard in front of him. "Father. Sick. Father. Sick. Father…" he alternates between the two buttons until take the board from him.

"Okay. I get it." Scooping him up you cradle him close. "Don't worry. I'm going to take care of him. You can help."

That seems to reassure him as his ears twitch happily.

It doesn't take long for the two of you to gather herbs from the small bed that you've managed to cultivate in Nevarro's climate, and fetch the stool that Grogu stands on to watch you cook.

"Be good." You smooth the tiny hairs on his head before placing him back in his cot. This time it's with a promise of more snacks if he stays put.

Din's thick breathing fills the room as you walk in, eyes closed as the light from the hallway floods the room. Turning left sharply, you head for the fresher. The stool is placed inside the fresher as you set the temperature. Luke warm should help Din's fever. Some of the herbs you collected are tied in a hessian bag and hung in the stream of the water. The scent instantly feels fresh in your own lungs. Hopefully Din will feel the same.

"Din?" You reach out in the dark.

He hums in acknowledgement as he takes your hands. He offers no resistance as you guide him to the shower. Your hands skim his hot body as you strip him. Once he's naked he takes a seat under the spray. The water soaks your own clothes that you didn't even think to remove. Din is your only priority as cup your hands to pour the tepid water over his face.

"How do you feel now, Cyare?" You ask once his temperature feels lower.

Din's heart clenched at the term of endearment in his own tongue rolling off yours. He feels guilty that he didn't marry you long ago. He's loved you since the moment you held a blaster to his neck in a bar so many cycles ago. Here you are taking care of him, in the dark. Even with one of your senses gone you still do an excellent job. Some things are a struggle but you persevere as always. You helped him ease off his clothes. You're standing getting soaked as you prop up his weary head on your chest. Your hands rubbing calming circles on his back. You'd always cared for him. Even from that moment when you'd used the blaster at his neck to instantly defend him when someone took a shot at him. From then on you'd always been there. Whenever he had an excuse to return or take you with him. It had taken a while for him to lower his guard but once he had you'd slipped seamlessly into his life. Much like Grogu, it felt like you had always been there.

"Better, my love?" The light scratch of your nails on his scalp make it tingle. His head bobs a yes under your touch.

With his temperature under control. The next step is to treat his infection. There might be some Bactade in town but Din is strong and the herbs will do just as well, he'll just have to rest. With Din dressed and settled on the bed, you turn to leave.

A heavy hand grabs yours. "Stay. Please?"

"I have to get your medicine ready. I can't mix it in the dark."

"Marry me?" For a moment you question if you're sick too and it's affecting your ears.

"What?!" You laugh.

"Marry me then you can see me." His voice is quiet.

Reaching out, your fingers find his damp curls, you follow the sides of his face until you can cup his cheeks. Holding his face in your hands you tilt him up to where you think his eyes would be to meet yours.

"I love you, Din. I will marry you…when you are better and I'm sure the fever isn't influencing you. Now be a good patient and rest while I get your medicine."

"You know it isn't the fever talking, Cyare." Another cough comes from his chest. This one sounds looser. The herbs are working.

"I know. You wanted to marry me before and you'll want to marry me after this. So you better hurry up and get better."

A grunt of laughter passes his lips before they press into your wrist then your soft stomach.

"Father. Father. Father." Grogu's voice comes from outside the door.

"I'll go see to him and get your medicine. Rest."

Grogu greets you with grabby hands. "Alright, let's go cook up something to have your Dad back on his feet."

Din insists you sleep on the cot in Grogu's room until he feels better. The last thing he wants is you getting sick. Grogu seems to know how much you miss Din at your back as he crawls into your arms each night. It only takes a couple of days of bed rest to get Din well enough to wear his helmet again. The time passes pretty quickly. You see to Din then run out to see to Grogu and curse that day you decide to make him that soundboard. The call of 'Father' rings in your ears.

"Father. Father." Grogu slaps the button with his tiny palm as he sits at the table. Din smiles under his helmet as he makes his way down the short hallway.

"I'm here, kid." His gloveless hand caresses the boy's ear. His posture is much better, his strength seems to be returning.

"You look much better." You make your way around the table to him.

Din catches you by the waist as you do, pulling you between his open legs. The cool metal at his forehead presses to yours. "I feel it."

"Good. I have to run to the market. When I get back maybe you can have one more day's bed rest and we can join you?" The thought of lounging in Din's arms for the day sounds like heaven after the kid calling for his father for two days. You understood that he must have been worried but every time you went to care for Din he would start.

"That sounds perfect." Din sat next to Grogu as you passed him a plate.

Grabbing the net for your speeder, you slipped your feet into your boots and headed out. You were almost out of the door when you heard it. "Father." The word that had begun to drive you mad suddenly sounded right again. Grogu was with his father once again.

It was only when the word repeated and grew louder that you really paid attention. Turning around you found Grogu standing at your feet. "Father."

The amusement was clear even through Din's modulator. "I don't think he's been calling for me."

The soundboard was something you whipped up after Grogu enjoyed his IG unit so much. It was before you moved in with Din. It never occurred to you to upgrade it.

"Grogu? Father?" You point at Din.

"Yes." Grogu presses.

Din came over to pick the baby up. "Grogu, father?" He points at you.

"Yes. Yes. Yes." Grogu slams the button enthusiastically.

Tears fill your eyes. "Hey." You sniffle "Do you want to come with me?"

"Father. Yes." Grogu leaves his board with Din as he reaches for you.

Grogu was fast asleep with a belly full of free treats his big eyes had earned him from the traders at the market place when Din went to check on him. He came back to find you still working at the kitchen table.

"I wired in some more buttons. I just don't know what to have them say. Should I put one in with my name."

"Why don't you have it say 'Buir'?"

"What's that again?"

"Mother." You swear you could feel your heart pushing against your ribs as it grew. Din smiled under his helmet. He knew you well enough to know how you felt. Being cared for was so new to you that you always tried to hide how it made you feel.

Swallowing the ball of emotion welling up inside, you press on. "Wait. How do you say father in Mando'a?"

"Buir."

"We're back to the 'Father' confusion." You chewed your lip. "I have an idea."

The next day Grogu has a lot of fun with his new 'Father One' and 'Father Two' buttons. He would give a little giggle when one of you gave him your attention when he pressed the right button. The three of you spent most of the day in bed, reading, playing, simply enjoying each other's company. After dinner Din suggested a walk in the cooling evening air.

The creek hums with wildlife. Grogu used his powers to skip ahead chasing after anything that moved.

"If his powers keep growing, there won't be a safe place in the parsec for the frogs." Your laughter is caught on the light breeze. As you continue to stroll you feel Din's steps slow until you're tugged you back by your hand in his.

"Din? Do you need to rest?" Your hands skim his chest plate, checking him over as best you can.

"No. I'm thinking about marrying you."

A relieved sigh leaves you. "Well, I did say when you were better." You laugh at his eagerness. "Where? When?"

"Here. Now."

The laugh that left you at that point was incredulous. "What?!"

"I'm serious, Cyare." He takes your hands in his.

"Din we can't have a wedding here…I…what…how..?"

"Mandalorians just exchange vows. We can get married wherever you want."

"So, what? We just say some words and then we go home and I can see you without the helmet?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Wow. I never thought about it being that simple. I think I'm more nervous about the helmet thing. I'm so used to it."

"Hopefully you could get used to my face."

"Of course I would! Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I just meant it's a big change."

"Is that all you're worried about? No second thoughts about being stuck with me."

"I would never be stuck with you Din. I would always choose you." Gripping the sides of his helmet you tug him down to press his forehead to yours. "What do I have to say?"

Din rattled off something in Mando'a. For some reason everything sounds more important in Din's language. "Do you want me to translate it as we go, or before?"

"Neither. I don't need to know. I have to say them to be yours, that's good enough for me."

"I thought you were already mine?" There's a teasing lilt to his voice. He draws you closer by his hands on your hips.

"Officially yours then." You tease right back. "I want to be your riduur."

"So I'll speak then you just repeat the words back to me." Din's chest stuttered before began the words.

Carefully you repeated everything. Word for word.

Then there was a long pause. "That's it."

"That's it?! We're married?"

"Yes. There would be a celebration usually but that's it. Why? What do your people do?"

"Pretty much the same but there's usually a kiss."

Your heart nearly stops when Din lifts up the front of his helmet. It comes to a stop before his nose so you can place a kiss on his lips.

The walk home is charged with excitement.

"So are you just going to take it off?" You practically bounce next to Din as you get closer to the cabin.

"I suppose. Or do you want to wait?"

"For what?! I think I've waited long enough."

"I don't know. I've never done this before. Should we make it special somehow?"

"Din it will be special but there's no rush. Besides I don't know about Mandalorians, but my people have a special tradition for a couple to share on their wedding night." Your fingers tease the bare skin of his wrist.

The tiny gesture has a big effect on Din."I think we might share the same one. Maybe Grogu should go visit his Uncle Greef for the night."

It was as if you could hear Din's heart beating next to yours as he drops to the bed after fulfilling his marital duties.

"Mmm. That was special." You sigh rolling over to rest on Din's still heaving chest.

"It was." Din agrees in the darkness. "Do you want to turn on the lights?"

"How about we just leave the shutter up and in the morning I can wake up to my husband's face."

"Sounds good."

It did sound good until you needed to actually go asleep. Even with all the wedding night traditions wearing you out, your brain will not give in. Din had no such problem. He was out all night while your sleep was fitful. He was asleep when the first light crept into the room giving you a hazy peek of the profile you'd mapped out. He was still asleep when the light grew brighter and the image sharpened. He was still asleep when you were practically on top of him studying every inch of his face now fully revealed to you in the morning sun. Seeing Din sleeping so soundly usually warms your heart. He finally feels safe enough to relax completely. Today, you want to shake him awake so he could share your joy and more of himself with you.

Finally his breaths grow less shallow. His long lashes began to flutter. Two deep brown eyes come into view as they open, looking straight at you. The sound that brakes free from you is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. It was a strange feeling to finally see that face of the man you love. A face that you in some way already knew and loved.

"Hi." Was all that you could think to say. It was partly apt as in a way you were meeting Din.

"Hi." He sits up, making you sit back on your haunches.

The sun bathing him shows the warmth in his eyes and skin. Now you were staring at him to the point where he looked uncomfortable under your gaze.

Finally blinking, you give him an apology. "I'm sorry. I just…hi."

Din's hands find your face with a laugh. "It's good to finally see you properly, too. Hi."

Tears that you didn't realise you'd shed drip onto his cheeks as he kisses you. He keeps you impossibly close as his lips hold yours. When you break away fresh tears fall.

"I didn't think I was that bad to look at." Din says wryly as he thumbs some tears away.

Another broken laugh-sob bubbles out of you. "I just can't believe you've shared this with me. I know how important your creed is. You could have chosen anyone in the galaxy."

"No, Cyare. Only one, the person that I love. That's only ever been you." He pulls you into his lap to hold you.

"I love you, too."

Sleep finally took hold of you in Din's arms, when you awoke, Din was gone and a familiar voice echoed through the cabin. "Food."

Wrapped in your robe, you make your way to the kitchen.

Grogu sat at the table, ready as always. "Father Two."

"Hi, little one. I missed you." You press a kiss to his fuzzy little head, earning you a happy squeal.

Din gives you a smile, it lights up his whole face. It shows every ounce of warmth that you know he holds in his heart. Who knew that your riduur was secretly the most handsome man in the galaxy? That would be your secret, hidden away in your tiny cabin filled so much with love that it should be bursting at the seams.

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din grogu #the mandalorian

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thewebcomicsreview · 7 months

Text

Happy 10/25, the third most important religious holiday in the Homestuck Calender, and we got a new HS2 to celebrate, focusing on one of the new kids. The new kids were one of the parts of Homestuck 2 I actually liked, so let's see how the new writers handle them! With a Jailbreak reference, apparently.

Wait, hold on, deep lore: thespiansGlamor is Harry, glutinousGymnast is Tavros. RecidicivousGainsayer and gavageCunctation are names we haven't seen before. GC fits into the AGTC DNA theme of all the screen names we've seen so far (it's Terezi's acronym), and RG doesn't. They might be random NPCs, but they might also be foreshadowing. Also, neither Rose nor Kanaya appear to be on their daughter's friendlist, unless they're under the scroll bar, but maybe that's not weird.

What, uh, what did she draw the key with, HS2? That's her blood color, but she's not bleeding.

Also, who's narrating this? This has been a question in HS2 all along, but the narration here calls attention to itself more. It's much more "Homestucky" than HS2's had been.

We even have narration describing conversation, which is something HS2 has never done and HS1 restricted to carapacians.

You suggest to Vriska that you should go the other direction. Vriska says nah this is definitely where we wanna be. She says between the two of you, you've probably got enough luck to take this whole place off the map if you really wanted. You ask her what the fuck she means by that. She says you know like with your Thief of Light powers. You tell her you don't have anything like that. She says huh, weird!

Oh FFS now I have to go look up if post-Retcon Vriska met Aranea, her own dancestor who was not a Thief of Light. That's such a weird thing for Vriska to assume, that Vrissy not only has Vriska's powers but has mastered them. Also, I wonder if this narration style, besides being a Jailbreak reference, is because the new writers aren't confident writing the HS2 characters yet? Or maybe they just don't want Vriska/Vrissy dialogues because they're kind of hard to read.

I like these expressions. I also like this continuation of Candy Lore, that all the HS1 characters see Candyland as a "fake" universe and that's part of why they fucked around so much and got so fucking weird, whereas we see here that the actual Candy Natives do not see their planet as "bootleg". The fact that the HS parents don't think of their own children as entirely "real" is actually super fucked up, but I guess Yiffy's got the main right of complaint there.

I like that Vriska, who can fly, still makes Vrissy give her a boost. What a jerk!

Vriska says now THAT sounds like some shit a REAL Vriska would say! You roll your eyes and start to leave when Vriska calls out to ask if you're going without wishing her good luck. As you start to wish her luck she cuts you off and tells you to keep it, as she already has aaaaaaaall the luck she needs. You say okay dude.

I don't know if the original HS2 writers intended for the resolution of the "Vrissy kind of idolizes Vriska" subplot to end with "Vriska's so fucking Vriska that Vrissy is disillusioned within literally minutes", but it's honestly kind of funny and I like it.

JANE: From the conversation recovered from Egbert's phone, we've learned that Roxy has been... conspiring alongside the rebels for months now. Operating a lab deep within the ruins of the Troll Memorial Meteor, she and her coconspirator Calliope are preparing some kind of super weapon they've dubbed "The Plot Point". JANE: Heretofore referred to as The Point.

This feels a little like shade.

JANE: Let’s get to The Point!!

A lot like shade.

It's a little convenient to the new team that they took over right when HS2 was starting to actually go somewhere, but regardless, that was a neat page. I got a soft laugh out of it, the plot is starting to move, and there was some decent worldbuilding.

#Homestuck 2 #Homestuck 2 Liveblog #Feels nostalgic to do this!#Homestuck

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 3 months

Text

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Nine

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: Heheheh oops

Ao3

Chapter Eight | Chapter Ten

Orpheus had planned this out and wrote it a million times.

Like a detective, he laid out, notes upon notes and the red strings with his mind mapping out the multiple paths a conversation can go with you.

Everything the Novelist extrapolates, every possible outcome based on both Nightmare's dreams and his personal interactions with you.

Yet, at this moment in time, he finds himself lost.

Seeing you, being in the same room, in your presence with your attention on him; it is just like in dreams Nightmare's emotions bleed into clouding the Novelist's judgment. To yearn, he only yearned for one thing in all his life but here you are adding to his list.

“What does he have that I do not?”

When you love the darkness of a person, the flaws and parts people hide from the world, when the facade is taken away… He is laid bare to you.

Nightmare is every twisted sin and dark thought personified as a hunter. Yet, you draw out the light in him, that spark of Orpheus within the monster.

Orpheus… Felt that love.

This strange connection to his hunter counterpart and he shares unwillingly on both sides.

The love Nightmare has for you is bleeding into him, you are becoming important to Orpheus— Which is dangerous, far more dangerous than you realize.

You stand there unsure what to say, but your face says it all: you pity him. “I'm sorry.” Apologizing as if you did something wrong is a knee-jerk reaction.

“No, don't be,” Orpheus says, “My question was inappropriate. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Orpheus,” Placing the cue on the pool table to hold his hand.

“Please, Hypnos, it would be best if you do not touch me.”

“Have I offended you?” Stopping your hand just above his hand.

“No, not at all. You have been a light in my life these days and I fear I selfishly want to hold that light as my other has.”

Some romance novels have the third person who creates the plot of drama between the couple. Sometimes, it is brief or part of the whole book until the end where the main character has to make a choice. It always ends in heartbreak on one side, a minor thought of regret before being tossed aside to look forward to the happiness the main character chose.

In this case, how do you choose?

If one were to love Mr. Hide, would they love also Dr. Jekyll? They are the same person, a representation of the duality of humanity. Orpheus and Nightmare are these: two separate beings meant to be opposites but the same as well.

“I want to know why.” You tell him as you take your hand away, placing them by your side, “Do you feel what he feels?”

“Of sorts.” Turned and leaned against the pool table with both hands behind him to hold himself up. There is a pause before he talks, long-winded at first with flowery words as if writing a novel. Then it changes, simple and half sentences, his eyes on you the same way you imagine Nightmare's eyes are behind his mask.

“When I see you, all I feel is his love in my heart.”

You stand there, heart yearning for both men who share these emotions because they are the same person connected by this cursed manor.

You love one currently, while you had adored the other from afar.

Yet, it is the flawed man you choose and the perfection you were fascinated by because it was unattainable. You had a goal to reach, to become as well-known as the Novelist Orpheus… He is the moon, you were just a human on Earth looking up at him.

“Permit me to show you.”

“Show me?”

“Yes, I do not wish to steal you away… If you allow me to have a part of your heart.” A step closer, you step back, he moves around in front of you; your butt hits the edge of the pool. His arms caging you in, hands planted on the pool table. “Hypnos.” The way he sounds is dangerously close to Nightmare, or maybe it is the other way around. It pulls at your heart, that confusion both with his confession and reasoning (explained like a detective solving the great case of his love life), and now this.

The way he looks at you is the way you know how Nightmare looks upon you every time you are around him, kissing his mask and telling him— Your heart races as if scared and curious, not thrilled.

“Orpheus…” You feel your breathing quickening, chest tight, hands on his chest unsure what to do.

Do you love the monster more than the man? Or man who is the monster?

To deny him, would that mean you are denying Nightmare?

His lips take yours, not the sort of way you have read in romance novels. Your hands grip his vest as he leans forward forcing you to tip back, his kiss with tongue leaving you helpless and lost. Having no idea what to do but be taken and he takes a lot. His body is completely on top of you and both of you are lying on the pool table. You gasp, hands pinned down as he is above you. His leg hooks and drags your leg upward and his crotch is flush against yours.

Your heart is racing as his lips are on your neck, it is like you unlocked something within him that you fear will consume you. You cannot keep up with his skill and a moan that escapes your mouth is loud in this quiet space.

Orpheus hovers above you, “Hypnos.” A darkness falls over part of his face, only one brown seen in the light.

“Orpheus,” A bit dizzy as you are lost and confused, “Stop.”

And he does. Pulling away and wiping his mouth with his thumb then licking the pad of his thumb, “That… Was my fault.”

You sit up on the pool table still in a bit of a daze but aware enough to not look at the man, “I should go.”

“Of course.” Moving out of your way, “I hope you consider this.” He speaks while you pass by him.

Orpheus stands there, his eyes closing as he sighs in disappointment. The mundane task of cleaning up the game of billiards is not helping him relax.

You sent him a letter urgently asking for this meeting, the penmanship frantic and quick. You had to send it by Lady Nightingale who had Lucky Guy deliver the letter.

Within an hour, you get a reply sent by a raven with a letter detailing where to meet. Nightmare waits for you under the moonlight in a different meeting spot. Outside the estate in the old Kreiburg Race Course, he is in the middle with his arm out for you to hold. It is a cold winter night, you wear proper winter clothes and speak with him about what happened a few hours ago.

Frantic and over-explaining while apologizing a ton.

Nightmare will not tell you how much pride he feels that despite you being with his counterpart, you still thought of him. To know he equally plagues your thoughts, to know you yearn for him too, he is smiling though you are freaking out.

“Do you hate me? I should have said no…” He stops to catch your tears, “You must think me a hussy.”

With a shake of his head, as he stops you from walking and stands in front of you, he pulls out the notebook from inside his coat and starts writing.

Two pages worth of writing.

“Oh.” Reacting when he lets you read it, a quick read then a detailed read, “But… Isn't that unseemly?”

Another shake of his head and he takes the notebook back to write a few more words.

“I… I need to think about it, Orpheus. This is… Very new to say the least to me.”

His beak rubs your cheek affectionately, his hands pulling and holding you close to his chest. you gladly and clingy hug him back.

You inhale his scent, rubbing your puffy face into his chest.

“Touch. You?”

You nod, “I wish you could touch me every day.” Gripping the fabric of the coat as if it is a lifeline and the safest place in the world, “The New Year celebration,” Lifting your head to look at him, “Will you spend it with me?”

His beck touches your lip, a kiss, and he nods his head, “Yes but away.”

“We can find a spot for ourselves.” Smiling that beautiful smile he prefers over the tears you were shedding. Agh, he knows Orpheus is better than that but they both are too eager when with you. Fiend-ing for someone they do not need to wear a mask around (not completely). You laugh when he picks you cradling you in his arms like a bride, his mask once more covered in your kisses.

The others saw the blue lipstick when he returned from your room, the whispers and glances. None of them ever truly interact with him given his isolationist behavior. To see the blue lipstick all over him must have been a sight, and again he is prideful about it.

To be marked, he likes it.

#idv #idv x reader #identity v #identity v x you #orpheus x you #idv orpheus x you #orpheus x reader #nightmare x reader #idv nightmare #nightmare x you #identity v x reader #idv reader insert #idv orpheus #idv novelist #reader insert #idv x you #fanfiction

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 1 year

Note

Screw it, can we just get a script for part of an episode of A-town at this point?

[For those of you just tuning in: A-Town is the shitty postwar sitcom inspired by the life of Jake Berenson, to the eternal annoyance of Jake Berenson. The main character is a kid named Brandon A., who lives with his nuclear family — mom Dr. A, dad Mr. A, sister Daisy A. (secretly a yeerk named Zeptron 420), dog Mopsy (secretly Brandon's friends in morph) — in Southern California at the height of the war. Brandon secretly leads a team of alien-fighting shapeshifters that consists of him, his best friend J.J., his cousin Trina, his sometimes-girlfriend Crystal, Trina's sometimes-boyfriend Liam, and Liam's stepsister Gina.]

We open on the spacious kitchen of a large suburban home. Mr. A sits reading the paper and smoking a pipe inside, while his son Brandon sits at the same table with a large set of schematics spread out in front of him. Dr. A, in a lab coat overtop a house dress, walks into the room.

Dr. A: Brandon, what's that?

Brandon: *throws himself bodily over the map* Nothing!

[cue laugh track]

Dr. A: Is that... Dear sweet heavens above, it is!

[The camera pans up to show Brandon is clearly failing to cover the floor plan for a Blade ship, and that Mr. A is now craning around the side of his paper to see what the commotion is about.]

Dr. A: Honey, our son... is doing... *loud gasp* Dunces and Dragoons!

Mr. A: *drops his pipe on his paper in shock* *lights the paper on fire, must hastily tamp it out* Dungarees and Dingbats? My own SON?

[cue laugh track]

Brandon: Mom, Dad, I would never! I'm just... I'm only... It was... *directly to the camera* I have no choice — they think I'm playing Dunkin' and Dragnet! *to Dr. A.* There's this alien invasion, Mom, and me and cousin Trina are two of the only six people who have the power to —

Mr. A: *very high pitched* It's affecting his mind already! Look at him, he's lost the plot!

[Cut to a set that looks like the waiting room for a dentist's office. Brandon's older sister Daisy is standing near the front of a queue that stretches the length of the room. Like almost everyone else in line, she is wearing a t-shirt for The Gathering; hers is bright pink and cut into a crop-top, paired with a pink miniskirt and platform heels. The walls are adorned with posters that have slogans like "Do your part for the Yeerk Empire today! If you see a suspicious animal: slay, slay, SLAY!" and "Don't forget to sign up your host's friends and family for our Eternal Member perks program!" Visser Six-Hundred is at the front of the line, typing names into a computer.]

Visser Six-Hundred: Next!

Daisy: Um, hi? I'm Daisy, and after you guys lured me into the Gathering by promising I'd get to meet shirtless Tom Welling — which still hasn't happened, by the way — you stuck my head in a pool and then this total jerk named Zeptron 420 took my body? And anyway, Zeptron never showed up after that last feeding, and I was just wondering...?

Visser Six-Hundred: Not my problem.

Daisy: No, I get that Mr. Welling is a very busy man, but I don't think I'm supposed to go anywhere without Zeptron controlling me?

Visser Six-Hundred: Also not my problem. You have any idea how backed up we've been around here since the kandrona shortage started? Leave now, check back in next cycle, and if Zeptron's not back by then we'll call you.

Daisy: Okay, but...

[camera pans to Daisy's face; the actor, does a very convincing job of realization dawning on the world's silliest airhead]

Daisy: K-thanks-bye! *runs for it*

[Cut back to the A family kitchen. Dr. A is taking Brandon's temperature.]

Dr. A: Looks normal to me. Maybe he isn't getting Durkins and Drainage syndrome yet.

Mr. A: Yeah, if anyone has brain rot it's that darn dog. Thing ain't right, I'm telling you.

[Cut to Mopsy, a fluffy grey-and-white terrier. The dog is currently staring intently at a copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls, which is propped open on the floor.]

Dr. A: What do you mean, ain't right?

Brandon: Yeah, Dad, 'ain't' isn't a word!

[cue laugh track]

[Cut back to Mopsy, who has clearly overheard this conversation and has attempted to hide the book by sticking it underneath a laptop computer, and is playing innocent by staring at the screen instead.]

Mr. A: Just look at her! She's playing Minesweeper!

[The camera zooms in on the screen, revealing that this is in fact the case. An extreme close-up of one of the dog's paws moving across the computer track pad is paired with a shot of the screen going to Xs as she hits a mine. A dog's upset whine is heard.]

Brandon: Come on, she's not even doing well.

J.J.: *in voiceover meant to indicate thought-speak* You try avoiding mines with these tiny paws, loser!

Dr. A: You know, maybe we should get that checked out.

J.J.: VET? Not the vet!

Brandon: *out loud* Don’t be such a baby! Get control of your morph, man!

Dr. A: Then again, maybe the Dungenous Drags are getting to him.

Brandon: Uh, I mean...

J.J.: *runs for it* Bye!

Brandon: I mean, after her!

[While Dr. and Mr. A chase "Mopsy" around the house, J.J. maneuvers Brandon into being the only one in the room when he demorphs. Brandon has to hastily morph into Mopsy to avoid being found out. Trina and Liam stop by Brandon's house to ask Brandon a question, and Brandon maneuvers Liam into being Mopsy just as Mr. A is pulling out the pet carrier. But then human Trina rushes into the room, creating a diversion by claiming a "hairspray emergency", and Mopsy runs off. It's at that point that the B plot intersects with the A plot.]

[Daisy walks into the house. She's wearing black skinny jeans, fingerless gloves, and rainbow hair extensions. There's pop punk music blasting from the giant headphones slung around her neck.]

Mr. A: Get the— *watches Mopsy escape out the front door* Dang it!

Daisy: Dad, you might have noticed I’ve been going through some changes lately. Like I’m becoming a whole different person.

Mr. A: Honey, at your age, it's perfectly normal.

[Mr. A pulls out a box of tampons, seemingly from nowhere, and hands them to Daisy.]

[cue laugh track]

[Liam-as-Mopsy runs around the side of the house, now pursued by J.J. Trina is running after J.J.; together they complete two entire loops of the house. Meanwhile, Brandon is on the phone inside, everyone else passing by in the background. There's presumably an unseen swap, because Liam-as-a-human is seen chasing a different Mopsy, pursued by an enraged-looking Trina who is now holding a knife, while she is in turn pursued by Gina, who appears to be trying to talk her down. There's no audible dialogue, but we cut to Crystal on the other end of the phone, standing in her living room.]

Crystal:... got it! *hangs up the phone* *yells up the stairs* Hey, Mom?

Crystal's Mom: *enters the room* Yes, Crystal?

Crystal: You're looking a little unwell. Why don't you...

[Crystal touches her mom's arm. We hear the tinkling piano notes used to indicate someone is being acquired, and glitter effects briefly fill the screen.]

Crystal's Mom: Now that you mention it...

[She passes out onto the couch, apparently as a side effect of being acquired. This has never happened before, but with this show it's generally best to avoid asking too many questions.]

[Cut back to the A house. Daisy and Dr. A are standing in the kitchen.]

Daisy: Mom, do you ever feel like the whole world's out to get you? Like, do you ever suspect there's a giant conspiracy of alien invaders who are...

Dr. A: *distracted* Oh honey, did you get passed up to be Prom Queen again?

[Dr. A drops a kiss on Daisy's head, before running off in pursuit of Mopsy, who has gotten ahold of the knife and is trying to use it to pick the lock on the back door.]

[Cut to the exterior, where Liam and Brandon are watching the knife blade repeatedly stab through the door six inches off the ground.]

Brandon: You cheated on her again?

Liam: *sighs* Yeah, I cheated on her again.

[Cut back to the interior. Cue ominous music, as the chase speeds up. We see Trina-as-human again, gloating over who we can only assume is Liam-as-Mopsy. They struggle, and she makes an exaggerated face of shock as the dog is meant to have bitten her. Mopsy goes running off again, only to be caught by J.J. There's a scuffle, they roll behind the bushes, and a human Liam emerges holding J.J.-as-Mopsy. Brandon comes running outside with an expression of horror, and Gina dive-tackles both Liam and J.J.-as-Mopsy. Using extreme close-ups, we get only tiny hints of the scuffle, but the human J.J. and Liam would suggest that Gina has now ended up as Mopsy.]

[The montage sequence becomes something straight out of Scooby Doo, with all of the characters sprinting between doors and various mini-encounters including one where two copies of Mopsy are seen backing into each other and yapping in horror, running off in opposite directions before Dr. A can see their error. Why anyone is bothering to morph the dog at all remains an open question.]

[The montage ends with a clang as Mr. A shuts the door of the pet carrier on a Mopsy. The camera pans to a scratched and dirt-covered Brandon, then Trina, then Liam, then Gina... It's J.J. in the pet carrier. As the camera pushes toward J.J.'s fluffy little face frozen in an expression of horror, there's a smash cut to Crystal-as-Crystal's-mom standing in a vet's office talking to a middle-aged woman.]

Crystal: No, I did not lose your hamster — I know exactly where he is. I left him in the same room as Mr. Tyrus's ball python, and... *leans around a door frame to look off camera* *winces at what she sees*

Middle-Aged Extra: Y-yes?

Crystal: You can still see him... He's that big lump right in the middle...

Middle-Aged Extra: *screams* *faints*

Crystal: *to the camera* Brandon better hurry up. If she thinks that's bad, she should see what I did to the parrot.

Parrot: *off camera* And f[bleep] you too, you [bleep] [bleep] [bleep]!

[J.J.-as-Mopsy gets loaded into the car. The music is getting ominous, and all is looking lost, when suddenly Daisy runs out in front of the minivan.]

Daisy: Mom, Dad, I can't take it anymore! I've had someone inside me, and his name is Zeptron!

[Thus, the day is saved and J.J. is snatched from the jaws of a routine pelvic exam by Mr. and Dr. A cutting the vet visit short to instead rush Daisy to the doctor for remedial Sex Ed. Only Brandon realizes what she's talking about, judging by the expression on his face, but the camera doesn't linger there. Instead we see the minivan pull up to the vet at top speed. Mr. A gets out only long enough to thrust the pet carrier into the arms of Crystal-as-Crystal's-mom, and then the car drives off. It screeches to a stop at a near-identical office, only the poster of a dog wearing a stethoscope out front has become a poster of a uterus wearing a stethoscope. Dr. A walks in, dragging Daisy by the arm and shaking her head.]

[Cut back to the vet's office, where J.J.-as-Mopsy licks Crystal-as-Crystal's-mom on the cheek. Cue laugh track. Cue awww sounds.]

[As the credits fill half the screen, we get one last scene of Brandon standing outside Daisy's door. He's obviously nervous, rehearsing a conversation. Brandon leans against Daisy's door and it swings open, causing him to stumble into the room. Cue laugh track.]

Brandon: Hey, Daisy? About what you said earlier...

[Daisy is sitting with her back to the camera. When she does turn around, we get a slow reveal that she's back in pancake makeup, blond hair, and a pink sundress. She has the Myspace page for The Gathering open on the computer in front of her.]

"Daisy": *long pause* Yes, Brandon? You are my human brother, and I am happy to assist.

Brandon: Uh. *slow close-up on his face, as he clearly realizes what has happened* Never mind.

"Daisy": *another long pause* I'm sorry to hear that, Brandon. Human minds are often imperfect, are they not?

[cue laugh track]

[credits fill the screen]

Announcer: DON'T GO AWAY, WE'LL BE RIGHT BACK

#animorphs #a-town #long post #postwar headcanons #animorphs ficlet #jake berenson #<- kind of but not really #allusions to purity culture #allusions to the bubblegum misogyny of mid-2000s pop culture #'PART of an episode' you say #bold of you to over-estimate my self-control in this way

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sea-owl · 1 year

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The eight children of the Bridgerton family have been hiding a secret from their mother. It's not anything too bad, really, but when one lives in high society, some things are considered tabboo even if it's something as mundane as tattoos.

And the worst part is? They didn't even get these tattoos, their soulmates did and their soulmates are jerks who don't consider what is put on their bodies appears on also shows up on the soulmates. Tattoos are permanent!

Ironically enough, the tattoos all have that silver outlining to them, meaning all their soulmates go to the same artist.

Anthony was the first to have a tattoo show up on his skin. It was lilies going up his side. Tulips joined them on the other side later.

Poor Benedict had the most tattoos from his soulmate of all his siblings. This required him to get quiet good at hiding them with clothes and cosmetics. The biggest and most detailed piece was on his back shoulder, which was Cinderella inspired. The clock striking midnight with Cinderella' glass shoe sitting in front of it. Underneath is written "Have courage and be kind."

Colin's soulmate had tattoos only on their back. The left shoulder had a feather quill dripping ink. In different spots on his back were butterflies, with one half being wings and the other half being different quotes from literature.

Daphne's soulmate had a whole sleeve down their arm. The sleeve is composed of a compass at the shoulder with different map coordinates around it, and waves going down her arm, a tiny ship popping up here and there.

Like Colin Eloise's soulmate had their's only on their back, but their's also covered her entire back. It honestly looks like a garden with all the different plants and flowers she had. The most notable was the baby's breath that had twin flowers resting in the middle.

Francesca's soulmate had half sleeves on their lower arms. On the left was music notes to a song she would sometimes play if bored. On her right looked to be a memorial piece, to a brother, she would guess.

Gregory was the lucky one all his siblings would mutter. His soulmate only had a tiny ankel tattoo of a bird flying out of a cage.

Hyacinth's soulmate has gemstones on the inside of her forearm that looked to be partially buried in her skin. She was still underaged when that tattoo appeared, and Anthony almost lost his shit.

They all groan whenever a new tattoo appears because those are getting really hard to hide from Violet, okay? And makeup is expensive!

Anthony in frustration once broke the high spciety rules of soulmate writing and asked (demanded) his soulmate stop getting tattoos.

Kate immediately went to Sophie after reading that message and had her draw in marker a skelton hand, flipping someone off with pretty flowers around it. She's gonna let him think she did another tattoo.

Anthony about near had a damn anuyersym.

#bridgerton #soulmate identifying marks #what's on one soulmate shows up on the other #spouses friend group #what if spouses friends group au #kathony #benophie #polin #saphne #philoise #franchael #grucy #hyareth

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 7 months

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AAAAHHHHSKFNN^^;?[@^ I FINISHED A CHAPTER GUYS

Literally so relieved.

Also made a shiny aesthetic thingy for the fic

So shiny

OPLA!Mihawk x OC

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Chapter 4: Parting Ways

Word Count: 3.2k

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, eventually NSFW, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

"What are you doing?"

Gritting her teeth, Karimi only kept stuffing clothes into her bag. She didn't have much anymore, only the few meager belongings she had managed to rescue from her sloop before it descended to the bottom of the ocean barely a week earlier. She ignored Nami's question, not turning her head.

"Wh—wait, are you leaving?" she asked in alarm—and with more than just a hint of anger. "Now?"

"I said from the start this was temporary," Karimi pointed out

"So did I," said Nami coolly. Karimi could practically hear the glare that Nami no doubt had fixed on the back of her head. "And I seem to remember you giving me and entire speech about it last night."

"Yes, well. Unfortunate as that is." She pulled her satchel over her shoulder. "My chariot awaits, and my pilot isn't exactly known for his patience."

Nami all but gawked at Karimi when she turned Round, her arms hanging limp at her sides, eyes widened in total disbelief. "You can't be serio—him?" she demanded, gesturing in the direction where Zoro's disastrous duel with the Warlord had taken place in front of the Baratie. Karimi gave a short jerk of her head, pushing past Nami. "He almost killed Zoro and you—"

"I made a deal," she said through her teeth. "Unfortunately I failed to specify how alive he should leave Zoro."

"You...made a deal with him?" Karimi hummed in affirmation. "That—when you were talking to him last night—" She just hummed again, a little more impatiently; she had intended to leave the ship without anyone noticing, leave behind a quickly penned note of goodbye and apology with no details at all about where she was going to avoid anyone attempting to follow, and be done with it. She didn't do well with emotional goodbyes, and the last thing she needed was Luffy making the same stupid decision as Zoro in some harebrained attempt to save her from her own botched deal.

"What kind of deal?" Nami asked as theg stood at the railing if the main deck, and Karimi sighed, shaking her head. "What kind of—"

"I have to work for him for a year," she said shortly. "No pay. Handle World Government favors and contracts he can't be arsed to deal with himself."

"You...a year?" And Nami was gawking at her all over again, shaking her head. "That's—are you out of your mind? You saw what he did, he's—he's a damned monster, you might not even survive a year—"

"I can handle myself. And I really don't want to see any of you die," she interrupted. "Especially not over something as stupid as—that," she said, gesturing toward the cabin where Zoro was unconscious and barely clinging to the realm of the living. "You've all got dreams. I...don't. I don't think a year of my time is that big of a price to pay, personally."

"You said you were looking for someone." Karimi cringed a little at that, closing her eyes with a sigh. She had mentioned it in passing in front of Luffy, and he had yet to cease in asking her who it was. Of course everyone else on the ship knew by now. "That it had something to do with the contract you took from Buggy to steal the Grand Line map."

"And I'm still capable of keeping an ear out for information regardless of who I happen. To be working with or for," he said simply. "And it hardly counts as a dream. It's something I have to do."

"You think that bastard's going care about that?" said Nami.

Karimi looked over her shoulder and fixed her eyes on Nami's. "Probably no more than Arlong cares about you saving your village." It was a low blow, for sure—but Nami silenced at the counter immediately. "And has it stopped you?" She turned around fully, leaning back against the railing, her dark green eyes scanning Nami's face as the younger woman glared at her defiantly for a moment...and then crossed her arms with a scoff and rolled her eyes.

"Alright, fine," she said shortly. "And I guess you don't want the guys to know anything, right?"

Karimi rolled her eyes a little herself, digging in one of the pockets of her cargo shorts. She produced from it a folded piece of paper on which she had quickly penned her short, vague letter of farewell before Nami caught her packing, and held it out.

Then briefly pulled it back when Nami reached for it. "This," said Karimi, giving the paper a small shake, "is all I want them to know. I kept your secret." She pressed the note into Nami's palm. "I would appreciate it if you kept mine."

"Sure. Whatever." Nami tucked the note in her pocket without opening it or glancing at it. She met Karimi's gaze, and held out her arms in a shrug and let then fall heavily back to her sides. "So...what? Bye, I guess?"

Karimi frowned, shrugging one shoulder herself. "I'm not exactly good at this sort of thing," she said, her frown deepening, a crease forming between her brows. "Are we supposed to hug or something?"

Nami pursed her lips, clearly struggling for a long moment to keep a straight face—and then broke into a few quiet, chuckles, bringing her palm up to her face and shaking her head. "Yeah, I guess we're 'supposed to hug or something.'"

Karimi really hadn't said it entirely to be fecitious, to crack a dry joke—it was more than a bit awkward to wrap her arm around anyone, to feel anyone's arms around her. It had been a long time since she had, felt like practically a lifetime ago. The familiarity of it wasn't particularly comforting either—with it dawned a sense of mingling nostalgia and nausea in the pit of her stomach, and she was fairly quick to pull back and pat Nami's shoulder with a forced smile.

"I'm sure I'll be back again," she said—and she meant it, genuinely. Maybe it would be a long while from right now, but she wanted to see what might become of the crew, of her brief comrades.

"I'm not planning on staying much longer," said Nami. She swallowed, glancing back toward the cabins, and lowered her voice. "Arlong's not exactly known for his patience, either."

Karimi had no intention of trying to talk her out of it—there was no point. No point, and it would have been wildly hypocritical of her to do so. If Karimi could have had the chance to save her own village, she would have given anything.

But that was a lost a cause.

Still, she gave a small laugh.

"Doesn't mean you won't be back, too." Nami frowned at her as Karimi pulled her hand back, amd adjusted her satchel on her shoulder. "Our 'captain' might be an idealistic idiot, but I think he's got enough heart to make up for it. Don't you?"

Nami glanced back toward the cabins again, nd gave a little bit of a sigh. "I guess he does, she agreed, with a quiet laugh. She looked back at Karimi with the same half-hearted smile as the older girl took a few steps back. "Just...be careful."

"Always," said Karimi, tipping her tricorne a bit as she started the descent toward the docks. She stopped briefly, and added, "You too."

Nami gave her a short nod. A small but genuine smile. Karimi returned both without any hesitation.

Out of everyone aboard the Going Merry, and in the days before they acquired the ship, Karimi had found Nami to be the most difficult to get to know, to even get along with, making it clear from the start that she didn't trust the green-haired girl or her story that she was essentially a prisoner of the Buggy Pirates herself. Karimi understood full well her reasoning now—it was much the same as Karimi's for avoiding familiarity with others. It was easier to remain solitary than risk losing anyone else.

Zoro hadn't really cared one way or the other whether she tagged along with them, but Luffy had been a different story. As soon as Karimi had asked about his hat and told him she had sailed with the Red-Hair pirates, the young self-proclaimed captain had all but glued himself to her side, questioning her about them constantly, reveling in stories of the infamous crew and her time on the East Blue and Grand kine with them.

Reveling in stories of the greatest idol of his childhood, the captain of the crew he had begged years earlier to be a part of, who has gicwn up his own arm to save Luffy's life: Red-Haired Shanks.

Luffy's idol, nd for Karimi's first two years on the sea, her mentor.

She had thought Luffy'a eyes might pop right out of his head when she informed him of what Shanks's bounty had been when she parted ways from their crew six years ago—well over two billion berries.

"Two billion.... Wow." And he grinned ear to ear where he sat near the stern of the boat that night after their fight with the Buggy Pirates. He reclined back and laid down right in the deck, tucking his hands behind his head. "I can't *wait* to get a bounty." Karimi lifted an eyebrow row at that, glancing over her shoulder from where she leaned against the railing at the port side of the tiny sloop—honestly far two small for four people.

"You...want a bounty," she said slowly, a smirk beginning to curve the corner of her own lips. "You want Marines chasing you everywhere you go? Not to mention other pirates. Bounty hunters." She half-nodded toward the hammock where Zoro was sleeping.

"Well, yeah, that's half the fun of it," he said, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, that Boggy guy had a bounty, and we beat him, right? Pirates are supposed to have bounties." He tilted his head to the side a little, frowning up at the night sky. "It's like a..."

"Right of passage?" she offered, growing more amused by the minute.

"Exactly!" he said, pointing at Karimi, and she couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. "Can't be King of the Pirates if I never even get a bounty."

"No, I guess you couldn't," she said, not bothering to hide the amusement in her voice. "Still..." she turned around, leaning back against the railing, her elbows propped up against it. "You've already got one hell of a right of passage. It's sitting on your head right now." Luffy looked over at her with childlike curiosity, placing his hand atop his straw hat. "You said Shanks told you it was his greatest treasure. One of the most infamous pirates in the entire world entrusted you with his most valuable possession." His eyes widened a little as that sunk in properly. "Bounty or no bounty, people are going to notice. Buggy noticed. He won't be the only one."

"Yeah..." He laughed a little, and then he laughed a bit more, sitting straight up again. "And he had a bounty of fifteen million berries and he recognized it. That's got to be—wait, do you have a bounty?" he asked curiously. "You said just about everyone on Shanks's crew had one. And you said you were a mercenary for six years, you have to have one, right?"

"Nope," she said, smiling. She had only been with the Red-Hairs for two years, give or take a month, and as a thief on the crew she had always been discreet, able to keep off the Marines' radar. It didn't hurt either that Shanks, due in no small part to his history with her father, had been particularly protective of her. "I've...made a point of avoiding familiarity with Marines over the years," she went on after a moment. "Not really interested in being a wanted woman."

His frown only deepened at that. "But...you're a purate," he said, tilting his head in a manner not dissimilar to that of a puppy hearing a strange new sound for the first time. "Pirates always end up with bounties."

"Mercenary," she corrected with a sigh, shaking her head. "Who...also usually end up with bounties," she allowed. "But I'm careful. I have to be careful traveling alone."

Luffy's frown only deepened at that. "Sounds boring."

Karimi gave a snort and rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes," she said, her tone drenched in sarcasm as she lowered herself to sit down across from him, "how terribly boring it has been working with dozens of different crews for the past six years and making loads of money and potential allies..."

"I mean the traveling alone thing," he said. He rested his chin on his palm, his elbow on one of hisbknees. "You were with the Red Hair Pirates for two years, why didn't you just stay with them?"

In truth, Karimi still asked herself that question sometimes. It had been two of the best, two of the happiest years of her life since the massacre at Conch Cove. She had thought about staying with them. It had been all too much like having a family, a community, for the first time since she had lost hers.

But her goal was too personal to share with anyone else, to weigh anyone else down with. Even now she felt like she was practically searching for a ghost, trying to find her father. To find why he had disappeared nine years ago, where he and his entire crew had gone.

Whether he was even still alive or not—and if he was, to be able to tell him the truth of what had happened. The truth of the atrocity that she and she alone had survived a decade ago.

Karimi descended onto the docks, shielding her eyes with one hand as she looked around at the ships docked around the restaurant—other patrons who had remained there overnight, new ships arriving as Baratie prepared to open for the day. Karimi knew the vessel she was looking for; she had never seen it in person, but she had heard of it, mentioned in passing once or twice during her time with the Red Hair Pirates before she set out on her own at eighteen.

A small craft with black sails, shaped like a coffin, with a seat that resembled a throne. She had sincerely thought the description to be an exaggeration, until she caught a glimpse of the boat.

It was docked far back away from any other vessel, it's only prominent features being a pair of green flames at the port and starboard, the central mast that was clearly modeled after the black blade carried by its owner—and the throne-like seat, where the warlord was seated, leaned to the side, his elbow propped against one arm rest and his fist at his temple, eyes closed.

Karimi heaved a sigh as she started down the docks to approach the ship. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Shanks and his crew were among the most powerful and notorious pirates in the world, and she had more than enjoyed her time with them.

Yet she still really couldn't get over the sheer gaudiness boat.

"How quaint," she mumbled under her breath dryly as she neared the small vessel, her eyes scanning over it.

Evidently his ears were as sharp as his gaze, for Mihawk cracked an eye open the moment the sarcastic quip slipped quietly from her lips. She stopped in her tracks as his eyes became level with hers, not adjusting from his leisurely posture. "If the accommodations aren't to your liking, you are welcome to swim." He closed his eyes again, and added just as dryly, "Oh, that's right. You can't."

Karimi rolled her eyes a little—no, she wasn't getting her hopes up that a single minute of this arrangement she had gone and gotten herself trapped in would be enjoyable.

"Permission to board," she droned after a long moment.

"Granted," he replied shortly.

He did open his eyes again when she tossed her bag aboard and it landed with a muffled sort of flump a few feet behind him on the starboard side, glancing at her as she stepped across the short gap between the dock and Hitsugibune without any further hesitation. Mihawk still wondered whether her nerve the previous night had simply been a mere symptom of her inebriated state. Now, however, she seemed completely sober as she leaned to the side against the railing, raising a hand just over the green flame at the starboard torch and frowning.

"Copper, I'm guessing?" she said, drawing her hand back and rolling her eyes with a scoff. "Quite the aesthetic you have going here."

She took a seat on the deck, tucking her hands behind her neck and reclining back against the railing, shutting her eyes.

"So where to, Captain Edge-Lord?"

The slight smirk on the girl's face indicated that her sass definitely wasn't limited to excessive alcohol consumption. Mihawk chose to ignore it for now—her ability to follow orders was more important at the present. There would be plenty of time to deal with her insubordination later.

"Once you have gotten us clear of the docks," he said sharply, his eyes scanning over her, "we will head due north-east, toward Syrup Village."

She opened her eyes at that, meeting his eyes without any sign of hesitation. "Syrup Village?" she said, frowning. "Not really much there."

"Toward Syrup Village," he repeated. Her eyes widened the slightest bit as his meaning seemed to sink in—evidently she was aware of exactly what, or *who*, might be near Syrup Village. "I need to have a word with Vice Admiral Garp. You will get us there. I'm sure you're capable navigating, considering your 'six years experience as a mercenary.'"

"I don't do Marines."

Mihawk quirked an eyebrow at her sudden and blatant protest; at the clear reluctance, nigh fear that dawned in her eyes. This was different from the attitude she had already presented toward him. She showed no fear in his presence, but the suggestion of sailing toward a ship full of Marines had clearly set her on edge in an instant.

That was interesting.

But there was plenty of time to unravel the reasons behind it. She had, after all, pledged to serve him for an entire year. Right now, the most important matter at hand was getting to Garp—and finding out why the man had thought it appropriate to send him after his damned grandson. Mihawk scanned over her once more as she sat on the small deck of the vessel, before meeting her defiant gaze.

"You do what I tell you, and you will do so without question," he said firmly. He shifted back in his seat, closing his own eyes again. "Due north east. I'd prefer to get this meeting over with quickly."

Next chapter link again for your convenience

#opla #one piece #dracule mihawk #mihawk #mihawk opla #mihawk one piece #one piece fanfiction #opla fanfiction #mihawk x oc

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rosaren2498 · 1 year

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Touch Me, Please - Part 2

Part 5 of 'It's Not Abduction If You're Willing'

WARNINGS/TAGS: Fem!Reader (no use of y/n), 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!!! SMUT, Oral (Male Receiving), Touch-Starved!Reader, Touch-Starved!Dream, Top!Dream, Bottom!Reader, Vaginal Sex, No Refractory Period, Multiple Orgasms, Crying Due To Overstimulation, Creampie, I Think That's It

---

When you woke, the first thing you registered were the cool arms wrapped around you; the second were the fingers gently threading through your hair. The previous night rushed back to you and you were unable to hold back the pleased noise that vibrated in your chest. The hand in your hair paused, but when you turned just enough to bury your face in Dream's neck, his hand relaxed and continued its movement.

"Sleep well?"

His voice was definitely going to be the death of you; impossibly deep for his lithe frame, and smooth like black velvet, you couldn't have prevented your shiver if you'd tried. You pulled back from his neck just enough to be able to see his face when you forced your eyes open, giving him a lazy, yet blinding smile.

"Like you don't know; I've never slept better."

The corners of his lips twitched up, and though most people would not think of it as a smile you could tell how it made his eyes shine. It made you want to kiss him, and when you thought about the previous night, you felt giddy knowing that you could do that; so you did. Dream's lips were impossibly soft and full and utterly perfect against yours, the kiss gentle and loving. This has to be what Heaven is like.

When you finally pulled away, your breath was a little shaky, but it was worth it to see that smile again. You bit your bottom lip, that itching, burning desire to touch rearing its head again.

"May I?"

His eyebrows furrowed, a pinch forming in the middle of his forehead. "May you what?"

You leaned in close to him, dropping your voice to a whisper. "Touch you? Explore you? Worship you as you deserve? As you did to me?"

Breath, which he did not require, hitched in his throat and he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry at the look in your eyes. You looked just as desperate as he imagined he had the night before; how could he deny you? "Yes."

You shifted until you were straddling his abdomen and then you finally touched him. You started with feather-light touches on his forehead, smoothing out the little pinch there before your fingers skimmed down the sharp bridge of his nose. Then you brought both hands up, gently tracing your thumbs under his breathtaking eyes and fingertips along cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, trailing down his jaw; he was all angles and so fucking gorgeous. When he tilted his head back invitingly, you couldn't resist leaning down to place reverent kisses along his pale, unblemished throat. When you spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

"You're so fucking pretty."

He gasped quietly, the awe in your voice causing him to shudder.

You trailed your lips all along his throat, kissing and nipping lightly; the sudden urge to mark that pale, pretty, unblemished throat was overwhelming and you just couldn't resist. You opened your mouth and bit at his throat, relishing in the way his hips jerked up, in the moan that tore from his mouth; you immediately did it again in a different spot. You left mark after mark all over his throat, just as he had done to you before, each bite and nip causing another quiet, but beautiful moan to fall from his mouth.

Then you began trailing lips and fingers along his shoulders, leaving a burning trail of wet heat down his chest. You paused over where his heart was, placing a feather-light kiss there, before continuing your exploration. While your mouth trailed a clear path down, your fingers skimmed his sides, mapping every sharp, fine angle and bit of muscle on his body; you wanted, no needed, to memorize every inch of him.

Your gentle worship was leaving him reeling. He'd been worshipped before, long ago, but this... this was a different kind of worship. This was a worship born from the awe of a lover, worship born from a desire to map his body so you would never forget; the absolute tenderness in every touch, even there when you bit him, left him aching in the most pleasant of ways.

As your fingers brushed his hips, your lips dragged across his stomach until they were close to your right hand; then you bit down, sucking his skin into your mouth so as to leave a dark mark behind. You weren't surprised by the way his hips jerked, but you were a little startled by the guttural groan that left him. You raised your eyes to him and your core clenched when you locked gazes; he looked wrecked and you'd hardly done anything. You couldn't help the pride that filled you and, without breaking eye contact, you released the skin of his hip from your mouth and moved to your left hand, doing the same thing. You shuddered at the noise he made, at the way his eyes darkened to little pinpricks of light in a black abyss; it should've frightened you, but it only made you want him more.

When you finally pulled away from his hip, you admired both of the dark hickeys already forming on his hips, then you dragged your tongue along the v-shape that dipped down his body until you reached his abdomen. His cock was hard and leaking, a small puddle of precum staining his abdomen; you desperately wanted to taste him, but you resisted for now; you had other plans first. Bypassing his flushed and pretty cock, you settled between his thighs, nipping lightly at his left one. You looked up at him through your lashes; his cheeks had the prettiest flush, and his eyes were so dark. You barely contained a growl and bit at his thigh, soothing the sting with a stroke of your tongue. You hesitated only a moment before you began speaking as you worked on marking his thigh. "Do," bite "you," nip "have," suck "any," nip "idea," bite "how," bite "fucking," kiss "pretty," nip "you," bite "look?"

A shiver rolled through his body with every word out of your mouth while every bite you left was driving him mad with need. When you switched to his other thigh, having left several bruises and hickeys in the aftermath, his breath hitched again at how dark your eyes were now; the pupil was almost completely eclipsing the iris.

You repeated the same actions on his right thigh, a word between each nip and bite of your teeth. "Do, you, have, any, idea, how, beautiful, you, are?" You sucked hard on his thigh, enjoying the needy sound that came out of his mouth. You crawled a little further up his body until you were level with his cock, which was almost as flushed as his cheeks now. "You always look so ethereal, but spread out beneath me like this..." Your breath hitched in your throat, your words coming out awed. "Oh, you're breathtaking." You suddenly nuzzled his cock, breathing in his wonderfully rich, inhuman scent of ozone, thunderstorms, and stars, a breathy whine slipping from your mouth. "Can I taste you? Please, let me taste you, please."

He groaned, barely resisting the urge to throw his head back; he wanted to watch you. "Yes."

If you didn't have much experience with kissing, you had even less with this, but you wanted to taste him so badly. You felt the sudden urge to lick at the small puddle of precum painting his abdomen and you didn't resist, dragging your tongue through it; the groan he let out sounded like it had been punched out of him. You were surprised that it didn't taste salty, or bitter as you cleaned up the precum with your tongue; in fact, it tasted good. When it was gone, you turned your attention to his cock, giving little kitten licks to the head, cleaning it of precum as well; then, you took a deep breath, locked eyes with him again, and swallowed as much of his cock down as you could. You relished the choked-off shout that ripped from him as you worked his cock with your mouth and tongue to the best of your ability; it was a difficult task because his cock was fucking thick, but you didn't care; he tasted like starlight. You watched his hands twist in the sheets and pulled back just enough to speak, the head of his cock resting on your bottom lip.

"You can put your hands in my hair."

Then you swallowed him back down, whimpering around his cock when his hands immediately threaded through your hair; his grip was tight, but he didn't pull, letting you set the pace. As you worked him over, you cataloged every move and sound he made. The way his hands tugged on your hair when you dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock - and the subsequent barely-contained jerk of his hips when you moaned around his cock. The punched-out groan when you suckled at the head of his cock. The cry he made when you dipped your tongue into his slit to taste his precum again. Every noise had you rubbing your thighs together, needy for even the smallest bit of friction; truthfully, you wanted his fucking cock inside you, but you could wait; you wanted to taste his pleasure on your tongue.

When he tugged on your hair with a ragged gasp of your name, you moaned, shuddered, and tried to take his cock deeper; you choked and gagged immediately, disappointed when you had to pull back for a moment, gasping for breath. However, you quickly took him in your mouth again, swallowing and trying to relax your throat, allowing his cock to slide to the back of your throat; he gave a hoarse cry as he spilled into your mouth and you nearly choked in your eagerness to swallow his spend. You didn't pull back until he was done, giving his cock one final lick, and then a gentle kiss.

You gasped breathlessly when Dream suddenly moved. It was too fast for you to see, one moment you were between his legs and the next you were on your back with him hovering over you with the only evidence being the way you'd briefly felt his hands on your arms when he'd moved. You didn't even have time to think before his mouth was devouring yours, his tongue plundering your mouth as if chasing his own taste and you moaned, automatically spreading your legs so he could rest between them. You gave a startled moan when he rutted against you, pulling away from his mouth to stare, wide-eyed between your bodies; his cock was still hard. You dragged your eyes up, mouth hanging slightly open.

"How- but you just-"

He cut you off with another kiss, shoving his tongue into your mouth with a voracious need; even with his spend coating your tongue, you tasted downright divine. He only answered your question when he finally pulled back, a smirk firm on his face. "There are many perks to the Dreaming... such as no refractory periods." He leaned in and down until his lips were right at your ear, nipping briefly. "I'll stay hard for as long as I want."

You whined, rocking against him with a choked-off moan; his answering growl had you rocking harder against him, mouth opening and pleas falling like a waterfall. "Please Dream... please, need you inside me, please-"

He kissed you again, cutting off your string of pleas as he gripped your thighs. He spread one wide and wrapped the other around his hip, only letting go when you kept it there. His now free hand slid up until he was grasping his cock at the base, grunting into your mouth at the flare of pleasure before he lined his cockhead up, rubbing against your soaked hole; he couldn't wait any longer. He slowly began pushing into you, swallowing every noise you made, as well as his own sounds; you were so tight.

You whined wantonly into the kiss as he slowly filled you with little rocks of his hips, each push making his cock go deeper; fuck, he was so big; how had you even fit him in your mouth? When his hips were pressed against yours, he stilled, allowing you to adjust though his mouth never left yours. You allowed your tongue to curl and flick against his, completely losing yourself in his kiss, in his mouth. You threw your head back with a sudden cry when he pulled almost all the way out and sank all the way back in with a snap of his hips, burying his cock as deep inside you as possible.

He latched his teeth onto your bared throat, sucking and biting as he started a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and sinking back in with slow, deep thrusts, reveling in the beautiful sounds you made. He could feel your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him and it was a testament to his control that he didn't fuck into you like an animal with the way you were practically begging for it. He couldn't even contain his sounds, the way he grunted and groaned as he buried his cock in your wet hole with every thrust, choosing to muffle them in your neck instead.

With every thrust, with every roll of Dream's hips, the coil in your belly tightened a little more. You'd never felt pleasure like this before, had never felt so needy or desperate before; then again, you'd never met anyone like Dream before. You were being embarrassingly loud, as well; you'd never been loud during sex before, but you couldn't have been quiet if you had even tried, he was making you feel too good. You tried your best to match his rhythm, tried to roll your hips in time with his, but every time he buried his cock in you, it knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping for air... and desperate for more. You weren't going to last much longer, the coil in your belly pulled taut. You had begun another litany of pleas, begging him to let you cum; you weren't even sure if you were being coherent at this point. He pulled away from your throat to gaze down at you intensely, eyes swimming with entire galaxies; you clenched around his cock at the sight.

"You may cum, but it will not mean that I stop."

You whined breathlessly, clenching around his cock again and writhing at the thought; he would really continue filling you even after you came? Oh, you wanted.

"Is that alright?"

As if he didn't know? You quickly nodded your head, but Dream gripped your chin, gently but firmly as he shook his head with the slightest of movements.

"I need you to use your words, little dreamling. Tell me if that's alright."

He was still burying his cock in you over and over and that made any kind of thought difficult, but you knew what you wanted. You choked on another cry, trying to force the words past your lips. "Yes! Yes, please, Dream, I want it."

The noise that he made could've been a purr as he released your chin. "Good girl." He growled when you clenched around him at his praise, adjusting his angle and driving deeper into you, smirking when he hit that spot inside you that made you nearly scream. "Then cum for me."

Tears filled your eyes as that coil snapped and your orgasm rushed over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, throwing your head back as you trembled through your orgasm, keening when Dream only began to snap his hips harder and faster. Every thrust hit your sweet spot now, dragging your orgasm out longer than you thought possible, pushing you higher and higher; you didn't even get a chance to come down before you could feel your next orgasm coming.

You wrapped both of your thighs around his hips now, keeping him as close as possible as he drove into your willing body. You were full-on crying now, tears streaming down your face, little sobbing moans and cries falling from your mouth like a never-ending waterfall. Unintelligible praises and pleas spilled forth, as uncontrollable as every other sound he ripped from you; you just wanted him to cum at this point, wanted to feel him spill into you, needed to feel him fill you like you needed to breathe.

"So close already?" He grinned as you tried to pull him closer and he allowed you to do so until his chest was pressed against yours, shuddering at the broken-open noise you made; he wasn't going to be able to last much longer. "Where do-"

You didn't even let him finish his sentence, cutting him off with the only intelligible thing you could manage. "Inside." The word came out like a sob, your voice shaking with the desperation you felt; you sounded absolutely wrecked. The guttural growl he let out was something you could feel in your chest and you made another broken, needy noise; you were right on the edge.

It took every ounce of his self-control not to rut into you like a wild animal as you begged for him to spill inside you; it was the most base, the most primal claim he could've made and he hadn't expected you to want it, let alone so badly. He barely managed to hold himself back, keeping the pace he had set after your first orgasm, though now, every time he buried himself inside you, he ground a little deeper, rubbing against your clit; the hiccuping sob you let out with every grind had him gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to control himself.

"Such a good girl for me, taking my cock so well." His voice was gravel and his grin was near-feral at the way you writhed when he praised you. "Cum for me, little dreamling. Cum all over my cock and I'll spill inside you like you want so badly."

It only took two more of those hard thrusts and deep grinds before the coil in your belly snapped. You sobbed and cried through your orgasm, drowning in it, practically screaming. He let out a deep groan, burying his cock as deep as possible with a harsh snap of his hips, flooding your pussy with his hot cum. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your vision whited-out; you felt something deep inside you unlock abruptly. You thought you might've passed out for a moment from the sudden flood of emotions and onslaught of pleasure that weren't yours because when you came back to yourself, you were on your side, face buried in Dream's neck. You were both clean now but given his power over his realm, that didn't tell you how long you were out of it, however, you quickly decided you didn't care. You burrowed closer to him, breathing in his scent as he stroked his fingers through your hair and down your back in soothing motions, gentling you and bringing you back down, grounding you after all the intensity. Something felt different though, something inside you. You tried to think, tried to focus on the difference, but Dream only quietly shushed you, causing you to shudder.

He'd completely ruined you for anyone else... but you had the distinct feeling that that had been the point; you were his now.

"Guess my chambers are useless now."

You grinned when he laughed; oh, you loved him already.

#Dream of the Endless x Reader #Dream of the Endless x You #Morpheus x Reader #Morpheus x You #the sandman netflix

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hobiebrownismygod · 6 months

Note

Hi!

I'm literally over the moon to discover a desi ATSV writer, I saw your OC description and I was taken immediately🖤

I saw that you have nothing for Miguel so I am here for a Miguel x desi f!reader - fake dating/wedding edition.

- Miguel is invited to Pav's dimension for a wedding, he has zero clue on the wedding scene so he employed LYLA to help but she told him to ask his neighbor

- Reader isn't all that enthusiastic bc Miguel has been a jerk before, she agrees and starts with each day like Sangeet, Haldi etc. Takes Miguel Kurta shopping (yes he's in an all black one like Hrithik Roshan)

- Makes him watch K3G as part of the lessons. While throwing in how desi aunties are basically going to match make, Miguel suggests reader goes with him to this wedding as a date to "ward off aunties"

- As a brown girl it's not hard to slip into helping out at a function but since Miguel is glued to reader he's helping too now the Aunties are whipped. Ladies are swooning and reader is looking at Papi Miggy differently

- Especially after a shoe change when she took off her jhanjaras and asked him to keep it and she finds it later on his wrists.

- reader gets too close to take a look and now - those bangles are caught on his kurta. Miguel had no idea what the big deal was but he remembered the movie.

cue the drums because now

Please feel to change this request however you'd like and there's zero rush too. Your comfortability and convenience come first.

Thank you x

Hi, I'm so sorry this is taking so long to write 😭

I swear I'm in the process and it'll be done soon, I'll tag you in it I SWEARR

I did have to change a couple of the criteria cuz it was getting really long and a little confusing to write also I've never watched K3G I'm sorry but I tried to watch clips of it on YouTube

in the meanwhile have a preview <3

____________________________________________________________

"No."

"Aww, come on, don't be such a party-pooper. You'll have fun!"

Miguel squinted at his AI, an annoyed look plastered across his face. "I said no. I'm not going to a wedding, Lyla."

"You can't turn down an invitation from Pavitr! Come on, do you need me to ask him to give you the 'look' again?" Lyla asked teasingly, teleporting in front of Miguel and shoving her phone into his face, Pav's puppy-dog expression visible on the FaceTime call she had him on. "How can you say no to that face?"

"Ugh."

Miguel waved her out of his way with a grunt. "Come on uncle, I promise you'll never go to a grander wedding! These people are close friends of my auntie's and I'm telling you, they put so much effort into their parties" Pav explained, his voice emanating from the phone Lyla had refused to put down. "Its not a normal wedding. Its an Indian wedding. What would I even do there? No."

Miguel was trying to focus on the screen in front of him, tracing out the dimensional map for some new anomaly chase he'd been planning on assigning out. "Come on, I'll explain it all to you! Or even better...you could have Y/N do it" Pavitr said with a grin, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Miguel through the screen.

Miguel froze at the mention of your name, his expression softening slightly. "You invited my neighbor?" he asked Pav, an dumbstruck look on his face. "Yes. She's very nice and she told me she hasn't been to a function in a long time. Besides, Maya Auntie told me to invite all my friends." Pav responded with a sly shrug.

"Since when are the two of you friends?"

"Since I helped fix her rooftop that your battle with that anomaly ruined."

"So its settled then. Miguel, you're going, final say." Pav gave Lyla a high five through the screen.

"No-" Miguel began to argue back, but the two of them were completely convinced. He knew there would be no point in trying to turn it down at this point, as Pavitr and Lyla would most definitely succeed in forcing him to this wedding, no matter how much he objected.

You were a very out-spoken civilian who lived fairly close to the bounds of the Spider Society. Because of this, you were often affected by the fights that would happen in and out of the society, some of these leading to actual property damage. Even then, your spirts were high and you ended up getting to know a lot of the Spider-people that passed by, even becoming friends with some of them, including Pav.

As for Miguel, the two of you had a complicated relationship. Miguel tried to be nice to you but you barely tolerated him. After all, he'd built his society next to the home your family had lived in for decades. He'd actually asked you to move and even offered to relocate you but you and your family had refused. And thats when you decided that he was a jerk and that you'd try to steer away from him and his problems.

But apparently, he needed your help now.

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kneexcutter · 1 year

Text

It is what it is

Part 3

Alexia! Play Low by SZA

@tapioca-marzipanpan @do-leannan @yooforia @fruitymoonbeams-blog @xheera @angelsquid @makastaco @random0lover@lovecats12345

Summary: You weren't seen as a high-ranking solider, and you were stuck in a position you didn't want, directly by General Shepard's side. You get a call one day about a new opportunity that will help you.

. Reader is presumed female

Note: I've never played any of the games, so please excuse any inaccuracies. Due to the use of Google Translate, any languages displayed may potentially be incorrect.

There will be explicit sexual content, as well as instances of harassment, cursing, and drug usage.

Callsign: Hound

You sighed as you closed the door to your room. Once more, it was only you and no one else. Your childhood memories ran through your mind with each blink as you walked over to your bed and laid down.

Every memory, every voice, every touch, every emotion, He was there. He was never far away. Fuck. Participating on this task force very likely did not completely expel you from him.

Knock knock

You groaned and jerked your eyes wide. A somewhat apprehensive Soap was waiting for you at the other end of your hasty opening.

He briefly diverted his eyes from yours before flashing you a timid smile. "Uh- Captain wants us in his office in 30."

“Okay.”

"Are you alright? I didn't in any way hurt you, did I?" Soap inquired as he examined your face.

You shook your head. "Nothing wrong, Soap; thanks for checking on me." You started to close your door, but Soap sighed and placed his palm on the back of his neck.

“Hey listen Hound…”

“Yes?”

"If you ever want to talk lass, I'm willing to lend ya an ear, I doesn't really take a genesis to something's bothering ya," Soap said.

"Nothing's bothering me Soap-"

"Johnny, you can call me Johnny, John MacTavish."

"Oh... Y/N, I'm Y/N."

"Y/N, that's a nice name, your parents picked a beautiful name for a beautiful lass," Soap smiled at you.

You nodded at him, "Thank you... I'm gonna get ready now."

Soap nods, "Oh right, sure, I'll see ya later then."

You rested your head against the door as you shut the door and then closed your eyes once more. Your eyes began to burn with a hot torrent of tears that were begging to be let out. It's not like Soap knew; he was just complimenting you, and in all honesty, nobody else knew either. They are unfamiliar with you. Expect Price and Gaz. You had to keep it silent. They have only known you for a short while, especially Soap, whom you hardly even know. They can already tell something is wrong with you. You had to keep it on the low. Ensure that nobody knows. Your siblings or perhaps even a pet could be lost with just one mistake?

. . . . . .

Price greeted you as you stepped into his office, you stood next to Ghost as Price began to map out a mission to you all. From what you've gathered, it was a rescue and intel mission, which meant you had to go undercover to obtain information on a captive. You scanned the map Price had drawn out, pointing to the area you'd all be flying to. There was a safe house nearby where you would all go to prepare for the mission.

After you were all departed, you couldn't help but have the uneasy feeling that Price was closely observing you; it's probable that the others were also aware of it. Maybe it was because you were new to the team?

You started packing a few things and tossed them to the side as you mentally prepared to leave at nightfall.

Night fall came on the the plane you went, so how you got stuck sitting next to the captain of the team himself with Soap sitting right across from you. He glanced at you from time to time but never really said anything but give you a small smile.

"Don't mind him," Price whispered to you. "Mate's got a staring problem."

"You don't say," you snickered. "Say... Price? Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"What's your life looking like right now? Aside from all this? You have a partner yet?"

Price chuckled, "So this is how you wanna pass the time huh? Alright I'll bite, can't catch a bloody break with this job."

"Why don't you try someone on base?" You laughed, "A good-looking guy such as yourself shouldn't have any trouble finding someone."

"Solider..."

Ah shit

You gulped slightly.

Price was attractive; what was there not to like about him?

He was affable, and from previous operations with him and Gaz, He was a gentleman. He was always cordial to you and treated you as an equal; he never made you feel like you had to be anything other than who you are or that you had to prove something to him. He was sincere with you. All he needed to know was that you were good at what you do. And you were god damn good.

Admiration for him was easy to hide from him; he was an inspiration not only to you, but also to Gaz and those around him. Next to him, you unwind.

Not drifting asleep, but your body felt at relaxed, and it was reassuring to know that Price was here, right next to you. In essence, he was your friend. Someone you can trust with your life...

Maybe you should tell him about Shepard? It wouldn't hurt, right?

"Thanks..."

Price mumbled a little. Knowing you might or might not have flustered him, you smile smugly. "You're very welcome, Captain."

The rest of the trip went without a hitch thanks to Soap's ability to start conversations and share bits and pieces of his life with everyone else, with the exception of Ghost, who you weren't too surprised by. The most of what you learnt about him came from Soap or Gaz.

Once you all landed you all began to head to the safe house on foot to a remote location. Once you got there you let out a groan, the place was small probably had one bathroom too. You dropped your bags and rushed towards the bedrooms, there was two. A master bedroom and another room that most likely was a kids room, it was painted a light blue with two beds on each side of the room. One bed had a brown stuffed animal on it. It even had a little red bowtie with a tag on it.

You felt a presence behind you as you entered the kid like bedroom.

You went towards the bear and picked it up checking the tag.

"Make up date soon ;)"

You whirled around, pushing the bear into whoever's chest you could find and fleeing the room.

"Woah what's wrong lass? You look like you seen a Ghost- ah see what I did there!"

Ghost walked out of the room hie eyes scanned you and Soap as he held the bear on his hand. "You scared of a stuffed bear?"

"No- no, I was about to puke…" you said as you pushed by Soap and into the bathroom. "Jet lag or something- I haven't been on a plane in a long time…"

You were on a plane. Liar.

"Do you need anything?"

"Nah- I'm fine, just give me a sec," you replied, your breath unsteady. You gazed down at your twitching arms, feeling dizzy and feverish. You were on the verge of puking. You went to the toilet and gagged rashly, without a second to spare.

On a mission, you weren't even safe. How did he find out? Kate should have been the only one who knew the location of the safe home; the less people who knew, the better. Unless this was a mission authorized by him, was this a way to keep track of where you were at all times?

Something has to be there-

There was simply no way-

How the hell did find you?

Were they in on it? Someone told him. Was it Soap? He's had his eye on you since you came…

Ghost, someone so elusive, must be full of betrayal...

Gaz would never do anything like that.

Price would not do it either, then who would?

Was that Kate?

No, she unknowingly saved you from Shepard.

Knock Knock

Your hurled once more The room seemed to be getting smaller by the second. It had no qualms about swallowing you completely. Your heart was beating, your body stiffened; you hadn't even been shot yet and you were already feeling like a fool.

Knock Knock

"Hound, I'm coming in alright?"

You coughed, turning your head to look at who walked in.

"Capitan..."

Prince kneeled down next to you placing his hand on your back, "What's wrong love? You broken?

"...No, it’s nothing I'm fine-"

"I know you better than that Hound, let it all out, you need to rest."

You nodded as Price gave you a water bottle, presumably his.

You sat upwards tilting your head so you can drink the water, Price held you head as you did this. You took a few deep breathes with his help and managed to calm down a bit. He helped you into the bedroom.

Price sat you on the bed, you grabbed his arm. what the hell are you doing?

"Lieutenant?"

"Stay- please."

Price stared at you for a moment then nodded, "Are you sure?"

"Yes..."

You can trust him

“Alright… I’m going to get changed, Gaz put your stuff in here already I’ll knock before I come in.”

You nodded as you watched Price grab a bag and head out the door. You were alone… but there were still eyes on you. Hidden ones probably in the walls or in the stars in the sky. This whole situation just isn’t fair. Why you out of all the lieutenants, the moment of fuckery that’s happening is just unpleasant.

You got up from the bed your legs still like jelly, you grabbed your bag thankfully Gaz put in right by the bed. You grabbed some clothes to change into and put them on making sure at least neatly put your uniform back on top of your bag and got into bed.

After a few minutes there was a knock on the door, you said a brief come in and in came the captain himself. He was wearing a white T-shirt and black sweatpants. He gave you a small smile before putting his stuff beside the door then heading to the bed right next to you.

Price let out a sigh then a small chuckle, “I never knew you had plane sickness.”

“It’s been awhile okay.”

“I thought you took a plane coking over to base?” Price asked you turning his head to look at you.

You sink into the bed not looking back up at him, “Felt sick too.”

Price hummed, “You sure about that Hound?”

“Yeah…very sure…”

“Y/N.”

“Yes sir?”

“Your broken.”

You looked up at Price, his eyes scanning yours and never did he drop his gaze.

“I’m not-“

“I know that look Y/N, it may have been a good few years since we’ve spoken but believe me my memory is still as sharp as ever.”

“…goodnight John…”

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