#he’s taking up my frontal lobe again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tojisbbygworl · 10 months

Text

He’s Not Actually That Cool - Hobie Brown x Black!Reader

Based off of this post

Part 2 bonus bonus ii

Masterlist

Imagine Hobie, the undeniably coolest person in the Spider Society, is a virgin nerd with a big dick

Tags: Hobie is a pathetic virgin loser, 18+, a lil smut, Oral (m receiving)

"How are you even cooler under your mask?"

"I was this cool the whole time."

A scoff behind the both of them. It's you shaking your head in your mask.

Hobie smirks at you. "Something funny there, love?" You don't say anything, just pretending you don't hear him and looking away innocently.

Hobie was the reason you were a part of the Spider Society. He and Miguel had captured the anomaly in your own universe with your help, of course. You knew Hobie had immediately took a liking to you what with the way he stared at you through his mask when he first laid eyes on you, frozen in place, color palette pink.

You liked him the moment he ripped his mask off when it was all said and done. He looked real good with his wicks, his sharp facial structure, wide-set nose and even larger lips. You actually believed him when he said he was briefly a runway model, emphasis on the briefly.

He invited you to join them and pulled you into the portal before Miguel could even say anything. You two have been inseparable ever since.

As you met more people, they all told you of their opinion of the man who seemed to be your best friend. Everyone says the same thing, that he's effortlessly cool and it makes him a little obnoxious. It always made you tilt your head.

You've seen the anime action figures in his room ranging anywhere from Naruto to Tokyo Ghoul.

"Oi, don't touch my things. You're the only person I trust to let in here, don't ruin it."

He's talked your ear off about the intricate lore of FNAF (he HATES MatPat btw)

You've groaned at how many times you've heard the name 'Afton' leave his mouth.

"So the place shut down again after the victim lost their entire frontal lobe"

"And that's the bite of '83, right?"

"No, that's the bite of '87. Thought I told you about '83?"

He probably did but he talked about it so damn much that you forgot. "It's cool, I'll tell you. So the bite of '83..."

This man is a fucking nerd but the BIGGEST misconception everyone has is that he's probably great at sex.

He has a reputation of "running through" everyone who wants him at the society...and yet no one has actually done anything with him. Everyone whispers about it, but no one has ever come out and admitted to having sex with him.

He's without a doubt your closest friend, so you asked him about it while you were chilling at his, watching him strum his guitar.

"So I heard you been running through the Spider Society like a tomb raider."

He cackled, "Yeah, that's what they all believe, innit?"

"It's not true?"

He shook his head. "I haven't got bottle, luv. Don't know what the bloody hell I'm doing."

"Oh really?"

He stopped strumming to look up at you, his smirk falling upon seeing your sultry and mischievous face. He grew a bit nervous, but was more excited if anything.

"What's that look about?"

"Would you like someone to teach you?"

He dropped his pick from how badly he was shaking. Hobie gulped and slowly nodded his head. You walked over to him and slowly lifted his guitar off his body, then pushing him back into the couch and sitting on top of him.

That's how this current make-out session started with you doing most of the work, taking off yours and his clothes feverously.

Hobie just sat back and let you do whatever you wanted. He especially loved watching you strip down to your underwear, blood shooting to his dick as soon as he watched your breasts bounce out of your shirt. He watched you pull your panties off of you leaving you completely naked and him only in his boxers.

He shifted in the couch to relieve some tension. You giggled at his starstruck face.

"You good?" You asked him. He nodded. "Do you need me to pull it out for you?" He nodded again.

You laughed, but was quickly shut up by his long, curved shaft slapping back onto his stomach. His underwear did him no justice, nothing could have prepared you for this.

He shyly looked away and bit his lip, not wanting to admit that he liked the way you gazed at it. It fueled his ego, but he didn't know how to tell you without stuttering.

He was actually shaking pretty bad, and it worried you. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah...I just..." he gulped and looked back down, his dick jumping upon looking into your eyes. Just like his, yours were a deep brown. Your eyes were furrowed in concern, and your full lips were parted. His breathing got deeper.

"You really want to have sex? With me?"

You deadpanned him, then leaned your head down to his base. Hobie gasped when you stuck your tongue out and licked all the way to his tips. Your played with it for a couple seconds, leaving him a shuddering mess. His precum leaked from it and you licked it all up reveling in the salty taste.

"O-oh..." he moaned when you grasped it gently and began to pump. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, so glad that he didn't have to imagine it was your hand beating his dick. He humped into it a little, and he looked so sexy crunching his abs that you couldn't help but to enclose your mouth over him.

"Oh, fuck," he exclaimed. He threw his head back up and gazed upon your form. You were giving him the sloppiest top he had ever seen, (he only watched BJ and missionary porn and you were much better than those girls)

God, he couldn't wait to get you under him and hump into you like's he's thought about for so long. He's used his hand, his pillow, he even looked up how to make his own flesh light because he would never be able to hide a real one from you. It was gross but fuck, how else was he supposed to get his rocks off? If he didn't do any of those things, he would have no control around you.

"Fuck, babe. Please keep going~" Hobie was drooling - actually drooling - out the side of his mouth. He panted and clenched his hands. You had to reach out and move them to your hair.

The poor thing panicked, he had no idea what you wanted him to do. He gently pet your small afro, more concerned that he was close to cumming down your throat.

You stopped and popped him out of your mouth, laughing a little at how cute he was.

You didn't notice how stressed he looked, him sitting up a little more in the chair. "Ngh, wait, no-" he whispered.

His dick bounces with each spray of his cum with him letting out a string of moans and curses as it lands on his stomach and chest. "Ffff...uh...uck..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you say, watching his fucked-out face. His head bounces with each deep breath he took.

"Why...did you...stop?" he asked in between pants.

"Why did you pat my head?" you asked, standing up, begrudgingly putting your clothes back on despite the ache between your legs.

"What was I supposed to do?" Hobie stares at your ass lustfully, feeling the blood rush back into his dick from how it moved.

"You were supposed to grab my hair and choke me with your dick, baby."

He gulps not being able to take his eyes off of you. "Oh."

You turned after putting your panties back on and froze. His dick was standing straight up again, the head glistening with thick white liquid. He stared at you embarrassingly, hoping that you would just come back over and kiss it.

"You could have said something before I started putting my shit back on."

"Sorry," he said, not being able to contain his excitement when you walked back over to him. His smile went away when you instead hovered yourself over his lap. His cum was still on his stomach and his dick. "W-Wait-"

"Yeah?" You whispered sensually, grabbing him again and pulling your panties to the side to line him up with you.

"I'm still-, I still have-, Is this okay?"

"I'm on the pill."

He starts getting nervous again, but he doesn't know why.

"You scared?" She asks.

He looks at her and rests his hand on her hip. "I don't want to hurt you. Or make you uncomfortable."

You giggled again. "I promise you I'll be fine."

"But, I still got my cum on me, babe."

"I know." You leans over to his ear and lick it. He shivers. "Isn't that so nasty?"

Hobie moaned as you begin to sink yourself onto him. You moan too, Hobie splitting you like you never imagined.

"You really want to shag a virgin?" He finally asked her, his voice wavering.

She rolled her eyes and sighed in frustration. "Virginity is a social construct. Don't be ashamed. Now shut the fuck up."

Definitely making a part 2 and a lil bonus and another bonus (ii)

Taglist is closed!

Masterlist

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spider punk smut #hobie brown x black!reader #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x black reader #spider punk x reader smut #black reader

4K notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 1 year

Note

The year is 1986. Eddie is in danger of not graduating (again). Reader is his girlfriend, and she’s tired of him not taking his future seriously, so she breaks up with him. He finally decides to get his sh*t together and buckles down. But is it too late? Will he graduate? Will the love of his life take him back? Up to you, bb!

xoxoxoxo, @munson-blurbs 💚💚 PS ily

Anything for you, my love! I hope you enjoy the way I broke Eddie’s heart. It hurt me more than it did him. ily2💚

Words: 5.2k

“Eddie, we’ve got to study,” you say. He’s kneeling behind you on his bed, pressing soft kisses along the back of your neck as you try to focus on the textbook laying open in your lap.

“How am I supposed to concentrate, hmm? With you sitting on my bed, looking so beautiful,” Eddie says against your skin.

“Okay,” you say, letting your book thump onto his sheets. “I’m gonna quiz you on stuff that’ll be on our finals. For every right answer, I’ll take off a piece of clothing. For every wrong answer, it’s an extra fifteen minutes of study time.”

“Fire away, baby.” Eddie lounges back against his wall and tucks his hands behind his head, a sinful smirk on his lips.

“Let’s start with English,” you say as you shift on the bed to face him. “What two Shakespeare plays are written entirely in verse?”

Eddie purses his lips, eyes searching his bedroom ceiling as if the answers were written across it in big bold letters. “Hamlet and…McBeth?”

“King John and Richard II,” you say with a sigh. Eddie groans and lets his hands fall down to his lap.

“Ehh, shit,” Eddie says. “But just because it had two answers doesn’t mean that’s half an hour of study time! That was one question, so only one fifteen-minute addition.”

“Fine,” you say, silently knowing this is all in vain anyway. Eddie’s been caring less and less about school lately, to the point where you’re afraid he’s going to fail senior year for the third time. “We’ll move onto biology.”

“Take your clothes off and I’ll give you a biology lesson.”

“Eddie,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Fine, fine, sorry. Go on.”

“What part of the brain deals with balance and coordination?”

One of his dark brown eyes squeezes closed and he tilts his head from side to side as if he’s deliberating what he wants for dinner.

“The left part. No, wait, that’s a joke! I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Um…the frontal lobe?” Eddie winces, knowing that this was just a wild guess—it was the first part of the brain he could think of.

“The cerebellum,” you say.

“Okay,” Eddie says, nodding his head. “I’ll remember that. The cerebrum controls balance and coordination.”

“The cerebellum,” you correct.

Eddie groans, rolling the tension out of his neck before letting his head thump back against the wall.

“Come on, hit me again.”

“Last one,” you say as you adjust your legs tucked underneath you. “History this time. What city was the first capital of the United States?”

“I know it wasn’t DC,” Eddie says, pointing his finger at you. “Hmm, what other cities were important then? Boston, Philly…Philly! Philadelphia!”

At the shake of your head, Eddie slumps down on the bed.

“New York City,” you tell him.

“Ugh, fuck me.” Eddie rubs his hands over his face, and you give him a pat on the leg.

“Not tonight, hot shot. Grab your books.”

Spending your free period in the library, pouring over books, you’re jarred out of the world of microeconomics by the chair across the table from you screeching against the floor as it’s pulled out. A dark figure plops down in it, and you glance up to see the dark leather jacket and black Judas Priest t-shirt that you’d sat next to in last period English. Eddie runs a hand over his unruly curls and shoots you a smile.

“Hey, babe.”

“Eddie, what the hell are you doing here?” you get out through gritted teeth. You’re almost certain the pencil in your hand is going to snap in half. “You’re supposed to be in history.”

“Ugh, O’Donnell,” Eddie complains, dropping his head back. “I swear, she was there for half the shit she’s telling us about. God, I couldn’t take it anymore. She’s just droning on and on. Told her I had to take a leak and knew this is where I’d find my best girl.”

“Eddie!” You all but shout his name before remembering you’re in the library and you lower your voice. “Eddie, you’re already in danger of failing her class. Among others. Should you really be skipping class?”

“Babe, it’s been five minutes,” he says with a chuckle, his carefree attitude that you usually love grating on your nerves.

“Okay. So, go back and pay attention now.” Your tone is sharp and curt, but you’ve put up with this long enough.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Eddie asks, jutting out his lower lip in what is an admittedly adorable pout. He leans forward on the table, letting his hand slide over to rest on top of one of yours.

“Trying to get you to graduate,” you say, snatching your hand away. Your boyfriend watches you with wide eyes as you slam your book closed and shove it into your backpack. Slinging it over your shoulder, you stand up and nod your head towards the library door. “Let’s go.”

Eddie follows behind you like a lost puppy as you storm out of the library and stalk down the hall. Once you’ve turned down an empty hallway, you spin around to face him. The anger in your eyes takes him aback, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“You’re mad,” he says softly.

“Yes, I’m mad,” you snap. “My boyfriend doesn’t seem to give a shit if he graduates high school or not.”

“I care,” Eddie defends weakly.

“If you cared, you’d be in class right now. Or would study with me when I ask—or at all! Jesus, Eddie, I’ve been trying for months to get you to take your future seriously.”

“My future with you is what’s most important,” Eddie says, hand reaching out for you. Hurt flashes across his face when you pull away, and it hurts you too. This isn’t what you wanted. You’ve never wanted to be the reason Eddie’s in pain. But you also can’t just sit by and let him do this to himself.

“That’s part of the problem, Eddie. You’re so focused on me and not enough on you.”

“Because I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too, Eddie,” you reply, tears starting to fill your eyes. “That’s why I’m so concerned about you. About your future.”

“I’ll go back to class,” Eddie says, taking a step closer to you. “I-I’ll study with you. Baby, I promise.”

“You’ve said that before.” You squeeze your eyes closed, resolving yourself to what you know you have to do. As much as you don’t want it. As much as it’s going to break your heart. “It’s not enough, Eddie.”

“Then what?” Eddie rests his hands on your upper arms. “Tell me what to do.”

“It’s too late,” you say, shaking your head.

“W-What do you mean it’s too late?” But the dread in his eyes says he knows exactly what you mean.

“You’re not taking your future seriously. I’ve tried so hard to help you, but there’s only so much I can push you. At some point you have to do it for yourself. I’m so tired of waiting for you to do it, though. It hurts me to sit here and watch you not care about you as much as I do.”

“Sweetheart, please—.”

“Eddie, it’s over. We’re over.”

Tears flood his eyes as his jaw hangs open. Eddie’s hands slip from your arms, and he stumbles back a step. You know the pain on his face must be reflected in your own. And maybe it means you’re a coward, but you can’t look at his broken expression anymore. Tucking your thumbs into your backpack straps, you turn around and walk down the empty hallway, away from Eddie.

Eddie feels numb. He’s walking around school in a haze. Friends try to talk to him in the hallway, but they sound like they’re underwater and Eddie can’t understand them. Gareth waves his hand in front of Eddie’s face, but he doesn’t even blink. Jeff grabs his shoulder, but Eddie doesn’t even feel it, he just keeps walking. It’s not until Dustin grabs Eddie by the zipper of his leather jacket and pushes him up against the lockers that the twenty-year-old snaps back to reality.

“What?” Eddie asks, big brown eyes blinking as he tries to focus on the shorter man in front of him.

“Are you okay? What the hell is going on?” Dustin asks. Eddie’s eyes find the floor and he shakes off Dustin’s hands.

“She left me,” he mumbles.

“What?” Gareth asks, leaning in to hear him better.

“She fucking broke up with me, okay?” His friends flinch as Eddie pushes himself off the lockers and runs his hands over his hair. They back away, giving him room to pace the small area around him.

“Why?” Jeff asks, sounding half afraid to ask the question to his hot-tempered friend.

“She said I’m not taking my future seriously,” Eddie answers. “That I don’t seem to care that I’m failing classes. Again.” Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see his three friends share a look. He stops pacing and stares at them. “What?”

“I mean,” Jeff starts quietly, “she has a point.”

When Eddie just continues to stare, Dustin decides to speak up as well.

“She’s been trying real hard to help you, man. You haven’t seemed to care, though.”

“I…I care,” Eddie says.

“When’s the last time she tried to get you to study?” Dustin asks.

“The other night.” Eddie remembers, thinking about how he failed your quiz.

“And what did you do?” Dustin asks.

Eddie sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Tried to have sex with her.”

“This is probably a good thing,” Gareth says, shrinking in on himself when Eddie glares at him. “For you. So you can focus on school.”

Eddie scoffs. “She really think I’m gonna be able to focus on school after she shatters my heart like this? Fuck, I love her so much.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Jeff says.

“Fuck this shit.” Eddie slams his fist against the lockers and strides down the hall, towards the exit.

When Eddie gets home, Wayne hasn’t left for work yet. He’s sitting on the couch, remote control in his hand as he points it at the small television and clicks through the channels. Eddie wrenches open the front door, dirty black boots stomping into the trailer before banging the door closed behind him. Wayne pauses his channel surfing to raise an eyebrow at his nephew.

“What’s the matter with you, boy?”

Ignoring the older man, Eddie strides down the hallway to his bedroom, footsteps so heavy they rattle the mugs hanging on the living room walls. Wayne was no stranger to Eddie temper tantrums—having raised him through puberty—but this is a level he hasn’t seen since the last time a letter from his father arrived. He gives it a few moments before deciding to see what’s going on with the brooding boy. Wayne hoists himself off the couch, groaning as his bones click and muscles tighten.

The bedroom door isn’t fully closed, so Wayne swings it open to see Eddie lying flat on his back, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. He hadn’t even bothered to shed himself of the leather jacket or boots before plopping down.

“I know I may not have taught you much in life, boy, but I know I taught you manners,” Wayne says.

Eddie stays silent, which is never the case. That worries Wayne more than anything.

“Eddie?”

“She dumped me.”

Wayne takes a moment to process what his nephew says. He places his hands on his hips and blows out a breath.

“What happened?”

Eddie rubs his hands over his face before responding. When he does speak, his tone is bitter. “She said that I don’t care about my future. That she’s tired of sitting around while I’m out here being a dumbass.”

“She wouldn’t say that,” Wayne says with a shake of his head.

“Maybe not with those exact words.” Eddie forces himself to sit up, shoulders slumped. “But the same messaging.”

Sighing, Wayne sits down next to him and pats his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to hear that. She’s a good kid.”

“I always told her that you like her more than you like me,” Eddie grumbles.

“Only sometimes,” Wayne jokes with a small smile. “Now, you’re allowed to wallow for one day—two at the most. Then you get your ass in gear and get your act together.”

With a low groan, Eddie flops back down on the bed. “Don’t wanna.”

“Well,” Wayne says, pushing himself off the bed. “The girl is either gonna be right about you or wrong. It’s up to you which one it is.”

Wayne makes his way out of the bedroom and Eddie rolls over so he’s face down on his bed. He squeezes his eyes shut as the first of the tears begin to burn his eyes. The way his throat begins to tighten has Eddie gripping his blanket in his fists. Wayne’s words repeat in his head. Would you end up being right? Is everything you said about him true? Of course it is, he thinks to himself. He’s about to fail senior year for the third time—and he didn’t even care. Until now, he decides. Pushing himself off the bed, Eddie yanks his leather jacket off. He tosses it in the general direction of his closet, not caring where it lands as he bends down to pick his biology textbook from the floor.

“Should be able to read this whole damn thing before finals.”

Eddie’s friends hardly recognize him at lunch the next day. Instead of arguing over Lucas missing another Hellfire meeting for a basketball game and munching on pretzels, he has his nose buried in a book.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Gareth says, dropping his tray on the tabletop. His brows pinch together when Eddie doesn’t even lift his head.

“Is that Eddie Munson reading a book?” Jeff asks.

“And not just a book,” Dustin says as he slides into the seat next to his Dungeon Master. He picks the corner up to take a look at the cover to confirm his suspicions, but Eddie’s quick to slap his hand away so he can keep reading. “Eddie is reading Romeo and Juliet.”

“Look at this cultured man,” Gareth says. Still, Eddie doesn’t lift his head.

“How far do you think this will go?” Mike asks. “Think we could shit talk Metallica?”

“I’m reading, I’m not deaf,” Eddie says.

“Is this about—” Lucas starts but Dustin elbows him in the ribs.

Finally, Eddie raises his eyes from the book and sends a death glare to all of his friends. He slams the book closed and snatches it up before striding out of the cafeteria. Weren’t these the same assholes who had told him that you were right about him not taking his future seriously? But the moment they see him trying to improve himself, they decide to make snide jokes. Eddie grumbles as he makes his way to the library, banging the door open and ignoring the sneer from the librarian as he drops down at a table. With a sigh, he opens the book again and continues where he left off before he was rudely interrupted.

Two periods later, Eddie’s pretty sure Mrs. O’Donnell is going to have a heart attack after he raises his hand and answers a question correctly. The crone takes a moment before continuing her lecture and Eddie smirks in self-satisfaction.

Once Eddie gets used to his eyes being tired from reading so much, and his headaches from the information overloads start to abate, he manages to bring his grades up. It takes a couple of weeks for him to finally see the difference, but when he does, he feels something that he’s not sure if he’s ever felt before: pride. Being proud of himself is odd at first, and he smokes a bit more than usual to dull the sensation, but he soon comes to enjoy it and the pleasant buzz he feels has nothing to do with the weed.

A few weeks out from graduation, Eddie’s lounging on the wall in front of the school, stretched out as the late spring sun warms the afternoon, reading the assigned chapter in The Outsiders. A shadow falls across the pages of his book and Eddie squints as he looks up, finding you standing next to him, thumb hooked in the strap of your backpack, a strained smile on your face.

“Hey, stranger,” you say.

Eddie pushes himself into a sitting position, letting his long legs dangle over the side of the wall. He closes his book, keeping a ring clad finger between the pages that he’s currently on.

“Hey,” Eddie says. This is the first time you’ve talked to one another since that day in the hallway. Neither of you had even contacted one another to give back stuff that was at the others’ houses. Eddie knows there’s a handful of his t-shirts at your place and he’s not sure if it comforts him or causes him pain to wonder if you still wear them to sleep. And he knows exactly where the David Bowie tapes that you left in his room are—one is in his stereo right now. He’s managed to either hide or push down the pain from the breakup, but he still spends most nights falling asleep to Space Oddity or Ziggy Stardust. It even got to the point where Wayne had come into his room and said, “As glad as I am that I don’t have to listen to your screaming music, you’ve gotta stop wallowing in pity. Or at least listen to Elvis or somethin’ while ya do.”

“I saw you in the library last week. And I’ve heard that you’ve been working really hard,” you tell him. “I’m glad, Eddie. That’s amazing.”

“Uh, thanks,” he says, nodding his head. Under the guise of avoiding the bright sun, he ducks his head down and looks at his white sneakers. But really, he’s not sure if he can look you in the eye for more than a second at a time. The sadness had given way to anger, which gave away to an empty, aching pain in the pit of his stomach. “I, um, started because I didn’t want you to be right. Apparently, you weren’t the only one who thought I needed to get my shit together. But, uh, now I’m doing it for me. Trying to put me first.”

“Good,” you say. Eddie looks up to see you giving him a genuine smile. The one not many other people got to see. You’re not attempting to give him a pep talk or play some kind of game with him. Eddie can tell that you’re being authentic and really are pleased to see him succeeding. “You deserve it, Eddie. I’m proud of you.”

The words affect him more than he would’ve thought. His throat feels tighter and suddenly the spring day feels like it’s a blisteringly hot August afternoon. “Thanks,” he manages to get out.

“And I—um, I’m sorry. I really hope you know that I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” And he does. Now. He’d had moments of thinking you had done it as a way of calling him stupid or pathetic. But once the haziness of the initial heartbreak wore off, he realized you would never think that, let alone be cruel enough to insinuate it.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Eddie,” you say, offering him a small wave. He nods his head in acknowledgment and tries to get back to his book. But too much of you fills his head for him to be able to focus on what Ponyboy is talking about.

Finals come and they go. Eddie waits with bated breath for the results, feeling more on edge, even with kicking up the pot smoking again. When Eddie sees that he’s passed every single exam, the high he feels is better than he could’ve imagined. Not quite as good as some drug highs and definitely nowhere as near the high you gave him, but it’s still good. For the first time in his life, Eddie is excited to come home and wave a school paper in Wayne’s face. In the past, it’d been a detention slip, a letter of reprimand from the principal, or a failed report card that he needed to have signed and returned. But this is something good. Better than good, Wayne tells him.

“Looks like you’ve got to get yourself a cap and gown, boy.”

So, he does. When he puts them on the morning of graduation though, he groans at how the shade of green looks on him. Black was his best color, according to him, so something this bright just wasn’t him.

He strolls over to his stereo near the window and firmly presses the play button. Heroes by David Bowie fills the small bedroom as Eddie takes another look at himself in the mirror. No one would look good in this color, he thinks. Well, he muses, that’s not true. You would look good in this color because it’s impossible for you to ever look anything less than breathtaking.

I, I will be king

And you, you will be queen

Eddie sighs and turns away from the mirror. Grabbing his keys off of his bedside table, Eddie clicks the pause button on his stereo before heading down the hallway.

“See ya at the ceremony, old man,” Eddie says to his uncle before he’s out the trailer door.

Only the graduates and school faculty get there this early, so the parking lot is relatively empty when Eddie pulls in. He hops out of his van and sees Jeff getting out of his car a few spaces over.

“Glad to see you look as awful as I do in this shit,” Eddie says as he makes his way over to his fellow Hellfire member.

“Black robes would’ve been brutal under this sun though, dude,” Jeff replies.

Eddie shrugs because he knows his friend is right. Together they walk towards the football field, a place Eddie actively tried to avoid all the years he spent here. It looks like most of the students are here already. Not long after Eddie spots Jason Carver straightening his tie, even though it’s under the gown, all the students are herded into the gymnasium to wait for the ceremony to begin. The gym smells even worse than normal with the whole senior class shoved inside. Eddie spies you off towards a corner, laughing about something with Nancy. It wouldn’t surprise him if you’re trying to make her laugh to take her mind off of the valedictorian speech she’s about to give. Eyes taking in how you look in the green cap and gown, Eddie knows he was right before; you are the only one who looks drop dead gorgeous in the graduation garment. He knows his eyes have been on you for too long, but he can’t bring himself to tear them away.

“So, what’s going on there?” Jeff asks, seeing where his friend’s gaze lies. “You did what she wanted, right? Are you going to try and get back together with her?”

Eddie sighs and finally breaks his gaze away from you. Instead, he looks up into the rafters of the gym, squinting as the bright lights shine down.

“I don’t really think this was a ‘if you fix this, we’ll get back together’ type of situation,” Eddie says. “Besides, it’s been months. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been on dates with a bunch of different guys by now.”

“You still love her, though.” It’s not a question from Jeff, it’s a statement. A fact that was as obvious as the scuff marks on the floor of the gym.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, not adding anything further.

“Shouldn’t you at least try then?” Jeff asks. “You did all that hard work.”

“But I didn’t do it for her,” Eddie answers with a shake of his head. “I did it for me.”

“But you still did it,” Jeff points out. “It won’t be in vain either way, man, because you’re here right now. About to graduate. I’m just saying you should talk to her. See where things stand.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says with a sigh.

Mrs. O’Donnell bustles into the room—well, as fast as she can at her age. Taking stock of the children around the gym, she claps her hands together to get their attention.

“Okay, okay, everyone. Time to line up. We’ll be starting soon.”

Jeff and Eddie let themselves be herded with the rest of their class and listen half-heartedly at instructions shouted at them as they make their way back outside.

Once the ceremony starts, it’s long and boring. Nancy’s speech isn’t as bad as Eddie expected, though. But Principal Higgins has to talk, then just about every other school official that Eddie swears he’s never seen in the front office even after all the time he’s spent in there. Then the never ending list of names begins. Of course all the names are familiar to Eddie, but that doesn’t mean he cares enough to watch each of them walk across the stage, shake hands, and get their diploma. There are only a select few people that Eddie actually pays attention for.

“Nancy Wheeler.”

“Robin Buckley.”

“Jason Carver.” Eddie pretends to gag.

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

“Jeff Donaldson.”

Then it’s your turn. Eddie can’t take his eyes off of you or the big grin on your face as you hop up on the stage and go through the long line of people none of you had ever heard of to shake their hands. Your eyes light up as your diploma is handed to you. Eddie doesn’t even realize he’s smiling along with you until his cheeks begin to ache. That settles it, he thinks. I have to talk to her.

“Eddie Munson.”

Hearing his own name called over the loudspeaker jars him out of his thoughts. He’s distantly aware of people cheering for him as he makes his way to the stage, but it feels too weird to be real. People didn’t even cheer for him at Corroded Coffin shows. Eddie takes the steps up to the stage two at a time and forces a pleasant smile to his lips as he shakes Principal Higgins’ hand. The rest of the faces become a blur as he moves from person to person until he finally gets his diploma. He grins at the simple rolled up paper in his hands. It’s just a blank piece of paper until his real diploma comes in, he knows, but it means so much more. It’s proof that he did it. That he graduated at long last. The now-familiar pride swells up in him as he heads back to his seat among the students in the green sea of their robes.

When the ceremony finally comes to an end, there’s hugging and crying and squealing coming from all around the football field. Eddie makes his way out into the parking lot where families are taking photos with their graduates, all smiles and congratulations. Wayne’s truck is hard to miss in the parking lot; by far the oldest vehicle there. Eddie heads in that direction and is greeted by a beaming uncle.

“M’so proud of you, boy.” Wayne pulls Eddie into a hug, which wasn’t a usual occurrence in the Munson household. “You put your mind to something and ya did it.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says, smiling sheepishly.

“Congratulations.”

The familiar voice coming from behind him has Eddie spinning around so fast he hears his neck crack.

“Uh, thanks,” he says. “You too.”

“C’mon, let me get a picture of the two of you,” Wayne says, pulling a camera that looks older than Eddie out of his pocket.

Eddie is about to protest, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or feel obligated, but you’re looping your arm through his before he can even open his mouth. You tilt your head, close to Eddie’s shoulder but not quite touching, and smile prettily for the camera. Eddie musters his best look for the picture as well, but on the inside, he’s cringing as he imagines what that picture must look like.

“Perfect,” Wayne says. He unlocks his truck and tosses the camera inside. “I’ll see you later, Eddie?”

“Okay,” Eddie says.

Wayne pulls Eddie in for another hug before enveloping you in one as well.

“I’m real proud of both of you,” he says.

“Thanks, Wayne,” you reply.

Wayne climbs into his truck and gives the two of you one last wave before heading out of the parking lot.

“So, uh,” Eddie starts at the same time you say, “So, listen.”

Eddie chuckles and nods his head at you. “You first.”

“Oh, I, um, was just going to ask if you were going to the party tonight. At Cat’s place.”

“I hadn’t really planned on it,” Eddie says as he unzips the graduation robe. “Why?”

“Well, uh, I—I was wondering if maybe you’d want to? I mean, I-I’ll be there. But if you don’t wanna, I totally understand.”

“You want me to?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows at you as he slips his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.

“I do,” you say, a shy look that Eddie is unaccustomed to on your face. “Like I said, I get it if you don’t want to. But I had to at least ask.”

“I guess it wouldn’t kill me to go for a little while. Might be able to sell.”

“You don’t want to celebrate?” you ask. “Dance and drink?”

“Of all people, you should know better than anyone that I don’t dance,” Eddie says with a small smile.

“But you drink,” you point out.

“Why do you want to spend time with me?” Eddie asks, tilting his head to the side, like a puppy wondering what it’s human just said. Better to ask bluntly and get a clear answer then try to piece one together in his mind.

“I need a reason?”

“Kind of. After you dumped me? Yeah, you do.”

“I miss you,” you admit, so quietly that Eddie almost misses it. “I’ve missed you from the moment I left you standing there in that hallway. So many times I almost caved and begged you to take me back. But then I’d see you studying, and it would remind me that you need to focus on you. And you did. Look what you accomplished. I’m really, really proud of you, Eddie.”

“Not bad for the school freak, huh?” Eddie asks, the beginnings of a smirk curling his pink lips.

“I think you need a new nickname,” you muse. “We’re not in school anymore.”

“Maybe we can come up with one at the party tonight,” Eddie says, causing your face to light up in excitement.

“Really? You’ll go with me?” you ask, eyes widening in hope.

“I’d be pretty dumb not to.”

“You’ve always been far from dumb, sweetheart,” you tell him. Hesitantly, you reach out and lace your fingers with his. “I think I came up with a new nickname for you, too.”

“Do tell,” Eddie says.

“No more Eddie the Freak or Eddie the Banished,” you say, imitating Eddie’s Dungeon Master voice. “You are now Eddie the graduate.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #request

1K notes · View notes

bucknastysbabe · 11 months

Note

No, listen to me, giving bucky a head in the middle of the night after he woke up bcs of a nightmare. Thats the tweet.

Your brain is so huge for this queen I will do my best

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Oral (m!receiving), cuddle cuddle fluffy fluffy, a wee bit of angst bc nightmares, body worship, we sucking dic and coc SENSUALLY, c0ckwarming, pet names, I am a puddle of goo now!

A/N: Title taken from Be Mine - The Heavy

Taglist: @godrakin (I love you) @lovelykhaleesiii @borikenlove @ilikeitbetterangsty

Take what you need, to say you love me - B. Barnes

You were having a pleasant dream, swimming somewhere vague, distorted voices and friendly faces all around. One of the blurred forms came forward, jerking you by the arm. You yelped from the pressure, trying to pull away. They yanked even harder, whimpering your name.

The dream was gone, only the blue of Bucky’s agonized eyes close to you. His flesh hand shook your arm frantically, trembles wracking his frame. Blinking away the sleep and bolting upright you held his stubbled cheeks, trying to ground your supersoldier.

“This is real.”

He nodded, swallowing down another pitiful noise. You gently rubbed at his vice grip, Bucky gasping in mortification at the redness and probable bruising. The brunette moaned, curling in on himself, jerking that sad face away, “Oh god, I’m so sorry baby, fuck, I didn’t mean to hurt you, jeez I’m such a headcase.”

Being chained like a dog and expected to only produce fine results then told everything he did was wrong had done a number on your boyfriend. It would do a number on anyone’s psyche, especially his fragile one. Grabbing his face again you shushed him, thumbed at his pink lips to stop his hateful muttering.

His lashes were wet with tears, bottom lip raw and swollen from biting it. Inching closer to his shaking frame you whispered, “Shhh, baby, try to relax. I’m fine, you were scared s’all. Did you have another nightmare?” Bucky exhaled sharply, eyes downcast guiltily.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to discuss?”

He paused for a long moment, big hands now intertwined with your own. Bucky rasped, “It was something I thought I’d forgot about. The strike team made me- me,” he paused again, “Hurt this girl to get her to talk. Bad things.”

You sighed in remorse for your baby, squeezing his hands tight. All you could manage was, “I’m sorry. Is there a way to offer an amend like the others?” Bucky’s eyes grew hollow as he thought over it, finishing with a near-whimper, “No.”

“Oh baby,” you cooed, gently laying the trembling man down. Climbing on top of him and rubbing his tense shoulders made Bucky relax with a sigh. He pulled the covers over the pair of you, hands on your hips, gripping lightly. Nuzzling at his long hair you hummed, “Take as long as you need to process this, I wish I had a magic wand or something.”

Bucky drily remarked, “An icepick to the frontal lobe would be preferable.”

You frowned at him, Bucky dead serious until a smirk cracked at his lips. He pressed his forehead to yours and breathed, “I couldn’t tell what was what— you were her then she was back, and I got so, ugh, terrified that I was going to hurt you really bad. Sorry for yanking you like that.” His lips pouted out as he rubbed the darkening ring around your upper arm.

“I’d rather you yank me around than go through this alone, seriously Buck,” you said, pecking his lips. He sighed out, shivering a bit, tightening his arms around your waist. Your boyfriend remained quiet and you laid with him for comfort. Silence enveloped the room, just breathing and the usual din of the city outside the window.

It felt as if hours passed, not really, but Bucky was still awake. You could almost hear the cogs in his brain working overtime. “Baby, you still keyed up?,” you whispered into his pulsing neck. He replied with a raspy ‘mhmm’. Bucky rumbled, “My mind won’t shut up.” You smoothed a hand down his toned side, making him shiver again.

“Can I try something?,” you demurred.

Bucky’s blues searched your own eyes for elaboration. Shifting your core against his softened cock made the brunette ramble, “No, no, you don’t have to do that for me!” Pecking the corner of his pretty pink lips you rolled your hips again. “I want to though. Do you want it?” Bucky’s cock twitched in response, he groaned and closed his eyes.

“P-please.”

Starting with a series of sweet pecks you snaked your way down Buck’s gorgeous body, hands roaming and thumbing at sensitive spots you’d learned over time. Bucky inhaled sharply, legs instinctively spreading a bit. You pulled at a nipple when his body erupted in goosebumps, the softest little moan leaving his throat.

He frantically yanked back the covers when your mouth nipped at a strong hip, flesh hand combing through your hair. Bucky repeated breathlessly, “Sweetheart, oh, you don’t have to.”,

“But I want to baby.”

You could feel the fight leave his body, the last of the guilt seeping out through impossibly tightened muscles. His cock was flush and heated through those tiny briefs of his, thighs twitching minutely. Bucky raised his hips as you pulled them off, nipping and kitten licking at that pretty Adonis belt. He breathed, “Fuck doll, oh god, too good to me.”

His cock was fully hard now, laying against his hip, heavy and full. You grasped him and laved a hot stripe up the length, Bucky’s arm whirring and clenching on the headboard. Your other hand stroked his trembling inner thigh while you got him nice and wet, painfully slow. Bucky squirmed and strangled out, “C’mon baby.”

“Gotta relax, just feel it ‘kay?”

He nodded, biting that plump lower lip. You swirled your tongue around the engorged cockhead, flicking your tongue across in little teasing motions. Bucky was moaning softly, chanting your name, melting into the bed now. Your other hand moved to tug at his sac, rolling the tender flesh.

Hollowing your cheeks and tucking your lips you bobbed sensually up and and down his length, hand covering what you couldn’t swallow down. You went at a leisurely pace, humming gently. The former assassin’s hips stuttered, a whine deep in chest filing the quiet room besides your soft slick noises.

“Fuuuck, fuck, you’re so good babydoll,” he murmured, desperate edge to his tone as flesh fingers thumbed around your stretched lips. You maintained eye contact with him, Bucky panting and praising you haphazardly. Deeper you went, soft throat relaxing to take your baby fully.

Bucky’s moan pitched up, eyes hazy as you sucked his pretty cock. You didn’t know what time it was anymore, didn’t care, just focused on draining Buck’s energy out of his cock. Tugging on his balls again you hummed, leaky prick deep in your throat. Your pussy ached from all the stimulation to your sensitive throat and lips— but this was about him. Buck would probably plow you into the bed in the morning.

The brunette gasped and whimpered as you pulled up to drool on his cock and breathe, lips obscenely swollen. Bucky’s cool metal thumb swiped around the slick of cum and spit, praising, “Honey, baby, god you look so good like this.” You dove back down, flicking your tongue on his frenulum and slit, feeling his balls tighten up.

Bucky squirmed a bit, abs flexing and eyes rolling. He moaned softly over and and over, reaching that breaking point. Gently squeezing his swelling balls again he whined your name, gritting out, “Close- close- babydoll m’gonna bust!” You swallowed him down a final time, eyes flicking up to watery blues.

Bucky seized up, gasping sharply as the first spurt of cum went down your throat. The man was a mess as he was thrown head first into the orgasm, squirming and not-so-gently (but trying) shoving you onto his sensitive prick. He groaned your name, a desperate edge to it as he finished with a broken mewl. You swallowed the best you can and wiped your lips.

Bucky seemed drained but sated, smiling softly. He rasped, “C’mere you minx.” Making your way back up his body he pulled you into a kiss, hand covering your cheek. He made a throaty noise at the taste of spend on your tongue, metal palm groping your ass. Bucky nosed along to your ear and begged, “Can you just, ugh, slide it in? We can sleep like that?”

“You want me to cockwarm you honey?”

He nodded vigorously, mumbling, “You make everything so much better. Please?”

Sleeping never had came so easy for Buck that night, snuggled with his girl, cock warm and just the right side of sensitive. He’d repay his baby girl times one-hundred in the morning. Or afternoon— seemed like it would be a late one. He cooed into the crown of her head, lids falling closed, “Love you sweet girl.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky fluff

705 notes · View notes

baduzzxy · 10 months

Text

my brain sounds like legos clacking with each other rn

Sugardaddy!Miguel O'Hara Imagine!

warnings: (once again, minors dni, sugardaddy!miguel, brat reader lol, you get spanked here bruh my bad my temporal and frontal lobe have no contents in it atm. ur his spoiled princess bruh just say SORRY damn.)

thinking bout sugardaddy!Miguel watching you tiptoe through the door as you silently turn on the light, thinkin that he won't be there and he'll be busy in the lab instead but, oh, there he is, with his form manspreading on the couch and his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed and eyes low.

"where have you been, nena?" he asks, voice low and brooding as he takes in your form, dressed up so pretty, wearing a skirt that ends on the top of your thighs, and shopping bags adorned your arms. His cock twitches in his slacks as he watches your doe eyes look down in shame, soft lips turning into a pout, anxiously rubbing your thighs together as you try your best to find an excuse as to why you went out without him.

sugardaddy!Miguel who has you sobbing and whining, tears running down your pretty face as he lands another slap to your pussy. Arms and hands getting numb from the way it was positioned and tied to the headboard, you squirmed as if tryin your best to find some relief. "Are you gonna apologize now, princessa?" he meanly mocks you, trying his best to not to lose himself and just fuck you into the bed. Your head, in all it's hazy glory, still found a way to be a brat, huffing out a "no!" as your thighs trembles. Miguel scoffs at this, the wet sound of his palm hitting your puffy pussy echoes and you let out a choked whine, He spits on your poor cunny, rubbing it around.

"No, huh?" he chuckles. You almost got a whiplash from the way he flipped you on your tummy, quickly putting a pillow beneath so your ass presents to him perfectly. You shiver, practically sensing his grin, mentally preparing yourself for a mean spanking.

"we'll turn that no into a sorry in no time, baby."

#he's actually so babygirl #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x you

976 notes · View notes

ineylesian · 9 months

Note

hey!!!

I was wondering, how would Ghost react to the reader scolding him?? like, something happens that disrupts the mission and it's his fault and the reader scolds him, not aggressively, but still I would like to know Ghost's reaction

Also, the idea that he and the reader have a romantic relationship but he's still a bit strict :)

(I used the translator to write all this!! sorry if there are any translation errors, English is not my native language :D)

WALK AWAY FROM THE SUN

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 3k

— WARNINGS | canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, mentions of weapons, arguments, mentions of trauma.

— SUMMARY | you often meet ghost at his shortcomings, but nothing serious as this has yet to happen.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | tysm for the request 🫶🫶 i wanted to expand on this just a lil but made sure to keep the original prompt, i hope you enjoy!! hope the scolding isn’t too strict :)

Ghost thinks he’s having trouble breathing.

He doesn’t know if it’s because of the worry sanctioning in his chest, or the bullet lodged in his ribs. It takes a few seconds, he breathes, and a slightly ragged puff of air crawls its way back up his esophagus. Shallow wounds never hurt him, but ones that fester in the mind nearly paint his vision black.

It was a bad mission, destined to go wrong the moment Price laid out the plan. Too many HVTs to secure in such a dangerous zone, touched down in a land similar to post scorched earth. Calls of concern were dismissed by Shepherd, this mission was too important to let go, and they were to complete it, no matter the cost.

Nevertheless, things went south, fast. Nearly an entire squad of foot soldiers dead in under one hour, and only 2 out of 4 targets eliminated. It wasn’t long before Price called in evac, the mission’s end along with it. There was always time again to try again. Until the screaming started, and Ghost was nowhere to be found.

It was capture or kill, and it was certain no one was getting captured at this rate. You’d seen it all, the look he gave Price as he was getting into contact with Shepherd, and the miniscule shake of his head as he tightened his gear. The screams were yours, are you out of your fucking mind?-- hair whipping against the wind as you watched him disappear into the flames, yelling for the pilot to touch down.

Any sane soldier would have shaken their head and waved to confirm exfil, but this was nothing near normal. The 141’s purpose isn’t sanity, it’s loyalty. Price wasn’t going to allow himself to lose more than one soldier, and it was apparent that you were leaving with or without his permission. He strapped a tracker to your vest before you jumped.

Ghost wasn’t expecting to get shot. Maybe the adrenaline kicked in too early, or maybe the opportunity was just too good. The last two HVTs right in his line of sight, running through the open, unarmed.

Or so he thought.

He sits slouched against a wall, the hand clamped over the bullet’s entryway growing progressively more damp as the minutes pass. He should’ve expected someone with a target on their back to run around with a gun, anything lethal, even, especially after watching his friend’s jugular fly from his neck. Pointed a gun and blindly shot. A rookie mistake that put him and his whole squad at risk because of some halfhearted words Shepherd hammered into his head.

He believes in no matter completely. Maybe that’s where he comes short.

Frankly, Ghost isn’t even worried about the lingering pain in his abdomen, or the fact that the last target escaped. He’s worried about the person coming to find him. Something in the back of his head grows into a throbbing pain in the frontal lobe and he closes his eyes, hoping it’s not you that’s coming.

Who could he be kidding? Of course you were going to come for him. You always did, and always will. It’s a danger that follows when you happen to love someone you run into the frontlines with. Something that was going to get one of you killed one day, purely because he knows he’d do the exact same thing.

Ghost curses under his breath. You’re just like him sometimes, blindsided and hard headed as they come.

Falling debris and the thud of boots join the rasp that serves as his breathing. You’re here, and it looks bad, worse than he expected. Your eyebrows are knit tightly together, and he can see the dribble of blood that rolls down your chin due to how hard you bite your gums. Your skin is laced with sweat, and you’re panting, hard.

He’s only been bleeding out for three minutes. With you here, it feels like an eternity, and the grasps of something much worse than death are holding time still. When he finally shifts his lips to speak, you shove a cloth against his ribcage, hard. All that comes out is a strangled grunt, and he falls silent. No one renders him as speechless as you do.

He hasn’t felt so small since his father. It’s deserving, every last bit of it. He let go of himself and you still came to save him. He should be feeling nothing short of gratitude, yet he only feels as though someone dragged him into the undertow and left him to drown there. The way you refuse to meet his eyes strikes harder than any other bullet, and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do.

All he can feel is the fear that you have instilled in him, and his consciousness slips before he can think of anything else.

—

Forgiveness is a hard thing to earn. In the 141, it seems more rational to die than seek it.

Ghost doesn’t consider death. He’s considered nothing, not since a bullet put him into a coma for a week. In that time, he dreamt of choppy waters and black riptides. The slosh of imaginary waves greeted him more times than your voice did.

He only remembers it once. You asked one of the nurses how he was doing. When she said he’d wake up, you left.

You don’t wait up on people, Ghost knows that. No part of him holds the expectation that you would’ve cared just a little more and stuck around. You knew he’d live, and that was the end of it. You walk away from the sun when it burns you.

When it comes to the battlefield, you’re cold as ice and follow rational orders to a tee. You keep your head on straight until you don’t, because taking care of others feels better than sprinkling soil over an empty grave. The way you think is profound yet humanity never fails to escape you, it’s what dragged you to him, stone-eyed and indifferent on the surface.

People around him always say it’s impossible to get attached in the military. He almost believes them, but he thinks of you and all else fades. Like a moth to a flame, he knows you’d follow his trail into hysteria. He knows it frustrates you, habits such as those are hard to shake. You’ve spent too much time by his side to quit. Couldn’t shake you even if he wanted to.

It reminds him of three years ago, with you curled up beside him in the depths of Syrian mountains. You’d offered him some bourbon for the pain– he’d been stabbed in the leg, covering up with the excuse that it’d help with the cold. You knew how to tempt him, just one drink turning into the whole bottle empty at your feet. Only you could make him succumb to something like that, listening to you ramble on about how careless he was to get stabbed, hours of it, the coziness of you and the blankets drilling static into his head.

Ghost could hold his alcohol better than you. Barely felt a buzz from the drinks in his system. But this.. your head lightly bobbing against his shoulder, haphazardly checking on his bandage before kissing the exposed skin beside it. You were right, his whole body was on fire, so enamored with you, the feeling of home creeping along his skin in short, fatigued breaths.

He vaguely remembers when you turned to your side, hands hot on his pulse and sinking underneath. Everywhere, you were everywhere. You had taken him by storm and the buzz of the bourbon heightened his senses to a point where it was nearly unbearable. It took every fiber of his willpower to listen, straining against the irrevocable hold you had placed on him, fighting to restrain himself.

Amidst the haze, you asked him if he would do something for you. In that state, Ghost thinks he would’ve tried to overthrow the entire planet if you wanted him to. Instead, you uttered something short of ten words, and he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life when he answered.

“Promise me you’ll look out for yourself, Simon.”

Your inquiry seemed small, fragile, and simple to be compliant with in the moment. He shuns himself for failing to remind you of who you were, what you were fighting for, and that looking out for yourself is a restraint only some can hope to afford. It’s a luxury that separates people who want to save the world from those who do.

“Alright, then.”

Drunk or not, he made a promise. Broke it just as easily. He resists the urge to bash his head against the wall as consciousness returns to him, opting to thank the nurse with a few words scribbled on a napkin before disappearing.

As much as he wants to scrub the sickening scent of antiseptic and illness from his skin, Ghost can’t bring himself to visit your room right now. He knows you’ll check the infirmary soon– despite what you say he knows you stop by, even if it’s for a second, yet he opts to leave base regardless if you come to find him or not. He’d rather speak to you when you’re on those terms. Guessing by the freshly washed sweatshirt that sits zipped up to his neck, you probably don’t want him dead.

He’ll cut his losses there.

—

The early hours of the morning creep along the skyline, spilling over the roads below. You walk, dismissing the dull ache in your feet from miles of dug up sidewalk and the scorching ground you had run across some days ago. It’s not long before the breeze picks up the scent of saltwater, light ripples rock calmly against marsh and you sigh.

You knew he’d be here. Always came when tragedy struck and life wasn’t fair. It reminds you of a homage after nights of terror in Urzikstan, peaceful, and nothing else. Somewhere you go when you can’t quite reach the ocean.

Ghost sits with his back to the sun, perched against a dock overlooking the water. Your legs come to a stop, and you stand still, wondering if this was all a mistake. Maybe you should just turn around while you can, run to the safety of a home that only carries a lingering scent of him. Here, the breeze makes you nauseous.

Everything here is riddled with sorrow and buried in tears. The cycle repeats, you think you deserve to cry.

You take a look to the sky and the clouds point you offshore. Saline winds pull you farther and it’s too late to reconsider leaving when your foot creaks against the dock. Ghost catches you in his peripheral, approaching slowly, the distance polarizing. It feels like glass is lodged in your feet. The gap waged feels something like No Man’s Land.

Ghost sits on the edge, one leg hanging over the water while the other sits folded at the knee. You lean against a support beam across from him, one glance and you think you might choke. Flashing rays dawn over the baclava settled over his face, drawing light to the skin bridged above his nose. Eyebags crawl and tear at paint ridden skin, blond eyelashes fluttering against smudged black, over the one part of him that feels normal. Nothing else does.

He stares ahead, umber hues washing over ripples cast by fish in waiting. You feel like you do everytime you come here, except sadness is held back by frustration, boiling underneath your skin and rising to the surface. Moments pass, the breeze dies down and beckons for you to speak.

“You broke your promise.” Pressure settles within your chest. Hurt floods the atmosphere and Ghost’s eyes leave the water. He thinks, you lie in wait, arms crossed defensively over your chest.

“You can’t rely on intoxicated words.”

It’s fair, yet completely unfair at the same time. You know it was an unreasonable thing to ask, came straight from the alcoholic worry that seethed in your mind. Normal people don’t make promises they know they won’t be able to keep. People that care too much ask of them.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

Ghost says nothing. You know he wanted to keep that promise. Held it over his heart for three years, let it slip under his sleeve as all other things do. Something that happens when war is all you know. He knew you, too, but warfare is different from anything else. You understand that.

The smell of antiseptic reeks off of him, the sun licks at black paint and chips crumble. He’s nonchalant on the surface like always, but you know him. Underneath blood stains the hole in his abdomen that put him here. He leans toward it as if pain has become him.

He’s always been like this, body hungry for violence, mind begging for reconciliation. It’s how his mind is wired, shutting doors on people makes them want to close it in another’s face. You learned to coincide with it, but there’s still a line. The fact he crossed it so easily sparks the worry within and you fight the tears that push against your sockets.

Anger resides and reels back in, lapping at the shore and bringing you to your knees. You fear you’ll lose him that way.

It’s all you think about.

“What made you think that was a good idea?” You bark, grasping his chin to face you head on. “You think putting yourself in danger is no big deal, don’t you? Worried everyone sick because of a stupid HVT.”

He sees right through you. Worried me sick, he hears it as he would an echo. It’s a profession of worry, he knows you worry because you love him.

“We all have to make sacrifices.” His response is a dull front, you hear the guilt laced within. “You know that.”

You do. Things stay strict on the battlefield and remain that way. Until it’s him. When there’s Ghost, there’s always Simon. You learned to make that exception because you understood that. Ghost is not afraid to die. Simon is.

“What good are you to anyone if you throw yourself in the line of fire?” You spit, pointer finger snapping to hover above his wound.. “There’s no guarantee that someone will always be able to save you when things go wrong. You know that.”

He knows that, and he knows you.

You know there’s a darkness that lingers within him. It’s inevitable. Something that festers, building up until it’s strong enough to lash out. It’s selfish, cares and waits for no one. A walking death sentence that hangs over his head no matter the value he places in his life. It chases him in his dreams, trails a dark shadow over his head that turns him into the person he fears he’d become. Adapted him so the only thing he feels when he pulls the trigger is recoil.

“We win together, and we fail together, Simon. It’s not your responsibility to change that.”

He hates that side of his head that made him think otherwise. Hates himself more when he makes you worry.

Old habits die hard. It’s not easy to take, the way he knows those parts of him linger. You know when it comes, the front he manages with surgical precision shatters and he breaks down into hysteria because it’s too much for one person to handle.

Regardless, he tries. You love him for that. He loves you because you walked into his life and it gained purpose.

All that’s good in his life comes from you. The first nights in his life he felt welcomed to sleep because you were in bed beside him. Days fly by and he changes. You change with him. The small room he occupies at base doesn’t seem so lifeless anymore because you’re always in it.

He damns the way you smile at him, infectious, a snapshot memory he keeps in his thoughts. Thoughts that draw a compass in his mind that routes home to you.

Every part of him feels selfish for making you feel this way. It tears through him as a knife does and his nerves flay from the heat.

“I’m sorry, lovie.” It feels like he’s suffocating, drawing on the tears that slide down your face and drip onto your hands. He takes dampened skin and holds onto it as if he’ll lose you forever if he lets go. “‘M so sorry that I made you worry. Bastardish thing to do.”

His accent is heavy, dripping with resent and pleading for composure. It’s everything and nothing all at once. Your tears stain his hands and he feels like he always does when things go wrong. Except, it’s always you who quells him in the midst of nightmares. His mind races at the stutter of your breath, hands fumbling to push stray hairs out of your eyes.

“I love you, so much. Wouldn’t ever wanna make you worry, yeah?”

Silence passes for a minute. Seagulls chirp and water sloshes against eroded rocks.

Your eyes peek out from his hands, slotting your arm between his, reaching up. You tug and his mask bunches up at the nose, fingers smoothing over the surface of his skin, warm, grasping for affection. You yearn for his touch and he gives it to you without question.

Ghost tastes of gunpowder and the bask of the sun. It reminds you of home, slightly chapped, never wanting more than what he can give. He’s gentle, canines gently poking against your lips, perfectly still. You sigh inwardly at the feeling, reveling in all that he is until you can breathe no longer.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Your chest heaves, breath leveling with a rough scoff. His eyes crinkle like they do when he notices you packed extra eye black for him. Mouth parted, a ghost of a smile curving at his lips.

“I know, can’t seem to get myself sorted.”

There’s an underlying meaning to it. Passes through like the wind that cards through your hair. Guilt rides the waves, but you don’t want to cry anymore.

You just want to heal. Ghost understands that more than anyone else.

#arqhms #🐚 arqhmssummer23 #call of duty modern warfare #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader

307 notes · View notes

boxboxlewis · 8 months

Text

“Hello! Welcome to Self(help), and please do shout if I can be of assistance,” George says, and of course the words are rote but hopefully he also sounds warm and welcoming or whatever. He’s sitting behind the till, doing some online shopping, not really focussed on the customer who’s just come in.

“Do you really only sell self-help books?” the customer asks, and—that voice is familiar. George looks up and nearly falls off his stool, because that face is familiar too: there in his shop, real and breathing and somehow taller than George had expected, is Alex Albon. He’s got giant sunglasses on, and a trendy little scarf around his neck, but as a disguise it’s hardly adequate; Alex is probably one of the most recognisable people in the world, especially since his Oscar win last year. George tries to casually push the hair back off his forehead, and is so distracted he almost slaps himself in the face.

“Er,” he says. What was Alex’s question? Oh right, self-help books. “Yes, is the short answer,” he says, and then for reasons known only to his frontal lobe keeps talking. “I had a really hard time getting a loan to start the business, because the banks were all like ‘Do people even buy self-help books anymore now that there’s Google,’ but we’re doing really well now, actually. It helped a lot when Brené Brown gave us a shoutout on Instagram, but even before that—er—sorry, you don’t care about any of this, do you. Well. If you need any help—or any self!—just let me know!”

Alex is just staring at him. George does a tight little sorry-I-fucked-up-socially smile, and turns his attention back to the chinos on his computer monitor, heart racing.

Lando emerges from the back of the shop. “George, if I do any more work I’ll literally die,” he says earnestly. Or maybe sarcastically; George doesn’t really understand Gen Z humour, probably because he refuses to join TikTok. “I shelved, like, an entire box of books, so I’m just going to honour myself now and take some time to self-care. I’m going out for a coffee if you want anything.” He notices Alex standing in the middle of the shop floor and flashes him an artificial smile. “Welcome to Self(help), if you take a picture for socials remember to hashtag us!”

“Flat white,” George says automatically. Lando nods and leaves the shop. He really hadn’t clocked Alex at all, which is surprising at first, until George considers how monumentally self-absorbed Lando is at all times.

“Is that your employee,” Alex asks.

“Yes,” George says, “I did something wrong in a past life, it’s very—do you like candles?”

“Candles,” says Alex Albon, who is still very much in George’s shop.

“We’ve got a lovely selection,” George explains.

Alex pauses thoughtfully. “No,” he says, and then, after a long-ish pause, “thanks.”

George nods.

Alex says, “Look, I only came in here to get away from some teenagers who were taking pictures of me.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” George says, as if that’s a very universal experience that he naturally has shared.

“So I’m just going to—” Alex gestures towards the door, and the road.

“Yes,” George says. “Of course. It was lovely to—er. Encounter you.”

Alex’s mouth quirks up. He says, “It was lovely to encounter you, too.” And then he walks back into the outside world.

George is still dazed about the whole thing when he goes out a few minutes later to get himself a flat white, Lando having arrived back in the shop bearing only a drink for himself (“Oh, shit, I forgot you wanted something… I’d offer to go back out but my legs are really sore now, so…”). He’s not really looking where he’s walking, so it’s jarring but not surprising when he knocks into someone and spills his newly-acquired coffee down their chest. It’s surprising but somehow inevitable when he realises that someone is Alex Albon.

“You again. I’ve got to say, this encounter is less lovely,” Alex says, mopping irritatedly at his sopping t-shirt with his tiny scarf. George joins in, patting with his bare palm at Alex’s chest as if that’s going to help at all, then pulling his hand back like he’s been burned when Alex raises his sunglasses up so he can level George with a look.

“I—sorry! God, right, I swear I’m usually less of a mess”—this is untrue—“but I actually—if you want to get changed, into, you know, a non-drenched shirt, I actually live just over the street—”

Alex exhales, and slides his sunglasses back onto the face. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll just… go on my coffee-covered way.”

“You can’t,” George says, “think of the headlines—‘Alex Albon in caffeine frenzy’—‘he didn’t realise you’re meant to drink it, sources say’—my house really is so close. We can get you all cleaned up in no time.”

Alex considers him for a long moment. “Give it to me in metres,” he says. And that’s how the rest of George’s life begins.

for @onadarklingplain, who suggested that notting hill au george would own a bookshop that only sold self-help.. nothing has ever been truer!! kay thank you for reading this over & for talking about galex with me 💓

#notting hill au #galex #my fic #gr63 #aa23 #in this au alex's terrible actor bf is christian horner

187 notes · View notes

dfortrafalgar · 17 days

Text

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. (Me: i'm going to take a few days off to rest my head and proofread! Also me: *literally cannot rest without posting another chapter*)

The final arc of this story has officially begun!

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men

Chapter 21

[Prev] [Next]

Law knew exactly what was in the large, secured envelope the second he pulled it out of his mailbox in the lobby. A large stamp accompanied by a handwritten address bar and an official wax seal holding the packet together made his grands grow clammy with anxiety as he took the elevator back up to the apartment, dreading opening the parcel to reveal the contents inside. He hadn’t even consumed anything from the hefty packet in his hands, but already he was plagued with an overwhelming guilt. With trembling fingers, he hunched over the kitchen counter and pulled the seal off of the envelope, flipping it open and removing the papers contained within.

New World Healthcare Dear TRAFALGAR D. WATER LAW, On behalf of your colleagues at New World Healthcare, we are delighted to invite you as an esteemed guest to the annual International Medical Multi-Specialty Conference hosted this year in Wano Kuni’s Flower Capital from August 15th - August 20th. Due to your extensive contributions to the field of cardiothoracic surgery, you are being offered the opportunity to speak as part of a cardiovascular surgery demonstration panel. We believe that attendees from the world’s most esteemed institutions would benefit greatly from your expertise, and your contribution to the conference will be unparalleled. Please send your notice of attendance to: NEW WORLD HEALTHCARE CORPORATION 321 PORTGAS DRIVE NEW MARINEFORD, NW 00021

“Fuck…” the black-haired man muttered under his breath. His head shot up at the sound of the lock in the front door turning signaling your return from work, watching with a forlorn expression as you pushed open the door and entered your apartment with a smile.

“Oh, hi, baby!” you called excitedly as you kicked off your shoes. You noticed almost instantly how pensive his expression was, however, and you were quick to drop your bag and cross the floor to be by his side. “What’s the matter?”

Law pulled out one of the chairs of your kitchen table, plopping himself down into it with a huff as he passed the letter over to you. He watched through weary eyes as you scanned the paper, taking in the esteemed words of recognition written to him by his hospital’s conglomerate. He pinched the bridge of his nose in his fingers, trying to fight the tension headache that was brewing in his frontal lobe.

“Law, this is amazing!” you cheered, pulling out another chair to sit across from him. “This is such an honor to speak at a conference this big!” You gazed at your husband, concern flushing your features. “Why are you upset? This is a dream come true for you.”

Your husband trailed his hand down his face before it dropped onto the wooden table with a thunk. “I know… it’s just… that’s the week you’re supposed to have your transfer done.”

Your own expression fell at the revelation, your heart aching at the sight of your husband’s uncomfortableness with not being able to be with you during your egg implantation procedure. You had already started your ovarian stimulation injections a few days prior, and Law insisted on being able to make as many of your appointments as he could, not wanting to miss a single event with you after your second miscarriage. He wasn’t there to protect you, and he’d be damned if he let you suffer alone ever again should anything happen.

“Baby…” you called, reaching your arm over the table to grasp his hand. “I wouldn’t want you to miss this event just because of me. This is such an incredible opportunity, one you’ve dreamed about since you were in medical school!”

“I know…” your husband sighed, taking your hand and brushing his inked digits over the glass ring on your right ring finger. “I just… I just don’t feel good… missing your procedures.”

His words made you stand from your seat, walking around the table to sit in the chair closest to him so you could fully grasp his hand, tethering yourself to his nervous form. “Law, look at me,” you pleaded.

Your husband’s anxious, golden eyes flicked over to your face, assessing your features. You were focused, concentrated, almost daring in your expression.

“I have our friends to help me if I need it. I could always have Ikkaku or Shachi or Penguin come with me for the transfer and help out with the dog. I know you want to be there, and I want nothing more than for you to be there, too. But I also don’t want you to miss this opportunity just because of me,” you explained.

“It wouldn’t be ‘just because of you,’” he sighed, repeating your words. “Nothing I do for you is ‘just because.’”

Your eyebrows furrowed, your chest clenching. You hadn’t even realized how inwardly self deprecating your phrase had been, but even still, you clung to your resolve. “I know… I just really wouldn’t feel comfortable if you passed up this chance. I can tell you want to go, Law. I can see it.”

Law’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as his steely eyes darted away from your gaze. He clenched your hand harder.

“I want you to go and experience this. We’ll be able to call each other every single day, and I’ll send you constant updates and pictures. It’ll be like you never left!” you explained, hoping to draw some relief or contentment out of your husband’s clearly troubled mind.

Your enthusiastic grin did, in fact, do wonders to loosen Law’s worries as you watched his shoulders hunch ever so slightly and his jaw unclench. He released a deep sigh from his lungs as he leaned into you, touching your shoulder with his. “You’d really be okay if I left for that week?”

You nodded. “I’d be even more okay if you brought me home some authentic snacks from the Flower Capital!”

Law’s lips finally curled into that genuine smile you loved so much as he snorted out a laugh at your request. “I’ll need to bring an extra carry-on bag for all the gifts I can bring home to you.”

You giggled, throwing your arms around your husband’s neck, much more excited at the prospect of him deciding to attend his dream conference. “I’m so proud of you, Law. You’ve become such a big name in the medical world that you’re being invited to speak at a conference…” your voice was almost dreamy as you spoke. “My husband… a big shot in Wano… I almost wish I could go with you just so I can rub it into everyone’s face,” you added with a mischievous smile.

Law pulled you closer to him, lightly pinching his fingers against the soft flesh of your hip and making you squeal in surprise. “I’ll change my phone wallpaper to a picture of you, so if anyone looks they’ll know that I’ve got a smokeshow of a wife waiting for me at home.”

You pulled away from him slightly, a playful pout on your face. “Is your wallpaper not already a picture of me?”

“Nope. It’s a picture of Bepo’s fat ass,” he confirmed.

“Okay, that makes me feel a bit better,” you added. “My wallpaper is a hot character from that anime I’ve been watching.”

Law frowned playfully as he stood from his chair, scooping you into his arms. “I’ll make you regret that.”

“Law!” you yelped, laughing and lightly batting his shoulder as he carried you to your bedroom. “I promise I’ll change it! I promise!”

—

Robin had told you prior to your first ovarian stimulation injection that some side effects common with shifts in hormones could occur, and you were beginning to regret not fully listening to her advice, assuming that the side effects would be similar to a standard period. Especially now that you were finishing your final cycle of injections at home after a brief training period with the needle and syringe.

Oh how wrong you were.

Shachi made a passing comment while stopping over with some food that you seemed more emotional than usual, which rendered you a blubbering, sobbing mess, and left him with a sizable bruise on his bicep from a harsh punch from Penguin. While at work, Usopp made the hellish, poorly thought out decision of asking if you had gained some weight, which sent you crying to the bathroom while Ikkaku chased after you, Nami and Sanji berating your friend and coworker for his rude remark. You were far more fatigued than usual, your headaches being more prominent and far more annoying, and you constantly felt bloated. You tried to get Bepo to step on your stomach in hopes that you could release a rip current of a fart from deep in your bowels, but Law put a stop to that real quick. Which then resulted in another wave of involuntary tears, beyond frustrated at the gas in your abdomen.

On the night following your final injection, you were lying curled up on your side on the couch, sobbing into Law’s lap as he idly petted your hair, leaning his other arm over the armrest of the couch while balancing his chin on his knuckles. A rerun of an old medical drama series was playing on the television.

“Law…” you blubbered, sniffling onto his pants.

“Yes, baby?” he asked, half paying attention to you.

“How have you not left me yet?” you whined. “I’ve been… s-so… annoying…”

Law suppressed a chuckle. “You’re not annoying, love.”

“Yes I ammmm…” you complained, drawing out your words. “I’m hormonal… I can’t wait for this to be over…”

“You’re hormonal, yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re annoying,” he reassured. “Robin told you these side effects might happen. Now that you’re done with your injections, hopefully your symptoms die down soon.”

You rotated slightly, enough to peer up at him through blurry, teary eyes. “Will you still love me if I’m an annoying, cranky pregnant lady?”

Law grinned, mildly amused with the hoops you were jumping through in your hazy, hormonal mind. “Of course I will.”

“Even if I get mad at you for something stupid?” you asked, unaware of just how much validation you were desperate to receive from your doting husband.

“Even if you get mad at me, yes,” he confirmed with a smirk.

“Will you still love me even when I get fat and wrinkly?” you sniffled. “Even when my boobs get saggy?”

Law was restraining every muscle in his body to not laugh at your sorry state. He truly did feel awful for you, that your mandatory injections were making you feel so miserable, but to him, the truth of your questions was undeniable. He was content with constantly reminding you of just how beautiful you were to him, in every stage of life. “I’ll love you even when you’re wrinkly,” he said, gently patting your cheek. “And you’re not fat, you’re beautiful.”

“Can fat be beautiful?” you asked, blinking some stray tears from your eyes.

“Yes, it can be. But I don’t like using that word,” he explained.

“Then what word would you use?”

Law pondered briefly, gazing at your curled up form on his lap. “Healthy,” he responded. “Sexy. Squishy, even.” He punctuated his word by gently squeezing the soft flesh of your waist, making a grin crack onto your lips. To even the playing field, he asked, “Will you love me even when I’m old and wrinkly?”

You sucked in another sharp sniffle. “You’re gonna be so fucking hot when you’re old.”

Your words finally made Law lose his restraint, a laugh forcing its way from his mouth and making him place his free hand over his face to hide his amusement. In one week from now when you were (hopefully) feeling more like your usual self, you were going to be beyond embarrassed remembering what you had said in your vulnerable state. He needed to enjoy this now while he could.

“Alright, sexy, I think you should get some rest,” he cooed, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV.

You looped your arms around his neck, hiding your swollen, flustered face in his shirt collar. “Carry me?”

Law chuckled. “Of course.”

—

“Text me the second you land,” you demanded, holding your husband’s inked hands in your own at the gate outside of the airline security check-in line. It was far too early in the morning for you, but you refused to let your husband leave for his conference without a proper goodbye. “And send me pictures! And call me!”

Law leaned down to peck a kiss on your lips which you happily reciprocated, whining slightly under your breath when he pulled away. “Please send me updates when you can.”

“Of course, baby,” you cooed, your voice gentle and soft as you pulled your husband in for a tight hug. “It’ll only be seven days…”

“Seven days too many…” he sighed back into your neck, squeezing your waist. He reluctantly pulled away from you, shifting his attention to Shachi who awkwardly rocked on his feet from side to side. “And you…”

Shachi’s concealed gaze turned toward Law as he pointed one of his fingers at himself, mouthing, ‘Me?’

“You and Penguin better take good care of her while I’m gone,” he demanded, his voice stern yet still retaining his usual mischievousness he displayed around his best friends.

“Yes, captain!” Shachi called back, holding up a mock salute as if part of a pirate crew.

The sight made you giggle as you rubbed your husband’s arm, leaning upwards to press one last kiss against his cheek. His skin was soft, having just trimmed his facial hair and sideburns that morning in preparation for his trip. You wished he could stay so you could kiss his soft skin all day until his usual scruff grew back, but alas, he had an international crowd to impress. “I love you, baby,” you called.

“I love you, too,” he replied, shouldering his carry-on bag. “See you in seven days.”

“Safe travels, Law!” Shachi called over your shoulder, making you smile.

With one last grin and a wave of his free hand, you watched as he collected his rolling suitcase and proceeded to the security line to enter the airport terminal. You turned your attention toward Shachi, whose chest was puffed out in a prideful display.

“I’m going to be the best damn caregiver to you,” he uttered, jokingly flexing his shoulders.

You laughed, grabbing his arm to lead him back to the airport’s main exit so you could return to your car and grab breakfast somewhere. “Hey now, I’m still able to be independent. Don’t think I’m going to let you take over everything in my house just because of my procedure in a few days!”

Shachi huffed, pulling his car keys out of his pocket as the two of you walked through the small drop-off parking area to his car. You and Law were fortunate enough to afford two fairly decent cars, both of your vehicles being older models of used sedans that you kept very well maintained. Shachi’s car on the other hand was… less well off.

It was a 1995 SUV of some kind. The metal radiator emblem that was previously situated on the front was no longer attached, and there were no indicator decorations on the rear bumper to indicate what make and model the car was. It came with no user manual, and when he purchased it from a random number he found on the side of the road, it was basically given to him free of charge with two completely flat tires and a completely rusted through exhaust. The red-head had done a great deal of work on the beat-up vehicle, completely replacing the interior seats, adding an up-to-date dashboard and radio system, and giving the exterior a few new coats of shiny paint among other technical improvements, but the old beater really showed its age when you watched your friend shove the key into the ignition and twist with the force of a powerlifter to ignite the engine.

The entire car shook as the engine roared to life, the sound almost deafening through the thin metal doors. Out of habit, you grabbed on to the handle built into the inside of the door, a futile attempt at securing yourself. Seat belts could only do so much when the car rattled like a scared dog.

“Still haven’t fixed the shaking yet?” you asked, trying to hide your concern as Shachi yanked on the gear shift, putting the car in reverse and throwing his arm over the back of your seat to exit his narrow parking spot.

“I can’t figure out where it’s coming from,” he replied, annoyance on his tongue. “I’m shocked this stupid thing is still running. Sometimes I feel like the floor is going to give out.”

You tossed a worried glance down at the car’s floor beneath your feet. There were a few discarded food wrappers and plastic water bottles strewn about, a plethora of various colors of crumbs in the small nooks and crannies of the floor and around the fabric floor mat. You made a mental note to not let Shachi take your [hopefully] future child anywhere in his car.

Nevertheless, the car successfully rumbled to the drive through window of a small breakfast restaurant, where you excitedly ordered two coffees and two donuts for the two of you.

Shachi took a generous sip of his coffee as he drove. “So what’s the plan, again? Just so that I know what this week is gonna look like.”

You nodded, taking a small nibble of your donut and washing it down with a sip of your own drink. “Today I’m getting the injection that will trigger my eggs, and on Wednesday I’ll be having the extraction procedure. I chose to stay awake and just use local anesthesia, so you won’t have to worry about me being loopy, but I won’t be able to drive before or after. That’s what I hopefully have you guys for!” The car rattled as Shachi lightly depressed the brakes, driving around morning traffic. “If this car doesn’t kill me before then, anyway.”

“Hey, she’s a beater but she’s still moving!” Shachi pestered back, defending his rusting hunk of metal. He smiled, his toothy grin bringing you a sense of familiar contentment. “Sounds good, though. What kind of process is this, anyway?”

“Do you want the simple explanation or the complicated one?” you asked, placing your coffee into one of your friend’s crumb-filled cup holders.

“Simple, please,” he replied, his voice slightly desperate for an easy-to-digest explanation.

“Basically, I’ve taken some medication to make sure my eggs are mature. Some of them get removed from my body, and they’re fertilized in a dish. When they grow enough, if they grow at all, they’re placed back in my body where they’ll hopefully become a fetus.”

Shachi nodded, though you were unsure if any of what you just said stuck with him. “So where does Law come in?”

“He already had his sperm harvested and frozen,” you responded. You were counting your blessings in your head, though, as neither of you had any idea that Law would be leaving the week of your procedure. Fate must have been on your side when he elected to freeze the sperm that was collected for his second precautionary fertility test.

“Did they have him jack off into a cup or something?” Shachi asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Unfortunately,” you joked in response. You doubted your husband would want to go into the details, knowing the tendency of his best friends to poke fun at his shortcomings, but the thought nevertheless made you chuckle. “Hey, can we stop by the grocery store before we head back to the apartment? I want to pick up a few things.”

Shachi, with his mouth full of donut, flashed you an excited thumbs up. You grinned, taking a delicate sip of your coffee as you gazed out the passenger window, the sun slowly rising above the horizon.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

80 notes · View notes

d1xonss · 5 months

Text

Desert Rose

Chapter 8 ~ Panic Room

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 1

✧ Word Count : 4.2k

In this chapter ~ When the group pushed even harder for answers about the outbreak as a whole, Jenner gives them the harsh and ugly truth. One that they clearly weren't expecting to hear. But the man didn't stop there as they were all suddenly locked inside the large building, the entire thing going into self-destruct mode. It left all of them terrified, wondering if there was any way out of the danger they seemed to walk right into.

"Give me a playback of TS-19." Jenner commanded out loud as he walked into the large room.

Our footsteps echoed around the giant space, filled with lines and lines of computers and a giant screen in the middle of the back wall on full display. Everything in here looked expensive and new, like there were many doctors and smart people in here at one point trying to do everything they could when the outbreak hit. I didn't miss the mess that lingered in different places when people obviously began to panic, not knowing how the hell to stop this or what exactly it was. But I hoped that after Jenner stayed here for months, maybe he had come up with some sort of answer.

Suddenly, seconds after Jenner spoke, there was video feedback of different 3-D views of human skulls on the giant screen right in front of us.

"Is that a brain?" Carl asks from beside his mother.

Jenner nodded, "An extraordinary one. Take us in for E.I.V."

The screen then showed the brain having all of these different little blue lights, glowing and flickering in every direction. The stemmed from the front and all the way around to the back, the mind itself looking alive right in front of our eyes. Jenner began to explain to all of us that the lights we see are a person's life, all of their experiences, basically all of the different things that make you unique. But I didn't miss his change in tone when he informed us that the person we were seeing had been bitten, and agreed to have all of this recorded and watched by others for learning purposes.

My eyes stayed firmly on the screen as the man rambled on and on it seemed like, nearly tuning him out as I watched all the once bright blue lights, slowly dim with each passing second. Though it only got faster once Jenner commanded the computer to fast forward through the footage, watching as the person slowly lost their life right before our very eyes. The brain then became completely dark as the person stopped moving, fast forwarding even further when something unexpected happened.

Once the person essentially came back to life, red lights suddenly appeared instead in only a certain part of the brain now. Showing all of us what happened to you after you turn is far worse than what we could even imagine.

"It restarts the brain?" Lori asked.

"You tell me." he replies as he gestured to the screen, watching us take it all in like he had probably done many times in the past, studying over every movement time and time again.

"It's not like before, most of that brain is dark." Rick states.

Jenner then says, "Dark, lifeless, dead. The frontal lobe, the neocortex, the human part, that doesn't come back. The you part. Just a shell driven by mindless instinct."

The screen then previews something suddenly hitting the brain right in the middle, before it all goes black again and the person stops moving completely.

"God. What was that?" Carol asked in shock.

My eyes scanned the person's entire head, looking at the object that was now lodged in the center, "He shot his patient in the head." I assumed, "Didn't you?"

He didn't answer me as he powered down the screen with the press of a button, clearly not wanting to relive the moment. There was something suddenly suspicious about the things he was dancing around, almost purposefully not answering.

"You have no idea what this is do you?" Andrea asked.

Jenner sighed, "It could be microbial, vial, parasitic, fungal."

"Or the wrath of God." Jacqui said under her breath.

"There is that." Jenner said before proceeding to tell us that he truly didn't have the answers we were looking for. He was almost just as clueless about this as any of us are, not having near as many answers as he wished. That only made me wonder what the hell he was doing these past few months if he wasn't trying to figure out what all this shit was. Was he just sitting on his ass in his fancy building, waiting for someone to come knocking and save him? I truly wanted to know.

"Man, I wanna get shitfaced drunk after this." Daryl muttered close to me.

I just nodded my head in response, not taking my eyes off the man as he continued talking, though I couldn't bring myself to pay attention. Coming here only seemed absolutely hopeless now knowing everything. We couldn't save Jim, and we would never know what all of this is, what it would all lead to in the future. The information he gave us was practically useless.

"Jenner, I know this has been taxing you and I hate to ask one more question, but that clock, it's counting down. What happens at zero?" Dale suddenly asked, bringing all of our attention to the big red numbers ticking to our left.

The man grew silent for a moment, shifting from side to side as he visibly grew uncomfortable, "The...basement generators run out of fuel...the power runs out." he eventually explained vaguely.

"And then?" I asked.

Jenner ignored me again. Dick. Before starting to just walk out of the room as if the conversation was anywhere near done.

"VI what happens when the power runs out?" Rick asked the computer.

"When the power runs out, facility–wide decontamination will occur." VI responded, a robotic voice coming through the speakers.

We all looked around at each other in slight confusion, not really knowing what that meant and Jenner was already too far gone to explain any of it. Almost as if he didn't want us to know. That alone caught the attention of a few of the guys as they began to quickly leave the room to figure out what the hell was going on, down towards the basement like Jenner mentioned. Daryl was about to leave my side to follow them out, but turned back to me almost as if he forgot something.

"Grab your stuff, get ready to leave." he told me urgently.

I nodded absentmindedly as I watched him turn around again to leave, before rushing in the other direction to head back towards the many lined up rooms. The door practically flew open with the amount of force I used, not wasting anymore time as I gathered the rest of my things, the books that I had picked out, and a few bottles of water that were scattered around the space. I fucking knew that something bad was going to happen, I should've bet on it. Something had been off since the beginning and I didn't say a damn thing about it, how could I have let this just fly over my head like that without taking it more seriously.

I seemed to pause mid step as I frantically walked around the room as the power went out in a split second, leaving me in the dark, and I didn't hesitate to pick up my pace. I blindly hauled the rest of my stuff over my shoulders and grabbed Daryl's bag along with his crossbow and quickly made it back out of the space.

By the time I rushed back into the giant room we were huddled in, everyone had come back and started hounding Jenner with question after question, all of them he seemed to be avoiding. I fully walked into the area hesitantly upon the scene and I saw Daryl's shoulders relax the second he saw me again, his brows still furrowed in concern.

He then rushed over to me rather quickly, "What the hell took ya so long?" he asked, his tone blunt and angry.

I stood there for a second before handing him his things, "Sorry?" I asked in disbelief.

It hit him then what he sounded like and he quickly shook his head, "I-...sorry, I'm just..." he trailed off, not knowing how to describe the obvious fear he was feeling.

But I understood what he was saying without even having to hear it, nodding to him as he didn't need to finish his thought for me to know. I myself was feeling the same way as I tried to calm my nerves, disregarding all the many things that could go wrong in here even though they might've been true.

For every question that Jenner was avoiding, the harder it was for me to remain calm. There was a conversation happening in front of Daryl and I that he seemed to be listening intently to, but I wasn't. I couldn't. I just tried to focus on my breathing, my heartbeat growing loud in my ears as I was trying to not completely freak out. Panic attacks weren't a new thing to me, but I definitely would rather die than have one in front of a crowd of people.

Then Rick suddenly snapped when he wasn't getting anywhere with Jenner, "Everyone grab your things, we're getting out of here now!" he yelled.

He didn't have to tell me twice. I instantly started to walk out on instinct along with everyone else, but a sudden alarm began blaring loudly the second we moved it seemed like, and the door slammed shut right in front of my face, locking us in. Okay if I thought I was feeling claustrophobic before, then what the hell was I feeling now?

"Did you just lock us in? Guys he just locked us in!" Glenn shouted in panic.

"Yeah, no shit." I muttered in disbelief, my eyes wide as I scanned the thick metal door in front of me.

My breathing started to become heavier after Glenn said that, making the situation only more real and far worse, and Daryl quickly took notice from my right. He suddenly whipped around to the man responsible and ran up to him in a split second, "You son of a bitch! You locked us in here!" he screamed.

He tried to tackle the man but Rick and Shane stopped him by pulling him back harshly by the arms. I dropped my backpack to the ground absentmindedly, starting to walk back and forth in the giant room that only seemed to be getting smaller, trying to steady my racing heart but nothing seemed to be working. We were really trapped in here, with a timer counting down the minutes to God only knows what.

Glenn quickly seemed to watch me frantically moving back and forth from right next to him and gently grabbed me so I would come to a stop, pulling me into him in attempts to calm me down. But it only seemed to make things worse, feeling his arms shaking around me only proving just how scared he was too. How nervous we all seemed to be of the unknown.

It was then Jenner started to yell, having been fed up with the many voices demanding him for answers and the people beginning to attack him every two seconds. The serious man finally reached his breaking point just as he pushed us to ours.

"Do you know what this place is?!" he snapped, "We protected the public from very nasty stuff! Weaponized smallpox! Ebola strains that could wipe out half the country! Stuff you don't want getting out! Ever!"

We were all left to a stunned silence at his outburst, watching as he took a breath and sat back down in his chair, leaving the painful silence all around us. Daryl's eye seemed to catch with mine from across the room and gave me a look I had never seen from him before whilst I was still slightly shaking in Glenn's arms, hating the idea of being trapped.

Jenner then continued, "In the event of a catastrophic power failure in a terrorist attack, for example, H.I.T.S are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out."

"H.I.T.S?" Rick questioned.

Jenner glanced at him, "VI, define." he commanded.

"H.I.T.S- High-impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives consist of a two stage aerosol ignition that produces a blast heat wave of significantly greater power and duration than any other known explosive."

I froze. All I could hear in that moment was Glenn's quickened heartbeat, Carol and Sophia holding each other sobbing, and the rest of the men getting very angry as if it was the only emotion they knew how to feel. Not only were we left trapped in here, but we were also going to die. We were all going to die without even having really lived, and he just seemed to brush past it without a care in the world. Not even considering to bring it to any of our attention before this, and I couldn't have been more angry with him.

Before I knew what was happening Daryl and Shane brushed past us in a hurry, trying to break the door open by hitting it repeatedly with axes they had somehow found along the way. I slightly pushed away from Glenn to walk over towards Jenner to try and hear anything other than ringing in my ears. But I didn't get very far as I felt someone suddenly hug me from around my waist and I looked down to see Carl holding onto me tightly. He was still crying profusely, and I quickly got down on my knees to hug him in return, trying to offer him some type of support as his fear must've been petrifying.

This isn't the way it should go. I felt utterly hopeless, I knew we wouldn't be getting out of here unless Jenner decided so, and by the looks of it he wasn't budging. Even with Rick kept trying to convince him every passing second.

"Can't make a dent." Shane said breathlessly to all of us as he took a break from trying to tear down the door.

"Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher." Jenner informed.

"Well you're head ain't!" Daryl yelled while coming at Jenner with an axe, Shane and Rick having to step in once more to stop him again from doing anything rash.

If we weren't about to die, I probably would've laughed at his witty comeback, but Carl's quiet sobs reminded me of the state of the situation and now was not the time. I continued to rub his back reassuringly to try and calm him somehow as I watched the scene unfold in front of me over his shoulders.

Jenner kept trying to convince all of us that this was for the best, and there would be no pain when we all die in here together. But the truth was I didn't want to die, not now, nor did I want anyone else in here to have the same exact fate. And clearly we all were in firm agreement with how much everyone was losing their shit. Reacting in different ways to Jenner's psychotic behavior, anger, sadness, and panic, yet it was all completely the same. Fear. It always seemed to come back didn't it?

Lori came up to me to take Carl back into her arms and just held him for our last few moments while she finally let her own tears fall, realizing it was all hopeless. But Rick clearly wasn't ready to give up. I watched him pick apart the man, digging down as deep as he could to try and convince him to just let us make our own decision on this. That we all deserved a right to choose what we wanted our fate to be instead of it being forced upon us like this. That maybe there was still some hope out there for us to find.

And then suddenly, he broke. The man didn't say a word, not a single word as he silently walked over to a control panel, typing in a few numbers that sent the metal door flying open. Daryl, who was still trying to break through, nearly ate shit when it opened quickly as he still swung the weapon over and over again. But he recovered fast as he whipped around to grab his stuff from off the ground.

"Come on!" he yelled to the rest of us.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding once it hit me that it was real. He was letting us go. My legs had never moved so fast as I sprinted towards the door, grabbing my things along the way and making sure everyone else made it through the door before me as I pushed them through to the other side.

But I quickly noticed as I looked back that Jaqui and Andrea were staying behind with Jenner, leaving Dale shocked beyond repair. He wanted to save her, I could tell by his eyes how much he cared for her, but he knew there was nothing he could do to convince her, so he stayed too. The sight alone caused my mouth to drop at how many people we seemed to be losing, one after another. Each of them fell just like dominos.

My eyes wouldn't pull away from them, wanting them to come with us but knowing I couldn't do or say anything to change their minds. After all, what could I say? They thought their chance of surviving out there was slim, and they were terrified of walkers potentially tearing them to shreds, that's not how they wanted to go. And as much as it might've pained me, I could also understand that too.

Heavy footsteps from behind me were slapping loudly on the ground below, approaching me in record speed but I ignored it for a second, wanting to get one last look at their faces before I made my own decision too.

"Hey, come on, let's go." Daryl said from right behind my head while grabbing my sleeve to pull me along.

I looked at him with a twinge of sadness in my eyes, but nodded and followed him out the door towards the main entrance, not looking back.

The two of us flew towards the front doors where everyone else was waiting, watching from a distance as some of the guys were trying to break the windows with axes and any other type of weapon they could find. I recalled Jenner saying something about not being able to open the front doors again, but it's not like any of us minded that. Where there's a will, there's a way.

But nothing was working as they continued to struggle, the glass being too thick to cut through easily, that is until Carol approached Rick as she dug through her bag, "I think I have something that will help." she said.

"Carol, I don't think a nail file is gonna do it." Shane said in frustration.

I blinked. Really?

She ignored him, "Back at camp when I was washing your clothes, I found this in your pocket." she said as she pulled out a grenade with shaking hands.

My eyes widened at the random object. Yeah, I think that'll do it.

Rick then took it from her and told everyone to get down once he placed it by the window. I ducked and covered the back of my neck with my hands when, at the last minute, I felt another body covering mine. Once the window shattered, I looked up to see it was Daryl and he quickly grabbed my hand and practically dragged me out the window as fast as possible with everyone following close behind.

We all took down as many walkers as we could as we made our way back to the cars quickly, breathing heavily with adrenaline coursing through our bodies. I got into the passenger side of the truck and slammed the door shut, Daryl's movements only mirroring mine as he didn't waste a single second before getting in too. I found myself looking back at the building once more, just in time to see Andrea and Dale making it out of the window at the last minute and diving to take cover right before the explosion.

I ducked down in anticipation to shield myself once again, only seconds away from the ignited fire before it rang out loudly in my ears. I felt the heat of the explosion blow in our direction along with the smoke that came after that, perishing whatever was left inside. Daryl sat up after a few seconds of silence had passed and I got up slowly after him looking to see Andrea and Dale quickly making their way into the RV, with the building burning behind them.

I sat there in shock, trying to process everything that went down in the last thirty minutes. It all seemed to happen so fast.

"Hey, ya okay?" Daryl asked once he collected his own thoughts.

I didn't look at him, but I nodded my head to show that I heard him, even if my answer was far from the truth. But then I felt his hand, slowly and hesitantly falling on my shoulder as if he was scared to touch me.

"Look at me." he said in a soft voice.

My eyes moved over to him slowly to make sure I wasn't just imagining things. Seeing him worried and speaking in such a soft tone was a weird new thing to experience, almost weirder than what we just went through seconds ago. He was being so genuine it seemed unnatural...but not in a bad way.

"I'm okay." I finally muttered.

I didn't think he believed me, not for a second, but before he could protest more the cars in front of us started to move, leaving him not much of a choice as he quickly started up the vehicle to follow. I sat completely still while we drove in silence, just thinking. I didn't want Jacqui to stay, leaving someone behind for dead was something I never thought we'd do. But I tried to tell myself that she was at peace and wouldn't suffer in this cruel world anymore.

We had been driving for hours and I could tell that the sun would start setting soon enough and we would have to find somewhere to stay for the night. It frustrated me slightly that we had to start all over with finding a safe place to stay, although I didn't have a lot of faith in the CDC, it still would've been nice to hole up there for a little while. Better than mindlessly wandering place after place only to be left with nothing we could rely on.

"Did ya wanna stay?" Daryl suddenly asked.

Although I barely heard the question fall from his lips because it was more of a whisper, yet I was still taken off guard at his question. Was that what he thought I wanted? I didn't want him or anyone to think I wanted to stay merely because I stopped for a moment to look at the others. I wanted to save them, but I didn't want to join them.

I quickly answered him, "God no..." I breathed shakily, "No...I didn't."

He looked over at me, trying to see if I was lying to him, "Then why did I have to pull ya outta there?"

"You didn't have to pull me out of there, I just-," I stopped myself to figure out how to phrase what I wanted to say, "I...almost wanted to take one last look at the others. It was the last time we were ever going to see Jacqui." I said.

He remained silent for a while after that. I began to think that my explanation was just stupid to him since he didn't utter another word, but it was true. I didn't want to just forget about her or forget her face, so I stayed for a few seconds longer because it was somewhat important to me.

"Don't do that shit" he suddenly spoke after a few minutes of awkward silence.

I turned to him in confusion, "Do what shit?" I asked.

"Don't scare me like that" he responded.

My eyebrows raised in slight shock. Scare him? The man that wasn't afraid of anything, not scared to tear someone's head off or take out an army of walkers before him. But I scared him? I almost didn't think I heard him right. "Sorry." I said simply, a smile creeping to my face.

He returned the smile and turned back to the road, "S' fine." he muttered.

"Why do you care?" I found myself asking.

He only looked at me with a blank expression, so I clarified, "I mean you don't know me that well at all...why does it matter to you if I wanted to stay or not?"

His eyes focused back on the road, and he started to chew on his bottom lip slightly while his mind was elsewhere. It didn't seem like that deep of a question but he sure as hell was taking his time thinking about it.

"Well, if yer part of the group now...means I gotta watch yer ass just like everyone else." he said with annoyance clear in his voice.

My heart sank a little at his words, but what did I expect? I guess I was a little flattered when he said that I had scared him, and maybe there was a part of me that thought about what it would be like if I was a little more important to him. I'm not a saint, okay? It crossed my mind. But clearly that wasn't the case.

I didn't say another word in response to that because I truly didn't know what else to say, only moving to press play on the Metallica cd that we listened to yesterday and began to stare out the window, trying to think about something else. I wanted the CDC to be a distant memory and nothing more, but the questioned remained as I watched the city get smaller and smaller. Where the hell do we go from here?

~ Thanks for reading!

55 notes · View notes

roseaesynstylae · 17 days

Text

So, the idea of the Bad Batch (minus Echo, plus Emerie) being the other half of the Nulls has consumed my goddamn mind. Therefore, as you do when an idea takes up residence in your frontal lobe for the foreseeable future, here's some headcanons.

The Bad Batch (except for Echo and Omega, who have no clue what's going on) hate the Nulls. As in, "murder on sight" hate them. From an in-universe perspective, there could be a myriad of reasons, ranging from feelings of abandonment to resentment over them having a better life. From a writer's standpoint, it's because I love me some good old familial dysfunction and angst.

The more...unhinged...tendencies the Nulls are known for manifests in the Bad Batch more as "let's jump off this cliff and use explosives to direct our fall!" and less as "hey, check out my new skin gloves!" Of course, if you push them too far, it's a different story. In order of least to most likely to pull a "lemme turn you into an art installation," it's Omega, Wrecker, Hunter, Crosshair, and Tech. Omega wouldn't do that, at least not at this point in her life. Wrecker, when enraged, goes for the just-hit-them solution. Hunter's a decent human being and usually wouldn't do something like that...Unless his kid's been kidnapped by a crazy Imperial doctor for the fifteenth time, on which point he starts becoming a little deranged. Crosshair hovers close to the line but wouldn't do it to someone unprovoked. Tech is a special case, in that he has to be pushed, but when he is, the results make the rest of the Nulls go "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST."

The Nulls want to reunite with their lost siblings and build a relationship, but that's kind of hard to do when said siblings (except Omega) keep trying to kill them on sight and none of them were built for intricate and deeply complicated emotional issues. Still, they persist. Eventually, they could probably get to the level of "awkward conversations" but it'll take a lot of work.

The Bad Batch have what makes the Nulls superior to regular clone troopers, plus their unique enhancements (which in this version are less defects and more Nala Se picking an attribute for each of them and cranking it up to 11). They feel that it makes them better than the Nulls, something they're not shy about expressing.

Emerie is the same height as her estranged (I can't think of a word that applies to this specific situation but this one will do) brothers, because I stan a tall queen.

Nala Se is smug as hell whenever she sees Orun Wa. "CT-9904 just broke all records for accuracy, CT-9902 discovered a new element, CT-9903 crushed beskar like it was paper, and CT-9901 tracked a man through five systems and a solar storm. What are your clones doing, again?"

There is no understating the sheer "wtf" that goes through the Nulls' heads when they first see Omega. But, of course, this is Omega. Imagine the cutest image of her you've seen, fanart or canon. That's what the Nulls see when they meet her. Unsurprisingly, the Nulls, who got the Mandalorian gene to adopt anything that isn't nailed down, go from "wtf" to "so smol 🥰" in roughly a minute.

Kal Skirata is in the corner. His attempt to interact with the Bad Batch did not go well. He casually calls Hunter "son," as he does with various characters, and the resulting explosion puts a thermal detonator to shame. Since it's clear that his presence is not making things better, he's sort of just in the corner.

The rest of Clan Skirata, and associates, are staying out of this. Gilamar and Vau took one look and retreated to the bar because they know better than to get involved. Everyone else witnessed one of the less acrimonious encounters and collectively decided that they are not jumping into the emotional equivalent of a pit of rabid wolverines.

Echo is the go-between. He does not want to be the go-between. But he's the only neutral party in this thing aside from Omega, and the rest of the Batch don't trust the Nulls with her.

Spare a though for 99. He raised four of these guys, often with the aid of leashes. Truly, he is an unsung hero of the Clone Wars

34 notes · View notes

chrollohearttags · 1 year

Text

swisher sweet • connie springer

cw: throat training, back shots, very vocal (and aggressive) Connie 🥴, spit play, cumshot, vibrator use

📝: it’s been a minute but plug Connie is living in my frontal lobe right now. I also wanted to say thank you guys sm for 2K! That’s so unreal and I’m grateful

"Mmmphm! Mmphmph!"

the muffled sounds of gulping and moaning resonated throughout the room.

a haze of white smoke hovering throughout the air, speakers softly thumping with music, dim lights illuminating the room, and of course....

"Yeah, eat that dick up, baby..get that shit wet fa' me.."

the deep voice of your plug turned partner, Connie, coaching you through sucking him off while he exhaled clouds of smoke.

not that you needed any guidance but since getting with him, it didn't take long to learn how dominant he was..

since the two of you hooked up on a random night, some months ago in the backseat of his car, things had quickly escalated.

he made good on his promise to ensure that you never had to pay a single cent for his weed again, but he also began doting on you in other ways..paying for your hair and nails, books for class, taking you shopping and even when it was safe to do so, on dates sometimes.

most of all, he just enjoyed your presence.

but sometimes it wasn't possible for him to be around! You knew this about him and his lifestyle long before any type of relationship yet it didn't make it easier.

you'd become flustered and irritated that he had forgotten all about you or even found somebody else.

and admittedly, you had been giving him grief about it. Pouting and being a brat because truthfully, you just wanted all of his attention.

so on nights like this one..when he brought you back to one of his hideouts;

told all of his boys don't come back until he said so and proved to you just how much you had been on his mind!

currently, Connie was seated on the futon, muscular, tattooed legs sprawled to each side and wearing nothing but gym shorts that you had ruffled to his ankles.

one hand holding a lit blunt, pierced between his fingertips..occasionally bringing it to his lips.

the other? Resting atop your head, gently using it to bob your head back and forth.

several strings of saliva dribbling down your chin and chest, jaw slack and throat sore from the constant pounding of his cock.

slathering him up in your spit before he sandwiched your head once more, doubling down on bobbing it back and forth..

causing your mouth to erupt with gagging noises.

"You doing so good, mama..fuck, yesss."

he'd moan out, head rolling back on his shoulders as (y/n) swallowed it in its entirety.

suddenly, you felt your head frozen in place for a few seconds, forced to breathe solely from your nose whilst he held it there until you began to gag.

"..letting me fuck that pretty 'lil face. You know nobody can't do that shit like you, baby..ain't got no reason to trip, for real.."

his voice and tone getting you even more aroused as he cooed sweet nothings to you in his own manner.

but he wasn't wrong.

there wasn't one girl alive that could take your spot so you had no reason to be jealous or insecure about anything.

besides, he was too busy 'working', trying to run up the bag, only to come back and blow it on you.

yet, here you were getting upset with him..knowing damn well what he was into and it'd be like this if you wanted this to work.

"..this dick all for you, anytime you want it. 'Just gotta say that shit and I'm here."

finally, he'd pull your head back up, allowing you to catch your breath for a moment before proceeding to use your esophagus as a sleeve yet again.

this time, speeding up until you felt him throbbing.

he was grunting so loud, his moans so sexy and encouraging.

you were still whimpering; lips wrapped around the base of his dick and sweat pooling around your forehead and under eye.

makeup smeared from the slimy mess on your features..

but he loved very bit of it and soon, you'd find yourself as the object of his affection and his pure filthy desires.

finally hoisting your head up, Connie withdrew his soaked appendage from between your plump lips and rubbed his thumb across them.

"..but since you wanna act up and get mad, imma have to handle that."

with your tongue slithering out, he'd grip your throat and pull you closer before taking one more drag of his blunt.

your eyes fluttering and a wide grin on your face, glaring up at him.

you were looking a little delirious and dizzy after having your head jarred around like that, as well as your mouth.

but that was still just as slick as ever, of course!

playfully pouting and fluttering your eyes, in hopes that it would settle him but it was too late..

"I was just playing thoughhh."

to which he'd just blow that cloud of smoke into your open mouth and chuckle, grasping the back of your neck gently and pulling you up.

"Man, whatever. Better be lucky I love you. Lay your pretty ass on that bed..on your stomach too."

with that, you walked over to the mattress, sprawling out with an arch in your back.

(Y/N) got on all fours as you crawled in and positioned yourself ass up with your face down into the mattress, only lifted by your folded arms.

you were only in a tiny tank top and thong panties, which he was quick to pull aside once he straddled behind you.

from this angle, he could see the thin string swallowed up by the fatness of your pussy.

reaching between your legs to rub your clit and play in the folds.

"Yeah..imma definitely have to wear this shit out. So fucking wet..I just know she missed me."

"Yes, daddy..need all that dick in it tonight."

subtly making your cheeks clap as he massaged and spanked them.

"Then I won't keep you waiting for it, mama."

removing his shorts and hoisting his black wife beater above his head, Connie wasted no time giving you what you wanted.

bunching the material up in his palm, forming a fist, he'd ease the tip up against your slit, just barely prodding your hole before you'd shudder.

and once you did, he'd land a heavy handed slap on your ass and make you yelp.

"Spread that shit open..hurry up."

it pleased him to see the nails he paid for on display like this.

placing each hand on either side and splaying open your entrance for him. And it needed no prep because you were soaking..

so much so, it was already leaking on your thighs; he couldn't wait to feel it dripping down his dick.

grasping your waist, he'd pull you back against his pelvis, slowly easing himself in until he heard you cry out.

"F-fuck.."

"I'm almost in...let me have it, baby."

which only pushed him to go deeper until he was hitting your hilt and making your arch further.

from there, he'd place his hand on the small of your back; the cold metal of his gold AP scaling your skin. But seconds later, you'd feel something else:

that first thrust! Gliding all the way in, only to pull out before repeating that yet again for a few times. The warmth making him want to stay in it forever..

back and forth, Connie pushed until he was able to finally gain a rhythm, despite the grip you had on him.

for now, he'd only feed you slow strokes for his own pacing and your punishment.

he needed make sure that you were satisfied enough for tonight and when he wasn't there. A couple more quick pushes had you trickling down his shaft.

especially since he had decided to slide his thumb into your ass, massaging the puckering hole to intensify the pleasure.

and he wasn't shy about letting you know how amazing it felt!

with your head to the pillow, you'd continue moaning and begging for more as well.

"Ooh...that dick feels so good. So fucking big."

"I know..and this pussy 'so creamy, baby..you nutting on me already.."

the frothy white substance making a mess everywhere.

drawing out his words in a whiny breath that made you clamp down yet again. But this was merely a taste of what was to come.

soon enough, you'd find yourself clawing at the sheets as he finally began to speed up.

as you expected, he wasn't taking it easy; putting his all into pounding your little cunt. Even if it meant it had you crawling away from him!

every time he'd strike your hilt, you'd release a high pitched cry before going in the opposite direction;

fingernails clawing into the sheets and your teeth sinking into the pillow, but he was only getting started and you weren't going anywhere.

"Babyyyy! Fuck.."

"Nah, you was doing all that begging and arguing for this dick earlier, don't run from it..take that shit."

chuckling as he slapped your ass yet again.

and just to make certain he had complete reign, Connie hoisted one leg up, placing a foot on the bed and hovered over you.

meanwhile, he was getting deeper, prompting his balls to collide with your aching clit. You were going to pay for all that attitude by letting him fuck it out of you.

and so far, it was working!

(Y/N) was yelling, struggling to keep your composure as he reached and swelled in the pit of your stomach.

heavy ass cheeks ricocheting off of his abs and pelvic bone, making him want to feed you more of that length.

"Yeah, you gon' come for me? Give me what I want? You 'gone make a mess on this fucking dick?"

questioning with the sweetest tone as he raised your head to glare into his eyes. Yours were rolling back, making his tap your cheek to bring you back.

"Answer when I talk to you. Speak up."

"Yes daddy, I'mma come so fucking hard!"

crying, damn near sobbing from his brutal stroking. But you better had made good on that promise because he wasn't letting up until he felt it showering him and the sheets.

luckily for him, his wish would come true shortly as he gave a couple more and suddenly:

"Oh my God! Fuck!.."

the only thing he heard before the sounds of flowing water and you became his own personal faucet...letting those juices flow.

"Mmm! There you go, mama. Squirt for me..oh shittt!"

tossing his head back in pure bliss at the wonderful sensation. Sometimes he loved inviting you over just so you could fuck up his sheets.

but that wasn't enough, he needed to break you before you left.

so despite the fact that he had just fucked you into orgasmic oblivion, he still hadn't reached his own because he had been restraining himself.

so mid climax, he'd push his way back in until he could fit, because naturally, you had tightened up...

regardless, that didn't deter him from fucking the hell out of you!

and those rough, unrhythmic strokes became harder until you felt those fingernails kneading into the curve of your hips.

his breathing became labored, heavy heaving and faster movements until you felt him freeze in place and suddenly, your womb became filled with his cum.

veins protruding from his forehead and his clutch growing tighter.

"Agghhh! Take it..take that nut, baby! Yes.."

grunting so loudly as those warm droplets spilled into you.

for a moment, Connie found himself collapsed over your back; his gold chain brushing against your shoulder blades whilst he tilted your head towards him.

"C'mere, lemme kiss you.."

intertwining your tongues together in a moment of softness and heated passion. He truly couldn't get enough, hence why y'all were about to go for round two!

finally withdrawing, he'd grip the base of his cock, gently stroking the throbbing member as he prompted you to flip over.

once you did so, he'd quickly hoist your legs up before pinning them back behind your head.

having you folded from this angle left you completely exposed and he could even see remnants of his own nut, spilling from inside of you.

he knew it was a dangerous game but he couldn't help himself when it felt so warm and velvety.

"Stay like that, I gotta grab 'sum.."

announcing suddenly before walking over towards the dresser, retrieving something..

you'd watch him take another hit of the blunt he had been nursing earlier before opening the first drawer and pulling something out.

a medium sized, white device that began buzzing the closer he got..

"Hell yeah..this shit 'bout to feel so good."

seeing the excitement on his face as he neared the bed once more and placed his open palm on the backs of your thigh.

the whirring vibrator only inches from your protruding little bud as he began to reenter that messy heat.

your sex; a mixture of your arousal and his own but there more to come.

his tip was a bit brighter than the rest of his slightly tanned hued length, sensitive from prodding your g-spot.

tapping it against the plumpness of your pussy lips, smacking noises arose as he stirred up that wetness even more.

while maintaining your position, (y/n) glared up at him and made those needy pleas for him to be one with you again.

"Connie, babyyy, please..."

"Please what? Tell me..I know that mouth works. Talk."

just torturing you with that vibrator hovering over you as well as only teasing you with that head against your entrance.

"Please..I need you to fuck me.."

"You gone' act right if I do? You better not run from it again.."

with the way he was stroking in your shit, it was kind of inevitable but if it got you wanted, you'd give him your word.

"I promise I won't.." whimpering helplessly.

he didn't believe a word you said but it was going to amuse him to watch you struggle so he proceeded to glide in, placing that device to your little bud simultaneously.

initially, he was the one taken aback and had to regain his stance.

pressing his weight into the mattress, Connie crumpled your tank top into the same hand as the vibrator, tugging it down to expose your breasts.

admittedly, he loved fucking you in missionary because you looked so pretty.

finding his pace once more, he'd start gliding in and out..letting your flesh wrap around his shaft.

the deep thrusts growing more frequent as he found your spot once more. It was a feeling he'd never grow tired of.

"Eyes on me, mama. I wanna see those faces while I stroke this pussy.."

commanding you to keep your head fixated straight so that you could watch his every movement.

eventually, those strokes grew much quicker and soon, your bodies were bouncing in unison. Sounds of squelching along with buzzing filled the atmosphere.

between the constant stimulation of the zapping and penetration, you were losing your mind!

making your features contort in response.

it was pretty pointless trying to keep your gaze on him because he had your eyes rolling backwards and legs trembling like crazy.

the first few inches could be felt resting at the lower section of your stomach, even causing a slight bulge in the skin.

burrowed over you like he had hit a second wind. Your freshly done toes curling up near his chest.

the deep penetration prompting you to squirt intermittently as well.

you'd make an attempt to push him back, tapping his abs; begging for him to feel merciful and slow down but that was pretty futile..

"Okaaay! Daddy, I'm sorry!—fuck.."

"Nah, shut that shit up..you wasn't sorry when you had your lil' attitude so take it."

it was obvious that he had no empathy for your tearful pleas and whining because you brought this upon yourself.

the bed began to rock, headboard slamming against the wall with all of his force. His demeanor shifting to one of a more aggressive one so you knew he had to be close.

"And move your hand, I'm not playing with you!...."

a clear indication not to test his patience anymore. By the time he finished, you'd have no doubt where his heart and body belonged.

huffing and breathing heavily, Connie burrowed his face into the crook of your neck, moaning into your ear so helplessly and vulnerably.

and you'd return them.

"You want me to come for you, baby? You want the rest of this nut?"

"Yes, baby! Give it to me.."

that toy was still spinning around your flesh and you had squeezed so tightly that he had to stop before he filled you up yet again..

unable to keep hold to it, he'd toss the vibrator aside and pull out just in time.

grasping your hair, he'd tug you to the floor in front of the bed, positioning you in a squat underneath him.

"Stick that tongue out..look up at me."

(Y/N) bent down and put your tongue on display; his grasp remaining on your hair as he tugged you closer.

that's when he'd start stroking his shaft, jerking himself off into your open mouth. Along with that white, warm seed spilling out, as did his loud grunts and curse words.

"Fuck! Fuckkkkk..."

from your closed eyes, lips, breasts and entire face became splattered with that sticky cream; contrasting with your beautiful brown complexion.

he had managed to empty himself all over your features and you were grinning from ear to ear, proudly wearing it and tasting the sweet remnants.

clutching your chin, Connie tilted your head up, observing his work.

"Look at that pretty ass smile..you still mad at me?"

shaking your head no, that seemed to be an acceptable answer to him.

"That's all I want. I love you and you better not forgot that shit again.." bending down to trap you in another warm kiss.

"I love you too.." letting him know that you'd never give him a hard time again.

he definitely wasn't something you wanted to quit anytime soon.

1K notes · View notes

sionnaach · 1 month

Text

Trigger warnings for drug and alcohol use, a lot of swearing, and death (and dying. and dying. and dying)

Here it is. The Russian Doll AU

(or at least the first chapter)

Someone is knocking on the bathroom door.

Nico stares at his reflection in the mirror.

He’s twenty-five today. He’s managed twenty-five whole rotations around the sun, by some miracle, or divine intervention by whatever God(s) that enjoy watching the relative shitshow that is his life. According to Piper, the frontal lobe finishes developing at this age, but Nico doesn’t feel any different, any more mature than he had yesterday, or the day or week or year before that.

Same old Nico, for better or for worse.

The music is muffled behind the closed door, and he isn’t sure what song is playing, but it’s loud and heavy and he’s glad that there is at least something to his taste at this party that his friends insisted on throwing for him. In his (Piper’s) apartment.

The knocking continues.

He sighs and washes his hands before leaving.

A girl he doesn’t recognise glares at him when he opens the bathroom door, shouldering past him and slamming it shut behind her. Rolling his eyes, he makes his way to the kitchen, passing groups of people he doesn't know or can't be bothered remembering who are all wishing him a happy birthday, placing errant hands on his shoulder or clapping his back as he moves through the crowd. Someone hands him a shot, which he is marginally more enthusiastic about taking.

Piper grins at him from her position behind the kitchen counter, a lit joint in her hand that she begins to wave in the air like a particularly drunk conductor at his approach, her voice a lilting sing-song. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday-”

“Piper,” Nico interrupts her singing, plucking the joint from her hand and taking a drag. “How long have we known each other?”

“About ten years?”

“And in all that time, when have I ever asked you - or anyone, for that matter - for a birthday party?”

“Never, I know, but this is different Nico. you're officially a quarter of a century. That deserves celebrating!” She reaches for the joint, whining when Nico holds it out of her reach with a wry smile. “And it was Leo’s idea.”

Leo, who was currently nowhere to be found.

“And that makes up for a bunch of strangers invading my personal space.” He grumbles, taking another hit before Piper snatches the joint out of his hands again, taking a draw herself.

“Don't be a grump, you know plenty of people. Plus! Hazel and Frank should be here soon, and Percy and Annabeth said they'd swing by at some point. You can stop pretending that you have no friends.”

There’s a loud cheer, and a voice that belongs, undeniably, to one Leo Valdez can be heard even above the music.

“Chef Leo is back in business!”

Said chef is suddenly beside him, Jason in tow, both bearing two huge platters of Leo’s “famous” tofu tacos, which they place down on the counter once Piper clears up enough free space, pushing empty beer bottles and glasses to one side.

“You’re welcome, birthday boy.” Leo says with a grin, bumping their shoulders together. “I’ll give you first pick.”

“How generous of you, Valdez.” Nico grouses, but he grabs one of the tacos anyway - they are good, even if Leo is a bit too up his own ass about his cooking ability.

“Happy birthday, Nico.” Jason says with a smile, holding out a small present wrapped in the most obnoxious wrapping paper he has ever seen (another one of Leo’s fine ideas, he’s sure.) Nico licks the taco juice from his fingers and takes the gift from him.

“Thalia said she’s sorry she couldn’t come, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Someone needs to open tomorrow,” Nico responds with a shrug. “We went out for a drink last week, so she already got her well wishes in.” She had also sent him a text this morning, telling him he better still be hungover when he’s back at work the day after next or she would know that he hadn’t celebrated hard enough and that she ‘hadn’t raised a quitter’.

Tattoo artists were a different breed. He should know, being one.

He waves the box, gentle to not damage the contents. “I’m gonna put this in my room, I’ll be right back.”

Upon leaving his bedroom, Nico comes face to face with the last person he wanted to see tonight.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

He’s still in his scrubs, evidently having arrived straight from the fucking hospital. With anyone else that fact might have been sweet, but for some reason it just serves to irritate Nico further.

Maybe it’s just Octavian being here in the first place that is pissing him off.

“Nico!” Octavian cries. (Seriously, who the fuck calls their kid Octavian? That should have been the first warning sign. But Nico was notorious for seeing red flags and running straight on by.) He flashes him that too-perfect smile. Nico glowers in response.

“Why are you here?” He snaps, not even trying to hide his annoyance.

Octavian visibly deflates at Nico’s less than warm welcome, voice faltering. “Well, it’s your birthday, isn’t it? This is your party?”

“I sure as hell didn’t invite you.”

Another knife in the wound, and Nico feels a small degree of satisfaction as Octavian’s face falls into a frown.

“Can I please just explain-” He tries again, but Nico cuts him off.

“I’m not being your fucking rebound or side-piece or whatever the fuck that whole situation was again.”

“Nico-” Octavian reaches out a hand to touch him, to grab his arm or shoulder, but Nico flinches back violently, all but baring his teeth.

“Fuck off.” he snarls, shouldering by roughly, hitting against his arm and leaving Octavian standing in the hallway.

He needs a break.

Or another joint. Or a lot of alcohol. All of the above.

Piper is still in the kitchen, talking to Jason. She catches the look in his eye, and immediately holds out the joint again. Nico accepts, holding it between his teeth while he also pours himself a glass of the nearest booze - an unlabeled bottle, his favourite.

He takes a hit, hands the joint back to Piper, and downs the glass in fluid succession. The alcohol is terrible, and it burns his throat, but the weed is at least starting to ebb some of his general frustration at the night.

“Who invited Octavian.”

His friends stare at him.

“No one?”

Jason sighs, pushing up his glasses to rub the space between his eyes. “I’ll get him to leave.” He squeezes Nico’s shoulder reassuringly, before heading back the way Nico came to kick out his… Ex whatever.

“I didn’t invite him.” Piper reassures him once Jason is gone, the most serious she has been all night. “I know Leo didn’t either. I’m sorry, I don’t know how he even figured out-”

Nico sighs, and pours himself another drink. After a pause, he pours one for Piper, too. “It’s fine,” he holds out the glass, and they clink them together before swallowing. “He knew it was my birthday anyway, probably just showed up. Like a fuckin’ stalker.”

“You really need to work on your taste in men.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I'm going to the shop.” Nico tells Piper once they’d worked their way through three quarters of the mystery alcohol.

“Oh! could you grab me a box of Marlboros, please-and-thank-you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He slips through the crowd and makes his way to the front door and grabs his leather jacket from the coat rack, pulling it on. Woolen collar aside, it's probably not warm enough to deal with the January cold, but fuck it; he has an aesthetic to uphold. Nico pats his jacket pockets, making sure he has his keys and wallet before heading out the door of the apartment.

Luckily for Nico, as a gust of frigid air hits him upon stepping onto the street and has him questioning if he really needs the booze and smokes, the nearest corner shop is only a short walk from their apartment. Walking quickly, he’s there in five minutes. The chiming of the doorbell announces his arrival, and the cashier looks up from her position at the till.

It's Lou Ellen working tonight, one of the few workers who’s name he actually remembers.

“Hey Nico,” she gives him a lazy salute in greeting, and goes back to… writing? He thinks she’s writing something. It’s hard to tell from where he’s standing.

“How's it going?” He asks, coming up to the counter, where he can see that she’s doing what appears, to his non-college educated mind, to be a college paper. He wouldn’t have been able to make sense of the formulas written on the paper if they were right side up, never mind trying to decipher them from this angle.

She shrugs, still focused on her coursework. “Same shit, different day.” She sets her pen down, returning her attention to Nico. “What you after?”

“Pack of Marlboro please, and… A bottle of Smirnoff.”

“Gotcha.” She turns to the racking behind her, plucking out a pack of cigarettes, and a bottle of vodka from a shelf that is just within her reach.

“Got your ID? Tattoos don't count.” A slight smile is pulling at her lips as she places the bottle and cigarette pack on the counter before them. The first time they had met, Nico had forgotten his ID in the apartment and had tried to use the full sleeve(!!) of patchwork tattoos that take up his left arm to convince her that he was over twenty-one, Actually, Thank You Very Much.

She hadn’t relented, and he had to make an extra twenty minute detour to retrieve said ID. Anything for alcohol.

“Yeah yeah,” he mutters, pulling his wallet from his jacket pocket and brandishing his currently useless driver's license before her. Lou Ellen, knowing full well he’s of legal age, gives it a cursory glance, enough for the cameras to believe that she was adhering to the law, before waving him off. She flashes him a grin.

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks.” he shrugs one shoulder, pulling out his debit card to pay.

There's a yelp, a crash and the sound of shattering glass from the other side of the shop, startling them both. “What the fuck-” he starts, as Lou Ellen groans.

“Jesus, Will-” She rounds the counter as another figure - Nico hadn't even realized there was anyone else in the shop - appears at the top of the aisle, hands raised sheepishly. He’s about their age and tall, bundled in a warm dark navy parka. Blonde curls are poking out from underneath the beanie on his head.

More importantly, he’s also hammered.

“Sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll clean it up.” Drunk Guy starts, but is cut off by a raised hand, as Lou Ellen herds him, bodily, both hands on his arms and pushing, towards the back room. That's definitely against company policy, not that Nico cares.

“Like hell you will.” She says gruffly. Glancing back over her shoulder at Nico, she throws him a withering look and inclines her head at the walking disaster before her. “Sorry, I gotta-” Nico takes the hint. All things considered, at least he’s not dealing with anything like that tonight.

“Don't worry about it. Good luck.”

“Cheers. Hope you enjoy the rest of your birthday!”

He pockets the cigarettes and grabs the bagged vodka, and with a wave in Lou Ellen’s general direction, he’s back out onto the freezing New York streets.

Nico draws his jacket tighter around himself, huddling into the fabric the best he can. Definitely not warm enough.

He pulls the box of cigarettes back out and fishes the lighter he keeps in his jacket pocket. If Piper is going to have him buying her smokes, the least she can do is share, he reasons. It takes him a minute to light the cigarette, hands going numb in the cold. He takes a drag, exhaling a puff of smoke into the air.

Someone is sitting on the street across the road. A teenager, eighteen, maybe, and he’s strumming an idle tune on the guitar in his lap. The song, and the teenager, with his mop of curly brown hair ducked so Nico can’t quite see his face, seem familiar.

The kid looks up and Nico meets his eyes. Even from this distance, he can tell they're a little too blue - but that’s definitely an after-effect of the weed. They stare at each other, and Nico can’t shake the feeling that he should know who he is.

He should probably get back to the party.

Usually the cold helps to sober him up, but Nico feels drunker now than when he left the apartment. Maybe the alcohol was reacting badly to the weed. He needs to get back to apartment and eat about five of Leo’s tacos to sober up a little.

In his rush to get home, he forgets to look both ways when he steps out onto the road.

There is the screech of tyres and the blaring of a car horn and suddenly he’s airborne. Nico’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. A sickening crunch as he hits tarmac, something is wet and sticky, all around him, and dark eyes are staring out at the street but not quite seeing -

Someone is knocking on the bathroom door.

Nico is staring at his reflection in the mirror.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #piper mclean #jason grace #leo valdez #russian doll au #pjo #hoo #percy jackson and the olympians #dw about Octavian I just thought it would be funny in the long run (iykyk)#lou ellen blackstone #prayers the hyperfixation lasts long enough to finish this

26 notes · View notes

xxavengingangelxx · 5 months

Text

Somewhere Only We Know 7/?

Part 7 and drawing to a close soon! I feel like there should've been more Graves scenes in MWIII ;)

Summary: Val tries to hold her own again Makarov but is unsure if she will be able to. Makarov can do a lot of damage in a little amount of time, can't he? There is smut in this chapter so MDNI!

Triggers: Implied (but no actual!) pregnancy loss, tipsy/drunk/intoxicated sex, threatened noncon (but no actual noncon). Let me know if I missed any, please!

Taglist: @bellgraves, @unicorngirly1 (thanks for the chats, as always! :) ), @lily-lily131313, @sharksausages, @shepgurl - if you want on or off the list, lemme know :)

Your blindfold was yanked off…

And there he was, right before you.

Vladimir Makarov.

And then he said something…the last thing you expected him to say. He said it in that characteristic Russian accent he was so well known for.

“Hi, Val,”

And it took everything in your not to cry and beg to be released. Because fuck this. You should’ve stood up to Graves and told him no, that you couldn’t, in your condition, be bait.

So you used your second language as a ploy. “Quien es Val? Ni me recuerdo de mi nombre y no se donde estoy.” You asked who Val was and told him you didn’t even remember your name nor did you know where you were.

And Makarov, the man of many tricks up his sleeve, surprised you when he responded in Spanish. “Te conozco, Val. Eres la puta de Graves, si?”

And that pissed you off. He said he knew you and asked you to confirm that you were essentially Graves’s slut, yeah?

“Go fuck yourself, Makarov,” and there, that line, and your lie fell apart. Fuck your emotions and your mood swings and your frontal lobe that refused to work ever since you found out you were pregnant.

And with that he smacked you. Hard. So hard you cried out and almost fell sideways.

“American brat,” Makarov spat with venom. He knelt in front of you, dark eyes looking downright into your soul. He was wearing a dark suit with a white shirt just visible under his bulletproof vest. “My men said you mentioned No Russian.”

“I was just communicating to your dimwits that I don’t speak Russian.”

Makarov smiled but there was no humor in his tone and the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Shall I make you scream like my men are doing to your Shadow friend?”

You shook your head.

Makarov reached out towards you and brushed your hair from your face. And you flinched.

“He tortured you, no?”

You met his gaze but you didn’t answer him.

“I know the look,” Makarov pressed on. “You broke,”

And despite your best efforts your eyes got watery and teary.

“I don’t think you could mentally or physically handle another interrogation, hmm?”

You shook your head and the action was enough to make tears fall down your face. “I’m pregnant,” as soon as you said it you wished you hadn’t because you didn’t feel Makarov would take any pity on you because of it.

Makarov laughed cruelly. “Graves’s?”

You ignored him.

“You’re too pretty for him, love,”

“Fuck off,” you snapped. You saw that by the look on his face it took everything in him not to hit you again.

“I believe,” Makarov paused before continuing, “that for some reason not only do you know something about No Russian but that you have valuable information about Shadow Company.”

“I don’t,” you lied. Now you didn’t know shit about No Russian but you knew a few ins and outs of Shadow Company.

“Your lies only serve to disappoint me,” Makarov said darkly. “Graves trusts you. You’re carrying his child, how could he not?”

You scoffed. “He hasn’t told me anything about his company.”

“I know you know things, Val,” Makarov stood. And he produced a firearm.

“What’re you doing?” you asked. Because this was getting scary. Is this how you were going to die?

“Clearly, you respond to harsher forms of questioning,” Makarov stated. “I shoot,” he took several steps away. “You vest catches the bullet. Worst case for you? Broken ribs.” He aimed slightly lower than your chest, towards your abdomen. “For that kid inside you? Probably worse results,”

“I don’t know anything about Shadow,” you reiterated, getting desperate.

Makarov’s gaze turned deadly and he loaded a bullet in the chamber. “How about I take care of that bastard child and fuck another one into you?”

And you sobbed, broke your brave, defiant persona.

“Don’t!” you screamed. You hoped your shriek would bring Shadows and Graves running.

You couldn’t take this, you couldn’t. You leaned forward as far as you could, trying to protect the child you were carrying. You’d rather be killed than lose that child although you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because that child offered you a chance at some sense of normalcy. Maybe because deep down you loved Graves with a twisted kind of love and that child was the only thing that might keep you together with him forever. You wanted a family, was that too much to ask? Fuck. Fuck.

And then.

Gunfire outside.

You took the opportunity with the added noise to focus on snapping the zipties behind you like Graves had taught you.

Makarov walked over to you and when he saw your hands were free he yelled at you in Russian. You assumed he was cursing you out. You dodged a kick, intended for your stomach, the homicidal bastard. And so when he reached for you, you launched a punch.

But missed.

All hell was breaking out around you and Makarov and yet here he was focused on you. Was it because he knew what a valuable hostage you’d make or was it because he knew about the fucked up relationship you had with Graves and that it would destroy him if he killed you? Or worse took you? Maybe both.

Shadows were targeting some of Makarov’s men and Makarov’s men were targeting Shadows by returning fire. Friendly fire was a real threat here as it was close combat.

Your ears were ringing and you were delirious with how tired you were but still…you fought.

In his bid to get you under control, Makarov was getting enraged. But you weren’t giving up because you weren’t fighting for you. You were fighting for your child and for the chance to see Graves again.

So when Makarov, a known war criminal and sadist, tried kneeing your in the stomach, you reached up and scratched his face. With force.

Makarov yelled in pain and in frustration and in rage. But it gave you enough time that your small frame was able to slip away. You tried crawling away but Makarov grabbed your ankle. The grip was tight enough to make you cry out in pain and you went from a position of being on your hands and knees to one where you fell flat on your chest and stomach, the force knocking the wind out of you.

Makarov then made quick work of twisting your ankle, making you scream in pain.

“I like that sound,” Makarov grinned sadistically as he yanked you back towards him. You scraped your nails and fingertips raw trying to claw the cold cement floor trying to find anything to prevent you from being pulled back to him. But he had you under him again and he straddled you, preventing your escape. He raised a hand, no a closed fist, that motherfucker was about to hit you with a closed fist and so you raised your arms up in front of your face in desperate bid to protect yourself when…

You heard a command from none other than Graves himself. And a bark. And then watched as Graves released Riley’s leash.

The look on Makarov’s face said it all. He knew when he was outgunned. Makarov was brave and liked risks but one thing Makarov was not was stupid. Makarov always wanted to live to fight another day. And he knew that Riley just might move too fast to be shot.

“I’ve caught your scent, Val,” Makarov grinned. “I will see you again.”

And then he was gone his men covering him with return fire.

And you could only lie there and cover your ears, curling in on yourself. Because Makarov was gone. And he was alive. And he promised to find you again.

Riley caught up to you and stood over you, barking and snarling when the enemy so much as looked at you.

“Can you walk?” Graves’s voice sounded muffled.

“I think my ankle’s broken,” you cried.

So Graves carried you. And you leaned into his touch as much as you could and passed out.

“Consider yourself out of the field,” Graves’s calm voice slowly brought you back to consciousness.

You were in a hospital. Somewhere. You never really knew where you were. Not since Graves took you anyway. Your brain did some drugged mental gymnastics and wondered if being a hospital meant you were going to be flagged and taken into custody again.

“Why’m I here?” you mind jumped to the worst. Had you lost— “Did I lose him?” tears filled your eyes.

Graves sat next to you and his scent, his body being in contact with yours brought you instant calm.

“What makes you think you’re having a he?”

“Mother’s instinct,” you replied.

“Well then,” Graves responded. “He’s fine.”

“Motherfucker got away, didn’t he?”

“Relax, Val,” Graves stated. “And no. We were pushed out by Makarov and his men. Still didn’t get my man back and they’re torturing him.”

“Sorry,” you said. Because you knew Shadow Company was like a family to Graves.

“Not your fault,” Graves comforted.

“It sucks,”

“You know what doesn’t suck though?”

“What’s that?”

Graves pulled something out a velcroed pocket on his vest. It was a small picture and he handed it to you.

“Since you insist on knowing through mother’s instinct, him,”

And that was the first time you were given an ultrasound image of the tiny life growing inside you. So you teared up.

“Why’re you cryin’?”

“Graves you have—”

“Phil,” he corrected.

“Phil you have a lot to learn about emotions,” you sniffled. You ran your fingers over the image.

“Now you know why I’m such a hard ass,” Graves stated.

You gave him a confused glance.

“You can’t take that,” he signaled at the small image, “from me.” He elaborated, saying, “And you’re sure as well not taking you from me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. Where could you go even if you wanted to? It was either a military prison in the UK, Makarov, or Graves. You had no other options.

“No one will love ya’ll like I do, Val,”

You nodded. It was starting to sink in. So you returned the gesture. Partly because you meant it and if you were a hundred percent honest, you were still scared of the man. “I love you,”

“Besides, what’s not to love about you? You’re a bad ass,” he smirked.

“I’m in a hospital,”

“You held your own again Vladimir fuckin’ Makarov,”

“And he kicked my ass,” you continued.

“Doesn’t matter,” Graves interrupted. “You won’t be seeing him again because you’re outta the field. You’re workin’ intel from now on.”

You wanted to tell Graves that Makarov had threatened to find you, that he had pretty much told you he’d caught your scent like a rabid animal catches scent of prey.

And that terrified you. Because now, unlike months ago, you had a lot more to lose.

That night, thankfully, you weren’t plague by nightmares. You actually dreamt of when you first met Graves.

“They call me Val,” you extended your hand.

“That’s…mysterious,” Phillip Graves, the CEO of the private military group known as Shadow Company, smirked and winked at you and if you weren’t mistaken, eyed you up and down. He shook your hand strongly but you could tell it wasn’t even half his strength.

You smiled coyly and felt your face grow warm. Great. So you were blushing in front of your new commander and in front of your captain.

You were about to turn and walk away in shame. To go back to your room where you were going to scream into your pillow for acting like an idiot and full on blushing in front of your new commander and Captain Price. The last thing you needed your Captain thinking was that you were sleeping around again. You and Soap had gotten an earful about that a year ago.

“Looks like we’re the only two Americans on this leg of the tour, huh?” Graves’s voice drew you back and you turned back towards him.

You huffed a nervous laugh. And now you were the one who eyed him up and down. He was hot and tall and just all around fucking attractive. You wondered what he would taste like on your tongue and what he would feel like inside you. And your stupid self bit your bottom lip to prevent from laughing nervously anymore before answering, “Yessir,” tapping the American flag on the front of your vest.

“Price told me you speak Spanish, too?”

“Correct, sir,”

“What’re you doing tonight, bonita?” Graves drawled. He was eyeing you shamelessly and he was trying to make it obvious.

And you laughed nervously again before stepping closer to him. He smelled of cologne, aftershave, and gun oil and it only made him more attractive. You got on your toes and he must have gotten the idea that you wanted to whisper to him because he learned towards you.

“I was actually planning on sneakin’ outta here to get a drink,” you murmured.

“I’m game,” Graves responded.

And not too much later you were getting into Graves’s Jeep. You were both sans gear but like any other soldier you both still had firearms on your person.

You were sitting right next to Graves when you heard a familiar voice coming into the bar.

“’Mericans found it before we did,” Price’s voice almost made you choke on the drink you’d been nursing.

And you did choke, which made it harder to put some distance between you and Graves.

And at that point you discovered that Graves had wrapped an arm around your waist, making it even harder to scoot away from him along the booth seat. You didn’t plan to scoot too far. Just enough to dispel any rumors you two were thinking about hooking up.

“Captain,” you gasped out after finally catching your breath. Ghost, Gaz, and Soap joined him. And Soap being behind Price threw you a knowing smirk.

“Discussing business?” Price eyed Graves.

“Sir, yessir, business,” you said rapidly.

“Make sure she gets back safe, eh?” Price placed a hand on Graves's shoulder before he and the rest of the team followed their captain, leaving you to scoot right back over towards Graves who didn’t need to be told twice to put his arm around your waist again.

“Will do,” Graves confirmed.

You stayed at that dark bar with Graves even after Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap had left. You weren’t drunk, just wonderfully tipsy and happy and giggly.

Graves helped you into the passenger seat of his Jeep and when he leaned over to fasten your seatbelt, you caught him with a quick kiss on the lips. He didn’t react outwardly but when he closed the door you saw he smirked to himself.

“What’re you doing?” you asked when he pulled into the parking lot of his own living quarters. Your quarters were a few more miles down the road. He wasn’t going to make you want home was he?!

“I don’t feel comfortable driving much farther,” Graves replied.

“Bullshit,” and just like that you had cursed at your new commander. Thanks to the alcohol you’d drank making you loose lipped. You weren’t drunk, bot by any means, but even one drink always made you braver, more open to speaking your mind.

“You can’t talk to me like that, soldier,” Graves’s voice took a stern tone.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Alcohol always makes me a little braver than I usually am.”

“Apologize to me some more inside,”

“You’re gonna run hot with all these clothes on, ya’ know,” Graves said hoarsely as he easily peeled your jacket off you. You had lied down on his couch and dozed off for what must’ve been a few minutes and woke up in his bed.

“If you’re gonna fuck me, fuck me,” you sneered at him through tipsy eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,”

In the span of less than two minutes you were on your fucking knees in front of Shadow Company CEO Phillip Graves. He had both his strong hands fisted in your hair and was moaning your name as you drooled over and licked his cock. Even in your silly, tipsy state you knew how to please a man. You hummed around his length, the vibrations making him moan and lean his head back, his hair falling off his forehead. You ran your tongue along the underside of his dick, using the tip of your tongue to flick the head.

Graves hissed above you and said, “Ah, fu—fuck,” all the while tightening his grip on your hair.

You sucked the precum right out of him, drawing another moan from him.

He glanced down at you, his golden brown/blonde hair falling onto his forehead again.

“Look at me, Val,” he commanded. “That’s an order,”

So you opened your long, dewy eyelashes and looked up at him. And what a sight you must’ve been. Your eyelashes were carrying some semblance of tears from when he triggered your gag reflex and your checks were flushed thanks to the alcohol and your…current activities. Your breasts still had the hickies he had sucked onto them earlier and you were on your knees, legs spread wide, with one hand on what was left of his length and the other between your legs, touching yourself as you blew him.

“I give you permission to touch yourself?”

He pulled his dick out of your mouth and you whined at the loss. You yanked your free hand away from between your legs. And your face was hot in shame. Here was one of your commanding officers with his hard cock right in front of your face while your were blowing him and you were touching yourself.

“Sorry,”

“You’ve been saying that an awful lot tonight, haven’t cha?” Graves stopped stroking himself and grabbed your hair before tossing you onto the bed.

“Go on, then,” he demanded. “Do it. Show me what a piddly little orgasm you can give yourself before I take over and get the job done,”

“Graves—”

“Say my name, baby, fuck yeah,” Graves moaned.

And despite the fact that you felt your face burn hot with some semblance of embarrassment, you also found this incredibly, unbelievably hot.

And you were a soldier so you started following orders. Your fingers made obscene noises as your sunk them deeper into you. You were fucking yourself on your hand and whatever shame you felt before was quickly being replaced by carnal need.

Graves watched intently, running his fingers over his length and sighing at the contact.

Your fingers curled inside you and you found that soft, cushiony spot inside you that made you gasp and see stars. You’d always been a little rough with yourself and so all it took to push yourself over the edge was pressure on your clit from one hand and a hint of fingernails on that spot deep inside you for you to cum on your fingers.

You mewled your release, again saying his name, “Graves, fuck,” or rather moaning his name.

You thought you were going to be given a break.

But it wasn’t even a minute before Graves had his face between your legs, tasting you, drinking you.

“Graves, I need a break—”

“You don’t get one,” he smirked. “Since you like to cum so much you couldn’t keep your fingers outta yourself,”

So despite the fact that your legs were shaking and jelly, your wrapped your fingers around his hair and arched into his mouth. Graves had you coming undone in the span of 30 seconds. You saw spots in your vision and your vision also went black and white for a few seconds.

Okay, now you needed a breather.

“Don’t be selfish,” Graves snapped as he pressed his hot (probably painfully hard dick) against your entrance. “You on birth control?”

“Yes,” you whispered hastily.

Graves didn’t need to be told twice to slam into you so he did. And thank God you were the only two in that tiny shack and that the rest of both of your groups were some distance away because you screamed his name.

Graves put his hand, which smelled of you and him combined, over your mouth. Graves set a brutal pace. But could you blame him? He had probably edged himself repeatedly while you’d sucked him off, while you’d essentially fucked yourself, and then again as he tasted you.

So you whined underneath his thrusts and when he took his hand off your mouth he replaced it with his own mouth. He swallowed your moans and mentions of his name. Then his dick started hitting that spot deep inside of you repeatedly and roughly all while he also ground against your clit. It took a few rounds of that, maybe three or four, before you came undone around him. Your jaw dropped but now sound came out as you reveled and lost yourself in your orgasm.

Graves rode his own orgasm out as he held himself inside of you, groaning his own release before he gasped heavily. He didn’t collapse on top of you completely but he laid his head on your chest. And you ran your slightly trembling fingers through his hair.

What a surprisingly intimate act for two people who had just met a quick fuck, yeah?

#phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #cod mw3 #longwayfromhome #price call of duty #gaz mw2 #somewhere only we know #call of duty phillip graves

40 notes · View notes