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gloomwitchwrites · 23 days

Note

hi!!! i literally started reading your blog and FR YOU HAVE TALENT. Got me giggling and kicking my feet cus of that girl dad!tf141 fics.

I was reading one of the links you put in for prompt ideas and I read that one six words sentence from link five: "I can't risk losing you again." hello?? potential angst to fluff?? I couldn't get it off my head and i was wondering if you could write something from it :>

Thank you so much! That's so sweet of you! I'm so glad you enjoyed reading the Just Like Dad stories. I had a lot of fun writing them.

"I can't risk losing you again" is such an open-ended prompt. There is a lot you can do with that. I hope my humble offering is enough. I certainly went more angst than fluff on this one, but I really do love sad things with twinges of hope thrown in.

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, mild blood, non-graphic mentions of violence, angst, fluff, pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications

Simon "Ghost" Riley: An enemy of Simon's harms you, forcing Simon to make a tough decision. (wc: 315) Kyle "Gaz" Garrick: Kyle decides there is only one way to keep you close. (wc: 323) John Price: Price worries after you tell him you're pregnant when the first pregnancy had complications. (wc: 329) John "Soap" MacTavish: Johnny learns that falling in love with a teammate can only lead to sorrow. (wc: 542)

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Busted door. Shattered glass. Overturned table.

The lights aren’t working and rain enters through the open patio door. You are safe and whole and far from this. But is it enough? Will Simon be able to keep you safe?

What was once doubt is now cold truth.

It’s not your trashed home but the state Simon found you in. It was your heavy-lidded eyes and bruised face. It was the pools of red that Simon didn’t know belonged to you, the dead man facedown in the carpet, or both. It was your smile of relief when you realized it was Simon drawing you into his arms.

Simon knows the man who did this—no. He knows who fucking ordered it.

And when he finds Makarov, he’ll show that fucker just how trigger-hungry he can be. The lead will burst and fuse to his lungs, and Simon will bathe in the aftermath.

All that’s left is your safety. If Simon knew that his career would lead to this, he would have taken steps to protect you years ago. You are always his one bright spot, that candle in the dark that is his life.

With you, he became more than his trauma. More than his guilt. More than his past. With you, he found peace. He found happiness. You are the sugary candy that sticks in the teeth but is too addictive to give up.

Departing is agony. The return is his reward and his longing.

You are everything.

And that is why he let you go.

Why he said, “I can’t risk losing you again.”

He put his head in your lap, his fingers digging into the sides of your thighs and failed to push down the tears.

Laswell will take you far away. She will keep you somewhere safe.

Makarov won’t find you.

And maybe—perhaps in the future—Simon can return to you.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is a nervous wreck.

The tiny box sits heavy in his pocket, burning an invisible hole. His plan is not the most romantic, but the two of you aren’t the type to go big. It’s all subtle, and Kyle only wants this moment to include the two of you.

This is his last chance.

Kyle’s final opportunity.

In this relationship, Kyle has kept you second. Not on purpose but out of habit. Work is his lifeblood. It drives him, and every successful mission is a point of pride. But in keeping up with that, Kyle left you behind.

His absences lengthened, and over time, he noticed you were pulling away, closing off. But that isn’t your fault. Kyle created the perfect brew for you to drink. These are the consequences of his actions, and he needs to make it right.

There was a time when Kyle nearly did lose you. When he came home and thought you had packed up and left without saying a word. That broke him. Made him realize just how distant he’d become.

Change is difficult.

But Kyle did it. Slowly.

Your smile returned, and when he comes home, your greetings are full of passion.

I can’t risk losing you again.

Kyle takes a deep breath as the deadbolt on the front door disengages. There is a slight tremble in his hands. Kyle is never nervous. Never. But fuck—taking this next step is driving him up the goddamn wall.

He pushes off from the couch, turning just as the front door swings open.

You step inside, face turned away as you go to shut the door. When you finally glance into the room, all the nervousness inside Kyle’s chest evaporates.

Your smile is so sweet, and you don’t hesitate. Dropping your bag, you rush toward him, and Kyle cannot help but meet you halfway.

He’s making the right choice in asking you to stay with him forever.

John Price

“You’re not happy.”

John is happy. He is. But old worries bubble up, seeping into the joy. It’s tainting everything, and that is clear by how your smile starts to fade.

“I am happy,” he says, but his mouth is a hard line. John knows he’s frowning.

You shake your head, one hand resting over your stomach. “Don’t lie, John.”

This is supposed to be a happy moment. He should sweep you up in his arms. He should kiss you until you’re begging for air. But all John can think about are all the doctor appointments he attended with you, and the grimness of what might not happen.

From that came a daughter. John loves her. Adores her. But bringing her into the world nearly killed you. He grappled with that stress while being as present as possible with you. Growing your family has always been a dream, and John doesn’t fault you for a second. There is no family without you.

John grasps the sides of your face and moves into your space. Your own hands close over his, keeping him from retreat.

“I am happy,” he reiterates. “But we both know what it took to bring our daughter into the world.” John shakes his head absently and breathes deep. “Don’t do this for me.”

“John—”

“I can’t risk losing you again.”

This time, your smile returns. There is a hint of sadness lingering behind it, as if you too are reflecting on all that happened.

“Everything will be fine.” You release his hand and gently cup his cheek.

John kisses your forehead, his thumb absently tracing your jaw. “Are you sure?”

The decision is ultimately yours, and John will respect whatever you decide.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he nods.

John pulls you in, lips finding yours. When you melt into him, accepting all that he’s giving, a wave of peace settles over him.

This is right.

And whatever happens, the two of you will face it together.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny drips water all over the floor. He is soaked through. Shivering. But he could give a fuck.

“Where is she?”

“Soap—”

“Where the fuck is she, Price?”

Captain Price sighs heavily and crosses his arms. “She needs rest.”

Johnny swallows down his retort. He’s not upset with Price, and shit like this happens all the time, but he needs to know if you’re okay.

You took a fucking bad fall, and Johnny couldn’t stop to run after you. The mission comes first, and it wasn’t his job. Other people stepped in and whisked you away. But from the height you plummeted from, Johnny feared the worst.

Still does to an extent.

If you were dead, Price wouldn’t hide that from him. But he might hide how bad you’re injured as a way to protect him. Price has always been fatherly in that regard. Right now, it’s driving Johnny fucking nuts.

“Captain. Please,” Johnny clenches his fists and then releases them. “Let me see her.”

Price’s frown smooths a bit and the middle of his brow wrinkles with concern. “For a few minutes. All I can spare.”

Johnny has to keep from rushing to the hospital room doorway when the words leave Price’s mouth. He has Johnny walk with him to your door. Thunder rumbles in the distance and rain steadily hits the large window at the far end of the hospital room.

Just as Johnny takes a step inside, Price’s hand is on his shoulder.

“She’ll make it,” is all he says before he shuts the door.

Johnny lingers right inside. All the lights are off except a small lamp in the corner. Your eyes are closed, and your face is peaceful. There is bruising. A few bandages. The machines next to the bed beep softly.

He was so eager—so determined to get to you. Now, Johnny deflates.

On quiet feet, he grabs a chair and brings it over to your bedside. You don’t stir. Simply sleep. Johnny eases down into the chair and leans forward, his forearms crossed as he rests them on the side of the hospital bed.

Still, you don’t move. And Johnny doesn’t dare wake you.

Rest is important, and all he wants is for you to recover.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That I didn’t come sooner.” The rain picks up and Johnny smooths back his wet hair. “But I can’t keep doing this. Every time you’re hurt I—” He sighs heavily and rests his forehead on his crossed arms.

“I can’t risk losing you again,” he murmurs into the bedding.

It’s become too much. You’re not supposed to fuck your coworkers and you shouldn’t fall in love with them either. But Johnny did both. With you. And he cannot take that back.

He’d give anything if you’d set this all aside.

Your fingers brushing against his scalp startle him. Johnny lifts his head, only to find you watching him. There is a soft smile on your lips, and his instinct is to grasp your hand and bring it to his lips, kissing each knuckle and then your palm.

The moment your mouth opens to speak, there is knock at the door. Johnny frowns and looks up, finding Price in the doorway.

“Time’s up.”

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336 notes · View notes

mcondance · 10 months

Note

maannnn i love a good/shy girl and bad boy trope but that could just be my corruption kink talking…like you can’t tell me fontaine wouldn’t be absolutely obsessed

fontaine would be absolutely obsessed.

he first spots you hanging around with yo-yo, this after they all moved down to memphis, and he’s hooked. you heard about what they did back in the glen and though you’re amazed, you’re also kinda scared cause. . this nigga used to be a drug dealer and he still got them aggressive nigga tendencies 😭😭

so one day bout a week or two after he sees you he tells yo-yo and charles that he wanna get to know you. yo-yo’s face immediately scrunches up.

“her? nah, taine.”

“what you mean nah?”

“she kinda. . you kinda rough around the edges, nigga. you might scare her. she come from a good family. ion want her involved in our shit.” yo-yo laughs, shrugging fontaine’s interest in you off. she thinks her words will turn fontaine off.

but charles smiles from across the room at fontaine as yo-yo goes back to studying, cause slick knows fontaine ain’t giving up.

and he doesn’t. yo-yo should have known better than to invite you over and then not be there when you get to the house. when charles sees you outside he disappears into his room, tells fontaine “taine! that girl you was presssin’ yo-yo bout out there!”

fontaine immediately sets his blunt down and checks his face in the mirror, fixes his chain so it hangs just right and makes his way to the living room to open the door and welcome you in.

“yo-yo ain’ here right now,” he calls over his shoulder, and you peep the gold grills sittin' pretty between his even prettier lips. he plops down on the couch, spreads his legs in a way that has you wondering just when yo-yo was gon tell you about her fine ass friend.

“that’s fine. i’ll jus’ wait out here.”

“aight. you smoke?”

“yeah.”

“stay right here.”

you watch him walk away, watch his thighs in his lil hoochie daddy shorts, watch his walk that draws you in just a little more than already are, watch him gaze back at you one more time before he disappears into his room, something you definitely did not hallucinate.

tearing your eyes away from the space that he occupied before he made his way into his room, you sink back into the couch and take a breath. you cannot be doing this shit. that’s yo-yo’s homeboy. her fine ass, pretty ass homeboy, who offered you a blunt within 30 seconds of knowing you, who’s dick is definitely big, who yo-yo will just have to understand that you want, who’s coming back out of his room with the blunt and handing it to you to puff first.

fontaine sits closer this time, and chills settle all over your body. even with the weed spreading through you, you’re still a little nervous. shy, even, cause you can feel his eyes roaming your body, glued to the exposed skin of your thighs and the gloss on your lips, your hair and your bracelets— you can feel his eyes on you.

“how long you known yo-yo?” fontaine speaks first, passing you the blunt back.

“‘bout a week after y’all came down here. we met a’work.”

“mhm. you seen what we did?”

“yeah. shit was cool as fuck. y’all doin’ that here?”

“maybe. we think we found som’thin like back in the glen. we’on’t know yet.”

“yo-yo told me how y’all saved her, she said you was ready to fuck them up when she got snatched.” you laugh, eyes damn-near big red hearts as you gaze with heavy eyes at fontaine.

“i was. i care ‘bout her,” he shrugs, handing the blunt back to you.

“‘s sweet.” your tongue is heavy now, and fontaine’s a little close, and you know you shouldn’t want to kiss a man like fontaine but you really do want to.

shit.

the blunt’s halfway between your hand and fontaine’s when yo-yo busts through the door yelling “fontaine, nigga i swear to god you better not be in here tryna seduce my girl.” her eyes settle on you, and fontaine, and the blunt, and the smoke in the air and— “goddamnit motherfucker, i told you leave her alone.”

“ian doin’ shit yo-yo. jus’ talking.” he smiles snarkily, golds sparkling, cause everybody in the damn house knows he’s not just talking.

“she right fontaine,” you speak up, though in the front of your mind you wanna give him a chance. but he’s. . different. and you’re nervous. you don’t know if you can fit in with him.

fontaine’s silent. two sets of eyes fall on him.

“‘s whatever.” fontaine gets up, says goodbye and then he’s disappearing into his room.

“you knew fontaine wanted me?”

“yeah. but, you know, that’s fontaine. and you’re you. ion know if you can keep up with him.”

you leave it at that. it’s whatever.

xxx

. . well, it’s not whatever. cause why the fuck is fontaine’s mint green pontiac pulling up beside you on your walk home from work.

“what a gentleman,” you joke.

“had to make up for stormin’ off las’ week. i got you some shit.”

“you’on have to make nothin’ up. yo-yo right. we different.”

“and what that mean? that we can’t get to know each other?”

“gon’ on fontaine. you know what yo-yo said.”

“fuck what yo-yo said.”

you’re silent. thinking. contemplating. do you really wanna fuck with this nigga? you don’t know.

“whatever.” you scoff, though you don’t speed up and you don’t want him to drive off.

“jus’ lemme take you home.” you raise your eyebrows and tilt your head at the implications of his words. “your home.” he clarifies, and all it takes is a sigh and a “home. and that’s it.” from you and he’s hopping out of his car opening the door for you.

the ride to your house is fun. between fontaine’s goated ass playlist and the not-so-small talk y’all make, it’s a dream. fontaine’s not that bad at all. he’s a big-ass softie, but he will fuck someone up if they fuck with something he love.

and you’re not that shy when you’re comfortable, not all nervous when you don’t feel you have a reason to be.

when fontaine drops you off at your house, the air in his car hangs heavy with the unanswered question.

“lemme think about it ‘taine.” you speak before he does.

“okay. i think you cool for real. hope you gimme a chance.” he grabs the bag of snacks he bought you and hops out of the car and walks around the front, opens the door for you and walks you to your front door.

“thank you for the ride fontaine,” you smile at him. you don’t know why, but you grip his face and lean forward, and he’s meeting you in the middle and shit, you’re kissing him and he’s kissing you and your bags of snacks is on the ground, and fuck what yo-yo says cause goddamn his lips feel good on yours.

you both pull away. it’s quiet.

“imma take that as a yes.”

xxx

“thought you was shy.”

you wish you could hit this nigga in his mouth, but you’re currently between his legs with his dick down your throat, swallowing and gagging and looking up at him with teary eyes, your makeup running down your face.

“you ain’t fuckin’ shy. you nasty.”

you are. you’re nasty when you let him cum down your throat, and you’re nasty when you grind on his face, huffing out breathless laughs at the way he eats you out like he needs your taste to fucking breathe.

“taste so fuckin’ good, got a nigga goin’ crazy.”

you’re nasty when you turn around and prop yourself up on your hands and knees, slurring fontaine’s name while he digs so deep in your guts you see fucking stars.

“tried to hold out on me, give me all that shy shit, but you fuckin’ me like this now. i wan’t even tryna hear allat.”

and you are fucking him, good at that.

“knew from the second i seen yo ass. .” he trails off, too focused on watching where you hold yourself on display for his hungry eyes, on where he disappears into you, on the white ring that appears on his dick every time he pulls out just to sink right back in. you don’t speak, too caught up in how good he feels and how he makes you feel secure enough to take what you want.

and you are nasty. it’s only been a week since he drove you home.

xxx

y’all don’t tell yo-yo nor charles, but when yo-yo gets home and you and fontaine are a draped over each other on the couch and charles just smiles when she asks if anything happened, she knows. ain’t shit she can do, though, but shoot fontaine a death stare, one that tells him not to fuck you up. he nods, and she can tell he’s sincere.

#₊˚. ☆ yours truly 💌:#😇#fontaine x reader #fontaine x black reader #fontaine smut

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years

Text

Baby Blues

Pairing: John Price x Female Reader

Synopsis: The promise of a normal Sunday is lost when your door is torn open, and, you, kidnaped. All you can do is pray that John finds you in time.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: allusions to intimacy, kidnapping, blood, gore, swearing, angst, fluff

A/N: The lack of John fics is saddening to the degree that I’ve been forced to write one myself. Don’t expect anything good, in fact, I think everything I've written is horrible, but this is the only way the voices in my head would shut up. Enjoy.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You suppose that you’ll never fully recall what happened after the front door got busted off its hinges, but the events leading up to the heart-stopping instance are more clear than crystal.

Just that morning you had woken up to an empty bed for the sixth day in a row, light streaming in from behind the drawn curtains. Your chest had been tight as you stretched your arms above your head; attempting to shake the fatigue from your body that you knew wouldn’t leave. It was a shame you had fallen for a man who was gone so often and for so long – you never slept well without John by your side, and you missed his habit of drawing you into his strong chest while small mumbles would fall from his lips; nuzzling your hair. But, mostly, you missed drifting off to his heartbeat in your ear.

His hand on your thigh was the better version of a weighted blanket.

But now he was off somewhere that you didn’t have the privilege of knowing – he could be just down the street and you would be none the wiser – leaving you here in his home in London, adamantly waiting for him to return. You always waited, though, because John was someone worth waiting for. Even if he always came back to you with another bullet wound or a few stitched scrapes -- the point was that he came back at all. And that tired smile that overtook his lips when he saw you was reward enough, the wash of softness that spreads like a wave over the harshness of his eyes.

You couldn’t ask for a more perfect lover, even if the nights he was gone you were incredibly restless.

“I have to make breakfast,” Your lips part, a slow groan entering the bedroom as you shove back the covers, the small digital clock on the nightstand reading eight O’clock, “God, what I wouldn’t give for John’s pancakes right about now.”

When things had gotten serious between the two of you, it had come as a surprise that the Brit was insanely good at making breakfast foods. Now every time John left you he not only caused an absence in your shared bed but also in the kitchen.

Getting to your feet, you pad over to the bathroom, grabbing one of John’s large spare shirts and gray sweats on the way, pressing them to your nose as your eyes flicker at the scent of smoke and gunpowder. It was almost enough to make you slink back into bed, roll around in the covers, and press the fabric deep into your chest as you imagine John being there, fingers spayed out along your burning flesh.

Lord, you were so horrifically in love with the blue-eyed man that even the scent of him made you ache with need.

After taking a shower, staying in there for a long while, and praying the cold water washed away your heated thoughts, you dressed and went to quickly hobble down the hardwood hallway, gazing at the pictures on the walls as you pass them.

A smile quirks on your lips at the still image of you and John at the local military base, snapped by none other than Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick himself with his thumb slightly sticking out in the bottom right corner. It showed John gripping you tightly around the waist, staring down at you as his hulking frame dragged you into a hug; your arms were around his tapered waist, not minding the bulkiness of his combat vest at all as John’s iconic bucket hat sat on your head like a shimmering crown. You looked up at the bearded man like he was the only person in the world that mattered and, at that moment, he was.

Gaz had never let on that he had been taking pictures of the two of you for about a year until on your last birthday he handed you a collection in an envelope with a smirk directed at his Captain.

“You’re going to love this, Sir,” Kyle had said, and you both had watched in amusement as John’s face heated to a, you believed, adorable degree of red at the contents.

It was safe to say that every single picture that you had been given was framed and hung in every nook available in John’s house.

Finally making it to the kitchen, you settled on a simple egg sandwich with a side of steaming coffee – something that John would never be able to understand about you. He was always so adamant about having a cup of Earl Gray in the mornings that it was the cause of many amusing fake arguments and teasing.

Going to sit on the comfy leather loveseat next to the window, plate and cup in hand, your eyes lock onto a black van across the street, not even thinking about it until you had taken a sip of your drink with a sigh.

You blinked slowly, watching the shadows inside the tinted windows shift with a hitch in your chest.

“That’s strange,” Muttering under your breath, you take another slow sip and feel the heat of the coffee settle in your stomach; pooling with the small amount of paranoia that began to gradually build, “I don’t think Mrs. Rose was expecting anyone today – it’s Sunday – she’s off at church by now for Morning Mass.”

The neighbor, Mrs. Rose, was a kind old lady whose husband had been in the service years and years ago and the two of you had bonded over the fact. She often brought over sweets when she knew John was gone and you and her would trade stories to keep each other company and the lonely thoughts at bay.

Her husband had died three years ago, and, because of this, Mrs. Rose found comfort in religion. Sundays were always quiet around the neighborhood – no cars on the quiet street, no knocks on the front door, and no loud music from the younger neighbors that John always had to use his ‘Captain Voice’ on to get to quiet down. And, certainly, no strange black cars with moving shadows in the interior.

Rubbing at your fatigued eyes, you lightly tilt your head back to rest on the top of the loveseat, “John’s rubbing off on me too much, I’m going to be graying in no time if I keep this up. It’s just a damn car.” Just as you said those words the engine of the van rumbled to life, and no later the vehicle was rolling its way down the road and disappearing out of view.

You nod your head, trying to prove to yourself that you had been right to think nothing of the small disruption to your Sunday routine.

“Worrying is John’s specialty.” You say with surety, your lips pulling into a smile as the steam of your drink caresses your cheeks, imagining the man and the furrow in his brow when he sees something out in public he didn’t like. He always pulled you close to him in those instances, keeping a hand on the small of your back like he was your personal security detail instead of your boyfriend. Not that you minded, of course. In fact, you found it incredibly attractive that he cared about you that much, “I’ll leave it to him to glare at every bump in the night, especially if it means he ends up sleeping on top of me like last time.”

So why was there a twist in your stomach that refused to leave? You shook your head, setting down your cup and grabbing at your egg sandwich with twitching fingers.

Not my business, you thought to yourself, chewing the bread and protein between your teeth and swallowing thickly before going back in for another bite, Nothing even happened.

But it was, unfortunately, going to be your business at about five O’clock at night.

Just finishing a deep clean of the pantry that you had been putting off for days, your ears had tuned out the sound of the radio on the counter, your favorite song just finishing up that you had been mindlessly enjoying. If anyone had heard you singing along as you had, it would have left you more embarrassed than the time you had accidentally punched Soap in the gut when he had snuck up on you at the base.

To this day, the Scot had never let you live that event down, but Price had told you fondly that if you could land a hit on his Sargent and leave him winded, there was no need at all to feel bad.

It was only in the break between songs that you finally heard your phone ringing from the living room.

Placing down the box of noodles that you had been trying to find a place in the pantry for with a huff of breath, your hand flicked off the radio as you left the kitchen. Mildly annoyed to be interrupted, you grabbed your phone from the couch cushion where you had thrown it a while ago, flipping the screen over as the incessant ringing stopped.

“Damn,” You mutter, mad that you had missed whoever had called, though you knew it couldn’t have been John or the others of 141 – they were never allowed to call on missions due to possible breaches of security – and you never wanted to put them in danger just because you missed your boyfriend.

The number of missed notifications made you freeze.

Inside your chest, your pulse skyrockets as your eyes skim over fifty-two missed calls from John, twenty-five from Gaz, fifteen from Soap, and seven from Ghost with a rising panicked fever. That last one was strange – Ghost never called you. It wasn’t that you weren’t close, he just hated not seeing the person he was talking to over the phone when he had the choice to. He had shown up at the house multiple times just to ask a question about a chicken recipe you had made the team a while back.

Your lips thin with a sense of eerie calm. Had you been cleaning the pantry that long? You swore it had only been two hours since you started.

“What the fuck,” You whisper, but before you could click John's notification to call him back, the phone started ringing just on cue. Stabbing the green icon with your shaking finger, your hands vibrate as you snap the device to your ear, but already your boyfriend was shouting on the other end.

“-Oh, thank the bloody fucking Lord,” Your boyfriend utters your name, and his voice pauses as he takes a relieved breath, but the frantic tone persists onto the next sentence. He sounded like he was running, and briefly, you hear him shout over his shoulder to someone most likely following behind him, probably Gaz, “Listen to me right now,” Foliage is shoved aside, and you blink in confusion at the sound, “and get out of the house. Now, Love, I know you have questions, and I’d be happy to answer all of them when I know you’re safe, but I can’t explain right now. You need to go to this exact location–”

“John, what the hell? Leave the house? It’s five on a Sunday.” You stumble backward, spotting your shoes and coat by the door with a terrified expression. What the fuck was he talking about? Leave the house…right now? It was dark out, the street lamps the only light left and not to mention freezing.

“Get out of the fucking house! Now!” Flinching your breath hitches at the words you could only describe as orders as his accent deepens gutturally at the shout coming from his lips.

John had never raised his voice at you before – despised it, really, and because of that arguments always led to both parties leaving to separate rooms to cool off before talking again with level heads on their shoulders. He never had outbursts like that. Ever. But this…

Your feet rush to the door, slipping on your shoes with quaking feet as you swallow harshly.

“Okay,” You whisper into the phone, voice noticeably weak from nerves and fear. Something was horribly wrong, and the same feeling from this morning returned tenfold, nearly like an ironic ‘I told you so’ as your stomach rolls.

“...Shit, I-I–” Whatever apology John was about to utter was lost to you as your hand went to open the door, gripping the knob before stopping in your tracks.

Whispers. Whispers coming from outside the door. Your ears strain for a solid minute before your eyes widen in their sockets. Alarm bells were ringing inside of your mind, and you slowly backed up and interrupted the directions that John was spewing off, hands clenching as sweat formed in the groves of skin.

“John, someone’s at the front door. I hear whispering.” Silence, and the sound of increased panting, a body running faster and faster as shouts reverberate in the background. Were those gunshots you heard? And muffled gasping? “John.” You breathily whisper, eyes snapping back and forth but focusing on nothing.

“There’s a safe in my office, the code is 5-6-2-1. Inside you are going to find a firearm–”

“What?!” Your face stiffens, but your feet already carry you silently backward toward John’s office room, “What the fuck?”

“Listen to me,” Price grunts, voice so desperate you weren't sure the same person was speaking to you anymore, “Gaz and the others already contacted the police and Laswell, but they’re not going to get there in time. You need to be prepared for when they bust through the door.”

Bust through the door?! Your thoughts run and with gasping breaths, you turn fully around and begin rushing through the house.

“Speak to me, Love,” John utters, choice cutting out and filtering back in, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You owe me a ring after all of this I swear to–” The front door busts off its hinges and multiple pairs of rushing feet storm through the house, and all-consuming shouts drown out your screams. You drop the phone as John bellows your name into the speaker, voice breaking. Turning to run, hands snatch at your wrists and shoulders dragging you away from the office that was so close at hand and back to the door. All you caught a glance of were black uniforms, heads completely covered like common criminals. But they were anything but.

“Get the Hell off me...! John! John, please!” Your screaming is cut off by the end of a gun falling to your temple, blinding pain erupting behind your eyes as blood spurts from a wound breaking your skin.

Disoriented, you fall silent, head lulling to the side as your swinging arms and legs fill with TV static. They lay limp as strange hands wrap around your middle, dragging you out the door as John’s voice becomes faint in the distance. You fall unconscious to his rage-filled voice, the volume of his threats so loud you heard them in the streets before darkness takes you.

“I will tear every one of you fuckers to pieces if you break one hair on her fucking head! Do you hear me?! You keep her out of this–”

–

And now you were sitting tied to a chair, head throbbing with venomous fear pulsing through your veins; your body shaking as the initial confusion leeks away.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, You think, head snapping this way and that even if it makes you want to vomit right into your lap. The rope over your wrists and waist digs deep, your skin already red long before you start jerking your limbs to try and move them.

The room looked like an old storage container, with metal on the walls and floors with a single handing light from the low ceiling that buzzed. But what caught your attention more were the blood stains. Sucking in quick breaths, your eyes jerk from one to another, all dried but looking large and having spawned from wounds that no one could walk away from. Suddenly aware of your situation, a whimper falls from your lips.

Where was John? You wanted him with you, wanted to feel him bring you to his chest and never let go, feel the steady beating of his reliable heart against your ear like a lifeline; you wanted to grip his skin and lay gentle kisses to his cheeks and lips, let his beard tickle you like it always did – leaving you laughing as John rubs his head into your neck to tease you with it.

The blue peeling paint of the storage container didn’t look like the precise blue of John’s eyes, just a pale imitation. Strangely, that was the thought that made the growing tears in the sides of your eyes slip down your cheeks. That wasn’t his blue; nothing else could be. Your fingers clench into fists so tight the skin turns white.

“John,” You sob, the blood from your head wound dripping down your chin. It sings, “John, where are you? Please, I’m scared.”

Footsteps sound from outside, but you immediately know they don’t belong to your boyfriend. They were too heavy, and, whoever it was, they didn’t carry themselves with the grace that John always did when he was with you or in the field. While being built better than a bodybuilder, your lover had been trained to take on tasks that most would consider death sentences…and he sure as hell didn’t walk like that. The stranger was so loud even your untrained ears picked up on it, and your body responds by becoming even more tense as a shadow settled behind the door.

A long stretch of silence and ragged breathing, your occasional sniffling contrasting the thick air.

The large door opens with a slam that makes you flinch back into your chair, wrist ropes skinning the fragile skin as you choke at the pain.

His face is unfamiliar, one twisted by emotions you weren't sure most normal people experienced in their lifetime. He stalks closer, and instinctually you attempt to pull back to no avail. The ropes begin to draw blood, the metallic scent coating your nose.

Behind the stranger, the door closes silently, a dull thumb announcing the barrier.

“My name is Ilya,” His Russian accent was heavy, making the words harsh. Ilya clunks forward, standing a few feet from you as he stares down his large nose, “You are John Price’s pet, no?”

Pet? Despite the pounding in your head, you hold your tongue but show an annoyed grimace.

When you don’t respond, Ilya’s hand connects with your right cheek, snapping your neck agonizingly to the side with a deafening slap. Your world swims, and a buzzing takes hold in your ears like an explosion had gone off right next to you. Fresh blood flows from your lip – you think with a groan that you bit into it accidentally.

Be brave, You swallow the scream in your throat, working the kink out of your jaw, John would want me to be brave. He’s coming for me. I know he is. The thought comforts you. Never in your life had you doubted John and his loyalty; many would call it his defining factor.

He was going to find you – him and Gaz and the rest of your boys.

“You are to answer me when I ask you a question, Pet. Understand?”

“Go fuck yourself,” You snarl, tears falling to your lap with dull splats and absorbing into John’s gray sweatpants. Your face burns.

Ilya smirks, square jaw pulling back. He grabs at something with his left arm, your eyes following the movements in horror as he draws a long knife from his waistband.

“Alright,” He mutters, fingering the tip of the blade and nodding his head, “I can play that game.”

He walks three steps forward before a sound like bending metal sounds from outside, and suddenly the two of you are shrouded in inky darkness. Your panicked breathing stills.

Did someone destroy the breaker box? Shaking, you find it in yourself to weakly smirk, hope rising in you.

“I hope you’re really good at dodging punches…because John saves his fists for the worst ones.”

The door breaks off its hinges, and the sound of familiar, muffled, footsteps rush into the storage container. Ilya never stood a chance.

“Get over here--!” Not being able to see anything, all you could do was listen to the feral sound of skin connecting with skin echoes throughout the metal box. A body drops to the floor with choking gasps of pleas before other people rush into the room, one shadow immediately zipping to your side. You flinch.

“It’s me,” Gaz mutters, “You’re alright, it’s just me.” You hadn’t noticed the frantically fast pace of your heart until you had the time to be concerned about it.

Gaz’s hands immediately go to the ropes, cutting you free with his combat knife before dragging you into his arms. Your legs feel weak, but you find the energy to nuzzle your head into the man’s chest with a relieved sigh. But it’s not John. Still, you hear your boyfriend reaming on Ilya, the man most certainly dead by now due to John’s strength.

“Captain,” Soap’s voice calls from the doorway, his shadow shifting. He clears his throat as Gaz places a careful hand on the back of your head, a slow sigh leaving his lips to ruffle your hair, “Sir. He’s dead.”

The ragged and bloody punches come to a gradual stop, and heavy panting reverberates. Your head turns to the side, muttering, “John?” With squinted eyes, trying to make him out in the darkness. A quick rustling of equipment catches you by surprise, but the warm hands that grip your shoulders lightly don’t scare you; it turns you around with a heart-tightening gentleness.

A new chest meets your cheek, warmer than Gaz’s as well as broader. Stiffer. John. John. John. Your hands snap around his waist with a wet sob ripping from your lungs, leaving you breathless and gasping for air as more tears come.

“Shh,” His lips are on your head, muttering into your hair as his arms completely encompass the expanse of your back. If you were any closer you would be afraid you would disappear into his skin, ceasing to exist, “Shh, shh. I’ve got you. I’m here. It’s never going to happen again, I promise you. I love you.”

You only held him impossibly tighter, and you could hear Gaz and Soap in the background let out deep sighs of relief, slapping each other on the shoulders. They exit after a few quick glances and the lights flicker on a moment later – most likely Ghost’s doing. Your heart warmed at them for privacy, though your eyes snapped shut at the sudden light.

John’s hands left you for a moment, prompting a small whine from you before they returned swiftly to grip the back of your head, the large night vision rig on his helmet re-set back so he could see you.

“Let me look at my girl,” He murmurs, chest rumbling from his soft tone. You were happy that only you ever got to hear him speak like this. You turn your head to rest it on his chest, gazing up at him with red-rimmed eyes. At the sight of your bruised cheek and bloody temple, his eyebrows furrow, a quick rage overtaking him as you watch his eyes darken. But you don’t say anything, just watch as John’s arms squeeze you before one hand travels up to your face. He lightly presses at the thin cut on your head and stops when you let out a quiet hiss. Guilt swims in those beautiful blue eyes of his.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Darling. If I had known he would go after you I never would have left you home alone.”

“John,” you whisper, voice hoarse in your throat. He leans down and presses his forehead to yours, lightly bumping against your forehead, “It’s not your fault.”

“But I–”

“You came for me, didn’t you?”

“Always.” He says it so softly you feel your eyes tear up again.

“Then that’s all that matters.” You tilt your head and capture his lips with your own, lightly moving your hands to grip his hairy cheeks as his thumb caresses your temple, the other you feel shaking around your waist. The adrenaline was wearing off.

John was tall, and to fully kiss him you had to get up on your tip-toes and hope he wasn’t going to tease you and pull back with a cheeky smile, but you would do it until your feet bled to feel the warmth that he give you as his lips dance with your own. They were soft for such a hardened man. Had he been using the Chapstick you had let him borrow for when he was away?

You pull back for air, your neck becoming sore at the angle you hold it just as John sighs, eyes flickering over you once more. You make a noise in the back of your throat in question.

“Marry me.” Your eyes widen, recalling your comment before your house had been broken into. Had he really asked you that?

“Are…are you really asking me for my hand while the dead body of the man that kidnapped me is behind you?”

“So…is that a ‘no?’” His eyes crinkle.

“You’re mental, John Price,” A smile splits your features, and you find him mirroring your expression. Your heart pounds, though not from fear this time. At his cheeks, your hands drag him in for another kiss, brief, though you pour every single emotion into it as you can. You feel the hitch in his chest and feel a blossoming of pride that you have the same effect on him as he does you. Leaning back, he chases you, though you stop him with a finger to his lips. There were his eyes again, those sapphire blues that sparkled when they looked at you, “But, yes.” You whisper, liking the way he almost looked relieved.

Like you would ever deny him. Like you could deny those baby blues when they looked at you with such love.

“I love you,” He whispers, pressing his face into your neck, kissing the skin in reverence, leaving fireworks in the wake of his lips.

“I love you more,” You whisper, nuzzling into his chest and gripping his shirt in tight fists. He chuckles at you.

“Not possible.”

#mw2 2022 #cod mw22 #cod #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #cod x you #mw2 #modern warfare

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cvlutos · 1 year

Text

“No Nut November” Pt.1

| Repost: 01.10.23 | 1.3K | Mature |

NRC 1st Years X GN!Reader

♡ ACE TRAPPOLA ♡

LOSER #ONE

Swore he wouldn’t fail. Would not shut the fuck up. Would constantly brag about how well he did. When it’s only been a day. He’s the most likely to fail on the 1st day. Not even most likely, he does. That’s mad embarrassing but will most definitely lie for the entire month.

He 100% blames you. You just happened to wear a hot-ass outfit [very very casual relaxation clothes] when he came to Ramshackle after school, he swears you did it on purpose. When he returns to Heartslabyul, exhausted from studying but trying to hide his hard-on, he makes a beeline for the bathroom. Nearly ripping his belt off, biting his bottom lip as his hands make contact with his dick.

“This is all your fault—”

♡ DEUCE SPADE ♡

LOSER #TWO

Definitely was aware of No Nut November, but didn’t really get the hype, nor were girls really attracted to him during his delinquent days. [He’s lying. Deuce had girls flocking to him in droves. He’s just oblivious] Deuce doesn’t really view himself as a sexual person until he met you. Unlike Ace, he’s taking it seriously. He’s gonna prove he has self-restraint and is better than Ace. Fails on the 2nd day, partly because he forgot, but also because you smiled at him. He won’t lie, but at the same time will dance around the topic for the rest of November. It’s pretty obvious to everyone he failed.

He swears he isn’t some sexual deviant. You’re just so kind and sweet, and a wonderful person. He can’t help himself. The thought doesn’t cross his mind’ til he’s already close. Laying on his side, his face shoves further into the fabric of your shirt. He lets out a choked groan, desperately fucking his fist. He’s already so close, might as well finish. You won’t ever know.

“... I’m sorry, [Name]...”

♡JACK HOWL ♡

LOSER #THREE

Let’s be honest. Jack knows and finds it annoying, like what’s the purpose? Will definitely participate when Ace makes fun of him for not being able to last. He’s competitive. Will act all high and mighty and honestly does well. I give him 15 days at most before he breaks. He most likely forgot the first 10 days, but then started to notice you a lot more, like the way your eyes seem to sparkle, and your laugh is something he can’t ignore. The next 5, he’s forcing himself through and is becoming mad grumpy, cause well.

Says fuck it the moment he sees your skin that’s usually covered. [You showed him a portion of your stomach or bare legs, he’s going feral] Before you can say a thing, Jack is already gone, deciding that he’d be unable to walk into his dorm without drawing attention to himself, he’s deep in the forest. Leaning against a tree, imagining his hand is you. At Least he doesn’t have to clean up much. He’s slightly guilty for the next few days, but won’t tell you, but you will see an influx of gifts.

“This is so embarrassing…”

♡ EPEL FELMIER ♡

LOSER #FOUR

Almost as loud as Ace, with his bragging. Especially with just your friend's group, no Vil or Rook in sight. He’s letting his country accent fly, with not a damn care. It’s a little funny and cute. Don’t say that to his face. I’m gonna make an educated guess and say he definitely needs to bust it at least once a day. He gets even worse after meeting you, often disappearing into the bathroom, but who needs it for 20 minutes on average? I don’t know what’s worse, Ace bragging and losing the 1st day. Or Epel hyping himself up, only for you to mention how hot he is.

He’s already leaking. He sits on the toilet seat of your bathroom, rubbing his nose against your damp shower towel, squeezing his eyes shut, pumping his dick desperately. You name tumbles from his lips, muffled and desperate. He compares succeeding NNN to being a stronger man, and most definitely falls the 1st hour of making his bet. Will ask Jack hypotheticals, and he’s just like, ‘I don’t know, man’. Similar to Deuce, he will jump around the topic, or suddenly switch up. Saying NNN is dumb. Like bffr.

“No Nut November iz dumb! No, I didn’ fail, ya jerk”

♡ SEBEK ZIGVOLT ♡

ONLY WINNER

Now, I know what you are thinking. Ain’t no way. Sebek is loud and most likely has announced his displeasures with NNN. It’s childish. Uncouth. For the dumb and ignorant. Wait—you think it’s funny and cool? He guesses he can try, and will publicly and I mean publicly announce his plans to win. And he will. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his challenges. Sebek is a knight in training and has amazing self-control. And last half the month without trouble, the other half, he’s just missing. You see him in all his classes, but he’s avoiding you like the plagues.

He is giving his all to winning. The moment December 1st strikes, he’s acting a damn fool. Fucking his hand, bed, blankets, anything and everything, cause cumming once just isn’t enough. He’s gonna casually NOT, will do a fucking public service announcement about his winnings. Gods, he’s embarrassing. Will not shut up. Please say you’re proud of him.

“Of course I won. As Lord Malleus Knight—”

#t.manor.erotic.stories #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #jack howl #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt #ace trappola smut #deuce spade smut #jack howl smut #epel felmier smut #sebek zigvolt smut

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sanjisblackasswife · 2 years

Note

Any dad headcanons for the monster trio? (+ Law if you don’t mind)

(also love your writing btw!!)

A/N: I just seen a edit a while ago of Sanji being so good w kids n so I must— thank u btw!:) Imma add Cora because omg we need more writing with him:(

One Piece Men as Daddies (Fluff)

Black Fem Reader in Mind

CW: None! Except the mommy (the reader) is kinda a menace.

Ft. Zoro, Luffy, Law, Sanji, Corazon

Sanji

Top 2 Best Dads and he ain’t number 2 fr

He spoils his kids more than you now I’m sorry :(

He doesn’t realize this and swears he loves you both equally

I can most definitely see him having a daughter as his first child and yes you and her are his Queen and Princess

His daughter is a simp just like his daddy

His daughter stresses him out so much because she loves drooling over every guy she sees omg

“STOP IT, SAMMIE!”

“Sweetheart she’s a baby she doesnt e—“

“ARE YOU STARING AT MY CHILD?!”

Sanji needs to throw all kinds of kicks when he is with his babygirl

God help him when she’s a teenager

He loves cuddling you both while watching Disney movies

He teaches his sweet girl the importance of how a man should treat her if she somehow gets one

“You can’t get married until you’re 25.”

“Sanji she’s just 3 right now.”

“Okay make it 30.”

Okay ngl when you were having the baby he made the mistake of looking down between your legs and the baby’s head was just barely peaking and he passed out.

He still has a bit of subtle nose bleeds when you were breast feeding too

He keeps mementos of every single thing his child has; drawings, fallen teeth, etc he keeps it in a box in his side of the closet

Due to his childhood he tends to worry he will turn into his biological father. He confided to you about this issue while you were pregnant and you nipped it in the bud and told him that he was and will never be like him and Zeff would be proud of the kinda man and future father he turned out to be

Both cried that night.

Also he is completely aware what happens to a woman’s body after pregnancy and will always remind you no matter how much your body changes he will still see you so beautiful.

He will be just like Zeff to his son. Teaching him the same way and all.

Zeff is the granddaddy btw. Sanji takes his kids to visit him often.

He usually takes the kid(s) off your hands for a day if he sees you feel stressed

100000000/10 daddy and yes he will be pumping more into you again if you’re up for it🤍

Luffy

Two Luffy’s running around in your home

Make it 3 because I can see him having twins

They stress you out sm.

“STOP PUTTING THE BABIES UP ON TOP OF THE SHELF ONE DAY THEY GONE SAY FUCK IT AND BUST THEY HEAD—“

“I GOT THEM Y/N!”

Man didn’t have a clue in the world how to be a daddy. So he went to Rayleigh panicking KSSHSJJSS

He’s a very chill parent so you have to be the stern one and it sucks sometimes

Yes the kids like daddy more than you

Almost every night when Luffy is home he puts the twins to bed with telling them of all the stories he had with you when he was young

“And I met your mommy on a different island! She didn’t like me at first but now she’s in love with me! Heheheeh!”

Kids have the same shishishi laugh as him cracks you up each time they do it in sync

You made the mistake of leaving the three of them at home as you went to go shopping and came back to a wrecked home and the three of them eating meat on the floor

He tells them about Ace a lot.

He actually named one of the twins after him

Encourages them to be what they want in life even if they want to be a pirate

Sabo is ofc the nice uncle that comes barring gifts

Sanji and Zoro are the Goddfathers

9/10 daddy that still is learning to be a daddy

Zoro

It’s canon this man is amazing with kids so off bat he’s top 3.

Since he has so much experience he was really good with handling the baby when he was first born

At least 17 times during the time yall son was a baby he tried nursing from Zoro and he hated it sm he couldn’t even take a nap shirtless with him

“STOP LAUGHING!”

“He Just Like me for real.”

“ENOUGH.”

The second the baby was able to walk he already wanted to train him into being a swordsman

“HES A BABY!”

“HE IS A GROWN MAN—!”

He will most definitely kill for you both

You annoyed him so much during your pregnancy because you wanted to leave the house but he didn’t want you getting hurt

You’ve caught him training with your baby son swaddled on his chest (like that one filler episode of him babysitting) and you nearly choked him out because wtf is he swinging around a sword so close to y’all baby.

He did gain some weight too during your pregnancy but immediately shredded off after you poked his belly

He loves his son but as he got older he started to have beef KSSHSHSISK

His son is a mamas boy and so whenever Zoro wants to have alone time with you it’s like he had a 6th sense and barged in ruining the moment

It’s so funny seeing them argue over who gets to cuddle you for the night

He plans to give your son one of his old swords when he gets older if he decides to be a swordsman

Luffy is the Goddfather and Sanji is ofc the cool uncle that comes to visit

100000/10 Zoro is a wonderful daddy

Law

He is the strict dad

You both had a daughter and she annoys him a lot just like you did when you both were dating

“Imma get tatted like you daddy.”

“You’re 13.”

“So?”

“NO—!”

He was the one to deliver y’all baby

The doctor side of him popped out when you were pregnant he never let u leave the bedroom. He even bathed you a lot which in turn have had him have sex with you in the tub

“Orgasms can help soothe you as you’re pregnant, y/n.”

“…the hell you read that at.”

He talks about Cora to you and your baby while you both were were sleep after pregnancy.

When your daughter turned 21 you and her convinced Law to get the same matching tattoo as him on her hand and even though he acted like he was against it he was ecstatic

He has scared off so many of your daughter’s boyfriends pls

He took off the head of one because he kept staring at YOUR boobs

Law likes to study with his baby girl on his lap.

You’ve walked in on him sleep on his chair with the baby cuddled on top

120/10 Law is an outstanding responsible daddy

Corazon (Rosinante)

TOP BEST DADDY SHUT UP HEAR ME OUT

Matching clothes

He’d have a daughter :( lil Rosie Aksbsjdksk

Yes he’s clumsy but he’d rather die than have you or his baby hurt

He didn’t stop smoking but he does only do it outside

You catch him doing stupid faces and stunts to make you’re daughter laugh when she’s sad and she eats it right tf up

Yes she is a daddy’s girl

He carries you both around with ease

If he notices you feeling insecure about your body post birth he’ll feel a tinge of guilt but smother you in kisses and appreciation about how he doesn’t care about how you look he still loves u sm

And if that doesn’t work he’ll just show you…naked…in the bed….

Sex he’ll show u with sex

Law is like the older brother and he may not act like it but he loves seeing Cora so happy with you and the baby

Scares tf outta you when he is outside throwing your 4 months old baby in the air tho

He uses some of his methods when he was raising Law to raise your baby

Gets so emotional when your daughter reaches out for him

“BABY LOOK AT OUR BABY SHE LOVES ME!”

“You’re her daddy, Cora of course she loves you.”

Just like Sanji saves every core memory he can of your baby daughter

Let’s her put on his makeup . It came out horribly but he proudly wore it the whole day

He needs to kiss you both before leaving or else he will have a terrible day

One time you and the baby surprised him with a cake just as a thank you for everything he has done for you and he fell off the chair crying

He cries a lot

Wants to have like 3 more babies with you

102$)43920292772200/10 best mf Daddy

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 8 months

Text

Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 17 - Why do you run, only to let me catch you? Din Djarin x Reader

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific Warnings: PiV sex, unprotected sex, mutual pining, grogu being a sessy bitch, blood, addiction mentions, addiction, oral F&M recieving, Whiny Din Supremacy.

Graphics made by me Thank you again to @beefrobeefcal @clawdee and @pastelnap for beta-ing! Read on AO3 Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me.

Why do you run, only to let me catch you?

Your relationship – if you could even call it that – with Din Djarin is a complex one, and one you love to hate, or hate to love. It’s been too long now that those lines don’t really exist anymore. There’s a passion in your chest reserved only for him, but to call it love would be a disservice, what you shared with the most feared bounty hunter in the system is something much more than that.

But it’s been at least a Standard Year since you last caught a glimpse of polished Beskar, a sight that set your heart racing like a jump to light speed. You’d heard of his exploits alongside Bo-Katan , and that of his adopted son Din Grogu, and how the three of them took down Moff Gideon and reunited the Mandalorian people.

But, as much as hearing those feats make you somewhat proud of the Beskar clad menace, it only makes you yearn for him more. You’re lost in thought when the droid in front of you snaps you out of it.

“Miss?”

The chaotic roar of the casino comes back to you in a flash, you’d been deep in your own thought spiral you had cut out everything but the image of a silver-clad predator from your mind as you yearned for the thrill of the chase.

The table is looking at you expectantly as you realize you’d slipped off into a daydream, it was your hand. You study the purple skinned Twi’lek opposite you with a smirk, he’s hiding it well, but he’s panicking. You look back to your hand. You’re currently holding eight cards, between the minus 6 modifier and the rest, you’re sitting pretty at seventeen.

You could stand, and hope that your opponent goes bust but there’s no fun in playing this game safe. Especially when this is all the thrill you live for now that your cat and mouse days with Din Djarin are over.

You let your fingertips hover over your side deck, drawing out the moment as you eye up the ten-thousand credit pot on the table. You close your eyes, snatching the card from the deck and you can’t keep your poker face up when you draw a three.

The Twi’lek across from you swears and stands with such force it spills his Spotchka cocktail over the table and you quickly scoop up the credits, protecting your winnings from the hazy blue liquid. The casino hushes around you and you look up from your pile of riches to see what has everyone on edge.

Then you see him.

Shining Beskar, tattered, flowing black cloak, blaster on his hip as the lacquered black T of his visor bores into you. Your blood runs cold, then burns hotter than the binary suns when you see him. A broad smile stretches across your lips. You’re not dressed for a fight, nor a chase, with ridiculously high heels and a tight sequined, green bodycon dress that was not meant for running. Time seems to still as you drop the credits back on the table. The clink of metal-on-metal deafening in the otherwise silent casino.

Mando tilts his head to the side, just enough to issue the challenge. You take a deep breath, formulating your escape as you see him reach for his blaster.

I can take you in warm, or I can take you in cold.

Those first few words uttered to you as he had you pinned over the bar of a cantina on Tatooine replay in your head as you wink at the Beskar-clad menace. Heat pools in your core as you remember how it felt to be pinned by such a strong, confident man.

You kick off your heels, snatching them up before diving through the crowd. You’re sprinting through the main hall, bare feet slapping against the smooth flooring, making you slip and slide as you hear the unmistakable spur-like clink of metal on metal as Mando gives chase.

You barge through the chaos of Canto Bight, drinks fly as you blindly frisbee a tray at Mando, he bats it away with ease as he breaks into a run, forgoing the initial long, loping strides. You dash through the service entrance, following a waitress before the security door closes. The sound of Beskar pounding against Durasteel as Mando collides with the door has you grinning in premature triumph.

You slip through the halls, ducking confused looking waiters, a Bothan swearing at you as you make your way through to the back door. You break out into the neon-glare of the city and immediately slow your pace. You slip your heels back on and try to blend in with the denizens of Canto Bight.

The streets are packed, holographic screens of kids racing on Fathiers illuminate the facades of the various casinos and hotels. It’s a big race, you should know, you’ve got a lot of money on Skystrider tonight.

Maybe I’ll get lucky a second time tonight?

You think to yourself as you lament the credits you had left behind. You just know the Twi’lek you beat would have taken the winnings in the confusion.

But there was a bigger prize at stake now, one that you were determined to win.

“You’re a hard woman to find.”

Mando’s modulated voice growls from over your shoulder. You don’t react, keeping up your purposeful stride as you weave in and out of the throng of bodies. The clink of his suit loud in your ear, you can feel his presence behind you like a heavy weight on your back.

“Was starting to think you’d forgotten about me Mando, way to make a girl feel unwanted.”

You purr as you feel a gloved hand brush the small of your back, you stop abruptly, making Mando crash into your back and you cry out. You give your best performance, letting out a terrified wail that has people turning to look at the way you cower away from the Mandalorian.

“Help he’s assaulting me, please!”

You turn on the spot, clutching at your chest as you back away from him. Mando halts as his visor scans the now antagonistic crowd around him. You wink and poke out your tongue as a man steps between you.

“Hey, tin-can, leave the lady alone.”

“She’s quarry, get out of my way.”

The man looks over his shoulder at you and you give him the waterworks, eyes pleading as you fight to keep the smile off your face.

“Heard that excuse before, just because you’re some hot shot Mando doesn’t mean you can treat a lady like that.”

The other man squares up to Din and you almost hang around to watch the pissing match, but you know you must take every advantage you can get. You take a tentative step back, Mando’s visor tilting to watch your movements as the other man keeps blustering on about honor and some other chivalrous shit. You blow Mando a kiss as you slip your heels off again.

The world blurs around you as you sprint as fast as your legs can carry you, neon lights, steam from exhaust vents, people of all races and creeds whipping by as you feel your lungs burn and you step on something sharp, but the adrenaline keeps the pain at bay.

You hear blaster fire behind you and wince a little at the fact you might have just got an innocent man killed.

There are no innocent partygoers on Canto Bight.

You think to yourself as you reach the spaceport. Your entire body trembles from overexertion as you stumble into the hangar that houses your X-wing. Your definitely, legitimately sourced X-Wing, and definitely not the one you won from a Sabacc game with a gullible young pilot.

You chuckle to yourself at the memory, opening the cockpit of your fighter until you look around the hangar and see a Mandalorian Class Gauntlet in the next bay over.

That wasn’t there when I landed.

Your stomach drops and you hear a soft modulated huff from the hangar door. Your head snaps up and you see the silhouette of the bounty hunter illuminated by the vibrant, neon rainbow of light bleeding in from the street.

You throw your heels onto the floor and launch yourself into the pilot’s seat, you begin your pre-flight checks but none of the lights or displays come online. You sigh, laughing breathily as you realize he’s done something to immobilize your ship. You have no idea how he knew this was yours, you’re pretty sure it’s still registered under the name Antilles.

You let yourself catch your breath for a moment as the clink of Beskar grows louder with every step. You try to think of a way out of this, some distraction, or final gambit to worm your way out of his clutches, but it’s futile. You’re backed into a corner.

“Alright, you’ve got me. If I promise to be good, could you forgo the carbonite? I break out every time.”

“I’m not stupid, you’d just find a way out of your restraints and gut me in my sleep.”

You shrug, you can’t blame him for that, you did shank him in his sleep the last time you promised to be good when he caught you on Endor. You can still hear the howl of pain as you disappeared into the undergrowth as he pulled the vibroknife – his vibroknife – out of his thigh.

“Fine, but I’m not moving, you’re dragging me onto that ship. I winded myself with all that running, and I think I’ve lost a lot of blood.”

You babble as you look down at the crimson liquid pooling in your cockpit. You chuckle as you feel your head spin, fractals of light crack like shattering Transparisteel across your vision as you let your head loll back onto the headrest.

“What are you-?” Mando asks as he climbs the ladder attached to the cockpit, “Dank Farrik!” He swears as he hurries to pick you up. You laugh to yourself, bemused by the way he seems to care about whether you were hurt.

“Thought you could bring me in hot, or bring me in cold?” You slur as you wrap your arms drunkenly around Mando’s neck, leaning into the cool Beskar of his chest. You breathe in the scent of Beskar, oil, and something like citrus as your vision fades to black.

~*~

You blink awake to a brightly lit hold. You hiss as the white light burns into your eyes, the sound of air recyclers humming all around you a telltale sign you were on ship, likely out of atmosphere already.

“Kriff.”

You groan as you close your eyes, you guess you’re on Mando’s ship, the Gauntlet you saw in the hangar most likely. You take in slow, steadying breaths as you try and figure out your next move. A small gurgle from beside you has you rolling your head to the side, slowly opening your eyes to the sweet little face of the little green kid Mando drags across space with him.

“Kiddo!” You cry and the little guy lights up at the sound of your voice. His large pointy ears perk up and his mouth parts open in joy as he scurries over to you, hopping up on the cot with ease and burying himself in your side as he coos softly against your chest. You smile as you feel something thin and rectangular slip under you on the cot.

“Missed you too buddy, old man’s still dragging you around the galaxy with him?”

The kid hums in a positive affirmation as he babbles away. You get hints of intention from him, like ghosts of thoughts brushing against your mind as he “talks” away at you.

“Grogu?”

Din calls from the cockpit and you sit up in the cot, the impromptu reunion with your secret best friend cut short as you watch Din freeze in the doorway to the hold.

“Get away from him.” Din’s voice is impossibly low, even through the modulator. You’ve never heard him this pissed before.

“Hey, he was the one to instigate this mutinous friendship, not me!”

You frown at the Beskar menace and cross your arms over your chest, Grogu, as you have always known him, follows suit. He plops himself down on the cot next to you and crosses his tiny little arms across his chest before grunting unhappily at his guardian.

“What do you mean friendship?”

“How many times have you gotten me this far Mando, and left me alone in your ship while you slept or got supplies?”

“How should I-?”

“Twenty-seven times, twenty-eight if we count the time I had you tied up-.”

“Naboo doesn’t count.” Din hisses as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms so that you are all in some strange, mirrored standoff.

“Fine, but my point being, kiddo’s curious, and you’re a heavy sleeper.”

“I am not.”

“So, you don’t remember when we played Don’t wake the sleeping Nerf and covered you with forty-six different pieces of junk from around the ship, including the Darksaber?”

“What are you-?”

“Oh, kriff kiddo, he really did sleep through that.”

Grogu laughs, an angelic little sound that makes your cheeks burn with how much you’re smiling at him. Mando stands there, rage rolling off him in waves as he tries to figure out what to say.

“Hey, Mando?” You ask, your tone softer this time as you realize you’re more likely to push him away if you keep teasing him.

“What?”

“You ever figure out my real name?”

“Your real name? No. Why?”

“Just curious, you got my puck on you?”

“Of course.” He grumbles, as if it’s insulting for you to have even asked, before bringing up the holographic image of you. Four statements swirl around the image, and you smile as you read them off in your head.

Whyte Phantom – Thirty Thousand Credits – Exclusive contract.

The final statement is a name.

“Wanna see my identity card?” You ask rhetorically as you pull it up from the datapad the kid had slipped you before his dad came in. Din’s head tilts at the sight of it, before turning to look at Grogu who is pointedly looking anywhere but his dad.

Din grumbles something under his breath as he steps into the hold, head dipping low to read the datapad.

“But that’s? You’re?”

“I put the bounty on myself, yup.”

“Why?”

The question catches you off-guard, you don’t really know yourself, other than you thought it would be a way to ward off the crippling despair you felt every time you walked through the streets of Coruscant. To combat the loneliness in your soul that festers in the darkness of a post-Empire-pre-utopian galaxy. The galaxy that has war veterans dying of Spice addictions while places like Canto Bight prosper as if nothing ever changed.

You could say that, but you won’t, that would require inner strength you just don’t have. So, you quip instead.

“Thought it was kinda hot, having one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy chase me?”

You flash him a practiced, perfect smile and you wait for the anger to come, bracing yourself for violence or harsh words.

“Fine.”

The Mandalorian walks over to your cot and picks up Grogu, moving wordlessly as he scoops him up and takes him up into the cockpit. You curse to yourself quietly as you rub your tired eyes. You were so close to telling him the truth, revealing yourself to the most closed-off person in this damned galaxy.

You lie back down on the cot and take a look at your foot. You smile at the smooth skin, no doubt the kid has healed you with his magic little claws. You can almost hear the conversation between them, Grogu would have insisted on using the force to heal you, Din would have argued against it, you deserved to heal slowly for being such a brat.

You feel Grogu’s mind brush against yours and you get two clear feelings flash through in your mind, his dad, and the intention to speak.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this, kid.

You think back, pushing your intent towards the cockpit. Grogu simply responds with a second, stronger intention, talk to him.

You sigh to yourself as you feel his little brainwaves dim as he clearly drifts off to sleep. You rub your hands over your eyes and decide to look for the fresher, and some clean clothes.

~*~

An hour later you hover outside the cockpit door, trying to decide if you should go in or not. You’re about to press the call button when the door hisses open in front of you. Mando charges through, seemingly not noticing you until he’s crashing his chest plate against your nose.

“Son of a Wompa!” You cry out as you feel your nose pop, blood gushes down your face and onto the soft cotton shirt you’d fished out from the storage bins. You stumble backwards and feel yourself pitching backwards, your head spinning as you wait for the inevitable crash of your body on the metal grating.

But Mando saves you from the fall, pulling you up into a loose embrace as he stops you from hurting yourself further.

“Maker, you’re a menace.” He grumbles through the modulator as his hands linger on your biceps.

“Yeah, well maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

“Kriff, this was a mistake.”

Din growls as he releases you and turns to walk back into the cockpit. You curse inwardly as you catch his wrist before he can move.

“Wait,” You growl, guilt and frustration making your stomach turn, “Please, can we talk?”

Din looks over his shoulder at you, giving you the perfect view of the profile of his helmet. Not for the first time you wonder what he looks like under there.

“Fine.”

You expect him to pull out of your grip – which he does – but what you don’t expect is the way his gloved hand falls to rest between your shoulder blades, steering you back towards the cot. He expects you to sit but you gesture for him to take a seat instead. He sits up straight, broad hands splayed on his knees as he follows you with his visor as you pace in front of him.

“So, I put the bounty on my head because I needed something in my life that wasn’t death, pain, suffering, or losing my mind to the poisons of gambling, Spice, and liquor.”

“Go on.”

You pause, looking down at the crimson spill of blood on the stolen t-shirt. You drag the back of your hand across the wet smear on your top lip and let out a soft sigh.

“I ran circles around the first six bounty hunters, and it was getting boring, I was considering calling it off,” You continue pacing, wringing your hands on the hem of the t-shirt that barely covers your ass, “Then, you come along, Din kriffing Djarin, one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy.”

Din is silent but you see him shift, sitting up a little straighter at your harsh words of scornful praise.

“And the chase began, you were always so close, often a step or two ahead, and it was like I was breathing fresh air after having only ever known the stale, recycled air of a space station my whole life.”

Din turns his head, the action jarring as you realize he’s avoiding your gaze, you can almost imagine him blushing under that helmet and the thought alone makes heat flutter under your skin.

“And by the fourth time, on Coruscant, you became my own personal blend of Spice.”

You stop pacing, waiting for Din to say something, anything. He sits, still looking away from you and you shake your head. You’re barking up the wrong tree, you’ve kriffed up yet another thing in your life.

But this was by far the most pain you’d ever endured, spilling your guts to a man you had no right feeling anything for. It feels like your skin is positively charged, tremors rocking you as you fight the urge to cry, your chest tight and painful as you feel the binding sting of rejection heavy and constricting.

“Look, just forget it, space me, drop me off at the nearest system, whatever. I’ll get your credits transferred now. You won’t have to see me again.”

You pull up your datapad and through blurry eyes you close the contract, the credits transferring instantly. You turn away, making for the fresher once more, you need to set your nose and clean up. You also need to cry, and you weren’t going to make yourself look any more pathetic in front of him than you already had.

Your skin is on fire, nervous sweat beading on your brow as your skin itches and tingles. Pain rocks through your body as you force the sobs down, just a few more steps and you can cry before wresting your bleeding and broken heart – or whatever is left of it – back into submission.

A Spice addiction can’t be that bad surely?

You joke morbidly to yourself as you reach the fresher door, it slides open just as you hear the spur-like clink of Beskar behind you.

“Wait.”

You halt in your tracks, heart threatening to burst from your chest as you feel him looming behind you. Two armor-clad arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against him, the cool press of Beskar on your flushed skin is blissful.

“I don’t want you to go.”

His voice is so soft, barely above a whisper that you almost miss it through the modulator.

“What?”

“Let me fix your nose, then we should talk, for real this time.”

You turn in his grip and look up into the glossy black “T” of his visor. You can’t see his face, but you can see the way his chest is heaving, the way his arms are wrapping around you like the moment he loosens off you’ll disappear.

Can you blame him?

You think to yourself as you realize that every time you managed to escape, it was harder and harder for you to leave. Not because you had grown bored of the chase – no quite the opposite – you were afraid that with every time you left the chances of him giving up on you grew. One day he was going to stop coming for you.

And for a year he did.

“Ok.” You say softly as you let him steer you into the fresher, he hoists you up before setting you down on the edge of the Durasteel sink. He removes his gloves, stuffing them in the back of his belt before readying himself.

“This’ll hurt.”

Din warns you as he lines himself up in front of you. He slots between your thighs without hesitation, and you regret not stealing a pair of his boxer briefs to slip on under the t-shirt. You had thought that was crossing a line into his privacy. But now, as your bare, embarrassingly wet core is but millimeters from his crotch, you really wish you had.

“Ready?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. Din braces himself a little closer again and you hiss through your teeth as his strong, warm fingers snap your broken nose back into place.

“There you go,” his modulated voice is soft as he cups your cheeks with his impossibly broad hands, his fingertips ghosting your hairline as he turns your head back and forth with meticulous care for his handiwork, “Should heal up just fine.”

He starts to pulls away from your face, but you capture his wrists in your hands. You gently pull on his wrists and guide them to your hips. His chest heaves as you hear his breathing speed up through the modulator and you squeeze your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer. You feel the heat prickle over your skin as your drenched core presses against his crotch. You gasp as you feel him twitch in his flight suit against you.

“What are you doing?”

“What I should have done on Naboo.” You breathe as you gently unclasp his cloak, fingers trembling as you pull down the neck of his flight suit, baring a thin strip of tan skin. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and press a delicate, feather-light kiss to his exposed skin.

You don’t know what to expect, but the soft, whimpering moan that crackles through his modulator is more than you bargained for. You arch up into him, nipples pebbling as the thin fabric of his blood-soaked shirt does little to mute the cold press of Beskar against your skin.

“Maker.” Din whines again as you latch onto his skin, laving your tongue over his pulse point as you pull the collar down further, you nip lightly at his skin as you grind your core against him. He slowly pushes up the hem of the oversized t-shirt and as his fingertips reach the swell of your ass. He grinds forward aggressively, and you can tell he’s fully hard now. He leans back and tilts his helmet to the side in a silent question.

“Didn’t think stealing your underwear was the right thing to do.”

“So, you just decided to go commando?”

“What can I say? I like the freedom, besides the synthetic silk of my thong was starting to chafe.”

Din swears in another language, you assume Mando’a, before laughing softly, he presses the side of his helmet against your cheek, and you are reminded of the way Lothcats headbutt to show affection.

“We don’t have to do anything,” You say softly as you slowly pull away, moving the collar back up to cover his tantalizing skin, “I just needed to touch you, just once.”

“I want you.”

You pull back and look into the deep depths of his visor and you nod slowly, you place your hands on either side of his helmet, nestling in the concave cheeks. He flinches and you feel his hands twitch on your thighs, but you shake your head slowly before leaning in to place a soft, lingering kiss over where you guess his lips are.

“Bed. Now.”

Din barks as he picks you up with ease, one arm wrapped around your waist as he strides through into the crew quarters. He uses his free hand to turn off the lights on the control panel next to the fresher door. The cavernous space is pitch black as Din lays you back down on the cot.

“Din what are you doing?” You giggle softly, anticipation making you giddy.

“Want to taste you,” Din murmurs as you hear the sound of Beskar buckles and plates sliding over one another. He sets them down gently somewhere near the bottom of the cot, followed by the soft sound of his flight suit dropping to the floor, “Need you.”

“Din, you have me.”

You feel him settle between your knees and Maker is he broad. Then you hear the soft hiss-click of his helmet coming off. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing the significance of him taking his helmet off in your presence.

“I won’t look, I promise,” You whisper as you feel him covering over you, his strong hands roam your body, mapping out your dips and curves.

“I trust you. You could have taken my helmet off many times over the years, and yet, you did not.”

His voice hits you like a long-lost melody, silken and sweet with a burning richness to it that makes you whine and keen up into him. Your hips roll against his length, and you gasp as his tip glides through your folds.

“Can I taste you, please?” You ask, suddenly feeling bold in the darkness.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.” Din suddenly sounds bashful, and you smile to yourself as he shows you the side of him you’ve only caught in glimpses when he thought you were out of earshot. The softness he shows Grogu, the care for his adopted son. This is different, unlike those interactions entirely, but the man beneath the Beskar is finally laid bare, for you.

“I want to Din, please.”

“Anything, take anything you want.”

Your heart swells and your pussy clenches around nothing at his words. You blindly reposition, careful to keep your eyes shut, until you’re kneeling between Din’s knees. You run your hands over the thick expanse of his muscular thighs as you gently, teasingly move towards his cock.

Your hands brush over neatly kept curls at the base of it, and you smile to yourself as you use your hands to blindly size it up.

“Interesting.” You hum to yourself and you feel Din shift under you.

“What? Do you not like it? Is it too small?”

“Din, shh,” You coo as you cup his balls with one hand, making your way to the base of his shaft with your lips, “Just expected you to be painfully large, you give off some serious big dick energy strutting around in your Beskar like you own the entire Maker-be-damned galaxy.”

“So, you like it?” He huffs out, squirming at your praise as you flatten your tip against his soft foreskin, licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock.

“I think it’s perfect, you’re perfect.”

You wrap your lips around his tip, pressing your tongue against his slit, circling around his tip, lapping up the pre-come before sinking down his length.

He pants and whines under you as you feel him shift under you, he cups your jaw with one hand as he props himself up on his elbow with the other. You feel his eyes on you, you expect his night vision to be pretty good at this point, but you keep your eyes clamped shut.

“You’re beautiful.”

You groan at his praise and wish you could open your eyes, to look up at him as you choke on his cock. You sink all the way down, you breathe through your nose, inhaling the musky scent of his cock and you let out a soft whine as he nudges against the back of your throat.

“Kriff.” Din grunts as he trembles underneath you, his breathing is shallow as he twitches and whines at every particularly deep bob of our dead.

“Stop.”

He growls aggressively as he sits up, moving you off his cock before pushing you onto your back. He settles between your legs, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he buries his mouth in your dripping folds.

“So sweet.” He murmurs into your skin as you feel the coarse rake of facial hair on your outer folds. His lips find your clit and you cry out when his tongue licks a stripe up from your core to your clit. Everything about him is broad, his tongue laves over your swollen bundle of nerves and you near lose it.

“Din, kriff your mouth feels so good.” You pant as your hips cant up, you glide your fingertips in his hair, not thinking to check if he even had hair. You’re met with soft, damp curls that you immediately twist into your grip. You pull him closer, letting him devour you with abandon. His tongue is unrelenting as two thick fingers come to press against your core.

“Please.”

Is all you can say as you need him inside you, you’re already so close and you want to feel him inside you however possible.

“So kriffing tight.”

Din breathes incredulously as he buries his fingers to the knuckle, his lips find your clit once more and he sucks. You bite down hard on your lip as you fight the urge to scream. Pleasure assaults you like a solar flare, permeating every cell of your body in violent waves as you come hard around his fingers. You’re delirious as you sob through your aftershocks, his thick fingers finally stilling as you tremble from overstimulation.

“Can I have you, please?”

“Yes.”

You hear the lewd sound of him sucking his fingers clean before he crawls back over your body, wet fingers trail over your left nipple and you chase the touch, arching up off the cot.

“So pretty like this.”

Din hums softly as he rolls your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, making you squeal in overstimulated pain and pleasure as he lines up his tip at your core with the other hand. He eases in and you pant at the delicious stretch. He enters you with ease, yet makes your walls flutter and clamp around him as he fits you snugly.

“Kiss me.”

You plead. His lips crash into yours without hesitation and you moan into his mouth as he starts to move, rolling his hips into you like he knows exactly how you like it. You tease your tongue over his bottom lip and his tongue darts out to meet yours.

Your tongues meet outside of your mouths, sliding over one another in a lewd dance as his thrusts pick up speed. You’re both panting hard when Din seals his lips over yours. His tongue presses into your mouth as you dig your nails into his back. You press together, skin to skin, nails digging little crescent circles in the broad expanse of his back.

Your lips part only to gasp for air before you both dive back in for more, more, more. One of your hand moves to fist into the curls at the nape of his neck, the other drops to your clit. You want to come for him one more time, you want him to feel you squeeze him tight.

“Din, going to come.” You pant against his lips and he groans as he picks up the pace, railing you like it’s the last time.

“Come for me Cyar’ika, let me feel you.”

You do as your told, for the first time in your life, and you come hard. Pleasure seeps into your very bones as fire dances down your spine. Your clit throbs as you press hard circles into it. You feel Din stutter inside you and you feel him start to pull out but you hook your ankles around the small of his back.

“Come inside me.”

You whisper into the crook of his ear as you pull him deep into you.

“Maker!”

Din roars, no longer caring about noise it seems, as he pounds into you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You’re whimpering in his ear as his desperate grunts and moans fill your own. He stills inside you, buried to the hilt as he twitches inside you, his spend coating your walls as you pant in his ear.

“Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you?”

Din’s voice is heavy with concern, his breath fanning over your slick skin in soft puffs and you wrap yourself around him like an Ewok.

“No, no you’ve never hurt me, Din.”

You breathe as you nuzzle into his neck, you leave soft, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. You never want this moment to end.

“Come on, we need to shower.”

“Nooooo,” You whine, “Just a few more minutes, don’t want to lose you.”

The words escape from your lips before you can stop them; and Din huffs a short, barking laugh against your skin as he presses a soft kiss to your temple as he pulls out.

“You can’t lose me, I’ve been tracking you for too long, I know you.”

“And I know you. Forever.”

You say, knowing those words in Mando’a means much more than in Galactic Basic. Din presses a soft kiss to your lips, neither acknowledging them nor refuting them. But there’s no rejection in his silence, just a mutual understanding that you are both in this for real.

“Five more minutes.”

Din grunts in submission as he settles on the small cot, pulling you against his bare chest as he places soft kisses to your hairline as you both drift off into the best sleep either of you could ever remember.

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in-a-nook-with-a-notebook · 10 months

Text

I'm Tired

Franchise: Marvel (Moon Knight)

Pairing: Marc Spector & Steven Grant x male!reader (reader's pronouns are he/him/his)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: angst, swearing, blood, angst, guns, severe injuries, angst, sad Marc, angry Marc, sad Steven, DID I MENTION ANGST

Summary: A mission in Guatemala goes perfectly. Well, not so perfectly.

A/N: get your translators out, it takes place in Guatemala and there's a lot of Spanish and I forgot to write down the English translations and I don't speak Spanish so I just used Google Translate (I'm sorry if I got anything wrong); also, reader used to be the avatar of Osiris but in the same way Mrc/Steve/Jake are the avatar of Khonshu, like he went on missions and had powers and stuff

The mission was a success.

Khonshu had you, Marc and Steven deal with a drug ring that had been terrorizing a small town in Guatemala. The ring was taken down, the threat was neutralized, and the town was safe once again. Everything went according to plan.

Until it didn’t.

You were already pretty busted up after your scrapes with the members of the cartel and you were wishing you still had Osiris’s protection. You were limping, favouring your left leg; your arm was definitely broken in at least three places; and there was blood everywhere. As you were walking to meet Marc and Steven outside, you heard shuffling behind you.

“Marc?” You murmured quietly, hoping it was one of your moon boys. “Steven?”

Instead, you were met with a member of the cartel that you hadn’t yet neutralized. Before you can react, the man draws his gun and shoots you twice in the gut. Without further ado, he runs off into hiding.

You’re too surprised to react any way other than shocked. Your hands fly up to cover your stomach as blood pours out between your fingers. You gasp for air and blood trickles from your lips. You stumble into the wall for support. Your senses stop working; you can’t hear anything other than your own ragged, uneven breathing. Your vision blurs, clears, then blurs again. You vaguely think you can hear your boys calling for you, but you can’t be sure.

You slide to the ground, still clutching your bleeding stomach. A figure kneels next you; judging by the cape you think you see, it’s Marc.

Your ears are ringing. If he’s talking to you, you can’t tell. His firm hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head to look at him. You blink your bleary eyes, begging silently for them to focus. Coughs suddenly wrack your body and you almost double over when more blood leaves your mouth. Marc’s talking is still muffled, but he picks you up with no argument from you.

Your good arm is pressed against his chest and your head falls onto his shoulder.

“…Breathing,” Marc says. It’s the end of a sentence and your hearing only returns to hear the last word. “Just keep breathing, baby.”

“M-Marc,” you say weakly.

“Hey, there you are,” Marc says through a nervous laugh. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Where…” You interrupt yourself with another cough. “Steven?”

“I’m gonna get you back to the car and then I’ll let Steven out, okay?”

You nod slowly, burying your face in his shoulder. “Hurts,” you whisper. Your forehead is pressed against the bandage fabric of his suit.

“I know, baby, I know. We’re almost there, I promise. We’re gonna get you help.”

“Layla?” You ask softly.

“I’ll call her, it’s alright. Just stay awake for me, okay?”

Though it feels like an eternity, you reach the car where Marc had hidden it before you went in to take out the drug ring. He manages to get you into the front passenger seat. Your head droops tiredly as Marc takes a step back. His suit dematerializes and a moment later, a worried British accent meets your ears.

“Y/N?” Steven asks, leaning into the car to look you over. “Oh my days, I didn’t want it to be as bad as it looked… we’ve gotta get you to hospital, love…”

Marc takes the body again, shuts the door, and jogs back to the driver’s side to get the car started. You can feel yourself slipping out of consciousness as the drive begins. The vibrations from the rough terrain mixed with the heat inside the vehicle threaten to lull you to sleep.

“I’m tired, babe,” you whisper.

“No, no, no, stay with me, stay with me,” Marc says. He reaches over to you and takes your hand in his, despite the coating of blood over your palm and fingers. “We’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you, we’re getting help. You’re gonna be okay.”

The numbness you had originally felt begins to fade and you wince, screwing your eyes shut as pain begins to wash over you.

“M-Marc, it… it hurts…” The car bounces over a bump in the road and you gasp in pain, your head hitting the headrest, which definitely isn’t good for the already pounding ache that already resides there - you might have a concussion.

“Just hold on, baby, we’re almost there.”

You don’t entirely remember what else happens on the way to the closest hospital. It’s all a blur, even as Marc pretty much carries you into the emergency room, yelling in Spanish for anyone’s attention.

“Necesitamos un doctor!” He hollers. “Por favor, necesita ayuda, por favor!”

Somehow, you find yourself on a gurney. A drop of blood drips from the corner of your mouth when you start to cough again. Everyone around you is shouting in Spanish. You can’t entirely understand them; Marc only just started teaching you and Steven how to understand Spanish about a month ago. One nurse in particular has their hands putting pressure on your wounds to keep you from bleeding out more than you already have. You know Marc is with you because he’s still holding your hand, refusing to let go of you.

“No lo dejes morir, no puede morir, por favor,” Marc begs the doctors, keeping his firm grasp on your hand.“No puedo perderlo.”

“Vamos a hacer todo lo que podamos, señor,” one of the nurses says. “Puedes decirme tu nombre y el de él?”

“Soy…” Marc hesitates. “Soy Marc Spector. Se llama Y/N L/N.”

“Sr. Spector, voy a necesitar que mantenga la calma, por favor. Cuidaremos bien de él, pero necesitamos que lo sueltes por ahora, de acuerdo?”

“Marc,” you groan, your face scrunched in pain. “Don’t go, please, don’t go.”

“I have to, baby, I’m sorry. They’re going to take care of you, okay? I’ll be there when you wake up, I promise.”

Very reluctantly, Marc lets his hand drop from yours. He watches the nurses roll your gurney down the hallway until you turn a corner. That’s when he breaks.

He stumbles back into the wall, sliding to the floor and burying his head in his hands. Silent sobs begin to wrack his body, tears streaming down his face. His fingers rake through his hair and his eyes are already burning.

“I should’ve been there,” he murmurs half to himself and half to Steven’s reflection on the floor. “We should have been there.”

“Marc, we can’t blame ourselves for this,” Steven says gently. “All we can do is hope we got there in time for him to be okay. All we can do is wait.”

“Sr. Spector?”

Marc looks up to see one of the doctors that had rolled your gurney to surgery. He quickly composes himself, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands and pushing himself to his feet. “Sí? Puedo ayudarlo, doctor?”

“Puedo hacerle algunas preguntas sobre sus heridas? También tengo papeleo que necesito que llenes. Solo necesitamos toda la información que podamos recopilar para poder ayudar a su…?” He hesitates.

“Mi amigo,” Marc says, awkwardly and reluctantly, “pero es más o menos de la familia. Lo amo, sabes?”

“Eres familia, esencialmente?”

“Sí.”

“Nuestros cirujanos lo están cuidando mientras hablamos. Podemos sacar el papeleo del camino y podemos mantenerlo actualizado sobre su condición. Suena bien?”

Marc nods numbly. “Sí, gracias. Puedo encontrarte en la sala de espera? Solo necesito usar el baño muy rapido.”

“Seguro. Estaré esperando. Tómate todo el tiempo que necesites. Justo por este pasillo, la última puerta a la derecha.”

“Gracias.”

Marc treads down the hall and slips into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He braces his hands on either side of the sink and stares into the mirror. “Steven?” He says in a small voice. He watches his reflection change, showing Steven pacing nervously.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Steven murmurs. “You know you can’t let me out yet, though, right?”

“I know, I know,” Marc says. “I wish I could. I don’t know how to deal with this, I don’t know what to do with myself.” He cards his fingers through his hair. “Y/N’s hurt bad and I couldn’t stop it and I can’t fucking fix it either.”

“Marc,” Steven says in a surprisingly calm tone. Marc looks at him in the mirror. “We will deal with these emotions, I promise. But right now, I’m sorry, but you have to go out there with that doctor and get the paperwork sorted. I’m still gonna be here, obviously, but you’re the only one of us that speaks Spanish.”

“Fine, I know.” Marc turns on the tap. He washes the blood off his hands, then splashes some water on his face. “When we get home, Y/N isn’t going on missions for a long while, even after he’s fully healed.”

“It’s not his fault he got shot, Marc!”

“I know it isn’t but he got hurt while I had the body and I can’t let it happen again! I won’t lose him, I can’t lose him.”

“He was an avatar.”

“Yeah, was, Steven. Past tense. He can’t heal the way he used to anymore.”

Steven is silent for a moment. “Call Layla,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“She needs to know too, she cares about him. Call her.”

A shaky breath escapes Marc’s lips as he leans against the sink, pulling out his phone. He finds Layla’s number. His hand is trembling when he brings the phone to his ear. His other hand grips the sink almost hard enough to break it. His knuckles go white.

Layla answers after four rings.

“Marc? It’s like two in the morning. What’s going on?”

“It’s… it’s about Y/N,” Marc says slowly, trying to keep his breathing regulated. “He got hurt on a mission. Really, really badly hurt, and I couldn’t stop it, and-”

“Where are you?” She asks quickly. “I’m coming.”

“Hospital in Melchor de Mencos. Guatemala.”

“I’ll get the first plane out of Mexico City, I can be there in 7 hours. How is he?”

“They, they took him into surgery soon as we got here. I gotta go fill out paperwork ‘cause I’m the only one fluent in Spanish,” Marc explains.

“You can’t even let Steven out?”

“Not yet. Not until the paperwork’s done. You’re coming?”

“Of course, I’m coming. I’ll see you in seven or eight hours.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay, see you then.”

Layla hangs up and Marc shoves his phone in his pocket again. He clenches and unclenches his fists over and over again, trying to keep his cool. His eyes feel like they’re on fire and he still can’t control how much he’s shaking. There’s a lump in his throat that won’t go away.

“All you can do now is sign the papers, Marc,” Steven says gently from the reflection. Marc looks up at him. Steven’s eyes are red and his face is shiny with fresh tears.

“Sign the papers,” Marc replies softly. He takes a deep breath, unlocks the bathroom door, and walks back down the hallway to the waiting room.

————————

Marc falls asleep in an uncomfortable chair after all the paperwork. He’s gently shaken awake and he opens his eyes to see Layla.

“You made it,” he murmurs.

“You told them about me,” she replies, sitting beside him.

“Well, I didn’t know if they’d let you in otherwise. Better safe than sorry.”

“What exactly did you tell them?”

Marc sits up properly, rolling his neck to get rid of the stiffness. “Told them you were family. Figured then they’ll let us see him sooner after he gets out.”

Layla hums in response. “How’d the mission go?”

“It was perfect until some fuck hurt Y/N,” Marc says bitterly. “If that guy was still there, I would’ve killed him.”

“Marc…”

“He hurt him and I couldn’t-”

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Layla says, gently putting her hand on his arm. “Thinking like that isn’t gonna help anyone in this scenario; me or you two or Y/N. There’s nothing you could have done and it’s not your fault. As terrible as it is, shit happens. I’m here for all three of you. It’s going to be alright. Unfortunately, all we can do now is wait and see the results, you know?”

Marc sighs, carding his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. We just wait."

————————

Both of them end up falling asleep in the waiting room even though they’d told themselves that they’d stay awake.

A nurse wakes Marc and Marc wakes Layla.

“Is he okay?” Layla asks.

“He is asleep,” the nurse says through a thick accent. “Painkillers. He spoke English. Not many doctors knew what he was saying. He was asking for Marc, Steven and Layla.”

“That’s us,” Marc says. “Can we see him? Please?”

“He will not be conscious just yet, but yes.”

The nurse leads us down a few hallways to Y/N’s room. “If he wakes, do not overwhelm him. Be gentle,” he adds.

“Muchas gracias, señor,” Marc says, silently stepping into the room with Layla on his heels. Marc has to brace himself against the wall at the sight of you.

Your left leg is propped up and casted, another cast encasing your entire left arm. Your forehead is bandaged and the lights are mostly off in the room - a concussion, Marc assumes (and correctly so). You’re too bandaged up to need to bother with a hospital gown but, save for your propped up leg, your lower half is covered with a blanket.

“Shit,” Marc whispers, though he’s not entirely sure if it was him or Steven that said it. He’s pretty sure he’s got the body right now, even if part of him wishes he could hand it over to Steven. Not yet. He wasn’t going to hide from this, as much as it hurt to see.

He’s slow in his movements to sit in the chair to the right of you. Layla pulls up a chair next to him. His trembling hand reaches out to hold yours closest to him. He blinks back tears, gripping your hand unintentionally tight. His thumb brushes over your knuckles and he bows his head, covering his face with his free hand.

“My fault,” he murmurs almost inaudibly. Layla frowns a little.

“Marc-”

“It’s my fault,” Marc stresses.

Knowing there’s no use arguing with him, Layla gently squeezes his arm. “I’m gonna get some air for a minute.”

“You’re not staying?”

“I’ll be back, I promise. You want a coffee?”

“What, you mean the shitty vending machine coffee that all hospitals have?” Marc asks sarcastically. Layla nods. “Yeah, sure. I could use the caffeine. Maybe one for Steven too?”

Layla smiles gently. “I’ll be back soon.”

Minutes after Layla’s gone, Marc still hasn’t said a word and you’re still unconscious next to him. He knows the doctors say you’ll be alright, but he can’t help worrying anyway.

————————

You could hear the people in your room before you could see them.

First, it was doctors speaking Spanish. It all sounded like gibberish to you, despite Marc having taught you some Spanish a little while back. It was after they’d gotten you out of surgery, before the extra painkillers they’d pumped you with. You hadn’t had the energy to open your eyes to confront the doctors, so you’d passed out again.

Then, it was two voices - familiar voices. Voices so agonizingly familiar that you’d silently prayed to the gods that you could open your eyes to see if it was who you thought it was. Then, you passed out again.

The third time, you don’t hear much, just someone shifting beside you. Something - no, someone - is holding your right hand. It’s no doctor, you can’t feel the latex gloves they all wear. It’s calloused. It’s a hand you’ve held before.

It’s one of your boys.

You finally, finally, manage to open your eyes. You tilt your head to the right. Your gaze is blurry at first. You blink a few times before managing to get a clear picture of the man in the chair next to you. His head is bowed but he’s gripping your hand like you’re about to disappear.

“Fuck, Y/N, if you die, I’m gonna kill you,” a rough voice says. American. Marc. He sounds like he’s been either crying or sleeping or both for quite a while.

“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” you mutter. Your throat is bone dry.

Marc’s head shoots up so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t break his neck. You shoot him a weak smile before you start coughing. He immediately lets go of your hand to reach for the pitcher of water on the table next to the hospital bed, filling one of the little plastic cups stacked next to it. He passes it to you. You manage to stop coughing long enough to down the little cup of water. It soothes your parched throat immediately.

“Fuck, I needed that,” you mumble. “Desert.” You clear your throat and thankfully you don’t start coughing again. “Hi,” you add awkwardly.

“Hey,” Marc says, though he can’t hide the way his voice cracks a little. His eyes are glistening. You frown worriedly.

“Marc, baby…” you whisper. You reach your hand up to wipe away a couple of stray tears from his face. “Don’t cry for me. I’m here. I’m here, my love.”

“I thought… we thought that we were gonna lose you.” His voice is thick with emotion and you wish you could wash away his pain right then and there.

“You won’t lose me. Not if I have any say in it. Come here.”

He wipes his face with his sleeve as he pushes himself to his feet. “What?”

You scowl teasingly up at him. “I wanna kiss you but I can’t exactly move, dumbass, you need to come to me.”

A smile tugs at Marc’s lips as he leans down to press his to yours. Your good hand reaches up to hold his cheek as you practically melt into the kiss. When Marc pulls away, you try to chase after his lips, but you push yourself up too far. You wince and lay back down, gasping in pain. Concern flashes over Marc’s face.

“Are you alright?” He asks quickly.

“Mhm,” you murmur through clenched teeth. “Just moved, moved a bit too much.”

“Should I get a doctor back in here?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine, it’s okay.” You take a few deep breaths, trying to relax your tense body. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.” You pause for a moment. “Is… is Steven there?”

Marc’s body language changes, and you know you’re looking at Steven now.

“Oh my days, I was so worried,” he says. He leans forward and kisses your forehead, then your cheek. He almost pulls away completely, but you grab the collar of his shirt with your good hand and pull him down to kiss you on the lips. The kiss lasts a solid few seconds before you let him go. You smile a little as he sits back down.

“I’ll be okay,” you say quietly, holding your hand out. He slips his into your grasp, giving it a squeeze. “It’s like I told Marc, I’m not going anywhere if I can help it, Steven. You’re stuck with me.” You chuckle a little. “Sucks to suck.”

Steven rolls his eyes fondly. “I’d like to see you living and breathing on this earth for a little while longer, thank you very much.”

You smile gently. “I love you both.”

“We love you too, Y/N/N.”

“You’re awake!”

You turn your head towards the door and your grin widens when you see Layla holding a tray of three shitty vending machine coffees.

[A/N: no, she totally doesn’t almost drop them when she sees that you’re conscious, I dunno what you’re talking about…]

She puts the tray on a table and rushes to your side to hug you. She nearly pushes Steven out of the way just so she can get to you on your good side.

“Not too tight, the ribs, the shots,” you hiss out when you feel a stinging sensation from your torso. Layla apologizes immediately, loosening her grip but not quite pulling away just yet. Eventually she does, sitting down next to Steven. His demeanour changes, signalling the return of Marc. He looks over at her.

“Coffee?” He asks, his voice a little hoarse.

“Oh, shit, right.”

Layla retrieves the coffee tray and puts it on the table next to your bed. There are names scribbled on each one; Marc, Steven, Layla.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get you one,” she admits, “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

You shake your head. “S’okay. I probably shouldn’t have anything more than water right now. Plus it tastes like ass.”

“You’re not wrong,” Marc says, taking a swig of his coffee and nearly choking on it. “Fuck, that’s terrible.” He hesitates. He takes another sip. He straightens up as he puts his cup down. He reaches for Steven’s and takes a sip.

“Oh, bloody hell, that’s horrible.” He takes a second sip.

There’s a knock on the door and doctor begins to enter. Steve surrenders the body to Marc, in case of a need to speak Spanish.

“Buenos, días,” the nurse from earlier greets us. “Soy Dr. Juliàn Laguna. Soy el que supervisa el cuidado del Sr. L/N. Todos sois familia, sí?”

“Sí, es su hermano,” Marc lies, gesturing to Layla. “Estarà bien?”

“Sufrió muchas heridas. Su pierna está rota en un lugar mientras que su brazo está roto en tres. Dos costillas fracturadas. Conmoción cerebral de tercer grado. Tuvo suerte con la colocación de las heridas de bala. Bueno, tan afortunado como uno puede ser cuando te han disparado. Pudimos curarlo bien en la cirugía. Con el tiempo, sanará y estará bien.”

“What’s he saying?” You ask quietly.

“You broke your leg in one place and your arm in three. Two fractured ribs. They patched up the gunshot wounds well in surgery. With time you’ll heal and you’ll be alright,” Marc translates, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Muchas gracias, doctor, no sé- no sabemos qué haríamos sin él. Gracias.”

“Por supuesto. La muerte tendrá toda la lucha para sacarlo de esta tierra.” He clears his throat. “Les dejaré tener más tiempo para ustedes.”

“Gracias, doctor,” Marc says.

“So, I’ll be okay, right?” You asks quietly.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Marc says reassuringly. He takes your hand in his and presses his lips to your scratched and bruised knuckles. “We’re gonna take you home as soon as we can. As soon as the doc gives the go ahead, we’re hopping on a plane and we’re out of here.”

“Good,” you say immediately. “I think I’ll be taking a break from fighting for a little while. I’ll take the sidelines.”

Marc looks surprised. Sure, he told Steven and Layla that he wanted you to sit out once you fully healed, but he didn’t expect you to feel the same about it.

“Are you sure?” He asks gently.

You shoot him a tight smile. “More or less. I like being out there to watch your six, but this was too close of a near death experience for my liking,” you explain. “Plus, I’ll be able to take care of you when you get home. Both of you,” you add, shooting a glance and a smile at Layla. “Besides, since I’m not with Osiris anymore, I really need to take it easy.”

You squeeze Marc’s hand. “You won’t have to worry about me then either.”

“I’m always gonna worry about you,” he insists.

“You know what I mean, dumbass.” You pause for a moment. “So. When can we go home?”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This has been sitting in my writing folder for a hot minute so I figured I'd finish it. Also I know virtually nothing about Guatemala including knowing nothing about Guatemalan healthcare but what little research I did had me decide to have Marc hide his relationship with Y/N for fear of homophobia but I wrote that bit a while back idk... Anyway, might make a fluffy little part two of Marc and Steven taking care of the reader while he heals 👀 lmk if you want it 👀 feed back is encouraged and appreciated! Have a lovely day!

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #male reader #x male reader #mr knight #marc spector x male reader #steven grant x male reader #marvel fic #moon knight fic #moon knight system #marvel moon knight #marvel cinematic universe #oscar isaac #oscar issac x male reader #marvel x male reader

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slashhinginghasher · 5 months

Text

No Such Thing As A Free Ride

Ghost x Soap Hitcher AU

Part 1 Part 2

tw: light blood/gore

Oh, he needs this fucker out of his car. He needed him out at least 20 miles ago. Johnny's hands are clammy on the wheel, cold sweat pricking along his hairline. Ghost's eyes are boring into him, measuring his reaction. It doesn't feel like the anticipation of a person who's just told a really shitty joke and is waiting for you to groan or laugh or get angry. It feels like a cat waiting for the mouse to twitch so it can pounce.

Ghost never did put his seatbelt on after getting in the car.

Johnny's got a knife in his pocket, a stupid little thing with a star-spangled handle and a decal of an eagle wearing a cowboy hat, which he picked up at a roadside shop because it was so hilariously ugly. He's not even sure it'll make it past airport security when he goes home. But right now, it feels like providence.

The road is dark, no headlights or taillights when he glances at the mirrors. No oncoming traffic to run into if the car spins out. He nudges the accelerator, urging the car just a little faster. He'll have to be fast and, more importantly, lucky, because he'll only get one shot.

"What do you call a guy missing a part of his skull?" Ghost asks, flicking the butt of his cigarette out the window.

"I dunno," Johnny says, surreptitiously bracing himself. He's proud of how steady his voice is. "What?"

"Open minded."

Speaking of shitty jokes.

Jesus fuckin' Christ.

Johnny slams on the brakes.

The wheels shudder and Ghost bounces off the dashboard, head and hands. The seatbelt cuts into Johnny's chest and shoulder harder than he expected, but he can't cater to the shock of pain just yet. He whips the knife out and grabs a fistful of damp jacket with the other hand, holds the blade to Ghost's throat.

God, he hopes this cheap piece of shit is actually sharp enough to cut.

"What the fuck-" Ghost groans, voice muffled by the hand over his face, but Johnny cuts him off by the pressing the metal edge a little harder against the exposed skin of the other man's neck.

"Ride's over, pal," he snarls. "Get the fuck out." He grits his teeth and scowls, trying to look intimidating instead of pants-shittingly terrified. Ghost looks at him from the corner of his eyes.

"What're you doing?" He sounds a little nasal now. Johnny hopes he's busted the fucker's nose. His pulse, though, is infuriatingly slow and steady under Johnny's hand.

"The fuck does it look like I'm doin'? I'm sendin' you on your merry fuckin' way."

Should he shake him a little? It seems like it might be the correct thing to do, but Johnny is terrified of losing his grip.

It's so quiet. Drip of the rain and the tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine. The sound of Johnny trying to wrangle his breaths into silence. He swears he can hear Ghost blink.

"You ever stab anyone before, Johnny?"

No, no he fucking hasn't. He's never used a knife in self defense before, just for dumb tricks to impress people at parties. Ghost's skin is burning hot against Johnny's knuckles. He has no idea if he's close to drawing blood.

"It's awfully messy," Ghost continues. "Be such a shame to have clean all that up, 'specially since it's not your car."

There's a purr in Ghost's voice that's almost sexual, and it kind of makes Johnny want to die. Something warm trickles over his fingers, and he realizes in a sick rush that he's broken the skin.

"I'll say this one more time," he grits out, drawing on every cold-blooded action hero he's ever seen to keep his composure. "Open the door. And get. Out."

For an awful moment, he thinks Ghost isn't going to listen, and he's not sure if he's actually prepared to use real violence against the bigger man. It's a relief when he slowly pops open the door and, with an unwavering gaze, slides even more slowly out of the passenger seat.

Johnny thinks he's in the clear, but then Ghost's hand lashes out. He grabs Johnny by the wrist (his fingers almost touch, they almost fucking touch) and he licks his goddamn blood off of Johnny's fingers.

Johnny recoils so hard he hits the driver side door, and floors it. His arm bends painfully before Ghost stumbles and relinquishes his grip and he's able to pull it inside, dragging the door shut with it. Miraculously, he doesn't drop the knife, but he does almost cut himself with it several times as he wipes his hand off on the seat so fervently he gives himself rugburn. The other hand is gripping the wheel so tightly it hurts, barely keeping the car from careening off the road.

Ghost's silhouette fades, swallowed by distance and rain.

***

He almost cries with relief when he sees the sign for the rest stop. He's been driving for hours, checking the rearview mirror every five minutes just in case Ghost somehow materializes in the backseat, and figures he's put enough distance between them that the hitcher won't catch up to him on foot, even if he sprints. There's no one else in the lot, which is unsurprising but does make him feel conspicuous. He parks under a tree, the thick trunk providing an extra barrier between him and the road.

He swears he can still feel Ghost's spit on his skin, even though he's rubbed his hand almost raw.

The thought of falling asleep and leaving himself vulnerable makes him sick with fear, but the adrenaline crash is hitting him hard. He triple-checks the locks on all the doors and reclines the driver's seat as far back as it will go.

Eventually, he dozes off, clutching the glorious, idiotic cowboy knife to his chest.

***

The terror of the previous night is starting to feel like a fever dream in the bright morning sunlight. Johnny wakes with a crick in his neck, a bruise on his collarbone, and a sore elbow, but the parking lot is still empty and so is the road, which he can see for miles in either direction under a clear blue sky.

The bathrooms are locked, so he takes a piss in the bushes before inspecting the big map posted on the wall behind a sheet of scratched plexiglass. There's a truck stop about 45 miles away with a gas station and a diner. Johnny's stomach growls at the thought of a big, greasy American breakfast, and the knot in his chest loosens further at the thought of seeing some regular, sane people.

Stretching his back with a loud groan, he saunters back to the car. Honestly, he's starting to second guess himself a little. Nobody would straight up admit to murder to a stranger, right? That would astronomically stupid. Ghost (clearly a fake name) was probably one of those weird cunts who read autopsy reports for fun and got off on making people scared. Johnny doesn't regret kicking him out of the car though, even if the knife was overkill. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, or whatever; don't act like a demented freak around the bloke giving you a ride if you don't want to be dumped on the side of the road.

The passenger seat is barely damp when he touches it. By the time he reaches the truck stop, it'll be like last night never even happened. He spots the cigarette lighter still rolling about in the cup holder and tosses it back into the center console. Out of sight, out of mind.

His fingers brush something sticky.

Johnny's heart leaps into his throat and his stomach plummets down somewhere below his arse. Shaking, trepidatious, he plucks the object out from the console and immediately throws it as far as possible with a startled cry of disgust. It bounces a couple times before rolling to a stop some 15 meters away on the pavement.

His stomach clenches and his throat convulses as he dry heaves, trying to choke back another scream. He rubs his hand frantically through the condensation gathered on the hood of the car to get the tackiness off his fingers because if he wipes it on his leg then it'll be on his pants-

A crow flies down from the tree, eying Johnny suspiciously before pecking at the object. It gives a few exploratory nips to the pink, stringy bit before moving on to the fleshy white sphere. With a triumphant caw, it picks the whole thing up and tosses its head back.

Johnny doubles over and vomits as the bird gulps down the bloody human eye Ghost left in his car.

#my writing #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod #ghost x soap #ghoap #keeping these chapters short and sweet in an effort to update more than twice a year like i do with all my other fics

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mags-writes · 9 months

Text

Sunlight || Part V

Summary: frank contemplates homicide

Series Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical swearing, first time writing x reader, no use of y/n, no beta readers we die like ray nadeem

Pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

Authors Note: lots of angst for this one

PROLOGUE/MASTERLIST || PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI

"She's here." Matt calls out.

"And with two minutes to spare!" Amy calls out looking at her phone before high-fiving Dinah. "Your girl's punctual."

The sound of a suitcase rolling through the halls caught Frank's attention but he instead decided to ruffle Amy's hair as you walked through the door.

"Oh my god!" Karen exclaimed, making Frank snap to attention.

"What?" Matt asked confused.

What he saw made a whirlwind of emotions torment his mind.

"Holy shit." He distantly heard Amy whisper to herself.

"What?" He said more worried.

There you stood at the door holding a tray with four coffees, a backpack on your back, and a huge heavy-looking suitcase. The left side of your face was bruised, while the right side had a busted lip and rough-looking cut along your cheekbone with a nasty bruise under both. You look completely at ease and even rolled your eyes at Karen and Amy's reactions, putting the coffee down on the table next to the door and letting your backpack fall down next to them with a loud thud. You turn back to the group, mouth open and ready to say something but then something shifts in your expression.

Your eyes widen, your shoulders bunch up and suddenly the only thing about you that's moving is the harsh rise and fall of your chest as your breathing picks up. Fear, Frank realises, is what's taken over your body. Pure fear as your hands curl into fists to stop them from shaking. He starts walking towards you slowly, putting his hands up to show he doesn't have anything in them.

"Hey," He says softly, trying to draw your attention to him.

"That's John Pilgrim." You say, eyes not leaving the spot beside Frank's head.

He turns to see that John has turned from whatever quiet conversation he was having with Dinah to look at you.

Frank makes it to you, putting his hands on your shoulders heavily and turning your body away. You didn't take your eyes off John, fear still seizing your body.

"Hey, hey," Frank called out softly. "Look at me, sweetheart." You brought your hands up to his chest, gripping the jacket there in a grip no one could break away from. When you still didn't look at him he gripped your chin in his fingers and forced you to look away, to focus on him instead of John. "What'd he do? Hm? Hey, you can tell me. What'd he do?"

It was a simple enough question but your eyes held a lifetime of pain in them. He knew what that was like, to have something so horrible happen in the past and have to live the rest of your life carrying it with you. You searched for that in his own eyes, the understanding, the sharing of grief, the fucked up world you left for the fucked up world he lived in.

You let go of his jacket and held your hands up, palms facing you, to show him the scars you never talked about. His eyes went straight to the bruises adorning your knuckles, feeling a swell of pride swell up in him that whatever happened, you made it out alive. But he knew that wasn't what you were talking about. And he felt the pride slip when he met your eyes again.

"You ever seen a crucifixion?"

The realisation hit him in full force and for just a second he contemplated strangling the life out of John for you to watch. To bash his head against the ground until it split open. To carve his heart out of his chest with his bare hands. He briefly closed his eyes, turning his head before bringing you in closer to kiss your forehead instead. He kept you there longer than he usually does, letting you choose when to pull away.

"I've been informed of your situation, miss," John speaks up at probably the most inopportune moment making you turn your head back to him but not leave Frank's comfort. "Whatever this face and name have done to you, I sincerely apologise."

"Don't bother. It was one of my less violent kidnappings anyway." You reply but in Hebrew now. Frank frowns at the change as you pull away, Matt tilts his head in that puppy dog way he usually does when he shows he's listening to you, and John simply looks on in interest. You stepped away from Frank, a frown set in place as you spoke a language he didn't know. "The John Pilgrim I knew was a murdering, psychotic lunatic that nailed me to a cross for knowing and helping Daredevil, who murdered my baby brother. Who are you?"

"I am a father to kidnapped sons." He answered flawlessly in the same manner. "Widower to a wife taken from me by cancer. I'm just trying to get them back so we can live in peace."

"Do you consider yourself a righteous man, John?" You sneered.

"I believe God works through me when he needs me." He answered.

You stared at him for a long while, staring intensely into his eyes with a rage John had never seen before. He looks away first, bowing his head to you in respect. You let out a sigh, letting some of the tension in your shoulders ebb away before taking a step back and holding out your hand. John looked back into your eyes in surprise. He's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth so he takes your hand, letting your firm hold lead into a strong shake.

"We can get along." You said, letting his hand go and then shrugging. "The John Pilgrim I knew didn't even know Hebrew so you're already doing better than him."

"He didn't?" John asked bewildered making you lightly grimace.

"I have a degree in Bible studies," You made a disgruntled noise, looking at him with a look like he'd know this pain. "I think the most painful part of getting nailed to a cross was him quoting the Bible wrong."

Amy barked out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth to stifle her remaining giggles and Dinah shot out an arm to give her a light smack. John, despite himself, allows himself to smile at your words with a small, breathy chuckle leaving him. He gives you a look that said he respected you and you nodded to him in acknowledgment before turning. You walked back over to where you had put the coffee on the table and Frank followed you.

When you went to reach for the normal-looking coffee cup, while the others were iced, you saw your scars again. Usually, it wasn't a problem. But usually, you weren't in the same room as John fucking Pilgrim. Your hands started shaking uncontrollably and you curled them into fists. Bringing them to your chest as you took some deep breaths with your eyes closed. You could feel Frank's powerful presence next to you and you tilted your head a certain way, wordlessly asking for something he would give you freely for the rest of his life.

He kissed your temple, pulling back and keeping his eyes on you. Trying to ignore the fact that Amy was openly staring at you both with a shit-eating grin on her face. You let out a particularly deep breath before reaching for the coffee again. Turning to Frank and giving it to him without a word. He frowned down at it, taking it from your grasp and making sure to brush his fingers over yours before taking a sip.

Liquid. Gold.

A solid black coffee with nothing else in it.

He stopped himself from moaning at the taste but he couldn't stop his eyes briefly rolling into the back of his head. He opened his eyes at your giggle, the sweetest sound he'd ever heard and he melted at your smile. He leaned in again, kissing your forehead and staying close to speak quietly.

"Don't think this means I'm not lookin' at that face." He said lowly, leaning back out of your space again to see you avoid eye contact with him.

"Of course you're lookin' at this face, baby, I'm gorgeous." You tried joking, lifting a hand to pick at a spec of dust that wasn't there on Frank's shirt. "I'll explain later. When there isn't a cop in the room."

"Hi." You jumped at the voice, turning to see Dinah had walked up behind you. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine." You said, briefly leaning on Frank as you turned to face her before straightening up.

"I just wanted you to know that this is an official case, so anything that's happened starting this morning will fall under this case and you won't get in trouble." She explained gently, looking at you expectantly.

"I fell down the stairs." You lied casually. "Though on my way over I saw a dead body in a dumpster so you might wanna look into that."

"You killed someone?" Amy, the little sticky beak, had overheard you and walked over to where the three of you were standing.

"No," You lied again, frowning and shaking your head like you were talking to a child. "He probably died from his injuries." You paused, looking at Dinah and keeping up your lie. "Immediately upon receiving them."

"What..." Dinah blinked at the stupidity of the situation. "What injuries?"

"You know, I can't say for sure," You crossed your arms and frowned in fake contemplation making Frank fight a smile. "But I think he might've fallen three stories and landed on his head." Dinah looked at you with slightly widened eyes and her mouth open like she wanted to say something but couldn't move. "I'm no expert though."

Frank chuckles from behind you, bringing his arm across your shoulders and squeezing you to his side.

"Ease up, Madani," Frank said, breaking her from her trance. "At least she told you about the body," He then gave her a shit-eating grin. "I haven't."

#frank castle x reader #frank castle fic #frank castle fanfic #the punisher x reader #the punisher fic #the punisher fanfic #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfic #marvel fic #marvel fanfic

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who1ssheesh · 2 months

Note

If you're still doing it I can't wait to see the prompt with squalos s/o being buds with Xanxus 😂

Squalo's S/O being buds with Xanxus

Pairings: Squalo/Reader, Xanxus/Reaser (PLATONIC)

Notes: yes. absolutely. i live for those two idiots. This one is long af compared to Xanxus' one and I can't explain why. But I had so much fun with this, Xanxus is a soulmate in a bro-ish way????

Warnings: good ol swearing, brief mentions of sex (not much really), probably OOC and terrible english (ur not my teacher ha ha)

• First of all, holy shit that’s impressive?

• Second of all, must be mentioned that Xanxus kinda….doesn't see women as friends? He looks at them sexually right away. Or so he thought

• Third of all, Squalo gotta be terrified

• Fourth of all (that's a lot of counting) Squalo situation is not having any drama as Xanxus' does, he is a pure comedy gold and so is his relationship with you. That's what no daddy issues does to you, but what do i know

• Not comedy as if a clown comedy, but a good harsh bri'ish comedy - insert Utopia reference. Squalo is more than confident in you since you obviously date for some time for him to move in with you and therefore reveal you to his boss.

• I'll tell you a secret btw, Xanxus probably guessed he has you because Squalo is a loser cuck and started to act differently.

• I think Xanxus doesn’t give a shit enough to just bust into Squalo’s apartment for any stupid reason as if it’s his own. So if you at least haven’t heard of him as your boyfriend’s boss, you’re going to meet him in person

• Xanxus coming up and breaking your door just to nap:

🧍

• Squalo never told Xanxus where he lives, that bitch just knows

• Never in his life Xanxus expected to see one day a shmoll girl there and not hear screaming at the top of one’s lungs. He still says Squalo is a fucking virgin loser femboy ugly ass haha lol lmao, he can’t be deprived of those shitty jokes…

• I mean it, Xanxus can get pissed seeing you too being lovey-dovey but I'll expand this drama later

• Xanxus is basically your adopted stray cat, deal with it

• Squalo won't say this out loud or says this very...covertly and probably insults you along the way, but anyways he really appreciate you dealing with all that bullshit. He does indeed value strong character - you don't need to wield a big sword or shoot a gun, but going through his path even though you can be confused or scared means much. He knows a lot of cowards who can shoot a gun, so...Squalo looks much deeper than that. Shark, ocean, DEEP, get it<<<<<<</////??????? I'll see myself out.

• He is lowkey terrified but...also chill? Unlike Xanxus, he doesn't overthink (at least not much). He of course draws a line at some things - at first Squalo was really mad at his boss staying...alone....with you....at you house (he is jealous) cause Xanxus is immoral bitch and would try to fuck you if he wants to.

• Also is you start gossiping or making fun of him with Xanxus, holy shit Squalo is quick to start raging. It's one thing to gossip and laughing at some bud, but doing so about your partner is a huge red flag for him. If you have any problems. come straight to Squalo he is an adult and prefers just discussing problems.

• Well, Xanxus also will certainly not respect you for trying to spill out your bullshit on him and talking shit about his captain. He has standards. (And not because he is a little uwu girl and actually deep DEEP like ocean bottom deep cares about Squalo)

• “The fuck happened here?”, Squalo is on edge, to say the least, seeing stains of blood around the apartment and you cleaning it with a clearly annoyed expression

“So your boss-“

“My boss?!”

“-got over again”

“AGAIN???”

• So, the situation: Squalo, as a person who values trust in relationship the most, is really pissed (sad….) you’re keeping the truth away from him, and you, thinking he’s aware his boss is chilling around since…..well, Superbia is his right hand, makes sense?

• You didn’t know about their burning hate for each other. Gotta be jealous, his love to you will never be as true, fiery and emotional as his undying HATE!!!! for Xanxus

• You screaming “get a fucking room, deepshits” when they start arguing again

• You probably got Xanxus with an insult. Obviously. Sorry, you’ve signed a pact, nothing in your life will be normal again, just like your boyfriend (he’s a little unstable. Just a little)

• Xanxus haven’t been around your house for long - leaving more work for Superbia and leaving right after, quickly patching a quick wound and stealing alcohol, of course

• You’ve been quieter than a mouse, thinking you shouldn’t be involved in Squalo’s business, but one day Xanxus was noticeably not feeling good, ready to pass out, so…you helped him obviously

• Xanxus being Xanxus didn’t thank you, got pissed because air was too warm for his liking or smth and was whining that actually you did a poor job tending his wound

• “Bitch, I will kill you in your sleep?” sent him away, he honestly found this hilarious (we’re talking about your audacity here)

• You got a chuckle out of him, whick you didn't think about much at first, but a Squalo's shocked expression said everything. You can be proud

• Lowkey Xanxus doesn't separate you two together in his mind, you both are a one Superbia homunculus in his mind. Maybe that's why Xanxus with Squalo's s/o feels so....included for all three of you compared to other way around lol

• Even your jokes are on the same line istg

• Xanxus feels even...bittersweet.

• He is...kinda cautious? He knows Squalo is capable of getting out from the devil himself (remember how may times he "died" in manga lol), but you...well...he double checks every visit. Xanxus is very brutal and, unbothered and nonchalant but very smart. Makes sure no one is on his tail.

• Don't get me wrong, it's not in a sweet family way, but you kinda start having dinners together? Both are bitching around but you notice in the end they start having a human conversation instead of their regular unga-bunga

• Xanxus likes this

• Xanxus feels home

• Unlike Squalo, he can't show his devotion to save his life, so you just know there is a "useful friend of a friend that can solve some problems with a call". But I'll tell you, Xanxus will double-check if something is serious, not just throw problems as subordinates.

• Mafia is not flowers and sunshine. Those two have had a conversation "what to do if Squalo dies". Xanxus probably threw a glass at him and said to not be an idiot, but he didn't say no. You're the first person he can call at least an acquaintance, so...

• Well, that counts when we talk about older Xanxus, I'm sure he is mellowed out by that time (+ just enough time for you and Squalo to establish your relationship)

• He's not the type to get over at 2am if there's a problem lol. Maybe he can miss a call cause he's a heavy sleeper. But if anything, you have his subordinates at your place.

• He will teach you to drink. Will laugh his ass off when you fail to beat his ass at drinking competition again and Squalo is having a heart stroke on the background

• Xanxus will turn you in a copy of himself just to piss ofs Squalo lol

• You learning his mood by the intonation he says 'trash'

• Also you calling him janitor or sum in return. Varia horrified you dare to do this, and Xanxus laughing. He still shoots your way though...

• If you're not Italian, you MUST teach him swearing on your native language. Also tell him if there is any local alcohol (of course)

• "Yeah, I teached him coupla words", you laugh, looking obviously happy being a useful friend and having a surprisingly cozy chat with Xanxus.

Squalo is very confused by that. "What the fuck, but he DOES know this language already?"

• I'm sorry but so many sex jokes. Xanxus doesn't give a shit what you do there in the bedroom (until you invite him over ahaha joke unless), but he's going to be a little shit

• Xanxus is 12 yo btw.

• "Can you suck him off so he shuts the fuck up or smth?"

• LITERALLY LOOKING AT SQUALO "NO BITCHES????"

• This idiot fools around sometimes and throws 9-yo-school-bully insults lol

• "He said he wants to marry /insert random woman name/ when he grows up". 25+ y/o Squalo looking at him just:

🧍

• I hope you two have a cat. Xanxus will feed it. Raw meat and everything a fluffy boy shouldn't but it's Xanxus we're talking about. Literally a teenage edgy teen "ITS NOT A PHASE MOM" at your house.

• Naps on your bed ONLY to leave hiss smell of tabaco, whiskey and a heavy cologne. He 100% heehaws thinking about this - Squalo will NEVER be able to have sex if there is reminding him of Xanxus, like an instant turn off. You always try to complain to Xanxus about this absurd situation but start laughing to the point of crying, Xanxus becomes HYSTERICAL at these moments.

• He will teach you how to shoot. Usually he just drinks there and says you're pathetic while you try. But he keeps inviting you himself, so....Xanxus is a little sappy shit. You only use Squalo's photos as a target, so you get sad a bit and probably tell your boyfriend afterwards. He will say he wants to kill you both or smth.

• Xanxus bringing you ideas in your bed. "Hey so you can tie him up and beat to death as a foreplay".

• He will make you rank up bodies of other women he finds hot. Also if you're a girls' girl, Xanxus will ruin this completely. Basically like "just by looking at her tell be if she's a bitch"

• Xanxus enjoys if you talk shit about someone cause he is the same way.

• He will drag you into his shitty gang ideas. If Squalo could go gray-headed again, he would.

• Squalo looking at you both beaten up anf almost getting caught by the police: "why are you like this."

• To be honest, you may be having a serious talk with your man. Squalo is unironically worried, he did a LOT to keep you away from mafia but here you are. If you are very good at convincing (20 CHA lol), he can just a little bit become convinced that you getting hardened can be useful for mafia life "just in case".

• Also MAYBE he can notice the influence Xanxus has on you. Feminine clothes change to leather jackets and grunge, your knuckles even being bloody way too often, you may be smoking more frequently. Squalo is kind of chill with you finding you identity, but if you start wearing feathers in your hair HE LOOSES HIS MIND

• Xanxus will personally train you, if you ever discover your flame. They will have a fight about this with Squalo.

• Xanxus is proud of you tho. One day he will say this, I'm sure

• People know your bond, they know he does appreciate your opinion even in Varia business, and even anything happened he knows Varia is in the right hand - Squalo is more than competent and there is a little angry copy of himself so Xanxus' spirit always haunts Vongola till the end of time. hehe

• You are a badass little sis. He has never had a family, but that...feels nice.

#khr headcanons #khr imagines #khr x reader #varia x reader #katekyo hitman reborn #xanxus x reader #squalo x reader

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lukaherehelp · 7 months

Text

Playboyy EP1 - "Sex is about everyone"

PART 1

okey, let's get it:

The fountain a la WAP really fits the show, ain't going to lie.

Something tells me that Zouy liked/likes Nant, idk why. Like, they are showing us that Zouy and Nant were pretty close and Nant was definetly a safe space for Zouy for everything, sex talk included. September 15th, 2022 - what was your wish, Zouy?

"Pacebook". I love this show, I swear. Now, the video is posted on the 18th although the video is from a year ago, but also: First's comment asking "where are you? are you coming to class?" was made 2 weeks ago. So... Nant went missing at the beginning of 3rd year.

as I said before, hilarious that Zouy and Jade share the same laptop, "Deadline is faster than Karma" is the true collegue/uni experience!

The parallels to OF are strong but I'm not going to go deep into it. A little tmi: I'm a virgin, I'm not ashame of it and never will be. On contrary to Zouy (and Mew) I'm lucky to have friends since my high school years that never cared neither pressured me into changing this about me. As everyone fuckin should. And that's the commentary both shows are doing on this. But we are going to focus on Playboyy here. Zouy pointing out that Porche, Captain and First being so on the nose about each others sex lifes is the reason Nant went missing, is a really valid point. This group probably met each other on 1st year, so at 18 years old. That's still an age were you can easily sucumb to pressure from your "friends" whom are just giving "friendly advice", while you are trying to "fit in". But it can get you into serious trouble. Porsche, Captain and First are finding out now that their "harmless" behaviour can lead to bad things happening to others only because these others (Nant and Zouy) wanna "fit in" with the group with them.

Feeling all those eyes on you, even if they are "friendly", is a heavy burden.

Now, the whole scene with Jump was highly amusing at the begining, but when it came the time to be Jump and Zouy to be alone, it was painful to watch for the same reason I just talked about but also gives us more insight on Zouy's relationship with sex: he's not ready to get physical yet but he still gets horny like the rest of the lads in this household (everyone is horny 24/7, I love them)

baby boy was so out of his element, come here, let me wrap you in a blankie. is okey.

Now, I must say: Him asking Jump to pose like Rose in Titanic IS FUCKIN HILARIOUS. PEAK ART CLICHÉ. He really said "I want to paint you like one of my french girls" and I almost busted a lung laughing.

I feel like this is some random model drawing, not Nant. But I could be wrong.

Another moment that knocked the air out of my lungs: Porche and Captain walking on Zouy and First. CAN WE PLEASE START LOCKING THE FUCKIN DOORS? DIDN'T WE LEARNED FROM VENUS IN THE SKY?!

This "punishment" is not effective at all but deeply amusing.

Zouy comments again how uncomfortable this makes him and I feel so sorry for him. I know the rest are just trying "to help" but they are not helping at all. Their behaviour got Nant into trouble in the first place and Zouy clearly doesn't wanna end like him as well...

Now, the demon @respectthepetty has teached us well about color and I wanna point out:

Zouy's backack is yellow... and so is Teena's bike

Also, lowkey introducing us to Keen. Captain gets so distracted side-eyeing him that he ends up bumping into Puen. And it adds another problem: the rich kids don't like the scholarship students.

They know what they are doing...

... and I thank them for it *cue chrome arts by onlyoneof*

See, this is when I started loosing my shit:

Sir, we get it, you are hot af, BUT 5FT WAY PLEASE, WE JUST MET.

fuckin hell Kaowoat, you are a beautiful man, lord have mercy on me.

I'm going to end up with a collection of this three and there reactions, am I not?

I'LL CONTINUE ON ANOTHER POST.

#playboyy #playboyy the series #thai bl #thai drama #bl drama

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lesuccube · 6 months

Text

➚ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐊 𝐃 : ᴀᴜ-ᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ꜱᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʙᴏɴɴɪᴇ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — what happens when you take hostage the partner of a person known to be extremely dangerous and extremely violent?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — mild dark trojan [ read at your own risk ! ]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — not beta'd , constructive criticism is welcomed . reblogs and comments are appreciated .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 0.8k

jake can get unhinged sometimes. there's only one thing that sends him flying and it's danger. when it comes to the other boys, he's quick to act and won't hesitate to kill anyone but you? oh their sweet little girlfriend, for you he will take his time, draw out the deaths of anyone who dares do you wrong.

for you, he'll bask in the afterglow of getting his knuckles bloody for you.

there came a time when moon knight was a danger to those around them, to you. just because harrow was dead and ammit was sealed didn't mean his followers stopped. they were still scattered across the globe, some of them people with power and access to a lot of things, weapons and information alike. and what they got their crummy hands on was you. and nothing sets jake off more than you in harm's way.

with a new resolution to save you, jake swears to rip and break off the hands that dared touch even a single hair on your head.

all he sees is red as he kills and kills anyone that gets in the way of him saving you. marc tried to force him into the backseat but his lust to see them bleed and to rescue you was so strong it's marc that's reeling back from the intensity of it all. steven tried talking some sense to him but it all fell under deaf ears. nothing, and i mean nothing, will get between him as his mission: saving you.

he stabs a man on the side of their neck, using their corpse as a shield from the rain of bullets firing at him before picking up a discarded gun on the ground to fire back. all he felt was an all encompassing, soul consuming rage, the need to save you even stronger as he hears your voice much clearly now, you were close and so was your screams.

it gave him all the more reason to put a hole in the heads of every person he comes across in this base somewhere in guatemala. ammit's worshippers were either crazy or stupid for trying to target khonshu's avatar by getting you. maybe both.

don't they realize how they would have suffered an easier death instead had they not taken you hostage? but this was still mercy for the way he was sending them off to the afterlife in a quick and painless way. the one who he'd savor killing would be the person who had orchestrated your kidnapping.

jake painted the walls and floor red. it stained his clothes and split open the skin of his knuckles but it will be all worth it once you're back and safe in his arms. after that, he'll never let anyone else touch you again. (he'll even lock you up if he has to.)

the only thing standing between him and you was this steel door but that wouldn't be the case for long as he pushes the heavy weight open and sees you, strapped to a chair until your wrists and ankles were raw from the squirming you probably did, blood flowed down the side of your head and your lip was bust open.

no words could ever describe the look on his face. it was simply pure and unadulterated anger as he finds himself already over the other side of the room with his hand wrapped around the neck of your assaulter. there's only searing hot fury in his eyes and body as his fingers tightened their hold around his neck.

he didn't kill him, oh no. not yet. he jake will make sure he meets his maker but for now, he needs to tend to you. freeing you from your restraints and into his embrace as he proceeds to kiss you and every injury on your face. there will be hell to pay. jake will make sure of that.

"are you okay, mi vida? did he do anything else to you? i'll kill him. tell me what you want me to do and i'll do it, no matter the cost. te amo mi amor, if there's something he did to you, we'll do to him tenfold okay? we'll kill him, you'll get to end him so he pays for what he did to you and your beautiful face. anything for you, anything."

#👤 — user : kira #💽 — local disk d : au-ctober #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley fanfiction #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley x reader

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darlingshane · 2 years

Text

midnight cup of joe

Joe Teague x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ Warnings: Explicit. Smut. Angst. Fingering. Blow Job. Come Swallowing. 1940s. Mention of era typical dated values about love, sex, and women's decency.

WC: 1,365

Summary: Looking for some comfort, Joe pays you a visit in the middle of the night.

– Read below or at AO3.

A quarter to midnight, fresh out of the shower, you hear a knock at your door as you wrap yourself in a towel. You ignore it. Whoever it is can come back tomorrow. You've had a long shift and the last thing you need is dealing with someone else's problems.

The knock doesn't let up. It annoyingly comes on and off again for a couple of minutes as you dry off.

Then it stops, and you hear your boyfriend's voice, “birdie, it's me. Open up.”

After a moment of consideration, you let go of the towel, slip into your robe, and take a look through the peephole to see that it's indeed your… boyfriend. Let's say he is. He calls himself that at least, but lately he hasn't been doing anything to prove that. Never takes you out anymore, or brings you flowers like he used to. He's nothing but a disappointment that comes and goes whenever he pleases. He refuses to settle and give you anything other than his midnight visits. It's really exhausting having to care and wait for someone who's never going to be anything more than half promises and apologies. He does love you, you're sure, but he has a different definition of love than what you were taught.

“Please?” he mumbles again as if he knew you're right behind the door. You watch him for another second as he takes off his hat and his rough angles soften behind the convex lenses.

Even though you’re drained of dealing with him like this, you can tell he hasn’t had a good day either. So, you draw some air and cautiously open the door to let him. He hangs his hat while you secure the chain in place and then watch him quietly sitting on the couch.

“Bad day?” You ask.

“Bad month,” he sighs, morose, “I went by the diner to pick you up, and it’s closed already. I thought…” he trails off and rubs his fingers on his eyes, showing his banged up knuckles.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Just a case.”

Arms crossed, you shrug indifferently, pacing the length of the living room. Same old, same old. Every time there’s a hurdle in his way, he ends up here, looking for comfort. It’s not like you’re any better. You’re a sucker for it. It makes you feel special being needed by him, no matter how much you hate yourself afterwards.

“You want some coffee?”

“No, it’s okay,” he extends his hand in your direction, “come sit down with me, birdie.”

Swallowing, you step closer and take his hand. He pulls you down carefully onto his lap, sideways. He engulfs you in his arms, holding to your body for dear life, burying his nose in your neck to inhale your scent for a long moment. You slide your palm at the back of his head, rake your fingers softly in the short hair at his nape.

“What am I gonna do with you, Joe?” you express with irremediable affliction for this dreamboat of a man who gives you nothing but an aching heart, and casual sex.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’m all yours.”

“I can’t kick you out, can I?”

“You’ve already tried that.” He scoffs like a bastard against your neck, his stubble scratching your skin as he presses sweet kisses at the curve with such intensity it hurts your soul, “I miss you so much, birdie.”

“You're drunk,” you huff.

“Just a little.”

You get a hold of his head with both hands and pull it off your neck to smell his whiskey-soaked breath.

“Just a little?” your brow curves up, giving him a questioning look.

“I swear it was just one drink.”

“One hell of a drink.”

“I had a long day, sweetheart.”

“I had a long day too, Joe. You could've called. We could've unwound together.”

“I'm here now, am I?” he licks his lips and squeezes at the curve of your hip with one hand, as the other slips beneath the opening of your robe along your bust line to palm your breast. His touch is delicate despite the urgency and need of his starved hand. His thumb draws circles around your nipple, easily perking up. You curl one arm around his neck and swallow as his lips brush the top of your breasts. Unable to resist his caress, you close your eyes and sigh, letting him play with you however he pleases. He tugs at the fabric, opening it wider to expose your chest, as his lips slide to the opposite side. This time, he sucks the hard peek into his mouth, having his ample palm cupping the underside.

His deep hum penetrates your skin, making your core ache for some attention. You mumble his name, and suddenly his hand moves from your chest to undo the delicate laces keeping your robe tied at your waist. He releases your nipple and glances down as the fabric falls from your skin, exposing the rest of your bare body.

“You're more beautiful with every passing day, birdie,” he exhales with longing, as his fingers glide up your thigh, “I don't deserve you.”

You shake your head, hold his jaw again, and tentatively lean your face closer to capture his alluring lips. As you kiss him, you notice his bulge growing on the side of your thigh as his hand reaches the crux between your legs. He parts them wider and tenderly massages your vulva, stirring your arousal.

Blindly fumbling, you undo his tie and open the buttons of his shirt. Your palms meet his undershirt as one of his fingers becomes more playful, focusing on your swollen nub.

Moaning at his name, your legs tremble at the steady, relentless rub against those sensitive nerves. You break the kiss but stay painfully close to his lips, sharing the same air as him. You shut your eyes and hold on to his neck as his fingers slip between your folds into your opening. He uses two of them to collect your arousal and drive you into madness. Sometimes you don’t recognize the sounds that come out of your mouth when he touches you like that. He’s the only one who’s ever cared for your body in this lewd manner that you didn’t know existed. Touching the right buttons, and slipping in and out repeatedly, he soon has your toes curling, head spinning, and your core melting until you're utterly soaked to your thighs.

You take a moment to compose yourself before returning the favor. You’re going to hell already, so you kiss him again and slither between his legs to kneel on the floor and take him in your mouth. There’s a wet stain of your essence on the leg of his pants when you open his belt and zipper, he gazes at it, and playfully smiles at you and swipes his thumb across your lips as you palm his length. He said it earlier, he doesn’t deserve you, alright. You probably don’t deserve him, either, because no honest woman would dare to do what you’re about to endeavor; and perhaps that’s the reason he won’t marry you. You're already spoiled.

Holding the underside of his hardness, you bring your mouth closer, plant a kiss above your thumb, and drag your lips up to the flared tip of his erection. Keeping your eyes down, you stick out your tongue and wet his delicate skin all around a few times before wrapping your lips around him. He lets his head fall back against the couch as his dick jerks on its own in your fist with every little touch you grant him until he’s firmly secured in your mouth. His fingers tangle your hair as your head bobs, having your mouth sucking him with such passion, earning you delightful grunts in between faltered breaths and purrs he lets out at your name. It makes you shamefully wet again as you swallow him whole and have his seed spilled at the back of your throat. It’s an acquired taste you’ve grown used to, like coffee. You were never partial to it until recently. Much like Joe, you can’t live with either now.

#joe teague x reader #joe teague #mob city #jon bernthal #jon bernthal smut #fanfiction #darlingwrites

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lyn-js · 2 months

Text

One Step at a Time | Prologue

Calvin Evans x OC Reader

Summary: Everything in Ava Mason's life was what you call normal. She has a steady job as a lab tech at Hastings, has a beautiful bungalow in Sugar Hill, and sometimes babysits her friend Harriet's kids. But that all changes when social services show up at her doorstep with, her 2-year-old niece Delilah. Ever since then, it has been keeping you from your job, going to work late, and leaving when everyone else has gone home. But a certain chemist wants to know why a lab tech is staying late.

Warning: Angst, swearing, mentions of drug & alcohol abuse, dysfunctional family, mentions of adoptions & being put into foster care, and a whole lotta fluff.

(This story is kind of based on what actually happened in Lessons in Chemistry. But no dying. We need to keep one of Lewis's characters alive.)

I also do not own any characters in Lessons in Chemistry except for my character Ava Mason.

Walking up to the sounds of little feet padding into your room, you couldn’t ever want to trade that sound in for the world. Fluttering your eyes open, you can see the little girl waddling her way to your bead, for how far her feet can take her. You can also see her hair sprawled out in different directions, and a dopy smile on her face, happy to see you. You focus your attention on your niece your big golden doodle Poppy to come to trodding next to Delilah to help her stand.

“Mornin’ Aunty Ava,” she says with a cheeky grin on her face, while also trying to hide it from you. “Good morning Bunny,” you say to her. Then, the next second you lift her onto the bed, smothering her face in little kisses while she erupts into a fit of giggle. You had to stop your kisses when Poppy jumped onto the bed and sandwiches between you and Delilah. “Poppy missin’ the kisses too Aunty,” she says while still giggling. After the laughter died down, you over at the clock that was on your nightstand. Having to move some homemade drawings that Delilah made you the other day. You read that it’s 9:30. You’re Late.

Oh Shit.

You pick up Delilah and rush out of the bed, try and get her and yourself dressed, teeth brushed, and out the door. You are getting her buckled in the car and on your way to Harriet's house. When you both arrive, you see a man across the street stretching, maybe he was getting ready for a run. But after he’s done stretching you both stare at one another. It felt like you both were stuck in time like the whole world stopped spinning, and the attention was just on you and him. “Hey Ava!” you snap out of your daze and hear Harriet walking down her porch to greet you and Delilah. You wanted to see if the mysterious tall man was still there, but when you turned back around. He was gone. “Hey… Har’. I was wondering if it’s no trouble if you can watch Del again tonight. The amino’s lab is busting my butt. I need to get some more work finished-” “Hey, It’s okay. I’m happy to watch the little bun again. Plus, we're gonna have so much fun, whaddya think Del?” Hariient asks. Delilah just jumps up and down, “YAY! Hab so much fun Aunty!” you both laugh at her squealing excitement. You kneel down to Delilah’s height and kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you later Bunny. Be good for Harriet okay?” “Otay, Bye, Bye Aunty Ava!” She says waving while being carried up the porch. You give her one more wave until she and Harriet disappear into the house. You let out an exhale, start up your car again, and put it in drive.

Off to Hastings, it is.

Most of your day was spent in the lab cleaning up beakers that were once of a failed experiment, secretly correcting the mistakes some newbies made while writing their problems, and making them coffee. They can go down to the cafeteria and grab a cup, but all of the chemists butter you up with compliments “They don’t make it as you do,” or “At least you know how to make a good cup of joe than the other ladies on the staff.” You wanted to feel insulted, you wanted to speak up and say something. But you knew they would run off to Donatti and there was a high chance, you could get fired. So just keep your head down, mouth shut and be the disty lab tech. Who apparently makes good coffee?

When walking back from lunch you were walking past the secretaries room. Suddenly you hear your name being called. “Miss. Mason…Ava?” you turn around and see the head of the secretaries department, Fran Frask. “Good morning Miss. Frask,” you say to her with a tight-lipped smile and continue walking down to the lab. You knew she was going to bug you again about the pageant. But time and time again you tell her you can’t participate because you have plans that night, meaning you are having a movie night with your niece. That was the only night you could get off on time, and have some time with Deliaha.

“I hope you can still sign up for the Little Miss Hastings pageant, you know your lab is in between secretaries and you fella could use a boost for the event.” She asks “I’m sorry, but I'm not a secretary,” I say to her being a little offended because she knew for a fact that I was a lab tech. A very good one to be at that. “Well… Ya know lab techs can participate too, it’s any female support staff.” “Thank you, Fran but pageants aren’t my idea of fun,” I say to her while grabbing lab coats and passing them out on each table. “Well, what do you consider fun Ava?” she says with a little enthusiasm in her voice. “I-I like to cook and bake.” “Well ya know, let me know if you change your mind.” “I won't but thank you. Now if you don’t mind I have a lot to clean up before the chemists arrive.” You give her a small wave and a smile so she can hopefully get the hint to leave.

She gives me another little cheeky grin and points her red-colored nails at me. “I’ll put you down as a maybe.” then walking away. Why can’t your life get any easier?

Walking around the lab once again you hear men wanting more coffee, and helping out some others who need help with their equations for the expedients. When coming around to the station where you set up your coffee, you see someone who was a part of the lab walk in with a magazine, and on the front was a man holding up test tubes and seeing what was inside. He looks so familiar, but I don’t know where I have seen him before. You think to yourself, but you snap out of your thoughts and finish making the coffee. But you keep getting distracted when all of the men keep talking about the infamous Calvin Evans. “What does he have that we don’t,” one of them said out loud. Also saying he was up for a Nobel prize, “Doesn’t give him the right to take all of our supplies. I mean how much ribose does one guy need?”

Maybe this could work, maybe if you can get back some of that ribose you can finally be seen by the lab. Not seen as some female ditsy lab tech. You can finally matter in the world.

It was now after hours and you were over at the sink cleaning up some test tubes and beakers when you heard your name being called out. It was the head of the Aminos lab, Dr. Price. Just telling me to not stay later because he would get in trouble with Donatti. You just nod your head and oblige to his rules, but not listening. After everyone leaves you sneak your way out of the lab to avoid being seen by the janitorial staff and make your way over to Mr. Evans's lab.

When you reach his lab you see on his door there are cardboard signs saying “Keep out” and “Do Not Linger” but I know for a fact that I’m not keeping out, and I’m lingering. So screw your signs. You go back to sneaking in, so you take one of your bobby pins from your hair and unlock the door. Once open you can get a full view of what the infamous chemist does in here. You see records scattered all over the tables, so many loose-leaf pieces of paper with different equations and answers on them. And his lab coat hanging over a lounge chair in the corner. But you start to look around for the back room so you can find what you're looking for.

You pick another lock to the other door, you scan the shelves to find the little tiny bottles. When you finally come across the ribose, the shelves were covered from front to back with so many bottles. How many bottles does this guy need? You think to yourself. You grab a couple of bottles, lock up the doors, and seak your way back over to your lab, finish up your work, and finally head home to see your baby bunny and finally get some sleep. But what you didn’t know was when you were “sneaking” back to the lab, the best of the best secretaries Fran Frask watched you go back into the lab while she was locking up her room for the night.

Once again you wake up late, and trying fast as possible to get ready. You arrived super late around 9:00 but of course, there was traffic, and show up at almost 11. You rush up to the lab so you can get started on handing out the rest of the equipment. But you were stopped by Fran again to tell you Donatti needed you in his office. He sums up the meeting by saying that you weren’t supposed to be staying late, and if it happened again you would be let go from Amino’s lab and Hasingscompletely. Not only that but he was forcing you to compete in the pageant. You try your best to argue why you can’t participate, but of course, he threatens to fire you. That sets you back a little bit more when Fran confers you to take a picture and be put it on the bulletin board for the pageant. Can this day get any worse than it already is?

You finally make it up to the lab. But, you stop suddenly when you see a man sitting on the table holding a miniature bottle of what you assumed was ribose.

Oh No.

“Ah, there she is. The thief,” the man says in a mocking tone. I just looked at him like I didn’t know anything. “I beg your pardon?” you ask back. He hops down from the table and starts pacing back and forth. It looked like his head was about to explode. “I have been through every department, and interrogated multiple chemists. Including ones from this very lab,” he twirls his pointer finger around and then points to me. “Who say that you, Miss. Mason have a history of ruffling feathers. And also have an arrogant attitude of self-importance.” “Have you heard yourself speak Mr. Evans?” I say with raised eyebrows. “Oh, s-so you don’t deny it? I-I mean what would a secretary have anything to do with ribose, aside from selling it on the black market.”

I just look at him dumbfounded, almost looking like this crazy man has 3 heads. “I am a chemist Mr. Evans, not a secretary!” I said back to him but he was almost out the front door. “Oh, and a fibber, now aren’t we?” I drop my jaw when he walks out the door. “Oh, yes. Because there is such a high demand on the black market for monosaccharide!” “This is very disappointing! Very–- I’m disappointed Miss. Mason.” he turned the corner, and then he disappeared.

(Calvins’s POV)

You were pacing back and forth in front of Fran Frask’s desk, deciding what I should do about this unbelievable situation.

“One: My lab was unlocked last night, so I want someone to speak to janitorial and have new locks placed on the door.” I see Fran write down on her paper and nodding her head. “Two: I have calculated the cost of the missing ribose, and I want to make it clear, that will not be coming out of my budget. Three: I want the floors sterilized. At least one person entered without my authorization. And with my allergies, I cannot risk any contaminants. You understand?” You look back at her to make sure she has every little detail down to a tea. She just nods “ Yes. I’ll take care of it, Dr. Evans.” Writing the rest down.

“And lastly, I would like the secretary held accountable.” You look up to see Fran have a little smile on her lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll have her fired.”

I furrow my eyebrows a little bit, “Well… just a formal reprimand will suffice.” I see her giving the same look back at me. “I’m shocked that it was on my face. “Dr. Evans I’m shocked that it was one of my secretaries, honestly. Um, you said it was in the Aminos lab? Because that’s Mary Ann Rogers.” She tells me the woman’s name. It’s not her. “No, no, no. Her name is Ava Mason.” She looks back up at me. “Oh, she not a secretary. She’s a lab tech. Puls she should know better, she has her masters.” she looks back down scrambling around, looking for some important papers. “Her masters? In what?” “Chemistry.” Now I look a little dumbfounded at what Fran just told me. Then she asks about the “Little Miss Hastings” pageant, asking if I will be attending. I just simply ignored her and just walk out the door back up to my lab. But, I stop in my tracks to look at the bulletin board to see the contestant for the pageant. As I look in the lower corner I see the picture of the one and only Ava Mason. For some reason, she looks so frightened. Not wanting her picture to be taken, but giving a half-smile just trying to look nice.

You just simply walk away from the board and continue your journey back to your lab. Why would she want to steal some stupid ribose, and why would she be staying late? You need to get to the bottom of this, and fast.

To all of you reading this, I hope you enjoy this story. I've said this many times with other stories, but I do have big plans for these 2 characters. So, stay tuned for what's about to happen.

Reblogs are always welcome. Unless you're under 18. I will block you. and comment if you want to be added to the taglist. If I forgot anybody message me and let me know. You will be added.

Also, If I forgot anyone on the taglist message me. I will add you.

Taglist: @petersunderoos96 @mrspedropascal5683 @callsign-magnolia

dividers are by @saradika

#lewis pullman #calvin evans #lessons in chemistry #masterlist #calvin evans x reader #lessons in chemistry masterlist

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