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grippingbeskar · 1 year

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small favours

— joel miller x fem!reader

— warnings: explicit content minors dni, smutttt, dirty talk, very minimal plot sorry not sorry, swearing, needles, mention of injuries/cuts

— a/n: happy tlou release week!! this is set in jackson between the first and second game, i wrote the first part before i saw the show but just imagine with me okay. and it’s literally just bc i saw joel in that denim shirt and went yeah… i wanna fuck him in that. lmao. also dedicated to @everybirdfellsilent because we have been waiting for this show for so long and it’s finally here and oaoxosoxosox. wow.

You hadn’t asked for much.

It was a simple fix, you were sure of it. Yes, you don’t know anything about how to fix hinges, nor do you have any clue about how you broke it in the first place. Either way, it’s just a few screws and a metal piece, so was it really that hard to find five minutes to fix it?

Leading another one of the horses into the stable, you pointedly step over the gate that now lays on the floor, too heavy for you to move it. The horse tramples it, of course, which is why you had asked for someone to come and fix it before the horses were brought back in from patrol. Clearly, no one gave a shit about your question, but you know they’d all be the first to complain if it was their horse that got out through a broken gate.

It was late now, anyways. Too late for you to get anyone out, and even with the safety of Jackson’s walls keeping you blocked off from the outside world, being out at night still freaked you. When you finally got the horse in your hand settled and fed, you promptly sat yourself on the floor of the stable. Without the front gate, it wasn’t safe to leave the horses alone. With your luck, they’d get spooked and run all the way through town, and the last thing you needed was more reason for the people in here to look at you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t liked— you just kept to yourself. This life was hard enough as it is, and you didn’t see the point in making friends when in five years this place would probably be full of strangers. People die every day out here, you knew that too well. You wanted to save yourself the heartache wherever you could.

All that anti social behaviour certainly didn’t win you any favours though— hence the still broken door. You loved it— you were good with horses, having lived in a farm before the outbreak, so you decided to volunteer to help in the stables, but it was hard work sometimes. It kept you busy enough, though, and horses never wanted to make conversation, so… win-win.

There was only one problem with working in here. Truthfully, it wasn’t so much as a problem and more of a chronic condition. At least, that’s the way it felt every time Joel Miller made some kind of appearance. Most people just left the horses tied up out front for you to take care of, but Joel seemed to enjoy the peace the stable provided— that and you never talked much, which seemed to work for him. On the days he’d come back from patrol, the two of you would share a few hushed conversations as you worked and he hid from the rest of Jackson, and then you’d fall into a comfortable silence, sometimes for hours at a time.

Weeks had passed like this, and every single day you got a little bit more interested in who the man really was, other than his clear infatuation with his horse. Right when he came in would be the time you talked the most, after about forty minutes it would get too busy and you’d work until the sun set. But those forty minutes started to stretch a little longer, and he seemed to gain interest in you, too. Maybe you were grasping at straws, but hearing Joel’s low voice rumble a few more words every time he spoke to you was doing wonders for your self esteem, and even you couldn’t deny the way your face warmed when he smiled at you.

“Hey, you still— damn. What happened here?” Joel calls from the gaping hole that is the stable door, and only because it’s his voice calling you do you look up.

“It’s been broken all day. I asked someone to fix it, but…” You shrug, sighing and leaning your head back on the small gate that was the only thing holding the horse behind you from leaping out down the main street. “I guess they had other shit to do. I can’t move it on my own.”

Joel considers you for a second, how your frame is backed against the gate, conveniently placed at the closest point to the open door. Then, he looks back to the door on the ground, and back up to you. He smirks.

“So you were plannin’ on sitting in here all night?” The weight of the day makes your shoulders slump forward, and for the first time you really consider your plan. “You gonna body check a horse when he makes a run for it?”

“Okay, it was a dumb plan. But, it’s that or let them all out and get stuck cleaning up the bar floor or something.” He smiles again, the setting sun behind him washing over his shoulders in a pretty orange colour. A tilt of his head in your direction has you standing up, taking the lead of his horse that he offers to you.

“You take him, I’ll go get my tools. Fix it up before sun down.” Before you can protest or tell him he doesn’t have to, he’s walking off to the right up the hill where his house sits.

You’d always been a bit jealous of the spot his house is. It’s far away enough from everyone that you get some real privacy, but close to the stables if you need a quick exit. He had a porch, too. One you spent a little too much of your time staring at during your work hours, when he spent his off days strumming a guitar right in your line of sight. He was just… peaceful to observe. He brought a calm to you that no one else seemed to be able to do, almost enough that you could forget about the world outside and just exist in that little bubble for a while.

You lead Joel’s horse inside, hearing it trample the door again, and hang up his saddle next to the stable. Joels horse is much like him— quiet unless provoked. You found it out the hard way when you first led it in with a routinely aggressive horse, thinking it’s demeanour would calm him down. The next morning you woke up to two very angry horses and a half bent gate of steel.

“Saved you your favourite spot.” You say to his horse, Old Beardy. You never asked how Joel picked the name, but for some reason it worked so well— at least, he was definitely older than most. “See? He’s right up there.”

The stable at the back was angled just right so that the small window at the height of a horses head pointed directly towards Joel’s porch. Not close enough to see anything other than the outside, but enough that you know it’s there. You don’t come in here often, Joel always taking his own horse in, but when you do you can’t help but notice the instant calming effect it has on Beardy— you might have more in common with this horse than half the people in Jackson.

When you find your way back to the front, Joel’s footsteps are trudging back down the hill. You’ll be fairly useless as anything other than company while he fixes the door, but you can’t seem to stop your heart from racing a million miles a minute as he gets closer and closer. Yes, he makes you forget about everything on the outside, but that’s mainly due to how insane he drives you. All those conversations in the stables and too long looks in town are just all too consuming, and now, when you see him come into sight, you have to put some physical difference between him and you.

“You don’t have to, Joel. Really, I’m sure someone’ll—“

“No, they won’t. Knowin’ the people around here, you’ll be sleepin’ on the floor till next year.” He bends down, and you drop yourself back to the floor and stare in some kind of mesmerised silence as he runs his hands over the broken hinges of the door.

In a few passing thoughts you’d never admit to yourself, you have an obsession with his hands. He was just so…capable. He could do so many things so easily— and some kind of backward wire in your brain fizzled with electricity at the sight of him in his element. He starts fiddling with tools, first starting to remove the broken hinge, muscles flexing as he tears off the old bolts.

“What happened?” He says, the words muffled by the screwdriver in his mouth.

“I have no clue. When I woke up this morning it was blown in. I spent a good hour trying to move it but it’s so—“ With one arm, he pulls it up to stand vertical, a fist wrapping around the edge of the gate. It doesn’t even look like he tried. “—heavy.”

“Come ‘ere and hold it straight.” He says, keeping one arm out in front of him, the other still holding the door up. “I won’t let it fall. Come on.”

“Like this?” You say, staring down at him as you finally reach the door and take a little bit of the weight. He flicks his eyes up, nodding and shifting on his knees to get a better angle on the door.

“Perfect.” He says softly, looking up at you for another split second before clearing his throat and screwing on a new hinge.

“You really didn’t have to do this, but thank-you.” Joel shakes his head, his fingers fiddling with a latch.

“Least I can do. Everyone should be up here helpin’ you anyways.” He stands up, and with only a barrier the width of a gated door, you can feel his body heat keeping you warm when he towers over you. “Keep holding it still.”

“Yeah.” You manage, eyes fluttering closed. “People help, though.”

“Oh, I bet.” He says, sarcasm dripping off his words as he laughs dryly.

“They do! Sometimes… I mean, it’s not their fault. I’m kind of a hermit up here. I don’t really make an effort, so I can’t blame them.” He stops working, his knuckles white over the railing of the gate, and looks to you.

“You’ve trained all these new horses to track better than those guys ever could. They’d die out there without ‘em. Carl doesn’t know his left from right— he got lost eight times last patrol. It’s cause of your horses he got back safe.” Joel’s face is more serious, his eyes sharp but still with a hint of softness that he often looks at you with. “Doesn’t matter if you ain’t makin’ friends. This ain’t middle school, and people should be helpin’ you no matter what. Least of all fixing a door.”

“That’s why I keep you around, Joel.” You smile lightly, his voice getting lower the angrier he gets.

“Good. You tell me next time, and I’ll come round and help. Avoid the whole town all together.” You hum, letting go of the gate as he hauls it up in the air and shuffled backward, setting it against the hinges. “How do you know so much about horses?”

“I lived on a farm, way back when. Besides, they’re easy to navigate once you get to know them.” Joel puts the screwdriver back in his mouth, and you can’t help but stare at him. The small scars on his face, peppered around his cheeks. Some are older, worn and faded, while the one across his nose is new. It’s not even scarred yet, still fresh

“You okay?” He says softly, tilting his head.

“Your face.” His eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head. “Sorry. You… did something happen on patrol? You have a cut—“

“Just a few clickers. Real old, hauled up in a caravan out west. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” The door drops into place, and he swings it out towards him. It sounds less squeaky than it usually did. “Good as new.”

“You should clean it.” You say, worry edging in your voice. “If it was clickers.”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs it off.

“Come on. It’s the least I can do. I have a first aid kit in the back, and then we can call it even.” He relents, locking the door behind him and stepping further into the stables. “Sit. I’ll get the kit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You can hear a small smirk on his voice, and you roll your eyes, turning around to find the kit. “Why you got a first aid kit in here anyways?”

“You’re using it now, aren’t you?” You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how many people come here before going to medical. I started to stock up a little, do what I can. It’s not much, but I can clean it off and do some botched stitches until they see a real doctor.”

“And none of those guys came up to fix the god damn door?” He was getting angry again, and you tried to ignore the shiver that went up your spine when he spoke like that.

He was sitting on a small stool, putting him about waist height. When you stepped closer, shuffling your feet on the floor, he tilted his head up. His open legs invited you closer, nearly drawing you in with a magnetic field he was completely unaware of.

Armed with a cotton ball and disinfectant, your fingers were light enough to breeze along his jaw to hold him in place. He stares up at you, watching your eyes as they flit between the cut on his nose and his wandering gaze. His face is warm when you work up the courage to place your palm on his cheek, thumb gently smoothing over the salt and pepper flecks of his beard. He doesn’t flinch away when you press the cotton ball to his face, swiping across the bridge of his nose.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, feeling the need to keep your voice low.

“No.” He does the same, the heat of his body making you shuffle slightly closer. His hands are in fists on his knees, like he’s straining to keep himself still. “Told you it was fine.”

“And I told you I wanted to help.” When you’re satisfied with the results, you take a fresh cotton pad and dry it up. “You might need stitches. It’s deep.”

“Go on.” He says, and you lean back, eyes wide.

“You want me to stitch your face together?”

“Good practise, and I trust you.” The simple words have your heart slamming against your rib cage, but instead of showing it you kneel in between his legs and search the contents of the kit for a needle.

“If I mess up your face, you knew what you signed up for.” When you find what you’re looking for, you straighten, Joel’s face is right in front of you. It takes you a second to realise just how close he is, and the position isn’t lost on him either. It’s probably the most emotive you’ve seen him, his jaw going tight from how hard he’s biting down.

“It’s already messed up. You’re fine.” He manages, his voice strained.

“Hold still.” Whispering the words, you lean closer and bring the needle to his skin. His eyes close, and it’s when you press the point into his nose that his hands shoot out in front of him, holding your hips gently.

“Sorry. Shit—“

“It’s fine. Are you okay?” He grunts in a way you think is affirming, so you keep threading the needle. You only need one stitch for a spot this small. “Your face isn’t messed up.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not. Messed up.” You feel his thumbs stroke along the bone of your hip just once before he stills again. You tie off the stitch, and his eyes open. “There. You’re pretty again.”

Your breathing was rapid even though you didn’t have a true reason for it, but neither of you moved. His hands— strong and so fucking capable, holding you still on your knees in front of him. His eyes were pools, inviting you in with a gleam of something shiny, and where you were nearly gasping he was calm and collected. In his element, like he was right where he should be.

The whole stable was a dull orange now, the colours dusting through the strands of Joel’s hair. It’s never really sitting right, wind whipping it out of control on patrol, but you have the urge to run your hands through it anyway. You let yourself explore one small piece of him, like he has to you, and your fingertips run back over the shell of his ear, tangling in his hair. He sucks in a short breath, leaning into the hold of your hand.

“Joel.” You say, voice so soft he would of never heard you if you weren’t so close, but you call for him and he leans closer. Your foreheads nearly touch, and his hands tighten their hold on you.

“Thank you, darlin’.” You sigh deeply, unable to keep yourself upright at the nickname. It rings through you, his accent strong and adding an entire other layer to why he’s so easy to fall into. You don’t even really notice how dark it’s gotten— you usually have sprinted home by now. But Joel’s here, and with him this close, you can’t think of anything else. He leans closer, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can I kiss you?” He says, the brush of his lips against yours sending a tidal wave of need from your head to your feet.

“Only if you hurry up.” You answer helplessly, voice cracking, and he smiles against you and finally brings his mouth to yours.

It’s anything but calm. That peaceful energy of the stables is completely shattered and sorted into something electrical and sizzling. He yanks you forward, bodies pressing together as you use the leverage of your hand fisted in his hair to kiss him harder and deeper. It doesn’t take long before his tongue is swiping along your bottom lip, seeking permission.

You let him in— you’d let him do whatever he asked for if he kept pouring himself into you like this. He tasted good, which should be impossible but when you’ve been starved of something for this long it doesn’t matter what he does it’s just that he’s giving it to you. He moves his hands to the small of your back, pressing your hips right in the middle of his open legs, his other hand on the back of your head.

You feel him groan when you press together, the sound waking up parts of you that had been dormant for far too long. It was like he had access to each nerve in your body, and every little sound or touch had them blaring red and sparking.

“Fuck, darlin’. Come closer.” He groans into your mouth before kissing you again. You smile for a moment, not entirely sure how you could get any closer, and then it’s wiped off when he hauls you upward, hooking your legs around his waist on the stool. “Yeah. Right here.”

Your arms cling around his neck, his own searching up and down your body. Your shirt rides up with the movements and you moan every time he grazed along your skin. There’s something equally hard and soft about his hands— rough from years of work but soft with the way they hold you up, how they’re careful not to dip too low or high. You arch your back, giving him wordless permission, and he groans into your mouth again.

At some point you have to breath— both of you gasping for air in the quiet of the darkened stables. He brings his hands to your face, holding you against his forehead so he can look into your eyes. He was smiling too— like actually smiling, not that half smirk you’ve seen so often.

“What are we doin’?” He laughs, kissing you again.

“I don’t know, but can we keep going somewhere that doesn’t smell like horse shit?” You whisper and he laughs again. It’s sounds so good— like the sound of the beginning of your favourite song. It makes your heart sing, melting you into the tune. “Please, Joel. I really want…”

“Tell me, baby.” He moves, angles your head with swift moves of his fingers so he can kiss you lower. Under your jaw, and then he drags his mouth down, along your neck, teeth nipping softly… “Fuck knows I wanna hear you say it.”

“You. I really want you.” He hums against your skin, one arm hooking under your ass as he stands easily. You squeal, muffling the sound in the mop of hair on his head. As you walk outside, there’s only a few people still mulling around, and they turn their heads towards you when they hear your soft laughter mixed with Joel’s— two sounds that seem to alarm them more than clickers.

For the first time since you’d been here, you really don’t care if people are looking at you, or what they’re saying. When Joel locks the gate behind you and slides you down his chest to let your feet touch the floor, you are reminded once again of his ability to remove every single thought from your mind except him. Just him, and his hands on your hips, spinning you around and leading you up the hill towards his house. How every so often he’ll bend down, pressing his lips lightly to the back of your neck, and how you can feel his smile on your skin.

He guides you easily, your body on auto pilot to his small gestures, and when you finally rush up the few steps of his porch— one you’ve spent way too much time staring at from afar, you’re both attached to each others face like horny teenagers. He fumbles with the doors lock, jamming keys with aggressive force while his other hand stays soft and sweet on your waist, holding you against him. When the door gives out behind you he never lets you stumble, taking you in his stride with practised precision. You’ve seen the inside of his house, but never the layout, so as he guides you blindly through the hallway, your shut eyes and occupied mouth never see it coming when you fall backwards onto a bed.

“Let me take this off.” He mumbles against your lips, tugging at your shirt and jacket. In a tangle of limbs you both shove at the material, finally hooking it over your head. He presses you flat against the mattress again, hanging over you and running his hands up and down your sides in long, soothing strokes. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Your turn.” The blaze in his eyes dulls slightly at your comment, and he just bends to kiss you again. He links your hands in his own, pulling you away from where they were tugging at his shirt. “Joel.”

“Nothin’ there you wanna see, baby. Just let me look at you.” As sweet as his voice sounds, and as much as you want him to continue, you pull away from his greedy mouth.

“Please take your fucking shirt off.” You say harshly, biting at his bottom lip hard enough for his eyes to open again. He looks over you, taking in the sight of you under him with your arms pinned above your head, back arched towards him. He’s clearly contemplating how difficult it would be to ignore you, smirking a little when he looks up at your hands again.

“Or what? You gonna make me stop?” He kisses under your jaw, his free hand skating along your side, only stopping when his fingers reach the hem of your jeans. When he hears you gasp as his hand disappears under the fabric, he laughs. “Nah, you won’t make me stop. Want it just as bad as I do, don’t you?”

“But I want—“

“Shh, shh. I’ll give you what you want.” His mouth his dizzying— words and movements hot against your skin as his hand bypasses your underwear and drags slow circles against your clit, immediately drawing his name from your lips again. “There you go, darlin’. Feels good?”

“God— yeah, faster. Please.” Your chest was rising and falling so fast, trying to pull the air he was punching out of your lungs with every quick movement of his fingers. He hums at the praise, and you feel him shift above you, sitting up so he could slip one finger inside of you. “Fuck, Joel!”

“I know, baby.” He tilts his head up to kiss you again, tongue matching the fast and unpredictable pace of his hand. You can feel it building— pleasure rippling up your spine and fizzing low in your stomach, and your hands tug under Joel’s unrelenting grip.

He seems to forget he was meant to be holding you, his groans and concentration all focused on the way he was fucking you with his hand, so he lets you go, his hand going to hold your face. It makes you smile under him, but it quickly gets lost when you moan his name again, rolling your hips against him.

Now your hands are free, you have a moment of clarity when your eyes flutter open and see him staring at you; eyes flitting between your face and your chest. You want to have that— to see skin you’ve only thought about in the late hours of the night when you were alone, never admitting it to yourself when you woke the next day. You grab onto the hem of his shirt, ripping the denim up as far as you can, getting your hands on the bare skin of his back.

He doesn’t help you— too obsessed with the way you are writhing and moaning so loud the poeple down the street will know what your doing. Neither of you care about anything else than this, right here, and the fiery hot spark that’s lighting you up inside.

“Shirt, Joel.” You tug at the collar, then card your fingers through his hair and pull. He grumbles something, and then you whimper when his hand leaves you and he sits up on his knees. He was out of breath, towering over you and keeping you caged underneath him as he tore the shirt over his head and threw it behind him. When he leans back down, he doesn’t give you the time to admire him that you’d like, but you take what he gives you. He shoves your own jeans down, shaking them off you in one tug, and your eyes hardly have time to open before you feel the backs of your calves press against the flexing muscles of his bare shoulders.

“Perfect.” He says, speech almost slurred, and the look he gives you reminds you of the one he gave you in the barn. Before you can think enough on it, both of his hands hold your hips down and he gives you one last look before he buried his face in your pussy.

It doesn’t take much to have you screaming his name again, that sweet hot pleasure that was building so quickly comes rushing back with the wet heat of his mouth. He eats you out like he’s fucking hungry for it— pulling borderline shouts from deep in your chest, like something is bashing against your ribcage, only awoken by his complete and utter devotion. His tongue swirls and fingers curl, and you lose sense of direction, clawing at his hair and feeling his groan when you pull him into you.

There’s no where to go, stuck under his weight as he dives into your taste, at his mercy entirely. It was so different to see him undone— a sight you wouldn’t be able to forget next time he came into the stables all soft eyes and short words. No, here he was holding your eye contact, groaning your name as if you were the one doing this to him. He gave you no choice but to hurtle towards the edge of consciousness, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold out under him much longer.

“Joel. Joel— fuck.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently while his fingers curl inside you in a spot that has you seeing stars. “Oh, god—“

He doesn’t say anything when you cum, just groans into your pussy as he guides you through it. He sets pace and intensity, both of which are hard and almost unbearable, and he only drags himself away when you beg him to. Your legs shake, his hands smoothing over your thighs as his mouth presses wet kisses up your skin, over your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth with an overwhelming force.

You hum, tasting the combination of you and him together on his tongue, taking everything he needs to give you. He shuffles up, and you feel his cock pressing hard against your thigh, still straining in his jeans. You let him kiss you lazily, let him explore you this way while your hands busy themselves between your bodies, unzipping his jeans. When your palm brushes over his length still covered by his boxers, he hisses and his eyebrows furrow, like the pleasure is almost painful. You do it again and he shudders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so soft.” He murmurs past your ear when you slip your hand under the waistband. When your fingers wrap around him, you stay true to his word and stay light with your touch, not wanting him to finish just yet. You want to make it good for him— draw it out. Pay him back for everything he gave to you; not just tonight, but every night. “So fucking soft. Sweet.”

“You like that?” You ask innocently, stroking him again. Your thumb brushes over his tip and he shudders again, nearly shivering. “I can be gentle. Want you inside me, though.”

“Whatever you want. Fuck— anything you want to do to me. Please, baby. Not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” A single please was enough to grant him a thousand wishes, but you’ll settle for giving him just one.

He helps rid himself of the rest of his clothes, no insecurity in sight with the lower half of his body. There was no need to be… he was big. It made sense— he was a big guy, but it wasn’t just that. He was just… perfect.

“Eyes on me.” He says, pulling your gaze away from where your bodies are about to meet. “I want to see your face when I…”

He trails off when his tip lines up with your entrance. You bite your lip in anticipation, feeling the soaked pleasure coating him as he finally slides himself further and further. You both sigh, like a weight is being lifted from both of you. As if this was the way you were both meant to be.

He bottoms out, head buried in the crook of your neck as he chokes out your name. You feel full— the weight and stretch holding you to the bed, your arms strung lazily around his neck. Your fingers wander down his spine, keeping that soft lilt to your touch that he seems to thrive under. For all his hardness and strength, it’s the lightest touches that seem to crumble him the most.

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good around me.” Joel never speaks for the fun of it, but he says these things like he needs to. Strained and focused, like it’s a compulsion to tell you how good it feels. “Needed to fuck you for so long. You gonna let me make you feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joel. Please, I need— need you to move.” You whine like a spoilt child, and you are now that you’ve had a taste. He laughs once, a breathless sound, and then pulls out nearly all the way, only to slide back in with that same trained pace.

“Good girl.” He groans, and then picks up the pace.

It’s devastating. It’s the only way to describe it. He fucks you hard and slow, slowly etching himself into parts of your being you aren’t entirely sure he didn’t just create himself. Like he’s forged apart of you just for him, something low and hot, and he hits it with every, perfectly timed thrust. The bed rocks under him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Its creaks and groans are drowned out by his words and both of your moans.

You are incoherent— overcome by pleasure that shocks even the nerves in your fingers and toes, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Joel. He doesn’t fucking shut up— and it’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“So fucking tight around me.”

“God, you feel good.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Gonna fuck you for days.” Is the last one you hear before his groans turn to borderline whimpers, his pace stuttering as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and snap all at once. “Oh, fuck that’s it. Cum again for me. Jesus Christ—“

“Joel.” You can only whisper now— voice so strained that nothing could come out but his name. Your eyes roll back and you feel him fuck into you one or two more times, and then he pulls out and replaces himself with his hand. You ride out your pleasure on his skilled fingers, another wave of heat numbing you when you feel him spill onto your stomach, your back arching off the bed.

The room is suddenly dead quiet, nothing but panting breaths filling the silent house. He is still hanging over you, you can feel both of his forearms next to your head as he leans down to kiss you again. The warmth of his body is lifted just enough for him to use something soft to clean you off, and then he collapses beside you, tugging you onto his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, stopping at your jaw to tilt you up. He kisses you again, the lack of oxygen making you giddy and dizzy, and you break the kiss only because your smiling so wide.

“What’s so funny?” He says, trying to be serious, but even in the dark you can see his matching grin.

“Just happy. Can I be happy?” It’s meant to be light hearted, but you feel him stop for a second, and then he tugs you a little closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be.” He tucks you under his chin, sighing deeply as the rest of your body turns into him and tangles itself with him. “I am.”

You open your eyes a final time, seeing the pitch black dark outside. If it was light, you’d be able to see the stable from here, but it’s black out there. Usually it would make you uneasy, but tucked up under Joel’s safe arms, there’s nothing in the world that could make you feel more at peace.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel killer x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader

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itneverendshere · 2 months

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you were all i wanted but not like this - rafe cameron

pairing: rafe cameron x reader (fem!reader)

WARNINGS: angst <3; just angst.

watched mamma mia and remembered how sam pissed me off when he left donna lmao; self indulgent honestly (haven't written in like a month so decided to get back into it with a smaller piece); hope you enjoy!

you should’ve known better.

the weight of realization presses upon you like an anvil on your chest, each breath drawn heavy with the gravity of the situation.

sleeping with a guy on the same day you met him? risky.

proceeding to spend the next three months with him? delusional.

falling for him while simultaneously knowing nothing about his life back home? stupid.

the sting of embarrassment gnaws at you and it feels like you're rotting inside.

you want to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, make a fucking scene out of it. of all people roaming the earth…rafe had to be the one your cousin was dating.

rafe, as in your summer romance rafe, your rafe.

oh my god!

he didn’t even tell you his surname, didn’t tell you shit and yet, just weeks ago, you were ready to move halfway across the world in hope of finding him again.

you should've seen the warning signs flashing in neon bright before you. the damage is done, the wounds self-inflicted.

rafe's eyes widen imperceptibly as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, fitting together with a sickening clarity, a flicker of recognition crossing his features before he quickly masks it with a practiced smile.

but you see it, that moment of realization, and it only fuels the fire of anger burning within you.

"so, rafe cameron," you say, each word laced with a bitter edge that you can’t quite suppress, "so nice to meet you."

his million-dollar smile falters ever so slightly, a faint tremor betraying the cool exterior he tries so desperately to maintain.

“pleasure's all mine.”

yeah sure it fucking is.

you don’t utter another word to him. as you navigate through the party, each step feels heavier than the last, burdened by the weight of your self-recrimination. the pulsating beat of the music throbs in your temples, matching the rhythm of your racing thoughts. you move through the crowd with mechanical precision, engaging in polite conversation. you plaster on a fake smile and pretend like everything is fine.

what the fuck? how did you let yourself get in this situation in the first place? it’s a new kind of low, even for you. and why is the cameron household so confusing to walk around?

you can barely see straight with the headache taking place in your mind, the bright lights only wanting to make you burst into tears now and then.

“let me explain.”

rafe comes out of nowhere, ambushing you before you can get to the door.

a groan slips past your lips, “go fuck yourself.”

“let me,” rafe pleads, his tone tinged with desperation, eyes roaming your face for so long.

a bitter laugh bubbles up from deep within you, incredulous at the audacity of his request, “you think i wanna hear anything you have to say?”

he sighs, closing his eyes, “'meant every thing i said back in skopelos, okay? i didn’t lie.”

“you didn’t tell me shit,” your voice strains to keep calm, “not about you, not about your family, not about a fucking girlfriend, you said nothing. a summer flling, yeah i get it, i can get past that. but making me the other woman? are you serious?!”

you had allowed yourself to be swept away by his charm, by the promise of something more.

“there was no girlfriend!” he says, but you don’t believe him, squinting up at him with a frown.

“right,” your voice is monotonous, “you got back, what? three weeks ago and magically got one.”

“we weren't together, broke up with her, i swear— n'then you left, i thought i was never gonna see you again."

are you that easily replaceable?

if he cares so much why didn't he look for you? why didn't he break his stupid rules and ask for you number like a normal human being?

“oh go eat a cock.”

you turn on your heels, ready to put an end the conversation and to never see him again. you can feel your nails starting to break the skin on your palm and the subtle taste of copper on your tongue.

“hey—hey, hey, baby wai—“

as soon as his hand touches your arm, you’re pushing him away as hard as you can, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes, “don’t you dare. touching me is a privilege you do not have.”

the pain of betrayal, the humiliation of being used and discarded. you feel so stupid. tears cascade down your cheeks like raindrops on a windowpane, the weight of your emotions threatening to engulf you.

“please don’t cry,” rafe begs, fingers itching to hold you, “baby—“

“stop!” your voice cracks with anguish as you choke back a sob, wrapping your arms around yourself, seeking solace in the warmth of your own embrace, “just stop.”

“i don’t have a choice here,” his voice comes out all rough, as he tries not to cave in and cry, “you think i want to be with her when i could be with you? you—jesus, d-do you not understand how hard is it—“

“don’t finish that sentence,” the anger in your voice cuts through the air like a knife, your words dripping with bitterness and hurt, “it’s hard for you? you?!”

rafe opens his mouth to answer, but he finds it hard to pass the thick lump in throat, “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“you never do.”

his gaze falls to the ground, unable to meet your accusing eyes. he knows he messed up, knows he's hurt you deeply. can’t even find it in himself to explain, tell you how it’s all his father’s fault, that he only got back with her because ward told him to.

how pathetic would that sound?

‘'m sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the din of the party, “’m so fucking sorry.”

but his apology feels hollow, empty, like a bandage over a gaping wound. the damage has been done, irreparable and raw. you shake your head, unable to find it in yourself to forgive him,

“too late."

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron angst #rafe x reader #rafe angst #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #rafe x female!mc #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n #angsty #rafe cameron imagine

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buttdumplin · 4 days

Text

The sweet, lovely poly 141 boys and their Spanish-speaking latine partner.

This was meant to be a quick little thing, but boy did this get away from me lmao. This is the fluffiest shit I've ever indulged in and I love it. Big thank you to @mikichko for inspiring and helping with this!!!

CW: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, mexican slang, hint of d/s dynamics in Johnny's

Price, god love the man, is the one who seems to stumble the most. It's almost comical, considering the fact that Spanish and Arabic are so similar due to their histories. But there's a big difference between the Spanish he's learned to recognize and what you throw at him on the daily. He truly thinks it's because of his age, window of acquisition and all that. John does not expect to be able to speak fluently with you, but he does at least want to understand you. What he really wants, though, is to make you feel more fully at home with him, and he is forever grateful that you feel comfortable and safe enough with them to embrace all parts of your identity.

"Hola, amor mío. How was your day?" you greet him from the couch, eyeing him from tip to toe and almost whistling at seeing him in uniform. "Sigues rechulo, mi güerito, so I assume all went well?"

John swings down to kiss you, gripping the back of your neck to prolongue the kiss, trying to soak in as much of the affection as he can while also disguising the fact that he still doesn't fully recognize what came after.

"Yours was good too, I trust?"

"Yeah, but my brother called. El güey still con sus pinches mamadas and asking for my help. Aguas, in case he shows up this week."

"I... will keep an eye out, dove."

"Call me si les arma pedo and I'm not around."

He just nods sagely and squishes up against you on the couch, letting your warmth seep into his tired bones.

Later that evening, he rounds up the boys while you're in the shower and pulls out a small notebook where he's written things out phonetically. John may not have all the knowledge he needs, but he sure as hell is good at getting it.

"'Güey,' that's the brother's nickname?"

"No, that's like 'man/guy.' But it's also an insult. But not always," Johnny supplies.

"Fuck me, okay. 'Rechulo' is... I got nothing for that one."

"The 're' is for heavy emphasis, 'chulo' is 'cute/handsome/pretty.' 'Re' can go on practically any adjective," Simon steps in.

"'Aguas' and 'pedo' CANNOT be what they are, right?"

Kyle takes his hand and chuckles, "No, sweetheart. The first is like a warning, the second a fight or scene or scandal. In this context."

John's shoulders finally relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, putting the final touches on his notes of the day.

"Thank you, boys, for your patience and your kindness. And your secrecy," John huffs a little laughter and gives them his sweetest smile, the one where you can see the dimples poking out through the beard.

They all reach over to gently caress him, taking turns kissing the parts of him they can reach.

"Thank you, John, for trying so hard."

Beautiful, wonderful Kyle, the delight of a man that he is, is the one giving it as good as he gets. He's the one crooning in your ear, showering you with the most decadent terms of endearment, knowing full well they make your knees much weaker in Spanish. He'll use the advantage every single chance he has, don't doubt that for a second. But truly, it's the soft seclusion of those moments that he cherishes most, when you're looking up at him with big bright eyes, knowing you fully trust him to take care of you.

You're grumbling away as you wash dishes after dinner when Kyle comes up behind you, arms making the way slowly around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.

"Oh, tesoro mío, look at you working away, working so hard for us."

You refuse to look at him and give a fussy pout. He knows it's your least favorite of the house duties. So much so that you're always willing to do almost anything as long as you don't have to touch wet food.

"It looks like you've done enough, cariño. Come join us in bed."

"No. None of you wanted to trade with me so se aguantan," you try to wiggle and bump his head away from yours.

"Come on, cosa hermosa, we need you with us to settle for the night," he pulls your hands from the water, drying them and turning you towards him.

You immediately bury your face into his chest. Can't look him in the eye, he'll win you over the moment you do.

"So they send in the smooth talker, huh?"

Kyle laughs, clear and bright, and he wraps you back up in his arms, gently cradling your head until you give in and look up at him.

"Or," he says, making you both rock gently, "I'm trying to sneak in a little solo time."

Your body melts against his as the words sink in, big eyes blinking softly up at him, "Besito?"

"As many as you want, mi vida. Until you grow bored of me," and you're letting out a sweet sigh as those soft lips meet yours.

His hands move to bring your body closer to his, to milk this quiet moment for as much contact as possible, to sear it all into his memory.

"You two are awfully quiet out there," Simon calls from the bedroom and it makes you break apart with a little jump.

You hear frantic rustling that has to be Johnny, "Hold on, what happened to doing the dishes!"

A chuckle escapes the two of you, sparkling eyes meeting in the low light from the stove hood. The sound of John huffing to get comfortable floats in from the bedroom.

"Just a minute more, hermosura," he mutters against your hair. "Wanna stay here a bit longer."

"Really liking all those pet names, aren't you?"

Kyle laughs again and gives you a squeeze, "Mean every single one of them."

And you happily linger, not pointing out that you've noticed an endearing pattern of Kyle wrapping up nights in the kitchen with you in his arms and a faint love song echoing down the hall for you two to sway to.

Beloved, darling Simon, he hides his own understanding of the language. He understands it nearly perfectly, with just the tiniest margin of error, nothing too big to bring attention to it. Overall, he's able to catch almost everything you mumble. It's not to be sneaky or anything like that, Simon would never do anything to compromise your privacy. It's more that he doesn't quite see the need to verbalize it. To him it's nothing special, no need to make a spectacle. Instead, he lets it seep into his actions, ever the acts of service lover that he is.

You're spread out on the couch, on the phone with your mother, complaining, "Como chingan los del trabajo. Me pidieron un reporte para el viernes y ahora me reclaman que todavía no se los he dado y apenas es miércoles."

There was a tension in your shoulders when you came home from work, he didn't miss that. Caught you jolting to a stop mid-stretch. And as the call goes on longer, Simon picks up on more.

"No he tenido chance de lavar ropa, ni una putisima pijama... Traigo un pinche antojo de mole, pero es un chingo de trabajo y ahorita no le puedo dedicar el tiempo..."

He quietly moves to gather the boys as you continue ranting and pace around the room. You're too caught up in your call to see them forming a massive huddle and their nodding at Simon right as the break and throw their joined hands in the air.

By the time you're off the phone, it's dark out and you notice the house is quieter than usual. You move to look for the boys (they can't have left without telling you, right?) when Simon pops out from the hall, crooked smile you love so much adorning his face, and he simply takes your hand to pull you into the bathroom. A hot bath greets you, some honeyed bath bomb already dissolving in the water and your laptop set up on a bucket besides the bath, your comfort show already pulled up and ready to play. Simon then points to your softest pajamas washed and set out on the counter for you.

"And you'll help me with my lotion too?"

He kisses your forehead, "When do I not?"

"The boys?"

"Setting up dinner. Kyle and I are making your favorite."

You whip around to face him, eyes wide and excited, "With fresh tortillas?"

With a low, affirmative hum Simon pulls you in closer and just holds you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. But he lends you his strength, which is all he can really hope for. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you help release the tightness in your body. Letting out your own little hum, you give him a squeeze and he squeezes back harder, crushing you in the way he knows you find comforting. There's a soft devotion in his tenderness with you, an unshakable support in every single thing you do.

"So you gonna undress me too, or...?"

A peal of laughter escapes you as he playfully swats at your butt, "Undress yourself. I've got cooking to do."

A day without hearing your laughter is a day poorly spent to Simon.

He's almost to the door when you pull him back into you, hands tugging on his shirt to bring him down to your height. His own laughter rumbles in his chest as you cover his face in loud kisses, and he stays locked in place. He will for as long as you need him to, never mind his back. If it's gonna go out eventually, he'd rather it go out from his time spent like this.

Johnny, bless the boy, is desperate to hear it, to have you address him directly. You speak plenty around the house, on phone calls with friends, talking back at the tv (some shows have been put on temporary bans, or at the very least you're not supposed to watch them alone), at the lovely crooked cat yall adopted. You shower them with pet names with every breath you take. And he loves it all! Loves that you so willingly share so much of yourself with them. But Johnny boy is dying for something specific- "Love, why don't you call me papi?"

When he voices it, it's a complete surprise. Simon and Kyle both laugh so hard so suddenly that they find themselves choking on their own spit. Price himself is caught so off-guard that he fully looks up from the dinner he's prepping in the kitchen, raw chicken slipping out of his hands and plopping back into the flour bowl. You at first laugh it off lightly, thinking it was one of his cutesy jokes he makes to get a giggle out of everyone. That would have made the most sense, honestly. But when he looks away, big blue eyes shining with the softest hint of embarrassment, it sinks in.

You shift in your seat a fraction, "Johnny, I don't even call any of you that in English. You know it's not exactly the same thing, right?"

"I know but the little old lady from the corner shop calls me "papi" and so does the older man who brings the water and other people too and it's always so affectionate and so I thought..."

He spares a glance at you, hoping he hasn't completely overstepped.

"Where did this come from?"

"Ale let it slip last time we grabbed coffee and the joy on Rudy's face was so blinding that I thought maybe we should try it."

"Honey--"

"Please, just once."

"But I--"

"It doesn't have to be a title! It can be soft and casual, no expectations."

"You don't--"

"I promise I'll be good for it."

Oh.

Your gaze meets the other boys' and you all take a good look at your Johnny. At some point during his pleading he brought himself down to kneel in front of you. His broad shoulders are slumped forward in submission, his hands clenched together so tightly his fingertips are completely white. Price nods at you, the other two eagerly nodding along as well.

Leaning forward, you grab him by the jaw, gently bringing his head to rest against your thigh.

Running your fingers through his hair, you utter out a low, "Sweet little thing like you just wants to be good, don't you papi?"

Johnny's eyes glaze over slightly, a shy, dazed smile growing on his face. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him as he nuzzles his face into your thigh, just sweet elation. Pleased grumbles escape the others, making Johnny's smile grow bigger.

You make sure to add it into your regular circulation.

#poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x latine reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #i cannot emphasize the poly of this enough #this is truly some of the most self indulgent shit i've ever written and i've never been happier lmao #honestly this is just precious moments with each of them #i'm definitely going to be writing more 141 x latine reader #prepare to be fucking sick of me #frfr tho this is the first long thing i've written in years and ngl it feels good to be doing it again #also yeah i tend to sprinkle in commas like they're condiments

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multifandombitxh · 1 year

Text

Keep It Down

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut/Angst with some fluff sprinkled in there ✨

Warnings: Self pleasure, caught in the act, jealous/protective Din, 18+

AN: some good ol Jealous!Din for the girlies 😌 It's such a stereotypical fic gang I'm gonna be so real with you lmao. It's also a long one so prepare for the worst typos you've ever witnessed.

PS I haven't seen S3 yet but I got back into the hype 💁‍♀️

18+ minors dni

It had been quite some time since you were able to have a moment to yourself. So long, in fact, that you couldn't remember the last time you did anything for yourself that was even remotely relaxing. You had been stuck on one mission for months, scouring the corners of each galaxy for a specific target with an unreasonably high bounty over their head. Din kept telling you it would be worth it in the end, but you were beginning to doubt that sentiment about two months into the search.

After a very pleasant visit to Alderaan, you were able to snag something for yourself to help with some much needed "stress relief".

You did your best to hide it from Din, considering you really didn't want him to know you'd just purchased a vibrating self massager. They were hard to come by, so when you found a merchant that sold them discreetly, you knew you had to take the chance. After it was all said and done, and Din asked where you'd been while he was busy getting information about the target, it was hard to explain to him where you'd gone.

"And where have you been this whole time?" He asked as you approached him outside of a local bar.

"I was, um, chatting up some locals," You lied, trying to maintain some semblance of composure as he stared you down. "Wasn't able to find anything about the target. I don't think he's been here."

"Well, while you were busy wasting your time, I was able to find one of his distant relatives," He explained, "Turns out he has such a high bounty for more than just murder, he's a real piece of shit in the eyes of his family. She said she knows where he might be."

"Yeah? Where?"

"Tatooine."

You scoffed. "That's not far."

"Which means we need to leave soon," He explained, "There's a crew heading there in just a few hours."

"Okay, so who's the crew?" You asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "Why can't we just go on our own? The ship could make it."

"It could, but not that quickly," He sighed, "Their ship is a little more advanced. It'll get us there faster."

You shrugged, raising an eyebrow at him. "Have you talked to them?"

He nodded once and began to walk off, likely in the direction of the meeting place. "I have. That distant relative? She knows these guys, let me talk to one of them over her communicator. They said they'll take us there, no questions asked."

You followed closely, trying to match his pace. "I find that hard to believe."

"You find a lot of things hard to believe," He teased, nudging your shoulder with his own. "It's kept us out of a lot of trouble. Always liked that about you."

You tried not to react to the compliment- the last thing he needed was an ego boost- but internally, it made your heart flutter and your stomach feel heavy. You opted not to respond to this, hoping he wouldn't press.

Unfortunately, that only made it worse.

"Would it kill you to take a compliment every once in a while?" He asked, his tone annoyed.

"It might," You replied with a smile, "Never done it, so I don't know."

"Maybe you should try it some time," He scoffed back at you, causing you to roll your eyes.

Your relationship with Din was complicated to say the least. You knew from the start you had some kind of attraction to him- what kind, you weren't sure, but it was strong and unrelenting. His voice was dangerously enticing, leaving you shivering any time he spoke just above a whisper, and the mystery of his face only added to the excitement. You had no clue what he looked like under that helmet, but you didn't care at this point. It never occurred to you to fantasize about his appearance- the way he carried himself, his voice, his confidence, everything about him struck you more.

But you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little bit curious about the color of his eyes.

When the two of you finally arrived at the crew's headquarters, you gave him a skeptical look. The warehouse before you was old, rusting and decaying in every corner. It was discolored, looking to have once been a pale green. The roof had caved in in several places, and the stairs to the roof were a death trap waiting to collapse on any unsuspecting victims. Din took note of your expression, waving his hand once to dismiss it.

"Not a word," He commanded, "I don't want to hear it."

"All I'm saying-"

"Don't make me tell you twice, Y/N. I already know what you're going to say, so zip it."

Frowning, you folded your arms over your chest in a pout. You followed him inside, passing through a creaky metal door that you were sure would be better off as scrap metal. Din led the way, checking corners and keeping one hand close to his blaster. As you entered the warehouse, the smell of burning rubber invaded your nostrils, causing you to make a face. As you rounded a corner, a large, shiny silver ship sat in the center of the large open space.

It stood out like a sore thumb, clean and sparkling among the rubble. You both exchanged looks, watching as three people stood around the ship and chatted away. They didn't seem hostile, but you knew better than to underestimate them. You approached carefully, keeping an eye out for any others who might be hiding nearby. One of them took notice of you as you stepped under a light, giving you away.

"Hey, the Mandalorian is here!" He called out, waving excitedly at the two of you. The man was tall and thin, barely any meat on his bones but a smile that was charming in its own way. "He's got a friend! Come on over, you guys!"

Din glanced over at you slowly, and you returned his look with a shrug. As you walked over to the group, you took in the remaining two of the crew; a woman with short, dark hair, several tattoos, and a frown that would scare off anyone. The other, a man of similar stature to the first, wore round, thick glasses, and was covered in what appeared to be oil.

"Lera said you'd be coming soon," The man said, "What are your names? I'm Dom, that's Starsei, and this guy over here is my twin, Arus."

"Y/N," You greeted, offering a small smile, then gesturing to Din. "He won't tell you his name, just call him whatever you like."

Din nodded, affirming your words. Dom watched the two of you for a moment, a huge grin still plastered to his face. A fourth member of the crew emerged from underneath the ship, covered in more oil than Arus. His dark, straight hair clung to his forehead and his mouth hung open as he breathed heavily. Oil stuck to his bare torso as he offered the two of you a wave.

"And that's Nox," Dom said, an annoyed tone to his voice.

You couldn't help smiling at Nox- he was handsome, likely more handsome than most- with a wide jaw, dark stubble, and his body toned similarly to that of a God. You shifted your weight as he locked eyes with you, shooting you a half smile that gave you butterflies. Din stood beside you, moving closer as he noticed the tension that hung between you and the mystery man. Nox took note of Din as well, offering him a full smile.

"Have any trouble getting here?" He asked, his voice just as dreamy as he looked.

"No," Din said simply.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as the two of them held each other's gaze, as if a silent conversation was happening just between them. You cleared your throat and looked over to Dom, giving him a warm smile. "So, um, when do we leave?"

"As soon as you're ready," He replied, "We were just finishing up repairs on the ship, so you're welcome to head inside and make yourselves at home. We'll all be roommates for the next two days, so we'll do a big dinner tonight to get to know each other better."

"Sounds great," You said, your voice as friendly as you could muster. There was a clear rivalry brewing between Nox and Din, and you were trying to do everything in your power to alleviate the tension. "We'll head inside."

Din ignored you, still staring at Nox. Irritated, you grabbed his upper arm and began dragging him toward the ship, smiling at the others along the way. Nox caught your eye again and you smiled, hoping he wasn't intimidated by Din too much. Once inside the ship, you all but slammed Din against a wall once you were out of earshot of the others.

"What is wrong with you?" You asked.

"What's wrong with me?" He replied, his voice filled with anger. "What's wrong with you?"

"I haven't done anything wrong!" You said, shouting in a whisper. "You're the one acting crazy!"

"Oh, I'm the crazy one?" He laughed, "I'm not the one making doe eyes at strangers."

Your mouth hung open in shock. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Y/N," He went on, "This is serious. We don't know them. If he tries something because you couldn't help yourself, and everything goes sideways, this was all for nothing."

"Why do you care?" You asked, becoming annoyed with his reasoning. "He's hot, give me a break! I'm allowed to think people are hot, Din!"

He let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. "We're on a mission, Y/N. This isn't the time."

"Well, it's been a long mission," You huffed, raising an eyebrow at him. "And I'm bored. The least I can do is have a little fun."

In truth, you hadn't even been planning on doing anything with Nox other than admire his good-looks. Your feelings for Din ran deep, and you weren't about to ignore those feelings for one good looking guy. If anything, you were hoping this would show Din that you weren't his, and that he had no claim over you. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough for him to come clean about his own feelings.

If he even had any for you, that was.

Once everyone was loaded up onto the ship and you'd set off, you found yourself relaxing on a very comfy couch in a very cramped lounge area. The ship was dimly lit, offering little light to help you find your way around, so you opted to sit down and wait until someone told you to do something. After a while, Arus found you, and decided to sit with you.

"So, uh, is your partner, um... Okay?" He asked quietly.

"He's fine," You said, waving your hand.

"What was he so angry about?"

You shrugged, trying not to give away what was really going on between you. "Beats me."

You decided to get to know Arus a bit, finding out that he and Dom were engineers that escaped from the Empire many years ago after faking their deaths. You learned that Starsei is their pilot, and she seems standoffish because she doesn't often speak. She was a prisoner of the Empire, who helped Dom and Arus escape many years ago. Nox is their newest recruit; also an engineer, but mostly specializes in communications. He also used to be a smuggler.

After a while of chatting back and forth, Nox joined the party, sitting between you and Arus.

"Seems like the Mandalorian isn't having a great time if I'm not mistaken," Nox joked, glancing over at you. "Thought he was gonna slit my throat after I saw him in the hall just now."

"He'll warm up to everyone eventually," You said with a small smile, "He's a little hesitant about new people."

"So, how long have you two been together?" Nox asked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. Shock took over your features and you laughed awkwardly at the gesture.

"We're not together," You stated, "We've been working together for a long time now. Maybe a year."

Nox seemed to ponder your response for a moment as Dom entered the room, knocking on the wall to get everyone's attention.

"Arus, we need you up front," Dom said in a soft voice. "Star could use some help."

Arus excused himself, leaving you with Nox in silence. You tried to relax, sinking into the sofa as much as you could to appear as non-threatening as possible. Nox did the same, leaning back and yawning as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. The only sound was the rush of the ship, shaking softly as it dove through space.

"I want to know more about you," Nox said after a moment, turning to meet your gaze. His green eyes were soft, but lidded. "Who is Y/N, exactly? Other than the Mandalorian's pet, I mean."

"I am not his pet," You scoffed, laughing slightly and hitting his upper arm before looking away. "We're friends, that's all."

"You might want to check on that with him," He replied, "He was ready to kill me earlier just for looking at you. I don't think that's a normal thing to do for someone who's just a friend."

Nox's hand came to rest on your knee, his palm open fully and his thumb gently stroking back and forth. "If I'm being honest, I think he could tell why I was looking at you, and I think that pissed him off."

When you met his gaze, a pit formed in your stomach. Nox was handsome, and charming, and clearly making a move on you. But... Something was wrong. It felt wrong. There was something about the way his hand felt on your knee that made your skin crawl, his voice made you cringe, and the entire setting was uncomfortable. It was hard to pinpoint exactly why, until you thought a little harder about it.

He wasn't Din.

"I... Think I should go," You said, standing from the couch and turning back to face him briefly. "Look, you seem nice. But I'm... I'm not interested."

He smirked up at you. "I knew it. You totally have a thing for each other."

Dom appeared in the doorway again, a huge grin on his face. "Who's ready to eat?"

After what felt like hours, you were finally able to step away from dinner to your quarters- Starsei showed you the way- closing the door behind you. You removed your gear, tossing it to the floor and sighing in relief at the loss of the heaviness. Removing the massager from your pocket, you walked to the bathroom and gave it a good wash, not trusting it after being in your pocket all day.

Once you returned to the room, you actually took in what it looked like. Star had told you that you and Din would have to share one room, which hadn't bothered you until you realized there was only one bed that sat in the center of the room, facing the door. It looked big enough for both of you, but still, you knew it would be an awkward conversation to have once he arrived.

The room was dimly lit- much like the rest of the ship- one wall light sitting above the door and casting a reddish glow over the entire room. The bed looked uncomfortable, with a thin, gray blanket sitting atop the mattress and two equally thin pillows where your heads would rest. It wasn't home, by any means, but it was a place to sleep.

With that, you laid down in the bed, shivering from anticipation. It had been a long time since you'd had enough privacy for something like this. Not bothering to remove your pants, you slowly lowered your hand past the waistband and sighed softly as the blue silicone material grazed your skin. With one press of the button, you felt yourself melting into the hard mattress, all of your worries fading away with the soft sound of buzzing.

Your breathing began to pick up in pace and you wriggled slightly as the sensation became more and more intense. It was getting hard to suppress the sounds you were making, so you bit down on your lip to try and stifle whatever noises threatened to come out. A shaky breath managed to worm its way out of you, hitching in your throat as it started to escape.

Thoughts of Din infiltrated your imagination, and you didn't try to suppress them as they came. You thought about the sound of his voice, talking you through the pleasure and egging you on. A wave of energy passed through you and went straight to your core, wetness beginning to pool. You thought about his hands pinning you down as he had his way with you, panting and sweating above you. It was almost too much, and it felt like the room was spinning.

Closing your eyes, you began to focus on finding release, waves of pleasure flooding your body with each passing second. Your breathing picked up in pace, and it was getting harder and harder to stop the tiny moans that escaped your throat. With a flick of your wrist, the massager hit the perfect spot, pulling a sharp gasp out of you. Just as it left your lips, a large, warm hand clamped over your mouth.

Terror filled your body and replaced all sense of satisfaction, forcing you to rip your hand out of its hiding place and your eyes to shoot open. Din hovered over you, one hand covering the lower half of your shocked face while the other pressed into the mattress beside your head. He was missing most of his armor, his helmet the only piece that remained. Adrenaline shot through your veins, and you struggled against his hold.

"Sshh," He shushed you, holding a single finger up to the part of his mask where his lips would be. "Everyone in this quadrant is gonna hear you if you don't keep it down."

Confusion replaced the shock, your eyebrows drawing together as you breathed heavily through your nose. He seemed to see the questions in your eyes, and you could swear you could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke again.

"I could hear you from down the hall," He explained, "Thought maybe you were... With someone. But it looks like I was wrong."

You shot him a glare, thinking back to the evening you spent with Nox and how it must have implicated something different to Din.

"I don't have to help you, if you don't want me to," He reasoned, the hand covering your mouth beginning to lessen the pressure it was applying. "I just don't want you to get caught by the others. Just say the word, I'll walk away and we'll never speak of this again."

You wished you could see his face to make a better decision about what his intentions were, but with the helmet in the way, it made it impossible. You thought back to the feelings you were having just minutes ago, and felt excitement bubble up in your gut. Despite the surprise, you wanted this. Your expression softened under his gaze, and you felt your body relax under his touch.

"The way you're looking at me... Should I take that as a yes?" He asked, tilting his head to one side. "You want me here? You don't want me to go find your little friend, do you?"

You shook your head slowly and a soft, amused laugh filtered through his helmet, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You wanna give that thing to me?" He asked, gesturing with his head toward the massager. You lifted your hand and placed it in his, your body beginning to shake at the idea of what was about to happen. "That's my girl."

His words sent a shockwave down to your middle, causing a soft whine to escape from behind his hand. His girl. Remembering to keep you quiet, he pressed down on your mouth again, shaking his head.

"As much as I want to hear every little sound you're going to make," Din said, his voice sounding strained. "Can't have anyone else listening in, got that? You're mine tonight."

You nodded.

"Glad to see you can follow orders somewhere, at least," He joked, the laughter in his voice making you shiver.

With one hand he managed to remove your pants, lowering them to just below your knees, the cool air hitting you and making you shake. He took note of this and pressed the massage straight against your clit, keeping it there, but not turning it on. Frustration began to build as he teased you, running the material over the spot slowly and gently. Your brows drew together at this and you gave him another deadly look.

"Give me a break, I've been waiting for this for a long time," He said, sounding breathless as he looked you up and down. "You have more scars than I thought you would. Still, you're as perfect as I imagined."

With wide eyes you wiggled free from the hand that covered your mouth. "Are you saying you've thought about me like this?" You asked, your voice strained.

"Quiet," He commanded, shoving you back down into the mattress with his free hand. "I already told you, the others might be listening."

"Seriously?" You questioned, exasperated. "Did you think I wasn't gonna react to that?'

"I knew you would," He replied, gripping your jaw with his fingers. "I just wanted to distract you so I could do this."

You opened your mouth to respond, but were quickly silenced by his hand once more as he pressed the button on the massager, effectively turning it on. A hearty groan filled your throat as your head fell back, Din's hand keeping you in place. Your knees shook as he worked you over, circling the massager before pressing it against your clit again. Whines and moans were easily muffled by his hand.

Without thinking twice, you reached out and gripped his bicep, your fingertips digging into the soft flesh that hid beneath his shirt. He grunted at your touch, lowering his face closer to yours as you squirmed beneath him. "Eyes on me, yeah? Keep your eyes on me, Y/N."

With that, you reached up to touch the side of his helmet- a silent plea for him to remove it. You begged with your eyes, since you couldn't with your mouth, hoping he would give you what you wanted so you could look him in the eye. He hesitated, his movements slowing as you pressed your hand to his helmet. Sighing, he removed his hand from your mouth, instead placing it to your cheek. "I can't, you know that."

"Please," You blurted, all dignity vanishing from your body as you begged him to show his face. "You know me-"

The massager hit a rather sensitive spot, causing you to cry out and lurch upwards. Just as it began to leave your mouth, his hand was quick to silence you.

"You've gotta be more careful than that," He scolded, pressing it harder up against you. Your back arches off the bed, causing your chest to graze his. Sighing shakily, he kept the massager stationary, sending wave after wave of pleasure washing over you. You'd all but forgotten your desire to lock eyes with him, your climax on the horizon and taking up all priority in your brain.

"That's it," He encouraged, drawing out each word. "You're being so good for me."

Broken whimpers spilled past his hand, and he didn't stop them this time. Instead, he doubled down, maintaining the same position that was driving you closer and closer to the edge. It was within reach now, just a few seconds more and you'd be coming undone beneath him. Din could sense this somehow, his face mere inches from yours.

"I know, I know," He mewled, breathing hard behind his mask. "Be a good girl, now. Give me what I want."

His words were the tipping point, sending you flying over the edge. Your climax crashed through you, your head falling back against the mattress as several stifled moans filled the air. Din hummed as you finished, as if satisfied by his work. He never wavered, his helmet stationary, a sure sign that he watched your face the entire time. His hand abandoned your mouth and you gasped, gulping in air as you came down from your high. The buzzing ceased and your body fell limp, your muscles relaxing.

Din helped you redress yourself, taking his time and tracing his fingers over your exposed skin before it vanished beneath your clothes. "So that's where you went today," He laughed gently, turning the massager over in his hand. "I knew you weren't talking to locals. You've never been a good liar."

You groaned and rolled onto your side, facing away from him. Embarrassment flooded your body, the realization of what had just happened setting in. Despite the fact that he entered the room, saw you as you pleasured yourself, and still felt the desire to help you get off, you couldn't help feeling vulnerable.

"Y/N."

His voice sounded... Different. It wasn't metallic, it didn't sound muffled or altered in any way. It was organic, and soft, and hung in the air like gentle music to your ears. The realization hit you like a brick.

His helmet was off.

As you tried to turn back around, he was quick to stop you, moving you back onto your side as he laid beside you in the bed. His breath hit your neck, whispering past your ear like a soft breeze. The sensation made you flinch, drawing in a sharp breath as his arm wrapped around your middle from behind. He pulled you close, the center of your shoulders pressing into his warm chest.

"I hope you know I did that by choice," He mumbled, his lips grazing your skin. "I didn't embarrass you, did I?"

"No, no, it's not that," You said quickly, "I just... didn't think you'd ever want to do something like that. I thought it was against your creed. It took me off guard, I guess."

"It is," Din sighed, "But if I'm breaking the rules for anyone, it should be you."

"Are you still mad at me?" You asked, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

The quiet laugh that left his lips was enough to make anyone crumble at his feet. "I was never mad at you. I could tell you were getting... Frustrated, to put it mildly. I didn't blame you for being attracted to someone else. It was him I was mad at."

"You barely knew him," You replied.

"I know," Din agreed, leaning in close enough to kiss your jaw. "But he was looking at my girl."

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x you #mando x y/n #mando x reader #mandalorian smut #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #mywriting

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sweetsreverie · 2 years

Note

May I request a thing for Simon where the 141 meet his spouse and they're like the opposite of him very friendly and is like wearing pink(or bright colors pink is just my favorite) ik it's cliché but I love the opposites attract moments 💖

did you say.. cliché? you have my attention already >:)

Summary: The 141 meets Simon's girlfriend and learns that opposites really do attract.

WC: 1,175

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Warning(s): Not beta-read by anyone so let me know if there are any insane errors lmao

You weren’t expecting Simon to be home for... Well, you never really knew how long. When he leaves, he always assures you that he’ll be back. But it’s always a guessing game when it comes to his return.

So when you heard a vehicle pull up to the property at nearly 1 am, you couldn’t help but assume the worst. You hadn’t heard from Simon today, so it couldn’t be him.

When you and Simon got together and you learned about his job, he told you from the get-go that if you ever moved in together, he was taking you far from the city. It was to protect you and keep you as far away from his work as possible.

He wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

You hear chatter of male voices outside, and when you peer out the window and look around, you sigh in relief when you see his mask in the distance. He was with a few other men, and you trusted that they were friendly.

Multiple sets of heavy boots can be heard entering your home, and when you walk down the hallway and into the living room and kitchen area, you’re met with Simon’s gaze along with three others who looked… surprised and almost bewildered, to say the least.

You were clad in pink, satin pajamas, and you had fuzzy slippers on your feet. Quite the contrast to your boyfriend and his crew that stood in front of you.

“Did we wake you?” Simon asks, and while his voice is still gruff, it’s... different.

It’s a tone that’s reserved just for you.

You shake your head and cross your arms over your chest to preserve some of the warmth from being in bed, and it’s hard to ignore the other pairs of eyes that are looking between you and Simon.

“No, I was up already.” You assure Simon, and he gives you a small nod before he takes off his helmet and headset and puts them down on the table near the front door, so he was left in just his balaclava. He’s not convinced, but he leaves it at that.

“Okay, uh- you two know each other?” The man with the mohawk and scottish accent asks, and he’s pointing a finger and motioning between you and Simon.

You hear a small grunt come from Simon, and he looks at the men beside him before he turns to you.

“Y/N, this is Soap, Gaz, and Price. We needed somewhere to lay low for the night.” Simon explains, and you nod while giving the guys a small wave, which they return, along with a few nods of their heads.

“Wait, so… Ghost, you’ve had a misses all this time? And we didn’t know?” Gaz asks, and you can’t help the grin that rises to your lips.

“If I had it my way, it would have stayed like that.” Simon replies while he takes off his gloves and drops his bag to the ground, and he takes his boots off.

“All due respect, but.. How does someone like you, meet someone like Ghost?” Soap asks, and Simon shoots him a look.

You laugh, though, and shake your head in amusement while you move over to the kitchen table and take a seat.

“I’m sure the Ghost you know in the field is much different than my Simon.” You tell them, and Simon grumbles a quiet “boots off” to the others, who quickly work on leaving their boots at the door.

“But, uh, you boys are free to wash up here, the loo’s down the hall and there’s linens in the closet.” You tell the crew with a kind smile, and Gaz is quick to call dibs on showering first, and he makes his way to the bathroom.

You stand up while Simon makes his way down the hall and to the bedroom, and you turn to look at Soap and Price.

“You guys help yourself to the kitchen, yeah?” You tell them, and the two of them nod while you catch up to Simon in your bedroom.

Simon was taking off his gear when you entered the bedroom, and you shut the door behind you. In turn, he removes the balaclava with a small sigh. You can tell that he’s tired, but you’re glad to have him home. Even if it’s just for the night.

Simon is seated on the edge of the bed as you walk over to him, and when you stand between his legs, he presses his head against your abdomen with a content sigh.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to meet them. I want to know whose hands you’re in when you’re gone.” You tell him softly, meanwhile your hands find their way to Simon’s hair that’s messy from being covered for who knows how long. You’d always wanted to meet the guys that Simon worked with. And after meeting them for just a few minutes, you know he’s in good hands. Even if one is named… Soap.

“They’re idiots. Except Price.” Simon mutters against you, and you let out a soft laugh while you continue to mess with his hair.

“Well, they must be okay if you’re bringing them here.” You try to reason with him, and you just receive a huff in return.

Simon tilts his head to look up at you then, and you reach down to gently rub away some of the black paint from his eye with your thumb.

“It’s not that hard to believe that we’re together, right?” You ask him with a small grin, and Simon rolls his eyes in amusement.

“I don’t know. You’re like.. A care bear, and I’m-”

“Simon!” You laugh, not letting him finish his sentence. You could swear you heard him laugh too, and you lean down to kiss his forehead.

You pull away then, and you give his shoulder a little nudge.

“Go take a shower. You smell like.. I don’t know. But I just washed the sheets and you’re not getting in bed like this, as much as I love you.” You tell Simon, and he stands up and heads for the ensuite to clean himself up after letting out a quiet huff of laughter.

While Simon cleaned up, you decided to sit down in the living room with the others and actually talk with them. Both Gaz and Soap had taken quick showers and came out to sit with you while Price was still cleaning up.

“Does he ever smile?”

“Does he sleep in that thing?”

“Have you ever gotten him to wear pink too?”

“Shut up or both of you are sleeping outside.” Simon calls from your bedroom, obviously having heard your conversation.

You laugh at his comment and get up, telling Gaz and Soap that you were going to get some blankets for them to use during the night.

As puzzled as they were when they first met you, Simon's squad mates are happy that he has someone to go home to. No one can be a lone wolf forever.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty reader insert #female reader #pink!reader #simon riley fic

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python333 · 7 months

Note

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it.

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight.

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts.

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either.

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago.

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important.

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment.

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder.

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off.

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves?

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep.

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool.

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now.

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true.

You’re still staring at the scalpel.

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting.

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife.

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself.

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations.

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough.

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it.

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind.

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about.

The fists your hands have formed become tighter.

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring.

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel.

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin.

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain.

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself.

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger.

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed.

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun.

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar.

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred.

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go.

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area.

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart.

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it.

There’s a knock. Then another.

The door handle twists.

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second.

The door opens.

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?”

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip.

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.”

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried.

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.”

“... Ye sure?”

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.”

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?”

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.”

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.”

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.”

“Ye whit?”

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—”

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.”

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.”

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die.

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally.

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions.

“No.”

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?”

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others.

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?”

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred.

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters.

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive.

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s.

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far.

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word.

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest.

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.”

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself.

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well.

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads.

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention?

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].”

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled.

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings.

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no.

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit.

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.”

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.”

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk.

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.”

“But I—”

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks.

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you.

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left.

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit.

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more.

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?”

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it.

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms.

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again.

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.”

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you.

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself.

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better.

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click.

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier.

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters.

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly.

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin.

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure.

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once.

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it.

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort.

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did.

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more.

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned.

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either.

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?”

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.”

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.”

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?”

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin.

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question.

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.”

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?”

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either.

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.”

“Us ‘four’ being… ?”

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally.

Your words affect them more than you thought they would.

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince.

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?”

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you.

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.”

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.”

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz.

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price.

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably.

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did.

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple.

“Does that surprise you?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.”

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?”

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.”

“I do.”

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—”

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.”

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.”

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.”

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.”

“But you just said that I was strong.”

“I did.”

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks.

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.”

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.”

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up.

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.”

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.”

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

430 notes · View notes

vtoriacore · 1 year

Note

Yo! It's me! I was wondering if I could request Ruggie, Idia, Riddle, and Malleus with a significant other who fights people for just breathing in their direction. Like Crowley opens his mouth and their already like "SHUT UP!" And throws chairs at people. I think the comedic potential for this is exponential

✧ alla stocatta (this chair)!

note: this is such a funny fucking concept LMFAO😭 gremlin MC agenda has gotta be my fucking fave they have the power to be so unhinged and i live for it also not proofread because it's low-key 12 am BUT. it's readable so-

characters: ruggie, idia, riddle, malleus

people who reblogged here is a special heart and a kith y'all do the most and ily 💞

♡ RUGGIE

ruggie finds it both amusing and kind of intimidating (and kinda hot but he'll die before he admits this yk) how you literally defend his honour (even when it doesn't necessarily need to be defended) but is he complaining? fuck no!

half the time he is laughing and the other half is him cheering you on and maybe even encouraging you to do something just a little overboard (nothing that will get you into trouble, and if it does he's usually happy to take the blame)

the first time he witnessed you literally throwing your broom at leona in joint flight class because he wouldn't stop bitching to ruggie was just about the most hilarious fucking thing he's ever seen and oh- there he goes falling off because he couldn't stop laughing (he stops when you catch him and ask if he's okay though - this mf may think he's slick but is literally reduced to a blubbering mess once he finds himself in a position considered a little too intimate with you)

the second time he saw you trip someone up because they looked at him wrong, and your silly, sly self simply gave them the most unimpressed look you could muster with a "watch where you're going"

the hyena was too stunned to speak 😮 no but seriously he found that both hilarious (as always) and admirable because holy shit, you did it so nonchalantly and it looked so fucking cool- he questions how he was even able to pull you (dw ruggie, you've got rizz!)

he absolutely loves when you stand up for him for more serious stuff though, like if someone's insulting him for his status or for having to work etc. because your no-bullshit attitude actually works so well? you just casually throw a chair at the mf even daring to look at him and his heart goes ✨✨✨ all the while he's laughing and cheering you on from the sidelines.

♡ IDIA

at first, idia is fucking terrified! bro is borderline crashing because how the fuck did you have the strength to haul that heavy ass cauldron at the person making a snide remark about him? he was going to say he's NEVER coming to class again but after this, he changes his mind so quick

like, you looked so badass doing that? the savannaclaw loser who tried insulting him barely got two words out and you just- oh wow! he just got the "in love" status applied to him again!

nah but fr he is literally fucking grinning as he stares at the poor, poor fool laying on the ground and is so fucking smug about it too!

"that was an ez no scope, didn't even have to be 360 lol'

"idia ily but what"

"it's a roundabout way of saying this bozo stood no chance, you pulled up on him too quick lmao"

at first, he is a bit concerned that you might end up in trouble with someone for doing all this but . . . yk, his money speaks for itself and if something does ever happen covering up wouldn't be too hard so he lets you do as you please

this hades-rapunzel secret love child thinks its low-key hot too, but he'll never admit it and he literally turns bright fucking pink anytime he even thinks this. you tried prying the answer out before, but he pulled out his secret trump card - fainting on you so he wouldn't have to say a thing

idia is another mf to absolutely egg you on as you cause some more chaos, it's getting to the point ortho had to warn you of nearly breaking someone's arm before you stopped. idia was just standing there, the most villainous, evil grin to have ever graced his face; "no, no! let them cook!"

♡ RIDDLE

riddle. fucking. FAINTS!

he was NOT ready for that strawberry tart to end up lodged down someone's throat as you victoriously shrugged your shoulders with a "what? they had it coming."

"oh great heavens what have you- where is the decorum? what could have possibly compelled you to-" aaaaaaaand man's down!

when he awakes, he's frantically shaking your shoulders and asking why you would even think that nearly suffocating someone (not really, you pushed the tart far enough they could swallow) was appropriate

but let me tell you, when he hears it was because they've insulted him and brought his mother into it, he low-key feels light headed and oh wow his cheeks are getting pretty warm huh?

riddle, in his own spiteful way, actually doesn't probe you on this any longer and makes you promise that you won't do this in his vicinity again

you of course, nod along. you won't do it in his vicinity, but will be perfectly fine exacting your revenge straight after he's out of sight

when you actually end up having a . . . a chair duel. yes, he read that right. (he wasn't about to even question how that came about but nontheless) he ends up both impressed at you exploiting a loophole you've found within his statement and at the fact the person you've just beaten (both literally and figuratively) is miserably sitting on the floor apologising for giving riddle the wrong look at 12:34 AM on the 3rd of march. very specific

riddle doesn't even chastise you for this one, he is exasperated but does actually pull you away from the scene and thanks you for defending him. this time, he makes you promise to resolve your fights for him verbally, but he won't be stopping you from this point on (it's because he doesn't want to and enjoys you standing up for him)

♡ MALLEUS

the student walking away from malleus makes him feel a bit bad. so naturally, to remedy this, you end up shouting at them! now they're backing away from you instead, isn't this the meaning of true love? (no)

this silly little very capable of looking after himself fae is fucking over the moon! absolutely smitten! completely in love! when you come to defend him and angrily shout at people for not treating him like a being worthy of respect and love.

he low-key debates proposing to you on the spot after you also somehow manage to get a student to apologize to him for fearing him for no good reason! he appreciates the sentiment and you caring for his well being, isn't that basically marriage already? no? he'd like to digress immediately

malleus does get a bit concerned when things get physical, not that he doesn't trust you to take care of yourself or anything but he worries that you might end up hurt. oh, did you think he'd care for the person you're fighting? or you getting in trouble? nah, he could literally BBQ anyone who even dared harm you anyway and if crowley even thought to step in, he'd soon be reconsidering because he doesn't want to end up an elaborate crow dish

however, on the occasion that you do outsmart your opponent (aka the savannaclaw student who just rolled his eyes at the dragon fae) he feels hella proud and is very amused at your antics. i mean, the way you just psychologically destroyed the fool in front of you for their comment on malleus not even being that good at magift is very sure to leave them questioning why they even bothered coming out the womb for the rest of their life.

he is another one that finds it low-key 😳😳😳 like damn, did you always look this badass when flipping someone off for even breathing wrong near him? sane thoughts just weren't made for malleus

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst crack #twst #twisted wonderland #ruggie bucchi x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #ruggie bucchi #riddle rosehearts #idia shroud #malleus draconia #twst malleus #twst ruggie #twst riddle #twst idia

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eiightysixbaby · 3 months

Note

oooo okay so i have a request! i recently got high for the first time lolz and can u write like first time high w eddie but the reader was super anxious and paranoid and like just cute fluff

NEED TO RECOVER FROM THAT BC IDK HOW HE DOES IT

i am writing this as someone who has never been high so i hope it sounds realistic LMAO. i wrote this as best friend!eddie that leads into some fluffy, flirty territory???

cw: just fluff and weed smoking lol

“you don’t have to do this, you know. I’m happy to go smoke outside real quick, leave you completely out of the way of it,” eddie says, interrupting the nervous chewing of your lip you’d been doing as you stare down the joint in his hand.

your eyes meet his briefly before flicking away again, bringing a fingernail up to bite at.

“no, no I want to,” you reply, sounding more like you’re convincing yourself than him. “I’m just nervous.” you lie back on the couch with a groan. “why am I so fucking nervous?”

“it’s your first time. you don’t know what it’s gonna feel like yet. it’s normal,” he says calmly. “I promise you though, it’s gonna chill you out. I wouldn’t suggest you do this if I felt like it would be awful for you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you mumble into your hands that are now covering your face. “okay, I’m ready,” you decide, moving back to a sitting position.

you watch as he pulls a lighter from his back pocket, flicking it a few times before the flame appears. he holds it steady at the end of the joint, letting it ignite before he takes the first hit. it’s so natural for him, effortless, and you’re a little jealous of him in the moment. he holds it out to you, letting it rest between two fingers, his expression calm and patient as he waits for you to take it.

you reach for it, looking at it questioningly. “okay, so… how does this work?” you ask.

“well, you’re gonna inhale, and kind of hold the smoke in your mouth for a few seconds? you’ll just… feel it. and then exhale,” eddie explains, crossing one leg over the other as he leans back into the cushions behind him. “and don’t take too big of a hit. it’ll just make you cough worse.”

you nod, taking in what he’s saying. you’ve seen him smoke enough times that it isn’t foreign, but you still don’t want to make a fool of yourself.

raising the joint slowly, you let your lips wrap around it. your hand trembles slightly, wanting to look cool and natural under his stare. you feel like you barely inhale at all before you’re spluttering, coughing as tears well in your eyes.

“you’re okay,” eddie says, patting your back with a firm hand. “promise it gets better, you’re just not used to it.”

you take a few steadying breaths, the coughs subsiding. his hand remains on your back, rubbing soothingly. determined now, you take another hit, having more success this time.

you can feel warmth tingling your insides, burning your lungs in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant but isn’t yet completely pleasant either.

it’s not long before you’re slumped into the sofa, eyelids heavy as the high fully settles in. the only problem is, it seems to be having the opposite effect of what eddie had said. you fidget with your fingers in your lap, picking nervously at your nails. you haven’t spoken a word, thoughts racing in your head. the wind picks up outside, leaves rustling as rain begins hitting the roof of the trailer. you jump, breathing slightly erratic as you sit up straight.

“hey, you okay?”

eddie’s deep brown eyes look at you with concern, not used to you being skittish.

“I feel like… I don’t know. I’m super fucking in my head right now, I thought this was supposed to calm me down—”

“hey, hey,” he interjects softly, a hand reaching out to rest on your bicep. “you’re okay, alright? I’m here, it’s just me here,” he reassures, trying to get you to meet his eyes. “there’s absolutely nothing to be worried about, you’re safe with me.”

you glance over at him, brow furrowed. your knee bounces, a nervous habit.

“c’mere,” he says, motioning for you to lean into him. you oblige, curling against his side like a scared puppy. his arm wraps around you, fingers rubbing soft patterns into your skin. “what can I do to make this more comfortable for you?” he asks, feeling terrible for getting you high in the first place; whether you’d wanted to or not.

“can we just stay like this?” you murmur, letting your fingers toy with the fabric of his shirt. “you’re so comfy,” you sigh, feeling your heart rate stabilize as you begin to relax.

“yeah, sweetheart,” he hums. “whatever you want.”

he continues to take periodic hits from the joint, and you watch in silent awe as the smoke leaves his lips in quiet exhales, trailing up to the ceiling. you can hear his heart beating in his chest, the rhythmic thumping calming your anxieties. your eyes search his face; taking in his long lashes, the slope of his nose and the rounded tip of it, his pretty pink lips and the tongue that darts out to wet them every so often.

he’s so pretty. in your hazy headspace you’re unaware of how hard you’re staring at him. it helps to ground you; watching him, feeling the warmth of him.

“can I help you with something?” he teases gently, looking down at you. your big, glassy eyes look up at him in wonderment, blinking back into reality when he breaks you from your trance.

“you’re pretty,” you say before you can stop yourself, but once the words are out you find that you aren’t sure if you even care.

“am I?” he asks, moving a hand to brush some hair from your face.

you nod, chewing at your lip.

“so are you.” he leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “you feeling better now, sweets?”

“mhm,” you agree. “that doesn’t mean you can stop cuddling me though. y’have to stay here,” you insist, pouting at him as if he was trying to plot his escape.

he chuckles at your lack of a filter, smiles warmly at the way you snuggle back into his chest.

“okay, sweetheart. don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #leah’s got mail 💌

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robin374 · 9 months

Note

I saw that your requests were open and I jumped into action lol

Any ideas for the Mercs and reader with an “only one bed” trope? (Love the stuff youve written btw <3)

One Bed Trope with the mercs (part 1)

I'm gonna start with Demoman because he is my husband and gets the privilege of being the first.

Demoman ❤️

He just wanted to sleep man 😭

When you two finished the assigned mission that Miss Pauling gave you two, you went to the hotel/motel (how do you call it in English?). When you entered the room the first thing you two saw was a single big bed, for two people.

You looked at Demo and he was awkwardly standing there. He couldn't believe his eye

👁️👄

"I'll sleep on the floor, don't worry Demo." "No, Y/N. I've slept in all kinds of places, I think I can handle sleeping on the floor" "And that's exactly why you are sleeping in the bed"

At the end, you two decide to sleep in the same bed. He couldn't help but feel nervous, like yeah, he has slept at the top of Edinburgh's castle. Or with some random seals at a random beach. But he's never slept with the person he's in love with.

With that said, he remembers those words his Mom told him once.

"You better get a job, Tavish!"

I could give him a good job-

I don't know why he remembered that, don't ask me.

HE'S SO WARM KSDKAODJAKL I feel like his body would be so warm, because of the amount of alcohol he consumes.

He snores a little bit. Just tiny tiny tiny tiny little bit. 🤏

Not as much as Heavy at least.

He's a heavy sleeper so good luck trying to wake him up

I feel like he would see it as an opportunity to confess his feelings. Like you two are talking while laying down in bed, and casually spits it out. By the time you realize what he said, he is already sound asleep, his back facing you.

"I'm in love with you, Y/N" "Hmm? What did you say? I didn't hear you *Scottish snoring*

Scout 🤡

HE DOES NOT HESITATE 🗣️🗣️

He knows what these situations are about and he will not let it slide so easily.

He doesn't even ask you if you are okay with sleeping with him, he just says "I'm so tired, let's sleep!" And he launches himself towards the bed.

He will pat the space next to him silently telling you to sleep too.

But then reality hits him like a rock, he is sleeping with you. He is really happy, any girl would've slapped him at tha exact moment, but you just accepted your fate.

He doesn't snore, but he does this thing that dogs do that is moving his legs as if he was running.

You better be a heavy sleeper because he talks while sleeping.

"Spy stole my chicken and now I can't eat my bullets. " "Scout are you awake?" "Fuck you Spy, I miss my chicken :("

He got so red when he woke up in the morning. You were still asleep, that's the first thing he saw after opening his eyes. He wanted to kiss you so bad.

"Good morning, toots. You've slept well?"

He's so in love with istg.

But he won't confess, he wants to keep this as a (really) good memory and confess after he's sure that you feel the same.

Scared of rejection I guess.

Engie 🤠

He's so casual about it.

He has to sleep in the same bed as his crush? Well, darn.

"It is what it is" energy.

You don't want him to sleep on the floor and he doesn't want you to sleep on the floor. Oh no, sadly we will have to sleep in the same bed :( (that's sarcasm for those confused)

"Come here, sugar, I don't bite." Unless you want me to.

He snores more than Demo sorry, it's bearable though. It's like having a horse next to you huffing and puffiing. A horse you don't mind to ride (ok I'll stop now sorry lmao)

He's like a teddy bear, he doesn't mind if you hug him. On the contrary, he will "unintentionally" pull you closer.

He would wake up in the middle of the night, because he's not used to sleeping like a normal person would do. So he will take advantage of it and admire your beautiful face. How the moonlight delicatedly lights your face, your closed eyes giving that feel of calmness... He will eventually kiss your forehead and go back to sleep.

He won't say a word about it in the morning. He will just greet you like always do in the base and get back to work.

In the inside he's screaming, dancing, running, whooping of joy. For him, it's one little step more to you being his pardner.

#tf2 x reader #tf2 #team fortress two #tf2 headcanons #tf2 engie x reader #tf2 demoman #tf2 scout #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 demoman x reader

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matrixbearer2024 · 2 months

Note

okay hear me out

vox accidentally slips and talks about angel dust like super indirectly he goes like:

Blah blah blah I had a super bad day blah blah blah fuck my life blah blah blah cause val is pissed cause one of his whores- angel I think tried to stand up to him and blah blah blah

and reader is like

wait wait wait ‘tried to stand up to him’? What do u mean? and vox is like trying to make the situation seem not as bad as it looks (he fails epically) and reader gets mad cause how could vox just let his coworker hit his employees??

Muddled Morality

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: Vox ranting and Reader nearly tearing him a new one- I love their dynamic and it's actually really funny for me to write our dear (Y/N)'s on-off confused attraction to the bipedal flatscreen. Like it's so evident that they love this man, but at the same time he does something so stupid it totally shatters the rose-tinted filter he'd got going on. They're already running around in circles at this point with Mr TV head's hesitation to act on his emotions and Reader's absolute obliviousness.

A/N: It gets a little angsty towards the end but they'll be okay soon- I feel like this was just another reality check Vox needed to hear from Reader who wasn't really gonna let his shit slide lmao- anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! As always, happy reading!

Providing the tech overlord with some much needed care was one thing-

But you didn't ever pin him to be a heavy sleeper.

Until now that is.

"Vox. Vox. Wake up. Vox."

You sighed when he made a noise similar to a whine and his arms tightened around you slightly.

You'd be lucky to get out of this now without prying him off you.

Your cuddling session was going extremely well and dandy compared to what you had expected.

It just so happened that after a while, your legs were predictably going numb for staying in the same position for too long.

Not to mention that you were hungry.

"Vooooox. Get uuuuup."

You started to poke at his screen repeatedly when he still didn't react, not caring if it left fingerprints or any marks on the glass.

He deserved it for being so difficult to wake up-

When his screen finally lit up once again to show his face, it kind of took a moment for the overlord to process what was happening.

Especially when he just stared at you wide-eyed and confused before all of a sudden tactlessly shoving you off his lap.

"HEY- WHAT THE HELL DUDE!"

So say he'd gone completely autopilot was probably the understatement of the century.

Vox could barely piece any coherent thoughts together when he noticed what position the both of you were in.

It was way too intimate to merely be friendly in his opinion.

And he didn't even know for how long you both were cuddled up like that.

God could his heart just calm the fuck down?!

You gave up yelling at the overlord when you realized he was kind of spacing out.

He refused to even look at you, just pointedly staring at the floor which for whatever reason seemed more interesting at the time.

What the hell was his problem?!

"A freakin 'thank you' would've been enough you know. Either way, I'm gonna go get something to eat. Do you want anything?"

You rolled your eyes when the overlord just shook his head, you'll bring up some food later for him anyway just in case.

When the door finally shut and you had left-

Vox quickly got up from where he was sitting and started pacing around the room.

He just fell asleep on you right?

It was that and nothing else.

You just comforted him after a stressful day-

That was it.

Just very close and very platonic and friendly cuddling-

"Why, I didn't think you would simply sneak in old chap! That's quite improper of you!"

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING-"

Alastor simply laughed when his rival nearly jumped a foot in the air from his arrival.

It was entertaining seeing the ridiculous picturebox struggle with emotions, all the more when it seemed you were involved in it!

He could easily manipulate you both for entertainment and none would be the wiser.

Besides, struggling with feelings?

They weren't children anymore.

How immature!

"What do you want?"

"Oh I was just checking around the hotel as per usual. By the way, (Y/N) didn't seem to be in the bestest of moods during dinner today. Did you perchance have any part to play in that?"

The radio demon only grinned wider when he saw Vox's expression falter slightly.

Was all that irritation towards him simply for bravado?

This was quite an entertaining exchange indeed!

"Oh fuck off, that's none of your business."

"But it is old friend! I try to ensure the happiness of everyone in the hotel, including your darling dear!"

The flatscreen overlord could see through the bullshit already, but his irritation was already bubbling over into rage.

Alastor just had to get on his nerves as always.

"Don't call them that!"

Vox didn't know why he yelled that retort of all things.

True, he called you a multitude of similar petnames anyway-

But to call you his?

That was just a flat out lie.

And he didn't dare to fool himself into believing it.

"Call them what? Don't tell me a simple nickname is winding you up."

"Quit it Al. I didn't leave Vox alone just so you could come in and antagonize him."

Both overlords suddenly looked to you leaning against the doorframe of your room.

They hadn't noticed your presence in their increasingly heated back and forth.

While you were still a little irritated with your techno companion for ignoring you earlier, you found bigger issues with Alastor just snooping in your room.

Who knows what he could've been doing.

"Charlie's looking for you. So could you kindly get the hell out of my room?"

Alastor merely laughed at your grumpiness, waving you off with his signature grin as he melted back into the shadows.

He had enough playing with you both today, maybe another time.

"Little princess Morningstar isn't really looking for him is she?"

"Nope. But he's definitely one creepy fucker and I wanted him out.

Vox would've laughed at your response if he still didn't feel so awkward.

He just couldn't stop thinking too deeply into the situation you were both in earlier.

"Wanna talk about what happened today? You just zonked out on me a while ago. I didn't think you'd be that tired."

You didn't seem to find any issue with anything though, sitting atop your bed and patting a spot next to you.

And people say he's dense-

"It's been an eventful day, in all the worst possible ways."

Your flatscreen companion eventually sat down next to you and sighed.

He was just overthinking everything.

Might as well try and stay distracted.

"Ah. Valentino again?"

"Hah, if only."

You simply listened to Vox as he went on and ranted about his day.

You were astounded to hear about so many things going wrong in quick succession.

It's like Murphy's law had somehow slapped your techno friend in the face.

'Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.'

Yeah, that seemed pretty accurate.

"Then he stormed my earlier broadcast throwing a fit and bitching about Angel trying to stand up to him-"

Okay, wait.

Hold the fucking phone.

"What do you mean 'trying'?"

Vox's ranting immediately hit the brakes at your question.

He really shouldn't have mentioned that-

Or at least worded it a little differently.

How was he going to explain this to you???

"Doll, you know I mentioned Val doesn't like it when his employees dish out some attitude-"

"And you also mentioned he can be a huge piece of shit. Angel wouldn't lash out unless he was provoked."

You practically had the overlord cornered, your serious gaze was making him squirm.

It was totally different from the gentleness you'd graced him with earlier.

"Vox."

He'd never heard you mention his name that sternly before.

In fact, you were even starting to look a little angry.

Shit.

"(Y/N), what ever happens in the studio is none of my concern-"

"So Angel can't even save himself if Valentino decides to be an abhorrent bastard for the day?! Don't you have fucking cameras everywhere?!"

It was either your words or your pained tone struck a cord in the overlord.

You knew, it was in the way his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

He was attempting to do damage control, and you were just not having it.

"You know, he comes back covered in bruises after those shoots sometimes. As far as I'm concerned despite being a pornstar he's really not supposed to!"

Vox didn't know what was genuinely worse.

The fact he'd unintentionally upset you because of his actions-

Or the fact you cared so much about Angel Dust.

He'd never felt any remorse towards the spider back then, only growing annoyed with him for taking so much of Valentino's attention away.

Even now, despite visiting the hotel and getting to know the others better because of you-

He still didn't bother understanding or even sympathizing with anyone's situation aside from you or himself.

He didn't need to.

Then again, was there even a need to at the start with you?

"Why- just- FUCK! Why can't you fucking care Vox?! Why is it just me?!"

It's because I love you.

The overlord merely scowled at you lecturing him.

Those few words he couldn't bring himself to say.

The courage had quickly evaporated when you grew upset at his nonchalance.

Right.

He didn't care.

And still you were the exception.

His guilt only grew when seeing the pain in your eyes.

Vox knew you made friends with most of the hotel's residents.

Save a certain radio demon-

But he wasn't aware to what extent you cared.

You really were too good for him.

Too good to be down here in hell even.

You only grew more irritated at your companion's silence.

Returning his glare with your own as your hands were furiously balled at your sides.

It took all your focus not to start hitting and swinging at his flatscreen head.

Well, he deserved it-

And still you chose not to.

It wasn't like you hated the special treatment from Vox-

Hell, it was flattering and even outright cute sometimes.

But the fact he could so easily turn a blind eye to some issues he had the power to stop-

You wanted to beat some common sense and human decency into this idiot.

The two of you sat in silence for a while until Vox suddenly got up and headed to the window.

You were about to scoff at him running away from the situation until he spoke.

"I'll see what I can do. But I make no promises."

You didn't see his face but his voice was barely above a whisper.

The overlord's tone wavering and uncertain but masked with irritation.

Not that you had any time to reply when your friend was abruptly gone in a bolt of blue electricity.

Possibly already well on his way back to the tower to care for his hellish empire.

Neither of you ever had an argument this explosive since you were alive.

And even then it was because of something stupid you couldn't remember.

But it wasn't so different compared to now.

So why was your heart aching unbearably-?

You shook your head and stormed out of your room.

Fuck it.

You needed a drink.

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #vox #get off my screen series #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

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mono-dot-jpeg · 9 months

Text

explosive affection - express crew

summary; not all kids are normal. and not all kids are bomb loving kids. you were quite an odd one.

genre/extra tags; headcanons/bullet fic, fluff, comedy, klee! reader, reader is quite literally a danger to any planet, reader implied to be from some random planet, mute! trailblazer, welt is so tired of you

[gender neutral! reader] [9-10 yrs old! reader] [platonic]

a/n; i played genshin before, so i know klee. and i got her lmao. so i get the idea. time to be a little silly goofy and channel back my genshin phase rq also i made this more into a bullet fic than like proper hcs

my god, you worry everyone on the train. and everyone on different planets.

they kind of took you in bc your parent was a close friend of himeko's and bam, now you got three sibling figures and a father figure and an aunt figure.

you were a sweet kid

but when himeko forgot to warn any of them (save for welt bc.. it's welt) about your.. hobby

"da-da-da! blow them all up!" and all of sudden you're blowing shit up

"OH MY GOD Y/N NO-" was the first thing yelled from march as she openly panics and calls himeko "HIMEKO WHY DOES SHE HAVE BOMBS?!"

"oh dont worry about that, y/n likes making bombs."

...

"this is a child, himeko."

"well, i never said they were a normal one." and then the call ends

and you're hanging from trailblazer's arms like a kitten, giggling at himeko's words

"y/n likes bombs! you guys want to meet dodoco?" and there's an adamant no from march and dan heng but a yes from trailblazer

after that, they slowly but surely come to understand that this child is destructive but means well most of the time.

trailblazer likes watching you just explode fishes and sometimes lets you fight with them against enemies bc what are they gonna do, kill a child?

dan heng and march try to keep your habits at bay for the most part but you're just so sweet and you usually listen to them that they let you have fun with trailblazer

you like trailblazer the most bc they enable you and you enable them

it's such a tiresome duo oml, they're all tired of it fr

himeko and welt are the real caretakers and enforcers if worse comes to worse

when you guys visit a new planet, you stay back with welt until you're given the okay to explore with the trio

but when you do a little too much, you're taken in your room for time out KJSKJD

but it's okay because welt isn't the one putting you in there

it's himeko

she's usually chill but she finds out quickly that you have an enabler by your side (cough, trailblazer) so she has to enforce a bit more

though all of them find you so endearing when you're so sweet with everyone

you just make friends with everyone in the express and outside the express, it just makes a heavy day feel lighter when you just come in and give your affections to everyone

it's just really sweet overall

#honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #himeko honkai star rail #himeko x reader #hsr himeko #caelus x reader #hsr caelus #stelle honkai star rail #stelle x reader #welt yang x reader #hsr welt #welt yang #march 7th x reader #march 7th #march hsr #hsr march 7th

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lowkeyrobin · 1 month

Note

Trevor Spengler meeting a ghost his age that is stuck as a ghost because they doesn’t remember their surname or how they died or where they used to live? Like all the ‘important info’ from their memories is gone? Headcanons or one shot? Maybe he was called to “evict” them from a residence and took them home to try to help them?

oh em gee YESSS YESYESYES I love the gbfandom cause yall r so creative ; also this sounds very familiar to frozen empire LMAO ; dw melody kinda slayed ; phoebe is definitely gay idc ; reader knows how they died but not much else, but dw it's for the plot. it's alright let me go by summerdrive is literally the final part of this lol ; also this is super long compared to my other works. I think its good though lol

TREVOR SPENGLER ; lost soul

summary ; youre a lost ghost with no way around the new way of life you'd found yourself in, and trevor is intrigued by you, and decides to try and help you out

warnings ; language, talk about car crashes/death due to car accidents

disclaimers ; set post-frozen empire, me not knowing wtf mannhattan looks like. there's a hilly kind of area near lincoln park bc I said so

word count ; 2.4k

masterlist

The day progressed as usual for Trevor. Wake up, eat, chill out, wait for someone to call, go bust ghosts, come home, eat, sleep and then repeat it all again. Currently, stage five was in progress.

He sits behind Gary in the driver's seat, Phoebe at his side, and his mom in clear view in the front passenger seat. There was no speeding or heavy fight scene, just a calm drive out to a house just outside the main city.

Someone had called in a ghost, I mean, more like a haunting in Trevor's eyes. Nothing was being destroyed, but a very, very apparent ghost had spent the past week sobbing in the attic and banging on the walls.

As he lays eyes on them, he's mesmerized. Their aura is a light blue, contrasting the dark green, brown, and black hues surrounding the attic. They were like a match in the dark. He was attracted to them like a moth to a flame.

He stands on one side of the attic entrance, them on the other. He had to basically turn around to see them on the opposite side of the attic.

He awkwardly and shyly waves, seeing them look back at him, their face contorted to one of discomfort and shock. Tears drip down their cheeks and down onto their neck, scratches and bruises covering their opaque arms, legs and face. A light flickering movement trails down their arms and onto their shoulders and neck, resembling fire.

"Who are you?" They ask, a harsh tone in their voice. Their hands are balled into fists, hanging at their sides.

"Uh, my name's Trevor" He says, showing his empty hands for you, to get some sense that he wasn't here to hurt you. "I'm a Ghostbuster, we got a call that you've been banging walls and stuff..."

They look at him up and down, still thinking this Trevor guy wasn't very trustworthy.

"I just wanna help, okay? What does it take to get you somewhere safer and away from this house?" He asks.

They shrug, unable to hold eye contact. "I don't know why I'm here. I don't know how I'm supposed to move on, I just wanna see my dad again"

Trevor's face quickly morphs into one of solem, feeling the same way as you right now. "I can try and help you move on" He suggests, "Do you know how you... died?"

"Car accident" You answer.

His eyes slightly widened for a moment before answering. "Would you like to come with me? So we can help you move on? We have a lab not to far away, we can try and help you find your way to continue on"

Phoebe, who'd been listening in from downstairs, having been holding the ladder before, speaks up. "We can help you break the fabric and space in time!"

They slightly jump back a bit, not having known that Trevor had guests.

"That's my sister!" He quickly explains, shooting a glare down the ladder towards her. "It's okay, we aren't here to hurt you."

They step forward a bit, the two separated by the hole in the attic floor. They peek down at Phoebe, who gives them a little wave and smile. They look back up at Trevor, who gives them a reassuring yet unsure look, silently urging them to come with him.

"Fine. But not to be experimented on. I just want to see my dad again, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's okay!"

👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Forty-four days that the lonely ghost had been staying at a lab where the somberly walked around, trying to remember anything other than their death. What were they meant to do?

They and Trevor had grown close, though.

He'd been working with them one-on-one nearly everyday, trying to figure out who they were, when they died, where they died. They'd grown accustomed to this talk, having it not make them grow sad or angry anymore. They became numb to it, they just wanted to move on.

Trevor made their time here worth it though. He understood them more than anyone else. They wouldn't even work with Lars or Lucky if he wasn't around. Lars would scold them and reinform that if they didn't cooperate that it would only take longer, but they didn't mind at this point. They'd like to stay and hang out with Trevor some more.

The same ripped jeans and sweatshirt they wore when they passed never grew any more deteriorated than it already was, strings and rips never mending themselves. They were still comfortable though, physically and mentally. That last day they spent with their father, they didn't know much about it, but their insides grew warm when they thought about or tried to remember it.

Hours and hours of work was rewarded with Trevor taking them out on a walk through the city and showing them the sights. They enjoyed it quite a lot, and didn't mind any stares or looks, just enjoying the time they were able to spend with the boy.

On one of these walks, Trevor brought up some good news. "I think we found your case, Y/n"

They look over at him, an eyebrow raised.

"We found the newspaper caption of the day after you died, it all matches up." He explains, pulling out his phone to show you a picture. "Car flips over gaurd rail near Lincoln Park, one dead, one in critical condition"

They nod, looking back up at Trevor. "I'm guessing I'm the one who died?"

He nods. "In the article it says your name, and your dad's" He hands the phone over to them, pointing the location as they zoom in.

"Y/n L/n" They whisper. "L/n"

He slows down the pace, seeing the look of pain in their eyes.

"What about my dad? Did he die too?"

He nervously shrugs, not having a definitive answer. They nod, handing the phone back.

"That's a great lead though, we can find out where he is. And maybe that can help us get you into the next realm, or whatever it is" Trevor speaks with reassurance. "I will get you there, I swear that on my life, okay?"

The two stand in front of each other on the empty sidewalk, surrounded by trees and cars passing by. He looks up at them, truth behind his dark eyes.

They chew at the inside of their cheek with a nod, wishing they could just hug him right now.

"Can we go visit where...." They speak softly, trying to ask a bit of a heavy question. That question should've been heavy for them, not him of all people.

He nods with a little smile, planning to go after they went out to eat, or, he did. Ghosts of their kind thankfully didn't need food, just being floating spirits trying to find their escape.

👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The dusk had turned to night, the sun having set not long ago, the streets lit up by lights and the moon. The walk towards the crash site was silent while Y/n looked over the newspaper pictures a few times.

2021. That wasn't that long ago, yet it seemed like an eternity.

They approach the dented gaurd rail, right where the car must've flipped. Trevor hangs back, putting his phone back in his pocket after they gave it back. They look down the hill, seeing scraps of metal and tire rubber still laying at the bottom.

Their heart sank as they saw it.

Pieces of the scrap were clearly melted or burned, same with a few trees around the area, the bark charred black from whatever fire must've occurred. That had to have explained the fire on their arms, though they never remembered a fire. They must've died on impact.

Trev stands a few feet away, keeping quiet as he sees them just stare into nothing. Maybe they were recollecting memories or maybe their death or anything else in their life was coming back to them. He didn't want to disturb.

They look at the gaurd rail, sunken down to the ground. Some blood splatters still painted the backside, a little pool of blood staining the concrete.

They, with a smooth pace, walk back to Trevor, holding back tears.

"I want to find my dad. I want to know if he lived or not" They speak, pointing down at the blood. "Please, Trevor. I can't wait around any longer."

He nods. He nearly opens his arms for a hug but stops himself, remembering that he couldn't make physical contact with him.

"I'll come down to the lab tomorrow morning and we'll get to work, okay?"

"Okay"

👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The sounds of clicks and keyboard taps echo through the lab. Trevor sits in front of the computer, typing all sorts of variations of their father's name and the city, date, etc into the Google search bar. Y/n stands behind him, watching with caution.

Thank God for True People Search.

F/n L/n, Age 55 - Lives in Manhattan, NY (917)-123-4567.

"Holy shit" The two whisper in unison. They both lightly smile, quickly getting back to the mission at hand.

Trevor clicks on the website, instantly greeted by a picture of Y/n's father. Underneath was his full name, age, date of birth, phone number, and city and state of current residence. Below was more info, like his current address, past and current phone numbers, email addresses, possible relatives, etcetera.

The second person below the possible relatives was a familiar name and age. Y/n L/n, age 17.

"Holy shit, that's you" Trevor states, moving the mouse towards the name. "He's- He's not dead"

They're silent now, staring down at the computer screen.

"What the fuck? I spent all these years thinking he was dead!" They say, slowly backing away from the computer and Trevor, hands on their head as they try and not freak out. "What the hell?"

Trevor quickly stands up, proposing an idea. "What if we call him, and get him to come here and see you?"

They're quiet for a moment.

"I'm scared"

"I'll be right here"

Silence.

"I think this is what will make you be able to move on, Y/n"

They're quiet again, then they nod slowly, taking a little deep breath.

👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Y/n sits in the chair Trevor was sitting in before, leg bouncing like crazy due to nerves. The curly haired boy, who thankfully grew out his hair some, was speaking words of reassurance to them. It was already four in the afternoon, the days passing on and blending into each other for poor Y/n.

They couldn't even remember how many days ago it was that The Possessor scared the shit out of them with a chair.

Finally, there's a knock on the door, which Trevoe quickly walks over to answer. They felt like they were going to vomit, if they even could.

"Y/n?"

They quickly look up, hearing the familiar voice calling their name. They'd never felt or heard something so familiar that it instantly warmed up their heart.

Their father stands in the doorway, Trevor in front of him as he walks toward them.

The man walks with a limp, carrying his 200 pound body down the hallway. A bushy beard covered the bottom half of his face, grey hairs peaking out between it. He wore a baseball cap, hiding whatever grey hairs he had up there as well.

Y/n quickly stands up, laying eyes on their father after all this time. They felt their whole core begin to burn as they saw him again.

"Dad?"

He smiles, opening his arms. "Y/n"

They quickly run to him, then almost through him, forgetting they were a ghost. They wrap their arms around him, knowing the couldn't make physical contact. He does the same, arms stiffly heald around each other.

"I missed you so much" They cry, looking up at him. "I thought you died"

The two pull their arms away from each other. Trevor watches a few feet away with a smile.

The older man smiles somberly, "I almost did, Y/n/n"

"Are you okay?" They quickly ask, looking at him up and down.

He sighs and shrugs, "I don't think there's been a day where I've been okay without you"

The burning only became worse, nearly hurting them. They didn't know if it was good or bad but you wanted to enjoy this.

"I love you, Dad"

"I love you too. I'm sorry I failed you" He speaks, tears falling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry for everything"

"It's okay" They lightly smile with a chuckle, the action performed by their surprise, shock and happiness of the situation. "I'm okay. Trevor has been helping me try to find you"

He looks back at Trevor who gives him a warm smile and nod, then back to them. They were beginning the process to fade away. Tiny, microscopic pieces of them began drifting away like leaves against the wind. They look down at themselves, feeling the fading and numbing sensation.

Their father nods, seeing the look of 'I need to speak to Trevor' and 'I love you' mixed in their eyes.

They quickly walk over to Trevor, wrapping their arms around him, still stiffly holding them over his shoulders.

"Thank you, so much. I can't thank you enough, Trev"

He smiles, wrapping his arms around them. "Thank you for trusting me, Y/n/n"

They can feel their body trembling, feeling themselves fade into nothing. They hear and feel Trevor crying a bit, trying to hide it.

"Hey, it's alright, I'll be okay" They chuckle, seeing the boy wipe his tears away as they're no longer halfway-hugging.

"I know" He nods, "Have fun moving on"

They lightly smile, and look back at their father. They hold onto whatever memories they had with both him and Trevor, waving goodbye to both of them as they fade into the oxygen around them.

Y/n's father wipes his tears, looking at Trevor now that they're completely gone, for good this time.

"Thank you for bringing me back to my child. Even if it was only for a moment. I can't find the words to express how much I thank you for that"

Trevor nods, "It's okay. Thank you for bringing such a kind soul into the world, Mr. L/n"

"You can call me F/n, son"

#lowkeyrobin #trevor spengler x reader #trevor spengler #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard #ghostbusters frozen empire #ghostbusters afterlife #ghostbusters x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #they/them reader #gn!reader

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sweatervest-obsessed · 4 months

Note

Heyyy love ur work alot and this is my first time asking u but for ur 500 followers celebration could u do Spencer Reid and childhood friends fem!reader with heavy pining and " it's always been u" at the end hurt/comfort ?

omg slay yes. Done. (accidentally made it gn lmao)

“Oh my god Spence I can’t do this.”

“What?”

“I can’t—I can’t do it.”

“Hey, hey talk to me. What’s going on?”

“It’s all wrong. Everything is all wrong.”

Spencer listened to you ramble as he very calmly moved towards the door, trying not to alert anyone that anything was wrong. Of course, when you’re surrounded by friends and family, and a strong percentage of them are profilers, the statistics of one of them not noticing was very, very, very low.

“It’s okay.” He whispered, trying to calm you down over the phone, while trying to not attract attention.

He was lucky Hotch was the only one to notice him getting up. Spencer was almost lucky enough to have Hotch not notice he was on the phone, but the universe had other plans.

Spencer quickly slipped out the main doors of the church and into the hallway. Hotch was not far behind.

“Y/n. I need you to sit down and breathe okay? Open a window. Get some air—“ Spencer stopped talking when some patrons walked by him, smiling at them and waiting for them to be gone to continue calming you down.

“What’s wrong.”

Spencer turned and faced Hotch. He wasn’t even going to try and lie. There was simply no point in it. “We have a um…..”

Hotch nodded. “How much time do you need?”

“Five minutes max.” Spencer whispered.

The two men silently came to an agreement and one went back into the church while the other bounded up the steps.

Spencer knocked on the door, patiently waiting for you to answer them. He was surprised when you quickly yanked him inside and slammed the door shut so no one would notice it was open. Spencer decided not to point out that slamming doors was not the way to go if you didn’t want to attract attention.

“Want to—-“ Spencer stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t breathe.

You had literally taken Spencer’s breath away. Spencer had always thought that he would see you at the end of the aisle when you both were at your wedding. But even just seeing you now was enough to cause his heart to drop with grief.

You were breathtaking, and you weren’t his.

You and Spencer had known one another since he was five and you were six. Since you were older, you always knew better, even though Spencer was definitely the brains of your little operation.

The very first time Spencer saw you, he proposed to you with a rock, muttering something along the lines of a rock fact and what that rock had been through and eternity.

You said yes.

It was hard to be friends with someone who graduated high school and went to college when they were twelve years old. You knew Spencer wouldn’t forget you, but as the years passed by, it felt like he did. You only found him again on your first day in the FBI Academy.

To say you were shocked when you saw him in your line up the first morning you all had to run a mile in a minute, it didn’t even come close.

You two only got closer when you both were selected for the BAU, which wasn’t even on your radar until Spencer told you about it.

Somewhere down the line, you fell in love with him. With his smile. His brain. His never perfect hair. His facts. His glasses. His messenger bag. All of it. And you fell hard.

It didn’t take a room full of profilers to tell you that it was fairly obvious you love him.

But it didn’t seem to reach across the border with Spencer. He ended up making out with movie stars, falling in love with JJ, dating a woman who he only communicated with on the phone. It was never you.

The love you had for Spencer was palpable but you had no where to put it. So you did what you do best, you diverted your attention. Dated around. Kissed people at bars. Went on boring dates. Until you found someone who was kind, and respectful, and attractive. A distraction that ended up being someone you cared for deeply. Deeply enough to say yes when they proposed.

But now, that you were here, and completely dressed, fully made up, you were having cold feet. You couldn’t do it.

You wanted Spencer to be on the other end of the aisle and he wasn’t. You couldn’t picture anyone else when you looked down the aisle and it was killing you.

You looked up at Spencer, tear stained cheeks, puffy eyes.

Seeing you dressed like that, and not for him, was a stab in the gut. Repeatedly wrenching out his insides. Spencer shoved everything he had ever wanted to say down his throat. “Oh Y/n.” He whispered, walking over to you and pulling you into a hug.

“Talk to me.” Stab.

“What can I do?” Stab.

“How can I fix this.” Right through the heart.

“I-I can’t do it Spence…i don’t love—I’m not going to marry—-“

“Hey hey hey.” He kissed your head. “You are so strong and wonderful and you can—“

You shoved him away. “You’re not listening to me. I’m not—I can’t do it. I don’t love—“

“Yes you do.” Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. “You wouldn’t have said yes if you didn’t.”

“Yes—-but no. I don’t.” You huffed and cracked your knuckles (a nervous habit you had picked up from a certain SSA Morgan). “Not like that.” You looked down at your attire. “Not like this.”

Spencer stood there, watching as you worked it out. “Why.”

“Why?”

Spencer nodded. “Why aren’t you going through with it.”

You opened your mouth but no sound came out. Nothing. It was as if you had never spoken at all. You felt the words. They were on the tip of your tongue. Literally.

I’m in love with you Spencer Reid.

But they never made it past your lips. So you just looked like a fish out of water, mouth flopping open and closed.

“Y/n?”

“I-I have a reason it’s just…” you closed your eyes. “I love you.”

Spencer exhaled but responded. “I love you too but—-“

“No Spencer.” You cut him off. “I’m in love with you. I have been since you proposed to me with that stupid fucking rock that I still keep on my night stand. It is the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I see when I sleep at night. But I don’t want to see some stupid fossilized sand. I want you. I want to see your eyes every fucking morning. I want to make my espresso in the kitchen and have you tell me about ancient Mayan chiefs drinking it during major celebrations. I want to have someone to talk to about the books I read and the ones I don’t. I want someone to play chess with. I want to be able to lean over and kiss you whenever the fuck I want because I am all you Spencer. I have been yours. And I cannot picture anyone else on the other end of that aisle at my wedding. I can’t go through with it because it’s not you. I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember and it kills me that you don’t love me the same way. But I cannot get married today because I’m not saying my vows to you. I’m not swearing before our friends and family that I would not only lay down my life for you, but I would stay alive for you.”

Soencer was sure that the ceiling had a leak in it because it felt like he was just run over by a water fall. Completely drenched in your words and soaking them into his skin.

You wiped a tear away and shook your head. “That’s why I’m not getting married. And I get it if you don’t see me the same way but—-“

You had always imagined that Spencer’s lips would taste like, but strawberry chapstick was not one of them. His lips slotted perfectly into yours, with his hand on your cheek, and the other around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You melted into his touch, made dumb by the fact that his lips were on yours.

Eventually, you needed air. You would have stood there all day with your lips locked with his. But you pulled away ever so slightly, forehead resting on his.

“It’s you.” You felt his lips brush against yours as his spoke, his breathe fanning across your lips. “It’s always been you.”

You smiled and pushed your lips against his.

No matter how the next few minutes of your life played out, it was all going to be okay, as long as you could keep your lips on Spencer’s, and he kept his lips on yours.

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