➝ i wanna be yours [frank castle]; think rain, arctic monkeys and frank castle
➝ the right way to do it [john ‘soap’ mactavish]; the tension finally breaks between you and your least favourite team member at the worst possible time.
➝ duality [joel miller]; a morning and a night with joel miller
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
frank castle
[series]
— salt, ice and fire [masterlist]: COMPLETED
frank castle was supposed to be just another name on a list, but when he spares your life, you feel indebted to him. will paying it back bite you in the ass, or will it turn out to be the best decision you ever made?
[stand alone fics]
— looking to tomorrow: frank finally gets the guts to make a move on his favourite bartender, but not in the way he expected.
— nothing fucks with my baby: nothing gets between frank castle and the person he wants, not even an entire police station.
— red or white?: how a first date with frank would go, and the moments immediately after.
— homewrecker: you and frank have been stuck in micros garage for hours, and you find a way to pass the time.
— ruined: it was only a matter of time before frank and his least favourite vigilante went head to head. when they get close, though, it’s hard to tell whether he’s going to kill them or kiss them.
— nice shirt: you hate the shirt you’re wearing. frank reminds you why he loves it.
— guilt: a conversation of mourning.
— watch you, watch me: there’s no room for insecurity when frank castle is standing behind you in the mirror.
— not a bad day [part one]: your boxing trainer, frank, let’s you take out your frustrations on him in the ring.
— not a bad day [part two]: frank continues to turn your day around by taking you home.
— nine:even with nine pregnancy tests in front of you, there’s still no fucking way you are pregnant. not only do you have to come to terms with it, frank comes home early and everything hits you at once.
— bad shoulder: frank comes to you with a problem.
— i wanna be yours: you and frank finally realise that you don’t want to be without each other after all.
the mandalorian
[series]
— the element of surprise [masterlist]: you need parts for a ship repair, and it was just your luck a shiny new ship landed in front of you. it was almost like fate.
— unearthed [masterlist]: you are the new leader of your planet, but you lack an army. lucky for you, a new king has also recently ascended the throne. does anyone smell a royal wedding???
[stand alone fics]
— real convenient: bounty hunting with the mandalorian always comes with a risk, but magic plants? that’s clearly a ploy to distract you. right?
— cutting it close: leading the mandalorian into a club seems like the perfect cover to find your next target, only he seems a little stiff when it comes time to blending in.
simon ‘ghost’ riley
[stand alone fics]
— coming home: when simon comes home two weeks early, normally you’d jump out of your skin. instead, he’s quiet as anything, and something about him is… off. you do your best to take his mind off it.
— kiss me just to kiss me: ghost takes a final moment as simon to just kiss you.
obi-wan kenobi
[stand alone fics]
— had you said the words: you save obi-wan’s life, and he repays you after he comes to his senses.
— a welcomed distraction [part one]: meeting an old friend, who also happens to now be a member of the jedi council stirs up old feelings, but will you be able to deny them any longer?
— a welcomed distraction [part two]: after a whirlwind of events, you finally catch the jedi master alone again.
steven grant
[stand alone fics]
— a little banged up: you haven’t seen your neighbour steven in a few days, so you take a trip over to his apartment to find him more than a bit out of sorts.
— days in between: you help steven after a rough day.
— whatever you want: steven accidentally (not really) finds your private collection
loki laufeyson
[stand alone fics]
— sworn to you: as the head of loki’s private guard, you put up with a lot of shit. when he risks your position in front of his father, though, is where you draw the line.
matt murdock
[stand alone fics]
— hands off: you and matt drink a bottle of wine and see who can go the longest without touching the other.
— strip poker: a simple game of poker with your boss seems innocent enough, but when you start to lose, he offers you a game of all or nothing. only, it isn’t a game you can play in public.
bucky barnes
[stand alone fics]
— win you over: a night playing husband and wife pushes you both over the edge.
— try to relax: locked in a room with the winter soldier seems like the worst situation in the world. luckily, you bought a little treat to pass the time.
captain price
[stand alone fics]
— two is hardly a crowd : staying alone on base between missions seems like it would be a lonely experience, but with captain price also using his free time to hang around, you find ways to entertain yourself.
joel miller
— small favours: working in the stables at jackson has its perks, the main one including joel millers undivided attention for an hour a day. he fixes a broken gate for you, and you decide to repay the favour.
— old partners, new plans: you tell joel about your plan to leave the QZ, but he doesn’t take the news like you planned. you think of a few ways to make it up to him.
— duality: a morning and a night with joel
— asking nicely: riding horses < riding joel millers face.
john ‘soap’ mactavish
— the right way to do it: the competition between you and soap comes to a head.
I was wondering if it would be okay if I bind Salt, Ice and Fire into a book? I really loved reading it, and it’s one of my favourite Frank Castle fan fic!!
oh my god yes. YES!!! WHAT THE FUCK
i want one omg
just a little psa feel free to print out/bind any of my fics— my only thing is you don’t sell/make any money off of it!! i made this stuff for free, and i want everyone to enjoy it like that :)
but feel free to try your hand at it!! 🩵🩵 that’s so exciting SEND ME PICTURES 😍😍😍😍
I Can Help With That (Din x Reader) - A Back To You Drabble
A/N: This is part of my Phantom 1k Celebration. It’s a combination of three requests, which can be found here, here, and here. It takes place after Part 19 of Back To You, sometime after they get Grogu back in TBoBF, and is the closest thing to smut I’ve really written. (Thanks a lot, you know who you are.) It’s really actually just spice and domestic intimacy more than anything with an implied fade to black, but…. So I’m just gonna drop this here and run. 😬 Have a nice day! (There will be a few more, less spicy, here.)
I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.
Summary: After a messy bounty leaves your clan of three staying overnight in a dingy room on Daiyu, feelings come bubbling up that have been otherwise too scared to see the light of day.
Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, and Din is once again a warning in and of himself in this one. Swearing. Space swearing. Arguing? Spoilers? (But if you’re here, you know how this works.) Lots of angst. Tears. Brief mention of injury. Reader is having a Tough Time™️ mentally, but it’s discussed and processed. As mentioned above, some spice and alluded to Fun Times. (They are in the shower together, per the request, so nudity? But it’s not discussed? Not really?) Helmetless Din. What? Who said that?
Word count: 4,913
Thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex for reading this over a bazillion times and not strangling me when I stressed over five words not being exactly what I wanted.
(Tagging @grippingbeskar and @darkroastjoel, these are yours.)
Xxx
It hadn’t taken long for you to find out that Din enjoyed lingering touches.
He always found an excuse for his hand to be on your lower back, guiding you through crowded markets, wooded planets; curling around your waist and holding you tight to his side to keep you warm when the temperature dropped lower.
His fingers found their practiced patterns quickly, tracing laps around your upper arm, your hip. Racing up and down your forearm until goosebumps rose along every surface he’d dared to trace.
He wasn’t satisfied until you’d shudder from the lightest touches, groan into his cowl as his fingers kneaded into a sore muscle in your neck, or your breath would hitch as his hand closed around your own.
Though the Crest was small, he made it smaller still, crowding into your space whenever he deemed you had too much of it.
Whenever you worked on a panel, digging through wires, you’d feel him hovering just behind you, a breath away from sealing his chest along your spine.
If you laid on the floor to work in the cramped space under the console, a mess of wires hanging in your face, you’d sense his presence looming near your feet, the toes of his boots resting against the heels of your own.
Sometimes when you’d tucked the kid in at night, watching his eyes droop more and more slowly as you gently rocked his hammock back and forth, humming a soft tune, you’d feel the temperature of the hull rise as his shadow crossed over you soundlessly, cutting out the little light the Crest had to offer. A smirk would twist its way up your face as you felt him hovering nearer.
Tonight was one of those nights.
So it was no surprise when he let out a hum of amusement as you turned into his chest after closing the door to the cot and a sleeping Grogu.
You both played the game, still, like this wasn’t the easiest thing either of you had ever fallen into. Still tiptoeing around the other as if nothing had been said, no secrets had been shared, no Creeds broken. That last thought sobered you up every time it crossed your mind, making your breath catch in your chest.
Pushing away thoughts of Creeds and Mandalore, you grinned up at him, resting your chin against his chest plate to keep your gaze steady.
“What’s this?” He mumbled as your arms circled around his back, disengaging his jet pack.
“Love and affection.” The pack swung your arm down, pulling an oomph out of you. Setting it down to the side with a thump, you smirked up at him, circling your arms back around his waist slowly, chin once again perched on his beskar. “Deal with it.”
“Mesh’la, you don’t want to do that….” He groaned, melting into your embrace, but also trying to lean back at the same time.
You hummed, face scrunched in mock displeasure. “You should know by now you shouldn’t tell me what to do. It doesn’t work….”
Din snorted. “No, mesh’la, I mean….” He extricated himself from your grip, delicately pushing your arms away as he pulled the rest of his body back with a small twisting maneuver. “I need to shower. That last bounty wasn’t a, er….” He hesitated, his voice going tight. “A clean kill.”
Narrowing your brows at him, you lifted your eyes to study him from head to toe, finding no trace of anything on his beskar. “You don’t look dirty.” Closing the distance once again with a single step forward, you lifted his arms up to peer under them as if that would reveal the dirt and grime in question, bending forward slightly to get a better look. Next was his cape. You tilted to the side dramatically to see underneath.
He snapped it out of your hands, spinning out of your hold and took several steps away before turning to face you again. “You wouldn’t see anything. The blood is bioluminescent. You’d need to kick on the-”
“Oh! The special work lights, yeah.” You were already moving toward the ladder up to the cockpit. “They are in my tool box, I’ll go get the-”
“No!” You stopped at his abrupt protest, one hand on a ladder rung by your head, one foot already about to push up a rung, but it slipped off with a soft thunk when you turned to look at him with raised brows. “No,” he offered again, this time softer. “You’re not gonna want to do that.” His voice lowered. “Trust me.”
You hesitated. Despite him trying to keep away, you took a step closer, brows knit together in confusion. “Why?”
He shifted his weight from side to side, voice tight in apprehension. “‘Cause now it’s on you, too.”
Holding your arms out to the sides, slowly, you looked down at your body that looked the same as it did five minutes ago, only now, it felt like you were caked in filth. Looking back up into his visor, you ignored his hands held up to try and placate you, voice raising with each word. “You could have warned me!”
“I tried!” Din almost whined, exasperated, taking a step back to maintain the distance he had tried to create. “I really did,” he added softly.
Eyes fluttering shut, you took a deep breath before letting it out through your nose. Your voice had lowered back to something closer to normal when you spoke again; hands gesturing smally, still out at your sides as you did. “Let’s just go to the room and get a shower. You go first, leave your armor outside the fresher door and I’ll clean it while you’re in there-”
“We don’t need to go all the way back to the room. I can use the sink here on the ship-” Din stopped short when your eyes flew open, landing on him with a hard stare. He sighed, the sound resigned. “Let’s get going, then. It’s at least half a mile to get there….”
You nodded, small smirk working its way up one side of your face. “Thank you.” After you began to gather a few things, you mused to him proudly, “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to get a room?” He grunted, making you scoff softly and roll your eyes before turning back to the satchel you were packing. “I mean, it’s not every day we’re on….” Your hand froze midway into the bag, the other clutching the strap of it tightly. Keeping your eyes on the bag, you didn’t dare to lift them back up as you studied its weave hoping it held your answers.
With a sigh, you lifted your head and shut your eyes briefly before cutting your gaze Din’s way, making sure to narrow your eyes preemptively.
He slowly swiveled his visor up to level you with a look. “You don’t even know where we are?” His tone was incredulous. One hip popped out to the side, his head tilting to the side as he stared at you.
“I know,” you defended, inclining your chin to peer down your nose at him before turning your attention back to the bag.
Arms crossed over his chest, he stood up straight, keeping the glare of his visor squarely on you. “You should. You picked it out.”
Making your way over to the bunk, satchel across your chest, you jumped in to correct him. “No, technically the bounty did.” You hesitated. “I only picked the puck. Which was all you. You said I was lucky or something. So this is technically on you.”
Tossing his head with a groan, Din turned away from you, grabbing the essentials while you grabbed the kid.
“Daiyu!”
Din spun around to see the kid blinking bleary eyes up at you as you looked down at him apologetically, one finger held up beside your head for emphasis.
Lifting your eyes back up to meet the T of Din’s visor, you shrugged one shoulder sheepishly, mumbling. “Daiyu, I remembered.”
Xxx
Once you got into the room, the kid had promptly fallen back asleep, allowing you to seal him safely away in his floating cradle for the night.
Turning to face Din, hands on your hips, you watched him set the bags of supplies down on a small table in the corner. “Want any help taking the armor off?”
“No, I’ll manage,” he spoke softly, not looking up at you once. His gaze stayed down toward the table, his visor angled toward the smooth surface. With a quiet groan, he walked to the other side of the room and began removing the armor piece by piece. It collected against the wall beside the fresher door in a small pile, a soft thunk with each new piece as the tower of beskar grew.
You watched in silence from across the room, sorting mindlessly through the bag of rations. He moved so stiffly once he began to set the armor down, his movements stilted and slow, like every breath was an effort. Din twisted to the side, puffing up his chest to try and keep it from you, but you noticed. The quarry must have gotten him somehow. The closer you looked, the more you saw; he had a slight hitch in his step and favored his left side more than his right, bracing on the door frame as he passed through to start the water in the shower.
Since he’d removed his helmet for Grogu and you’d seen his face, he’d been a lot less careful about taking it off in front of you. He still kept it on most of the time, it was after all what he was used to, and you didn’t mind that at all. But the few times he removed it, like right now, you found your eyes straying away from his face, unable to look without an obvious invitation. It still felt like something forbidden.
That’s why when his bare forehead pressed against yours, it caught you off guard and made you jump.
He chuckled. “Sorry.” In nothing but his flight suit, sleeves pushed up his forearms, he crowded into your space like he always did, bringing his right hand up to cup your cheek. His left arm wound around your waist to pull you tight, as his breath fanned across your face.
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not,” he agreed, words overlapping your own eagerly as he shook his head against yours, his nose brushing against your own. The smile pulling up the side of his face was contagious, and it tugged up your cheek under the soft ministrations of his thumb.
You expected him to back you into a wall like he usually did, but the two of you stood quietly in the middle of the room, simply being. It was nice to have a moment to just breathe.
Your arms made their way up to wrap around his neck, nearly all the way around when he hissed, sucking air in through his teeth as he flinched away from you. Cradling both cheeks in your hands, you held his face firmly as your eyes scanned over every part of him you could see for any obvious injury.
“Din? What is it? What hurts?”
His eyes stayed downcast, almost in shame, his chin tucked down toward his chest.
“Din?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled. You’d grown used to his unmodulated voice recently, but you weren’t used to this tone. Dejected. Broken. Subdued.
You simply blinked a few times, scanning his face for any sign of what was wrong, besides the obvious, while he leaned to his left just slightly, enough that you noticed. “Din…. What?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He cleared his throat, bringing his hands up to thread his fingers through yours and lift them off his face. He gave you a gentle squeeze before he let go. His movements were soft and kind, but left no room for question.
Eyes never pulling up from the floor, Din rubbed the back of his neck in something that looked like nerves, then turned toward the fresher, disappearing behind the door as it hissed shut behind him.
Xxx
You waited a few minutes before you followed him, the soft drone of running water filling the room with a constant hum. Leaving your vambraces with his pile of armor by the fresher door, you smiled softly as you surveyed the large pile of beskar. We’ll clean them in the morning.
After you made sure the room was secure, the kid tucked away in his cradle fast asleep, you stripped down the rest of the way, before wrapping yourself in a towel provided by the room. The fresher door opened with a wave of your hand, a wall of steam curling out like you’d relieved some sort of exhaust pressure.
Walking silently into the room like Din had taught you, you closed the door behind you with a wave of your hand, the unseen force causing the steam to swirl in fascinating tendrils in the process.
Your Mandalorian was tucked away in the shower, his back to you, oblivious to your presence as you watched him, studying him from head to toe with more than just your eyes to make sure he was okay. You reached out through the Force to try and read him, something he always made so easy for you, he was an open book, but right now, he was closed off.
Furrowing your brow, you set your towel off to the side and walked closer toward the shower stall.
Din was leaning on his hands against the wall, his silhouette behind the glass dividing the shower from the rest of the room obscured from the steam already billowing around the edges.
His breathing looked labored, every breath an effort as he stood deep in thought.
He obviously hadn’t wanted you to see him like this. Battered, probably bruised. You knew it all amounted to one thing in his eyes. He felt broken.
Stepping under the spray, you blinked twice as stray droplets hit your lashes.
Din was so distracted he still didn’t even know you were here, leaning forward against the opposite wall of the shower, hands braced against the cool wall, head hung low between rounded shoulders.
Reaching out slowly, you lightly traced your fingertips up his left side, pausing when he went stiff. “It’s just me,” you muttered quietly, your right hand coming up to race against your left along his ribs.
Spreading your fingers out so your whole hand could dance along his skin, gliding along with the water droplets cascading down his sides, you pressed more firmly into him, stepping closer.
In the dim light of the shower stall you could see bruises blooming along his rib cage, contrasting brilliantly under your fingertips and against his warm skin tone.
“These are new.” Keeping your voice quiet, you let your eyes find the rest without your hands having to trace their paths.
He only grunted in acknowledgment.
“I can help with that, you know.”
“No,” he said instantly. After shifting his weight back and forth for a moment, he turned his head just slightly to look at you over his shoulder before looking back forward, and lowered his voice. “No.” Din shook his head for emphasis, his fingers flexing against the wall.
Resting your chin against his spine, careful to avoid the bruises, you wrapped your arms around to rest on his chest, bending over to drape yourself over him like a blanket. “How come?”
“That always tires you out so much.” His hands flexed again. “Plus….”
After waiting for him to go on, you pushed gently. “Yeah?”
“Plus…. When you do too much of that stuff…. Sometimes it…. Changes you….”
“How so?”
He took a deep breath, pushing off the wall to stand up straighter, unable to straighten all the way as one of the bruises pulled his spine forward slightly. You kept your arms around him, your body pressed tightly to his as you felt his heartbeat pick up under your palm.
Closing your eyes, you reached out through the Force, offering him some of your light to mend his darkness, the battered and broken skin along his sides mending back to a warm shade of health.
His pulse rose even more under your fingers, and he sighed in frustration. “Mesh’la….”
“What’s one more time,” you mumbled into his shoulder blade, tucking your face into his spine whether to hide away or simply because it made you feel safer, you didn’t know. “I don’t like seeing you hurt, Din. I’m not going to break from healing the ones I love.” You turned so just your forehead was resting against his back. “At least I don’t think.” Your voice was barely a whisper.
Din only nodded after a moment. He understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. Another sigh passed his lips as he brought one hand up to pat yours over his heart lightly, pulling it up to kiss your palm before placing it back on his chest. Then he put his hand back on the wall in front of him. Almost like a reflex. You were there, so he had to reach out and touch you somehow. It made the corner of your mouth quirk up if only for a second before it fell once again.
A long moment of silence stretched between you two until you finally ventured again, “You never explained. How? What is it that changes in me?”
Din kept staring at the wall in front of him, his voice echoing off the shower stall when he finally spoke again, but barely loud enough to be heard over the quiet drone of the running water.
“Sometimes…. Sometimes there’s a darkness to you. I don’t think you’re aware of it, it’s definitely not a conscious decision, but this…. Thing takes over, and your eyes…. They look cold.”
“When?” Your hands moved back to his rib cage. “When was the last time you saw it?”
“With Gideon. At first I thought it was just some sort of fierce protectiveness. But when you held your saber at his throat, I could feel it.” His hands came up over yours and squeezed softly, pulling them back around his chest to place them over his heart again. “The room shifted. You went somewhere dark.”
Resting your forehead against his shoulder blade, you took a deep, shuddering breath, before bringing your mouth to simply rest against his skin. Breathing as slowly as you could through your nose, your eyes screwed tightly shut, you focused on the things around you.
The smell of the soap from the room. The smell that was undeniably him that no amount of scrubbing could remove. The heat from the water. The warmth of his hold on your hands. The comfort of his body pressed into yours.
“Mesh’la?” He asked quietly after a moment, gently squeezing your hands still held in his.
“I’m fine,” you whispered. “That’s…. It’s…. I’m not….” Your breath caught in your throat, another sharp inhale coming to a sudden stop making your eyes screw even more tightly shut. You couldn’t tell if it was from the shower or if you were crying, but droplets were cascading down your cheeks.
Din wasted no time, turning in your hold and gently pressing you into the wall, his forehead resting against yours as your spine sealed against the cold tile, making you gasp.
“I’m sorry,” you finally managed on a broken whisper.
“That’s not-”
“No, it is,” you cut him off, opening your eyes to stare blankly forward, catching a glimpse of his facial hair but not daring to look any higher. Not brave enough to see what you’d find there. “It means I am not in as much control as I thought. And…. That’s not safe. For any of us. I need to do better.”
“Then I’ll help you,” Din mumbled, leaning further into you, his arms circling around your waist to pull you tighter as he simultaneously pressed you further into the cold tile wall. It was a sharp contrast, his warm skin at your front, the cold wall at your back, and somewhere in the middle the warm water of the shower melding it all together in a sea of steam. It was hard to tell where he ended and you began. Every bit of him a part of every bit of you. “We both will.”
“No, Din. No.” You shook your head, rocking it back and forth against the wall, only stopping when Din pressed his forehead more firmly into yours. Swallowing roughly, you let your eyes close tightly once again. “That’s not…. It’s not the kid’s place. Or yours.” Swallowing again to try and keep the emotions down and away from your steadily wobbling voice, you sniffled before going on. “This is something I need to do on my own.”
“Dank farrik, mesh’la!” Din hissed, one hand leaving your waist to hit the wall beside your head in frustration, making you jump. You shushed him, shaking your head slightly as he mumbled gentle apologies, his hand coming back to snake around your waist where it belonged. “Don’t you see? That’s why this is a problem!”
Opening your eyes, you still hadn’t quite found the strength to look up, but you did it anyway, deciding you’d rather just see whatever was waiting for you and face it straight on than let it torment you in the back of your mind from quiet shadows.
Warm brown eyes were waiting for you, relief washing over them as they crinkled at the sides from the tentative smile crawling up his face.
No judgment, no disappointment, no fear, only something that resembled hope as they traced the lines of your face in search of something you weren’t quite sure.
“That’s why,” he reiterated, arms squeezing you gently for emphasis. “You’ve been trying to do all of this alone, and you can’t.”
Your eyes fell down to his chest and you sighed, pulling your head away from his and leaning away slightly. “Din-”
“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying it can’t.” Lifting your eyes back up to his, you found him tilting his head slightly to try and catch your gaze again. He smirked slightly when he did. “This is something that’s meant to be shared. From what I’ve seen, Jedi aren’t solitary creatures. At least they aren’t supposed to be. The ones that are left have adapted after years of training.”
You couldn’t help the grin that was working its way up your face. “A Mandalorian and a Jedi…. What could go wrong?”
“You're forgetting the fifty year old Jedi baby.”
“Ah yes, and the fifty year old Jedi baby,” you chuckled.
“And the answer is, I’m sure, absolutely everything.” You huffed, rolling your eyes as he reached for the shampoo. “But until then, we’re still covered in bioluminescent blood, so….” Squeezing some of the liquid onto his palm, he pulled your hand from where it rested on his waist to in between you and put some in your waiting palm as well. “….for now, I’ll help you if you’ll help me?”
You hummed in amusement. “Oh, poor Mandalorian. I think I finally found the one thing your armor can’t do.”
“Nah.” He shook his head, scrunching his face up. “I’m sure I could find a way to figure it out. It’s just….” He groaned as your fingers started to massage the shampoo into his damp hair, making your grin grow.
“It’s just….” You repeated, teasingly.
“You do it so much better,” he finished on a sigh, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder with a thump, giving you easier access to continue working it into his curls.
“What about me? I thought this was a you help me if I help you thing? You even have shampoo in your ha-” You’re cut short when his hand comes up and plops the glob of soap on your hair, making your jaw drop.
“I’ll do it after. There’s a whole bottle. Just…. Please?” He was almost whining by the end, leaning further into you. His head turned so his lips were pressed into the crook of your neck. “Please, please, please….”
Suddenly you felt him drifting, the scruff of his facial hair prickling the skin near your clavicle as he chased it with soft kisses. Working his way across toward your other shoulder, your fingers stalled in his hair as you sighed.
“If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna be able to keep going.”
Din hummed into the crook of your neck, the vibrations tickling the skin as he began his climb upward toward your ear. His words were mumbled into your skin, causing goosebumps to spring up all over despite the still hot water. “Won’t be able to keep doing what?”
“This,” you said through gritted teeth, tugging on his hair to pull him away from your neck and send him a playful glare.
Din smirked as he leaned further back into the spray of the shower to rinse the suds from his hair, shaking his head and tossing droplets everywhere before he was back at your side. You could feel his lips turning up into a smile as they brushed against the shell of your ear, his nose tucked into your hair. “Then don’t.”
His unmodulated voice was something you’d never quite get used to, no matter what you told yourself, particularly so close to you and so quiet.
“Turn around,” he murmured, his hands smoothing down your sides to land on your hips. Gently applying pressure to reorient you with your back to him, he nudged you under the spray of the shower.
“This better be the part when you wash my hair, Tin Can,” you teased playfully.
“We’re getting there,” he rumbled quietly. “But first….” His hands left your hips, his body following after them, and despite the warmth of the water, you found yourself already missing the heat that always radiated off of him in waves.
You began to realize all the times you leaned into his quiet touches, while you told yourself it was just to appease him, to speak his language, it was every bit for yourself as well. It made you feel safe. Every time his arms silently wound around you, he lingered at your back, hovered at your side, or you felt his eyes quietly watching from across the room…. It was the safety you’d never felt anywhere else that you craved.
The warmth that encased you, that trailed over your skin with just a look, a brush of a hand in passing. You craved it. He was your addiction. And you were longing for a hit.
Taking a step back toward him in search of his warmth, you only made it half a stride before bumping into him, both of you chuckling as his hands came out to steady you on your upper arms.
“Can I help you?” He drawled.
“Uh,” you eloquently said, staring straight forward as you searched for the words, any words. “Was just looking for the soap.”
Din chuckled knowingly. “I’ve got it, mesh’la.” He dropped his chin down to rest on your shoulder. “But you knew that.”
Tilting your head back to look down your nose at the wall of the shower in front of you, you huffed. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”
The Mandalorian turned his face down into your skin, circling his arms around your waist to hold you close. As he peppered gentle kisses across your left shoulder blade, he offered a compromise between each one. “Well. You know…. The kid’s gonna wake up soon. And I already used the soap. Haven’t rinsed it off yet. We could…. Share.”
The slide of his skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine, his huff of amusement next to your ear making you grin.
“We should do this more often.”
You groaned as his fingers began to massage shampoo into your hair.
“You won’t hear me complaining,” his voice was soft, tucked into your neck as he massaged the soap into your roots.
“That means getting a room more often,” you mused, leaning further back into him, your grin of amusement growing at his grumble of annoyance. “Less bumbling around the Crest, camping on backwater planets, hiding out on-”
“If I told you,” he cut in, his voice conspiratorial, “that I know all the good spots-”
“Spots?”
He pinched your hip before continuing pointedly. “Yes, all the spots, on all the backwater planets, as you so nicely called them. Some beautiful waterfalls…. Hot springs…. They’re no dingy Daiyu room shower, but-”
You turned in his grip, arms coming up around his neck as you leaned your forehead against his. “They sound wonderful, Din.”
He grinned. “Then it’s settled. Next place we stop, I’ll take you on a tour of all my favorite places.” He leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours. “Well, they used to be my favorite. Now I have a new one.”
Slowly rolling up onto the balls of your feet, cinching your arms around him tighter, you huffed out a quiet laugh. “Oh yeah? And where’s that?”
The sneaky smile turning up his face continued to grow as he leaned closer to you, his lips ghosting over yours as he whispered, “I’ll just let you take a wild guess,” before they pressed firmly to yours.
warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (mutual masturbation, mxf intercourse, dirty talk) swearing, established relationship
a/n: okay. OKAY! okay. be gentle with this one because it’s my first matt fic!!! also, i saw this video on tik tok about ppl doing this game thing, but idk who posted it first and i don’t have the videos, but that’s where the dies comes from. also this is literally just smut, don’t even look at me ITS BEEN A LONG WEEK. okay bye. literally posting this and running away to sleep bc i am afraid BYE.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“Sooo? You like it?” You keep to your side of the couch as Matt brings the glass up to his mouth for a second time. He hums, swallowing and licking his lips, and you have to bite down on your own to control yourself.
Asshole.
“It’s…”
“What?”
“Sweet.” His voice rumbles. You think you should have tied yourself down or something, because there’s no way you can win this stupid bet if he was going to keep teasing you like this. He wasn’t even doing anything, really. Everything he did seemed to turn you on in some way or the other, especially now, as the alcohol starts to kick in, warmth spreading through your face, flowing all the way down.
I don’t even mess with Matt Murdock like this but someone I trust when it comes to fic - @savemefromanepicoftimewasted - reblogged this and I was in a m00d so I decided to give it a go.
BOY AM I GLAD I DID.
The tension in this one is just crazy bananas. I have never been strung so tight whilst reading anything *fans self* I’m telling y’all, my jaw aches today cuz I was unconsciously grinding my teeth and my muscles are sore like I DID something but I didn’t, I was just literally THAT tensed up from reading this.
The teasing, the pacing, the intimacy … the vibe of this story.
Like, I was literally laying there afterwards trying to figure out … are there winners and losers here? Cuz the torture they put each other through! But, like, I relate to the stubborness on both ends and I LOVE a dynamic of folks who just do not wanna give in FOR THEIR OWN GOOD but then ending up crashing into each other in a fiery and passionate explosion.
This is extremely sexy, excellent smut, the tension has to be cut with MULTIPLE blades because it’s that thick and delicious, and I just really really like the dynamic between these two. Lordt *fans self*
Really well done, thank you so much for creating and sharing @grippingbeskar
AHHHHH this is one of the nicest things i’ve ever read 😭
i’ve actually been taking a little break from writing atm with life being so hectic, but this really reminded me how much i love it and how nice it is to hear feedback like this.
thankyou so so much i’m glad you liked it!!
also hoenstly the only winner here is us bc we get to experience the sexiness that is matt murdock bc 😍😍😍
warnings— explicit content 18+ minors dni (nothin crazy, if you’ve read any of my fics you’ll be fine, just classic dirty talk and fuckin’, tiny bit of voyerism tho. whoops. generally soft tho, what can i say? i love soft and sweet stuff okay! let me be.) no fucking plot really. established (sort of) relationship. soap my baby boy being sexy.
a/n— i guarantee this is fucking terrible, but then again it’s fucking call of duty fan fiction. like, what the fuck. who writes that?? (oh. oh. i do now, apparently. kill me!) hope ya like it anyways!
“Stop it.” You use your knee to bash into the side of Soaps’ leg under the table, and he flinches so hard his chair drags along the ground with a loud squeak. He looks at you, his jaw open, shocked. Dramatic to the end. “You’re going to get us caught.”
Soaps hand retreats from your thigh, a smug grin on his face as he slides his chair back next to you, closer this time. The heat of his body is pressed against the line of yours, from his broad shoulders all the way down to where your matching combat boots touch on the floor. You can feel him laugh against you when you squirm in your chair, knowing he’s smiling even though he’s turned his head back to the front of the room. Smug bastard.
He knows just how easy you are to mess with.
After a while, when everyone’s attention has gone back to the droning meeting some of the Captains’ declared mandatory, Soap turns back to you, head flopping to the side and his eyebrows raised.
“You look flustered, hen. What’s gotcha all hot and bothered?” He grins lazily, the kind where it only lights up half his face, and you want to slap him. Dumb smile.
“Stop it.”
“You started it.” He retorts, reaching out for you again under the table.
“No, I didn’t!” Your eyes widen, pouting like a child. He was right, of course. You did start it, you just didn’t expect him to try and finish it in the middle of a meeting. “Johnny, this isn’t the time—“
“Ohh, I think it’s just the right time. Just like you thought playin’ with me like that at breakfast was the right time.” Your cheeks heat at the memory, how quickly he’d lost his ability to speak when you pressed up against him from behind and snuck your hands down his pants. He’d only just had the mind to moan your name before you disappeared, leaving him high and dry in the entrance to the mess hall.
You feel him again, deft fingers pulling you from your thoughts and looping into the pocket of your pants. You knew it was wrong— there were so many people in this room, and you should be paying attention, but all the fight just rushes out of you as soon as you feel him soothe circles onto your thigh, the thin barrier of material all that separates him from you.
“Hm. No come back f’me now? Cause this mornin’ you were allllll talk, but now—“ You feel him slide his hand out of your pocket, slowly so no one picks up on his movements. Then, he’s dipping it down further, curling his fingers around the meat of your thigh, hand dangerously high up. If you moved even an inch, took a breath too deep, he’d be… “Now, you gone all quiet on me.”
Voices start talking around you, but you can’t hear them anymore. Your heartbeat is too loud in your ears, and the only thing you tune into is his voice; lower and closer now. His chair creaks as he leans, the pressure on your thigh harder as he grips you to balance.
“C’mon. You know how much I love to hear your pretty little noises. Let me make ya’ feel good, love.” You can hear the smile in his voice. He was such an asshole, and he knew it. He knew he had you right there.
You shiver, and your feet move without your help. Just an inch to the side, you give him space between your legs to let his hand rise a little higher. It doesn’t matter that he’s got a shit eating grin, or how many eyes are potentially on you both right now, how many people are in this room— you have no fight when it comes to him.
“Yeah. There you are, love. You wan’ it that bad, don’t ya’? You’d let me give it to ya right here.” He whispers, words brushing against the shell of his ear. You think he must of chosen a pair of seats in the back just for this reason. “T’s alright. I’m not mean like you. I’ll give ya anything ya want.”
You turn your head to him sharply, giving him a pointed look. ‘Not mean’. He was a dick. A complete, total utter asshole—
“Shit, Johnny.” You curse as the strong line of his hand presses right up against your heat. Your hands fly from beside you, fingernails digging into his forearm, doing a pathetic attempt at pushing him away. “Wait…wait. We can’t—“
“Mhmm. Same thing I said this mornin’.” You squeeze your eyes shut, biting down on your bottom lip to stop from making any sounds. “You remember what you said t’me?”
His hand moves slowly, testing how much you wanted him to stop. He knew if you really wanted to, you could push him away easily. It’s almost sad how little you resist him, and your hips chase his movement of the aching drag up and down. It’s not enough, but for where you are right now, it’s far too fucking much.
“You two paying attention back there?” A booming voice calls from the front of the room, and Soap stops moving his hand. Your eyes open, and before you can squeak out a reply, he’s saving your ass.
“Of course, Captain. Always love our chats, you know that.” He says happily, saluting casually with his free hand, the other still between your legs. A few laughs muffle through the room, and it’s enough that the Captain goes back to reciting whatever was written on the board behind him. Soap leans back down to you. “Careful. You’ll get us caught.”
You roll your eyes, and he takes the chance of your short lived seclusion to press a chaste kiss to your neck. You gasp, eyes flying open.
“I asked you a question.”
“What are you…” You say, air struggling to get into your lungs with short, punched inhales. “Fuck, you gotta stop. We can’t do this here.”
“This morning. I told you to stop, and you said… ‘aw, but you look so pretty like this’. That’s what ya said.” You bite back a groan, remembering exactly that moment. How hard he was when your fingers brushed over his pants, how desperate he sounded. Okay… it was a bitchy move. But that was you and Soap. You teased each other. Surely he wouldn’t take it this far, though. “So mean to me. After I treat you so good last night too, aye?”
The lights dim around you, the Captains’ up the front starting to sit around the dull white background they’ve dropped. You know it means some boring report that’s been sent in, and it means a solid twenty minutes of your life you’ll never get back while some dude yells at you through a projector. Usually you dread this part. But right now, you are fucking antsy. Excited.
“Sh-shut up. You’re just as bad as me—fuck.” He’s not just touching you now— no, his hands, warm and strong, are splaying on the skin of your tummy and sliding down past the buttons of your military pants. He doesn’t waste time, dipping into your underwear and finding you soaked, a little ‘tsk’ coming from him in a heavy accent when he swirls his fingers softly around your clit.
“You okay, baby? You look a little out of it…” You manage to make eye contact with him, and the fucker is chastising you. A fake sympathetic smile is on his face, puppy dog eyes like he’s speaking to a child. “Don’t worry, I’ll give ya’ what you fuckin’ want. Right here, in front of all the boys. So dirty.”
“Soap.” You choke out, the pads of his fingers setting a slow, easy rhythm that has you nearly vibrating off the chair.
“Don’t call us that. What’s my name, baby?” He hums, shuffling his chair so close it’s clanking against yours now. “C’mon. Who’s makin’ you feel this fuckin’ good right now?”
“God— you, Johnny. You fucking prick.” You whisper, the low lights of the room hiding your fidgeting figure as the video continues to play on the projector at the front. “Come on, please…I can’t—“
“Shh. You’re okay, sweetheart. Nice and slow, aye?” His nose brushes along your cheek, and your shoulders sag. “Cause ya’ look so pretty. Just f’me.”
You all but sink into it, your body slumping into his chest as he keeps that same, stupidly slow pace. Heat licks up your stomach, staying low and making you start to sweat all over. You hear Soap hum, and feel his lips against your jaw, the touch hardly there but scorching none the less.
His teeth nip at the skin he kissed, and you squeak at the harsh touch, soon covered by kisses much more sure of themselves than the first. With the darkness of the room, he must feel more confident, because his free hand angles your head down, and his mouth claims yours.
While his hand circles between your legs, light and gentle, his mouth is harsh and fast. Johnny kisses you like he’s trying to overwhelm you. It’s always desperate and begging, even when he’s controlling you like this. It’s like if he doesn’t kiss you hard and fast, something real will show, and he’s scared of it.
While you’ve never labelled what the hell this… thing is, when he kisses you like this it’s clear he’s hiding something. You’re the same, so you happily take it. Whatever it is between you, it’s stupid and reckless, and it’s better to not be vulnerable. Being on the same team, throwing yourselves into war after war, taking bullets for each other like it’s a sport— you shouldn’t care this much about each other. It was stupid. It’s why it was easier for you both to pretend you were just using each other as an outlet.
It was just sex. Just a release.
“Fuck, Johnny.“ You whimper in his mouth, and he muffles the sound as he pulls you closer, locking your lips to his. “Please.”
“Please what, love? Huh? You want it faster?” He smiles on your lips, hands picking up the pace just slightly. “S’greedy, in front of everyone.”
Your body feels heavy. The hand holding his forearm, the one supposed to be putting up resistance has instead moulded to an encouraging spectator, slowly tracing the inside of his wrist. Your chest heaves, nearly making you wheeze every breath, and when your eyes flutter open, seeing his face painted in a glowing blue and green from the film lights, your legs nearly shake at the sight.
“Please get me out of here, okay? You win. Y-you… Jesus Christ, you win.” He grins. The audacity of this fucking guy, to grin in your face, blatantly admitting he just wanted to beat you today. Win this weeks battle with who was more whipped for who. He’s mentally marking it on a board, and you know he’ll throw it back in your face when you try to push him away again, but you let him have it.
Maybe you want him to have more ammunition next time you’re faced with the consequences of a bad mission. Where Soap needs to be surrounded, reminded he’s not alone after a long ride in the desert, you need to be alone. Want to be alone. You want to rot in your room, blinds drawn and covers over your head, a distant belief that if you sit there long enough you’ll just melt into the mattress and fade away.
He’s the only one that can pull you out. Even if it takes him just holding you in the dark, cold silence, or letting you yell at him that you don’t want him around, don’t need him bothering you— he takes it. He won’t break, not when it comes to you. He coaxes you out with the memory of how much you’re lying to yourself. How bad you do need him.
He’ll use this one next time for sure. How you dragged him out of a meeting, claiming something about a ‘medical emergency’ just so he could take you back to your room and fuck you.
You don’t mind. You think you might like it when he does.
He secretly does too. For all his bravado, the only person he wants to be around after a mission is you. As annoying as you are, and dramatic and fucking stubborn, he still toes his way to your room every time, sneaks his way under your covers, and hides out with you until everyone else is asleep. You think he needs the company of someone, when he really just needs you.
Your nails are digging into his shoulder, dragging him by the uniform down a hallway and around the corner to your room. You only get about halfway before he’s slamming you into the wall, all teeth and tongue as he claims your mouth and runs his hands over your body. He doesn’t even touch your skin, just grazes over the thick layers of clothes, but he’s still got you arching into his touch so you press against his chest. He nips your lower lip and smacks you lightly on the arse, giving you the chance to jump up into his arms.
He takes you in stride, everything about him confident and smooth. Even the things he doesn’t expect, he lets it come like easy, gentle waves. It’s almost impossible to catch him off guard— the first time you kissed him he acted like he played you all along.
When your back hits the softness of your bed, you open your eyes. You don’t remember moving this far, or locking the door behind you, but you know Johnnys’ got you. He always has you covered. Takes care of it so you don’t have to think.
“Take your fucking shirt off.” You grumble, clawing at the buttons of his top. He laughs, head buried in the crook of your neck where you know he’s leaving bruises and marks.
“So mean. Don’t even know how to act right when your under me.” The words sound like they should be threatening, or at the very least sarcastic, but he just sounds… happy. You can hear the smile in his voice, and when he pulls his head back up, he’s delirious almost. Pupils blown out, breathless laughter kissing your cheeks as he shuffles over the top of you. “You’re gorgeous like this. You know that?”
You scoff, rolling your eyes, not able to look up at him. He’s better at this— the feelings. Even though neither of you can look each other in the eye to pay a compliment outside these moments, right here he’s the opposite. Always calling you pretty, looking at you with those happy eyes, betraying all the words the two of you throw at each other when your mad.
“Shirt, Johnny.”
“Hmm. You wanna see me?”
“Yeah. Hate it when you don’t let me see you. I… want to touch you.” It’s a small confession, spurred on by his compliment, and it seems to throw him off just a bit.
“Yeah?” You nod, your hands gently skimming along the strong line of his jaw. Pfft, you were gorgeous— he… he was fucking gorgeous. “What are you thinkin’ about right now?”
“How nice you are to look at.”
“Think that’s the first nice thing you said to me today.”
“I called you pretty this morning.” You remind him, a small smile from him making your earlier anger start to melt into something soft and gooey.
“You did.”
“Meant it too.” He rolls his eyes this time, and you keep your hands on his face.
“Bet you say that to all the boys.” He blows out a dramatic sigh, head tilting to the side. He’s trying to play it off. Play it into something funny and not real. Not true. You shake your head at him, eyebrows drawn together. The confidence in your fuzzy brain will disappear in a second, but you grab hold of it enough to get the next few words out.
“Never. No one but you, Johnny. I don’t want anyone else but you.” He blinks, stopping his movement for a second. Where he usually starts laughing, calls you greedy, maybe calls you a few dirty names, instead he pauses, scrunches his face together, and lets out a breath like you’ve punched him in the chest. “John?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans down, hovering his mouth over yours just for a second. You feel a warm palm cup your burning cheek, and he locks his eyes on you. The few seconds he holds there feel like eternity. Everything moves in slow motion, his stare freezing your heart inside you.
It’s heavy. Loaded with something dangerous. Something illegal. Something you can’t have.
Then, he leans down and kisses you.
He’s done it a hundred times, but this is… it’s just different. It’s so, so soft. His hand holds you to the bed, keeping you still, keeping you malleable for him. His lips connect, only for a few seconds, kissing you like you’ll cut him if he moves too quick. When he does press closer, you feel him sigh— the forearm of his free arm drops next to your head, like the weight of him was too much.
You don’t remember your eyes closing. It must of been too much to look at him when he’s touching you so gently. Like he really cared. Wanted to care.
It’s over too soon. You find yourself leaning up, chasing the softness of his mouth, the taste of his tongue. His hand keeps you down, and he never looks away as he uses the other to rip his shirt over his head. The soft clang of his dog tags tangle under his chin, and draw your attention lower, to his chest.
You don’t know if you’ve told him how attracted to him you are. You know he knows— he’d have to by now. You wouldn’t have gotten with him at first if you weren’t. It’s why this whole thing started. It was just physical at first, but then he started talking, started staying longer after, and now it was fucking overwhelming. Everything about him was more and more alluring, and your hands reached out before you could stop them. You smile at the way he lets you explore. That he remembers what you said, and lets you indulge.
Your fingertips brushed their way over his stomach, and he nearly shivered under the soft touch. He was staring at you, watching your every move as you traced languid lines over and up his chest. He was breathing hard, and when your fingers twisted in the long chain of his tags, he nearly stopped completely. You yanked him back down, hovering him over you, as one of his hands comes back to brace near your head.
Wordless stills, he snakes his arm down between your bodies and pulls at the hem of your shirt. You obey the silent command, never breaking eye contact as you tug your jacket and shirt off in one go. Suddenly, you feel something you’ve never felt with him before.
You’re vulnerable.
Usually, it’s all fight. The two of you are either so mad at each other that you spend the entire time trying to win, trying to get a higher score, or you’re both so frustrated that you hardly even look each other in the eye. This is… heavy.
He leans down again, his eyes shutting tightly before he kisses you. You hum, unable to not smile underneath him as he kisses you with that same gentle affection, and your hands thread up behind his neck into the short crop of his hair, tugging him down closer. Skin meets skin, warmth blooming in your chest as he slides up your body to fit his hips between your legs. His mouth melts into yours, groaning as you tug his hair a little bit harder.
He says your name, the sound curling around your throat and choking out a strangled whimper, and then he grinds his hips slow and heavy into you, your mind going a bit blank.
“Shit. What are we… what are you doing? Hurry the fu…fuck. Fuck.” Your eyes roll back with another slow roll of his hips, and he laughs breathlessly.
“Shh. Just go with it.” He does it again, leaving a wet trail of kisses under your jaw and down to his favourite spot on your neck. He’s taking his time, tasting your skin like it’s something to be savoured. “T’s nice, isn’t it? Feels good.”
“Yeah…f-feels good.” You mumble, hiding your face in the pillows as he tugs your pants down, throwing them somewhere behind him.
He doesn’t treat himself as nice, ripping at his own pants and ridding them as quick as possible. Then he’s sinking back over you, letting you feel just how much he likes it like this. When you wrap your arms around him again and kiss him, he’s warm and safe, and you let him sweep you up into it.
He slides his hand down slow, fingers hardly grazing your clit and going past, and you know he’s fucking with you on purpose. You whine his name, and he laughs— the familiarity of the sound making you a little more confident. You bite his lower lip a bit harder than you should, and he groans.
“Don’t fucking tease me, Mactavish.” You whine pitifully, and he shakes his head.
“Not teasin, princess. Enjoyin’ it.” He draws out the words, each of them twirled in his strong accent that somehow makes you even dizzier than before.
“You didn’t enjoy it before?” You pout, and this time he laughs a little harder. Before he answers, one of his fingers slide up, and then easily slip inside of you, curling slowly so you arch of the bed.
“Yer aff yeir heid.” He mumbles, kissing you quickly like he’s trying to shut off that thought. “Just like takin’ my time with ya. Get to see more of you. You’re beautiful.”
Your chest is heavy, and you can’t focus, pleasure lighting up every nerve in your body. You feel him against your inner thigh, hard and warm, and every slight movement has him panting into your mouth. You know he’s built up from this morning, how you left him waiting and didn’t even look back. You feel bad. Horrible.
How could you leave him there? How could you leave him anywhere now, when he was looking at you like this? Like you held answers he’d been searching for all his life, right in your eyes?
It’s never been this slow. God— it fucking hurts, that’s how slow it’s moving. His fingers curl inside of you, no rush, hitting just the right spot in a way that would have you cumming in his hand if he just sped up a little. This way, he keeps you on edge, right on the precipice— hoping he lets you fall into it. You’re at his mercy, but from the feeling of him, he’s at yours, too.
“Johnny— that’s feels so good. You’re so g-good, please.” You wheeze out, feeling waves of blinding heat surging low in your tummy. He kisses you again, and you could finish just from this. The sweetness of his mouth, how his words drip like honey over your cheek, how careful he is. How loving.
“You’re okay, bonnie. You just keep ya eyes on me. I’ll take care of everythin’ else.” Your eyebrows furrow, eyes trying to focus as you feel your muscles tighten. His thumb presses lightly on your clit; soft circles drawing you into another embarrassing whine of his name. “Come on. Show me how good ya are f’me.”
“Jesus— fuck!” It feels different. You can hardly see, hardly hear anything but his low, soothing voice in your ear, telling you how sexy you are, how tight you feel around his fingers. You want to tell him to… to keep going, or stop, both— something. You want to say something, but all that comes out is his name.
Johnny. Johnny. Johnny—
You can’t control it. Pleasure blinds you— it’s cliche but it’s all you can describe it as. Your toes curl, and your fingers scrape down his back to try and find a way to ground yourself. You try to muffle your sounds, but Soap keeps your head forward with a hand on your jaw. So he can watch your face when you cum from his fingers.
“That’s it, gorgeous. Fuckin’ hell—“ You hear his voice groan in your ear, and the pleasure makes your legs shake. You’re vaguely aware that his hand slows, lazily playing with your clit as you ride out your high, but mainly you watch as he comes back into focus. You watch his eyes— pupils dilated, looking at you in awe. “You sound so pretty when you come. Fuckin’ gorgeous girl.”
Seriously— you think you’ve only seen him look like that when something blows up in front of him. Sort of mystified and obsessed.
You’re gasping for air as he moves you, flipping you over and shuffling you up the bed. You lose track of him, the haze of pleasure dumbing you down to only the most basic of movements, but then he’s there again, and you reach out.
He takes your hands, kissing your palms before pulling you to him, legs parting on instinct as he draws you into his lap. He’s leant himself against the headboard, and at some point taken off his boxers, but now, when your legs give out and you lean your weight on him, you both gasp at the feeling. His cock is hard, pressing against your wet heat, and he’s nearly shivering in anticipation. One of his hands paw at your hips, pulling you closer so your pussy drags along his length, and the other cups your cheek.
Time stops again, just for a second. His eyes pull you in, and you blink a few times to focus. His thumb traces your bottom lip. He says something you don’t understand under his breath, muttering in a heavy accent.
“Johnny…” You whisper, your heart racing.
“Yeah, love.”
“What are you doing to me?” You could cry, you were so under his spell right now. If he wanted to, this could be the ultimate win. He could shatter you with a few mean words— but for some reason, you didn’t think he would.
“You know what I’m doin’. What this is. Don’t you, love?” His thumb catches your chin, pulling you into one of those soft kisses he’s been hiding from you, and it’s so classic of him you nearly laugh.
Everything he does, he does in stride. With confidence. Even this— a changing of a reliable tide, a shift in your relationship into a strange and unpredictable horizon, he handles like he’s always known it was coming. Like it was inevitable. You couldn’t of been more lost right now, but if he knew, if he could guide you, you’d be okay.
“That alright?” He whispers lowly, dipping his head to catch your eyes.
“Course. Yeah. Yeah— I want…” You swallow hard. Fear and insecurity creep up your throat and tighten it. “I want you. Really bad.”
It takes him a second, and then he grins. “I know, love. Can feel ya on me—“
“Not like— not just like that.” His head tilts, smiling incredulously at you, but he must be able to tell. You can’t say what you’re feeling right now, but what you were doing was enough. Extending an olive branch, and he was going to fucking snatch it out of your hands and consume every inch.
“You’re so sweet. I want ya too, okay? Don’t look so fuckin’ nervous.”
“M’not nervous.” You mumble it. It could not be less convincing. He was still smiling. “Stop looking at me like that and I won’t be.”
“Like what?” He’s got a dopey, lazy look on him, so you shift your hips, and his confidence shakes as you drag your clit across the sensitive head of his leaking cock. “Shit—“
“You okay, Johnny?” You whisper and he nods furiously. He’s the one squeezing his eyes shut now, and you kiss the crease in his forhead before you raise your hips and start to sink down on him, keening at the catch of his head at your entrance. “Oh, god—“
It feels right. Whatever the fuck you two were doing before— it wasn’t as good as this. The whispers of each others names, the feeling of heat splitting it’s way up your spine, how he holds you so close you think you might explode under the pressure. This was the right way to do it.
“Fuck. Fuckin— slow, baby. I’m gonna fuckin’ finish if ya don’t go—“ He chokes out another harsh exhale, sounding winded. He’s holding your hips so hard he’ll leave bruises, and you moan at the thought of it. “Fucking tight as fuck.”
“Relax.” You coo in his ear, trying to distract the both of you from the stretch of him slowly filling you.
Even though he’s had you countless times, you still struggle to take him like this— and he clearly does too. It’s a favourite for both of you for this reason. You both crave the little bit of pain, something that reminds you where you are. What you’re doing. Mainly who you’re doing it with. It might have been subconscious before, but now… there’s nothing that could deny who was breaking you apart.
He says your name over and over as he starts fucking up into you, and you feel him so deep like this. He controls you easily, the muscles in his arms and chest straining with how hard every thrust of his hips snaps against yours. You nearly sob when he goes faster, familiar brutality mixed with the soft way he’s watching your eyes has your mind swimming in the pleasure he drives into you.
Your head falls back, and he wraps an arm around your lower back, holding you to him. Both of you grind into the way he has you, him still fucking you at a pace that practically strips you bare. You can’t hide anything from him here— not with your foreheads stuck together, bodies pressed in every way they can, Johnnys hands pawing at your ass, your tits, anything they can find that gets a new sound out of you.
“Feels so good.” You sigh, your entire body at his mercy as he slams himself up off the bed. It’s still slow, slow enough that he can keep your eyes locked on him, but fuck— he’s so hard with it, you know you’ll feel him for days. “So good. Fuck. More—“
“Shit, I know baby.” He kisses you, teeth clashing as you try to keep up with the way he moves. Your body melts when he kisses you, moulding against him and letting him use you.
You want him to use you. You want him to take all the things you know he wants, but you’re too scared to admit you can give to him. Nothing about the life you live is safe, or guaranteed, but whatever you have here is grounding, and it’s enough. More than enough— but you just can’t say it.
You roll your hips again, and you hear his low moans turn breathy and soft. He’s close. You can feel it. He’s been worked up all day because of you, and you don’t want him to wait again. You want him to take it.
“Fuck, baby I’m gonna—“
“I know. Keep going, wanna feel it.” You nearly sob, and Soap looks at your broken features and kisses them away.
Your world rotates as he flips you on your back, your hands pulled from his hair as his rough fingertips hold your wrists down. He pins them above your head, sounds spilling from him that have sparks flying in your chest. That’s the thing that makes this so fucking different. It’s not even the sounds— it’s who’s making them. Who’s doing it to you.
It’s him.
It’s all about him.
He spreads you wide, his free hand grabbing your calf and pushing it down so he can fuck you deeper. He looms over you, holding you down with his body weight, and the last thing you see is his head turn, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee, and then he says your name as you fall into bliss.
Everything locks and releases in tandem, your body somehow tight and loose at the same time. You arch off the bed, Soaps arms wrapping you close as you feel warmth spread across your stomach. His breath is hot as he rides out his high, head tucked into your neck, and he grounds you as pleasure seeks its way through the cloud of your brain.
“T’s too good. You’re fuckin— shit. Shit, baby.” He talks through it, knowing you love the sound of his voice, and he doesn’t even need to touch you to help you ride it out. Waves of searing bliss drown you in the feeling he’s giving you, and when he finally starts to slow, you just say his name again, hearing him echo it back to you. “Yeah. That’s fuckin’ right. Me.”
After a while, things get a little less fuzzy, and you can feel his hand leave your wrists. Your hands come down on their own volition, threading through his hair. You feel his head tilt a little, leaning into the soft touch of your hand, so you keep going, letting your fingertips dance along his scalp. It’s doing the same thing for you that it is for him— giving you something to focus on while your heart slows.
His hair is unfairly soft. It should be straw dry and breaking off with the shitty 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner and body wash he uses. You tried it once, and it made your pony tail move in one direction for a week. But his is like… feather soft. So easy to comb through, you could spend hours like this.
“I like that.” He says after a while. He’s not pinning you anymore, half moved to the side with an arm and a leg thrown over you. His head was still hidden, buried so close that when he talks, his lips brush against your collarbone.
“How is your hair so soft?” You mumble, more to yourself, your hands no longer shaking from adrenaline and pleasure. “Not fair.”
“Natural beauty n’ all.” He says, and you can feel the dumb smirk he has on his face. You twirl your fingers in his hair and pull lightly, and he fakes a yelp. “Owwww.”
“Such a drama queen.” You roll your eyes, and he groans emphatically as he hauls himself up and over to hang above you. His eyebrows are raised, and he’s smiling.
Maybe his smile isn’t so dumb.
“We’re gonna be in shit for missin’ that meeting, you know.” He says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Hope you got a good excuse.”
“I don’t even care.” You sigh, a little delirious in the come down from such a high. He laughs, all bright and happy, and you smile back at him. “I’m just glad we’re… you know. Here.”
He stares at you for a second, for what feels like the millionth time today, but then he leans down and kisses you again. Even though it had happened so many times, you don’t think there’d be a time you’d get tired of it. Not the looks, not the kisses, or any of it. Even though everything was on the line, you’d give it all up, lose all the battles, if it meant this.
directly after your capture, you are held in пленение, or captivity.
warnings/tags: ghost x reader x soap. !! please be sure to read the prologue first if you haven’t already !! a little pov from the woman, canon typical violence and gore, talk of sterilization and s/a, implied human trafficking, srsly it’s obvious who the woman is at this point lol
notes: russian will be written in bolded italics. eng translation for russian sentences will be written in non bolded italics directly after said russian sentence.
ex: пример. example
word count: 3,020
playlist: great gig in the sky - pink floyd, exit music for a film - radiohead
🏷️ : @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @viylikescats @whore4dilfs @warenai @le0thely0n (strike out means it wouldn’t let me tag, sorry)
She hated this. She hated this with every fiber of her being. You were just doing your job, trying to heal her and keep her comfortable. You even tried speaking Russian so you could treat her! Even if you kind of butchered the language, the redhead was touched by the gesture.
You had treated her so gently only an hour before, squeezing her hand and murmuring words of reassurance into her ear. Your hands were light and careful when you assessed her for injuries. You even took warm blankets away from other people that might have needed them, good people, in order to wrap them around her.
In that helicopter, she couldn’t resist apologizing for what she was about to do. She stopped feigning most of her injuries and sat up from the gurney before yanking your arm, pulling you close to her.
“Мне жаль. Я бы хотел, чтобы мне не пришлось этого делать.” I am sorry. I wish I didn’t have to do this. She whispered in your ear.
Her heart broke when your eyes widened in shock as she twisted your arm into an impossible angle — crack. You choked on the breath inside your throat when she plunged the cold knife inside your chest. After a few moments, she twisted it and yanked it out before throwing it at the pilot.
Everything else was a blur to her, from taking out the pilot to her tying a rope around the two of you to stay connected. When she stood at the edge of the aircraft with her arms wrapped around you, she was already prepared to hold a deep breath of air.
She watched as you attempted to take a deep breath, but all that came out was a wet wheeze, almost a gargle. No doubt from internal bleeding, the plasma already making its way up your esophagus.
She knew she had to work quick; she only had so much time to get you to headquarters before you bled to death.
With that, the redhead jumped out of the helicopter with you in her arms and you two plummeted to the dark water. After falling about halfway to the ocean, she pulled the pin on the parachute. Once the parachute was activated, your plummet to the ocean slowed to a bearable descent.
Once you two crashed into the waves, the ropes tied around both of you had snapped. Now that you weren’t tied securely to her, the angry tides pulled you away from her. She panicked, using her arms to push herself forward and kicked her legs behind her to propel her towards you. She used broad strokes as she swam towards you, pushing the water behind her until she reached you. Taking in big gulps of air without abandon, she fought to keep her head above water to get to you.
Finally, she reached you. Your hands thrashing were the only thing she saw above the surface. She took in a deep breath and held it before diving underneath the biting water, green eyes searching desperately for you in the dark.
She quickly saw you due to the contrast of your gear against the water. You were scrambling to hold on to something, anything in the water — but to no avail. She could see your lips turning blue not only from the biting snow but the freezing water. You could barely keep your eyes open. She could tell your resolve was slipping, just like your consciousness. She immediately swam towards you, fighting to push water away from herself.
After a few strokes, you were finally at arms length. Just as you were about to inhale and let water into your lungs, she wrapped her arms under your armpits and yanked you out of the water. To keep you afloat, she brought your arms up to wrap around her neck and used one of her arms to hold your waist. She used her other arm and her feet to swim towards shore.
The second you were above air, you gasped and your eyes flew open. She looked down at you and watched as you almost greedily took in big gulps of air. Relief washed over her to know that you hadn’t drowned.
She continued swimming to land with you on her shoulder until she finally hit snow. It was then that she let go of you for a brief moment, laying your limp form on the blanket of snow.
She stood and rifled through her pocket to pull out a folded up map, before ensuring their location. Once she located the headquarters that was labeled with a red star not too far from them, she nodded. She bent down to grab you by your underarms once more before dragging you behind her.
A pool of your blood had stained the snow where you were laid, the crimson a harsh contrast against the bright white. As she pulled you by your underarms, your body left a trail of blood in its wake.
The biting wind blew and howled, whipping her red hair in her face. She shook her head to get her hair out of her eyes as she kept dragging your body behind her.
Snow crunched under her combat boots as she kept trudging on, her legs heavy with exhaustion. She huffed and panted with each step as her body tried to warm itself. The redhead’s breath was visible in the air because of the below freezing temperatures.
She knew that she was approaching the headquarters when she saw some hills and rocks dusted with snow. After a few more minutes of hiking, she had finally reached the entrance of the headquarters; an underground bunker. The entrance was a large, metal square hatch on the ground. It was almost camouflaged. The metal was blanketed with a thick layer of snow so the average person wouldn’t be able to see it.
She set your arms down gently so they laid at your sides, before bending down to brush away the snow from the metal. She hissed at the biting cold, wishing she hadn’t lost her gloves in the water, as she typed in the access code into the nearly frozen keypad.
The hatch unlocked with a click, before slowly opening with a creak. When the hatch was fully opened, it revealed a set of cement stairs that were going down.
As the Russian stared down the set of stairs that seemed to go on forever, a pit formed in the bottoms of her stomach. Her throat grew tight and her eyes stung with unshed tears.
She knew what she was subjecting you to by bringing you here. She had lived it for years, endured it for years.
She was taken with her sister and brought to this place when they were only small children. She was taken and beaten. Starved and left thirsty if she didn’t obey their every command. Injuries left untreated if she didn’t obey every order, no matter how cruel. Forced to watch innocent women be abused by men, by her own handlers, if she didn’t shoot the women herself.
She reached a shaky hand down to clutch her stomach, remembering possibly the worst trauma inflicted upon her. Underneath the waistband of her jeans was a nasty white scar that spanned across the width of her hip.
When she had completed training at the young age of 18, she was forcefully sterilized. Robbed of her choice to have children. It was purely for the convenience of her handlers. She couldn’t very well complete missions and eliminate targets if she had a menstrual cycle or a fetus growing inside her.
She was taken as a child, she was robbed of the choice to have children when she was 18, and now at 32, she was dragging someone else into this hell.
A whimper of pain leaving your lips brought her out of her thoughts.
One glance back at your unconscious figure laying in the bloody snow with your face scrunched up in pain was all it took for tears to start streaming down her face.
She choked on her sobs as she bent down to pick you up by your underarms once more. She made sure to be gentle as she walked with you down the stairs, one step at a time. After a few steps, the hatch slammed shut behind the two of you.
You awoke with a gasp, eyes snapping open at the loud clank of the metal hatch. You were overwhelmed by your senses.
Your nostrils were flooded by the familiar scent of rubbing alcohol and sanitizing supplies, something you normally associated with a hospital. That comforting scent was now tainted with ammonia and rust.
You fought the bile that rose in your throat, pushing it down with a grimace.
You tasted blood as you swallowed, the bitter metallic making you cringe.
You could hear combat boots pounding on the hard floor and screams echo in the seemingly never ending hallway. Your wide eyes darted around you, seeing nothing but concrete floors and ceilings.
The same red headed woman was helping you limp down a set of concrete stairs and into a dimly lit hallway. The walls were metal, which didn’t help the freezing temperatures above ground.
Your teeth chattered and you shivered in your still soaking wet clothes.
With each step, you felt the excruciating pain return to you. White hot pain replaced the blood coursing through your veins as the wound in your abdomen throbbed and pulsed. Your arm was definitely broken. It was alarmingly numb and you feared that it wasn’t because of the temperature, but due to the blood supply being cut off. Unless your captors had state of the art equipment, that would make it effectively unsalvageable.
The two of you walked down the hallway until you reached a set of large, metal double doors with a painted on red star. It had a keypad and a fingerprint reader. The woman typed in a code and then pressed her thumb to the screen, before looking up at the ceiling next to the double doors. There was a camera there, no doubt with a security team behind it to verify her identity.
The doors creaked open to reveal a team of armed guards, you counted six to be exact. All geared up in kevlar, helmets and masks, making them effectively unable to be identified. You noticed that every one of them was armed with multiple assault rifles and batons.
They turned around, backs facing you as they marched the two of you down another dim hallway. With their backs turned to you, you could see military knives strapped into holsters and tasers within their reach.
You gulped. It was interesting how those same weapons never phased you earlier that day, but you couldn’t be more terrified of them right now. But these people weren’t your 141.
They weren’t your reliable and trustworthy Captain Price whose presence held an air of respect. They weren’t your friendly Gaz that always had a quip to throw your way whenever you were feeling down.
They definitely weren’t your warm and strong Soap, whose warmth you found yourself craving as you were on the verge of hypothermia. Whose eyes reminded you of the clearest, brightest ocean in Scotland.
They definitely weren’t your protective Ghost, who you knew could clear the room in five seconds flat if he were here. Ghost, who you knew could be snapping someone’s neck one minute and holding your face in those same big hands to make sure you were unharmed the next minute.
They would have gotten you out of this. They would have kept you safe. If only they had known.
You would give anything, do anything to be back with them right now. Back with your safe haven.
You chuckled inwardly as you recalled how you wanted to be away from them and their affection so badly. You had the audacity to think of their presence as a burden because you weren’t sure if they returned your feelings or not.
That was the biggest problem in your life a few hours ago. Laughable. Fucking laughable.
Meanwhile, the redhead was watching you look at the soldiers with wide eyes and trembling lips. Fear was practically rolling off of you in waves.
She felt like a lion leading a lamb to slaughter. Guilt dug further into her very core.
She had to remind herself that if she didn’t come for you, someone else would have. One of the men would’ve come for you, leaving you with much more injuries. They would scar you mentally instead of just physically. They would have drawn out your capture, taking and taking and taking from you, all for their sick pleasure. Taking whatever they wanted.
You did what you could to lessen their pain, she kept repeating in her head like a mantra.
She swallowed her emotions and steeled her expression.
After a few minutes of walking down that hallway, you arrived at another door. Not only was it more secure than the other door, but it also had a different insignia engraved on it. Instead of a red star, engraved on this door was a crimson octopus with a skull for a head. The tentacles of the octopus spanned out around the skull, almost in a perfect circle. Rust and dirt lined every crevice of the insignia, from the eye sockets of the skull to the suction cups on each tentacle.
The door was metal and had multiple locks and latches, as well as a keypad. It was also equipped with a fingerprint scanner and retina scanner to ensure no one could infiltrate the headquarters.
After a guard entered the access code, he pressed his thumb against the scanner and peeled his mask down to allow the camera to scan his eyes.
The door creaked open to reveal a large room filled with security cameras, headlights, and medical equipment. What drew your attention the most, however, was the lone chair in the middle of the room. It was black, surrounded by metal bars on the armrests and back. A heart monitor was next to it, as well as a tray full of medical instruments.
Some men wearing lab coats were scattered throughout the room arguing with men in Russian military uniforms. Once you and the group of guards had entered the room, the arguing stopped immediately. The doctors and the soldiers stared at you, wearing sick grins and eyeing you up and down in a way that made you feel like vomiting.
“Мы благодарим вас за успешную миссию. Вы уволены, вдова.” We thank you for the successful mission. You are dismissed, Widow. A Russian commanded, you assumed he was the highest ranking soldier in the room due to the copious amount of awards pinned to his chest. He wore a crimson beret and his uniform was green camouflage. He had stubble that was barely disguising his smirk. His smirk mirrored the expression of every other man in that room. It resembled a predator staring down their prey.
Your eyes darted to the woman holding you up, her remorseful eyes staring into your scared ones. Green meeting brown.
Somehow even after hurting you so bad, pushing you to the brink of death, that woman didn’t scare you nearly as much as the room full of men. She didn’t make a chill run up your spine like they did, she didn’t make bile rise up to your throat like they did. She didn’t stare at you like you were a piece of meat. Like you were a target they had their crosshairs on.
Your stomach dropped as you were ripped from her grasp from two burly guards and dragged across the room.
“No! Get off me! No, no, no!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, kicking and thrashing in their hold. Logically, you knew that you were too weak to escape. You knew that no one would hear your screams — and if anyone did, it wouldn’t be anyone who would want to help. Logically, you knew all of that deep down. But right now, your instincts were in fight or flight mode.
So you kicked and screamed and punched. To no avail.
They dragged you like a rag doll, pulling you to the chair as your legs collapsed underneath you. They dragged you by your arms without care, so rough that your injured arm felt like it was tearing all over again. You let out a scream at both the pain and the harsh realization that you weren’t getting out of this.
You were never getting out of this.
You would never be able to share a warm hug with Price again. You would never get to hear him praise you for taking care of him and his team so well.
You would never be able to play a game of cards with Gaz again. You would never get to reprimand him for being reckless again.
Your scream turned into a sob as you thought about how you would never see Ghost or Soap again.
Never again would you get to see the way Soap’s teeth glinted as he laughed, usually at something Ghost said. Never again would you smell his pleasantly strong aftershave, all leather and musk. You would never again feel his hand press against the small of your back whenever he would walk behind you.
You would never get to admire Ghost’s deep brown eyes surrounded by blonde lashes again. You would never get to hear his booming Manchester accent over comms, asking for your medical attention. You would never again be able to feel his callused hands gently hold your chin as he searched your face, looking for any injuries.
You would never be able to tell them how you felt. How you loved them with every fiber of your being, how you were in love with them.
How they occupied every thought in your mind, even in its darkest moment. How, even as you were on deaths door, you were thinking of them - wishing you were in their arms.
In actuality, I have just over 760 followers, but I’ve been so bombarded by bots over the last week, that I’m currently just shy of 1,300. And yes. I have reported and blocked all but the last batch of about 50-100 and still my follower count continues to go up. (I’ve contacted support. They say to “report and block”. Okay? And? “Report and block”. Okay. Thanks.)
So.
Now do you get the phantom part of the title? 🤣
Anyway.
I figured to have a little fun, if you guys wanted, go ahead and send in some requests from one of these prompt lists:
70 Taunting Enemies Prompts
~ THEY'RE DATING ~ RELATIONSHIP PROMPTS
Sparring prompts
my fave romance prompts
List of love confession prompts
Touch starved / comfort prompts :)
Concerned/Worried Prompts
(or if there’s something that absolutely is just bursting at the seams to ask for send it my way) for BTY Din and Reader, Shatter Din and Reader/Ti, or any Din x Reader, and I’ll see what I can do. (Remember to follow the rules in my F&Q.) And please specify which list you’re requesting from so I know what you’re asking for.
My asks are always open, but for the celebration, I’ll leave it open until the 30th of July.
I’m currently working on Part 19 of Back To You, so these probably won’t come out until after that’s done, but I’m really looking forward to this!
another update from the sensitive little baby that runs this account.
i have found my writing feet again! hurray!
my current fics in progress are
unearthed chapter 9 (im sorry i know it’s been a while but i will never abandon a fic don’t worry)
my first frankie morales fic (frankie comes to fix ur car and of course he fucks u aswell oop)
that ghost fic i promised to write and never finished :) this is why i don’t say anything about my WIPS lmaoooo
javi. it’s finally coming and maybe even a series?? she’s in the works ppl
as always so greatful for all of you <3 i been gaining a lot of new followers (new best friends) recently so i’m excited to get back into creating mode! love y’all always <3
warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (oral f receiving, mxf intercourse, overstimulation kinda) swearing, canon typical violence, mentions of death, mentions of blood, kind of a panic attack
a/n: OK so this was inspired by me listening to hozier and his song NFWMB so i highly recommend listening to it at least once when u read this (i would play it at the start and whenever it finishes u can repeat it or just end) bc that’s how i wrote it :) hopefully it fits the vibe!! ALSO in case you haven’t figured it out i am a firm believer in the fact that frank castle enjoys eating pussy so write that down because you will be quizzed on it later BYE!
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Frank was a caged animal. Hands cuffed to the metal bar on the table, staring at his own face in the two way mirror of the interrogation room. He knew he looked insane, beat up and bloody, ready to tear the place apart, but he didn’t give a shit. They hadn’t seen fucking crazy, but they would if they didn’t give him what he wanted.
His knuckles were raw, the cuffs pulling apart old wounds every time he strained and ripped at the bar. He was getting desperate; it had been 24 hours since he’d seen you alive. It had been the longest day of his fucking life, and it was starting to take its toll. He knew he was getting tired, every muscle in his body felt heavier than usual, and every movement in his chair made him bite his tongue so the assholes outside wouldn’t see his weakness, but no amount of sleep deprivation, no torture, no interrogation was going to break him until he got to you. Nothing would stop him.
It’s lunchtime at the military base, and you can’t decide what to eat. Ghost is getting hangry.
———————————————————————
“It’s a simple question,” he says. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant.”
“Are you hungry?” He asks and lifts his hands.
“Yes, sir.”
“What exactly are you hungry for?”
“I-I don’t know.”
He drops his arms to his sides and sits at the corner of his desk. He touches the back of his neck with one hand while supporting himself with the other.
“Every fucking day, you do this to me,” he murmurs. “If you don’t decide this time, I’ll go eat alone.”
“Oh! Is that so?” You squint and hunch forward at your desk.
“Yes!” He yells as he stands up and walks towards you. “Yes, I will. In fact, I would love to.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, and your jaw drops. How dare he? You’d been teammates for years, sticking with him through thick and thin, never betraying him once. But now he...
“...Would love to?!”
“That’s right!” He snaps and slams his hands against your desk. “So, for the last time: What. Will. It. Be?”
You lean back in your chair and bite your pen while considering your options. Ghost’s gaze darts from you to the pen, then back. He groans and grabs the pen from your hand, tossing it to the side.
“Pens are off the menu today,” he declares, snapping his fingers, “I need an answer. Now.”
Dumfounded, you stare at the pen on the floor. If someone else had done this to you, you would have slapped them in the face. Worse, if he had watched anyone else treat you that way, he would have ripped their limbs off their body.
But he’s hangry. As insignificant as this conversation appears, he doesn’t handle his hunger with the same poise he handles other, more complex situations. Not only that, but your indecisiveness doesn’t help, either. You need to make a decision quickly, so you sit up straight and place your hands on the table.
“What are my options again?” you ask.
“Pizza or burger.” He replies sternly.
“I don’t want piz—”
“Burger it is, then,” he says with a nod. He knocks his knuckles twice on the desk and strides towards the office door.
“W-wait, Ghost, wait!”
He sighs and leans against the door, his hand on the handle.
“I don’t like the base’s burgers.” You mumble.
“Nobody likes the base’s burgers!” he yells. “But we still eat them!”
“I was wondering,” you say and lower your voice, “if there is another choice?”
He’s softly bashing his head against the door, and you try to persuade him that there should be a third option—a vegetarian meal, perhaps. In response, he begins making whimpering noises. He’s the one getting on your nerves now.
“You know what?” you snap, “I’ll go check by myself.”
He extends a hand in your direction and shows you his palm.
“No, no, no, no!” he cries. “You join the others in the queue, and the entire base will starve until you decide!”
You scoff at his sarcasm, and he opens the door.
“Listen,” he says, “I’ll go check and call you, okay?”
“LIEUTENANT!” you shout, but he slams the door behind him. You peek over at his desk. “You forgot your phone...” you murmur to yourself.
The lieutenant was a very cold man when you first met him. His responses were limited to yeses and nos with the occasional shrug, and he never joined you in everyday job activities, especially at lunchtime. You’d always eat alone in the mess hall, and if your breaks coincided with that of Gaz or Soap’s, you’d sit with them and eat lunch together. Ghost would normally sit in the office or hide in a corner around the base and eat since he didn’t want anyone to see him without his mask. But slowly, he came to trust you all with his face, and you’d eat together, locked in your office.
You look at the time. Given his hunger when he left, he should have returned five minutes ago. What if he gave up on you and is already eating with the rest? Sure, your indecisiveness annoys him, especially since he has to deal with it daily, but he’d never let you eat alone, right? On the other hand... he may be trying to teach you a lesson.
You take another glance at the time. This doesn’t feel right. You start cleaning up your desk to head for the kitchen, but someone knocks on the door.
“It’s open,” you announce, “come on in!”
“I’ve got my hands full.” You hear Ghost reply.
You walk up to the door and swing it open. Ghost stands there with a serving trolley full of dishes.
“Thanks,” he murmurs while he pushes the trolley inside the office.
“You forgot your phone!” you inform him.
“I didn’t forget it,” he says as he stops the trolley in front of your desk. “I’d rather put my bare hand in a fire and let it simmer than add a third option to your dilemma and let you decide while there’s a queue of starving soldiers behind me.”
He removes the plates from the trolley and arranges them on your desk. “Here’s the fucking pizza, the fucking shitburger, and the tofu version of the shitburger.”
He places another plate with five pizza slices on his desk. He removes his mask and immediately slaps a piece in his mouth.
“That’s a lot of food, Lt.,” you whisper, scanning the plates before you.
He turns his head towards you and keeps chewing. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing, “better have all the options in front of you than squeeze any reserve of patience I have left.”
You take a slice of pizza from your tray and bite into it.
He stares at you, raises his plate to the sky, and rambles about how “you didn’t want pizza before.” You clarify that, while you still don’t want pizza, it appears to be the best option among the three.
“However,” you continue, “I would murder for a good burger.”
He swallows and takes a second pizza slice from his plate.
“I know a place,” he explains. “We can go tonight.”
“Smooth operator, Lt.!” you tease, “like on a date?”
He nods and takes another mouthful. He doesn’t even bother looking at you. He’s too preoccupied with nourishing his massive body to worry about your mocking.
“What kind of a place is it?” You ask.
“It’s a shithole,” he says, “but it does the best burgers you’ve ever had.”
“So, what should I wear?”
He stops eating and aggressively shakes his head.
“Nuh-uh,” he says. “I won’t get involved in your woes again—I’ll give you the address, and you’ll be there at 8 p.m.”
“Are you going to email me the menu so I can decide what to eat ahead of time?”
He swallows and looks at you. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, taking another bite.
