#⋆˚✿˖° — ghosts on the mind ¦ my resources .

[jessilynallendilla]

DPXDC FENTONS IN GOTHAM AND MISCELLANEOUS

TITLE/LINK RATING COMPLETED-WORD-COUNT SERIES

DP FIC REC HOME POST

let me know if the links aren't working and feel free to suggest any

FENTONS WORKING IN GOTHAM 

Stalling  T 2,363 

Just a perfectly normal conversation between Arkham's newest psychiatrist, and its most troublesome resident. In the staff parking lot. During a jailbreak. How she walks out of this alive is a question even the Batman himself wants answered. 

Who's Afraid Of Who?  G 611 SERIES 

Someone gives Jazz the wrong interrogation room number. Now she goes to visit a certain Dr. Crane...The station officers realize the error in the files when visiting the other resource, 1 hour later it's too late. By the time they arrive at the interrogation room, they find...Dr Jasmine Nightingale became an expert on the mind to help people. That included almost all of Gotham's worst offenders. Dr Crane, aka Scarecrow, is about to find out more first hand. 

Danny The Intern  T 

Danny decided to intern at Wayne Enterprise. He's always so helpful, and polite, and gets the job done. He gets REALLY confused when his co-workers start acting weird: they would either pull him into another room; or make him do some outlandish task so far away, or a group of people suddenly surround him. It’s as if they are trying to hide him from someone. Meanwhile, there is an unspoken agreement amongst the employees: Rule #4: DO NOT LET ANY WAYNES SEE HIM. Otherwise, they are going to lose their most helpful intern (and hopefully a permanent employee) because of those damn Wayne’s adopting addictions. Though of course, it wasn’t long until they messed up Rule #4. 

Trivia Night  G 

Danny gets a job at some underground bar as one of the tenders there. The problem? He wasn’t informed that Gotham’s most dangerous villains would frequently go out for drinks, using said bar to do so. And naturally, through the power of tired college student and brunt-out hero, he manages to gain favor of all of them. So much so that they begin including him on planning heists, kidnappings, etc 

Just Another ̶L̶A̶ Gotham Devotee~  T 

Danny didn't expect much after leaving Amity and his vigilante career for a job at Wayne Tech R&D. All he wanted was a decent roof over his head, non ecto-contaminated food in his fridge, and maybe to stop getting thrown into buildings so often. Hell, he'd even negotiate that last point if it kept the Bats of his back. Unfortunately, fate has never been kind. Ancients, he needs a vacation. 

Specter Of The Month  T 

Far from Amity and those who'd follow, Danny does the only sensible option to make money and watch over his sister. Apply to become an Arkham Asylum security guard. When breakout rates drop and Penguin's released spouting rumors of a ghost haunting BlackGate, a certain Tim Drake grows curious. 

Gotham's Ghostly Bartender  T 

Danny after revealing to his parents he is Phantom and taking his place as King of the Infinite Realms, decides to try his luck as human opening a nightclub in Gotham. It´s going great until he attracts the attention of the Bats because he can´t help going feral on the Joker everytime he finds him on the city 

Help! My Teacher's A Mad Scientist  NR 

wherein Danny is a metalwork teacher at Gotham academy and ends up subbing for Tim's chemistry class. Measurements are just suggestions. 

Pitch-Dark Shades  T 

Danny Fenton is trying to build a new life in Gotham after closing up the connections to the Ghost Zone. Not that all connections are entirely broken, still being able to perceive shades and give them strength when he connects to one of their prized objects. Tim Drake is trying to find his own place in the world, focusing on becoming a better detective by solving cold cases in his spare time. When Tim and Danny meet, a new (begrudging) partnership starts to bloom to solve even the hardest of cases. Or it would if only they told each other the truth. 

New Job, Who's This?  T 8,000 SERIES 

Danny has an interview with the Engineering Team at Wayne Enterprises. He gets a job, but not where he expected. 

Those Who Serve.  T 

Alfred Pennyworth sees a homeless teen who looks like he'd fit right into the Wayne family and decides to take matters into his own hands. It's not like he's just going to leave this very sad, possibly meta teenager alone when there's more than enough space in the Manor to house one more child in need. 

A Matter Of Opinion  M 13,096 

Jasmine Fenton goes down a different path in her attempt to care for her brother. Unfortunately, she could not stop her parents from taking her brother apart. Now, his core is slowly rebuilding his body from infancy, and someone has to pay for letting the Anti-Ecto Acts exist. When she bites off more than she can chew, she learns how to grow bigger teeth, and hunts down bigger prey. 

The Curious Case Of D. Grayson  T 

Dick Grayson gets a job in Wayne Industries as an electrical engineer, or so is the word. Except it's not Dick who gets the job but Danny Grayson, half ghost and professional disaster. Of course, because nothing is ever easy for Danny, the world mistakes him for the prolific first child of Bruce Wayne and therefore rumours start Dick Grayson got married in secret. What could possibly go wrong, am I right? 

Penny Two  T 6,822 

Alfred decides to hire Danny Fentom as an assistant butler. Bruce is uncertain about having a new person in his house. 

He Can See Ghosts Because He’s A Medium, Obviously  NR SERIES 

But no, what convinced him he’s in a different dimension are the ghosts. They’re nothing like the ghosts from the infinite realms, more like stereotypical ghosts kids who were raised normally believe in. The ones no one can see except in the flickering of lights, something falling when it shouldn’t, a strange noise or even sometimes a shadowy figure. But not for Danny, cause of course he can’t be normal. To him these ghosts look like every other living person around him. Or Danny gets trapped in the DC universe, specifically Gotham, and decides since he can see ghosts here he may as well use it. Or or Danny the medium! 

Ghost In The Morgue  M 

There's something off about the new Medical Examiner for the Gotham City Police Department. Danny Fenton, now working for the G.C.P.D. is good at his job. Very good. His reports are always done promptly and accurately. Scarily accurate. His "unofficial reports" even more so, listing details the medical examiner shouldn't know. He's an oddity, and oddities in Gotham attract Bats. 

Mondays, Am I Right?  T 2,681 SERIES 

There was a long silence. He heard his sister breathe in, breathe out, like she was mentally preparing herself to say something. “I… I heard, from other interns I talked to, that guard positions are always open. And that it’s super easy to get in.” 

Unnerving  T 

There's a new doctor at Arkham Asylum, and with the new doctor came a new security guard. Or, Jazz decided to work in Arkham and now it's everyone's problem. 

Arkham Phantom: The Cryptic Security Guard  NR 

Danny becomes a security guard at Arkham. 

Graveyard Shift  NR 

He moved slowly through the dark hall as the alarms blared and flashed, his eyes cutting through the dark. Where. Where did he go? He pauses at a sound, glancing down the left hall as a masked group crouches and goes still. Not paying them any mind, he pays more attention to the blue smoke that finds its way out his throat, curling around his face before trailing off down the hall. He starts walking again. He has someone to find. With barely a thought he slowly fades from the visible spectrum as he continues down the straight hall. 

Shrike  T 

Danny Fenton starts a new life in Gotham but ghosts keep following him, forcing him to return as Phantom to try and keep them in control. The Bats are trying to hunt down the new meta due to the destruction he causes. In his civilian life, Danny finds himself being questioned about his background and knowledge of technology when he wins a full ride scholarship and fellowship from Wayne Enterprises. Both sides of his life ends crumbling before him. 

DANNY IN GOTHAM 

Wait, I'm A What?  T 

after Clockwork dropped of Danny in Gotham he tries to make the best out of the situation which includes helping out some people. Except along the way that led to rumors that he was an up-and-coming crime boss. A rumor he was largely unaware of. 

Wait! I’m A Cartoon Over Here!?!  T 

A new vigilante group had been working the rounds. Every rogue or villain they came across for the past week got defeated in seconds. Bruce has been aging like a fly due to the stress of trying to catch them. Everyone else wishes to meet and get their autographs. While Damian and Dick can’t figure out why this group's actions, tools, and abilities feel so familiar. That is until Damian gets saved by a teen with snow-white hair and glowing green eyes. Damian just got saved by a cartoon character Dick and he watches regularly. Meanwhile, Danny and the gang got dumped into the DC Universe. They are familiar with the comics, shows, and movies, they know what’s up, and they can survive! They plan not to draw too much attention. Maybe help a person here or there? get an autograph or ten? But, definitely find a way back home.  That plan fails immediately, and now, they’re a vigilante group with a dumb name. But, as long as they stay in the shadows, they should be fine! That all changes when Danny saves Robin and learns something very important yet terrifying. 

Cry Of The Mourning Dove  T   

Danny's made it this far from Amity. An alley way, somewhere in Gotham city. He had a goal, but he's so injured... He's not sure he's gonna find who he needs to find. Red Robin and Red Hood find him first. A kid. Bleeding green. With Bruce Wayne's face. 

Bus To Nowhere  T 

Is it running from your problems if your problems consider you to be a dead imprint of consciousness that killed their son? Yes, but Danny tries not to think about how his nightmares of his parents trying to kill him came true when they found out he was Phantom. After being on the run from his parents and the government for a couple of months, moving from town to town, Danny ends up in Gotham City and decides to risk staying in Batman's territory. He'd take the wrath of Batman over live vivisection via beloved parents or being studied and torn apart by the government. Besides, he's not a meta. Being dead is a medical condition. 

Change In Management  T SERIES 

Desperate for energy to sustain herself and her city, Gotham tries to consume Phantom but loses and instead bequeaths her mantle to him as she destabilizes. This has some interesting consequences as Danny now finds himself inexplicably linked to a crime-ridden city in another dimension. 

In The Dead Of Night  T 

Danny's life has never been normal. One night he is thrust into a situation he never wanted and certainly didn't ask for. Now lost, alone, and injured in an unfamiliar city, he must rely on the help of strangers in the forms of Gotham City's vigilantes, and the family of Bruce Wayne. In order to survive and keep himself out of the hands of an insane cult that is desperately seeking out a power far greater than anyone should have. 

Thirty-Odd Days Of Chasing An Enigma  T 

Danny and the Batfam play hide and seek and tag, all on the palm of Danny's hand, while he tries to gain some much needed balance after a reveal gone bad. 

Anarchic  T 5,585 SERIES 

Danny Fenton is set free on another world, he really should've taken the "No consequences" claim with a pinch of salt 

Hatred At First Sight  G 1,304 

The residence of Gotham were used to rogue attacks and most didn't bat an eye to the extravagance that was the Joker even as everyone watching as he live filmed his assault on the bank in a numb kind of horror that you could only acquire through exposure. He was holding a bunch of hostages, asking the watchers what he should do with them with a wide unhinged smile and maliciously gleeful eyes that watched his many victims squirm in terror. Until he looked at the skrunky kid in a ratty hoodie that looked like he could be a Wayne adoptee. And both froze for a good minute. And like some kind of demented switch got flipped the kid snarled and (still with his hands tied behind his back mind you) launched himself at the Joker. 

Danny's Guide To Not Dying Alone On The Street  G 

After his parents chase him out of the city, Danny finds his way to Gotham to stay out of the eye of the GIW or any other ghost hunters who might be interested in him. After he accidentally shows his powers in a very public setting, can he avoid the ghosts of his past and the ever-increasing number of Gotham Vigilantes interested in him? 

Run Ghost Run  NR 

Danny escaped from the GIW and his parents, but he had to keep running. If those in the infinite realm found out what happened war would happen. Clockwork said to follow the birds and bats whatever that means. For now, he would just hide in Gotham. No one would look for him there. 

Gotham's Haunted  G 

Five times Danny Surprised a Batkid and that one time he was forcefully adopted by Bruce Wayne. 

No Laughing Matter  NR 

Danny kills the Joker, not knowing of the kill switch set to release Joker gas the moment Jokers heart stops beating 

Taking Flight  T 

Danny decides to tell his parents the truth. It doesn't go so hot. Fleeing Amity Park for his life he decides Gotham is the best place to fall through the cracks. Sadly as a black-haired blue-eyed teen with a strong sense of morality the adoption papers were half filled out. Unfortunately for Bruce, Danny has a thing about rich guys with secret identities who want to adopt him. 

Death Is Not The Enemy  T 

Danny gets summoned into a new universe, makes some friends, becomes part of the most powerful vigilante clan ever, punches a bunch of satanists, finds the meaning of family and gets a chance at dreaming big. Definitely not in that order 

Concession To Realism  G 

Clockwork sends Danny to a universe where he'll be safe until he can take up the mantle of Ghost King, a dimension far away from the Fentons and other ghost hunters. Danny is less than thrilled, especially when he starts developing a soft spot for some local bats. 

And So It Ghost   T 65,805 SERIES 

When Danny Fenton is invited to a Technology Fair in Gotham he hopes it will help open doors to a good college. What he doesn't expect is an attack by a technology obsessed ghost, or a visit from the Batman himself. Can Danny keep his identity a secret while also scoring a spot at Gotham University? Or will everything come crashing down around his ears like usual? 

MISC 

A Vigilante A Day Keeps The Government Away  M 11,158 

Lucius Fox gets a phone call he'd never expected from a source even more unexpected. Now, he's got to figure out what to do with a betrayed child, a traumatized nephew, a protective son, and an adoption-prone Bat. 

I Can Be Both Even If It's Hard (And It's Hard)  G 52,999 SERIES 

Sam and Tucker ran to get Jazz and didn't see Danny come out of the portal. By the time they return Danny has transformed back. This changes things. 

-=INSERT TERM=-  T 

“It's probably just identity theft” Tim looked up from his laptop in the corner as he said it, a courtesy Jason didn't return. “Maybe” he sighed, reading through the document in front of him again. Apparently a kid had cashed in his government trust fund, two years after his death. “I don't know why you care” Tim continued, returning to his screen. Originally Jason hadden’t, had even been offended when Bruce handed him the file with instructions to ‘look into this’. However, the more he did look into it, the more he realised this wasn’t really about the trust fund at all. 

Dull Residue Of What Once Was (A Shattered Cloud Of Swirling Doves)  T SERIES 

Danny didn't expect to become Ghost King. He definitely didn't expect or want to become a target for summoning because of it. He's pretty annoyed at this point. But hey, at least he gets to meet some of his favorite heroes! The Batclan meets King Phantom. It's very alarming. 

Of Course It's A Cult  T 2,696 SERIES 

Danny did not sign up for kingship. Nor did he sign up for random summons by crazy cult people. Fortunately, the sacrifices for this one are still alive and are slightly familiar. 

The Historian  NR SERIES 

I have even documented some stories claiming that the Bat is a living person. Of course, these claims are preposterous and should be immediately discounted. What living person would willingly choose to dress as a bat to fight crime? 

Dead Men Don't Bleed  M 

Dead men don't bleed. When the body begins to break down, the blood settles and congeals in the veins, clotting and preventing them from being able to bleed like the living. This, of course, isn't an issue, so long as your corpse stays dead. 

Tape 01  NR 

Daniel "Danny" James Fenton wasn't just a normal young adult and while everyone seemed to accept this fact, nobody was able to understand it. That's the point, where all his problems started to evolve into something much bigger. So nobody noticed when he disappeared... 

When The Clown No Longer Laughed  M SERIES 

Things have been going well for Arkham Asylum. There haven't been any breakouts in a while, a new team of Psychologists are starting to make a breakthrough with the residents, and Gotham is starting to heal. But with the recent suicide of one Mr. Freeze, Batman decides to look into what is happening in Arkham Asylum. Dr. Penelope Spectra talks about the good she is doing for the inmates, and how they are finally being rehabilitated. But Batman knew something was deeply wrong. When the Clown no longer laughed. 

Time Traveler Code  G 1,486 

Danny has to (re)introduce himself to Batman and his family after meeting them in the alternate Dan future. He has a few other big pieces of information to break to them, too 

[ghcstflowcr]

━━ ⋆˚✿˖° 𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴 [ 𝟶𝟶4 ]

Free template for the use of the tumblr rpc‼ Click HERE to download the PSD. It is super straightforward to use. Minimal photoshop skills are required. Everything is grouped by sections: Headcanon/Answered/Pinned, URL & Background. The symbols on the left can be substituted for your own preferences. Font used: Peacelove | Buy Me A Flower ?

[relicsongmel]

ABYSSAL RUINS MENTIONED???????

PULL OUT THE CONSPIRACY BOARD MEL'S ABOUT TO GO FUCKING HAYWIRE

[abuyasin156]

Hello, I'm hamdi 🇵🇸 After 100 days of displacement, my family and I found ourself forced to leave our home and land in Gaza. 🏡💔 The journey to Egypt was not a choice, but a necessity imposed by the harsh conditions. we crossed the border, carrying with us scattered dreams and hopes for a better life, but we quickly realized that displacement was not the end of the suffering, but the beginning of a new chapter.

In Egypt, we are stuck between a bitter alienation and a painful reality. 😔🚧 We do not have residency, which makes every step difficult and every day full of challenges. Prices in Egypt resources are unforgiving, and the ones we brought with us are quickly melting away. 💸 While we try to endure and survive, our hearts remain attached to Gaza; The homeland that never leaves our minds or leaves us for a moment. 🇵🇸💔 Our loved ones there live under siege, and we live under the burden of alienation and worry for them. Every day in Egypt feels like an endless wait, and every contact with Gaza opens a door to pain. 📞💔 Returning to Gaza did not alleviate the anxiety, but rather confirmed to me that the suffering continues, whether we are inside or outside.

We may still have 300 days to reach the “goal” that we do not yet know, but until then, we will continue to face the challenges of life with patience and strength, waiting for the day when safety and stability return to us and our loved ones. 🍉🌈🤲 Donate now: In these difficult times, every donation makes a difference. Your support can help alleviate the suffering of families living under siege in Gaza and facing the challenges of daily life. 🇵🇸❤️🍉🤚 Please put your hands in mine and support my children🙏🙏

https://gofund.me/504921a8

@90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitivearchived @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @officialspec @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka-blog-blog @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhatergirl @toesuckingoctober @ot3 @lapithae @ryo-yamada @opencommunion @anneemay @tamamita@gryficowa

[liketolaugh-writes]

Bruce looking past the fact that (recently adopted) Danny is a powerhouse and recognizing that he has other skills also. <3

Danny is a STEM kid and just as brilliant as his sister, you cannot convince me otherwise

Danny gave Bruce the handwritten list of powers in the morning. Bruce stared at it over his cup of coffee, then gave Danny a flat, somewhat disbelieving look. Danny shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said, perching on one of the stools. “I can point out the ones I don’t use if you just want to work on the ones I do. At least I have an idea of what needs improving with those.” Alfred gave him a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and French toast, and Danny smiled at him. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“We’ll have to prioritize your training,” Bruce allowed after a moment, frowning down at the paper. Dick leaned over to look and whistled. “But all of these will be addressed eventually. You should have at least a moderate grasp of every tool at your disposal.” He looked up. “You intended to work in the lab today, correct?”

Danny nodded, playing with a strip of bacon. “I’ll probably spend most of today making a big batch of phaseproof coating,” he said. “Then I can experiment with mixing it with paint and maybe coat some of your spare weapons in it? That should work for the bo staff and escrima sticks, maybe a set of brass knuckles. But I’ll need to make a different solution for the edged weapons.” His mind wandered, thinking of how he could adapt what he knew of the Bats’ gear to work against ghosts.

“Who’re the brass knuckles for?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Danny. Danny flushed and shrugged.

“Batman,” he said. “You don’t really use a weapon, right?” Bruce grunted. “But phaseproof cloth isn’t something my parents ever really figured out. I can work on it, maybe, but I thought brass knuckles would be an okay compromise for now.”

“Hn.”

“Good thinking,” Dick praised with a smile. “It’ll be easy to add to the utility belt too. Should we ghostproof my main set or a spare?”

“The main, I think, if you’re okay with it,” Danny said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You probably won’t even notice. But the edged weapons should all be spares. Ecto-treated metal tends to glow.”

“Not great for stealth,” Dick nodded. “Whatever you think is best, baby spook. We have the resources.”

“You’re hyper-specialized,” Bruce noted without inflection, sipping from his coffee. Danny winced.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It was easy to forget that all this was pretty useless outside of Amity Park. Bruce shook his head.

“It’s not a problem. But we’ll need to diversify your skillset. Your talent for chemistry and engineering should expand beyond ectoscience alone.” He studied Danny contemplatively. “Higher education might be beneficial, perhaps a PhD.”

Danny’s eyes went wide. “What? I’m barely passing high school!”

“I had Casper High send over your transcripts,” Bruce said. Danny flinched. “You had a B+ average in middle school, with a particular bent for math and science. You also participated in several advanced extracurriculars, including a junior astronaut program, space camp, and competitive robotics. Further, you clearly have a comprehensive understanding of your parents’ work, which eludes both the Justice League engineers and JL Dark. You had these talents prior to acquiring your powers, and it would be a waste to discard them in favor of your raw combat ability.”

Danny stared at Bruce, open-mouthed and speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered even the possibility that he could have a future outside of his hero career.

“…Do you think I could do that and be a superhero?” he managed after a minute, quieter than he’d meant to.

Bruce nodded sharply. “Most Justice League heroes maintain a career outside of heroics,” he reminded Danny, without even sounding like he thought Danny was an idiot for asking. “Aside from myself, there is also a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist, a museum curator, a forensic scientist, and a fighter pilot.”

Danny had known that on some level, but it had always seemed unreal. Practically a myth. “When am I going back to school?” he asked, hardly able to believe that he was suddenly looking forward to it.

“At the beginning of next semester,” Bruce said. “Your parents’ trial should be completed by then. I assume you don’t want to be announced publicly until that happens.” Danny shook his head fervently. “You may need to complete some make-up classes online, but we can discuss that next week.”

“Thanks,” Danny said sincerely. He was talking about a lot more than his re-enrollment.

[afterthedreamer]

.

[jellazticious]

Hey gang, I fucked up, the original was full of misinfo and this is a link that sends you to a version of the thread with all the right information in the reblogs

but in case you don't want to click the link, here's the contents

[image ID: a reblog from @determinate-negation saying "

if you get the same copy pasted message that is NOT NECESSARILY A SCAMMER. please remember that for a lot of palestinians fundraising on here english is not their first language and they might not speak much english. the accounts youre accusing of being fake in your first point were both verified by 90s-ghost, a palestinian on tumblr who was able to evacuate.

i cant say for sure but it seems like people in gaza are telling each other that tumblr is a good place to fundraise and making template messages that are translated well because 1. its easier to send a bunch of people 2. people may only have a basic knowledge of english. a lot of the people fundraising made accounts specifically for this bc theyre not familiar with tumblr so their blogs will be recently created and not have a lot of posts.

its probably better to just go off lists of fundraisers that have been verified by palestinians and arabic speakers on here. you could be hurting an innocent person in need of help by assuming their awkwardly worded message is a scam and telling people that

paypal campaigns are much more likely to be scams, definitely search the name and reverse image search photos if you cant tell if somethings legit.

also, a lot of the language that you my find dramatic or confusing could be someone trying to translate with minimal resources. just keep that in mind"

end ID]

below the reblog is a link I shared about the fundraiser list

Edit: upon knowing the situation regarding the writing prompts account, I'm turning reblogs off

I still see that people are reblogging the outdated version

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Eighteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 3.1K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. Sexual content. Pregnancy and things that come with it. Brief mention of options in relation to termination of pregnancy. PTSD. Heavy emotions. Graphic descriptions of domestic violence and miscarriage, suicidal ideation. This is mostly inner monologue. Feelings of anxiety, despair, fear. This part is a little shorter due to its emotional nature.

There’s no oxygen.

No room for your lungs to expand, nothing for you to suck into your chest and relieve the ache blooming in your bones.

You drift, unmoored, a sailboat with no rudder, no engine to save you in an ocean without a breeze. All you can do is follow the current, the one leading you back to the dozen HCG strips buried in the bottom of a trash can, faint pink lines buried in the membranes and the matter of your brain.

The midwife that squeezed you in confirmed it all with a blood draw.

“You have options.”

“I know.”

There are resources, and education for you…  though I know you’re probably aware.”

“Yup.”

“Depending on your decisions, we’d like to see you in about two weeks for an eight-week ultrasound.” You gulp. The air is tragically thin in this room, and the paper crinkles under your uneasy weight.  

“Okay.”

When Simon appears in the main lobby for the usual trek home, you barely hold back the urge to vomit all over his shoes. Your legs are weak, trembling with each step forward, and you hold his hand so tight, your bones ache.

Sensitive as always, he lingers alongside you in the quiet, biding his time before slicing through your silence. “What is it sweetheart?”

“Huh?” You’re already on the front doorstep, memory of the entire trip evaporated.

“Do you still not feel well?”

“Oh, yeah.” The lie is toxic, sludge stuck in your bloodstream, clogging your capillaries until they burst like fireworks. “It’s my stomach.”

“Pen’s still under the weather too.”

“Poor thing.” The words are numb. Your mind is numb. Your body is a livewire and exhausted, all at once, the push and pull almost knocking you onto the floor. In the kitchen, Johnny wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in for a kiss, but nothing registers.

“Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Yeah.” Autopilot. That’s the gear you’re in. Going through the motions, trying to hold yourself together, keep your head above water.

Is this real?

Is this happening?

What will they say?

What will they think?

“Bunny?” Johnny’s thumb is on your carotid, where your pulse beats. Where your heart pushes blood through your circulatory system, flowing to a presence now fluttering inside you.

One plus one equals two.

“Sorry, yeah. Think I’m gonna go up, take a nap.”

“Yell if ye need anything, aye?” All you can do is nod.

You gravitate towards the guest room before you can stop yourself. It’s as you left it, bed made, sheets crisp, remnants of your things separated into easily sorted piles. In the nest of blankets, it’s easy to pretend. Easy to imagine the bed as a cloud of cotton candy, so high in the sky, above the earth, above this… this thing that is happening.

An embryo. Something two millimeters long, siphoning its existence from yours.

That tiny sliver of hope is nowhere to be found, replaced now with logical, realistic questions.

Can you sustain a pregnancy, after the damage inflicted during the last one?

Can you carry one to viability?

Can you mentally, emotionally, physically handle a pregnancy?

An infant?

And what about them?

What about you?

You think about the times you wanted to die. The moments you sat in the shower, streams of red running to the drain, a clump of cells you never knew draining from your body with each second.

A loss you never knew you’d mourn. Something stolen. Something slipping through your fingers, handfuls of sand blown away by a sea breeze.

The overwhelming feeling of drowning every time you laid on the floor in a broken heap, synapses misfiring, making wrong connections, desperately trying to latch onto anything normal, anything sane. Staring at the ceiling, slow flow of blood dripping down your throat, left wondering if this will be it, this will be the moment it goes too far. Your spine will snap. You’ll take a blow to the head strong enough to render you unconscious, permanently. Your windpipe will be crushed, closing in on itself, starving your brain of oxygen. In those moments, you could only hope.

You’re grateful, at least, that you don’t feel like that now.

In a cocoon on a cusp of hazy sleep, you’re cradled to a chest, jostled lightly until blankets are tucked back up around your shoulders and snuggled between two warm bodies, a gentle hand cupping your cheek.

“Our sweet girl,” Simon murmurs in the dark, “we’re here. Whatever it is, we have you.”

A dream.

You sleepwalk through life. One week turns to two, and then three. Three weeks turn to four, and more, before you know it, you’re twelve weeks pregnant, still going through the motions, robotically making your way through each day. You’re shoving the waterfall of feelings and emotions so deep, so far away, they’re likely to never see the sun again.

You lock them in a box.

You bury it in a grave, six feet under.

At work, you’re grateful you know your job inside and out, because you’re mostly just going through the motions. The only time you show any sign of life is when your boss tries to float you to the NICU. When you dig in your heels, repeatedly denying the request, she finally gives up and moves onto a new unsuspecting victim.

Better them than you.

At home, its worse. You don’t know if you’re imagining the tension or if its truly there, eggshells crumbling beneath your feet, words turned to ash. You’re a marionette, fate pulling the strings, tearing the joints of your limbs in a million directions.

They can tell. They read you too well, but you’re not so easily swayed. Simon tries to coax it gently; Johnny tries to bluntly force it out. Both tactics fail, but they themselves stay steady, and true, holding you in the night, soothing you with touch and whispers, loving you through it all.

During the day, they coddle you. Johnny massages your shoulder, tips your chin back until your skull rests on collarbone, dots kisses all over your skin. He tugs you onto the patio, curls up on the outdoor loveseat with you under a big blanket, your head in his lap, telling you stories about his childhood, his parents. He makes you giggle by reminiscing of all the times he chased Simon around at work, how Kyle fell out of a helicopter, how they had to wear suits for an undercover op one time and Simon's ripped right down the ass.

Simon cooks, all your favorites, things you forgot he pays attention to, and spoons you on the couch, big arm like a safety net stretched across your chest to keep you close. He brings tea to bed, reading until your eyes close, calming your mind enough to lull you to sleep.

Even at night, they treasure you like glass. Johnny lays on his stomach, thumbs rubbing circles into your thighs, parting them, backs of his knuckles tracing over the seam of your pussy, coaxing your arousal, taking his time. He licks your clit so slowly its torture, all the while Simon tugs your knee as wide as he can, hand fisted in the mohawk, kissing you from shoulder to neck, over and over.

You beg them to fuck you hard, harder than you’ve ever asked for it before. Johnny jumps at the idea, but Simon kills it immediately.

“No,” he traces a line over the curve of your ass to the creases of your thighs, “that’s not going to happen, sweetheart. Not until you tell us what’s going on.” You opt to bury your face in his chest instead and ride Johnny’s hand as Simon coaches, telling you how good you are, how lucky they are, how much you mean to them.

If only they knew. Would they still feel the same?

It’s more than you deserve, you think. More than you know how to handle. The guilt piles onto your shoulders. You’re carrying a life, a life you created with them, a life they should know about.

The decisions waiting in the wings haunt you at every turn.

What should you do? What will you do?

You should tell them. They should know.

Why are you keeping this a secret?

The time is passing too fast, and with it, your panic increases, forcing your back to bow, hands clutching at your legs, head hanging heavy to the floor. At work in the closet, at home the moments you’re alone, the agony steals your breath, heart shredding to pieces. It overcomes you, floods your nervous system until the world spins.

In the shower, you fall apart, truly, knees slamming into tile, your shoulders slumped against the wall.

It’s hard to tell you’re crying with water streaming over your face.

You lose your shit the day Penny crawls across the couch to cuddle you.

She pulls herself up onto your belly, her head resting on your chest, chubby hands fisted in your shirt.

“Bunny wead?” She wants a story, a routine the two of you enjoy together, turning the pages of a children’s book and acting out all the voices. She’ll squeal with glee, her laughter full of excitement, and you’ll tickle her sides while pretending to eat her foot.

It makes you both happy, but today, it splits your soul in two.

You burst into tears. She jolts back, looking up into your face, little brow furrowed in confusion, mouth shocked into a circle.

“Bunny.” She pats your cheek, alarmed, and you skim your nose across the top of her head, breathing her deep, anchoring your arm around her back. She’s starting to get upset, too perceptive, too empathetic, already expressing the traits of both her parents. You try to soothe her distress.

“It’s alright.” Your voice cracks on the promise, her nose pressed to your throat. “It’s alright, Penny. I’m sorry. Everything’s okay.” Johnny’s unmistakable gait sounds on the stairs, still slightly off balance, and you hastily wipe your face, forcing your eyes to his as he approaches the couch.

“What’s wrong?” He sees it immediately, and you shake him off with another lie, so many little white ones rotting into blinding despair.

“I had a bad day at work yesterday, that’s all. Just still trying to process it.” His head cocks.

“Ye sure?”

“Yeah, promise. I’ll be fine.”

The tide changes at work.

A man lies in a medically induced coma, barbiturates keeping him in the dark, a suspended state of uncertainty. His wife waits, and waits, fixes her too keen eyes on you every time she sees you, waiting for an update, good news, anything. Anything that could bring her peace.

On the second day of your work week, your steps stutter at the sight of her sitting bedside, a baby in her arms, gentle words floating between them.

“We’ve moved onto ba now, for a bottle, which is just crazy,” she murmurs, a hand under her cheek, wiping away tracks of tears, “and I think he’s too big for me to carry around at this point.” There’s a wet chuckle, and the baby tips forward, smacking his hand on his dad’s. “Is that daddy?” She bounces him, quiet as he babbles and gurgles, his eyes wide at the sights and sounds in a hospital room.

You clear your throat. She startles.

“Oh god, sorry… I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay,” Intruding on private moments is not uncommon, though here it feels different. “I just need to check on some things and then I’ll be out of your hair.” She nods, and outside of the baby’s noises, the room is silent until she breaks it with a whisper.

“I know there’s probably no chance he can hear me,” her fingers stroke through his hair, a pained look on her face, “but I like to believe he can.”

“There’s no definitive research that he can’t,” you tell her softly, carefully going about your work to avoid disturbing them.

“I hope he can hear the baby. He’s… he’s missed so much already, you know?” She sniffles, tears freely falling, and your heart clenches. “We’re broken without him; I’m broken without him. He’s my family, my everything. I can’t… we’re not supposed to be apart. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You have thick skin. You’ve seen countless people die. Consoled hundreds of family members. Held hands with patients taking their last breath.

This shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t affect you in any way, but when you look at your patient, and his partner, and his child-

All you can see is your boys and their unconditional love. Simon sitting vigilant at Johnny’s bedside. Johnny’s tears when he finally woke up. The fear in Simon’s eyes when Johnny seized, the trust he placed in your promise to take care of him. Penny in his arms as soon as he was strong enough to hold her. Their resolve to hold their family together, their dedication to you through it all. The three of them, a family, now yours, spun together with string stronger than steel, connecting the four of you for the rest of your life.

You’ll make it through. You’ll all make it through. You have their love shining down on your face. The love strong enough to hold you tight, rock you through your nightmares, encourage you to grow, to be yourself, to let it all go.

And they have you. Your love. Something you never thought would exist again, fostered and enticed forward, magnified for them. For the first time, you’re able to give to someone, to comfort them, care for them the way they have for you, hold them tight through their pain, their fears. It’s never felt so…

right.

It’s not one plus one. It’s five. Five hearts, making a family.

You know, without a doubt, they’ll love this baby. They won’t leave your side. They’ll take care of you, they’ll nurture you both, they’ll be solid, and supportive, and patient through it all.

You don’t need them to say it, and you don’t need to be scared.

Their light soothing your despair, healing the deep embedded scars, their warmth of the sun-

The little sunbeam growing inside you.

“You’re a few weeks late.” The midwife shakes her head as you settle on the exam table. You showed up in a whirlwind again, convincing her to fit you in between appointments.

“I know, I… I was struggling with it, but I feel better now. I’m… ready.” Your lips quirk at the corners, and she smiles in return.

“Should we take a look then?” You nod with a deep breath.

The jelly is cold, and she purposefully keeps the screen turned away from you, clicking, measuring, assessing in silence. It's standard policy for any employee or medical professional. Though you're not an ultrasound tech, it's not outside the realm of possibility that you could read the image on the screen before she can tell you gently that something is wrong.

Your past haunts you, taunts you, convinces you this has all been for nothing. You’re too damaged for this. Your body is broken. He took too much.

Still, you hope. You cling to a future, a vision, Penny holding the baby with Johnny’s arms supporting her, Simon half asleep with a burp cloth on his shoulder, little one asleep on his chest.

“Alright,” she turns it back for you to see, her expression colored with kindness. “Everything looks great, honey.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. Placenta is in optimal position, and baby is right on track developmentally for twelve weeks.” She twists a knob, the volume, filling the room with sound of galloping hoofbeats.

The heartbeat.

“Oh my god.” Your hand clasps over your mouth and you desperately try to bring air in through your nose, filling your diaphragm, staving off a river of tears unsuccessfully. She hands you a tissue.

“I’ll get you some printouts, okay?” You can’t do anything but choke on a thank you.

You slip away after your appointment, crossing through the halls leading to the out-patient wing where you’ll find Johnny in physical therapy, Simon in a chair scrolling through his phone just outside. The smile stretches across your face naturally, joy bursting at the seams.  

It's a new day, a new moment to turn away from the darkness and step into the sun.

You’re nearly skipping, heart so full, overflowing with hope, with happiness, your hands trembling, pictures of the scan clutched in your fingers. You hold them so tight, close to your chest, afraid they may disappear, be lost.

In hindsight, the crippling agony and fear you’ve been holding in seems so foolish now. It’s easy to curse yourself for the doubt, for the despair, but the path you took to get here, to be present in this moment, moving forward, was worth it.

They love you, and they’ll love little sunbeam. Penny will be the best big sister. You’ll make new memories, together, build the beginning of this life into a forever. Everything will work out; you can feel it now. You’ve shed the dented armor, the walls, the fence topped with barbed wire. The girl in the mirror, gone. It’s all crumbled down. With Johnny. With Simon. Your family.

A family of five.

You round the corner with your hands knitted together, a flimsy effort to still them, elated and barely able to hold your secret in. You won’t be able to do a cute announcement, won’t be patient enough to do something special like get Penny a shirt that says, “best big sister” even though you’d like to.

You’ve kept it from them for long enough. You need them to know.

You look for Simon first, expecting him to be waiting outside the door, but when he's not there, you glance around, and then peek into the observation window to find the physical therapy room empty.

Where are they? Where-

They’re at the end of the hall, talking to someone out of sight. Simon has his arms crossed, his body angled partially in front of Johnny, who shifts his weight onto his good leg. They’re both wearing serious expressions, Simon’s the most severe, and then Johnny’s lips twist into a grim sort of smile.

Whoever they’re talking to steps forward, and your heart burns into ash, falling through the floor to bottomless depths of darkness.

Phillip.

[lordprettyflackotara]

professional || ben drowned

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: cam girl!reader, squirting, ben's just a little possessive, mutual masturbation, fuck machine?

Ben threw himself into his gaming chair, grabbing his favorite bottle of lotion. After a long day of doing unethical favors for his fellow mansion residents, the blonde needed to blow some steam.

Being a digital ghost had many perks, along with being immortal. However this also meant having seen anything and everything. He had been on every porn site, every forum, every twitter thread. He'd hyperfixate on one fetish or pornstar at a time before eventually losing interest. He found himself growing more interested in the pornstars themselves, resulting in him investigating cam girls instead. Something about seeing the raw reactions and unfiltered live shows made Ben the horniest he had ever been. He scrolled through the site, looking for who was online. The blonde had a few favorites, but you were his ultra fantasy. His eyes lit up at the sight of your screen name being online, his heart pounding as he clicked on your live show. You had just started thankfully, your skimpy pajamas still covering your soft skin. Your perky nipples were poking through the thin material. Ben relished in the sight of you smiling at the recognition of his screen name.

"Hey there, drowning_in_bitches, nice to see you again."

Sometimes the way you talked to Ben made you feel like these shows were for him and him only. After all he was your top donator. Money was an endless resource for him, the blonde not afraid to shower you in cash to see you cum harder. You usually had your toys linked to the donations, the vibrations only starting and going faster when people donated. It was a satisfying sight to Ben, to see your face scrunching up in pleasure as the sound of coins dropping came out of the speakers. "I have something different for tonight boys," You say, your eyes bright and full of excitement. You leaned out of frame, fiddling with something. "Thanks to everyones over the top donations, I was finally able to invest in something I think we all will enjoy," You say. Ben raised an eyebrow in interest, before his mouth dropped in the shape of an O. You pulled into frame a sex machine, a large pink dildo strapped to the end of it. Your chat of admirers was going crazy, many already spamming with excitement. You giggled as you read the comments, Ben's mouth watering.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, his cock beginning to ache in his shorts.

You got that for me huh? He typed, before pressing enter. You bit your bottom lip as your eyes flickered to his comment. "Maybe I did maybe it's something special for my favorite admirer," You purred. You pulled your shirt over your head, your breast bouncing out freely. Ben began to fiddle with the strings of his shorts, watching you play with your mesmerizing breast. A few small donations were made, Ben purposefully waiting. You were quite the tease, loving to draw things out. Ben was not a patient man however, and refrained from donating until you were getting down to business. He loved to overstimulate you and you being foolish enough to get a fuck machine was perfect for him. You adjusted the fuck machine into position, before bending over in front of the camera. You played with the hems of your flimsy shorts, before pulling them down. Ben matched your motions, shoving his shorts down to his ankles. No panties huh? Dirty slut. He typed, tucking his bottom lip in between his teeth. You glanced over your shoulder, reading his comment. Ben could see your face noticeably flush red after soaking in what he said.

it really felt like you were putting on a private show for him and him only. You were so flustered and interactive with him. He never saw you do anything like that for anyone else. In the back of his mind he knew logically it was most likely because of the money he showered you with. But the other half of him ignored that thought, obsessed with the idea of you wanting him as bad he wanted you. "Honestly quite nervous about this guys, I haven't been properly fucked in ages," You sheepishly admitted. Ben's breath hitched as he palmed at his cock. Were you being honest? Or were you saying that just for fun? I can change that. He typed. He watched you read the comment, before delivering the camera a sly wink. "Maybe you should Mr.Drowned," You purred. Mesmerized, he watched as you laid down on your set up. You spread your legs wide open, licking two of your fingers before drawing slow circles around your clit. Your chat was going crazy with excitement, the horny men thrilled to see you pleasure yourself. Ben began to stroke his cock, noticing no one was donating. You were going slow on purpose. Ben had spent countless hours watching you ruin yourself for his entertainment. He knew exactly what you could handle.

He hovered over the donation tab, donating an easy $500 to start with. It had a simple note: Let me fuck your face. The sound of coins made you sit up, reading the note. You giggled. "Yeah? Is that what we want chat?" You asked. Ben couldn't ignore his jealousy. Why were you attending to their desires? He was the one you belonged to. The chat was flooding with excitement, causing you to fully switch positions. You put the fuck machine in front of your face, kitten licking the dildo. You arched your back, giving the camera a divine view of the shape of your ass. "That's it," Ben grumbled to himself, beginning to stroke his cock. He made a donation directly to the machine this time, the speed beginning to pick up. You took it the dildo deeper into your mouth, maintaining a seemingly innocent gaze into the camera. Ben grabbed the lotion, now fully ready to stroke his cock. His fingers reacted faster than he could comprehend, dumping another large donation carelessly into your account. The sound of coins made you moan, the dildo now fucking your throat. Ben relished in the sound of you gagging, saliva messily dripping down the sides of your mouth.

Your eyes were beginning to flood with tears, your waterline so full the tears overflowed. You struggled to keep up with the face fucking as Ben continued to donate more and more. The dildo was abusing your throat mercilessly, your thighs squeezing together with arousal. Ben couldn't help but fantasize about seeing you cum for him, his fingers hovering over his keyboard once more. Now lay down slut and let me fuck you. Ben typed, pressing enter. You blinked away some tears, pulling yourself off of the dildo. You laughed as you wiped some of your smudged mascara. "Look at this guys, you're making me make a mess," You laughed, laying back down on your back. You brought the dildo to your entrance, the toy more than lubricated with your saliva. Your cunt was glistening with arousal as Ben stared at you wide eyed, his hand slowly edging his cock. He watched you slowly take the toy, your walls eagerly clinging onto it. Get ready, i'm gonna give you the best fuck of your life. Ben typed. Your chat was so full you missed his comment, your mouth in the shape of an O as the fuck machine began moving.

Ben frowned as he realized this, carelessly placing a donation of $1K. You gasped as the sound of coins came out of the speaker, the fuck machine beginning to fuck you faster. For a brief moment your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut from the pleasure. It was brushing against your g spot so deliciously, you couldn't help but moan. Your moans were sounds of encouragement for Ben, the blonde smirking as your doe eyes finally met the camera. He stroked his cock faster, dumping various large amounts of money into your inbox. You were gripping your pink comforter, your mouth running dry. Ben momentarily stopped, your other admirers simply watching instead of donating. You whined as the machine came to a stop, your eyes pleading as you looked into the camera. "Fuck please keep going, I wanna cum," You whimpered lowly. Ben bit his bottom lip, imagining hearing you beg for him directly. The other losers in your chat didn't have a shot in hell in making you cum as hard as he could. As he would.

The blonde continued donating, ultimately deciding on donating the maximum amount he could. He dropped his hand, watching the fuck machine whir at its highest speed. You were a moaning and whimpering mess, your knuckles turning white from gripping the sheets so hard. "Fucking hell, my fucking-, fuck!" You cried. Your cunt was abused by the toy Ben was controlling, a sick sadistic grin curling up his lips. Ben stroked his cock, rubbing his thumb over his slit as he watched you fall apart. Your legs were trembling, struggling to stay open as you took what Ben was giving you. Your head fell back as you squirted, your juices coating the sheets. You sheepishly closed your legs, your face red and cunt puffy. "Holy shit. I've never done that before," You panted. The fuck machine came to a brief halt, your lustful gaze meeting the camera. It was like you were looking directly into Ben's soul.

"Hey Mr.Drowned, wanna make me do that again?"

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART I: HEAVEN KNOWS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part II // part III // part IV // part V

wc: 4.7k cw: guns, brief descriptions of violence author's note: ty @mirconreadzztuff22 for being my arcane encyclopedia!! This is gonna be a seven part series so buckle up!!!

You blink awake, the world slowly coming into focus as a cacophony of muffled sounds pierces your slumber. Squinting one eye open, you’re able to see shadowy figures dragging your companions away, their struggles futile against the intruders' iron grips. Your heart races, but instinct kicks in. You remain still, feigning sleep, as footsteps approach.  

Someone looms over you - in the dim light filtering through the drugstore's grimy windows, you catch a glimpse of her scarred face and steely gaze. As she reaches for you, adrenaline surges through your veins. In a flash, you slam into her, catching her off guard.

For a split second, you had the upper hand - but it's short-lived. The woman recovers with lightning speed, her combat skills levels way above yours. She easily corners you against the cold, dusty shelves, her knife finding its way to your throat. The blade's edge kisses your skin, a thin line of warmth trickling down your neck.

"Move any further, and I can end this now." she growls, her breath hot against your ear.

You raise your hands in surrender, and she roughly drags you to join the others. You're thrust into the main area, forced to your knees alongside Vander, Vi, Caitlyn, and Powder. The scene before you is horrifying - Through the front window, you see a horde of walkers slamming against the glass. Their decaying faces press against the surface, leaving smears of rot and congealed blood. 

At the fore stood the woman who captured you, her gang forming a menacing circle around your group. You noted how tall and muscular she was, her dark skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light. A red shawl draped over her left side, obscuring her arm and shoulder.  Her short, styled hair framed a face set in stern lines, but her eyes, they sparkled with something dangerous, almost predatory.

The woman’s gaze swept over your group, lingering on each face before settling on yours. "Looks like we've got ourselves some lost lambs," she drawled, her voice a low, smoky rasp.

You felt Vi tense beside you, her fists clenching. On your other side, Caitlyn's fingers twitched near her now empty holster. Powder, uncharacteristically quiet, had her gaze fixed on the panels with the undead clawing their bloody fingers at.

The air crackled with tension as Vander spoke. "We're just passing through, we don’t mean to cause any trouble."

"Do you know whose territory you're in?" she demands, her voice cutting through the moans of the undead outside.

"No… but we weren’t going to settle here, let us go and we’ll get out of your hair."

The woman's laugh is harsh and devoid of humor. "I don't care," she sneers. Her eyes scan the ransacked shelves of the drugstore. "What I care about is where the remaining medications are. Hand them over."

Your throat tightens. You know exactly where they are – hidden in your pack. "I have them."

Her gaze locks on you. "Hand them over."

"Why should I?"

In an instant, she's in your face, so close you can see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes. Her scarred lip curls into a snarl. "Because you don't want to know what happens if you don't."

Your mind races, torn between protecting your group's precious resources and avoiding the wrath of this formidable woman and her gang.  Would she really let you go if you acquiesced? 

The tense standoff is suddenly interrupted by a burst of static. One of the woman's group members fumbles with a radio clipped to their belt. A male voice crackles through, urgent and clear.

"Sevika, the store's surrounded now. Get out before dark hits. Over."

The tall woman - Sevika, you now know - snatches the radio. "Copy that," she replies tersely, her eyes never leaving your group.

With a sharp whistle, her group springs into action. They wordlessly pack supplies, secure weapons, and prepare for evacuation. The efficiency is impressive, and you can't help but admire their coordination even when you had two of them keep their guns trained on your group.

“What about us?"  

Sevika's lip curls in amusement. "What about you?"

"Are you going to let us go?" Vander presses, his voice steady despite the circumstances.

"Sure," Sevika drawls, then points directly at you. "After she gives me the meds."

"What? How the hell are we going to get out of here ourselves?" Vi protested. 

Sevika's response is cold and indifferent. "If you want to get out that bad, do it yourself."

You watch Vander's mind work, always strategizing. "You have a base, it’s obviously well-supplied based on the amount of weapons and people you have. Take us with you, we can fight and help."

Sevika scoffs. "Now, why would I do that? You're lucky enough I'm letting you go alive."

Someone in her group chimes in with a smirk, "If they can get out alive." Snickers ripple through the gang, and your stomach turns at their callousness.

As Sevika's group continues packing, she allows your group to stand. You seize the moment, stepping forward. "I've got EMT training. I know how to use the medications I took."

Sevika dismisses you with a wave. "No thanks. We've already got a doctor."

"More help wouldn't hurt."

Her patience wearing thin, Sevika snaps, "I'm not picking up strays, especially ones so easy to put down."

You step closer, your face inches from hers despite the notable height difference between you two. "We were easy to capture because we were sleeping. That's a coward's move."

One of Sevika's people moves to intervene, but she halts them with a raised hand. Her eyes lock with yours, and to your surprise, her scowl turns into a smirk. 

"Okay," she says, her voice low and challenging. "Prove to me right now that you can survive.  However many survive, we'll take them in. But anyone left behind, I'm not coming back for. You're responsible for this."

Vander nods grimly. "Fine with us."

The moans of the undead grow louder outside.  While Sevika's group finishes their preparations, your group hurries to gather what few possessions you have. 

Vi angrily stuffs clothes into her backpack. "This is bullshit," she hisses. "We can take 'em. I say we fight our way out."

Caitlyn shakes her head. "That's suicide, Vi. They outnumber and outgun us."

You kneel beside Powder, helping her gather her collection of odds and ends - Her hands shake slightly as she works.

"It'll be okay, Powder," you whisper, giving her a reassuring smile. "We'll stick together, just like always."

Powder's eyes dart nervously between you and the others. "But what if they separate us? What if-"

"Shh," you soothe, squeezing her shoulder gently. "We won't let that happen."

Vander's deep voice cuts through the murmurs. "Enough," he says firmly but quietly. "I know none of us like this, but we're out of options. We can't keep running forever."

Vi whirls on him, eyes flashing. "So we're just gonna roll over and let them take us? After everything we've been through?"

Caitlyn places a calming hand on Vi's arm. "Vander's right, Vi. We're exhausted, low on supplies. This might be our only chance at something better."

You stand up, looking around at your makeshift family. "Maybe this is an opportunity. We don't know what their community is like but it could be a chance for a real home."

Vi scoffs, but there's a flicker of hope in her eyes that she quickly tries to hide. "Yeah, right. And I'm sure they invited us out of the kindness of their hearts."

Vander steps into the middle of the group, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Listen to me," he says. "I don't trust them any more than you do. But right now, we need to play along. Stay alert, watch each other's backs, and be ready for anything. We're stronger together, remember that."

There's a moment of silence as his words sink in. Then, one by one, you all nod in agreement.

As you finish packing, you catch Sevika watching you, that same unreadable expression on her face. 

"Alright, time's up," Sevika calls out. "Let's move."

The moans of the undead grew louder outside, time was running out. With one last look at each other, your group falls in line behind Sevika's squad. 

Sevika's group snap into formation, they move with a fluid precision that speaks of countless drills and shared experiences. Sevika stands at the center, her scarred face set in grim determination as she outlines the plan to her team. You edge closer, straining to hear every word.

"Listen up," Sevika's voice cuts through the air. "Dustin, you're the distraction. When I give the signal, toss the radio into the parking lot. That should draw most of the horde away."

"Margot, Ran, Renni take position at the rear, pick off any stragglers that get too close. Conserve ammo, make every shot count.  Finn, you’ll lead - make sure everyone is accounted for, then go, don’t wait for us."

"The rest of you, we're on supply duty. Grab everything you can carry, and prioritize non-perishables." Sevika's eyes sweep over her team, then land on your group. "I'll be keeping an eye on our new 'friends'."

As the plan springs into action, adrenaline courses through your veins. You dash to your pickup truck, sliding into the driver's seat. Powder hops in beside you, her eyes wild with excitement. In the rearview mirror, you see Caitlyn and Vi taking up defensive positions in the truck bed, their guns at the ready. Vander moves with surprising agility for his size, efficiently loading supplies.

You hear hard rock playing from the blaring radio that Dustin hurls into the parking lot. The walkers' heads swivel towards the noise, their groans intensifying as they shamble after it.

Gunshots crack the air as Sevika's shooters pick off the walkers that didn't fall for the distraction. You grip the steering wheel tighter, ready to peel out at a moment's notice.

Sevika appears at your window. "Ready to prove your worth?" she challenges, eyebrow raised.

You’re about to respond when a voice from above steals your attention.

"Sevika!"

All heads turn to the roof. A kid stands there, panic evident on his face. Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief.

"What the fuck? They forgot Ekko?" she snarls, livid at the oversight.

The momentary distraction costs you. Walkers, drawn by the commotion, shamble towards your truck. Only one corner of the store remains clear, but it's too far for Ekko to reach safely.

Your mind races, and adrenaline sharpens your focus. "I know how to drift," you blurt out. "If you guys can clear as many walkers as possible near that open corner, I can whip the car close enough for him to jump down."

Sevika eyes you skeptically. "You have an interesting set of skills…  you’re confident you can get us close enough?"

"I can do it in my sleep. So, are we doing this?" you ask.

She nods curtly. "Fine. But don't get tempted to fling me out of the car."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sevika barks orders into her radio, relaying the plan to Ekko. The air fills with gunfire as both groups focus on clearing a path. You rev the engine, calculating angles and timing in your head.

"Hold on!" you shout, then slam the accelerator.

The truck lurches forward, tires screeching. You weave through the thinning walkers horde, your heart pounding in your ears. As you approach the corner, you crank the wheel hard, initiating a perfect drift. The world blurs around you as the truck slides sideways, stopping just beneath Ekko's position.

"Now!" Sevika roars.

Ekko leaps, landing with a thud in the truck bed. You don't wait for confirmation, immediately spinning the wheel to face the exit. In the passenger seat, Powder whoops with glee, while gunfire erupts from behind as Caitlyn and Vi pick off any pursuing undead.

A sharp tap on your window startles you from your laser focus on the road. You roll it down, coming face to face with Sevika's intense gaze.

"Need some directions?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you realize you've been blindly following the road away from the store. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great," you manage, trying to mask your embarrassment.

As you follow Sevika's directions, a sight on the horizon makes your jaw drop. A gated community looms in the distance, its high walls painted with the word “Zaun” on it represent safety you haven't seen in years. Suddenly, the organized efficiency of Sevika's group makes perfect sense. This is nothing like the ramshackle shelters you've cobbled together over the years.

The convoy of trucks comes to a halt in front of the gates. You expect them to open, but Sevika raises her fist. Your brow furrows in confusion, but before you can ask, she's out of the truck, moving with predatory grace toward the other vehicles.

She stops at one truck, yanking the door open with such force you're surprised it doesn't come off its hinges. In one fluid motion, she drags out the man who was supposed to be in charge in her absence earlier, Finn, and slams him against the side of the vehicle.

"You coward," Sevika snarls, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're a disgrace to this group."

You're transfixed by the sheer intensity of her anger, the way she towers over Finn despite not being much taller.   Then you see it - movement in your peripheral vision. A walker, stumbling closer to Sevika's unprotected back. Your heart leaps into your throat, panic flooding your system.

"Sevika!" you try to shout, but it comes out as a strangled whisper. Ekko's grip on your arm tightens, holding you back.

"Don't." he warns, but you barely hear him roaring in your ears.

Your mind races, unable to comprehend why no one is reacting. The walkers are mere feet away now. You struggle against Ekko's grasp, every fiber of your being screaming to do something, anything.

The walkers' rotting hands reach out, inches from Sevika's shoulder. Time seems to slow down. You're about to break free, to hell with the consequences, when-

CRACK!

The walkers crumples, a clean hole through its skull. The bullet whistled so close to Sevika you swear it must have grazed her.

But Sevika doesn't even flinch. 

"You're pathetic," she spits, her eyes boring into the man.

And suddenly, it clicks. The walker was never going to be a threat, but Finn was going to let the walker get her.  That decision was a huge fucking mistake.  

Before she let go, he leaned in to whisper something imperceptible but it had enough effect that she practically threw him onto the ground in response.

The gates begin to open, and as Sevika strides back to your truck, you can't help but feel a mix of admiration and fear.   The woman before you was no ordinary one, she was willing to put her life on the line to protect her people and weed out the weak links.

Sevika slid back into the seat next to you, her eyes meeting yours.  You feel exposed, like she can see right through you. There's a challenge there, a silent question: Do you know what you’re getting into?

You swallow hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

As you drive through the gate, you couldn’t conceal your awe. The scene before you is like stepping into a different world - one untouched by the horrors of the apocalypse you've grown accustomed to.

Neat rows of houses line well-maintained streets. Lush gardens and small farms dot the landscape, bursting with life and color. People - actual living, breathing people - stroll along sidewalks, chatting and going about their day as if the world outside these walls hasn't ended.

You count maybe 15-20 houses in total, but the sheer number of people you see is staggering. There are more living souls in this one community than you've encountered in years of scavenging and surviving.

Sevika directs you to a parking spot, and as you're climbing out of the truck, a woman approaches. She's tall and dressed in a neat uniform, with short-cropped gray hair and a face etched with the kind of hardness that comes from years of survival. Her sharp eyes remind you of a hawk's.

"How much longer were you gonna keep talking before you let me shoot?" she asks Sevika, a hint of amusement in her gruff voice.

"As long as it takes to make my point, Grayson." Then, gesturing to your group, she adds, "I picked up some strays today. Oh, and a spot just opened on my team, by the way. If anyone in your group wants to switch sides..."

"Enough of stealing my patrol, Vika."  For the first time, you see Sevika truly laugh. You notice her tooth gap, she looks almost carefree.  

“Well, looks like you survived,” Sevika says, turning to your group.

“You could say that with a bit more enthusiasm next time.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips at your quip.  “It’s your turn to uphold your end of the bargain now.”  She puts out her hand.  

You retrieve the bag you stuffed under the seat, it rattles with the pills as you hand it over.  Without even a goodbye or thank you, she turns to leave, and you watch as her group immediately follows suit.

Grayson gives you a once-over, then nods. "Alright, let's give you the grand tour."

The houses were luxurious and belonged to a class you never knew. Some have solar panels on the roofs, explaining the electricity you can see being used. There's a central square with what looks like a communal dining area. The smell of cooking food makes your mouth water - real, fresh food, not the canned goods and stale rations you're used to.

You pass by a building that Grayson identifies as the infirmary. Through the window, you can see shelves stocked with medical supplies. It's more medicine in one place than you've seen since the world fell apart. You notice guard towers strategically placed along the walls - despite the idyllic appearance, it's clear this place is well-defended.

"I've got a meeting to attend but Ekko here will take care of you, though I do hope that we will meet again - my patrol squad is always looking for new members." With that, Grayson strides away, leaving you all trying to take in the scenery.

"Come on, let's get you settled in! Sky will get you guys all sorted out." Ekko waved at your group to follow.

He leads you through the streets, and you can't help but marvel at the sense of normalcy. People are going about their daily lives, talking, and laughing. It's like stepping into a memory of the world before.

"Welcome!" Sky says, her voice gentle with a hint of anxiety at the sight of your group - soot ridden and blood stained clothes weren’t the most friendly image. "We got a spare house. It’s not huge, but it should accommodate all of you comfortably."

She hands Vander a set of keys and a small map. Then, with a delicate clearing of her throat, she adds, "If I may suggest... There are showers in your new home. I think you'll find them... refreshing after your journey."

Vi snorts at the polite understatement, while Caitlyn looks slightly embarrassed. 

Sky continues, "Once you've had a chance to clean up, Ekko can show you to the pantry. We'll make sure you have enough food to get started."

You can hardly believe what you're hearing. Showers? Fresh food? It seems too good to be true.

As if reading your thoughts, Sky's expression softens. "I know this must be overwhelming. Take your time to settle in. It must be hard adjusting to how it is here, but this place didn’t happen overnight. Everyone here has a part in maintaining things the way it is. "

Ekko nods, gesturing towards the door. "Ready to see your new digs?"

As you follow him out, you exchange glances with your companions. There's hope in their eyes, but also caution. This place seems like a dream come true, but you all knew that nothing was ever permanent. 

The moment you step into your new house, chaos erupts. Bags fly everywhere as you all rush to claim spaces. Vi tosses her pack onto a bed, while Caitlyn more carefully sets hers down. You and Powder are a whirlwind of motion, exploring every nook and cranny.

Tears prick your eyes as the reality sinks in. A real home, after so long.

"I call the couch!" Powder shouts, leaping onto it.

Vi raises an eyebrow. "You can have the bed, you know."

"Nope! This is perfect," Powder grins, bouncing slightly.

You all burst into laughter, the sound foreign but welcome after so much hardship. As the laughter dies down, you realize just how hungry you are. Powder’s stomach growls loudly, causing another round of giggles.

"I think that's our cue to hit the pantry," Vi says, standing up and stretching. "Come on, let's see what they've got around here."

At the pantry, you're shoveling food into your mouth, barely pausing to breathe. "I know this is canned, but why is it so good?" you mumble around a mouthful.

Ekko chuckles. "We have fresh fish, vegetables, and fruit too."

Your eyes widen in disbelief just as Sky walks in, Sevika close behind.

"Oh perfect, we were looking for you guys!" Sky says warmly.

Sevika's eyes scan your group. "I see you're settling in already. We’ve got jobs for you."

She starts assigning roles, Vander and Vi in food gathering. Then she turns to you, Caitlyn, and Powder. "You three will be working here in the pantry."

"What? Even after all those 'interesting skills' you said I had?" The words are out before you can stop them, tinged with disbelief and a hint of anger.

"This is a serious job. Making sure everyone gets the right rations is important. Preventing theft, too." Her tone is cocky, almost challenging.

Fury bubbles in your chest. After everything you've been through, all the skills you've developed to survive, you're being relegated to... food inventory? You want to argue, to prove your worth, but the words stick in your throat. You're acutely aware of how precarious your position is here.

Beside you, Caitlyn looks equally stunned. She's an incredible shot, her skills were wasted on this task. But like you, she remains silent.

"Understood," you manage to say, the word tasting bitter. You exchange a glance with Caitlyn, seeing the same resolve in her eyes. 

The days blend into one another as you settle into a routine at Zaun. It's surreal, to be able to think beyond mere survival. Conversations here with others touch on memories, hopes, dreams - luxuries you'd almost forgotten existed.

You're lost in thought, mentally cataloging the supplies, when a familiar voice cuts through your concentration.

"Looks like our newest recruits are really getting into the swing of things."

You turn to see Sevika leaning against the doorframe. Her presence fills the small space, making the pantry feel even more cramped than usual.

"Don't you have something more important to do?" you mutter, trying to hide your annoyance. "Like, I don't know, running this whole place?"

Sevika chuckles, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the pantry. "Multitasking, sweetheart. I can keep an eye on you and run this place at the same time."

You roll your eyes, returning to your task. But Sevika doesn't leave. Instead, she picks up a can, tossing it from hand to hand.

"You know," she drawls, "when I brought you in, I thought you might be more... useful. Didn't peg you for the grocery store clerk type."

Her words sting more than you'd like to admit, and it was also enraging - how dare she act like it wasn’t her fault you were assigned here in the first place? 

"We can't all be badass scavengers," you retort, reaching for a high shelf. Before you can grab it, Sevika's arm extends past yours, easily plucking the item you were struggling to reach.

"Here," she says, handing it to you. Your fingers brush as you take it, and you're struck by the calloused warmth of her hand.  You mutter a reluctant thanks, hyper-aware of her proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Caitlyn watching your interaction intently from across the room. Her gaze flicks between you and Sevika, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes.

Sevika notices too. She turns to Caitlyn with a raised eyebrow, the casualness in her voice from earlier gone. "Something on your mind?"

Caitlyn quickly averts her gaze, busying herself with her task. 

As you reach for another box, Sevika beats you to it, effortlessly lifting the heavy container. 

"How do you even have time for this?" you blurt out, frustration and confusion coloring your voice. 

Sevika sets the box down, her eyes meeting yours. "I don’t." 

The moment stretches between you, fraught with tension. Sevika's typical scowl returns, and she turns to leave.  "Try not to burn the place down with your expert can-stacking skills," she throws over her shoulder as she exits.

These encounters with Sevika were becoming more frequent, each one leaving you more uncertain than the last. But the random checkups made sense - you don't trust her, and neither does she.  

The pantry job was a way to keep your group in check but it coincidentally became a test of patience as well. Powder flits in and out, her time increasingly spent with Ekko. While part of you was frustrated by her lack of help, a larger part was glad she actually got to enjoy her childhood.

The breaking point comes during an argument with a burly man demanding extra rations. 

"Sorry, but rules are rules," you say, trying to keep your voice level. "Take it up with Sevika if you have an issue."

His face reddens. "Screw that, I'll go straight to Silco!"

The name hangs in the air, the mysterious leader of Zaun you've yet to meet. You knew Sevika's role as his right hand, but Silco himself remains an enigma, spoken of in hushed tones.

As the man storms off, you lock eyes with Caitlyn. Without a word, you both know - it's time for a change.

You find Grayson at the tennis courts, an incongruous sight that still makes you do a double-take. She's lounging in a weathered lawn chair, a beer in hand, watching a lackluster game between two residents.

The sun beats down on the cracked concrete court, weeds pushing through the fading lines.

Grayson spots you approaching, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes a long swig of her beer. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You can smell the alcohol on her breath as you draw closer, noting the slight flush on her cheeks. Despite her relaxed posture, there's a sharpness to her gaze that tells you she's far from incapacitated.

"We need to talk," you say. "About our roles here."

"What about them?"

Caitlyn steps forward, her posture straight and confident. "I want to join your patrol team."

You nod, adding, "And I want to join Sevika's scavenging group."

Grayson snorts. "If you want to join Sevika's group, why come to me? Why not ask her yourself?"

You feel your cheeks heat up as the memory resurfaces. "I did..."

Sevika stands before you, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk on her face. You've just finished explaining your request to join her team.

She laughs, the sound both mocking and somehow enticing. "If you can beat me in sparring once, sure." Her eyes rake over you. "But we both know that's not happening anytime soon, pantry girl."

"I need you to train me," you tell Grayson, determination in your voice. "Make me a better fighter. All I did was drive and fix wounds, but I know I can do more."

Grayson's eyes narrow. "How do I know I won't be wasting my time helping you two?"

Before you can respond, Caitlyn moves. In a blink, she's drawn Grayson's pistol from its holster and fired at a beer bottle perched on a table at the end of the court, shattering the bottle.

"Because we have the skills to prove it," Caitlyn says coolly, handing the gun back.

For a moment, there's silence. Then Grayson's face splits into a grin. "Alright, I'm convinced." She stands, stretching. "But today's my day off. I'll see you two at the west watchtower tomorrow morning." 

Her expression turns serious. "If you're late, don't bother asking again.  Do we have a deal?"

You and Caitlyn share a look.

“Deal.”

[ana-bananya]

Help little Omar return to a life of peace and security

Vetted by 90-ghost

kr139,935 SEK/kr300,000 SEK

Please be mindful of the conversion rates for sweedish currency when donating. You can use this website to help you calculate.

Doaa ( @doaaomar123 ) is the mother of a 5 year old boy named Omar. Omar is autistic and nonverbal and has been severely traumatized by the bombings he and his mother lived through. He is in shock and struggling to cope with the horrors he's been forced to endure at such a young age. Every day he screams and cries from the memories of the sounds of bombs and gunfire that continue to haunt him.

Watching her son's mental health deteriorate has been unbearable for Doaa. She is trying to get Omar the help and resources he needs, but treatment is expensive. She needs support to afford therapy and enroll Omar in a school that can meet his educational needs.

Many of Doaa's family members remain in Gaza and she is trying to help them evacuate as well. This post contains more information about her family and their campaigns.

Doaa also has another campaign she is using to help evacuate her husband:

$5,513/$12,000

This campaign was initially created to help Doaa get the funds she'd need to restart her sewing business so she could provide for her and Omar. Thanks to everyone's generous support, she was able to secure the money she needs to purchase a new sewing machine and tools.

Now Doaa has devoted this campaign to raising the funds she'll need to evacuate her husband from Gaza to be with her and Omar. Omar is very attached to his father and his absence has caused Omar great distress on top of the trauma he is already struggling to cope with. Having his father by his side would help him feel more secure and lessen the stress Doaa is under.

You can help Doaa reunite her family and provide Omar with the treatment he needs by sharing and donating to her campaigns. Every dollar and every share brings them one step closer to rebuilding their lives.

[sunsetsimon]

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

mentions of ptsd, abuse, torture, touch aversion, nightmares

always remember, you are loved and cared for. reach out if you need help, i am always here to provide resources. you are not alone, do not go through this alone.

─────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────

☼ jealousy. it wasn't a feeling that simon felt often, and not in the ways most people experienced it, he could care less about any materialistic items. his jealousy would stir in his stomach when he saw people doing to them - normal things. a hug goodbye, holding hands, it was all foreign to him.

he's used to a playful punch from soap or a pat on the shoulder from price, but he never initiates. when you first get together, he's uncomfortable with physical affection and will often unintentionally shut you down. your hand will reach for his but he doesn't move, not even noticing you attempting to touch him. he won't hug you before he leaves, only giving a nod and heading out.

he knows it hurts you but it's hard.

slowly he works on it, giving a loving squeeze and reaching for your hand, but it's a long process before it becomes an unconscious habit.

☼ simon doesn't sleep much to begin with, but when it gets bad, he starts to have nightmares almost every night. they're intense, seeming to last forever, as if he'd lived days in the dream. his sleepy mumbling will turn into physical reactions, his body starting to twitch, fists clenching so hard his knuckles turn white. gasping awake he shoots up, his hand immediately on his gun and ready for combat. he's sweaty, heart beating so fast it seemed like it'd jump out of his chest.

"you okay, si?" you whisper from beside him, snapping him back to reality. simon takes a deep breath, setting his pistol back down on the nightstand, unable to speak. immediately you recognize it was another nightmare, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his back. his head drops into his hands, needing to take time to relearn what his reality is; he's home, he's with you.

but fuck, why doesn't it feel that way then? why is he haunted every time he closes his eyes?

"'m so tired," he mumbles, fighting back tears of frustration and pain, trying not to question what he did to deserve this hell he calls his own mind.

"i know si... i wish i could take it all away," you attempt to comfort him, but know that nothing you do could help him right now, he just needs time. he gives your arm a pat before standing up, leaving to take time for himself. you hear his footsteps trail down the stairs and a door open, simon deciding to retreat to the garage for the next few hours until he feels okay again.

☼ he wouldn’t ever tell you what actually happened to him, just making vague comments here and there when the opportunity arises. he's scared to talk about it, not wanting to remember anything or try to process it.

your soft fingers trail along the pale scars littered across his skin, wondering what must've happened to him, all the pain he's been through. you stop at a small one on his left wrist, "how'd you get this one?"

"my dad was a piece of shit," and he leaves it at that. you don't push any further, accepting the curt answer with a nod. you softly kiss the scar, beautiful eyes flickering to his. it's things like this that slowly heal him, and instead of thinking of the pain that came with each scar, he thinks of your lips kissing each one as if that'd make it all better. you make it all better.

[ghcstflowcr]

━━ ⋆˚✿˖° 𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴 [ 𝟶𝟶5 ]

Free template for the use of the tumblr rpc‼ Click HERE to download the PSD. It is super straightforward to use. Minimal photoshop skills are required. Everything is grouped by sections: Headcanon/Answered/Pinned, URL & Background. The characters on the right can be substituted for your own preferences. Font Used: Felixtowe | Buy Me A Flower ?

[kivino]

kivi.. pls hear my vision. different situations where reader and ghost hug because he’s too afraid to say “i love you” at the moment, but both of you know what his hugs mean. PLEAAASEEE AGHH (and gn!reader ofc)

HUSH || SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X GN!READER

Word counter - ~1k words

A/n - PLSS i love your idea so much, he'd be awfully awkward, but we love him for it <3333

ao3 link for this fic

The first time Simon hugged you like this, unprompted and spontaneous, you froze. He felt warm, huge, a bit awkward and out of place but genuine, true. He wanted to tell you so many things he had on his mind, but he just couldn’t, lips sealed under that skull balaclava, leaning into you and squeezing so hard you couldn’t even return the hug. Minutes spent in this position felt like a whole eternity.

“Simon, what are you…”

“Shut up.”

So, you did. Hearing his steady breathing close to your ear, even feeling his heartbeat against your chest…and how fast it was. He was nervous. That was surprisingly sweet. You felt a smile tugging on the corners of your mouth when you heard him exhale and squeeze you even tighter in his arms. You don’t question his behavior when he reluctantly lets you go.

Each hug he gives you feels like home. As you make your way back from the draining mission, Simon rests his arm around your shoulders and leans against you, while the two of you sit next to each other, finding comfort in each other’s presence. His head bumps into yours, so you shift slightly against him, and it finally slots in the crook of your neck. And then you realize. He’s sleeping. Soap, who’s sitting on the opposite side of you gives you a cheeky smile.

“Not a word.” You hiss at him, rolling your eyes.

Simon was rarely vulnerable. It was never the time or the place, after all, he dedicated his whole life to being a soldier – resourceful, capable, and strong. There wasn’t any space for his feelings. But with you, he always felt accepted. Whenever he needed you were right there, with your familiar features, warm smile, and open arms. And each time Simon found himself snaking his arms around your torso, closing his eyes, and inhaling your smell he caught himself thinking only one thing.

“I love you.”

He lost count of the times when he opened his mouth to finally say it, only to close it mere seconds later, rethinking his decision completely. Next time. Next time he’ll tell you. But that next time never comes. So, Simon remains stuck in this endless cycle of fruitless attempts to bare his soul for you, only to lose his voice and fall silent, hoping you’ll connect the dots yourself. Still, he was happy to be in your arms. And happiness likes silence, after all. So maybe his lack of words was for the best.

God, how much he loves you. Simon would spend his whole life in your embrace if he could, not a worry in the world as he basks in your warmth, something he craved desperately for years now. Something that would probably fill this gaping hole in his chest after he lost so much. He didn’t like being this walking one-man pity party he felt he was sometimes, but you made it easier. Simon had no idea how you just wormed your way into his heart so swiftly, but he’d take it. Whatever it was about you, you were special to him, and he was not letting you go.

“Earth to Simon, you there?” You look up at him from the tight embrace he once again trapped you in while smoking on the balcony. The night was surprisingly cold, so instead of lending you his jacket, Simon just pulled you in for an embrace, telling you to clasp your arms behind his back. You enjoyed this alone time with him, and you prayed that he wouldn’t pick up on your staring. One of the few times when he finally takes off his damn mask, and you’re worried about him catching onto you looking. And how could you not? His eyes looked like boundless, hypnotizing abyss in the glow of a flickering lightbulb.

“Simon to Earth, how copy?” He smirks, noticing your prolonged stare, and you see the embers of mischief dancing in his irises. Now it was his turn to tease you. Bastard. He chuckles at the sight of you flustered.

“Oh, fuck off.” You let go of him, getting out of the warm hug and giving his chest a slight push. Simon should know better than to tease you. You immediately feel significantly colder than before, but instead of returning to his embrace, you shove your hands in the pockets of your trousers. His eyes flicker towards your huddled form, but he doesn’t say anything, once again.

Simon doesn’t say anything even when you’re laying on top of him, like a weighted blanket, making his mind wander in a sleepy daze. He drinks up every single detail in front of him, the way your eyelashes flutter, the warmth you’re radiating, or how your face is pressed against his chest. Simon is more than sure that if you were awake right now, you could hear how fast his heart beats for you. It’s embarrassing, really. But Simon just can’t help himself. So, he squeezes you even tighter with one arm, his fingers lingering on your hair with a feather-light touch.

Maybe…maybe right now is the time. You’re sleeping. You won’t hear him anyway and he’ll be able to get so much weight off his shoulders. Simon feels something inside his chest ache, a bittersweet feeling rolling on his tongue. He knew it was foolish, but he needed that. Simon could already feel his insides tossing and turning in this uncomfortable, anxious anticipation of…something. He wasn’t quite sure of what.

But it’s now or never. So, he cranes his neck slightly and his lips touch your forehead for a short second. The touch is intimate and bashful, but it sends euphoric butterflies right through his stomach, along with that sweet, tender ache in his chest.

“I love you” Simon manages to whisper, as he lays back down, trying not to disturb your sleep any more than he already has. A shaky breath escapes his lips. He did it. He actually did it. Simon closes his eyes with another exhale, not even catching the way a faint smile appears on your face.

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[longing-for-the-past-times]

Their reaction to seeing you reading

Task Force 141 x Reader headcanons

notes: I don't know if this was done before, but once I got the idea, I couldn't get it out of my head before writing it down. This is my first time writing headcanons, I hope I did the characters justice :). Let me know what you think about it!

find it on a03 masterlist

Captain 'John' Price

He is headed towards the lounging area after staying overtime because of due paperwork. It is already dark outside and, when he sees the lights on, he thinks someone just forgot them that way.

You may understand his surprised reaction when he sees you sitting cross-legged on the couch, a book in your hands.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack, kid!”

You give him a sheepish smile and hide your face behind the book, staying true to the principle: out of mind, out of sight. You didn’t mean to stay long - you just wanted to finish the chapter. But it ended in a cliffhanger so you had to at least begin the next chapter and the vicious cycle went on.

It doesn’t take him long to realise that you are, in fact, holding a book. And he can’t hide his grin when he figures you must have lost track of time because of it.

“Didn’t take you for a reader, kid!”, he raises an eyebrow as he joins you on the couch, his eyes drifting to the cover. “And certainly did not know you read classics!”

“Always full of surprises, Captain!”, you smile at him as you look around, searching for something. A triumphant smile graces your lips when you find the piece of crumpled paper, and you proceed to put it on the page you remained at, before closing the book.

Definitely asks you about the book you’re reading and what else you’ve read, proceeding to compare your literary preferences

He may not read as much as he did when he was younger, but he can and will boast with the filled bookshelves he has at home

Encourages your reading habits when you are at the base and brings you reading snacks when you decide to spend your evenings in the base’s lounging room, curled up with whatever book you’re reading at the moment

Might sometimes join you with a book of his own. Nobody dares to say anything about the two operators who occasionally spend their lunch break with their noses stuck in a book.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley

Never been much of a reader as he simply did not have the time, or the available resources

So at first, he does not understand why you are sobbing by yourself in the kitchen, frantically highlighting something with a neon marker

Who did that to you? Did he need to hunt down someone?

It was when he got closer that he realised you were actually reading something and the content must have made you upset

No problem, he’ll track the writer down and-

"Oh, Ghost, didn’t see you there!", you looked up at him, a shy smile on your face.

He is at a loss for words and ends up nodding towards the open book: “Is it any good?”

“Well, I think it would be an insult to say Shakespeare is ‘just good’, don’t you think?”

All he’s thinking of are those literature classes he should have paid more attention to.

He quickly steers the conversation in another direction, asking you about training and whatnot. Something blooms in his chest when he sees you setting the book away in an instant, a warm smile gracing your features as you turn your attention towards him.

He spends the following evening researching Shakespeare’s works as much as he can. He’d caught a glimpse of the book you’d been reading, Hamlet, and he ends up ordering an annotated copy.

It takes him an entire week to get through it, but the look on your face when he asks you about the book is priceless.

You spend the entire afternoon talking about it (you talk, he mostly listens), and he was surprised he didn’t notice your reading habits earlier. When you talked about books, you could light up the room with your enthusiasm and passion.

Is the kind of man who would build you a bookshelf from scratch

“Your books wouldn’t fit in a standard bookshelf anyway. And I can paint the wood to match the tone of your walls.”

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish

The type of man that says he’ll wait for the movie to come out

And if there is a book adaptation, he'll definitely make you watch it with him to prove his point

You spend the next hours pointing out why the book was better than the movie, while he tries to convince you otherwise

Constantly teases you about your reading habits, but secretly, he loves to watch you read. The array of emotional states you seem to go through when reading fascinates him.

"Maybe we should start calling you Belle from now on, bonnie. You know, the Belle from Beauty and the Beast - the one who's always with her nose stuck in a book?"

One day a recruit decides to prank you and hides your current read in the men's showers.

Soap takes note of your distracted state, but doesn't push it. He knows you'll come to him when it feels right.

Until he stumbles upon what was left of your book when preparing to take a shower. He recognizes it only by the vibrant colour of the cover as the pages are wrinkled and illegible, due to the water exposure.

It does not take him long to find the culprit. He was too busy boasting about his "achievement" to his team-mates, in the locker room.

Soap makes sure he regrets his actions by assigning him to latrine duty for the following month.

He also makes it his personal mission to buy you another copy of the book. The only problem is that he does not remember the title. Or the author. Or the plot.

"It has this orange cover, with two people on it! And there's white text on it too!"

Safe to say, the librarian is unimpressed by his comprehensive description.

So he has to spend an entire night scrolling through an online library page to find it.

But it's all worth it in the end. He'll never forget the shocked expression on your face when he handed you the hastily wrapped book. Or the wide smile that spreads across your face, followed by a tight and warm hug.

He might buy you more books in the future, just to have you grin at him like that.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Like Ghost, he didn't particularly care for reading. It was not that he didn't like it, he just had other priorities

He wasn't even aware of your reading habits until you were both stuck in a safe house, waiting to be evacuated.

You were leaning against the wall, next to him, when you pulled a book out of your pocket.

He had to do a double take- why did you have a leatherbound book in your pocket? Were you carrying it throughout the entire mission? What if you got shot - was the leather thick enough to stop the bullet if it got past your tac vest?

"Gaz, you're staring."

"Just took me by surprise, love."

You playfully rolled your eyes at the endearment, your hand leafing through the pages.

He knew you could feel him watching you, but he couldn't help himself. He felt like he just unlocked a new part of your personality.

"Is it any good?"

"Do you want to read it?"

"I wouldn't mind you reading to me..."

Once again, you rolled your eyes in fake annoyance but complied with his request and went back to the beginning of the chapter.

The story was quite gripping, something about a rich bachelor who must be in search of a wife. Kyle tried to focus on the story, but he was more intent on enjoying your calm and soothing voice.

He unintentionally fell asleep and you did not realise until you felt the weight of his body leaning against your shoulder.

As retaliation, you forced him to join you on a trip to the library. He did not bother to hide the fact that he did not see it as a punishment, not when he knew it would make you happy.

He let you drag across the entire fiction section and patiently listened to you describing all the books you've read. He also took a lot of mental notes on the books you intended to read in the future- if only the covers did not look so similar!

Eventually discovers he's more of an audiobook person.

So he would listen to the novel you were currently reading, excited to meet with you at the end of the day and discuss it with you.

[last-starry-sky]

let it out pt. 2 - 141xreader

part 1 - text post inspo - art inspo

[NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI: crying, mentions of torture, light interrogation, vague descriptions of injuries, a baddie gets shot in a flashback, fingering, voyeurism, unprotected piv sex (reader has an iud), cowgirl, light degradation, pet play if you squint, mmmf foursome, cumming inside.]

taglist: @princessisfinethx @t-rextyrannt @my-therapist-hates-me @soleilak @star-buck-barnes @julesneedshelp @itsdark--inside @mishaglass @sushiumex

The four of you froze at the sound of your captain’s voice. Only Soap moved, pulling himself quickly from between your thighs to face Price as he pushed open your door with the toe of his boot. The hinges creaked eerily, breaking the stunned silence, until the door hit the wall. The cheap wood wobbled from the impact then started to close back in on itself. Price caught it with his heel, gently kicking it shut behind him. 

You didn’t start to shiver with fear until you heard the latch catch. Captain Price was locked inside your room with his two sergeants and his lieutenant. All caught in bed with his medic.

He sauntered in slowly, each fall of his boots like death knell as he approached the bed. When he finally stood before you, towering over your raw, tangled forms like a stone sentinel, the very picture of authority, he just stood there. His gaze was downcast, face impartial. From the look on his face you could tell he was thinking.  

“Price-” Soap tried to speak first, but Price silenced him with a wave of his hand. 

Your Captain stood before the four of you, drawing up to full height with his hands on his hips before pointedly looking each man in the eye. You noticed that he avoided your debauched, mostly naked form. 

“Gaz. Soap,” he said nodding at the two of them, “Up. Backs to the wall. Now.”

They knew as well as you did what that cadence of his voice meant. This is an order, not a suggestion. They both stood up, squeaking bed springs and boots on linoleum the only sounds in the room. They each spared you a single, sorry glance as they slid past the captain to stand against the far wall as ordered. 

That left you in Ghost’s arms. Price walked the last half-step up to your bed, head low, eyes on yours. 

Always was so professional, your captain. That’s why you liked him. So different from your previous commanding officers. He was actually respectful of the women around him and didn’t just fake it. And why not? They deserved it. They were strong and resourceful, survivors who could stand their ground and win against any man. And here you were, a hand-selected member of his own team, caught in bed with his other chosen three. 

You would be lucky if a court martial was all you got out of this. Fuck, you’d be happy if you saw the sun tomorrow. 

“Ghost,” he said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest, staring the other man down. “Set ‘er down.”

You felt your back slide slowly down his shirt until your butt met the mattress. His hands remained tensed on your hips. Another agonizing moment passed as the two men continued to stare at each other. You felt a whole, silent conversation was happening that you couldn’t see, that you couldn’t translate even if you could.

“Good,” Price said stepping that half-step back, giving your legs room to dangle off the bed. “Now. Join the others.”

You let out a shaking breath as Ghost took his hands from you. The mattress squeaked, lifting you up as Ghost left. You suddenly felt alone. So very very alone. You kept your eyes on your shaking knees, Price’s black pants just beyond the blur of your vision, as you listened to Ghost’s heavy, intentional steps. There were only a few. It was a small room after all. You listened to his footfalls, his heel squeaked as he turned to stand statue straight, a specter in black against the beige wall. 

“Medic,” Price asked, shocking you out of your daze. 

He was looking down at you in the worst way, the fatherly way. His blue eyes were soft instead of steely, the fine wrinkles bunching around them making him so much more approachable. He looked so different without the shadow of his boonie hat hiding his face. Come to think of it, this night was the first time you’d seen him completely out of uniform. He had the same beard, same body, but he looked just that little bit younger.

He looked like someone you would look twice at in the supermarket and hoped he looked back. A guy who could convince you to trust him to spot you in the gym with that warm, disarming smile. A stranger you wouldn’t mind become an acquaintance, or more, as you shared a table with at a busy café. You wouldn’t protest when he offered to buy you another coffee to show his appreciation, or-

You shook you head, quickly crossing your arms around your chest (as if it mattered) and sat up, awaiting his command.

He turned around slowly and casually from side to side, hands on his hips, looking for something. 

“Where’s your shirt?” he asked, the barest hint of amusement in his voice as he canted his head, trying to look under the bed.

“I don-” you started to say, before Gaz interjected.

“Behind you, cap,” he said with a cough, trying to act casual.

Price nodded his affirmation with a small frown before turning about. He found your shirt where Ghost had tossed it: crumpled in the corner by the door. He picked up and dusted off the wrinkled, olive-drab thing before turning half back to hand it to you at arms length.

“‘ere you go then. Put that on,” he ordered, not turning his face from the wall. 

You didn’t care to dig any farther into that at the moment, so you did as you were told. Taking it and thanking him in your quietest voice, quickly pulling the shirt over your head. At least now you were decent, if only to hide your love-bite covered chest. You rubbed at your sore neck. Those were another problem entirely. 

“Done?” Price asked, eyes still on the wall.

“Yes,” you said with a nod. You kept your eyes on the floor, not daring to look to your left where Soap, Gaz, and Ghost stood. You absolutely didn’t have the nerve to face your Captain, either.

“Right then,” he said in that rough, northern dialect as he faced you, his full, raw presence turned on you like a spot light in an operating theater. He looked down at you impassively, huddled as small as you could make yourself on the bed, and gestured in a swift, upward motion with two fingers. “Up,” he commanded.

You were (still, as far as you knew) a good soldier, so you did as you were told. Pushing yourself to the edge of the bed before carefully standing up before him. Your legs wobbled a little. Nerves, you told yourself. Hopefully. Mostly. The other bit was the looming storm cloud of a fact that you were standing before your Captain in nothing but a thin t-shirt and soaked underwear.

This felt like Basic. Like some sort of hazing ritual meant to toughen you up. To get you ready to face the cruel reality of life in the real military.

Price stepped back again, crossing his arms over his chest, making himself look so much larger and intimidating. He didn’t need to. You were already small and intimidated. He let you stand in front of him squirming as he squinted down at you, before motioning with his hand for you to turn.

“Stay where you are. Back to the wall.”

You followed his command, following him as you turned. You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat when you realized how he had positioned everyone. He could see both groups. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost against the wall could see you and Price. You could only see him.

This was torture, something you knew Price had no qualms about. There was always that plausible deniability, because you’d never actually seen him or the team do anything. You’d always been told to wait outside while they “took care of it”, but you weren’t stupid. Price had always answered your questions after with short yes’s and no’s. No medical treatment. Leave ‘em be.

Maybe it was all physiological, which would fit with what you knew of your Captain. He had connections, friends even, in various agencies across the globe. Better to leave a shattered husk of a man that could bring back a harrowing story to his leader of the team hunting him, than a body. A dead body is useless. A problem to deal with. Price approached warfare like a surgeon with a robot guided laser. He was a planner, precise, smart. He made his enemy work for him.

You clenched your fingers into the palms of your hands. Good god, now he was going to question you in front of them. 

“You hear me, doc?” he asked, rough and impatient, finger stroking his bottom lip. It made you tremble, eyes blowing wide as your head snapped up automatically to met his.

“N-no . . .” You stuttered, mouth somehow out of your control. “Sorry. Sir.”

He sighed. Eyes closing as he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“Please explain what exactly it is I walked into here,” he said agonizingly slow, emphasizing every other word. When he finished, he stared you down for another long second before asking, “Hear me then?”

“Yes sir,” you answered softly. You could feel your capillaries blooming across your cheeks. How exactly were you going to explain yourself? What did he want to hear?

Price drummed his fingers impatiently against his jacket. “Well?” he asked with a pop of his brows.

You drew in a shuddering breath. No better place to start than the beginning.

“I was . . . relaxing in my room, on my bed-” you started.

“And what were you doing before that?” he asked pointedly, interrupting you. As if he didn’t know. He was there. 

You sighed. “I was having a drink with Soap, Gaz, Ghost-”

“And me?” he interrupted again. You nodded. He tipped his head to the side, condescending non-smile quirking his mustache. You fucking hated it. “Yeah, I remember that, now that you say.” He looked over your head at the men behind you. “Popped out for a smoke with Gaz an’ when we got back, only Ghost was there.” His mouth pressed into a line as he turned back to you. “Is that it then? Is this where you and Soap scurried off t’?”

“No sir,” you said, a hysterical waver in your voice. You would answer for what you did, what actually happened, no matter the consequences. You would not, however, let him frame this from his perspective. “I left by myself! Wanted-”

“Wanted what?” he asked harshly, leaning down to your level. “Wanted to have a little fun behind my back?”

“No!” you shouted, tears filling your eyes.

“Then what?” he shouted back, voice cracking like a thundercloud, ominous and terrible.

“Wanted to be left alone!” you answered, tears spilling treacherously down your cheeks. You turned your head to wipe them away. You didn’t want to be seen as weak, or worse: trying to manipulate him. Not that a man like Price could be swayed by some dumb woman’s tears anymore.

“I swear. I just-” you started, speaking out of turn, as you stared at the shiny smear your tears left on your arm. The weight on your captain’s hand gripping your shoulder robbed you of your ability to speak. 

“Why’d you leave?” he asked as soft as his gravelly voice would allow.

“I was frustrated,” you said, taking in a deep breath.

“About?” he asked.

“About how you all treated me on this mission,” you said softly.

You weren’t exactly happy this was how your complaints were put out in the open. Given the circumstances, it’s not like you had much of a choice. You hadn’t been sure how Soap planned to bring it up, but you’d been more than a little distracted in the moment. Maybe you’d assumed (in the moments before his lips crashed into yours) that your mood would improve and nothing would ever have to be talked over. Guys were like that. Life, work, everything would go on as normal and they would forget. Right? 

Price, for his part, looked thoroughly confused. He gripped your other shoulder as he leaned in, eyes squinting, brows pinching together, all to scrutinize your face further. 

“What?” he asked.

“You . . .” you started, waving your hands in a wide, dramatic gesture, “All of you. You kept me from doing my job. The whole mission. Anytime any of you got injured-”

“Oh fuck off,” You heard Ghost spit out behind you.

You whipped around, tearing out of Price’s grip, fire in your eyes.

“You,” you snarled, marching over to Ghost where he leaned casually in the corner. You squared up toe-to-toe with him, as close to his stupid, masked face as you could. If you could have stood chest to chest with him, you would have. “You of all people. You got fucking shot and pushed me away-”

“M’ plate took it,” he said with an impartial stare and a shrug. “‘m fine. Besides, we were in the middle of a fire fight. No time t’-”

“No time for me to check?” You interrupted him, exasperated. “I know what adrenaline does to your brain and body, lieutenant. Shock, too! I’ve seen soldiers, smart ones, strong ones, think they can power through. They try to convince me that they’re stronger than a bullet in their chest, that they can finish the mission.” 

You threw up your hands as you felt a hand on your shoulder. You assumed it was Price intervening. With your last action before you were pulled back, you took one step forward, pressing your hand to Ghost’s right bottom rib. Right were you'd seen him get hit.

The action was so sudden, he couldn’t react in time to stop you before the pain him. It wasn’t a hard press, just enough to make his eyes squint shut. You could imagine him grimacing beneath the mask. He flinched away, swatting at your hand, but you had been pulled back already. He stared you down, rubbing at his bruised (you assumed) rib until you were turned. 

“Hey hey hey,” Gaz said as he turned you away from Ghost. “You’re right,” he said soothing you with his big, soft eyes as he stroked at your shoulders. “We did do that,” he said sweetly cupping your cheek, “and we’re sorry. Right guys?” 

A murmur of yeah’s and hums scattered out as Kyle smiled down at you. You tried to hide your own smile that his pulled from you. It was terrifying how quickly he could diffuse a tense situation.  

“That’s why we came to your room in the first place, to make you feel better,” he said more to Price than you, hands rubbing at both your shoulders. What an angel. “Could tell you weren’t acting yourself.”

“Does that mean I can look at that burn then?” you asked.

You had been snaking your way through the cramped, wet brick alleyways of some god forsaken slum. You were looking for the building your target was holed up in, or your target. Whichever happened first. He was known for running at the first sign of trouble, annoyingly slipping through your grasp time after time. Once you got reliable information of his newest safe house, Price had made it clear letting him escape again was not an option. 

Price took point, followed by Gaz. You were third. Soap brought up the rear. Ghost was on over watch, voice leading you through the maze of rain-slicked of buildings and tunnels. It was annoying for the four of you on the ground, but the storm was excellent cover. 

Price had just crossed an open courtyard, filled with doors and three other exits. After clearing them one by one, he stood by the last archway, signaling for the rest of you to file in behind as he radioed Ghost for directions. 

That’s when you saw something: a warm, bright light on the roof of the building ahead of you. Fire, your brain told you immediately. You’d recognized it for what it was, a molotov, the second before it hit the wall. The wall right behind Gaz. It exploded in a shimmering rain of glass, accelerant inside invisibly coating everything around it before the vapors ignited. 

You’d been too shocked to do anything but gasp uselessly. The rest of the team, thankfully, had use of their brains. A second later, Price had taken out the thrower with a single silenced shot of his sidearm. Soap had pulled you back, throwing you behind him so he could beat out the flames creeping down Gaz’s chest. 

In the moment, you were angry. You should have been the one to help Gaz, not Soap. Putting out the fire, pulling out the shards of glass, and treating his burns: that what you were trained in. But you hadn’t. You had failed. You’d stewed in your emotions through the rest of the night, angrily popping off shots as you finally stormed the safe house. 

Now, thinking back, you felt awful. Gaz could have died and you were too wrapped up in yourself to care, not even noticing how fucking incompetent you’d been. Soap had even patted your back as you regrouped, telling you it was no worry. That he had your back. You had been too emotionally stunted to even thank him.  

“Sure,” Gaz said looking down at his blue button down shirt then back at you. “Right here?”

“Ah . . .” You looked around him, trying and find where you’d thrown your duffel. You had an emergency kit in there with burn cream and bandages at the ready. 

Soap was standing over it. Guarding it. His eyes were still dark and hungry, like a dog barely holding back. They flicked up to yours, choking out your words before you could form them. One arm was curled around his chest, fingers clenched in his shirt. He was chewing on the pad of his thumb of his other hand, chin pushed into his chest. It was like he needed the pain to keep him grounded, to keep from snapping that invisible chain Price had leashed him with.

“Sit down,” Price said, swaying his hips as he joined you and Gaz. He nodded at the bed behind him. You and Gaz did as you were told. “Give it here then,” you heard him say to Soap.

You didn’t watch how things played out between them. Your attention was on your “patient”. Not that it was much work to watch him as he unbuttoned his shirt, smiling to himself the whole while. You couldn’t help but start imagining what could have happened if Price hadn’t crashed the party. You could have been watching all three of them strip off their clothes by now. These strong, beautiful bodies you’d only seen glimpses of, covered in sweat and grime, or by the weak, blue light of the morning; they could have been yours. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked away from the skin Gaz was revealing to you as Price set your bag on the bed. You busied yourself with digging for your emergency kit while Gaz finished with his shirt. You found it, hastily putting on the single set of gloves you’d left yourself, trying to ignore Price looming behind you. 

You put on your best clinical front as you turned back to Gaz. He still had a bandage over the wound, which was good. 

“Any pain?” you asked pressing gingerly at it, eyes on the curling adhesive at his collarbone. You had to fight yourself to keep your eyes from wandering beyond the sterile white perimeter. 

“No,” he answered. 

You leaned down in front of him to pull at the edge of the bandage, testing it. “Have you changed this recently?” you asked. It definitely wasn’t the one you had put on him a week ago, which was good, but it also didn’t look new.

“Yeah,” he answered quickly. “Got it cleaned up this morning.”

He’d gone to the base hospital. He’d let their staff look at him. Not you, but strangers. You tapped your agitated fingers on his skin before ripping the bandage off. Gaz flinched back. You ignored him, going back to dig out your own, better bandage and burn cream from your pack.

“Good,” you said tearing it open and squeezing out the whole of the little packet on his wound. 

It doesn’t look bad, you thought as you spread out the clear ointment over his skin. His epidermis had blistered a bit, pebbling in a long streak from shoulder to collarbone, where the alcohol had sat the longest. The rest of his skin was intact, with only a little redness at the edges. A second degree burn, considering the worst that could have happened that night, was not his worst fate.

“Might scar here,” you said motioning along the line of blisters. “Keep up with the ointment and daily bandage changes and you could get lucky.” 

You were pressing down the new bandage when you realized what you’d said.  

“So you’re saying if I see you tomorrow . . . I’ll get lucky?” he said craning his neck to look at the blush deepening on your cheeks, smile dancing in his eyes.

“Gaz,” you sighed, trying to keep your hands from shaking. He could not be doing this, here and now of all places. 

Price started to chuckle behind you. The second between his laugh ending and him speaking made a bead of sweat run down your neck. 

“Ghost teach you t’ joke like that?” he said sliding up behind you, “Know I didn’t, but I’ll allow it.” 

You jumped as you felt his fingertips skim down your sides, resting on your hips. 

“Besides,” he said low into the shell of your ear, vibration of his voice thrumming straight to your core. “think he deserves a little reward after being so good for you. Right?” 

You didn’t answer, closing your arms around Gaz’s neck as Price’s hands dipped under the band of your underwear at your hips. Gaz let you lean on him, running his hands up your ribs, up and under your shirt, to support you as Price pulled your panties down your thighs. You felt him let go, hands leaving as the plain cotton ghosted your knees, falling the rest of the way to the floor.

“Gaz,” you gasped, eyes clenched shut, face buried in his neck. 

You felt just as shocked, lost, as you had when Ghost had interrupted you and Soap earlier. You didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what Price had planned. Should you give in? Resist? Both were valid options, but, for the life of you, you could not decide.

Gaz hushed you with a soft, “It’s okay, baby” as his large hands gently squeezed your hips. They traveled down to your ass, grabbing a quick handful before one came around to stroke at your inner thigh. His fingers stroking delicately across your already wet pussy made you jump, a sharp gasp escaping you as Gaz shushed you again.

“‘s okay,” he said with a quiet hunger. He stroked you again and again, lost in the competing desires to go slow, relaxing you and making you feel good, and the selfish need to break inside and just feel you. “You’re okay,” he said pressing you toward him with a hand on your ass. That little bit of added pressure drove his fingers inside.

Gaz groaned a low oh, pumping his long fingers slowly in and out of your sodden pussy. You were still embarrassingly wet from earlier. You could hear the soft clicking of him stroking inside you.

“Fuuuuck love,” he moaned into your chest, fingers still pumping in and out. “Fuck do you feel good. Nice ‘n wet.”

Soap let out an injured whine, like a fox caught in a trap.

“Gaz,” you warbled. “Please. I need-”

“Whats this?” Price asked, gruff and low, stepping quickly back behind you. “What do you need?”

You turned your head, not sure who exactly you wanted, or needed, to speak to, blinking away tears. “Want . . . want you . . . inside me.” 

Gaz groaned into your chest, fingers still pumping lazily in and out. 

“And how do you want to do that, exactly?” Price asked, the rough pads of his thumb and forefinger turning your head enough to look you in the eye. 

“Wanna . . .” you hesitated, caught by the serious glint of his blue eyes, until Gaz started to seriously fuck his fingers up your cunt, curling inside on the hunt for your sweet spots. “Wanna ride him, please.”

You felt Price’s fingers twitch. It was so subtle you weren’t positive it actually happened. All too quickly, though, he was coolly pulling away. He crossed his arms back over his chest, giving the sight of you: half naked and clinging to Gaz, and Kyle: eyes squeezed shut, head pressed to your chest, groaning, with one hand pawing at every part of your cunt he could, a final once-over. 

“You heard her, sergeant,” Price said darkly, shuffling backwards.

Not a second later, you heard the metallic clinking of Gaz undoing his belt. He shoved down his underwear and pants, kicking out out of both them and his boots before you could give him room. He scooped you up by your hips, rolling onto the bed, straddling your legs around his hips in one fluid motion.

You hadn’t thought about how different he would look like this. You weren’t too proud to admit you had fantasied about him, all of them, but your fantasies usually involved them on top of you, and behind you, and even once, crawling down between your legs. God, you had cum so embarrassingly hard from that. Couldn’t look any of your teammates in the eye for a good few hours after. But up here, looking down at Gaz’s sweet brown eyes, with that little bit of blush that made the scars on his cheek color pink, you felt sexy, powerful. 

Gaz pressed his thumbs into the divot on either side of your pelvis, his strong hands wrapping around your hips to force you down. He groaned and you let out a soft oh when your pussy met his cock. It was only the veiny underside smashing against your slick folds, but the contact was so delicious. He felt so hot, so thick, real. You moaned as you ground your clit up his shaft. 

His hands slid up to your waist, forcing you to bend down over him. You blushed as you realized he had just put your pussy on display for the men behind you. It didn’t matter. Your normal, functioning brain was gone. All you cared about was watching Kyle, face like a renaissance sculpture, bite his lip as he looked dreamily up at you. 

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good already,” he said softly, eyes half-lidded, smoothing his hands up your ribs. “You ready?”

You nodded, shuffling forward to let his cock spring free. You took him in hand, looking back to guide him to your entrance with a fluid glide of your hips. Soap caught your eye as you did. He looked like he was going to combust. He was covering his face with his hands, but that didn’t hide the sweat at his hairline, or his open-mouth panting.

“God, fuck! Fuckin’-” he whined, screwing his eyes shut once again after catching a glimpse of your cunt swallowing Kyle’s length. 

You were beyond needy. Horny and desperate from the attention they had all been giving you earlier. You were so wet you took his whole cock in one slow, stuttering motion. It was purposeful. You wanted to feel everything as his head shoved it's way deep inside. God damn did it feel good to have a real cock inside you again. 

You must have felt good to him too, because he was stunned silent. Nothing but low moans and grunts escaping him as you seated yourself. 

You leaned forward when your thighs finally met his hips, your hands on his solar plexus to support your weight. The first few pumps of your hips were strong and sensual, working yourself open. You kept your gaze on the man beneath you, watching as he fell into the even pace you set.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for your hips to give out. You were strong, but it had been too long since you’d had any sex, let alone in this position. It wasn’t a favorite among the anonymous hookups you’d had in the past. You tried to push past the pain, but the sweat on your brow and the slow, stuttering motion you devolved into was quickly noticed.

“Help?” Kyle asked, grabbing at your hips to pump up into you without waiting for an answer.

You nodded nervously, noticing Price saunter back up to your side. You tried to ignore him, hoping he was just here to observe. That hope dissolved like paper in the rain when he wrapped his arm around your head, hand on your jaw, forcing you to turn your head up to face him. You were curled into his chest, locked into his steely gaze. It made you clench down on Kyle at the top of his stroke, earning a choked out fuck from the man. 

“Wanted to ride him, right?” Price asked you.

You nodded at him, tears re-rimming your eyes. You tried to get back on your own pace to beat him to the conclusion you assumed he was heading toward.

“‘Good teammate, isn’t he?” he continued, watching where Kyle’s glistening cock pumped into your pussy. He was close enough now to hear the soft squelching and the hit of skin-on-skin. “A good man.”

He looked down at you expectantly, waiting for an answer. The combination of Price and Kyle had driven any thought beyond sex out of your head. All you wanted to do was close your eyes, block out the feeling of three other sets of prying eyes on you, and feel Gaz as he rolled his pelvis into yours, over and over until he came undone. The squeeze of Price’s hand on your hip made you force out a choked yes.

“So good. Tryin’ so hard,” he groaned, fingers biting into your skin before pulling away completely. “Let’s get you some help then,” he said darkly, turning to the two men behind you. 

Soap’s name wasn’t halfway out of Price’s mouth before you felt the mattress dipping violently beneath you. The sudden addition of Soap’s weigh, plus his excitement, sprang the three of you up and down in a wave. The poor bed had been squeaking before, but it whined a metallic scratch now, clearly pushed beyond it’s capacity. 

Soap didn’t care. He saddled up behind you, breathing heavy in your ear as he pulled you in his arms. 

“Gonnae let me finally help y’, ay?” he huffed, breathless with denial and excitement, his hands immediately raking up under your shirt. He squeezed your breasts and rutted into your ass with a groan. “Knew ye needed me. That’s what teammates do, right hen? Help each other. Fuck. So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he said, leaving your shirt rucked up over your tits to grab at your face. He forced you back, groaning as his lips smothered yours. 

“God,” Gaz moaned, breathless. “Don’t fuckin’ tease me like that.”

Soap understood, ripping your shirt off your body for the second time today. Gaz groaned at the sight of your breasts bouncing and jiggling with every thrust. 

You felt like a wild animal had been loosed, the way Soap acted. He kissed you like a man starved. If you felt Soap had been shameless before, now, after being forced to watch you fuck Gaz, he was disgusting. You couldn’t even call what he was doing a kiss anymore, the way he mindlessly flicked between licking inside your mouth, to biting your lips, barely pulling away to whine and groan, leaving long strings of saliva painting your face.

All the while, you were still trying to at least meet half of Kyle’s effort. Not that he was complaining, but you felt bad how you’d abandoned him to fuck you on his own. Soap was no help at all. In fact, he was actively fighting against both you and Gaz by pulling your hips back so he could roll his cock into the plush of your ass.

You heard a squeak behind you. Someone was leaning on the foot board. Your eyes flicked over to Price standing by the headboard, arms crossed with the tiniest bit of a smirk playing on his face, quirking his mustache. That only left one other person it could be.

“Gon’ do as you’re told, Johnny?” he asked roughly. 

Soap didn’t answer, nosing at your jaw until you tipped your head enough for him to add a line of bites, right on top of Ghost’s from before. You clenched around Kyle again, moaning and grabbing at his head, as Soap moved down your neck. He was good with his mouth. He nipped at your skin before kissing and laving over the red mark with his tongue. It made you sad to have lost the opportunity to have him eat you out. 

Soap’s head was jerked back out of your hand. He had just finished a bite into the crook of your neck, too. The bed undulated, dipping the three of you toward the back corner as Ghost pressed his full weight to the bed with his knee.  

“Hear me?” Ghost growled into Soap’s ear, his gloved fingers gripped tight into the short shag of his mohawk. His voice made you flush. Soap whined in return. “Or d’ I have t’ show you? Fuckin’ horny mutt.”

Ghost’s decision came in the form of Soap being roughly shoved off the bed. He at least landed on his feet, not that he cared. He was immediately at Ghost’s shoulder, sighing and whined as Ghost took up his old position behind you.

“C’mooon, Ghost,” Soap said, bouncing his knee as he looked down at you. “Let me help. I’ll do it right. I promise. Please?”

Ghost ignored him, shoving Soap down to kneel on the floor. Soap gave up for the moment, giving into pouting. He leaned on the mattress, his bright eyes pleading up at you once more. 

You fell into Ghost’s guidance. You loved having his massive frame pressed to your back, his arms wrapped around you, mask cutting into the top of your head. His hands on your hips setting a punishing rhythm, fucking Gaz with your body. It made his head nail your cervix with every downward thrust. It was comforting to fall back against his chest and let him do the manual labor while Gaz and you collected the pleasure. It was almost passionless the way he used you, doing nothing for himself. If you couldn’t feel the pace of his heart jump, his breathing echo hollow behind his mask, maybe you could fully believe that.

“Slow . . . fuck, slow down, Ghost,” Kyle moaned. “‘m gonna-” he started, his fucked out eyes catching yours.

“Go ahead,” you said softly, body melting into the warm muscle behind you, one hand pressed to Gaz’s lower stomach. “Cum in me, Gaz.”

The four men around you all groaned. Soap let his head fall against your knee. Ghost did the same to your shoulder. Kyle rolled his head to the side, throwing a free hand over his eyes. Price was the only one able to speak, stepping toward you to do so.

“Sure about that, love?” he asked, clearing his throat. He cocked his head to the side, continuing. “You safe?”

You nodded. “I have an-” 

Ghost chose that moment to pick up your body, until only the head of Kyle’s cock remained inside you, then grind you back down suddenly, sheathing him inside you hard enough to knock your breath from you. Then he did it again and again.

“Ghost,” Kyle whined, eyes screwed shut, beading with sweat as he lay back and took what the man controlling you gave him.

“Have an . . . IUD,” you managed to squeak out. “Safe.”

“Fuck, cap. Please,” Soap plead, kissing up your knee, hand soothing along your thigh. “Lemme kiss her. Just once. I’ll be good. Promise.”

Price nodded, mute, his eyes not leaving yours.

Everything happened very quickly after that. Soap took your captain’s blanket approval for what it was, immediately launching himself up to cradle your head in his hands. Ghost continued his work, pumping you brutally up and down Kyle’s shaft. Gaz’s hands tightened on your hips, letting out a long, low moan as he pumped up into you in a broken stutter.

“Fuck, y’ feel so good. ‘s . . . too good.” 

A bright smile broke across his face as he let go. You felt him stop, cock expanding within you, as he let out a final oh. Ghost slowed to a stop, allowing Kyle to milk himself through his orgasm. Finally, Ghost pulled you up, releasing Kyle’s cock from you far too soon.

Ghost pushed Soap away from your mouth with a gruff, “Enough.” He landed on the bed next to Kyle, still panting and coming down. Soap fixed his hard stare on Ghost, like an animal challenging a rival.

“‘mon Ghost,” he said, trying to sound casual. “‘s my turn.”

Ghost pushed you down to lie on top of Gaz. Gaz quickly wrapped his arms round you, keeping you stable while pressing soft kisses to your temple. Ghost pulled your legs out from under you, moving them from straddling Kyle’s legs to laying inside. It felt a little awkward. You didn’t quite know what to make of this new position until you felt Ghost shuffle up your body until he was flush with your ass. 

A hand on your lower back pushed the two of you down, springs screeching, as Ghost ground into your ass. He unzipped his fly before finally responding to Soap.

“Stay in your place, mutt.”

a/n: aaaaaah sorry if this is trash but i wanted to get it out to yall before my anniversary! I'll be training someone new at work (we are hella busy rn) so the next month is going to be hectic again.

If you requested to be tagged and weren't that means I wasn't able to. You probably just need to change your settings so anyone can @ you. If you want to be added or removed just let me know!

also, apologies for being so mean to soap in this part. he's just too easy to bully. I PROMISE in part three everyone gets to have some pussy fun! 🚂🚂🚂