#(so desperate to keep Simon within his sights | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starsofang · 4 months ago

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CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWELVE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, heavy topics such as death, blood, and past trauma mentioned masterlist a/n: thank you for all your support while i grow through a difficult time!! i appreciate all of you for being so patient and loving. long chapter for u!! <3

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Ghost didn’t remember much about his childhood. His mind blocked it out for him. But he did remember the pain and suffering he went through at such a young age.

He didn’t deserve that. Seeing his family, massacred in front of him. The blood mixed with the metallic scent that even now seemed to tinge his nose with a nostalgia that made him sick.

He was only a child, yet that was the day Ghost was born within him.

It was like an awakening. He saw how cruel the world could be through a pure lens and it tainted his vision red. Nothing was ever the same that day, and gradually, Simon was forgotten and Ghost was his new muse.

He could recall the nights he spent alone, digging through waste bins and slumping out on the streets like a dead dog. Stealing bread from shop merchants and having to run, barefooted to avoid getting beaten. Freezing to death on the street corner when winter came around and the pure snow covered the ground in a blanket.

It was scary for a boy his age. Dehumanizing. He didn’t deserve that.

He thought he was lucky when a ship crew came along, parading the streets to offer security. A job, a place to sleep, and meals — it seemed perfect for somebody who had absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Ghost never saw Simon again after that day. He was lost somewhere at sea, hidden under the roar of waves. Ghost didn’t know where to look for him until soon enough, Simon had disappeared and Ghost replaced him. Graves made sure of that.

A captain, like hell he was. Ghost knew something wasn’t quite right about Graves the moment he met him, yet as a child, he was desperate. Once he was in, it was too late, and the broken pieces of him became completely irreparable.

Graves held a devilish aura about him, one Ghost could practically see radiating around him. Every step he took was one closer to chaos.

No matter the destination, Ghost was held on by a leash with Graves being the handler. The sights Ghost saw, some being from his doing, was something he’d never get back. It was as if reliving that very day where he lost everything.

Living amongst Graves’ crew was worse than living in hell. He would’ve preferred it. To be banished for his sins, to taste the sweet nectar of death, and live his eternity punished. Anything to stray from Graves and his ship.

When he saw the way you looked—the darkness looming over you, the distress in your eyes—he saw himself. And when he saw Graves, he saw the life that was stolen from him.

That red that clouded his lens when he was a child was all he could see. Pure, angry red.

Now, standing in Price’s quarters, that red only grew angrier. This time, for you—for putting you in the same position he’d been stuck in for years.

You didn’t deserve that.

Your mind was a whirlwind of chaos. It was struggling to digest the information given to you. So much at once and you could barely manage to keep yourself together.

Everybody looked sorry for you. Ghost looked enraged. Price was lost. Soap and Gaz were remorseful. It was too much.

You hated that they looked at you like that. You hated when they didn’t look at you like that more. Having them worry, when for the duration of your stay it was like walking on burning rocks, it felt strange.

Their own worry caused yours as well.

“What is that?” you asked. “The mark of death. I— I don’t know what that is. What does that mean?”

You were becoming more frantic. The panic that ensued was growing, and you could tell it bothered Price. He was quick to grasp your shoulders, settling you.

“It’s complicated,” he explained quietly, hushing you. “That man you saw? His name is Phillip Graves. Some call him the Devil of the Seas. He’s a wicked pirate who feeds off of the innocent, their fear. None of us know what he truly is, not even Ghost, but we believe he’s apart of something sinister.”

“What, like he’s sold his soul? Made amends with the Devil? You are talking madness!” you exclaimed, exasperated.

“We are talkin’ truth,” Price corrected. He was as patient as ever, yet still held the firmness of a leader. “He’s that of a reaper. Souls is what he wants. The mark of death is his contract, you may say.”

“But you are not telling me what the mark does,” you cried.

Your head hurt. The world was spinning. You didn’t understand.

“I think it’s quite obvious what the markin’ is, dove,” the Captain said solemnly. “It is only by miracle it hasn’t happened to Ghost yet.”

“So I am to die? Is that it?” You flickered your gaze between each man. Your eyes told a million stories, and each of them were ones of fear and anguish. “I am going to die?”

“No,” Ghost snapped. You looked at him. He seemed as pain as you were, but the anger was taking over logic. “You ain’t dyin’. Not today, not tomorrow. M’not lettin’ it happen.”

“Ghost,” Soap tried, but he was quickly shut down.

“I said no,” he repeated resentfully. “Price, show her the map.”

Price turned to him, stiffening. It seemed he still didn’t quite want to let you know the full truth. Now, you felt it was to protect you rather than leave you out. It was too late for protection.

The Captain silently walked to his desk, pulling open the old drawer with a slam, shaking the table. He pulled out the map you’d seen so long ago, unrolling it and slapping it on the table.

“Come, dove,” he called, and you listened.

The men surrounded the desk with you, staring down at the map. The ink was still the same as it was before—islands crossed out with an X, while one remained circled.

“Suppose it’s time you knew, hm?” he asked, offering the smallest of smiles. You found that you missed his real one. The one he tried to hide when he found a joke of yours humorous.

Your nerves shot up. Your emotions were at an all-time high. You were scared, scared to find out the truth.

“These islands,” he began, tracing his finger along the map to point at the ones with an X, “are all land marked by Graves. Every single one, we went to in search of a medic. The one in the poem, remember?”

The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

You weren’t sure how it linked to you. You’d never met Graves, nor had you met your pirate crew until they took you away. The connection wasn’t there. It didn’t make sense.

“Yes, I remember,” you confirmed quietly. “What does it have to do with me?”

“We searched for a medic from every village, yet when we arrived, they were famished with death, or on the brink of,” he explained. “All of the villages were all succumbin’ to Graves’ mark of death. We think he was attemptin’ to get rid of all villages as much as he could so we wouldn’t be able to find their medics. We don’t know how, but he knows we have the prophecy, and he doesn’t like it.”

“And how do you know the prophecy is related to Graves?” you questioned. “How do you know it relates to me?”

“Ghost got the prophecy a long time ago when he was still on Graves’ ship,” Soap piped in. His hands rested on the table and he leaned over the map, but his eyes bore into yours. “He was searchin’ for answers even then. This is all he got.”

You couldn’t imagine the desperation Ghost must have felt, knowing Graves had him under his despicable spell. Not knowing whether he was going to live or die.

Your heart ached.

“And me?”

The room went silent, as if your words burned a wound in them.

“Your village had the mark, yet nobody had suffered from it,” Gaz said quietly. His eyes were soft when he looked at you with the unmistakable glimmer of pity in them. “We knew you were the one we were lookin’ for.”

“My village was not cursed,” you denied, shaking your head. “There is simply no possibility. We rarely got outsiders unless they were coming to browse the merchants.”

It clicked in your head how quickly it must’ve happened. Graves, visiting your village under the guise of an innocent shopper, gearing his interest towards the various merchants that littered your small streets.

It would’ve been so easy for him. So terribly easy.

Your people died to Price’s crew, but the true evil was the man who gave the pirates reason to ensure a massacre.

“That’s why you did what you did,” you muttered to yourself in disbelief. “You killed them because of him. You killed Mary because of him.”

“The curse would’ve taken over the moment you left,” Gaz explained. “You were the shield protectin’ them without even knowin’. You’re meant to fulfill the prophecy, grantin’ you immunity until we found you.”

All this talk about a prophecy made you want to scream, cry, yell, anything. Why you? Why were you the one chosen, and why did it have to be you?

You wanted your life back. You didn’t want to be apart of this.

Before you knew it, tears welled up in your eyes. They stung, causing you to blink rapidly. You didn’t want to seem weak, but in this moment, you were.

“Dove?” Gaz called out, concerned.

“I don’t want this,” you cried, shaky hands balling into fists. “You—you knew I was apart of this and never told me. You kept me in the dark for this long, you hid me from the truth, and for why?”

“We don’t have all of the information yet, dove, please—” Price began, but you shut him down.

“Bullshit!” you shouted, and he reeled back in surprise. You had been outspoken before, plenty with the Captain especially, but he had never seen you lash out so fiercely. “You took my life away because you assumed I was the one in your ridiculous prophecy on a whim. You took a guess and went with it. I am hardly a proper medic, let alone worthy enough to be that person for you, so why have you chosen me?”

“You must understand, you were the only medic left alive,” Price defended. “We had no choice. We did what we had to do.”

“At my expense,” you argued.

“At all of our expense,” he retorted. “I did not care for your life when we stole it. I did not care for it when you were locked in the brig. I cared for Simon’s.”

You fell silent, whipping your head to look at Ghost. You’d heard Price call him Simon before, by a slip-up, but now he had said it purposely. Ghost simply looked away, arms crossed over his chest.

All that talk before and now, at your aid, he was as quiet as a street mouse.

“Without you, he will die. We do not know when. Graves hasn’t killed him due to the thrill of holdin’ his life in his hands. It’s a toy to him. He can take his life away at any moment, and I would not allow that, even if it meant ruinin’ yours.”

Price’s cheeks were reddened from the frustration and helplessness he was feeling. He was a Captain trying to save his crew’s life, uncaring of yours—in the beginning, at least.

Now, the mere thought of losing both had him kneeling like a pitiful dog to the Devil of the Seas.

“I do not wish to be here,” you murmured, taking a step back. Soap opened his mouth to retort, but you silenced him. “I need to be alone.”

The Captain gave you a sad smile, nodding his head. He was respecting your wishes.

“As you wish,” he agreed, and you made your way out of the suffocating quarters, returning to your shared one with Gaz and Soap.

“Dove,” a voice called out. It was quiet, like it was whispering, yet to you, it sounded loud. You hated its voice.

It was black. Your eyes couldn’t adjust to the light, no matter how much you shifted them to look around.

Your body felt heavy, as if something was weighing on you. Your lungs were tight, and when you opened your mouth for air, nothing came in. You slapped your hands over your throat, clawing at the skin.

Why couldn’t you breathe? You felt like you were drowning. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t take in an ounce of air, and you could feel your lungs beginning to protest.

A cold panic came over you, like an icy wave consuming you in its dangerous waters. You tried to move your legs, but they were stuck. They were too heavy.

All you could do was helplessly paw at your throat, praying to gasp for a breath, praying that the Gods had mercy on you.

“Dove,” it whispered once more. Where had you heard the voice before? You knew it, but your mind was blanking from the lack of oxygen.

“I’ll be seeing you, dove,” it mocked.

Dove. Dove. Dove.

“Dove!”

You shot awake, a sharp gasp invading your lungs. The burning in your chest was harsh, and it was as if you truly hadn’t been breathing.

Coming to, you blinked the groggy confusion away, lifting a hand to wipe at your eyes.

Soap peered down at you, his eyebrows knitted worriedly. His hands were on each side of your shoulders, as if he’d shaken you awake, and when you realized you had been asleep, you only guessed that’s what he was doing.

“I kept callin’ ye but ye weren’t wakin’,” he said wearily. “Are y’alright?”

You glanced around the room, taking it in. Gaz’s bed. The clothes strewn on the floor. The mess on the small desk that you’d never seen occupied.

You were no longer suffocating in darkness. It was a mere dream—no, a nightmare. A terror.

You were safe.

“I don’t know,” you confessed breathily, still catching air.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you recalled the nightmare. You couldn’t remember the voice, not when you were fearing a death that was merely fake, but you knew now.

“Tell me,” Soap urged gently, taking a seat next to you on the bed. You sat up to join him, frowning at the floor. “It’s okay.”

You risked looking up at him, searching his eyes. They were soft whenever they looked at you, and they’d been like that since the beginning. He was always patient, even when you did things that cost him a scolding from Price.

You felt like you could trust him, more than any of them.

“It was that man,” you explained. “Graves. I think he is messing with my head. I dreamt of dying, like�� like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. The whole time, I could hear his voice, calling me out. Mocking me.”

Soap listened carefully, taking in every one of your words. He cared, that much you could tell, and the situation weighed heavy on him. The worry lines on his face were proof.

Graves was tormenting with your mind, feeding into your fear. He knew you were terrified, and he enjoyed it. The way he mimicked what he told you, whispering it the same as before, it sent chills down your spine and made your blood run cold.

You understood now why Ghost was always a mystery—because he was scared, too. He just hid it better.

“I am scared,” you confessed shakily. “I do not want to die.”

“And ye won’t,” he assured, but you shook your head.

“You do not know that,” you argued. “None of you do. You have not given me a chance at life. I am stuck in this without a choice, and I am the new target. It’s not fair.”

Soap’s expression dropped into one of guilt. His focus shifted away from you, avoiding your eye, before returning back to you.

“It’s not,” he agreed quietly. “We’ve done to ye what Graves did to Ghost. Treatin’ ye like—like burdening scum, like ye don’t matter. I can’t express to ye how sorry I am for everythin’.”

You didn’t want an apology, but you accepted it nonetheless. It was the first anybody had truly apologized for the mess you were thrown into. Maybe it was something you needed without realizing. You felt a sliver of weight lifted.

“I never had a family,” you told him, staring down at your feet that hung over the side of the bed. The shoes Soap surprised you with stared back at you. “The village did not like my values or my lifestyle. It was hard being an outcast there, but it is even harder here.”

“Yer not an outcast.”

Looking back up at him, you found him smiling, a faint sparkle twinkling back at you.

“Not anymore. We thought ye were a little strange in the beginning, though,” he said, the end of his sentence bordering a tease.

You couldn’t stop your own smile from forming. Despite carrying the crushing weight of the world’s worries, as well as growing a headache with every word spoken from each of them ever since your arrival, you found yourself growing more fond over them the longer you lingered.

It’d been a bumpy road, and there were still miles ahead of you, waiting to unravel. But you couldn’t fully convince yourself that there wasn’t a part of you, yearning to belong with them.

“You are all very strange,” you retorted lightly. “I have never met such people as you before.”

“Thank ye.”

“It was not a compliment.”

Soap snorted, shaking his head at the banter. “The Captain is bitin’ tooth and nail in his quarters, thinkin’ he fucked this all up with ye. Never seen him that worried before, but with Graves bein’ around again, I don’t blame him.”

The statement caught you off guard, and you found yourself curious. “He is worried for me?”

Soap eyed you strangely, as if it had been obvious the whole time. “Ach. ‘Course he is. Cap’s got a good heart, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

“I did not realize he cared for me after everything,” you confessed.

Soap hummed, looking down at his trousers and picking at a loose thread. “We all do.”

You stared at him dumbly, cocking your head in question when he didn’t elaborate. You had become acquainted with them, surely, you lived with them now after all, but you weren’t aware they truly cared.

When Price had told you they’d grown fond of you, you didn’t quite believe it. You assumed it was his way of convincing you to trust him, but it seemed that wasn’t the truth.

The two of you sat in silence, staring anywhere but at each other. The awkwardness grew, and it felt strange to feel that when the relationships had been too uptight even consider having those moments.

You took the time to weigh out your options. The Captain being worried, especially over messing things up with you, had you in a turmoil.

As much as you wanted to deny the path chosen for you unwillingly, you felt an obligation to please them. Yet, not in the way you initially thought.

You didn’t want to let them down.

Maybe you truly were as strange as Soap thought.

“Is he still in there?” you asked Soap. He perked up, nodding his head.

“Aye. He’ll be rottin’ in there before we know it.”

You pursed your lips, facing that inner battle once more before coming to a conclusion. “Would you like to join me, then?”

Soap raised his eyebrows, watching you stand from the bed. You shot him a warm smile, tilting your head at his confusion.

“For?” he asked.

“You all need a medic,” you said, giving a nonchalant shrug. “And I do not wish to die by the hands of a filthy pirate such as Graves. I am in this now, so I suppose I’ll simply have to deal with it, am I correct?”

Soap’s smile slowly grew at your sudden courage, standing up to join you. He reached out for you, and once you became confused, he looped your arm with his, grinning down at you.

“Sure are, dove. I’ll come with ye.”

The Captain looked a mess when you entered his quarters with Soap. Ghost was beside him where Price sat at his desk, the map and prophecy still scattered on the table. The two of them were speaking hushed to one another, yet when the door opened and you stepped in, they went silent.

“She wanted to be alone, Soap,” Price protested, but you quickly shook your head, taking a step closer to the desk.

“It’s alright,” you assured. “I have had time to think.”

Price’s eyebrows raised and he glanced at Gaz for a brief moment before returning to you. “I see,” he hummed, nodding. “I have as well.”

You cocked your head, eyebrows furrowing. He gestured for Ghost and Soap to step out of the room, requesting privacy, and the sudden realization that you would in fact have to speak after your outburst made your nerves to churn.

Ghost gave your shoulder a light squeeze as he walked behind Soap, catching you off guard. When you looked at him, he stared forward, avoiding your gaze.

The door clicked shut as they left, and you stood uncomfortably in place, shifting on the balls of your feet.

“I owe you an apology,” Price began. “A true one. I may be a Captain, and I know in those regards, I come off rather violent. I can be a brute, I will admit, but I am also a man who knows times when he is right and wrong.”

He stood up from his chair, circling around the desk to face you. He leaned against the old wood, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. Upon quick inspection, you saw the faint smoke of his cigar swirling in its ashtray.

“I should not have treated you so unkindly since the beginning. I should have considered how scared you must have been, how alone it must feel,” he continued, eyes drifting off for a moment as if deep in perplexing thought. “I do not apologize for doin’ what I thought was right in that time to save my own, but I do feel sorrow for what transpired in your time bein’ here.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if Ghost had been the reasoning for this. He wasn’t a man of many words, but you knew the respect him and Price had for one another. It was safe to assume he’d speak with him privately regarding everything.

“I’d like to apologize as well,” you began, but Price stood up straight, quick to raise his hands in protest.

“You have nothin’ to apologize for—”

“I am sorry for lashing out the way I did earlier,” you cut off. Price stopped, lips pressing together. His gaze remained stuck on you, now that you had his attention. “It does not excuse what you have done to me, and I see you have realized that. If this is to be my life, I wish for compromise rather than seclusion.”

Price didn’t say anything at first. His eyes darted over your face, taking in your features. He saw the calmness you held compared to when you were last in his quarters.

You didn’t seem defeated, nor did you seem to simply agree for the sake of him and the others. You wanted this for yourself.

“I will grant you that,” he agreed in a hum, nodding once. “I do not wish for you to feel out of place no longer. You have had enough of that, I believe.”

You took in his words, and they made you smile. It was what you wanted to hear—no angry exchanges, no selfish banter. A simple compromise, one you both wanted.

“Graves came to me in a dream,” you told him. His expression soured. “I believe there will be plenty more instances where he will do that. Based off of what you have told me about him, I do not want to prolong his presence longer than I must. So, I’d like to be of help.”

Just as quickly as Price grew tense at the mention of Graves, he calmed down, shoulders relaxing when he realized your implications.

“Soap has not convinced you, yes?” he asked, uncertain. “This is your call. I may have taken you due to my own selfishness, but I give you the choice now. You do not have to be a part of it if you do not want. You are part of us now, but this is not your battle.”

“It is,” you disagreed, though remained a calm composure. For the first time around Price, you felt at ease in the same room. “If I am to be part of your crew, your family, then your battles are my battles. I may not have had a family, but I am certain that’s how it works. Does it not?”

Price stared at you; expression unreadable. It took mere moments for his lips to slowly curl up, granting you one of his rare smiles that seemed to radiate a certain light you’d never seen before. It caused your heart to pick up, though you were unclear as to why.

“That is how it works with us, dove,” he agreed softly. “Your battles are ours. You can count on it.”

“Wonderful,” you cheered with a smile of your own. “Shall we continue what wasn’t finished before, then?”

Price chuckled low under his breath, his amusement growing the longer you stuck around. He nodded, tapping his desk and calling you to it.

“Come on, dove.”

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

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CW: Prostitution, hardcore sex, anal sex, threesome, creampie. MDNI.

Prettiest girl in Edinburgh, Johnny often called you when discussing his sex life with Simon, drunkenly sharing way too much information about all the things you do with him in exchange for money.

Simon was never an easily influenced man, always able to hold his ground no matter what. Johnny's rants weren't what drove him to Edinburgh, no, it was pure curiosity after seeing pictures on your socials, given to Johnny in an almost unprofessional display of trust.

I can see why Johnny's so obsessed with you. Half-lidded brown eyes are fully focused on the scene in front of him; Johnny's burly arms underneath your knees, hands holding the back of your neck and forcing you to look down at the way he ravages your ass in a full nelson.

The sight of your tight ass being stretched wide open is enough to make him hard, but he told you both he's not joining on it. It's downright disgusting, he tries to convince himself, calloused hand running up and down his almost painfully hard cock, rubbing the slick precum that seems to be leaking out of his tip like a faucet.

“Show the LT how fuckin' wet you are for 'im, bonnie.” Johnny whispers into your ear, slowing down for a second to adjust you on his cock before he keeps slamming his hips into your ass, fucking into your puckered hole harder and deeper.

You barely manage to make eye contact with Simon, half-lidded eyes barely managing to not roll to the back of your head at the lewd sight in front of you. He looks too good— too fucking good not to be yours. Your hands drift down to your leaking cunt, two fingers opening your wet cunt for him to see the juices dripping down freely, wetting Johnny's cock and balls.

He tries to be strong, he truly does, but you're straight out of a porno, pretty cunt glistening while you give him “fuck me” eyes. Simon is a strong man— but he's not that strong. Like a sailor being lured by a siren, your pretty moans call to him, standing up to his full height and walking to the lewd scene in front of him.

His bared hand goes under your chin, forcing you to look up at him as he starts to rub his hard, veiny cock on your folds, gathering some of your wetness, his other hand gripping your hip tightly as he begins to sink into you. The sensation of your tight, wet cunt wrapping around his dick sends a surge of pleasure through his body, muscles tensing up as he brings you closer.

“You okay, love?” He whispers into your ear, pulling you back against him and thrusting deeper into you with a more forceful motion once you nod your head. The thin wall separating your cunt and ass lets both men feel each other moving within you, the contrast between Johnny's brutal fucking and Simon's gentle love making being the perfect contrast to make you tighten up around their cocks, arms wrapping around Simon's neck while you bring him closer.

Simon groans deeply as your lips eagerly crash against his, both of his hands now gripping your hips tightly, the wetness and tightness of your pussy enveloping him completely as he holds you in place, thrusting into you with deliberate force.

Johnny's grip on you tightens as he sets a punishing pace, his hips slamming into you with each powerful thrust, brutally fucking your tight, warm ass. The sound of your combined moans and the wet slaps of his hips meeting your ass fills the room, fueling your lust and driving the men further into a dominant frenzy. Simon's grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he fucks into you harder, deeper.

“Fuck.” Johnny groans from behind you, voice strained with need.

“Gonna fuckin' cum inside ye, hen.” His voice is laced with desperation and need, throaty moans leaving his lips as he slams into you. With one final, powerful thrust, he spills himself inside your ass, emptying his balls deep inside you.

So many rules are being broken— not using a condom, letting them cum inside, kissing... even threesomes are forbidden, yet both men are so worth it.

Simon sets a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours with full force. His groans mix with your whimpers and moans, creating a symphony of raw desire, feeling Johnny letting go of the hold only to wrap his arms around you, holding you in place while his cock softens inside your ass.

Simon's pace quickens, thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his own release, bringing you in for another messy, needy kiss to muffle his own moans. He's lost in the moment, fully consumed by the primal need to claim you. As his thrusts become more frenzied, he can feel the familiar coil of pleasure building deep within him.

His hips jerk uncontrollably as he empties his heavy balls deep inside your needy cunt, being milked by you when he feels your orgasm hit you as well, whiny moans spilled into his mouth. He pants heavily, his grip on your hips loosening as he comes down from his intense release.

Both men carefully pull out of you, setting your tired body down in bed before you're being pulled to a hairy chest you're very familiar with— Johnny's. He plants soft kisses on your forehead, tired words of praise leaving his lips in the form of whispers meant only for you to hear. You feel a stronger pair of arms wrapping around you from behind, your flush pressing against Simon's firm chest as he buries his face on your hair, letting out a deep sigh of exhaustion.

He's definitely visiting Edinburgh again, with or without Johnny. Maybe even make a private Instagram account to talk to you, too.

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nobodyinfart · 9 months ago

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Is your love as unrequited as you think? Or does the team hide more than you think?

Maybe you’re just a lower rank soldier or just lack the confidence,, but you don’t believe that a love with the main characters of the task force would be possible, even in your daydreams as a hopeless romantic.

Johnny’s achievements are nothing to be humble about, being the youngest candidate to pass the selections process and being deemed a demolitions expert are ever praiseworthy. His cheeky demeanour makes even the quietest soldiers crack a smile, and lights up the base unlike any other. Maybe that’s why you code him as Sunshine in your journals,, scrawling affirmations of adoration between the margins. Coded lines of love decorated your many notebooks, all sealed within the depths of your cabinet to never see the light of day. Of course, you’d know it’s too selfish of you to ever confess, since there is no possible chance. Maybe you would change your mind if you ever caught a glance of how Soap casts his first look at you to see if you laughed at one of his corny jokes. Definitely making notes on what kind of jokes make you smile the brightest, obviously.

Although understated, Gaz is obviously brawns and beauty. Like, was it really necessary for him to have the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen? You can barely focus, line of sight often slipping down to his lips before moving them back up just to feign ignorance. You saw him as an aspiration at first, viewing his top place on the SAS selection rankings to be a goal to achieve. It wasn’t long for that awe to morph into something more affectionate. Dangerous territory, too dangerous that you decide to bury yourself in your training. Trying to snap yourself out of that lovesick daze, you push yourself to your own limits in the process. Using that pain to distract yourself, you definitely don’t notice Gaz’s worried gaze when you head towards the training grounds once again, his concern evident when he realises your hands are still bruised from the previous day. He’ll have to sneak some ointment into your gym bag again, somehow.

Ghost, who doesn’t know him? The stoic Lieutenant in the task force, prime of his trade in ambush and stealth. It’s tough to even get familiar with him, let alone be in a relationship with the lieutenant. Respecting his quiet demeanour, you have always kept your distance as a form of respect; never pushing more than what you know he can handle. A secret is that you always keep his tea bags in stock, replenishing when stocks go low. Simon hides a secret of his own; sometimes gripping the standard military knife you normally practise with to gauge your hand size,, just for an accurate daydream of how your hands would fit in his own. Would your fingers lace with his just as well as he imagines? Don’t tell anyone, but Simon has been staring at you long enough for Soap to notice, who knew Ghost could be so distracted?

Honestly, Price is the one you have to be the most cautious about. Out of everyone in the force, he is the most observant thanks to his expertise in the military field. Rugged and charming, it is not hard at all for Price to get your attention. His gravely chuckle lights a fire in your stomach, you desperately wishing to be the cause of it someday. Yet, a love between a Captain and his subordinate remains unfeasible on all sorts of levels, especially one as devoted to his job as John Price. Even if your love is impossible, you always try to make his life easier; doing paperwork with both speed and detail. Often, his heart softens when he sees a light peeking from under the door of your office, hoping for an opportunity to get to know the angel who files their reports perfectly. No matter how much he shouldn’t, he sincerely hopes to find a chance to make himself a stable placement in your life soon enough.

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #cod gaz #gaz mw2 #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #nobody’s works

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saint-ajax · 4 months ago

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Wh0re Thoughts

SIMON RILEY X BUNNY!READER [2]

Simon Riley fucking his sex doll in front of Bunny!Reader just to see her jealous. He loves how her face gets frustrated. He is so entertained how her adorable frown and furrowed brows get deeper while he teases her. How she pouts at the sight in front of her.

The headless silicon with plastic boobs and a hole bought for Simon's fat cock is abused in front of the clueless bunny.

“Stop it! Noo!” She whines while Simon holds her wrists and puts the weight of his legs on top of hers to keep her from moving.

Simon throws his head back at the bedpost while he grunts from his cock being engulfed by the fake pussy whose waist is within his grip. While she keeps on squirming under his grasp, “No- No, lovie! Stop it!” she begs as now tears start to swell in her eyes.

Simon drags an evil chuckle from his chest, “Wha's wrong, lovie?” he mutters, finding the thought of her jealous of a sex toy hilarious.

“Ya' want my cum, lovie?” she nods desperately with tears now rolling down her pink cheeks. “Tell me or I'll fill this thing up.”

“Mine, please- g- give it to me. Your cum is mine.” Simon looks at her, his heart tortured at her tears and amused at the same time by her angelic face. How she could say nasty things while maintaining an innocent face, he's got no idea.

Her possessive behavior was making his cock throb, “'Alright then, princess, take my cock an' swallow my cum.”

He withdrew his dick from the fleshlight to push down her face in an instant to shove his cock into her mouth. Her cherry lips covered the base of his thick meat. He proceeds to violently push and pull her face off his cock to simulate its greed to feel her wet, warm, mouth. She took it like a good girl. She slobbered on his cock, eyes rolled back, throat relaxed for his tip to beat the shit out of her.

Simon filling her mouth with his creamy cum wasn't enough, she demanded to ride him. She demanded to feel his load inside her womb too, she likes how it feels warm inside her, how his cock makes her feel full and complete is impeccable. “I- I love it, lovie, mhm... keep going.” She grinds and moans on top of Simon while the bulge of his cock is visible on her stomach. “This cock is all mine, promise me, please.”

“Fuck! yeaah, baby, of course. Look at that cock filling you up so nicely, my pretty lil' thing.”

🐇 | <- PREVIOUS PART

MASTERLIST | A03

#ajax saint #wh0re house #wh0re house by ajax #wh0re thoughts by ajax #call of duty domain #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x original character #simon riley x female reader

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fawnpires · 2 years ago

Note

hi! if the requests are open could you please do sex pollen with Simon Riley? if you don't write smut, that's fine. thank you for your time and I wanted to say that ur blog is rlly pretty<3

LUST FOR LIFE — SIMON RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: sex pollen, car sex, porn with some plot, tit-fucking, size kink, manhandling, praise, unprotected sex, loads of dirty talk, missionary position, eye contact, cum play.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ notes: omg i've done a sex pollen fic with simon before and it was literally so fun to write for, i would def write for it again. (and tysm angel! you’re literally the sweetest, ty again for requesting. <3)

The assigned mission had gone in several directions — one being the fact that a majority of your team had split up directly after being ambushed by the enemy with smoke grenades filled up with this sour yet saccharine-smelling powdery substance which had not yet been identified by the general public. For seconds, you had somehow ended up slumped in the cramped backseat of a hijacked pickup truck on the outskirts of a well-camouflaged forest right alongside your brooding, composed lieutenant who had unfortunately been impacted with that same substance a great number of your other team members had been affected with too — including yourself.

And you don't know how, but somehow you ended up with your military uniform torn off of you and discarded onto the flattened floor of the truck with only the white lace of your panties encompassing around the curves of your anatomy — laying on your back against the plush of the backseat's leather while your head rested against one of the locked, closed truck doors. Your skin was clammy, head overcrowded with incoherent clouds of thoughts while that swirling aroma of that substance lingered within your nostrils and never seemed to vanish away despite being impacted so many hours ago. Those doe eyes of yours were angled upwards, taking in the rare sight of your lieutenant's naked and brawny statuesque frame towering right above your more vulnerable figure.

"You're drivin' me fuckin' crazy, doll. Keep those pretty eyes on me now." he pants out between heavy breaths spilling past his parted lips, his body now slanted over you which caused his shadow to envelop you in its entirety.

Those tactical jeans of his were left to be undone and forgotten at his ankles alongside the cloth of his boxers while the softness of your bare breasts engulfed the pulsating, girthy length of his kept cock as it thrusted between the flesh. His hands and arms of exposure, now bulging of some veins and hardened muscles, kept a firm yet gentle grip at your breasts — kneading them in calloused palms enhanced of faded scars, some new and some fresh; most hard to recognize beneath the provided lighting of the truck's dimmed dome light. Aroused sighs and moans of contentment were drawn from the deep backs of your throat, flowing out in undetermined intervals. Your thighs were pushed and rubbing together as it creating some sort of friction and a distraction from the substance's strangely arousing side effects while you were basically getting off on the sight of his cock fucking right amid the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes never wanted to leave his, something about them was so entrancing in the moment. Each thrust at the flesh left you in a puddle of a needy mess, the blunt head of his cock peaking out between the tops of your breasts while his thrusts grew more desperate and sloppy to reach his initial high. Suppressed grunts were pronounced from past the darkened black fabric of his balaclava, the corners of his eyes twitching as he threw his head back; large hands continuing to maintain a hold on your breasts, tweaking your nipples while he fucked them with a ferocity that left him panting like a dog in heat. Slick began to drool past your panties, running down your inner thighs in a line of fluid while your jaw hung open to discharge those sounds of ecstasy. The atmosphere of the truck smelled of sex, the panes of the windows beginning to fog up in a hazy mist.

"Gonna cover these pretty lil' tits all full of my cum, lovie. I can't believe I've never given this pretty body a chance. " he gets out while a loud groan comes from him, the more he desperately moved his hips through the sensual simulation your breasts provided him — the more his climax got onto the verge of spilling out of him.

"Lieutenant, please..." your voice had the slightest hint of a whine to it, almost pleading him in a more high-pitched tone of voice.

"You sound so good f'me right now, sweet girl. Just hold on a little longer for me, baby. Almost there."

With that, he gives one last and particularly vigorous thrust between the mounds of your softened breasts; his hands traveling down to either sides at your waist, fingers depressing upon the skin as his head slanted a little more further back in pleasure with satisfied groans no longer being held in. His seed jetted out in fervent pulses onto the smooth stretch of your chest, adorning the skin in a sheet of pure and sticky fluid. As his head slanted forwards again back in regular position, his pupils appeared to be more dilated — giving him the look of some sort of rabid animal, seeking out for a way to quench his hungering lust. (In this case, using your body would be that designated method for appeasing that hunger - thanks to the substance's effects on the man.)

In a craving manner, you find Ghost briskly pulling up the lower edge of that skull balaclava he almost always sports on the physical features of his face; head lowering towards the supple flesh while his tongue eagerly laps at the liquid, brushing over either one of your nipples periodically — drawing one of those needy and pent-up whines from you. A hand is felt dragging down between your thighs, parting them from each other as his index and middle finger formed circular motions at your pantie-clad cunt, your body slightly shuddering at the contact towards your wet and sensitive area.

"God, you look even better with my cum all over your tits," Ghost chuckles lowly against your breasts, suckling and licking at them with his exposed lips. "Didn't know you were this desperate to be touched like this by a superior."

"Can't take it, Ghost, please. I need you inside me already."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. Just a little bit more, I promise. Acting like a needy lil' thing, aren't you?" he responses in a breathless vocal tone, his accent more accented with each gravelly word spoken.

His fingers slip around the waistband of your panties, the wet article of clothing worn around your curves before it was yanked down your legs and left to be abandoned with the rest of your uniform. Ghost lets out a deep grunt at the sight of your naked figure, his lips granting both of your breasts subtle little kisses before straightening himself back up and imposing right over you. He was moderately leaned over you, his hands adjusting your legs to rest on top his shoulders before drifting down to settle at both sides of your waist. His now solid cock rests at your lower abdomen, kisses being pressed into your right calf while his body slowly grinds against the perspired surface of your exterior skin.

The precise, kept movement of his raw hips had your head rolling back against the door of the vehicle — right in a state of an almost overwhelming, yet such raw ecstasy — in addition to more sweat trickling and trickling down onto the leather beneath where you laid at. His mouth stayed attached to your calf, advancing and pressing those gentle kisses of his onto the clammy limb, (Despite his rough, cold-blooded presence out of the field; he was the most gentle towards you, almost in resemblance to a lover.) Your teeth bit into the flesh of your lower lip, gnawing feebly at it while your cunt throbbed excessively in unrhythmic patterns. His teasings were going straight to your aching head as the aftermath of the substance, now well-acknowledged to be running through the course of your veins, only seemed to worsen without relief.

Fortunately, he took notice of your practically pleading exterior on display just for him; causing him to lean back a few inches from your body before steadying himself over you, eyes never faltering from yours as his cock angled right at the entrance of your sopping cunt as he slowly inched himself inside the warmth of your walls accompanied with a squelch audible throughout the vehicle. His free hand was left to press up against the fogged pane of nearest window, a prominent cast of his palm being left there. His other hand held at your hip, beads of sweat outlining at his cloth-wrapped forehead while it trickled down past the visible eye area of his balaclava — combining with that black, smeared eye-paint gracing around those dulled brown eyes. A distinct grunt came from him at the sensation of your cunt engulfing him, and a whimper of a reached relief sourced from the initial contact of his hips pressed against yours.

"There you go. Such a good girl, taking me in so well." the lieutenant cooes from above you, his voice hoarse and slightly strained while his hips sustained a pleasant rhythm.

"Mmm— fuck, Ghost... feels so good." you moan out, eyes nearly closing to fully indulge in the sensation.

"And your pussy feels like damn heaven, Jesus." his words were spoken through a grunt, his hand at the window smudging at the fog. "Keep those eyes on me, want you to look me in the eye — know who's fucking you, making you feel this good."

The smallest smirk is held at one corner of his lips at your words of praise, his hand at your hip using the thumb to gently stroke at the skin while his thrusts increased in speed. Shamelessly, soft moans and various noises of pleasure were being pulled out of you now as his each pump of his hips into you was shaped into the interiors of your cunt. Your nails dug into leather below you, legs trembling out of bliss on-top of his sturdy and muscled shoulders tensing from the vast mass of euphoric feelings the both of you were undergoing. With each passing thrust within you, his motions quickened up through you, the head of his cock kissing right at your cervix repeatedly without stop.

Arousal was the only thing, the only emotion that your body could be running on at this exact moment — your inner thighs stained with your slick, leaving a small pool of fluid under you; evidence to how good he really made you feel when fucking right into you. Resonates of skin-against-skin and more noises of sexual matter filled up the once silent truck, the windows nearly curtained and blocked off with fog sourcing from the both of your bodies continually pressing up against each other. His hips angled in different kinds of ways, just to aim his cock right against the spots that would cause your back to arch off the seat and your hips to slightly raise in the air. More sweat began to form at your skin, glistening underneath the dim lights.

Your legs were more spread apart, nevertheless still perched on his shoulders as the positioned of your body arched off the seat raised body gave him a better approach to pound into you. His sweat mixed in with yours, cock drilling into your pussy at an pace that could be almost considered violent by the looks of it. He had his hand pushing down a little more into your hip, his build tilted over your own. Moans of his title — of his military title — were being moaned out from you in a head full of rapture where you saw stars in your vision, which fueled that arousal just about leading to his climax once he heard that angelic tone of yours speaking his name.

"You fuck me so good, sir." you whimpered in a fragile voice, that built-up tension in your stomach almost at its high.

Those words of yours were almost enough to drive him over the edge, but his composure was held onto just for a little longer.

"That's right, lovie. I'm the only man who can fuck you like this, nobody else, yeah?" he pants out, the violent pace of his beginning to stutter just at the slightest. His composure was slipping off now, without a doubt. "Can feel you squeezing me — shit, — let go for me, angel, come on."

With his words basically giving you the permission, your body stiffens while a series of whimpers and moans are mainly heard from a clear volume. Your cunt clenches around his cock while it remains still up against your cervix as he gives into a climax the same time as you do, his near-animalistic groans merging with your much softer moans. Ghost gives a single, last thrust before hot waves of pleasure spill from him as he fills your cunt to the brim with the warmth of his seed. Heavy breaths of almost exhaustion come from him for a few moments longer before he slowly pulls out of you, your weakened body vaguely at the feeling of it. His eyes sweep down from your eyes, to the rise and fall of your breasts, to the perspective of his seed spilling out from the puffy lips of your cunt and onto the splattered material of the seats.

By now, the influence of the substance has sufficiently gone down considering the quantities of alleviation that you and Ghost had managed to release off of each other. (In the most intimate, non-expected way possible — and during a full-on mission.) He cautiously lowers his hand at your hip to dip between your soaking thighs, the heel of his palm rubbing at your raw, delicate flesh dripping of both of your sticky releases. Your mind finally goes conscious for the first time since both you and him had temporarily hid out in this truck; a faint flush coming to rise at your cheeks once the realization hits you — you fucked a superior, your literal lieutenant.

It’s not like the either of you were to blame, you think.

He then leans down to you, palm still rubbing at your folds as you shakily sigh out, a kiss being pressed into your forehead. It was abnormally sweet, especially coming from someone like him. But you weren’t complaining, — as long as he wasn’t pissed about fucking a subordinate, such as yourself, or had any regrets about doing any of this with you; drug’s influence or not. You can’t help but allow your face to flush lightly at the kiss, a small blush blossoming around your cheeks. He then wholly lowers back the edge of his pushed-up balaclava, his full face now concealed like always.

“You regret any of this?” you asked quietly, not out shame or sadness, but a genuine curiosity to hear from his side. Your breaths were still coming out shaky from his rubbing palm.

It’s dead silence coming from him, before he then speaks up with a slight unpredicted chuckle.

“Regret this?” Ghost repeats back to you, his head cocked to the side as his eyes find yours once more. He looks at you as if you told some kind of joke to him — or just said something really stupid. “No way in hell would I regret doing something like this with a girl that has your looks, or your sweetness, sweetheart.”

“Good, but you better not be saying that because of the stuff we got hit with.” your said more teasingly.

“Nah. I only speak truth from my cold, dead heart, love.” his deep voice responds back to you, the corners of his black-smudged eyes crinkled in an indication of a grin.

#♡ fleur’s writings.#ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x female reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #female reader

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melodyofthevoid · 1 year ago

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By The Skin of His Teeth

(Simone is @oriiduckko's big son Pitch and Nada belong to the lovely @cuppanova thanks bestie for letting me borrow them <3)

For someone wanted by so many, Simone’s target didn’t exactly make himself difficult to find. Sure, by all appearances this… Pitch could blend into a crowd. Scrawny and slight in all the ways that made an alley a welcome friend. Simone knew how to hunt, and the small ones loved their corners. As though that might save them from an attack from above and the ensuing drop to the ground.

Except- well.

Pitch stood tall on a table in the middle of the bar, flagon in hand and raucously joining in a round of “Pick a God”, though from outside Simone failed to make out her voice. Only the general rhythm and tone made its way through the walls and windows. The crowd within a regular mix of weary sailors and mercenaries who made enough money to cover up the scars. Whatever message someone needed delivered here, well it couldn’t be that important.

The other one, Nada, if he recalled, was nowhere in sight, and considering that centaurs stood out just about anywhere, Pitch appeared to be alone. Alone, drunk, unaware. Not surrounded by any competition for the bounty either. None Simone recognized on sight.

He rolled his shoulders and shook out his wings, brushing past the window and taking to the sky to circle. Tempted as it was to barge in and snatch the debtor on the spot, that risked starting a brawl. A potential distraction.

No, he’d wait, and watch for his prey to emerge.

It didn’t take long, it seemed Pitch’s singing (or something else, the skies only knew) got him thrown out of the building, the human rolling in a flailing wheel until he hit the pavement with a bounce. Simone snorted. How pathetic. No wonder she ended up to her neck in debt if this was how he spent his days.

After a moment, Pitch staggered to his feet, looping towards the wall for stability and rubbing the blood away from his nose.

Simone dove.

Pitch barely got a moment to scream before Simone’s hand engulfed his throat, a choked gasp leaving him as he flailed. Simone pressed him up against a wall, wings flared out wide enough to eclipse the moon above. Casting them both into shadow. Out of some small mercy, Simone eased up enough to allow him to speak.

Given how easy this was, he was allowed to play somewhat.

“W-who-“

“None of your business. All you need to know, is I’ve got a job to do. Nothing personal.”

Whatever blood remained in Pitch’s face drained further, the words ringing a familiar tone.

“Ah.”

Simone almost laughed again, always the same with these types. Thinking the consequences would never show up and panicking the moment they did. From behind the thick bangs, Simone almost saw her eyes darting back and forth, desperate for a way out.

“So- so uh- I’m guessing I can’t ask nicely for you to let me go?”

Pitch’s voice raised higher in- well. Pitch. A shaking smile wobbling across his face.

“No.”

“Worth a shot- haha.”

He leaned in closer, drawing a knife out from his side and pressing it to Pitch’s throat.

“Anything you’d like me to tell the boss when I give her your body?”

“Uh- I uh- ha- uh… not- not really?-“

Simone raised his brow, but brushed off the stammering. No use in delaying.

A weight slammed into Simone’s side, sending him to the cobblestone with a crack. He wheezed, feeling bones crack and pop. One of the downsides of being an avian. Once he regained his footing, and the world stopped spinning around him, he watched as Pitch clung to the back of a… Centaur. One Nada, who took off at full speed through the barely populated streets.

“Fuck”, he wheezed.

He stretched out his wings and winced, the shooting pain keeping him from extending to his full wingspan, let alone chase after them.

He got careless. Of course Pitch’s partner in crime wouldn’t be that far away, not for that long. Simone grit his teeth, and slid the knife back into its holster.

One way or another, he’d get his target.

He always did.

#my writing #ocean idiots #yipee #new idiots added to the ocean #fdkljds

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bridgertonbabe · 1 year ago

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Benophie Drabble - Bridgerton Brothers AU

Surveying the room around him, Benedict smiled to himself as he watched his nieces and nephews keeping Simon, Daphne, Anthony, and Kate on their toes; Colin cuddling into Penelope all the while she laughed and chatted with Eloise; his parents lost in their own little world as they rocked back and forth dancing to the music. It was a far less raucous after-party than the ones they used to have during their early years of touring but now they were all that much older and more settled (and honestly far more easy to wear out), celebrating another sold-out concert with just their loved ones was much more preferable.

There was just one notable absence for Benedict to feel particularly dispirited; his wife.

For the last twelve weeks Sophie had been on her own solo tour across the UK playing sold-out theatre shows, enchanting audiences with her mesmerising violin concertos and pop covers. Much to Benedict's dismay he had yet to be able to attend any of her shows as her tour coincided with the Bridgerton Brothers international one, otherwise he'd be attending every last one of her concerts as he had done with all of her previous tours. He had desperately tried to find any opportunity to be able to jet back to see her, but unfortunately both of their schedules were so jam-packed that there'd barely be enough time to even kiss her before he would have to fly back out for his next concert. Sophie had tried in vain as well to find any openings in her diary in order to see him but they both reluctantly accepted that they had no other options but to endure the separation apart.

At the very least it definitely made the heart grow fonder as with every new day he missed her more and more. Sure they still called and texted and video-chatted constantly but Benedict was keening to be able to see her in the flesh once more, to hold her in his arms and to kiss her and just be in her physical presence. For now however he'd have to endure just another twelve hours before they flew from Dublin to London to be reunited with Sophie once more.

Except, as Benedict looked around at all the loved-up couples; his mum and dad, Simon and Daphne, Kate and Anthony, and Colin and Penelope; he realised he couldn't actually handle waiting just twelve more hours - he wanted to be back with his wife right that very second.

Now that their Dublin concert was over and done with and knowing that Sophie's concert in Reading that night would have finished, Benedict couldn't help but feel that now was as good a time as any to simply hop on the next flight home and be with Sophie at long last.

He quickly got his phone out, putting all of his energy into manifesting a miracle last-minute flight being available to London as he googled flights out of Dublin airport that night - and his eyes lit up as soon as he saw that such a flight was in fact going to depart within the next hour.

Jumping to his feet, he marched straight over to Daphne to run his plan of action past her; after all, she was in charge of the band's itinerary. As soon as he mentioned just how desperate he was to see Sophie again, Daphne assured him to leave everything with her. She'd book his flight and cancel his seat on the one the following morning so long as he left immediately. He pecked his sister on the cheek, thanking her profusely before legging it out the room.

In just under two hours he was opening the front door to the home he shared with Sophie, making sure to be as quiet as possible as he made his way up the stairs and into their bedroom. As soon as he caught sight of his wife sleeping peacefully in the bed they shared his heart swelled up and the feeling of homecoming washed over him.

Typically after any flight the first thing he'd do is have a quick shower but after twelve long weeks apart from Sophie, there was nothing he wanted to do more than slip under the covers and simply hold her. After ridding himself of every garment but his pants he got into bed as carefully as he could, doing everything he could not to disturb her sleep. Rather adorably she was cuddling a pillow - one of his pillows - as well as wearing one of his old sweatshirts and Benedict couldn't help smiling, elated in the knowledge that Sophie had been missing him as much as he had missed her. He gently wrapped his arms around her, spooning her (and the pillow), and buried his head into her curly tresses.

At long last he was back where he belonged; home.

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

Sophie was exhausted by the time she got in that evening and had only just remembered to give a wave of thanks over her shoulder to her driver before she entered her home. Normally at this time she would be buzzing with post-concert energy but as of late once she had finished a show she was desperate to climb into bed and fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

It also didn't help that she was missing her husband dreadfully and had spent the last twelve weeks yearning to be reunited with him in person once more. While his absence had only made her heart fonder of him, she was relieved that come midday the following day he would be home at last. Finally she'd be able to embrace him, to kiss him, to talk and laugh in person, to just be with him - and the quicker she got herself to bed and fell asleep, the sooner she'd be expecting him by the time she woke up.

As she had done since they had been apart, she dressed for bed in an old sweatshirt of his, one she had adopted from Benedict long ago but it still smelled like him and made her feel closer to him despite the distance they had endurd for the past twelve weeks. Then once she was under the covers she grabbed a hold of one of the pillows from Benedict's side of the bed and cuddled into it, treasuring the feel of it against her as her husband's stand-in; and as soon as she was comfortable and had closed her eyes, she fell straight to sleep.

While sleeping soundly her brain flashed up images of her husband, memories of him flopping down on the sofa she was sat on and resting his head in her lap, how he'd always ensure he pointed to her in the crowd whenever she attended his concerts, the way she'd always find his eyes at her concerts and how he beamed proudly back at her, how safe and protected she felt being held in his arms and how she could practically feel his warm breath against the back of her neck as he buried his head in amongst her curls and his hands came to rest on the pillow she was cuddling as he spooned her...

In fact, it almost felt too real to just be a dream.

Sophie's eyes gently opened as her conscious lazily stirred awake and she observed the darkness of the bedroom and the stillness of the night - and then after several seconds it finally registered that there was a warm body cuddling her, the feeling of which was so familiar she knew instantaneously it was her husband.

"Ben?" she rasped, her voice thick with sleep.

"Hey." he breathed back against her neck and squeezed her gently in greeting.

"What are you doing here?" she blearily asked, not having expected him home for roughly another twelve hours, and attempted to turn in his hold.

"Couldn't bear to be away from you a second longer." he answered but prevented her from twisting round to face him. "Sleep, my love. We'll have all the time tomorrow." he assured her gently, pressing a kiss against her back, and snuggling into her.

And though Sophie could have blissfully drifted off back to sleep in that moment, before she could succumb to slumber once more her brain kicked into gear and she excitedly remembered a very particular reason why she had been more desperate than ever before to see her husband. Without a second to lose Sophie leaned over to switch on the bedside lamp and shuffled herself to sit up.

"Soph." Benedict groaned, squeezing his already shut eyes even tighter from the sudden burst of light. "There's no need-"

"Oh Ben." she sighed affectionately as she got her first proper look at her husband in the flesh for the first time in twelve weeks, and she leaned down to kiss him tenderly on the lips.

In spite of his disgruntled exhaustion, Benedict was sufficiently woken up by his wife's lips against his as he kissed back without hesitation. He managed to crack open his eyes when she pulled away to gaze at her adoringly, a soft lazy smile curving his lips as he reached out to pull her back in.

"I've got something to tell you." she said as she intertwined her hands with the ones that were trying to drag her into a cuddle.

"Oh, can't it wait?" Benedict grumbled. "The whole point of sneaking in was so I didn't disturb you."

"And that was very thoughtful of you - but this can't wait." she told him; after all, Sophie had been impatiently waiting for the last six weeks to tell him this and there was no way in hell she was going to keep it to herself for a second longer.

"What is it?" Benedict relented with a laborious sigh and reluctantly pulled himself up to lean against the headboard.

Sophie twisted around, opening the drawer of her bedside table, and presented him with a gift box. He raised an intrigued eyebrow, having been under the impression she was about to tell him something but after receiving a nod of encouragement from her he accepted the gift and opened the lid.

As Sophie watched on eagerly, he pulled back the tissue paper to reveal a baby onesie with the words Daddy's #1 Fan emblazoned on it. Benedict stared at it for a few seconds, his brain being affected by tiredness and delaying his reaction when suddenly it clicked and he shot his head up to meet Sophie's sparkling gaze.

"You're pregnant?" he swallowed and she nodded in confirmation. "We're having a baby?"

"We're having a baby, Ben." she answered gleefully and in a flash she was swept up into his arms.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" he chanted into the crook of her neck as he clutched her to him. "Sophie." he choked out and kissed her neck. "Oh god, Sophie I'm so happy. I'm so so happy. I love you, I love you so much." he teared up and punctuated his joy with kisses up the column of her neck until his lips were on hers.

"I love you too." she laughed shakily, blissfully overjoyed with his ecstatic reaction.

"How far along?" he asked.

"Well that flying visit twelve weeks back did the trick." she answered and Benedict's face lit up in amazement.

Having children was always on the cards for them and they had planned to start trying for a baby once Benedict was home from touring, however they had certainly made the most of Sophie's one night in the US to get ahead of their baby-making plans.

"I can't believe it." Benedict beamed. "How long have you known?"

"Six weeks." Sophie exhaled and brought a hand through his hair. "I've been dying to tell you but I wanted to tell you in person instead of over the phone or through a screen. I hope that's okay-"

Benedict cut her off with a searing kiss, an automatic assurance that her decision to hold off from telling him until they were face to face was very much appreciated.

"Of course that's okay." he verbally iterated when he managed to pull himself away from kissing her. "If you had told me over the phone I'd have left the tour without a word of notice to fly home immediately just so I could hug and kiss you. Nothing else would have mattered to me than seeing you and celebrating the baby we've made."

"I guess it's a relief I waited then, for the sake of the fans."

"And for my sake as well, to avoid Daphne throttling me for abandoning the band in the middle of a sold-out tour." he (somewhat) joked.

"Oh well we couldn't have that then, could we?" Sophie giggled and kissed him.

Benedict kissed back, wrapping his arms around his wife and cherishing this very moment for all the joy it brought to his heart. "I love you, Soph." he professed once more against her lips. "I didn't think I could be any happier coming home to you and yet you never cease to amaze me."

He continued to express his overwhelming joy by peppering her with kisses until his lips were sore and he rested his head against hers, professing his unconditional love for her and their baby before they both acknowledged just how spent they were and sunk back down under the covers to rest. Sophie turned over so he could hold her back against his chest and then he rested his hands over her abdomen where he could feel the smallest hint of a bump. With the biggest smile on his face, Benedict pressed one last kiss against Sophie's shoulder, professed his love for her yet again and settled comfortably into the embrace before dreaming the sweetest dreams of the joy-filled future that lay ahead of them.

#benophie drabble #bridgerton brothers au #benophie #benedict x sophie

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your-divine-ribs · 6 months ago

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Ice Cold Part 27

Words: 2.4k

Lyla gets sent on her assignment to London…

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

The not knowing was the worst thing. I tried to console myself with the fact that if anything had happened to Van the news would spread like wildfire within seconds. This was the most high profile case the agency had seen since the days of my father and Paul hunting down Tommy Chappell.

Any agent who was successful in bringing Van down would be hailed as a hero and the perks that would accompany that achievement would mean that my colleagues would now be relentlessly combing the city for him night and day. Their competitive natures likely turning a criminal investigation into something resembling a gruesome gameshow with them as the bloodthirsty contestants and Van as the ultimate prize. A cat and mouse game... except Van was no mouse. I had to believe in him. It was all I could do.

I leant my head against the train window, looking out as the scenery rushed past in a blur, trying to clear my mind but it was useless. I sighed and dug in my bag for my phone, bringing up Jen's number and placing a call.

She picked up immediately, launching straight into a detailed account of my predicament which further clouded my mood. "Lyla! Are you okay? Paul says you've been sent on some stake-out down in London. What the hell's all that about? I mean it's great news that they didn't suspend or fire you, but baby-sitting some rookie agent whilst we're all here desperately tracking Van? It seems crazy!"

"Yeah well... I think Whitman just wants me out of the way. Every time I come up against Van he just gets away. He probably thinks I've lost my touch."

"Not likely!" She replied. "You're the only one who's managed to get anywhere near him! Whitman's been down here in Paul's office all morning. I swear that man looks ill, his face was so red with rage this morning it wouldn't have surprised me if he'd had a heart attack on the spot."

"Wouldn't that be a shame!" I muttered, much to Jen's delight.

"Yeah, he's a fucking nightmare. Honestly, he's tearing strips off Paul in there. I can hear him shouting now. It's like he's holding him personally responsible that Van's still out there."

Her comment gave me hope. "So how's the search going anyway? Have you got any leads?"

"You haven't heard?" Jen's voice raised up an octave with excitement, causing my heart to skip a beat.

"What?" I breathed, my throat constricted with fear, choked with dread at what I might hear.

"You know that hit you foiled the night Jason got killed? Well that nightclub owner's body was found this morning at his house. His girlfriend went round and found him hanging from the light fitting. She was hysterical, thought he'd topped himself because of what they found."

"Well? Didn't he? And what did they find?" I was impatient to hear more, wondering if Van was involved.

"He was a fucking paedophile. There were all these photos of kids strewn everywhere. Like really sick, the worst kind. And he definitely didn't kill himself. His hands were tied. I tell you what Lyla, if this is Van's doing I'd personally like to shake his hand for this one."

My mind was reeling, trying to piece together why Van would be remotely bothered about carrying out a hit after he'd cut himself loose from the organisation. I'd have thought that he'd be laying low, keeping his head down, concentrating on staying out of sight and remaining alive.

"I don't get it," I wondered out loud. "Why would Van still be killing for them when he's on the run?"

There was a sound like Jen was letting out an exhale through pursed lips and I could picture her shaking her head, brow creased up in bewilderment. "That's just it. No one knows. Simon told you that this hit was supposed to be an execution for botching that cocaine shipment delivery didn't he? Maybe it's not even Van. It sure felt like him though. Do you know what I mean?"

I hummed in agreement. Having worked many crime scenes in my time as an experienced agent I picked up on these things. Little tells and nuances that wouldn't be noticed by the untrained eye. Even killers had their own style. Jen was still talking but I'd tuned out, theorising in my head, playing and re-playing the line Van had used last night.

"That's how revenge feels Lyla. It does feel good... it feels damn fucking good..."

But revenge... retribution... for what? It didn't make any sense. It all seemed so... disconnected.

"...then the police were called to that multi-storey car park right next to where you live last night..."

"What?" My attention was shifted instantly back to Jen as I caught her mid-sentence. "What was that?"

"Oh nothing important... I was just saying how Paul had me monitoring the police emergency call-outs last night. It was pretty quiet, just some car theft right near your apartment. You probably heard them. Honestly, three police vehicles called out just for someone nicking a car... and then they didn't even catch them... bloody useless..."

I stepped off the train at St Pancras station and let myself be swallowed up by the crowd. With Christmas only weeks away the London streets were busier than ever with people dashing to buy presents for loved ones, smiles on their faces and excited chatter. Seeing other people's lives flowing on whilst my own was in such a state of turmoil seemed almost surreal, the prospect of Christmas and New Year and all the associated pomp and festivities just seemed alien to me.

At least I had my freedom back, for once I wasn't being watched by George or any other agent. I found it quite curious that all of a sudden just because I'd been taken off the case I wasn't deemed to be a target anymore, but of course I didn't argue. The agency weren't to know that with Van always seemingly close by like some dark guardian angel, I was probably the safest agent of them all whilst I was on my home turf. Maybe not in London though.

I was to meet a newly qualified agent from the London team, Alex, at the hotel in Soho that I was staying at so I hopped into a black cab. No one had specifically said it, but it was obvious I was being expected to supervise on the job. Jen had hit the nail on the head when she'd mentioned 'baby-sitting'. I just hoped Alex wasn't going to turn out to be some fresh-faced, naive stickler for the rules. I'd seen so many churned out of the training programme, spouting legislation and excited to get their gun, then they'd go to pieces at their first murder scene. The first few months on the job either made you or broke you, and some just didn't have the guts for it.

I checked into the hotel, making my way to my room, not bothering to unpack my belongings as I delved into my bag for something to wear. I settled on jeans and a shirt. The last thing I wanted to do was wear something slutty and give Alex the wrong impression. I knew damn well that the whole of the London team had heard about mine and Scott's past hook-ups by now, and my experiences with Jason had made me more cautious about how people perceived me. It aggrieved me to even be thinking that way, but it was the unfortunate reality in this fucked up world, especially in the male dominated line of work that I was in.

I surveyed the hotel bar as I entered, and it was empty apart from a couple sat at the far end and a blonde woman perched on a bar stool at the bar. She turned and gave me a smile as I took my place next to her and I caught the bartender's eye, ordering a large, dry white wine.

I could feel the woman's eyes on me as I waited for my drink but I ignored her. I wasn't in the mood for making small-talk with strangers.

"I'll get this," she said as the bartender set my glass down in front of me.

I'd been digging in my bag for my purse but stopped immediately, raising my head, my gaze meeting a pair of large, beguiling green eyes framed by long lashes. Her glossy cherry red lips pulled into a smile with a hint of flirtation. A few months back I would have welcomed the attention, she was certainly gorgeous, but satisfying my sexual desires with a complete stranger was the furthest thing from my mind right then.

I shot her a smile that wasn't quite warm enough to be welcoming. "Actually... I'm meeting someone.... and I don't accept drinks from strangers."

I turned back to the bartender, handing over the cash, hoping the woman would get the message, but to my surprise she swivelled her body around in the stool until she was fully facing me.

"Well... don't be a stranger then," she said, a slight smirk emerging as she held out a perfectly manicured hand towards me.

I didn't have time for this. I took a deep breath, ready to unleash a cutting remark, but before I could do so she spoke again, stunning me.

"I'm Alex, pleased to meet you."

"Oh... I... errr... I thought..." I stumbled over my words.

"You thought I was going to be a man." She finished my sentence for me, snatching the words right out of my mouth.

I couldn't help but smile, nodding slowly. "You know I hate it when people make assumptions, and here I am doing it myself!"

I stretched out my hand to grasp hers, shaking it warmly. Her smile grew, showing pearly white teeth. She really was striking looking.

"It's okay, I get it all the time. I considered going by my birth name, Alexandra, but you know what? I kinda like it when people are surprised. It's like when people ask me what I do for a living now and I tell them, they're shocked. Maybe they think I should be working in a beauty salon or something! I'm sure you must get that too."

I found myself laughing. "Oh yes, the guys are the worst. I think they find it emasculating when they realise I could probably take them down without even raising a sweat! I'm Lyla by the way."

"Oh I know who you are... you're Lyla Keating. Everyone talks about you on the London team. Your reputation precedes you!"

She was smiling amiably as she spoke, but I felt myself bristling nevertheless. All I could think about were my sleazy encounters with Scott, made all the more scandalous now I'd found out that he'd been married at the time. I could imagine what was being said behind my back.

"Don't believe everything you hear," I said, turning away to take a sip of my wine.

"Oh it's all good," Alex said eagerly. "They say you're bad-ass actually!”

I'd just taken a swallow of wine and the laugh that bubbled up inside me burst forth. I practically sprayed a mouthful of wine over the bar. Alex was laughing as I coughed and spluttered, trying to compose myself.

"Bad-ass?" I managed.

"Come on, you're like my hero!" She giggled. "Some of the stories I've heard sound crazy but I know they're true. That time you took down that arms dealer in Berlin single handedly? And those two gun men in Paris? Not to mention fighting off Van fucking McCann... three times! You're a legend!"

Alex leant over and clinked the top of her beer bottle purposefully on my wine glass. I was enjoying this now, realising that I'd not laughed like this for a long time. It felt good.

"Four times..."

"Huh?"

"Four times," I repeated. "Van... I've... errr... fought him off four times."

Alex took a deep pull on her beer, shaking her head, grinning. "See what I mean? Bad-ass..."

Then her smile faltered a little. "I was... errr... sorry to hear about your partner getting killed though. That's rough."

The mention of Jason which would have caused clammy palms and a racing heart before now only caused a brief flicker of emotion to pass through me.

You're getting more like Van every day...

"Oh yeah, that was... hard. He wasn't actually my partner but it was still difficult."

Alex nodded earnestly, leaning into me. "I know all too well. I've only been in the job for a few months but I was partnered with Scott quite a bit before he was killed. He was such a good agent. He taught me so much, and he was a great guy... kind of a douche to women sometimes... but still a solid.... you know? He'd always have my back."

My recollections of Scott certainly weren't based on personality, more the physical side. He'd taken my preferences for the rougher side of sex and opened up my eyes to a whole new world of dark pleasures. I found myself tensing as Alex continued.

"He spoke very highly of you too. I mean I know everybody does, but Scott... you really made an impression on him..."

The corners of her painted lips twitched as if something had amused her. Some conversation that her and Scott had shared about our less than professional relationship no doubt. Christ... did everyone know what the two of us had been up to? So much for his promises of discretion. Still, curiosity got the better of me.

"Care to share?" I said, taking another mouthful of wine.

Alex's grin widened with that same seductive quality I'd glimpsed earlier, and she placed a hand on my thigh. "Oh... he said you were a fantastic shag!"

My wine slipped down too quickly, causing me to cough again. This girl was trouble, that was plain to see. Nevertheless I found myself being drawn in, my frustrations getting the better of me.

I quickly composed myself, fixing her with an even gaze, projecting a sensuality that came easily to me.

"What d'ya say to getting out of here?"

"I'll drink to that," Alex purred, tipping her head back and draining her bottle. "I know just the place."

#ice cold #van mccann fanfic #au fanfic #vanfic

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youknowwhoiamperiod · 5 months ago

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hello ariel!

would you tell me something mermaidghost? anything you want to talk about for the ship, something you’ve been dying to share but just haven’t had the chance yet, or a little detail you think should get more love. your choice!

xoxo sunnie (@fic-over-cannon)

sunnie sweetheart heyyy!! you've been on my mind all morning during english class since the topic this semester is film analysis hehe,, i'm so sorry it took me so long to answer this i've just been so busy preparing for uni :((( hope you've been well!!

aaaaaaa simon has been on my mind way too frequently this summer and i fear the brainrot is only getting deeper... ever since i discovered the cod franchise he's been my fav among the 141 mainly cause he reminded me so much of jason (specifically ak) but also not at all?? they're so similar in their critical thinking and acting but simultaneously could not be any more different? like. i don't know. and he's just so fascinating as a character it's dizzying. his persona just opens up so many possibilities and i thought my interest was tamed and moderate at first until aurore started cod posting... unleashing a beast within me....

mermaidghost is a ship that originally was intended to be very tragic. i'm a psychologist hired to work with the 141 studying their ennemies and targets but also keeping track of their mental state... and in all honesty simon's character is not just a walking red flag he's a literal siren sounding. trying to break through him for professional purposes is already a challenge and i don't think he'd necessarily be the worst person to date ever and beyond saving but i wanted to keep it realistic so knowing myself i really wouldn't be able to go on with someone like him. but somehow angel aurore once again broke my fourth wall and i decided to opt for a happy ending but we (he) have to work for it and it takes us a break and years apart to finally come around, making you question if it was truly worth it...

i think what i love the most about this ship and i told aurore about it is the implication that comes with it!!! i'm thinking of a man who's been turned to a weapon meant to destroy every human life he's ordered to. one who makes his adversaries wiggle in fear at the sight of his shadow because they won't live long enough to get a grasp of the brute of a man standing behind them. a silence broken by a bullet sounding is the last thing they hear as it pierces through them and a haze slowly falling upon their eyes before the light flickers out of them, a blurry ghost mask being the last picture they have of this world. a man who has been hardened by his past and time on earth over and over again erasing any type of fear from his dna, a foreign feeling that he's now overwhelmed with as the terror of falling for his best pal's little sister who's desperately trying to break into his psyche befalls upon him. a woman who's laying down her life for the belief of resurrecting broken human lives by the power of the brain and giving everybody a chance for a peaceful life. he's so tormented cause he doesn't deserve to be haunting the mind of someone who stands for everything he's been trained against and he doesn't deem it fair that i'm wasting my time on trying to get him to love me when he's the least deserving of affection and a coward who hides behind a mask, a ghost, the cage locking simon riley from this world. it's such a complex and delicate situation like he holds himself in the lowest standards and i'm just trying to get him out of his own head to realize that he's worth so much more...

anyway i've rambled a lot but he's truly been eating at my brain and i just love love love this type of dynamic... thank you sm for indulging me sunnie sweetheart mwah!!!!

#simon come home to me.......#simon.....#mermaidghost #141 stuffies #ariel’s waves #waves crash to the shore

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toshidou · 2 years ago

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you are a legend for this, and i think everyone should be personally thanking you for this absolutely massive brained, pussy altering, dick twinging idea.

wc // 1.4k

tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader (no pronouns mentioned), bottom!Ghost, top!reader, strap on, stomach bulge, overstimulation, crying, no aftercare written but i promise simon gets all the kisses and cuddles needed after <33

Harsh sounds of wet skin slapping obscenely together echoes against the pastel painted walls of your bedroom; the low light of a full moon casting a perfect spotlight on the mattress, highlighting every rippling muscle in the back of the man who lies under you. His fingers are gripping onto loose, scrunched sheets, knuckles white and veins popping, as though his tight hold on sullied bed linen is the last frayed thread keeping his sanity together.

"Fucking shit," parted lips practically whine, shining with drool in the dim light of the darkened sky above, painting a picture you commit to memory for a lonely night where your hand is your only solace.

“Feels good to get fucked, doesn’t it baby?” You croon, fingers caressing the scarred skin of his thighs, so hot to the touch, slick with sweat and lube, “Knew you’d like this, fuckin’ knew you’d be a slut for strap.” You don’t get a verbal response, just deep, intoxicating groans that reverberate through the mattress, positively drunk on power as you watch this military enigma, this well-respected, commanding figure fall apart from under you. Because of you.

You slow your hips, leaning back on your knees just to watch the way silicone so deliciously stretches his pink rim. Hungry eyes observing just how easily it swallows every inch given to it so fucking greedily, still fluttering around the base of your strap, as though all ten inches of thick cock buried within his body wasn’t enough, as if he somehow needs more.

Simon Riley looks nothing less than pornographic when he gets fucked, skin burning red, lips parted in the perfect little ‘o’, hips wantonly canting back against yours because he can think of nothing else but how fucking incredible he feels. And it’s not at all fair, because when he leaves you for weeks on end, all you can think about is this. How taut muscle ripples under your fingertips, so sensitive to every touch against his skin, no matter how feather-light. Haunted by the way his usually baritone growl pitches up, wrecked whines replacing low grunts with every forceful thrust.

“Turn over for me baby, want to see how pretty you look when you cum on my strap.”

Solid fingers unfurl from the sheets, leaving indents in their place as he shakily attempts to turn over, the only aid you offer coming in the form of pulling the silicone cock from his abused hole with a satisfying pop, reveling in his responding disgruntled huff.

His back hits the mattress not long after, built thighs automatically spreading, coaxing you like a siren call as you shuffle ever closer, fingernails dragging from his kneecap to his inner thigh, perfect red marks left in their wake. God, he’s a vision like this. Sultry, lidded eyes stare up at you, pupils engulfing his irises, leaving only vacant black in its place, gazing at you as though you are all he’s ever needed, as though he'd kiss the ground if he knew you'd walked on it. Thick, tattooed arms come to hook under his knees, pulling up until they meet rounded pecks, resting just under perked, dusty nipples. The sight alone has you leaking, your inner thighs soaked with arousal under the thick harness straps, clit throbbing with need, unstimulated and wanting. So desperately wanting. But you hardly feel it, no fingers against your sex could even come close to the feeling of lining up a silicone tip with his presented hole, clenching lewdly around air, beckoning you to fill him to the hilt once again.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the sight that awaits you as the strap sinks effortlessly into his hole. Flat, muscled skin gives way to plastic, rising in the perfect imprint of your cock, growing ever larger until hips meet flush against his ass. You can’t take your eyes of it, both hands moving down to push against his distended abdomen, desperate to check if your mind is deceiving you, if your strap is actually moulding his body into a perfect fleshlight, just for you.

“Fuckin’ hell, don’t-,” A hitch in his breath as your fingers curl over the bump, ignoring the harsh twitch of his cock as it bobs above your hand, “Don’t do that, don’t wanna cum yet.”

Molten eyes flick up to meet his head on, a challenge set like steel in your mind as you withdraw your hips, palms still pressing down against his now flat stomach. Chestnut brown hair hits the pillow the second you begin to fuck him with earnest, leaning your weight on your hands just to hear the frenzied curses and pleas that fall from his pretty lips, barely able to see past his chin from where his head is thrown back.

“Who said you were only cumming once tonight, Simon?” Your words punctuated with every sharp smack of hips against his ass and inner thighs, the skin stinging red with every brutal slap. With near perfect timing, Simon’s cries pitch up to a decibel you never thought possible from him, watching with nothing less than unconstrained awe as thick streams of white coat his skin all the way up to his sternum, dripping down onto your hands, his cock twitching helplessly as he comes untouched on your strap.

But you don’t relent, not for a second. Your hips don’t falter, fucking him through his climax until he’s shaking from overstimulation, his spent cock weeping pathetically where it rests on his abdomen, cum coated hands leaving his stomach only to play torturously with the dark red head of his dick.

It takes you a moment to realise, so caught up in his pleasure that you don’t notice his chin tilt down, not until you hear it. A sniffle. One glance is all it takes to see that you’ve reduced Simon to tears, wide yearning eyes shine so perfectly in the moonlight, pretty tear tracks running down red blotched cheeks, streaming down his jugular where they pool in indented collarbones. You’ve never wanted to lick something more in your entire life, knowing without doubt that salted tears would melt to saccharine sugar on your tongue, the taste of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

The sight only spurs you on further, thrusts increasing to a near feverish pace, chasing a high that will never come for you, but you don’t care, nothing else matters in this moment more than the man who lays under you, twitching, squirming, and crying, begging for more, sobbing for less, desperate for you. You can’t choose where to look, given an impossible choice of staring at his wrecked face, or the ever-present bulge that raises at every cant of your hips, eventually settling for the latter, eyes near drilling holes into the imprint of your strap from where it’s buried within him.

Pathetic, whimpered babbles drip from Simon’s lips, his eyes unfocused, blurred by tears and blinded by overwhelming pleasure, unable to do anything but lie there and take it, take everything you’re willing to give him with no complaints, just unconditional obedience. And fuck, does it suit him, he wears submission like he’s made for it, crafted so perfectly to give everything that he is over to your trusted hands. It makes you feel like a God.

It only takes a fingertip, dragged from his balls up to his frenulum before he’s pushed over the edge once again, his red, swollen hole spasming around unyielding plastic, sucking your strap in, forcing you to remain still as weak spurts of cum drips down the bloated skin of his abs, joining dried seed from his previous climax, painting the perfect picture of bliss on his skin.

And whilst Simon lies there, chest heaving and eyes painted with pretty stars formed by unshed tears, you can’t help but lean to the side and grab your phone, capturing the moment with shaking hands.

After all, you’ll need this photo for when Simon is away again, to remind yourself that you are the only person on the face of this Earth to ever have earned his submission. To ever reduce him to a mess of his own release and tears.

And as you throw your phone to the side, lowering your chest to lay flush with his, lips meeting in a soft, adoring kiss, you know he’s all you’ll ever need and so, so much more.

#simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw22 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #thanks to the shadowban lifting i can now post this #two weeks late is better than never 🥹#☁︎⋅writing

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groenendaelfic · 2 years ago

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touch starved Wille ficlet

set during the second half of season 1

The two of them are sitting in the park, alone. Simon is still missing payments from August, and his mom is texting him about stopping by the store on the way home.

There is homework, too. The annoying kind, the one which is needlessly repetitive and takes ages to complete, not the challenging kind, the one which Simon actually doesn't mind all that much, as if their teachers' sole goal is to suck all the freedom and joy out of their lives and tie them down with eternal boredom.

But for now he and Wille have a few minutes to themselves, before they have to go back up to the school for class.

They have found a nice secluded corner, Wilhelm's protection officers out of sight and the afternoon sun high above the lake.

Wille, next to him, is fumbling with his sleeves and staring out onto the water.

"You’re the only one who touches me anymore," he says into the quiet, clearly lost in thought.

Their knees are touching, and Wille’s voice is sad, a desperate note in it that hurts Simon in his very soul.

Simon wants to argue, but can’t.

It’s true. Ever since Wille became Crown Prince it seems as if the entire school took a very respectful step back and stopped seeing Wille as anything other than the heir to the throne.

The teachers won’t even call Wille by his name anymore, and most of the other students are the same, either out of respect or because they are afraid of doing anything wrong.

"I mean my parents were never …"—and here Wille breaks off, only to cross his arms in front of him in a self-soothing hug—"but now it’s not even, like, slaps on the back from the rowing team anymore. Even August is suddenly all different, and … I don't like it."

"Wille," Simon says, pulling the other boy close and wondering how he got there, attending one of the fanciest boarding schools in the country with the Crown Prince, someone who stands for everything he hates, and yet all he can think about, all he can see, is how handsome the other boy is, even with the anguish in his eyes, and how much he wants to kiss him and caress him and enfold him in his arms to keep safe forever.

Wille lets himself be drawn into Simon's embrace and immediately buries his face in Simon's neck, arms still wrapped around himself.

"When I came back after … after … the headmistress asked me if there was anything she could do for me, anything at all, and all I could think about was that I really wanted another hug. I don’t think you’re supposed to hug headmistresses after the age of six."

"Wille," Simon repeats, not knowing what to say. There was never a lack of physical affection in his life.

His mother and sister hug him all the time, and he, Ayub and Rosh are always up in each other’s spaces as well.

He never lacked physical attention, not when Micke was at his worst and not ever, quite the opposite, nor does he crave it the way Wille obviously does. Or maybe he just never had to go a day without a hug from his mom and so never noticed.

The protection officers who are now Wille’s constant shadows don’t help either. They make Simon feel weird and uncomfortable, and he can only imagine what it must be like for Wilhelm, who cannot step a single foot outside of his room without them, and won't be able to for the rest of his life, because he's the Crown Prince, and that means he's constantly being watched and protected, but never hugged.

Even if he can’t see them he knows they are always within earshot, and yet he’s supposed to pretend as if they aren’t there, because they are there to do a job, and asking them to turn around will only result in a decisive—and sometimes awkward—no.

Simon knows, it happened before.

He does not tell Wille that he's sorry, that won't help, but he does tighten his hug and pulls him closer, and it only takes a short hesitation from Wille before he lets go of his own embrace and wraps his arms around Simon, clinging to him so Simon can't let go.

He's not going to. He is quite sure he loves the other boy, who has so quickly become an intrinsic part of his life, and he does not want to let go of him, not ever.

He doubts he could if he wanted to.

#groenendael's yr fic snippets #touch starved Wille #yr fic #young royals fic #young royals #wilmon #fic snippet

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supercasey · 4 years ago

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TMA Child Avatars AU

Alright, so ever since I listened to the episode about Agnes’s origins, I keep thinking about an AU where a bunch of the other Entities, after realizing that it’s at least possible to create an avatar from birth, perform their own rituals and make a bunch of the future Archives gang. This AU has a lot of potential for angst, but since TMA is sad enough, I’ll probably mostly focus on the world building and fluffy/funny stuff (‘cus god knows I’m a slut for that shit).

To all my followers, I’m sorry I keep making kid AUs; I got told in like 2015 or so that I sucked at writing kids and it’s Never Left My Mind, so now I always wanna make stupid AUs in order to practice writing kids better (I also have an original story I wanna write soon with a ten year old as the main character, so yeah, I need all the practice I can get).

Anyways, here’s all I’ve got on the AU this far (explanation under the cut; a very long post is up ahead):

Character Backstories

Jonathan “Jon” Sims - Apprentice Archivist of the Eye

Jon is a very complicated story, at least from everyone outside of the Eye’s gaze. It was Elias’s idea to create him, and were it not for Gertrude getting lucky, no one but Elias, Peter Lukas, and Simon Fairchild would have ever known that Jon existed until he was ready to become the next archivist. Gertrude found out by pure chance when she accepted a live statement from one very frightened Delores Sims, who told the archivist about how a strange man had been stalking her ever since she found out she was pregnant. Out of completely nowhere, her husband died a month after she conceived, and even though it looked like an accident, Delores swore that she saw an arm surrounded by fog push him down the stairs. Things only grew worse for her over the next few weeks, as in the midst of her grieving her dead husband, Delores began seeing green, glowing irises out of the corners of her eyes, watching her every move as she lived her life, which was followed by the stalker in question appearing constantly in her dreams, always watching her from afar, an unpleasant and frankly unnerving grin on his face the entire time.

Suspicious, and finding the description of the stalker all too familiar by the end of the statement, Gertrude investigated Delores’s claims on her own time, going so far as to break into Elias’s office in order to dig up more information on whatever he was up to. No matter what her theories may have been, none of them were anything like what she found in his letters to his associates. Somehow, Elias had conspired alongside the Lukas and Fairchild families to find their heirs/avatars together, and Elias was the last person to acquire one of his own. Gertrude was unsure of the details at the time (and she still unfortunately is), but from what she could gather, the child growing in Delores Sims’ body was somehow touched by the Eye because of something Elias had done, and they would be born with the perfect framework to have the powers that an archivist learns over several years of training at birth! With no time to lose, Gertrude got back into contact with Delores, and after much discussion between the two women, she convinced Delores to come to her apartment when she eventually went into labor, and to give Gertrude the baby after they were born so that she could keep them safe from Elias.

The birth was meant to be done in secret, but the second the first contraction occurred, there was a knock on Gertrude’s door, Elias waiting for her on the other side with an unhappy grimace on his face. He came armed with a gun, and threatened to murder Gertrude if she didn’t allow him to claim the child as his own. Aware she still had many rituals to stop in the near future, and that none of her assistants were experienced enough to stop them by themselves, Gertrude reluctantly agreed to let him inside, but on one condition; the child had to be shared between them. Elias was abrasive to the idea of course, but he eventually complied with his archivist’s demands, not wanting to replace her so early on in her career. The sight of her stalker coming into the bedroom to watch her give birth unfortunately sent Delores into a panic attack while she was still very much in labor, making the rest of the birth a rather dangerous thing, but the child survived, leaving his mother terrified and shaking. Gertrude had planned on letting her go on her merry way after the baby was born, but Elias wasn’t taking any chances, and he shot her as soon as he deemed it safe to.

Since then, Gertrude and Elias have had dual custody of Jonathan- the name was Gertrude’s idea, on the grounds that it was a nice, proper name for a young man- trading him back and forth every other week. It’s been hard, especially with the adults he calls his parents wanting to kill each other, but Jon’s oblivious to most of the fighting right now, assuming his folks are just going through a messy divorce.

Martin Blackwood-Lukas - Adoptive Son of Peter Lukas

Peter ended up running very behind in the whole child avatar thing (a first for his family, something Simon reminds him of on a daily basis), and he really struggled with creating a baby avatar that would actually be able to “keep up” with the other young messiahs that were coming to be. Eventually he realized that his family’s usual method would take too long, so out of desperation he went to Elias and Simon for help. It was Simon’s idea that worked; he suggested that since the normal methods weren’t working, and kids usually don’t become lonely until they’re older, that Peter should try his own summoning ritual like the Lightless Flame did with Agnes. Peter was hesitant at first, but he gave in quickly, sacrificing a number of lonely souls to his entity in a well-timed manner, until finally, he found a small, swaddled baby in the midst of the fog; a supposed gift from the Lonely for his loyalty.

Peter was delighted by this discovery, and so were his colleagues, the men relieved that their hard work had actually paid off for once. After naming the little boy Martin- it was Elias’s idea, though he didn’t have much of an exact reason for the name, simply claiming that it “suited” the child- and before long, Peter began raising his newfound son much the same as he was; in almost total isolation, save for a variety of rotating nannies and caregivers. Unfortunately for Peter, this went horribly wrong almost as soon as he got started, as by the time that Martin was six months old he had accidentally forced five different nannies into the fog out of fear of them leaving like the ones before them had. With no other options available, and being able to actually leave the fog if Martin threw anymore fits, Peter was forced to raise his son by hand, which again went wrong, but for very different reasons, as to his shock, he became quite attached to his adopted child.

This evolved into Peter having doubt of the Lonely for the first time in his life, but he refused to acknowledge it for as long as he could. But he was finally forced to when, after Martin turned five years old, the rest of the Lukas family insisted on performing a test on the child to see how well Martin could handle the fog without any guidance. He had been inside the fog before of course, with Peter holding his hand or carrying him through the dense chill, but the family wanted to isolate Martin inside for a full month. This secretly scared Peter like nothing else ever had, but out of fear of what his family might think, he didn’t say anything at the time, simply watching from afar as his son was dragged into the fog and left to fend for himself. The ritual went wrong within the first week, Martin having a full-scale breakdown and nearly hyperventilating to death, and yet the family kept him in there for another week before the intervention.

The results of the test of course disappointed the other members of the Lukas family, who suggested that they simply leave Martin to disappear into the fog and look for a new, more sufficient messiah to serve their god. The news hit Peter incredibly hard, and despite his previous inhibitions and fear, he knew he couldn’t let the Lonely consume his one and only son. So, without telling anyone of what he was up to, he ventured into the fog, rescued Martin, and fled to live with his estranged ex-husband the Magnus Institute. Since then he’s been living with Elias at his house and avoiding his family at all costs, all while young Martin has grown up alongside the other entity kids and has struggled to figure out his role in everything, but at least he has his dad on his side through all of this.

Sasha James - Chosen Daughter of the Mother of Puppets

(Note: I headcanon the Mother of Puppets as a giant spider, so that’s how I’m writing her… sorry if this is inaccurate, but I’m only on MAG 152, y’all. Besides, I think this is cool af.)

Sasha was very much planned, even more so than Agnes was so many years beforehand. The Mother of Puppets had her minions gather hundreds upon hundreds of orphaned infants and bring them to her nest. She swaddled each every one in her webbing and kept them like this for several weeks, allowing them time to adjust to the webbing and adapt. Unfortunately, most of these children weren’t cut out for the Web’s influence, and while a few indeed held their adoptive mother’s mark, almost none of them were marked deep enough to become a fully realized avatar. The unsuccessful batches were subsequently sent off to orphanages across the world and replaced with new babies, this process repeating for years and years, until finally, Sasha was born. There was nothing special about her parents, yet she not only bore The Web’s mark, she seemed to have it embedded into her very soul. This, of course, was met with celebration from the Web, and plans were quickly made as to how to raise her moving forward, as no one wanted Sasha to end up like Agnes did.

Annabelle Cane ended up being the one chosen to home Sasha for the first few years of her childhood, and she was dutiful in her new, rather honorable role, as she not only cared for the child well, but she treated Sasha as her own, though she was careful to be seen more as an older sister than a mother to the girl; that role was, of course, reserved for Sasha’s real mother. When Sasha finally turned five, the Mother of Puppets announced further plans for the young avatar, calling on Annabelle to take Sasha to the Magnus Institute and give her to one of their hidden agents there so that she could learn more about how the Web uses it’s influence over other entities. This worried Annabelle, who wanted to keep the child near her and prove that she was the most loyal of the mother’s children, but she would never disobey a direct order from the being that had given her life such meaning. So, rather reluctantly, Annabelle gave Sasha to another member of the Web, watching from the shadows as this unworthy follower took the blessed daughter into the institute for further training.

This went wrong within only a few months. Gertrude ended up finding out who the Web’s spy in the institute was, as she had suspected that another entity was trying to control her from the shadows, and after disposing of the threat and searching their home for anything useful that she could use against the Web, she found Sasha. The archivist was tempted to kill the supernatural child on sight, but while she can murder her assistants and enemies without much remorse, on the grounds that it’s always for the greater good, killing a child is a very different story. So she took Sasha in, raising the Web’s child as her own alongside the Eye’s own prodigy Jon, all while trying to help Sasha control her slowly budding powers. The Mother of Puppets has been trying to get Sasha back ever since, enraged that the child is so close to her yet just out of reach, but with no luck, though there’s no telling how long that will last.

Timothy & Daniel Stoker - Dancer and Future Ringmaster of the Stranger

Both Tim and Danny are chosen ones of the Stranger, created as soon as their god had gained enough spare power to create them. Tim was born first, being the Stranger’s first attempt at birthing an avatar that might be powerful enough to help lead the Unknowing, but Gertrude interrupted midway through the ritual. By some miracle, Tim survived the ordeal, but he was left “incomplete” to some degree, leaving him simply marked and not fully connected to the Stranger. The entity’s followers ended up keeping him around though, both because Nikola Orsinov was too fascinated by the newborn baby to give him up, and because his parents wanted him to survive, but it was agreed that another attempt would be made, this time with more planning involved. Four years later, Danny was born, and with Gertrude too preoccupied to intervene this time around (and because she didn’t realize they’d try again so soon), the ritual went much better and created a far more suitable vessel for the Stranger’s powers.

After that, Tim and Danny’s parents died, fully succumbing to the Stranger’s transformation and leaving them orphaned. Not that their presence was strictly necessary after the kids were born, as Nikola Orsinov was more than happy to take over in most of the child rearing, genuinely growing quite fond of the two boys, particularly Tim, as despite his lack of supernatural abilities, she found him to be rather endearing, which is probably the closest she can get to genuinely caring about someone. Both brothers were raised more or less the same way, save for Danny being showered with more praise and being trained as a future ringmaster while Tim was mostly ignored and trained to be a dancer. Some followers of the Stranger feared that Tim might harbor resentment towards his little brother and try to kill him someday, but to their surprise, Tim only grew more protective of him over the years, swearing to keep Danny safe as he grew up to fulfill his destiny and help their family mold the world in their image.

Eventually though, when Tim was eleven and Danny was seven, Tim realized what was actually happening behind the scenes, and not wanting his brother to risk being sacrificed for the world’s destruction, he told Danny everything, leading to the young messiah to run away with him to London (they were raised primarily in Russia, but moved with the circus a lot, and were in France at the time that they finally ran away). There, Tim found the infamous Gertrude Robinson, who he knew had the power to stop the Unknowing, as she had once saved him from becoming the Stranger’s avatar, and inadvertently led him to having a little brother. Tim and Danny have since moved in with Michael, and they visit the Magnus Institute whenever they get the chance, as both boys have grown to become friends with the other avatar kids. You’d think that the Stranger’s followers would be furious about all of this- don’t worry, many of their acolytes are- but Nikola has laughed it off entirely and keeps insisting that the boys are just having a “sleepover” or are away at “summer camp” (in fucking January, apparently).

Melanie King - Cadet of the Slaughter

Honestly, the Slaughter wasn’t as into the whole “let’s make an avatar from scratch!” thing that the other entities’ followers were doing, but hey, sometimes child avatars just kinda wind up on your doorstep, ya know? Melanie ended up being found at about four years old, sobbing on her hands and knees outside of a burning hospital and calling for her mommy and daddy to come back to her, but no one answered her cries, and she was left to weep for quite some time before someone found her. The hospital, you see, had been overrun by the Corruption and promptly burned to the ground by the Desolation, neither of which bothered to stick around for some worthless child. Melanie’s parents were both inside when the entities clashed, leaving her orphaned and scared, and while Alfred Grifter, who had been on his way to a show with his bandmates at the time that he found her, had intended on just leaving her be, he saw the overwhelming rage and blood-lust in her crying eyes, and realized in that moment that she was touched by the urge to kill, just like he was.

Melanie was promptly taken in by Alfred Grifter and the band, who honestly had no idea what the hell they were doing. On one hand, Alfred knew that keeping a kid around was unbelievably dangerous for all parties involved, but on the other, he really didn’t want to leave Melanie all by herself, for fear of what she might do if left without any guidance from “people” who knew what she was going through, at least to some degree. That isn’t to say Alfred and his bandmates were all that great at raising her- they mostly just brought her to gigs and let her play on her Gameboy backstage while they started massacres- but they did at least try to give her somewhat of a home. It wasn’t until five years into this that some other Slaughter followers found out about Melanie’s existence, to which they told Alfred to give her to them for proper training. Knowing her life would be horrible with them, Alfred gave his ward a backpack full of everything she ever owned, a kid sized guitar, her Gameboy, and sent her on the run.

Melanie was scared out of her mind at first, having grown to see Alfred and his bandmates as her new family; she had already lost her parents, so why did she have to lose the band, too!? But there were no other options, she had to run, so she did just that, attacking any adult who tried to stop her along the way. She didn’t actually know about the Magnus Institute when she made her way to London, and Alfred didn’t tell her to go there or anything, but she ended up being spotted by Adelard Dekker while she was looking for a place to stay in the area. Seeing that Melanie was an avatar of some kind, Adelard managed to convince her that he was safe, and to let him take her to someone that could help her. He brought Melanie straight to Gertrude Robinson, who agreed to house the child since Adelard couldn’t, though she ended up letting one of her unofficial assistants (*cough* Gerry *cough*) take her to live in his flat so she wouldn’t be as easy for Elias to monitor/get ahold of.

Julia Montauk & Alice “Daisy” Tonner - Children of the Hunt

(Watch as I fuck with timelines so badly that the people who keep track of this shit will order a hit on me) The Hunt found both of their avatars in strikingly similar yet different ways; Julia was first, born from the womb of another entity’s follower, but bound for so much more than anything the Dark could give her. Years after her destined birth, Julia’s mother was viciously murdered by the People’s Church when she was just five years old, her father Robert Montauk going down the path of becoming a fully-fledged Hunter, and in the process he unknowingly marked Julia with his newfound entity, which in turn unlocked an unprecedented potential inside of her, not that it was fully realized until another tragedy struck her. This next tragedy, unfortunately, claimed Julia’s father. Mr. Pitch was mistakenly summoned, and in it’s rage, it destroyed Robert while he was in the midst of a sacrifice. The monster would’ve gotten Julia next, had it not been for the intervention of a nearby Hunter.

Trevor Herbert honestly didn’t mean to get involved, but when he witnessed a little girl screaming as she ran out of a house, a giant mass of darkness chasing after her, and no one willing to so much as call the damn cops, he knew he had to rescue the poor kid. In a flash he ran over, picked Julia up, and ran away with her to safety, managing to get her in his car (which he stole, but that’s not important) and drive as far away from her old home as possible. In the aftermath, Trevor had no idea what to do with Julia, since he had never actually wanted any kids of his own, but… well, he ain’t heartless, and that monster was still out there somewhere, just waiting to sink it’s cursed teeth into this young child’s flesh. Trevor ended up keeping her after that, becoming her adoptive father as he traveled with her around the UK, slowly but surely training her to hunt the same monsters that claimed her beloved parents.

You’d think that would be the end of Trevor Herbert adopting little girls marked by the Hunt, but nope, he just can’t catch a fucking break! He found Daisy about a year later, when Julia was eight and becoming more adjusted to her new lifestyle. Again, Trevor wasn’t really planning on going on any hunts at the time that this happened, he was just traveling through the area, but upon finding a bloodied up, terrified little girl being chased by a boy who looked possessed… well, it wasn’t like Julia wasn’t lonely, and again, Trevor isn’t heartless, and he sure as hell can’t let things go. So yeah, he kidnapped another child touched by the Hunt, even though this one actually had a living parent, and once again he took to traveling the UK with his adoptive daughters, secretly reveling in his new role as a father. Daisy, while scared at first, quickly grew fond of her new family, and even fonder of her new nickname after Trevor patched up her wounds, and noticed a flower-shaped scar on her back, prompting him to start affectionately calling her Daisy.

Yep, things were going pretty good for the family of three, but of course, shit eventually caught up with Trevor, not that he thought he could avoid it forever.

The police eventually caught wind of “Trevor the Tramp” traveling with two little girls who looked an awful lot like the missing thirteen and ten year olds Julia Montauk and Alice Tonner, and in his desperation to keep from getting arrested and having his children taken away, Trevor fled to downtown London in order to lie low for awhile and raise his daughters in relative peace, only ever going out for food runs and the occasional hunt. It was through one of these hunts that he ended up meeting Gerard Keay, the two of them chasing after the same book that had been summoning shadow people to wreck havoc on the city, and after a bit of back and forth banter over the campfire that was once a Leitner, Gerry convinced Trevor to move in with him so that the girls and him would be safer and actually have a home. Although he was hesitant to accept an offer he thought was too good to be true (also, he’s not gonna lie, he thought Gerry was a vampire when they met), Trevor agreed and moved into Gerry’s flat with his daughters, and has since helped Gertrude and her assistants with monster hunts.

Oliver Banks & Georgie Barker - Fetchlings of The End

Georgie and Oliver are an odd story, with the latter of the two having gained his powers as a mere toddler, being plagued with horrible, ghastly dreams that would keep him awake through the night, leaving him absolutely haggard by morning. His father tried everything to help Oliver through this torment- counseling, medication, bedtime rituals- but nothing worked, and before long, Oliver’s beloved father was claimed by his nightmares, dying of a heart attack that he couldn’t stop. Alone and misunderstood by everyone who tried to raise him, Oliver ran away countless times, coming across Georgie during his last attempt. He found the little girl to also be on the run for similar reasons, but unlike him, she wasn’t the least bit afraid. She wasn’t exactly happy, but she wasn’t a bawling mess like he was. Together, the two of them struggled to survive, relying on kindhearted drifters for support while they avoided the police until, at long last, something took pity on them, that something being a large, fat tabby cat.

As it were, the tabby cat- dubbed The Admiral by Georgie- wasn’t a normal cat in the slightest, and although it couldn’t speak, it’s intentions were clear; it was there to help these lost, orphaned children. Oliver was skeptical of course, but Georgie wasn’t about to look a gift cat in the mouth, so Oliver reluctantly followed the cat and his little sister to an apartment building, and from there, into an unoccupied flat. Since then, the two children have been living with Admiral in that very same flat, the cat providing them with a fully stocked fridge, warm beds, and running water. It’s still unclear what the Admiral is, but he seems kind enough, and is obviously quite protective of his newfound children, accompanying them on their outings and occasional visits to the institute.

Michael Crew - Prodigy of The Vast

Out of all avatars to be raising children for their entity, Simon Fairchild absolutely has had the most fun with it all, treating it almost like a fun game or pastime. He was the first (save for the Lightless Flame having Agnes, of course) to “create” an avatar child, and from minute one he was overjoyed with the results. A few years after news broke of Agnes’ origins, and the followers of other entities were all arguing over whether or not to follow suit, Simon didn’t bother waiting for anyone’s input or permission, simply throwing himself into the deep end and praying he could make his plan work. Seemingly overnight, Simon somehow acquired a baby later identified as the missing and presumably dead infant Michael Crew, who he referred to as Mike when he finally introduced him to his friends/associates. He still hasn’t told anyone how he even got the kid- not even Peter or Elias know what he did!- but by some means, he illegally adopted Mike and took to raising the kid like a duck takes to water; a bit unsure at first, but growing to love it fast!

When Mike was introduced to the rest of the entity followers community, many were shocked (excuse the pun) to see that the infant had a long, frightening Lichtenberg scar running down his right arm, his back, and his right leg, the scars glowing a bright blue whenever he took to the sky or, as Elias learned the hard way after accidentally annoying Mike by bouncing him on his knee for too long when he was a toddler, used his powers to electrocute people. Even with his child being such an oddity, even among other avatars, Simon took it all in stride, proudly bragging about Mike to anyone who would listen, most of these people being victims of the Vast, who were hardly able to hear Simon’s excited rambling over their own shrieks of terror. He usually also insisted on bringing Mike with him, even when he was a mere infant, though he at least kept the kid in a tight harness on his chest. In all honesty, Simon being such an excited parent was what kick-started a lot of other avatars to start acquiring their own child avatars, as he made it look so easy!

However, things weren’t always perfect, especially on Mike’s end as he grew older. Being the eldest and more or less “firstborn” of this new generation of entity-made avatars put a lot of pressure on him at a very early age, pressure which Simon tried to help him deal with by not acknowledging it, which unfortunately didn’t help in the slightest. Thankfully Mike started to feel less unsure of his place in the world as he reached his teen years, seeing as the younger kids were now getting all the attention and giving him a chance to breathe. Even now that he’s an angsty teenager, Mike loves Simon like a father, referring to him as such without hesitation. This, of course, delights Simon to no end, and makes all his peers low-key high-key jealous of the awesome relationship he has with his son.

Helen Richardson - Droplet of The Spiral

Not much was known about Helen when Michael first found her. After being sent into The Spiral by Gertrude on what he thought to be a suicide mission for the greater good, Michael was half certain he wouldn’t find anything but his end in that place. Instead he found a small, strange toddler where he was meant to find… well, he didn’t actually know what, but certainly not a baby, that’s for sure! With no one watching baby Helen, and therefore making him believe that she had been abandoned by The Spiral’s other creations, Michael had no reservations against scooping her up and taking her back to the physical world with him, where he was met be a very confused Gertrude Robinson. Michael wasn’t exactly keen on killing/abandoning a baby after he got out, so he and Gertrude brought her back to London with them in hopes of finding out more about the odd child. Along the way, it became clear that the baby was gifted with The Spiral’s powers, the giggly toddler continually screwing with reality, though she wasn’t aware she was doing so.

Back home in London, it took another three weeks of research, but Gerry eventually found out more about the child Michael had more or less adopted. Her name was originally Helen Richardson, and her father, a rookie paranormal investigator who had once been marked by The Spiral, was obsessed with the distortion, and was willing to do anything to become more than simply marked by it. He ended up finding a map similar to Gertrude’s, and a few years before she even knew it was possible, the father went into The Spiral and used his own daughter as a vessel for the entity, hoping she would be a good enough sacrifice to earn it’s favor. This of course ended in disaster, with the father “disappearing” while Helen absorbed The Spiral’s power, but seeing as she was so young, it couldn’t manifest properly, even after two and a half years spent trying to “raise her” within the deepest depths of it’s domain.

With research still being done on what to do about the child, and whether or not the team can remove her powers without killing or permanently injuring her in the process, Michael has agreed to take Helen in, secretly delighted to be raising a baby. With the Stoker Brothers already under his roof, Michael has his hands rather full with them and baby Helen, but the boys take her antics in stride, having learned quickly how to deal with the apartment they live in occasionally “growing” some new doors and changing color at random. Luckily for Michael, he has back-up in the forms of Gerry and Gertrude, who occasionally take Helen and the brothers off his hands for him so he can take a break/fix whatever Helen may’ve accidentally broken with her powers.

Character Roles in this AU

(Feel free to add your own OCs/other characters if you wanna do stuff with this AU, I’m just naming characters I know about/remember!)

Avatar Kids: Jonathan “Jon” Sims, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Timothy “Tim” Stoker, Daniel “Danny” Stoker, Melanie King, Julia Montauk, Alice “Daisy” Tonner, Oliver Banks, Georgie Barker, Michael “Mike” Crew, and Helen Richardson.

Avatar Kids Semi-Reluctant PTA Group: Elias Bouchard, Gertrude Robinson, Peter Lukas, Gerard “Gerry” Keay, Trevor Herbert, Michael Shelley, and Simon Fairchild.

PTA Allies: Basira Hussain (Daisy’s best friend and the local Normal Child™), Agnes Montague (Everyone’s emergency number for avatar child advice), Alfred Grifter (Just shows up to hang out with Melanie and cause problems on purpose), The Admiral (Guardian to Georgie and Oliver and occasionally the other kids; best babysitter), Adelard Dekker (Comes around the archives sometimes and always brings presents for the kids + assistants), and Rosie (Elias’s assistant and the only sane and sensible adult in this Chili’s tonight).

PTA Enemies: Nikola Orsinov (Tim and Danny’s “Mom” who keeps kidnapping Jon on accident), Annabelle Cane (Hates the institute and wants Sasha back), Jude Perry (Hates the kids but loves Agnes; worst babysitter), and Jared Hopworth (Nightmare flesh man that needs to fuck off; mediocre but funny babysitter).

Character Descriptions

(Feel free to tweak the physical designs if you want; I’m just going off my own headcanons, and seeing as my drawing skills are pretty shit, it’s not like I’m gonna be doing much art for this outside of writing. So yeah, go off with your own headcanons if you want to!)

Full Name: Jonathan “Jon” Sims-Bouchard-Robinson Age: 7 Birthday: October 26th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Eye, Marked by Literally Fucking Everything Guardian(s): Alexander Sims (Biological Father - Deceased), Delores Sims (Biological Mother - Deceased), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current), Elias Bouchard (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin, worryingly short for his age, dark brown eyes that glow bright green when he’s using his powers, long black hair with a few green and grey hairbands tied in, constantly “borrows” Martin’s sweaters to wear, occasionally wears skirts but most of the time he wears slacks, constantly looks sleep deprived, has a very intense stare, and occasionally he can be seen carrying his stuffed moth around. Personality: You’d think he’d be a quiet kid, considering his entity, but no, he has Questions and he wants them Answered, goddammit! He wasn’t raised around many kids his age, being home-schooled by Elias and Gertrude all his life, so he struggles to connect with the other avatar kids. Is only close to the S1 gang at first, but he gets closer to everyone else over time. Idolizes Gerry and thinks he’s the coolest guy ever. Appears rather cowardly at a glance, but he’s braver than most people give him credit for. Would die for his friends/family.

Full Name: Martin Blackwood-Lukas Age: 8 Birthday: February 29th (Pisces) ((This one’s for you, Dane)) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Lonely, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): William Blackwood (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Edna Blackwood (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Peter Lukas (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Polish heritage and pale as a fucking ghost, average height for his age but growing fast, pretty chubby, covered head to toe in little red freckles, short and curly red hair, bright brown eyes, wears big round glasses, wears sweaters and comfy trousers almost 24/7, carries a backpack full of “emergency tools” wherever he goes, usually has a cup of tea in-hand, and sometimes wears a small sailor hat that Peter gave him. Personality: Incredibly reserved, much like Mike, but he’s been trying to come out of his shell more. He’s “Best Friends Forever” with Jon, and gets along well with Tim and Sasha as well. Fears Melanie and Daisy. He likes hanging out with the other kids, but he often gets talked over, leading him to withdraw for awhile if it’s bad enough. Adores his dad, and is so much braver than anyone knows. Incredibly snarky when he feels like it.

Full Name: Sasha James Age: 10 Birthday: November 18th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Web, Marked by The Eye, Marked by The Stranger Guardian(s): Francis James (Biological Father - Deceased), Patrick James (Biological Father - Deceased), Annabelle Cane (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Caucasian with dark brown skin, slightly taller than average for her age, long dark brown hair, wears big round glasses, sometimes wears a little make-up if she can get away with it, wears a lot of turtleneck sweaters and long skirts, always has at least one cobweb on her, carries around a stuffed spider that she brings with her to the archives every day, and she wears a headband most of the time. Personality: Easily the most level-headed of the kids, as she’s been raised around paranormal stuff the longest and is rarely bothered by the stranger things that happen. She hates Artifact Storage with a passion, but other than that, she loves exploring the institute and occasionally stealing Gertrude’s laptop to mess with it. Very tech savvy, and even more curious! Incredibly smart, to the point that she can even outclass Gertrude and Gerry with her quick-wittiness.

Full Name: Timothy “Tim” Stoker Age: 12 Birthday: August 3rd (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Marked by The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, slightly on the taller side for his age, messy/spiky black hair that looks impossible to comb, dark brown eyes, is described as a “handsome young man” by strangers, has a very charming smile, wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts and shorts (even during the winter), needs to wear glasses but he refuses to wear them in the archives out of self-consciousness. Personality: Probably one of the brightest personalities of the avatar kids, Tim comes off as very cool and funny, but underneath all of that he’s rather paranoid, afraid that the circus will come and force his baby brother into becoming a monster. Protective of his little bro and the archive kids, but he still teases them to no end. Smarter than he looks, and isn’t afraid to break his cool guy persona to tell someone off.

Full Name: Daniel “Danny” Stoker Age: 8 Birthday: August 1st (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, about a head shorter than Tim, somewhat neat black hair that sticks up in odd places, eyes are impressively dark and glassy looking, slight gap between his front teeth, is described as being a “handsome young man” by strangers, wears a lot of tank tops and shorts as well as the occasional hoodie if it’s cold, and loves running around barefoot. Personality: A lot of people describe Danny as being a “smaller and cuter Tim”, but that’s just not true. Danny is a lot like his older brother in many ways, but he has a much more refined taste for adventure, constantly getting himself into trouble with Jon on the grounds of “exploring” or what have you. He idolizes his big bro to the moon and back, and loves hanging out with him alongside the other kids. More of a follower than a leader, but he doesn’t mind. Secretly fears the day that the circus will come back to make him into their future ringmaster.

Full Name: Melanie King Age: 9 Birthday: June 7th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Slaughter, Marked by The Corruption, Marked by The Desolation, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Boris King (Biological Father - Deceased), Carrie King (Biological Mother - Deceased), Alfred Grifter (Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard Keay (Guardian - Current) Appearance: Irish heritage but not terribly pale, rather short for her age, incredibly thin from malnutrition, short brown hair with the ends dyed bright blue, bright brown eyes, brings her leather jacket and her guitar with her everywhere she goes, wears a lot of pink/blue skirts and band t-shirts, wears black leather boots, has a lot of bandages on her knees and knuckles, and always has a camera ready to record things. Personality: Melanie is probably the most disconnected of the avatar kids (save for Helen), seeing as she only just recently joined the group, but already she’s beginning to befriend Sasha and Basira. She’s very protective of the other girls, and she keeps challenging the boys to fight her (only Danny ever agrees; he always loses). Secretly idolizes Julia and Daisy, but will never admit it. She sees Gerry as her big bro and Alfred Grifter as her adoptive dad; she misses Alfred more than she let’s on. Would stab as a warning.

Full Name: Julia Montauk Age: 13 Birthday: April 19th (Aries) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunt, Marked by The Dark, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Robert Montauk (Biological Father - Deceased), Linette Montauk (Biological Mother - Deceased), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Indigenous heritage with dark tan skin, tall for her age, skinny enough to look malnourished, close-cropped red hair that gets her mistaken for a boy a lot, metal grey eyes, a scar runs diagonally across her right eye, often wears medium length skirts and oversized t-shirts, always wears athletic shoes, has a lot of scrapes and bandages on her knees most of the time, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Before the deaths of both of her parents, Julia was considered rather normal for her age, being interested in horses, dolls, and dress-up games. After her mother died, she became more tomboyish, which only became more extreme after her father’s death. Since being taken in by Trevor, Julia’s been trying to act more like an adult in an attempt to seem less vulnerable, to varying degrees of success. She adores Trevor to the moon and back, and sees Daisy as her little sister. A bit standoffish around other children, but she’s got a good heart.

Full Name: Alice “Daisy” Tonner Age: 10 Birthday: March 15th (Pisces) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunter, Marked by The Slaughter, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Greyson Tonner (Biological Father - Deceased), Antoinette Tonner (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Welsh heritage with cream colored skin and a light tan, average height for her age, short and shaggy blond hair, has a number of tiny scars all over her face and hands, has a huge scar on her back that Trevor has told her looks like a daisy, striking green eyes, wears a lot of sleeveless shirts and shorts, refuses to wear dresses or skirts, prefers to be barefoot, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Is already rather hot-headed at her age, especially after her encounter with Calvin while he was being possessed by a spirit of the Slaughter. Even so, she’s protective of her newfound family of Trevor and Julia, and while she misses her mother, she believes it’s best if she stays where she is. She loves playing outside whenever she can, and will spend hours chasing after squirrels and rabbits if left alone for too long. A bit argumentative, but she gets along really well with Julia and Basira.

Full Name: Oliver Banks Age: 10 Birthday: June 14th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): June Banks (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Isaac Banks (Biological Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark skin, has an array of pitch black freckles on his face, short and neat black hair that reaches just below his ears, ghastly grey eyes that look almost clear and turn black when he’s using his powers; used to be dark brown, worryingly thin from years of malnutrition, wears a lot of baggy and long-sleeved shirts, wears sweatpants, has boots on everywhere he goes, and he’s almost always shivering. Personality: The more distrustful of the “End Siblings”, the only person Oliver even sort of likes is Jon, and even then he’s still scared of him. Constantly fidgeting and yawning from both his paranoia and fatigue. Is protective of Georgie, but more out of obligation than friendship. Prefers to be alone, and rarely visits the archives. He knows something bad is coming, but he’s too scared to do much about it. In the end, he knows he’ll do the right thing, but for now he’s hiding until the bombs finally fall.

Full Name: Georgie Barker Age: 7 Birthday: December 9th (Sagittarius) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): Georgie Grounding Sr. (Biological Mother - Deceased), Sarah Grounding (Biological Mother - Deceased), Jason Barker (Adoptive Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Indian with dark brown skin, fairly chubby, has an array of light brown freckles all over her arms, back, and face, has long and curly black hair done up in poofy buns using colorful hair bands, paints her nails all the time with different colors every week, cutest little smile you ever did see, wears a lot of ghost-related clothing (mainly t-shirts and jeans), and she brings her ghost backpack with her everywhere she goes (it has her stuffed leopard inside). Personality: Despite being an avatar of the End, Georgie has a very upbeat personality, having no time for her adoptive brother’s endless worrying and fearfulness. In fact, all her fear has been gone since she was little, so she’s never scared to explore something new and parade into danger! She’s very close friends with Jon (even if he’s distant sometimes) and best friends with Melanie, though she gets along with most everyone else as well. She may be a chipper person, but look out, she’s carrying more baggage than she let’s on. Loves The Admiral more than life.

Full Name: Michael “Mike” Crew Age: 14 Birthday: May 13th (Taurus) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Vast Guardian(s): Ramsey Crew (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Whitney Crew (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Simon Fairchild (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Caucasian and pale as a ghost, shaggy white hair that’s almost always wind-swept, strikingly pale blue eyes, smells of ozone and burnt hair, incredibly short for his age, very bony and thin, tends to wear a lot of oversized hoodies on the grounds that they make flying more fun, clothes are almost always pristine and clean, his back, right arm, and right leg are covered in a Lichtenberg scar that glows bright blue when he’s using his powers, permanent bags under his eyes. Personality: A very, very quiet kid, at least around strangers. He’s much bubblier around Simon, but otherwise he’s viewed as an “old soul” by most adults. He does have a sense of humor though, taking a bit too much pleasure out of sending people soaring into the air against their will, especially if they insulted or annoyed him beforehand. Secretly a bit protective of the other avatar kids, and has been known to take them flying if they promise not to let go of him when they do so. Nice kid, but don’t make fun of his height or he might just electrocute you out of spite.

Full Name: Helen Richardson Age: 3 Birthday: February 23rd (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Spiral Guardian(s): Tiara Richardson (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Dexter Richardson (Biological Father - Deceased), Michael Shelley (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin (has the beginning patches of vitiligo on her face and hands), fairly chubby but Michael swears it’s just baby fat, has bright purple eyes with swirling yellow irises, has short but frizzy black hair that cannot be tamed, is often dressed in very colorful onesies and footie pajamas alongside the rare dress, and occasionally she’ll have a child leash vest on (though it often disappears because of The Spiral). Personality: She honestly doesn’t have much of a personality yet, being a toddler and all, but she’s a very giggly child, and loves nothing more than making Michael “be silly” with the use of her powers. Speaking of which, she has very little control of her abilities, and although she’s too young to understand their impact on the world, she still feels bad when she accidentally goes too far and gets Michael hurt. She adores Michael and Jon, and loves it when Michael brings her to the institute with him. Very playful and mischievous.

And that’s all I’ve got for now! I wanna write some fics for this at some point (particularly I wanna write a fic that has all of the kids’ origin stories in better/more detail), but for now anyone is free to fuck around with this AU, so long as you’re not doing too much shipping between the kids (hints at ships are fine, but they’re still kids, y’all) and ESPECIALLY not any shipping of the kids with the adults/guardians. Feel free to PM me or scream about this AU in the notes/tags; I’d love to hear people’s thoughts!

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angelsfalling16 · 4 years ago

Text

The Way You Wear That Dress

Inspired by the song Dress by Charlotte Sands

Part of the 20 First Kisses Series

Summary: It's the beginning of eighth year, and Simon can't find Baz at the Welcome Back Picnic, so he goes in search of him. What he finds is unexpected and makes him rethink everything he has ever felt for Baz.

Word Count: 2150

If you want to know what I imagined Baz’s outfit looking like, here are the links to the dress and the boots! (I love the idea of Baz in these boots and have used them in a couple of fics now.)

Read it on ao3

***

Simon

It’s the beginning of eighth year, and I’m pretty sure Baz is already up to something. He isn’t at the Welcome Back picnic with everyone else, so I decide to go in search of him and stop whatever scheme he’s about to put into motion.

I start with our room, wondering if maybe he decided to go back up there, but the room looks the same as it always is at the beginning of term. My side is devoid of any personal items since I didn’t have anything I felt like bringing back from the care homes (not that I really had anything there). Baz’s side is immaculate, all of his things neatly put away in their respective places, filled but not cluttered.

I move over to the window to look out at the school. It seems empty right now with everyone else out at the picnic. My eyes skate over the courtyard where, not long ago, the first years’ fates were sealed by the Crucible. I only hope none of them were given as evil a roommate I was.

My gaze continues over the grounds for anyone who isn’t out on the lawn, and after a minute of searching I catch movement on the ramparts.

It could be anyone, but I know it’s him.

I turn away from the window and head back down the stairs and away from Mummers House. I quickly but quietly make my way to where Baz is, not wanting to scare him off before I can figure out what he’s up to but also wanting to get to him before he disappears again.

I come to a stop several feet away from where he stands on the ramparts. It isn’t what he’s doing that causes me to freeze, though. It’s what he’s wearing.

At first, I wonder if he has decided to don the Watford-issued cape for his final year, but then I realize that the swishing of cloth around him isn’t a cape. It’s a dress.

The dark green material falls to just above his knee in the front, giving just a glimpse of his thighs, but in the back, it nearly grazes the ground. At the top, around Baz’s shoulders and chest and around to his back, the material is sheer with interwoven lace, allowing his pale, grey skin to show through. He wears the dress like it’s nothing, like it was made specifically for him. (Knowing Baz, it probably was).

My eyes follow the line of his dress down to his things and knees, but where I expect to see the rest of his legs – his muscular football calves – I’m met with the sight of knee-high boots that are laced up the back and have a heel that adds at least two inches to two inches Baz already has over me.

I can’t seem to stop staring at his outfit, but I finally manage to force my eyes back up, and that’s when I notice Baz’s hair.

For the first time since I’ve met him, Baz is wearing his hair down with no products slicking it back away from his face. Instead, it’s being pushed back by a thin headband, silver like his eyes, that still allows his hair to fall in natural waves around his face.

Suddenly, my mouth is dry and my throat feels tight. I try to form words in my head, but my mind is blank. All I can think is, legs. And that’s when I know that I’m fucked.

How is it that Baz looks so good in a dress? He should look ridiculous. I should want to ridicule him for it. Instead, all I can do is stare and hope that he doesn’t turn and find me staring at him.

For a full minute, my eyes slowly drag up and down his body, taking it all in, before I force myself to look away, not wanting to get caught staring at him. Inevitably, though, my eyes are drawn back to him.

It’s hard to believe that it’s really him. I just can’t reconcile this version of Baz with the version I’ve known for seven years. He looks so different, but he also looks very much like himself. Possibly even more like himself than he ever has. (If that makes sense.)

I wonder what happened to him this summer. It’s like there was a shift somewhere within him that made him act and dress differently. I just don’t know what it is.

He is dressed so femininely, but he still holds this masculinity about him, and the whole thing is driving me crazy. He pulls it off so effortlessly.

He’s dripping with confidence as he leans his arms on the ramparts, a lit cigarette hanging between his fingers.

I know the smart thing to do would be to turn away and leave him be, but doing what’s smart has never really been my strong suit.

I take a few steps towards him even though I haven’t consciously made the decision to do so. I feel drawn to him like a string is pulling me towards him, and as I draw nearer, I notice a glossiness to his lips, as if he’s spread lip gloss or something over them.

I want to hit him. Why does he always look so good? It’s annoying.

My eyes fall back to the dress he’s wearing, and I can only imagine what other people might think if they saw him like this. For starters, he’s out of uniform, and also, he looks bloody well perfect, like nothing he wears will ever make him look bad.

I briefly consider going to find the mage and telling him what Baz is wearing, but breaking dress code isn’t enough to get him kicked out of school. Plus, I’m not sure I want to share this side of Baz with anyone else.

I’m not sure why but it probably has a lot to do with the fact that Baz has obviously chosen a place away from everyone else, maybe so they won’t see him like this and judge him for it. But it could be something else holding me back. Something like this desperate need I’m feeling to put my hands on him.

I want to push him up against the wall and…and…. That’s where my thoughts cut off because usually when I push Baz against the wall, I want to punch him, but today, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to fight him. I want to…

I shake my head. I can’t finish that thought, can’t think about what it means.

And yet…

An image pops into my head of my hands on his hips, rubbing against the luxurious material of the dress he’s wearing. Of my hands in his hair, tangling in it. Of his breath on my cheek. Of the feeling of his glossed lips on mine. Of the moment he starts to kiss me back and--.

And I shake my head again.

I won’t lie and say that I don’t want any of that, but I can’t be foolish enough to allow myself to hope for it. Nothing has changed. Baz still hates me, and he’d laugh in my face if he found out that I want to kiss him.

Because I do. Want to kiss him, that is. And it’s not just because of the dress. I think that was just the thing that pushed me to finally admit how I feel. How I’ve felt for a long time.

But Baz will never feel the same way about me.

I should go. I can’t let him catch me practically drooling at the sight of him in that dress.

I turn away from him, but I turn too quickly and trip on my own feet, cursing loudly as I try to catch myself.

“Simon?” Baz says behind me.

“Uh…” I say stupidly, picking myself up off the ground and slowly turning to face him. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing here?”

“You, uh, you w-weren’t at the picnic. I came looking for y-you,” I stutter out as my face flushes red.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” he says, and his voice sounds strangled.

He drops the cigarette to ground and grounds it out with the toe of a boot that probably costs more than everything I have ever owned. That sight shouldn’t make me even more attracted to him, but it does.

He turns one of his usual sneers on me and snaps something snarky at me, probably the beginning of chewing me out for following him, but I barely hear a word he says because I’m so mesmerized by the way he looks. Also, the sound of his voice is somewhat soothing, even with the biting words that no doubt spill from his glossy lips. I missed hearing it while we were away for the summer.

He’s looking at me expectantly now, like he’s waiting for me to answer a question I didn’t hear, and I feel myself blush even deeper.

What the hell is wrong with me? This is Baz. He’s just wearing a dress. I shouldn’t be acting this weird around him.

That’s when I see his nails, colored all black, a glossy sheen to them, and that’s the last straw.

I can’t possibly think straight anymore, so I push all thoughts from my mind and move to close the distance between us. Careful not to mess up the dress, I shove him up against the wall but stop just before our lips meet.

The heels of his boots cause him to tower over me even more than usual, but I’m not bothered by it. I actually kind of love it.

His mouth is parted as if I stopped him mid-word, and the tips of his ears are turning pink. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, though. I’ve never been very good at reading people, especially not when it’s Baz.

“If you’re going to punch me, get it over with already, Snow,” he sneers.

“You called me Simon before,” I say.

“No, I didn’t.”

I shrug. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is, “I don’t want to punch you. Far from it actually.”

He hasn’t pushed me away yet, and my confidence starts to build. Maybe Baz would be more receptive to this than I originally thought.

I keep one hand on his hip to keep him pinned to the wall and move the other one up to cup the side of his face.

“Is this okay?” I whisper, hesitantly. He nods, so I move my hand up higher, into his hair. My hand slides over the headband and combs through his hair. “What about this?” I ask, my voice breathy and barely audibly.

He nods again.

My eyes drop down to his mouth, and I want to try one more thing, but I don’t want to push my luck. I don’t want to risk trying too much and losing it all.

“Just do it,” Baz whispers as though he read my mind.

I cock my head at him in a question, uncertain whether he actually means what I think he does. Then he says “kiss me” so I quietly I almost don’t hear him. But I do hear him, and it only takes me a beat to lean forward and press my lips firmly to his.

The kiss is everything I imagined and more. His lips taste like cherry cola, and I feel drunk on the taste of him. Like I’ve lost all sense. (And maybe I have since I’m kissing Baz of all people.)

It only takes a moment for Baz to begin kissing me back, his arms coming up to wrap around me and pull me closer. I can feel the dress move along his body as he moves under my hand, and I feel lucky that I get to experience this. It’s a shame that he’ll only be wearing the uniform after this.

I wonder if he would even want to wear this dress in front of other people if he could.

I like the way he looks in it, but I obviously wasn’t meant to see him like this. Does he like wearing the dress? Is he afraid of what other people might think? Has he worn it before?

I have a million questions, but now is not the time to ask. If Baz wants to talk to me about his choice to wear the dress, I’ll be there to listen. But I won’t pressure him into talking about it.

So, for now, I’m going to enjoy it while I can.

I’m going to enjoy this while I can. Having Baz in my hands and not fighting with him. This is so much better than fighting, I think, and I continue to kiss him, thinking about how this may be the best year at Watford yet.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow trilogy #rainbow rowell #my writing #the way you wear that dress #20fk

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