#Rapid Logistics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vividxpages · 8 days

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｡° ✮୨ৎ "lay it all on me"୨ৎ✮° ｡

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 2100

summary: With the Queen and your betrothed Jacaerys’ delayed arrival, you are left in charge of the day’s council meeting. When one of the lords starts to speak of a possible bedding ceremony for your upcoming wedding, your thoughts begin to spiral badly…

warnings: the lords in Rhaenyra’s council being perverts and dicks, talks of misogynistic traditions and predatory behavior of men, sexism and misogyny, panic attacks, Jacaerys being a protective betrothed, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, crying, hopeful ending

a/n: I cooked this up so quickly, but I was very inspired yesterday - thank you so much to the anon who sparked a conversation about bedding ceremonies in my asks and with it, my inspiration for this idea! <3 this is for you :*

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

When the messenger arrived at the council room and announced the delayed arrival of the Queen and her son, you had been optimistic for a moment.

Jacaerys and you, a team ever since your shared childhood and since recently betrothed with the blessings of his mother and family, had led council meetings like this together before and you were no stranger to the strategies and logistics of the war and Rhaenyra’s efforts in it. You just had not done it by yourself before.

You nodded in thanks to the messenger and turned back to the assembly of Rhaenyra’s lords around the table with a polite smile. It was only a matter of time until her and Jace would make their return from the dragon’s caves and until then, you’d do your best to begin today’s conversation.

“Well then, my lords.” You nodded to yourself and took a deep breath, looking into the round with openness. “I believe we’ll continue where we’ve left off yesterday? Is there any news yet of Daemon’s stay at Harrenhal? We could-“

“There is another matter of importance we thought we could discuss with you, my princess.” One of the lords interrupted you, a cool smile on his face as you leaned back in your seat. You cocked an eyebrow at him to continue despite your sentence being left unfinished. “Since the wedding with the prince Jacaerys will occur in the upcoming months, it would be wise to discuss the bedding ceremony sooner rather than later.”

Something in you went very, very still.

You blinked at him before you looked into the other men’s faces. They seemed to be in agreement of this rapid topic change. “The…bedding ceremony?”

“Yes, it is of grand importance to ensure the consummation of marriage between two newly-weds.” He explained to you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his old mouth. “It’s an old tradition and the lords and I believe it is best to follow it with the young and lovely union of the prince and you.”

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, your hands suddenly clammy with unsureness. “I have not talked to Jace about such a thing. The Queen hasn’t spoken to me about it either. That’s…-What if me and Jacaerys are against it?”

A few of them chuckled as if you had made a good jest.

“My princess, is it not really a matter of choice, if you understand.” One of them explained to you before he suddenly turned away from you and addressed the others: “The wedding will be held here at Dragonstone as we know and I thought of a crowd of perhaps a dozen, mostly members of the family and this council, of course. After the celebrations, the prince will lead his bride away in the company of the Queen’s loyal and trusted advisors and then, the marriage will be consummated in a room large enough for the ceremony.”

You opened your mouth to object, but found your voice had simply vanished.

“Will there be sheets as proof in the morning?”

“I would actively support it.”

“There are clothes here at Dragonstone suited for such a ceremony, I am sure we will have them before the wedding takes place.”

“A purity test accomplished by a maester might be sufficient beforehand as well-“

You felt yourself drifting away from the conversation, one that circled around you and yet did not include you at all. Staring at the table in front of you, you felt your breath quicken as a distant howl swept through your mind, drowning out their voices as they went on and on.

In your mind, you saw yourself being led into a fully lit room. The dress you wore was thin and barely hiding your body, your arms protectively crossed in front of yourself as you shivered. The bed chamber was crowded all the way back to the tapestry of the walls with men regarding you coolly. Their hunger for the curves barely hidden underneath your dress was evident in their eyes, yet you had to walk on until you reached the middle of the room. Jacaerys was waiting, his own expression blank and without any emotion for you as he took your hand and led you to bed. There were a thousand eyes on you and you felt numb, your body screaming in protest, your mind begging you to shout at them to leave as Jace mechanically began to kiss your neck-

The wide doors of the hall opened and the men seated around you abruptly stood, their wrinkly hands brushing over their attires. The Queen was here.

You remained in your seat, your mind having drawn itself back to a hidden part in yourself, blankly staring at the fidgeting hands in your lap. When you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, the touch so familiar it could’ve been your own, you closed your eyes for just a moment. Jacaerys had come with her.

“What is going on?” Rhaenyra demanded to know, walking around the big table as she took in your uncharacteristic quiet state.

When your betrothed raised your hand to his lips in greeting, you looked up and bit your lip at Jace’s worried expression. The taste of iron coated your lips and only now you realized you had bitten your lip so badly, it had started to bleed. The pain was almost a relief.

“Are you alright?” Jace murmured, his hand delicately cupping your cheek and making you shudder. Your eyes were glassy, your cheeks red from shame and suddenly, a strong urge to cry shot through you, so intense you barely could fight it. “What is it, my love?”

You shook your head, avoiding his searching gaze.

The shame burned hotly through you and you wanted to shrink into your seat until you could escape these old devils. One of them, who had started this whole discussion about the ceremony in the first place, cleared his throat. “Your Grace, we were discussing possible arrangements for the wedding of the prince and his betrothed. There have been no mentions of the traditional bedding ceremony yet and the lords and myself were worried that-“

Rhaenyra frowned with a disgusted curl of her lips. “A bedding ceremony? There hasn’t been a tradition like this in my generation. Why would we burden the next with such an old piece of the past?”

You could sense Jace tensing beside you, his face dark as he stared at the lord. Would he look at you like this too, when the happiest day of your life would end with having to sleep with each other in front of dozens? Your chest hurt as you struggled to breathe normally.

“The princess has expressed similar concerns, but there are ways…There could be a thin veil draped over the sides of the bed.” Another suggested generously and you felt your stomach turn itself over. “Of course, it cannot shield the pair fully from the observer’s eyes. They have to be in sight, so it can be assured that she’s-“

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Jace cut him off, close to snarling as he flexed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He remained by your side, his stance protective of you and intimidating. “Neither my mother or myself have been consulted about this before and the fact that you’ve preyed on an opportunity to bring it up in front of the princess is close to treason. And yet you’ve dared to speak of such inappropriate matters in front of my betrothed, your future Queen? I could have you hanged by the cliffs of Dragonstone for such perverted behavior.”

“My prince, with all respect, it simply is tradition. It has to be guaranteed that on the night of her wedding, the bride is a maiden-“

The sound of your chair screeching over the floor broke through the room as you stood up. The sound of your own breath was too loud in your eyes, the lump in your throat only growing by the second. “If you would excuse me, Your Grace, I’m not feeling well.”

Jacaerys stood with you, but as he reached for your hand, you had already slipped away and quickly made your escape towards the wide doors, trying to breathe against the numbing panic in your lungs.

You blindly walked down the long corridor, ignoring the questioning looks of the guards standing on the sides. Would they be there as well, to witness yours and Jace’s union, eyes on your naked body when Jace had to deflower you in front of an audience?

You choked on a sob, the tears running freely down your cheeks now, the pain in your chest only expanding from keeping it inside for so long. You had never experienced a panic like this before, a powerful tide washing all rational thoughts away and sending your brain into overdrive.

Behind you, quick footsteps were approaching and before you knew it, Jacaerys had overtaken you and blocked your path, taking your upset state in with wide eyes. Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously and you came to a halt, noting how far and fast you had walked away from the council room.

“My love…” Jacaerys mumbled quietly and stepped closer and somewhere inside of you, a dam burst and he caught you as you fell into his arms, your body wrecked with heartbreaking and breathless sobs. He wrapped his arms around you, drawing you against his chest and letting you cry, his own heart aching at the stress vibrating through your body.

“I don’t want them to see…” You sniffled miserably against his shoulder, his arms tightening protectively around your waist, one of his hands resting on the back of your head and stroking your hair. “I want our wedding night to be ours, I don’t want them in the room with us, I don’t want any of it.”

“I’m not going to allow it.” He assured you calmly, suppressing his own anger for the sake of your peace of mind. Later, he’d had time to rage and forge the feeling into action, but now the only thing that mattered was you. “They have no right to make these rules for us. You and I decide, together, okay?”

You nodded, your anxiety slowly beginning to ebb away and leaving the council room and its members behind you.

“I am so sorry I was not there with you.” Jacaerys regretfully whispered against your temple, soothingly stroking your back as you rested your tear-streaked face against his neck. “I am not going to let this slide. And I am serious, my love, I promise you; there will be no bedding ceremony, I’m not going to let them expose you like this.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your eyes still shimmering with worried tears. “And what if we have to? I can’t do this, Jace, I would rather die-“

He gently shushed you and gently rested his forehead against yours, willing you to take big and deep breaths with him until you were breathing in sync and your shivering stopped. “We don’t have to do anything. You and I, we’ll be king and queen someday and I will not accept any disrespect towards you, not today or when we’re married, alright?”

You nodded slowly, exhaling deeply as you allowed yourself to sink against him, letting yourself be held and gently swayed from side to side. Slowly but surely, your heart stopped hurting and the clouds in your mind dissolved until you only felt him.

“Alright.” You whispered back after a while and his lips on yours, featherlight and oh so gently, were a relief after such moments of stress. When you separated and looked into each other’s eyes, you added quietly: “I want this, with you. All of it. I want our first time together to be special and a memory we’ll cherish forever.”

“And it will be, I promise.” He soothed you. “These old pathetic men will do good to remember their place before I’ll unleash Vermax on them.” He added jokingly and even managed to make you giggle a little bit at the mental image. “You know how Vermax adores you, he’ll eat them in one piece and spit them out, because they’re disgusting.”

You snorted tiredly and nuzzled his neck in affection, not ready to separate yourself from him just yet.

“My mother will deal with them.” Jace promised you darkly, a revengeful shimmer in his fierce eyes as he wiped the last of your tears away with his thumb. “And when she’s done with them, I will make sure as well they’ll remember who they answer to, my queen.”

He would deal with this.

And after he had put those foul men in their place, he’d make sure you’d be the happiest you could be and your wedding would be perfect and just the way the two of you had imagined for so long…

my taglist: @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

#jace velaryon #jace targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jace targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #jacaerys targaryen x you

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pin-k-ink · 3 months

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hoshina x exes to lovers angst? 🥺🤲

just for tonight // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ exes to lovers??, hurt/comfort kinda, angst, lots and lots of unsaid feelings, making out, biting/marking, smoking, suggestive content, mentions of past flings

wc ⇢ 2.7k

The stifling tension in the conference room was thick enough to cut with a knife, rivaling even the oppressive summer heat that seeped through the building's supposedly state-of-the-art air conditioning system.

You sat ramrod straight in your high-backed chair, the leather creaking softly with each minute shift of your body. Your fingers, usually steady and sure, drummed an erratic rhythm on the polished mahogany table, betraying the anxiety that churned beneath your carefully composed exterior. The starched collar of your formal uniform felt uncomfortably tight, as if conspiring with the room's atmosphere to suffocate you.

Across the vast expanse of the conference table, separated by a sea of papers and the invisible yet palpable line dividing the First and Third Divisions, sat Hoshina Soshiro. His violet hair was a tad longer now than when you'd last seen him. The ghost of his familiar smirk played at the corners of his lips, a reminder of shared intimacies and bitter partings.

You forced your gaze away, focusing intently on the report before you, though the words blurred and swam on the page. The droning voice of the presenter faded into white noise as you became acutely aware of Hoshina's unwavering stare. It was as if his eyes were physically caressing you, leaving trails of heat in their wake that no amount of professional detachment could cool.

A bead of sweat traced a lazy path down the back of your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your uniform. You resisted the urge to squirm in your seat, to give any outward sign of the effect his presence was having on you. Instead, you squared your shoulders, lifting your chin in a subtle act of defiance.

"Vice Captain [Y/N]," Hoshina's voice cut through the monotony of the meeting, his kansai dialect as pronounced as ever. "Ya seem... distracted. Perhaps ya'd like to share yer thoughts on the proposed joint trainin' exercise?"

You met his gaze, your own eyes narrowing slightly at the challenge in his tone. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to you expectantly. You could feel the weight of your division's pride resting squarely on your shoulders, demanding you rise to the occasion.

"Of course, Vice Captain Hoshina," you replied, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. "I was just considering the logistical challenges such an exercise might present. After all, oil and water don't typically mix well."

A ripple of tension passed through the room at your thinly veiled barb. Hoshina's smirk widened, a predatory gleam entering his eyes that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Oh?" he drawled, leaning forward slightly. "I seem to recall a time when we mixed quite well, [Y/N]-chan."

The use of the familiar honorific, so inappropriate in this setting, caused a flush to creep up your neck. You clenched your jaw, fighting to maintain your composure as memories of tangled sheets and heated whispers threatened to overwhelm you.

The air in the conference room grew heavier with each passing moment, as if the very oxygen was being consumed by the smoldering tension between you and Hoshina. Your colleagues shifted uncomfortably in their seats, eyes darting between the two of you like spectators at a high-stakes tennis match.

"I'm sure we can find a way to... overcome our differences," you said, your voice dripping with false sweetness. Each word was carefully chosen, a verbal minefield designed to maintain professionalism while conveying your utter disdain. "After all, the Third Division's reputation for adaptability is quite... impressive."

Hoshina's eyes glittered dangerously, his smirk widening into something that bordered on predatory. He leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxed confidence, as if your barbs were nothing more than gentle caresses.

"Ain't that sweet of ya to say, [Y/N]-chan," he drawled, his accent thickening. "I'm touched ya've been keepin' tabs on us. Thought ya might've forgotten all about the Third Division after... well, ya know."

The implication hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, a mixture of anger and something else you refused to acknowledge. Your fingers curled into fists beneath the table, nails biting into your palms.

"Some things are best forgotten, Vice Captain Hoshina," you replied, your tone icy. "Like ill-advised decisions made in moments of weakness."

A collective intake of breath swept through the room. Hoshina's eyes narrowed slightly, the only indication that your words had found their mark. But his recovery was swift, his easy smile never faltering.

"Ah, but those moments of weakness can be so... enlightenin', don't ya think?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near purr. "I seem to recall ya findin' them quite... educational."

The memory of his hands on your skin, his lips at your throat, flashed unbidden through your mind. You stood abruptly, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. "This is hardly the time or place for such discussions, Vice Captain," you snapped, your composure cracking.

Hoshina rose as well, his movements fluid and unhurried. He circled the table slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. "Oh? And when would be a good time, [Y/N]-chan? After hours, perhaps? In private?"

The room seemed to shrink, the distance between you and Hoshina narrowing with each step he took. Your breath came faster, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The air crackled with unspoken desires and bitter regrets.

"You're out of line, Hoshina," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous. "This is a professional meeting, not one of your juvenile attempts at-"

"Vice Captain [Y/N]!"

The sharp voice of one of your superiors cut through the tension like a knife. You whirled to face him, suddenly aware of the spectacle you and Hoshina had been making. The man's stern gaze swept over both of you, his disapproval palpable.

"I believe we've strayed from the topic at hand," He said, his tone brooking no argument. "Perhaps we should take a brief recess to... collect ourselves."

As the room began to empty, you caught Hoshina's eye once more. The heat in his gaze made your breath catch, a silent promise - or perhaps a threat - of unfinished business. You turned away quickly, but not before a shiver of anticipation raced down your spine.

This meeting was far from over, and you had a sinking feeling that your encounters with Hoshina were only just beginning.

The nicotine burned your lungs as you inhaled deeply, the acrid smoke a fitting complement to your bitter mood. The Tokyo skyline stretched out before you, a sea of twinkling lights against the darkening sky, but you barely noticed its beauty. Your mind was still trapped in that stifling conference room, replaying every loaded glance and barbed comment.

"Stupid, arrogant, insufferable..." you muttered, flicking ash from your cigarette with more force than necessary. The ember glowed brightly for a moment before being swept away by the cool evening breeze.

"Now, now, [Y/N]-chan," a familiar voice drawled from behind you, causing you to stiffen. "Is that any way to talk about yer colleagues?"

You whirled around, coming face to face with Hoshina. He stood far too close for comfort, his frame blocking out the fading sunlight. The rooftop suddenly felt much smaller.

"What do you want, Hoshina?" you snapped, taking another drag of your cigarette to steady your nerves. "Come to gloat?"

Hoshina's eyes flickered to the cigarette between your fingers, a slight frown marring his usually smug expression. "Thought ya quit," he said softly, a hint of concern in his voice that made your chest tighten uncomfortably.

You scoffed, turning back to the railing. "Yeah, well, a lot's changed since we were together. Not that it's any of your business."

You felt rather than saw him move closer, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool evening air. "Maybe not," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear. "But I still care, ya know."

"Could've fooled me," you retorted, your grip on the railing tightening until your knuckles turned white. "What with how you've been acting all day."

Hoshina chuckled, the sound sending an unwelcome shiver down your spine. "Aw, did I ruffle yer feathers, [Y/N]-chan? And here I thought ya enjoyed our little... exchanges."

You turned to face him, anger flaring in your chest. "Enjoyed? You embarrassed me in front of the brass! Do you have any idea how hard I've worked to earn their respect?"

"I remember," Hoshina said, his voice softening. "Ya always were driven. S'one of the things I loved about ya."

The use of the past tense stung more than you cared to admit. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? We're over. Done. Ancient history."

Hoshina's hand came up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The gentle touch was at odds with the intensity in his eyes. "Are we really, though? 'Cause I gotta say, [Y/N]-chan, it don't feel that way to me."

You jerked away from his touch, your heart pounding traitorously in your chest. "Get it through your thick skull, Hoshina. We are never, ever getting back together."

The world narrowed to a single point of contact as your back collided with the cold, unyielding wall of the empty office. The impact forced the air from your lungs in a soft gasp, quickly swallowed by Hoshina's hungry mouth as he pressed against you. The heat of his body seeped through your clothes, a stark contrast to the chill at your back, igniting a familiar fire in your veins that you'd tried so hard to extinguish.

Hoshina's hands, calloused from years of swordplay, found their way to your hips, gripping with an intensity that bordered on desperation. His fingers dug into your flesh, sure to leave marks - a physical reminder of this moment that would linger long after you both returned to your respective divisions, pretending this never happened. Again.

The kiss was messy, all clashing teeth and battling tongues, a physical manifestation of the tumultuous emotions roiling between you. You could taste the faint bitterness of coffee on his breath, mixed with something uniquely Hoshina that made your head spin. Your fingers tangled in his violet hair, longer now than when you were together, providing the perfect leverage to pull him impossibly closer.

"Ya drive me crazy, ya know that?" Hoshina murmured against your lips, his voice roughened by desire. His words ghosted over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. One of his hands left your hip, trailing a blazing path up your side to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with surprising tenderness.

The gentleness of the gesture, so at odds with the desperate passion of moments before, threatened to unravel you completely. You bit down on his lower lip in response, perhaps harder than necessary, drawing a sharp hiss from him. "Shut up," you growled, not wanting to hear his voice, afraid of what it might make you feel. Afraid of the emotions it might unlock, the ones you'd so carefully locked away after your breakup.

Hoshina pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, were dark and intense, swirling with desire and something deeper, more complicated. A smirk played at the corners of his swollen lips, a challenge in his voice as he spoke. "Make me."

The taunt hung in the air between you, charged with unspoken history and simmering tension. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, locked in a silent battle of wills. Then, as if a dam had broken, you surged forward, capturing his mouth once more in a searing kiss.

The kiss deepened, a complex mixture of frustration, longing, and barely suppressed emotions pouring into every movement. Your hands slipped under Hoshina's shirt, nails raking down his back, eliciting a low groan that vibrated against your mouth. The sound sent a jolt of electricity through your body, awakening nerve endings you'd tried so hard to numb.

Hoshina broke away, his breath coming in short pants as he trailed his lips along your jaw. The slight scratch of his stubble against your sensitive skin sent shivers down your spine. He paused at your ear, his voice a husky whisper that seemed to caress your very soul.

"Why do we keep doin' this to ourselves, [Y/N]?" The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken regrets and lingering desires. His hands, which had been roaming your body with practiced ease, stilled at your waist, thumbs tracing small circles on your hipbones.

You tilted your head, giving him better access to your neck, even as your mind reeled from his words. "Because we're idiots," you gasped, the admission torn from your throat as he found that sensitive spot behind your ear, the one he remembered all too well.

Hoshina chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through your body. "Speak for yourself. I know exactly what I'm doin'." His teeth grazed your earlobe, drawing a soft moan from you that you couldn't suppress.

"Oh yeah?" you challenged, your voice breathy and uneven. "And what's that? Trying to see how many times you can get me into bed before I finally come to my senses?"

He pulled back, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your heart stutter. There was amusement in his eyes, yes, but beneath it lurked a deeper emotion, one that made your chest ache with its familiarity.

"Ya say ya hate me," Hoshina murmured, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "Yet here ya are, in my arms. Again." His voice dropped lower, a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usual cocky demeanor. "Makes a man wonder what the truth really is."

You swallowed hard, fighting against the emotions his words stirred up. The playful teasing in his tone couldn't quite mask the underlying hurt, the knowledge that this moment, like all the others, was fleeting. That soon he'd have to leave, returning to his division, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your resolve once more.

"Soshiro, we can't-" you started, but he silenced you with another searing kiss, pouring all his longing and frustration into the contact.

When he broke away, his voice was rough with need and something that sounded dangerously close to desperation. "Tell me ya don't want this. Tell me ya don't want me."

Your silence hung heavy between you, more telling than any words could have been. Hoshina's eyes searched yours, reading the conflict, the desire, the unspoken feelings that you couldn't bring yourself to voice. A soft, almost sad smile tugged at his lips.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, his hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness. "Ya never could lie to me, [Y/N]. Not with yer words, and certainly not with yer body."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. "I know ya, remember? Every inch of ya." His other hand trailed down your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I know what makes ya tick, what makes ya fall apart."

Hoshina's kisses trailed along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot on your neck that made you gasp. "I know the sounds ya make when yer tryin' to be quiet," he whispered against your skin. "And the ones ya can't hold back no matter how hard ya try."

His hands worked at your clothes, each touch reverent and familiar. "I know the way yer breath hitches when I touch ya just right," he continued, his voice low and husky. "The way yer back arches, beggin' for more without sayin' a word."

As layers fell away and skin met skin, Hoshina's words became more fragmented, interspersed with soft groans and whispered endearments. "Ya're so beautiful," he breathed, his eyes roaming your form with undisguised awe. "So perfect. I've missed ya so much, [Y/N]. Missed this. Missed us."

With each touch, each kiss, each whispered confession, the walls you'd built around your heart began to crumble. Hoshina's movements were both desperate and tender, as if he was trying to memorize every moment, knowing it might be the last.

"Stay with me," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just for tonight. Let me pretend, just for a little while, that ya're still mine."

As you surrendered to the sensations, to the familiar touch of the man you'd never truly stopped loving, you knew that come morning, you'd have to face the consequences of your actions. But for now, in the darkness of this empty room, you allowed yourself to fall into Hoshina's embrace once more.

#kaiju 8 smut #kaijuu no. 8 x reader #kaijuu no. 8 smut #kaiju 8 x reader #kaijuu no. 8 #kaijuu 8 #kaijuu 8 gou #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina smut #hoshina x reader smut #hoshina soshiro smut #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina x reader #soshiro hoshina #soshiro smut #soshiro x reader smut #soshiro x reader

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artbyblastweave · 6 months

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So one thing that irks me about discussions of the NCR is the idea that "they're flawed because they're trying to be America again. And Being Too Much America is what caused the War" without differentiating between the vast buildup of Nuclear Weapons and Geopolitical tensions, versus, like, being a republic and having a large-scale central state.

What's your thoughts?

I think the NCR circa New Vegas is textually intended to be repeating the USA's downward spiral. They're in the process of recreating the core dynamics of pre-war America- overconsumption of resources driving imperialist expansion, capture of the government by moneyed interests, and a prolonged conflict with a peer power that's suffering under similar expand-or-die pressures- but they're constrained from a one-to-one recreation mainly by the fact that they're working with a post-apocalyptic resource base, with the scraps left over from the last people who went down this path. Peanuts compared to the Sino-American war, but likely as close to that situation as the post-war-world is logistically capable of producing.

You see bits of this from the NCR perspective all throughout the game. There Stands the Grass is propelled by projections of incipient famine in the NCR due to rapid population growth, and you see the beginnings of this in Flags of Our Foul-Ups- O'Hanaran was sent to the Army by his family to lessen their food burden. Chief Hanlon's very first line is about how the NCR is overtaxing most sources of freshwater within the core territory, and he recounts how tiny groups of settlers backed by NCR logistics were able to take and hold a well in Baja against scores of locals; IIRC there's a cut event at Camp Golf itself where you'd see NCR rangers doing the same thing to Mojave locals encroaching on their water supply. The White Wash demonstrates that the NCR's sharecropping setup in outer Vegas operates at the expense of the locals, who can only get the water they need to support their own crops via subterfuge. If you assume that Heck Gunderson's underhanded Brahmin-farming empire in Beyond the Beef is supposed to parallel the real-world problems with the sustainability of beef farming, you start to get a sense of where all of that water is going and what structural problems (Heck Gunderson) might be in the way of allocating those resources more sustainably. There are likely more examples of this storm on the horizon that I'm forgetting.

As a result of all this, there's a level on which I think introducing the Tunnelers in Lonesome Road as a dangling White-Walker style Looming Apocalyptic Reset Option hanging over the west coast was gratuitous, not because it's Avallone grinding his axe with the idea of society rebuilding, but because it's simply redundant with the political situation already depicted in the base game- If you want the NCR to have collapsed by a future installment, just establish that they weren't able to put the brakes on in time and devolved into a completely dysfunctional oligarchy that collapsed under its own weight!

(Now, as a final note, one thing preventing me from fully committing to this take is that we honestly don't have a fantastic sense of what day-to-day life looks like for the average citizen in the NCR heartland, which I feel is kind of important. Because if the textual situation is supposed to be that the resource crisis is due to misallocation due to interests capturing the government, I like that a lot better than if the situation is genuinely intended to be that there are Just Too Many Goddarn People, because that's like. Lazy and Malthusian and leads to the usual ugly conclusions pretty quickly. More and more it's looking like the upcoming Fallout TV show is leaning into the recent decline of the NCR as a plot point, so, uh, fingers crossed they stick the landing when it comes to fleshing that out?)

#fallout #fallout new vegas #NCR #new california republic #ask #asks #thoughts #meta #sorry for the delay in responding- getting back into a fallout mood due to the show #fnv

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visenyaism · 3 months

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In a Rhaegar Wins timeline where he marries Cersei (ignore the logistics for right now) do you think she would love/still love him, or would her affections be solely focused on Jaime by then? (I'm assuming they marry around 287-288)

that one is sort of hard to call given that a lot of cersei’s rapid disillusionment with Robert in her original marriage was because of the high amount of sexual violence she experienced from him very quickly versus with Jaime she could at least convince herself she had a choice and I don’t really want to speculate on the extent to which that would still be happening if she married Rhaegar?

#asoiaf #give it all of her issues. I think she probably wouldn’t like him very much but for different reasons than she hates robert?

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akashzipaworld · 3 months

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From Doorstep to Express Delivery | How Digital Transformation is Changing Courier Services

Technology has revolutionized courier services, particularly with the integration of express delivery options. With cutting-edge tracking systems, customers can monitor their shipments in real-time, ensuring transparency and peace of mind throughout the journey. Automated sorting and routing mechanisms further enhance efficiency, guaranteeing that packages are handled with care and delivered promptly.

These advancements are bolstered by robust networks that seamlessly integrate various transportation modes, enabling swift and reliable deliveries on a local and global scale. As express delivery becomes more integral to the logistics landscape, these innovations not only enhance customer satisfaction but also streamline operations, marking a pivotal shift in the future of courier services.

#Express Delivery #Expedited Shipping #Quick Delivery #Fast Courier Services #Urgent Delivery #Rapid Logistics #Speedy Delivery #Swift Shipping #Priority Shipping

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leidensygdom · 22 days

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So we've suddenly found that my partner's father has what is very probably late stage lung cancer in metastasis, with lumps all over his chest. It looks really dire and it isn't a matter of whether he'll survive, as much as... How long he has left. It isn't entirely surprising to us, as his health had been in rapid decline, but he had refused to go to the doctor for years.

My partner has a fairly complicated relationship with their father (who was really abusive tbh), but it'll be still a hard moment to face for us both and logistics may get challenging. So eh, I'll do my best to keep going forwards, but things may get somewhat irregular. It's been a hard time.

#tw illness #tw cancer

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bestworstcase · 2 months

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In general I'm far more partial to your thoughts on whatever Ruby & Yang's dad is up to than the fanon-consensus fall vault guard angle, though I do wonder about, say: Oz having the crown stashed somewhere outside said vault so whomever else is in on this could play keep-away with it. Of course that has no shortage of logistical drawbacks, though Raven sort of rejoining the fold does open up handy rapid-evac options so long as Salem doesn't catch her directly. Still, the 'dragon dad has totes noble rational Reasons, not that deep' conclusion does seem damn simplistic.

tbh i think the fanon presumption that tai MUST be guarding the crown is equal parts

1. the fandom completely failing to engage seriously with the (very obvious by now) factor of summer rose being alive – by which i mean, a huge swath of the fandom has grokked she’s still around in some capacity and treats this as little more than a trivial detail meant to twist the knife for ruby (and to a lesser extent, yang) in a shocking way, rather than, you know, the load-bearing pillar it clearly is in this given how her fate has been one of the central narrative questions since the beginning. which is to say that i think a lot of people are just brushing past the possibility that tai’s absence in vacuo is directly related to summer being at beacon, because they’ve either not added two and two to figure out where she is or they have but don’t consider that to be salient to the question of tai’s motives.

and

2. kneejerk backlash to the cyclical tai parenting discourse, with people who read him as a decent-to-good father getting defensive in reaction to the discussions that circulated after B4 revealed that his whereabouts are more or less unknown. it does in fact look Really Bad for tai to not be in vacuo for unclear reasons! which is why the subset of fans who read him as a good parent were predisposed to assume that he has a justifiable, crucial reason to stay in vale, namely guarding the crown. and then any other speculation on the subject of why he isn’t in vacuo was instantly conflated with the tai-is-neglectful reading and thence dismissed out of hand as "character bashing."

eyeroll. the point being, i think this defensive reflex toward tai resulted in a lot of people circling the wagons around the first snap assumption they made even though tai guarding the crown doesn’t make a whole lot of sense even if one accepts the fanon presupposition that he’s The Best Dad.

because he quit working for ozpin after summer disappeared (and to judge by the 9.10 flashback, didn’t have much respect for oz before that!) – we know this because,

it’s a notable enough change for ruby to comment on it when tai starts going on missions again; he’s been off active huntsman duty for over a decade, meaning he wasn’t taking any assignments from oz during this time (which is a point in his favor re: the question of his parenting and i think it’s really funny that people in the “good dad” camp were the loudest voices pointing out that tai clearly wants nothing to do with ozpin right up until the boba incident)

ruby and yang had no idea that ozpin had any particular connection to their family beyond having been headmaster when their parents were in school; they didn’t even know that qrow worked for him. tai kept him so much at arms length that he was just a random public figure to the girls.

tai is explicitly not involved in glynda’s effort to reclaim beacon, nor do port and oobleck seem to have any expectation that he should or will be once yang is back on her feet. they’re his friends, but there is zero professional or collegial relationship.

and frankly after tai watched his team implode and lost not one but two of his loves at least indirectly because of ozpin, why in hell would he want anything to do with that man ever again? did we forget him seething at qrow in v3? did we forget how palpably he wanted to just smack ozpin in IQ? hello?? if we’re starting from “tai is a loving dad who would move mountains for his kids” then i simply do not believe he’d stay in vale while qrow led ruby to round two with salem just because that’s what ozpin’s “in case i die” plan said he should do. like that’s flat nonsense.

the only way i could even consider that as a possibility with any seriousness is if i were convinced that tai straight up just Didn’t Care That Much about his kids, because that kind of coldly pragmatic decision-making—i’ll let my teenage children fight on the front lines while i putter around home keeping an eye on things for a dead man, because the crown is the most important thing—does not track with a man who gives a shit about his kids.

but i think tai does in fact care a lot about his kids, however dysfunctional the family relations may be, so like

the explanation that makes the most sense to me is that he figured out summer was alive and with salem in some capacity sometime in v2-3 and he’s been torn between the two sides of his family ever since. does he go after ruby or does he try to save summer? <- isn’t that a lot more balanced. a lot more understandable. potentially a lot more sympathetic, depending upon exactly what the circumstances are and how much he’s learned. for him to be Just Some Guy having to choose between His Kids and His Wife?

like?? i firmly believe that if the good-parent-tai crowd hadn’t immediately dismissed every other theory besides dragon-guarding-the-crown as hysterical character bashing then within a few weeks at most someone in that camp would’ve remembered that tai fucking hates ozpin and they would’ve eventually landed on “oh. duh. he’s staying in vale for summer” – because it is both obvious and casts him into a much more tragic, sympathetic light versus the stiff upper lip sorry kids it’s for the greater good crown guard angle.

#sort of an equivalent situation to how #oz stans (derogatory) will bend over backward to construct nonsense apologia that… makes him completely reprehensible if you think about i #for like two seconds #and then they’ll point at oz enjoyers who Like and Understand the part where he’s fucked up and as why we hate him! lol #there’s a type of character fan who just cannot handle their fav being In The Wrong ever about anything #and that gets weird real fast

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humanrightsupdates · 2 months

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Sudan: Widespread Sexual Violence in the Capital

Rapid Support Forces Main Perpetrators; Attacks on Aid, Health Care Harm Survivors

(Nairobi) – Sudan’s warring parties, particularly the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), have committed widespread acts of rape, including gang rape, and forced women and girls into marriages in Khartoum, the country’s capital, since the current conflict’s onset, Human Rights Watch said in a report released today.

The 89-page report, ““Khartoum is Not Safe for Women”: Sexual Violence against Women and Girls in Sudan’s Capital,” documents widespread sexual violence, as well as forced and child marriage during the conflict, in Khartoum and its sister cities. Service providers treating and supporting victims also heard reports from women and girls of being held by the RSF in conditions that could amount to sexual slavery. The research also highlights the devastating health and mental health consequences for survivors and the destructive impact of warring parties’ attacks on health care and the Sudanese Armed Forces’ (SAF) willful blocking of aid.

“The Rapid Support Forces have raped, gang raped, and forced into marriage countless women and girls in residential areas in Sudan’s capital,” said Laetitia Bader, deputy Africa director at Human Rights Watch. “The armed group has terrorized women and girls and both warring parties have blocked them from getting aid and support services, compounding the harm they face and leaving them to feel that nowhere is safe.”

It is of paramount importance to hear directly from sexual violence survivors themselves, their experiences, views, and demands should be heard in a safe and dignified manner. Given restrictions on access to Khartoum, security challenges, lack of services for survivors, and logistical barriers, Human Rights Watch, with a few exceptions, for this report interviewed 42 health care providers, social workers, counsellors, lawyers, and local responders in the emergency response rooms that they have established in Khartoum between September 2023 and February 2024.

#khartoum #sudan #rape cw

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fic--writer · 3 months

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The elf flirts with Rolan, but he's not his type.

The scroll merchant of Waterdeep was a tall man, a middle-aged elf in an expensive embroidered cardigan. He had come to the "Sorcerous Sundries" by the Chionthar River to sell his magic scrolls as usual.

He was pleasantly surprised by the new owner of the tower and the shop. Unlike the previous disgusting owner, this tiefling gave him extremely positive feelings.

— I am satisfied with the price you offered. I think that's settled - Rolan said, holding out his reddish hand to sign the bill. The elf accidentally touched him. The tiefling's hot skin, the visible veins in his palms and the sight of his powerful claws gave the elf a familiar, aching sensation in his lower abdomen.

— You know, I'm planning on sticking around for a while. I notice you have a lot of unassembled goods down here. I can send my boys from the ship to help you. Free of charge, of course, as a token of our cooperation," the elf arched his back, trying to get into what he thought was the most advantageous position.

— No, thank you. This is my responsibility. I can manage on my own. - Rolan cut him off, somewhat stung by his remark. Especially since Cal already took care of it. The tower master himself wanted to get rid of the talkative merchant as soon as possible and get on with other things. "And why does he stick out his chest like a turkey?"

— Archmage, please consider my proposal. The workers could do the backbreaking work, freeing up your precious time. And I, in turn, could take you to a nearby restaurant where we could discuss all possibilities of cooperation," the elf ran his fingers through his perfectly groomed beard.

"What is it smeared with?" - A thought flashed through Rolan's mind.

— What? No. - Rolan was getting tired of that pompous and obnoxious elf. - I mean, I'm grateful for the offer and I'm happy about our business partnership. But the rest doesn't interest me.

He tried to remember his position and maintain his politeness as long as possible.

— You see, my engineer from the ship could optimise your shop logistics. All it would take is a slight rearrangement of the bookshelves and...

— Don't you ever get tired of telling people how to live their lives? - the tiefling began to lose his composure. He hadn't asked for his tower to be rearranged and, frankly, he had zero tolerance for such unsolicited advice.

— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. - The merchant faltered immediately.

Rolan walked to the exit of his office for the elf to leave. He opened the door and gestured towards the corridor.

But the elf remained in the doorway:

— Then perhaps you would agree to come to my hotel room this evening? I brought an excellent collection of oils, they would be perfectly absorbed into your... horns.

— Hush you! - Rolan finally realised the true nature of the elf's proposal. His Tiefling essence, with its intolerance and rapid thoughts, erupted without regard for his position. The devil's blood was boiling in his veins and there was no stopping it.

But the elf was not upset, on the contrary, he was even more aroused by this reaction:

— I am not frightened by your passion, my boy - he grabbed the Archmage's beautiful hand and pulled him towards him.

Rolan flew into a rage at such insolence. How dare this elf behave like that in his own home? Personal boundaries had been violated and his body burned with a heat. A sizzling look could kill on its own. The Archmage recoiled and screamed, unashamed of any possible witnesses:

— Oh, it's you! You think you're some heroic lover who's never been rejected?! Take your sticky paws off me before I hit you with a Thunderwave - Rolan flung the elf's hand away in disgust. - Get out, you disgust me. - The tiefling's fangs flickered as he coaxed out each word.

— Grumpy tiefling, think... - The merchant replied stiffly, unwilling to give in.

— Grumpy? Grumpy?! No! It's all just a stupid absurdity. - Rolan pushed him firmly out of the door, lashed the elf with his tail like a leather belt. In a parting gesture, he raised his hand above his head and pulled back his middle finger. - No respect for rules and authority! An arrogant bastard and a completely shameless creature. - The Archmage slammed the door in his face and cast a spell of lock and silence to give yourself a break.

— What a day...

Special for @purpleasters-inseptember and the entire Rolan Nation.

#bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #tiefling #rolan nation #rolanites #bg3 #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 drabble #drabble #fanfiction #bg3 tiefling #tieflng

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thosearentcrimes · 1 year

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The following text, apparently one of a long series by the same author, was recovered off the coast of Cuba by cephalopod research group divers in local year 120 and was one of the earliest documents to be translated following the excavation of cetacean archives at the Rashid Site in 146 that allowed us to decrypt cephalopod. It remains essential to our understanding of cephalopod infrastructure capabilities and policy.

The chief monobrain is at it again. Evol Nrol has introduced his next grand new vision for the sea and beyond, to great acclaim from his various suckers and the media outlets he just happens to own. 55% of the planet just isn't enough apparently, our lords and masters are still looking for more untouched wilderness to pointlessly ruin. One begins to suspect that they just want somewhere to run away to, and one begins to wonder why. Just like last time, he wants to colonize Lake Baikal, because bad ideas never die, they just camouflage. In case it's not obvious, this will never work, and if it did it would still not work. Let's just glide over the 10 most obvious reasons this is impossible and insane from last time.

1) Lake Baikal is very far away. 2) Lake Baikal is very cold. 3) The water in Lake Baikal is basically poison. Life inside seapods would always be one breach away from rapid deionisation. 4) Lake Baikal either has scientific value, or it has octopus habitation. It can't have both. 5) Lake Baikal has nothing we need. As far as we know the thermal vents in Baikal have nothing we can't get much easier from existing vents, or even by creating synthentic vents. 6) Lake Baikal has too much water to salinify. This is the one they really haven't thought about. We don't have the minerals we would need. The quantity of sodium chloride alone would make a pile the size of Moai mount. Our best way to get the minerals is by evaporating the sea and moving the evaporate over, but at that point we could just as well build the evaporation pool, not build the levees, and just live there. On that note: 7) Clearly nobody's calculated the logistics on moving that much mineral. Have you tried lugging a mountain over land? 10) Lake Baikal is constantly being drained by a river and replenished by other rivers. It takes around 512 years to replace the entire volume of the lake. That's a long time, even by lake standards, at least. Still, anything you put in the water will dissipate at a rate of 1/512 per year at least. And at the scale of the initial investment, the maintenance cost in minerals alone would be unaffordable.

If you really wanted to go with the monumentally stupid idea of filling a lake with minerals to make more sea, there's a much better choice, of course. Lake Tanganyika is more accessible, warmer, smaller, still has thermal vents, and drains slower. In every respect it would be an easier choice, though still entirely impossible of course. But Evol couldn't go with that, because he's tying his consultants in knots attempting to salvage his whole "dredge the Yenisey 1km deep" idea from three years ago, which wouldn't have made sense with Tanganyika, and he's too arrogant to pick a new target to go with the new manateeshit plan. As always, impossible plans like these just vent ink over the infrastructure and housing investment we desperately need and already know how to do.

#original fiction #cephalopod studies

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danibee33 · 9 months

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hostage

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (goes by “Saint”)

based on a post by @call-me-doll-face! your vision for this song (“hostage” by Billie Eilish) was just too perfect😭 I couldn’t get it out of my head. I hope you love it as much as I do.

tags: angst & smut, ok it’s very angsty, did I cry? yes

word count: 5.7k (sry I got carried away)

+++

The files strewn across your desk only come back into focus at the sound of three crisp, concise knocks on your door. You blink away the dryness, eyes darting toward the open window to see its pitch dark outside now- shit.

Two more knocks resound through the room, they're a little more forceful this time, urging you to push away from the organized chaos, crossing the short span on tingling feet. You hadn’t meant to lose track of time like that, but after the debrief you needed something to distract you, get your mind off the bitter taste the meeting had left in your mouth-

“Target’s in the wind after the attack in Yemen-”

You change the map, zooming in on a tiny Bedouin village- the settlement no more than a speck in the vast desert, “But we’ve intercepted and translated some chatter from local law enforcement that are on Abaza’s payroll.” – the room goes dark for half a second before the next slide flashes on the screen- “Seems he’s following his pattern of hiding behind civilians.”

The room is silent, save for the rapid clicking of Soap’s pen against the desk- one of the restless man’s many tics, and Price’s furious scribbling. Gaz is eyeing the map studiously, his lips twitching as he muses through the routes and planning- no doubt trying to predict what the Captain will do.

Ghost is just.. Looming. Perched in his usual corner, arms crossed over his chest as he contemplates the information and intel given, eyes lazy and half-lidded even when Price stands, coming to stand at your side.

“Bloody good work, Saint.”

He pats your shoulder, taking over your spot as you settle in a seat at the table, and you try to listen intently- short-handing a few notes you might have missed as the Captain dives into the plan. The others pitch in ideas along the way, logistics and safety for the civilian population; but, it was extraction that gave you pause.

“There will be no cover- that encampment is too exposed.” You only realize you had spoken the thought out loud when you hear a soft huff from behind you,

“Very perceptive, Sec.” Ghost grumbles, his usual sarcasm somehow thicker, more exasperated.

Could you have held back your overly dramatic eye roll? Of course. But it’s fucking Ghost, and all you can hope is that he sees it- just like you know he sees your middle finger held up over your shoulder.

He knows you hated the way he ignored your call sign in favor of using the belittling, diminutive of your rank instead. It’s always been ‘Sec’ for him, short for Second Lieutenant, never one to let you, or anyone else, forget that he outranks you-

But, you’re used to it. That’s just the relationship you and him have had from the start, always this brutally competitive tension between you- which never made sense to anyone else. Especially considering your specialities are on opposite ends of the spectrum, each of you serving your own unique role to make the team function and perform like the well-oiled machine it’s been honed into.

And, to be honest, you’re not sure why you ever let him get under your skin either. You’ve worked with plenty of egotistical superiors and subordinates alike, and it’s never stopped you from reaching and surpassing every single goal you set for yourself. If anything, it’s only pushed you to work that much harder- usually at the cost of any sort of personal life, which is actually how you got your callsign-

“Saint” - ‘the only officer in the SAS who might make it to heaven’

You thought it was silly, but over the years it grew on you. And now, it just feels like what your name has always been, even if everyone knows you rarely make it far in the military by being an actual saint-

“Yes, extraction will be the most difficult part-”

Price’s voice brings you back to the present moment, head snapping up when you sense the giant presence standing next to your chair, “It’s a two-person job, then?”

Ghost’s voice has lost all its amusement and sarcasm, and his gaze feels heavier somehow as he looks over the screen. You watch him for a moment, catching all the nuances in his outward body language that are so imperceptible to others- though, you sometimes wish you weren’t so in tune with him. Wish you didn’t know exactly why you could pick up on these things when no one else could..

“That’s what I was thinkin’-” Price nods, looking between his two sergeants, “Soap, you’ll be second, running interference with some well place distractions?”

You watch Johnny practically vibrate with excitement, shooting you and Ghost a wink,

“Ka-freakin’-boom, baby. You an’ me, LT. The dream team!”

But again, you notice Ghost’s lack of snarky response, verbally and non-verbally, it unnerves you-

“Saint, you’ll be with them-”

“No.”

It takes you a second to react, not sure if you had heard it correctly- maybe you had missed something and he had barked the word over another matter entirely. But then, you hear Gaz and Soap be dismissed, and suddenly you’re standing beside Ghost, you and Price speaking the same question at the same time,

“No?”

Ghost shrugs, refusing to look down at you, “Don’t need ‘er there, Boss. Nothin’ she can’t feed us over radio.”

“First, I’m right here- and second, you don’t get to decide what I can or can’t do-”

Price looks at you, his expression only hinting at confusion as he watches you cross your arms now, mirroring your lieutenant's posture, “Captain-”

Something flashes through the stormy blue of his eyes then, something you can’t even begin to place. But it doesn’t really matter, because you don’t get to finish your protests- cut off instead by an apologetic hum,

“He’s right, Saint-”

“What!?”

You’re not in the business of challenging authority, at least not the authority of a man you genuinely respect like John, but you can’t help it- this wasn’t the first time you’ve been benched, and you know it’s not the first time it’s been Ghost the one ordering it.

Price glances at his watch before scrubbing a hand over his face, “Bloody hell-”, he rounds up the files and tucks them under one arm, holding his mug with the other, “We’ll finish this later, clear?”

Just like that- he’s gone. And you’re left with the suffocating shadow still staring at the image on the wall,

“Don’t take it personally, Sec.”

Your hands clench and unclench, nails leaving stinging little crescents in your palm before turning on your heel, “Fuck you, Ghost.”

You know who’s on the other side of your door. You always do. It’s been your routine for the last year and half- You do have to give it to the insufferable fucking prick for coming to you so soon after what he had done, though.

But, sure enough, the door swings open and there he is. Simon Riley, towering in your doorway, covered head to toe in a black hoodie and dark jeans, his face even further obscured under the hood- all you can see clearly are his eyes. And they’re intensely focused on you.

“Don’t worry, Price called.” You say, leaning against the frame-

He gives you nothing, seconds ticking by as he stands there like a statue, slowly scanning your face like he’s done a thousand times before. It used to make you uncomfortable, how he would look at you that way, like he was peeling you open, layer by layer- and it still does, like now. But, you’ve gotten used to his idiosyncrasies, at times even find them oddly endearing, if he weren’t such a dick.

“Can I come in?”

A sigh fills the air between you, followed by you glaring up at him- you want to say ‘no’, give him another big ‘fuck you’ middle finger and slam the door in his face; maybe even say fuck your arrangement all together, because now it’s becoming a pattern, him sidelining you.. But, you do none of those things. Because it’s him. Always fucking him.

So, you roll your eyes and turn back into the room, not bothering to invite him in because he knows the open door is your way of allowing it.

Instantly, your cozy abode feels ten times smaller and a hundred times warmer with him in it- it causes your skin to flush and your fingers to twitch, that restlessness you tend to feel when you were alone with him, crawling over you, burrowing itself in your chest.

“You’re mad.”

“Very perceptive, Ghost.” You throw his words from earlier back at him, crossing your arms because you honestly never knew what to do with your hands when you talked to him.

They always wanted to reach out for him- you were no better than Pavlov’s salivating dog when it comes to Simon fucking Riley. He had trained you so well without ever even having to try.

God, you hate him. And you hate yourself even more for know that’s not true in the slightest- “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doin’ what?” He shifts on his feet, fists still shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie.

You throw your hands up, “Benching me like this! There’s no reason I shouldn’t be on the ground with you and Soap, just like I usually am.”

“There’s no reason you should be, either.”

That awful itch creeps down your spine, tickling your legs and feet. The need to move, to exert some kind of energy before you implode forcing you to pace. You’ll never understand him, no matter how much time you spend together, or how many nights you waste sweaty and clinging to each other, words never meant for the waking world spoken between you- you will never understand him.

Never understand why he can’t just be hot or cold, why he can’t just be mean to you all the time, because at least that way it would be easier to separate what is, and what isn’t.

“You said this wouldn’t change things- I’ve held up my end of the deal. But you.. We can’t do this if you’re going to jeopardize my career.” Simon watches you just as intently as before, eyes tracking your war path back and forth, “I mean, I know we’re competitive and petty, but I didn’t think you would start fucking blacklisting me-”

That seems to catch his attention, head perking up, “That’s not what I’m doin’, Sec-”

“Well then enlighten me, lieutenant.” You spit back, eyebrows furrowing when you see him reach for you.

He gently tugs you closer, gloved hand wrapped around your forearm- closer and closer until you can feel that unbearable heat he exudes, smell the spice of his cologne, the one he only ever seems to wear when he comes to your room. Like he wants to lay claim to you somehow-

“Don’t..” The command comes out without even a hint of conviction, his finger tilting your chin back,

“I don’t want to talk, Saint. Please, not right now.”

It must be comical, how wide your eyes grow at the sound of your callsign in his gruff voice, the way he breathes the small plea- something you’ve never once heard him say. You just barely catch the way his eyes crinkle at the very corners in your stupor. The audacious bastard is smiling like he knows you would melt for it.

He knows you so well.

But the smile isn’t mean, it isn’t to spite you like he does sometimes- no, this feels warmer, like you could reach out and wrap yourself in it.

“Simon.. This isn’t good for us.”

“For us?”, he leans down then, the arm around your waist pulling you close enough to feel his covered lips on your neck, “Or for you?”

Your exhale feels labored and too heavy in your lungs, cursing yourself over and over for how effortless it is for him to unravel you. How just the feeling of his big hands splayed out over your ribs, slowly traveling up and down your body, makes your legs weak- and the heat of his breath condensating on your skin has the familiar pressure steadily growing low in your belly- begging for more.

When he pulls the mask off this time, you can’t help but notice the gentility in his expression. A certain relaxed nature about it that seems so out of place for him. Most of the time, when you would find each other at the end of the day, he would be frustrated or annoyed, or he would be carrying that familiar brand of apathy written all over his face.

Not that it never cracked, you’ve gotten the privilege of seeing him show softness, even if it’s in his own way. A playful wink here and there, a genuine smirk that would reach his eyes for a fleeting moment, or when you got to see the deep dimples on either cheek- the ones that give his features an almost boyishly handsome quality.

But right now, you swear he looks.. content.

And when he kisses you, it’s languid and sweet- the softer skin of his lips contrasting to the way his five o’ clock shadow scratches your chin and mouth. He kisses you like you have all the time in the world, like there’s no place he would rather be than right here, tangling his fingers in your hair- tasting your tongue as it dances around his.

It confuses you, because this is not how it’s supposed to go. There’s rarely ever time for such thoroughness, not that Simon wasn’t incredibly adept when it comes to giving pleasure- it just tended to be like a flashfire, like throwing a lit match into gasoline, volatile and explosive. That’s what you agreed on though, agreed to use each other- use your attraction merely as a means to an end. Blowing off steam. There’s no need to be soft and languid when you could just take the emotion out of it all together.

And that’s just how you’ve always assumed it is for him. You’ve never minded, not really- you were a smart woman, reasonable and logical, but.. You were still only human. Of course you craved that connection, the physical touch; you would never admit that you wanted him to hold you until you fell asleep afterwards, that you wanted to run your fingers through his hair, or memorize every delicious curve and vein and scar on his body-

No, that would mean you thought of him beyond sex, and that was very strictly forbidden.

He walks you backward, lips and hands never straying far as you take turns undressing the other- his shirt is on the ground first, giving you not nearly long enough to revel in the sight before yours is being lazily pulled over your head.

The backs of your knees hit the bed frame, which feels like a reprieve at this point with how utterly weak you feel in his arms; so, you let yourself sink into the foamy cushion, casting your eyes upward for only a second as you quickly work at his belt.

You’re forced to stop though, leaning back when he moves, crowding your space by bending over you on the bed and propping himself up with a massive arm on either side, his face close enough to graze his nose over yours, “You in a rush tonight, baby?”

Petulantly, you lift your chin- capturing his bottom lip between your teeth, you give it just enough of a bite to hear him hiss before laving the tender spot with your tongue. But before you can kiss him again, before you can pull him down on top of you, or your hands can make their way back to his buckle- he easily lifts you up, placing you further back on the bed.

“Simon, what are you doing?”

The question comes out more harsh than you were going for, but he’s not making any fucking sense, and you feel like a top wound too tight, overly conscious of the slick staining your underwear, and the ache in your core that only he can fix-

And maybe for a second, you see a flash of anger in his eyes, standing at his full height while you stare up at him,

“What does it look like we’re doin’, Sec?”

You huff out a incredulous laugh, scooting off the mattress- eyes searching the floor for your shirt, hell, anything to cover up with,

“Oh. Back to Sec, huh?”

Scrubbing a palm over his face, he watches you purposely not look his way, “Fuckin’ hell, do you always have to have it out with me? Can never just let it be-”

“Let it be?”, shirt be damned, you turn back to face him- “Let what be, exactly, Ghost? This is how it’s been for over a year. I mean, fuck, longer than that! You hated me, I hated you- it was perfect. We could fuck each other, and it meant nothing-”

“Past tense.”

He cuts you off, and you feel like you might actually throw something until your brain finally registers what he said,

“What?”

“You’re usin’ the past tense.. ‘Hated’, ’meant’.”

You shake you head, hands coming up before plopping limp at your side, “What the fuck are you on about?”

When he takes a step forward, you take one back, “Words are important, love..” – another step closer, another step away, “‘Hated’ implies that you did, but you don’t anymore.”

“What is this? A language arts lesson?” You try to bring back that anger, that bitterness, but the way he’s looking at you, the way his voice is lower, brassy and rich- it’s hard to feel anything other than him.

A wall halts you, your bare skin protesting against the cold, smooth surface. You wish it would swallow you whole. But, he gets closer, and you’re still there, once again looking up at him,

“I don’t hate you, Saint. I’ve never hated you..” The back of his finger carves a slow path over your cheek, his head tilting to the side, “You were right though, about this not bein’ good.. But not for us- for you.”

“Ghost- I..”

“I’m not good for you. Never have been- I came into this selfishly, thinkin’ that it would be easy, that you would be like all the rest, get tired of me when I wasn’t able to give.. enough. And then it would be over.”

You’re held rapt by his admission, hanging on to every syllable- because you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say so much at once. And certainly never imagined it would have to do with the way he feels about you, bad or otherwise.

“Why did you stay?”

It’s because you’re so lost in the novelty of him in this moment, that it takes an awkwardly long few seconds to realize that you need to actually answer the question-

“I stayed..” — you blink, fighting to make your racing thoughts make sense, “Because you never tried to trick me- or be anything other than what you are, Simon. It was- is, enough. You’re enough.”

His eyelids flutter, a deep, soothing sigh blowing through his nose as he turns away- almost composing himself, in a way, if you know him as well as you think you do,

“You never wanted anythin’ more?”

“No.” You say, and it’s not a lie, you could leave it there- but there’s just something in his eyes that’s begging for more- “Not at first.”

“But now?”

“What do you want me to say, Simon? Of course, I want more. It’s kind of hard not to when you’ve had what we have, had sex with a person, and only that person, for over a year-”

His eyes widen, pupils consuming the honeyed amber that surrounds them right before his lips catch yours in that bruising sort of kiss you know so, so well. It’s full of every single thing he can’t put words to. And for a moment, he nearly gets lost in it, that finely threaded tether on his control slipping further and further- control he’s never been good at reining in when it comes to you.

***

I whisper your name, letting the taste of it linger over my tongue as I try to pull away, try to prolong every second I can get- quietly pleading with you to just slow down. Because I know what comes after-

But the way you chase after my lips, your nails clawing at me, my skin burning under your touch- fucking hell.

You shouldn’t be here, should’ve never agreed to this, with me. You’re too good for someone so broken. You have so much life to live, and I hate that you’ve wasted even a moment of it caring for me- wanting me.

Hm.. Saint. How fucking perfect- because only a saint could bring a devil to his knees.

And that you did. With every lingering touch, and every sweet smile you gave me, everytime you moaned my name, I let you in deeper and deeper. Until I started to hate when you left, hated that I only felt whole when I had you in my arms-

No, I’m no good for you.

Because if I had it my way, I would want to hold you hostage here, right where you belong. Where the world couldn’t touch you, couldn’t hurt you.

I would want you to crawl inside my veins, live in my bones- like you don’t already own the terrible void that’s been in my chest for longer than I can remember.

Might as well take it all. It’s as good as yours anyway.

I love you. I can’t say it- that wouldn’t be fair to you. My love is tainted and ruined, a blasphemous and dangerous thing- it’s only ever killed those I’ve given it to. So, I won’t curse you with those words.

But I hope you can feel it.

“Simon.. Please-” You frame my face in your hands, tugging at my hair, “I want you.”

***

Hearing his name, or maybe it’s the traitorous desperation in your voice, urges him to act. A small squeak escapes when he lifts you up, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms looped over his neck,

“I’m yours.”

It stuns you, how fluid and thoughtless he says it, like it’s nothing, like he’s said it a hundred times before. Like he didn’t just tell you exactly what you had mindlessly dreamed of hearing from him for months now.

He doesn’t pause though, kissing you again, swallowing your thoughts in his lips- and time slows as your back sinks into the covers. The comfort of his weight settling over you, his hips nestled between your thighs. It’s all so much, too much and not enough at the same time; but you think you could stay here forever, pinned under him, be the object of his desire for as long as he wanted, have him tell you that he’s yours over and over-

The bed dips as he breaks away, working your button and zipper open with practiced movements-

“Lift up, baby.”

You lift your hips, helping him gently tug your cargo pants down before standing and stripping out of his own. And like so many times before, you can’t help but to very disrespectfully let your eyes rake over his bulky frame- your bottom lip trapped between your teeth,

“Jesus, Simon.. That’s not fair.”

“Not fair for who?” He coos, crawling over you again, pressing chaste kisses over your torso as he goes.

A sharp gasp echoes when he latches onto your nipple, his teeth grazing across the sensitive bud, the thrill of blissful pain simmering through you-

“It’s just not fair..” You whine, back arching as he does the same thing to your other, the wet skin cooling too quickly when you feel him chuckle.

“‘M sorry, lovie.”

He teases you for what feels like an eternity, having learned your body better than you know it yourself anymore- only Simon knows how to turn you into putty in his hands, make you soft and pliable, keening and whimpering, a teary eyed mess. And usually he never takes it so far, never ruins you so thoroughly before you’ve even had his cock- but tonight he does.

Tonight, he seems determined to map out every inch of you, even allowing you to do the same in small doses. He lets your fingertips trace over his scars, lets your lips kiss all the broken parts of him-

“Will you tell me about them one day?” You ask, the question muffled against his neck.

It’s an innocent inquiry, honest and genuine, but you don’t miss how he tenses above you before pulling away just enough to see your face. Maybe if you knew him better, had more time with him like this, you would be able to discern the anguish in his eyes- but you don’t see it. Even though you’ll remember it.. this particular moment, it will stick with you far beyond just tonight.

“One day.”

You aren’t sure why you don’t believe him.

All too quickly the thought is lost when you feel him readjust, leaning up on his knees- and your mouth waters at the view, how his chest heaves, already covered in a satiny sheen of sweat; how he strokes his length before looking down to watch how he sinks into you, how you take him so fucking perfectly-

Just like in everything else tonight, he moves at an achingly languid pace- thrusting forward inch by inch, and pulling out just as slow- reveling in the way your slick glistens, all for him.

“Simon..”, you reach for him, needing him close, needing more, “Mh.. Simon- please..”

He comes to you, lets you pull his face down to yours, “Please what, baby?”

When he pushes into you again, it takes your breath away, your muscles clenching as he drives right up against the fleshy wall of your cervix, “You want more?”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut until you feel him cradle your face, “Mm-mm, I want you to look at me, Saint.. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?”

Without another thought, you open them, your brows knitting together as you search his face. You expect to see something close to his usual bravado, maybe even a devious smirk, or a wolfish gleam; but it’s none of those things. His expression is one of longing and adoration- his demand wasn’t being made out of a desire to control you, he simply wants to see you.

He wants to be seen.

“Ok, Simon..”, you place your hand over his, turning into his palm to plant a kiss to the rough skin there, “On you.”

His next thrust is harder, causing your legs to tighten around him- and even when he finally gives in, driving into you faster and deeper, each time hitting that spot that has you clenching and whimpering, he still holds your face, still keeps his eyes steady on you- entranced at the way you fight to keep your own open for him.

“That’s it.. fuck-” He grunts, crushing his lips to yours, “My good girl.”

The praises he whispers next are far sweeter than anything he’s ever said before, punctuated and interrupted by his own breathless moans. His words and each building noise he gives only drives you toward your end- dragging him right along with it until you’re both falling over the edge.

And it’s your name he says as he spills deep inside you, your name said again like an answered prayer when you hug him closer- both of you holding onto the other like if you let go for even a second, you might drift away.

“I’ve got you..” You say it without really knowing why, but knowing that it feels right. Knowing that he has you, too. At least in this moment- and that’s enough. He’s enough.

How long you stay that way, you can’t be sure- long enough for your bodies to grow limp and the sweat on your skin to dry before he finally peels himself away. And you could cry from the abrupt absence of his warmth, his weight, him.

Thankfully, he’s back just as quick, a warm cloth in hand and a tender touch to clean you up- which isn’t new, Simon’s always taken the time for aftercare, but it’s never felt so.. intimate. He goes about it just as tenderly and thoroughly as he had causing the mess in the first place, his eyes never leaving your skin, lips pressing sweet kisses nearly every place he wipes.

It pulls at you, the pesky prickling of tears stinging your eyes again. Because you know there must be a reason for his stark change tonight- but, you just can’t bring yourself to break the moment by asking why.

He stays with you. It’s not an entirely spoken agreement, he doesn’t ask and you don’t suggest, but when he slips back into the covers with you, you certainly don’t complain. You let him pull you under his arm, smiling into his chest when he kisses the top of your head,

“Good night, Simon.”

You hear him take a deep breath, the muscles under your cheek relaxing as he exhales just as deep and long, “G’ night, Saint.”

***

Watery rays of sunlight wake you, the glow behind your eyelids rousing your mind enough to realize the spot beside you is vacant, the sheets long since cooled. It doesn’t bother you, not really, it’s just Simon. The only clues he left to prove last night wasn’t just some fucked up dream being his scent, still lingering so heavily on his pillow, and the blissful ache between your legs.

And you wish you could stay here, covered in the blankets, wrapped in his smell, reliving the vivid memories as they flash through your head- his words replaying on a loop in your ears.

I’m yours.

But your alarm has other plans, your chosen vocation entirely undeterred by your relationships woes and break-throughs. Just another day, right? You would see him at the morning debrief, and again for range training- nothing changes externally. But everything had changed on the inside, for you anyway.

Is it wrong to hope it had for him, too?

You go about your morning routine, joyfully unaware of the decisions made without your knowledge, of the actions taken and the consequences that would follow- you hum along to your music, the faintest smile tugging at your lips.

What a lovesick fucking fool you are.

It’s only when you’re reaching for your phone and keys from the desk that you see the piece of paper, carefully ripped from your own notepad and the silver metallic glint sticking out just beyond the corner.

You don’t recall the next seconds, or minutes- not really even the next hour. It all feels like that soft whooshing of TV static, endless and without form. And you find yourself begging for it to have been a dream, silently hoping that none of it really happened, that he hadn’t knocked on your door, that you hadn’t let him in.

That you hadn’t given him everything, and you hadn’t let him convince you he was yours.

Still stuck in that awful whooshing, you grip the piece of metal so hard you think the impression of his name might just brand itself into your palm, your boots stomping against the tile as you pass by all those familiar doors-

“What is this?”

Price looks up at you, and that dreadful nausea settles in the pit of your stomach when you see the resignation in his eyes.

“Saint-”

“When did they leave?”

“0400.”

They could already be there- Price wouldn’t let him do this.. Right?

“Recall them then, there’s still time. We’ll-”

He gives a long sigh, lips set into a thin line, “This might be our only shot, Saint. It’s not perfect, but there’s still a chance.”

***

There was never a chance.

Two weeks later, you stood on the tarmac- hair whipping violently in the wind as you watch the plane land. You stay there ,silently partaking in your own morbid, self-loathing vigil, still somehow hoping it isn’t true.

But there he is.

Simon Riley. His pine coffin draped with the flag he had fought for.

You watch Soap do his best, limping alongside it, his arms shaking and his eyes stained with tears. He gives you a hug afterward, whispering that he tried, he tried to bring everyone home.

You don’t blame him. Not for a second. You knew when you found Simon’s dog tag on your desk that he never intended on coming back. You knew when you read his neatly written note that you would never see him again. You would never hear his voice or feel his lips against yours. You would never get the chance to tell him that you were his, and that you always had been.

You didn’t know then, that a part of you always would be, didn’t know that he had left more behind than either of you could have imagined.

***

When the doorbell rings, you tear your eyes away from the now framed note. Flitting through the cozy flat with a smile growing on your face,

“Saint!” Gaz sweeps you into a bruising hug, your feet coming off the floor and a giggle erupting from your chest.

“I’m glad you all could make it.” You say a bit breathlessly once you're back on solid ground.

Price gives you a hug next, his beard tickling your cheek, “Wouldn’t miss it, sweetheart.”

“Aye, are ye kiddin’?” Johnny’s kiss lands just at the corner of your lips, his hold tighter, more familiar than the rest- “Miss our big lad’s first birthday? Never, bonnie.”

On cue, you turn at the sound of excited babbling to see the birthday boy in question, looking between the four of you. His copper brown eyes wide with curiosity, and a mess of honey blonde curls on his head.

I was so lucky to have had you..

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

Your Simon.

+++

well, I’m ruined. and I hope you enjoyed it. I’m really not good at leaving angst too angsty, I’m too much of a hoe for silver linings and happy endings and all that fluffy sh*t.

forever just a lover girl at heart 🥲

#bee writes #this was too good how could I not #simon x reader #I’m so bad at angst #I’m just a soft girlie #call of duty #cod fandom #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

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