#a companion for the soap piece

[wombywoo]

haunted

[mafiatsunafish]

Wrap me in your skin and bones, yeah

You're electrical

Oh, I'm gonna lose control, yeah

As you pull me close

Wrap me in your skin and bones, yeah

You're electrical

Oh, I'm gonna lose control

- David Kushner, Skin and Bones

[readwritealldayallnight]

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

[goatgoesmbe]

Gaz saves a piece of you in a locket. Hanging around his neck, clinking against his dog tag. A picture of you cut out in a heart shape to fit in it. That cute smile on your lips, faint blush on your cheeks. A reminder of what he's protecting by being here.

Soap has you in his sketchbook. Various drawings of your beautiful smile and his point of view from when you were under him, panting and whimpering. The latter has a lot of faint erased lines, it was hard to draw with his other hand pumping his cock after all.

Price keeps a piece of your heart with him everywhere in the form of a circular band of precious metal on his ring finger. Digging to his skin since he very rarely takes it off, only a few times when you fuss to have it cleaned. He often found himself fidgeting with it when he was stressed, the thought of yoh calm him down in a way. Pressing his chapped lips on the metal, imagining your knuckles instead

Ghost took your dirty panties. The delicate cotton stuffed in his pockets, but he's also not ashamed to take it out and sniff, even when he hears enemies chattering nearby. Separated by a single wall, while he was hidden in the shadow. Because if it would be his last second on earth, let that sinful scent of yours be his companion.

...

This started as a silly thought of the guys being cute and then boom Ghost horny.

But then i thought that it could make sense since i think Ghost would be afraid of having something too sentimental on him, of enemies finding out about you and all (i mean, the others would be afraid of that too, but he's the Ghost).

[hoe4sports]

The little ragdoll

Alessia Russo x Leah Williamson x child

A note from the author: Once again, another fic based off my life. This is a part of a potential series called “Musli”. Enjoy!

Warning: Fostercare, anxiety, long fic

Summary: You are moved into yet another foster home, and you spend your first 12 hours with Alessia and Leah. Oh, and their little companion.

-

You sit in the social worker’s car while she talks about your new home. She says that this home is a good home, but she said that too about the Johnson family and the Sussex family. You shrug your shoulders as a respons before gripping the ear of your plush cat tighter. The kitty is white, or he used to be white until your last foster father spilled his coffee all over him. You tried to rinse him in the sink, but your foster sister got upset with you. He is patchy brown now, and he smells of coffee. You don’t even like coffee. But he is the last piece of home you have left; your parents had no family. No grandparents and no siblings or cousins. Just you.

The houses are passing by your window, and you see the car moving from lower class areas to middle class areas to upper class areas and back to lower class areas. All your bad experiences are sadly linked with lower class families. The families where money is tight is statistically speaking where abuse is more likely to happen. The big raindrops rolls down the windows and you watch two raindrops to see who is faster. The answer is none of them; because a big truck splashes the window and vanishes the raindrops.

“The new family is excited to welcome you. They don’t have any kids, but they do have a friend for you”

“A friend? Like a chicken?”

You feel excited. You like chickens, they are friendly and they don’t bite.

“No silly, a kitty!”

Your eyes widen at the thought of living in the same house as a cat. You used to have a cat, back in your real home and the memory of him makes you miss him every day. You loved your cat. You love your plush cat. It sparks a tiny excitement in you, but then again you worry if you are allowed to touch the cat. Sometimes, foster kids aren’t allowed to touch certain toys, animals or even parts of the house. Tears forms in your eyes of the thought of him, and you clutch your hand tighter around the plastic bag of personal items that you own. It’s weird, you decide. You used to have puzzles that mommy would puzzle with you, and books that daddy would read to you. You used to have Barbie and dolls. And mommy would buy you so many dresses. You don’t have any dresses anymore. No puzzles. No books. No Barbie and no dolls. It’s only you, your teddy and a few pairs of pants and shirts. It used to make you feel sad, but you are just thankful for getting out of the last foster home.

The car suddenly comes to a stop in front of a big white house. It is a fancy house made out of wood and you can see what looks like handrails on the top of the house. There seems to be a garden, and there is a nice front porch with flowers on it. You blink as you look towards the door. It has a cat door. It resembles your real home. Where your mom planted flowers in the garden and your dad would cut the grass. It was only last summer, but it feels like a lifetime ago. The sudden onset of dejavu makes you smile. But then, you suddenly don’t want to leave the car. You don’t feel ready to disappoint yet another family. Perhaps, this family have more rules than draw others. There are always so many rules. Rules about what you are allowed to eat to what soaps you can use. So you let go of the plastic bag and clutch your fists to the seatbelt. The social worker opens up your door, and you shake your head. She tries to grab your hand, but you refuse. You really do not want to come out of the car.

She gives you a sad smile.

“Okay, how about you sit here and I’ll go get your new fosters?”

You shake your head rapidly and your little heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest. You feel warm, and sweaty, and stressed, and scared.

“I cannot let you sit in the car forever, I’m really sorry. I’m gonna have to lift you out of the car now.”

You close your eyes while your hand unbuckles your belt. The last family made you buckle and unbuckle yourself, so you are no stranger to helping yourself. You unwillingly hop out of the car and hold your kitty tight to your chest. The plastic bag comes along, but it’s too heavy to carry so it ends up dragging behind you. The social worker would grab it, if you would’ve let her; you don’t trust anyone with your things anymore. One family threw away your favourite dress and another lost the last picture you had of your mom and dad.

You find yourself In front of the big front door when the social worker presses the doorbell. It’s late, close to bedtime and the rain is pouring down. You yawn. The door swings open after a few seconds and you get caught off guard. You drop your plastic bag and hide behind the social workers leg.

“Hi! Welcome, please, please come in!” A blonde woman says. You peek at her from behind the social workers leg while trying to decide what category to put her in. She has kind eyes, like your mommy and she is smiling. Your social worker steps forwards which leaves you stumbling a few steps forwards. The embarrassment shows up on your face, but before you say anything; you see the woman reaching for your plastic bag. You know the drill, so you quickly snatch it from the ground before slowly moving yourself to the inside of the home.

You scan the entrance. There is a white built in bench with shoes underneath. You see a coat rack and there is some decor. There is even curtains and blinds on the windows that faces the entrance. It smells like warm cookies and milk, like your mother would make when you were little. Then, you see the other woman. She looks stricter than the first woman. She’s not that smiley, but she dosent look mean. A piece of her hair hangs in front of her eye before she quickly brushes it to the back of her ear.

“Y/N, that is Leah and this is Alessia. Say hi to them, please.”

You can’t say a word. Like all the words and letters of the English alphabet have left your mind. You shake your head rapidly. All the bones in your body freezes and your tears starts pressing in your eyes. You don’t know what to say or how to say anything. You don’t wanna sound dumb, and you don’t wanna sound sassy. The social worker looks down at you and sighs.

“Thank you for taking her in at a short notice. Things weren’t exactly good, and I had to move her quickly. She’s a good kid.”

One of the women squats down to your height.

“Hi, I’m Alessia. Who is this?” she asks. She points to your kitty, but she dosent touch him. You clutch him to your chest, and a silent tear rolls down your cheek. You feel terrified, maybe you aren’t allowed to have him?

“Uh..His name is Meow” you mumble, barely giving her a second of eye contact. Even though you don’t look at her, she looks at you. She waits and she seems to be patient.

“Im happy that you and Meow came to stat with us. We are happy to have you stay here for a while”

You feel scared. A while. How long is a while? It’s one of those adult’s acronyms that you don’t understand. Maybe, if you are good; they will let you stay for more than a while. You decided that you need to be polite, and kind, and helpful. You offer Alessia eye contact, and she smiles warmly at you.

“Oh look, there is someone else excited to see you” Alessia says as their white cat appears. He has white and brown fur, and he has blue eyes. He looks exactly like your old cat. The cat that used to live with you and mommy and daddy. Your eyes widen at the sight of him, and the cat trots its way over to you.

You reach out your hand, like you mother taught you. He sniffs it before instantly bonking his head into your had. Then, her purrs loudly.

“His name is Musli, he is a ragdoll, and he is 4 years old: just like you.”

“Musli” you parrot quietly while looking at the cat. You decide that you like musli and for a second, you feel calm.

“Alright, Y/N, I have to go now. Be good, okay? I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

She pats your head.

“Thank you once again Mrs. Russo and Mrs. Williamson. Call me if any issues or concerns.”

And with that, you are left alone. You, your kitty and your plastic bag is left to yourself. Tears swell in your eyes, and Musli rapidly rubs himself on you. You look down at him, and a teardrop lands in his fur.

“Y/N?”

You look up and you gulp. Time to be good. You nod your head while wiping your eyes on your sleeves.

“We were about to go into the kitchen to have some cookies, do you like cookies?” Leah asks while looking at you.

You nod again as your stomach rumbles. The last time you had something to eat was this morning, when you had a few pieces of carrots.

“Let’s bring meow to the kitchen with us, so he can have a treat too”

Alessia winks, and it makes you smile shyly. You follow the two women to the kitchen; meow in your right hand and the plastic bag dragging behind from your left hand. The bag leaves a stream of water from underneath it, and it makes you feel embarrassed.

“This is where I sit, and this is where Leah sit.”

Alessia points to a table with four chairs. You nod while scanning the kitchen. It’s big, and white. It’s pretty, and there is a gigantic fridge with a tap in the door. You shove your bag next to the wall, careful to not leave it out for anyone to trip on. That way, nobody will get mad at you.

Leah drags out a chair, it’s pink and it has a little step, a little place for your feet and a seat. It’s a children’s chair and you feel confused. Did they have a kid that you don’t know about? It scares you, because that means that there will be a competition and normally, you lose them.

You stand there dumbfounded while Alessia gets the out the plates. Leah gets out the glasses. They are high up, in the cabinets over the kitchen sink. It makes you sad because that means that you can’t help out with the plates.

Soon, everything is set and you are still frozen in the middle of the room.

“Come here, Y/N” Leah says before patting the pink chair. You slowly walk over to her before looking at it.

“Whose chair is that?” You whisper.

“It’s yours, you can use it for however long you want” Alessia says while smiling at you.

You climb up carefully, and you place meow next to you. Alessia puts forward a little bowl of milk, which leaves you confused. Are you supposed to drink out of the bowl? You don’t mind, really, all you want to is to be good. Your hands grab the bowl and you lean forward to drink the milk.

“For meow” Alessia says, and it makes you feel embarrassed. Leah quickly fills up your glass while Alessia puts the bowl infront of your plate. She pats the table, and you put meow infront of it.

“See? He likes it” Alessia says which makes you smile. Then you eat your warm cookie quietly. Alessia tells you about her day, and Leah answers. You just nod along, busy eating your cookie. This feels nice, you think. They seem kind. But you worry that they will be extra mean once you make them angry for being disrespectful, bad or dumb.

After finishing the cookie and drinking the milk, Leah clears the table.

“Thank you Mrs. Russo and Mrs. Williamson” you mumble, scared to say their names wrong. The pair of them shares a sad look before looking towards you.

“Please love, Call us Alessia and Leah. We aren’t your mom or your dad, but we are here to take care of you”

You nod.

“Should we find the bedroom?”

You nod, again.

-

“This is the bed. I didn’t know what colors you like, so I grabbed what we had. We can go out tomorrow to get you a few things. Where is your bag?”

Alessia says. You lift your bag up, and Leah reaches for it.

“Can I help you put your clothes away in the dresser?”

You nod.

“Thank you, Mrs. Leah”

The pair of them frowns, and you don’t understand why. Then Leah takes your clothes out; one by one until they are all taken out. The clothes are all wet from being dragged on the ground, and the pair of them shares a sad smile.

“Im gonna have to wash your clothes, they are all wet and dirty. Is that okay? Then tomorrow, we will get some more clothes” Alessia says while looking at the small pile of clothes.

You nod, but feel confused. Who are we getting clothes for, you wonder. Perhaps they need you to help carry the bags home. You are either way grateful for getting to come along instead of being left home by yourself.

You let out a big yawn, and drop meow in the action. Alessia instantly picks him up and reach him towards you.

“I think that maybe mr.meow needs a bath? Do you want to grab your toothbrush, hairbrush and pj so you can both get ready for bed?”

You look at her in confusion. You don’t own a hairbrush or a toothbrush anymore. It makes you feel dirty and uncomfortable, so you look down at your socks.

“Mrs. Alessia.. I…uh.. I don’t have a toothbrush or a hairbrush” you stutter out. You don’t see it, but Alessia and Leah shares a heartbroken look.

“Okay little miss, you can call me just Alessia and her just Leah. Whatever you want to, ok?”

You nod.

“We will put down toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrushes, hair ties, hair bands and knot spray on the list for tomorrow. Do you have a pj?”

You shake your head.

“That’s fine, Leah will find something for you to wear. Let’s go to the bathroom to get mr.meow cleaned up”

You smile at Alessia while nodding.

“Okay” you mumble out just loud enough for Alessia to hear.

-

Mr.Meow sits in the bathroom sink in a bubble bath. His whiskers are pointing downwards because of the weight of the water. Musli sits next to your feet, and you find yourself feeling safer around him. Your mommy would always say that a cat knows a good person; so if you ever needed to know how to categorise someone; see if a cat likes them. The memory makes you smile. Alessia hands you a tiny brush and smiles.

“Do you want to give him a little scrub?”

You smile and nod rapidly. Then, you get to scrubbing. You scrub, and scrub and scrub. Then Alessia scrubs, and scrubs and scrubs. Everything from his tail to his ears and paws. Soon enough, meow is white again and he goes into the dryer for a few minutes until he is dried enough for you to cuddle him.

Leah steps into the room while you are hugging him tightly with Alessia sitting on the toilet lid.

“Here, I have a little cousin that is the same age as you. She said that you could have this!”

Leah pulls out a pink pj. It’s a set with flowers on the pants and a princess on the front of it. It makes you light up. You nod your head before crashing into Leah’s legs in excitement. Leah looks surprised for a few seconds until Alessia nudges her to have her put her hand on your head. It feels safe.

“Thank you, Leah”

-

After washing meow, brushing your hair with Alessia’s brush and putting on the new pj; Alessia and Leah put you to bed. Or, rather they followed you to your bed while you put yourself to sleep. They turned on the little nightlamp on the nightstand before they said their goodnights. You found yourself laying in bed listening to the sounds of the house, much like you did at the old foster homes. Always waiting for someone to be disappointed with you.

The bed is soft just like your bed back at home. Not your old temporary home, but your old real home. The home you were born into. Where you took your first steps. Where you learned to put the cereal in the bowl before the milk. Where you learned to say please and thank you.

The bedroom is big. It has been painted a calm pink color, and there is a bookshelf with a few books. A few of the books are books you recognise, like the pink glittery one with Pappa pink. There is some toys and what you seem to recognise as Lego. You are not sure if you are even allowed to use the toys, but you appreciate being able to look at them. You don’t really know who they belong to because you arrived so late that you couldn’t think of asking. Your hand presses down on the mattress you have found yourself laying down on. It’s soft, and it’s comforting in a weird way. It feels like what used to be home. Before mom and dad and you took the trip to the local beach. Before one drunk driver changed your life forever. Before your life become something that you couldn’t even recognise anymore,

But the bed isn’t like home. It’s probably the most comfortable bed you have ever had, you decide. Even nicer than the one you once had. The frame is white with butterflies. The pillows are fluffy and the duvet is warm. You like the print too, it is pink with little purple flowers. Even though your new foster parents have spent a ton of money and effort on making this bedroom feel cosy, you end up sleeping on the ground. Not directly on the ground, but on the big thick fluffy rug in the middle of the room. It’s pink too, so you decide that it is perfect to sleep on. This way, you won’t get too comfortable in Leah and Alessia’s home. If you get too comfortable, then it will hurt even worse when they decide to kick you out. That’s why your hands softly pull the duvet and one pillow down to the floor, before laying down on it and wrapping yourself in the duvet. It feels strangely safe to be in this bedroom, in your temporary house. The feeling is new, and you are not sure whenever to regress the feeling or embrace it. You close your eyes slowly, listening to the soft hum of your two new foster moms chatter soothingly downstairs. It leaves you feeling like you are in a state of bliss that allows all the cells in your body to, for once, relax completely. It feels like you are floating, like you are at peace. Meow is in your hand, and musli comes to lay down next to you. He purrs, sending vibrations through your heart making it feel calm. Soon enough, you see your mom and you feel yourself drifting away.

-

The next morning, you wake up terrified. Did you oversleep? Why don’t your foster moms wake you up? You feel anxious. Perhaps you were supposed to wake yourself up? Irresponsible. That would already be one shot. You only get three. That’s what the other fosterfamily told you. Three shots and you are out.

You are only four, so it isn’t expected of you to wake yourself up. But you don’t know that. You drag yourself out of bed, and then it hits you: oh god. You fell asleep on the ground, but you woke up in the bed. Was it wrong of you to sleep on the floor? Did Leah or Alessia put you in bed? Maybe they are upset with you? It scares you to the point where you feel yourself shiver like a chihuahua.

You stumble out of bed before making a silenced run to the door. You shuffle down the hallway until you see the staircase and you peek out from behind the handrails. It smells like coffee, and pancakes. You find a place to sit in the staircase where you can look into the kitchen, but still be partially hidden by the shadows of the dark hallway.

Leah and Alessia is in the kitchen. Leah is reading something from her phone out loud and Alessia is listening while making pancakes. You can see orange juice on the table as well as jam, cheese and milk. Leah has a cup of coffee with milk in it. It’s light brown, and you recognise it because your old foster mother would tell you to put milk in her coffee for her.

You can feel the hunger growing in your gut, and you hold meow close to you while closing your eyes hoping that it will disappear. Then, Musli hopes downstairs. He sniffs your arm before meowing at you. You quietly try to shush him, but it doesn’t help.

“Y/N? There is breakfast for you in here love”

Leah says while smiling at you from the kitchen. You look back at her with wide eyes. Musli is still rubbing himself on your shoulder, and you force yourself to stand up. You quickly go to the kitchen, not wanting your new moms to wait. Waiting isn’t a good thing, especially when they are waiting on you. It can cause them to be upset with you. You don’t want that.

You hop up on the chair you sat in last night, and your eyes widen when Alessia places a pink princess plate infront of you with a few pancakes on. Are all of these for you? You feel confused. She hands you a fork, not an adult fork. A tiny fork with a bunny engraved into it.

Alessia sits down, and you look at her. She is now eating, and you look over at Leah who is pouring herself juice. You feel conflicted; if you ask if it is for you then they might take it away because you seem ungrateful. But if you don’t ask, then they can get upset with you for eating everyone’s breakfast.

“Uh, Alessia? Can I eat this?”

“Huh? Are you allergic?”

“What’s allergic?”

They both share a sad look, but to you; it looks like disappointment.

“It’s for you baby, just eat however much you want”

You look at Alessia and Leah. Sceptical, yet grateful. You nod before you start eating. Then you realise that you might need to eat everything; because you don’t know if you are gonna get another meal today. It feels strange to sit here with two adults eating pancakes. Musli is sleeping by your chair. It almost feels like a dream. Like something that is taken out of a movie. But it’s a movie that you don’t want to end. That’s the thing about movies; they always have an end.

[celenawrites]

pretty when you cry

pairing - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

word count - 2.4k

warnings - Ghost is a bit of a dick but he gets better, Reader is a bit of a crybaby here but it's just cuz she's very in tune with her emotions, Simon is emotionally constipated and cannot handle feelings, some fluff, heavy-ish (?) angst, open ending, etc.

Note - Kinda got tired of writing fluffy stuff all the time and my mental health is fraying atm, so I decided to (hopefully) hurt some folks with this little piece. Enjoy!

AO3 Version

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

You cry easy. 

That's what Ghost thought of you when you first joined Task Force-141. 

While he has always been skeptical of any new additions (often temporary) to the team he has come to love and trust after going through hell and back, Price was convinced that your impeccable record on stealth ops, your physical agility, and your skills as a sniper were much needed. 

Reluctantly, Ghost silently accepts his Captain’s decision.

However, time and time again, your sensitive nature had him worried that you might prove to be a heavy liability to the team. 

When you stub your toe against the leg of the table, you let out a few tears of frustration and pain, cursing everyone and their mothers while you hold your injured foot in the air as you comically jump around the kitchen, even though your lack of spatial awareness was to be blamed here. It is almost always a comical sight, Gaz rubbing your back in comfort while you curse and cry, failing to hide his amusement. Soap is not afraid to laugh at your face for it, while Price has this twinkle in his eye as he asks you to sit and eat something for breakfast. 

Simon ignores the flutter in his stomach when you take a seat next to him on the table, your wet hair letting out wafts of jasmine - all for him to smell and keep to himself. 

You cry when you accidentally let the door close on your pinky, dramatic hiccups leaving you as Soap ties up your little finger with white bandages, stroking your hair as he consoles you, "That's a brave lassie, yeah? You got this". (Soap has always been good with people, Simon notes.) Sometimes, Soap will be ‘kind enough’ to offer you to kiss your injuries better and you’d shove him, your face giving away the embarrassment and the humorous jest you feel around the demolition expert. 

You weep uncontrollably when you watch Marley and Me with Gaz in the rec room. Price and Ghost had been passing by, discussing the aftermath of a mission they had just returned from when they heard loud sobs coming from the usually empty room. They peer in to find both of you huddled close in soft blankets, a bowl of popcorn propped up in your lap and a box of tissues in Gaz’s lap, as you munch on the buttery snack and cry over the adorable dog finally being put to rest. You lean into Gaz for comfort and Ghost wonders if you still smell of mud and caked blood like you did on the field. 

Price decides to break up the party as he enters the room, clearing up his throat to grab the attention of his Sergeants. Your lip wobbles as he lightly scolds you, his brow laden with concern as he looks at you and tells you both to go get some much-needed rest. You pass him by as you leave the room, your hand being a feather’s touch away from his and he almost holds onto you. (He still has no idea why he almost reacted like that to you)

One time, Price had been sent to help Laswell out on a crucial mission and all you had accomplished during those three and a half weeks was mope around and wish your Captain were here. You’d be lying on the sofa in the common room and you’d whine to your companions. “I’m so bored. I miss Captain. I wish he was here”, you’d pout and Soap and Gaz would gang up on you, teasing you as they asked you whether you had some unresolved feelings for dear Price. (The idea of you coveting Price like a lover seemed ridiculous to him, really. You and the Captain? Not a chance)

And then there was that one time when you had to go on a solo mission (the first of you being on your own since you joined the task force, really) and when you had come back to him them, battered and bloodied and disheveled but still safe and sound and Price lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as if all the weight of the world has disappeared now that you’re back home, back to your team (where you now rightfully belong). You rush to them, running as if you cannot close the distance between them fast enough, and Price hugs you with steady arms as he lets you cry into his shoulder, wetting his uniform as you all but sob in relief, leaning on your Captain for support as your legs turn like jelly, unable to support the weight of your weary body. 

It must’ve been terrifying - being out there on the field, hostility and death surrounding you in all directions and the only person you could possibly rely on is yourself. Keeping yourself safe and sane as you navigate unknown terrain and fight off the monsters who wear the skins of humans and pollute the very Earth they have been raised on. Blood and gore and gunpowder clinging to you like a second skin as you pray to survive another night and make it back home safely. Back to your team. 

Back to your kind captain, and sergeants you have befriended and a cold Lieutenant who sometimes fails to hide the care he carries for you in his brown eyes. 

Price has a look of sympathy and understanding on his face as he drags you to the infirmary, even holding your trembling hand in his warm palm as you flinch at the sight of the large syringe needle and hiss in pain whenever the alcohol-soaked cotton is applied to your cuts. He soothes you with a gentle pat on your back, mindful of your treated injuries as he softly tells you to clean up and maybe get some much needed sleep, asking Gaz to supply you with something to eat before you doze off due to fatigue and the morphine still floating in your system. 

Ghost found it annoying for the most part - sometimes snapping at you to "Shut up and focus" on bad days and while he’s still irked at the sentimentality you possess, something that he and his comrades have willingly allowed to wither and die in their souls, a small part of him - a part of him that still resembles who Simon was, a mimicry of the humanness he hasn’t felt in his dead soul for years, worried about you. Worried sick about you and your emotions and the lack of lid you have on it. Worried if he had been too harsh on you because he doesn’t do emotions, and clearly he is out of his depth when it comes to dealing with people, but especially when it comes to dealing with you. 

He realizes he doesn’t mind you crying all that much. 

You go out for drinks to celebrate your successful solo mission and you spend the time you had lost on the field with your teammates - you play billiards with Gaz against Soap and Ghost and lose sorely, and then you try out a peg of whiskey the Captain has ordered and Price laughs heartily as you sputter and whine as the drink burns your esophagus. You somehow convince Ghost to teach you how to throw darts and he tries to not lean into your warmth as he stands behind you, his gloved hand holding your wrist as he positions you and teaches you how to throw the wooden dart you hold between your smooth fingers, and tells you all he knows about making sure that the little thing hits the dartboard without fail. 

Simon can smell your jasmine shampoo and your citrus perfume on you as he uses his hands to correct your posture. He can feel how soft and pliant you are under him, eager to obey and please him, and all he can think about is what it’d be like - being your confidante, being the voice of reason for you when you’re drowning in emotions, being a sturdy shoulder for you to cry on. 

And he knows for a fact that you’d be all that and more in a heartbeat if he allowed you to. 

You lean onto Simon for support, your head lolling onto his shoulder as he quietly guides you to your bedroom. You hum quietly as he carefully makes you lie down on your bed, removing your shoes for you and when you beg him to help you remove the little makeup you had applied for the night (Price blatantly ignoring the use of contraband because it’s you), he surprisingly complies. Years of applying camo paint on his face give him the needed experience around using micellar water and makeup wipes as he helps you prepare yourself for a night of mindless sleeping, which will be followed by a hangover in the morning plaguing almost all of them. (He swears he’ll force you to drink the ginger tea he’ll make, no matter how much you’d whine about it tasting ‘yucky’. He’d rather not have you hurling over everything like a cat with a persistent hairball stuck in its throat).

“I’m so happy”, you hum to yourself as Simon tilts your head up. 

“Close your eyes, Sergeant”, he orders and you comply, feeling the soaked cotton pad rub against your eyelids as your Lieutenant removes your pink eye shadow. It’s a pretty color on you, Simon thinks but he never says it out loud.  

You stay silent as he finishes up with your work, his calloused fingertips tilting and moving your head to look at any missed spots he might’ve overlooked in the dim bedroom light. 

“All done”, he scruffs, getting up on his feet and he hears you call out to him as he leaves the room.

“What is it?” he asks, wishing to be in his warm bed on this cold night. 

“Thank you, sir”, you say earnestly with your eyes shining with sincerity and an unrecognizable emotion. 

Simon observes you - you lying on your bed in the clothes you wore to the bar, with most of your makeup removed and your eyes struggling to stay open as intoxication and tiredness tempt you to forget the world and sleep.

A moment too late, he asks you, “What are you thanking me for, rookie?”

Only to find you out cold.

He sighs, draping the thin blanket over your shivering body and leaving you alone in your room. 

When you wake up the next day with a hangover headache, your makeup removed and your blanket draped over you tenderly, you make your way to the common kitchen and you ask your moody superior if he remembers anything from the night before - your hazy memory failing to cover the gaps in your memory. 

He gruffly says out, “No” and then hands you a cup of ginger tea, looking at you intensely as he waits for you to whine about the bitter taste of the tea he’s made for you. Knowing it’s a lost fight, you let out an exasperated sigh and thank your Lieutenant for the hangover cure. He looks at you a beat too long before leaving you to your own devices, exiting the room, and going God knows where. 

It takes him time, with all that he is and all that he has been through, to come to a new conclusion for his first impression of you. Steadily with time, Simon realizes that the reason you cry so easily is not because you're weak. 

It’s because you’re brave. 

Brave enough to express yourself and not fear rejection from others. Brave enough to show that you care, to show that you love life and people and everything life has to offer. Brave and kind and valiant in everything you do, Simon is almost jealous of your ability to be so open and free. He wonders what it would be like to let go and just allow himself to feel. 

It’d probably drown him alive. 

It might set him free. 

He’d never get the chance to know though. 

Now again, you sob as you put pressure on his abdomen wound as you talk to him with a wet, unstable voice, “Stay awake for me, Lt. We will all make it”. You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. (You need that reassurance more than him anyway).

He’s sluggish, the blood loss and pain makes it hard for him to focus on your blurry face and the skull mask on his face doesn’t help him either. He’s immobile, despite trying his level best to raise his hand up so that he can wipe away the stray tears on your cheeks. He parts his lips to tell you to please stop crying, to tell you how he’s not worth the worry, he’s not worthy of your tears - not when he has vehemently admonished you for them all this time. 

But all he can do is let out a low moan of pain, his eyes rolling back in his head. He can hear your voice, can hear the worry and fear and panic as you call out to him, but everything is hard and he can hear you but comprehending your words is near impossible with the ringing in his ears and the whirring of the helicopter that came in to rescue him and his team. He’s aware of his teammates sitting beside him - he can imagine their solemn faces as they cope with the possibility of him succumbing to his wounds before they make it back to safety. But he focuses on you instead - sweet, radiant you who worries about everyone and everything; who wears her heart on her sleeve and still holds onto the hope that he will make it out of this ordeal alive, even though he can feel his life slipping away from him like the sands of time.

Each breath of his is labored, and Simon wishes for nothing more than to wipe away your tears or to maybe hold your soft self against his injured body, cradling you close to his heart as he vows to survive this for you. Only for you. 

Through black spots and dryness, he blinks up to look at you and he has this realization, a moment of pure ‘Eureka!’ as he observes your worsened state of being. 

You have never been prettier than this instant, crying over him and praying to any kind of deity who’d grant him the boon of life. 

Satisfied with his discovery and suddenly extremely tired, he allows himself to close his eyes, letting the fatigue win and the last thing he sees is you crying for him to stay alive and fight. 

The last thing he hears is your sobs as you beg someone, anyone to save your Lieutenant. 

Note -

Title is thanks to the song 'Pretty When You Cry' by Lana Del Rey, although I wasn't actually listening to the song while writing this.

[parvulous-writings]

Could I request dating headcanons for Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish, and poly Ghoap with gn s/o please? - Fluff anon

Warnings: Oh boy... This be sweet...

Notes: Did I get carried away? Absolutely. I love my boys!! Thank you, Fluff, for indulging me!!

𝔖𝔦𝔪𝔬𝔫 ℜ𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔶

Simon likes to keep his civilian life very firmly separate from his work-life. You know that he's fairly high up in the military, that he often has to be very brutal, and the names of his closest companions. This took years to get out of him, though, and he flat out refuses to tell you anything else, or expand on the information you've already pried from him. "You don't need t'know any of that, love... Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, 'kay?" And that's that. You don't know about 'Ghost', and he'd very much like to keep it that way. He wants to stay your Simon, the sweet, if not awkward, young man you fell for years ago.

He's gone a lot - active service unfortunately demands it. He sends messages when he can, but rarely calls when he's away - you assume it's because he either doesn't want to risk, or can't risk, you overhearing anything in the background. He tries his best to make it up to you when he's on leave, though. Little date nights here and there, spending quality time together - he'll even acquiesce and let you watch your favourite schlocky movies or tv shows, no matter how much he normally pretends to hate them. In truth, they do hold a special place in his heart. They remind him of you, and for that, he'll always appreciate them, in a strange way. Sometimes he'll play half an episode on his phone, when he's away and has a chance - just to keep that piece of you with him.

Physical affection has two facets, with Simon. The public, and the private. In public, he stays almost unnervingly close to you, especially in crowds, but doesn't usually hold your hand or even touch you. Unless he needs to pull you away from something for your own safety, he isn't really a massive fan with expressing his love through public displays of affection; but he doesn't mind if you hug his arm whilst walking, or want to lean into him whilst sitting in a restaurant booth. In private, he isn't quite 'all over you', but he is very close. He doesn't like being in a different room to you most of the time, and if you're in the living room, you're not just going to be sitting around - he will be cuddling you, in some way. Whether he's perched you on his lap, or pulled you into his side - or even, on the rare occasion, when he lets you be the bigger spoon.

𝒥𝑜𝒽𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝑀𝒶𝒸𝒯𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓈𝒽

Johnny does talk a little bit about his time with the task force - unless, of course, he is legally required to not disclose some information (which is a fair amount, but he tries to find workarounds if something is genuinely bothering him). You know his friendships with Simon, Kyle, and Price are all strong - forged in the fires of conflict, and durable enough to withstand it all and more. You know that Price acts a bit like a father, Kyle is the 'funny guy' ("'Sides me, o'course, hen,"), and Simon is Johnny's stoic lieutenant, who he admires, respects, and holds very dearly. Though Johnny has never said the words exactly, you get the impression that Simon is something of a best friend figure to the Scot. Johnny doesn't go in depth or in detail about his missions, he only really speaks about it if there's something that's been bothering him.

He's gone often, but he keeps in contact as much as he can; calls, texts, and video calls whenever he gets the chance. He's often in the rec room when you're on call, and you can hear a faint 'hello' from Gaz whenever he catches Soap on the phone. When he's at home, his favourite thing to do is stay at home with you, and watch movies. Particularly old, or schlocky ones. Sharknado, Attack of the Lederhosen Zombies, and all other manner of B, or even C-rated movies come out. They're usually meant to be horror, but they're often so tacky they don't come across as it. Throw in that night's take out of choice, and boom! Johnny's perfect date night with you.

His main love language is physical touch, so public displays of affection with Johnny are a must, whether it's hand-holding, an arm around your shoulders, or him playfully putting you in a headlock when you're out and about with your friends. The headlock also appears in your private life as well - it's his own, special, silent 'I love you'. It's uniquely him, too. That playful, rough edge that he has, put into his affection. He likes to fall asleep on you a lot, too. Snuggling in bed, or on the sofa, draped over you like a muscled blanket. Something about being close to you soothes his soul, and allows him to sleep with little issue.

Simon and Johnny

There's a small clash with how Simon and Johnny communicate whilst away from you, but they manage to find a slight compromise. Johnny will call you, and drag Simon into view or onto the line if he gets too close to the Scot whilst he's talking to you. He isn't begrudging when he talks to you, but he's very aware of what sounds or sights can be picked up by the phone. He takes privacy and secrecy very seriously, does Simon.

When they're home, you always have practically glued to your hip, no matter the time of day - except the first day home. That first day and night they spend in the guest room together, adjusting themselves back into civilian life. It was a ritual that was started by Simon, that he almost insisted Soap follow with; and the Scot didn't argue. After their day of unwinding, one of them is with you always. Johnny trails after you in the kitchen, or when you're doing chores, and Simon will do the same when you're out and about, getting the weekly shop. It's endearing, in it's own way.

When it comes to night time, and sleeping arrangements, the first couple of nights after they integrate are the best, in your opinion. They both cling to you, one on each side, nuzzling their faces into your arm, or your stomach - or your back, if you're spooning one of them. Sometimes Simon will haul you to sleep on his chest in the middle of the night, and Johnny drapes his arm over the both of you, snuggling into Simon's bulky arm, already half asleep. Other times, Johnny will hug you right up against his front, as Simon hugs him from behind. Occasionally Si will mix things up, and hug you from the front, his large arms reaching over you to grab at the small of Johnny's back, and sometimes his rear.

[bristlelark]

y'think I'm pretty, LT?

a companion to this piece

detail of soap's lil puppy dog face below the cut!

(poor baby needs a pore mask actually I really need a better graphics card so I can run cycles and his skin won't look like ass 🥲)

[rookiesbookies]

please please please write a piece where sex doll soap is dominant please please please

also how does this work? is he sentient? does he have emotions? is he ai?

if you dont want to write a pt II id also take a sex doll price

You got Sex Doll Price! Bingo!

So I saw your question and I outlined how it works more in this post (if you havent seen it) and Im getting ready to write the Konig piece, however I want to make it really special so im going to hype it up a bit more and here’s a Price one because I felt like writing him!

I totally forgot this was in my drafts btw

Price’s story of getting bought goes much like all the other’s. His lady is lonely one night, flips through some infomercials because there’s nothing good on and she figured they’d be entertaining she guessed? It was a better idea than Steinfeld reruns for the fifteenth time, and nothing streaming was updated or good. It was a rare mood.

It came on for the dolls and she fell in love with the way he moved, smiled, his eyes. It was like the tv knew how much she loved the soft eyes of an older man.

She slid off her couch and onto the floor before she punched in the number on the phone to call, saying she wanted Price.

It took time before he was there. She felt different, he has been marketed as a companion robot on the tv. One that could walk, talk, cook, clean. It would be nice having someone to take care of the house while she was at work.

When the mystery box was on her doorstep with the gibberish, she assumed what it was based on the size.

It took a long time of struggling to get it through the door. She tore into it almost immediately. She didnt even get him out of the box before she planted a soft kiss to his lips, just as the commercial said. His eyes fluttered open and she was met with the same soft eyes she first saw.

He was swift. Reconnecting his lips to her and moving out of his box without much effort. She slid back to make room for his large form, when she hit the wall he crawled over her.

“I was told you were a companion,” she said softly eyes, trained on his lips then flicking up to his eyes.

“Companions do lots of different things. There are plenty of different types of companions, love.” His rough hands came up to her face, thumb grazing over her lower lip. “It just so happens to be my directive to be a certain kind of companion.”

Her body felt like it was on air the whole time, like her nerves were cushioned by personal clouds as he worked.

He was swift, putting her on her hands and knees before working off her pants and underwear. His mouth connected with her lower lips and began work. He was delicate but hungry.

Once he got her what he deemed wet enough he used his knee to move her thighs apart, pulling his pants down.

“Breath, love.” He whispered sweetly into her ear after spitting into his hand, rubbing it over his cock, “remember to breath.”

He let it rest in her for a long time. She fell onto her forearms, debating letting her mouth hang open so drool could fall.

He was rhythmic and juicy. Everything she imagined. She was so high up she almost didn’t register she was about to cum until it happened. He didn’t seem to orgasm, surprisingly, but he didn’t seem to care, maybe he did - well she had no clue. He picked her up and wondered her home until he found the bathroom, drawing her bath before washing her gently and putting her to better not long after drying her.

Worth every penny.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Your Wildest Dreams [Soap x Fem!Reader]

Summary: In a mission gone wrong, you and Soap have to hole up in a safehouse, trying to stay warm during the cold Russian winter

Author’s Note: Not me thirsting after Soap for 5.1K words instead of finishing the companion piece I started for Maybe… also, my first ever shot at writing reader-insert! Anyway, here’s a really plot-lacking, self-serving piece for anyone interested

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, extremely suggestive, borderline smutty? No actual explicit smut, but let’s call it NSFW to be safe

Shrike /SHrīk/ noun

a songbird with a strong sharply hooked bill, often impaling its prey of small birds, lizards, and insects on thorns

a 10-foot (3-meter), 400-pound (180-kilogram) U.S. air-to-ground missile designed to destroy missile batteries by homing in on their radar emissions

Icy water enveloped you. Pinpricks instantly broke out under your skin, dancing through your blood and your bones. For a blessed moment, your mind went blank. Then, survival instinct kicked in. You kicked your already numbing legs as hard as you could, launching yourself back toward the night sky. Just as you thought your lungs might burst, you broke the surface, gulping in the crisp mountain air. It burned the back of your throat as you bobbed in the current, trying to get your bearings.

What should have been an hour-long intel collection mission had gone to shit in less than a minute. 

You and Soap had been dispatched to a safehouse of Makarov’s in the Russian countryside to gather intel. You were anxious- excited to be out with Soap, nervous about the actual infiltration. Soap’s signature flirting melted that anxiety quickly. It was one of the reasons you enjoyed missions with him so much… and one of the reasons you got so flustered around him.

Tensions with Russia were high, so rather than sending a full team, the pair of you had been dropped off by helo three clicks from the site. You’d go in, get the intel, get to the safehouse, and wait for evac. Barring any immediate danger, you’d be holed up there overnight, hiking out early the next morning to be picked up. Price was unhappy about sending you in without comms or backup, but Laswell was concerned with radio traffic and her sources had told her it would be empty.

Laswell’s sources had been wrong.

You’d taken a long, cold hike up the frozen mountainside to a deteriorating stone building that might at one time have been a castle, but was now little more than half-crumbled walls and hastily built wooden shacks. There had been no indicators that anything was amiss- no footprints in the snow, no pings on Soap’s heartbeat sensor, no noise. Laswell’s intel had seemed good.

Then you’d opened the door to one of the shacks and been met with a full squad of soldiers. They clearly hadn’t been expecting you, and you had the distinct advantage. Before they could react, you’d grabbed the nearest soldier, using him as a human shield while you put him in a headlock. Soap had sprung past you, shooting two others before ducking behind a desk. An overeager and overconfident soldier had fired several shots at you, nearly grazing your arm, but killing his teammate in the process. Soap had lunged at him, baring him to the ground and stabbing a combat knife deep into his throat.

The three remaining soldiers raised their weapons, shouting to each other. You’d killed one with a well-placed throwing knife as you threw yourself behind a table and watched in horror as another launched himself at Soap. You raised your gun, but there was no clean shot with them grappling as they were. Then, you were blindsided by the last soldier. He leapt at you as you tried to line up a shot on his teammate, knocking your gun to the ground and grabbing one of your wrists.

Instinct took over as you wrestled, and before you knew what was happening, you and your attacker were flying through the nearby window. You both rolled down a steep, snowy hill toward a frothing river, each trying to get the upper hand. Before either of you could, you went straight into the icy river, sinking instantly. Luckily, you recovered first.

After taking a moment to breathe, you dove back underwater, looking around for your attacker. He was close enough to reach out and touch, back to you as he tried to get to the surface for a breath of air. You swam toward him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hoist yourself up, and stabbed him. Once in the neck, once in the ribs, and then once in the chest for good measure. His body had gone limp at the first thrust, but you couldn’t be too safe.

As soon as his body floated out of your arms, you realized the bigger issue- the current, and the cold. You were already being dragged downstream, the tide splashing over your head and threatening to pull you back under. You swam for the bank, but your progress was minimal. Your muscles were already starting to freeze up. You looked around frantically, desperate for something to hold onto. Just as your fingers met with a sharp rock, you heard Soap’s voice calling your name.

You looked up to see him scrambling down the hill, sliding on snow and loose bits of shale. Blood dripped from his temple and he seemed to be cradling his arm to his chest. You tried to pull yourself out of the water to meet him on the banks, but your muscles refused to work. The icy water was doing its work and you could feel your body beginning to shut down.

“Soap,” you called weakly. He had almost reached you. “I can’t move.”

He waded waist deep into the water, reaching out for you with the arm that wasn’t held carefully to his side. “‘S alright, hen, I’ve got you. Take my hand.” You shakily, slowly, tried to reach for him, barely managing to brush the tips of your fingers against his, and he managed to lean just a bit further out to wrap his hand around yours. He tugged you toward him, and after a moment, was pulling you into his side. “You’re freezing, Shrike,” he murmured, rubbing your arm for a moment. You were shivering violently, barely able to move.

“I am,” you said, teeth chattering. “Your head.” Soap waved you off as he looked around, gaze settling in the direction of the town where you were supposed to wait for evac.

“The intel-”

Soap cut you off, shaking his head. “Forget the intel. Price said if anything went wrong, we get to the safehouse.” His eyes scanned your body, looking for any injuries, as his hand rubbed over your arms. “Are you okay? Can you make it back to town?” You nodded, your violent shaking making it nearly impossible to tell. You reached for his wrist, pressing on it gently. You were no medic, but it didn’t feel broken to you. 

You held his wrist with one hand as the other reached up to wipe the blood from his temple. “You okay?” you asked. He winced as you wiped at the blood, but nodded. You breathed a sigh of relief when only a shallow cut was visible.

“Just a sprain,” he said. He pulled his wrist carefully from your grip and unzipped his jacket, pulling it off.

“W-what are you-”

“You need it more than me,” he said. He walked around behind you, tucking you into the jacket before zipping you up in it.

“You’ll freeze,” you protested. Soap only shook his head, offering a lopsided smile.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

You were afraid your legs would refuse to move, but were so grateful when they didn’t. The warmth that bloomed in your chest at Soap’s sacrifice warmed you more than the jacket itself, although it did keep out the worst of the biting wind. You both trudged through the snow toward the village, teeth chattering and bone-cold. You walked in relative quiet, broken only by Soap’s soft inquiries.

“How’re you holding up, hen?”

“I can’t feel my toes, Soap.” “Hang in there, Shrike. We’re almost to the safehouse.”

As the town came into view, your vision began to swim. You’d been given the safehouse address. Now you just had to find it so you could lie down and bundle up until Price could send someone to get you.

You breathed a sigh of relief as Soap found the house, prying off one of the address numbers to reveal a key. He opened the door, revealing a tiny studio. It took less than a minute to clear- the only room with a door was the bathroom. While Soap dug out the radio system hidden under the sink, you turned the heater on full blast and looked for blankets. You found a pile in a cupboard, dropped them onto the foot of the bed, and headed toward the kitchen in search of a kettle to heat some water.

You only vaguely heard Soap talking to Price through the fog in your mind, something about getting some rest and pickup in the morning. Then, very suddenly, you found yourself looking up at the ceiling, wondering when you’d stopped shivering.

“Shrike? Shite!” You only realized you’d fallen when Soap pulled you upright. “Shrike?” He raised one hand to your neck, feeling for your pulse. He cursed under his breath, muttering in an unintelligibly thick Scottish accent as he hauled you up against his chest. You were vaguely aware of being carried into the small bathroom and deposited on the countertop there. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting to stay awake. You were suddenly so sleepy.

You opened your eyes when you heard a squelching sound, freezing as you watched Soap strip off his clothes. You’d seen him without a shirt, but only in passing in the halls on base. Never this close, and never with no one around to check your gaze. Nevertheless, you’d memorized his scars the last time you saw his bare chest. He had some new ones since then. You stared at his rippling muscles as he unbuttoned his pants, peeling the wet material off his toned legs, leaving him standing in front of you in nothing but his dog tags and boxers. You tried not to stare at the outline you could see in the fabric as he took one step toward you to stand between your legs. Then his hands were on his jacket, the one you were wearing, pulling the zipper down and your arms out of it.

“Stay with me, Shrike,” he murmured. His hands shook as he unbuckled your tac vest and pulled it off. You raised your arms as he pulled up your hoodie, then your shirt, leaving you i n just a sports bra. You let your own hands rest on his chest as you lowered them.

You giggled, tracing patterns across his pecs and down his ribs. His muscles jumped under your fingertips. “What are you doing, Johnny?”

His cheeks reddened as he glanced up, dutifully keeping his eyes on the task at hand as he hastily pulled off your boots and pants.

“I’m trying to get you warm,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Checking you out,” you said boldly, arching an eyebrow at him and smiling. You weren’t sure where the confidence had come from, but you’d had a crush on him since day one and you’d be damned if you didn’t make the most of this opportunity. He had just reached up to grip your hips and he faltered for a moment before pulling you down off the counter. He turned you around, walking you toward the bed with his hands on your waist until pulling back the covers. Soap sat, pulling you down between his legs and back against his chest. He pulled up the extra blankets, wrapping them around both of your shoulders. You giggled again, wiggling back against him as his arms wound around you. You couldn’t tell whether he shuddered or whether it was just his shivering. You’d started to shiver again, yourself.

“Stay with me,” he repeated. His body trembled around you, proof that he probably should have kept his jacket after all. His hands rubbed your shoulders, occasionally tracing the straps of your sports bra, and he curled his legs up, bringing yours with them. His knees held yours together and he shifted one arm down to circle your waist, keeping your back pressed to his chest and your hips connected. One hand brushed your hip and he tilted his head so that his chin rested in the crook of your shoulder. His hold on you was tight, but reassuring. You savored the way you fit perfectly in his embrace.

Your bare skin felt numb, even under the pile of blankets.

Everywhere Soap’s skin touched felt scalded. 

“You’re so hot,” you murmured. 

You felt as much as heard when Soap chuckled low in his chest. “I’m actually freezing.” His voice shook when he spoke.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, turning so that your cheek touched his. “You know that’s not what I meant,” you whispered.

“I know,” he smiled, eyes fixed on some point across the room. “I’m just trying to save you from saying things you don’t mean, so you don’t regret them later.”

When you cocked your head at him, shifting in his arms to better face him, his smile dropped. “C’mon, Shrike, don’t make this any harder than it already is.” Hope flared in your chest like a bonfire. Your mind ran through all the possibilities of that statement, and every one of them suggested attraction to your lovesick mind. You stared blankly at him and he tipped his head back against the headboard, heaving a sigh. “I’m sure Gaz would be none too pleased if I made a move on you when you were only flirting because of hypothermia.”

“Gaz..?” You didn’t understand what Gaz had to do with Soap making a move on you, and you were too confused to focus on either the fact that he said that he might, or that he had just admitted he knew you were flirting with him. Your heart beat wildly in your chest. You barely dared to breathe. 

Soap’s face flamed as he looked away. He had stopped shivering so badly, but his voice still shook a bit when he spoke. “You and Gaz. I know you’re… well, something. I’d never-”

You hadn’t imagined it. Your snort cut him off. “Gaz and I are friends, that’s it.” Now it was Soap’s turn to stare blankly. You fought to speak normally, not with the giddy optimism you felt. “Remember the day Price introduced me to you all? Gaz was the first one to shake my hand, and then he showed me around base? I knew right off the bat that Ghost didn’t trust me and I thought you wouldn’t either, since you two were clearly so close.”

That brought a smile out of Soap. As much as Ghost tried to play it off, the two had definitely become good friends over their time working together. Soap loved to flaunt his position as the resident boogeyman’s right hand, to anyone who would listen. But mostly to the boogeyman himself.

You turned again, snuggling closer into his hold. His arms tightened around you, almost imperceptibly. “Anyway, yeah- Gaz was my first friend. But he’s just my friend. Nothing more than that. You and Ghost are Batman and Robin, Gaz and I are Mario and Luigi.” Soap barked a laugh, and you grinned.

When his cold nose nudged behind your ear, you couldn’t even pretend your shudder was from the cold. You gathered the last of your courage, waning with the arctic chill in your bones, but bolstered by his near-confession. “So tell me, Sergeant.” You’d lowered your voice, turning up all the charm you possessed. “What am I making ‘harder than it needs to be’?” Soap froze, and panic washed over you like water as cold as the river you’d come out of. He hadn’t been confessing anything. It had been nothing more than his usual firefight flirting, harmless and silly and just a little cocky and oh-so-hot and why would you ever think he could actually be interested in you and-

Soap flipped you, one arm around your waist as he lay between your legs, propped up by the elbow next to your shoulder. Before your mind could catch up with what was happening, he leaned down, lips a hairs’ breadth from yours, and hesitated. It was the longest and shortest second of your life. You could feel his warm breath on your parted lips as his eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign of hesitation. You half expected him to lean back up, all mischievous smile and twinkling eyes, and tease you. He knew. He knew how you felt and he was going to mock you for it. Then he leaned down, eyes fluttering shut. His lips brushed yours softly, barely touching, and your mind went blessedly quiet. Your body responded of its own accord; your knees came up, framing his waist and squeezing lightly; one hand went to his bicep, lightly grasping there; the other slid to the back of his neck.

You pulled him closer.

The kiss turned feral in a heartbeat.

The arm around your waist tightened, pulling you half up off the bed, as he let more of his body weight rest against you. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. You happily gave it. Your tongues slid together, fighting for dominance as you each tried to deepen the kiss even more. You raised a leg, wrapping it around his waist, and he groaned your name into your mouth. When you pulled on his mohawk, his head fell to your neck as he sucked softly on your collarbone.

“Johnny,” you breathed. He swore, lifting his head to kiss you again. He pulled his arm out from under you, running a warm hand across your bare skin from your hip to the back of your knee where it wrapped around him, before wrenching you up against him. You gasped at what you felt. If you’d had any doubt before, there was none now- Johnny was packing. You could feel the heat of him through both your underwear and his boxers. Time seemed to slow as he rocked gently against you, pressing his forehead to yours as your hands cradled the back of his head. He was panting, pressing light kisses against your face. He dropped his head to your shoulder, tucking his face into your neck. He seemed to be steeling himself, trying desperately not to move.

“Not kissing you,” he whispered. It took you a moment to think through the haze of lust and realize he was answering your earlier question. “What am I making harder than it needs to be?” “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Some of your earlier boldness had returned, shored up by his clear physical response. “Only that?” you whispered back.

The groan of your name on his lips was the single most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“What?” you teased. “That’s all you want?”

He tugged at the back of your knee again, pressing you against himself. You both stifled moans. “You know damn well that’s not all I want. I want you. All of you.” He turned his head, ghosting his lips against your cheek. “I’ve wanted all of you from the moment you asked me why a ghost would need soap.”

You started, turning his head with your hands so you could look into his eyes. “That’s the first thing I ever said to you.” He nodded, gaze unflinching. His eyes smoldered, but there was a softness in them you’d only seen a handful of times over the years. When your brother joined the military, following in your footsteps. When your best friend’s husband cheated on her. When your mother died. Any time you’d cried in his arms.

“T-that was the day we first met,” you stuttered out. Again, he nodded solemnly. He turned his head in your hands, kissing your palm. 

“I knew right away,” he whispered. Soap had laughed, a fully belly laugh, and clapped you on the back. Ghost had rolled his eyes, and you’d hoped his reservations about you would fade. Not only so you could get closer to the devilishly handsome, charming Sargeant who followed his every step. When you didn’t say anything, he released your leg, mumbling apologies and sitting back on his heels. The loss of his body weight and heat, along with the blankets, made you shiver all over again. Johnny didn’t see it- he was running his hands over his face, head hanging. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I had no right, please forgive me-”

You reached out a hand, grasping his wrist to stop him from retreating any further. “Forgive you for what?” you asked softly. His face was pained as he struggled to hold your stare.

“For taking advantage,” he began. But you shook your head, reaching out your other hand to touch his cheek. You didn’t think he even realized that he leaned into your touch.

“You didn’t take advantage of anything.” You scooted forward on your knees, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. You leaned up, kissing along his jaw, before licking a stripe of skin just behind his ear. He trembled under your touch as you ran a hand down his arm and pressed yourself against him. “I want you, too. So you should take me.”

“Steamin’-,” Soap groaned your name. “You can’t just say that to me,” he whined, breathless. His fists were clenched, eyes squeezed shut as your fingertips skimmed his skin.

“And why’s that?” you teased. You were sure that nothing could ever match the rush you were getting from his reactions to you.

“Because,” he ground out. He’d lost the fight to keep his hands off and they now rested on your hips, intermittently squeezing the flesh and hovering. His pupils were blown, nearly eclipsing his irises. You’d never seen hunger like that in your life and it set you on fire. “If I start with you, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice was lower, hoarse. Desperate.

You scooted forward until your knees touched his, pressing as much of your body against his as you could. His entire body quivered in his struggle not to devour you whole. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, pausing when they brushed the shell of his ear. “Then I suggest, Sergeant, that you don’t stop.”

Johnny didn’t need to be told twice.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You woke up to a soft thudding sound in your ear. You were so comfortable that you didn’t want to move, but then you remembered you were on the field. Your head snapped up, looking around the tiny room. The thudding had stopped, and when you looked down, you realized why. 

You’d been sleeping with your head on Johnny’s chest, his heartbeat in your ear. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, face turned toward yours. He looked younger asleep. No worry lines creased his handsome face, and his brows were relaxed instead of their usual serious, lowered state. His lips were just slightly parted, breath softly fanning across your shoulder.

The night came back to you in one big wave. Kissing Johnny, straddling him, holding him close between your legs, his mouth on your neck, your mouth on his shoulder, your name on his tongue, being pressed to the wall, the stretch of him, and both of your hands seemingly everywhere at once. You ached everywhere in the most delicious way. Even your throat was sore from moaning his name over and over and over again as he made good on his promise that his mouth was good for more than just talk.

Your cheeks flushed remembering.

As if sensing your racing heart and thoughts, Johnny stirred. His arms tightened around you, pulling you nearly on top of him as his eyes fluttered open. He smiled when his eyes settled on you, slow and lazy.

“I thought I dreamed all of that,” he said softly. His voice was husky with sleep, accent thicker than normal, eyes soft as he stroked your cheek with the back of his hand.

You quickly weighed whether or not you were prepared to deal with the cockiness that would come with your next statement. “Certainly good enough to be a dream,” you whispered. The grin that split Johnny’s face was instant and radiant.

“Oh, aye?” he asked. “Would you say it’s everything you’d dreamed of?”

“I love you,” he’d gasped, holding the back of your head to his shoulder as you fell apart for what must have been the tenth or hundredth time. “I love you,” he’d repeated as he lost control, trembling violently in you and in your arms. “Oh, God, I love you,” he’d whispered as you cried out his name and carried him in a vice grip right over the edge with you. You’d never dared to confront your feelings for him too deeply, refusing to dig beneath the surface of the crush you’d harbored for him. In all your wildest dreams, you’d never begun to imagine him putting to words what you felt- and never in the most intimate moment of your life.

“Better than my dreams,” you mumbled, turning your head away from his and pressing your cheek to his chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a purple bruise you’d sucked into his shoulder. You winced, raising your head to apologize, but before you could even open your mouth, Johnny turned your head and kissed you softly. You kissed him back, and then smirked as a thought crossed your mind. “Dream of me often, then?” you asked.

Johnny’s eyes darkened as he pulled you down for a searing kiss. “Every night,” he whispered. You shuddered. You could already feel his body responding beneath you as you kissed him again, smiling to yourself when he groaned. He reached for the tiny bedside table, muttering about a clock, and found the alarm there.

He turned a wicked grin toward you. “We’ve got time for round two.”

“Round two?” you shrieked. Johnny snickered as he lifted you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Round five was no less impressive than the first four, in no small part due to the added feat of Johnny holding you up against the cold shower wall while the hot water beat down on you both. 

“I can’t believe,” he’d panted “That we could have been doing this all this time.”

“You should scold Gaz for getting in your way,” you’d panted back. Johnny had practically growled at that, picking up his pace.

“I’m about to scold you for saying another man’s name while I’m inside you.”

He came undone the moment you moaned his name in his ear, pulling you off the ledge with him.

By the time you’d actually managed to get clean, your clothes had miraculously dried despite laying crumpled on the tile floor all night. You were thankful as you both stepped out into the flurry of wind and snow to trudge up the hillside toward the evac point. You hiked in companionable silence, only breaking it once you could see the ridge where you’d be picked up.

“How’s your wrist?” you asked. You’d been worried about it all night, but Johnny either hadn’t been in pain or hadn’t been in enough pain to pay it any mind.

“It’ll be fine,” he answered, smiling at you over his shoulder. “How’s your… you?” You both snickered at that.

“It’ll be fine,” you parroted. Your Scottish accent was horrible, but Johnny beamed at it all the same. You were about to pull yourself up by a rock when he grabbed your wrist, nudging you until your back touched a tree. He tilted your chin up with his knuckles, lowering his head slowly to kiss you tenderly. You sighed into the kiss, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he held you close by your waist. His lips tugged at yours softly, lightly dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back to look at you intensely. He seemed to be trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“We can’t tell anyone, can we?” you whispered.

For a long moment, Johnny was silent. When he finally answered, his voice was low. Sorrowful. “I don’t know,” he said.

You nodded, pasting a smile on your face even as your heart throbbed. “That’s okay. We’ll figure something out.”

He smiled back. “Yeah, we will.” Your smile felt a little more genuine after that. You trekked the last bit up the hill, and by the time you reached the top, you could hear the whir of the chopper. You shared one last longing look at each other from a respectable distance before the bird touched down. When the door opened, Ghost’s skull plate greeted you.

“You guys injured?” he shouted. You both shook your heads, clambering in and strapping yourselves into harnesses on opposite sides of the chopper. Ghost slammed the door, strapping himself in again on your side.

He stared at Soap, some look you couldn’t quite read. When you glanced to Johnny, his eyebrow was raised at his partner.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Ghost rumbled.

Soap looked to you, then back to his friend. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “We didn’t get much rest- too cold,” he said evenly. If you didn’t know it was a lie, you’d have believed him. But something in the way Ghost held his stare told you that he didn’t. He could read everyone like a book, but especially Johnny. You needn’t have worried, though. Soap started right in on recapping the mission for his friend, chattering away as he always did, and you watched as Ghost’s shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit while he listened. His gaze flicked to you every so often, and you added to the tale where you saw fit. Ghost took your words as truth- he trusted you now, years later, after you’d proven yourself to him and the rest of the team.

You smiled to yourself. It would be good to see the rest of the team, to be back on base, in the comfort of your own bed… and you were sure Soap would find his way there, too.

[wombywoo]

hawk.

[bobafetts-princess]

Surprise: The Sequel

Pairings: Ghost x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2800

Warnings: PiV, we wrap shit up in this one, a little butt stuff, spit kink, biting, cursing, choking. Reader is a little subby here. This is a fic centered on the reader ovulating and being really horny. Heed warnings accordingly.

Author notes: Yes, this was written when I personally was ovulating and I needed an outlet. Please enjoy 😊

Companion piece to Surprise

“My back fucking hurts,” you grumble to yourself, not really meaning for anyone to hear. But Soap, with his fucking bat ears, does.

“Wan’ me to massage it for yah?” He drawls in his thick Scottish accent. He’s been eying you all day and you can’t figure out why. You’re not dressed any different, you didn’t do your hair any different. You didn’t flirt with him, at least anymore than normal. Soap is the type of guy you can flirt with without realizing it. He’s soft and easy-going with a big personality and the ability to make anyone feel special.

“Mind your business, Soap,” snaps Simon-Ghost-Lieutenant (you’re not really sure what to call him anymore) as he comes in the door. You’re sitting at a desk, writing reports on your latest mission and Soap is at his desk on the left of yours, writing his own.

“Aye L.T. But I do feel like her business is my business,” he chuckles and Ghost flicks him a look as he gets up.

“Why’s your back hurt, Blue?” Ghost asks, hand gripping the back of your chair.

“Not sure, L.T.,” you say but then a cramp hits your lower belly. It’s not your period, definitely not your period, that was two weeks ago. So this means- “Damnit,” you curse under your breath.

“What’s wrong?” Both men ask at the same time, Soap moving to stand by Ghost. Another cramp hits your stomach and you have to stifle a groan.

“Nothing important,” you tell them both but they don’t believe you. But Price walks in, looking for an update on the reports and the subject is dropped. He’s standing over your shoulder and you don’t miss the way he keeps looking down at you, the easy way he smiles at you.

“Looking good today, Blue. Did you do something different with your hair?” Price mentions and you know he doesn’t mean it to be creepy. He’s genuinely trying to be nice and give you a compliment, you don’t get many when your literal job is to commit crimes for the sake of queen and country. But you know the real reason he’s looking at you different.

Your ovulation cycle hits harder than your menstruation cycle, the older you get. Your cramps are worse and men tend to notice you more. They flirt with you easier, they check you out with more purpose. Your skin clears and has this tone to that makes you look perpetually flustered. It’s all very flattering but also, quite annoying. Biology is doing its work, but you don’t want it to. The thing that drives you most insane is that you preen under the attention. You like being noticed when you’re ovulating. You like the way Ghosts eyes are dragging across your hips. You like the easy smile Johnny gives you when he’s flirting. You like the way Price’s eyes struggle to stay in their rightful place.

“Nah, just brushed it this morning, that’s all Captain,” there’s a flash of something in his eyes when you call him by his rank but you can’t unpack it right now. You stand, surprising Price and mumble “I’ll be back,” before you bolt.

Ghost waits an appropriate amount of time before he follows, shoving back his chair with some lame excuse so he can follow you.

He finds you in seconds, heading down the hallway in the general direction of his quarters. As a lieutenant, he gets his own space and as he watches your hips sway he’s thankful for it.

“Blue,” he calls out and you still.

“Not now, Ghost,” you say but you don’t move. His long strides catch up to you in no time and his hand presses into your back.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, and you sigh.

“I’m ovulating,” you tell him, pressing into his hand and relishing the feel of his warmth.

“What’s that mean?” He knows that’s your fertile period and you can get pregnant but he’s not sure on the specifics.

“I’m so horny,” you whine, twisting your neck to look up at him and he wants to dip down and run his nose alone the soft skin there. It takes your words a second to click but when they do, he’s shoving you down the hallway and into his room, locking the door behind him.

———————————

Ghost has you on your knees and you’re taking him. Your pussy is slick with your orgasms and your back is slick with sweat. You’re dropped down to your chest on the bed, fingers gripping the sheets as you cry out. It’s not helping though, because every one of Simon’s powerful thrusts pushes you up the bed.

“This fuckin’ pussy,” he snarls from under his mask. Since that day in the shower you’ve had this tryst going on regularly and it’s been satisfying for the both of you. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he grunts as his hand presses into your shoulders to hold you down. “Love when you submit to me,” he says but you think you can take it a step further. You move your hands from the sheets to behind your back, gripping your forearms as your face presses into the bed. Simon groans deeply as he slides his hand down your back to press down on your forearms. “Look so pretty takin’ my cock like this, Blue,” he snarls and you know he’s getting close. You’ve already cum several times, so you’re not concerned about finishing when he does, but Simon is. His hips ratchet up a notch and you hear the distinctive sound of something in Simon’s mouth. You’re about to peek over your shoulder to see what he’s doing when his thick thumb presses up against your asshole. You gasp and still underneath him as he presses circles into the tight ring.

“I’d love to watch you take me here,” he grunts before he pushes his thumb in. Your whole body tenses but you’re pinned. His hands are still pressing your own into your lower back and his finger in your ass is up to the first knuckle. You’re going to lose your mind, you can’t even scream because your face is pressed into the mattress. He continues pressing until he’s got his whole thumb in your ass and you’re gone. You’re so full, so thoroughly worked over that you when Ghost-Simon-whatever you’re calling each other these days, picks up his thrusts you’re blind with pleasure.

He’s putting you through the mattress, his hulking body pressing yours down. You break first, your body clamping down as you cum. He’s so heavy, so thick, and you’re so overwhelmed but Ghost isn’t done yet. He’s growling deep in his throat, snarling something about what a good little slut you are for him and you know he’s right at the edge of breaking. You feel something sharp against your shoulder and it takes you a few seconds to realize he sank his teeth into the soft flesh. He’d apparently never pulled his mask down after he’d wet his thumb and you feel his tongue soothe the sharp sting his bite left. You lay like that for a second, Ghost’s body laying across yours as you both pant with the exertion. Simon’s tongue licks a hot trail across your shoulder and up your neck, stopping at your ear.

“You’re a good fuck, Blue. Y’know that?” You laugh aloud because any kind of compliment coming from Simon Riley is noteworthy.

“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself,” you flash a grin at him as he peels off of you, moving to dispose the condom. He comes back and his mask is still pushed up to his nose and his grin would’ve knocked you over if you weren’t already laying down.

“Not so bad, eh? Do I need to split you apart on my cock again so you know how good I can be?” He chuckles, dark and dangerous as he crawls on the bed and stares down at you. His huge hand finds your throat, squeezing and reminding you just how dangerous he can be. But the only thing you feel right now is another how streak of lust through your nerve endings. Your nipples are tight and when he flicks them, a sharp gasp escapes your mouth. Ghost takes the opportunity at hand and pulls you up to him by the throat, shoving his tongue in your mouth. It’s not the first time you’ve kissed but it’s one of the only. You can feel him hardening against your thigh and you can feel how slick you are. His fingers squeeze as he trails his lips down your neck, over where his thumb is digging into the soft flesh.

You’re aching, ready to be filled again, when Ghost speaks in your ear.

“I want to taste you, Blue,” he grunts but you shake your head as best you can with his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Later. Want your cock,” you tell him and he nods, releasing you to get another condom. You desperately want to tell him not to use one, but you are smack in the middle of ovulating and the risk of pregnancy is much higher than if you weren’t. You’re not in a place where you can have a baby and you don’t think Simon is ready to be a father, he may not ever be. But god, the idea of dripping with his cum all day? It’s got you clenching between your legs.

Simon has the condom on, cock swinging between his thick thighs. He’d only managed to get his pants down to his knees the first time and the second time won’t be any different. He’s got a long sleeve shirt on bearing the British Army flag on it and even without all his tac gear he’s huge. Tall and bulky, with a menacing edge to him, you can see why people are terrified. But right now, all you are is horny. He slides between your thighs, lifting your hips and placing a pillow underneath them.

“Gonna take me?” He asks, circling a finger over your clit. You nod but he’s not content with that. “I asked you if you were going to take me, I expect an answer,” he growls from under his mask, pulled back down now.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” you breathe as he presses the head of his cock into you.

“Yes, Lieutenant, what?” He snaps, one hand on your tit, the other on the base of his cock.

“Yes, Lieutenant,-“ you gasp as he pushes into you.

“Go on,” he prompts, almost all the way in now. “Or I won’t fuck you. You can lay here and be my pretty little cock sleeve,” you clench around him, wishing he’d wrap one of those big hands around your throat again.

“Yes, Lieutenant, I’m gonna take all of your cock. Please, I want to take all of your cock.”

“Good girl,” he growls, low in your ear as his hand wraps back around your throat. His thrusts start slow but it doesn’t take long before he’s hitching one thigh up his back, the other pressing you down and pushing you to your limits. He’s more vocal this time, grunts and growls as he sits back on his heels to give himself more leverage. He’s got to be sensitive, it’s the second time in less than 30 minutes, and it shows. His fingers tighten every couple thrusts until you nearly can’t breathe but you know he wouldn’t hurt you. The other hand finds your tits, groping them and pulling at your nipples. He presses the thumb of the hand around your neck into your jaw until your mouth pops open. He pulls the mask above his mouth, leaning down, his eyes wide with question and you nod at him, sticking your tongue out in invitation. He gathers in his mouth before he leans down, spitting directly into your mouth before he closes your jaw and speaks.

“Swallow it.” You do as he asks, opening your mouth again and sticking out your tongue to show him. He groans deeply, gathering his spit again and spitting on your tongue. This time though, he keeps his thumb pressed into the hinge of your jaw so you don’t close it. “That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, his accent thicker as he pounds into you, “take everythin’ I fuckin’ give ya, don’t ya?” You nod desperately at him, mouth still open, tongue still covered in his spit. “Fuck yeah, ya do. I’m goin’ to cum, I know you’re close.” You nod at him again, pussy tightening as he spits into your mouth again, closing your jaw and telling you to swallow.

“Next time you’re gonna swallow my cum jus’ like that,” he tells you before he leans back, pressing a thumb against your clit. It only takes one, two, three swipes of his thumb before you’re over the edge, crying out his name and clinging to the hand still wrapped around your throat. He follows right along with you, slumping his heavy body against yours. “This will never get old,” he says as he rolls to the side slightly, still laying on you but not quite with his full weight.

“Yeah,” you agree, out of breath and worn down. Finally sated.

“Is it always like this when you ovulate?” He asks, picking himself up and disposing of the condom, for the second time. You nod as he comes back and picks up your underwear off the floor.

“It gets worse as I get older, like evolution is telling me to get a move on.” You stand as Simon holds your hand and helps you into your panties. “My cramps get worse and I get almost unbearably horny,” you tell him as he hunts down your tac pants and helps you into those too. He chuckles as he finds your sports bra, slipping it over your head.

“Maybe you should pop out a kid or two,” and your jaw drops.

“Yeah, sure! I’ll drop my whole life and have babies! Ruin my career, my tits, everything I’ve worked for just to give evolution the middle finger!” You exclaim, annoyed he’d even suggest it. But he’s fully laughing, searching for your shirt under the bed.

“I’s a joke, love. You don’t take those as well as you take my cock,” he husks, finding the army green tank and slipping it over your head. “Besides, it would be a shame to ruin these perfect tits,” he tells you, standing behind you and cupping said perfect tits. Fuck, you didn’t think you could go again but the way his thumbs are brushing over your nipples right now is making you question that. “Well, we better get back to writin’ our reports. Price’ll wonder why we’ve been gone so long,” he says, slapping you on the ass and striding out the door. You’re left panting and annoyed, but you follow after a reasonable amount of time and when you make it back to your desk, Soap is standing next to it looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Aye, lass. Y’look good today. Exceptional even,” he drawls, and if you weren’t rolling your eyes you’d have noticed his own flick over to Ghost to gauge his reaction.

“Get off my desk, Johnny.”

“Will do, but would ya like t’have a drink with me tonight?” He’s leaned down, in your space, his bright eyes full of mischief.

“No.” You tell him, you’re not really annoyed with him but you are frustrated because Ghost left you horny and every bit as distracted as you were before he fucked you stupid. Your hand flashes out and connects with the inside of Soaps elbow, knocking him off his balance. Ghost chuckles from behind you at his own desk.

“Might wanna leave the girl alone, Johnny. I think she could kick your ass,”

“Ooh I might like that,” Johnny says, not fazed at all that you hit him. Ghost has to suppress a groan at the idea of watching you and Johnny wrestling for dominance. He’s pretty sure you would win and the idea of you fucking Johnny stupid the way he fucks you stupid has him hardening in his pants.

“Johnny,” you start, your voice all sugar sweet and sticky. “Can you do something for me?” Your tone is full of promise and Johnny’s eyes droop as he mutters a gentle ‘of course, lass’

“Go get me some Tylenol and coffee, Johnny,” you say, smacking him upside the head. Simon barks a laugh from behind you, and Johnny looks graciously indignant.

“Aye, lass. Whatever you want,” he’s no actually offended, but he played the part well. Off he slinks, to retrieve the items you’ve asked for and Ghost feels a rush of relief that he’s not the only person in this compound that cares for you.

[powerfultenderness]

A Good Boy

Summary: A very drunk König ends up at your door. Paring: König/F!Reader Rated: Mature Word count: 988 A/N: [Neighbor!König.] A little free write fluff before I get back to requests.

For @crisped-jello I know this isn't quite what you asked, so consider this a companion piece (bc I do like the request you sent! but König got drunk first!)

You heard the voices first, two men, before someone started to rattle your doorknob. It wasn’t an alarming situation for one reason only, you’d recognized one of the voices. 

You quickly turned off the TV so you could hear the muffled voices better.

“Are you sure this is the right key?” Of course this was followed by someone trying to jam a key in the door. 

The response, from the man that you were familiar with, was unintelligible. You chuckled under your breath and got up to answer the door. It was quite late, just past 2 a.m., and you were about to go to sleep (after one more episode!) so it was a surprise to hear your neighbor returning home at this hour. Well, him drinking with his friends made sense on why he didn’t show up around dinner like he usually did.

You opened the door and the young man in front of you nearly stumbled inside. The little surprised squeak you let out as he accidentally invaded your personal space was cut short as he was quickly shoved aside by the much bigger man.

“König!” 

Heat rushed to your face as he held you tight to his chest. Really tight. The side of your face was squished into his chest as he wrapped his arms around the back of your head and your shoulders. König’s scent enveloped you, a mixture of his soap and what you’ve come to know as the smell of gun oil and a touch of sulfur, all under an almost overwhelming smell of alcohol. Geez. How much did it take to get him this drunk? 

“I missed you, darling.” His words were slurred and he swayed on his feet as he hugged you.

“You saw me this morning.” You pried his hands off of you and put some breathing space between you, “why don’t you sit down.” 

He stumbled a bit, thankfully the young man that had been helping him caught one of his arms and kept a hold on him until he plopped down on your couch.

“Thanks,” you sighed and looked at the man. He was dressed similarly to König, with a black tee and green cargo pants, so you assumed he worked with him.

“Sorry it’s so late, ma’am. I didn’t know he lived with his girlfriend.”

Your face went hot again, “oh! We’re not. I mean, uhh. He lives across the hall.” 

A look of panic crossed his face, “ aw shit! Sorry! He said this was his flat! I can get him across-”

“No, no! It’s ok! He can sleep it off here.” 

“It was my job to-” 

That was apparently as long as König could go without your attention, as he reached for your hips and attempted to pull you to him. Perhaps only because of how drunk he was, you were fast enough to avoid falling by turning around to face him and snatching up his hands. “Hey, you know the rule. Only good boys get to touch.” 

You were mostly joking, but that line had worked wonders on reminding him to keep his hands to himself before. Judging by the way he always found a way to touch you, whether it was as overt as a hug or as subtle as his knee bumping yours, you figured he was a bit touch starved. With his inhibitions lowered, you can only imagine how handsy he’d be. You honestly didn’t mind his touches, but you wanted to at least let his friend (co-worker?) leave first.

König whined and reached for you again, though he stopped himself from actually touching you and let his hands hang in the air. Grabby hands. This giant, grown man was making grabby hands at you. 

The young man next to you glanced at you, mindful to keep his movements subtle, both confused and amused at the situation. 

“Recruit!” König suddenly yelled, voice booming in a way that made you jump and the man next to you stand at attention. “Tell her!” 

“Sir?”

Ah, so this guy was some kind of subordi-

“Tell her I have been a good boy!” 

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop from laughing. The young man next to you, hands still at his sides, didn’t, but from the way he was biting his lip, it was hard for him to stop himself from laughing too.

Still seated, but no less imposing, König glared at the younger man and growled out his command again. “Tell her.” 

The recruit cleared his throat and looked at you. “Uh, yes. The colonel has been, uh, a, a good boy.” 

It was at that point that you could no longer contain your laughter and you chuckled into the hand you had covering your mouth. 

If the recruit finally broke and laughed too, you didn’t hear it, neither you nor König paying any more attention to him. 

“See! Now come here!” He reached for your hands and tried to pull you onto his lap. 

You managed to resist, still giggling, but ended up standing between his knees. “Alright. What do you want?”

He sat up straight, leaning up towards you, with wide eyes. “To eat your pussy.” 

“König!” You gasped, now acutely aware of the awkward cough you heard behind you, and pulled one hand out of his grasp and lightly pushed him back. 

He chuckled as he dropped back against the couch, though he never looked away from you.

You sighed and turned back to the still nameless younger man next to you and shook your head. “I’ve got it from here, you can go home now.” 

“Good night, sir. Ma’am.” 

After locking up, you looked at König. “How about we cuddle instead?” 

He nodded, “yes. Cuddle is good.” 

You made sure to set some painkillers and a glass of water on the coffee table before laying down with König on the couch, his arms tight around you. 

[Neighbor König Masterlist]

Neighbor König taglist (blurbs): Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed.

@warrior-of-justice  @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout @onegami @nadiauddincrafts @nadiauddincrafts @grizzersmamma @flooftoof

[destructive-poet]

Your post about Tav helping Astarion with his hair and post bath cuddles sounds so adorable 🥺🥺 Could I request a full fic for that idea? ❤️

oh of course! I was actually already wanting to write it a bit ❤️ I hope you like it :)

Spa Treatment

astarion x gn! human tav fluff drabble (~400 words, short and sweet.)

“Hold still,” they say, wooden comb gripped in hand, gently detangling the Vampire’s silver locks.

rating: mature

tw: none? (I mean I guess just the smallest bit suggestive for a second.)

minors dni!

The bath had been an undoubtedly fantastic idea.

For the first time in what felt like ages they had been able to have a large, private, warm bath at their whims. And certainly, the two were going to take the fullest advantage of it.

“Fuck,” he said, lowering himself into the water with a groan. “Gods, I haven’t done this in… Well, as long as I can remember.” The human at his side simply slides in, sitting down completely in the stone pool, up to their chest in water. “It’s nice.” They say, simply, though the blissful look on their face suggests it is far better than nice.

“Come here,” they say, reaching towards Astarion to tuck his hair behind his ears. “Look at all of this,” they muse, gesturing to a wide variety of soaps, lotions, and cosmetic concoctions. “It’s beautiful. I could live in here.”

The vampire adds, “As nice as that sounds, I think you would prune up. And I can’t drink from a piece of shriveled fruit, my dear.”

“Oh, so that’s what I am to you? Only a free meal?” They say, turning away and crossing their arms, pretending to be upset. Quickly, a solid figure pulls their own against it’s chest, drawing them back into it. He begins kissing down the back of their neck and across their shoulders, hands settling into their hips. “Not at all, you sustain me in more than one way, dear.” He teases, and the human whips around to kiss him, tasting clean and warm, their arms wrapping around him. It lasts a good while, before they break away, hand trailing across his arm, moving away to look at the jars and bottles lining the side of the bath.

Hours later, they sit on the ground, perfumed in a variety of exotic scents, scrubbed and lotioned and damp. A fur rug separates the two lovers from the cold, tiled floor. The fireplace in front of them warms them, wet hair now almost dried. “Hold still,” the human says, wooden comb gripped in hand, gently detangling the Vampire’s silver locks.

Their eyes seem to drift closed throughout the process, and when it’s done, they set the comb to the side, laying down onto the rug. Astarion is quick to follow, resting his head on their chest and curving his body to cradle his companion’s. “Dearest,” he whispers, and they pull the thick towel over his body, wriggling closer, as if they could live in his skin. “Goodnight, Astarion,” they yawn, half lidded eyes adoringly gazing up at him, before succumbing to the darkness.

He kisses their lavender and jasmine tasting hair, soaking in the warmth of his love, the fire, the fabric. “Goodnight, darling.”

[yagiichan]

cod x fem!reader EDC Week

cod x fem!reader

cod members reaction to you when they first see you out of your tactical gear, and you’re actually dressed up for EDC.

Warning: mentions of smut, 18+ Minors DNI, language. Mentions of breeding.

A/N: EDC literally just happened in my city, and I’ve been into the COD x reader stories recently. It’s not going to be anything impressive, but I hope ya’ll like it. Again, this is my HC for whatever reason. IDK, I don’t really make sense to myself neither, so don’t @ me. :3 This is also my first time posting on tumblr, so please be nice.

FYI I do not know a whole lot of lore, I’m just here for the fun of it, so please do not flame me for any inaccurate/unplausible storytelling I am about to convey.

P.S. I drew the design of the dress, but I referenced an image on pinterest. I apologize as I do not know the original artist for the figure.

----------------------------

Chatter amongst the operatives broke out, as everyone began filing out of the room, from another long debriefing. You were new to the squad, and just barely began speaking to anyone. Layered in heavy combat armor, and face covered with a balaclava and dark round shades every time you’re on base. You don’t like it when people gawk at you, especially when conducting professional business.

You find it easier when you’re covered up. People treated you like a normal soldier, rather than a piece of meat. Though, doesn’t really stop the flirtatious comments coming from your companions.

Soap would linger sometimes, making fun little passes, “What’ve you got hidin’ under there, bird?” You’d laugh him off and just tell him nothing he’d be interested in. He’d quip back “Bet there’s loads I can find interesting, dove…” You continue to laugh, making your way down the dim hallway. The other members, following behind. Gaz would chime in with a “knock-it-off” comment every now and then, but he was just as curious how you’d look too.

Pretty much, everyone has seen one another, considering how long they’ve been enlisted together, so it’s no surprise that fresh meat would immediately attract the attention of wolves.

Ghost, Konig, and Horangi followed from behind, watching you laugh.

“What’s the fresh meat good at anyways?” Ghost asked nonchalantly. Horangi shrugged his shoulders, with a soft “mm-mm”. Konig shook his head at the both of them “Hand-to-hand combat and reconnaissance. Apparently, she’s managed to close the distance on the Captain and threw him straight into the wall.” Ghost scoffed, attempting to burn a hole in the back of your skull. “She is? Look at her” he pointed with his chin, “A literal fuckin’ gnome is what she is.” Horangi chortled a little bit, Konig staying silent.

Price picking up on their conversation, cleared his throat, “You’ll see in due time lads. Someone like that can be the least expected.”

“So, since it’s the start of the weekend why don’t we start with a bang and head down to the pub for a fill?”

 Soap suggested eagerly. The week prior had been incredibly taxing, so everyone was privy to the idea, besides you.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I’ve actually got plans this weekend,” you sheepishly laughed. Soap whined, prodding you on what your plans are. You didn’t budge, only that it was already planned some time ago and you can’t miss you. Despite the constant badgering, Soap deflated in defeat, as Gaz patted his back. Despite the initial rejection, Soap bounced back almost immediately.

Chatting away with you, talking about coming out with them another time. You laughed along, apologizing that you couldn’t attend now, but promised to meet in the future.

Making your way towards your apartment complex on base, you noticed everyone else also shuttling into the freight elevator with you. You tilted your head in confusion, queueing Price,

“Well, we all share the same apartment complex. Compliment of the base we currently reside on. Wants to make sure we’re on the ready for when things go down.”

 You slowly nodded in understanding. You clicked your floor number, 10 and noticed that nobody else clicked a floor number besides 14. You looked at Price again, who sheepishly explained that squads are assigned to their own floors. That, since you’re now part of their operation, you’ll probably need to get the changes made soon.

“S’pparently supposed to bring us ‘closer’, build a bond with one another?”

You hummed in acknowledgement, thinking it was cute, “Yeah, I suppose it makes sense.” Chatter continued, until you reached your floor. Getting off, you said your goodnights to everyone. Soap continued to moan, hoping to get a glimpse of you at some point. Gaz agreeing, and Price chuckling at them.

The brooding bunch discussed themselves the best bar to pick from for the night. As the elevator finally reached their floor Soap clapped his hands together “Welp! How’s bout we all meet up again in an hour aye? Freshen up a lil bit. Maybe catch us a pretty bird tonight,” wiggling his eyebrows with the suggestion.

Sighing at Soap’s obvious desperation everyone agreed to meet in the hallway before heading down to the pub.

“Right! Now, let’s get this party started!” Soap howled, looking like he pregame’d before meeting up with the crew.

Everyone had transferred themselves into fresher clothing, finally peeling away the grime of the week. Excitement slowly brews in the group as they can finally wind down for the weekend. Although everyone had changed into more comfortable attire, the three brooding bunch kept their visages concealed.  All members shuffling into the freight elevator, chattering happily amongst themselves.

As the freight elevator begins its slow descent towards the ground floor, it suddenly stops at floor 10. Voices begin to hush as the door slowly slides open, revealing a woman with a high slit dress, stopping at the waist. Four thin black bands wrapped around strong thighs.

Her upper torso covered with black cloth besides the diamond cut pattern, exposing her breasts with dangerous allure. Her lower face covered by a black cloth that looked infused with the rest of the dress, leaving only her eyes visible, and hair to flow freely.

The unknown woman continued to adjust herself, before looking up into the elevator, capturing the eyes of every man on board.

----

Your eyes gleamed with happiness, pulling your mask down, smiling brightly at the lot.

“Hey team!” You chirped.

Silence.

“Heading out to the pub now?”

More silence. Eyes continued to stare you down. Not sure what to make of who you are. You started to feel awkward. Not realizing that this is their first time seeing you, especially like this.

“Erm… well then, off we go…? Heh…” you laughed nervously, with the door sliding closed once more, and the lift beginning its descent once more.

The ride down was silent and awkward, at least for the men. You just continued to tap away at your phone, not a care in the world, making plans to meet your friend at the festival entrance.

“(Y/N)?? Is that you?” Gaz piped up, still inspecting you from head to toe. You turned towards Gaz, nodding your head and smiling.

“Suppose this is the first time you guys have seen me outside of my Michelin Man outfit huh?”

You laughed at your own joke, not ever noticing the way their eyes grew hungrier by the second.

You never noticed the way Price stood just a little bit closer, in hopes of accidentally bumping into you. He’d blame it on how crowded the elevator was.

You never noticed the way Soap suddenly started spilling all over his words. His face slowly heating up with every time you laughed at his silly antics.

You never noticed the way Gaz was literally, so star struck, only nodding and laughing at whatever you were saying.

You never noticed the way Ghost suddenly stood up a little straighter, rather than leaning towards the rail of the elevator, trying to make himself look taller. More attractive for you.

Or the way Horangi adjusted his glasses every now and then to make sure you don’t catch him staring at you.

Or the way Konig began to fidget anxiously, staring intently at your being, hands held together to hide something that slowly began to rage in his pants. He was sweating profusely.

“Konig?” you questioned, staring up at the hulking 6’10” man.

Shit.

“Are you alright? You’re sweating up a storm.” Everyone began to turn towards him, suddenly finding himself embarrassed. With a few ‘legit’ coughs Konig spoke.

“Just need some air s’all.” He played it off way too cool. The others glared at him with jealousy when you showed concern for him. Konig, though his face not visible to others, smiled a triumphant smile under his facemask.

You smiled brightly at him, breathing a sigh of relief, tugging at his heartstrings even more. Glances were stolen every now and then by your team members. Assessing your body, and trying to determine if it’s the trick of the light, or your thighs are just that delicious. Toned, large, and ready to crush heads.

Oh, how they wished to have their heads between your legs. To have that pretty black dress lifted over their heads, and to hear your sweet voice calling out their names in ecstasy. Your hair sticking to your skin, drenched in the sweat and tears of your pheromones.

To watch the rise and fall of your heaving chest, as your honey coats their face and tongues. Once you’ve had your high, the dress comes off and you smile that bright smile at them, hands cupping their faces whisper-begging.

“Come here, darling… Come to me. I need you, so badly.” You’d pant out, with tears in your eyes, and a wobbly smile on your face, just begging to be ravaged by them. To be pumped with their loads.

Oh, they all wanted you, and you didn’t even know it.

The ride down felt like forever, until the soft ding of elevator is heard throughout, indicating your destination of the ground floor.

----

“So, where are you heading, dressed up like this?” Price inquired.

“EDC. It’s going on for 3 days, but I’ll only be going for two.” You stated excitedly.

“EDC? Wassall that then hen?” Now Soap asking the questions.

“It’s just a music festival. Electric Dance Carnival. Been dying to go, and since we’re out here I wanted to take the chance.” You informed the bunch. They all walked along side you, the rest in silence as Soap continued his barrage of questions.

“Oh, but I won’t be getting insanely lit or anything like that! It’s just an opportunity is all! I’m meeting some friends.” You corrected yourself, not wanting to have your team think you’re some sort of degenerate (hehe).

As you continued to happily chat away, your taxi pulled up. Bounding towards the door you turn back towards your fellow soldiers, not missing a beat.

“Ay, be safe, okay? If you need anything, don’t hesitate to phone me.” You chirped once more.

“Anyways, I’m off then! Be seeing you around!” You waved as you got into your taxi, driving away into the city.

----

Sitting around a table, with a dimly lit light hanging above them, Ghost groaned at the thought of phoning you to let you know that he isn’t feeling well. That he might need some of that ‘comfort’ you were giving to Konig earlier. Felt kind of sweaty. Might need you to take care of him, if you get what I’m laying down.

Price, Konig, and Horangi sat around the table, watching Gaz and Soap playing rounds of pool, but not really committing to it. Something on their mind, pretty sure knowing what, or who, it could be.

“If I died tomorrow, I’d want it to be those thighs wrapped around my head.” Soap dreamt, leaning on his pole.

“Yeah, no shit. Wasn’t expecting any of that. Reckon I’d begin howling at the moon just to have a bite.” Gaz chuckled.

Eyes snapped up at the duo, and then at each other.

Price laid a hefty pat on Ghosts shoulder, reminding him of his comment earlier.

“Still not what you were expecting, weren’t you lad?”  laughing heartily. Ghost grunted at his comment, as did Horangi and Konig.

“I… must admit… I too, was not expecting such a treat tonight.” Horangi shuttered with each word. Konig nodded vigorously.

Still fantasizing about your worry over him. Fretting over his comfort. He was already fantasizing about your wedding. The life you’ll lead together. Breeding you up with his young, having you cry under his weight, with your legs wrapped tightly around him as he drilled his throbbing member deep into your core. Konig shuttered at the thought.

“I’m going to make her mind” Konig stated out of the blue. Suddenly, all eyes snapped at him. Flashes of competitiveness and want evident on everyone’s face. Now, everyone was vying for your affection. And you didn’t even have an inkling of an idea that any of this was going down.

----

I hope ya’ll liked my story. It’s probably all over the place, and that’s okay. It was something I’ve been needing to get out of my system. Something I can go back to when I’m feeling that little itch.  I may build on this for our individual heroes. IDK.

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 1 - Put On a Happy Face

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

“You’re supposed to $%#&ing smile, Pomni!” Zooble's hoarse scream reverberated throughout the big top. “Are you stupid?! We can’t finish the new intro if you aren’t @#$%ing smiling!”

“Leave. Me. Alone!” Pomni, denied the catharsis of slinging her sailor’s mouth, expressed her disdain with her middle fingers instead. She only ended up seething harder, however, when a pair of other-dimensional censor bars appeared to obscure the rude gestures.

“Oh! So that’s how you want to play it, Puffball?” Zooble narrowed her eyes, limping toward the jester with as much aggression as their awkwardly-constructed body would allow — which, for the record, wasn’t very much.

Ragatha had seen enough. “Relax!” She raised her voice, swooping vigilantly between the bickering belligerents. “Both of you!”

Gangle, moping off to the side, sniveled pitifully. In all the commotion, her comedy mask had been shattered. For the second time. This morning. “Guys…! Please, just stop fighting…”

Jax crossed his legs, reclining smartly against Kinger’s impenetrable pillow fort. “Can it, crybaby. This is the best entertainment we’ve had in years!” He flicked a piece of popcorn into the air and caught it in his mouth. Meanwhile, a vibrating Kinger poked his eyes out from between two pillows, saying nothing and everything at the same time.

Ragatha’s good-natured attempts to keep the peace were all for naught. She flinched out of the way of Zooble’s punch — but before the strike could connect, a floating boxing bell materialized out of nowhere, piercing the air with a shrill shriek.

“Now, now! There’s no need for that!” Caine’s wagging finger appeared beside the bell, followed shortly after by the rest of the entity. He lifted his tophat, and a cheesing Bubble gingerly drifted out.

“Naughty, naughty~” Bubble chomped his teeth.

Caine snapped his fingers, and an unseen force pushed Pomni and Zooble apart. “The Amazing Digital Circus — copyright 1996 C&A Incorporated, all rights reserved — is a magical, marvelous CD-Romp for all ages! Zany shenanigans and cartoon mischief I can abide, but outright violence? Strictly out of the question!”

With a grunt, Zooble spiked their arm against the floor. “What are we supposed to do, then!? We’re on take fifty-seven of your dumb@%$ theme song because poor little Pomni thinks she’s the main character of the universe!”

Pomni responded to that, but whatever she said, it was profane enough to be scrubbed out entirely.

“Yes, well…” Caine crossed his arms, steeped in careful thought. The last hour-and-a-half of unusable footage played back through his mismatched eyeballs in a matter of seconds. “It’s nothing we can’t fix in post.”

Zooble swiped their discarded arm off the ground and crammed it back into its empty socket. “Great. Then you can edit me in, too.” They stormed off, reciprocating Pomni’s earlier gesture. “Eat $@#%, sad sack.”

Jax sighed. “Aw, shucks. Right when things were getting good…”

“Uh…!” Caine skipped a beat. He swiveled toward the five circus members still gathered beneath the big top. “Well, then!” he elbowed his soap bubble companion, “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, Bubble! As for the rest of you, consider yourselves off the hook for the rest of the day — my treat! Take some personal time, get some sleep, and try your darndest not to dwell on the soul-crushing scale of eternity!”

“I have no soul!” Bubble turned upside-down. “So I don’t mind it one bit!”

“You and me both, old pal!” Caine’s laugh sounded forced and unnatural.

There was a pause. Gangle glanced around, then meekly raised her ribbony hand. “But what about—”

“Go on, now! I won’t take no for an answer!” the ringmaster stabbed the air with his cane, “I want you all in tip-top condition for tomorrow’s wacky adventure!”

🎪 🎪 🎪

It wasn’t long before everyone had gone their separate ways. Jax had slinked off to the digital carnival to terrorize the NPCs, Gangle had left a trail of teardrops all the way to the digital lake, and Kinger, as per usual, had just disappeared without anyone really noticing.

At last, Pomni was alone again. She curled her tear-stained face inward and filled her chest with three shaky breaths. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Hands tightened into trembling fists, she threw her head toward the sky and let loose a long, ear-shattering shriek.

Why was this happening to her? What did she ever do to deserve this!? She was a person — a human being, for God’s sake — not some stupid, one-dimensional children’s character. How dare anyone expect her to just grin and bear it? She didn’t owe anything to anyone — not even one second of feigned emotion. As far as she was concerned, the moment she forced that goofy smile onto her face would be the moment she surrendered, and she would never, ever, in a million years—

“I’m always here if you need to talk. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

Pomni flinched, wrenching away from the sudden voice. After the emotional hell she’d gone through during her first day, unexpected noises didn’t exactly put her at ease — nor did anything else in this deranged digital purgatory, for that matter.

“Ah! Sorry!” Ragatha covered her mouth. “I didn’t spook you too bad, did I?”

“You did, actually! Wh-What’s wrong with you?” Pomni gathered herself quickly. She didn’t dare to even look in the direction of the person who had just watched her childish tantrum. The moment she found her footing again, she stormed off like her very life depended on it. “Don’t just sneak up on people like that!”

Silently relenting, Ragatha stepped aside to let Pomni pass. She watched the pouting jester jingle and jangle with every step, stomping with boundless confidence in the completely wrong direction.

“Uh…” Ragatha tilted her head. “Pomni? Do you remember the way to your room?”

“Ugh! What do you care?” Pomni doubled her pace. “Mind your own business!”

Ragatha smirked. “Alright, I guess I’ll just head back to my room, then. Which, for the record…” She pointed behind herself, “…is that way.”

Pomni stared vacantly as Ragatha sauntered off. The doll had read her like a book. Locking herself in her room for days on end meant she still had no clue how to get around the tent — if she wanted to get back to her regularly-scheduled self-pity anytime soon, she would have to swallow whatever was left of her pride.

Pomni grumbled under her breath, fast-walking to catch up. “Hey! W-Wait!”

🎪 🎪 🎪

There was no ambient noise to dampen the tension; the dormitory hall’s plush carpet absorbed the sound of Pomni and Ragatha’s footsteps. Ragatha led, hands tucked politely below her waist, while Pomni trailed behind.

The complete, unbroken silence wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, but it was preferable to whatever inane smalltalk would have filled it. That’s how Pomni saw things, at least.

In the time it had taken to walk here, she had managed to cool off a bit — and the unwavering quiet gave her plenty of mental space to reflect on the last few minutes.

She wasn’t sorry. Pomni didn’t care if Zooble hated her — she could hate them right back. Breaking bread with Jax was pointless; that creep preferred to provoke. Gangle was friendly, but to interact with her was to walk on eggshells, and Pomni lacked the patience. And Kinger? Was Kinger.

Arms crossed, Pomni looked up from her big, dumb clown shoes. Her gaze settled on the doll in front of her. Pomni despised everything about this place — but now that she was going through her laundry list of grievances, she had to admit: she had nothing on the redhead.

…What was her name? Ragatha…? She was by far the most mature of the circus’s captives. She was kind. Predictable. An island of calm in a stormy sea.

Pomni’s harsh features softened. Ragatha was the only character who had shown her the slightest shred of compassion since she’d arrived here. The realization weighed down her stomach with more than a few pangs of guilt. Ragatha, of all people, certainly wasn’t a deserving outlet for her angst.

Oh, no — nice going, you idiot. Ragatha was the one thing about this place keeping you anywhere close to sanity, and you’ve already repelled her by acting like a petulant child. She probably hates you now. You know that, right? Actually, it’s not ‘probably’. It’s ‘definitely’. That’s why she isn’t talking. That’s why this is so awkward. That’s why —

“So…what’s under your cap?”

Pomni stumbled. Had the wall not been there to grab onto, she absolutely would have fallen flat on her face.

Stabilizing herself, Pomni gawked up at Ragatha as if the doll had just beamed down from another planet. What’s under her cap? Did she hear that right? It was such an odd, out-of-the-blue question — but at least it had yanked her out of her head.

“I’m sorry?”

Ragatha bent down to Pomni’s eye level. “Your cap.” She said gently, resisting the urge to prod one of the little bells dangling from either end. “It comes off, doesn’t it?”

Pomni blinked. She hadn’t really given it any thought. In fact, until Ragatha had brought it up, she had forgotten that her ridiculous new form came with a hat at all. Doing nothing but hiding under the covers and sobbing for days on end had that effect.

With much bigger problems weighing on her mind, Pomni didn’t really care to check — but something about Ragatha’s expectant gaze possessed her anyway. Very carefully, she hooked her fingers beneath the golden rim. She felt a small amount of resistance as she pushed up, almost as if the headpiece were attached to her body through some kind of magnetic force.

With a just a little effort, though, it popped right off.

“…Huh.” Pomni held the striped cap in her hands. “Look at that.”

“Oh, goodness!” Ragatha tried and failed to suppress a squeal. She paid no mind to her question’s answer, too distracted by the worst hat hair anyone had ever seen. It was certainly a look; a chaotic mess of tangles, knots, and flyaways did as it pleased atop the jester’s capless crown.

“Hey! What gives?!” Pomni ducked her cap back onto her head. A few extra clumps of hair stuck out from underneath. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m so sorry! Your hair is just…” Ragatha giggled. “Well, it’s a bit messy at the moment. But I like it!”

Pomni leered. “…Liar.”

“I’m not making fun of you! Honest!” Ragatha crossed her hands over her heart. “I love your hair, Pomni. It’s…”

“It’s what?!”

“It’s so cute!”

Pomni’s eyes grew two sizes. That was…not the answer she expected to hear. She didn’t know what to say — just that her face felt a lot warmer than before.

“Obviously, you could use a comb…or three. But who cares about that?” Ragatha’s hand drifted through her own thick, yarn-like locks. “You really lucked out, you know. I’d trade your hair for mine in a heartbeat.”

Despite everything, the smallest of half-smiles lit Pomni’s face.

“I, um…” Pomni took a deep breath. And then two more. Her whole body slumped closer to the floor. Try as she might to keep her personal pity party alive, Ragatha’s radiant energy made her forget her troubles, if only for a moment.

“…Why are you being so nice? And to me, of all people?”

Ragatha just shrugged. “Do I have a reason not to be?”

Pomni gripped her other arm, gaze flicking down the corridor. Her smile faded in the silence.

“Well, um, anyway…” Ragatha glanced at the door behind her — Pomni’s awkwardness was infectious. “You have your room key, right?”

Pomni’s heart skipped at the thought of having lost it, but eased at the feeling of cold metal in her pocket. She nodded.

Gently, Ragatha took the cartoonish key from Pomni’s hand. With a turn and a click, the way to the jester’s room was open.

Ragatha held the door, smiling warmly. “You look like you could use some space. Go enjoy some quality alone time, okay, new stuff?”

“O-Okay.” Pomni didn’t hesitate to do just that — until she did. “Um…” She peeked behind a door half-open. After the longest pause, a simple, stammered “thanks” was all she could manage to get out.

Her door clicked shut. And audibly locked.

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