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godmadeaterribleerror · 5 months ago

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Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, so much angst, hurt/comfort, small fluff at the end, pre-established relationship, past abusive/toxic relationship, soft Dean

Summary/Warnings: Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them.

And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one's heavy guys. If you think that past abusive relationships might be a no go for you, make the right choice for yourself <3. If not, enjoy (?) the story.

Word Count: 4k

It had been a good hunt. An objectively good hunt. Done in two days, no bodies to burn or bury, an alright bar in the town, and Sam managing to get his own room because he’s sick of you trying to bang Dean in front of him.

“Hey, don’t blame my girl for how you’re always sticking your ass in our business-“

“We share a room, Dean!” Sam had said, half-throwing his hands in the air. “Where else am I supposed to stick my ass if not in our communal living space-“

Dean had snorted. “Communal living space? Dude, you sound like such a jackass-“

“Why, because I can use big words like space?”

“I- Watch it, Sammy-“

“I’ll watch it if you stop trying to fuck on my bed!”

They’d kept arguing. You’d remained silent, picking at the wood of the table and wondering if—should you actually attempt to—you could sink into Dean’s chest and just stay there for a while. It would be warm and solid, and probably not all that safe—that man got himself stabbed and shot a lot—but safer than being in you. Then your traitorous and useless body, made only to be snapped in half. It must have something written on it or in it, emit some kind of blacklight or stench that said weak. Dumb, weak little bitch, lucky to have this because you don’t deserve it. Couldn’t deserve it.

Better, you could turn to stone, right here in the booth. If you could do that, you’d never get another bruise on your throat or hear venomous words spat in your ear. Sam and Dean could leave you behind and never have to feel any guilt. Dean could stop having to pretend he likes you as more than a body, and pull away without beating himself up about abandoning you like a used and worn couch.

Moth-eaten and stained, only still in the house because it feels wrong to throw it out. Because you have a little sentimentality for the couch when it was nice, before it had been beaten and abused and reduced to just a lumpen sack of feathers and cloth.

You don’t think that comparison is fair to the couch.

At least the couch was once useful.

Because it had been a good hunt.

You were the problem.

You’d slipped and wavered and fallen. But the whole place had smelled like lavender soap, and it had carried you back to where that same smell had suffocated you. He had loved that smell, and said it made you seem prettier and softer than you were.

This whole case had reeked of him. And you’d told yourself you’d be fine. That it was in the past, and he wasn’t supposed to have that kind of control over you anymore. That the world seems gray in that vamp nest, but it was winter, so that was to be expected. And when you’d been knocked flat on your back, you’d seen a crack in the ceiling—identical to the one that had been over his bed—but had been a coincidence. Ceilings cracked, and there were only so many patterns in the world.

And when a Vamp had wrapped its hand around your throat, that was just something that happened to hunters. You all got hurt and beaten and had close calls. That was the job. You’d faced worse than this. You’d faced blood coating your fingers and splattered on your face, guts pooling at your feet and long moments where you’d been sure no one would come and save you.

Dean had always saved you. Even before you’d started doing more—and then more and more and more, until it seemed pretty obvious you were dating and it was more exhausting to fight it than accept it—Dean had always been saving you. He’d had to do it today, yanking the Mare off your chest and cradling your head against his chest until you were breathing easily.

Yet again, you’d been the problem. The hunt had been easy and simple, and you’d still fucked it because you sucked. You were dead-weight. You couldn’t stop feeling the hand around your throat—imprinted like a tattoo that made your words small and body smaller—and you couldn’t stop the weighed down feeling of hopelessness. Your brain stuck on a scratching loop around the Vamp’s hiss of dumb, annoying, weak little bitch, until you couldn’t manage to smile at anything at all.

It just made you feel worse, because Dean might be worried you don’t think he’s being funny. That whenever he makes truly horrible joke and you don’t giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl, it’s because he’s gone wrong.

He’s done nothing. You really hope he just gives up and tosses you aside, because he shouldn’t have to put up with worry about something so valueless. He’d find someone else. Someone better and more deserving. You’re just lucky he ever even looked at you, let alone bothered to try and stay. To try and be the hero that keeps rescuing the princess, even when the princess is just a peasant who can put on a show.

You’d tricked him into thinking you’re better than you are. Lied to him until you’d trapped him, and now he had to stay with you, because he’s a good man and you’re simply the fucking worst thing in the world to darken his path, and he’ll leave if he really saw you-

That’s not fair to Dean. He is a good man. Better than he was, by miles and stretches and eons, but that really just made it hurt more. Because Dean’s not him, but you’re still you. The same you who was weak, and stupid, and undeserving. That doesn’t change. It only grows now that you have someone you really don’t deserve. Someone who glows in the low light of the night, laughs in a way that fills the bar with life, and always touches you like he’d like to keep you.

You aren’t something that should be kept. But he’s doing it anyway.

And there’s some bile in your throat at the thought. And that’s just another way in which this—in which you—are horrible.

But the worst part was that things like this happened all the time, and you still weren’t strong enough to build an immunity. To just move on, like a big girl. To actually teach yourself that he was in the past, and this you—now, in the present, sitting with your smoking hot boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders—didn’t have any right to be afraid anymore.

“Are you feeling okay?”

You blink at Dean as he guides you out of the bar, Sam walking a few feet ahead and the wind of the night is so cold-

Dean says your name, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s worried, and you give him your best, softest, most docile smile.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, and you can almost believe yourself. Your voice is gentle and small and doesn’t sound like you, but it’s the best way to end the questions. You’ll fold over. You’ll bend until you snap. And nobody needs to push you for that to happen.

But Dean’s still frowning. “Are you sure? ‘Cause if you’re feeling well we can head back to the bunker tonight, and Sam won’t have to get his own room-“

“No, Dean, I’m-“

“Yeah, no, Dean.” Sam turns, shooting his brother a glare. “How would I get home?”

“You’re smart, Sammy, you’d figure it out-“

You tune out the rest of their fake-argument. You’re mostly listening to the wind. It’s loud, and strong, and cold. So cold, biting at your skin and making your joints stiff, but at least you can feel it. It’s not numbing, and it’s indifferent, and Sam and Dean don’t seem half as affected by it as you are, but they’re also not weak-

“C’mon,” Dean says your name, and you realize you’re moving again. That he’s guiding you into the shotgun seat, and a grumpy looking Sam is clambering into the back.

“Wait, why-“

“We’re dropping Sam off, then heading back.” Dean turns the engine on, his voice barely raising to match the rumble, and you’re not sure you heard him right.

“Why- I don’t-“

“I wanna go home.” Dean shrugs, and it’s too casual. “And Sammy’s a big boy, he’ll be fine without Mommy and Daddy watching him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, built by Sam’s groan from behind you, and you can’t stop the words from slipping out. “I told you to stop calling us that.”

“Yeah, but you also told me that you were-“ Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. “That you weren’t into car sex, and that ain’t ever stopped us-“

You cover his mouth with a hand—his shit-eating grin just as blinding in only his eyes—and Sam makes a fake gagging sound.

And you think Dean knows. That he’s realized that you’re just so tired and weak and useless, and he’s trying to work out if it’s worth keeping you around. If you’ll listen to him and do what he asks—and you will, you always will, not because of the threat of being left but because he’s Dean and he couldn’t lead you astray if he tried—or if he needs to leave you on the pavement to scrape yourself back together.

So you don’t fight him, or insist that Sam can have his privacy and sanity without getting another room or you and Dean leaving, because you don’t really want to be touched like that right now. You just drop Sam off at the motel, grab your bags, and slump back into the Impala’s bench as Sam and Dean exchange low words outside.

By the time Dean joins you, you’re half asleep. And you try to stay awake—to entertain him half as much as he entertains you—but he pulls you right into his side, lets your head rest on his shoulder, and Dean doesn’t smell like lavender. He smells like evergreen and apples, he’s warm when your ears are still a little numb from the cold, and when he starts to hum along to the low music, you’re gone. Everything fades, and it’s just the deep sound of Dean’s voice like a lullaby and a big, firm hand on your thigh that isn’t going to leave a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve anything. Maybe you’re lucky to be stuck in this bed with stinging marks around your throat, and a voice like nails on your ears sneering that you’re a weak little bitch. If you were stronger you’d fight back, but you’ve been broken in and can’t be put back together. If you were stronger, you’d scream for help, but you’re also so horribly you that you know nobody will ever come and save you.

Who would try to save you? Who could possibly care about something like you enough to bother and patch up you up, to take string to your skin and heart and organs and tie them back together? You’re not strong enough to make anything stick. You’re made of glass and linen, and any attempt to put you back together would be futile, because you’d probably just break further. Someone would have to be patient enough to pull you back together when you spooled apart, and warm enough to fuse and meld you in a way that wouldn’t shatter with one touch.

You don’t think a person like that would be real. And if they are, they wouldn’t want you.

Because they’d be strong, and you really are weak.

If you were strong, you would’ve left. But you’re still here in this freezing cold bed, staring at the crack on the ceiling.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be more than that. Not as another hand wraps around your throat—you don’t remember what you said, but you must have said something—and there’s a heavy weight on your chest and you can’t breathe-

“Breathe.” A deep voice that sounds like it cares says your name, and you listen. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe for me.”

For him. There’s a hand on your head that’s combing through your hair and pressing you into a place that warm and solid and safe. You’re held steady by an arm around your waist, and it fits so well there. You don’t think it could hurt you if it tried.

He’d sounds kind and caring, and he’d said your name like you mattered, so you’ll try to breathe.

And you don’t remember how to do it for yourself yet, so—just for now, until you can teach yourself to do anything for you—you’ll breathe for him.

“There you go, baby,” the voice mutters, and when you make a weak, choked sound his body tenses, but he doesn’t push you away. “I know, but I’ve got you. Swear I’ve got you.”

He says he’s got you. Dean says he’sgot you.

And you believe him.

So you start to cry.

He’d never liked it when you cried. He’d said it was useless, and that the sound was annoying.

Dean just keeps holding you, and muttering soothing words in your ear until the tears stop flowing. He only keeps rubbing a circle on your back until your breathing slows, and you can lean back to meet his gaze.

He’s not angry. Just worried.

You’re going to start crying again.

“Are,” you sniff, trying to pull yourself back together by force, and look around the dark space. “Are we still in the car?”

“Pulled over earlier.” He mutters, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone with a care you don’t deserve. “You started doing that tossing shit when you’re about to have a nightmare. Wanted to get ahead of it.”

You swallow. You’d made him pull over, and you had enough nightmares that he knew what one looked like, and you were just a burden and problem and he should just shove you out of the Impala and leave you to rot like carrion on the highway-

“Stop doin’ that.” Dean grunts, and you tense.

“I- I’m not-“

“You’re freakin’ out. You’re freakin’ me out.” Dean scans over your face, pulling you close until you’re half on his lap. “If you’re hurt, you know you gotta tell me, sweetheart. I’m not looking to do a zombie bite thing, where we get home and you start bleeding all over the floor. So tell me.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale is warm over your lips. “Please tell me.”

You can’t tell him. You’re not ready for him to leave yet.

You drop your brow to Dean’s, taking low, slow breaths and shaking your head. “It’s okay-“

“It’s fucking not.” He snaps your name, his grip tightening slightly, and you flinch. “I- shit- did I hurt you-“

“No.” You mumble. “I’m just tired-“

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours. You’ll get another seven once we get goin’ again. But,” Dean narrows his eyes, even as his grip loosens once more. “We’re not getting back on the road until you answer me. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound. He’s angry. You’d made him angry, and he won’t hurt you but if he did you’d deserve it-

You start crying again, and Dean’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to push you out the window and you’ll have to wander through the marshes until the mud just swallows you whole-

Dean pulls you fully into his lap, holding you there carefully and muttering in your ear with a care and reverence you don’t deserve.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, fuck, please don’t cry-“

“No, it’s- I’m-“ You take a long, strangled breath, wrapping your arms around his torso until you’re sure you’re going to suffocate him. “It’s not you, Dean, I- It’s not your problem-“

“Fucking hell it’s not my problem.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you really could move in there, and nothing would ever hurt you again. “It’s- You don’t have to-“

“I do.” He mutters, guiding your head back to meet his gaze. He brushes the tears from your eyes. You don’t deserve this. “You’re hurtin’.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyways. Holding a lie too long has never done you a favor before.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“You- you can’t fix this,” you mumble, staring at the bridge of his nose. You aren’t worthy of looking him in the eyes. “It’s, it’s just me, Dean. I’m just like this.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

“Weak.” You whisper. “I- I risked the hunt, I always risk the hunt, and I’m not strong like you and Sam are, and I just wanna go home-“

“We’re going home, babygirl.” Dean’s voice is soft, and low, and cautious, and you let out another sob that shakes your whole body. “And you’re not weak, you ganked like three vamps-“

“Could’ve done more.”

“There were seven of them. Three is pretty awesome numbers.” He gives you a nervous small smile. “You’re awesome. I don’t know who’s been telling you otherwise, but you are.”

That’s what breaks you. The floodgates don’t open—they’d barely held anything to begin with—but something snaps along your spine, and you can’t stop the horrible, rotten truth from falling out of your mouth.

“But he was right.” You whisper. “I’m weak, Dean, and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

“There’s nothing to see, and I- Who’s he?”

You wish that you’d slept better. If you had, your tongue wouldn’t be loosened with pure exhaustion, and you could lie.

But you’re so tired. Unbelievably tired. Mind-numbingly and persistently tired, all the time, and it’s grow so intolerable you just want to be anything else. And if what you are is weak and alone, at least you’ll know that’s where you're supposed to be.

And you’d never wanted Dean to know. He was never supposed to learn from your own mouth how foul you are. He was supposed to find out himself, and then leave you like everyone always has the right to do.

But you’re telling him that you’re weak and fearful, that you’d never been able to fight tooth and spit and leave. You waited so, so long to leave and even then, it had only been because he’d been gone for a while, and you were so tired, and you needed to be anywhere but there.

And you stepped out, and never gone back.

There’s not going back now either. It all spills out, from how you met him to the day you left. And Dean’s so quiet. Only watching you as you speak and squeezing his hold on your hips when you trail off or cry.

But he doesn’t kick you out. And when you finished, you’re still in his lap. You can’t read the expression on his face. The highway lights are dim, and there’s nothing obviously hateful or disgusted written over his features, but you might just be too stupid to see it-

“I’m-“ Dean clears his throat, his voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You blink at him, the tears still blurring your vision. “What.”

“That’s- I didn’t know, I never even fucking guessed- I should’ve guessed-“

“How would you have guessed?” You whisper, risking a drop of your brow back to his. He lets you stay. “I never told you-“

“But I know you. I should’ve seen it, you- I should’ve made you feel like you could tell me, I-“ His face hardens in his second, his grip tightening, but not to suffocated you. To protect you. To wrap his whole body around yours and keep it there safely. “I should fucking kill him. Cut off his arms and stuff them up his ass, get Cas to put the fear of god in him-“

“Dean, no-“

“He doesn’t just get to fucking do that to you and keep walking around-“

“He shouldn’t.” You mumble. “But he did. Men do all the time. And, I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-“

“Don’t apologize.” He grunts, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’ve never done anything wrong, baby, it’s just that son of a bitch, who’s gonna get a knock on his door soon-“

“No knocking on doors,” you wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head against his brow. “Please, Dean, that’s- that’s not what I want-“

“What do you want?”

His question is immediate, and it crashes into you like a tidal wave. Numbing your whole body and kickstarting it in the same second, because you don’t know. You haven’t really known, haven’t had a direction, in years. You wandered and wandered and just tried to keep on breathing, to keep on your feet, and never let yourself look back.

You’d never been good at that last part. You kept on breathing because you didn’t have a choice. You’d kept on your feet because if you faltered, you’d fall over and it would be so painful to get back up.

But you’d always looked back. On nights like this one, over and over and over until your eyes were sunken and your neck was craned to always make sure nothing was behind you.

It might be nice to rest. To breathe not because it’s a labor, but because it feels nice to breathe the same air as Dean.

It would be amazing to keep looking back—it’s a habit, and it will die a slow and withering death until it’s gone, and you never pinpoint the moment you lost it—but to also start looking forward. Looking for that place to rest, that you already seem to have found.

What do you want?

“I want some food.” You whisper, leaning back to scan over Dean’s face. “And a nap. Please.”

Dean gives you a small grin, and nods. “I think we can do that. And after, you’ll give me an address-“

“Please don’t kill him, Dean.” You drop your voice slightly, holding his gaze. “I just want to stay with you, and to never see him again. Please.”

Two more wants. You’re on a roll.

“Just me?” Dean asks, and you don’t he believes you.

But it really is the truth.

“Just you.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and humming when he grins against them.

“Lucky you,” he mutters your name against your lips, squeezing his arms around you “I think I know a dude who can swing that.”

You let out a soft giggle—barely a breath, but there—Dean squeezes his arms again, and you really like how he does that. It’s not because he’s trying to remind you where you belong, it’s because he trying to check that you’re there. Like he’s just as afraid that you’ll flee as you are that he’ll shove you aside, and he’s trying to hold you together with everything he has before you slip away.

“You’re really cheesy,” you say, and he chuckles.

“You like it. We start drivin’ again, you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, but food-“

“We’re only a few hours out from home.” Dean shrugs, really making no attempt to move you from his lap. “I’ll order whatever you’re feeling when we get back.”

You pause, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as you think. “How about pizza?”

“Who’s cheesy now-“

You lean back to give him a mock glower. “Dean Winchester.”

“What did you not like that one-“

“It was horrible-“

“That’s not a no-“

You cut him off with a long, soft kiss, and you like it here. Wherever Dean is, you’ll like it there.

“Can we please get pizza?” You mumble, and he nods. It’s such a small, normal movement.

It makes you feel a little more found.

“We can get anything you want, princess.”

End Note: Oof that was a sad one. Sorry squad.

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circe69 · 6 months ago

Text

ｂｏｒｎ　ａ　ｖｉｘｅｎ．

❤︎smutalicous, fem!reader is plus size coded, has a warped view of intimacy (but don't we all)

❤︎the task force was in desperate need of a distraction for their next mission, and while you're busy working in a brothel for extra money, your boss tells you that you have been chosen to assist.

❤︎ wc: 1.5k

"excuse me?"

you shifted in the uncomfortable leather seat you were perched upon in front of your boss, the lingerie you were wearing did nothing to prevent your thighs from sticking.

"look, i know it's inconvenient, but price called earlier, said he needed a favor, and i technically owe him ever since he saved my ass in a bomb attack years ago," your boss rubs his face in his hands, "and price never shuts the fuck up about a negative balance for favors in his book. so I'd really appreciate it if you would just go in peace like I know you are capable of doing. "

this whole thing just didn't make sense. it had been years since you had even heard from the task force, and had almost forgotten they existed. all you remember is that they're men. big, scary, trigger-happy men. and while you are unfortunately used to being taken advantage of in your line of work, you were not even remotely ready for the way these respectable men would look at you.

being fucked was one thing, being looked at in the eyes was another.

"fine."

❤︎

"so what, now we'll have a whore to look after on top of the missiles falling on our fucking heads?" john "soap" mactavish exclaimed as he sat at a bar stool with his golden beer.

"look at it however you want, this whore will help us survive for the next few missions, hell, for the next few months, so I need both of you to keep your damn act together and hands to yourself." john price gulped the last of his rum and knocked his head towards Ghost, running a glance down his biceps, "especially worried about this one."

"she must be a little thing then, yeah?" soap said while stabbing a rogue lemon slice with his knife.

price smiled into his nth drink, "there is nothing little about her."

and no one could see it, but ghost could feel his upper lip twitch from the tension of the thoughts.

❤︎

you and your boss started your way into the military base dining room, and you couldn't stop your own hands from strangling the other. "don't be nervous, okay? you're the best of the best, that's why they asked for you."

you nodded as he squeezed your shoulder. he's right.

you're hot as shit.

as your strides lengthened with a drip of confidence, the slit in your maroon lingerie cover up allowed for your plump thigh to peek through, and every step you took, you had calculated just enough sway in your thick hips and ass to seduce every man in a 30 mile radius. the lace was cinched at the waist with a harness, allowing for your tits to spill just enough.

high heels, long nails, shiny hair.

shaven legs, smooth skin, white teeth.

so, so nervous.

as you neared the conference room where you were meeting the task force, your boss stopped in his tracks, "you'll have to go in by yourself, red."

your jaw dropped a bit and eyebrows flew up as he waved and walked away, "wait-" the doors closed behind him. you turned around and took a deep breath before opening the second door before you.

after a small creak, you let yourself in and stood before one man.

a masked man, who was almost your height sitting down, who wore all black, who's blue eyes through the mask met yours after slowly skimming the rest of you from the floor up.

"hello, I'm-"

"sit." the man kicked the chair next to him out from under the table. as a small gulp escaped you, you slowly stepped over to the chair he signaled for you to take, "don't you need my name or something? my fucking social security number? or did my boss already tell you?"

a dry chuckle left the man, before he inhaled through his nose, like he was sniffing the air of you. "you're nervous aren't you, pup?"

you were speechless, jaw agape, as he grabbed the leg of your chair and dragged it closer to him, almost as slowly as your heart wished it was beating. from here, you could smell him. like leather and dark, peppery cologne.

"I'm not nervous," you whispered, as your eyes instinctively tried to go to his cloth-covered mouth, before jumping right back to his eyes. you could see though, the slight smirk.

"kinda wish you were, it turns me on when a woman's scared of me. especially women like you." he said before standing.

"the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you watched as he shed off his leather jacket, revealing a tighter-than-average shirt.

fuck me.

the man grabbed both of the arms of the chair you were sitting in and lifted it with you in it so the two of you were eye-level.

his eyes flitted to your lips, "supposed to mean that you strike me as a woman who think she's too heavy to be loved on," he launched you in the chair before catching you again in his hands, eliciting a sharp squeal from you and a deep chuckle from him, "whereas, I think, you're still too light for me to even bench and break a sweat."

he slowly put you back on the ground, still in the chair, before getting on both his knees, and grabbing your palm to kiss the back of it. what is happening?

"I know you're supposed to be the know-it-all of seduction, but I'd like to think I'm pretty good at it myself." the man winked through his mask and you couldn't help but fall victim to the corners of your mouth lifting.

"you're okay it it, I guess. could be better." you teased.

"oh yeah? how so, baby"

you looked him in the eyes for a second before whispering, "what is your name?"

the door slammed open as John price "simon, time is up, how'd she do?"

you jumped up from your chair, "the fuck?"

simon stood, "fine I 'spose," you looked at him confused and fuming, "best fucking rack I've ever seen." price snickered at the comment.

"what the ever-loving fuck is going on here?" you screamed and stomped over to price before shoving a pointed finger in his chest, "was this a test?"

price looked down at you and shrugged, "sounds like you passed so what does it matter?"

"pup, come 'ere, price, leave us alone for a minute, yeah?" simon said from his seat that he so quickly made himself comfortable in.

"no fucking way I'm ever being left alone in a room with that creepy fucker again," you spat before trying to exit behind price, but a large hand wrapped around your middle and yanked you back.

you landed in Simon's lap with a small scream, and his other hand wrapped around your mouth as you tried to squirm.

"so fucking tense, just relax, relax," he said as his hand came off your mouth and onto your thigh before squeezing. a few deep breaths came out from his lungs and into yours, it felt like. "there ya go, baby."

a few tears let themselves out of your mouth as you panted, "no, no no don't want you to *hiccup* touch me if you don't mean it." you hear rustling from your back and gasp when you feel Simon's lips on your neck, "yeah pup? tell me what else you don't want."

"fuck you," you spat.

"I meant it, y'know," simon said before leaving an open-mouthed kiss right underneath your ear, making you squirm, "really? you said.

"really. you definitely have the best rack I've ever seen," he chuckled and bit your ear lobe.

"fuck. YOU." you yelled while pushing yourself off of him and attempting to push him away before he grabbed both your wrists and held them behind your back, then pinning you against the conference table.

"see, you keep saying that but honestly, I don't think you could handle being fucked by me. I'd hurt you, pretty baby. hurt you so bad. you don't want that, do you? you don't want me to pin you like this on any surface I find and bury my cock into your pussy? I know you’ve felt a lot of them, but let me tell you right now," simon paused before leaning down to your ear, "I'd be the best one you'd ever felt."

you let out a moan and craned your neck to look at him behind you, "shut the fuck up, simon."

"mm, say it again, puppy."

"no."

simons knee separated your legs, dragging itself up and up till you were practically split on his knee. "do you want it or not?"

you couldn't speak, you were dizzy with lust and anger and, fuck, you did want it. Simons heavy arms circled around your hips and brought you to stand in front of him and grabbed your jaw to look to him.

"I'll take that as a yes."

❤︎ part 2 coming soon!!!!! -

#simon riley x reader #circesthots #ghost x reader #modern warfare #simon riley x you #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost cod #ghost smut #ghost #ghost imagine #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley headcanons

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countcvnt · 1 year ago

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Dwell On It

[Ghost x Fem!Reader x Soap]

Summary: Your roommate hits you with the worst sentence you've ever heard in your life, and you can't help but dwell on it. Warnings: MINORS DNI!! 18+ Oral (f! receiving), pet names (doll/love), praise, threesome, not beta'd Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Was gonna write this with like ghost not wearing his mask, but i was already halfway through so... Mask Stays On During Sex. (don't ask why i didn't just have him take it off, idk...)

“Fuck!” You get home and slam the door of your apartment.

You want to scream louder, but you don’t want anyone to complain. You kick your shoes off at the door, a little too violently, and your roommate walks out from his room.

“You good?” His voice is full of confusion, he looks tired.

“Sorry, Hunter,” You groan, “I didn’t know you were here…”

You sigh and walk towards your room. He rubs his eyes and watches you closely. He squints at you. “What happened?” You scrunch your nose up. “I don’ wanna talk about it.” You mumble, entering your room. “It’s just, I have to do everything! All the time! Dishes? Me. Trash? Me. Paperwork? Me!” You want to scream again.

“Oh, so you do wanna talk about it?” Hunter cocks a brow at you.

You refrain from swinging. “Hunter, I’m tired. Okay?” You walk towards your bathroom and Hunter trails behind you.

“You still going out tonight?” He asks, like he’s planning something. “WIth those, uh, big military men?” You nod. “Well, tell them something for me?” You nod again. “You need your pussy ate.”

Your mouth drops. Hunter leaves your room. His name can’t even form. You're stunned. Your roommate has successfully stunned you. You stand in your bathroom, for a moment and hear Hunter’s door click. You come to your senses and rush towards his bedroom. You jiggle the doorknob. Locked.

“I won’t be here tonight.”

You let out a frustrated scream into your hands and walk back into your room. You look at the alarm on your nightstand and see you have two hours before you have to be at the bar. You groan. Two hours to dwell on the words Hunter had just said to you.

You sit at the bar, face contorted with displeasure as you wait for Simon and Johnny. You sip your water and huff. Your feet kick off the barstool and you keep thinking about Hunter. You wish you would have throttled him.

“Hey bonnie! Oh- You look-”

“Happy to see us.” Simon lets out a low rumble, causing you to turn towards them.

You lighten up. Or try to. “Sorry, had a horrible day. Roommate decided to make it worse and go to his room with no remorse.”

Johnny cocks his head. “How’d he make it worse?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I came home stressed, and he said the most untrue statement I’ve ever heard!”

“Which was?” Simon asks.

You want to not tell them, but they’re curious. And you’re still butthurt about it. “That I ‘need my pussy ate’!” You exclaim. “Which,” You put a finger up, “is so far from the truth- Like? Why would he say that?”

“Did he offer to do it?” Johnny really asking the important questions is pissing you off.

“No!”

“Bad roommate etiquette.” Simon smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkling gives it away.

“Shut up.” You mumble and sip your water. Johnny laughs. His hand hits your back as he continues to laugh. “What?” You give him a blank stare.

“I think your roommate was onto something.” Johnny can’t stop laughing. You want to get up and leave. You look at Simon, who is also finding amusement in your situation. You want to die. You stand from your chair and roll your eyes at them. Johnny reaches for your arm but you don’t yank away. “Where ye goin’, bonnie, we just got here!”

You pout at him. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Johnny gives you a concerned look. Hunter’s words run through your head, ‘so you do wanna talk about it?’ You do want to talk about it, but not right here. In front of everyone. “I don’t need that. Never have, never will.” You stand firm on your words. And let something slip that you normally only would if you’ve been drinking. “Not like it’s that great anyway.”

Simon and Johnny both stare at you. Johnny’s eyes widen. “You’ve never- Wait a minute.” Johnny collects his thoughts. “You’ve never had some good head?”

You want to hide. Run to the bathroom and escape through the window. As if either of them would let you do that… Knowing you have nowhere to run, you answer. “No. I guess not.”

“Y’know,” Johnny hops off his seat and locks eyes with you, moving closer. “I can’t speak for Ghost,” he motions towards his friend, “but I’m sure I could change that.”

Your stomach flips. The butterflies in your stomach are rapidly turning into bumblebees. Your eyes widen and you look at Simon. He moves himself from his stool and is looming over you. You look up at him.

“Our hotel isn’t far from here, doll.”

Your mouth is agape. “Oh.” You say, placing a hand on your chest, ready to clutch your non-existent pearls. Without thinking, you speak up. “My roommate’s out tonight. We can go to mine?”

“Too dangerous.” Simon shakes his head. Johnny nods. You put your hands up. “Anyway,” Simon continues, “don't need any noise complaints from your neighbors.”

“Oh?” Johnny smirks at him. “Think yer gonna have her screamin’ that loud?” Simon rolls his eyes. You're standing beside the bar, baffled. All you can do is blink up at them. “What’d’ya say?” Johnny questions you. “Wanna come back with us?”

“You'll never wanna leave.” Simon's voice is gruff, sure. He's so sure of himself.

“Y'know what,” you nod, “yes. I don't think I can pass this up…”

Johnny seems relieved. He begins to leave the bar, you trail behind him, and Simon walks out behind you. Johnny is quick to wave down a cab. The three of you pile in the back, and you are so very sure that they can hear your heart pounding against your ribcage. You think the taxi driver can by the way he looks back at you when Simon gives him the hotel name.

His eyes linger on yours, you give him a smile, really not wanting him to think poorly of your currently awkward situation. You're in the middle of Simon and Johnny. Johnny's hand grips your thigh, just where your short black dress ends. He's almost massaging in. Simon places hand on your other thigh, giving it a tight squeeze. You look up at Simon and see he's looking at the driver through the rear view mirror. His eyes cut down to you and you swallow hard.

The cab reaches the hotel and you bring out your purse. Johnny is quick to stop you from paying and Simon pulls out his wallet. Johnny exits and helps you out. “Thank you,” you look back at the taxi driver and wave at him.

As you three enter the hotel, Simon walks up beside you, his hand snaking around your waist. “Did you thank and wave at the cab driver?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Yer so sweet.” Johnny compliments you. His hand grabs hold of yours. “Can't believe ya've never had-”

“Sh,” you swat at him with your free hand, when someone walks past the three of you. Johnny smirks at your reaction. The three of you make it into the elevator and Johnny hits the floor they're on. You're standing in the elevator; Johnny, you, then Simon. Johnny is holding your hand and Simon is still latched onto you like a lifeline. You're watching the floor number go up when Johnny steps in front of you, his grip on your hand tightening. “What?” You whisper.

“Y'know, we've been on a couple dates-”

“Is that what those were?” You genuinely didn't have a clue.

Simon stifles a laugh when Johnny is taken aback. “Yeah!” He groans, “Not the point. We haven' kissed, bonnie.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’. “You can change that, you know.”

Without a word, Johnny leans in and kisses you. Your heart, which is still pounding, is now in your throat. Simon is watching the both of you. He shifts, situating himself, his eyes and arm never leave you. The elevator stops. Simon's grip on you tightens and Johnny pulls away. He moves back to the side of you and you're left standing there, eyes locked with the woman stepping on.

“Oh my,” the words leave her mouth seemingly without thinking.

You smile at her. Awkward but genuine. Simon directs your attention to him. Johnny is still holding your hand, he's watching you and Simon now. Simon leans down and moves his mask up slightly. “My turn, love.”

You eagerly push yourself up and into the kiss, forgetting a woman was in the corner of the elevator. Johnny's hand tenses around yours, his thumb rubbing the back of it while you kiss Simon. The elevator is abruptly stopped and the lady immediately exits. Simon pulls away and you're left staring up at him, like he’s hung the moon and stars.

“Guess she wanted to take the stairs. Can't imagine why…”

The elevator goes up a couple more floors and stops on Simon's and Johnny’s. Johnny leads you out of the elevator and Simon follows you, not letting you go. You follow Johnny down the hall and reach their room. You swallow hard, heart beating in your ears. He unlocks the door and swings it open, motioning for you to go in. Simon escorts you into the room and Johnny closes the door behind the three of you. It locks, the click echoes through the room.

“So… Men,” you look at the both of them, “what now?”

“I think it's sorta obvious,” Johnny smiles at you. “If at any time you are uncomfortable, let us know.”

You nod. “Of course. Um,” Your palms are sweaty against the outsides of your thighs now, “how do we start?” They both stare at you. “What?!” You whine, “I’ve only ever had one serious boyfriend and this was not his forte!”

Johnny and Simon both give you solemn looks. You want to hide again. You can't help but feel like you're being judged. You shift your weight and keep yourself planted, from running away.

“Simon,” Johnny looks at his friend, “wanna do the honors? Since you're so sure you can get her to scream?”

You want both of them. “We have the whole night.”

Johnny perks up. “You wanna stay the whole night?”

“I mean, I can-”

“You're so cute.” Simon remarks. “I'm sure we'll find something to occupy us all night.”

And so your long night begins.

“You can take that off…” You whisper to Simon, “I know your name, why can’t I know your face?”

“It’s better this way, love.” Simon pulls the bottom of his mask up, uncovering his mouth again.

The mysteriousness… The anonymity is hot… You will not deny it. But you want to see him. You want to gently touch his face and kiss him softly. By the look in his eyes, he wants to kiss you too, but maybe not as gently. You reach up and cup Simon’s face, bringing him towards you. Simon lets you. He lets you grab him and place a soft kiss against his lips.

You’re so soft and sweet. And he has every intent of making you his.

“If you two are gonna make out, can I-” Johnny motions towards you. Simon sighs, pulling away from you. “I wanna taste you, bonnie…” It is at that exact moment you realize just how convincing of a man Johnny is. You nod at him. Johnny moves behind you, causing you to cock your head. You look over your shoulder at him.

Simon seems to know what’s about to happen.

Johnny’s hands grab your waist and he kisses your neck before dropping to his knees. ‘Oh,’ You think as you look back at Simon, ‘he’s doing it right here.’ Johnny moves to a sitting position, pats your thigh for you to spread your legs slightly, and you do. He scoots himself between your legs and is now on the floor, between you and Simon.

Simon gives you a moment before kissing you again. He observes you. Johnny looks up at you as he grabs your thighs with a grip you have never felt before, and he hitches your dress up some.

“No panties, huh?” Johnny smirks at you, his fingers going straight for your entrance.

“No!” You jump at his warm hands, “Those were not an option with this dress.”

Simon and Johnny both nod. Simon begins to kiss you once more, as one of Johnny’s fingers push into you. You moan into Simon’s mouth and you grab his forearms, tightly. Johnny kisses your thigh and pushes another finger inside of you while Simon slips his tongue into your mouth. Simon’s hands hold you in place, they grip your hips. You are sure you are going to have marks in the morning.

Johnny is good with his fingers. Phenomenal even. The way you’re being kissed by Simon while Johnny nips and sucks on your thigh and fucks with his fingers is magical. You let out a high pitched whine and Simon pulls back.

“You feel alright?” He asks. You can only nod. You try to answer but only whimpers and moans are escaping you. “You’re doin’ great, doll.”

Your whole body is on fire. You can’t think straight and your stomach is in knots. Your eye clinch shut and finally words form, “I’m gonna-”

Johnny’s fingers pull out of you and you gasp. You look down at him in shock and confusion. He places his fingers in his mouth and sucks on them. Simon watches Johnny and then looks back at you. You pout. Hard. Words aren’t forming again and you are a mumbling mess.

“Use your words, love.” Simon smiles at you.

“Why’d you stop! Please continue.”

“Anything for you, my sweet girl.” Johnny looks up at you and you realize his pupils are dilated. His big blue eyes are dark with lust and hunger. He dives in. He is slowly lapping at your pussy and you’re tensing up again.

Simon steadies you and keeps you from falling forward. You are holding onto Simon like your life depends on it. Johnny’s tongue hits your clit and your body jolts, your back arching. Simon’s lips latch onto your neck and he begins to suck on the sensitive skin, he still keeps you steady. You are moaning out and crying for Johnny; for him to let you finish.

His name falls from your lips, “Johnny!” You whimper, legs clenching together. He is quick to hold your legs apart. Your orgasm hits hard and fast. You’re shaking above Johnny, holding onto Simon, who is still sucking at your neck.

Johnny pushes himself back between your legs and stands up behind you. “You’re so good,” Johnny turns you towards him and his mouth and chin is sticky from the slick of your pussy. “You’re bein’ so good for us.” He gives you a kiss and you’re still trying to collect yourself.

Simon pulls away and you stare at him. He’s looking at you, his eyes darker than Johnny’s. His smile has dropped. His face has dropped. He is watching you with a predatory gaze.

“Your turn,” Johnny smacks Simon on the shoulder.

“Take your dress and shoes off.” His voice… You immediately comply. “On the bed.” Once again, you do as he says. “Get behind her Johnny.”

Johnny seems thrilled. He must know what is about to happen. You are set at the end of the bed, and Johnny crawls behind you. He lets you lean back onto him, he lets you get comfortable. You watch as Simon stalks towards the bed, towards you. You are putty in his and Johnny’s hands. You are sure by the end of the night, you would do absolutely anything or them.

Simon drops to his knees in front of you and looks with the same hunger Johnny watched you with earlier. You, in your fucked out daze, could still pick out the difference in their stares. Johnny’s gaze was filled with a sweetness, one that gave you butterflies. Simon’s gaze is wild, full of fire, and has you gripping the sheets before he’s touching you.

Johnny’s hands are rubbing your biceps as he whispers praises in your ear. You’re too focused on Simon to really catch what Johnny is saying. Your heart is pounding again, and you want nothing more than to be touched. You need Simon to touch you.

“If this is too much-”

“Let us know.”

You are nodding, violently. “Please,” You beg, “please just touch me.” Simon’s smile returns, and it’s lethal. His hands grip your thighs and you flinch. You can already see marks from Johnny’s earlier grasp on you. Simon begins to bite and suck at your thighs, a lot harder than Johnny had. One his hands moves up your thigh and two fingers push into you. His movements are somewhat harsher than Johnny’s. He is no way harming you, but Johnny was so gentle. The difference is jarring, in a good way.

Simon’s mouth moves up your thigh and he easily finds your clitoris. He sucks at the bud as his fingers pick up the pace inside of you. You are crying out for him, begging him to go faster, harder.

“Sure ye can take it?”

“Yes, please-”

Simon doesn't argue. He gets a little more rough with you. His hands holding your hips down holds you tighter. Johnny’s mouth connects with your shoulder and he kisses you softly, still giving you praises. Your hips buck slightly, but Simon is holding them too tightly for you to go anywhere. You let out a cry of pleasure. One of Johnny’s hands is on your arm, rubbing circles into the skin, while the other goes towards your chest, settling at your breast. He begins to massage it, before pinching your nipple.

Your back is arching again. Your hips are chasing after Simon’s fingers. Your body is hot again, your stomach is knotting up. Your toes curl and you let out a loud whine.

“Simon!” You’re gripping the sheets. “Please- So close-” You moan.

“So good,” Johnny reassures you, “Bein’ such a good girl for us.”

It sends you over the edge. Your body is shaking. You’re seeing stars and don’t want either of them to stop touching you. Simon pulls away from you as you’re coming down. He looks up at you, and your eyes are on Johnny. You’re breathing heavily. You look down at Simon through half lidded eyes and he stands up. He is so fucking big.

“I’m glad-” You start, “I’m glad my roommate was an asshole.”

“I’m glad he didn’ offer to do that for you.” Johnny presses his forehead to your shoulder.

You let out a soft laugh. “He definitely would not have done that…” You begin to sit up. Johnny and Simon are quick to stop you.

“Where are ye goin’?”

“I, uh, was gonna-”

“You’re not leavin’ now, are ya, doll?” Simon asks. He seems genuinely curious. He doesn’t want you to go. Not yet.

“I don’t have to. The night is still young…” Johnny hugs your waist tightly as you say that. “And I’d love to repay the both of you…”

It was definitely going to be a long, eventful night.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #call of duty smut #cod fanfic #x reader

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angel5ofp0rn · 1 year ago

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idk, just a thought 😋

141 x Drunk!Reader / Jealous!Ghost x Drunk!Reader

TW: implied drunk sex

(idk what’s up with me and making the reader drunk all the time ???)

also idk i just like the idea of Soap being a perv and Ghost being a fuckin weirdo 🫣

You didn’t expect the guys to actually give a shit about your birthday... Maybe it was just the excuse to drink.

Still, you couldn't deny that you loved seeing the squad out of uniform and all dressed up for the night.

You even put on a little skirt and low-cut top, curled your hair and wore makeup for the first time in months.

Price bought you your first drink just as a 'happy birthday, kiddo', but it didn't stop there.

Soap got you a few shots and Gaz let you sip from his drinks throughout the night.

You were feeling pretty buzzed by the time you convinced some of the guys to move to the dance floor.

Ghost watched quietly from his spot at the bar across the room. You expected as much.

The two of you have been keeping your distance; you were basically still strangers, apart from the random glances you give each other during training.

Ghost thought of at least saying happy birthday to you, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it.

He wasn’t exactly an affectionate man. Wasn’t great at showing his feelings.

Feelings? The fuck was he thinking?

You’re just nice to look at, that’s all.

It was strange seeing you with your hair curled and your skin showing, almost like a real woman. He had a nagging thought that if the guys weren’t around, he would've gone over to you.

You and Soap are on the dance floor, you tipsy and swaying while he holds your waist, keeping you steady as he mumbled something close to your ear.

"I don't think so." You muse, looking up at Soap. He had asked if Price was watching the two of you, knowing Price has a tendency to act like a father towards you especially. "Why?"

Soap took a moment before he spoke again, the alcohol clearly getting to him. His words were becoming more and more slurred throughout the night, although he still had that Scottish accent mixed it that kept him sounding charming... though almost unintelligible.

"Y'know yer beautiful, aye? An' th' lads, they've been eyein' ya for the whole night. 'Course ol' Price, he's been' tryin' to keep us from gettin' yer attention… But even Ghost! Ghost thinks yer fuckin’ gorgeous.”

"Ghost thinks that?" You tried to focus your eyes on Soap’s, fighting the alcohol.

Soap leaned in even close now, his breath smelling like strong liquor. He even placed his hand on the small of your back, right above your skirt as he spoke again.

"Oh, aye. But we all do… I do."

You giggled at that. Soap's arm wrapped tightly around your waist now, pulling you chest to chest and murmuring more drunken ramblings into your ear.

You quickly forgot what Soap mentioned about Ghost.

But Ghost was still watching.

He watched the way Soap leaned in to whisper in your ear, the cocky smirk on his face, how dangerously close his hand was to your ass.

He watched you drape your arms around Soap’s neck, eyelids heavy. He watched how your eyes wouldn’t focus on Soap’s eyes; they kept darting down to his lips.

Ghost didn’t watch to watch anymore.

“The steamin’ hell’r you doin’, LT!” Soap calls after Ghost as the masked man grabs your arm and drags you off.

“Let me go!” You groan, trying to pull away from his grip. When that didn’t work, you tried to stomp his toes.

No use, he had those fucking steel toes on as usual. After more ignored pleas, you resorted into trying to drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes; like an unruly toddler.

Ghost didn’t miss a beat. He easily scooped you up and slung you over his shoulder as he head towards the bar’s exit.

The second he set you back to your feet outside on the pavement you tried to shove him.

Stupid idea, really. Fucker didn’t budge.

“What is your problem?” You glare at him.

“My problem?” Ghost’s voice was low. “You were about to let MacTavish feel you up in front of everyone in there.”

“Who cares if Soap and I have a bit of fun? What, are you jealous or something?” You groan.

“Of course I am!”

You froze. Your eyes locked in with his.

“You’re… jealous?” You ask again, softer this time.

You can see the subtle movement of Ghost’s jaw clenching beneath his balaclava.

“You’re drunk.” Ghost states. “You should get back to base and sleep it off.”

He’s right, of course. But you don’t listen.

You don’t fully realize you’re doing it, but you reach your hand up and touch his face.

Well, his mask.

Ghost’s breath hitches, and he thinks of swatting your hand away but he doesn’t. He lets your cup his face. Caress his jaw. Rub your thumb over the fabric covering his lips.

He even lets you pull him in closer, lets you get just an inch away from touching noses before he speaks again.

“I cant kiss you.”

You finally come back to earth, your drunken mind suddenly sobering.

“Oh.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, both silent. Both unsure of what happens now.

“Guess I’ll just go-”

“I want to.” Ghost speaks again. “I would like to.”

“Okay…”

“But I can’t.” His huge arms cross as he looks down at up. For something so genuine, he’s saying it as if it’s a threat.

“Right…” You nod slowly, your drunken brain trying its best to gauge what’s happening. “So..?”

“I can’t have you flirting with MacTavish.” He practically growls. “He doesn’t want more than a quick fuck.”

You frown at this, eyebrows lowering into a scowl.

“So you won’t kiss me, but I can’t flirt with anyone else?”

“Yes.” Ghost acts as if this was common sense.

“‘s’not fair.” You roll your eyes. “You can’t do that t’me.”

“Well, I am.”

“Are not.” You challenge. You push past him and re-enter the bar, leaving him outside and alone.

“Bonnie!” Soap calls you over as soon as he sees you.

He’s sat at a table with a bunch of other men that you don’t recognize. He pats his thigh, inviting you to have a sit on his lap.

Ghost’s warning still fresh in your head makes you hesitate.

But who is he to tell you who you can and can’t flirt with? He doesn’t even talk to you.

You try not to stumble as you make your way towards Soap, accepting the invite to sit on his lap. His arm instantly wraps around your waist, holding you in place.

“Didn’t know you had a barracks bunny.” One of the men snickers as he looks you over.

You frown, looking to Soap, waiting for him to correct them. To explain that you’re actually on the squad- no, the best sniper on the squad. An asset to the team, really.

Instead, Soap laughs along with the rest of them, giving your thigh a squeeze. “Nah, nah. ’m keepin’ this bunny all to m’self.”

You had to have heard him wrong, right? Maybe it was the alcohol affecting your hearing.

Before you could defend yourself, you felt Soap’s hand sliding up your thigh, slipping under your skirt.

Your face is burning. The guys all laugh. You feel sick.

Flirting and kissing is one thing… Soap treating you like a sex toy is another.

“Soap, stop.” You mumble, pushing his hand away.

Soap gives you a wink. He thinks you’re playing some sort of game here. His hand starts to creep up your bare thigh again. His lips press against your neck.

“I said stop!” You stand up and shove him by his chest, admittedly harder than you intended to.

Soap landed on his back on the dirty bar floor, his face a mix of pissed off and confused.

Price was by your side immediately, pulling you away from the table as Gaz helped Soap to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Price, I just-“

“I’ve got you a cab outside. Get your ass back to base and sleep it off.” Price barked.

Sober you could handle commands and threats like they were nothing.

Drunk you started tearing up immediately.

Price mumbled something that sounded like ‘for fuck’s sake, kid’ as you turned and walked outside.

Ghost was still outside, balaclava lifted so he could smoke a cigarette.

You didn’t notice him as you slid into the back seat of the cab, but he saw you.

Then he saw Soap and Price exiting the bar one your cab took off.

He watched calmly, smoking as normal while Price stood with his foot on the side of Soap’s head/face, Soap’s cheek pressed against the pavement.

He couldn’t hear what they were fighting about and frankly he didn’t care. He wondered if any of it had been the cause of your teary eyes.

•••

You lift your face off of your pillow and squint at the caller ID as your phone rang.

You’d only been back in your room for about an hour at this point and you’ve been trying to battle the spins.

You swipe to answer the call, smushing your face back into the pillow and closing your eyes again.

“H’llo?”

“Make it back to base okay, kiddo?” Price’s stern, gruff voice came through the speaker

“Mhm.” You mumble your response.

“Good. Sorry about MacTavish; drunken Scot can’t handle his alcohol…” Price sighs. “He’ll be dealt with in the morning.”

“s’okay.” You nod even though he can’t see it.

“You sure you’re alright then?”

“Mhm…”

Price exhaled a deep breath. “Get some shut eye. I'll be seeing you at 0530 sharp for PT."

"Yes sir. Love you."

You didn't fully realize that you told Price that you love him as if you were speaking to your dad.

Price was quiet for a second before his tone subtly shifted to sounding more gentle. "Love you too, kid. I'll see you at five-thirty."

You end the call and force yourself to sit up despite your still tipsy state. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep with everything on your mind.

Well… with Ghost on your mind.

You call him next, not really expecting him to answer at all. He kind of doesn’t; there’s no voice on the other end, but you could tell he was there.

“Ghost?”

“Yeah.”

“So- Why… why didn’t you kiss me?” You stand up off of the bed and pace your room. More like stumble around your room.

“Can’t.”

“But why?” You groan. “Is it because of Price?”

“We work together.”

“So?” You find a hoodie and pull it on over your going out clothes. “That didn’t stop Soap.”

Silence.

“And I… I really wanted you to, y’know? And… I think I said ‘love you’ to Price. Y’think he’ll be mad at me?” You start kicking your heels off.

“…you told Price that you love him?”

You kind of giggle at that, hearing it back. “No, I didn’t tell him I love him. I just said ‘love you’ to him.”

You think you hear Ghost snort at that. “Are we done here?”

“Well, no…”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to open your door.”

Ghost doesn’t speak. You look around the hall to make sure none of the guys would see you.

“Please?”

The call ends. Ghost slowly opens his door and peers at you from the small open space.

You look up at him, messy hair and mascara smudged under your eyes. Your hoodie covered most of your outfit and you were barefoot.

“You look ridiculous.”

“Can I come in?” You ignore his comment.

Ghost hesitates but he does step aside and let you into his room.

It was so dark in his room that you almost didn’t notice that he was maskless. Too bad you couldn’t see him better.

You didn’t really know what you planned on doing now that you were in his room… You honestly didn’t think he’d let you get this far.

Ghost’s hand touched your face. His thumb wiped under your eyes, attempting to fix your makeup.

The gesture was considerate though you knew he was just making the smudge bigger.

“I can’t kiss you.” Ghost repeated his words from earlier, but this time it was softer. More gentle.

You shook your head.

“We don’t have to kiss.”

#call of duty #captain john price #cod x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost riley #simon ghost riley #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #captain price #141 headcanons #simon riley x you #cod x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #x reader

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miniwheat77 · 1 year ago

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Shakin’ (Ghost x Reader.)

!I aged Simon up a bit for this chapter. He’s around 44. Smut, unprotected p in v sex, (wrap it up-_-) military talk, teasing, you know the drill babes, absolutely NO MINORS, enjoy!

(Bc I bet Simon totally listened to Eddie Money when he was a teen XD. Obvi my song inspo is Shakin’ by Eddie Money.)

At this point, everything he did was routine. 141 had Simon busy most of the time so he didn’t spend too much time off base anymore. He had nothing better to do, the most exciting thing he did was stop by a bar with Johnny and Price. That was it. A round of new recruits were coming and this was always the hardest part, getting used to the newbies. Because some of them were insufferable. Ghost liked to be left alone. But the new recruits were always all over him. Trying to make friends and be nice and ask for advice which he didn’t mind, not at all. But sometimes he’d just want to be left alone.

For some reason, there weren’t many women on base. Aside from a couple that didn’t work out for… inappropriate reasons. There was no one but Laswell around.

“Ghost.” The scot accent pierces his ears and he turns to see Soap approaching with a girl by his side. “This is Y/N. She’s one of the new recruits.” He tilts his head to you. Ghost nods his head. “Hi.” You send a small wave his way. “Hey.” He says. “See, he doesn’t bite.” Soap laughs. “No, but I might.” You smile. Your sly smile pierces Simon right to his core, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. As you walked away with Johnny, he wondered what the hell that was.

He didn’t know it, but it was the start of something special.

You settle in pretty quickly and Ghost sees how well you and Johnny get along together. He sees the both of you together quite often. Ghost worried about him catching feelings for you, and having you turn out to be like every other girl that’s come onto this base. A barracks bunny.

His worries all came to an end when he watched you resist every guy on base. Seriously, they’ll hit on you while you’re sitting across from the both of them and you’ll have to spin around and tell them to piss off.

You’re usually eating, listening to something Soap is saying and someone will walk up behind you and start trying to flirt with you. He can see the immediate anger on your face, wanting to be left alone.

Something Ghost didn’t expect is the both of you to start spending time together. Without Johnny around. You were a productive soldier. Always offering to help, always busy doing something around the base. You hardly ever complained about something and when you did it’s usually because you hurt in some kind of way. Which he understood all too well. You always offered to help him with anything he was doing. Jumping right up when he was going to do some heavy lifting. So the two of you started hanging out and doing those things together like it was second nature. A routine. Ghost started catching feelings for you pretty quickly and he tried to avoid it.

Especially after he found out how young you were.

You followed him out to load up the Humvee, and you spoke about your parents. Something about the age of your mum made Simon perk up. “Wait. How old are you?” He asks. You smile. “Why you want to know?” You smirk. “Because it sounds like your mum is about the same age as me and that means you’re really young.” He freezes up. “Yeah, I’m 21.” His eyes widen. “Jesus Christ. You do not look that young. You’re really mature for your age.” He mumbles, tossing a box into the back of the Humvee. He hears you chuckle. “Yeah, I get that a lot. But.. age doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.” The slyness of your words have the hair on his neck standing up. “Yeah right, I’m old enough to be your dad.” He rolls his eyes.

You set a box down, only maybe a foot away from him. “Doesn’t scare me.” You smile. Stepping away from him. What exactly did you mean by that? Were you… flirting with him?

—

“Rosanna’s daddy had a car she loved to drive.” You mumble out the lyrics as you pass by Ghost. You don’t see him yet but he’s there. As soon as those lyrics hit his ears, he smiles. Reminding him of when he was a teenager, being crazy. Something he didn’t seem to think about too often anymore. “Stole the keys one night and took me for a ride.”

“Fuck.” You mutter as the box splits open, the contents of it falling out the bottom. Ghost steps out of the darkness. “What you singing there sweetheart?”

You jump when you hear him behind. “Jesus Christ.” You breathe. Tugging an earbud out of one of your ears. “Gave me a heart attack.” You laugh. Theres something inside of him brewing. Looking at you now, he knows there’s no going back.

He can only pray Johnny has no feelings for you, because there’s no going back. “Price told me to get you and check out some surrounding areas. Take the Humvee.” He nods. “Really?” You ask. He nods his head, lying through his teeth. What Price doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He could still hear your music through your earbuds.

“Turned up the music just as loud as it could go, blew out the speakers in her daddy’s radio. She was shakin’” he smiles. “Eddie Money ah?” He asks. Hearing you laugh.

“Of course.”

“Snappin her fingers, she was movin’ round and round. That girl was shakin’”

“Come on, let’s go.” He helps you put everything back into the box, telling you to worry about it later. When you get inside the Humvee, he snags one of the earbuds from you. Sliding it into his ear. He pulls out of the garage. He could get in so much trouble over this, but can’t remember the last time he’s done something this crazy. You haven’t done anything and you’ve already lit a fire inside of him.

“We started drinkin’ wasn’t thinking too straight. She was doing 80 and she slammed on the breaks. Got so high we had to pull to the side. We did some shakin’ til the middle of the night.”

He reaches his hand across the middle, resting it on your thigh. You tense up immediately, turning to look at him. “Ghost.. what are you doing?” You ask. His hand glides further up, and he hears you gasp. “Simon-“ you laugh.

“Shakin’, snappin’ her fingers. She was up and down and round and round. Shakin’”

“Cmere baby, sit in my lap.” He forces you over onto him, facing the steering wheel. You can feel his bulge against your ass. You twist around in his lap. Straddling him and keeping your face tucked into his neck so that he can see. He groans as you start attacking his neck. Sucking and biting at his skin. “Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. “Drive me fucking crazy.” He hisses.

“I got a little nervous. She took her coat off. She looked so pretty, ah yeah.”

He takes in a deep breath as you reach for his cargo pants. “Focus on the road. Don’t kill us.” You laugh. “Fuck- doing my best.” He laughs. You unzip his pants, tugging his cock through the hole in his boxers until you could see it. Taking a deep breath. You wiggle your own cargo pants down, off of one leg, freeing up your hips, you straddle him.

“I’m always talkin’ baby, talkin’ too much. I love that little girl and I just can’t get enough. It takes a lonely night with nowhere to go, just call Rosanna and it’s a hell of a show.

And she’s shakin’”

A hiss leaves his lips as he grips your hips with his rough hands. You swallow him up, sliding down onto him. He’s driving fast, way faster than he should. But he’s so fired up from you, he can’t help it. It’s fucking thrilling. Your skin is soft compared to his calloused hands. He grits his teeth, muscles tightening in his body as you slide down around him. Clutching onto him like a glove. The music is loud, nearly hurting your ears as you rock your hips into him. “Fuck- fucking hell you’re a minx.” Simon grits his teeth harder, gripping onto you and rocking his hips up to meet yours. He presses his foot into the gas harder, thanking whatever god is out there that this road is empty.

The pleasure is white hot, wrapping around the base of his spine and working its way up. You make him feel young again, like a crazy teenager. You attack his neck, you’re loud and you can’t help it as you ride him, raising yourself up onto him and moving back down. Riding him like your life depends on it. Chasing after that high. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, crying out. You gasp out when he slams onto the breaks, pulling over onto the side of the road. He forces you to look at him after he throws it into park. He grips your hips tightly, thrusting up into you. “Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.” He growls. He grasps the bottom of his balaclava, tugging it over his head. He grips your chin, pulling you in to kiss him. You’re whining as he fucks up into you.

The windows are starting to fog up, your bodies are sweaty as they move against each other. He feels hot, fully dressed. Feelings just how hot the two of you have made it in the car. The fat of your hips clutched hard between his massive hands. Making you feel small as he fills you up. You stare him in the eyes, keeping eye contact. You smile, making him narrow his eyes. “What?” He asks. “Do I intimidate you Simon?” You smile. He shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You seemed intimidated by me flirting with you.” You wrap your arms around his neck, rocking into him. He’s panting almost. “Just not used to it. Usually it’s the other way around. I’m supposed to intimidate you.” He laughs. Clutching onto the seat of the Humvee. “Fuck- you’re getting me close sweetheart.” He grits his teeth. “Me too.” You breathe, adjusting yourself one last time. He tilts his head back against the seat and you lean in, biting down on his throat, feeling his pulse against your tongue. His breaths pick up. He’s getting close, you can tell. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tight. Thrusting up into you. “Fuck- fuck baby. I’m gonna cum.” He gasps. His eyes roll back and his lips part. He gasps, hips jerking up into you. Your eyes narrow shut, closing tight. That knot forming in your belly. The warmth of him sends you over the edge, crying out into the crook of his neck. He holds you tight to him like you’ll fall apart if he lets go.

Your thighs shake as he adjusts you in his lap. “You did so good.” He breathes. “Such a good girl for me.” He breathes. He hears you laugh into him. “Fuck. We’re gonna be in so much trouble when we get back.” You mumble against him. “Yeah, probably.”

“One more, make it worth our while?” He smirks. You glide your tongue over your bottom lip. “Let me restart the song.” You giggle.

#call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #soap mw2 #captain john price #ghost mw2 #mw2 smut #ghost smut #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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mcflymemes · 4 months ago

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AS SAID BY WYNNE - PARTY BANTER * assorted banter from dragon age: origins

you must know that murder is wrong, i assume.

i feel guilty for having ever spoken to you.

i am going to walk away now. calmly. coolly. this is to save you the pain of having your brain forcibly removed through your ears.

please get to the point.

cherish this. it may not last.

you were watching her. with great interest, i might add. in fact, i believe you were enraptured.

wait... why do you have that look on your face?

what are you thinking about now? no. i don't want to know. i feel dirty. do not speak to me.

i have a name. we all do.

you do speak your mind, do you?

it was a serious question.

must you be such a child? are you incapable of a single, serious conversation?

have you changed your mind yet?

enough. i am ending this conversation.

i am going to walk away now.

we are not having this conversation.

perhaps you could save a life, instead? one for every life you have taken.

it is not a game. you either know right from wrong or you do not.

i once had my portrait painted by an artist in the square here. it wasn't very good.

now that you're in an intimate relationship, you should learn about where babies really come from.

i like you, [name]. you deserve to be happy.

you go ahead and rant, and i'll just not my head if you like.

what exactly are you implying?

be careful who you flirt with.

it would not be the first time i woke to a younger man in my bed.

you have a barbed tongue, [name]. tell me, why do you speak to others this way?

there are good reasons for the world to fear mages, even despite our best intentions.

touch nothing! i don't think they clean the surfaces in this place very often.

everyone's gone... or dead. i fear the worst.

this cannot continue.

these people don't deserve what has happened to them.

i thought it was a legend.

i could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here. i will never forget this feeling.

many enter this forest and are never seen again. let's hope we don't join them.

there's something about this place that makes my skin crawl.

i didn't expect it to be this crowded.

what hideous habits you've picked up.

can't you mend your own clothes? why do i have to do it?

stop fussing with it. you'll make it worse.

[name], if you open that wound up, i'm not going to heal it again. you can just treat it yourself.

if you decide to slaughter me out of hand, i'm sure you would at least inform me first, no?

what makes you think i have any children at all?

i suppose i'll take that as a comment on my demeanor and not my age.

why thank you, [name]. i am quite touched. i like you, too.

those who do not heed to lessons of history are doomed to repeat them.

you are dangerous, [name]. dangerous, cunning, and thoroughly deceitful.

when the end comes, i will go gladly to my rest, proud of my achievements. while you... you will see how empty your life was. you will realize that because you never had love for others, you never received love in return. and you will die alone and unmourned.

i suppose i should be flattered.

very well, let's have a taste.

what are you... never mind, i don't want to know.

i never looked at you. definitely not in that way.

i bought you a towel, a bar of soap, and a razor while we were at the market.

i am not interested in your innuendos, your propositions, or your bodily emanations.

no! keep it to yourself! i'm serious!

i do what i do because i enjoy it, because i enjoy teaching others, helping them.

i do not seek recognition for my works.

i heard you were quite happy there.

i think you're missing the point.

it is precisely this kind of talk that made them wary of you. opinions that differ from your own are always threatening.

it is sometimes so hard to believe that you have been through so much at such a young age.

i do hate being compared to wine. or cheese.

thank you, i was wondering where it got to.

do not worry for me, or for yourself. death will take us when it wills and 'til then, we shall live. truly live.

it's much warmer where you're from, isn't it? don't you feel cold?

i didn't mean to stare.

i can't even begin to tell you whats wrong with that idea.

you can stop flinching. i'm not going to harm you.

#rp meme #dragon age #wynne #rp prompt #roleplay memes #rp starters #mcflymemes #rp memes #roleplay prompt #ask meme #roleplay meme #ask memes #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 29 days ago

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꒰ঌ·Soul mates, huh?·໒꒱

The second part of my love letter to Kyle "Pretty Boy" Garrick.

Part 1 is here.

18+ mdni. Fluff and romantic.

POV: Reader

You've met Kyle's family more than once. His father was a sweety, and his older sister and brother both welcomed you with open arms. His mother had given you a once over and with a critical eye before she hummed and told you, "My son has my face but is a player like his dad. You let me know if he gets out of sorts and you need me to set his ass straight." And then she fed you and declared that you'd be a perfect fit as a daughter in law.

Kyle was not pleased by that interaction. Still, he laughed it off, pressed a kiss to your lips, and whispered, "You're it for me, my angel. My golden glittering angel."

Meeting his parents happened two weeks after he asked you to be his girlfriend. Meeting his work colleagues? That didn't happen until nearly six months later. He spoke about them, told you how he admired his Captain, and enjoyed the dry jokes from his lt. and was best friends with a guy named Soap. Other than that, he didn't speak much about work, but he did allow you to soothe his worries and anxieties about work.

When he first broached you with the question to meet his team, he was nervous. When you questioned why, he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just worried is all. My job is dangerous, Angel, and I don't want you caught up in it."

So that brought you to tonight, in the same dim and hazey bar, that you first met your gorgeous Adonis. Squished between him and his friend Soap, who had the world's thickest Scottish accent. Across from you, a hulking mass of a man in a black medical mask, and all of you were waiting on one Captain Price to show.

"Gaz did tell us you'd be a bonnie thing!" The grin on his face was teasing. His blue eyes were full of a sorta flirty tension. He kept glancing at you, and then at Kyle, grin so wide you were sure it hurt him.

"Soap, don't be weird." Kyle grumbles, and he pulls you closer to his side.

"Ahm, not being weird, I think she looks like a fae. Lives like one, too, if what you say about her is true." His hand slaps the glossy booth table, and it shakes the drinks.

Simon grunts and steadies his own glass, "Johnny." He warns.

You, on the other hand, turn to look at Kyle, "And what exactly do you tell them about me, Ky?" There's no bite to your voice as you grin at him. "Is that why Soap won't tell me his name? Afraid I'll trap him the same way I trapped you?"

"First off, he's a reprobate, and him paired with you sounds like a bad idea in terms of random happenings happening." Kyle snorts at the dying gafaw that Soap let's out, "Second, you didn't trap me...I willing walked into your little fae ring."

"I'll drink to Johnny being a reprobate." Simon says quietly after he sips his drink and fixes you with a look. It's not meant to be intimidating, but boy does it feel that way. "We were starting to think you weren't real."

"Really?" You ask and giggle at the sour look Kyle has on his face. You have the impression that they've been waiting to rag on him and tease him in front of you for a while now.

"Oh, absolutely." A new voice answers, and you can see in real time as Kyle becomes flustered and riggid at the sound of his Captain. Price sits down next to Simon and nods to everyone, "Sorry I'm late." And he makes no explanation of why. "You must be the little fae that's trapped, Kyle. He won't stop talking about you."

You lean into Kyle's arms, and the smile on your face still hasn't left you. "All good things, I hope."

The atmosphere is warm and friendly. Conversation stays light and fun. Somehow, you end up inviting the three of them to your house at the end of the night. Kyle, while he was fine with your random ways, seemed very put out by the idea of his friends in your space. It's late in the evening, maybe ten thirty or so when you all get to your apartment.

"'s'like walkin' int'a rainforest." Soap says with wide eyes. "Gaz, yer lass has tae be a fae."

You don't hear what Kyle says in response as you're already pulling Simon to see your tarantula and the new ant farm you ended up with. "See, I told you I had a tarantula named Biscuits. Doesn’t she look like a Biscuits?" You grin at him, and he only hums.

"Very cute." Simon mumbles. "And the birds?"

"My girls, my babies! A guy I met in France at a friend's wedding, who has people in South America, got them for me a few years back. They needed a home, and I had space." You stop and look at Kyle with wide eyes, "Oh that reminds me, Ky! Would you mind coming with me to pick up Mister Moody?"

"Mister, who, babe?" He sounds confused. "Is that another friend?"

"No, I'm picking up Mister Moody, who is my new chinchilla. The guy wants to meet up at Tesco at like 10 pm tomorrow before he hitchhikes his way out of town." This earns you a look of surprise from Soap, Simon and John. It's John who looks at Kyle with concern.

"That doesn't sound legal." John then looks at you, there's a twinkle in his eyes. Almost like a fond approval of sorts.

"It doesn't." Kyle glances at his watch and nods once, "You three should get going."

"Aw what?" You and Soap groan.

"We haven't even gotten a chance to hold the spider?" Soap whines.

"It's late, and I'm sure you three have places to be in the morning." Is all he says, and his friends seem to get the picture before they leave. You watch as Kyle walks them to the door. After one more good bye and pat on the shoulder from his Captain, Kyle closes the door and it's just you two.

"They're nice." You sprawl out on the couch and sigh, "A shame you waited this long for me to meet Soap. Funny guy, that one. He would love my friend Drew."

Kyle lays down on top of you and rests his head on your stomach. You can tell he is sifting through the mental list of your various friends. "The goth chick? The one that wears the vampire fangs?"

"Yeah!"

"I think Simon would be better." He nuzzles your stomach and slides up your shirt and then kisses your stretch marks.

"Nah, Soap would be. Simon would be perfect for Winnie though, they talk enough for like five people."

"Is that the one with the blue hair?"

"No." You hum, "the one that we went with to that abandoned house that had the dive bar set up in it, and we had tacos. That one."

"Highly illegal." He sighs, "I love you."

"I love you too, Ky."

It's quiet for a moment as you both lay there. It is a rare moment of quiet in your home, especially on a Friday night. Where you would normally be out getting wrapped up into antics, you're sitting here tracing soothing patterns on the back of your boyfriend's neck. The weight of his body against yours is soothing and comforting, and you know it is where you both want to be.

"Babe?" He sounds a bit small, and you open your eyes to look at him. Those gorgeous brown eyes are filled with such love as he gazes at you. It takes him a moment to find the right words.

Concerned you give a reassuring, "Yeah?"

"Why did you say yes to me?" His eyes quickly avert yours, and it takes you by surprise. He's normally so well composed and sure of himself. Strong in the way that an oak tree is, unyielding like a stubborn ox when he wants to be. Before you can answer, he continues, "I come in and out of your life, and I'm gone more often than not and when I'm here the first half of my leave I'm not even the me that you know."

You recognize what this is. What he is hinting at, a distant worry that you'll find someone else who keeps up with your lifestyle. Carefree, can appreciate the randomness, someone who doesn't have to reconcile with two halves of themselves. Someone who isn't him.

"Look at me, Kyle." You grip his chin and tilt his head to lock eyes with him. "I will love you, all of the different parts of you, until you give me a valid reason not to. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't have waited for you to get out of your head for a year to ask me to be your girlfriend."

"And what about for when I'm gone on months on end again, and you get lonely?" His voice quivers with a swell of worry.

"I've waited years to meet who I suspect is my soul mate." Your index finger taps his nose, "I can wait for you to come back home. And if something happens where you don't come back, I can wait a thousand more years until the next life to meet you again. Soul mates always find each other. Now, no more questioning my love for you, you silly man."

He just lays his head back down on your stomach, and he breathes in slowly. The words you spoke to him sinking in. His arms only hold on to you tighter, and he whispers.

"Soul mates huh?"

"Yeah, we are."

a.n: I have one or two more parts of this little fluffy series! Idk yet

#kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #black!reader #kyle garrick fluff #call of duty fluff #cod fluff #call of duty fic #i love him so much

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fallinforaguyfelldownfromthesky · 1 month ago

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Black Hat Org. (trademark pending) Ch. 46: Want

DISCLAIMER: This is not a full chapter, it's about 2 pages of my 23 page draft.

As thanks for waiting for over two year, have Flug stalling for time in Black Hat's bathroom.

Flug knew he probably shouldn’t be going through Black Hat’s personal things, but at one point Black Hat himself had been on the list of “Things He Probably Shouldn’t Do” and well, look how that was going.

A normal man with his track record of telling himself he shouldn’t do things, and proceeding to do them, might look himself in the mirror and make his umpteenth empty promise to stop. Rocinante Flugslys however was anything but a normal man so he purposefully ignored his reflection as he opened the medicine cabinet. He was careful not to touch anything, letting his eyes do the snooping while his hand never left the mirror’s edge. Whereas Flug’s medicine cabinet held toothpaste, his razor and shaving cream, various disinfectants, and a half-empty bottle of sleeping pills he kept forgetting to throw out, Black Hat’s was filled with bottles upon bottles of things that Flug could only guess at. He figured it had to be skincare or hair products, though he wouldn’t examine them further to confirm. He shut the medicine cabinet as smoothly as humanly possible and crouched down to look under the sink. He took similar precaution with the drawers, touching the handles with only the tips of his fingers and opening them with slow, even movements.

Why? Because he didn’t think Black Hat would like it very much if he knew Flug had been going through his bathroom. Never mind what he might’ve gone through in Flug’s apartment without his knowledge. One might even say Black Hat owed Flug one little peek of his things. It was the least he could do to make up for the trespassing, breaking and entering, and multiple violations of privacy he’d committed. Besides, when would Flug have another golden opportunity like this?

There was a knock at the door that spooked Flug so much that he almost fell back on his ass. “Everything ok in there?”

“Ye-Yeah! Yeah, everything’s fine!” He scrambled to the toilet and flushed it. “I’ll be out in j-j-just a minute!”

He had not been lying about needing to use the bathroom, but once inside he couldn’t help but act on those old uncouth impulses. Which Black Hat would probably encourage if it was anyone else's stuff Flug was going through. Under different circumstances he imagined Black Hat would commend him for his care and caution, maybe even suggest specific places to search. Flug gently shut the cabinet doors and washed his hands as if a bar of soap could cleanse him of his misdeeds.

He raised his head and took in the sight of himself. The skin of his neck was already bruising and there were lines of dried blood going down his chest. What wasn’t scabbing over was drying stickily. His eyes dropped lower to the corset peeking out from his open shirt. He didn’t bother cleaning or covering himself as Black Hat would be on him again once Flug stepped through the door. Back in his bedroom. In his bed. Maybe in his lap, Flug wasn’t really sure how this was going to go as far as positions were concerned.

He dried his hands and took as deep a breath in as he could to steady himself. He let it out in a huff. As if he knew at all how this was going to go! He had no idea what to expect from this point beyond...sex. Basic sex. As opposed to advanced sex. Hey, maybe that would be when they broke out the dragon dildos.

Flug buried his face in his hands and groaned. Where on earth did Demetra- No, he didn’t even want to know. He turned to the door. An expensive looking black robe hung from a silver metal hook. He crept to it and stroked the fabric between his finger and thumb. It felt as high quality as it looked. He almost leaned in to smell it before stopping and asking himself What am I doing? The man who owned this robe was waiting for him on the other side of the door. A respectful, gentlemanly man. Who genuinely seemed to want him of all people. And here Flug was wasting time going through his personal belongings. Why was he like this? This wasn’t what he had come here to do. It certainly wasn’t what he’d dolled himself up for. He did not lace himself tight as a hairpin turn just to hide in Black Hat’s bathroom! He was supposed to be out there right now, turning in his V-card and becoming a man!At long last Flug reached for the doorknob. He attempted to swallow down his anxiety and replace it with something more sensible. Surely Black Hat would give him some kind of direction, right? Some sort of lead to follow? He knew how Flug could get, spiraling down the rabbit hole of his insecurities. Black Hat wouldn’t just jump him on sight and throw him into bed. Of course he wouldn’t. He at least had to get the corset off of him before anything else. Yeah. Flug patted the corset with his free hand as if there was any doubt it was still cinched tight around him. So long as he had this on they couldn’t go any further. That reminder settled the haywire bundle of nerves in his stomach slightly. Not by much, but slightly. Flug took another shuddering breath as he turned the knob. Everything was going to be fine, he told himself. Everything always turned out fine.

#villainous #villanos #paperhat #black hat org. (trademark pending)#fanfiction #flug #dr. flug #sneak peek #wip wednesday #come get yall's crumbs #I'm gonna be reblogging this all day #morning crowd #afternoon crowd #evening crowd #YOURE ALL GONNA SEE THIS

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leosxrealm · 2 years ago

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ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ ꜰᴛ. ʀɪɴ ɪᴛᴏꜱʜɪ ᴀɴᴅ ʜʏᴏᴍᴀ ᴄʜɪɢɪʀɪ

pairing(s): Rin Itoshi x reader, Hyoma Chigiri x reader

warning(s): fluff, jealous rin? jealous rin! nothing in chigiri’s part

a/n: i wrote this with male! reader in mind but no pronouns were used so it can be read as gn! reader. also tall! reader

Rin Itoshi

"Rinnnieee," you whined out his name, "i'm sorry Rinnie." all you heard from the boy in front of you was a scoff. "go away. your boyfriend must be missing you," he grumbled. you pouted at his words. during lunch, your seatmate had dragged you with him to finish the chemistry project that was due earlier today. he was a bit of a worrywart who wanted to make sure everything was perfect. anything low would not be tolerated. and now your actual boyfriend was being petty because he lost a whole 28 minutes with you. 28 minutes that you could have spent with him! it was honestly adorable seeing your boyfriend get jealous over some random dude from school. you would never admit that though; because you know that Rin wouldn't talk to you for a whole week after that or a month. yeah, your boyfriend was petty like that. and now on the walk home, he was walking ahead of you, ignoring your whole being. you tugged on the strap of his backpack, pulling him back. hugging him from behind, you pulled him as closer to you as possible. resting you head on top of his, you mumbled, "i'll make it up to you, yeah? how about we go to my house and watch your favorite movies? we can cuddle and then i'll make you ochazuke and you can stay the night? hm? how does that sound?" you asked, still nuzzling your face into his hair. he quickly looked around, before escaping from your grip. "okay okay. let's go already," he had already started walking towards your house, not even looking back to see if you were coming or not. you know your boyfriend hates pda, and normally you respect his wishes, but you couldn't just let him ignore you like that anymore. you deserve some attention too alright! he may not have stopped for you, but he didn't miss the happy "okay" you shouted before running up to catch up with him.

Hyoma Chigiri

it was friday, a day you both loved and (kinda) hated. it was your weekly skincare night, a concept your lovely boyfriend had introduced you to. you loved spending time with your boyfriend but you also thought doing thousands of things to keep your skin healthy was a hassle. you had never learned to take care of your body or your face like that. when Hyoma found out you washed your face with a bar of soap, he gave you the stinkiest side eye you had ever received. ever since then, he would force you to do skincare with him. you didn’t really think it was necessary; you were doing just fine before this, weren't you? but it quickly became something the two of you bonded over. you even found yourself looking forward to it. you were applying the green paste, with a weird smell, on Hyoma's face. he was perched up on the bathroom counter, with you standing in between his legs. after carefully applying the mask, making sure it didn’t go into his eyes or in his hair, you nodded at your work. you passed the container to Hyoma, for him to apply it to your face now. he scooped out a decent amount and started applying it to your face with his fingers, evenly smoothing it out. you started to lean into his hand, when he pulled your ear with his clean hand to make you stop leaning. "stand straight, will you?" he asked you with slight irritation in his voice. after a few seconds, he booped your nose softly, indicating that he had finished applying the mask to your face. you leaned in, giving him a quick peck on the lips, your green clay mask-covered noses bumping together. he pushed you away gently, "it's just there for 20 minutes, alright?" you looked up at him with a soft frown on your face. he just wanted to pinch your cheeks, you looked so adorable, with a bright baby blue headband pushing your hair back, and a green paste covering your face. "if you don't ruin the mask, i'll give you kisses as reward, okay?" he tried to bargain with you. you give a happy nod before hooking your hands under his thighs to lift him up. he instinctively wrapped his legs around your waist, as you carried him to the living room to re-watch your favorite series, closing the bathroom light on the way.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock x male reader #itoshi rin x reader #chigiri x reader #bllk fluff #chigiri hyoma x reader #rin itoshi x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin x male reader #rin itoshi x male reader #chigiri hyoma x male reader #chigiri x male reader #hyoma x reader #hyoma chigiri #hyoma chigiri x reader #leosxrealm #leo's works

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nocturnesanomaly · 8 months ago

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Chapter 8: Does it still hurt?

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 8: Does it still hurt?

Wordcount: 5,9k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for full series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Panic attack, Alcohol

Description: Simon takes you to the doctor in the morning, while Soap takes you to a bar in the evening.

A/N: My wrist is starting to flare up again, this shit is so hard to manage, ugh :( but I finally got the chapter finished. Almost ten chapters, I'm rather impressed with myself how far I've gotten already. My usual friend who reads through my stuff was unfortunately unavailable this time around, so I hope it's not too bad. Hope you all enjoyed <3

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

The sterile smell of the medical office is enough to make you want to collapse into a ball of an overstimulated mess. You felt guarded the second Simon had dragged you out of the house this morning, and here at the clinic it was no different.

The office itself is cosier than you'd thought it to be, there hadn't been a lot in the waiting room, and even the receptionist was exceedingly nice. And still, you couldn't find it in your heart to be as nice back to her. Your tone earned you a glare from Simon, but the man wasn’t one to talk, he hated trips like these as much as you.

"There we go...you're all good, let me just go finalize your file, and you'll be good to go," the doctor smiles at you. He'd been nothing but gentle and caring ever since you entered his office. Not that he had much of a choice with the imposing figure that was Simon, and your own death glares sent his way.

He rises from his chair and leaves the two of you alone in the medical office.

You slide your legs off the medical table, getting back up into a sitting position so you could shrug your pant leg back down. As you had suspected, you really hadn't needed to go here, but Price's insistence was something you couldn't get around.

As long as you took it easy, didn't do too much running, then it'd heal just fine with no extra help.

"I don't like him," you mumble to Simon when he hands you, your boots.

"You don't like any doctors" he grumbles right back at you.

You give him a glare that he remains unfazed to. "Am I wrong?" he asks with a quirked eyebrow, a knowing look on his face that made something inside your heart twitch.

He was wearing a black surgical mask; one Soap had shoved in his hand before he left the house. Price kept on insisting that he not be an idiot, and actually try to blend in a bit more. There hadn't been much protest from him, but he did seem more tense without the usual skull mask covering his features.

It was easier to hide behind a mask. To not let people see any humanity in you when you take them down. Every cruel act would be confined to the mask, it would a separation of who you truly are.

They had tried to force a mask upon you, create an identity they could shape and mould. They had failed with the mask, so they took something much more personal from you.

His mask was a choice.

Yours hadn't been.

Carved with tooth and nail, wooden and strong, it had been strapped to your face. Only a knife could cut it away the meaning it held even after you put it to rest. You could almost imagine it, the flesh peeling down from your face as you try to cut away the sins beneath. You could cut all you wanted; no amount of blood would wash you clean.

It would be so easy too.

The doctor had so many tools in here, each and every one could be used if you knew how, and you did.

Cut cut cut

Wash away the sins

"Spider?"

Ignore him

Your attention is brought back to him. It still feels foreign, that nickname on his lips so easily, as if he'd never stopped. It sounded different, with his voice being deeper, more brute.

He always kept his voice a tad quieter when he addressed you, compared to how he addressed someone such as Gaz. It was different, yet still lacked the warmth he held for Soap.

You try to see past the cover of his face, but it all remains hidden to you. Even with the smaller mask. You should be able to see his face, the smooth skin beneath, his locks of hair. Instead, it's all covered in black shadows, creating a terrifying display of limbs and mass.

He reaches for you again, a steady hand to support you down from the table. You flinch away.

He tucks his hand back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. A defensive manner you'd say, but there are more layers to it. He lets out a deep-rooted sigh and turns away from you, picking up the backpack he'd brought.

Essentials, Price had said when he shoved it into his arms.

Essentials for what you can't quite imagine, you weren't planning on being out long. Simon unzips the bag, placing it on the table next to you to rummage through it. He picks out a wrapped sandwich, shoves it into your hands so you have no choice but to take it. He gives you a pointed look.

"You didn't eat breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry," you protest, but by the growl of your stomach, you aren't given much choice than to accept it. He keeps staring at you, and you realize a little late that he intends for you to eat it now. With a huff, you open it up and take a bite. It's actually not too bad.

The doctor comes back in soon after, forcing your muscles to tense up once more. He gives you a few painkillers, on the house he says, despite how you protest to it. Simon takes the bag for you, probably to make sure you actually kept eating your meal.

"Bloody hell...cold is starting to get annoying," Simon grumbles when the two of you exit the clinic.

"At least this place actually gets snow...most places I've been to recently have just been cold and wet...no snow," you tell him quietly while looking over at a young family of four going further down the street, probably on their way to the market.

"If we're lucky we'll have a white Christmas here too" Simon says in the same grumpy tone. He didn't seem all that excited about it. Maybe he'd rather be at home, and not out here. You'd understand that, not that you had anything to look forward to yourself.

"Lucky?" you raise a brow he doesn't get to see, your attention still darting between the people walking by and in and out of stores.

"Gotta look for the positives Spider..."

Simon gains your attention back with a wave of his hand, he gestures towards the store just opposite of the clinic.

"We should pop in before we head back...need a couple of things for dinner," He starts walking without much of a confirmation, forcing you to pick up the pace to keep up.

"Didn't Soap say he had a surprise for dinner?"

He lets out a rumble of a chuckle and shakes his head, "Yeah but something tells me it's not going to include a lot of actual dinner"

Soap has an eager smile when he leads the flock of you to his most recent discovery. He'd insisted the lot of you needed even a moments' relaxation, to do an honoured tradition within the group. It had been in your suspicions, but somehow you still find yourself slightly disappointed that it's just a bar.

"Beautiful corner piece of the town...or well...that is what ah was told," he takes the step down to the dark wood door. He opens it paying no mind to it's creaking in complaint; quiet music lures the lot of you closer to the dim lighted bar. He gestures with his head towards you, beckoning you inside.

You step forward with your question as you descend behind him, "are you sure this is really a good idea-"

An abrupt hand grabs your arm and saves you what could've been a nasty trip down the extra two stairs that comes after the door. "Easy! Watch your step," Soap chuckles, quickly letting go of your arm when you find your footing and take the last steps fully into the bar.

The rest follow close behind, some more eager than others at the prospect of a drink and some downtime without the stress. Someone answers your question, but you don't hear it. You're too busy looking at where Soap's touch had been, as if you expect burn marks to suddenly appear.

Three of the men walk past you, not minding your little stop in the middle of everything. They go to find a table in the back, taking in the rest of the bar. It's small and quaint, not room for many, but not a lot seems to even frequent this place.

You feel Simon's looming presence behind you. He's refusing to move past you, intent on not letting you be the last, for whatever reason.

You follow after the others. No need to hog the space and attract more attention than you undoubtedly already do.

The booth they've found sits up against the wall, close enough to the bar but also in the lower light of the back. Price and Gaz have taken a seat inward, Soap takes a seat at the edge next to Gaz and Simon next to Price.

You stop for a moment, contemplate where to squeeze yourself in. Soap moves further in and makes space for you next to him. You sit down with little other choice, but quietly appreciative of not sitting in-between the burly men. There was space to make a quick exit should you ever need it.

Simon's eyes meet yours briefly before you rip them away, putting your attention to Gaz and Soap who are already collecting the group's orders to go get them all some drinks.

"And what about you, Spider?" Gaz asks, an excited smile on his lips; he has a pretty glint in his eyes.

Of course. Alcohol.

When was the last time you drank any? Hard to say.

"Uh...yeah, whatever you're having," your mind is only been half there since the morning. Your thoughts occupied, as they often are. You survey the area, looking for the familiar faces, but your own mind sabotages your attempts.

The shadows are persistent.

You could only hope that the alcohol would silence them, even if only somewhat.

This was going to be an interesting night, that was for sure.

He set off enough time. A proper goodbye.

It's time to go. Simon knows it's time, the only way out of here is waiting for him, yet he can't get himself to move. The suns coming down, and you're still not here. He looks at his watch, the ticker going at a steady rate. It couldn't be his timing that was wrong. Despite your usual punctuality, you're late. 5 minutes he can handle, 10 even, but you're still not here and it's been 20 minutes.

And you were missing it.

Maybe you were still angry with him. Still too huddled up in your own thoughts of childish betrayal. He understood why you were upset, but he didn't understand why you were so hell-bent on resenting him for it.

He was getting his way out; you should be happy, right? It's what the both of you have been wanting for years. Since you were little kids and barely even knew each other. It was his only way out; he wasn't going to pass on it to keep you comfortable.

He would come back. He'd swear it to you, to any god that's never answered his prayers. He'll come back for you, to take you with him. When he's got enough money, a place of his own and a secure way out. He'll come save you.

He'll promise it as many times as he needs to, until you believe him, until you have enough reassurance to wait just a little longer.

But he can't wait for you forever.

He lets out a sigh, tugging his coat closer around himself. It's getting colder, the night air can be relentless.

"Where are you, spider..."

The graveyard looks lonely without you. It's hard to believe this is the place you've spent so many years, a morbid refuge only the two of you truly know. He could walk around blindfolded here if he had to, one time you even made him for a fun game. Perhaps it wasn't the most respectful thing for the dead, but you two kept them company in their cold, dark graves.

You'd all end up in the ground eventually, some sooner than others.

He had to go.

If you wouldn't come to him, he'd come to you.

He'd walked the way to your place countless times. Had sneaked around just the way you showed him. A rule the two of you had whenever you didn't come, typically you'd gotten grounded, because you never missed your hangouts, never. You showed him just where to step to not be seen, just where to hit the window to your bedroom to get it loose. A faulty lock that never got replaced.

He used his own precision to crawl into your room with as little noise as possible. A skill he hoped to refine when he got his place in the military.

He did it like clockwork, crawled inside like it was nothing.

But you weren't in your room, either.

It's not often Simon allows tears to rise to his eyes these days, but this hurt. It really fucking hurt. He was going to miss you way more than you knew, and you didn't even seem to care. Where the hell were you.

There had never been a whole lot to look at in your room. It was pretty bare-bones, always neat and clean because there were consequences if it wasn't. Too white and bare for his own taste as well. He might not be much better in decorating, but your room still seemed to be overkill in the amount of nothing it exuded.

Simon sat down on your bed, wincing at the creaking springs. He could only hope your absence meant that of your families as well. They'd never quite taken much of a liking to him, something about his lack of faith, something about his lack of showing it, or just about the family he came from. The reasoning never stayed the same for long.

"Oh, spider...what am I going to do with you..." he runs a hand over his face, following an exhausted huff.

He couldn't ignore it any longer. The time ticked on, and he didn't have forever. He didn't time, he never had enough time.

In a last effort to contact you, he grabs a page of your notebook, scribbling down a parting message for you. Hopefully you'd find it, hopefully you wouldn't hate him or blame him for how this is turning out. He tried.

He places it on top of your pillow, staring at it longer than he should. He knows he should get a move on, that the world won't wait for him, but part of him can't get himself to move. He still hopes you'll walk through the door any moment now. That you can get some time together, even if it's just a few seconds so he can kiss your lips and apologize a million times over.

The sound of the opening door makes his heart skip a beat; he turns around with a haste he didn't have before. He's disappointed to see it isn't you, only to be panicked at the knowledge that it really isn't you.

Simon is frozen in place, looking at the unfamiliar adult before him. He's got a piercing gaze, there's no question in his eyes, as if he already knows who and why Simon is here.

Simon's eyes dart up to the man's hair, something unnatural about the blonde colour, too bright and too slicked back to give off any comforting vibes.

"They're not here," his voice is icy cold, stating the obvious.

"I know-"

"You should leave, they don't need you here."

Simon's brow furrows at his words, taking offence to the near insult thrown his way. Who the hell even was this guy, and why did he care that much. One look at the time, and he reminds himself that it's not a fight he has the time for, not even to question the man.

"Yeah...whatever... I'm leaving...tell them I'm sorry I missed them," he walks towards the door, intent on leaving on more conventional means than he came in. He stops In front of the man, only now really realizing how big he was compared to Simon himself.

"Excuse me," he tries to walk past, but only receives another glare from him.

The message doesn't need to be spoken aloud for Simon to get it, but it doesn't make him any more happy about it. "Bloody hell, man, are you serious," he complains and crosses his arms.

"Get out."

The air has a crisp sense of the oncoming dark winter. Hell, it was practically in the middle of winter already by all the damned snow that just kept falling everywhere. It made for pretty scenery but came along with a cold Simon wasn't a fan of.

Still, it wouldn't keep him from ruminating by himself, smoke in hand, as he took time away from the stuffy atmosphere the bar started to adopt.

Unfortunately, Simon has a habit of stewing on old memories when he's left to his own devices. Typically, he goes over things in his past, painful memories like the good ones. Of his younger days in the military, of when he met Price, of how he became ghost, newer additions being his early relationship with Johnny and how it's evolved.

He finds it gives him a sense of peace to ruminate over his choices, whether good or bad. To analyse situations and prepare for similar ones, no matter the circumstance or person. Though ever since being shipped out here, his thoughts seem to only ever be on who his spider used to be.

Trying to piece together the puzzle of your mind and figure out how you became so. It's one of the greater puzzles of the universe. At least to him.

He exhales the smoke from his lungs one final time as his thoughts come to a close over the last memory. How he left you behind. Not a fond memory, and even then, his mind is a muddy walk to go through.

He pulls his cigarette away from his lips, lets the smoke run its course. There's not much left of it, and it was his last light. He'd be damned if he didn't savour it. He could likely bait Price into buying some more for him when he makes his own run to town for more cigars. If they even have any. The captain did have a particular taste, as much in people as his smoking habits.

This place hadn't been much help when it came to gathering intel. He was getting restless in the lack of progress. He knew it to be a delicate process, but normally he'd been able to probe somebody about something by now. He'd have a goal to focus on, instead he's left to wondering about too many things.

The only thing that was keeping him in somewhat of an amenable mood this evening was the towns’ ability to provide a decent drink.

If he was being fair to his own faults, he'd even allow himself to acknowledge how nice it was to be out with the entire team again, with you again. He'd been surprised to see you eager enough for a drink, finishing it off even faster than Johnny or Gaz.

It was nice to see you comfortable, to see you smile. Even if the alcohol likely had a part in getting you to be more open to them. You got a lot more daring, that was for sure, a lot more talkative. Not many of your stories made much sense, changing course and directive half-way through, but you did speak rather fondly of the old team you'd been with a few years ago.

Even if he hadn't been in on your life in a long time, he was glad you'd found comfort in others when he wasn't there to provide it. Even if you had changed, deep down you still kept the same quirks from when you were young, though of course more muted.

He exhales the smoke from his lungs along with a deep sigh. He wanted to get closer to you, but it felt like an impossible prospect. He didn't understand how Johnny made it look so easy, he could be at the ends of the earth, and he'd still make friends wherever that would be.

His attention is lured back to the door at the sound of the little bell ringing above it.

He watches as you come stumbling out of the little bar, almost tripping over your own feet as you take the three steps up. He raises a brow at your form, you definitely hadn't looked that drunk when he was in there. What the hell did you drink.

"You alright there, Spider?"

You garble out some nonsense before coming to stand beside him, leaning all of your weight back on the wall behind you. "Yeah...M'fine..." you said in the most unconvincing voice he's ever heard. He keeps his eyes on you, surveying your expressions. He wasn't about to let you barf all over him.

"You know... I wish I'd found you a bit earlier...you're all so nice..." you let out a little huff as if you'd been running for a while. You let out a quiet giggle, something he truly doesn't think he's ever heard you do, at least not like that.

"Yeah... It's good to have you back, Spider..." he almost allows himself to spout out how much he's missed you. It hangs in the back of his throat, right along with his emotions. It's not the time. He doubts you'll even remember this conversation in the morning. But maybe that was all the more reason to do it.

"Why did you even join up, spider?"

You don't answer at first, and he thinks that maybe you've already clocked out mentally for the night. Your head turns to look at him, something unreadable in your expression. "You never came back..." you sound sad, small in your voice.

His brows furrow, his mouth slightly open before he snaps back to reality and takes another puff of his cigarette. He realizes this is probably the first time you've seen this much of his face without the mask. He'd been lucky enough that it was late and not many around to stare at his ugly mug...but you.

He feels out of place under your gaze, an odd need to crawl away and hide in the darkest corner he can find. It's a foreign feeling with you.

"Figured I needed to do something with my life, and it's not like I had many other opportunities waiting for me back home," you turn your head away once again. For a moment, you sound completely sober, the conversation doing more for you than any amount of cold air ever could.

Then again, the more you seem to stand there, the more your grimace widens. In a swift motion, you push yourself away from the wall, putting your weight back onto your unsteady feet. You push past him, to the edge of the building, the little alley gap in-between.

"Hey where are you going!" he shouts out confused. You turn the corner of the building, disappearing into the darkness. His brows furrowed as he took another puff of his cigarette, hoping you'd emerge shortly after. Maybe you just needed to walk it off?

When he hears the horrid sound of your retching, he knew he was wrong.

"Oh, bloody hell," he throws his cigarette to the ground, crushing it against the pavement before hurrying over to turn the same corner. Surely enough, there you are. Bucked over and barfing up your insides, which seems to be more stomach acid and alcohol than any food.

His movements are as gentle as he can make them, not keen on having you flinch away from help when you're like this. He places his hand on your back, the other supporting your shoulder so you don't fall over. You don't seem to react at all.

"Steaming Jesus, ah was wondering where ye ran off to."

Simon turns his head, seeing Johnny come closer to the two of them. "How much did they drink..." Simon grumbles in a worried tone. When you seem finish puking, he helps you back up, steadier on your feet this time. With a groan, you lean back against the wall behind you.

"Ffffuck..."

"Didn't think ye drank that much...don't hold ye alcohol too well," Johnny gives you a cheeky grin.

You tip your head forward, losing your balance like a newborn foal. Simon is quick to act, gently cupping your cheek to hold up your head, so you don't hurt yourself. "You need to get back to the house and sleep this off..." he didn't think your tolerance would be this shit, but he doesn't recall you ever having much of a tolerance to begin with.

"Help me with them, will ya" Simon moves your arm, helping you use him as support. Johnny takes your other side, helping you lean on them both before they embark on the way back. They help you stumble back out of the alley, where they're met with the questioning stare of Kyle.

He lets out a low chuckle at the sight, "time to go, then?"

He'd found it amusing then, more frustrating now. "Spider- no- do not-" he puts a firm hand on your waist so you don't trip over your own legs down out of the car. You lean all your weight on him, and he has to do a mental double take to not keel over right along with you.

Getting you inside is a struggle and a half. Simon isn't sure where your little spouts of energy are coming from, but they surge through you at a random pace. You're almost worse than when you had just gotten freshly drunk in the bar itself.

"No, no... we need to.... ffgh-" you try to tell him something, but he doesn't have half a mind to listen when he needs to get you inside as quickly as possible. You refused to wear a jacket, and he will not have you freezing out here without you even realizing it.

Johnny comes up next to him, helps walk you inside, despite your little protests and seeming urgency to be somewhere else. "C'mon, let's get ye inside" he hooks an arm around yours and together the two of them manage to get you in.

The way to the bedroom is just as annoying and long as it was to get you to the car and back home in the first place. And then as the three of you reach the door, Price calls Johnny away intending on talking to him about something important, leaving Simon to bring you in and into your bed.

"There we go," Simon huffs as he gets you to lean on him again so he can close the door with a click. He tries to walk you in the right direction, but fails to steer you towards your own bed, charting a course for the one he and Johnny shared instead.

It didn't matter too much for one night, the three of you could switch if needed.

"C'mon love onto...the...bed," he manages to walk you backwards until the back of your knees meet with the bed and makes you fall down on to it with a huff. You mumble something incoherent again, writhing a little bit until you seem to deflate on the mattress.

Simon lets out a deep huff, standing back up to look at your dishevelled form. He'd dealt with Johnny drunk enough times by now, but at least he wasn't trying to run in ten different directions as if you were either late to something or running for your life.

Seeing as you'd clearly be incapable of taking care of yourself before you fell asleep, he might as well get to it. "Okay Spider...let's get you ready for bed," he mumbles and crouches down to take off your shoes, one and then the other.

"Mh...no..." you writhe a little bit.

"It's alright...you can sleep in a minute," Simon assures you, but he's not entirely sure if you even hear him. He walks over to your closet, rummaging through for something else to wear. He's stunned by how little you have, it's barely a hunt for it, it's right there within eye height.

He brings the other set of clothes over to your bed, not paying too much attention to your mumbling. He leans back again, running a hand over his face. How exactly was he supposed to do this. He doubted that you would change clothes if he asked you.

"M'sorry love but...well...you gotta," he lets his words trail out realizing you were definitely not listening to any words of assurance he was trying to give you.

Just gotta get it over with, and quick, you were starting to rile up again, and he wasn't about to go chasing after you again if you got another sprout of energy.

He leans over you and unbuttons your pants, but he hesitates as he pulls down your zip. Something in him feels awkward, and he switches his course of direction to your shirt instead. His hands gently reach for the edge of the white fabric.

"No-....m'not......can't....ready...."

His hands take a hold of it and with just as gentle movements he starts to pull it up your torso.

"No- NO! Father, please! Not again-"

He lets go like he's been burned. His eyes wide as he takes a firm step away from you in pure shock. His own heart pounds, his mind reeling to understand what just happened. You clutch your shirt around your abdomen, your body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Your body scrambles to lay further away from him on the bed.

His own hands shake, the worst-case scenarios running wild in his mind of all the possible ways he could've just hurt you.

And still, he doesn't understand your reaction.

"Spider..." he says quietly, carefully. You don't respond to it, so he calls your name even softer.

Your breathing is too rabid for his liking, but he doesn't want to risk touching you again. He doubts you'd react positively to it, and he knows that feeling.

At first, he's at a loss at what to do, how to make you calm down, but he realizes it's really so painfully simple. There's nothing much he can do, but he can do what he had wished someone had done for him way back.

Careful to not collide with your shaking form, he lays down beside you. You instinctively roll onto your side and curl up even further, but you don't turn away, so he takes it as a good sign. Your eyes are shut tight, and your body still trembling just as bad as before.

"I'm here..." he whispers quietly, without knowing if you can even hear him. He extends his hand between the two of you, he doesn't touch you, but it's there whenever you're ready. He doesn't know how long the two of you stay like that, and whatever Price needed Johnny for, he's glad it's taken longer than expected.

He doesn't move, almost doesn't dare breathe any more than necessary as he keeps his eyes on your form. His little praises and words of encouragement doesn't seem to do much, but his heart feels desperate.

Simon takes notice of every little movement, of every twitch and hitch in your breath when you slowly open your eyes to meet his. They're glassy, tears threatening to spill over, but they never fully come.

His hand grabs unto the sheets beneath to not reach out and touch your cheek, to be ready to wipe away any tears that may fall.

"M'sorry..." your apology is quiet and raspy, and for a moment it feels like you're still just the scared kids from back home, trying to survive in a world that's not built for them.

"It's just I-"

"You don't have to explain yourself..." he cuts you off sharply. He doesn't know if it was the right call from the deflated look on your face. You nod, biting your lip softly.

"Simon..." your voice is soft and searching. Your shaking hand bumps into his, and he takes it in his, feeling the coldness of your skin.

"It's okay..."

"Please don't go."

"I won't."

His answer is firm, it's the truth, and he would swear it to you if you asked. He's not going to leave. Not again. Never again. He's here to stay whether you push him away or not, he's here by your side, watching. Always.

He makes a decision on a whim without forethought. Simon's arm hooking around your waist and pulling you closer until he can envelop his arms around you and keep you close to his chest. You tense at first, before you relax in his hold, resign your drunken state to him in favour of falling asleep in the arms of the only person who's ever truly made you feel safe.

"M'not going anywhere, Spider..."

Simon doesn't dare move as you lay your head to his chest, and feel his heartbeat beneath his skin. He doesn't dare move when he hears your breathing even out. He especially doesn't dare move when he can feel your body go lax, and sleep take over you.

The door to the room opens with a quiet creak, and Johnny's footsteps comes closer to the bed. "Mh ah see ye got a head start then..." Johnny's smirk is too wide on his lip, and Simon could easily wipe it off if he wasn't holding something more important at that moment.

"Should ah be offended? Jealous even?" Johnny is merely teasing, but it still elicits a groan from Simon.

"Get in here, dumbass."

Johnny lets out a quiet chuckle, looking down at him with a fond smile. "Let me just...scoot in here..." he crawls unto the bed, struggling to make room for himself, but with a bit of adjusting to your sleeping form, Simon manages to make space for him.

"Are you done wiggling around trying to wake them?" Simon mumbles with a thick layer of sarcasm.

"Ah am not trying to-"

"Ssh!"

Johnny settles in, unashamedly cuddling up to your sleeping form and peeking at Simon over your head. "Goodnight, grump" Johnny whispers quietly, reaching over you to squeeze his arm. He lets out a quiet sigh, letting his own body relax down into the mattress.

"Goodnight, Johnny" Simon murmurs, watching Johnny ever so slowly join you in the realm of dreams.

As he lay there with two of arguably the most impactful people he's ever met, he can't help but feel a sense of warmth within him. Not a physical warmth, but a warmth that blooms in his heart. It's unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. The thoughts that occur with them are dangerous, unsure, things he'll undoubtedly have to entertain when the sun rises again.

But for now, he's content with holding his unknowing world in his arms, and let the warmth lull him into a peaceful sleep.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @kaoyamamegami @lilynotdilly @chickennn-soupp @spicyspicyliving @ellabellabunny123 @woodlandgirl22-blog-blog @haipasa

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icarusdescending7 · 11 months ago

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Aquamarine - Chapter 4

Ao3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Your fiancé died seven years ago, and you joined the military in his wake to fill the void his death put on you. Now, you work with the 141 for an assignment, hunting associates of their enemies.

Their Lieutenant, however, given you an uneasy feeling. You have a vague sense of familiarity with him, but from where?

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

You woke up still tired in the transport, still leaning on Ghost. He hadn’t moved since you landed on him, what a sweetheart. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as your gut was telling you.

You sat up yawning, looking around and noting that the drivers had swapped sides and Soap was still dead asleep— now lying in your lap. You didn’t bother to shove him off like you normally would have, being too tired to care.

“Five hours.” Ghost mumbled next to you, opening his eyes as daylight shone into the window next to him. “You slept for five hours, on the worst roads we could be driving on, after eating both of our energy bars.”

You grumbled, leaning back against him scooting a bit closer to be more comfortable. “Aye, greedy gal, isn’t she?” Soap chimed in, catching himself just before his head fell off the seat. Instead of sitting up, he also scooted closer, still using your lap as a pillow. “Now I’m gettin’ peckish and don’t get nothing to eat. Gonna have to scrounge on the floor before long.” This made Ghost chuckle, shaking you.

“Oh be quiet, both of you. I have spares in my pack, you can have those.” You grumbled, swatting both of their chests. “Not that you’d want to, they're probably as crumbly as a nature valley bar by now. Considering how much I got thrown around tonight.” You said, making Soap snicker at the minor innuendo you’d made— and earning another quick swat.

“Soap threw you around. I was nice about carryin’ you. Should be thankful I didn't toss you to the wolves.” Ghost said, a bit smugly.

“Not that you could, Price would bite your head off if he found out either of you willingly watched me get hurt.” You stated smugly. “I am only here “temporarily”, after all. He’d hate to lose a soldier that wasn't his in the first place.”

“You think he doesn’t think of you as part of the team?” Soap asked, “Lass, the second you set foot on a base with him, you were part of the team, no ifs ands or buts about it. He’ll care for you like he does the rest of us.” He yawned, laying back down without a word.

“Do you know how long until we hit base?” You asked, looking up at Ghost, who was in the process of removing the plastic mask from his face.

“Few hours. You should finish resting.” He said, strapping it to his thigh holster, then leaning back. “I’ll probably join you and Soap here in a bit.” You could hear the yawn brewing in his voice. Poor man was tired.

Sleep talkers— the both of them! They had both talked the entire time they slept! Johnny kept going on and on about his sisters and kelpies, how they “was gonna take ‘em and never see him again” and Ghost was just mumbling loudly to himself, talking about yard work and food and he kept saying “sorry”. That last one made you feel like bad for being upset with his sleep-talking— but it was really annoying. By the time you fell asleep, you only got about an hours worth!

The transport came to a harsh stop, jolting you awake as the door swung open. The late-morning sun blinded you as you opened your bleary eyes, only to see Price— who seemed glad to see you, but less than happy with your performance. However, his upset was subsided temporarily by the sight of the three of you piled on each other, mostly asleep. It made him chuckle a little and turn to call Gaz over, who burst into a fit of laughter. This woke up Soap and Ghost, who got embarrassed and annoyed respectively.

“Be quiet.” Ghost grumbled at Gaz, gently pushing your head off his shoulder and getting out, leaving you barely enough time to catch yourself as you started to topple over in the seat. He walked past Price sluggishly, shuddering as he stretched lazily. “Let's finish all this so I can go to bed.”

“Agreed.” Soap said, waiting for you to jump out. When you did, he followed suit and shoulder-checked Gaz. You only mumbled and tried to stand up straight as you followed the other two.

You watched what little movement you could on base from your vantage point in an empty watchtower tonight, listening to music from days long since past. It was your birthday, and since you hadn’t been with the task force very long, you’d assumed they wouldn’t care to celebrate. You usually ended up drinking yourself into a puddle of tears and anger on your birthday, but Price tried to discourage drinking the pain away so you’d try to make him proud. You’d decided to take the night slow and quiet, instead of spending your wallet at the bar.

Sighing, you laid back on the cold metal grate of the platform, staring up at the stars. Memories stirred but didn’t surface, making tears well but not spill over.

“Rough night?” A low, rough voice asked you. You rolled your head to look at the source, seeing Ghost. He wore a lower face covering, that hid everything up to his cheekbones, revealing a torn ear and messy blond hair. “It’s only 8pm and you look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“More than.” You replied, turning back to the sky. The stars were barely visible over the light of the base, but you could still pick out a few. “Missing someone. Today has been overall pretty shitty. But nightfall always makes it worse.” Your hand went to your tags, fiddling with the ring on them.

He hummed, going to sit next to you. He stayed silent for a bit, eyes flicking between the sky and base. “Happy birthday, by the way.” He said finally, sighing at the end of it. “Price mentioned it briefly this morning but we were pretty busy so we couldn’t do anything for you, if that’s okay.” He looked down at you, but you couldn’t tell what emotion he had going on.

“Thanks. I don’t mind,” You said, sitting up. “Haven’t celebrated my birthday with anyone in a little over seven years, so I’m used to it. Does the Task Force celebrate everyone’s birthdays?” Looking at him, his brow seemed to furrow at that comment. “Probably not, huh?”

“Price tries when he can. We don’t do mine though, because that’s classified.” He shrugged. “He’ll probably try to make it up to you. He’s not one to forget.”

“You’re super classified, huh? I wonder what that’s like. Must be nice having no one know who you really are. Well—” You paused, thinking. “Probably not. I was hearing legends of you even before I got sent this way.”

“More painful than anything, both metaphorically and physically.” He answered. “Only four people know what I look like. Only one knows my full name. It’s not great that everyone approaches me in fear, either. It’s not all fun and games.”

You nodded, getting what he was saying. After a long moments silence, you spoke again. “Do you have anyone back home? Do you think they miss you?” You asked him, standing to lean against the railing. He took a moment to think about his answer, knowing the answer to the first one, but not sure about the second.

“Not anymore. Only person I had disappeared after I did. Don’t blame her, though. I would too.” He stared up at you for a moment, still thinking about his answer to the next question. “I know she misses me. What I wonder is if she’s angry with me. I up and disappeared from her life, not thinking about the consequences.” He said, a hint of regret in his tone.

“I’d be pretty upset. I know the pain of being left behind… That’s pretty shitty of you, don’t you think?” You asked, looking down at him. He grumbled and sighed a little.

“Yeah. I know it is. But I did it for a reason though. I was being sent on a series of missions that would’ve put her in… in a lot of danger. The best route to avoid that was to cut all ties and disappear.” He bit his tongue. “I found her recently. Seems she’s holding up well enough. A deep dive told me she’s never really gotten over me, though. Adds to the rest of the guilt I suppose.”

“Good. Even if you were being chased by the worst monsters in the world, I don’t think she deserved that. You could’ve at least told her it was for her safety!” You scoffed without thinking. You groaned as the words that had left your mouth sank in, and you expected him to get up and walk away or give you a lecture. Instead, he stayed where he was, looking off into the distance. “Shit, I’m sorry. That just slipped out. My own anger got the better of me. That couldn’t have been easy, leaving her—”

“No, you’re right.” He cut you off. “She definitely didn’t deserve to be abandoned. Especially not in the way I did it. But that’s what I did and I have to live with it. Even if I regret it every day of my life.” Standing, he pulled a small pouch out of his pocket, passing it over to you. “Happy Birthday. Later, Firefly.”

You took the pouch and watched as he walked away. When he was out of sight, you opened it and held it up to look at. It was a small, expertly carved firefly figurine. It made you smile and you tucked it back into its pouch, deciding you’d display it on your desk.

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #captain john price #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #no flashbacks today :(#icarusaquamarine

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astarionbraiinrot · 3 months ago

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Last Call

Chapter 5: Astraea Jenevelle

(Ches 20, 1493 - 1 Day Old)

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Astraea: New star; renewal, justice, and innocence

I never thought through love we'd be

Making one as lovely as she

But isn't she lovely, made from love

- Stevie Wonder, Isn’t She Lovely

The next morning dawns bright and early, and thanks to the little gremlin currently sleeping stretched out on the bedroll between them, blissfully unaware of the beginning of a new day, he and Tav are both awake to see it. How something so small could be so demanding at just a few hours old, he would never understand. He wasn’t sure exactly how many times their daughter had woken them in the night, he’d stopped counting after three, but it was enough to leave him staring blearily across the bed at his love as she yawned a garbled “G’ morn’n” before face-planting back into her pillow.

Slowly, carefully, he extricates himself from the bedding, feeling every one of his two hundred and thirty-nine years in the cracks and pops his spine releases as he stretches in a desperate attempt to restore some range of motion to his body. It had been over half a year since they’d had to sleep on the ground, and he did not miss it. The hastily assembled bedroll composed of whatever spare bedding could be found, kind as it was for their friends to provide it, was a poor substitute for the plush mattress he and Tav had splurged on when they’d bought their house.

Surveying the little temple they were currently occupying, he spies a bucket of water set just inside the doorway, along with a fresh bar of soap and a stack of towels. On top of the towels rests a small, folded piece of parchment, which he opens to find is a note in Gale’s handwriting.

I thought you both might appreciate a chance to wash up before braving the awaiting horde. The bucket is enchanted, so it should remain warm and refill on its own until you’ve finished with it. Breakfast will be ready soon if you wish to join us, but please don’t feel as if you must rush on our account. We’ll be here when you’re ready.

That being said, I’m not sure how long Karlach is going to be able to restrain herself, so some haste may be advisable.

P.S. Don’t worry about the sun, I’ve got it… covered, in a manner of speaking.

- Gale Dekarios

He takes a moment to be amused that Gale always signs his full name when writing to them even in something so short as a simple note, as if there was some other Gale they were also friends with that they might confuse him for, before carrying the bucket and supplies back toward the other side of the room and setting them on the table. He turns, about to ask Tav if she wants to have first turn before the little one starts screaming for her breakfast, when he’s hit full force with a wafting aroma he can only describe as “the city sewers on a summer day.” One that he’s quickly becoming far more familiar with than he’d like.

“Ah,” he chokes out, eyes watering, “duty calls.”

Tav snickers and opens her mouth, but he points an accusing finger at her, cutting her off before she can get a word out, “No! Don’t you dare!”

She bites her lip, breath shallow as she holds in her laughter, and he can tell that she’s practically fighting herself not to say it.

“I can’t believe you would make a- a pun of all things when I’m about to be cleaning whatever unholy concoction our daughter has just released.” He rolls his eyes as he steps over to the bedside, “Ugh, really, toilet jokes are the lowest-hanging of fruit, my love, you can do better than that.” Taking her hands, he assists in gently pulling her to stand in his arms. He doesn’t miss the way she winces as she comes to her feet, nor the way she holds herself as if she’s worried she’ll fall apart if she moves too quickly. “You’re sure you’re okay? I can get Jaheira or Shadowheart if you need them.”

“I’m fine,” she says, looking anything but fine, in his opinion. “Really, I am,” she continues when he just raises a skeptical eyebrow in response. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m tired, and sore, and swollen in places I didn’t know could swell, and trips to relieve myself have been anything but enjoyable.” She puts her arms around his neck, leaning in to let him support some of her weight, her head tilted back to look up at him, “But, considering I just expelled a nearly seven-pound person from my body less than a day ago, and my organs are currently fighting over who gets to shift back into their usual position first, and it kind of feels like some of them might fall out if I walk too fast? I think overall I’m doing pretty well.”

He considers asking her what in the nine hells she means about her organs moving, but he’s saved from the horror of having to learn the answer by the dulcet tones of their daughter’s angry fussing rising from the bed.

“I believe that’s your cue, hon,” she says with a consolatory pat to his chest, before shuffling her way over to the bucket to begin washing herself. He hears a quiet “Ooh, lavender and lemongrass soap! Nice touch, Gale,” as he turns back toward the little biohazard squalling on the blankets.

“Alright, I’m coming, gods know I don’t like this any more than you do,” he grouses, kneeling next to the bed and letting her wrap angry little fists around the first two fingers of his left hand as he grabs a waxed cloth from one of their bags with the other and spreads it out on the bedding. “Come along, little dove,” he says, picking her up from the bed to lay her atop it, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

This is only his third time doing this, but he’s found so far that she seems to be more cooperative if he talks to her during the process. Not that she’s aware enough to have any idea what he’s saying, of course, but if it stops her from screaming and accidentally kicking her feet into her own mess before he can clear the soiled diaper away, he’ll take it.

“We’ll want to put our best face forward. After all, you’ll be making quite a few first impressions today,” he continues, giving her a gentle poke to her nose. He undresses her carefully, mindful of what’s lurking under the fabric of her sleepsuit, before grabbing a clean cloth and the small bowl of water and gentle soap they’d set aside just for this purpose. “Right then, let’s get this over with, shall we? It wouldn’t do for you to meet everyone smelling like you’ve been rolling around the Undercity, now would it?”

He manages to get through the cleaning portion of his task fairly quickly, soiled diaper tossed in a bucket for later cleaning, baby’s bottom washed and dried, and new diaper ready to be folded in place within just a couple minutes. He spends quite a bit longer on the re-dressing portion. The process of trying to keep her legs in the right position whilst also holding the clean diaper in place and closing the pin without either poking her or missing a layer of the material is one that leaves him wishing he had at least two more hands.

He manages to finally successfully pin the diaper in place in just under nine minutes, by his count, which he’s taking as a personal victory over the previous diaper change that had taken nearly fifteen. Rather impressive, if he does say so himself.

(And he does)

(He does not deign to include consideration that his opponents in this battle were a square of cloth and an hours-old infant in his accounting of his impressiveness)

Once cleaned, he dresses her in one of the myriad outfits they’d acquired for her. He’d spent several minutes going through the bag and deciding on which one to choose, holding various options up to her for her consideration, before ultimately going with a little gown of robin’s egg blue that had tiny white rabbits embroidered around the hem and was trimmed in delicate white lace. He’d had no preferences of whether they were having a boy or a girl when he’d seen the gown at a stall while visiting the Night Market with Tav, and no plans to limit them according to any expected notions of the sort anyway. But he’d be lying if he said that, as he watched it flutter on its hanger in the evening breeze when Tav had reached up to grab it for a closer look, he hadn’t just for a second pictured her wearing a light summer dress of the same blue, a matching ribbon in her hair, holding a little girl dressed in that gown.

He’d bought it without even bothering to haggle for once, and had only barely managed to contain his delight when the merchant had said that it came with matching socks.

Tav joins him just as he’s finished getting said socks onto their daughter’s tiny feet, scooping the baby up into her arms, complimenting her choice in attire as if she’d dressed herself, and asking her if she’d like her own breakfast now or later. An unnecessary question, because, if they’ve learned anything about this little imp in the single night they’ve had her, the answer is of course “both,” lest they have to suffer her furious, demanding caterwauling.

He stays sat there on the floor for a moment and takes in the woman in front of him. Her eyes are tired, but they crinkle a bit at the corners with joy, her smile as she talks to their daughter lighting up the room. She’s dressed much like she’s done at home lately, face scrubbed clean, the waves of her bright ginger hair damp from her washing and tied back in a simple braid that hangs to her waist. She’s slipped on a pair of leather sandals to go with the calf-length dress she’s wearing, one of the soft, loosely fitted ones with a tie at the waist she’d favored the last month of her pregnancy. It’s the sage green one he loves so much, the neckline and sleeveless bodice leaving her chest and shoulders bare so he can follow the constellations of freckles that run up her arms to span across her collarbones, up her neck, and across her nose and cheeks. Last time she wore it, he'd told her it made her look like a forest nymph.

Now, if she asked, he’d tell her she looked like a goddess, the only deity he’d ever want to worship. Her middle was still soft and rounded, evidence of the life she’d carried until just a day ago, and her hips and thighs were filled out in a way they never had when they’d been on the road. She’d always been fit, athletic, but now, instead of the hard-muscled, lean state she’d had in the months leading up to their arrival in Baldur’s Gate, she looks… healthy. Peaceful. Happy.

Beautiful.

She settles down to provide their daughter a quick meal before they go outside and she’s inevitably passed around like a cookie tray at a holiday luncheon, and he muses to himself on how he got so lucky to have not only found her, but managed to keep her, as he rolls to his feet and starts his own bathing.

The baby finishes her meal right around the time he finishes dressing himself, and after another successful burping, he walks to the entrance of the chapel and takes the blanket covering the doorway in hand. He turns slightly, taking in the view of Tav and their daughter as she comes to stand beside him. Holding out his other hand to her, he asks, “Ready to cause some chaos, my love?”

Her grin as she takes his hand is all the sunlight he’ll ever need. “With you?” she says, brushing a kiss across his knuckles, “Always.”

With that, he sweeps the blanket aside and leads her out to greet their family.

── ･✩*₊˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖₊*✩･ ──

The first thing he notices is that, similar to when they’d first arrived in the clearing, they’re welcomed initially by complete silence, quickly followed by a cacophony of voices greeting them, though thankfully much more toned down in volume than it had been the last time.

The second thing he notices is that, despite the fact that it is definitely at least midmorning when they step out of the chapel, they’re standing in full shade. The shadow above them continues to camp, snaking its way across the little creek bridge, over and past the giant dining table Withers had somehow managed to set up, and ending where it covers the sitting area around the fire pit where all their friends are gathered as they wait for breakfast to be finished. Tav nudges his side with her elbow, and when he looks at her, gestures with her head for him to look above them. Turning his eyes to the sky, he sees that what they’re standing under is some sort of… darkness… almost like smoked glass, that lets them see through but doesn’t let the sun in. Clearly Gale’s handiwork.

“Well, isn’t that clever?” he says, low enough only Tav can hear him. “Don’t tell him I said so though. The Wizard’s head is big enough as it is, he may not fit under this canopy of his if we inflate it any further.” He does make a mental note to ask Gale if this was something he could apply to the windows of their house once they return home, though.

They meander purposely slowly down to join the group, partly to draw it out, and partly because walking is still on Tav’s list of less-than-enjoyable activities. They exchange ‘good morning’s and other assorted pleasantries with the others, acting with all their might as if nothing were unusual or amiss. And, to their credit, their friends manage to play right along for almost a full minute before Astarion starts to worry that Karlach is going to combust if they let it go on any longer. Turning to Tav, he puts a hand on her back and says, “Would you like to do the honors, darling?”

She pretends to think for several seconds. “Oh, I suppose I shall, if I must,” she says in a mockery of his accent, heaving a put-upon sigh that does nothing to cover her excitement.

Turning so that the baby in her arms faces their gathered friends, and taking one little hand in her own to wave it, Tav’s smile is downright blinding as she says, “Everyone, meet Astraea Jenevelle Ancunin. Astraea, meet… well, everyone.”

Amid the various congratulations and coos of how cute Astraea is, a noise hits his ear at the announcement of their daughter’s name, and he decides Tav was wrong last night, because he’s positive the sound that Shadowheart just made is far too high-pitched for Scratch to hear.

Gale comes to stand beside Tav, holding out a plate piled high with food, and Astarion is just able to make out eggs, sausages, and potatoes, before Tav is depositing their daughter in his arms with nothing but a “Your turn,” and all but snatching the plate from the Wizard’s hands. She’s three bites in and has the fork halfway to her mouth for a fourth when she turns back to him, a slight blush creeping across her cheeks as she says, “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever been hungrier in my life, not even when we spent the last month of traveling the Shadowcurse living entirely off of water-and-old-bread soup.” She takes another bite, hardly chewing before she swallows and turns to Gale. “No offense to your cooking skills of course, you did your best with what we had. As far as water-and-old-bread soups go, yours was top tier.”

Gale laughs, waving his hand to summon a Mage Hand that sets some fresh bread on her plate. “Oh no offense taken. There are many parts of our journey that I miss, but I must admit, the things we ate while living off of whatever castoffs we would dig out of old crates and abandoned houses are not among them.” He gives her a friendly pat on the shoulder and points her toward the dining table, where more Mage Hands are placing platters of food to share. “Eat up, and don’t be shy about getting seconds if you want them, there’s plenty more where this came from.”

As Tav takes a careful seat to finish inhaling her breakfast, Gale waves everyone else over. “Grab a plate before it gets cold. I daresay, introductions, even pleasant ones, are best done on a full stomach.”

Breakfast is the same organized chaos that mealtimes always were when they’d traveled together, though at least this time they have the luxury of an actual table. Platters and bottles are passed back and forth, bread rolls tossed from one end of the table to hungry hands at the other, cutlery is dropped and recovered, Prestidigitated clean as often as it’s just wiped on a pants leg before being put back to use, with a minimum of five different conversations happening simultaneously all the while.

At one point, with Boo and little Xan keeping each other occupied, Lae’zel, Karlach, and Minsc start a competition of who can catch the most grapes in their mouth as Wyll tosses them rapid-fire from across the table, while Gale and Tav try to outdo each other levitating increasingly-fast forkfuls of food to their mouths without spilling, and Astarion and Shadowheart (with help from Minthara, to their surprise) team up to take turns distracting Halsin and Jaheira while the others slip Scratch and Owlfonso sausages, all three a lost cause when it comes to the pleading eyes of their furry friends, but none of them keen to have to sit through yet another Bilateral Druid Lecture on the proper diets of dogs and owlbears.

Soon though, their meal is finished, and once everyone’s had their fill, the table is cleared, and the dishes cleaned, they all move to settle on the cushions set around the currently-doused firepit, lounging together in piles of twos and threes and passing drinks around.

Astarion stands in the center holding Astraea, surveying the group. “Well, now that we all have full bellies and empty hands,” he says, “who wants to go first?”

Karlach’s hand is in the air almost before he can finish his sentence, practically vibrating with excitement. “Dibs!” she shouts, before clapping a hand over her mouth and more quietly saying “Shit, sorry! No wait, fuck- oh damn- hells I’m not supposed to swear!”

Tav laughs from her cushion a few seats over. “Don’t worry about it, Kar, I fully expect that, if her first word isn’t a swear, it’ll be something that implicates her father in a crime instead.”

“All the more reason to impress upon her early the importance of never speaking to the authorities, and certainly not without her lawyer present, my dear,” he says, as he begins the awkward dance of shifting Astraea from his arms to Karlach’s. Once she’s settled, he brushes a wisp of hair from her face and takes a half step back. When he’s sure Karlach’s got her, he returns to lounge on the cushion at Tav’s side.

Karlach is clearly nervous, sitting stiff as a board, but immediately besotted. “Hey, little soldier. I’m your Auntie K,” she whispers, “Gods, you’re so cute, I just wanna eat you!” Astraea, attracted to the warmth and gentle glow of Karlach’s engine, snuggles closer to her chest, sending the Tiefling into wet-eyed sniffles. “You know, I was really worried the engine would scare you, but you’re just a little moth, aren’t you?” she coos. “Your dad liked how warm I am too,” she continues, throwing a wink at Astarion and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “He used to wrap himself in his blanket at night when it was cold and come sit next to me real close, like a cat by a fireplace.” He wrinkles his nose at that comparison, but he can’t help but to be amused at the sight of Karlach Cliffgate, Demonsbane, Hero of Baldur’s Gate and Terror of Avernus, brought to her metaphorical knees by an infant barely larger than her hands.

After a few minutes, it’s Wyll’s turn, and his and Karlach’s attempt to transfer the baby from her arms to his takes long enough that Jaheira eventually takes it upon herself to step in and assist. Though the Blade does his best to play it cool, his false confidence quickly wavers once the girl is actually in his arms. Once he’s got her though, Wyll’s no less enamored than Karlach was. Letting her wrap a tiny fist around his finger, he gently shakes her hand. “Well met, Astraea, I’m your Uncle Wyll,” he says, giving a polite nod of his head out of habit, “it’s very nice to meet you.” His voice is that same low, steady cadence he’d been using when they’d first met him in the Grove while he was training the Tiefling children. He hefts her a bit and lets out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t expect her to be so small, I think I’ve held loaves of bread heavier than she is. It’s like she weighs hardly anything!”

“It didn’t feel that way from where I was sitting,” Tav calls from her spot on the cushion she and Astarion are sharing, tipping her cup toward Wyll in a mock-toast and drawing a few laughs.

Wyll has the good manners to blush before continuing his fawning over the baby in his arms, and Astarion watches the man practically melt when Astraea lets out a series of tiny sneezes. He shares a look with Tav, no tadpoles needed to read each other’s minds this time. If Wyll has his way, Astraea and Xan won’t be waiting too long before they get another cousin.

Gale decides to stake his claim on the next spot in line a few minutes later, coming to crouch in front of Wyll and holding his arms out. “I believe it’s my turn next, Saer Babyhog,” he says with a wink in Wyll’s direction, then, hands moving with the same confidence as when he casts a spell or prepares a meal, he swiftly scoops Astraea from Wyll’s arms, standing and swaying gently as he tucks her into his elbow. “Well, Little Miss, I do believe introductions are in order.” Astraea nuzzles her face against the soft material of his shirt, letting out a little squeak as she does so. “Ah, Astraea, is it? What a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he says, taking one of her tiny hands in his and miming a polite bow over it, “I’m your Uncle Gale. There are several rather impressive titles that usually follow that, but we’ll save those for when you’re old enough to appreciate them.”

He continues like this for some time, swaying as he walks Astraea around the firepit, talking to her about nothing of import, until Shadowheart steps in front of him and holds her hands out with a smile. “Now who’s playing Saer Babyhog?”

“Ah, so I am, my apologies.” He looks down to address Astraea again, “Well, this conversation has been lovely, but it seems this is where we must part ways, young madame.” He hands her over, briefly letting her take hold of his finger once again as he tells her, “I trust you’ll find an equally stimulating conversation partner in Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes and huffs out a laugh, moving to settle on one of the empty cushions and fuss over her niece. Gale grabs a bottle of wine before reoccupying his own cushion, filling his cup and passing the bottle to Minthara next to him.

“You know,” Karlach says, elbowing Wyll as she pops a grape in her mouth, “I was nervous, but I think we did alright, considering.”

Gale, confused, responds. “Considering what? Your engine? I thought Withers said it would remain cooled for our duration here at camp?”

“Oh that too,” she replies around a mouthful of grapes, “but mostly for not ever holding a baby before.” She throws one of the grapes in her hand at him, which he catches with a Mage Hand and tosses into his own mouth. “Spoilsport. Anyway, seemed like you did good too, yeah? Didn’t look nervous or anything. Not like me and Wyll. All nerves, us.”

Gale looks even more puzzled, now. “What? I’ve held a baby before. I’ve held… goodness, dozens of babies, I suppose. Have you really never?”

“Not before today,” she says, now also puzzled, and a little skeptical. “And when were you holding dozens of babies, Gale? The way you told it when we first met, before the tadpole you basically went straight from being a prodigy to a workaholic to a shut-in.” She lobs another grape at him, “You Wizards just throw real weird parties or what?”

His Mage Hand bats the grape aside this time. “Well, it wasn’t all at once,” he scoffs, “and they were all relatives.” On the receiving end of several slightly-disbelieving stares, he grows somewhat indignant as he continues, “I did say more than once during our journey that a Dekarios family reunion was a very boisterous affair. My mother is the oldest of nine, and while I don’t have any siblings myself, I am the oldest of all my cousins. I was the go-to babysitter for all my aunts and uncles throughout my school years.” He pauses, looking both a little embarrassed and pleased with himself, and shrugs. “It was how I got money to by components and instruction books for the higher-level spells I wasn’t supposed to be learning yet.”

There’s a bark of laughter from Astarion. “That’s what you did with your pocket money? Oh, I can picture it now, little pubescent Gale, sneaking his way down to the shops after school to buy illicit spellbooks and fancy stones, blushing like you’ve got the Quarte Sune in your bag instead of instructions for how to cast Fireball.” His gleeful cackle fills the air as he says, “I imagine you must have needed to smuggle them past mother-dearest? Did you hide them under your robes as you darted up the stairs to your room? Keep them stuffed under the mattress?”

Gale blushes a bit, “Only until I learned how to make a pocket dimension to hide them in!” Taking a chance at redirecting the conversation, he waves his hand, “Anyway, that isn’t the most important revelation here.” He turns to Wyll and Karlach again, “You two have really never held a baby before? Not even once?”

“Nope.”

“Not before today.”

It’s then that Lae’zel joins in. “Before Xan, I also had never held an infant.”

“Xan doesn’t count,” Tav counters, “he came out of that egg already crawling and eating solids. Githyanki babies are on a whole different level of baby.”

Lae’zel sits a little straighter, passing a hand over Xan’s hair, the toddler having crawled to sit in the shelter of her lap. “This is true,” she says, nodding in greeting to Shadowheart as she speaks. The Cleric was now crouched in front of her so Xan can see Astraea. Lae’zel continues as she takes Xan’s hand in hers and leads him to reach out and gently touch Astraea’s curled fist, “I have heard that istik children are much less physically resilient than Gith children, born near-sighted and toothless, and that it takes many months for them to master the simple act of merely controlling the movements of their own heads.” She smiles at her son as he lets out an unenthused “Bah!” and pats Astraea’s arm, before crawling away to sit in Karlach’s lap. “That Githyanki children are hatched capable of feeding themselves and removing themselves from areas of danger seems a far superior process.”

“Hang on,” Wyll says, holding up a hand, “I’m starting to think that Karlach and I aren’t as much the odd ones out as we thought. Show of hands: Excluding Xan, who here has held a baby before today?”

Gale makes a noise of consternation as he looks around at their gathered friends and sees that no one, not even Tav and Astarion, has their hands up apart from Shadowheart, Jaheira, Halsin, and himself. “But- but how?” he says, all his usual elegance lost in his confusion. “Except for Wyll, everyone here is at least thirty, and half of you are over a hundred. How have you all made it to adulthood without ever holding a baby even once?”

The justifications start flying almost faster than can be parsed.

“I was in Hell, mate,” Karlach says.

“I was an only child,” Wyll reminds them, “and banished from the city at seventeen.”

“In Menzoberranzan, the care of infants was the duty of lower-ranked males,” Minthara scoffs.

Lae’zel waves a dismissive hand “I was no Vaarsh during my time in the creche.”

Tav shrugs and gives him a sympathetic smile, “I was leading a murder cult in the sewers.”

Astarion’s eyeroll is nearly audible. “Vampire, darling,” he says as Shadowheart carefully hands a sleeping Astraea back to him, “believe it or not, my siblings and I weren’t hiring ourselves out as nannies between all the torture and whoring.”

Gale seems at a loss for words, and then:

“Also, your calculations are incorrect, istik. By Faerun’s calendar, I would have seen twenty-two winters, not thirty.”

Silence engulfs the camp as everyone freezes and all eyes snap to Lae’zel, looks of confusion slowly morphing to understanding and then dawning horror as they all realize what this means.

The deafening quiet lingers for several minutes, finally broken by Astarion, who closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as he says, “Someone please tell me that we did not somehow spend seven months fighting cultists and gods and monsters with a twenty-two year old as our frontline fighter and chief combat strategist and not one of us knew.”

No response is received from those around him, Astraea’s little snores and Xan’s humming as he draws in the dirt the only sounds filling the silence hanging over the camp, and so he nearly jumps out of his seat when, appearing practically out of nowhere, Withers intones from directly next to him, “The accounting of this one’s years was known to me.”

The resulting raucous chorus directed at Withers of shouts, boos, and a few thrown grapes courtesy of Karlach, goes on for several minutes, eventually dying down only because none of it manages to faze their unflappable skeletal party host.

Later that evening, there will be a much larger number of empty bottles of some of the stronger wines than there had been in nights prior, and though nothing will be said outright on the matter, those gathered will forge a silent pact that this will never be discussed again.

Next Chapter

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