#best rifle scope

[safecastle-sale]

Dominate close-quarters combat and medium-range engagements with the SIG SAUER TANGO-MSR LPVO 1-8x24mm Rifle Scope. This high-performance optic boasts an illuminated MSR BDC-8 reticle, quick magnification changes, and durable construction.

[baronessofmischief]

Because I think the Razor Crest was built more for bulk efficiency as a gun ship than it was built for speed (though it’s nothing to sneer at there), I think Mando’s ability to maneuver it is a large part of why and how he’s capable of doing so well in dog fights and running from the cops. It can take a hit and keep on moving, and Mando knows his ship well enough that he can make those split second calls and pilot how he needs to.

The N-1 is fast and responsive on the controls, but it’s got nothing in bulk or armor as far as defense is concerned, and it also has nothing by way of storage or cargo capabilities. Its defense is simply being fast enough to evade getting shot. Mando the character was designed to take a hit and keep moving forward, purposefully armored in a way that allows him to endure a fight— The Crest was designed to reflect its owner, the N-1 not so much

With that analysis in mind, I think it’s much more likely that cowboy!Mando’s Crest in an old west au is actually a mule, not a horse. The N-1 might be the fastest stallion alive, but it’s nothing compared to a mule that’s say, half mammoth Jack and half Belgian mare. I think the biggest horse on record, Brooklyn Supreme, was a Belgian if that gives you an idea of size and silhouette

Big, strong, smart, all-terrain half-draft horse that can endure a rough trail and hard work hauling outlaws is much more in line with what purpose it would serve his character. A mule has the best qualities of both animals, and it’s still going to be intimidating to come up against. Mando’s an endurance hunter, and he needs a steed that reflects and enables that

(Visual aid for said donkey and horse, respectively. ID in alt text)

[theroguebanshee]

How I Created the Ultimate .308 Rifle (Step-by-Step Guide)

Join us on Extreme DIY Gunsmithing as we create the ultimate .308 Winchester custom rifle, named the Smooth Operator. This precision rifle is built around the renowned Pristine short action, known for its unparalleled smoothness and accuracy. Crafted for both tactical and practical performance, this build features top-tier components from industry-leading brands, making it perfect for long-range…

[tojicide]

SNIPER, SNIPER! ☆ LEON KENNEDY

summary. in leon’s line of work as a contract killer, weaknesses weren’t an option. luckily, he’d eliminated his… all except for one.

warnings. fem! reader, hitman! leon, ex! leon, re4! leon intended. discussion of murder, guns, bullets, etc. a loooot of blissful ignorance, porn with some plot, pet names, oral sex ( fem. receiving ), face sitting, missionary, unprotected p in v, creampie. wc. 5.3k.

note. i tend to fuck up a nice “ex who is a raging munch” fic or two saurrrr this is basically my staple now

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Leon isn’t sure why he’s here.

He hasn’t ever bid on a target as sought after as the one that he has now acquired. The target was only described as someone who simply ‘knows too much’ about something they shouldn’t. Vague, he thinks, especially because they remained nameless, genderless, and description-less otherwise. It was odd, for sure, but it was the highest contract that he had ever come by.

As a matter of fact, he’s positive that it’s the highest contract that anyone in his position has ever seen, let alone signed. He’s sure that he’s ruffled a bit of feathers by taking on the job, especially considering that he was still considered fresh meat among the other hitmen that he was distantly familiar with.

Leon preferred to stay out of the unusual politics that came with the underground world, and that meant taking on the jobs that no one deemed urgent enough to complete.

(Plenty of drug dealers, a few sketchy nightclub owners, and an awful bunch of politicians who he is 99% sure put the bounty on their own heads to avoid the scandal that was unearthed about each of them no less than two weeks after they were found with bullets in their heads. He preferred those hits. All men, all guilty of something.)

Nevertheless, he finds himself here, perched on the rooftop of an upscale bar with his sniper rifle angled over the ledge. His scope was perfectly aligned with the entrance of the night club across the street, his right eye narrowed while the other was completely shut.

He sighs, tapping onto his earpiece to communicate with his teammate that was a few buildings over. Alexander.

(Alexander was a tech-nut. He was responsible for ensuring that the coast was clear, that there weren’t an abundance of cops in the area, and that security cameras of the establishment were looped continually in order to ensure that no one could suspect anything more than someone being at the wrong place at the wrong time.)

“Reread the target description that was left for me,” Leon quietly commands.

“Aaand what’s the magic word?”

He heavily sighs. For a job like this, he figured that working alone would be the best option, but with the more he learned, the more experience he gained, the people he met—he was proven wrong. A team works more efficiently than a single person, even if the other half of his current team was a bit… annoying.

“Don’t piss me off,” he huffs, shaking his head as he closes one eye to look through the scope again.

Leon can practically hear Alexander’s grin on the other end of the line as he speaks. “Alright, man, jeez. Your g-string must be a bit too tight tonight, but that’s alright, I’m in no place to judge you.”

Before the blonde can even react to that unsettling quip, Alexander continues speaking, only this time, he does what Leon asks of him. “Bounty, bounty, bounty… where is the darn thing? Oh yes, here it is. Okay, it says that the target will be wearing a blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks tonight…. and that’s it.”

Leon hums, mulling over the very few words that were left for him by the person who had posted the contract in the first place. He’d never killed someone based on the description of an outfit alone,  but then again, he’s never gotten paid this much for sending a bullet through a random guy’s brain. He’ll take it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, turning off his ear piece to drown out the voice of the male on the other end.

It feels like hours pass by in which all he does is stare at the entrance, watching as each attendee leaves the establishment periodically. Each time he saw the color red, he’d perk up, only to find that they were wearing jeans, or they were wearing a white blazer, which only left him feeling more annoyed as time went on.

And then, the door opens. He can practically feel the air flee his lungs as he taps onto his earpiece out of instinct. A blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks.

“Ooh. Pretty. We guessed wrong, didn’t we?” Alexander speaks through the earpiece, which causes Leon to raise a brow.

“What’re you…” his voice trails. His blood runs cold, his palms begin to sweat, and his eyes blow wide. “Holy… fuck.”

“I know right? Not only is she a woman, but she’s miiiighty fine,” his teammate speaks, his voice oddly humorous for the given situation. A moment of silence passes, and Alexander continues to talk, but he can’t hear a damn word.

Leon freezes like a deer in headlights as he watches you emerge from the dim nightclub with a man’s arm slung around your shoulder, though that hardly taints how angelic you look tonight.

Your hair frames your face so beautifully, so soft and feminine. The tip of your nose was flushed given the crisp night air that you’ve just stepped into, your smile was wide and toothy as you walked beside a man that he didn’t recognize.

You’re gorgeous, is all he can manage to think right now. It’s the first time he’s seen you since the moment the two of you broke up six months ago, and you look even prettier than when he pictured you each night to fall asleep. He dreamt of you often, but his lovesick mind was no match for imagining the beauty that you possess.

Suddenly, Alexander’s voice pierced through his haze, bringing him back to the current scene. “Earth to Leon? I get it man, she’s pretty, very much so. I’d hit that too if she wasn’t gonna die in like… two secs.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he hisses, his voice sounding just as venomous as he’d intended it to. “You aren’t going to lay a damn finger on her.”

“Woah, buddy. Big talk from the guy with a sniper aimed at her head.”

That is the moment in which everything clicks in the worst way imaginable.

It’s you. His target, the person who knows too much, the one who is supposed to die tonight—it’s you.

And then, he becomes acutely aware of the lines that are obstructing his view of you. His scope. The red dot in the center placed strategically on your temple, the bullet meant just for you waiting for a simple pull of a trigger.

Leon shudders, picking his head up. No. Absolutely not. Completing his task was not even a thought in his mind anymore, not if the target was you. His beautiful, sweet girl.

But he couldn’t leave the scene unscathed. It would raise suspicion, possibly even tie him to you in a way that you didn’t need. If he didn’t fulfill the obligation in some way, someone else would. He’d broken up with you to save you from all of this, and now, he’d unknowingly come here to make you familiar with his lifestyle in the worst way possible.

You were walking away, and it’s then that his trained eyes fall onto the man who has his arm draped over your shoulder in the way he used to all those months ago. His heart aches at the mere sight of you looking so happy in the company of another, but it gives him an idea.

Leon looks through the scope again, and within seconds, a loud gunshot rings through the air in the form of a thundering pop.

His jaw tenses as he hears screaming. They aren’t your screams though, because you’re not hit. They’re coming from the man you were with, because Leon has just lightly grazed his arm with a bullet.

He wasn’t insane. He wasn’t going to be killing anyone tonight, even if he desperately wanted to kick the living shit out of the man who is so close to you.

Well… was close to you. He isn’t anymore. Your date is writing on the ground all because of a flesh wound, and you’re standing above him with the most confused and concerned look on your face.

Leon can’t help but think that the man has no regard for you and your safety. For all this mystery man knows, more shots could be coming, and instead of trying to protect you, he’s rolling around on the concrete like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Such a man baby.

“What’re you waiting for? Holy fuck, uh… you still have the shot. Take the shot—”

Leon pulls the earpiece away, turning it off before he shoves it into his back pocket. He didn’t need to be scolded by anyone, let alone someone as useless as his teammate. He’d beat him bloody for how he had spoken about you if he weren’t already packing up his equipment to head over to your place.

He needs to check on you, first and foremost. He also needs to explain himself which was… going to be no easy feat, he supposes.

You don’t find your way home until about an hour later, keys jumbling about as you push it into the slot, twisting it with a tired hand.

To be shot at was not on your agenda for tonight, but being berated by your date for not reacting quick enough to help him evade a bullet you had no knowledge of was certainly not how you wanted to end your night either.

Annoyed, exhausted, and frustrated, you step into your apartment. When you begin to shrug off your coat, your body tenses. No. Fucking. Way.

“What the fuck?” you hiss, your voice rising in octave.

Leon stands from your couch, approaching you with his hands in the air, attempting to show you that he hadn’t come with malice. You knew he hadn't, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see him.

“Baby, it’s just me,” he says without thinking, the pet name slipping out before he could have a say in the matter.

“Yeah, I know it’s just you, that’s the problem!” you continue, hanging your coat up on the rack along with your purse. “Are you out of your damn mind? I—”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “I am out of my mind, and you must be out of yours for still keeping your spare key under your doormat. I told you to move it years ago.”

Your brows knit together. “You little— you know what? I’m not even going to entertain that. How about this? You leave, and we forget this happened, yeah?”

“Can’t do that,” he tells you with a shrug, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “I need to talk to you.”

“Don’t do this, Leon, not tonight,” you huff, pinching your nose bridge. “I’m not in the mood, alright? I was—”

“Shot at?” he finishes your sentence. He immediately regrets it, pressing his lips into a line to keep himself from saying anything else.

Your demeanor falters at that. You tilt your head to the side, your eyes narrowing as you look at him from where he stands across the room. “How do you know that?”

He takes a moment to answer, his mouth opening without any words coming out. It spikes your frustration, so you speak again. “Damn it, Leon, how do you know that?”

Leon holds his hands up again, pleading his defense before he criminalizes himself entirely. “I was the one behind the gun, but it’s not what you think—”

Your jaw drops. “Not what I think? Not what I think? You tried to kill me!”

He shakes his head, his expression falling. “I didn’t, baby. I swear. Just let me explain, and—”

“You tried to shoot me in the damn neck!” you continue, your hand dramatically clasping into the side of your throat.

Leon closes his eyes for a moment, internally bracing himself for your outburst that he absolutely deserves. He opens them again, simply watching as you spew insults his way. He takes them without any hint of irritation.

“What the hell, Leon? Is that what you do now? You stalk your ex-girlfriend and try to kill her? Not only that, you missed. You missed! That’s almost fucking humorous, because how can you try to do something like that and then miss!”

Leon sighs, waiting for a moment to see if you try to continue, and when you don’t, he speaks instead. “I aimed for his arm, not your neck, or anywhere else that would endanger you—”

“Yeah, and you almost blew his arm off!” You’re more than aware that the statement was dramatic, but you don’t need to have any sense right now.

“It was a flesh wound, he’ll be just fine,” he tells you before he continues with what he was saying before. “And I wasn’t stalking you. Not knowingly, anyway. I would never hurt you. Not ever. Your date was just… collateral. I had no choice.”

He hopes that you don’t ask any more questions about that, because he won’t have any answers for you. It was for the better. All you knew was that his job wasn’t legal. It couldn’t have been, not with the copious amounts of money that rolled in while he hardly worked for half of the month.

The less you knew about what his line of work entailed, the safer you were. The further away you were from him, the safer you were. However, those last words now ring hollow.

“Look…��� he whispers, taking a step towards you despite his brain screaming at him to leave. He couldn’t. Not when he was the only one who knew of your compromised position. “I know that much has changed between us. It’s my fault, I know it, but I can’t tell you anything more about my job. I just need you to—”

You need answers that you won’t be getting, and that sentiment alone makes you furious. When he gets too close, your hand moves to the leather harness that he has strapped around his broad chest, pulling a sharp-bladed knife from its sleeve. His eyes widen as you hold the blade up to him, his hands shooting up into the air yet again.

“You remember where I put my spare key, I remember where you keep your spare knife,” you taunt, the two of you standing so close now that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. “Guess we haven’t changed as much as you think.”

He huffs as the cool blade grazes his clothed chest, the metal so close that it nearly pierces his skin. Even then, you ensure that it doesn’t. It’s almost touching how you press such a sharp object to his heart of all places, he thinks.

Your situation is far more complicated than the both of you can handle right now. You have unresolved issues with each other, and that alone must be addressed before you can even begin to scratch the surface of the threats that now face the two of you.

“I still think you’re sexy when you’re mean to me,” he whispers, tilting his head to the side. “That hasn’t changed either.”

Was it the time for his flirtatious performance? Certainly not, but you were putting on a little performance of your own just the same.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

Leon shakes his head, his eyes narrowing just as yours did. “Disgusting? Oh, don’t romance me.”

“I’m not romancing you,” you huff with an eye roll. Your grip on the knife only tightens, but you have no real intention of using it. “I’m threatening you.”

He hardly finds you to be threatening. He’d liken you to an angry cat, but he wouldn’t dare voice that out loud. He’s letting you have your moment, truth be told. “Mm, even better.”

His calloused hand moves to shadow yours, slowly lowering the knife that begged to pierce his pale skin. You let him, which only gives him more incentive to pull it away from your grasp entirely.

He tucks the knife back into his sheath, moving to unbuckle the harness entirely. “Now, tell me. Who was that guy?”

A random guy you met on Tinder. “My future husband.”

You’re just trying to get under his skin now, and judging by the look on his face, it’s working. He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at you, taking note of that smug grin that stretches over your lips.

He really just wants to fuck it right off you, but he doesn’t make that known. Not yet, anyway.

“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head. “You gonna let him put a ring on that pretty finger of yours?”

No, you absolutely were not, but you’re enjoying this game. It’s what he deserves after scaring the shit out of you tonight. “Yeah, I am. Thinking about some baby names too, just for safekeeping.”

Leon doesn’t like the thought that you’ve just put in his head, not one bit. His hand finds your left one, bringing it up to his lips as he presses a kiss on your ring finger. “Huh. That’s what you want?”

You tilt your head, noticing how his lips linger on your hand for a moment too long. “You know what I don’t want? To be shot at.”

He hums, giving you a mocking frown. Of course he feels bad about that, but… you both know he hadn’t truly shot at you. Around you, yes, but not at you. His large hands find your waist, his fingers grasping onto the fabric of your shirt and slowly but surely, you find yourself being backed towards your couch.

“Answer my question,” he whispers, his voice now possessing a rasp that it didn’t have before.

You sigh, willingly sitting on your couch, even though you’re doing your best to front as though you’re totally disinterested. “Why should I?”

He shrugs, his lips tugging down as he tilts his head. You watch with blown eyes as he kneels in front of you, his palms gliding over your thighs.

“‘Cause if that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you.”

You tilt your head, eyeing him quite intently as his fingers move to the button of your slacks. You shouldn’t be turned on, but you absolutely are, and the damp fabric of your panties that he’s about to see conveys that pretty well.

“Give me what?” you ask, grinning slightly.

“A ring, a baby… both, neither,” he replies, his fingers hooking beneath your waistband. “Lift your hips for me.”

When you do just that, his eyes raise to find yours. He has a crazed look in his eye, one that you’re all too familiar with. “Whatever you want, baby, I’ll give it to you,” he whispers, leaning in until his soft lips just barely brush against yours.

Your eyes close, and you could have sworn that he was going to kiss you… but he doesn’t. When you open your eyes, you find him grinning. The same shit-eating grin that you love and hate to no avail.

“You just have to say the words,” he whispers against your lips.

You roll your eyes, your hand reaching out to rest on the back of his neck. He was already impossibly close, so all you truly did was hold him there. “I want to kiss you.”

Leon smiles, nodding his head in agreement. “Mm, like I said. Whatever my lady wants, she gets.”

His lips find yours in a searing kiss, his calloused hands smoothing over the soft, exposed skin of your thighs. Your lips move together in a gentle manner at first, as though you were allowing yourselves to get familiar all over again, but you were both quick to realize that gentleness was the last thing you needed.

Your breathing grows ragged as one of his hands cups the back of your head, tilting you just enough so that his tongue could easily slip into your mouth. The kiss was sloppier, messier, much more desperate. It was perfect, in your humble opinion.

He trails kisses down your cheek, jaw, neck… just about anywhere he could as he begins his gradual descent. His hands palm at your breasts through your shirt, and without hesitation, his hands grasp onto the fabric and yank it open. Buttons go flying about your living room, but Leon doesn’t seem to care with the way his face pressed into your cleavage.

One of his hands snaked behind you to undo the clasp of your bra, and the moment he saw a nipple, his mouth was already distracted once again.

“Leon, that was my favorite shirt!” you scold, glancing down at him.

He looks up at you with hazed eyes, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth before he releases it to reply to you. “Was it?” he asks, his reply lacking any care in the slightest.

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him, but your front doesn’t last long when his tongue swirls around your areola. He reaches into his back pocket, tossing his wallet beside you.

“Buy a new one, shit, buy anything you want,” he whispers against your skin, his hands grasping onto your waist. “Tits are so pretty, baby. I missed you.”

“Is that all you missed about me?” you ask, a huff of laughter leaving your lips while his trail down your stomach.

“Absolutely not, no,” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric of your panties. He looks at you as he pulls them down your legs, and he presses his warm lips to your inner calves and thighs as he makes his way towards you again. “Missed everything about you.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s corny—”

“Sh,” he tells you, holding one finger up while he uses his other hand to slip one into your sopping entrance. Your walls clench around him, which only forces a chuckle to leave his mouth. “Let her talk for a bit, yeah?”

He hardly gives you a moment to reply before his head dips, his tongue curling up to stimulate your clit before he sucks on it entirely. He unabashedly moans into your cunt, introducing another finger into your entrance simultaneously.

Your head falls back, your hand delving into his hair to hold him impossibly closer to you, even though he seriously would get closer if he could.

“Sweetest pussy,” he murmurs into your heat, his voice rumbling against your wet cunt that he continued to eat like he would die if he didn’t. “Do somethin’ for me?”

You pick your head up to look down at him, nodding without question. He opens his eyes to look at you in return, pressing a kiss onto your mound before he turns around so that his back is now pressed against the front of your couch, still sitting on the ground.

“Sit on my face,” he suggests, tipping his head back onto the couch cushion.

He reaches for your hand to pull you forward, and you pivot on your knee, your front facing the back of the couch. He lays a light smack on your ass before he pulls you down the rest of the way to make you sit on his face.

Your hand reaches down, clutching onto his hair yet again while you cry out in genuine bliss. His tongue softens as he gives you long, deep licks into your pussy, wanting to taste every inch of you on his tongue.

And when your hips start to rock, he seems to be even happier. Much more incentivized too. He lulls his tongue out of his mouth, flattening it to let you ride his face as you so pleased. You made a mess of his chin, his mouth, his nose—he hardly cares.

(In fact, he doesn’t care. Not one bit. You might even have to pay him to care.)

“Y-You know,” you whine, grasping a bit firmer onto his hair while your hips continue to roll on his tongue, “I’m still mad at you.”

He nods his head, which only stimulates your cunt even more. “Mm, yeah?”

It felt so good. Everything about this was absolutely ecstasy, you can feel your eyes pricking with tears from how stimulated you’re growing.

“Yeah,” you choke out, resting your palms on the back of the couch to brace yourself. “I’m really fucking mad.”

Leon can’t help but grin, his hands brushing along the plush of your thighs. “I’m not too sure, sweetheart. Not with you riding my face like you love me ‘n all.”

“Shut… shut the hell up,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your movements begin to grow even more crazed the closer you get to your release. He was right, but that didn’t mean you had to admit that.

“Okay,” he complies, his eyes fluttering shut while he starts to greedily make out with your pussy, feeling the way you pulsate on his tongue. “Shuttin’ me up real nice with this pretty little pussy. Cum on my face too while you’re at it, pretty girl.”

Not nice enough, but you cry out anyway, your head falling while your legs tremble on either side of his head. “I… Leon, ‘m cumming,” you say through an airy moan.

His movements slow as yours do, his tongue eagerly reaping the benefits of its labor in the form of your sweet release. He lets out a content sigh, pressing a few sweet kisses on your inner thigh.

You slowly rise up from his face, and he turns around to face you again, licking his lips, not caring about the rest of your thin slick that coats his face. You chuckle, running your hand over his face to wipe it away.

“So…” he drawls, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re still mad at me? Tell me more.”

“Later,” you reply, hooking your finger into the loophole of his pants to pull him closer to you.

With a chuckle, Leon pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly on the floor of your living room. He gently nudges you until you’re laying back on your couch, his hands then moving to undo his belt.

“Ah, I see,” he teases, pushing his pants and boxers down in one motion. He kicks them away before he settles in between your parted legs, his hand pumping his cock.

You raise your eyes from his cock to his eyes, and you give him the most weary expression alive. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you say.

It’s been too long, you were certainly not used to his size anymore. Leon knew it just as well as you did, but he didn’t want to make you nervous by saying that.

His brows knit together as he leans down to kiss you, his fingers moving a bit lower to prod your entrance. “You flatter me,” he says against your lips, his head dipping a bit lower to kiss your neck. “But there’s no need to worry your pretty head, baby. It fit before and it fit just right, remember? I’ll take care of you just like I did then.”

You nod your head, one of your hands cupping the back of his head while the other rests on his strong shoulder. “Okay… yeah, okay.”

He nods too, moving one of his hands to meet the one that you have resting on his shoulder. He intertwines your fingers, pushing your hand back onto the couch while he uses his other one to slide his tip along your folds.

“I promise,” he whispers, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

He always has. Even after the events of tonight, you know that he always will.

“I love you,” you say without thinking. A flush rushes across your face, and you close your eyes in utter embarrassment. (Seriously? A confession of your undying love while he’s actively entering you? Time and place.) “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he whispers, pushing his cock further inside of you until he bottoms out. “Mm… I love you so much,” he replies without a care in the world. “And I’m not sorry about it.”

Your eyes soften at that, and a small chuckle leaves your lips. “Well… that’s good, isn’t it…?”

His eyebrows knit together, laughing softly at your awkward reply. “You’re such a dork, baby,” he whispers, dipping his head to plant a kiss on your lips while he rolls his hips into yours. “A pretty one, though.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he presses a kiss on your lips, and they stay shut, even when he opts to just rest his forehead on yours. “Your dork,” you say, a bit breathlessly with a smile on your face.

“Mhm,” he nods in agreement, a toothy smile stretching across his face. “My dork.”

Such a lovely interaction that you nearly forgot that he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow, because the moment he falls silent, your eyes widen. “Oh, God…”

He smiles, kissing your cheek while he continues to thrust inside of you, his cock being swallowed whole by your pussy in a way that made him feel like he was finally home.

“See?” he whispers in your ear, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re taking me so well, pretty. So well.”

That makes you chuckle, but your laugh doesn’t last for long when the head of his cock rams into you even harder. Your hand smooths out along the expanse of his back, dragging your nails back up.

“You’re crazy,” you gasp out.

Leon smiles. “Crazy about you, sure.”

You laugh through an airy moan, tilting your head to the side as your eyes flutter shut. “Sooo corny,” you whisper.

He shakes his head with his same toothy grin, using his free hand to tilt your chin towards him again. His thumb brushes along your bottom lip before he kisses you, and it is just about the sweetest kiss that you could have ever asked for.

“You love it,” he murmurs in reply, a bit breathless as an overwhelming heat pools in his lower stomach.

You shake your head. “I love you.”

Leon clicks his tongue at that, giving your hand a squeeze. “And I’m the corny one?”

That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh. He loves hearing you like this, so happy yet so utterly ruined by the way he feels inside of you. He knows that the feeling is mutual, which only amplifies how much he’s enjoying this. Having you again.

He softly moans in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Pussy was made for me,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. “You were made for me.”

After a few more strokes, he truly begins to lose himself. His cock twitches inside of you, and he dips his head into your shoulder. “Mmh, ‘m gonna cum,” he rasps.

He pulls back, but you only pull him closer. It’s been so long, he hadn’t truly thought that you’d be okay with that. But here you were, his favorite girl. Always surprising him. “I love you, sweet girl.”

You nod your head, wrapping your free arm around his neck while the other gives his hand another squeeze. “I love you more.”

He grunts when your walls clench around his length, his lips pressing a longing kiss to your shoulder. “Cum with me, baby, c’mon. I need it, honey, please.”

You’re in no position to deny him or yourself. Your body trembles beneath him, a gorgeous moan ripping through the air while he buries himself deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his cum while you find your own release on his cock.

The two of you lay there for a moment, out of breath and entirely engulfed by one another. He slowly pulls out of you, pressing a few chaste kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, until he eventually kisses your lips.

When he pulls away, you smile up at him. You chase his lips once more, giving him a tender kiss before you lay your head back down.

“Now, as for why I’m still mad at you…”

note. yeahhh i need him bad in a way that’s concerning to feminism. anywhoooo interact if you enjoyed i rly like writing for him :D thank you so much for reading!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[velvetures]

Honorifics

A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise. Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper. T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.

When you joined the task force, things didn’t exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still weren’t in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didn’t excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasn’t difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasn’t your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didn’t have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.

Logistically as a sniper, it meant you frequently held a much more distant role in missions. By watching from a scope you could ensure that infiltrations, covert ops, and other hush-hush kinds of operations that typically the 141 wouldn’t have the luxury of. Being the skilled marksman you were, it made sense to take advantage of your talents and also extend you a job that progressed past what you’d experienced in your “standard” military career and multiple tours overseas. However, that meant communications were essentially the backbone of your usefulness aside from your rifle. Next to nothing else, your daily and mission-based work almost exclusively went through Lieutenant Ghost. Which… often proved to be the largest obstacle that you faced aside from making sure that your scope didn’t get bumped off sight the -often- rough flights and drives to insertion points.

The Lieutenant was particularly mean… he certainly didn’t give a single thought to if anyone thought that he was a little too harsh of a personality to swallow. That went for everything you came to learn about Ghost. From his lack of willingness to speak unless required of him, to his unique ability of appearing and disappearing from anywhere without the slightest sound or hint of where he’d come from or gone to. Trained as a distance marksman, even you were impressed that such a massive man could move around like smoke on water. That and his physical appearance; good god above. Surely a man like Ghost had never graced the face of the Earth before, else he’d have been just as mythical in his legendary life and would’ve been known by thousands of people. He stood towering over just about everyone, in whatever room he was in, and compared to your own height it was downright laughable the difference between the two of you as operators.

The one thing that made the biggest impression on you after meeting the Lieutenant was his voice and how he spoke. That thick accent always sounded rough and a little gritty. His deep timbre gave such a commanding authority that if given the choice between getting yelled at by Captain Price or Ghost… there was no choice you’d sit for hours listening to Price threaten you over Ghost. He just sounded so scary and attractive all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, it developed into a subconscious dynamic where you saw Ghost as such a superior officer -and human- that no matter how much you liked to daydream about Ghost in less-than-professional situations… You gave him the utmost respect at all times. Easiest of all to recognize was that from day one, you had never addressed Ghost to his face as anything other than ‘sir’. Not even his rank gave enough nuance to his character and presence, so for you, Ghost was inextricably attached to the name.

Ghost however… didn’t like it.

Such a simple address actually made Ghost grit his teeth beneath the shield of his mask. When he heard you call him that, he automatically related it to how he had called General Shepherd ‘sir’ as a subtle sign of mockery and defiance. Thinking about that made him more than necessarily angry and confused, but he couldn’t really accuse you of having ever been given much of a reason to detest him. Therefore, he had to come to the conclusion that you were doing it out of some kind of respect that a drill sergeant or boot camp instructor had bashed into your brain so hard that it stuck permanently. Not surprising since you were much different from the rest of the task force. Yet he had to revise that after the first six months of you being with them permanently. You had gotten settled in. Enough so that you called the Captain, ‘Cap’… Soap, ‘Johnny’… and Garrick, ‘Gaz’ like everyone else did. Exceptionalities only appeared when it came time for you to be around him or have any sort of interaction that wasn’t the occasional silent nod of acknowledgment when walking past each other in the hallways.

He honestly tried to ignore it and you altogether for that matter in an attempt to keep his bitter anger at a minimum. Seeing such a small and fucking happy woman always lingering around somewhere in the corners of his sight couldn’t be anything but a distraction waiting to happen. A bad habit that he didn’t have the mental capacity or emotional willingness to take on. Fuck… he already had to worry about the 141 as a whole, to begin with. Now you on top of that? It was more responsibility than he’d signed up for initially. Hearing you call him ‘sir’ day in and day out began to take its toll on his self-control. Ghost needed to either find out why you were hellbent on calling him that, or at least be enough of a bastard to you to be reassured that you did it because you wanted a polite way to tell him to shove it up his ass sideways.

The Lieutenant had been being nothing short of a prick in the last few months.

He was making paperwork back at HQ a nightmare that couldn’t be solved alternatively through someone like Gaz or Soap who often didn’t mind playing the part of the unbiased third party. Refusing to sign things when you stopped by his office, outright ignoring your necessary questions, and stonewalling you at every single stop along the way just to yield at the last moment and do everything you’d been asking for so the both of you wouldn’t face heat from any higher-ups. That alone was enough for you to consider talking to Soap privately since he knew Ghost the best… but you’d kept putting it off hoping that it was just a passing phase of shitty attitude.

Your patience and emotional strength fell through the floor after attempting for the third time in a week after something so fucking simple as trying to get his approval and official signature on a post-mission report Price had delegated to you after being called to Washington D.C. for a meeting. It wasn’t a major task, but knowing that the Captain had given you the responsibility first over anyone else made you want to impress him and take care of business without incident. God forbid you do something as simple as ask Ghost to pick up a pen and scribble his name at the bottom of a page so that you could send it on through the higher-up channels. It resulted in the Lieutenant straight-up yelling at you in the middle of the hallway outside his office when he’d found you standing there patiently waiting for him to show up. He wasn’t threatening physically, but it cut much deeper into your pride and feelings than it should have.

With every word that dripped venomously out of his masked mouth, you lost a little extra peace of mind on having such an untouchable and unshakably good opinion of Ghost for so long. This moment of undeserved verbal punishment was enough to make the corners of your eyes burn with inner disgrace, self-doubt, and plain old sadness which motivated you to get the hell out of there before the Lieutenant saw you cry. When you turned your back and walked away right in the middle of his berating for you being ��too fucking annoying to tolerate”, your only destination was your personal quarters on the other end of the building where a lock on the door could shut out the entire base for as long as you saw fit. Upon the first estimation, it would be after Captain Price returned so that you could have at least one single chance at not getting a second punishment or dismissal from the squad. The sound of your door slamming shut and your back sliding down against it on your way down to the floor silenced the entire room around you, leaving just enough room for the papers clenched to your chest to flutter onto the ground and your weak cries to sounds amplified.

It was hours before you could drag yourself off the floor and into bed, too tired and wanting to fall back on the trained and instinctual desire to hide away somewhere isolated and not move for hours on end. Being a long-distance marksman gave you the talent of patience insurmountable to the average person, allowing days to pass by without you needing to do more than go to the bathroom before coming right back to a motionless position. That’s what you wanted tonight. You needed to focus all of your energy into your brain alone and use it to sort through the hurt burning through your eyes and throat, and the questioning that gave such a sickening feeling a chance root in your stomach. Questions of if it had been foolish to trust Ghost as much as you did the others, knowing how you’d been warned that he would be difficult to work with. Hoping you hadn’t been truly so ignorant of judging behavior to think that the Lieutenant was something much greater than his behavior had been not only today but for the past months.

The next two days were spent laying near motionless… not hungry or thirsty.

Just thinking, sleeping, and staring at the wall across from your bed.

A solid knock on your door was the first human sound that hadn’t been made by you in over forty-eight hours. You’d not looked at your phone or any communications since locking yourself inside, and there was a good chance someone from the squad had come searching for you after such a long period without seeing or hearing from you. When you refused to answer right away, another harder knock banged on the door twice and rattled the steel in its doorframe. Impatient. Testy. Quite familiar with everything you’ve been through lately. Recognizing the Lieutenant was the one outside made your gut churn all over again. Questioning whether to get up or not wasn’t hard. Laying perfectly still in bed, you waited. If you were being honest though, it’d been a long time since you’d spent so long restricting yourself from basic needs for the purpose of acting like a living phantom. Close to three years since any sniper position had left you utterly abandoned without resources. Only this time it was self-induced and nothing short of a trauma response you wanted to hide away from. Truthfully you couldn’t tell if walking to the door was an easy feat or not. After not drinking anything, using the bathroom wasn’t necessary and the last time you’d stood up didn’t cross your memory clearly.

Ghost slammed his fist against the door again one last time. But he didn’t wait long enough for you to answer before rattling the handle to the door with a heavy sigh that was audible through the cracks separating you. Metal on metal gritted softly and moved the door handle a bit further. Recognizing that as nothing short of Ghost picking the lock to your quarters without the slightest care of how he’d be breaking multiple stipulations laid out for them living in HQ. Either your physical or mental state kept you from giving a damn when the handle gave way fully, leaving a bright fluorescence light flooding in from the hallway into your pitch-black room. It made your eyes water and the urge to turn your head away was strong enough to budge your head into the blankets and pillow surrounding. Heavy boots made the paperwork scattered on the floor crunch softly and the sound of his deep breaths gave away his current state of frustration. Clearly not appreciating being locked out of a room that he had no fucking business being in. A long pause led to shuffling around, and the sound of your desk chair creaking under his weight.

“Gonna say somethin’?” He sounded no less irritated than the last time you’d spoken.

It made your throat burn to even think you’d allowed his to get in your head so deeply just to utterly rip every last bit of security and respect away from you for no damn reason. Your silence made quite the statement, even if the actual task of speaking hadn’t been a totally voluntary one. You’d not moved your jaw in days at this point.

“You’ve missed five drill sessions, two mandatory meetings, and one phone from General Shepherd.”

Listing off your offenses hardly bothered you. The consequences of this had been fully accepted days ago, and Ghost would have to do a lot more to get you up from this bed. You’d trained for hell, and no matter how badly Ghost had ruined your almost loving and patient view of him there weren’t enough men on the planet to make you get up voluntarily. Drastic… yes. Satisfying to your own pride… undoubtedly. When you didn’t even let out a single breath loud enough for Ghost to hear instead of that instant apology or willingness to appease him… please him even, with that little quip of ‘sir’ ready on your tongue, the Lieutenant was up out of that chair so quickly you heard it roll into the wall behind him hard enough to thud against the drywall.

“Goddamn it Brass, I demand a fuckin’ answer!” His loud bark caught your attention, but the feeling of your blankets being ripped off your body was a far more startling sensation.

Baring you to the cold air of the room, all your body managed was to raise chills on your skin in a feeble attempt to keep you warm or alert you to seek out that heat again. Tension exploded into shocked silence when Ghost didn’t utter more than a sharp inhale after getting one, shadowed glimpse of your body totally frozen on your stomach. You knew it couldn’t look great. Snipers could come back looking like skeletons sometimes after a long mission if they were given the orders to stay put. You’d not been laying nearly long enough for that to be the case, but dehydration was certainly a symptom you were ignoring quite easily, as well as the possibility of some minor pressure ulcers that would linger for a few weeks if you didn’t move soon. Ghost wasn’t as familiar with the sight of how you felt internally. Snipers weren’t commonly used or in collaboration with Task Force 141. You’d been their first real look at how the inner workings moved or didn’t, and much of your personal way of doing things had dispelled or blown away any misguided assumptions they’d made about your skills early on. Viewing a sniper after days of doing literally nothing, of her own free will…? That wasn’t healthy or accepted in general military companies. Lucky Ghost got the front-row seat though.

When you heard his movement next to you, weight pressed down the mattress at your side in the shape of his hands, and a low sigh registered.

“Brass…” Failing to even say something, you wondered if your own assessment of yourself wasn’t accurate. “It’s been five days.” His faltered tone was truthful, and it destroyed your semblance of time that had been misled by the absence of sunlight coming in through your room.

You thought about trying to say something, resolve falling flat when swallowing felt difficult. A gloved hand rested against your thigh and Ghost almost growled again, sounding a lot more like he was resisting the urge to squeeze you hard. Only his fingers traced along your hip and over the curve in your waist with a tense and heavy swallow. He was being gentle beyond your concept of his depth of emotion and understanding. Nearly loving as he paused over your ribcage with another pinched sort of sound. Staying like that for what felt like hours, you struggled to keep yourself awake. It had been a struggle to move your tongue in your mouth, testing what mobility you’d lost in the short term. Only Ghost wasn’t leaving like you expected, and suddenly his voice returned it its normal stature.

“This’s Ghost. Get a bay ready now, I’m bringin’ someone in.” The reverb of his voice crackled in a radio you knew hooked to his vest. A backup short-range alternative in the case that SAT couldn’t be established or wasn’t clear enough to rely on in the field. Apparently, he used it to keep in contact with someone on base. Or multiple people for all you knew.

“Copy Ghost.” A static voice could be heard and quickly the room was pitched back into a silence you wanted to remain in, but Ghost was adamant to keep infracting alone with a whole list of other rules that, for whatever reason, just didn’t fucking matter or apply to him.

His other hand searched around the dark until he found your face resting amongst the fabric of your bed, curling his hand around your head and meticulously lifting you so very slowly away from the bed with his other arm steadying your legs that had also been taken up off the mattress. You’d never touched Ghost once in all the time you’d known him. Understanding that with his sour attitude, there couldn’t be a single chance in Hell that touching him was an acceptable action. Whereas with Soap, Gaz, and even on occasion Price: hugs, handshakes, shoves, and other physical touches were common, Ghost totally ignored all human contact. Maybe Hell had frozen over outside of your quarters for your weak and still motionless body to be lifted up against the Lieutenant’s chest and carried preciously outside of your room into the burning light of HQ. His chest heaved deep and quickly against you. Both hands curled around you and flexed tighter each time you were able to hear another set of shoes approaching closer to you. Possessive like a soldier. Silent like a Ghost. Determined.

He takes you straight to the medical hall where three nurses and two of the on-shift doctors are fast to respond to your condition. Only Ghost refuses to let them take you away from him for any reason. Stoically stonewalling them just like he habitually did to you as they begged him to lay you down on a transport bed so they could take you back to a room for assessment. The Lieutenant took you there himself, with the group of nurses and doctors hot on his heels and surrounding your bed once Ghost had you settled down inside a private room.

The whole place smells sterile and like alcohol. It’s not the first time you’ve been here, but these are far different circumstances. You’re still too sensitive to open your eyes, but hands are all over your body, gloves fingers touching around the sore places on weight-bearing points on your body, pricks in your fingertips, and a needle poke to the back of your hand. It’s overstimulating, to say the least, and you’re worried they’re going to think you’ve tried to starve yourself to death or decided that living altogether wasn’t worth it and simply wasting away into your bed was the solution. Right away, one of the voices of the medical professionals breaks that worry in your mind by calling for some of the tests to be staggered, needing time between them for nothing other than your own benefit.

“Treat this no differently than prolonged active reconnaissance,” The female voice states softly. “Being on-the-gun for this long is detrimental to all senses, and she’s going to need a while to wake up in a meaningful way.” She added, voice coming clearer the closer she got to your head.

“You’ve been working very hard, I suspect. Maybe not in the field… but you’re one tough lady.” She commented to you quite personally, her hand falling to your shoulders. “We’re going to get you plenty of fluids and start you on a vitamin drip to get everything running as it should again. You’ve also got some slight bedsores, but as long as we take care of them now, you’ll be right as rain soon, sniper.”

Tests were run, treatments began, and nurse after nurse was brought in with both doctors running rotations in and out of your room for the rest of the night. All of them were under the hard watch of Ghost who’d not moved from his position sitting in the corner of your room where he could see not only you but anyone approaching the door. He’d been very quiet throughout the process, watching and waiting for someone to give him some news about your condition with actual certainty. Stewing over the guilt he felt knowing damn well he was the reason you’d shut down so far and were still unable -or unwilling- to come out of it yet. You’d been nothing but the perfect little woman, doing her job with skill and grace, making everyone around you happier just with one glance in your direction. But fuck, he couldn’t stand seeing someone do the callous profession of killing people with one single squeeze of her finger and still have so much innocent and emotional humanity inside such a small body. Ghost couldn’t wrap his mind around it. So instead of trying to do the right thing and figure it out, he did what a man so out of touch with empathy did: Try to snuff it out.

You threatened him whether you or he realized it in the beginning.

But now he could see it with that crystal fucking clear hindsight. How monstrous he was for punishing you with no foundation other than his own selfish fear of seeing a dynamic he didn’t know was possibly wrapped up inside of you. Sweet and little you, never saying anything to him other than a ���yes sir’ or ‘no sir’. Goddamnit Ghost knew he’d nearly killed you in a way. Seeing days of neglect in your sallow expression, darkened under eyes, and weakened body was more than even his cold heart could take all at one time. Wasting away for someone as useless as himself, all because he’d never given you enough credit for finding something worth liking in him where no one else had. Screaming at you. Cursing your existence. Right in your face, while he’d been too big of a pussy to even take off his own mask he hid behind every day as he utterly destroyed your meaningful position and life working alongside of his and his squad. Owing you his life wouldn’t nearly cover his offenses. Laughably, Ghost admitted his own life or death couldn’t measure up to yours. So instead of saying any kind of bullshit apology, he sat in the corner of your room and denied himself sleep, food, and water because there wasn’t anything else he could do until you’d been considered healthy and strong again.

Almost one week to the day you had been signed off for return to duty with zero restrictions. Your physical and mental evaluations came back clean, and with both Price and Ghost signing off on the doctor’s orders, you returned to your quarters where you expected to see your room exactly as you’d left it before Ghost brought you into the medical wing. Only nothing was as you’d left it. All the paperwork left on the floor was gone, as well as the other documents that had been left on your desk that still needed finishing. All of it was gone. Your bed and all of the bedclothes you’d been taken from were also missing. Replaced with totally brand new bedding in dark hues of dark green and navy blue with a decidedly feminine pattern on the quilt. Items you didn’t own. Or have any idea where they came from. Even the smell of stale air was traded for a woody, and familiar smell that wasn’t of a candle, or room spray; It was from a person. The person who sat in the corner of your room in your desk chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes staring at you through the painted visage of a skull gracing a black compression mask.

“Sir,” You greet hoarsely, still working through some of the non-significant parts of your recovery that lingered. Ghost stood from his seat and met you halfway across your room with a silent nod, his hand reaching out and motioning for you to step closer to him. Warily but complicit, you make the few steps forward and watch his hand turn to slide against your jaw and stay there firmly. “I expected you to be at drill.” You say with a tinge of surprise at the touch of his bare hand resting against your cheek.

“Should be,” He replied flatly. “But I’m not.” You nod a little, biting your tongue when his fingertip rubs over the curve of your ear. His eyes were soft and his unarmored physique was highlighted by the shadows made by the lamp on your side table. He’s inspecting you, you know as much. Clear by his thumb pressing over your pulse point and the minute exactly that he waits before speaking again.

“Do you like the color green?” His question knocks you off guard and his eyes slide over the quilt laying neatly over your bed. You were quick to answer honestly out of mere habit.

“Yes, sir.”

His hand stiffens against your cheek, and Ghost takes another step closer. His boots graze the tips of yours and his chin is nearly tucked against his chest to look down at you properly. You’re breathing a little harder, anticipating another break of his patience and an onslaught of screaming all directed at your apparent mistakes made right in front of his face. Judgments you’d still be unable to solve no matter how much you thought about it or what you did to try and find a solution of healthy -or not- motives. Ghost doesn’t yell though. He actually lowers his face down to yours, eyes locked right on you and an intensity burning there.

“Why do you call me that?” His low growl made you shiver, especially when his hand dropped lower to your throat. Now squeezing, but holding your gaze steady on him, reminding you of his strength. The power over you he’d always held, and given you the instant to call him ‘sir’ in the first place. Everything about Ghost was overwhelming, and you’d always been one wave away from drowning under him.

“You deserve the honor…” You answer, certain. Even if he’d broken your spirit and came back in the aftermath with questions you still believed to be much too complex for a single-sentence answer. Hopefully, he understood a little bit better but the way you leaned against his hand, letting him actually feel the pressure of your throat pressing into his palm. Literally offering your trust in him over again, testing the Lieutenant and watching as his eyes widened. His other hand came up to your face, counteracting the pressure you’d applied to keep your breath and blood flow uninterrupted. His face is still only inches away from yours but unflinching at the close contact.

“Brass,” He murmured, masked face teasing closer with his own lack of control. “I’m not what you think I am.” Your chest tightens with his words, soaked in desperation that heats your lips and cheeks.

“What’s that, sir?” You question, earning another flinch of his fingers against your skin.

“Safe… Trustworthy… Honorable.” He replies, getting even closer. The smooth material ghosted over your lips, and his breathing fanning over you wetly through the damp material. You sigh, feeling lightheaded. Weak in his hands, confused yet happy to have your life held in the palms of his hands. Confused about where his mistrust comes from, but gaining perspective every time he flinches when you address him in the way you always believed he’d feel the most revered and… loved.

“You’re wrong,” You challenge, hands moving from your sides to run up the thin shirt covering his chest. “You’re a man of fear. One that death shakes at the mention of. Even looking at you through my scope a mile away is enough to remind me you’re capable of inhuman things…” Your voice lowers, hearing thoughts straight from your soul escaping without filter from your brain. “Yet you’re human. So much more than anyone sees. Because it’s not evil that keeps you going. It’s the fear and hatred of losing anything that means something to you.” Your hand rests over his chest, hearing his heart thundering against his ribs.

“You’re not a monster, you are terrified of losing everything. That is why I call you ‘sir’, is because you’re a man unlike any other, Ghost.”

Hearing your own voice say his name like that feels so foreign. Coming off your tongue with the letters not fitting together in a way that you’d experienced. But Ghost… he reacts differently. His hands tightened around you and he hugged you against his chest tightly. His chest heaves up and down and the thunder of his heartbeat impossibly quickens until your left ear can’t hear anything but the repetitive thrum of blood coursing through his body. Heavy arms snake around you, one around your head to secure it to him and the other clinging to your waist with his hand fisting into your shirt until it’s skin-tight on your stomach. The Lieutenant practically shakes against you, using your much smaller frame to steady himself.

Yet he’s dropping to one knee on the ground, bringing you down with him until he’s nearly cradling you and softly rocking your weight back and forth. Soothing himself in much the same way a child would after scraping their knee on the sidewalk and the tears have begun to dry up. God, it made the massive man feel so weak; much like you did after he’d yelled at you a week ago. Both of you kneeled on the floor now with all of your wounds opened up to each other and had silently found a calm within the eye of a destructive storm that had been raging against the pair of you while everyone on the outside had been simply looking on with bated breath to see how the ending would play out.

“Brass - I…” Ghost’s voice choked up again, his arms tightening around you. “God, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t ignore you anymore… I’m losing my mind.”

You lean into his chest harder, arms struggling to reach all the way around his wide back in an attempt to support him a little bit. You understood through the way he was grabbing at anything on you he could desperately. So you did all you could and rubbed your hand up and down his back quietly allowing him the time to work through his thoughts. Both of you had been hurt by this, and while the Lieutenant’s form of apology came in the way he’d ushered you for help when you needed it most and unquestionably been the reason behind the way your quarters looked. Now it was you, cradling a man who’d never shown a single crack in his armor, feeling the weight of so many emotional wounds that he was practically bleeding out with pain and palpable regret.

“You don’t have to…” You whisper, resting your forehead against his.

Ghost just nods his head, panting heavily and giving a low sort of whine. “I’m so sorry…”

You smile sadly. “I’m sorry too.”

His eyes soften more, blinking away at wetness brimming at his waterline. “Say it again… please. I need to hear it. God, please.”

“It’s okay…” Your hands cradle his cheeks, feeling the sharp lines and hard muscles. “I’m right here, Ghost. We’re going to do this over again… Together, Ghost.”

Nodding weakly, he meets your gaze as you say his name again. Reveling in it. “Together… together, with you.”

[exocaliii]

❦︎ You've Been Walking, You've Been Hiding

(pt. 1) (pt. 2)

| Kang No-eul / Guard 011 x fem!reader |

side! | Se-mi / Played 380 x fem!reader |

Summary: For six years, you've watched your best friend and only companion mourn a child she barely got to know. Now, you're given a chance to finally rid her of this lifelong guilt.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: mentions of self harm, death, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, occasional use of Y/N even though I try my best to avoid it lol, some jealousy and yearning, very plot heavy guys no porn this time...

A/N: first fic yay!! it's incredibly plot heavy (like seriously look at the word count man I haven't even reached the Mingle game yet😭😭) and tbh i've already written most of pt 2 (which dives far more into the romance part), but please please lmk what you think so far!! :D seriously any comments or messages or whatever are appreciated!! this is the "I wrote this cuz no one else did" fic

—

It’s been nine years since you've met her, and she’s still the most beautiful woman you know.

Her head is tilted back, shallow breaths filling the silence. You don’t make a move until you see tears flow down her cheeks, and by the time she raises an arm to cover her face, you’re already by her side. There are no words or even glances shared as you use the sleeve of your jacket to wipe the tears off her cheek. Though, for a split second as your hand lowers, you swear you see her head tilt in your direction, and maybe you’re hallucinating it (god knows what could happen after two bottles of whatever hard liquor that was) but your eyes meet for a brief second.

It’s a bit too much for you, and you need this night to end. Besides, you had someone to meet. She knows that.

“It’s late, Eul.”

It’s an unspoken suggestion for her to drive you home, but she doesn’t move - just looks over at you with a heated gaze and that’s all it takes. Whatever emotion she was trying to express is unknown to you, but it’s familiar in a way that deeply disturbs you. You’re the last person she should be looking at like that.

“...Alright then,” you whisper, placing your head on her shoulder. She doesn’t react, but she doesn’t move to push you off either. You should leave. You both know this.

God, you’re pathetic.

—

250 million won.

Fucking scammers. Who could even pay that much?

Your meeting with the head of some shady smuggling group based in North Korea went… alright. They were willing to help, but less optimistic than the last. What really went wrong was the price they were charging to help search for No-eul’s baby. Even if you worked your current job for 16 hours a day for an entire year straight, you wouldn’t have enough.

The thought of seeing her hope dwindling once again made you want to pull your hair out.

Perhaps it was this heartache that made you call the number on that card.

—

She’s known about the games for six years.

She signed up to kill people every summer for five years.

Today is the first day she’s genuinely, completely thrown off guard.

When she twists the scope of her rifle, she almost accidentally fires a bullet straight into your face with a twitch of her hand. Even after leaning back and rubbing her face in exasperation at her own mind supposedly playing tricks on her, she leans back into the familiar pad of the rifle to see your face once again. You look the same as the last time she saw you, which was barely two days ago. The strain in your face, the fear that twists your expression into one she recognizes from seven years ago - God, what the fuck did you get yourself into?

She lets out a shaky breath and readjusts her grip, her nerves making her hands quiver just enough that she has to lean back again to roll her head to relieve some of the newfound tension in her neck. When she finally lays her cheek back against the rifle, she’s quick to refocus her attention to another player, one that 012 (or was it 010?) failed to kill. It’s a disgusting ordeal, but she deals with it the only way she knows how to, even as her mind wanders.

Survive this game, Y/N. Do not leave me behind.

—

All you can do is clutch the number on your chest - 037 - after what had just happened. After you watched a woman’s blood splatter onto a young man right next to you. After you watched him flinch and die moments later, right at your feet. It feels like a fever dream when money begins to drop into the piggy bank above the room, and you’re told each 100 million won added was somebody’s life.

That woman and the boy were, combined, only 200 million won to the pile. You want to vomit.

You drown out so much of it, but when you hear talk of money being passed out to the “winners” of the game you all just played, you’re disturbed to find it’s only reached about 75 million. You’re even more disturbed by your immediate desire for more, more money to fill the pig’s empty stomach (and more lives lost, apparently).

When it comes time to vote, you can’t bring yourself to care much about the man who claims he had played these games before. His pleas mean nothing to you, not when you have 250 million won to conjure up in the next month to continue the search for No-eul’s sweet daughter. You hesitate for only a split second before you hit the O, and you force yourself to drown out the fearful cries to your left as well as the howls from the hungry wolves to your right.

A blue patch is placed over your chest, but you do not cheer with the rest of your side.

—

When night comes, sleep refuses to come to you. It feels like a punishment now, especially as you look at the young girl just diagonal to you. 095. She shakes like a baby in her bed, and the red X on her sweater shows you why.

Have you damned this poor girl to death? Maybe even the kind old lady lying across from her?

The sick feeling in your gut prompts you to get up and head over to the side door. Three knocks prompts nothing but silence, but you refuse to give up so easily. With another set of knocks on the door, this time hard enough to make sure the guard on the other side (at least you hoped there was even anyone on the other side) heard you, you spoke up.

“I’m sorry, I don’t feel well, can I please-”

Without you saying another word, the door practically swings open.

Standing across from you is a pink guard with a triangle mask. The rifle at their side draws your attention immediately, and some paranoid part of your mind wonders if they only opened the door so they could shoot you for interrupting their quiet time. However, the guard surprisingly only takes a small step to the side after a strangely tense silence.

“...Thank you…”

You scuttle past them and immediately head to the bathroom. The moment you enter, you rush to the sink, turn on the faucet, and let a stream of icy cold water fall from your cupped hands onto your face. For a second, this helps your heart rate slow.

What brings it back up is the sound of the door opening, and what spikes it is the fact that it’s not a fellow player that walks into the silent bathroom, but the guard. Based on their height alone, you can tell it’s the same one. This is even more frightening somehow.

Did you do something wrong? Should you have just stayed in bed? Why did you pick-

“Why are you here?!” The guard’s raspy voice interrupts your thoughts. Her question (you now realize it’s a woman) was just barely quiet enough to not be considered a yell, but the frantic nature of it still makes you blank out. You’re so afraid that you end up completely missing the familiarity your body feels at the sound of her voice.

“I-I’m sorry ma’am, I just need to wash my face, I’ll-”

You’re interrupted once again by the guard’s movements, but this time, she’s practically ripping down the red hood of her jacket to pull off her mask. She doesn’t even need to take off her face covering by that point, because a single short glance at her eyes, the ones you knew so well, were enough.

“No-eul…,” you choke out, staring as she pulls the face covering down completely to reveal the face you’ve known for nine years. Her hair is sweaty and sticks to her face in a way that you recognize from her summer shifts at the fair.

Seeing her here is only comforting for a short moment though, because the pink of her uniform against the green of yours is still visible in your peripheral as you take in her confused, almost panicked expression. Her eyes scan your face for an answer, not nearly as patient as she typically is, and when you refuse to even make a sound, she takes a small step closer.

“Answer me. You shouldn’t- God.” She runs her gloved fingers through her hair in poorly hidden frustration as she sighs and turns away for a split second. “You shouldn’t be here. Not in a place like this.”

You don’t respond, but she can very much see the frown on your face after that last statement.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” It doesn’t take much for you to regain your snarkiness, but it clearly throws her off guard.

“It’s just a temporary job, and you know why I need it, so answer me.”

Yes, you know full well why she needs it.

“...I need it too, Eul.” It’s not enough for her. You sigh before accepting your fate. “She needs it.”

For a second, there’s silence. She’s confused, and you watch as the gears turn in her head and she slowly comes to understand the intentions behind your words - understands the blue O plastered on your sweater. Somewhere in the blank expression she’s trying so hard to keep up, you can spot the shame, the guilt, and the sadness washing over her at the realization.

“Don’t look at me like you pity me. This was my choice to make.” I don’t regret it.

When she fails to even acknowledge what you just said, you simply sigh and move over to the wall, sitting down with your legs pulled close to your body. As if it were muscle memory, she joins you a moment later.

For what feels like forever, you two sit in silence and stare at each other. She can’t stop glancing down at the patch on your chest, and you can’t stop glancing at the mask she placed at her side. When she notices this, her expression gets even more shameful, and she lowers her head.

“Eul…” She doesn’t answer you, but you hear the soft exhale she releases when she hears your voice. “Eul, I don’t blame you.”

You reach over in a bold move and take her gloved hands. They’re mostly steady, but you know her too well by now. Even the slightest tremor is enough for you to practically feel the shame washing over her in waves. When you attempt to hold eye contact with her again, she breaks it uncharacteristically fast.

“You should’ve never come here.”

You sigh heavily and as she begins to pull her hands back, you tighten your grip on them and lean forward.

“I want to find her, No-eul. Please let me try.”

She’s damned you, just as she damned her daughter. She’s sure of it.

—

Whilst others around you are quickly gathering into groups, you find yourself lost in the crowd. No one pays you any mind as they shove past you to team up with people they had been interacting with, but what could you do when you’ve really just been ignoring most of the people here?

It’s humiliating when you find yourself inching towards a group of men that side-eye you and turn away before you can even ask to join their group. To be fair, if you were them, you probably wouldn’t want the meek girl in the corner either. It’s life or death, and you can’t blame them for picking the former. All you can do is sigh and turn away, but before you can go far, a hand gently grabs your upper arm and spins you around.

“Hey, you have a team yet?”

380.

She’s a girl you made eye contact with only once, right before your late night trip to the bathroom. From her appearance, you would’ve expected her voice to be a lot more gruff, but it’s soft and gentle and draws you in immediately. In a place like this, it's normal that you find yourself easily drawn to any sense of safety you can find (especially when your usual safe haven is hidden behind a mask that dozens of others are wearing - others that are probably far more willing to shoot you in the head for trying to stick to them).

“No.” An awkward silence fills the space between you two before you remember why she’s even asking such a question in the first place. “Do you want to…”

You don’t get to finish that question - thank god - before she chuckles and shakes her head slightly, answering you by taking you by the hand and dragging you over to her group.

Standing with her back against the wall, an armed guard keeps her eyes trained on your every movement. When 380 takes you by the hand, her grip on her rifle tightens just barely.

—

In a twisted way, you almost found the last game to be fun. The cheers of the spectators, 380’s tight grip on your arm and quiet encouragement after you failed the first round of gonggi, it’s all kindness and attention you never typically receive. You can almost bring yourself to completely ignore the fact that you’re pretty sure you just got yourself thrown in with a group of two drug addicts (you don’t know how they managed to sneak substances into this seemingly sterile environment, but it’s very obvious they succeeded in some capacity).

What wasn’t fun, however, was watching the previous losers get gunned down by people in the same outfit as the woman you were empathizing with just last night. You’re actually 99% sure she was one of them, which makes it that much worse. You pity those who lost, and for a second, as you watch a young boy fall to the ground with blood seeping out from a single hole above his heart, you feel an indescribable hatred towards those putting these people down like dogs.

But then No-eul’s face flashes in your mind and you feel the ghost of her hands on yours, and it all fades away.

“What’s your name?” Your train of thought is interrupted by a soft and familiar voice. You turn to face 380 and are slightly thrown off at the sight of 230, 124, and 125 also waiting expectedly. Albeit with some hesitance, you give them your full name, and 380 nods in acknowledgment.

“I’m Se-mi.” Her choice to leave out her surname isn’t lost on you, but you ignore it for now. After all, you don’t really know this woman, and she doesn’t know you.

“Two beautiful names for two pretty girls.” Maybe you should’ve left out your surname as well. “I’m the legend: Thanos! I’ll revive half the world with my lyrics, so watch out.”

After Thano’s little declaration, you couldn’t really pay attention to the other two (Min-su and Nam-gyu, if your memory serves you well). The short shy boy that had been trailing Se-mi when she asked you to join the team was just as quiet as he was before, but now that you’re really paying attention, you realize that he bears a striking resemblance to someone you knew.

Laughter rings out as you chase him through the yard. Short legs, shorter than yours, don’t take him too far before your open palm collides with his small back, causing him to practically faceplant into the dirt. His muffled cries come out soon after, and even with your sorry attempts to soothe him, your aunt still comes running out, scolding you for playing so roughly with her young son.

It’s the last time you’ll see them, even if you didn’t realize it then.

You break your gaze away as you shift uncomfortably at the sudden memory - 125 is not your cousin, he’s a stranger.

You glance around the room for a bit before deciding you’ve sufficiently distracted yourself. When you draw your focus back towards Se-mi, you see her staring off into the distance as well, having made the wonderful decision to not pay attention to the drug-riddled rambling of the rapper who had become the de-facto leader of the group. As if she can sense your gaze, she breaks her staring contest with the wall across the room to turn her head in your direction.

As your eyes meet again, you don’t look away, and you’re pretty sure she smiles a bit at this.

Smug.

—

When it’s time to vote yet again, you’re just as set on your choice as you were before. The guilt of voting for the games to continue even after seeing 095 cry and beg for her life weighs heavy on your heart, but the money just isn’t quite enough for you to quit yet.

When you drag yourself back over to the side cheering and throwing their fists in the air for the death games to continue, you have to stop for a second and close your eyes.

No-eul’s face is so clear in your mind, and so is every memory you have of her crying over her lost daughter.

It’s easier to stand with these people when you remember what you’re fighting for.

—

Even with the confidence you felt in your choice, your guilt isn’t dispelled and you can barely bring yourself to eat the dinner provided to you. You push around the egg with your spoon, head cradled in your hand as you stare down at the ground; it’s a pitiful scene, and you’re probably scaring off any potential future teammates, but in the moment, you truly couldn’t care less.

“Does it taste that bad?” The voice is teasing, and you immediately know who it is before she even sits down beside you.

“I’m not hungry right now, that’s all.”

“Bullshit,” she says with a laugh, and you finally look up from the speck on the floor just to shoot her a dirty look. She responds with a mischievous one in kind. “You feel bad or something? Starving yourself isn’t gonna change the vote on your chest.”

With a heavy sigh, you shove a spoonful of rice in your mouth just to shut her up, but all you do is earn another laugh from her. It’s a nice sound to hear, but you'd jam your spoon into your neck before admitting something like that to her.

“Where are the other three?”

She raises a brow and slightly leans back, revealing Min-su almost tucked into her side like a shaking child. If you all didn’t share your ages earlier, you would've thought he was only in his late teens with the way he was acting. “Thanos and Nam-gyu are digging into their candy stash again, if you know what I mean.”

A loud unprompted Woo! C’mon Man! from across the room confirms her answer, and you scoff.

“Addicts.” Another laugh from her, and finally, you’ve decided that you’ve had enough with trying to eat when your body damn near wants to reject it. “So, why are you here then?”

“Same as everybody else,” she looks over at you with an expression that says ‘obviously.’ “I’ve got some debt I’m trying to get rid of.”

You’re about to clarify that you actually meant to ask her why she was here, next to you and not why she was participating in a bunch of death games, but you push that thought aside for now. Curiosity takes over as your eyes try to uncover something, anything in her expression.

Piercings, careless attitude, but her eyes are soft when she looks at you and Min-su. She seems smart enough. Beautiful as well. How the hell did someone like her get into enough debt to want to participate in something like this?

“Aren’t you afraid of dying though?” It’s a weirdly deep question that you regret asking as soon as it leaves your mouth, but she only does her signature smirk before answering you.

“There are plenty of things out there that can kill me too. This place isn’t so different.” Except for the fact that you’re now living with the possibility of being shot for failing a kids’ game, but alright, you can accept that answer. When faced with your silence after her answer, Se-mi lifts a hand to gently grab the blue patch on your chest, examining it with apparent interest.

“How about you? Why did you choose to die?”

It’s an incredibly morbid way to put it even though from her tone, you can tell she’s obviously joking. Either way, it makes you grimace and destroys the confident demeanor you tried to hold up to match with hers. What could you say to a question like that? That you signed up to get money for someone else? That you could maybe even have lived a debt-free, semi-peaceful life without this other person, but you would rather die without her?

“It’s… yeah, it’s debt money for me too.” The lie leaves your mouth easily, but Se-mi doesn’t look convinced at all. Her doubtful gaze burns holes into the side of your face, and you’re beginning to desperately search for something to take her attention off you. Your reprieve comes in the form of the slight movement you spot behind her.

You don’t actually know this woman, and for now, you don’t intend to.

“Min-su, how about you?” Her intense gaze finally breaks, and she shifts to look at Min-su as well.

“Huh?”

“Why are you here?” You force your voice to be softer this time, less urgent to match with his jumpy nature. He’s calmer now, but there’s still shame evident in his expression even though he hasn’t even told you two anything yet.

“I… I just had some student loans, that’s all.” Se-mi makes the same face she made at you towards him and he winces, obviously unwilling to spill his secrets. You almost feel bad for the guy, especially with the way Se-mi is beginning to pester him a bit now. Seems like two unnecessarily vague answers were pushing her buttons a bit, and the idea that you’ve managed to irk this carefree woman is kind of satisfying.

After a while of listening to their back and forth (which mainly consisted of Min-su asking Se-mi how she’s so calm in ten different ways), out of pure boredom, you decide to test the waters one last time.

“It’s not really debt money for me.”

This catches their attention straight away, and Se-mi looks far more interested in this answer than your previous one. You drop your eyes back to the ground in preparation for your admission.

“Then what’s it for?”

“I’m planning on giving all the money I win to someone else. They’ll use it for their own... personal reasons.” Not exactly the full truth, but it’s part of it and you think she deserves at least that after recruiting you to her team.

For a second, you expect laughter to break out right in your face. You prepare to answer questions about why you would risk your life for someone else’s goal, but it never comes. Instead, when you look back up, all you see are two pairs of understanding eyes, not a hint of mockery in their gaze.

If anything, Se-mi almost looks proud of your answer.

“Actually… I joined the game to try and help my mom out a bit, that’s all. I wasn’t able to get a good job after school, so I want to make up for it.” Min-su’s words sound like those of a young boy still trying to understand the world around him. “I’m all she’s got left now.”

What was someone like him doing in an evil place like this?

“Man, you two are making me feel kinda bad,” Se-mi says, chuckling to herself before leaning back a bit to look at you square in the face.

She doesn’t doubt Min-su’s story, and even though she doubted yours for a split second, she sees nothing but genuine honesty and a hint of embarrassment in your eyes. This revelation fills her with relief, and for the first time, she spares you both a genuine smile.

“I figured you two were nice, generous people when we teamed up.” The newfound but genuine friendliness she exudes surprises you, but it’s a welcome change. “I’m glad I might just be right, and I’m hanging out with some good people for once.”

“Well, I hope I could say the same about you.”

She throws her head back in laughter at this, and you begin to think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to know these people after all.

—

“Can I use the bathroom please?”

This time, you don’t bother to knock, and as expected, your voice is all she needs to open the door and step aside. It was actually surprisingly quick this time too, as if she had been waiting on the other side already.

The air is tense, a feeling you never really associated with No-eul, but it’s late and the earlier conversation you had with your two new friends didn’t do much to dispel your undying anxiety about tomorrow. You can feel her gaze on you even from behind that mask, but you pay her no mind as you rush your wet hands across your reddened face and hair. The cooling effect is instant, and now, you finally feel ready to face her.

“Take off the mask, please.” Your voice is more exasperated than you intended it to be, but you can’t cover up the fatigue you’ve been feeling since the start of the games. It’s probably more of an emotional exhaustion thing, but you don’t want to think about all that right now.

As she’s going through the process of removing the layers covering her face from you, you begin heading over to the far end of the bathroom, eventually dropping to the floor with a heavy sigh. She’s staring at you expectedly.

“The gloves too.”

She doesn’t protest or even sigh, simply pulling them off her hands before shoving them into the pockets of her pink tracksuit. She takes this opportunity to run her fingers through her hair, bangs previously stuck to her face being pushed back out of the way. In that process, she reveals a red, clearly fresh cut on the side of her face. You practically jump up from the floor and stomp right back over to her.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Don’t worry, it was just a tussle with some of the other guards.” Your hands gingerly cup her face as you tilt it to examine the wound. She can feel her skin tingle where your fingertips gingerly graze it. “I handled it.”

You sigh heavily at her dismissal of the open wound on her face and walk around her to grab some paper towels, turning on the faucet to let cold water flow onto them.

“Fuck, No-eul, you’re not even participating in the games and you’re still finding ways to get injured.” Your hands are still shaking a bit when you come back over to her, gently dabbing the dried blood off her cheek. Her gaze is heavy on you, but you can’t bring yourself to look her in the eye right now. Not when you can practically feel her eyes all over your face, your body, every part of you.

As she stands there, No-eul’s mind begins to wander. How can you stand here, right in front of her after everything? Sometimes she genuinely believes you’re an angel sent from heaven to give her reprieve from the pain in her life; a gentle soul, who, even now, overlooks her greatest faults.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes out, gently taking your trembling hand in hers and pulling it away from her face. There’s an uncharacteristic softness in her expression, but you’ve seen it enough times to understand what it really conveys: guilt.

“You don’t have to apologize for something like this,” you say, clearing your throat as you turn to throw the paper towel away. “If you say everything’s fine, I’ll believe you.” Like always.

It's silent for a moment - almost peaceful - before her face twists as if she's just recalled an unpleasant memory.

“Who was that girl you were with? 380.” You scoff at her sudden question and turn around with pure confusion on your face.

“What?”

“She brought you over to those drug heads earlier. It’s not safe to hang around people like that, especially not in a place like this.” You bite back a response that said, well, you're currently with one of the guards that were gunning down people earlier, so how does that work?

“God, No-eul, it’s just a shitty temporary team-up kind of thing,” you laugh slightly at your own words, making sure to leave out your already growing attachment to two people in your little group. “What, did you expect me to try to do this all on my own?”

Her growing agitation is evident as her jaw visibly clenches and she turns away a bit, resting her hands on the back of the rifle slung around her shoulder. “I’m saying you should choose better, they’re the type of people who would drop you in a split second if it meant they could survive another day.”

“You think I don’t know that? Two of them are constantly high out of their minds and the other two-” You interrupt yourself with a sigh, shutting your eyes as your head droops; unfortunately, you can’t actually think of any reason you could have to distrust the unexpectedly kind girl and the shy boy you’ve grown acquainted with.

If they turned their backs on you, you would be lying if you said it wouldn’t phase you in the slightest.

No-eul begins feeling guilty again when she watches your shoulders drop and your eyes dim at the realization of the shitty situation you’ve found yourself in. Even so, her eyes don’t miss the unchanging patch on your sweater: a blue rectangle, neatly stitched with an O in the center. She bites her lip and curses under her breath. Always playing the hero, even at the expense of yourself.

She slowly walks back over to you, lifting up a single hand to trace the patch that signified your choice to give your life for hers.

“The issue isn’t the money,” the broker exclaims, his voice a mix of pity and exasperation at her persistence. “We’ve searched, we’ve been searching for years now, but a one-year old alone… especially after her mother deserted…?” Her expression hardens and he winces at the unintentional cruelty in his statement. “It’s almost impossible by now, No-eul.”

Her anger is barely contained when she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder, and a newfound calmness washes over her in waves.

“We understand the circumstances, sir, but please, please keep searching.” His expression softens slightly at the kind, weary smile on yours. “We’ll handle the expenses, all we ask is that you believe in this search too.”

She almost wants to cry at the sound of your sweet voice.

“We still have hope.”

“Get out of your head, No-eul.”

She’s startled back to reality when she feels gentle hands caress the scars on her wrists. Instinctively, she goes to pull away, but you step forward at the same time and press your body against hers, keeping a firm yet gentle grip on her wrists, fingertips still tracing the marks of the pain she’s held onto for seven years.

“Please don’t forget, this was my choice.” Your voice is muffled against the crook of her neck, but it’s just as gentle as she remembers it to be. “I still have hope.”

With those simple words, she feels the dream she’s held onto for years glow just a bit brighter. Closing her eyes, she leans head to rest atop yours, gently removing her arms from your grip to wrap them firmly around your body. You don’t hesitate to reciprocate her hold.

“Me too.” Your grip on her tightens just barely. “I still have hope too.”

—

A/N: WOW SORRY PLOT DUMP ALERT!! I love some good set-up but I hope the yearning was enough to make up for the lack of obvious romance like smut..

Never posted on Tumblr before too so I have no clue if I did this right (like formatting)! again, any thoughts on the fic are appreciated and ill probably (hopefully) finish part 2 soon! that part will prob be better cuz the relationship between all characters are all set up now. might cross post on ao3/wattpad but haven't decide yet

[sliced-peaches]

hitman!Haechan x reader | 1.2k | frenemies..?

he really has the best seat in the house tonight

💿 now playing: sour diesel - zayn // ordinary life- the weekend // zeal - tchami // igloo - kiss of life

a/n: I should be working on my wholesome jaehyun fic but I had this bouncing around in my brain since the tour trailer dropped and watched a bunch of action films. it’s coming soon, I promise. enjoy the beginning of something darker for now 😈

mentions of: MURDER, guns, violence, drugs, nothing really explicit but be warned. 127 members listening to haechan thirst over comms, red velvet Irene, idk I think that’s it

You’ve just walked into the rooftop lounge and it’s the highlight of Haechan’s day. He’s a rooftop away, eyeing you through the scope of a sniper rifle, and you’re stunning. The way you saunter through the crowd of dancing bodies makes every head turn, confidently swaying your hips as you head straight for the bar.

He’s never seen you in anything like this before, a little sparkly dress (if he could even call it that) covering little to nothing and a pair of pretty heels. It’s not really your style, but damn did you knock it out the park tonight. It almost makes him forget you could kill a man at least seven different ways unarmed.

Knowing you, you most likely still found a way to conceal a weapon under the solid one by one foot of fabric that made the entirety of the dress. But with his finger on a trigger he can’t let himself get too worked up over hypothetically trying to find a knife on your person.

“Got a visual on our angel,” he says into his earpiece. “She’s beautiful.”

He can feel Johnny rolling his eyes before said man’s voice crackles over.

“Thank god she’s not on comm, she’d rip you a new one.”

Honestly you could point a gun to his head and he’d probably cream his pants. He keeps that one to himself though, Johnny would probably cuss him out in three languages and throw him off his game.

“I love a woman who can kick my ass,” he dreamily sighs. It earns him a few curses from Yuta instead.

“Shut your weird ass up, targets moving.”

You sit at the bar, dress riding up just a bit when your ass touches the seat. The little extra inch of exposed skin is what really does it for him, like your entire back on display wasn’t enough. He can’t believe you look like this under your usual tact gear.

When the bartender takes your order, you tuck your hair behind your ear and point at a bottle behind him. The way you tilt your head slightly at him as him tripping over his feet, and Haechan grins. You were playing the role so well- this was the sweetest he’s ever seen you.

You were so cute while playing dumb and innocent.

When the team had to regroup after a botched run-in with this city’s most wanted drug lord, you and Doyoung had been adamant that none of the men on the team should engage with your target this time. Last time had been too close of a call for Johnny and Yuta- they got a little too up close and personal with the authorities, almost blowing everyone’s cover. The offensive, more direct tactics just weren’t cutting it and were getting too dangerous.

It was time to go on the defensive and try a more subtle approach, as Doyoung put it. And so they decided that one of the ladies would have to go undercover for this one.

Between you and Irene, it was decided that you’d be the one to go in. While they had said it was because you’d had more experience, it was really because Irene couldn’t pretend she liked men talking to her if her life depended on it.

At first, Haechan had been a little apprehensive.

“This guy can’t be that stupid, right?” He asked back at the hideout, cleaning a piece of his gun with a cloth.

It was a valid concern, even to you who disagreed with him often (sometimes just for funsies). You could do recon, you could blend in, but it had been a while since you purposely stuck out in the crowd. Would you be able to sell it?

But Jungwoo was quick to dismiss any doubts, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Men like that only care about two things: money and pussy. And they’d die for at least one of them. Throw a little something at him, I think you got this one in the bag.”

When the man of the hour walks in with his crew and you immediately catch his eye, Haechan feels it in his gut.

You were going to execute this flawlessly.

“Target spotted.”

Just like they predicted the man makes a beeline for the you while his men spread out in the crowd. You just sip out of a pretty glass and pretend that you’re none the wiser while you wait. You even throw in a little fake jump when he slides in next to you to ask what you’re drinking. Oldest line in the book.

What a loser.

Haechan watches in amusement as you bat your lashes at the man, flashing him the prettiest smile known to man. Serving yourself up to him on a platter.

He has no idea what kind of venom you have running through your veins.

Doyoung and Yuta check in over comms.

“We’re in position. Ready when you are.”

“She’s doing amazing, just a little longer.”

You continue to flirt with the target, throwing your head back in laughter at something he says while Haechan aims right between his eyes. He considers asking if whatever he said was really funny or not later, but that might be disrespectful to the dead.

“I have a clear shot.”

He stills as your hand runs up the man’s arm, stopping to rest on his shoulder.

“Wait for her signal.”

Then you slide out of the barstool, press up against him to whisper something in his ear. The mans eyebrows shoot to the sky.

Oh, how Haechan wishes he could be a fly on the wall instead of a sniper on a roof.

You begin to walk away from the bar, a hand intertwined with the targets as he brainlessly follows. Haechan waits patiently as you raise your free hand to the sky.

He sucks in a breath…

And there it is.

You take one small step to the left. He breathes out and takes the shot. One is all it takes.

“Got him.”

The target crumples to the floor.

“All right, let’s move!”

Chaos erupts, everyone ducking for cover and trying to escape as shots ring out. You quickly grab the gun out of the dead man’s holster and jump behind the bar to take cover. He expertly takes out someone who’s spotted you before they could chase after you.

Yuta and Johnny make quick work to clear the opposition as they make their way to you. With no one to answer to, the dead target’s crew is easy to take out or discourage altogether and soon the rooftop is cleared out.

Haechan stands up to get a better look. You stand there as Johnny checks you over, a scowl on your face when he laughs. The tall man points to where he stands on the roof, and you follow his arm to see Haechan waving frantically.

He waits with a shit eating grin on his face while Johnny passes you his earpiece.

“Fuck you, you got blood on my dress.”

“I’m sure with your cut you can buy a new one. But I’ll make it up to you.”

He howls when you flip him off.

[yawnderu]

Longing — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Im crying. Ghost is easily the most beautiful character to write about, this man deserves the world I just want to hold him :/

I want to love you. I help you recover when you're wounded, I sit next to you during briefings, I watch over you during missions. What do you want? A love poem? I don't know how to write those, but here, I found a knife you may like.

Simon carefully looked at you through the scope of his sniper rifle, making sure no enemies were near you. Whenever he took overwatch, his focus was mainly you. He watched as you took down enemies with ease, basking in the sight of your bloodied yet focused face, helping you take down enemies that could have given you any issues until you were out of his sight.

"Target down." Your voice was music to his ears, breaking him away from his trance as his hand reached for his radio. He cleared his throat before speaking, trying his best to hide the longing in his tone.

"Good job." But oh, you knew. You knew from the moment you looked into his eyes, from the way he always seemed to be next to you no matter what, from the way he always made sure to watch over you, from the way his tone softened when talking to you, from the way he put his hand on corners you may bump into; yet how do you tell a man this broken you love him no matter how shattered his soul is? How do you go about introducing him to your friends? Do you just say "hi, this is my boyfriend, he's a little rough around the edges but I see God when I look into his eyes"?

"Rendezvous at the helipad." Was his only indication, though it lacked the usual bite his words carried. Loving you was a low-grade ache, yet he still craved your love. He always felt undeserving of nice things, undeserving of life, completely unaware that the world owed him after everything that happened to him, yet his only interest was you.

Intimacy scares me, but I can make you a cool mask. As he walked, he remembered the time he "lost" a bet with you, his punishment was to make you a matching balaclava. He acted annoyed at it, as if it was an inconvenience, as if he didn't spend twice as much as he spent making his own mask just to make sure every single detail on the balaclava was perfect. Completely alone in the middle of nowhere, he allowed himself to snicker softly, remembering your surprised face when you saw the carefully crafted mask. The way you treated it with so much care as if it was made of glass, the way you put it on and looked just as beautiful as ever.

"Ghost?" Your voice broke him out of it, not even realizing he was already at the helipad. He nodded his head once he saw you, gaze drifting around before he walked past you.

"Simon. Call me Simon."

[rileyslibrary]

“A barista?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “I used to pretend play with my parents.”

He looks at you with one raised eyebrow. Confused. He surely knows what pretend play is; it can’t be.

“Y’know, taking their orders, then pretending to be making coffee and serving them.” You elaborate.

“Ah.” He nods.

The question was, “what did you want to be when you were young?”. You asked him, but he diverted the question back to you. He said he had to take watch while you two were sitting on the roof, waiting for the target to appear.

“What about you, Ghost?” You ask.

“Don’t know, kid,” he says as he looks through the sniper scope, “can’t remember much from my childhood.”

Of course, he doesn’t. Trauma does this to you. It doesn’t erase memories, but it suppresses them. Like you’re throwing piles upon piles of clothes in a closet. Only to find that its doors won't close one day and all the dirty, unorganised garments would come crashing down on you.

“Alright,” you say, “what would you like to do for a living if you weren’t doing this, then?”

He shifts from the scope and stares at the horizon. He’s thinking. Like nobody has asked him before. That or he never planned for the future. That’s what this job does to you.

He tilts his head back to the scope. “Open a pub.” He finally replies.

“Didn’t you role-play something like that with your parents?” You ask.

You know you’re approaching a dangerous territory in that brain of his, full of mines that they’d be best left untouched. But talking about you past is a good thing, especially when you’re with Ghost. You’re sorting out your mental closets together, cleaning them out and organising your thoughts like folding clothes on Spring cleaning day.

“My father was already a drunkard, darling,” he explains, “didn’t need my help with role-playing pub with me.”

You shrug. “Would you like to take my order as a practice?”

“Go on.” He says in a low tone.

“A glass of Sauvignon Blanc, please.”

“Sorry, love, we don’t sell shit like this here.”

“Ghost!” You laugh, “you can't talk to your customers like that.”

He huffs, but he’s enjoying it. He brings his hand towards you, his fingers pinching on a stem of an imaginary wine glass. “There you go.” He says, still focused on the scope. You touch his hand so he can sense that you’ve accepted the glass and thank him.

“Maybe we can combine the two ideas,” you contemplate, “a coffee shop by day and a pub by night.”

He lets a light chuckle. “We’ll need a license for the pub,” he explains, “sort of a pain in the ass to acquire it.”

“So you’ve looked into it, I see.”

“A couple of times,” he admits, “can’t live like this forever now, can you?”

You sigh and nod in agreement. “I’d visit your pub, Ghost.”

“Sure, as long as you pay for your drinks.”

“Of course, I will.”

“You sure?” He asks, “cause you didn’t pay me for that wine.” And extends his hand towards you.

You smile and place imaginary money in his palm, and he grasps your hand.

“Promise me,” he says, “that you’d leave this job while you’re still alive and jolly.”

You look at his hand with your mouth open, but no words come out. He squeezes your hand, begging for an answer.

“I-I’ve got nowhere else to go, Lt.” You manage to utter.

“Sure you have,” he says, “a whole life ahead of you.”

He lets your hand and grasps the rifle.

“Will you come visit my coffee shop?” You ask.

“If I’m alive till then, I promise I will,” he replies, “now get ready; our target’s approaching.”

[mrslankyman]

Failed Mission

Montague (fortnite) x (fem) reader

-> smut / unsafe sex

-> gun use

->idk shit about guns

->Montague forgot his tripod stand. Maybe your ass would work better

->2k words

(request)

Too bad working for the Society meant going on missions with the most annoying man ever. 

Montague. 

His french accent: annoying 

His outfit: ugly

The way he nitpicks everything: infuriating 

He never wanted to listen to You. He never got the right things on the list for the mission. Always forgetting something. Last time he forgot the sticky bombs. Wonder what he will forget this time. It was just a steak out mission. 

There was a rumor that The Under Ground would be attacking Lavish Lair today. That’s how you found yourself on top of one of the snowy mountains that surrounded the mansion. Montague right next to you. His supplies are back in the Jeep. The two of you were just watching below. Trying to see if anything suspicious or off was going on. 

You both just sat in the snow. You mentally hated it. Back at your mansion there was no snow. You lived closer to Ritzy Rivera. So coldness wasn’t something you cared for. Montague on the other hand? He must be as cold as his heart. 

“Wait.. I see something.. I think it’s that Hope girl Valeria talked about.” He got up spraying snow all over. Some of it landed on you, letting out an annoyed groan when you got up. He walked over with his Sniper Rifle. 

Here we go. 

He loaded it and held up the gun. Until he noticed one thing. 

He had the wrong scope. So aiming to hold it up wasn’t going to happen. He shook too much.

Mistake number two.

He didn’t even bring the tripod.

“What now? Did you forget something again?” Your voice was laced with annoyance already. 

“Yes, in fact I did. I have the wrong scope.” He looked over at you as he spoke. Eyeing you up and down in thought. 

“So? Get the tripod and aim the best you can.” You rolled your eyes as if it was obvious. 

“I didn’t bring it.” His voice was lower now. Almost menacing. He was obviously annoyed at you too but he had an idea.

“So what now? I only have my AR that isn’t going to do shit from up here.” You practically yelled at him. He did this too often. 

“I’ll tell you what we're gonna do. Get on your knees.” He demanded pointing near the edge of the cliff. “What the hell, why?” You questioned glaring at him. 

“Just do it, trust me.” He kept pointing at the spot. He was far too strong to deny. He could just shoot you right now if he wanted too. So you listened and groaned as you let your knees sink into the cold snow. You mentally thought of ways to get him back. Maybe on another mission you could dump cold water on him or-

You were cut out of your thoughts when he shoved you down to the ground completely with his foot. Your face shoved into the snow and your arms slid down.

Your back end was arched up, ass in the air. You spit out snow as you lifted up your head. Using your hand to wipe off the snow. “What the fuck is your idea?” You looked back at him as he got on one knee. Laying the barrel of the sniper on your ass.

“Put your head down or i’ll blow it off.” He warned and watched you slowly lower your head.

“Hurry up.” You groaned. What the fuck kind of idea is this. 

Montague on the other hand was having a hard time aiming right. One reason; you were moving too much.

Another?

He was staring at your ass. The position he got you in so easily. You both always got annoyed at each other and got into fights. Yet you both always chose to do missions together despite the hatred. With hatred comes tension. Sometimes the tension feels a little too sexual. 

His eyes wandered from the target below to you to the target.

Once he finally focused in he got a good aim. His hand on the trigger ready to blow this Underground agent's head off you moved.

“Fuck!” He yelled pointing the gun's muzzle at your head. “Stop fucking moving.” He growled as he watched you freeze. You knew his dumb ass would never pull the trigger. But it did scare you slightly. 

“My bad i’m in the freezing fucking snow with an idiot using my ass as a tripod for his fucking gun!” You yelled not even looking at him. Keeping your face forward as you felt the gun move from your head. It was replaced by his hands gripping your hair. He pulled you back to his chest. He dropped his sniper and leaned into your ear. 

“Stop talking back.” His accent slurred most of his words when his voice was this low with anger. His other hand laid on your thigh.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t? Shoot me?” You smirked as him tugging on your hair didn’t make you scared. It makes your mind wander to other things. He was also losing his focus on the mission. His eyes looked down at you, how your lips slightly parted and you looked up at him fully. His hand tangled in your hair. 

“No, I might do something else though.” He warned his eyes were half lidded now. The feeling of you pressed to his chest made him feel things he tried to ignore when around you. Now he was letting those feelings go freely. 

“What is something else, Montague?” Your voice closed in a whisper as you got to his name. If only you knew how that drove him crazy. He could feel himself hardening. Dick straining against his dress pants. 

“You really wanna do this?” His question was almost a whisper as he leaned his head down closer. His stubble looked so much better up closer. His blue and brown eyes looking into yours. The scar made him look menacing despite the blush on his cheeks. 

His frosted tipped hair moved with the motion of the icy wind. 

“Maybe I do.” Your hand moved on top of his hand that was laying on your thigh still. That gave him the answer he needed.

He closed the gap between you two and let his lips engulf yours. All the feelings of anger, annoyance, and sexual tension went into the kiss. All the times you two argued and got into each other's faces now came to a close. Any time you two argue after this it is surely going to end the same way this mission is going to end. 

His hand moved yours off his as he slid it further down to the inside of your thigh. His hand in your hair pulling your head back further. He didn’t really like his angle of kissing. He wanted to grab your face and shove his tongue into your mouth. 

Despite that desire he kept you in this position. 

You pulled away from him and gasped slightly. He went to lean back in wanting, no needing more of you. He wanted your lips back on his. He actually wanted them all over his body. 

“It’s too cold for this.” You sighed, you could feel his hard dick against your ass. Or was it his belt? Either way it was extremely hard. 

“Why not?” He practically begged. His voice was still low but it had a desperate array to it. He wanted you now. He didn’t wanna wait. 

“Let’s go to the Jeep.. come on. Je veux te baiser.” He cooed in your ear his french accent even more prominent as he spoke in his native tongue. “What does that mean?” You asked, laughing slightly.

He got closer to ear his hot breath tickling your neck. 

“I want to fuck you.” His voice was so low and husky you could feel yourself throbbing. 

“Then take me to the Jeep.” You whispered back and without a second thought he had lifted you up and was trudging through the snow to the Jeep. You littered his neck with wet sloppy kisses before he laid you down in the back seat. You scooted to the other seat as he crawled in. He leaned up to the passenger seat and grabbed the lever. Shoving it all the way to the front to give himself more room. 

He loomed over you and smirked. “I want you on my lap now.” He growled and sat back in the seat. You crawled up to sit on his lap. He spread his legs out a little more. His diamond belt buckle really added to his outfit. 

You leaned closer and kissed him. His medallion hitting your chest as you got closer. He kissed back. His plump lips moved with yours in such a needy fashion. He wanted you so badly. He wanted to fuck you so hard you’d forget about any other man who ever pleased you. 

He pushed you back and took a breath. You took this pause to unbuckle his belt. Undoing his dress pants and just pulling out his dick from his boxers. You didn’t bother pulling his pants down. You just pushed the flaps of his pants to the side and his belt. He helped you slide off your pants quickly and underwear. He stared at you before leaning his head back against the headrest of the seat. 

He grabbed your hips and lifted you over his perked up dick. “You ready?” He asked as he slid one hand down to line himself up with your entrance. 

You nodded and slid down on him. You bit your lip holding back your moan. Montague on the other hand? He let his moan echo in the car. He didn’t hold back on the noises. He hadn’t fucked someone in so long. 

He was too busy keeping the Society in order. He loved how your pussy tightened around his dick. This feeling was better than any successful heist he had ever been on. Money made him have a happy feeling but this pussy made him want to live. 

He wanted to wake up every day knowing he could fuck you when ever you wanted. 

He wanted to please you instead of annoy you. 

He made a mental note to forget the tripod again.

“Montague..” You let his name slip out of your mouth in a high pitch moan. He grunted and slurred out random words or phrases in french. You didn’t understand them but you assumed they were good. 

He held you still by the hips and slammed his dick up in you. Letting his hips go up and down ramming his dick into you. You both let out moans of pleasure. He slid one of his gloved hands down and used his thumb to make slow circle motions around your clit. 

“Fuck.. I’m gonna cum..” You squealed as you felt yourself coming undone with each thrush of his dick. He groaned in agreement and grabbed your face with his free hand. Slamming his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. He moaned as he felt you cum on his dick. His motions became sloppy and he moved in and out at different paces. You watched his face scrunch up in pleasure and a low “oh fuck” came out of him before he pulled out and came on his vest. 

Good thing he had 500 others.

He looked you in the eyes as you both calmed down from your highs.

“Oscar can defend himself.” He chuckled and pulled you back to him.

[reveluving]

angel in hell ; the ghoul x reader

summary: hell on earth is more tolerable with his light by his side.

warnings: allusions to s~mut (minors DNI!), very brief mentions of attempted su~icide, reader as an 'entertainer' is used loosely (for your creativity!), cocky (softer) hard-ass x beautiful badass darling trope mmm, reader was born before the war, age gap but not really (think him in his 40s & you in your 20s/30s but in 200-ish years old), strong language, bits of angst and more fluff overall!

a/n: just a little tester because I could not help it HAHAHA had this in my mind for a few days, and now that I've started the show, I have an excuse to post it 💅🏼 please enjoy & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» curious about my writing? come & check out my main m.list!

'You wondered how your dead father would react to your relationship with a deadly and smitten cowpoke.' ;

You were an entertainer before it all. The best of the best. A real knockout of the century and the kindest of them all.

If only you knew it had its downsides.

Your admirer (read: obsessor) being none other than the Overseer of 33 himself, forcing you into the vault lifestyle with him to be his beloved.

But your mental strength, your humanity, your free will was unbudgeable.

Not even the experiments could budge you.

Not until that one fucking serum.

You tried everything. Before and after your escape.

But the afterlife, or whatever the hell that existed outside of this godforsaken world, just wouldn't take you.

Your mama always said that by living a good, long life, the universe gets to show you what they had to offer.

Thank the heavens she didn't live long enough to take her words back, if she knew the hell her only daughter was put into.

And though the Vault taught you how to survive better than the poor souls on the surface, sometimes you wished you didn't remember how to. Yearning for the ignorance and the near-zombified state they were in over the pristine lifestyle that would jump out of you every once in a while.

At least whatever the underground snakes injected you with kept your youth intact.

Though, you weren't the only one reminiscing your old days, remembering the smiles that immediately bloomed from your presence.

Howard, The Ghoul remembers you.

Nobody at his great age could ever forget a sweet face like yours. Standing out from all the yuppies, despite being well-off yourself at the time, much like you were now. You knew your rights from your wrongs, and they were never for show. Regardless of the bags under your eyes on sleepless nights, or the scars that would decorate your skin after a rough-up, just until your curse magically wooshes it away.

Despite your scoffs, your wave-offs over your old life, that the present had no need for an entertainer, he would say otherwise.

All. The. Time.

Always countering your modesty with the highest praises, albeit sometimes lewdly.

But… not always.

He knew that you knew you were one of a kind if he was able to tell you his life before the bombs dropped. That he was able to tell you stories of his late family. That he was able to tell you that you were 'somethin' special t'him'.

You wondered how your dead father would react to your relationship with a deadly and smitten cowpoke.

But you were on your own now.

Always been for over two hundred fucking years.

At least, that was the way it was before.

Not anymore. Not with the foul-mouthed gunslinger and his pooch, who, to the chagrin of your man, adored you more than him.

Which, really, how couldn't you talk Howard's ear off for harming the sweetheart at first?

Disbelief was something he had lived with from the day he stumbled upon you in the badlands one fine night. The pretty little lady who didn't look like she could hurt a fly back then now aimed her trusty rifle at him with an unlit ciggy in between your lips. Not a tremor in sight as you looked through your scope.

He was half-tempted to be shot.

And well, you did, taking the shot. It did as good as a chocolate teapot, and as you quickly tried to reload, he took a good look at you.

You were a sight for sore eyes before, but today, gorgeous wasn't even cutting it, and if he wasn't daydreaming about your messy hair and sorry clothing article for a sleepwear, then he definitely was about that one night—your first night.

How you teasingly pulled the wide collar of your top down, revealing more and more of your velvety skin. How gentle your kisses were, brushing your lips along his neck like he'd finally break after a lifespan of wandering. How you looked up at him, lips parted and eyes dazed with lust and dare he say, affection.

He knew he was a goner.

But like all the time, he wanted to be greedy.

And for once in his life, after an eternity, the future was finally shedding him some light of hope.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

a/n: if something ain't right, no it isn't ❤️ don't worry about it, still hope you enjoy! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[the-iceni-bitch]

Trust Me, I Can Handle Me a Dangerous Man…

Summary: Some things never change…

Relationship: Mr. Freezy (Bobby) x hitwoman!fem reader (kitten)

Words: ~2.7k

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected p in v, rough sex, edging, cock warming), murder, drug use, part of a dark-ish AU, NO MINORS 🔞

A/N: I FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED A FIC AFTER SEVEN GODDAMN MONTHS!!! Now that the screaming is out of the way, hi y’all! I cannot guarantee that I’m going to be posting fics on a regular basis but I will say that I have a couple in the works that I actually feel are close to being finished soooooo, fingers crossed!

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on my writing, follow @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

You smiled to yourself as the light caught the ring on your finger, turning your hand back and forth and humming softly at the way it sparkled in the sunlight.

Then his hand tightened around your throat and he moved inside you and all you could do was whine.

“Jesus fucking Christ, kitten,” Bobby snarled in your ear when he felt you flutter around his cock as he cut off your air, slapping your tits and then your face a few times with his free hand until he was satisfied your were focused again. “Pay attention. Never would’ve put that fucking thing on your finger if I knew you were gonna get so damn distracted.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you purred when he pulled you even closer, grinding your ass in his lap while he fucked up into you. “‘Scuse me for enjoying being a newlywed.”

He just snorted before sinking his teeth into the side of your neck while his body kept rolling underneath yours. It’s not like he could deny there wasn’t something special about finally being able to call you his wife, to enjoy knowing that you belonged to him completely and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Not that anyone would ever try. He would fucking kill them if they did. Hell, he almost killed anyone who would even look at you, now. Nothing got him more worked up than growling at some idiot for looking at his wife and then fucking you like he owned you. God, he actually fucking loved you, in his fucked up, psychotic way.

You sighed when he licked the mark he had left on your neck, rocking your body against his and holding the rifle in your hands tightly as he kept his grip just firm enough for you to take shallow breaths. It was true, you were having a little trouble focusing, but you still got your fucking job done. You had to, since he had wanted to be inside you since pretty much right after you left City Hall two days go. Of course, you couldn’t really complain about that, not when his cock was throbbing inside you and his breath was hot against your neck. When he started sucking on your ear you grinned, turning your face so you could rub your cheek against his over your shoulder.

“Ah shit,” you saw movement through the scope out of the corner of your eye and huffed out a sharp breath, “That’s him. Keep your mouth to yourself for a damn minute.”

“Fine,” Bobby leaned back with a groan, watching you raise the gun to aim and fighting the urge to keep thrusting his hips, “Just hurry the fuck up.”

You ignored the brush of his fingers as he pushed up your skirt so he could grope your ass, taking deep breaths and doing your best to remain focused when he let out a grunt at the way your pussy looked when it was stretched wide around his dick. The idiot you had to kill was finally in your sights. He hadn’t stepped outside in two days and his blinds were always closed, paranoid bastard. But one call from his little girlfriend and he threw all that caution to the wind. What a fucking moron.

Two more breaths and you squeezed the trigger, the silenced gunshot swallowed by the noise of the city. The dumbass in your scope had barely hit the ground before Bobby grabbed the back of your neck and threw you to the floor. He didn’t waste any time before shoving his cock back inside you, grinning to himself when you moaned and spread your legs for him.

“That’s it, such a good fucking whore my wife is,” he grunted as he started to fuck you like an animal, his hips smacking against your ass lewdly, “Fuck, I’ll never get sick of this snatch of yours, so damn tight.”

“Such a sweet talker you are,” you arched your back so he could hit you even deeper, your eyes fluttering when he spread your cheeks and spat on your asshole, “Knew you just married me for my body.”

“Just keep talking, bitch,” Bobby started rubbing your rim with his thumb while he fucked you and almost lost it when it made you clench tighter around him, “Married you for that cunt mouth too.”

“Yes… oh fuck,” you dug your fingers into the carpet underneath you and bit your lip when he slid his thumb inside your ass, every muscle in your body starting to grow tight, “Fuck me harder, you stupid fucking bastard. Make me come.”

“Yeah, I’ll make you come, you dumb little slut,” he groaned and leaned over you so he could sink his teeth into your shoulder, growling against your skin when he felt both of your holes flutter around him, “Do it fast. I want to come inside your pretty little gash before the pigs show up.”

Even as you rolled your eyes you still whined when his balls rubbed against your clit, your legs trembling and your breath leaving you in sharp huffs as you came on his cock. As soon as he felt you squirt he drove into you to the hilt. His breath was hot against your skin while he grunted in his release, his dick pulsing inside you as he pumped you full of his thick cum. He kissed the mark he left on your neck and then he was gone, standing up and grinning at the sight of you sprawled out on the floor and leaking his seed.

You thought about sassing him for leaving you to clean yourself up, but then you heard sirens and you knew it was time to go. Bobby took care of disassembling the rifle once he got his jeans pulled back up. At least all you had to do was pull your dress back into place, admiring the bites and bruises he’d left all over your tits as you slid your arms back into your sleeves. Hopefully you looked appropriately love drunk and giddy, making sure the ring on your finger was prominent and beaming at him when he wound his arm around your waist and hefted the suitcase holding your rifle.

The lobby was full of cops, but you two looked like the happy newlyweds you were, so they had no reason to bother you. Or, you looked like a happy newlywed, Bobby looked like he was thinking about stabbing some of those cops until you stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

“Fucking pigs,” Bobby practically spat the words as he shoved the suitcase into the trunk before climbing into the driver’s seat, “Make my goddamn skin crawl.”

“Well if you hadn’t insisted on fucking me we could’ve been out of there before they showed up,” you caught his hand by the wrist after he slapped you and bit his knuckle with a playful growl, “Don’t be so cranky, Bobby. I’ll let you finger fuck me while we drive back to the club.”

By the time you had made it back to the club you were a mess and he looked annoyingly pleased with himself. All you could do when he gave your sloppy cunt a few final smacks was whine and feebly try to push his hand away while he just chuckled at you. The only thing that brought you back to yourself was when he backhanded you across the face. As much as it made you want to stab him, you needed to maintain some semblance of professionalism when you were about to meet with the bosses. That didn’t stop you from ramming your fist into his gut once you had finally pulled yourself out of the car, his low snarl when you just started walking away while he stood there doubled over making your pussy start to clench all over again.

The club was empty except for staff since the sun was still up, all of whom chuckled under their breath when they saw Bobby stalking after you with pure murder etched on his face. Curtis grinned when he saw you approaching, shaking his head when Bobby caught up to you and grabbed you by the throat so he could whisper threats in your ear. You just rolled your eyes at your husband and gave Curtis a wink when he held the door to the bosses’ office open for you. Bobby shook a few times for good measure before he finally let you go, shoving you into the office and just barely resisting the urge to fling one of your knees over his elbow and hold you wide open while he took his annoyance out on your pretty little cunt.

“Holy fucking shit, you weren’t lying when you said you got hitched?!” Lloyd looked positively giddy with amusement when you pranced up and held out your hand to show him the ring. “I don’t know if I should be insulted you didn’t invite me or not.”

“Please, you wanted to come to city hall?” You ignored Bobby’s grumbling while you conversed with Lloyd, watching your husband sink into one of the office chairs then turning your attention back to your favorite boss. “It’s not like Bobby was going to throw a party.”

“That’s true. You have married a stick in the mud, my dear. Nick, Auggie!” Lloyd grinned at the other bosses when they strode into the office. “Congratulate our favorite psychos, they tied the knot!”

“Did they finish the job?” August grunted while Nick actually congratulated the two of you, ignoring Lloyd’s melodramatic eye roll.

“Sure fucking did,” You gave August a wink when he just shrugged at you. “Dropped that fucker right in the middle of Manhattan.”

“That’s why you’re the best,” Lloyd bent under the desk to grab the hefty envelope of cash, taking a little longer then usual and beaming even more when he also came up with a kilo of coke. “And a nice little bonus as congratulations on your nuptials. You know my little lady is going to want to actually throw you a party though?”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” you thumbed through the cash and turned back to your husband, sighing when he gave you a sour look. “Don’t worry, grumpy, you can stay home.”

He just huffed before the two of you started to head back out to the car, ignoring the well wishes of your bosses and choosing to let his eyes rake over your body. You had gotten significantly more social ever since the two of you joined the new organization, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. Granted, the money was enough to make up for any chit chat he had to put up with, and he did get to fuck you in public a lot more. Plus, the drugs…

“Lemme taste that,” Bobby grabbed the brick and jabbed his knife into it, rubbing some of the powder onto his gums and sucking in a breath when he got a buzz right away. “Fuck, that’s good shit.”

“Gimme,” you giggled when he scooped some onto his pinky and offered it to you, humming after you took a bump and looking up at him with wide eyes. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Fuck it,” he shoved you into one of the VIP booths in the club and bent you over the table, flipping up your skirt and giving your ass a good smack before scooping more coke onto his blade. “We can have a quick party. Fucking hold still.”

You moaned when he started to tap out lines on the upper curve of your ass. It was so hard not to start trembling when he pulled shit like this, his warm breath on your skin and the fact that anyone could walk by and see you making your pussy start to get slick and hot right away. Bobby growled and dragged his stubborn cheek along the curve of your ass before giving you a firm bite, licking and kissing the mark he made on your skin before turning his focus to the lines of white powder and inhaling them greedily.

“Bobby…” you moaned and then froze when you felt him parting your cheeks with his calloused fingers. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“Calm down… hey!” Bobby rose to his feet and grabbed the back of your neck when you tried to turn around and scratch him, slamming your head against the table twice as he took off his belt with one hand. “You’re the little bitch who cries about being too sensitive when you’re high, kitten. Thought I would help you out.”

“You fucking bastard!” It’s not like you could do anything except hiss and spit at him, kicking your legs when he looped his belt around your wrists and somehow managed to bind you to the legs at the opposite side of the table. “Bull shit you wanna help me!”

“Yeah well,” he chuckled and slapped your ass as hard as he could when you almost kicked him in the knee. “Maybe I just wanna see how wet my little wife’s pussy can get if she can’t come.”

You snarled and tried uselessly to squirm away from him when he started rubbing the cocaine all over your pussy and asshole. Even as high as you were, you wanted to scratch one of his eyes out for this. It wasn’t even enough to make you completely numb, just enough that you were going to be frustrated and right on the edge for the next hour. You could still feel his warm breath and the heavy weight of his tongue when he dragged it over your sex, but the delicious throbbing you typically felt in your clit when he sucked on it was gone, replaced by an annoying little buzz that made you grind your teeth.

“Still so goddamn sweet, you’re dripping, sweetheart,” Bobby pinched your clit and grinned when you rewarded him with a petulant growl. He was probably going to have to tie you up when he needed to sleep for the next week, unless he wanted to wake up to a knife in his leg. But fuck, it was worth it.

“I’m gonna rip your fucking tongue out,” your threats didn’t stop you from grinding back against his face, every muscle in your body tensing as you held your breath and tried to will yourself to come. But it didn’t happen. You could feel it right there but then it was gone. “Fuck!”

Bobby just hushed you and then bent back to work, burying his face in your supple cheeks and grunting as he wrapped his lips around your pussy and sucked. Every time you made one of your little dissatisfied sounds he just pinched your clit again, reminding you that he could and that nothing he might do to you right now would be able to make you come. He swore your pussy tasted even sweeter when he pissed you off like this, that it got even more swollen and hot than it did during his normal games with you. He loved it, so much so that he was seriously considering rubbing more coke all over your cunt once your sensitivity was back just so he could make you even angrier.

Four more times he brought you right up to the edge then just kept you there, chuckling into the swollen folds of your cunt each time you screamed in impotent rage. After an hour you were a panting, sweat-soaked mess of a woman, your body quivering with frustration and exhaustion. Even when he undid his belt from around your wrists you couldn’t move, snarling at him uselessly when he just gave your temple a condescending kiss. As soon as you could move you were going to stab him.

“I know that look, kitten, and I wouldn’t recommend it.” He gave your ass a hard swat before pulling your skirt back down to cover you. “I know your a hissy kitty right now, but I might have a treat planned for my little wife.”

“Fuck you,” you hissed at him, grumbling under your breath when he helped you stand and left his arm around your waist. “What kind of treat?”

“Oh, I dunno…” Bobby pinched your ass as the two of you made your way towards the club exit. “How do you feel about picking up a toy for the night?”

[pearlessance]

Her Love Endures - Idle Threats [vi]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel steals a morning with an angel he doesn't deserve. She confesses all.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, added backstory to progress the plot, loss, canon typical violence

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The first two days go smoothly, though you’re uncharacteristically quiet. You follow the map southeast, sticking to the forest and away from the interstate as much as possible. You only stumble across a handful of infected—most of which you take down silently with your bow, leaving Joel impressed with your unshakeable aim. Once, when you notice a stalker long before it notices you, Joel raises his rifle as you dismount and creep up behind it. He trains his scope on its head, ready to pull the trigger the moment he thinks you may be in danger. 

But he never has to. And he watches, filled to the brim with reverence, as you scramble silently through the brush, take the stalker by the throat, and sink your serrated sawback knife deep into its skull.

As you return to your horse, threat averted, Joel feels something warm stir inside him. Because your shoulders are pulled back, and there’s a cruel and death-like shimmer in your eyes and blood splattered across your cheek, making you look like some sort of divine creature of slaughter…but then you look up at him. And your eyes soften, and your smile lights up your face as you say, “There’s a piece of your hair sticking out by your ear. Like, straight out. How’s it doing that? Defying gravity.”

It’s the innocence in your voice that does it to him, he thinks. You may be the best runner Jackson has, may have a sniper’s eye and a knife-sharp tongue, but beneath it all you’re just a little girl. Amused by the smallest, most childish of things. Untainted but deadly, lethal but pure. And he wants you to hold onto that softness for as long you can. He can see it’s been diminished, parts of it snuffed out by loss and grief and disappointment, but Joel vows to protect the parts he can for as long as he’s able. He hopes he never has to miss the sound of your laughter.

He doesn’t even try to fix his hair.

The winter snow has become nothing but slush and mud, and you’ve used your jacket more as a pillow at night than for warmth. The two of you take watch in rotation. The first night Joel insisted you sleep first, but then you’d fixed him with a dark stare and reminded him of your agreement; your run, your rules.

He complies, but he doesn’t sleep much. It’s far more fascinating to him to watch you on the other side of the fire, bow in hand, arrow half-knocked. The moonlight reflects in your hair, and Joel wants so badly to hold you but knows to keep his distance. Knows that you still harbor some of that anger you have towards him for not respecting your wishes of solitude, knows to give you space, to wait until you approach him. 

You don’t sleep much, either. Half of the night you’re writing in that leatherbound journal while he keeps watch. Sometimes you don’t write at all and read over old entries instead. His curiosity gets the better of him once, and Joel asks, “You writin’ about the clickers we killed today?”

Without even looking up from the journal propped against your knees, you say, “Nope. I’m writing hardcore sex scenes.” It makes him chuckle. “Nothing funny about it, Joel. You’re the star of the show.”

And for a second he wonders if you might be telling the truth, until you burst into a fit of girlish laughter at the look on his face. Joel thinks it’s his favorite sound, those giggles of yours. Still, he shakes his head with a smile on his face and says, “Brat.”

He doesn’t press for more after that. He’s given you the chance to talk about it, and you evaded him completely, so he decides he can live with the mystery for now. 

On the fourth night it rains. It’s dark by the time you find shelter, and it comes in the form of a barn out in the middle of nowhere. Joel hasn’t seen an old vehicle or a stoplight in miles, and part of him knows a watch rotation is a little unnecessary but you insist anyway. He tries to find comfort in the stale and brittle hay that blankets the cold floor but fails to. He spends most of the night thinking of you, thinking of God. Joel can’t shake the feeling of filth that covers him, a grime that has nothing to do with the lack of soap he’s had access to since leaving Jackson, and everything to do with his morals.

Because even now, several days later, Joel is so angry with Maria that he could kill her. She should never have sent you out here. The thought shouldn’t have ever crossed her mind. Putting you in the watchtowers, on the walls, hell—even on patrol…that’s one thing. Sending you this far out, though? And alone? Joel would die before he ever let Ellie out here alone. But even though Maria is good at putting on a concerned front…Joel sees right fucking through her. Knows it was a planned conversation she had with you. He knows, too, without ever being there that Maria told you all about Miley and her operable tumor before she ever broached the subject of this run.

It’s calculated. Cold. Cruel. 

Maria might not think of it that way. You might not think of it that way. But Joel sees it for what it is. Sees that she ‘loves you like you’re her own’ not for who you are but instead for what you’re capable of. Maria recognizes your potential and your selflessness and uses it to her own advantage. 

Joel only wishes you could see it, too. And he thinks maybe you did at one point when you stormed into the dining hall and screamed in her face. But it must’ve been for only a moment, because here you are again…doing whatever Maria needs you to. No questions asked.

A part of him hates her, but how truly different are the two? Maybe Joel sees Maria for what she is because they’re both doing the same things to you. He might not be sending you on suicide missions for pregnancy cravings or medical supplies…but he does take advantage of you. 

And the worst part, the part he hates to admit…is that he enjoys it. Never in all his life has Joel found pleasure in anything the way he has in you. In your soft skin, your soft sounds…it does something to him spiritually. The way you fight him so hard only to give in and do as he says inevitably…it makes him weak in the knees just to think about it. The way you trust him so wholly, trust him to keep you safe, to make you feel good, to take care of you …it fills him with this deep, dark desire. 

He’s long since given up trying to resist you, forbidden fruit tasted and swallowed and consumed. There’s no going back from that. And he knew it at the first bite. What he didn’t expect, though, was to be offered seconds, thirds, a fucking feast of you…if only he’d convince himself to sit at the table.

But doing so will damn him, he knows. And though Joel’s got little faith in God left in him, he worries that the moment he ravaged you was the moment he became undeserving of you.

For the first time, you fall asleep moments after Joel takes watch. Maybe it’s the sound of the rain or maybe it’s just exhaustion. You use his coat as a blanket and yours as a pillow, and he watches in awe and admiration as you finally rest. Your hands are beneath your head, and a piece of your hair has fallen into your face, and you’re so fucking beautiful it makes him ache.

As if he ever deserved you in the first place, Joel thinks.

It stops raining an hour before sunrise. And he notices there’s a glass pane in the ceiling that he hadn’t seen in the dark. The sun’s rays leak through it, highlighting the dust particles in the air, illuminating the space on the ground where you lay on your side. 

He doesn’t believe in God, Joel tells himself.

And if he did, he would scream and shout and try to strike him down for punishing you like this. For surrounding you with people who are supposed to love you who don’t know how to love you, for embodying Judas in the form of a bratty twenty year old little girl, for making your greatest sin the sin of disobedience. For cursing you with his presence, for cursing you with this looming, haunted old man who you will never be rid of. For giving Joel this perfect gift he’ll never deserve but now can never surrender.

He doesn’t believe in God, and if he did he knows he should be crawling to the altar and begging on his knees for forgiveness for all he’s done. Begging mercy not for his sake but for yours. Pleading to give you peace, solace, safety. To give you warmth like sunlight and love like absolution and to give you someone who feels like home. To give you everything you’ve given him.

But Joel doesn’t believe in God. He sets his rifle down and crawls to you instead.

Space. He knows you need space. But he needs you and he’s such a selfish man. Joel swipes the hair from your face, watches you stir in your sleep, sighs in tandem with you when he presses a kiss to your forehead. He inhales deeply, lying on his side, letting his thumb stroke your cheekbone languidly.

Your eyes open slowly, blinking once, twice. And he half expects you to make some snarky remark about how bad a job he’s doing keeping watch, but all you do is rest your hand on top of his and scoot closer, pressing your body to his. 

Joel kisses your cheek, the arch of your brow, the tip of your nose. By the time he makes it to your lips, they’re pulled up into a sleepy smile, and he can’t resist the urge to drink you in. Your mouth is warm and soft and fits perfectly against his. His hand on the side of your face slips to the back of your neck, thumb caressing your pulse. You feel more alive right now than Joel has ever felt himself, and he has the sudden, striking thought that belief in God has nothing to do with what he’s been taught and everything to do with the sanctity he holds in his hands in this very moment.

His fingertips wander down your back, between your shoulder blades, over each disc of your spine, the divot in the small of your back, over the denim of your jeans, down between your legs. Joel lifts you slightly, crushes your center hard against his, and feels himself unravel at your closeness.

You start to rut against him, hips canting over his erection, the friction of your jeans on his the only sound apart from the breaths you breathe into his mouth, breathing life, sweet, golden life, into his aching bones. Your tongue is slow in its pursuit of memorization, lazy and perfect but still so unbearably needy.

Joel won’t make you suffer. Not today. He wedges his hand between your bodies, unbuttons your jeans with a single, swift movement of his thumb, and reaches beneath the fabric. He finds home in a second, movements rehearsed and ritualistic. Your clit throbs beneath the pads of his fingers as he circles it slowly, pointedly.

The smallest noise, like a moan at the back of your throat, invades his mouth. Joel smiles to himself, knowing that if he reached just a little lower he’d find that telling wetness, knowing that you’ve needed this but just too stubborn to ask for it.

So stuck in your own head, your own ways. Never letting anyone else take care of you, because you know they can’t. 

Until now. Until Joel. 

He pulls his mouth away from yours long enough to catch his breath, to admire the art of your face as he strums faster between your legs. You say his name a little like a prayer, and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, his name in your mouth. He thinks he’ll never grow tired of it for as long as he lives. He presses a wet kiss just beneath your ear, delighting in the rush of goosebumps left in the wake of his lips.

He finally shifts his fingers down through your slit and pushes his middle finger in deep. You let out a pretty sounding gasp, and Joel runs the tip of his nose up your throat with a quiet laugh. 

“Shh,” he says. “S’alright, little girl. I’ve got you.” Joel pushes you onto your back, allowing him easier access. He adds another, his ring finger this time, and even though your jeans constrict movement and dig into the back of his wrist, the sounds you make as he begins to pump them slowly in and out of you are worth it.

Pretty, sweet sounding moans that he wants to swallow up. So he does—kisses you deep, licks into your mouth, bites your bottom lip between his teeth. The heel of his palm puts pressure on your swollen clit, and he can feel you squeezing around his fingers already, legs trembling with each slow, punishing thrust of his hand.

“Joel,” you whimper. “I..I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “S’okay, go ahead.” All it takes is one more deep press against that sweet spot inside you before you’re gripping his flannel, knuckles blanched. It’s fast and needy and desperate but somehow one of the softest most gentle moments he’s had with you. And Joel knows he’ll always hold this close, knows just how remarkable and holy this time with you is.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as you come down, trying to catch your breath. And when you look up at him, he recognizes the longing in your eyes, knows that this religious moment has only scratched the surface of your desire, knows just how hungry you are because he is, too. 

And so Joel crawls between your legs. He unlaces your boots and sets them aside, peels the too-tight denim down, takes the pretty lilac panties with them, and gets rid of those, too. He sits there on his knees for you, calloused fingers stroking lazy patterns up and down your bare thighs. You watch him in silence as he admires you. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says.

Your breathing picks up a little as he shifts backward, just enough so he can lean over and kiss your clit. You taste heady and sweet and delicious, and he thinks he could live off of just the essence of you and be satisfied for all eternity.

His tongue moves intentionally, savoringly, because this is a selfish act. Joel supposes everything he does with you is selfish in one way or another, but this is purely for him. His cock throbs painfully behind the metal of his zipper as he palms the inside of your thighs and spreads your legs wide. He licks up your wet slit, smearing the taste of you over his lips, down his chin.

A cracked, sleep-addled moan leaves you as you arch your back, pressing yourself against his mouth. Your hands find their way to his hair, holding him in place right where you want him. And Joel lets you without protest, lets you lose yourself in this moment in the same way he has.

Joel slides two fingers back into you easily, encountering no resistance thanks to the mixture of your slick and his spit. He twists and curls them up, pumping hard against that spot again, sucking your throbbing clit between his lips and circling it with a pointed tongue.

“Ohh, fuck, fuck— Joel.”

A little faster, a little harder. You’re squeezing tight around his fingers, needy little girl sucking him in deep, and Joel shows no signs of stopping even as you start to shake. He wants it, wants to taste you in his mouth, wants to push you over the edge so you can be here, here, with him, where you have cast him forever. Wants you to know what it is to want, to hunger, to be ravenous with a singular source of relief.

You’re about to come, and he knows it, but he pulls away. You let out a soft whimper at the loss of contact but then he’s unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down his hips just enough to pull his cock out. He squeezes it once in his fist and a blinding wave of pleasure shoots through him. Joel lines himself up between your legs and pushes in with a long, contented sigh.

Here, inside you, is the only place he’s ever felt adored, cherished, loved, divine. 

Because your eyes are wide and sleepy and beautiful. You look at him like he’s the greatest thing to ever happen to you and not some God-given curse. And it’s this he craves, the intimacy you share at this exact moment, where he knows he could ask anything of you—anything—and you’d give it willingly, freely. And fuck he just wants to keep you safe but maybe that means from him, too.

The thought is awful and comes to him unbidden. Your brows furrow as he rocks into you, cock reaching depths you’d never known existed. You place your hand on his jaw, lean up, and press your lips to his. You breathe his name and say, “I’m sorry I was mad. I forgive you. I’m yours.”

His. His, his, his, his. All his. His table, his fruit, his fault.

But his all the same.

He fucks into you deep, hips grinding against yours, his dark pubic hair rubbing against your sensitive clit. Joel takes your face in his hand, cradling your chin, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. His breath is labored and sweat beads at the back of his neck. He’s not going to last long. Not when you look at him like that, not when you look at him like you love him. 

He reaches between your bodies with his free hand and circles your clit. Sinks his thumb into your sweet mouth when you let out a salacious moan. He can feel your pussy flutter around him, knows you’re nearly there, knows he’s destined to follow you. “Come with me, baby, come with me,” he says softly.

Your breathing stills for a moment, and then you’re trembling, shaking in his hands, sucking his thumb deeper into your mouth.

His own release trickles in slowly at first, building in his spine, and then it slams into him with no remorse as he fills you up, cock pulsing inside you. “Oh, fuck, yeahhh—that’s it. That’s it, little girl—mmm—you feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Such a good girl for me, huh? Pretty little baby…there we go.”

He fucks you through it, thrusting into you real slow even when you’re breathing has slowed and he’s spilled every drop he has to offer. His thumb is coated in your saliva when he pulls it out of your mouth to kiss you, leaving a wet smear on your cheek. And when he leans back, wincing as he pulls out of you, you look up at him with straw tangled in your hair and say with a pretty smile, “Good morning to you, too.”

It is, he thinks. Joel can feel the good day ahead, can feel the weight of your irritation lift from his shoulders at the sight of your grin. “C’mon,” he says. He holds a hand out for you, pulling you up with him. 

While you dress and stretch and run your fingers through your hair, Joel feeds the horses and gathers your things. He picks up your bow and your backpack and brings it to you, and in ten minutes you’re both saddled and on your way.

The storm has passed and the sun is shining brightly, and Joel forces his mare to trot just a little slower than yours so he can appreciate the view. He thinks you’re beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with your age; elegant, graceful, timeless. Even before the world ended he would have noticed you, would have felt that same magnetic pull.

You glance briefly over your shoulder at him and ask, “What do you think could be in there?”

He has no idea. Can’t even wrap his head around the thought, really. “Hard to say. Twenty-five years is a long time for something to go untouched.”

“I’ve never been inside of a hospital,” you say. “I’ve seen pictures in those medical books in the library back in Jackson, but this will be the first I’ll ever actually see in person. What’s it like?”

“Confusing,” Joel answers. “They’re usually pretty big. Lots of floors and rooms, all set up differently.”

“Tommy told me they had special rooms for surgeries and stuff.”

“Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were away from everything else so they could be kept sterile. Doctors had to wash their hands in a specific way before doing a surgery, used all new tools every time, left them unopened until it was time to use them.”

“That seems excessive.”

He chuckles at that. “Was a different time back then,” he says. “We were more afraid of germs than fungus.”

You remain silent for several seconds, and Joel wonders if he’s somehow said something to upset you. But then you ask, “Do you think things would be different if they were afraid of fungus back then? Maybe they would’ve found a cure before it got too bad or something.”

There’s something like longing in your voice, and it makes Joel’s chest constrict. He wishes you would’ve been able to experience the world before it went bad, wishes you’d gotten a single day to not live in fear. “I don’t know,” he tells you. “Maybe.”

“If you could go back to before the outbreak, what’s the first thing you’d do?”

Joel sighs as he contemplates his answer. It doesn’t come to him very easily—because all he’d want is to find Sarah and be with her. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter what they’d do. He would just want to be together, to hear her laugh one more time, to see her smile or roll her eyes or blink. 

It’s still foreign to speak about it, still painful, but it’s you and so Joel decides to tell the truth.

“I, uhm…I had a daughter,” he says slowly, testing the waters. He half expects you to turn and look at him, sporting some kind of surprise on your face. But he’s thankful when you don’t because it makes the words flow a little easier. “She loved soccer,” Joel continues. “Played in a little league team at her school, called themselves the Defenders. Her jersey number was fourteen, and she was the best player they had—and I’m not just sayin’ that. She loved it.” 

Pressure builds behind his eyes. Joel swallows hard. 

“One day, Tommy and I were shopping for her birthday at Scheels —you don’t…uhm, it was this big sports store up by Dallas. Had all kinds of stuff. Anyway, I couldn’t afford much at the time. Tommy and I were gonna go half and half on a new skateboard for her—she liked doin’ that too. We were heading up to check out and saw this set of soccer goals that’d been marked down all because the box had been open. Never been used, never put together, nothin’ at all wrong with ‘em. We were able to get the goals and the skateboard, and Tommy an’ I spent all afternoon setting them up in the backyard while she was at school.”

It’s a fond memory. One he sometimes dreams about. They’d bought a case of beer on the way home, played music through the speakers of Tommy’s truck, and sung along to every song that played and laughed at the stupidest things. It was just a few short months before the outbreak. The last birthday Sarah would ever have.

“She loved them,” he tells you. “I knew she would. We spent all day in the backyard, the three of us. Played with that goddamn soccer ball until it was so dark out you couldn’t see a foot in front of your face. Even grilled out for dinner, so we didn’t have to go inside. It’s all she wanted to do for the rest of the summer. She was out there for so long I had to…to make her start wearing sunscreen every day,” he says with a low chuckle. “And when school started up again I had to limit it to soccer practice on weekends only.” 

Joel knows he has yet to answer your question, but it’s so nice to talk about her that it just pours out of him unchecked. You don’t seem to mind. There’s a small smile on your face and a misty look in your eye as if he’s painting a mental picture for you. 

“Anyway,” he says. “I guess…I guess if I could go back to before, I’d just want to go back there. To hear her laugh and see her smile, to cook burgers for everyone and eat them on the deck. I’d go back and relive that day so I can appreciate it a little more.”

“It sounds nice,” you say. “I bet I would’ve liked her.”

He thinks you would’ve, too. Thinks Sarah would’ve loved you, would’ve picked up on that bratty tone of voice you sometimes have, and adopted it into her vernacular. The two of you have the same sarcastic tendencies, and Joel wonders why it’s taken this long to recognize it. “Yeah. You would’ve,” he says quietly. 

“What happened to her mom?”

The question is phrased so bluntly that it gives him pause. But it’s not malicious in any capacity, and so Joel doesn’t mind answering this one, either. “Just…saw things a little differently, I guess,” he says. “We became parents real young. Not everyone is cut out for it.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. “You had Tommy though, right? You two seem really close.”

“Yeah, we are. I mean, he’s my brother. Family. Been through everything together.” He watches your jaw feather. He wonders what he said to make you clench your teeth. Joel gives you a moment of silence to say something, to spill your guts even half as much as he has today. But you say nothing, and so Joel asks, “Are you and Maria close?”

It makes you roll your eyes, a sound of irritation slipping past your lips. There’s something cruel on the tip of your tongue. He can see it as you fight the urge to let it free. Joel wishes you would if for nothing else than to give him a clue as to what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours. Instead, you say, “We’ve known each other a long time. A lot of history.”

He nods at the open expanse of land before you. “Ain’t got nothin’ but time to fill, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks flush, and Joel thinks it’s even prettier than the sight of you bathed in sunlight. “I met Maria before Jackson was like it is today,” you explain. “It was just a handful of people and a couple of abandoned houses back then. But she saw it for what it could be, ya know? Saw how much potential there was. Maria’s real good at that…seeing things that aren’t there.” 

Joel wonders what that means. Wonders if you’re talking about Maria seeing things in you that aren’t there. But before he has the chance to formulate the question in his mind, you’ve moved past it. 

“Me and my…group—we were in bad shape. I was born in the Detroit QZ, but things started getting really bad between Fedra and the Fireflies when I was twelve. We left when the bombings started.”

It makes his chest ache. Twelve. Younger than Ellie.

“We didn’t really have anywhere to go, we were just sort of… wandering, I guess. She, uhm…one of my group members…she got hurt pretty bad. Wasn’t anyone’s fault, she just tripped and fell and ended up with a pretty nasty gash across her face. The wound wasn’t the problem but the infection…” 

Joel watches you shake your head, clearing memories best left behind. 

“It was a good thing we stumbled across Maria when we did. She helped us. Gave us food and water, a place to stay. But it was the medicine that made the difference. I owed her my life with no way to repay her. Maria didn’t ask for anything but I was old enough by then to know nothing comes for free. She suggested we stay a while, help them fortify the town, help build the greenhouse they were working on. Said we could leave whenever I felt we’d earned it. So, we stayed for a few more days. And when it was time to leave, my…group and I didn’t see eye to eye.”

He can hear the lie in your words, can sense there’s something you’re not telling him. It’s hard for him to imagine a twelve year old girl at the head of a group at the end of the world. But if anyone could do it, he supposed it would be you. And, really—it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you’ll tell him when you’re ready. “Some of them wanted to stay?”

You nod in answer. “We came to a compromise. Said we’d just stay a couple more days. But then days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before I knew it, I’d become Maria’s go-to runner. And my group, they’d made a home in Jackson. They saw what Maria did, knew it had the potential to be…well, to be what it is now, I guess. I don’t know. Things just…evolved from there. I started picking up things I didn’t need on my runs. Decorations, books. Started getting to know people, to remember their names. To grab stuff I knew they’d like. And the runs became more and more frequent, too—once we opened the bakery, the grocers, the bar. Eventually my runs became less about essentials and more about comfort as Jackson became more and more self-sufficient.”

“And Maria?”

“I…I trust her,” you say. “She’s looked after me a long time. She lost a son a year or two before she found us and one of my group members…I think she used them to—to fill that hole. Someone she and I were both really close to.”

It’s not lost on him that he’s done something similar with Ellie. It’s also not lost on him that you used the word were. He hates that he can read between the lines. Hates even more that you know loss as intimately as he does. 

But none of it hurts Joel half as much as when you say, “I think Maria tries to do the same with me sometimes, but I’m not as easy to love.”

Silence fills the air between you and there’s so much Joel wants to say but he’s never been good with words.

Up ahead, there’s a wilting billboard advertising a church. It reads, ‘God speaks through angels. Will you speak to an angel today? Left at exit 34,’ and Joel thinks God might be laughing at him. 

It doesn’t make sense to him. He’s spent all his time grappling with his morality because Joel shouldn’t want you as bad as he does but he just can’t help himself. You’re too tempting, too irresistible. And all the while you’ve spent your time believing you’re hard to love? His stomach turns. 

Will you speak to an angel today?

“I…” Joel pauses, tries to formulate his thoughts. To his relief, you give him as much time as he needs. “You’re not…that ain’t true.” He doesn’t know how to explain it.

Doesn’t know how to explain that you are, undoubtedly, the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Doesn’t know how to explain that the best thing in his life is something he would’ve killed a man for, were you his daughter. Even before the outbreak, he would’ve seen red, would’ve spilled blood if a man his age ever looked twice at Sarah. And even though this isn’t that, even though he knows it’s different…old habits die hard.

But he tries his best and doesn’t think too much about how it comes out stumbling and wrong. “I used to own a construction company,” he says. “Had a coupla’ guys on my crew I worked with all the time. Tommy had a friend in need of a job, and I didn’t know much about him but I trusted Tommy and so I hired him.”

You slow your horse just enough that the two of you are side by side. You’re listening intently, though your eyes are turned straight ahead.

Joel swallows hard and continues. “Name was Mike or Michael or something. Anyway, We had had a pretty hard day and Tommy and I had decided to split the check and buy everyone on our crew a beer after work. Mike said he couldn’t go cause his girlfriend was waiting for him outside to give him a ride home. And he seemed like a good guy, always showin’ up on time, never complained about anything, just did the job. So we told him to have her meet us at the bar so we could all get to know each other. But, uh...problem was his girlfriend wasn’t old enough to drink. Which should’ve been the first warning, considering Mike was a couple of years older than me at the time and an age difference like that wasn’t normal…’specially back then.”

It makes the corners of your mouth turn up. And Joel knows you’re holding back your laughter, can almost hear the smart remark you’d make. But to your credit, you remain silent. 

“But I gave him the benefit of the doubt, told him to bring her along anyway. Offered to buy her some bar food instead. ‘Cause they used to let you in the bar if you were under twenty one, they just wouldn’t serve you—” He waves a hand in front of him. “It doesn’t matter. Mike, he…he had to dumb it down for me. Had to explain it like I was a toddler because I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. He told me…he told me she couldn’t come because she was sixteen.”

A crease forms between your brows.

“Tommy didn’t know. No one knew. But I told him…told him he’d have to find a new job. Told him he couldn’t work for me, because all I could see at the time was my own daughter, ten years into the future, just got a driver's license and going to pick a grown fuckin’ man up from work because he’d manipulated her into…” He swallows, shakes his head to clear the image his words produce.

“This isn’t the same,” you say quietly. 

“No,” he answers. “It’s not. But, look, I didn’t even know that sixteen year old girl and I had only known Mike for a week. But I wanted to kill him. Because he knew better. He knew what he was doing was wrong and he did it anyway.”

“Joel…”

“Just—just listen to me for a minute, okay? Kids born after the outbreak, I know it’s different for you. I know you have no concept of…of what’s acceptable when it comes to stuff like this. But I do. I know it’s wrong, and it makes me no better than he was.”

You shake your head. “Stop it,” you say, voice stern. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’m not a kid, Joel. And you’re not a bad man.”

There’s so much certainty in your words, and Joel begins to wonder just how well you know him. Better than anyone else in Jackson aside from Tommy and Ellie, but you still don’t know. You don’t know about the raids he was a part of, the dealings and the killings he did in the Boston QZ, or about the way he left Tess in that Capitol Building, you don’t know about his blatant eradication of the fireflies, or the selfish decision he made that put an end to all hope of ever finding a cure when he pulled that trigger.

But that isn’t the point he’s trying to get across. 

So, he shakes off the tenderness in your voice and the way it makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest and says, “What I’m tryin’ to say is this: I know it’s wrong and I know this will be the thing that condemns me but I can’t stop. None of it matters when I’m with you. An’ I’ve tried to keep my distance, believe me. But, uh…here I am. So…don’t give me any of that shit about how you’re hard to love. I’m the last person who’d ever believe it. ”

He can feel your eyes on the side of his face, can feel the strain his near confession has created, but Joel can’t bring himself to look at you. Because he knows, he knows the moment he does and is smothered in that warmth you bring, the words will come spilling out and then there really won’t be any going back from this. There will be nothing left uncomplicated, nothing to unspool or untangle.

You ride in silence for several miles. It’s not an uncomfortable thing. As long as he can see you, as long as you’re within arms reach, he doesn’t panic. There’s no reason to, Joel thinks. 

An hour before sunset you come upon the Casper city limits. The hospital is less than a mile away when you steer your horse down a residential street and say, “We’ll rest for the night. Hole up in one of these houses. We’ll find a way inside in the morning.”

It’s a good plan, a solid one. One Joel would make himself. The two of you work together to ensure the abandoned house you chose is safe enough, and even though the night air has a bitter chill to it, you decide against a fire.

You feed the horses while Joel prepares food for the two of you, and by now you’ve got a routine so he prepares a makeshift bed while he waits for you to finish up. 

The two of you eat together, and you’re nibbling on a piece of the apple he cut into chunks for you when you say, “I lied to you. Earlier, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. And then again, “Yeah, I know.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you mean you know?”

Joel shrugs casually. “Not gonna force you to talk about anything you’re not ready to talk about.”

It seems to give you pause. You stare intently at the ripped spot in your tight jeans, right over your knee, and take a slow, contemplative bite of your apple.

And then you tell the truth.

“It wasn’t a group,” you say quietly. “It was just me and my little sister.” 

It makes his heart clench. Because he doesn’t need to ask why he’s never met her. The words linger for a moment, and Joel lets them. Questions form behind his teeth that he doesn’t allow himself to ask.

“She used to…uhm—she used to carry this book around. Had all kinds of stuff about flora and fauna. Mostly, though, it was stuff about bugs and moss. She loved stuff like that. Could tell the difference between butterflies at a glance, could tell you all about the migrating cycles of moths and where they would be at any given time of the year, knew what kinda moss you could eat and what would just taste like dirt.”

A small, sad smile pulls at your mouth, and Joel wonders if you’ve talked about her with anyone else. With the affectionate tone that flows from you, he doubts it.

“The book, it was this massive thing. Like that big encyclopedia we have back in Jackson, you know the one?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, I know it.”

“Well, sometimes she’d find a bug she didn’t recognize. Maybe a type of beetle or caterpillar or something or other. And she couldn’t just…she couldn’t wait. So a lot of times she’d be walking and reading at the same time.” Your face falls just slightly. “That’s how she tripped.”

“She was the one with the infection?”

You nod. “We used to laugh about it. You know, after we got to Jackson and had access to antibiotics. It was no one’s fault just…an accident. Still, she was my little sister, and I…I think I blamed myself for a while. Sounds silly now, but I don’t know. I was young.”

“Was?”

It makes you laugh, that carefree demeanor peaking through the gloom. He savors it. “You know what I mean.”

He does. Joel knows all too well what it’s like to be an older sibling. Knows that no matter how old he gets, he’ll always feel a sort of responsibility for his little brother.

“Anyway, she loved Jackson. Loved Maria, too. She was so personable. Sweet and kind and just… good. Ellie reminds me of her. And Jackson was so new back then it was just a handful of people, all curious to meet the newcomers. And they all took a liking to her right away. Not like…not like me. I was weary which made them weary. I didn’t want to stay.” 

Joel’s glad you did. Glad he was able to meet you, to experience this.

“She talked me into it, though,” you say with a sigh. “But we spent a lot of time on runs. Especially in the beginning. I think I missed it being just the two of us sometimes and even though she wanted to stay and help the town she never complained. It’s like she just knew what I needed without me ever having to ask.”

The look on your face grows somber. Your eyes lose focus. And Joel knows what’s coming next before you even say it.

“We were out on a run for copper. Trying to get the dam fixed up. I dont…I—uhm. I don’t know. I didn’t look. I just…”

Your voice breaks, and Joel abandons his post near the door. Abandons his rifle, too, to hold you instead. Your hands are trembling, something he didn’t notice before. But he sits beside you, places his warm hand on the small of your back, and waits for you to muster up the courage to speak again. 

“There was a stalker. In the brush. She was talking to me about this bug called a death's-head hawkmoth. And it felt like…it felt how it used to be. I was distracted, you know? Just listening to her ramble on and on about this fucking moth and then…and then she was screaming.” You wipe furiously at your cheeks. “I killed it quick but she was bitten either way and I had to…after. I had to…”

He pulls you close. Wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you into his lap. You’re cold and small and nothing like damnation in his hands. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, he wants to say. But he knows it’s not okay and it never will be. So instead, Joel just kisses your face and your hair and your knuckles and he promises to never let anything else hurt you. 

You’re still in his lap, head against his shoulder, when you find enough of yourself within your cloud of grief to speak again. “That’s why I don’t go on runs with other people,” you say. “I don’t want to be the reason for anyone else dying.”

Joel takes your chin in his hand and tilts your head up so you’ll look at him. The sun has set and it’s dark but he can still see you, thinks that perhaps he’s always been able to. Even before knowing your something. “Hey,” he says. “No. Look at me. That ain’t true.”

“But I should’ve seen it,” you say. “I should’ve been paying attention. I should’ve—!”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” he says. And Joel knows it’s hypocritical, knows he’s telling you not to do what he’s done every day for the last twenty years. But he doesn’t want that for you, doesn’t want you to suffer if he can help it. So he tells you what no one’s ever told him. What he’s always wanted to hear but never had the courage to ask for. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. You did everything you could—I know you did. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You can’t go with me,” you say with a sniffle. “Tomorrow. Joel, you can’t. I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t lose you.”

Pride swells inside his chest because even though he hadn’t had the guts to admit his need for you to Tommy, you have the guts to admit it to Joel. You set the truth right out in the open for all eyes to see. And even though it’s just the two of you, the horses, and the moon—Joel Miller thinks you might be the bravest person he’s ever met.

He loves that about you.

Wants to say it. Doesn’t have the guts to. He’s not the one with an abundance of bravery.

“You don’t get to do things alone anymore,” he says instead. “It’s too dangerous. I’m going.”

There’s no room for argument in his voice but you find yourself doing it anyway. “Joel, just listen to me, okay? When I had to tell everyone at Jackson what had happened to her I couldn’t stand the way they looked at me. Because I could fucking see what everyone was thinking. It should’ve been me.”

He shakes his head, feels panic climbing up his throat at the very idea. “No. No, you—”

“They knew it, I knew it—God, Maria never lets me forget it. It should’ve been me, Joel. And I can’t fucking do that shit again, do you hear me? I cannot face them. Maria, Tommy, fuck— Ellie. If I have to look them in the eye and explain how I made it and you didn’t?” You scoff. “Joel, I’d rather die. I can’t do that again. I won’t survive it.”

He holds your face in his hands. “Look at me, baby. Stop. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“But you don’t know—!”

“I do know,” he says. Because I’m cursed to live forever, to endure my sins, he doesn’t. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, little girl. Alright? I swear.”

And he means it. He really, truly means it.

You press your mouth to his, fingers tangled in the roots of his hair, and though you don’t say it Joel can taste the desperation, the love, on your tongue.

It was never supposed to go this far. Was never supposed to turn into this. All he’d wanted was to teach you a lesson, to scratch the itch of discipline your bratty ways bring out in him.

Yet he finds himself eternally grateful to have been born in a time where you exist. For the first time, he doesn’t think he was born thirty years too early and he doesn’t think you were born thirty years too late. For the first time, he accepts what is and what isn’t. For the first time, Joel Miller holds divinity in his hands and doesn’t think about how undeserving of it he is, he just pulls it closer. 

He thinks about how precious this is instead. About how extraordinary you are. About how he may never get to experience heaven but what is heaven compared to the way you look at him? What’s heaven compared to the way you feel? 

What’s heaven compared to home?

You drift off in his lap, and even in your sleep you cling to him like he’s something holy.

Joel loves you, he knows. 

And if the two of you survive tomorrow, he just might tell you so.

[part five] [part seven]

[ghosts-cant-sleep]

Heeeeyyy, never requested anything but i think i'll give it a shot because i really like the way you write! You're really talented :]

Mayhaps a simon "ghost" riley x male reader? Reader is very provocative and loves getting reactions out of people, no matter if they are amused chuckles or annoyed groans. BUT Ghost is a brick wall and reader sees it as a challenge? Im sure your beautidul mind will come up with something interesting!

May i have the "🦇" as my anon emoji? (If its not taken of course!)

Thanksss, have an amazing day/night!

you can whistle for it

simon 'ghost' riley x male! reader warnings: idk how spotting works im just basing it off of that one american sniper scene kinda, suggestive innuendos, stupid jokes, not proofread, notes: i love specific anons sm :3 yall r so cute :3 ofc u can have 🦇 :3 lysm :3

fem dni.

"Y'know, Lieutenant, I've been thinking-"

"I doubt that."

"-You, me, alone under the stars... It's pretty romantic, don't'cha think?"

"No."

A heavy sigh pushes past [Name]'s lips, hia breath blooming into a faint mist of white, fading into the deep blues of the sky hanging high above them.

The snow crunches bellow his elbows with every breath, laying thick over the plantlife. Frost coated the leaves that shrouded the pair, snowfall left the branches bending under the weight, there wasn't even a peep from the local fauna.

And oh god, what he wouldn't give to be warm like them, huddled in a burrow, coat all he'd need to keep warm. Instead, he was left in thick, stiff winter gear, the cruel wind biting at the tip of his nose in spite of the fleece-lined gaiter.

Hell, he was surprised his rifle wasn't crusted in ice.

He wasn't surprised, however, to deduce that the poor weather seemed to reflect on his lieutenant's mood, as if being stuck on overwatch for hours on end wasn't bad enough.

[Name] laid with his cheek resting on the stock of his gun, index finger lazily tapping against the trigger gaurd to some unrecognized rhythm.

And Ghost was right beside him, nearly hyper focused on spotted. Each had their eyes trained on their respective scopes, and both were miserable.

Aching backs, necks swiftly growing sore, eye's dry, lips cracking, and faces all kn all feeling like they'd be ready to freeze off any moment now. And that's not even mentioning that this was the fourth time Ghost had essentially requested [Name] shut his mouth in the past thirty minutes they'd been in the field, which was frustrating enough for both of them.

And excuse him for not wanting to waste his night sulking in silence, but making the best out of a less than steller situation didn't seem to be something Ghost was capable of.

It was charming, in its own annoying little way-- the relentless chatter and constant quips and jokes, even if they sometimes boarded on ridiculously unprofessional. Whether it be an annoyed groan, a flustered chuckle, or a reluctant smile masked with a roll of their eyes, his little antics never failed to coax out some reaction.

Almost never.

And in all honesty, this self inflicted, fruitless journey to get so much as a scoff out of Ghost wasn't even the point anymore. Sure, to be met with anything other than stubborn apathy would be a breath of fresh air, not to mention satisfying after so long of any and all jokes, swipes, and thinly veiled innuendo being shut down with little remorse would be a delight. But now? [Name] just wanted something to distract himself from the cold that clung to his skin.

So, as always, to Ghost's dismay, he gives it another go.

Dispite himself, another sigh is huffed out. He glances over to Ghost, the sight of something other than his reticle feeling foreign.

"So..." He starts, situating his sights back to his scope. "You got a girlfriend or anything?"

He found the idea a little funny. The image of this big, stoic man holding hands or otherwise being sweet on some pretty little lady.

There's a stretch of silence, expectantly so, and [Name]'s already racking his brain for something-- anything, to say next.

"No."

The low rumble of Ghost's voice takes him by surprise, but it'd be foolish to dwell on it long. An answer's an answer.

"Figured," [Name] mutters out, adjusting the grip on his gun, rolling out shoulders in an attempt to ease the discomfort that's begun to festerbetweenhia shoulder blades. "Does that mean you're up for grabs then?"

Only the whistle of wind responds this time.

"I'll take that as a maybe." He might as well have been aimlessly talking to himself. Hell, that would've been more entertaining than this.

"Y'know, I'm sure deep down you do think I'm funny." Told you; relentless. Still, despite the smile hidden behind his mask and the slightly forced crinkle in his eye, [Name] couldn't quite hide the irritation growing thick in his own throat.

"I think you're a distraction," Ghost is swift to correct, his balaclava doing little to hide the annoyance in his tone. "A liability if you're not careful, so do shut up."

[Name] can't help but shake his head, a sharp huff pulling from his throat. Sure Ghost was his superior, and by no means were they supposed to be all buddy-buddy with one another. But jesus fucking christ, would it hurt to crack smile. Hell, even Price offers a pitty laugh on the rare occasion.

"It wouldn't kill you to have some damn fun one in a while." The words leave his mouth before his can think better of it, tounge sharp.

"It might," Ghost is quick to retort with just as much bite. For the first time since they settled down, his eyes leave the spotter, sending a well received warning glare [Name]'s way. "Give it a rest, yeah?"

Be it the weather, the job, a wave of bravery, or simply just [Name]'s long overdue annoyance reaching its peak, he, in fact, does not give it a rest.

"It's like you're scared of saying something interesting for once."

"Maybe I'll let you chew on some lead to shut you up. That interesting enough?"

"Christ."

Every stretch on silence is near unbearable. It feels like even the wind still in these moments. [Name] would prefer a constant flood of berating and hardly enjoyable banter from Ghost far more than this.

The tension of the moment breifly lingers before it disapates just as swiftly as it had arrived, the tension in [Name]'s chest easing. He lets out a soft breath, his grip adjusts, his elbows sink furth into the snow.

"Well-" Ghost interjects with gruff sigh, "-Soap told me you like jokes."

"Did he, now?"

"Where do generals keep their armies?"

"Up their sleevies."

"God dammit, Ghost."

[Name] purses his lips, effectively splitting it down the center, the heat from the sting made all the worse by the every present chill. He had more pressing matters to worry about. "Why do snipers aim with one eye closed?"

"Sergeant."

"Humor me-- just this once, and I swear I'll shut up for the rest of the night." An obvious lie. However, Ghost doesn't try to correct it. "...Why do snipers aim with one eye closed?"

"...Why?"

"If they closed both, they wouldn't be able to see."

Yet another discontent sigh leaves Ghost's mouth. But, [Name] could've sworn he almost heard a smile forcing its way onto Ghost's face as he spoke. "Now are you done?"

[Name]s response isn't instantaneous. His head lifts from the small of the stock, gaze leaving the scope and finding Ghost beside him.

Ghost was still, near statuesque if it weren't for the soft puffs of breath that seeped through the thick knit of his mask. [Name] knew Ghost liked being behind the trigger more than anything, but he was sure Ghost's ego swelled, even if just a tad, over being the one chosen to spot instead.

Only when Ghost's eyes meet [Name]'s does he retreat back to his scope. Still, he let's his stiff face pull into a grin. "Say whatever you want, but I think I am starting to get to you, Lieutenant."

"Oh, piss off." This time, he hears Ghost shift around in place, a tired groan accompaning the shifting of snow beneath him. "Just quiet down before I show you how to put that mouth of yours to good use for once."

"Awe, c'mon now, you-- huh?"