#but mostly it's all johnny and his socializing all the time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novemberheart · 1 month ago

Text

{overview} Just because your pack is back together doesn’t mean things are back to normal

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly141, cursing, mentions of being scared, smoking, short chapter

Chapter 30 <- Chapter 31 -> Chapter 32

“Hi, Ms. Garrick,” you greeted. You heard her chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“Well hello, lovely,” she greeted back. You smiled at the similarities between their pet names for you. She had gotten your number from John after Kyles accident. She called you leaving the kindest message in your inbox.

Hello, Sweetheart. Now you don't know me, but my name is Rosalind Garrick, Kyle’s mother. But don't think that just because you don't know me, I know nothing about you. You’re all Kyle talks about anymore and I’m just so happy he's finally able to get some peace amongst his chaos. I know how hard this all must be for you so if you ever need anyone to talk to please reach out to me. As far as I'm concerned you’re a part of our pack and we want to make sure you are taken care of.

Alright, sweetheart. Talk to you soon.

Since then you've called her every few days, mostly to give her updates about Kyle.

“How’s our beta doing?” she asked.

“He’s been doing good. Started to get up and walk with crutches. He's stubborn and restless,” you grumbled. As if on cue, the beta trudged out of his room, heading towards the kitchen.

“That’s the man I know,” she chuckled.

“Hey, mum,” Kyle greeted from the kitchen. You bounded over, hoisting yourself up onto the counter.

“The next time you all go on leave I want you to come home,” She pressed. You grinned wickedly, agreeing before the words had even reached Kyle’s ears. “I’ve only met Johnny. Now it’s a crime I haven't met your alphas yet, and I'm not going to let you get away with me not meeting your omega. In-person,” she added.

“Sounds right to me,” you agreed. That's why she loved you.

“You’ll love the city. Did Kyle tell you about all the museums? I know you love those.”

Kyle did tell her about you.

“We can work that out,” Kyle agreed. He did want to go home, and he desperately wanted to share that part of himself with you. You and Ms. Garrick both squealed excitedly.

“Can I talk to you about something?” you asked. He stiffened immediately, his mind jumping to the worst.

Had he hurt you again?

Your hands smoothed over his shoulder, your bottom resting against his knee. His relax was instantaneous. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against yours.

“I was wondering if I could get a job?” you said slowly. It wasn't slow enough with the way the wheels in his mind were turning.

“Why? Something you need? It’s my job”-

“No, nothing like that. It’s more social than anything.” you interjected. “I’ll be with Anais and Jane. It’s at a new bakery a little off base. It's just a few hours on Fridays and the weekend,” you explained.

He wanted to shut it down. You were social enough. Before Kyle was hurt you had activities nearly every day. Sometimes it felt like you did more in a day than they did.

Yet the look in your eyes halted him. You had forgiven him- he could feel it. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you after just making up.

“Alright,” he agreed. You gasped softly, a wide grin spreading over your face. It made him happy despite the feeling of something wrong clawing at him.

“Thank you!” you cheered, your lips colliding with his cheek.

“One of us will take you to work the first week. Then you girls can commute together. And you are never to go off on your own, you understand?” he urged. You hummed against his cheek. “And I need to meet your boss- and anyone else who’s working there,” he added, between your attacks.

You were just about to head to your room, when a strong arm wrapped around your middle. You recognized a familiar tattoo.

“Tavy,” you giggled. He said nothing, heading to his room.

“Seems like you've forgotten it’s my night, bonbon,” he teased, tossing you on his bed. He crawled over you, making you flush.

“I could never forget,” you lied, blinking up at him. He smirked down at you, completely still for a moment before pressing rapid-fire kisses against your cheek.

You squealed as his hands tickled up and down your sides.

“Mac, no!” you gasped out. “I was just getting tired,” you whined against him. He paused, his smirk pressing against yours.

“Alright, peaches,” he agreed. He wrapped an arm tightly around you, purring softly as you buried your face in his chest. Cinnamon mixed with some of your vanilla lotion he had stolen.

“Simon comes home tomorrow,” you sighed happily. Johnny hummed, a pleased rumble leaving his throat. “I thought you and John would be gone longer,” you yawned.

“So did we,” he yawned back. He said nothing more on the topic, yet you didn't expect him to.

When you woke up you were no longer trapped between him and the bed, but him and another body. Leather with an undertone of black licorice. There was more smoke in his scent than you were used to. He must have been smoking a lot. A purr vibrated through you, making his chestnut eyes flutter open.

“What’re you purring about?” Simon groaned, pushing the two of you closer to Johnny. He was playing dumb. You could feel the curl of his lips against the back of your head.

“You’re back,” you said weakly, your throat hoarse with sleep.

“I’m back,” he affirmed. His hand found your stomach rubbing small circles in an attempt to lull you back to sleep. He wasn't ready to get up yet. He had just gotten home an hour ago and the last thing he wanted to do was pull himself away from the warmth of this bed. “Go back to sleep, pup,” he urged. You didn't need much more convincing, your eyes practically sewing themselves shut.

“Welcome home,” Johnny grumbled, with half-lidded eyes.

“Thanks, pup,” Simon mumbled, his fingers digging into the Scots side, pulling all of you closer once more. That wasn't usual for Simon, needing to have his pack this close, especially after a mission. Something must’ve happened.

“You alright?” Johnny drawled, unburying his face from your neck. Simon hummed in assurance.

“Fine, mutt,” he soothed. “Get some sleep,” he pressed, his fingers racking up and down Johnny’s lower back.

The next time Simon woke he had a fever. It was hot enough to make you and Johnny wake up in a sweat. Johnny quickly grabbed you, plopping you on the couch next to Kyle- assuming you may have triggered a rut for Simon like you had for John.

“What’s happening?” John groaned, uncurling himself from Kyle on the couch.

“Fever,” you responded. Kyle's hand pressed against your forehead. “Simon,” you clarified, moving to stand so you could peek into Johnny’s room. “I don't think it’s a rut Johnny,” you mumbled.

“I’m fine,” Simon groaned. He peeled off his sweatshirt, flopping back down against the mattress. His wide chest rose and fell irregularly. You approached your hand resting on his stomach. His body seemed to relax slightly, and you decided to take the chance and curl up against him. His heartbeat was fast- too fast.

“I’m calling a doctor,” John pressed, gently maneuvering Kyle off of him. Simon flipped the two of you over, making you gasp. Johnny flung forward his hand gripping the alpha’s shoulder.

“Not gonna do anything, pup,” he mumbled, his heart squeezing at the sound that escaped you. “Need to feel ya,” he mumbled, just low enough for you to hear. His hand crept under your shirt resting against the soft skin of your back.

He couldn't explain it. It started two weeks ago, a light burning sensation under his skin, and an almost sour feeling in his mouth. It felt like he was going through withdrawals. He was shaky, his heart skipping beats. He went through two packs of cigarettes in a day and still no relief. Wasn't till he met you at the hospital after Kyle’s accident did he start to put it together. Yet it only got worse being around you.

He growled against your neck, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth creaked.

“Doctor’ll be here in fifteen,” John spoke, his shoulder taking up the doorway. “How long have you felt this way?” John pressed.

“Couple weeks,” he growled. A pang shot through his skull, he steadied himself over you, taking a deep breath. It only made it worse, yet he couldn't pull himself away. Johnny leaned against the desk causing it to creak, the sound sending Simon on high alert. You whined at the snarl that left him. “Sorry,” he apologized instantly.

“Sweetheart, how about we wait on the couch till the doctor gets here?” John offered, beginning to move towards the two of you. He didn't like the way Simon was acting. The sound that came out of Simon was deadly, making it known he disagreed with Johns suggestion. John released a sound of his own.

You were scared.

It didn't help when Simon's hand reached behind him, grabbing at John's shirt.

“What the hell?” Johnny growled. Johnny sprung into action, his arms reaching under Simons pulling him to the floor.

“Get out!” John commanded. You didn't need to be told twice, throwing yourself off the bed, curling up behind Kyle. Kyle held you with both arms, not caring about the uncomfortable stretch of his shoulder.

“Up we go,” Kyle pressed, grabbing his crutch and leading you into your room. He locked the door behind the both of you, cradling you against him as you shook.

You could hear them.

Cursing. The sound of someone being slammed against the wall. Growling. Shouting. Things breaking.

The smell of angry alpha began to seep under the door.

“Kyle,” you whimpered. He shushed you softly, his lips pressed against your hairline.

It suddenly went quiet.

Hi friends! See you in three days for chapter 32! 🧡🙌🏻

456 notes · View notes

thelaisydazy · 9 months ago

Text

Firefighter!Simon Riley X Reader - Cherry Danish

Simon wasn't the talkative type. He was quiet, kept mostly to himself and rarely socialized with the rest of the crew. Save for Johnny.

Johnny was as close to a friend as Simon could imagine someone being to him. Johnny always tried to talk to him, tell a few jokes to make him laugh, anything to crack that shell. He’d gotten close so many times but could never quite get there.

However, when Simon returned from Riley’s morning walks, he always seemed a little different. Simon would have a soft look in his eyes, something warm Johnny had never seen before. He swore his lieutenant almost looked happy, if he was even capable of being happy…

One morning, Johnny caught Simon returning with Riley early in the morning, a little paper bag from the local bakery in his grasp. He had that warm look in his eyes again.

“Aye, LT,” Johnny called out. “Ye hev a good craic walking th’ pooch?”

As soon as Simon looks his way, Johnny can see his gaze turn stoney again, his grip on the paperbag tighten just slightly. “Dunno what you’re talking ‘bout Johnny,” he grumbled.

Simon unhooked Riley’s leash, letting the Shepherd run loose in the station. He set himself down on the too-old couch in the common room and fished out his breakfast, a cherry danish. He found his thoughts briefly wandering to the little thing that handed it to him with that warm smile they always wore.

“Dinnae take ye fer sweets, Si,” Johnny teased, settling next to him as Simon pulled down his mask to eat. “Ye bring me anyfing?”

“No,” Simon answered bluntly as he ate.

“Ye cruel bastard,” Johnny feigned his hurt as he dramatically dropped himself against the back of the couch.

“Too bad,” Simon growled.

A smirk crossed Johnny’s lips. “Perhaps are shuid pay th’ bakery a visit,” he said, stroking over the stubble on his chin. “See what all th’ fuss is aboot.” He laughed as he felt Simon turn a sharp glare towards him.

#call of duty #cod fanfic #cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #firefighter!simon riley #firefighter!ghost #141 firefighters #firefighter!soap #firefighter!john mactavish #soap #john mactavish

2K notes · View notes

tradgedyinwaves · 1 month ago

Text

First Choice - Part 3

Part three of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: social anxiety, self-doubt, drinking, the tiniest hint of touchy-touchy

You’re immediately declining to join them. You know how this goes. See who bags the fat girl and then drop her on her ass once they’ve gotten what they wanted. It had always been hard for you to find someone that actually found you attractive and wasn’t just trying to fetishize your size. And there was absolutely no way this gorgeous man in front of you ACTUALLY wanted you to join them.

“Up to you. The offer is there if you want to take it,” the beautiful man replies, a soft smile on his face that you think looks genuine. You sigh and chew your lower lip. You could spend some time with them. At the very least, they look like they’ll keep you entertained until you’re ready to go home for the night. What was the worst that could happen?

“Alright,” you finally utter, picking up your glass and sliding off the stool. The man leads you to his table, having you slide in before him so now you’re squeezed between him and mustache guy.

“I’m Kyle, by the way. Next to you is Price,” Kyle, you now knew, started introducing his cohorts. “Call me John, please,” Price interjected, lifting your hand and kissing the back of it. The action made you blush a fierce red and you delicately removed your hand from his grasp. “Next to him is So-er, Johnny and the scary looking dude in the mask is Ghost.”

You smile softly at Johnny who winks when he’s introduced and your eyes grow wide in response as you turn your attention to Ghost, who is boring into your soul with his gaze. A gaze that tells you he wants something from you, but you can’t figure out what. Quickly, you avert your eyes and look at the spot between the John(ny)’s heads, telling them your own name as well.

“Here with friends?” John asks, his arm thrown over the back of the booth behind you. You nod and lean forward to point them out. All three are already on someone’s arm, being fed drink after drink and looking beautiful as always. It made you sigh, though you covered the sound with a cough and returned to looking between the four men.

“We’ve seen them around the last few weeks, was wondering when you’d come back,” Johnny quipped, a bright smile on his face and his baby blues dancing in the light. Your eyes widened, stunned that they had been thinking about you at all, let alone wondering if you’d be back. A slap to the back of his head from John made you giggle quietly, quickly hiding the sound behind your glass.

“Wha?! We were!” Johnny exclaimed, now rubbing the back of his head as he grumbled. Kyle rolled his eyes and lifted his own glass to his lips. You were close enough to confirm that it was indeed a rum and coke that he nursed, the smell of the alcohol cutting through the air.

A blush covered your cheeks once more, the whiskey making you feel looser than normal. Your anxiety was in check for the moment, tampered down to a smolder in your chest rather than the roaring fire it normally is. You leaned against the back of the booth as the conversation picked up around you, no longer quite as afraid of John's thick arm resting over the back.

Nothing super exciting happened here. Sorry. Trying to keep these around 650 words so part four is accidentally already mostly written at this point.

<- Part Two Part Four ->

439 notes · View notes

marcsburnerphone · 4 months ago

Text

Bars and broken hearts

Simon Riley x F!reader

Summary: The 141 minus john goes out for drinks and when johnny decides to throw simon a spontaneous bachelor surprise it goes left quickly.

Warnings: angst, betrayal, infidelity?, guilt, heartbreak, not a happy ending, alcohol consumption, lmk if I’m missing anything.

—-----------------

“Well I think you should go.” you say to your fiance who's currently trying to back out of plans he promised to attend with his mates, again.

“Why can't you just beg me to stay isn’t that what you’re are supposed to do.” he says in a whine although with a gruff voice like his only you could pick up on the slight change.

“And hear Johnny complain in my ear the next time I see him cause you’re never out of the house, yeah no thanks.” you say while stirring honey into your cup of tea. You can practically feel the holes his eyes are burning into your skull.

“You know they are always up to no good when we go out.” he says in a condescending tone.

“I trust you.” he has never given you a reason not to.

“You should they’d never let anything come between us, they love you more than me.” he says while slowly approaching you from the back planting a firm kiss to your cheek.

“So you’ll be attending then?” you say gleefully.

“Yeah, just this once though, gives me leeway to say no next time.” you laugh softly, simon and his thought out plans to get out of leaving home.

“I'll drop you off, don't look too good.” you say turning around, he gives you a strong kiss on the lips, tangling his large hand into your hair as his other hand squeezes gently at your ass groaning roughly as he hikes your thigh onto his waist.

“Yeah, nice try.” you say pushing him away reluctantly.

“Sure you don’t want me to stay?” You do want him to stay.

“I’m sure.” he groans, walking off into your shared bedroom carelessly pulling a black shirt and pants off a hanger, nearly snapping them.

You laugh to yourself taking a seat onto the couch as he noticeably makes his steps extra heavy on his way to the bathroom. You patiently wait for him, swiping mindlessly through social media.

“Right, I'm ready.” his voice slightly startles you and he quickly softens his attitude.

“If you would’ve kissed me looking like this i might’ve just kept you in.” you sigh into his mouth pulling him down for a kiss.

“Later I arrive, the later I leave, let's go.” you drive him to a pub not too far from your home. His hand squeezes at your thigh the whole way there until you arrive.

“I'll see you in a bit, I love you.” the corner of his mask lifts slightly.

“Better not be late for me doll, I love you more by the way.” he says while shutting the door waving you off.

—----------

“Aww where’s the lass?” Johnny questions still mostly sober.

“At home she said she’ll join next time.” Simon lies, you hate babysitting three 200 pound plus men after a long night.

“Tell her I promise to not empty my stomach in her car next time, I swear it.” soap says while ordering a round of shots.

“Like she’d believe that after the past TWO times.” Johnny looks remorseful as Gaz laughs then gags remembering what it was like to sit in the backseat with him.

“I feel like we're going to get into some trouble tonight.” Johnny says while downing his third shot early into the night. “When is a night with you not trouble?” gaz says to the two men smiling widely.

“When is a night with me not fun you mean.” Johnny says with a devilish smirk.

“Chaos you mean?.” Simon quips.

“All of those sound like a good time to me.” Johnny says while waving down the bartender again.

—------

“You’ll be approaching married life soon.” Johnny says with slightly slurred speech.

“Indeed I will.” It makes a tipsy drunk Simon smile as he lifts the bottom of his mask to take a swig of the whiskey in his glass.

“Think you’ll be having little ones running around soon?” gaz asks, he could see the big scary ghost with a daughter or two. Simon smoothens his mask before talking.

“Maybe, me and miss talk about it sometimes but nothing ever too serious, she’d make a great mum though.” The boys love just how in love he is with you.

“Will you name one of em after me?” Johnny asks.

“Funny joke mate.” They all laugh.

“Lass we’ll take another round.” heads snap towards him.

“Johnny!” Both simon gaz exclaim their nearly 8 shots in each and a couple of other drinks the result of tonight's starting to sound like alcohol poisoning.

“What’s wrong with a little fun once in a while.”

—---------

“I miss my wife.” Simon says, eyes glossed over and a severe need to taste your mouth.

“Will we be throwing you a bachelor party?” Simon scoffs.

“This is my bachelor party, enjoy it.” Johnny groans at his awfully boring best lad.

“I have to take a piss be back.” Johnny says, excusing himself. Gaz and simon give each other a look knowing full well he went to the mens room less than ten minutes ago.

“What’s that about?” Gaz asks.

“Don't know but ima text the missus to come save me.” Simon says whipping out his phone instantly happier by the picture of you on his lock screen.

After sending you a quick text he agrees to one more round as Johnny rejoins, what he doesn't notice is as he tossed his head back Johnny slipped his phone into the back pockets of his jeans mistaking it for his own.

“Why do you look like that?” Gaz questions the mischievous smirk on Johnny's face.

“No reason.”

“Oh no johnny what’d you do.'' They follow his eyeline as a woman, definitely a hooker walk from the hall where the bathrooms are definitely heading towards them.

“Hey boys.” she says, running a hand down Simon's chest.

—----------

You’ve tried simons phone nearly six times now and nearly circled this block three times to let him know you’re here. You call once more groaning loudly as the voicemail starts once again. You search the busy street for parking, getting lucky as a car pulls out from the front of the pub.

You step out into the chilly london air not caring to pay for parking this shouldn't be long anyways. It's busier than you’d ever seen it, you wrap your arms tightly around yourself considering you're in thin pajamas, Simon emits too much heat to sleep in anything else.

Finding your way to the bar knowing where they usually sit you keep your eyes peeled for him excited to get him home and finish what he started earlier. That's until you see him. You see her first actually, snaking her hands around the back of his clothed head where yours were merely hours ago. His eyes are pointed towards her breast as she puts on quite the show, grinding slowly on his lap, flicking her tongue out onto his cloth covered ear. Simon’s hazed eyes are seeing you, like a dual reality that goes back and forth between a random woman and the woman he loves. Words are unable to leave your mouth so you stand there in utter horror until reality catches up to you.

“Simon.” your voice comes out in a whisper as the three men's heads turn towards you. The woman who looked like she’d been having a good time on Simon's lap also looks towards you, then the ring on your finger. The three of them had never become sober so fast in their lives.

“Oh god.” you feel sick, turning around quickly and bee lining for the door as your eyes tunnel vision.

“Get off me.” Simon says awfully harshly as Gaz looks disappointed towards johnny.

He’s after you in seconds, strides long and quick. You're at an arm's length when he tries to pull you back but misses by a thread. Times moving in slow motion for the both of you and this pub has never been so large.

“Wait, I swear that wasn't what it looked like.” His deep and loud voice causes the other patrons to look your way. Gaz and Johnny are steps behind him as he rushes as quickly as he can.

When the outside hits you, so do the tears. Your hand grips weakly at the spot of your shirt above your heart. It feels like the wind has been knocked from you and the world is crumbling around you.

“Love i swear-” you turn around quickly slapping him across the face. It stuns you but not him; he simply looks back towards you.

“Deserved that.”

“Lass it was a dumb joke i thought id-”

“You were supposed to have my back, you guys are like my brothers, is this how it is everytime you come out?” a sob racks through you as they all visibly watch your heart break.

“It's not like that.” Simon tries to calmly explain.

“I'm leaving.” you say slowly walking backwards towards your car getting in quickly and locking the doors before your fiance can try the handle.

“Love, just listen to me i didn't know what was going on.” he shouts through the window as you start pulling out and speeding off as soon as possible.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” he yells to johnny.

“I don't know what I was thinking.” he admits as his drunk actions hit his sober self.

“You need to get a ride home now.” gaz says walking into the street to hail down an overly expensive taxi.

Simon gets in it immediately telling the man your address and slipping him a few extra hundred for speed. His breath is rapid matching the racing pace of his heart. The two other men watch as he leaves.

“You’re so fucked mate.” Gaz says to an already guilty looking johnny.

—--------------------

Simon nearly tears off the door handle as he exits the car almost two homes ahead and runs there instead. He’s fumbling keys until he realizes you’ve left the door unlocked. Instantly he's searching for you, panicked and in a hurry to soothe your aching heart.

He goes to reach for your shut bedroom door only to realize it's locked. He knocks rapidly once then twice.

“Love let me explain. I swear it's not what it looked like.” he leans his head against the door as you silently cry on the other side.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” wrong choice of words but he meant well.

Before he knows it you're throwing the door open.

“To myself!” you yell as loudly as you can, shoving your hands into his solid chest.

“That's not what I meant.” he says, removing the mask.

“We’re engaged Simon, we were going to get married in a few months.” you cry turning around trying to slam the door on him.

“Were ? No, let me explain.” he says, catching it with the toe of his boot.

“I don't want to hear it, go tell it to whoever that woman was.” you’re infuriating he wants to scream but he knows all hell would break loose had he caught you in the same position.

“Johnny had hired her, I had no idea.” he gets out as quickly as possible.

“And you let her dance and lick on you and hold you the way I hold you.” the disgust on your face as you look at him cuts deeper than any knife.

“I was drunk.” he even thinks that sounds disgusting.

“Cheap fucking excuse.” you say going into your closet grabbing all your clothes and throwing it onto the bed.

“What’re you doing?” it's hushed and laced with panic.

“Leaving.”

“Like hell you are.” he says quickly, fighting to pull what's in your hands out of them. You’re unwilling to give up at first, grip tighter than ever but he would always win. You fall to the ground and let go. Crying from hurt and frustration. He drops to his knees to meet you on the floor.

He scoops you into his chest as closely as possible, it hurts that you don’t clutch onto him like you normally would. You Are stiff in his arms so visibly uncomfortable. He wants to cry too, he knew he shouldn’t have gone out there's no need when your heart is at home.

“Let go of me.” you say weakly.

“Lets talk.” he says, loosening his grip on you watching as you scurry backwards.

“Nothing you say can make this better.” you admit leaning your head against the wall behind you.

“It wasn't my idea or choice, my love I was wasted.”

“I was waiting outside for you, calling over and over again but you were just too busy being entertained by another woman, how fucking dare you.” you say quietly but firmly.

“I know I fucked up but we cant throw this away just cause one mishap.” he says trying to inch closer to you.

“I would’ve never done that to you.” you say as tears stream smoothly down your reddened cheeks.

“I know.” how does one forgive an action like this he wonders.

“Please get out.” you say through stuttered breaths.

“Love-”

“Simon, get out or I'll leave.” He rises to his feet in an instance beginning to very slowly make his ways towards the door.

“Hey simon.” you say and his name sounds so rare on your tongue since you've met him he's always been riley or love.

“Yeah.” he says, approaching you crouching down slightly. You reach out, grabbing his hand and placing something into his palm before closing it.

Simon slowly opens his hands fearing what he already knows is there and utterly cringes inside when he sees your ring.

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

excited but ready for a little criticism, be easy on me I'm barley getting familiar with the character.

Hope you guys thoroughly enjoyed mwah!

#angst #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x you #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick

409 notes · View notes

shockercoco · 4 months ago

Text

Rainbow vs. Leather

Benny Cross x reader

Warnings - some swearing, flirty! and nervous! Benny

Word count - 2397

a/n - request: Hi!! If interested can you please do a Benny Cross x reader who is an unofficial member of the gang?. . .Benny likes her and try’s to give her hints but she thinks that he is just being nice because she had bad luck with guys who only always saw her has a friend and so, he has to be blunt with her one day. And the rest is up to you. Thank you." - read the full request here. i think 2k words is just gonna be my average at this point lol, i hope you enjoy :)

“Do I have to?” You had asked your parents one night at dinner — they had basically turned it into an intervention.

Your parents weren’t a huge fan of you just lounging around the house all the time with nothing to do, although you had no problem with just kicking back and watching a little television. They thought you needed to get out and socialize and make some friends.

You weren’t necessarily opposed to the idea, but making friends wasn’t an easy thing for you. You came off as shy at first, but once you got comfortable in your environment you became pretty talkative and outgoing. This was also a problem when having conversations with people because sometimes they thought you didn’t want to talk, or even worse, that you didn’t like them for some reason.

You wanted to come out of your shell, so when your parents told you that they wanted you to get a job, you were hesitant but you agreed.

At least they weren’t kicking you out of the house.

What they didn’t know is that you would get a job at the local bar where all the Vandals hung out, the town’s motorcycle club. It was easy for you since Johnny, a close family friend — leader and owner of the club — practically owned the bar, so when you had asked him for a job, he was completely fine with it.

Your parents thought you would get a job at something like the grocery store or the book store down the street, but since they loved Johnny they were okay with you working at the bar.

So now here you are, your third week as a bartender and you enjoyed it. For the most part, the guys were pretty respectful and you rarely had any problems — mainly because Johnny basically threatened them into treating you right before you even started.

There was this instance a couple days ago with a drunk guy, though. He kept getting closer and closer to you, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to leave you alone, Johnny interrupted and kicked the guy out of the bar.

You told Johnny that you had it handled, but he had just dismissed you and said, “No lady should have to deal with that.”

It was pretty obvious that this wasn’t your usual crowd. You enjoyed wearing colorful clothes and jewelry, but you did try and tone it down a little so that you didn’t stick out too much. Thankfully, you had made a couple of friends so you didn’t feel too out of place.

“You should come out riding with us later,” Kathy, a new friend, tells you from the other side of the bar counter.

“On a motorcycle? Are you crazy?” You ask as you lean against the counter. A lot of the guys had already gotten their drinks, and they didn’t want to get too drunk for the ride later, so you didn’t have too much to do.

“What else would I be talking about?” she playfully rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know, maybe a car ride?”

“When was the last time you had fun?” She asks you as she taps the ashes off the end of her cigarette.

“Yesterday while watching some game show,” you joke, and Kathy just laughs.

“How are you two doing over here?” Benny walks up with a glass in his hand, taking a seat next to Kathy.

Benny was another one of your new friends, and you enjoyed whenever he was around. Mostly because you liked how he made your heart flutter just by looking at you or giving you that smirk of his. You hate to admit it, but you were a goner the first day you had met him.

He wasn’t your usual type, but who cares. The whole point of this job was to get you to become more open. You highly doubted that the feelings were reciprocated on his end, though.

But little did you know they were. Just like you, Benny had fallen for you as soon as he laid eyes on you. He had just entered the bar and joined a game of pool with some of the other Vandals.

As he was lining up his shot, he heard a laugh that he hadn’t heard before. All the laughs he was used to were from the other Vandals or the raspy laughs from the girls that hung around and smoked.

Your laugh was different — light and airy and sometimes started off as just a giggle and got interrupted with a snort. It was also loud enough to be heard over the regular chatter of the bar, making Benny miss his shot.

The guys had joked and asked if he was distracted, but he just brushed it off and tried to regain his focus.

When he looked up furrowed eyebrows to see who was causing the noise powerful enough to throw him off his game, he noticed you standing there behind the bar. You are laughing at something Johnny had said to you as you poured him a drink.

Benny ended up missing his next two shots, and he surprisingly wasn’t upset when he lost the game.

Benny needed to know who you were, and he made that his mission from then on. He tried to send you signals that he was interested in you, but for some reason you weren’t picking them up. He loved the way you giggled at something he said or how your soft hand accidentally brushed his as you handed him his drink.

He was trying so hard to be patient, including now as he saw you talking with Kathy with a gentle smile.

“I’m trying to get her to join us later tonight for the night ride,” Kathy answers him.

“And?” Benny asks hopefully, his eyebrows raised as he looks at you with humor written across his face.

“Not happening,” you shake your head.

“Why not?” he continues.

“Because she doesn’t like fun,” Kathy butts in before you can answer.

“Hey, I do like to have fun. It’s just that my version of fun and yours is different,” you defend.

“Have you ever been on a motorcycle?” Benny asks you as he rubs his hand over his chin. When you shake your head in response, he asks, “Do you want to?”

“Not really a huge fan of putting my life on the line like that,” you tell him. Benny chuckles, Kathy joining in.

“It’s not that dangerous, we don’t always drive fast. Tonight’s just a cruise. Come on,” Benny says.

His intense gaze is almost enough to make you say yes…but no. Being on the back of a motorcycle didn’t seem as safe as being inside a closed up car.

“I’m okay, plus my parents might kill me if I stay out too late,” you say.

“Doesn’t Johnny know your parents? I’m sure they wouldn’t be too mad,” says Kathy.

Benny’s face contorts into surprise at Kathy’s statement. He looks back at you for confirmation, and you give him a silent nod.

“What about me?” Johnny questions as he hears his name being mentioned. He gives you a smile as he hands you his glass to refill.

Good, hopefully he can help you get out of this.

“We’re trying to convince her to come out with us, but she’s too afraid,” Kathy explains. You let out a scoff.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Johnny agrees, taking a sip from his glass.

What?

Your eyes widen as your lips slightly parted in disbelief.

Johnny shakes his head in amusement at your expression. “I promise it’s not that bad, you’ll be safe with us. If you get in any trouble with your parents, I’ll talk to them myself.”

You look at the three pairs of eyes staring back at you, waiting for your answer — Kathy with her eyebrows raised, Benny with a daring look behind his eyes, and Johnny with a smirk.

“Fine,” you surrender, throwing your hands in the air as the group in front of you lets out a small cheer.

As the night at the bar comes to an end, the bikers take that last sip from their glass and throw on their colors, before filing out the door and heading toward their bikes. Hoots and hollers fill the air as everyone begins to hype each other up.

“You can ride with me,” you hear Benny tell you as he walks past you and toward his own motorcycle. He doesn’t look back at you as he starts up the bike and waits as everyone else does the same.

Get on a bike. With Benny.

You spot Kathy on a bike with Cal. When she sees you looking, she nods her head towards Benny and smiles. You inhale a deep breath to give yourself before heading towards Benny, who offers you his hand as you climb on behind him.

“Well I’ll be damned, is Rainbow finally coming?” Brucie laughs when he sees you. He gave you the nickname when he saw you on your first day dressed in pastel colors and joked about how bright your clothes were. The name has stuck with you ever since, unfortunately.

“Hell yeah,” Cockroach shouts, along with a few others.

You roll your eyes and try to hide the smile forming across your lips. Benny instructs you to wrap your arms around his torso, which you do with uncertainty. You’re not sure how high or low you should have your hands and how tight to hold onto him.

This feels oddly intimate.

He smells like cigarettes — which would normally be a huge turn off if it was someone else — along with sweat from the multiple rounds of pool he played throughout the night, and his natural musk.

Benny must’ve noticed your nervousness because he grabs your hands and places them on his abdomen, allowing you to feel the muscles beneath his shirt. He gives your hands a small pat as if to keep them in place before following the rest of the Vandals as they pull out onto the street.

You’re not sure exactly what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. The way the wind whips around and through, taking your breath away in such an addicting way. The way the motorcycle vibrates your whole body, only intensifying your experience. You’re not sure how fast Benny’s going, but you couldn’t care less.

You hate to admit it, but the ride is over too quickly for your liking. As Benny separates from everyone else and pulls up in front of your house, you realize the smile currently on your face hasn’t left since the ride started.

Benny comes to a slow stop before cutting the engine and helping you off the bike and onto the sidewalk. Your body is still buzzing from the vibration of the bike, but you enjoy the feeling.

There’s a silence between the two of you as he watches you for a moment, looking you up and down.

“What?” You laugh nervously as you shift under his gaze. You wrap your arms around your body, not just to shield yourself from the window, but from him.

Benny smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing. I take it you enjoyed the ride.”

“I did actually,” you nod.

“So you wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again sometime?” he asks.

“I guess not,” you say.

“With me,” he adds, more as a statement than a question.

You blink. “What?”

“You know what. I’m asking you to come riding with me,” he says casually.

You want to say something, but honestly you're at a loss for words.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he smirks.

“And why would I do that?” you question.

“Because I want you to,” he shrugs his shoulders as he looks out into the distance. Benny takes a breath and hesitates for a second before looking back at you. It’s now or never. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get your attention?”

“My attention?” you ask, but you think you know where he’s headed with this.

“Yes, your attention. I’ve been flirting with you pretty much everyday since you started working at the bar, and you don’t seem to notice. I mean, some of the other guys have picked up on the fact that I like you.”

“I thought you were just being nice,” you tell him, your forehead creasing.

“Nice?” Benny scoffs with a laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that.”

“I don’t know, I just-I thought you were being nice since I’m always hanging around Kathy!”

“Even Kathy has noticed!” he throws a hand up.

“Lower your voice!” you hush him. It’s after midnight, and you don’t want everyone on the street to start looking out of their windows.

You really don’t know what to say now, though. Like, what the hell have you been doing all this time?

Well, to be fair, people don’t usually flirt with you.

“So….”

“So….” Benny drags out. “Will you put me out of my misery and go on a date with me? It doesn’t have to be anything special, unless you want it to. We can just go for a ride or I could take you out to eat. Anything you want,” Benny looks at you with hope written all over his face.

A grin slowly made its way across your face as you took in Benny. Is he nervous?

“I mean, I can’t really say no because we see each other all the time at the bar anyways,” you joke, causing Benny to let out a chuckle.

“Is that a yes then?” he asks.

“Yes,” you confirm. Benny nods, satisfied with your answer.

“I guess I should probably go — you’re cold, and I’m pretty sure your mother has been looking out the window this whole time,” Benny smirks.

Your mouth drops as you whip your head around just in time to see someone move away from the window on the second floor. There’s no doubt you’ll be flooded with a ton of questions later.

You turn back around when you hear Benny’s engine start back up.

“I’ll see you soon, Rainbow,” Benny shoots you a win, stealing the nickname Brucie had given you.

“That’s not my name!” you shout after him, and he just gives you a quick glance back before continuing down the road.

like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #benny cross #benny cross x reader #the bikeriders #the bikeriders x reader

519 notes · View notes

moody-alcoholic · 5 months ago

Text

Dinner date

Still don't have a name for this yet, I'm sure one will come to me. It's kind of cheeky since I had the first two chapter's pretty much ready to go, but the next chapter might take a while.

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Slow burn (sorry but not sorry). 3.4k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe. CW: Alcohol, little bit of touching, like I said it's a slow burn, very fluffy, got to get the fluff in before the smut ;)

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

You’re early again standing outside the coffee shop doors. Johnny didn’t give you much warning, asking if you were free that afternoon. You should have said no, rescheduled for another day. You didn’t want to come across as desperate, you didn’t want them to think you had nothing better to do then wait around for Johnny’s text. In truth that’s all you had been doing. You spent the last two days trying to distract yourself, thoroughly cleaning the flat and yourself. The vague talk of sex had you scrubbing and waxing your body within an inch of its life.

You take a breath and walk into the café, the place was warm and you find yourself taking your coat off as you walk up to the counter, ordering a tea. You pick a spot where you can see the door this time. Flicking through social media on your phone trying to calm yourself, checking the door every time it opens. It didn’t take long before you clock Johnny and Simon walking in. Johnny is standing up on his tiptoes making him almost as tall as Simon. Your heart skips a beat as Johnny spots you walking over to you dragging Simon behind him. He’s not wearing his usual skull balaclava, instead a the bottom half of his face was covered with black mask and he had his hood pulled up. He sat down while Johnny took his jacket off placing it over the back of the chair

“Need another?” He asked pointing at your cup.

“No, I’m good,” you say gripping the mug. Johnny smiles walking behind Simon pulling his hood down as he makes his way to the counter. You smile eyes fixated on Simon's curly golden locks. His eyes are a deep chocolate brown, he meets your gaze and you blush looking away. You take another sip of your tea, your leg bouncing under the table as you wait in silence for Johnny to come back. He places a cup in front of Simon and sits down with his own.

“How’ve ya been lass?” Johnny asks his infectious smile beaming on his face.

“Good, busy.” You say. “What about you two?”

“Ah nothing much, enjoying some time off.” Johnny says his hand resting on Simon's thigh. You look at Simon he seems tense his eyes studying your face, he seems like the polar opposite of Johnny. You simile at him anyway taking another sip of your tea.

“Plan on going anywhere with your leave?” Johnny asks.

“Maybe see a few friends, rest mostly.” You reply sighing.

“You got family?” Johnny asks raising an eyebrow. A lump forms in your throat.

“Yeah but we don’t speak much.” You reply swallowing the lump away.

“Are you a virgin?” Simon ask’s the question catching you so off guard you gasp your mouth hanging open.

“I think what Simon is trying to ask is have you ever had a boyfriend?” Johnny says squeezing Simon's thigh. You let out a smile at Johnny his presence calming you.

“Eh, yeah a few, never anything serious though.” You explain without going into too much detail.

“We must seem quite unusual, but I promise we don’t make a habit of taking pretty girls out for coffee.” Johnny winks. Your cheeks blush.

“It’s fine-I mean I don’t care-if you take pretty girls out for coffee..” You blurt out trying to act like you’re totally not freaking out with these two sat in front of you. Johnny chuckles taking a sip of his coffee. Simon hasn’t touched his, he’s leaned back in his chair arms folded.

“How do you do it? The threesomes?” You ask, skipping straight to the point. You’ve had the last two days to imagine the scenarios Johnny and Simon must get themselves into. “If you don’t make a habit of taking girls out for coffee first?” Johnny laughs.

“We’ve only tried it twice, you’d be surprised how many dating apps there are for this stuff.” Johnny looks at Simon who looks back at him, his eyes soften as Johnny strokes his thigh, it seems to calm him down.

“Just hookups, it’s like scratching round an itch, it doesn't feel quite right.” Johnny looks at you. You tried to pick up on what that meant, you’d always been pretty vanilla in the bedroom, not inexperienced but this was new territory.

“Why ask me?” You say nervously tapping the mug in your hand. Johnny smiles.

“Well for one you’re drop dead gorgeous love, been playing on our minds ever since the day we saw you.” You look down at the table feeling embarrassed tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Normally, when we talk about it it’s cos we have that itch that needs to be scratched. With you it’s like, there’s a full body rash and we desperately need you to itch it.” You see Simon roll his eyes at Johnny metaphor, but you get the point. I guess it’s now or never bite the bullet or turn them away. You look at them both again your eyes flicking between them, taking in a deep breath.

“So you’re not looking for a hookup?” You ask, your eyes flicking to Simon who hasn’t said a word since his last question, but his eyes have never left you.

“No, something different…” Johnny trails off, you bring your tea up to take a sip looking back at him.

“A relationship.” Simon blurts out. You swallow your tea hard looking over at Simon.

“But you two are married,” you say frowning, putting the cup down.

“Happily, but we both feel like there’s something missing.” Johnny says looking at Simon who looks back at him. You’d heard about this kind of dynamic before, people in 3 way relationships, seen documentaries and YouTube videos that kind of thing. It always seemed to be 2 women and one man though.

“Isn't it illegal?” You ask quietly. Johnny chuckles.

“Only if you marry multiple people.”

“Oh,” you don’t know why that disappointed you, they’re all ready married. You sigh looking at them not quite sure what to say next.

“How about we cook you dinner some time? You can come to our flat, we can chill out no pressure, just getting to know each other. See how the night goes.” Johnny suggests. You find yourself smiling again.

“Sure,” you say nodding. A dinner date, one that might end in sex has your tummy doing flips excitedly, the previous nerves being washed away.

“How about on Friday? I’ll text you the address?” Johnny asks. You nod sipping the last of your tea and checking your watch.

“Sounds good.” You smile going to get up.

“Haven’t scared you away ‘ave we lass?” Johnny asks.

“No, I just-I want to get home before rush hour and I’m crammed on the tube like a sardine.” You say as you walk round the table. Johnny laughs getting up giving you a hug. You say goodbye to them and make your way home.

Later that evening after a microwave meal and a few glasses of wine you get a text.

Thanks for today xx

You smile at the kisses.

No problem, can’t wait for Friday xx

Your belly is doing flips again, your mind wondering to the meeting today. Johnny and Simon had been on your mind for days now. But you're pretty sure the meeting today was more for Simon than anything else. You remember his eyes never leaving you like he was trying to soak up every inch.

Wear something sexy ;) xx

Holy shit that sent tingles through your body. The wine mulling you out, the thought of a skimpy dress being ripped off your body by Simon and Johnny forced its way into your head making your body shiver.

Of course ;) xx

There let his imagination go wild.

——————————

Johnny and Simon's flat was in a very affluent part of London a place you had only ever been too once. You double checked the address before pressing the correct buzzer. There are a few seconds before a voice comes through.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Ashe,” You say.

“Ah come on up!” Johnny’s energetic voice comes through the speaker. The door buzzes and you make your way to the lift taking it up to the 6th floor. You grip the neck of he bottle of wine you bought, pulling down the bottom of your dress again. It had been at least half a year since you had dressed yourself up like this. Your heels felt especially uncomfortable, but you did promise sexy, you hoped it was enough. You make it to the door ringing the bell. It’s Simon who opens it, it’s the first time you have ever seen him without a mask. His hair freshly groomed, he’s stunning just like johnny, you fight to keep your jaw from dropping.

“Wine,” you say thrusting it into his hands. He smiles taking it and stepping aside. Holy shit it’s the kind of smile that makes you weak at the knees, it’s maybe even more palpable then Johnny’s. Their flat is nice, big windows, open plan, great view of the city. You start to take your coat off when you feel Simon’s hands on your shoulder’s helping you slip it off.

“Thanks,” you say turning to him as he hangs it on a hook. He makes his way back over to you lightly pressing his hand on the small of your back leading you down the hall. The touch sends electricity up your spine but you’re quickly distracted by the amazing smells coming out the kitchen. You look to see Johnny pushing something round in a pan, he looks at you, his mouth dips open as he leans back putting one hand on his hip taking you in.

“Well ain’t you a sight to behold.” A wave of embarrassment falls over you and you look at your feet for a second heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Wine?” Simon asks his hand leaving your back as he heads to a cupboard to take out glasses.

“Yes, please,” you say a little too quickly, seeing Johnny chuckle turning his attention back to the food. Simon pours the glasses handing one to you and placing one next to Johnny. He leans up against the sink behind Johnny who turns to see him sipping his wine. He reaches down and picks up his glass.

“Cheers!” He says holding it up then taking a sip. You follow taking a big gulp.

“What are you cooking?” You ask moving over to stand next to Johnny looking at the various pots and pans working on the hob.

“Chicken alfredo,” He says proudly putting the lid on the pan with the chicken in.

“It smells amazing,” you say, it’s true the smell has your mouth watering.

“It’ll be done soon just need to wait on the pasta.” You nod turning your head to look at Simon still leaning against the sink. His eyes meet yours, and a small smile appears on his lips, you take another sip of your wine feeling your body relax as you smile back at Simon feeling your heart flutter. He seems different more relaxed when he’s in his own home, not like the big scary skull guy you’re used to seeing round the base. His eyes are soft but always alert, flicking between you and Johnny.

“Need a hand with anything?” You ask, feeling like you need to do something other then standing around gawking at them.

“Don’t be silly lass you’re a guest,” Johnny says as he scoops out a piece of pasta tasting it.

“Why don’t you go sit down with Simon, the food is pretty much done anyway.” You nod letting Simon lead you to the dining table. You take a seat as Simon sits opposite you.

“How long you been in the Army?” He asks.

“4 years,” You say. “What about you?” He lets out a chuckle.

“I stopped keeping count.” He says as Johnny comes over with the first plate placing it in front of you.

“Thank you, it looks great.” You say watching as he places a plate in front of Simon.

“If there’s one thing Johnny is good at it’s cooking.” Simon says as Johnny walks back into the kitchen smiling.

“That’s why I married him.” Simon says quieter leaning over to you. You can’t help but chuckle. Johnny comes back sitting with his plate and a bottle of wine.

“Well dig in,” he says picking up his fork. You smile following his lead twisting the pasta round your fork and almost throwing it in your mouth.

“Holy shit,” you say. “This is amazing.” Johnny laughs looking at Simon. They spend most of the meal chatting, they tell you more about their work. Talking about some people called Gaz and Price. Their banter puts you at ease as you listen to them, the whole thing starting to feel more and more natural. They ask you questions too, about your life, why you joined the army. It’s only when they ask about your family you shy away from giving too much info. By the end of the meal you’re full with a nice buzz going from the wine. Johnny insists on moving to the sofa where it’s more comfortable. You nod first excusing yourself to the bathroom. When you come back out Simon and Johnny are already sprawled out on the couch flicking through the TV channels. You can see a bottle of whisky on the coffee table as you make your way over. As soon as Simon sees you he moves apart from Johnny.

“It’s okay,” You say waving him back to his spot. “I’ll sit on the end.”

“Don’t be silly love, come sit.” Johnny says patting the spot between him and Simon. You feel bad for breaking them apart like this but then you remember the reason you’re here in the first place. Simon wouldn’t have moved so eagerly if he didn’t want you to sit between them. You smile walking over and sitting down leaning back on the plush sofa. Johnny extends his arm round the back encouraging you to lean against him, which you do. He smells good, whatever cologne hes using fills your nose, its earthy it suits him.

“The food was good.” You say breathing out relaxing into his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s good.” He says his voice humming in your ear making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You watch as Simon keeps flicking through the TV till he lands on some random police chaser show, and he throws the remote on the coffee table. You watch as he leans back on the sofa.

“You can put your legs up if you want I don’t mind.” He says looking over at you, it was uncomfortable leaning on Johnny with your feet still on the floor. You reluctantly pull yourself from Johnny’s shoulder bending over and unclasping the strap on your heals pulling them off. You move so they have a bit more room leaning back up against Johnny with your legs on Simon’s knees.

“‘E’s never gonna make it,” Johnny says pointing at the TV as you see a birds eye view of the police chase.

“I don’t know, he’s got some good distance now.” Simon says.

“I bet he loses them.” You say, looking at Simon who moves his hand down to rub your leg, you smile at him in approval enjoying the feel of his hands on your body.

“See you want to avoid the tight residential streets.” Johnny says as a matter of fact.

“Talking from experience there Johnny?” Simon says chuckling.

“Not experience just common sense.” You chuckle looking up at him, his deep blue eyes looking back at you.

“You okay?” He asks smiling down at you. You nod as you do his arm rests on your back pulling you closer to him. You let out a breath your arm stretching its way over Johnny’s stomach.

“Have you done this before? With other women?” You ask. Shit, why did that come out now, it’s a total mood killer. And you were enjoying yourself, your body tenses as you grip Johnny’s shirt. Johnny chuckles of course he does his hand squeezes your arm.

“No lass, we weren’t exactly on the look out for women.” Johnny’s smile put your mind at ease.

“We knew you were special.” He murmurs, squeezing your arm again. You look over at Simon still stroking your leg. He smiles, reaching over and squeezing Johnny’s hand. You look back over at the TV, they’ve caught the guy.

——————————

When the show ends Johnny gets up to clear the table, flat out refusing your offers to help insisting you stay on the couch with Simon. You sit up yawning looking down at your watch. Shit, it’s almost 10pm. If you stay any longer you’re going to end up having to walk home instead, you nervously tap your foot at the thought of walking across London at night.

“You alright?” Simon asks placing his hand on your thigh you stop tapping your foot.

“Yeah, just I didn’t realise how late is was.” You say smiling.

“Do you need to get home?” He asks. You look at him, you don’t want to leave this is nice, but it would be rude to stay the night. You find yourself biting your lip trying to think of what the best solution would be.

“You can stay the night, we have a spare room it’s no bother.” Simon says.

“You’ve already been so accommodating I couldn’t-”

“It’s not a problem.” He cuts you off, his voice laced with authority, you almost want to bark back yes sir. Instead you nod smiling at him. He moves his hand from your thigh reaching over for the bottle of whisky.

“Want one?” He asks.

“Sure,” you smile at him as he leans forward pouring the shots. You pick it up trying to remember the last time you had had a whisky neat.

“To new things.” He says, you clink your glass with his and drink. It burns your throat as it goes down and you can’t help coughing, it’s stronger then you remember, or maybe it’s the fact it’s not mixed with coke. Simon chuckles taking the glass out your and hand placing it on the table. Johnny comes back into the living room with a bottle of wine and a hand full of glasses.

“Breaking out the scotch already?” He says.

“Tastes like wood,” You cough again the taste coming back.

“Probably why Si likes it so much,” Johnny winks sitting down next to you and pouring you a glass of wine you gladly accept to get rid of the taste of whisky.

“She’s gonna be staying the night Johnny.” Simon says as a matter of fact. You look over at Johnny to see his response.

“No complaints from me.” He beams sipping on his wine. You place your glass back on the table leaning back on the couch. You feel Simon’s arm pull you onto his chest this time, you put your legs on Johnny’s thighs without thinking about it. Feeling his warm hands stroke your leg. Simon plants his chin on the top of your head as you stretch your arm over his stomach. He’s bigger then Johnny, his shoulders broader you relax into him just like you did with Johnny. Okay maybe you could get used to this, Simon’s hand rests on your side rubbing your arm.

“Can I hold your hand?” He asks after a few seconds. You don’t say anything but move to loop your fingers with his. It feels natural his hand being in yours. You look over at Johnny, he smiles at you squeezing your leg. Then your stomach drops in realisation you squeeze Simon's hand sitting up.

“I don’t have any pyjamas, or a tooth brush.” You look between, Simon and Johnny, suddenly aware of how uncomfortable your dress was feeling.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, you can borrow one of my tops.” Johnny says laughing.

“Or mine, and we have a spare toothbrush I’m sure.” Simon says pulling you back onto his chest. You look back at the TV as Simon and Johnny get back to guessing how this police chase is going to end. You find yourself rubbing Simon’s thumb as you relax even more. Okay you could defiantly get used to this.

Next part

383 notes · View notes

the-ace-with-spades · 8 months ago

Text

(I adore fics where Johnny’s family loves Ghost from day one, but, you know…angst)

Soap and Ghost had been together for almost two years. They never name the relationship, really, but it's serious and they both know it.

Thing is, Johnny's seen Ghost's face a total of four times, counting Las Almas.

Well, he sees parts of it regularly, more than others. Ghost will either roll the balaclava up when they're reading together in bed or when they're eating. Sometimes, when Soap wants to go out and Ghost indulges him, he goes in public in just either a face mask or a gaiter and Soap can see his short wavy blonde hair sticking all over the place and

The four times he had seen Simon’s face in it’s whole — obviously, Las Almas; one time when he was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound and Johnny had to check; one time when they took a shower together, Simon stayed with his back toward him through most of it, but when they finished, he let Johnny dry off his hair; one time, when Johnny asked him to see him for his birthday presents, a few minutes after midnight.

Johnny wasn’t sure why exactly Simon didn’t want to show him his face. It wasn’t a trust thing — he trusted Johnny with more than his own life — and it wasn’t like he was ugly — he was downright sinful. He never drilled the topic because he didn’t care, if SImon wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready, but if he had to guess, it was all to do with identity and being seen. No one knew his face — people could know his name, Simon “Ghost” Riley, but they wouldn’t know the man behind the mask. Wouldn’t know the people behind Simon “Ghost” Riley.

(Johnny wasn’t completely off on the assumption — Simon didn’t want anyone to know his face because faceless people weren’t missed. Faceless graves — like his own — didn’t have people to leave behind, and faceless soldiers didn’t have loved ones to find and he was both. No one could get hurt if he remained faceless. Or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself.)

And Johnny is okay with that — if Simon never showe him his face again, he’d still love him all the same. Johnny’s family? Not so much.

They’re supposed to be in Glasgow for five days total, leaving after Boxing Day. Johnny gives them all a warning, that Ghost is a bit shy and doesn’t like showing his face, he’ll most likely stay covered the whole time, he might be wearing a balaclava, or a mask, he probably won't eat at the table.

When they arrive at his parents house, it almost seems like everyone forgot. Like everyone thought it'd be more mild or that Johnny was exaggerating.

There are looks. There is silence. People can't stop staring.

His mam takes one look at Simon’s balaclava once they enter the living room and looks funny at them. “Ah thooght Ah tauld ye boays tae strip doon.”

“Mam, lea him alane,” he tries but he can tell that Simon is getting tense and his mam is getting tense.

His mam, who is usually the sweetest person ever, is uncharacteristically quiet and curt whenever Simon is around. Simon doesn't really know how to make it better — Johnny's never seen him so silent outside of stealth missions, he just stands there like a sore thumb, not making anything less awkward. He didn't expect him to — Simon's social skills are lacking and he loves him that way — but he expected his own family to not make such a big deal out of that mask.

His da is stern and silent, which is as disapproving as he gets. His sisters are a bit weirded out, but mostly focused on teasing Johnny, even making fun of the mask. With a stupid grin, his older sister asks, “Does he keep it oan in bed?”

Johnny doesn't say anything to that, even though his face feels red. His sisters stop laughing.

“He does?” When Johnny tries to step out of the room and avoid the conversation, his sister’s tone changes. “Hae ye e’en seen his face?”

“O’ coorse Ah hae,” he spits out. He doesn’t specify it was only four times — he doesn’t think it’d help. “And ‘s a bonnie ane, alricht.”

It doesn’t save the situation and his sisters are also weirded out and wary from then on.

The kids do not care — they ask maybe two questions, tilts their head as Simon explains and that’s it — and Johnny breathes a little easier as soon as his nieces push Simon outside to help them build a snowman.

The judgment doesn’t stop. Johnny’s blood boils any time it shows and even though Simon says it’s all fine, he can’t stop feeling angry about this. They just can’t get past the mask.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are difficult to Simon and Johnny knows it. He’s given him the option to omit the family dinner on both those days if he’s not feeling alright enough to spend those days in crowdy house filled with a flock of loud and cheery people of all ages.

Simon knows this. He also knows that if he says he wants to stay at Johnny’s flat for the time being, Johnny is going to insist he doesn’t have to go either, that he’d prefer to stay in with him and not go for the Christmas dinner. Which he also knows is bullshit — Johnny loves Christmas, loves spenidng time with his family, that was basically why he kept on insisting Simon couldn’t stay alone at the base for Christmas another year in a row. It was the main reason why he agreed to go with Johnny in the first place, he was pretty sure if he didn’t go with him, Johnny would insist he stays, too.

So Simon stays in for Christmas Eve — or rather goes to a pub while Soap spends the day with his parents — but insists they go to Christmas dinner.

His family is disappointed to see him there, to the point the usual manuevering around politeness and disapproving go onto a backburner.

“John said yer nae a fan o’ Christmas,” Johnny’s mum says to him pointedly.

“That’s right.”

“And yet ye’r ’ere,” she notes.

Johnny is far away from the earshot and he doesn’t want to lie to her so he admits, “If I didn’t come, Johnny would insist on keepin’ me company.”

“How come ye dinnae try to hae a bit mair cheer fur th' holidays then? Put a bit mair effort in for ma baby.”

Johnny notices and soon enough, he’s next to him, their arms brushing, Johnny’s hand on the small of his back. “Lea him alane, mam.”

“It’s fine,” he says even though it’s not fine. They deserve an explanation, even just to know what they son is getting himself into. “My family was murdered on Christmas Eve. I’m—I’m trying.”

The silence falls over the room — Johnny’s mum, dad, his sister, all present, not looking at them. Simon closes his eyes, tries to breathe.

Johnny rubs his back. “Let’s gae home.”

“I’m not ruining Christmas for you, Johnny,” he says. Before Johnny can deny it — and he knows he’d try — he tries to placate, “Let’s just have ourselves a minute to calm down.”

Maybe it’s the way his voice is perfectly levelled or the way his hand trembles as he squeezes Johnny’s, but he lets him leave the room.

He steps outside — to the backyard. Sits down on the step to the garden and lets the snow soak through his jeans and the top o his balaclava.

The kids come outside, tripping over Simon’s legs. They were all oblivious to the trails and errors of Simon’s integration into the family, so they approach him as always

“Whit's wrang?”

There’s just something so innocent in having a six-year-old girl covered from head to toe in pink and glitter worry about you. Simon would never admit it in front of Johnny, but he finds the accent cute.

Simon takes off the mask.

The kids all look at him and look at him, a bit unsure maybe a bit fearful — it can be a scary sight, he admits, the elongated, jagged smile that sticks to him no matter the mood, makes him more crazy than he already is — but only one of Johnny’s niece keeps her eyes on Simon’s face.

Shily, she asks, “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replies. When she smiles, he smiles back.

Not anymore.

This is Johnny’s family. Simon can deny it all he wants, but Johnny’s seen him as family, as someone he’d leave behind, and it hadn’t been unrequited. He can’t hide behind a mask forever and maybe this was the kick he needed.

He steps back inside when his hands turn numb. He doesn’t put the mask back on.

Johnny’s eyes widen. “Simon?”

Simon just—smiles. He can feel the scars pulling on the corners of his mouth, the stiffer skin, but he’s not faceless. He’s not been faceless for a while.

Edit (29/03/24): This is now a WIP for a minimum 15k fic, titled don't shoot me, santa, that will have 4 chapters and will be posted (hopefully) later in the year

#this is like a very shortened version with some points cropped out #maybe this will be a full-blown fic at some point #who knows? not me for sure #idk maybe closer to christmas or sth if i have inspiration #i headcanon soap speaks scots whenever he's home/speaking freely and softens the accent otherwise #i love glasgowian accents but im not good at writing them so #ghoap #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #call of duty #q #charlie writes #op

517 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months ago

Text

1968 [Chapter 8: Demeter, Goddess Of The Harvest]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Is it a story worth telling? I think so. It’s better than nothing. It’s better than watching raindrops slither down the cracked concrete walls until the prison guards come back to bloody us again.

Today I’m sending John McCain taps in the shape of the tale of Io. John has a hard time tapping back—they’re doing something to his shoulders, they’re destroying him—but he likes to listen. He’s getting it a lot worse than I am; perhaps even the North Vietnamese fear Aemond’s retribution if I die here. They should be afraid of him. He thinks he owns everything he touches, and he’ll snap bones to keep it.

So anyway, Io was a king’s daughter, a mortal who Zeus saw and wanted and took when her father kicked her out to avoid the god’s wrath. That’s easily half of Greek mythology, right? Zeus appears, irrevocably fucks up someone’s life, vanishes in a plume of clouds and thunder. He leaves human rubble behind him: ribs, nerves, disembodied hearts that leak blood from torn ventricles, minds broken in two. Zeus impregnated Io and then turned her into a cow to hide her from his wife Hera, ever-watchful, ever-vengeful, an aspiring mass murderess. When this disguise failed, Hera condemned Io to wander ceaselessly through the wilderness, tormented by the constant stinging of a gadfly. Eventually, Zeus returns Io to human form and she pops out a few bastard kids, as if Zeus needs any more of those. Then he ditches her and she marries some Egyptian dude. There are other details that I’ve forgotten. I don’t think John McCain will know the difference.

I’m sure you’re wondering how I acquired all this fabled trivia. I don’t seem like the type to lie around under trees reading folklore from religions that died thousands of years ago. You’re right, I’m not. But Aemond is. He would tell the stories, and Helaena would embroider scenes on quilts for us to burrow under in the winter, and I would dramatically act out the best parts (mostly murders), and Aegon would scribble comics in jagged black pen strokes. He has all these notebooks down in the basement filled with his new versions of ancient myths: Poseidon as a horny dolphin, Aphrodite as Marilyn Monroe.

Wait, I remember what I skipped. While Io was roaming across the globe, she bumped into Prometheus—chained to a rock for giving humans the gift of fire—and he cheered her up somehow. I guess meeting a guy who gets his liver continuously chewed out by a giant eagle would make me more appreciative of my circumstances too.

I have a lot of time to myself here in solitary confinement. My social circle is microscopic. I tap to John through the wall, I have dinner dates with Tessarion the rat. And I think about my family. They’re fucked up, but I miss them. I miss going to Monmouth Park with Fosco to bet on horse races, I miss getting hammered with Aegon while he sings Johnny Cash or Beatles songs. I miss my mother and Helaena and Criston. I even miss Aemond’s wife, though I only met her a few times before I deployed. She’s sharp, she’s hilarious. She’s mean as hell to Aegon, and sometimes he deserves it.

At first I wondered why Aemond hasn’t gotten me out yet, but I understand now. It sounds a lot better to have a brother being tortured as a prisoner of war than one who received a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It’s the kind of thing Aemond would consider. He understands which stories are worth telling.

I feel kind of bad for her. Aemond’s wife, I mean.

I don’t think she knows about Alys.

~~~~~~~~~~

On a chilly mid-September morning cloaked in fog, Mimi is laid to rest in the Targaryen family mausoleum at Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park, New Jersey. Most of the golden plaques already have names chiseled into them: Viserys and Alicent, Fosco and Helaena. Aegon will one day be interred beside his wife. You have a spot reserved next to Aemond. All of you have already lived and died and been entombed; all of this was predestined by the stars eons before you had blood or bones.

Ari’s vault—an unnaturally tiny drawer, less than half the size of anyone else’s—is located just above yours. You can’t stop staring at it. You can’t hear anything the bearded priest in his black robes is chanting. Then Cosmo squeezes your hand and you look down at him. Mimi’s other children are somber but seem to be coping well enough—they are used to being raised by consensus, they would probably be more affected if one of the nannies died—but Cosmo always wants to be near you. He gazes up with those vast, wet, murky blue eyes, so much like Aegon’s, and you offer him a sad, reassuring smile. Cosmo smiles back. And you think: Life goes on.

Alicent is sniffling noisily; it echoes off the walls of the mausoleum. Criston—a man with no plaque assigned to him—is trying to console her. Aegon is watching you from across the cold granite chamber, grim and red-eyed in his black suit, the first time you can remember seeing him in one since your wedding. He wears no small gold hoops, only a row of stitches in his right ear. He wants to say something, to do something, but he can’t. Aemond is beside you, a hand heavy on your waist but muttering something to Otto. Back in Omaha, Otto had spent a few hours alone with the medical examiner, and when the death certificate was issued it revealed that Mimi died of a heart defect, a perfectly blameless sort of misfortune, an innate impending disaster. And so that’s what the newspapers printed, and any gossip to the contrary is confined to salacious rumors, untrustworthy and unproven.

When the ceremony is over, journalists are waiting to scavenge for photos and quotes under the guise of expressing their sympathies. It’s a shameless display, though they at least have the decency to wait by the cemetery gates. Aemond and Otto go to meet them. Alicent, Criston, Helaena, and Fosco, protective of the children, keep them far away from the feeding frenzy, hungry-eyed reporters like sharks without fins. Ludwika is reapplying her lipstick. Aegon is smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to his oldest son, Orion, a stilted exchange that holds the promise of turning warm with time.

You sit on a stone bench and Cosmo curls up beside you, rests his head in your lap, dozes off as you thread your fingers through his wavy blonde hair. In the mist there are shadows of gravestones and trees that turn skeletal as they shed their leaves.

“He is okay?” Fosco says as he ambles over, meaning Cosmo. He has his hands in the pockets of his slim black trousers that stop at his ankles. His suit is velvet, his eyeglasses speckled with drizzle from the slate-grey sky.

“He’s alright. He’s resting. Are you okay?”

“Oh,” Fosco sighs mournfully. “I keep thinking someone is missing. We came into this family together, Mimi and I. We got married six months apart. I have never had to do this without her. And I know she had her problems, but she was different when she was younger. She always liked a party, that’s why she and Aegon got along so well at first. But she was so loud and so funny, always telling these long stories, and everyone in the room would be grinning as they waited for the good part. Viserys loved her. Otto loved her. And then she had all those children one after the other, and that was hard, and Aegon self-destructed when he was the mayor of Trenton, and that was worse, and she was supposed to fix him and she couldn’t, the harder she tried the farther he ran from her. She started drinking her Gimlets before dinner, and then after lunch, and by the time you showed up it was never ending. But that wasn’t who she really was. She was like a moon that got smaller and smaller until the only thing left was a sliver.”

This family breaks people. This family kills people. “We’ll make ossi dei morti for Mimi tonight. I’ll help you, and we can teach the kids.”

Fosco smiles, swipes a tear from beneath his glasses, squeezes your shoulder with one wiry hand. “I am very glad you are still here.”

“I’m not trying to race you to that mausoleum.”

Fosco laughs. And then he says as he spies Aegon approaching: “Um…I will go avoid the paparazzi somewhere else.”

“You don’t have to leave, Fosco.”

“It is no trouble. And I suspect you enjoy your very rare privacy.” Fosco gives you a knowing glace and then heads back to where Helaena, Alicent, and Criston are lingering with the rest of the children. Now Ludwika is fluffing her blonde curls with her French tips, a smoldering Camel cigarette tucked between two fingers.

Aegon comes to you through the mist, plops onto the bench, and looks fondly down at Cosmo—now fast asleep, his face smooth and peaceful—before he speaks. “I can’t grasp that she’s really gone. We barely spoke for years, but she was always there, you know? Christ, she deserved better than this. She could have been happy somewhere else.”

“Your children need you.” It’s not the first time you’ve said it, but it’s the first time he believes you. He nods, staring out into the fog. “They have to get away from this whole circus for a while. And you have to learn how to be a real parent.”

“I’ll have time to work on it. I’m staying here. I’ve already been informed.”

You are alarmed. “What? By who?”

“Aemond and Otto.” Aegon says. “When the rest of you fly west, my kids and I will be at Asteria.”

“They’re getting you off the campaign trail,” you realize.

“They’re putting me on house arrest.”

Not seeing Aegon, not being near him? How long can I stand that? “I’m sure you’re relieved. You hate the grandstanding and the media.”

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I have Fosco and Ludwika.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that they need to look out for you.”

“Aegon, I’ve been doing the political wife thing for over two years.”

“But it’s different now.”

He’s right, it is.

“You’ll call, won’t you?” he asks. “You’ll let me know how the trip is going, you’ll tell me if anything bad happens? Because I can always get on a plane and meet you wherever you are. Otto might pay someone to murder me, but I’d risk it.”

“Of course I’ll call.”

“Hey.” Gently, he turns your face so you can’t hide from him. “Will you be okay without me?”

I have to be. I don’t have a choice. Instead you reply: “I’ll miss the weed.”

The tension breaks and Aegon smiles, and then he pats your cheek twice with his open palm. “Behave yourself.” He waves Ludwika over, interrupting her meditative chain smoking.

“What, what?” Ludwika says. “Are we leaving soon? Yes, it is so sad what happened to Mimi, but us standing around in the rain won’t resurrect her. And I look terrible in black.”

“I can’t be there for the last leg of the campaign.” Aegon points to you. “I need you to pay attention and check in with her at least a few times a day.”

“This is a common request. I should get a degree in it so I can charge people.”

Aegon furrows his brow at her. “What are you talking about?”

Ludwika smirks as she puffs on her Camel. “You are not the first person to ask me to keep an eye on her.” She nods subtly towards Aemond, then sashays off to give a quote to the journalists.

~~~~~~~~~~

In San Diego, Aemond meets with residents of a new public housing complex to hear their concerns about neighborhood jobs and infrastructure. In San Jose, he visits labor activist Caesar Chavez—being treated for debilitating back pain at O’Connor Hospital—and expresses support for the ongoing boycott of all grapes produced in the state. In Sacramento, he attends a Jimi Hendrix concert and receives a standing ovation from the audience; the next day he joins high school students protesting for a more inclusive curriculum. In Oregon, he makes a speech at Portland State University acknowledging the tremendous cost of the Vietnam War—in money, in time, in blood—and pledges to begin dismantling U.S. involvement as soon as he is sworn into office in January. Aemond talks about hope and despair, the bleak reality and the American Dream, and he is so overwhelmed by the crowd that he doesn’t even notice when someone takes his cufflinks as souvenirs. His lack of concern for his own safety exasperates Criston, but Aemond can’t be convinced to increase his security or his distance. If he expects the disaffected masses to carry him to the White House, he has to be real to them.

“What if another Wallace supporter tries to shoot you?” Criston demands. “What if a Nixon stooge stabs you or a crowd tramples you?”

“No one can kill me,” Aemond says, grinning wryly. “I’m not supposed to die yet. I’m supposed to be the president. It is God’s will.” And how can anybody disagree when that appears to be so true?

The earth dies as you drive north, summer withering into autumn. That familiar brisk cuttingness reappears in the air. You shake thousands of hands, smile for countless photographs. Mothers and wives of dead soldiers sob into your shoulder as you embrace them; teenage girls ask how they can get a good man like Aemond. Only one thing is missing from his glorious pilgrimage: something he wants desperately, something he cannot have (though he’ll never know why), you conceiving his child in time to announce it before Election Day. Each morning you sneak a pill and every night you bite the bullet. As often as you can, you duck into Dairy Queens to order lemon-lime Mr. Mistys.

George Wallace is in the South, galvanizing segregationists and accepting the endorsement of the Ku Klux Klan. Richard Nixon is working his way across the Midwest. He has chosen a politically moderate Greek as a running mate, Spiro Agnew; this does not strike you as a coincidence. He even shares a name with Aegon’s second son.

Nixon promises “peace with honor” in Vietnam, which means no immediate end to the draft. He makes speeches about “states’ rights” and “law and order,” ambiguous euphemisms designed to attract Wallace’s white supremacists without alienating too many suburban moderates. He commiserates with those lamenting the proliferation of sex, drugs, and divorce. He says he will return the nation to a more moral time. You wonder what he means. You can’t think of any such refuge in the bloodletting, spine-crushing history of mankind.

A kindergarten teacher tells you in Olympia, Washington, her eyes alight with reverence usually reserved for heroes, saints, gods: “People are voting for Aemond, but they’re voting for you too.”

And you find yourself thinking as a thousand miles roll by beyond the glass of limousine windows: How many people will I condemn if I don’t help Aemond win? How many lives is mine worth?

~~~~~~~~~~

The Hotel Sorrento in Seattle insists on giving you and Aemond the honeymoon suite: a retreat from the breakneck campaign, a romantic oasis for the future president and first lady…according to half the country, anyway. You are in the impractically large pink bathtub, surrounded by snowy dunes of bubbles. The wall to your right is a mirror, foggy around the edges; just a few yards to your left is the king-sized bed. In the top drawer of your nightstand is the card Aegon gave you in July. You aren’t sure where Aemond is, and you don’t especially care. You are relieved to be alone.

There’s a passion-red phone built into the rim of the tub, conveniently located for sudden room service revelations, champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, steak and lobster. You have a different idea. It’s 7:15 p.m. here, so after 10 on the East Coast. On the steam-slick keypad, you dial the number for the main house at Asteria.

Eudoxia picks up and demands gruffly: “Geiá sou? Ti?”

“Hi, Doxie. Is Aegon around?”

“Where else would he be? Making himself useful somehow? Killing communists, driving a rocket to the moon? No. He is a burden as always.”

“Please be nice to him. His wife just died.”

“And so he cannot put his empty cups in the sink?” Without waiting for a reply, she sets the handset down on the kitchen counter with a clunk. There is distant, muffled shouting in Greek; she seems to back and forth with somebody. Then Eudoxia returns. “Antio sas,” she says, and hangs up just as a phone elsewhere in the house is lifted from its cradle.

Aegon answers with something halfway between a groan and a yawn. “Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey!” You can hear it riding the wire like electricity: a rustling as he sits up, a fresh clarity in his skull. His voice is deep, hushed, still husky with sleep. “What’s up, little Io? Any interesting happenings to report from your neighborhood of the solar system?”

“I just left a riveting tea party. Apple cinnamon scones and smoked salmon sandwiches. We talked about what kind of couches I should get for the White House and I wanted to kill myself. Are the kids okay?”

He’s smiling; you can tell. “They’re alright. I could have used you this afternoon. I was trying to help Spiro with his math homework. Trying, not succeeding.”

“Well he’s in middle school and thus beyond your skill.”

“How’s Jupiter?”

You know who he means. “I don��t want to talk about Aemond.”

“Okay.” Aegon says, curious. “So what should we talk about?”

A few seconds tick by, silent and perilous. “Where are you right now?”

“In my lair. Like a beast.”

“Alone?”

A transitory pause. “At the moment.”

“On the shag carpet or your futon?”

Now he’s very intrigued. “Futon. Why?”

“I just want a visual.” Beneath the water, your free hand is resting on the velvety inside of your thigh.

“Where are you?” Aegon asks.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Maybe I want a visual too.”

You chuckle, peeking over at yourself in the mirror. Your skin is dewy with steam; stray wisps of hair stick to your face. “I’m in a gigantic pink bathtub. It’s ridiculous, it’s shaped like a heart and everything. They have a phone installed right here in case I find myself in desperate need of filet mignon.”

“Oh.” And then he hesitates, like he’s afraid to say the wrong thing. “Big enough for two?”

“More like five. You should get a tub like this for your basement, it would delight the campaign staffers.”

“My basement’s been pretty empty recently.”

Softly, vulnerably, glass offered for him to shatter: “You aren’t seeing other girls?”

“Nah, babe. I want something they can’t give me.”

You picture him, messy hair falling over his forehead, drowsy eyes that gleam with clandestine wisdom. You can smell the smoke and rum that bleeds from his skin. “I wish you were here.”

“In Seattle?”

“No. Right here.”

Aegon exhales shakily, swallows, takes a few seconds to collect himself. “How’s the water?”

“Extremely hot and full of bubbles.”

“So I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

“No,” you say, baiting him.

“But I could touch you.”

“You already have.”

“Not enough,” he murmurs. “Nowhere close to enough.”

“Do you remember what I felt like?”

“Oh God,” he whispers, and you envision him closing his eyes, rubbing his face with the open palm of his left hand. “Yeah. Of course I do. I can’t get it out of my head. But I’ve been trying not to…you know…it felt wrong to think about you that way unless you were cool with it. Like I was betraying your trust or taking advantage of you or something.”

“No, I want you to think about me.”

You can hear Aegon moving around on the green futon, repositioning himself, yanking down a zipper. When he speaks again, his breathing is quick and jagged. “Where’s your other hand, huh?”

“Under the water,” you reply coyly.

“You bitch,” he says, laughing. “I miss you so fucking much. The house isn’t right without you in it. You belong here, you belong where I am.”

Beneath the veil of bubbles and steam, there is no scar on your belly, no infidelity, no campaign, no distance of almost 3,000 miles separating you and Aegon. Your fingers slip between your legs, finding slickness the water can’t wash away. It’s a familiar sensation, though you haven’t felt it in a while: rising steadily until you hit a plateau like a jet reaching cruising altitude. From here, it will either glide along smoothly until it dies out, or eventually turn sharp and painful. “Tell me about you,” you pant.

He can hear it in your voice, a needful surrender that sets him on fire. He can’t believe this is happening; he never wants it to end. “I mean, I’m…I’m insanely hard.”

“Stroke yourself, imagine it’s me. I wish it could be me.”

“Oh fuck,” Aegon whimpers. “Okay, okay…I want you. I want you with my fingers, I want you with my tongue, I want you to beg for it, and then…”

Impossibly, incomparably, your own pleasure is climbing faster than you can reconcile yourself to it, no longer a hunger but a violent aching, a crushing gravity you can’t fight against, a ship being dragged to the floor of the ocean. What’s happening? When will it end? You moan into the phone, amazed yet petrified. You can’t get enough air; it feels like drowning, like dying.

“I need to see you,” Aegon says. He’s close to the climax that you know men experience, he has to be; he’s gasping. “I need to be with you, let me give you what you want.”

“I want you to finish inside me.”

“Io…babe…oh my God, you’re gonna kill me…”

There are sounds out in the front room of the suite: a lock clicking, footsteps, keys and a wallet tossed onto the kitchenette counter. You’re so consumed you almost don’t notice. Aemond is back. Aemond is back!! And every ion of your ascending euphoria evaporates. “Gotta go, bye.”

“Wait—!”

You hang up just as Aemond is opening the bedroom door. He walks in—immaculately tailored dark blue suit, polished black leather shoes trampling soft pink carpet—and turns to you. He has already taken his glass eye out and put on his eyepatch. Vaguely, fleetingly, you wonder where he’s been. His gaze darts to the red phone, your fingerprints in the condensation. “Who were you talking to?”

“My parents.”

If Aemond doubts this, he doesn’t show it. He crosses the room, sits on the edge of the bathtub, peers down at you with an omniscient metallic glint in his eye. He’s always been less a man than a force of nature. “I know this year has been hell.”

You envision Persephone being stolen by Hades, Orpheus searching for his dead wife Eurydice, Charon ferrying souls across the River Styx. “You haven’t made it easier.”

There’s a flash of something in his scarred face, blazing and instantaneous like lightning, and then it fades. He reaches out to touch your hair, swept up and neatly bound with clips and pins. “We can’t forget everything we’ve accomplished together,” Aemond says. “I still need you. You’re my Aphrodite.”

He’s going to tell you to get out of the tub, to lie down on the bed, to open yourself so he can fill you. You distract him, forestalling the inevitable. Each morning Prometheus dreads the return of the eagle that pecks out his liver; as every summer ends Demeter mourns the loss of Persephone. “Any luck with Nixon?”

Aemond sighs, furious, brooding. “He still won’t agree to a debate. Wallace is onboard, he’s rabid for it, he’d show up if we held it in the fucking asteroid belt, any opportunity to spew his idiocy. But not Nixon.”

“Because he knows standing on the same stage as you can only hurt him. People thought he looked bad in 1960, can you imagine now? Television has gotten so much clearer. They’ll be able to count his sweat drops from their living room couches.”

“So how do I get him to do it?”

You look up at Aemond. It’s not a hypothetical question; he’s really asking for advice.

“I have to debate Nixon,” Aemond insists. “It’s close in the polls, which means it will be even closer on Election Day. I’ll underperform whatever is projected, my coalition is less likely to show up when it counts. College kids, hippies, transients. That’s just a fact. But the old people vote. The suburban housewives vote. Nixon’s resting on his political experience and accusations that I’m a communist, an agent of chaos. But I could slaughter him in an hour on ABC.”

You think of the mutilated Vietnam veterans waving their signs and screaming at LBJ from the other side of the wrought-iron gates of the White House. “Challenge him in public. Say that the American people deserve to see the candidates debate, and do it where everyone can hear you.”

“What if Nixon still refuses?”

“Then you call him a coward. You say he must have something to hide. You ask how he’s supposed to square up with the Russians and the Chinese if he can’t even face you.”

Aemond grins admiringly. “You’re vicious.” And he lifts your hand from the rim of the tub so he can kiss your knuckles. Once you licked up drops of his approval like Tantalus, cursed with eternal thirst. Now it is poison that turns your veins black.

“If there’s a debate, everyone should go,” you say, seized by sudden inspiration. “We should have a united front, including Aegon. It can be his return to the public eye. A month will have passed since the funeral, the timing is right. He can pose for a few photos with the kids to show the nation that they’re doing well and distract from any lingering rumors about Mimi.”

Aemond isn’t grinning anymore. He’s studying you with his cold blue gaze; no, he’s trying to intimidate you, to overpower you. “Otto and I will decide what to do with him.”

“He’s a Targaryen. He should be with the rest of us.”

Aemond stands and motions for you to follow, a snap of his wrist like a man calling a dog. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

Panic, tension, an iron sinking in your belly. The water is only lukewarm now, but you don’t want to leave it. “I’m not done yet.”

“Yes you are.”

There’s nothing else to say. Legally, a wife’s flesh is one with her husband’s. You slip as you step out of the bathtub, and Aemond grabs your forearm. Not like he’s helping you; like you’re something he owns.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two knocks, swift and forceful. “Hey, it’s me. You ready? Everyone else is downstairs in the lobby waiting for the limos.”

You hurry to open the door, almost twisting your ankle as you stumble in your heels. They’re an inch higher than what you’re used to. Aemond chose them, and your dress too, and your sapphire teardrop earrings, and the silver chains around your wrist and throat, and your future and your past, and your life itself. It’s mid-October, and the night of what will almost certainly be the sole presidential debate of 1968. Aemond’s retinue is staying at the Hotel Saint Louis. It’s harvest time, the fields beyond the city being reaped of their soybeans, wheat, corn, cotton, and rice, the beef cattle culled in mechanical underworlds. Aegon’s flight must have just landed.

As soon as he sees you his eyes drop, wide and bewitched, ensnared everywhere except your face. You say: “Can you help me zip this, please?”

He blinks a few times, then shakes it off. “Sorry, what?”

“The zipper’s stuck. I need you to get it.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He steps into the suite and stands behind you. The gown is a vivid blue like the Greek flag, gorgeous and shimmering but a size too small. It wasn’t tight a week ago, but now it is, and you aren’t pregnant just always gaining and losing weight in new places, first the baby and then the pill, and it wouldn’t bother you if Aemond didn’t seem so confounded by it. Aegon says as he tugs at the zipper: “I don’t think it’s gonna fit, babe.”

“It has to fit.”

“Even if I miraculously get this closed, you won’t be able to breathe.”

“Do whatever you have to. Just…just…” You push every last molecule of air out of your lungs, suck in your belly, and you hear the triumphant squeal of the zipper. “Yes!” Oh, but Aegon was right: you really can’t breathe. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“You’re not gonna last the whole debate in that. You’ll be sweating more than Nixon.”

“I’m fine.”

“Io…”

“I’m fine. Come on.” You snatch your matching purse off the coffee table by the couch, check your makeup one last time, and hobble in your heels as you walk with Aegon out into the hallway.

At the Kiel Auditorium a few blocks away, the Targaryen children—Aegon’s five and Helaena’s three—are presented for photographs before being escorted back to the hotel by the nannies. And even in the few weeks that have passed since you last saw Aegon’s kids, there have been extraordinary changes. They talk to their father, and he talks back, and he ruffles their hair and rests his hands on their shoulders and asks them about what they’re learning from their private tutors. Cosmo tackles you before he leaves—a powerful bear hug, though he can only reach your legs—and he says he hopes you’re coming home to Asteria soon.

“Me too, kiddo,” Aegon tells him, and then smiles at you; but above his gleam of teeth his cloudy blue eyes, like the Atlantic in a storm, are gloomy and troubled.

As the audience takes their seats and the journalists are poised to capture the best images and quotes of the night, the three candidates and their wives (minus Wallace’s dear departed Lurleen) meet briefly backstage to exchange the perfunctory well-wishes. Pat Nixon is introverted and bookish, though she tries to hide it; but Aemond reels her in like swordfish until her eyes are filled with him. George Wallace gets one glimpse of your venomous glare and escapes, claiming to need one last trip to the restroom before the debate begins. But Richard Nixon beckons you to accompany him to a quiet, discrete corner of the room.

“I tried to call,” he says. He’s a remarkably normal man: medium height, receding dark hair, rough voice, weathered skin, not a god but a mortal, and—you have the impression—more aware of his flaws than his fiercest critics will ever be. “But no one at that damned beach house would ever put me through to you.”

You aren’t sure what he means. “Oh?”

“I never got the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was for your loss in July, Mrs. Targaryen,” Nixon says with unglamorous, plain, genuine compassion. “Pat and I, when we heard, we wept for you. We truly did. And for your husband to be clear across the country…I can’t even imagine. It must have been awful for you. A parent never gets over something like that. It stays with you like a scar.”

“It does,” you say softly.

“I lost two brothers. Arthur died when he was seven, tuberculosis killed Harold in his twenties. God, it just about destroyed my mother. You’re a remarkable woman. You’re lightning in a bottle for Aemond, do you know that? You’re like one of those Kennedy gals, but even better. More personable than Jackie. More intelligent than Ethel…although, to be frank, who wouldn’t be? And you’re not afflicted with any ghastly vices like Ted’s wife Joan. What would Aemond do without you? He’d lose, that’s what he’d do.”

Nixon’s smart, but he’s wounded. He’s capable, but he’s so desperate to prove it. Power could ruin a man like this. “You’re very kind, sir. You did some great work under Eisenhower. Self-made like my father was, a devotee of the American Dream. I believe you have an important role to play in this country…” You smirk, a bit mischievously. “Just not as the president.”

Nixon chortles. “No matter what happens tonight, rest assured that I hate Reagan more than I could ever dislike your husband,” he says, meaning the Republican governor of his home state of California. “You know that bastard tried to primary me?”

“Actors don’t belong in politics.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nixon says, and then bids you farewell as the lights turn blinding and the curtain begins to rise.

As soon as the adrenaline begins to fade, all you can think about is that you can’t breathe. You take your seat in the audience between Aegon and Ludwika, who won’t stop making jabs about Nixon: “He looks like a troll,” “He looks like a sasquatch,” “Do you think Pat makes him wear a Creature from the Black Lagoon mask in bed so she is not so repulsed by him?” The most you can offer is an occasional distracted nod in response.

“You alright?” Aegon whispers.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look alright.”

“I’m great.”

“Sure,” he says, and he acts like he’s teasing, but there’s something tremendously sad underneath. He can’t save you from this. He can’t save you from anything. What must that feel like?

On the debate stage—broadcast to a national audience—Aemond performs brilliantly. Nixon salvages what could have been a bloodbath with a handful of clever retorts that Aemond pretends not to be rattled by. The real loser of the night is Wallace, who is brutally attacked by them both: Nixon because Wallace is commandeering some of his voting bloc, and Aemond because of his near-assassination back in May. After an hour, the contest concludes and the candidates descend to the main floor to pose for photos and get lassoed into brief interviews with various journalists. Everyone in Aemond’s entourage besides you and Aegon flock to his side. By now you’re gasping in shallow gulps, close to tears and in agony from your ribs to your wobbling feet.

“I told you,” Aegon says. And then: “Come on. We’ll take the first limo back.”

In the front room of your hotel suite—one yellowish end table lamp glowing dimly, the rest of the space like twilight—Aegon wrestles with the zipper as you struggle for every breath, trying not to pass out. “Ow,” you whine. “Oh fuck, this was so stupid…”

“Don’t let him make you wear shit you don’t want to wear.”

“I have to do what he says, Aegon.”

“He doesn’t own you.”

“Legally, he does.”

He’s tugging futilely at the jammed zipper. “Are you planning on using this again?”

“I believe that would be wistful thinking.”

“You probably look better out of it anyway.” He grabs his Zippo lighter from the pocket of his emerald green suit jacket and flicks it to life. “Don’t move, okay?”

“Okay.”

“At all.”

“Got it.”

You can feel heat, intense but not painful. Aegon has pulled the edge of the fabric as far away as he can from your skin and is singeing it until it turns black and charred and brittle. Then he tucks the lighter back into his pocket and with both hands rips your dress down to the small of your back. Cool air rushes to meet the ridge of your spine; goosebumps prickle all over. Aegon is marveling at you; you can see it when you glance over your shoulder at him. Then he lays a palm against your bare skin, leans into you, inhales everything you’ve ever been: smoke and sex and starlight, strategies, shadows, secrets.

The others will be pouring into the hallway from the elevator any minute. Aemond. Aemond could find us.

“We can’t,” you whisper, hating yourself for it.

Aegon kisses the nape of your neck—so slow, so kind—and then goes to the doorway. You wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. He’s looking at you as you hold up the ruined gown so it covers your belly and your chest. You gaze back helplessly, wanting him, needing him, a moon chained to another world’s gravity.

We can’t, we can’t, we can’t.

“I’m so sorry,” you say.

And only then does Aegon vanish.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon x you #aegon x y/n

271 notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 10 months ago

Text

I had a BRAIN BLAST on the way home today. So!

In the category of Readers Who Get To Do What They Want:

(CW for dark Simon, johnny, and “reader” with unhealthy relationship dynamics, gaslighting - not from who you suspect - and threats of violence)

A pair of identical twins who are basically opposites from birth. Twin 1 is obviously favored by their parents for being the “easy” twin that tries to appease them and keep the peace. Twin 2 a little hellion from birth, they think this kid is basically broken. Try to test for psychopathy but nope, their own kid has just picked up on the accidental favoritism from birth and just seems to dislike their own parents. But they still love their twin.

The twins grow up as complete opposites. Different social circles, hobbies, interests, clothes, attitudes. They’re incredibly close, but twin 2 will (and has) gotten violent on twin 1’s behalf because their parents are raising them to be “well behaved”.

By teen years, twin 2 is being sent to the countryside most summers to be handled by the grandparents. (Jokes on them, farmlife is nice and the grandparents aren’t exactly strict - mostly because twin 2 actually likes them and doesn’t see much need to rebel).

Meanwhile twin 1 is doing summer programs and learning arts, developing this intense aversion to conflict and has trouble standing up for themself. Especially without twin 2 there to lean on.

Come university, their parents insist on twin 1 staying close by for uni, essentially make the choice for them. Twin 2 decides to ship out of the country and plans on breaking off all contact. (Maybe due to some sort of unforgivable drama at the grandparents’ funeral?)

Before leaving, twin 2 gives twin 1 a burner phone with one number programmed in. Promises that if twin 1 ever needs to disappear, to be free of it all, they can call and twin 2 will be there in a heartbeat with bolt cutters for those chains. And then they just sort of… disappear.

Twin 1 doesn’t see them for *years*. Never uses that phone but keeps it.

So twin 1 lives their quaint pre-determined life with their acceptable job and it’s all mostly okay. Not bad at all. Quiet, if lackluster.

And then Simon comes along. Simon, who takes one look at this little angel and decides they have to be his. Theyre too good, too soft, unable to take care of themselves properly in this big scary world. And after all he’s suffered, doesn’t he deserve something sweet to protect? And hell, Johnny could use a kind touch every now and then too.

So he “seduces” twin 1 (aka, the dark!Simon move of just deciding someone is his and acting like it whether they like it or not). Manipulates them into stepping right into their own collar and leash, with him at the other end.

It’s too late by the time Twin 1 realizes what they’ve become - this man’s pretty pet. An agreeable little doll for him and his teammate to play house with. It’s not always bad, but it’s suffocating and scary. They feel trapped; they are.

It takes months until they get enough privacy to dig the old phone out of the place they nearly forgot about it.

Twin 2 picks up on the third ring.

In the intervening years, twin 2 has gotten into all sorts of trouble and mayhem. Become the demon their parents always accused them of being. Has, somehow along the way, joined up with KorTac and gotten all their files scrubbed. “Twin 2” no longer exists to the world at large. Nothing that anyone, even Kate Laswell, could dig up.

They get the call from their twin and break their contract on the spot. Get on a flight within hours. Sneak their twin out of the homey prison they’ve been locked up in.

Take twin 1 to a sunny, public cafe and get the story through their sibling’s nervous stuttering. Gets angrier and angrier with the more they hear, eyes fixated on the thin leather collar around their twin’s throat.

“Please just… I know it’s selfish and I’m sorry, but-”

Twin 2 already has a plan. They have a quiet, cozy cabin with comfortable funds in a rural part of Canada. Twin 1 will go there, rest and recover and be free. Twin 2 will take their place with Simon and Johnny to throw off suspicion and searches.

The scars from living the life they have? No worries. twin 2 will stage a car accident, reopen some of them to make it seem legit. Lie about head trauma to account for any lapses in their twin 1 act.

It’s decided within three hours. Twin 2 sends their sibling off to the airport and sets everything into motion. They’ve been dying to do something like this for years, after all the times their sibling stuck by their side and tried to stick up to them, to no avail.

Twin 2 instantly hates that fucking collar. Lets Simon put it on but not without the most dark look at the wall, thinking of all the ways to break his hands. Fingers twitching by their side.

The boys sit them down to watch scary movies because they always think it’s fun to spook twin 1 and fuck them while they’re all tense and shivery and but twin 2 is just watching, almost bored. Makes a few attempts to fake jump but keeps forgetting because all their focus is on not slamming a hand into someone’s dick for grinding on them.

Pretends to be asleep in the big bed they’ve been herded into when they kick Johnny or Simon off in the middle of the night. Purposefully aims for soft spots and bruises.

They try to act like twin 1 for a bit but the persona is so difficult to keep up when every little condescending comment from Simon or Johnny makes them want to start stabbing. The inside of their mouth is all torn up from biting onto their cheek and running their tongue over their teeth to resists snarling and snapping.

One day they’re going to snap… and it’s going to be so good to see these bastards bleed.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #twin!reader #twin 2 reader #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #themboss really

414 notes · View notes

percy-puppy · 10 months ago

Text

Headcanon: Thinking of the 141!men having an afab!partner with body hair.

About: CoD Men || Task Force 141

CW: 18+ Blog/Post | MDNI, afab!reader, reader with body hair, pubic hair, talks about bullying in school, judgment, puberty, insecurity, sex (oral/reader receiving, PIV/penetrative sex, switch!dynamic, body worship, s&m), hair pulling, not proofread

A/N: Anyone else struggling with posting on the smartphone app? Like Tumblr? What's going on? Anyway, this is for my bestie who ranged about the lack of representation. @mothymunson 💕

🎀Price: Price is a hairy, hairy man. God, he is so fuzzy, and it's so hot. Obviously, he doesn't care if his partner is hairy, either. It would be hypocritical of him, really. In fact, he would be an encouraging force. It's lots of work to keep shaved and smooth, and should you feel comfortable with just no longer shaving, then why not? He is happy when you are, and just because society expects something doesn't mean you have to obey. Price would support it fully, showering you with praise as you unlearn the old “values” taught from a way too early age and drop the trauma all the comments in your puberty gave you when body hair became more prominent. He teaches you a new, healthy form of confidence and, in the shortest time, “It's just hair, love.”

🎀Soap: Johnny is… Let's be honest; that man is a feral mutt. He might shave sometimes, not often, though honestly, but body hair on his partner? He can't explain it, but that bush gets him going. He is one to drop the “the wilderness must be explored” sentence when you first get together and are insecure about his reaction. He will beg you to let him eat you out, swearing on everything that's holy to him that he doesn't mind your pubic hair at all. And, damn, he isn't lying. He doesn't care, although he does—It makes him feral. The following hours are spent with the scot’s head between your legs. Also, before you bother to worry, a hair on his tongue will just be removed, “It's locks, bonny. Happens sometimes,” he’d laugh, and go back to work, nose buried in your hair as he sucks on your clit.

🎀Gaz: That boy is always shaved. It's his personal preference. When you first mention your difference (cause a man with a negative reaction isn't even worth your time), he is surprised. It's not in a bad way, though. He just knows enough people are giving in to the pressure of shaving. He is curious, ashamedly so. You see, the curiosity effect when somebody tells you they have a piercing down there? That's what it feels like for him now. He’d sheepishly ask to take the next step, unsure what he even expects since it's just hair at the end of the day. But once you take things to the next level, it suddenly clicks. It's your confidence—the raw, unashamed, natural being. You're unashamedly yourself, every imperfection perfection, and your most potent weapon. When he hit puberty, he was insecure for a long time before he had his glow-up. He was never tall or beefy enough, just always picking himself apart by comparing himself to others. Today, he is confident as hell, but the 13-14-year-old boy he once was would be on his knees worshipping a person like you, just fully defying social expectations. He always felt a little bit like worshipping you, but your naked form bouncing on top of him absolutely breaks him. He babbles praises between panting and moaning, hands moving over every inch of your body. “You're so hot. Shit, don't stop, you're just so- fuck. Fuck me. God, please.” He did not know he was a switch, and all he needed was a confident partner.

🎀Ghost: Simon isn't nearly as hairy as the other men. He sometimes trims his pubic hair, but mostly, he just isn't hairy enough to even care about it. He also doesn't care about your hair. It's just hair. But at night, his sadistic side comes through. During sex, he will tug on your bush for fun, sometimes just shortly before slapping your tit, sometimes he’ll just pull and pull like a maniac while fucking into you. The delicious pain sends electric shocks through your sobbing cunt as he pounds you toward orgasm. Should you ever shave or trim it, he will most definitely pout a little as he lost his favorite toy. Thankfully it's just hair, it’ll grow back, and until then, he’ll focus on slapping your clit and pulling your nipples. It's okay. He’ll survive.

438 notes · View notes

seeker-of-stories19 · 10 months ago

Text

Autistic Ghost Headcannons

- Intentionally ignores social cues

- Scowls all the time at everything and everyone but usually not on purpose

- Takes full advantage of his ear defenders and balaclava to avoid sensory experiences he dislikes

- Incredibly restrictive eating, often chooses to go hungry rather than touch something he dislikes

- One of his favorite stims is smelling Soaps hair

- Gets overstimulated by certain things but is also very sensory seeking in other ways

- Wears tight gloves and sleeps under four weighted blankets because he likes the pressure

- Stims by making a tight fist, chewing his lips, scratching, hitting himself, leaning against things, rocking, pacing, rubbing the seam of his balaclava, tapping his ear defenders

- One track mind, he hates switching tasks and never does more than one thing at once unless it’s a hundred percent necessary

- Wears a mask largely to hide his scars and identity but it has the added benefit of keeping him from having to worry about making the correct facial expressions

- Very prone to dissociation

- Violent meltdowns, tends to have a vicious temper and destroy everything around him, hurting himself or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross his warpath

- But eventually when he’s in private he ends up just curling into himself and crying and rocking like he did as a kid

- It makes him feel incredibly vulnerable and he goes to extreme lengths to avoid the meltdowns which is a huge part of why they’re so bad

- Only Johnny and sometimes Price can calm him down

- Everyone else just thinks he has an explosive temper for no reason

- Ties his boots dangerously tight to get more sensory input

- Thrives under military routines but ignores rules that don’t make sense

- This definitely caused problems with COs in the past but Price is way more understanding and generally the 141 gets a lot of leniency on rules because of the type of work they do and the specific value of their skill sets

- Soap sleeps on top of him and always squeezes his hand a little too hard

- Hides in his room when overstimulated and shuts down completely, will literally disassociate for hours until Soap finds him

- Obsessively neat, nothing is ever anywhere other than where it’s supposed to be

- Doesn’t mind loud sounds but hates multiple sounds at once

- Explosions and gunfire are usually fine as long as he has his headphones but people talking and eating all at once in the mess makes him want to cry

- Absolutely despises crowds and will get very agitated and pissed off before eventually checking out until Johnny can get him back to a quiet space

- Soap letting him have the best vantage point when they go out because of how bad Simons PTSD and sensory issues are and he trusts Simon to watch his six

- Drinks but never to the point of being drunk

- Has the shittiest temperature regulation ever, gets so overheated but can’t figure out why and would freeze to death if it wasn’t for Soap making him put on layers because he’s basically immune to the cold

- Other than keeping his space clean which is mostly because it’s been beaten into him by his dad and then the army to the point where having a messy space will send him into a panic attack he’s a disaster. He never remembers to bring his dishes over to the tiny kitchen in the 141s rec room and routinely stares at things for days unable to complete simple tasks until he gets so pissed he ends up crying

- Price used to get annoyed by it and they’ve all three harassed him about it but once they realize that he’s genuinely struggling all three of them step in to make things easier for him, helping clean up his stuff in common spaces and wash dishes

- Soap definitely helps him with his laundry but only at 3am when he suddenly has the urge to do his own because ADHD

- His interoception is appalling, he’ll be furious and yell at recruits or just look at people like he wants to kill them on missions until Johnny leans over to subtly remind him that he hasn’t gone to the bathroom or eaten anything in eight hours

- Is fluent in BSL and uses it to communicate with Price when he’s in a verbal shutdown

- Soap and Gaz ask Price to teach them secretly and when they start signing to Ghost one day he’s absolutely shocked

- Generally he gets by with everyone else by grunting and scowling, people are too scared of him to call him out

- Most of his masking relies on peoples fear of him even though it often makes him feel even less human and it’s a vicious downward spiral

- Soap not being afraid of him was a really big deal because of this but also lead to him being really freaked out and unsure how to handle his prying

- Soap just finds him impossibly endearing and loves all the hidden little movements and noises he makes when they’re alone

- Lets Simon use his hands to fidget under the table during meetings

- Even though Soap isn’t the best at social cues himself he takes up explaining things to Ghost subtly whenever he can

- When Simon comes to his room to ask him about something someone said for the first time he’s ecstatic and considers it a great victory

- While a lot of Simons stims are more subtle or at least misinterpreted Soap will absolutely get hyped up when he’s stimming and start jumping or rocking or flapping his hands eagerly

- Soap sends him adhd x autism memes all the time and encourages Ghost to send back anything that interests him even if he thinks Soap won’t like it

- Is shocked to realize how strong Ghosts special interests are as his phone turns into a constant flood of articles and artwork about things Ghost loves

- Included but not limited to guns, puzzles, animal anatomy and bones, flowers (specifically the meanings of flowers) and many others

- Taking things apart and putting them back together, usually his rifle but will generally do it with everything from pens to knives

- Hoards weird things like old ink cartridges and bullet casings

- Has an unbelievable memory for details of old missions, can remember building layouts from over five years ago

- Soap’s room is so chaotic they barely spend time there because of how much it stresses Ghost out

- Generally they just balance each other out well with Simon being aggressively introverted and Soap being just as extroverted

- He pushes Simon a bit outside of his comfort zone and helps him socialize while Ghost reigns him in

- No one else really gets how they operate in the field except each other

- Soap was professionally diagnosed in school while Ghost was professionally diagnosed after Roba under a fake name with Price’s help so it’s not officially on his military record

- Ghost is actually very okay with how his brain works because it’s made him who he is and allowed him to surpass the regular limitations of a soldier

- He struggles more in his personal life but being around Soap heals a deep part of him that he’s buried since early childhood

- They understand each other like no one else ever has

#autistic simon ghost riley #soap mctavish has adhd #call of duty #soapghost headcannons #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #cod mw2 #soap cod #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

391 notes · View notes

lowkeyrobin · 8 months ago

Note

hiii can i ask for hcs of quackity and his s/o being it couple? like other ccs are constantly bringing them up and hyping them bcs they're giving couple goals, or just fans getting them to trend on social media all the time idkk sorry if weird

oooo okay!! ; and dw this wasn't weird at all! it's fine lol ; thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy 🫶

QUACKITY ; it couple

summary ; you and quackity, through your shared fanbases and friends, have become the online it couple of the month

warnings ; language

word count ; 379

y/s/n = your ship name

masterlist

the hype and popularity spiked again once the qsmp had a random popularity spike after korea was introduced into the smp

then quackity started trending on tik tok and then you did once you posted a new video with him on your channel

getting the jake webber / tara yummy / johnnie guilbert treatment 💀💀 tik toks couple of the month

"Hey, Alex, I think we're trending again!"

"We are, cause you're so beautiful, Y/n/n."

"Shut your goofy ass up"

anyways, your friends loveeee sending you both edits and fanart

especially ones that make you look so hot together and shit

the tik tok edits go crazy

a solid hour of tubbos tubbathon is just reacting to y/s/n edits

they also love hyping you two up

from fit checks to cute couple moments, they're always hyping you up 💯💯

"ayeeee go! go! shake that ass! QUACKITY SHAKE THAT ASS" ; from roier and foolish

niki, foolish and tommy are probably your biggest hype men, in comments or on stream LMAO

god forbid one of you mentions having a favorite song or shared song you like /pos

the edits AGAIN lmao

you dressed as aesthetics of music you listened to for a video but never addressed it on stream so again, the edits LMAO

so many of you to emo/punk music and so many of him to rap/hip-hop (take this with a grain of salt ok...)

anyways, insta posts and stories together>>>

Twitter white boy of the month? more like Twitter it couple of the month. fuck them

dude streamer awards 😨😨😨 /pos

yall looked so good. head to toe, you fucking KILLED. IT.

the fanfic writers have been inspired. the people who paused their fics are all back solely for a streamer awards chap bc yall were being a little wink wonk the whole time /ns

you were just being adorable in general

nevermind the vids u posted of karaoke in the car afterwards

so many edits of you and alex making like thirst traps LMFAOOOO

anything for the fans 🙏🙏🙏

then you publicize a playlist titled "hot stuff w Alex 💯💯" and the world BREAKS.

don't care don't care

mostly like hot girl motivation + banger songs from the 2000s

like rihanna, jay-z, plus some newer kinda stuff like victoria monet and 21 savage LMAO

anyways that's all I got idk I'm sick and have 0 braincells

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #mcyt x gn reader #quackity x reader #alex quackity x reader #quackity oneshot #quackityhq x reader #quackity #alex quackity

243 notes · View notes

theninerealmsbakery · 3 months ago

Text

Cute Johnny Cage 😎 Relationship Headcanons:

He will get up at the ass crack of dawn to get his workout done first thing. By the time you've woken up, he's worked out, showered, had breakfast and probably put a couple of posts on both his personal and promotional social media accounts.

Speaking of social media, he posts every day. When he's working, it's about the movies he's making, but when he's not? He mostly posts about you and your live together. He will never post pictures of you without your permission and if you want privacy, he will vague post about you instead. He just wants to tell the world about the love of his life and how great you are!

He loves to pamper you! He's a giver in every sense of the word! He treats you to days out, lavish holidays and extravagant meals. But he's not just about the money. He will also buy you small things, trinkets that reminded him of you. His way of showing his love for you is trying to buy you the world and then some!

Please pamper him back! It doesn't have to be anything expensive, after all he can buy anything he wants. He would most enjoy just having your full attention for a while. Loves LOVES when you play with his hair. Appreciates something like a back rub every now and then. With his busy schedule, he really just wants some quality time with you.

Serial texter/messager. Will message you any time of day. Even the middle of the night. He sends you memes, pictures, pretty much any thought that's on his mind. He's one of these guys that will send you a picture of two trash cans with the message "us :D <3"

#just johnny things <3 #johnny cage #mortal kombat #headcanons #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x you

91 notes · View notes

writeforfandoms · 1 year ago

Text

Howlin’ For You - epilogue

Find the CoD masterlist

Well, I know people wanted more of these two. And after a conversation with a shameless enabler, this is what I came up with! I hope you all enjoy.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of marriage/mating, talk of children, shifter social norms, shifter behavior

Word count: 2k

You shifted your weight in the seat yet again. “You’re sure they won’t mind?” you asked quietly, unable to keep the anxiety at bay.

“Love, they’re right thrilled to meet ye,” Soap murmured, squeezing the hand held captive between both of his. He was a long line of warmth against your side in the chilly train, pressed up against you from knee to shoulder.

You blew out a breath, noisy but short, venting a bit of your nerves. “Right. Okay.”

He nuzzled your cheek softly, squeezing your hand again. “Ye’ll have fun,” he murmured, a soft promise in his tone. “And if ye donnae, we’ll go. Aye?”

“Right.” You did relax a little at the reminder.

“Never done a meet the family?” The words were gently teasing, even as he tried to tug you closer. You swatted his thigh, because you’d already refused to sit in his lap. Twice. This trip.

“Never.” You bit your lip, wrinkling your nose. “Especially not with, y’know, the rest of the stuff.”

“Stuff.” Soap huffed a little laugh. “Funny way of puttin’ it, love.”

“Oh hush.” You warmed, tucking your head down against his shoulder.

“They’re all excited,” he murmured. “Might get a few rude sniffs, though.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed quietly, relaxing into him. Which, of course, was his goal all along.

“Promise, love,” he murmured. “Won’t be a problem.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. You’d just have to trust him for now.

You two got off the train, Soap herding you through the station easily and out to the pickup area. A woman waved at the two of you, dark hair shining in the sunlight, an easy smile on her face.

“‘Bout time,” she called as Soap herded you to her car, taking your bag to put in the back. “How was the trip?”

“Uneventful,” Soap said with a shrug.

"You must be his mate." She smiled at you. "I'm Layla."

You gave her your name, a little shy.

"Ah ken, Johnny willnae shuddup 'bout ye." She flashed a bright grin at you.

You warmed and quickly got into the car. Soap settled next to you, ignoring Layla's snickering.

"She's one o' my big sisters," Soap told you. "Got two more."

"Big family," you murmured.

"Aye." He smiled at you. "Jeannie already has two bairns o' her own."

You nodded, leaning a little into his side, unable to entirely quell your anxiety. Soap hummed softly, twining his fingers with yours.

"Mum has everyone for dinner tonight," Layla said as she drove.

"How many people is everyone?" You were almost afraid to ask.

"No more'n twelve. Ach, no, fourteen, forgot the two littles."

"Oh." You blinked. That… was a lot of people.

"Ye'll be fine," Soap whispered to you. "Promised, aye?"

"Right." You breathed in deep, trying to relax.

Layla chattered the rest of the drive, and you understood most of it. But she used some words you didn't know. Not that you said anything - you got the gist of it. Mostly, she and Soap caught up.

Which worked great for you.

Layla parked the cat outside a big house, and you swallowed.

"C'mon, love." Soap patted your hand before he got out.

One last deep breath and you got out too. The house was lovely, the grounds green and lush.

And then there were four pups crowding around you, yipping and sniffing and (in one case) nipping. You squeaked, a little overwhelmed.

"Behave!" Layla called, heading up to the house. The one that nipped you looked apologetic.

"Uh, that's okay?" You patted the top of that one's head.

All four pups crowded you again, little tails going a mile a minute. They all had that same wolf-husky look that you were used to from Soap, though they varied in color. Two were red and white, much like Soap, while one was mostly gray and the last was black and white.

And all of them still had floofy puppy fur.

"I… oh my god you're all cute," you muttered, looking down at the pups. "Is it okay if I pet you?"

One of the pups immediately flopped over on his back for belly rubs. Which you obliged. Except you only had two hands and there were four pups. It took all of a minute for them to gang up on you and knock you flat on your back on the grass.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, and the pups all scrambled off you. You sat up, pretty sure you looked disheveled now.

"Ah, Mum wants t' see ye." Soap appeared to offer you a hand up, hauling you to your feet easily. His strength didn't surprise you anymore.

He walked you up to the house and around back to a set of chairs and a table. His mum was very clearly his mum, her hair salted but still thick and dark, the same glint of humor in her eyes that you saw in Soap's.

"Be welcome in our home," she said, soft and melodious.

"Thank you." You sat when she waved to the chair across from her.

"So, ye caught Johnny's eye." She gave you a quick once-over.

"Seems that way." You smiled a little, nervous.

"Good. He's a handful, but he's a good man." Her smile was soft and proud.

"He is," you agreed. "Even though he did spring the whole shifter thing on me."

His mum laughed. "Aye, he told us."

"I suppose there was no good way to do it," you admitted. "And at least Captain Price was pretty nice about the whole thing."

"Was he? Good. Ah'd hate t' haveta have 'nother talk with him."

"Another?" Your eyebrows shot up.

"Oh aye." Her smile twinkled with mischievous glee.

"Tell me more?" You leaned forward, intrigued.

"Johnny, be a dear an' go help yer da."

Soap huffed but pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. And left you alone with his mum.

Who proceeded to tell you all about the time she yelled at Captain John Price and then informed him that the 141 had all been unofficially adopted. You kind of wished you'd been able to see that.

At some point you were ushered inside and seated between Soap's mum and Soap. All three of his sisters were there, along with the five children between them - the four pups you'd sort of met, and one baby. His da was a quiet man that was quick to smile.

It was the best kind of overwhelming, honestly.

Until his sister Jeannie asked, "So when are ye having yer first?"

You coughed as your drink attempted to go down the wrong way. Soap thumped your back, shooting his sister a look.

"We, um, haven't talked about it," you said, gaze flitting between the lot of them.

"Tha's a surprise." Maggie, the third sister, had both eyebrows raised as she looked between you two.

"Maggie," Soap warned, eyes narrowed.

"Just askin'," Maggie said, still looking between you and Soap.

"No need ta growl," Jeannie added.

You blinked and Soap actually did growl. And that was all it took for chaos to descend, the entire table weighing in with their opinion. It quickly became completely unintelligible, accents getting thicker and more completely unrecognizable words getting thrown in.

You quickly gave up on trying to translate anything and just sat there, shoulders a little hunched, watching it all with wide eyes.

His da caught your eye and jerked his head, standing quietly. You followed suit. Nobody even batted an eye, all caught in the argument.

Outside was much quieter, and his da sat in one of the chairs and patted another for you.

"Are ye happy? With my boy?"

"I am." You smiled, a little abashed. "I never expected any of this, and it was definitely a shock at first. But I'm happy."

"That's all that matters." He smiled at you, warm and gentle. "Dinnae fuss 'bout the rest."

"Okay." You relaxed.

There was a shout from inside and then a chorus of puppy barks. His da sighed.

"Is it always like this?" You couldn't help but ask, grinning.

"Och aye. Mated to a hellion, I am." But he looked pleased with himself.

You couldn't help but laugh, just a little. It was actually pretty peaceful out here with just the two of you.

Except then he stood, motioning you to wait. You blinked and watched him walk off to the side. But when he started to strip, you immediately looked away. You knew it wasn't a big deal, not to them, but you couldn't get over the ingrained feeling that you needed to look away.

A big wolf padded over to you, darker brown with a tan underside. He was even bigger than Soap. He sat in front of you and rested his chin on your knee.

"More comfortable that way?" You asked, curious. He huffed softly. "Can I…?" You held out one hand, waiting for him to tip his head in permission. Then you stroked the top of his head softly. "You really don't mind I'm not like you?"

He looked up at you and very deliberately shook his head. You smiled.

"Thank you." You relaxed into your chair, absently stroking the top of his head, listening to the furor inside slowly calm.

"Love?" Soap poked his head out the door and huffed. "There ye are."

"Mmhm." You smiled at him. "Nice and quiet out here. A bit chilly."

That was all it took to have Soap draping himself over the back of your chair to be your personal space heater. His da huffed with doggie laughter.

"Alright, love?" Soap nuzzled the crook of your neck.

"Mmhm." You tipped your head a bit. "Long as nobody else asks about stuff we haven't discussed yet."

The sudden, absolute silence from behind you was damning. You sighed.

"Okay. What else came up?"

"Dinnae matter." Soap tightened his grip on you.

"Hey." You poked his arm. "C'mon. Tell me so I'm prepared."

Soap sighed. "They're wonderin' when we're gettin' mated. Properly."

"Hm." You paused for a moment until his da budged your hand, then continued stroking his fur. "Can we put them off until we've talked about it?"

His da chuffed at you, soft but encouraging. Behind you, Soap chuckled.

"That's a yes," he translated. "He likes ye."

"What can I say? I'm charming." You tipped your head to grin at him.

"Ye charmed me," he agreed.

"I picked you up on the side of the road."

"Charmed me with food."

You laughed, leaning back into him. "Best decision I ever made."

"Ye are right smart." He kissed your cheek. "Ye ready to go to bed?"

You shrugged a little, careful not to disturb him. "In a few minutes. This is pretty nice."

Soap hummed softly, nuzzling the crook of your neck again.

"Full moon is in two nights?"

"Aye. We'll all go." He paused. "Unless ye want–"

"Absolutely not. You're going hunting with your family, sweetheart. I'll read."

His da chuffed again, tail wagging slowly. Soap made a startled noise, and his da chuffed again. You knew you were missing that conversation, but you didn't feel left out. It was hard to feel anything bad when you were so securely between the two, both of them radiating warmth and comfort.

"Da says he'll keep ye company, if ye like."

"That's your choice," you told the wolf, stroking along one velvety ear. "I certainly won't say no, but I don't want to deprive you of the hunt."

His da huffed again and tipped his head into your hand. You didn't need a translation for that. You just smiled.

Maybe his family wasn't so terrifying after all.

#howlin' for you #shifter au #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #f!reader

539 notes · View notes