#riley is ready to grab one of those cigars

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

11 — COME BACK TO REMIND ME OF WHO I WAS

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

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“I forgot how ugly he was.”

Price, beside you, raises a slightly bemused brow. Taking the binoculars from your easy grip, he too, examines the target standing on the mansion’s balcony. A cigar sits between Price’s lips, mirroring the less sophisticated Marlboro between the Lieutenant General’s.

The man, one of the few higher-ups you were somewhat close with, is a decorated Shadow Company leader. Known for his strategy and persuasion, he was always a good asset.

Shame he was always this side of too touchy, and a general ass to anyone who had a vagina. Or an inclination for the same sex.

Real pity that he’s the one with the information you need, and the one you can’t kill.

“You’re not wrong, darlin’,” Price murmurs under his breath, exhaling a puff of smoke as he slips the cigar from his mouth, the cherry burning in the dark of night.

Ghost, like usual, is found a few buildings down, sniper at the ready. Soap and Gaz were ordered to stay behind for this mission, much to their chagrin. It was the closest you’d seen Gaz fight with his Captain, and Soap was just being generally pouty.

Both you, and Price, had managed to reason that expertise in explosions and protection wasn’t exactly wanted for a quick get-and-grab.

And, maybe, a small part of you needs a break from the two Sergeants. Your night with Gaz has infected your mind, even now, the day after. And seeing him, with his bright smile and dimples and eyes made your heart skip a beat. Especially with how no one could know of your rendezvous, lest you be kicked out of the deal.

Or worse.

You swallow, once, accepting the binoculars once more when Price hands them back to you with another puff of his cigar. He’s surprisingly courteous about it, not blowing the smoke into your face.

“Lt, we have eyes on the target. Over,” you speak into your radio, eyes like a hawk as you watch the Lieutenant General shake off flakes from his cigarette over the pristine white railing. He’s shorter than most, especially considering his rank, and you can’t help a small, private smile growing on your face at that small fact.

“Been around bloody Johnny too much,” Ghost mutters, and you roll your eyes. “No hostiles spotted, you’re good to go.”

Rising into a crouch, Price gives you a curt nod, before gesturing for you to follow him. You do so with quiet movements, the only sound the barely there crunch of dirt underneath your boots.

Your previous Lieutenant General was always an uncomfortably wealthy man, and you see now what he’s chosen to do with such an abundance of money. He lives in an off-the-grid mansion, deep in the middle of nowhere, only hills and trees around him.

Those families in Las Almas, displaced and killed and ruined – they were entirely more deserving of just a fraction of this wealth. Your tongue feels coated with something sour.

Price smells like cinnamon and spice, even in his gear, and it’s a scent that settles in your belly like a warm stew. 

It’s rare, these days, to see daylight. All this recon work done well past midnight, hiding in the shadows and staying low. Not your favourite, but at the same time, it’s kind of… nice, doing this, just you and Price and the moon. No having to tiptoe around what to say around Gaz, or avoiding Soap’s innuendos.

If only it wasn’t for Ghost, too, watching over the two of you.

God, how you hated that man. His snarky comments, the roll of his eyes, his mask he refused to take off. And the way he almost looked down at you, questioned your authority, not unlike all the men you’d known. Worked alongside. Hated, too, in much the same vein.

You wonder, distantly, if he’ll ever come around. If there was at all a possibility of a civil interaction between you both, one that didn’t end in death threats or glares or passing out.

“Somethin’s on your mind.”

Head snapping up, you meet Price’s knowing blue eyes. Calculating, always aware, always ready for the worst case scenario.

“Not really, Cap,” you easily shake off in a whisper, continuing to follow him, until your backs are pressed against the beige, concrete wall. Your assault rifle is pulled to your chest, safety off.

The bandage on your cheek had been replaced just this afternoon, a soothing balm and fresh wrappings alleviating the growing itch that had been forming on your face. What was another scar, even? This one, at least, had somewhat of a neutral memory attached.

Ghost’s chest, his arms, a single threat turned into a promise.

You blink.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you underestimate our smarts,” Price says, low, under his breath. His words have you halting.

“Sir –”

“I know you’re used to bein’ the smartest kid in the regiment,” he continues, not unkindly, “But you’d do yourself well to remember that my boys are here for a reason, too. We know more than you give us credit for.”

His voice is deep, gruff, even in the low whisper he’s reduced to. 

A shiver erupts down your spine as you feel out where to start climbing the wall, trying not to look at the man next to you. His words – they hit a part of you that you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Never said you guys weren’t smart, Captain.”

“Actions speak louder than words, Colonel.”

You have nothing to say to that – an irony, all things considered. Instead, you jerk your head towards the bricks that’ll allow you both to scale the side of the mansion. With your gloves on, the two of you make it to the third floor, shuffling through an open window.

It’s pitch black, except for a lone light turned on in your target’s study, just down the hall.

The air is stale, stifling, potent with old filing and decade-old cologne. It has your throat feeling clogged, your eyes slightly glassy as you move towards the light, gun at the ready.

This is, you realise, the first time you’re working beside the Captain.

You’d worked in tandem, obviously, but never so closely knit like this. With him at your six, his body like a furnace when beside your own, it’s an entirely new dynamic. So different to that of his subordinates – more steady, controlled.

Ghost is silent over the radio, a small mercy, as you two find your way into the study, backs to the wall as you quickly clear the room. You never knew when a surprise could be awaiting you.

“Check the drawers, I’ll look through the shelves,” Price whispers, a direct command delivered in a raspy breath.

You nod, immediately transferring your gun to your back as you rush through the desk’s contents.

The room is dusty, obviously having seen little use in recent years, and the drawers are filled to the brim with knick knacks. Old paper clips, photos, receipts – everything, except for what you need.

“Got anything?” You find yourself asking, a harsh whisper in the still quiet of the room.

Price shakes his head, a stern movement, still searching through the shelves with a stealthy yet quickened pace. You focus back on the drawers, going through each one with efficient and expert ease. Some old gum packets, paper clips. Fuck.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your throat feels thick with dread.

The contract you were looking for – it could be the beginning of the end. You needed this like you needed air, right now, and if you didn’t find it –

“Darlin’,” Price calls, smooth but demanding. You instantly look up, drawn to the man like a moth to a flame. “We’re goin’ to find it. Stop thinkin’.”

It’s, obviously, easier said than done.

You appreciate his sentiment – the way he’s trying to guide you – but that sinking feeling of despair has you gripped in its tenuous claws; unrelenting and powerful and cruel. It feels as though everything is riding on this; like your very existence will disappear as soon as you find out the document has.

A hand on your shoulder startles you out of your thoughts.

It’s Price.

“You need to get your head in, Colonel,” he orders, his voice no longer patient or kind. This is the voice of a Captain. “I am not about to waste my time here if you can’t do your job.”

It’s exactly what you need, right now, and he knows it. You know it.

You take a breath.

And you nod.

He claps your shoulder, a firm glint in his eyes as he jerks his head towards the rest of the room. You’re running on a timer – your mini spiral an unnecessary hurdle. All you have to do is block off that side of your brain, and get the bloody job done.

Although Ghost is still silent as ever, you can feel his looming presence even without being at all in his line of sight.

It’s debilitating.

With more meticulous movements and keener eyes, you look through the drawers. Less desperate, more knowing, because if there’s any doubt that you won’t find it –

“Target is leaving the balcony – I’m ‘bout to lose sight on ‘im,” Ghost’s quick voice starts through your radio. The slight tone of worry has every inch of you on edge. Your wide eyes flicker to Price’s – whose jaw sets.

“Copy, Lieutenant,” Price murmurs, voice low.

The gun strapped to your back feels heavier than before, now, and your hand drifts to the pistol attached to your thigh. The same one that’s come in handy time and time again.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Footsteps – down the hall. Heading towards –

A hand on the scuff of your neck. A door being pulled open – pitch black.

Your heart thunders in your chest, Price’s hand pressed against your sternum, his chest against yours. The air is tight, and you’re cornered in a…

Closet.

Price pulled you into a closet – and now, you’re stuck with his thigh between yours and his arm outstretched above your head. You feel entirely weak before him, the Captain of the 141.

If it was at all in question, anymore, you would’ve considered that this would be the perfect time to kill you. To be rid of Grave’s right-hand woman, and to cut off any loose ends.

Instead, all you can feel is his warm breath against your forehead.

The footsteps pause, but the creak of the study’s door has your spine rigid all over again. Price presses in closer to you – and you don’t make a single movement. Don’t speak a single word, in case its very syllables are your undoing.

You can’t see, not in this speckled darkness, but price’s very existence feels so strong against your own that you can’t help but shudder a breath.

“Sir – You can’t possibly be serious. Use your damn brain.”

Your ex-Lieutenant General hisses into what you assume is his phone. And by his grating voice dripping with stress? There’s only one man on this Earth that he could be talking to.

Phillip Graves.

You can’t make out what your Commander says in response – not through the small, tinny voice of the phone, but you can pretty much guess his sentiment.

“Most of our men are gone! We can’t take down that bloody Task Force –” He hisses, his voice palpably furious. Without realising it, you find yourself curling in further to Price – his own head ducking down to shield you subconsciously.

The creak of the study’s floorboards, echoing under the weight of the man’s boots, makes your heart pound.

You feel not unlike a small child, hiding from their parents while the sound of yelling and smashing glasses echoes around the room. The long since buried memory of your father – before he left, before he broke your mother’s heart – of dark hair and angry, pulsing veins. The same veins you inherited.

The ones of which you wish you could carve out of your skin, just to watch the fury bleed out.

“Why the fuck is she so important? Good pussy or not –” Your heart, a thud, thud, thud, “ – She’s just a girl. She’s not worth it.”

Price’s hand tightens his hand, unconsciously clasping your throat like it’s a new necklace of yours. It’s oddly comforting, even if it threatens to block your airflow. His chin nearly rests atop your head, so close, but all you get is the waft of cigars and ink.

Graves must respond with something – something that the man just a few feet away from you does not appreciate.

“At this rate, the worst case scenario is that she finds out,” the man starts to pace, the rhythm of his footfalls matching the heaving rises of your chest, “And then what? Get your fucking head in, Commander.”

Your mind’s flooded with possibilities, what could possibly constitute the worst case scenario, when the next sentence shatters you entirely.

“She’s smart, Commander, and she’s gonna want to figure out the truth of dear old mum’s death soon. Don’t be idiotic.”

Silence.

Your ears ring – your throat closes, and your common sense crumbles at your feet. 

The next few moments happen in easy, recognisable steps.

One. You shove Price off of you – not in a way that’d cause him pain, but forceful enough that he can’t push back in time to stop you.

Two. You swing the closet door open, the light flooding your view, along with the large frame of the Lieutenant General.

Three. You slide your trusty pistol from your hollister, flick off the safety, and aim with a shaky grip.

And you shoot.

The bullet slices clean and true through the man’s forehead, blood instantly dripping between his eyes as he falls forward, body slumping, until the phone clatters to the carpet alongside him.

Price yells something. You can’t hear it past the ringing in your ears, the muffled sound that drifts between reality and thought.

Dropping to your knees, you clasp the phone in your grip, blood staining the face of it. You bring it to your ear, hand no longer shaking. Steady as a surgeon.

Graves says something, sounding desperate.

“When I kill you, Commander,” you rasp, and you think you can hear Ghost’s irritating voice through your radio, “I’ll do it the same way I plan to finish Shepherd.”

“You’re gonna regret –” Graves hisses, but all you do is pull the phone from your ear, and press the circular red button.

The line cuts.

A hand falls to your shoulder, shaking you, and it’s only then that the ringing stops, and all of your other senses fall back into place.

The hand moves to the hair at the base of your skull, Price fisting it and pulling your head back to face him. He looks… angry, but it’s softened, somehow, by the understanding in his blue eyes.

“You had one order, Darlin’,” he borderline growls, and your skin prickles, “Tell me what that was.”

A petulant child is what you are. How he’s treating you.

You answer anyway.

“Not to,” you swallow, throat dry, “Not to kill him. Captain, you have to –” His grip on your hair tightens, and your words stop short.

He shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “If you’re gonna let your feelings get in the way of our mission…”

Even though he doesn’t finish his sentence, you understand the meaning of it. You’re acting reckless, growing impatient – risking yourself and others over petty disputes.

Everything feels so difficult, right now, impossible to comprehend. Like your mind’s on auto-pilot, your body, too.

Price releases his grip from your hair, and you find your gaze moving to the body laid in front of you.

And…

A piece of paper – folded – has fallen just beside his jacket’s pocket. You lean forward, clasping it between your hands without a second thought, and open it up with careful movements.

With every word you read, your mouth falls open wider – until you find yourself standing on unsteady feet, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

It’s.

“It’s not the contract,” you breathe, realising Price is just watching, waiting, looking out for you. You finally look up from the sheet. 

“It’s something better.”

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[stankygay]

141 x m!reader: Captured & Found

Captain John Price

He had chewed through his favorite cigars as they tried to find you. The last mission had gone to utter shit and he felt responsible for you being captured. When Laswell called Price on your possible location, he threw the ruined cigar in the bin and got his men ready. When he found you, you were in a dark damp cell. Your eye was black and you had some minor wounds. He was the first one to push through into the cell. He checked you over assessing your injuries. You smiled at him, bloody teeth glinting in the minimal light. He had a deep frown on his face. You tried to joke, tried to make light of the situation. You hated the way Price looked, like he was the one that beat you and put you in the cell himself. When he cut your bindings you found your hand reaching for his arm. The squeeze of his muscle reminded him that you were and present. That you weren't dead or worse. "Stay with me John," you utter. And he feels even more guilty for the fact that you are the one comforting him instead.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley

He was eerily silent the entire time. He listened to orders and the intel gathered about your location. Everyone stared at him weary for any reaction but there was none. He kitted up like regular, stood on the helo, and waited for orders. He went up ahead before anyone else and no one even tried to hold him back. He found you, your arms hanging above your head by metal cuffs and a chain. He walked over to you, and got the cuffs off of you. You were bleary eyed and concussed. The skull face in front of you looked familiar but you couldn't really think. When he spoke, the words warmed your bones. He asked for a sit-rep and you could barely speak. You were exhausted. When he half dragged you out of the location, in the sunlight you could clearly see Ghost's eyes. He was worried. He got you to the medics, he stayed close but never got in the way as you were treated. He was the one to reach out for you once your wounds were packed. He was the one to grab your hand in his. He squeezed your fingers and you tried to squeeze back but you had no energy. You felt yourself slowly falling asleep but he kept squeezing. And then he began to talk just to keep you awake. He spoke about his collection. Anything to keep you lucid as they flew out to the closest hospital.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He was antsy. He couldn't sit still, he might have back talked Price but the captain let it go this once. He didn't want to wait. He tried hard but he needed to do something. He followed into the building but with each step he took he felt his stomach sink further. The cameras in the building showed you. Their enemies lay dead and now they could grab you and exfil. Gaz didn't hesitate, he ran into the empty room where you were tied to a chair. He immediately reached out and held your face in his hands. "Love," he asked squeezing softly as you opened your eyes to look at him. He smiled when he saw those familiar eyes look at him. His stomach was still in knots with worry but now he was here. He helped you up from the chair as gently as he could. He never let you go as they exfiled, not even when the medics tended to your wounds. He kept rubbing your arms and back. He whispered in your ear that you were fine, that you were so strong. Your chest felt warm being in his presence and no longer kept back in that room. They had tried to get information from you, but you never spoke. A risk of being in the task force, but you trusted these men with your life. Gaz kissed your temple, taking in the faint smell of your shampoo that had faded with the scent of sweat and blood.

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish

He was almost benched on the spot. He had gone off without waiting for orders. The only reason he hadn't gone and leveled the building completely was because he had been caught by Ghost. Soap was serious. A deep frown on his pouty lips. His fingers tossing a frag back and forth. His veins felt alight with fire, angry and looking to put a bullet between the eyes of these assholes that took you. You had not gone without a fight but there were so many they had to regroup. Soap hated they had to leave you to them. Price tried to explain why, but all he wanted was to get you back. When the got to the location, maybe he set up some c-4 around. Maybe he rigged this dingy garage to blow up once they were several clicks away. They found you on the ground. Blood spilling from your nose and staining your gear. You had been stripped of your weapons and your kit. He ran and knelt in front of you. His hand immediately going for your pulse point. You flinched at the touch, sitting up and a knife aimed at Soap's chest. He moved away and raised his hands but he wasn't upset. Those clear blue eyes were familiar. You sagged in relief. "Fuckin' hell," you muttered to yourself as you drooped onto his shoulder. Soap checked you over, as they planned to leave. Soap had a worry in his brow but he also had a giant smile on his face. Cause you were a fighter, even as you swayed on your feet, he proclaimed how strong you are and how you'd never go down without a fight.

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Baying Dogs (Rewrite); Chapter 6: Choices Have Consequences

This chapter is the heavy one! If you're uncomfortable with the content in this one, please feel free to skip! I'll add the key plot points in the 'replies' bit so you can hop on over to that for what you need to know to read onto the next one when it gets uploaded.

I have done my best to be mature when writing this chapter and I hope that translates- if you haven't clocked it yet, this fic is taking inspiration from werewolf mythology from England and France where lycanthropy (particularly in the middle ages and during the witch trials) was used as a way of representing male violence. Whether that representation was a means for bad men to not take responsibility is kinda up for interpretation, but yeah :D.

Warnings for: Strong language, sexual violence, violence, major character death

Word count: 3, 109

Graves stared at the captain over the brim of his thermos which shook a little in his unsteady grip. 

Price took in a long drag from his cigar. His hat lay beside him, on the ground, its cap sinking slightly.

He didn’t agree with what Graves was going to do.

The captain already had a suspect in mind, and he would be ready to confront him. Graves, on the other hand, thought that was too rash. They needed evidence.

And he would get that evidence.

***

Dougs washed the blood off her hands, watching the reddened water run into the grate underneath the tap. She found it slightly strange that a place with a toilet wouldn’t have a sink but then again, the sink had probably crumbled away decades ago.

Gosh, this place felt haunted.

She wouldn’t be surprised if she met a ghost… seeing as werewolves were a thing now. And to top it all off, one was hunting them.

Speaking of ghosts, that had been awfully nice of Riley. She couldn’t help but let a little smile creep onto her face as she thought about what he had done.

Good on him.

It was kind and she felt that’s what they all needed. A little kindness would go a long way in these conditions. Perhaps that’s why she had let Soap cry into her.

And she’d probably let him do it again.

He was scared and he had every right to be.

But it wasn’t him. That she knew.

Maybe she’d be able to sus out who it was by those missing bandages. Now, that she had seen what happens to a changing man, thanks to Soap’s little ‘claw situation’, maybe someone who had already turned would try and hide the symptoms under the guise of healing injuries.

Not a bad idea.

Although, it did mean snooping around other people’s stuff and everyone’s belongings were in the barracks. That would be difficult.

She sighed, getting the last of the blood off her hands before drying them on her trousers, grabbing her dirty clothes and heading out.

The door creaked open. She peaked her head out and looked to the left.

Then, she looked to her right.

And made direct eye contact with Ghost, pretty much nose-to-nose with him… well, not exactly seeing as he was almost twice her height.

Either way, she screamed.

“Fucking hell!” Dougs clutched her chest, “I almost shat out my spine! What the fuck?!”

“Dougs…” Ghost raised an eyebrow, “I’m just standing.”

“Fucking hell. Yuh almost did gi mi ah haart attack!”

He rolled his eyes, before holding his hand out.

“Need anymore help or are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She replied, “I’ll just go put these in my bag.”

The woman gestured to her dirty clothes.

“Sure. I’ll be outside.”

Dougs nodded and watched him walk down the corridor, passing the barracks and the medical room. She checked she had everything once more before making her own way to the barracks.   Much to her surprise, as she stood at the threshold, she was confronted with an abandoned room. Bags, guns, jackets and helmets were left scattered, having only been recently deserted. The room still looked lived-in. It was strange, being the only one here. She watched the rain trickle down the windows, pooling when they caught on the metal and plaster which held the glass in place.

No one was here.

Perfect.

If there was a time to snoop now would be the time to do it.

She decided it would be best to start with the beds closest to her own and work anticlockwise, which would result in her coming full circle. She made for Soap’s bed first and knelt before his rucksack.

Usual stuff, spare clothes, waterproofs, some stashed food bars and so on. No bandages.

She grumbled and moved onto the bag next to his.

Dougs had figured she’d be here for a while, sorting through various backpacks, pockets in body armour and so on.

However, her rifling had been cut short.

A gleam of white.

Bandages.

They were a lot more ragged than when she last saw them with fraying ends and bits of dried blood. It looked like quite a few stretches had been cut coarsely, most certainly not with scissors but with something a lot bigger and not built for finer, gentler work. Still, whoever had done this must be proficient with sharp tools. Dougs could see they had tried to be as delicate as possible. She almost commended the attempt.

Quickly, she replaced the bandages. There’d be no point in taking them, they were soiled. They’d also be pretty useful evidence and thus, should remain in the perpetrator’s possession.

She needed to be crafty about this and making sure that the killer thought no one was making progress in their endeavour to find him would suit her best. She didn’t need to make herself more of a target.

Now, though, she had a good idea of who that was and that was only solidified when she saw the claw marks on the bed next to the bag.

Dougs shook her head.

She knew, now.

She knew.

And it made sense.

Oh, I pity this fool.

With that, Dougs got up, knowing what she had to do.

She decided it was best to go back to the medical room and log her new discovery and to review everything she had uncovered. The woman left the barracks and turned to head next door, only to find Graves blocking her entrance.

“Sir?” she asked.

Something was off. He didn’t look right.

“Dougs.” He replied.

She nodded and made to enter. He blocked her path.

So, she tried to walk around him. Again, he blocked her.

“Graves, I need to go in there.”

“I know.”

Alarm bells were sounding off in her head. Something definitely wasn’t right.

“What do you want?” She asked.

“Are you on your period?”

“What?”

He’d read the files, hadn’t he? Shit.

“Are you bleeding, Dougs?”

“Uh… I don’t know if I…”

She backed up and found herself hitting the wall behind her. Graves trapped her between his arms. He had a look in his eyes. A look Dougs was familiar with, having seen it in men before him. As she was about to move, he pressed something metal against her neck.

The cold of the blade’s edge threatened to slice her skin should she cross him.

She hadn’t been confronted with this, though, before.

“Answer the question, soldier.”

“I…”

“Are you bleeding? Or have you got something to hide?”

She wanted to do something. Stomp on his foot, headbutt him and break his nose. Anything. She just wanted to render him incapacitated for just long enough so she could get out of there.

However, she couldn’t. He had a knife to her neck.

“Sergeant, answer my question.”

Dougs swallowed hard.

“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing for myself.”

She felt him begin to tug at her belt.

Dougs grabbed his arm, hard.

Only for him to press the knife down on her.

“Don’t fucking test me.” He growled.

She stared at him defiantly and as he made to grab at her belt once more, she kneed him in the groin.

“You fucking bitch!”

 He stuck his leg out and tripped her up as she tried to make her escape. Then, he grabbed her from behind, pulling her towards him.

Dougs kicked and shoved.

Soon, Graves was on top of her.

One hand was firmly on her belt, in the process of undoing it, while the other held the knife above her, threatening to have it come crashing down like a guillotine.

She remained still, eyes fixed on the knife as Graves unbuckled her trousers.

Dougs bit down on her instinct to run, knowing that any slight movement would result in severe injury at best.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Heavy boots came into Dougs’ view as she lay her head on the ground. They stopped. Then, she watched them take a few steps back.

“Graves, what the fuck?!”

She let out a sigh of relief as she heard that Scottish accent.

Then, another set of shoes came into view.

“Oh my God…”

That was Ghost.

Graves looked up at both of them.

Soap immediately made to shove Graves off, only for the man to point the knife squarely at him.

“This isn’t what you think!” He announced, “I’m doing this for the benefit of us!”

“What do you mean this doesn’t look like what we think it does? Get the fuck off of her!” MacTavish yelled.

Dougs took Graves’ distraction as opportunity and punched him.

She had thought that would do it, and he’d release her.

Instead, he held her by the throat and slammed her back onto the ground.

“Graves!”   

Soap again made for him.

Graves again thrusted the knife towards Soap, almost catching him this time. Both MacTavish and Riley staggered back.

“Don’t! Don’t do that.” He snarled, “No one needs to get hurt here. I just need my evidence and I’ll be done with this.”

“Are you really threatening us?” Ghost asked.

“Them files say that if you’ve got an infected on your hands- i.e. a killer who has been slaughtering his own- it’ll show up in a woman if she’s bleeding.” Graves explained.

Dougs felt his weight press down on her. He was trying to secure her in place on the ground.

Soap looked to Ghost, not sure of what he meant by that.

“Bleeding?” Soap asked, “I’m not following-”

“Files said if she’s on her period, we’ve got a werewolf on our hands! Now, I know for a fact at least one of you motherfuckers is infected and she’s gonna prove it.”

“You read the files?” Ghost asked, “You read them?”

Graves scoffed.

“Don’t act so high and mighty. We’ve all probably fuckin’ read them. You know how I know?”

He reached into his jacket and procured a small notebook.

Dougs’ eyes widened.

“Looks like our little medic here has been recordin’ everything.”

He pulled it out of reach as she raised her arm to get it.

“That’s very much illegal, Dougs, copying down sensitive information which has no place outside of government knowledge.”

Ghost looked at her and then back at Graves.

“Price and I have read the files. Now, he doesn’t agree with me doing this but…” Graves sighed as he chucked the book to the side, “Frankly, I don’t care. We’ve got two dead and only five of us left. I don’t like those numbers. Either one of you starts confessing or I’ll do it.”

Graves tugged at her trousers.

Soap and Ghost were silent.

Soap didn’t know what to do. Was… was Graves threatening to… in front of them… He gulped. Dougs had said it couldn’t be him. He wanted to say it was him for Dougs but at the same time, it would do little to amend the situation in the long run.

Price entered from the courtyard, rounding the corner to find the scene.

He gasped.

“Graves. What do you think you’re doing?”

“Okay, great. Now, we have everyone here.”

He made to address all of them.

“Who murdered Weir and Garrick? Confess or I’ll see if she’s bleeding and who was with her when it started.”

“This is wrong… Graves… this is fucked up.” Soap looked to Ghost, as if for confirmation that this indeed was not right.

Ghost seemed stunned.

Price was too, like he was processing what he was seeing.

“No? Really? No one?”

Graves looked down at Dougs.

She shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. Then, she looked back at her teammates.

Wouldn’t they do something?! Would someone do something?!

They wouldn’t. They were too busy trying to understand what exactly was going on. And that it was real.

Graves could feel her squirm. He leaned in.

As he did so, she placed her hands on his chest.

Then, she dropped him.

And as he fell, she brought her elbow to strike him right across the face.

It happened in a flash.

Before the boys could do anything, Dougs managed to loosen herself just enough to get her foot on his hip and kick him off. Then, as he tried to grab her again, she kicked him in the chest.

The wind was knocked out of Graves, and he fell backwards, gasping for air.

She snatched her notebook and made to get onto her feet. Only for Graves to grab her once more and drag her.

“Get off of me!”

Soap ran to her and began to pull her away.

However, that was a mistake.

Why?

MacTavish revealed his clawed hand.

Price’s eyes widened.

“You…”

Oh no…

He lunged at Soap, tearing him off of Dougs and pinning him to the wall.

“It was you!” He roared into Soap’s face, “I fucking knew it! I saw those claw marks under your bed! I should have known! I should have fucking known!”

Ghost grabbed Price, only to get knocked back.

“Captain! Don’t!”

“Get back!” Price shouted at the lieutenant.

Dougs screamed for help as Graves was still dragging her back under him.

This was complete chaos.

Complete and utter chaos.

Price locked eyes with Soap, baring his teeth as he pushed down on Soap’s neck with his forearm.

“Why’d you do it?!” He hissed, “WHY?!”

Soap wheezed.

“ANSWER, SOLDIER!”

Dougs writhed and kicked about but Graves overpowered her. She tried to push him upwards by his chin, but he shoved her hands off of him, bringing his face low, snarling.

“STOP! STOP!”

He held her down.

“STOP IT! GET OFF!”

Ghost looked back and forth between these two fights.

Price slammed Soap into the wall with a loud thud.

“WHY DID YOU KILL GAZ?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE WAS TO ME?! YOU FUCKING-“

“GRAVES! GET OFF! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! GET OFF!”

Riley needed to be quick and efficient.

He looked to Johnny, who nodded.

Ghost grabbed hold of Graves and wrangled him to the ground. Both men ended up in a struggle. Graves was freakishly stronger than he looked. It was a flurry on the floor. Dougs wriggled out of there, catching her breath. She ran straight into the barracks.

Graves growled and snapped at Simon as the man did his best to restrain him. It was like he was in a frenzy of sorts, not even articulating his anger at this point, just making noises of strain and frustration as he tried to shove the lieutenant off of him. Riley was surprised he hadn’t stabbed him yet.

Knife…

Where’s the knife?!

He hunted around for the blade on the ground, only to realise it wasn’t in sight.

Shit…

A crescendo of footsteps sounded behind Ghost, from the barracks.

Dougs leapt onto Graves and latched onto his face with a talon-like grip.

Smoke erupted from the man, and he howled in agony, mustering just enough strength and fear to throw Dougs off of him. She slammed into the wall, letting out a small yelp as her body hit the brickwork.

They all stopped.

Graves gripped his face, smoke still emanating from it.

Dougs panted, fiddling with Graves’ silver wedding ring on her thumb.

Ghost’s eyes were as wide as saucers, almost taking up the holes in his mask.

Phillip groaned and then let out a moan which didn’t sound human.

Price had long since let go of Soap, staring with all of them as Graves drew in a shaky breath.

The commotion had died down and now they were all silent.

The four standing had all huddled together, subconsciously, not sure what to do as Graves’ breathing became more and more unsteady. Soap clocked the silver ring on Dougs’ finger, feeling a primal sense of disgust as he lay eyes upon it. His body tensed, like something deep within him was repulsed by the sight of the thing. It was almost as if he could smell the metal.

Ring… toxic. Poisonous.

Stay away from ring.

Soap looked away, his hairs standing on end.

Price had his eyes fixed on Graves, chewing the inside of his cheek.

He’s done for.

“We got two options…” Price whispered, “Either we kill him, or we chuck him into the woods and hope he doesn’t come back.”

His blue eyes fell onto the ring.

“You gave him a right bollocking with that.” He whispered to Dougs, “Take him out.”

She turned to him.

“WHAT?!”

“Either you do it, or I do.”

He held his hand out for the wedding band.

Reluctantly, she gave it to him.

***

“This is Bravo 6 to Gold Eagle Actual. Over.”

The radio crackled once more.

“Bravo 6?” Came the voice of Shepherd.

“Phillip Graves has been killed.”

“Another murder?” Asked the general, seemingly unbothered judging by his tone.

“Not quite, sir. Graves was killed by us. He attacked Sergeant Burman-Douglas and we reacted.”

“I see. How did he die?”

“Stabbed to death, sir.”

Shepherd leaned back in his seat, putting his mug of coffee back on its coaster. He ran his tongue over his teeth, before letting out a sigh.

“I’m assuming that’s by you?”

“Lieutenant Riley and myself, sir.”

Shepherd huffed. He had paid Graves good money. He supposed there was a silver lining to this, however. The man would no longer have to share the spoils of this venture with Shadow Company.

“Alright. Well, due to the… unique circumstances of this situation, this won’t be too much of a problem for you. Can’t say the same for Graves’ widow but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. How many of you are left?”

“Four, sir.”

“Dwindling numbers, huh?”

“Shepherd, I know you’ve set us up.”

The general wasn’t bothered in the slightest, letting Price’s string of obscenities fall into white noise. He’d let the man have his temper tantrum on the other end of the radio, making his empty threats and whatnot, it didn’t matter; once they fell into the hands of the British government, they’d no longer be his problem.

“Well, I thank you for the update, Price. Transport is coming soon.”

“When I get to Northolt, I swear I’m going to-”

“Gold Eagle Actual out.”

Price just stared at the radio as silence befell him. All he could hear now was the static. He dropped the radio, just before he knew he’d lose it and crush it in his grip.

Price held his head in his hands.

“It’s still someone here, isn’t it?” He whispered, hoping to find comfort in his own embrace as he wrapped his arms around himself. Are you asking or telling me?

[impossiblepluto]

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

Sequel to A Forgotten Memory

Back at the base, the team desperately hopes to find MacTavish but is surprised by uninvited guests.

Chapter 12 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

Previous Chapter : The Berlin Tower

Uninvited Guests

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Task Force 141 

Task Force 141 Base - Infirmary

It's been 18 hours since the heartbreaking news, everyone already lost hope but a few comrades still clung on a little string of possibility.

The nurse guided Gary's left arm and slung it over his shoulders and told him he was good to go. He got his injuries assisting INTERPOL in Paris, along with Ghost in hopes of finding Augutus. Gary initially handled the situation but one bad sidestep caused him to fall on his arm, and good thing it's only considered minor damage.

But enough of him, he thought to himself. He had to address the elephant in the room. John 'Soap' MacTavish was M.I.A.

When Ryder's team got back from Berlin, France's face was plastered with despair, she held back tears all throughout the ride and ran to Gary as soon as they cleared their report.

Gary helped being a sponge to absorb her sadness and a shoulder to cry on, France is really a tough lass, but she opened up on how Soap not making it home felt a different level of hurt. Gary assumed she already got attached to the guy, but kept it to himself, especially that Simon was with them helping her cope up with her burst of emotions.

"I should've…" she sobbed. Gary rubbed her back and empathized with her, as they coped up with the loss of a comrade.

"He survived." Gary spoke, Ghost and France looked at him, their faces looked puzzled but hopeful at the same time. France couldn't help but hug the determined soldier as Ghost agreed in the background. They should put their faith on him, Soap will survive.

"Come on now. Show us that smile." Ghost nudged, making France smile a little and wiped off her tears. She was too lucky to be teammates with them and they were there when she needed them the most.

The wholesome moment stopped as soon as soldiers in battle gear jogged across the hall, one soldier opened the infirmary door and yelled.

"We're under attack! Grab these and help us defend against the intruders!" he said, tossing assault rifles to the soldiers. Ghost caught them and immediately checked his gun. Gary held his on one hand, it could work but he has to account for the recoil.

"Under attack? By who?" Gary asked as they shuffled to exit the infirmary. 

"Guess we'll find out." Ghost said as they followed the wave of soldiers exiting the building. Above them, the clear blue sky was filled with small dots that gradually grew huge, they parachuted from the sky down to the forest near the base.

"No bloody way." Ghost said as a loud sniper fire ringed their ears making them look toward the source.

"Let's get a move on! Defensive stances everyone. Don't let them get our HVI's! Hold until they're safely extracted!" Captain Price yelled, firing another bullet, hitting falling parachuters dead before they even touched the ground.

The trio immediately ran to the weapons cache and equipped their gear, positioning themselves for an all out attack. Gary's heart raced, this wasn't what he expected to happen here at the 141, but here they were.

"Careful out there." Simon told the two as they nodded in unison. His sniper skills were needed to significantly reduce their defenses. Gary winced in pain as he threw his sling away, holding the gun with two hands, trying not to mind the pain from his broken arm. There was no room for error, he must make his every bullet count.

"141, this is Alex. Our HVIs are safe inside the bunker. Extraction team ETA is in 30 minutes." Alex muttered over the comms. 

"First wave of tangos spotted emerging from the trees!" One of the soldiers reported. The comms continued informing everyone else about the situation requesting back ups and reporting sightings. Roach and France set themselves on the front of the base overlooking the river. The same exact place where he saw Soap and Price sneak out to smoke cigars.

"This place…" France muttered.

"It gives a perfect view of what's beyond the river. That's where the extraction team's going to land." Gary noted, noticing France's change in expression. Something about this place must've bothered her. And Gary stayed alert on his surroundings.

"Sightings on the East." one soldier noted behind the noise of the gunfire. Gary and France crept slowly, looking for a place to cover a wider angle. 

"Is no one going to assist us here?" France asked unaware that she broadcasted her question which was supposed to be only for Roach.

"From the looks of it, none. Looks like Nero's already starting his first move." Captain Price replied.

"141, this is General Shepherd. Looks like our friend's ready to face us head on. Secure our HVIs to safety, I've got bigger fish to fry as he's starting an assault on New York." he interjected, leaving command to the British Captain. 

"So it begins, huh?" Gary muttered.

"All right lads and lassies, you heard the big guy. Defend and retreat." Price stated, as everyone else nodded in agreement.

~

The initial onslaught was quite tolerable. None of the invaders made it out near the gates as snipers already crippled half of the defenses. Despite the enemies being known for their usage of EMP-based weaponry, the comms and radars were still working fine. Maybe it was too heavy to carry all the way to the UK.

The force almost felt confident that they'll make it, the airdrop already stopped and most troops are probably in the forest, regrouping and prepared for something bigger. That's where Gary's group comes in.

Their tiny group is to recon any activity inside their drop zone. France reported that almost half of the parachutes were decoy dummies and most of those who made it out of the forest were the only real ones. 

Static filled their ears while France was reporting and they braced themselves for what's going to happen next. 

Raising his rifle, Gary once again winced and endured the pain of his supporting arm and tracked down his sights. He didn't see anything but his gut was telling him something sinister is going to unfold very soon.

The ringing grew louder until he's forced to take off his earpiece, as he slowly crept into the forest and stayed alert for any movement. The team splitted up earlier to get a wider coverage for recon, so shooting at sight is not advised. Gary knew a clearing was going to be there on the far end of the forest and theorized that it's the place the remaining soldiers would most likely regroup.

He circled around and hid behind the tree as he heard clanking metal and busy shuffling by the clearing. His heart sped up as he peeked half of his head to the clearing and saw about five people working on assembling something, three armed people circling around three of his comrades who were bound and silenced. That meant that he was alone.

The assemblers happily cackled as they built their machine. That was their plan. Mannequins or decoys carried the parts while some of the assemblers and defenders were mixed along with the drop so they could sneakily create an EMP machine without suspicion. Nero's one smart son of a bitch.

A full magazine. Gary noted as he checked his weapon. It isn't suppressed and he's worried some defenders are still creeping into the jungle. He's glad the three aren't killed yet, for reasons unknown to him.

One of the assemblers approached the defender, saying something. Gary couldn't make it out but his body language says distress.

"One of.. the pieces are missing… Look for them near your base… we'll be behind you watching your every move. Do something else and we will shoot you, and once these guys hear a gunshot, your friends will say goodbye. Not returning in five minutes and I'll also shoot these two and they do the same to you" he said loudly, Gary gulped as France nodded, guns pointed at her were used to push her forward as they searched the forest for the missing piece.

Two guards were with her, a silent takedown meant that one will still be able to hear him and could fire his gun, and the clearing was too open for him to sneak in and kill the remaining guard. Gary pondered about his choices, he could look for the missing piece and stall them but the five minute timer would be the second problem.

The machine menacingly hummed and Gary's earpiece still isn't working. He needed help and hoped that reinforcements would arrive just in time for the five minute mark.

"Uninvited Guests"

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Base - Rooftop

Ever since Roach's squad stepped into the forest for some recon, they fell silent. Price tried to contact them multiple times but they didn't reply. Simon's hunch is that there may be an EMP machine with them, but he knew full well that only humans dropped from that excuse of an air assault.

His eyes scanned the vast greenery, looking at rustling leaves, flying birds and crawling animals, wishing that the next set of movements were from the recon team. 

Or France's…

Simon liked her determination since day one, he wanted to tell her a lot of things but she's always preoccupied and never had the chance to talk to her alone. Sometimes he wished he was the one that caught that blast so that they could bond together by the infirmary. It's almost sad to think that he wanted that. Gary already told him multiple times to actually express what he felt, but that just doesn't go that way. It's easier said than done. What hurts more is that she looked awfully devastated at Soap being M.I.A. the kind of sadness you feel when you lost someone you loved and he was sure that she loved him more than that of a friend.

Leaves rustled by the forest and France emerged from it. She was weaponless and her face looked troubled, she looked scared. 

"You seeing this, Sir?" he muttered to his Captain.

"Aye. Hold still, looks like she's on a situation down there." Price replied. France's hands signaled hold fire, she almost predicted that the team might locate someone behind her and took the initiative of warning them. She picked up a piece of metal on the ground and slowly proceeded back to the forest.

"Bollocks! She looked like she's in trouble. Go assist her, Ghost." Price ordered and Ghost immediately went down the rooftops, switching his gear to stealth mode and dashed through the forest.

"ETA in 15… tes…" static crackled across his earpiece, making him remove the equipment and proceed with caution. That's why they weren't responding, the whole forest is actually jammed. That meant that the piece of metal is part of the machine. He must get it before it's too late, his mind started to lose focus and worry about France, so he ran, he ran far enough that he saw movement by a large tree near the clearing. He aimed his sights and crouched, aiming the person's head.

That head… it was Roach's. He was safe.

Simon slowly crept and went to Roach's aid. He was fine but he looked lost in thought.

"Roach, you okay?" he asked. Roach looked at his watch. 

"Thirty More seconds and they're dead." he whispered as noise filled the clearing once again, making the two peek.

"Wow. Just in time!" he clapped and tied France back to her group. The machine was complete and the assemblers quickly finished their job.

"There we go. All complete." he pointed his gun at the three, as Ghost angrily gripped his weapon.

"Thank you for your service." The man muttered and laughed, his head immediately burst before he could make the shot.

Everyone shuffled and the assemblers panicked, Roach fired the other runners while Ghost finished off the rest of the armed enemies.

"Let's get out of here, now!" Roach quickly untangled the rest of his team as they made a run for it, away from the machine as possible.

Midway through the jungle a huge pulse of air pushed them as the machine emitted a loud ring, making them kneel and cover their ears.

Their comms were down. They had no idea what's going to happen next. When extraction will arrive, are the two HVIs still safe. All of those questions will remain unanswered until communication is restored or they could confirm it by seeing for themselves.

Next Chapter : Alex and Augustus

Notification Squad my beloved

@beemybee @enderio @whimsywispsblog @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @ricinbach

[dcbbw]

Six Sentence Sunday January 3, 2021

I haven’t posted a Six Sentence Sunday in forever! Fortunately, for the first Sunday of 2021, I have managed to get words and thoughts out of my head and onto paper (or screen).

Everything is under the cut (and it’s a little bit of a lot)

The Life We Lived, Chapter 3:

His wife nodded and reached over into his plate to grab his fish sandwich. She wasn’t a fan of the seafood, but it was deep fried, and the bread was loaded with mayo, lettuce, tomato, onions, and jalapenos. It looked delicious.

She was on her third bite when her husband returned. His eyes widened in disbelief at seeing both of Riley’s hands gripping half his sub sandwich, mayonnaise dripping from her lips. Without a word, he sat down, pulled her beef lo mein in front of him. and began eating it.

“What did Thomas want? Is the job offer at the firm still open?” Riley licked her lips before taking another hearty bite.

Liam twirled flavorful noodles around the tines of his fork before spearing tender pieces of beef. His expression was thoughtful when he looked at his wife. “He offered me a case, but it isn’t immigration. It’s criminal. Murder.”

Riley’s eyes widened. “You’re not a criminal attorney.”

“I know enough to be a public defender,” Liam argued. “And it’s pretty open and shut. Apparently, the accused is admitting guilt; they just want to not get the death penalty or life with no chance of parole.”

Riley snatched her beef lo mein away from Liam; she shoveled a huge forkful in her mouth. “How much?” she asked suspiciously.

Liam’s eyes held hers. “One million even.”

Riley choked on her food. “What the FUCK?? When do you start?”

Liam chuckled softly before leaning over and kissing Riley with the slightest hint of tongue. “Not so fast, there. That’s a lot of money from a person admitting they’re guilty of murder, of all things. Which makes me think there’s more here than meets the eye.”

Riley nodded slowly. “So, you’re gonna think about it?” she asked hopefully.

Untitled #WackyDrabble #76:

The King stood at his study’s window, his dark eyes peering up at an even darker sky. He held a glass of scotch in one hand; he absent-mindedly shook it, causing amber liquid to swirl gently. In his other hand, he held a black velvet ring box. His eyes left the starry sky to look down at the box.

Inside was a symbol of his devotion, loyalty, and commitment. That he would slide onto his fiancée’s finger tomorrow morning.

He would have a wife. Cordonia would have a Queen.

Except Cordonia was an exacting mistress, not easily appeased. Demands for an heir would soon follow, then a spare would be required.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

With a sigh, Liam tucked the jewelry box into his suit jacket pocket before closing the curtains; he turned away from the window and sank into the chocolate leather of his oversized chair. His eyes roamed over his desk: personal photographs, stacks of paperwork divided by progress and priority, a Bible of the Orthodox Church.

He lifted his head at a knock on the door; hope and eagerness flooded his body as he called for his visitor to enter. It fled as quickly as it came when he saw who his visitor was.

White Sock Fuckery (SGL Ask):

The October evening was damp and chilly. Streetlamps glowed pale yellow against the night. The heavy rain that had drenched the nation’s capital from sunrise to sunset had finally eased into a light mist. The few leaves left on the trees lining Rhode Island Avenue at Logan Circle were bent and downward facing with the weight of moisture.

A figure slid from the vehicle double parked in the street, a large bag filled with purchases clutched in one hand. They didn’t turn around to watch the vehicle drive away; they were too busy searching for keys. With an audible gasp of relief, fingers pulled out a keyring and the person entered the building.

In the lobby of the apartment complex, the person headed directly up the stairs to Unit #2. The hall was quiet, the lighting dim. More keys were inserted into locks, and the person was inside. They leaned against the closed front door, exhaling a sigh as they inhaled patchouli and the faint smell of cigarette smoke. Their eyes traveled quickly over the darkened rooms.

Unopened wine bottles on the kitchen counter, remote control tossed carelessly on the sofa, a pile of laundry tossed atop the stacked washer/dryer.

Still clutching the bag, the person traveled the short hallway that led to the bedroom. Flipping a switch filled the somewhat spacious area with bright light. Tossing the bag on the bed, the person went to the chest of drawers placed in the exact center between two of the room’s four windows. A quick glance at their watch informed them they had 15 minutes before their ride returned.

Pulling the top drawer open, the person’s eyes widened in a hybrid of horror, disbelief, and humor.

What the actual fuck?

Dress Up (SGL x Riley B Kinktober ask)

“You know I wouldn’t do anything you’re not ready for,” he assured her. “But I think we’re both ready for something. Let’s call it a tension breaker.”

“Tension breaker?” Riley arched a brow as her arms circled his neck.

“It has to be done,” Liam affirmed as his lips pulled hers into a deep kiss.

When they parted a full minute later, Liam whispered in her ear. “I want to touch your body, Riley B.”

Riley looked at him with eyes dark with desire and clouded with wariness. “No sex!”

“I know,” Liam nodded.

“You think I’m silly. And I probably am, but …”

Liam shook his head. “No. You’ve been hurt. I’m fine with going slowly. I just need you to remember I’m not those other guys. I’m not gonna dump you in Target or pop in for 15 minutes of your time every six months like Bootycall Keith.”

Riley kissed him softly on the cheek. “Thank you. I just … I wanna get it right this time.”

“Me too.” His fingers raked through her hair.

“And it’s Keith the Bootycall. Like Chance the Rapper.”

Liam rolled his eyes as he shrugged out of his shirt; he didn’t see why he had to get that scrub’s name right.

Sunday Bruch, Chapter 10

Olivia ate a hearty forkful of her roasted quail and root vegetable casserole. “Hamid wanted to join us, but I thought it best that this luncheon be girls only.”

Riley looked at her confused. “Why? I’d love to meet the man who took you away from Court.”

Olivia set her fork down; she leaned across the table so she and Riley were practically nose to nose. “First, no one took me away from Court. I am still very much a member; I just choose not to socialize with you heathens. Second, you’re pregnant with no idea who the father is. You don’t want this to become an international scandal! You do realize Hamid has his own kingdom to oversee? And he can be a Chatty Cathy with an especially … juicy tidbit.”

Riley nodded as Olivia pulled away. A pale hand swept across her crimson locks before the Duchess of Lythikos brought a wine glass to her lips.

“So, what are you going to do?”

Riley shrugged as she scooped venison, rice, and gravy. “Honestly, I don’t know. I want to stay with Maxwell. Thinking all the men have brown hair; all of us except Maxwell have brown eyes. Maybe Max is the dad by default?”

Olivia blinked. This woman cannot be this fucking stupid! She lightly cleared her throat.

“How were you ever Queen?” Olivia huffed. “You do know none of these men look alike, right? As much as I love a good drama, the smart thing … the responsible thing to do is to have a DNA test done. Then sit down and have a talk with Maxwell and the child’s father.”

“NO!” Riley exclaimed, bits of food flying from her mouth. “I can’t do that! That’s just … out of the question!”

“You should have thought of that before having a threesome with Drake Walker and Rashad Domvallier.”

“It was just something to do,” Riley muttered.

“Now it’s become someone to raise.” Olivia sliced into a savory yam. “THIS is why I no longer come around. You people are a circle jerk of messy sex and share relationships. I have found keeping your circle small helps keep your hole tight.”

Untitled Laxwell:

In the kitchen, he found his lover sitting in the dark at the  dining table. The flipping of the light switch revealed a decanter of scotch sat beside him, and a glass of the liquor was in front of him. His blue eyes lifted long enough to take in his boyfriend’s slightly disheveled countenance.

“Rain wake you up?’ he asked as he took a swallow of his drink.

Liam shook his head, frowning slightly. Maxwell wasn’t a drinker; he wanted to be, but the most the younger Beaumont could handle was a glass of wine. Two, at most. Anything more or something stronger went to his head immediately. And Maxwell tended to be a belligerent drunk, his ire fueled by jealousy.

Liam sat down cautiously across from his boyfriend.

“What are you doing up? And drinking?”

Maxwell shrugged while tugging at his wrinkled tee shirt. “Thinking.”

“About what?”

Maxwell said nothing as he picked up his glass to drink more scotch.

“How many glasses have you had?” Liam asked suspiciously.

“This is my second.”

“So, what are you thinking about that has you up in the middle of the night, drinking scotch?”

Liam settled back in his chair, outstretching his arm so his hand covered Maxwell’s .A slight smile quickly flickered across the young Lord’s lips. When he raised his face to look at Liam, his expression was blank but his eyes sad.

“My mother.” It was simply said, but Liam knew the pain that lay behind the two words.

Untitled JGL one-shot:

One night, soon after Liam Rys started, I found myself staying late to help out the accounting team. Quarterly reports were coming up which meant every broker needed their monthly numbers. Of course, a good broker keeps their own numbers, but with Barthelemy as Managing Director, there are no good brokers.

Just a bunch of good old boy club members who like to smoke cigars, drink liquor, and grope tits.

And then there are the rest of us.

I run the numbers for my team and go to drop Liam’s reports off at his desk; when I reach his cubicle, I stop short. It’s after 8 pm, and he is hunched over his desk. His cheeks are flushed, he’s  gnawed his lower lip raw, and wears a scowl of vexation on his face.

“What are you still doing here?” I ask as I lay the reports in his inbox.

His dark eyes glance up at me before falling back down to the computer screen. “I have to put together a portfolio for a new client by tomorrow morning. Came straight from the Managing Director.”

“And it has you looking like that?”

“He has very specific stocks he wants to invest in, but none of them are going to give the client the yield the MD insists upon.”

I roll my eyes and hold out my hand to see the mock portfolio. With a sigh, Liam passes it to me before leaning back in his chair. He rubs his eyes, and glances at the clock. He pulls open a desk drawer and grabs an apple.

I look around for a place to sit in the small cubicle, but there isn’t any. Liam’s bicycle takes up all the available space. Instead, I kick off my heels and rest against the cloth-covered partition as I quickly review the documents.

“They’re playing you,” I state flatly as I pass the papers back.

Liam looks at me,  confusion and an underlying hardness in his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“What they’re asking of you is impossible. All the stocks are duds, poor performers. They set you up to fail. Or go crazy, whichever one comes first.”

 Not tagging folks; if you see it and want to play, feel free to do so!

[argylemnwrites]

Why Are We Still Waiting? - Chapter 1

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe, about 21 months after that epilogue, about 8 months since the prologue)

Word Count: ~4400

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: A new member of the family arrives, and both Drake and Riley reflect on how much things have changed over the past 3 years.

Author’s Note: Let’s try this again, shall we? Sorry for the delay between the prologue and this chapter, but I’m much happier with the character arcs I’ve got planned now, and I think you all will enjoy the story more, too. To catch up on this series, you can check out the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment masterlist (link in bio).

It was a quiet night in the Kensington neighborhood of Brooklyn. Anderson was curled up in his armchair, dozing lightly after his evening walk. The TV was on, the eleven o’clock news about to start any moment, and Drake was settled onto the couch, ready to watch, no matter how much Riley teased him about being “an old man” for still using the television to get his news. She was stretched out on the couch next to him, her toes tucked under his thigh. She was finishing up her work for the day, reviewing the twitter buzz for the reopening of a restaurant that hired the PR firm she worked for after a video of the former head chef going on a racist tirade surfaced. It was boring, average, and incredibly routine. It was the type of evening Drake enjoyed the most.

He knew Riley saw nights in like this as their “catch up” nights, but honestly, Drake looked forward to them a lot. Sure, in the more than two years he’d lived in New York, he’d come to find many things he loved about the city. The variety of food available at hole-in-the-wall restaurants was amazing, and the portion sizes and prices were always right. The mind games and backstabbing of court were replaced with direct, blunt friendships with Luke, Sunil, Caleb, and Omar, men he’d gotten to know at some of his different temp postings before he got hired on as a permanent employee at the law firm three months ago. And sure, it’s not like he had some great passion for reviewing and cataloging court filings and documents, but it paid the bills. And no one in his life judged him for it.

After Riley had earned her degree, she’d talked a lot about the two of them starting to save up for him to go back to school, researching which universities would take some or all of his previously-earned credits. But at some point, Drake realized that wasn’t really something he wanted. When he’d been younger, leaving Cordonia to get a Bachelor’s degree had felt like a way to establish himself as his own person, independent from the pressure of Court, separate from Liam. But now, he lived in a different city. He had a fiancée and a steady job and his own life already. He didn’t need a degree or a university experience to gain that independence.

And truth be told, with the variety of office jobs he’d held when he was still temping, he was pretty convinced that any career opportunities he could gain from having a university degree would not be jobs he actually wanted, or at least not ones he wanted any more than what he had now. He didn’t want to toil away at some corporate bullshit, striving just to inch up that ladder to get that next promotion. Plus, it turned out he was about as well-suited for office politics as he’d been for courtly politics, which probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. Additionally, if he went back to school, they would have to pay for six semesters, not just two like they’d had to for Riley. Earning that degree just seemed like a total waste of time and money.

Instead, they were slowly saving up for a variety of things these days. Their real honeymoon, not their would-be honeymoon they went on after they postponed their wedding. A road trip out to the West Coast. A bigger apartment for when they had kids. In all honesty, it turns out that he didn’t so much care what his job was. He wasn’t like Liam who found purpose and satisfaction from his work. Nor was he going to be like Maxwell and turn some zany endeavor into an honest-to-god career writing made-for-TV movies. And he did not have anywhere near the skill set and connections that Hana had, allowing her to open a international bakery chain that turned all its profits into disaster relief donations or grants and low interest small business loans for women in impoverished countries. If his job was able to allow him to take care of those he loved, he was happy enough. Taking care of his family and spending time with them was always going to be the most important thing to him. 

His family was on his mind often these days. Savannah was just over two weeks from her due date, and Drake was excited to actually get to know his niece or nephew from the start this time. He and Riley had a trip out to Cordonia scheduled next month, soon enough after the due date that they would get to meet the baby early, but not so early that they would be totally unwelcome visitors. Riley could only get one week off, but Drake was staying for an extra week after she left to spend a little more time with his niece or nephew. He figured it was Savannah’s way of trying to make up for all the time he missed with Bartie when he was little. Regardless, he was looking forward to meeting the second baby Beaumont.

In general, life was just good at the moment. Honestly, things had been good for a while. It was a feeling Drake had never imagined experiencing so consistently. But his life was stable, he knew he and Riley were on a good path, and he had a handful of close friends, both in the city and in Cordonia. His job was tolerable for the pay he earned. He really didn’t feel like he could ask for much more. So he watched the news with a smile on his face, as Riley sat next to him, replying to the occasional tweet.

By the time the newscast got to weather, Drake was yawning. He knew it would just provide more ammo for Riley to tease him about being old, but he couldn’t help it. It was a weeknight, it was late, and he got up before she did.

“Is it bedtime at the retirement home?” she quipped almost on cue, her eyes not leaving her phone screen as she nudged him with her foot.

Drake just shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. You coming to bed soon?”

Riley shrugged. “Not right away. In a little bit.”

He nodded as he stood up, dropping a kiss to her forehead as he passed on his way to the bathroom and bedroom.

“Wait, you forgot your phone,” Riley called out. He spun and saw her extending her arm back over the arm of the couch toward him, her eyes still glued on her own screen. He stepped forward to grab it, but it started buzzing in her hand, clearly startling her as she let out a little yelp and brought the phone forward to see who was calling.

“Why is Maxwell calling you at… 6:25 in the morning?” she asked, quickly doing the time zone math.

He just shrugged as he took the phone from her and swiped to answer the call. “Maxwell, what are you doing up?”

“Break out the cigars! It’s a girl!”

It took Drake a few seconds to mentally catch up to Maxwell’s statement. “Wait, you mean Savannah-”

“Had the baby? Yup! Just under 3 kilos and screaming up a storm,” said Maxwell with a chuckle, “They’re still deciding on a name, but I think it’ll be Caroline Annabelle Beaumont. At least that’s what they were leaning to when I stepped out to give them some privacy and give you a call.”

“I thought someone was going to call me when she went into labor?”

“Well… Savannah kind of forbid anyone from calling you. She said that you would just worry too much and would be blowing up her phone when she needed to be focused on other things. She pointed out that it wouldn’t really make a difference, either, with you being in the Big Apple.”

Drake shook his head and sank back onto the couch. “Unreal.”

“Hey, I vouched for you, man! I told her that you would be fine, but her word was kind of final, you know? Given the situation and all. Anyway, she promised she’d give you a call when it was all over.”

“So why are you the one calling me then?”

“Ouch, I’m hurt. I thought we were best friend roomies!” Maxwell said with a ton of dramatic flair. Drake could practically picture him clutching his shirt in mock pain.

“That’s not…” he started with an eye roll, “What I meant was, why isn’t Savannah calling me to share the news herself?”

“She… well… she had to be rushed back for an emergency c-section.”

“What?” Drake felt his heart rate pick up instantly, even though he knew in his mind that whatever had been the danger was likely resolved at this point.

“Yeah… I had stepped out to the hallway with Dad when they were checking to see how, er… dilated she was, when suddenly the midwife was calling out ‘Cord!’ and in an instant there were dozens of staff running into her room.”

“And you’re just now telling me?” Drake growled out. He felt Riley’s hand on his knee. He knew he should probably put the phone on speaker so that Riley could hear more than one half of this conversation, but he was too focused on not missing any details to risk pulling the phone away from his ear.

“It all happened so quickly. One second she was joking with me in between contractions, the next she was being wheeled out of the room and a nurse was explaining to Bertrand the gear he was going to have to put on to go into the OR. Before Dad and I could even figure out what was going on, Bertrand was back and told us it was a girl.”

“He left her alone during everything?” 

“Apparently, the only risk was to the baby, not to Savannah, but since she was attempting natural labor, they had to knock her out, I guess? Anyway, he was with her when she woke up, holding their little girl. I don’t know, the details kind of went over my head, but everyone is happy and healthy now!”

Drake just let out a massive sigh as he ran a hand over his face. It was a lot to process, but he didn’t think Maxwell would have told him all this info and then lied about Savannah and the baby being okay. He sometimes still felt strange, choosing to live so far away from his sister and Liam. He knew it wasn’t rational. He had certainly been more supportive to Savannah through this pregnancy than her first since he actually knew she was pregnant this time, but part of him felt guilty anytime something major happened and he wasn’t right there.

They were thoughts he didn’t like bringing up with Riley, because he wasn’t sure how to phrase it so that it didn’t sound like he resented her for the fact that he lived in a different country. He just had this feeling it would come across that way, when that wasn’t how he felt at all. But trying to work through the storm of emotions that bubbled up whenever something major happened to his friends or family in Cordonia when Maxwell had called to just let him know he had a niece was probably not the wisest decision. So, he swallowed his emotions down and focused on the good news. His sister had a little girl and it sounded like everyone was fine now.

“Well, tell Savannah and Bertrand congratulations and that I’ll call them in the morning here, alright? And thanks for calling me to let me know.”

“Of course! It’s my duty as part of our uncle brotherhood!”

“Don’t think for a second I’m going to start using that phrase, Maxwell.”

“I’ll convince you yet; you’ll see.”

Drake just shook his head as he said, “Bye, Maxwell.”

“Bye, Drake. Send my love to Riley. And prepare for a barrage of photos from yours truly.”

Drake placed his phone on the couch next to him and let out a sigh before facing Riley. Her phone was now tucked away somewhere as she stared at him, eyes wide and full of concern.

“What happened?”

“Savannah had the baby. A little girl.”

“What had you upset?”

“There were some complications, but he says everything’s fine now.”

Riley snaked her arms around him and gave him a little squeeze. “I’m sure it is. Is he gonna send some pictures?”

Drake nodded, and Riley curled up fully next to him on the couch, leaning her head against his shoulder, waiting for the photos of his niece. Their niece. Kind of.

He glanced down at the ring on her left hand that rested on his knee. Not for the first time, he wondered if they made the right call postponing their wedding for Savannah’s sake. It didn’t feel fair, that Bertrand and Savannah had it all - married with two kids - while they had put plans on pause. And sure, both Savannah and Bertrand had thanked them profusely. But watching as they moved forward with their lives while he and Riley had to plan and save and budget all over again just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sometimes, it felt like he should have just told his sister just how insane her ask was. He and Riley would have been married for almost eight months by this point. Maybe they would be talking about starting their own family. But deep down, Drake knew that nothing good came from playing the “what if” game. So he tried to just soak in the moment, at peace and at home with Riley, taking in pictures of Savannah’s new baby. He was happy, his sister and her new baby were fine, and his life was steady. He couldn’t really ask for anything more, could he?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley kicked her legs against the exam table and tugged her sweatshirt a little closer as she checked the time on her phone again. Dr. Mehta wasn’t running that late, but Riley was just a little anxious about this appointment. When she’d called to schedule her next depo injection, she was surprised that she’d been booked for a longer appointment with Dr. Mehta herself, not Val, Dr. Mehta’s nurse. She wasn’t sure if something was wrong or why this was happening. All she knew is that she needed to get her depo before their trip to Cordonia. It would be too late to wait until she got back.

She knew Drake was excited to get back and see everyone, as well as meet his new niece, Caroline. But, truth be told, Riley always found it a bit strange being back in Cordonia, even more so now that Hana had moved to London full time. Even though she’d been a nobody in New York for over two years, she still got recognized every time she and Drake had been back there. Last visit, they’d somehow even attracted enough attention that The Ruby Rise, one of the tabloids there, had run a piece speculating they had come back to enter into some sort of thruple with Liam. The whole thing had been a total mind fuck. Being back just always felt a little bit like stepping into a time capsule or a portal to this very weird time period of her life, one where she ended up grabbing Drake and bolting for the exit as soon as she could.

She supposed that wasn’t an entirely fair comparison. After all, it’s not like she considered her time in Cordonia a negative one. For the most part, she’d had a fun experience, and most of her closest friends came from that time in her life. But it still felt weird, returning to the world of balls and galas and courtly politics where she’d been on her best behavior for months. Now that she wasn’t formally a part of that circle, she didn’t hold back from swearing or snarking when she was there. It always caught at least a few people off guard and fully scandalized Bertrand consistently. Olivia had remarked at Savannah and Bertrand’s wedding that the potty-mouthed, bitchy version she was finally fully seeing was somehow more and less annoying at the same time. 

Two sharp knocks jolted Riley out of her thoughts. She turned her head to the exam room door as Dr. Mehta entered with a smile, a clipboard in her hand. 

“Sorry about the wait,” she said with a smile as she plopped down on the stool by the desk and rolled over to sit in front of Riley. “And you don’t need to be up there if you don’t want to. We just need to chat.”

Riley frowned at that, but Dr. Mehta must have noticed that, because she let out a little chuckle. “Nothing bad, I promise! I just wanted to talk to you about your contraceptive options. Honestly, I should have brought this up at your appointment back in December. I just did my math wrong when I was reviewing your chart then.”

“I’m really happy on the depo, doctor.”

She gave Riley a little smile as she said, “And I’m glad. But unfortunately Depo Provera is only safe to use for two years. And we’ve reached that point.”

Riley felt a wave of panic rush through her. “I can’t go back on the pill! I was always terrible about remembering to take it.” It was the truth. Back years ago, she’d been awful about remembering to take her pill, and it was almost never at the same time of day. 

“That’s fine. You aren’t my only patient who struggles with that, I promise. That’s why I wanted to talk about other long term options for you. I’m assuming no plans to try for pregnancy in the next couple of months?”

“God no!”

She laughed at that. “Just making sure! I think for you, either an IUD or an implant are going to be the best options.” She passed Riley a couple of pamphlets and went over the relevant details, side effects, and benefits.

“So, if you want to think about what you want and give my office a call in the next couple of days, we can get you in next week,” Dr. Mehta concluded.

Riley shook her head. “I’m traveling out of the country next week.”

Dr. Mehta tilted her head back and forth a couple of times, then checked her watch. “Well, I doubt we’ll be able to get you in for an IUD placement this week, but if you have a little time now, I can place an implant today.”

So, maybe a half hour later, Riley found herself walking out of the OBGYN office suite, a thick bandage wrapped around her bicep, pleased that she was set for birth control for the next few years. Not only was it one less thing to worry about, but it felt like the sort of thing a responsible adult did. After living so long with no consideration for the future, flying by the seat of her pants, diving into massive decisions without a second of thought, she knew that times like this, where she planned for her long-term, represented a decent amount of progress.

It was strange, in a way, to be consistently thinking about the future. For so long, her life had been just her scraping by, hoping to claw her way into a slightly better situation. Getting to go and live with her mother again when she was in a shitty foster home. Getting to go and live in a foster home when her mother relapsed hard or when she had a shitty, creepy dealer as a boyfriend. Getting a new job that would pay more. Always scrambling, never dreaming beyond her next move.

But now, she had a white collar job that paid her a college graduate salary, she had a nice apartment, and she lived with her dog and her fiancé. No one would guess that she’d lived off food stamps and free school lunches and had bounced around from couch to couch and then from foster home to foster home. She lived the life of a well-adjusted woman, and that meant considering the long-term, not just the short term. And today she’d done just that. She felt responsible and capable. It was a nice feeling.

She’d been all ready to brag about her very mature decision, but when she got back to their apartment, things were chaotic. Anderson was bouncing off the walls, and Drake was livid on the phone with the airline about their upcoming flight, so she took out the dog, and by the time she got back, Drake basically had dinner on the table. All thoughts about her birth control were pushed out of her mind through dinner and some heated hands of poker, until she was getting ready for bed that evening. She was tossing her sweatshirt into the hamper and Drake was by the dresser he’d painted lime green for her. As she got undressed, he caught sight of the bandage on her arm for the first time.

“Riley, what happened?” he asked, darting over, eyes locked on her left arm as he sank down on the edge of the bed to inspect it closer.

She couldn’t help but smile. His reaction was so predictable. “Nothing.”

“But your arm…” He gently traced his fingers over her bandage, as if he would find some evidence of some horrible injury on her, something he somehow missed and needed to correct.

“New birth control. Bandage comes off tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay.” He still seemed leery and continued his inspection of her arm. “Why’d you change? Was something wrong?”

Riley shrugged. “My doctor said that I had reached my limit for depo. Besides this one lasts three years. Seemed mad convenient.”

Drake’s fingers stopped their path with her words, his eyes jumping from the bandage up to her face. “Three years?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He didn’t say anything else, just stood up, walked back to the dresser, and started rifling through his drawer.

“What?”

“It’s nothing, Liu.”

“Clearly it’s something,” she said, joining him by the dresser, forcing herself into his personal space until he made eye contact with her again. “You’ve never given a shit what I’ve done for birth control before. What’s up, Drake?”

He shook his head a little before returning to rifling through the drawer, flipping through old t-shirt after old t-shirt. “I told you - it’s nothing. Since you’re the one who has to deal with any side effects or whatever, it’s obviously your call. Have you seen my blue Cordonian football shirt?”

She let out a sigh. “Don’t change the subject.”

He took a moment before he responded, closing his eyes for just a second and taking a deep breath. “It’s stupid.” He opened his eyes again and gave his head a little shake, his eyes still glued on the drawer. “I just… I don’t know, I guess…”

“You want kids within three years.” She finished his thought for him, knowing without a doubt that was what he was struggling to tell her.

Drake finally looked up at her and shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like I have a timeline or anything, but… I don’t know. Three years is a long ways off, you know?”

She did know. “I agree; a lot can change in three years. In fact, three years ago, you were just some rude asshole who clearly thought I was a crown chaser.”

He rolled his eyes at that before quipping back, “I just didn’t realize someone recklessly impulsive enough to hop on a private jet with a couple of guys she’d known for less than 24 hours could survive to be your age. It was really a compliment, me assuming you at least had a goal in mind.”

“When did you realize that I was just flying by the seat of my pants and clearly had no plan whatsoever?”

“When you told Olivia you were going to slap her. That degree of lack of diplomacy just can’t be found in someone who knows how to become queen.”

“But you still thought I was going to be queen at that point.”

“I mean, I just assumed you were going to stumble your way into the role, but do you really want to get into why I thought you would be queen?”

She shook her head, laughing lightly as she placed her hands on his chest and nudged him backwards to their bed, straddling his lap as he sat down on the end. “No, I think the less said there, the better. Besides, we both know I would have been the world’s shittiest queen.”

Drake opened his mouth to respond to that, but Riley didn’t give him a chance, leaning in and kissing him. After a moment, he deepened the kiss, sliding one hand to her shoulder and running another through her hair. But a few seconds later, he pulled back slightly, his hand sliding over the bandage on her arm. He stared at it, tracing his fingers over it again and again. 

“It’s an implant, Drake. I can get it removed if for some reason we are ready for kids in two years or whatever,” Riley said, sliding her fingers under his chin, redirecting his eyes from that damn bandage back to her face. “It’s not a big deal, okay?”

He swallowed roughly, but then nodded. “Okay, Liu.” And then his lips were back on hers, his hands working under her tank top, sliding it up bit by bit. She rolled her hips down against him, ready to move on from their conversation. She could think of far more enjoyable ways to spend the rest of their evening than the minutiae of her birth control choices after all. And as they tumbled backwards onto their bed, she tried not to think about the fact that Drake avoided touching her left arm for the rest of the night.

Permatag:  @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @iaminlovewithtrr @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @no-one-u-know @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @shz256  @thequeenchoices  @sunnyxdazed​

[bbrandy2002]

High Times in Cordonia

Wacky Drabble Prompt #12: You know that's not what I meant.

A/N: I haven't written anything from my Two Men and a Baby crew in...well...I don't know when. I kinda miss the old bunch and their shenanigans, so, I thought I would give it another go for old times sake. If I write anymore from this series, and Im sure I will, the new name will be "The Royals". Sorry if this is a bit rusty.

Summary: Liam and Drake find some pot and contemplate the options for getting rid of it, obviously by smoking it.

Warning: Drug usage and cursing.

Word Count: 1280 (not too much over the limit)

Liam and Drake had spent the better portion of the day putting away gifts from Riley's baby shower. The second largest bedroom in their quarters just happened to be Leo's old room and this was the one chosen for the nursery.

The most the housekeepers and the decorators found while transforming the former prince's room into the baby's was a few used condoms, a couple nude pics and a crusty cigar. The Queen, herself, at 8 months pregnant, had scrubbed and sanitized the room for two days, ridding it of any last lingering remnants of her brother in law. Riley was insistant that the essence of Leo be purged from that room before her innocent baby enter it.

"What do you think this is?", Liam asks while holding a small, baggie in front of himself that he found hidden in the back of the nursery closet.

Drake yanked the baggie from Liam's hand and opened it with a sly smirk before sniffing its contents, "I think...I THINK..it's pot".

Liam rips the bag back from Drake's hands with an annoyed expression, "Back off Cooch, I found it first", he said as he shuffled past him to the other side of the room, holding his stash closely to his chest.

"Cooch?", Drake raised a brow attempting to stifle a laugh, "Did you just call me...Cooch?, he asked with a chuckle.

Liam continued sniffing the contents, passively listening to Drake, "You know... that guy from that show you and Riley watched the other day, you sound like the sarcastic, sweater vest wearing one...Cooch".

"I think you mean Chandler and, my god, how are you the leader of this country.......fucking Cooch", he laughed heartily, continuing his mockery.

Liam rolled his eyes then grabbed a stuffed bear from the dresser, throwing it at Drake, who swerved out of the way at the last second. "Okay, so you've had your laugh, are we doing this or what?".

Drake's eyes widened with surprise, "Whatdya mean...like, smoke it?"

"No, I thought we could paint our toe nails with it, of course, smoke it".

'Who's being...Cooch, now, Your Highness...besides, we both know you won't do it. Maxwell begged you for years to try it with him and you were always...", Drake stiffens his posture and deepens his voice, " that stuff is a gateway drug mister and I will not succumb to peer pressure, heh heh heh".

Liam lets out a loud sigh, rubbing a hand over his face, "Well...it is you know and I don't sound like that". He walks over to the rocking chair and slumps down into it, still clutching the baggie. "Its just....I'm getting ready to be a father.."

"Experts claim that is the best time to start a drug habit", Drake interrupts as he sits on the floor in front of Liam.

"You know thats not what I meant", he replies as he sits up in the chair. "Its just that the most daring thing I've ever done is sneak out of the palace on a cronut run, I just want to do one last crazy thing before, you know, my baby gets here".

Drake scratches the back of his neck, shaking his head, waiting for Liam to come up with some logical plan for getting rid of it, just as they did when servants found other Leo stashes around the palace. He looked up at Liam, who seemed to almost be asking him for permission with those sad blue eyes. He certainly didn't appear to be changing his mind, nor, unsure of his decision.

"Fuck it", Drake groaned, "I'll see if Maxwell left any papers in his guest room".

20 minutes later.....

Both men are sitting criss cross applesauce on the floor of the nursery, each with a lengthy joint between their thumb and forefinger. The room was filled with billowy smoke that reflected off the light from the small giraffe lamp on the dresser.

Liam looked down at his joint, disappointment written on his face, "Do you feel anything yet? I don't feel anything".

"Maybe this stuff is too old", Drake took another hit, coughed, then paused for a moment, "maybe this stuff is too old".

Liam laid back on the floor flat, taking in a deeper draw this time before blowing, albeit- unsuccessfully, smoke rings. "You know what Drake, your name sounds like ssssssnake...did you ever think that a snake is really just a tail with a face on it".

"Yeah...yeah...tail is a snake...I've thought about it....a lot", he replies while trying to touch his nose with his tongue.

"Hey Drake?"

"Hmm".

"I wonder if the Japanese flag is really a pie graph of just how Japanese, Japan is?"

Drake runs his fingers down his chin, contemplating Liam's wise observation before snapping his fingers and pointing at him, "OR! Its a giant pepperoni, you know how the Japanese are with their pizza's and shit".

Liam nods, eyes having not blinked in over 20 seconds, "True that".

The guys spend a a few more minutes, waiting for the effects of their marijuana to start. Both deciding it was futile, they felt completely, normal.

10 minutes later....

"Drake, get the hell down from there!", Bastien yells up at Drake who is in the palace ballroom, perched on a chandalier.

Liam stumbles out of the kitchen entrance into the ballroom, a rare commerative edition bottle of Cordonia's finest bourbon that was given to Constantine 25 years ago in one hand and a triple cheeseburger stuffed with cheese doodles in the other. He suddenly stops when he notices Bastien looking up at the ceiling. He then walks casually over to him, taking a loud crunchy bite from his burger, smacks his lips a few times, "Wha dup?"

Bastien glances over at Liam, then does a double take, "Geezus, Your Majesty, are you feeling okay?".

"LIAM..watch this!!", Drake yells down as he starts swinging back and forth, small pieces of the ceiling falling like dust to the floor. He starts singing, "IIIIIII, wanna swing..from the chandalier...from the chandalier-IER!", his voice raising 5 octaves higher.

Liam gasps, "Oooooo, I wanna do that too", he tosses the bottle over his shoulder, shattering it, and thrusts his cheeseburger into Bastien's hand, "hold my burger dude". As he starts to climb the large metal ladder, Bas grips his feet, not allowing him to move any further up.

Liam cocks his head to look at his head guard, his face and shoulders lowering, "Awwww Bas, you dropped my cheeseburger...not cool man"

"Your Majesty, please come down and I will take you to the kitchen and get you a new one", Bastien pleaded.

"Don't listen to him Li, he's just trying to keep you from getting hurt, BUZZKILLER!!!!". Drake's own voice startles himself and he loses his grip and crashes onto a table below, "IM THE FLYING NUN....ouch".

Bastien releases Liam's feet and dashes to Drake, who landed onto the table next to him.

"Drake! Drake!, can you hear me son?", Bastien asks frantically as he looks over him, searching for blood or broken bones.

"Bas?", he asks weakly, his red eyes seaching Bastien's.

"What is it Drake?"

He smirks, "You gotta a wittle boogie in your nose".

Liam hops off the ladder, scoops up some random cheese doodles, before reassembling his cheeseburger and biting into it, "Mmm...T to the A to the S T E Y..girl, you tasty!".

The loud sound of the palace smoke alarm system blares, emergency lights strobing near the exits, illuminating the ball room with flashes. Bastien gets a call over his walkie talkie, "Sir, the Queen reported a small fire in her quarters, located within the nursery. She is safe and being escorted out by Mara, however, she says she thinks there is also a skunk in there".

Bastien rolls his eyes, "Its not a damn skunk, just, get everyone out and I'll meet you outside with His Majesty, over". He turns to Liam who is sitting in a chair, lapping up cheese and grease from the sleeve of his hoodie, then at Drake, who is trying to look at his own eyes. "Alright, Cheech and Chong, let's continue this little party outside". He carefully hoists Drake over his shoulder and pulls Liam up by his hoodie, dragging him to the exits.

"I'm the Cheech, huh, Bas?", Drake asks while hanging limply over his shoulder".

"King Liam Chong", Liam nods, "I like it!...hey wait...my cheese doodles...Bas go back...my cheese doodle...cheese doodles Bastien...cheese doodles.... Bas...IN THE NAME OF GODDAMN CROWN, MY FUCKING CHEESE DOODLES!!!"

Wacky Drabblers: @emceesynonymroll @burnsoslow @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @janezillow @katedrakeohd @jessiembruno @pedudley @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @romanticatheart-posts

Permatags not listed above: @drakesensworld @ao719 @hopefulmoonobject @eileendannie @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore

Im still missing a ton of people from my perm list, I don't know where I saved the list, so so sorry about that. If you want removed or added just let me know.