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trashmouth-richie · 6 months ago

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 : part 2

꧁ eddie x female reader :: read part 1 here

a multi chapter mini series— based on thoroughfare by ethel cain

listen here (apple music) + here (spotify)

summary: jumping into his truck at seventeen, eddie takes a journey in hopes to find love. years pass with no such luck, along the way he stumbles across you, a timid drifter who reluctantly agrees to join him, heading west. you’ve never trusted men, but something in those kind, deep colored coffee eyes stirs up a feeling you’ve never felt before. strangers to lovers trope, one bed trope.

5.6k triggers: 18+ only, smut, piv no condom, oral m&f receiving, loneliness, hard times heartache, finding yourself, humor about rocky mountain oysters 🐂 🦪 etc.

Indigo thunderheads belt a rhythm of applause across the Schell Creek Range. Strikes of lightning shred the sky into a kaleidoscope of colors, sharp acidic white and lavender swim in the night sky. The temperature had dropped enough to create the perfect recipe for a late summer storm, and Eddie’s truck was in the center of it.

The windows had been fogged up for a while now, the heat from your skin causing the condensation to build across the windshield. Frustration laid sourly beneath your surface, aching for his touch, high on his movements and the way he kept licking his bottom lip.

The tension bubbled and boiled so hot you could barely handle the extra heat emitting from your body.

Eddie had readjusted himself more times than he probably had in any part of junior high. A single glimpse of your legs uncrossing and recrossing would start the process all over again.

You tried to busy yourself with counting the yellow dashes on the road, naming the fifty states in alphabetical order, but nothing- nothing, was stopping that steady roar of want.

Rain had pelted the windshield in steady drops, but the last ten minutes had increased into a torrential downpour, just enough for the windshield wipers to have a hard time keeping up. There was simply no outrunning this storm.

“Shit,” Eddie hums, squinting at the disappearing road, “we’re gonna have to pull over, gettin’ hard to see.”

The small talk between you and Eddie had been just that today. Miniscule conversations that were cut short with one word answers, and longing glances so thick you had to physically peel your eyes from the way his throat danced when he took a sip from his water.

“There’s a town coming up,” you say, heart thumping your delicate finger moving along the lines of the map.

Eddie looks at you, his throat going bone dry at the way the shadows played on your skin, and he has to swallow more than once to utter a response, “s-sounds good to me.”

Another night on the road. Another shady motel that smelled of stale cigarettes and regretted decisions. The weeks behind you were spent exactly like tonight. A day filled with burning rubber on the asphalt and exploring the smallest of towns on the map you had insisted on buying.

Sometimes, you’d both tuck in early for the night, checking into the nearest motel with a vacancy and the promise of a hot shower. Other nights you ate a questionable cheeseburger and fries at some shithole of a bar listening to live music, nursing a beer or two.

No matter what the day held, Eddie’s gentlemanly ways never faltered. He always let you shower first. Offering you first dibs on the paper wrapped soaps and the mini bottles of shampoo, and you made sure to leave enough conditioner for him.

He was traditional in that way, any diner you went to he sat facing the entrance, eyes sweeping for exits. In the motels, he slept in the bed closest to the door, there was no use arguing with him over these small little acts of preservation. Your groans of protests were met with the same kind of answer each time. Take note sweetheart, I might just be the last chivalrous guy around.

What Eddie didn’t realize is that he probably was.

“… should have realized she was up to no good when she kept feeding me drinks all night and eyeing my ring.”

You nearly choke on a slice of pizza you’d ordered while waiting for Eddie to get out of the shower. The bathroom door swings open and he emerges from the steamed room, wet hair beading against his bare shoulders.

The greased stained corners of a pizza box sat on your bed. Feet crossed beneath your legs, hair wrapped in a towel, you held up a finger and spoke with a mouthful, “Wait, wait wait. When was this?”

The same sweatpants he always wore to bed were slung low on his hips, showing off the gray elastic of his boxer briefs. He threw a white tank top from a pack of six over his head, and you watched as it clung to his chest still wet from his shower, hiding the silvery peek of a chain necklace.

“My first week leaving home,” he sighed, reaching for a slice, leaning his long frame onto his side laying on the edge of the bed, “just a tad bit naive.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat and you try to hide it behind your hand, “so, innocent little Eddie got his ring stolen after thinking he hit the jackpot with Tracie?”

“No no, this was Tiffany,” he said, chucking a parmesan packet at you playfully, a laugh erupting from him, “c’mon now, listen to the story.”

“Okay, okay!” you surrender, “what happened next?”

He sits up animatedly, smile stretched like taffy across his face, “well, we went back to the motel and when I woke up…truck was still there, cash never even touched. The only thing she took was the ring and the boots right off of my feet.”

“Nah uh… you’re lying.”

Eddie’s smirk grows wide, and he takes another bite of his pizza, “looked pretty dumb walking into that boot store with just socks on.”

You both laugh until the tears slide down your cheeks. Like old friends who had known each other for years, giggling at jokes only the two of you found funny. Eddie made you feel comfortable the second you sat in his truck, with him it wasn’t complicated. Something foreign to you, but you found it easy to adjust to his easy going ways.

“Alright,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you heard all of my on the road woes, time you tell me something I don’t know.”

You slink further down the bed, head resting on the pillows, ankles crossed by Eddie's outstretched legs.

“I don’t like olives, or mushrooms.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, “whoa, pump the brakes… you’re gettin’ a little too deep here.”

You hold up a suggestive finger in front of your smirk and he laughs, “c’mon honey, tell me why you were walkin’ on that road the day we met.”

Flashbacks of slamming doors and yelling voices ring loud in your ears, and you sigh, “it’s a long story.”

“Good thing we don’t have anywhere to be, huh?”

Picking at your nails you think back to the childhood— or lack thereof, that you were raised in. The anger, the hurt, the emotional pain still heavy on your chest. From the sound of his life and the way he talks about the love his parents had for one another, you doubt he wouldn’t be terrified of the demons you’d faced.

A slow shake from your head and you look up to his eyes in the warm auburn light. Brimmed with care and full of trust, you shudder from the intensity.

“No judgment here,” he says softly, laying a hand on his chest, “I promise.”

Taking a deep breath you stare at the chipped polish on your toes, working your hands into a rub as you begin the wretched story of your life.

The small town you’d seen on the map shouldn’t have been given a name at all. A one horse town would have been too much to describe the absolute barren grounds of what laid ahead of you.

A green sign proudly stated the name of it and the population count “8 , no services.” A building that should have been scheduled for demolition had a single light above the sign that said “vacant” flickering like morse code. Looking around, this was it, the entire motel looked to be the size of a small home.

Eddie eased the pickup in front of what seemed to be the front office after noticing a television glaring through a filthy window. The rain fell harder now, beating down against the truck so loud you could barely hear him as he told you to stay put.

A large sigh heaves from your lips the second his door clicked shut. You needed to get a grip on yourself. But you can’t, finding yourself smoothing down your shirt, rummaging through your bag to rub deodorant beneath your arms.

Pulling down the visor, you can see the heated flush on the apples of your cheeks in the tiny cracked mirror. You’re a mess as your mind slips to the way his jeans squeezed on his ass and seem to tighten against the zipper, the flutter of his lashes when you caught him looking— your thighs shut together to find relief.

The driver's door opens the same time you snap the visor back into place and there he stands, drenched from head to toe. A look of bewilderment on his face. The eyes that sparkled were suddenly set into a gloom as he slid behind the steering wheel and sat, staring ahead.

“Everything, okay?”

“Oh yeah, no worries, just uh.. little snag, but I have an idea,” his smile warms you from the inside out and your thighs press together tighter, air breached from your lungs as your stomach plummets.

Your voice grows small as you finish the lengthy tale of your life, and you wipe your runny nose against the end of the towel.

The radio plays Elton John’s Your Song gently in the background and you tuck your feet under your legs. Picking at the pilling fabric of the comforter, letting out a gentle morose sigh.

“Sorry to be a Debbie Downer.”

Seriousness clouds his eyes, and he looks almost sad as he leans forward and hooks a finger under your chin until your eyes meet his, “dance with me?”

Warmth radiates from him, the feeling of home lies in the depths of his eyes. Reaching out.

“Here? Now?”

He climbs from the bed leaning a hand down to yours, “yeah,” he shrugs, “I like this song.”

Don’t have much money but..boy, if I did

I’d buy a big house where, we both could live.

If I was a sculptor but then again no

He stands tall above you, looking down the slope of his nose, a smile on his lips at the timid way you approach him, hands held out in an offering of you weren’t even sure of what.

“Just letting you know now, that I haven’t danced since the Prom, and even then it was—”

Eddie grabs your hands and pulls you gently into him, stepping back to leave space. Your hands slither up against his biceps and land on his shoulders, thumbs flicking gently over the firm muscle there.

“I’ll lead,” he says, keeping his hands above your hips, touching the bottom of your ribs with his large fingers, “this okay?”

Screaming internally, you simply nod with your eyes closed. Going solely on his touch as Eddie begins to sway you both from side to side.

Where you are clumsy, Eddie is surprisingly limber on his feet. His hands move you this way and that, and he chokes on his laugh when you move your feet forward when they should have gone back and your toes crush into his.

But the suns been quite kind while I wrote this song

it’s for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do

Your skin is ablaze where his palms hold you tight, heart thumping in your chest in a rhythmic staccato of its own accord. His eyes look dreamy in the low light, long lashes sweeping the highs of his cheeks when he blinks.

You're so caught up in his beauty that you don’t hear the low murmur of his voice the first time he speaks.

“Sorry?”

Eddie chuckles and you can feel it bubble from his chest, “I said, it’s nice right?”

“The dance?”

“Well,” he says with a small smirk, “that too, but I was talking about the song.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you bite your lip, but he doesn’t notice because he’s soon leaning forward, his nose brushing the shell of your ear.

His voice is like liquid smoke, curling around you and wrapping you into the warmest embrace, one that you’d gladly die in.

“You’re not half bad at this,” he says with a grin that you can hear with the squeak from his cheeks.

Leaning back you look him in the eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity in the desert browns, “maybe i’ll take up line dancing.”

“That,” he says with a laugh, twirling you away from him in the most un-graceful way your body could move. Ankles knocking into one another, toes burning against the short carpet. “I would pay to see.”

You spend the rest of the song dancing and giggling at his stupid jokes and the way he whips his long hair around.

More than just friendship brews between you. His arms held you against him, not letting you go. Eddie’s voice curls into a whisper against your ear, his barely dry hair tickling your shoulder, “I’m happy you’re here with me, and I’m sorry you were treated that way.”

Your head angles into his chest, and you lay your cheek against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I’m happy to be here too.”

The cheese had gone stone cold on the forgotten pizza, song after song you swayed back and forth until Casey Kasem started taking requests on the radio.

The rain seeps through your thin shirt as you stand at the door with your bag slung over your shoulder, patiently waiting for the key to work.

Eddie must have jiggled it into the sweet spot after a few minutes of working the handle, swinging the door open and ushering you inside just as a loud clap of thunder booms across the sky.

You jump on instinct and Eddie snuffs out a snort as you run your hand along the wall to find the light switch.

The lights sputtered and hummed to life, showcasing cobwebbed corners and illuminating the orb of dead flies. The wallpaper was peeling away from itself in long tawny strips, curled to a crisp on the edges. A sign written in cursive was crudely taped to the tv saying “out off of order”.

But out of all of the eyesores in the room, there was still something off.

One bed.

A week and hundreds of miles stretched on from the night you and Eddie had danced together. He noticed you smiling more, the barriers you had up were lowered, and no matter how much he tried— he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The bar you had stopped at to get supper was packed. Peanut shells coated the floor and there was a fight breaking out in the back corner. Eddie’s hand warmed your lower back as he pointed you towards a small table.

A waitress dumped handwritten menus with faded ink at your table. He watched your eyebrows raise in question as you read the appetizers.

“Fresh Rocky Mountain Oysters fried in a cornmeal blend?” you questioned, “what even is that?”

Eddie’s lips pressed tight to hide a laugh, “well they’re not real oysters… and the Rocky Mountain part is more or less a nod to where they came from.”

Your eyebrows tick up in confusion and then disgust as he explains just exactly how and what those “oysters” are made from.

“Yeah… think I’ll just stick with the cheese balls.”

He laughs as your mouth turns to a frown. “Good choice. The sign outside claimed they had the best bison burgers in the state, that’s what I’m gonna get.”

“Does that come with or without testicles?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, “hopefully without those suckers are expensive.”

Your laugh sounded loud in his soul, your smile sung to him anytime he saw it, and fuck, he wondered if you knew just how gorgeous you really were.

A singular mattress. For you and for Eddie.

Before you can say anything Eddie’s already apologizing, “I swear, this is all they had…” he says, letting out a large sigh, wiping the rain from his face with the sleeve of his soaked shirt.

He shuts the door and clicks the locks into place before he moves his things to the other side of the room, “you take the bed, I’ll make do with the floor.”

Your brows crease and you pout in disbelief, “don’t be ridiculous Eddie, I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fl—”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he smiles, a tired look on his face as he hauls his duffle bag into the bathroom, wet fringe sticking to his forehead, “don’t worry bout me…gonna change quick.”

Rifling through your bag you dress into your pajamas quickly. Your stomach turned. It wasn’t right, you would not let him sleep on the floor of this dirty room. This entire trip he had been paying for the motel stays, and you’d be damned if he was going to have a sore back because of… this.

A single curse is muffled through the thin walls followed by a chuckle, “hey, you can add another thing to the list of shit going wrong tonight.”

The carpet was damp beneath your feet as you moved to the bathroom, “what happened?”

Eddie throws open the door, sporting a black pair of boxer briefs sprinkled with rain drops, and nothing else besides a splatter of pink blush on his cheeks. You almost choke at the sight of him.

Despite the circumstances, a smile remains on his pink lips, “all of my clothes are soaked.”

With the burning tension and your body screaming all day in the cab of the pickup, your mind was preoccupied. Not even registering that his bag had been in the bed of the truck, soaking up every drop of rain it could into its blue canvas shell.

You’ve seen him bare chested before, but the way the rain clung to his skin, he looked ethereal, and your stomach lurched when he stepped around you, his arm sliding against yours with a potent electricity.

“We um…” your tongue felt like velcro stuck to the roof of your mouth, peeling the first layer off of it for sure as you spoke. Grabbing a pair of his jeans from his bag to hang up over the back of a dusty chair, you suggest, “we can hang your stuff up to dry, hopefully by tomorrow they’ll be alright.”

You work quickly, pulling pants and shirts from the bag and hanging them in various places, hoping that the heat from your cheeks would subside if you didn’t look at him.

He holds the last pair of pants in his large hands. Holding them out he suddenly withdraws, holding the bundle of wet fabric high above his head, laughing as you reach on your tiptoes to grab them.

The pout on your lips makes his quirked smile spread across his cheeks as you stretch further to reach his arm. Laughter erupts from him.

Your thin cotton shirt is smushed into his wet chest, your breath catches in your throat when your nipples harden from the cold touch of his skin skimming over yours. He stops entirely, bringing the pants down and tossing them on the nearest chair, those deep eyes never leaving yours.

His hand runs the length of your arm, starting at the knob of your shoulder, trickling with feather light touches down to your fingertips, entwining them with his. Pulling you gently closer into him.

A sigh fell from his lips so beautiful it could make Medusa blush, and you nearly passed out from holding in your own breath.

His other hand rubs against your cheek, calloused and strong, and your insides melt to jelly at his touch. He presses his forehead to yours, and you move your hands around his waist, pressing your fingertips into the meat of his lower back.

For years you have been afraid, never trusting anyone, especially men. But with him it was different, he was gentle, kind, and caring. It was as easy as breathing, and came on as quickly as falling asleep. Here in his arms you felt content for the first time in a long while.

Eddie’s heart beat is thumping loud but sure. “You’re beautiful… do you know that?”

The heat ignites in your core as his words seep into your skin. Shaking, you clear your throat to steady yourself, “you really think so?”

He nods his head, “It’s been a long damn time since I left home,” he nearly whispers, “nothing left… but now that I met you, I finally know just where I’m headin’.”

A tear leaks from your eyes and he kisses it away. His lips felt like satin on your skin, and you sucked in a breath at the feel of them. His eyes looked into yours and he whispers, “don’t cry, sweetheart.”

You needed him, craved to have all of bim. And you surprised yourself as you raised on your toes, pulling him towards you. His lips pressed lightly into yours and you swore your breath was taken away even though you were expecting it. You open your mouth and welcome his tongue, eyes rolling in your head as he massages it with yours.

Eddie’s hands wrap against your shirt, feeling your bare skin pressing you further into him as you whimper into him.

The carpet squashed beneath your feet as you walk backwards towards the bed, a frenzy of locked lips and wandering hands. Fingers tugging into his curls, Eddie moans against your mouth, his hands squeezing at your hips. He breaks from your lips, his wet and spit licked.

The brown eyes you’ve been accustomed to staring in never leave yours as he sits on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. The shine of his chain gleaming in the dull light.

Thunder raps loud outside, wind thrashing and howling against the window. Your fingers roll against the hem of your shirt and you don’t think twice before hauling it over your head, moving towards Eddie and the impressive length bulging from his boxer briefs. Your knees touch lightly.

His lips suck between his teeth as he drinks you in. Lazily eyeing over every curve, every imperfection, the tight peaks of your nipples.

You climb over, your knees sinking into the bed on either side of his narrow hips, resting on his lap. With one hand cupping his cheek, you lower your lips to his skin.

He groans when you kiss the hollow of his throat, kissing up his neck until you nip at his ear lobe, sucking that small silver hoop into your mouth.

“So pretty like this,” he murmurs into your ear, “like an angel.” His hands roam over your skin with blunt nails. Up and down your back his touch electrifies you. Your own noises unravel as he grows beneath you.

Murmuring his name, you arch into his touch, elongating your neck until his ravenous hands skim the delicate skin of your breasts, thumbs rolling against your nipples. His mouth attaches to your skin and you whimper when he rolls you over and lays you down on the dusty comforter.

Your ankles cross behind his back as he grinds into you, kissing you so deeply you couldn’t get enough. He was gentle with you, waiting for your nods of approval as he slipped your panties off. He trailed kisses down your cheek to your neck as his fingers swirled up and up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their trek.

Thunder and lightning competed for attention outside but you were lost in Eddie. Wrapping your fingers in his hair when he circled your clit, whimpering when he slipped his finger into your wet sex.

You weren’t sure where your moans ended and his began, but when he added a second finger you swore lightning broke through the window and struck against your eyes.

He was deliberate yet slow as he coaxed you along, kissing and licking at your neck, his hair sticking to his sweaty skin and yours. The wind picked up more and rattled the door as your legs shook beneath him, coming undone by his hand.

You laid in a dreamy haze and when you opened your eyes you realized the lights had gone out from the storm, but a flash of lightning lit Eddie’s skin in sheets of white light as he pushed himself up, taking one last kiss from your lips.

He didn’t hurry you along as you reached for the waistband of his underwear, only groaned when he popped up heavy against his stomach, a beaded pearl already formed on his tip. His impressive length seemed to grow before your eyes as you placed a hand on him, and he hissed as you tugged him.

He was stunning, kneeling before you, shining with sweat, his lips bit between his teeth from your hands stroking him. You laid down again, opening wide with a smirk twisted on your mouth.

Lining himself up with your entrance, your hands skimmed down the muscles of his back, feeling the way they rippled when he pushed himself in, your combined whimpers deaf against the thunder cracking. He was large, an ache you wanted between your legs again and again if he wanted.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours as he collects your lips with his, and you nod for him to go deeper. He stretched you until your breath quickened, making sure you were okay, kissing your cheeks, your eyelids, the spot behind your ear. It was soothing the way he took care of you, and when you told him he could move, he drug out of you slow, your walls constricting around him.

Cursing he squeezed his eyes shut as you clamped around him, and when he drove back into you, again and again, you swore you found Heaven.

You were both hard-pressed for air and sweating, your name falling from his lips in broken syllables as you both unraveled. Heaven was in his arms, in his smile, in the way his fingers laced with yours and pressed down into the mattress as his kisses deepened.

The storm raged war against itself outside but neither of you noticed. Tangled in eachother’s arms and once again joining together under the sheets, this time his lips pressed to your ear as he held you tight to him and took you from behind as you both laid on your sides.

Hours passed taking the clouds and thunder away. The only thing remaining on the mattress was a bottom sheet, one end still tucked and clinging for dear life. You didn’t know when you both ended up on the floor, and you didn’t mind the bite of the carpet on your knees as you wrapped your mouth around him. His moans spread across the room, no thunder to mask it.

When sunlight streamed through holes in the moth bitten curtain, his head laid on your bare chest, your hand in his curls. Dust danced in the warm rays across the room, laying heavy with the rest of the unkept space.

The buttery rays spread across your naked bodies, displaying the wine splotched skin marks on your chest. Your thighs had similar stains, ones that were licked better by the one who gave them. He had traces from last night on his neck and hips too, uneven stamps of purple and red painted from your mouth as you claimed him.

The two of you slept until the sun wavered to the west. . You had curled into him like a caterpillar in a cocoon, his breathing fanning your face as he gently snored, curls messy and frizzy.

Eddie’s clothes finally dried in the musty motel room, and you packed up and left when the sun was starting its radiant descent behind the mountains.

The small town was covered in wreckage from the storm, White Fir needles sprinkled the roads like confetti, branches laid across sections of the road that Eddie had to maneuver the truck around. But you finally made it back to the highway.

Back on the road.

Weeks passed and things went back to the way they had before. You didn’t share a bed again, and you didn’t bother to ask why. Looks still lingered, but neither of you crossed that line again.

You knew Eddie was looking for something that was more than what you could offer, and maybe he was caught up in the heat of the moment, maybe the storm swayed his opinion on you just for that night.

It killed you to not feel his touch, not feel the warmth from his body heat as he slept, not feel those lips on your neck your thighs your chest. The ache between your legs lasted days, but it was nothing compared to the hurt in your chest.

He didn’t know you wiped tears away every night when the lights went off or during your shower. What you had together that night was something special, and you’d cherish it for the rest of your life.

It wasn’t until you were on the border of the western state that you noticed him starting to act differently. His stares became longer. He stayed up talking with you until the witching hour. Maybe he would miss your friendship when he got to where he was going, you’d miss him. But you knew your time together was coming to an end.

Still, you braved a smile on your face for him. No strings attached, the only thing left between you was the shared bench of his truck and that stormy night where you both spent the storm in each other's arms until dawn.

He was still Eddie, still made you laugh and was the gentleman he always had been. But whatever started in that motel room lived and died there.

Those feelings you had for him were smoldering and you had to remind yourself that once you hit California it would be the end of your journey with Eddie. The man who saved your life in more ways than you could imagine, showing you kindness and compassion.

That was why he was on the road the same day you were. Fate brought him to you as a gift, an offering to soothe your soul from the wickedness you’d encountered, and for that, and Eddie, you’d be forever grateful.

California was on the horizon, and you had stopped at a small restaurant on the Nevada border before crossing into the final stretch of your journey. The food was good but the conversation was light, as if you both knew the end was nearing.

He had to look away from you more than once, shaking his head in the middle of a conversation as if to preserve himself from being hurt.

On the way back to the truck you felt the book start to close between your stories, and you nearly wept at the thought of never seeing him again.

“So,” Eddie asked, kicked a rock back to the truck after finishing up supper. “Where to now?”

You slurped the rest of a Cherry Coke and made a confused face, “what do you mean? I thought you were going to California, lookin’ for love?”

He paused when you reached your door, eyes peering into the distance. “I made it this far without it.” He turns to you, looking so deep into your eyes your soul waved back at him. A smile creeps on his face, “well maybe not, cause look at what I’ve got.”

Your breath hitched in your chest and he closed the space between you, his hand on your cheek, the other on the door, “you might not be my love, but baby… I doubt it.”

Your eyes brim with tears as he presses his lips to yours. Lacing your fingers around his neck, he lifts you up into a hug, spinning you around in the desert sand.

He sets you down, placing his hands on your lower back, moving you gently in the same dance you had done months before. “I never told you,” he began, murmuring into your ear, “that day we met, not a single radio station would come in, I drove a hundred miles that day and nothing. But when I popped over that hill, and saw you walking with nothing but turmoil and angst on your shoulders, a song finally played, something I hadn’t heard in years.”

You move your head from his chest and smile looking up to him, “what song?”

“The same one that played the last time we did this.” he said with a smile, “I knew when it played again that you were meant for me baby, that I’d found what I’d been looking for.”

And for the first time since you were a child, you knew that not all men were angry and hateful. Some of them were good, and handsome, and made you smile so much your cheeks ached. You felt your heart finally heal. Eddie sewing it shut, and the smile on your face mirrored his own.

“Told you I was lucky…now tell me love,” he said, kissing your lips and holding your face in his hands, “where are we going next?”

You squeezed him against you and looked up at him, at the love you had also found that you weren’t expecting, “anywhere with you and all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I’d ever wanna be.”

…and you said “hey, do you wanna see the West with me? Cause loves out there and I can’t leave it be.”

And I said “honey, loves never meant much to me, oh, But i’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need.”

🌵 taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @micheledawn1975 @dashingdeb16 @hereforshmut @welc0me-t0-hellfire

@aropodcastfuck @erinekc @sage-glowstick @emma-munson @b-irock

@miaajaade @bastardstevie

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie fsnfic #eddie munson fanfiction

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thepascalofus · 1 year ago

Text

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides.

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing.

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet.

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week.

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night.

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults.

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator.

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off.

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items.

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.”

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull.

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.”

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on.

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market.

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets.

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green.

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag.

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it.

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears.

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless.

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder.

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts.

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred.

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

#pedro pascal #din djarin fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din x reader #mando fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando smut #mando fluff #supply run #thepascalofus #thepascalofus fic

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brewed-pangolin · 10 months ago

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Drumming in the Deep

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes

Synopsis: Every good outdoorsman needs a trusty set of tires he can rely on. You can't stand them at first. Then, slowly, you begin to appreciate them. And more so than just for their necessity.

(This is just a quickie. Wink wonk)

4Runner Soap enjoys a few good days tearing up the trails while he's on leave. Painting his vehicular baby in a thick layer of mud and making memories that'll last him until he comes home from his next deployment.

Which means man's gotta have some thick treads on his tires.

Like, thiccck

We're talkin BF Goodrich All Terrain KO2.

They're big. And they're loud.

And you hated them.

At first.

"They're obnoxious, Johnny." You said, rolling your eyes as you lightly slammed the passenger door.

"They're practical, lass. Need 'em for th'trail. Donnae want to get stuck out in th'wilderness, do ya?"

"No. It's just-"

"Jus' what?" He interrupted with a playful scowl.

Crossing his thick arms over his chest, giving his newly acquired rubber a quick glance, then returning his steely gaze back to you.

"They look good, though, yeah?"

You fought the urge to stare but ultimately couldn't resist. And you sighed in defeat.

"Yeah. They look good, babe."

"Aye."

That hate slowly began to turn into something more akin to skillful appreciation. Especially on the multiple trips you both took deep into the mountains. Saved only by the expert treads as they traversed easily over the rocky and mud covered terrain.

Yet it wasn't their skill at grappling the earth that had your undivided attention.

It was their sound.

That one aspect of them you hated most had become his calling card when he was home. And on a quiet day you could hear those treads screaming his arrival a quarter mile away as he made the turn down into your secluded neighborhood.

You didn't mind the distinctive drumming anymore. In fact, you craved it.

Began to identify it more out within your daily life. Listening to the specific hum of tires while running your errands like a practiced composer.

Focusing in for that specific wavering thrumb that somehow ricochet within your mind and traveled down your spine into the velvety flesh of your core.

Soap had infiltrated your daily life in a way you could have never imagined.

He had inexplicablly turned something so simple and mundane into a catalyst that would bring forth the most sinful and erotic memories of him.

Replaying those moments of primal bliss as he buried himself deep within the silken walls of your cunt. Lost in the grip of his animalistic tendencies within the realm of nature as he fucked you into oblivion in the back of his 4Runner.

You couldn't eacape it anymore. Everywhere you went, there was a symphony of treads that echoed around you.

You could barely go to the grocery store without having to hear the constant drumming in the deep as your walls clenched to the low hum of an all terrain chorus.

And it never failed. Quick trip to Walmart, automatic change of panties when you got home.

And you hated him for it.

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @homicidal-slvt @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @glitterypirateduck @tacticalanxiety @jynxmirage @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @obligatoryghoststare @shotmrmiller @mykneeshurt @writeforfandoms @ghosts-goldendoodle @thetrashpossum @designateddeadend @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @foxface013 @sadstone-s @haurasha @havoc973 @luismickydees @kkaaaagt

#super soap sunday #soap squad™️#drumming in the deep #4Runner Wingman #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x you #soap x fem reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny mactavish x fem reader #cod soap #cod soap fanfic #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod

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blingblong55 · 10 months ago

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Can't catch me now- Simon "Ghost" Riley

Photo credits: @ave661 ---- No mentions of reader, angst, comfort? fluff? death of character ----

"GHOST!"

It was too late, the body hit the ground. Simon Joseph Riley was pronounced dead. Gunshot to the head, his heart penetrated by the bullet and the ones to witness this are his mates from the team. His blood ran down the rocky mountain. The team witnesses something. During this whole mission, they only experienced rain and thunder, to their surprise, the second Simon dies, the sun shines through the clouds. A rainbow was born over the horizon. "Enjoy your new home, soldier," Captain Price nods at his own words as with glee he knows his comrade is finally home. "Take it easy," Gaz takes his cap on and looks at the sun that pours from the clouds. "Tell Soap we'll meet him for drinks someday," Price adds and fights back tears.

It's the end of an era but the beginning of a good life for the two past comrades.

Three days later, there he is, his body in that casket, a proper military funeral given to him and he is laid to rest with the rest of his family.

Simon opens the door to his childhood home, the sun rays casting through the window, the walls grey and white "Welcome home, son," his mum greets him. There is confusion in Simon. Why was he here? is this a dream? Before he can even gather his thoughts, his brother, nephew and even his sister-in-law walk into the entryway and hug him. "Welcome home, brother," Tommy whispers as he hugs a confused Simon.

Why is his dead family here? Welcome home! what does this mean?

Oh...

Oh by all luck, he's dead.

"Mum?"

"Yes, Simon?" the woman's sweet voice rings in his ears.

All of a sudden, he is excited and happy. A smile creeps into his lips and there it was, that good feeling. He is home. His body doesn't ache, the scars are gone and all that is left with him is a smile and an afterlife where in this one, he finally has it all.

"The girls are in the kitchen," his mum whispers.

His wife and girls? There it is, that smile. He hasn't seen them since their funeral, this must mean he truly is in heaven.

He walks past his mother and goes into the kitchen. The sight is too much to not just stop and idolise. His wife, his three daughters and those smiles and giggles. "Girls?" His voice is raspy. There is a knot in his throat. He is home with them too. "Daddy!" His youngest smiles and runs to him with her small arms open, his two other daughters follow suit.

"Oh, my loves," his big arms wrapping over all of his daughters. Tears run down, happy ones. It's been two years since he last held them this way. "My lovie," Simon holds his arm out so his sweet wife can join this moment. That gentle and soft hand of hers, god it's like the heavens finally gave him peace. He sobs, it's uncontrollable and how can a man like him control such tears when after so long of losing his family...families to his job he finally has both?

He gives kisses to all their foreheads. "Daddy, what took so long?" His eldest little princess asks. "I don't know princess, but I'm finally home," he reassures and hugs her again. Those tears run down yet again and he won't stop them.

This is his heaven. The walls, the giggles, the hugs, and that familiar scent. Heaven is not clouds and a pearly gate for him, no, but it is this. A kitchen, his four loves, his mum, Tommy, Joseph and even Beth, everyone that has ever mattered to him is here and for once, he is in heaven.

"Uncle Soap!" Joseph smiles.

Soap?...Johnny?

"About time you came to the party, LT," Soap pats Simon's back.

"Great to see you, mate."

"Likewise. I held onto a good bottle for ya, yer girl won't let me open it though," Soap sends a teasing annoyed look at Simons's wife and a small chuckle escapes Simon.

"She's a stubborn one, like yer, Lt." Soap teases. "I married her for a reason, isn't it right, love?" Simon can't help but smile as he gets to finally say that nickname again. "Very, Si." What a sweet delight, to have his pretty girl call him that again.

"Price and Gaz joining?"

"Not yet, give them a few good years."

"Daddy, let's go play outside!"

This is what he missed. The demands from his princess, the giggles, the big eyes and that pout when he would say no. "Okay, but only before your mum wipes that chocolate stain from your nose." He chuckles. "Deal," the little girl runs back to Simons's wife.

From a corner, Simon sees Tommy. He's playing catch with his son, laughing at some dumb joke.

It's beautiful. It's painfully beautiful how one can die on Earth but live in their heaven.

One soldier dreams of this, they yearn for it and that is what Simon did for nearly 28 years. Now, all he has is this. No more war, no more aches, no one to chase. He can grow in this home again. He will live the life he always dreamed and right now, that is all he wants and needs.

Yeah, you thought that this was the end

A/N: I honestly don't know where this was heading so....im sorry if it's shit

Tags:

@joyfulmarvelofavengers @ghostnna22 @hermizery @liyanahelena @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @krinoid24 @iruzias @idklols @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @kaoyamamegami @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed

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daisygirlwrites · 2 years ago

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Little Things (Simon "Ghost" Riley + Reader "Crash") Platonic Headcanons

Part Three to Rough Start & Olive Branch

a/n: hey hey! been a minute, sorry about that ;-; also sorry that this is a bit shorter than usual but i might write some small fics about a few of these headcanons in the future. should be posting again sometime soon though! thank you so much for reading!

taglist: @bobfloydsgf , @itsscromp , @d4z01

Being friends with Ghost is like putting a puzzle together except all of the pieces are scattered. Finding some of them would bring you delight and while others give you a better understanding of the man. Throughout your long years of friendship, you come to an understanding that there will be pieces of him that you will never get to see, some forever gone. And yet, even if the puzzle is incomplete, you had most of it together. You’d rather have that than nothing at all

That being said, your first year with the team was quite good, besides the constant threat of almost dying and a certain member of the team being mean for almost half of it

But after bonding over knife throwing and tea for the last couple months, you and Ghost have grown close. To him, at least. From your perspective, after getting your new callsign, you felt like your relationship with him hasn’t progressed much

However, it’s the little things that you’ve noticed with him:

Like making your tea in the early morning. Half of the time you would join him and other times when your nightmares don’t show up, he’d leave your mug in the microwave

Knowing that you were raised in the Rocky Mountains, it kind of surprised him to learn that you hate the cold. So during missions in colder climates, after watching you shiver like a wet cat, he’d give you his extra pair of balaclava and gloves.

“It’s a little big on me” “Fine, give it back then” “No >:( “

Another thing that he does for you is taking your first watch during missions. In the first couple months when you joined, Soap and Gaz had a list of “Rookie Responsibilities” and of course one of them was to take the first watch. It wasn’t really mandatory but being a people pleaser, you did it anyway.

It went well at first but in the last couple months, Ghost noticed that you, in his words, looked like shit after missions. And of course, you’d volunteer for the first watch. Sometimes, when it was his turn, he’d find you somehow looking worse, giving him the frog blink and thumbs up, before watching you immediately pass out on the cot or couch.

You’d make a fuss when he would take the first watch and he had to basically pull rank to force you to go to sleep

Still calls you Rook/Rookie besides your callsign. Would sometimes call you Tiny and Mini-Me just to piss you off

Isn’t a surprise but Ghost is really observant. Knows your nervous ticks and honestly reads your emotions well. He didn’t do it before but he does check up on you

Head pats is a thing that he does. Used to do it to his nephew and Joseph would look up to him with his cheeks puffed and whining “Uncle Si!”. You’d have the same reaction except with calling him Uncle Si, you’d usually say “Ghost, what the fuck”

You find out that Ghost doesn’t like talking about family and Christmas. Hearing some bits of info from Price, it broke your heart to learn about the reasons why he’d always gone on missions during the holiday. But at the same time, you understood him

You kind of do the same thing, taking on missions instead of going on leave. Kind of surprised Ghost when hears that he’s going to get paired up and with you of all people

“I figured you’re the type to celebrate the holidays” “Oh, I am, Just didn’t want to see my dad, that’s all.”

He opens his mouth to comment but chooses to not say anything at all. He gives you a nod instead. Ghost understands your family dynamic, it mirrors his.

Would copy his accent to make fun of him over coms. Yes, it was very bad but it did make the team giggle. He hits you back with an equally horrible American accent that made you cry

He accidentally told you one of his favorite dishes during a stake out. He was listening to you talk on coms about how much you missed pizza and how you can’t wait to go back to base to make some, silently nodding in agreement.

“I would kill for a bubble and squeak right about now,” he thinks out loud, not realizing that his coms were on He became slightly concerned when heard you stop talking for a moment, before repeating to him, “A bubble and squeak?!” Even without seeing you, he can tell you had a big grin on your face, “I’m gonna keep quiet.” “No no, LT. I’m not making fun of you,” you assured him, “Tell me, what’s a bubble and squeak?” Ghost lets out an audible sigh before he gives you an explanation, “Basically mix some leftover mash, vegetables and roast and then fry it up in a pan." "Holy shit , that sounds delicious.”

Taught him some gen z slang because you notice that he would eavesdrop during your conversations with Soap and Gaz sometimes

Share the same type of humor. When you, Soap and Ghost got separated in Las Almas, they would hear you cackle on coms

Both of you wear your balaclavas as a second skin and would forget to take it off sometimes. Would sit in silence together as the rest of the team roast you for getting your masks wet with tea

Crash : “I have no soul. Have a nice day! :) “ Ghost : “I don’t have one either.”

Honestly, he finds you annoying but in a good way. Having you talk to him gives him the comfort that the relationship is improving but at the same time, he wants to smack you upside the head

That’s when he realize how much you remind him of his brother

When the queen died, Ghost wasn’t too upset. That is until you reminded him that Charles is now king

Due to some previous events, you’re the one driving Ghost everywhere when you guys hang out. Is offended when you straight up tell him that he has shit driving skills.

Calls him Passenger Princess as a joke

Ghost is more into books than movies. So it does come as a shock that he mentions that he hasn’t seen the LOTRs movies. You basically force him (and the rest of the team) into a movie marathon for a day. He grumbles about how some of the scenes are different from the book but he does get into it during the Mountains of Moria

Impressed with how you handle your liquor. Watched you beat Soap and Gaz in a drinking contest before drunkenly demanding chicken nuggets and then passing out

Ghost is surprisingly decent at video games. During game nights, he’d beat everyone at Mario Kart and Super Smash Bros. You accuse him of cheating and of course, he denies it. Had to be held back by Price as you repeated “These hands are rated E for Everyone.”

Your face wasn’t a mystery to him or to anyone in the team. You took your mask off regularly around them. But like many others, you saw his face in Mexico. There was a greater sense of trust that you felt when you made eye contact with him. He gave you a soft smile and you returned it

"Huh, didn't think you'd be a blondie," You remarked as you both head towards the truck "Didn't think you'd be short but here we are," Ghost jokes back

He will never admit it in front of you that he's sees you as more than friends. That you have the best qualities from his family; his mother's compassion and his brother's humor and determination. Hell, at some points, you even resemble Joseph with your optimism.

He has someone to call family again

Bonus Memes:

#daisygirlwrites #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod headcanons #cod hcs #call of duty headcanons #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost headcanons

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anto-pops · 2 years ago

Text

Atonement PART 2 - Dark!Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: "Love has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that eventually transforms individuals. Just keep being friendly to that person. Just keep loving them, and they can't stand it too long. Oh, they react in many ways in the beginning. They react with guilt feelings, and sometimes they'll hate you a little more at that transition period, but just keep loving them. And by the power of your love they will break down under the load. That's love, you see. It is redemptive."

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, hurt/comfort, explicit sexual content, rough sex

This ended up being 8 pages of straight sin, I refused to let the make-up sex be short so SORRY if it's a lot of horny word babble LMAO

As always, the full fic can be found here on Ao3! Part 1 of Atonement can also be found here on Tumblr

The Clagmar Coast was brutally cold.

You’d apparated yourself and Sebastian to a secluded cove nestled between the rocky mountains and the shoreline. It was far from the main roads the village folk used to travel this way, giving you a modicum of privacy that you planned to make good on for the night. Trudging through the chilled, wet sand towards a dilapidated cabin, Sebastian shuddered against the piercing breeze.

“That pile of wood won’t do shit– we’ll freeze to death before morning.”

Biting back a snide comment of your own, you rolled your eyes instead. “It’s just an illusionment charm. See?”

Sebastian followed the line of your pointed finger and spotted a shimmering glow emanating a foot away from the door. He had to focus hard to see it, but now that he knew what he was looking for, it was easier to pinpoint the blurred movement of the spell, as though it were swaying in sync with the breeze.

“Exactly how much prep work went into this scheme of yours?” Sebastian asked, amusement coloring his tone as he glanced at you.

You deflected the veiled compliment with a shrug and kept your eyes trained on the cabin, increasing your pace to escape the icy wind and the feeling of his eyes on you. “Enough to get us this far. There’s bags inside already packed with some essentials, and extra clothes you can change into. I’ll need to double check a few things before we leave in the morning but feel free to get some sleep– I’m sure you’re tired after today.”

Sebastian frowned as you strode ahead, fixing his narrowed eyes on the back of your head as you disappeared through the shimmering veil of magic. He quickly followed suit, emerging on the other side to find a wholly intact cabin with warm firelight spilling through the open doorway. You were already inside, rummaging around in a desk for Merlin knows what to occupy yourself in favor of talking.

What the hell was your problem?

“Can I help you with anything? Maybe a fresh set of eyes will–”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off hurriedly as you rose from your crouched spot behind the thick oak table. “I mean– I’ll take care of it, thank you. It’s okay, really. Go get cleaned up, I’m sure you’re itching to ditch the prison uniform.”

He was still rubbed the wrong way by your sudden change in behavior, but he allowed himself a quick look down at the tattered fabric clinging to his scraggly form. You had a point. “Fine. Where are the extra clothes?”

You ignored the bite in his tone, fixing your eyes over his shoulder as you pointed him down the hallway to the bedroom. “In there. The washroom is on the right, and there should be soap in one of the bags. Take whatever you need.”

Without another word in your direction, Sebastian strode down the hallway and disappeared into the room, letting the door dramatically slam shut behind him hard enough to shake the walls. You didn’t have it in you to be bugged by it though. Instead you sighed, deflating against the surface of the desk while your heart hammered away in your chest.

Why was it suddenly so difficult to be near him? After months of planning and a never ending slew of sleepless nights, he was finally with you again, so why were you abruptly shutting yourself down in his presence?

Maybe it was because having him back made the last two years real. Seeing him in the flesh validated every terrible thought that had haunted your mind until now; that he wasn’t the same, that he was a broken man, and that deep down he probably hated you for what you had done to him. Sure, you’d saved him, but anyone would be grateful to make it out of a situation like that alive. The kiss meant nothing. It was simply a ‘thank you’ that you didn’t deserve.

These thoughts were getting you nowhere.

With a resolute sigh, you walked around the desk to collapse in a creaky chair, pinching the bridge of your nose before you started unraveling the map Ominis had given you months ago. It was covered in your messy scrawl, stray blots of ink staining the corners and betraying just how much time you’d actually spent slaving over your desperate plan.

The time passed in silence as you cross referenced the routes you’d charted leading from the coast to your next destination. Since there had been no way to know how rescuing Sebastian would go, the last leg of your journey was relatively unmapped. All you knew for certain was that staying in England was out of the question.

Scotland was far too close for comfort to consider any longer, so you axed it from your mind. France was promising, but also just a stone's throw away from London should the Ministry choose to expand their inevitable search. At the very least you could attempt to travel to one of the ports in the southern region to get farther away on a ship, but that still left the question of where the two of you would go unanswered.

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, your thoughts pulling you in a million different directions while the quill in your grip failed to obey. The fire crackling across the room was all you could hear, but your nerves had you on edge. More Ministry officials could appear at any moment, and while you were fairly certain you hadn’t been followed, your experiences in life thus far had taught you to expect the worst and hope for the best.

The feathered pen hung limp in your fingers as you shoved the heels of your palms into your eyes hard enough to see shapes, and you swore softly under your breath. But then the sudden feeling of a warm, calloused hand ghosting down your neck had you releasing the quill and jumping back in your seat, your wide eyes flying to Sebastian’s as he yanked his arm away. His hair was still wet from his bath, the dripping strands soaking through the fabric of the borrowed, black button down he wore. Your heart hammered in your ears as you took in his appearance. Despite the more slender frame he now bore, the clothes didn’t swallow him up, instead accentuating his long legs and lithely muscled biceps. His long fingers curled into fists at his side, and you observed as his entire upper half tensed up uncomfortably.

“Are you afraid of me?”

The question pulled your attention from Sebastian’s body back to his stormy expression, and your stomach flipped. He looked angry. More than that, he sounded almost… offended.

“Of course not,” you answered quickly and glanced back at the map. “You just startled me– I didn’t hear you leave the bedroom.”

His frown deepened, seemingly darkening the rings under his eyes in a way that conveyed he didn’t believe you in the slightest. “Then can you look at me when you speak to me?”

That commanding tenor in his voice made the hair on your arms stand on end, and you suppressed a shudder. This version of Sebastian was relatively new to you– he had never spoken to you with such a domineering timbre before, and you found yourself heeding his request. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax a fraction of an inch, moving to perch on the edge of the desk so he wasn’t towering over you like an imposing statue.

“Why is it so hard for you to be near me?” He asked quietly, his eyes jumping between yours as if he could find the answer hidden somewhere in your gaze. “Why does staring at me make you look like you’re going to be sick? Am I really that far gone in your mind?”

It was like a punch to the gut, hearing him imply that you were unnerved by his presence. Your brows drew together, and you instinctively sat forward in your chair to lean closer to him. “No, Sebastian, never. I could never think that of you– I’m sorry…” You trailed off and hung your head sadly, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “The truth is I look at you and I feel guilty. Nothing I say or do can take away the last two years, and I don’t even know where to begin to make things right.”

“I mean, killing two Aurors was a pretty good place to start,” he chuckled darkly, shaking his head as though in disbelief. “If you feel so terrible about it, why did you turn me in? Surely you’ve done worse, what with your abilities and all that. Me killing Solomon should have been a minuscule blip on your moral compass.”

You scowled, blinking back the fat tears that threatened to spill forth. “I’m not scared now, but I was back then. You were unrecognizable, Sebastian, it was like you were possessed– and when all was said and done you just… disappeared for days. I had to fight Ranrok by myself, Fig died, and then I single handedly uprooted a five hundred year old secret and undid all of the Keepers’ work because despite everything you had done, a part of me still wanted to– I wanted to–”

The tears finally came, a choked sob ripping its way from your throat, and you buried your head in your hands to hide your face in shame. You heard papers shuffling as Sebastian angled himself to face you better, and when he lifted his hand as though to touch your shoulder, he stopped himself at the last second. It curled into a limp fist that fell against the desk.

His voice was much softer when he finally asked, “Wanted what? And what did you do?”

Sebastian was desperate to know what you were thinking. The need to understand your mentality and find out what you meant in regards to the Keepers was overwhelming; he remembered the pensive memory he’d viewed with you before everything fell apart, and how Isidora Morganach had harnessed the ability to remove a person’s pain. Was that what you were talking about?

Lifting your head, you fixed your swollen eyes on his hand in front of you. You decided it was easier to admit what you’d done if you couldn’t see his penetrating gaze boring down on you. “I still wanted to help you. I wanted to help Anne for you. So I took the power from the Repository– the same magic the Keepers made me swear to protect– I stole it and never went back to the Map Chamber. I assume they must know by now what I did, but it was easier to just avoid them after everything.”

Everything was starting to click into place. Your potent aura outside of King’s Cross Station made a lot more sense with the added knowledge that Isidora’s magic was now in fact yours, living and flowing within you. It had felt shockingly volatile, so at odds with the underlying warm, ancient magic you’d wielded since your fifth year. The combined energies had been like a vortex of light and dark, cutting and soothing the air simultaneously as you’d killed William without hesitation.

All for him?

Sebastian’s heartbeat kicked up in his chest as he finally let himself reach for you, and this time you didn’t leap away from his touch, instead letting him cradle your clasped, trembling hands in his own. His firm hold imbued you with the strength to look up at him, and when he saw the tearful glimmer in your eyes, Sebastian knew then that he had already forgiven you for turning him in. Even before seeing how raw your guilt had left you, he’d always known he would return to you. It was what had fueled his attempt at escaping Azkaban in the first place; the chance to see you again, and to apologize for ever taking you for granted.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he brought your hands to his lips and murmured the apology against your knuckles, his breath ghosting over your skin causing you to shiver. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have known better than to keep pushing you and Ominis the way I did– and when I asked you for help with Anne, I never meant for you to do something you didn’t want to do– least of all something that would change who you are.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, turning your palms over so that you could intertwine your fingers with Sebastian’s much longer ones. It didn’t escape your attention how perfectly your hands still fit together. “I wanted to. You didn’t make me do anything, and while the side effects are ever… evolving, I’m still me. Just a bit more prone to violence, I suppose.”

He cocked his head to the side in interest. You hadn’t previously been one to start fights. During his time at school with you, it was often you mediating altercations and trying to break up arguments before things could escalate. At least, where Sebastian was concerned, you did. “Oh? So that marionette move you pulled on Singer earlier was entirely of your own volition?”

A sliver of trepidation coursed through him when your expression changed, morphing into a remorseless sneer that he didn’t recognize. “Yes. He was going to kill you.”

Nodding slowly, Sebastian allowed his next quip to die on his tongue in favor of tracing small circles on the back of your hand. He wasn’t sure what to say. As much as he knew you wanted to believe Azkaban had changed him drastically, the situation seemed to be the exact opposite. It was you who had gone through something of a rebirth, and it piqued Sebastian’s interest to no end.

What else about you had changed?

In a bid to switch topics, you pulled your hands away from Sebastian’s to rifle through the desk drawer. He watched you curiously as you found what you were looking for, and you tentatively pulled out his wand. The familiar checkered handle caught his attention instantaneously, and his bark of laughter was ripe with pleasant surprise. Your heart leapt at the sound, and you smiled in spite of yourself.

His fingers curled around the base slowly, as though he were in disbelief of the thin bit of wood. “You kept it? I thought the Ministry took it for good after I was arrested.”

“Mm, technically they did. Ominis gave it to me a few months ago when I asked him to help me track you down. I was just as surprised when he handed it over, but I think he believed I’d find you in time. He wanted you to get it back.”

Sebastian’s mouth opened and shut a few times as he took in your words, a fondness sweeping over his features. “Ominis helped you break me out?”

You nodded once, then paused as you reconsidered his role in everything. “Well, sort of. He gave me information about your transfer to London a few months ago. I asked him if he wanted to come with us once I found you, but he wanted to stay in case the Ministry started pestering Anne about your escape–”

“Anne is alive?” He cut you off in a hushed whisper, and his next few breaths seemed to shake his entire body. “How?”

You swallowed, “Isidora’s spell. The same one she used on her father— only I altered it. I can take a person’s pain but leave their soul untouched. She’s more comfortable now, at the very least, but her curse is as much a part of her as my ancient magic is a part of me. I can’t completely cure her of it, not without stripping her completely of what makes her whole. She has more time though, and it’s pain free.”

You watched his face with rapt interest, searching his expression for any signs of anger or disappointment, but to your surprise the crease between Sebastian’s brows vanished, and he looked wholly content. When he didn’t immediately say anything, you pressed him, “What are you thinking?”

Sebastian lifted his wandless hand to cradle the back of your neck, pulling your face closer to his until your foreheads were pressed together. He smelled strongly of the lavender soaps you’d packed, but underneath it was his own heady scent of cedar, and something akin to pine needles. You shamelessly sucked in a breath, and you felt his hold on the nape of your neck tighten a fraction.

“Thank you,” his dark eyes were trained solely on you, and the close proximity made your head spin, your eyes darting down to his lips momentarily. “You have no idea what it means to hear you say that. I fully expected her to… not be around, in the event I ever made it out. More time is fine– it’s perfect, even. I only ever wanted for her to be able to live the way she wanted, and it sounds like she can now thanks to you.”

Reaching up to wrap your fingers around his forearms, you flashed him a watery smile. “I really am sorry, Sebastian. For everything. If I could go back and change things I would– I should never have let the Ministry take you away–”

“Stop apologizing,” he implored you, his eyes dropping to your lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He couldn’t be more wrong. “I have everything to be sorry for.”

“Hardly. I’m here now, aren’t I?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the sight had your stomach churning expectantly.

“You are.”

“I thought about you all the time while I was there, you know.” Sebastian set his wand down on the desk to lightly grip your chin, tilting your face up to meet his hungry gaze. “Sometimes I would lose myself in my own head for days thinking about you. I missed you… I missed us.”

The minuscule distance between the two of you was driving any coherent thoughts from your mind. Suddenly all you could focus on was Sebastian’s thumb dragging over your bottom lip, and the glimmer of arousal that was growing steadily behind his full, dark lashes. You gave yourself a moment to appreciate it all; his hand on the back of your neck, the pure want reflected in his eyes, and the tantalizing feeling of simply being near him after two long, painstaking years.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Sebastian whispered the promise against your parted lips. “I need to know that you’re alright with whatever happens after, because if I deny myself of you any longer, I can’t say that I’ll be able to hold myself back.”

His husky tone had you clenching your knees together under the desk, the visceral need for your baser urges to be satiated taking root in your gut. This was real– he forgave you, and he still wanted you, even after everything you had inadvertently put him through.

The realization broke down the rest of your barriers, leading you to nod in his firm hold, and before you knew it Sebastian had captured your lips in a deep, sensual kiss. His hand on the back of your neck held you fast to his mouth as he released your chin, sweeping his legs over the desk so the long appendages trapped you between them, and when you heard miscellaneous items get knocked to the ground in the process, you barely reacted.

Sebastian was leaning over you completely, your head angled up in a way that left you entirely at his mercy as he ran his thumbs along your jaw and probed his tongue into your mouth. You sighed against him, bringing your hands up to rest on his thighs for better leverage, and when your nails dug into the fabric of his dark trousers, you felt him jolt with a throaty groan.

“Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me,” Sebastian uttered in between kisses, and you boldly began trailing your palms up towards the growing bulge between his legs. Winding his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck, he tugged you away from his face to fix you with a heated look. “When I wasn’t thinking about you, I was dreaming about you. I imagined this happening in so many different ways– I never stopped fantasizing about the pretty sounds you would make, or how you would look falling apart under me.”

Your hands finally came to rest on his trapped erection, and the generous squeeze you gave him had him pinching his eyes shut in an effort to keep from bucking into your touch. “Show me,” you begged. “Please, Sebastian, show me everything, I missed you.”

Sebastian released you for a mere moment to slide off the desk completely, and then his hands were back on you, swiftly tugging you out of your chair by the scruff of your shirt to slam your back against the wall behind you. Then he was kissing you again, swallowing up your startled gasp as he roughly wedged his knee between your legs to hold you upright. When Sebastian broke away to trail his teeth down your jaw and along the sensitive skin of your throat, he rolled his hips against you, relishing in the wanton moan the friction pulled from your lips.

His hands began slowly and methodically undoing the buttons of your top, taking his time as he lightly nipped at your pulse once, twice, before finally latching his lips around the skin to work a proprietary bruise into your flesh. There was nothing gentle about it– especially once he moved his mouth lower to the hollow of your throat, licking along your collarbone before biting into the tender curve of your shoulder.

“Fuck!” Your raspy cry shot straight to Sebastian’s cock, and you felt it strain against your hip through the restrictive material of his pants. “S-Sebastian, please–”

“You sound damn good, darling,” he mouthed wetly against the bite, pressing a chaste kiss there to soothe the throbbing ache. “I’d be an idiot to not take my time with you. Let a newly freed man enjoy himself, would you?”

While you understood his sentiment, the heat pooling in your gut was a very legitimate threat. Between his breath ghosting over your wet, marked skin, and the incessant movement of his knee pressed against your core, your composure was quickly slipping. It had been a long time since you’d actually been intimate with someone, but beyond that, you hadn’t so much as touched yourself in months.

You melted against the wall under Sebastian’s persistent attention, mewling softly when he undid the last button on your shirt to immediately begin kneading your breasts. The chill of the cabin swept over you for all of a second before you felt him take one of your pert nipples between his fingers to twist it gently, and then a hot flush was creeping down your bare chest. You writhed in his hold at the feeling, your hands flying up to claw at his neck when he shamelessly branded you under your jaw, and your shallow panting made Sebastian’s head spin with barely contained need– he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out his teasing for very long.

“Merlin, you’re so fucking sensitive. How long have you been waiting to have me touch you like this, hm?”

Sebastian let go of your breasts to remove your arms from around him, but before you could voice your displeasure, he had pinned your wrists overhead with one hand against the wall, graciously sweeping his eyes down your exposed front. His free hand came up to cradle your jaw, gently angling your face to the side so he could take in his handy work. The bright, fresh hickeys that now lined the column of your throat catered deeply to the primitive part of him that demanded he stake his claim on you any way he could.

You watched as Sebastian ate you alive with his eyes, his hooded gaze darkening immeasurably further when you shifted so that his knee was nestled right where you wanted it, dragging a soft exhale from your kiss-swollen lips, and fuck– his fantasies couldn’t hold a damn candle to the real thing.

With a rough growl, Sebastian pulled your arms off the wall and hauled you against his chest, and you had the good grace to wrap your trembling legs around his slender waist to aid him in carrying you from the living room. His fingers dug into the small of your back when he kicked the door to the bedroom open, tenderly kissing your temple right before he was tossing you down on the sheets.

“You’re wearing way too much clothing for my liking,” you groused up at him, eyeing at how he palmed himself through the tenting fabric between his legs.

He flashed you a smirk, dragging his hand up to the catch of his pants before he hummed, “Mm, guess it would be a shame to soil my new wardrobe.”

“Wait–” you sat up and scrambled to the edge of the mattress, placing your hands over his to halt him in place. “Let me.”

Sebastian’s vision flashed white when you peered up at him through your lashes, his cock making its interest in that option very apparent. He swallowed and nodded, pulling his hands away to let you undress him. Unlike him, you didn’t waste any time; your nimble fingers slipped under the waistband of both his trousers and briefs, and then you were tugging both sets of attire down his thighs. You let him help by shucking everything away so he could step out of the material freely, and then you were openly taking in the sight of his impressive length.

Sebastian was big– moreover, he was completely hard, the swollen head of his glistening cock already leaking small beads of precum. You hummed pensively, considering the task before you as you took him in your fist and gave him a good, firm stroke, with a fucking perfect twist around the head that drew a moan from him that he had no chance of biting back. The sound imbued you with renewed confidence, watching him with heated eyes as you gently angled the head against your soft, plush lips.

When you began pressing featherlight kisses to the tip, Sebastian couldn’t stop himself from shivering. You smiled at the feeling as you dragged your mouth slowly down the side of his shaft, using your hands to rub and stroke him in the areas you overlooked as you savored the taste of him on your tongue.

It was taking every drop of willpower in Sebastian’s body not to grab your hair and start fucking your face, but he forced himself to keep his hands at his side and enjoy the sensation of you mouthing wetly against him. The sight of you on your knees in front of him, eagerly hunching forward to grasp as much of him as you could in your smaller hands, made the self-restraint worth it.

When your tongue came to flick at his soaked slit, Sebastian twitched, and then your mouth was sealing over the sensitive head and you were sucking, wet and messy and so fucking perfect, and Sebastian’s head tipped back, breathing a series of broken little whimpers into the empty air.

“Fuck,” he managed to grit through clenched teeth, his stomach tensing beneath his shirt. “Fuck, darling, fucking hell–”

You sucked him down further, flattening your tongue to press deliciously to the underside of his length at the same time you hummed, and Sebastian choked out a stuttered moan as his hands finally flew to your hair. The sharp sting made you wince slightly, but you relished in the scrape of his nails along your scalp, and then you were letting him pull you further onto his cock until the head hit the back of your throat.

There was no helping your strangled, choking sound, but you fought through the urge to pull away, instead swallowing around him, and Sebastian swore nothing born of this Earth could possibly be this amazing.

His mind was spinning in fucking circles as you let him thrust into your warm, inviting mouth for as long as you were able to take it. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you felt them run down your cheeks to intermingle with your spit-slick mouth. The growing ache between your legs was bordering on unbearable at this point, and you shamelessly dropped one of your hands to your clothed cunt to press against yourself through the fabric.

Sebastian groaned at the sight of you touching yourself with his cock spearing into your mouth, and when you lifted your eyes to stare up at him from way down below, he nearly came then and there from your appearance.

In a flash, Sebastian was pulling you off of him with a strangled grunt, thick strands of spit and pre-cum sinfully dangling between your lips and his throbbing member. “Fuck– f-feels too damn good– I don’t want to finish yet.”

Your chest heaved as you greedily sucked down gulps of air, gazing up at Sebastian through hooded, fucked-out eyes that brought him to his knees before you to slip your unbuttoned shirt over the bruised curve of your shoulders. It fell away, leaving your upper half completely exposed to him now, and he hungrily traced his hands down the supple rise of your breasts before pushing you back against the covers.

When Sebastian tugged your pants away, he may as well have ripped them off with the intensity he exhibited. You were flushing darkly from your head all the way to your toes– all that separated you from him now was your thin cotton underwear, but not for long. Those long, freckled fingers had looped under the material, coyly dragging it down your goosebump riddled thighs before slipping it over your feet and tossing it over his shoulder.

Sebastian stood to his full height to begin unbuttoning his own shirt, and the dark material contrasted beautifully against his pale complexion. As the buttons fell away, you got your first glimpse of his bare chest since reuniting with him, only to discover there were raised, jagged scars that ran across his pecs and along his ribs. Your brows slammed down and your stomach dropped at the sight, and Sebastian paused as he took in your reaction to the markings.

“What happened?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the hoarseness to it was apparent.

Following the strained bob of his adam’s apple, you watched as he continued to remove his top with a sureness that, at the very least, told you he wasn’t in any pain. “There’s plenty of other things to watch out for in Azkaban, not just the Dementors,” he replied vaguely with a shockingly unbothered tone.

Despite his casual demeanor and the nonchalant way he continued to strip himself down to nothing, you couldn’t fight the rising wave of guilt that threatened to pull you under. It was another reminder of what you’d done to him–

“Stop it.”

Your eyes jumped from his chest back to his dark gaze, and he was shaking his head at you in a scolding manner. “I can see exactly what you’re thinking, and this isn’t your fault. Don’t even try apologizing again.”

Your mouth opened and closed fitfully, the words you wanted to say dying on your tongue before you could voice them, and you sighed. But then Sebastian was shrugging his shirt off his shoulders, letting the material flutter to the floor unceremoniously before he began to crawl towards you, caging your body beneath his own. With him laying on top of you this way, his long legs draped lazily in between yours, you were able to ground yourself a bit more and shake the negativity from your mind.

Maybe he didn’t want you saying sorry, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t still show him how apologetic you were. Your hands flew to his cheeks, pulling his lips to yours with a tenacity that rivaled the strength of a Graphorn. Sebastian let you, shamelessly enjoying the mixed taste of himself on your sweet lips until the urge to move was overwhelming him, and he shifted in his spot between your sprawled legs to grind his achingly hard shaft between your soaked folds.

You moaned into his mouth, utterly adoring the friction his movements provided your neglected cunt, and you began tracing up his lithely muscled shoulders, ghosting your touch down his back where you felt the angular curve of his shoulder blades and more raised scars beneath your fingertips.

Sebastian kept himself supported on the arm draped beside your head, playing with the unruly strands of your hair until you were mewling and sighing against his lips, and then his other hand was trailing down to your slick heat to swipe through the wetness pooling there.

He chuckled darkly as you rocked your hips into his hand with a needy whine, your nails digging into the skin of his back. “Mm, Sebastian–”

“Want something, darling?”

You were breathless as he probed your entrance with one of his slender digits, then tensing and writhing under him when he pulled his finger away tauntingly. “Fucking– yes, please. T-touch me, please.”

The way he cocked his head to the side with that smug look on his face made your head spin with indignant need. “But I am touching you. I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

As though to punctuate the claim, he trailed his hand higher, pressing down on your bundle of nerves in a way that had you damn near bucking up to chase his touch. A keening sound resonated from your chest, and if looks could kill, Sebastian would have dropped dead on top of you in an instant from your icy glare.

Your voice trembled with barely contained need as you begged, “I want your fingers inside of me. I want your cock inside of me– please, I can’t wait anymore Sebastian, please fuck me–”

Sebastian cut you off with the sudden thrust of a finger breaching your walls, and your head kicked back with a sharp cry of his name as he began steadily working the appendage deeper, willing you to relax for him. He found a steady pace, pumping into you easily as you melted under his attention, your hips writhing back for more after a few heated seconds.

Obliging you with a second finger, Sebastian sealed his mouth over a random patch of skin above your breast, the salt of your skin clinging to his lips as he started to nibble and suck in a bid to gently mark you further. He kept your tight heat spread open as you arched and shuddered beneath him, and as nice as the image was, what was really getting to him were the gorgeous sounds falling from your swollen lips.

After two years without hearing it, Sebastian decidedly had a thing for your voice, but knowing how it sounded when it was hitched and raspy, forming shaky, insistent moans of his name… shit. Sebastian groaned softly, nipping at the blossoming hickey on your chest before he was curling his fingers up and firmly pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit so deliciously, it left you breathless.

The effect his efforts have on you were incredible. Your hips were arching off the bed, head thrown back into the pillows with a choked moan, and Sebastian followed you easily despite all of your brainless writhing.

“F-fuck, fuck, Sebastian,” you whined, your voice loud and spectacular, especially with the way it shook as you seemingly got closer to losing it. All you could do was cling to Sebastian, both hands clutching desperately at his shoulders, his neck, and then your fingers were tangling in his long hair so aggressively, the sting had his cock twitching against your leg.

You were positively wrecked already– gorgeously so– with your eyes glazed and unfocused, your lips parting freely around lyrical moans and mindless praises alike, and your cries of his name came more and more frequently as he curled and pressed his fingers within you. His patience was beginning to run out, though, as his painfully stiff cock continued to rut shamelessly against your thigh.

“What do you think, darling? Are you ready for me?”

Your eyes cracked open slightly, forcing a few deep, rattling breaths into your lungs as Sebastian lessened his ministrations against your core. You’d been so caught up in the building euphoria of your orgasm that you had completely forgotten it wasn’t even his cock making you crumble apart. “Y-Yeah. Been ready since you threw me against the wall…”

Sebastian chuckled at that, rewarding you with a deep, sensual kiss that made your toes curl. He peppered light kisses to the array of bruises he had worked into your skin thus far before sitting back on his heels, withdrawing his fingers from your pulsing heat. You whined softly at the loss, but then you felt Sebastian’s hands curl around your thighs to haul you down the covers so you were flush to his hips, and the luxurious feeling of him rubbing against your slick arousal was enough to have you wriggling back for more.

You were boneless in Sebastian’s hands as he looped his arms under your knees, angling your legs over his shoulders so that he could see all of you as he lined himself up with your entrance. A thrill of excitement sparked through you at the more insistent presses of the brunet’s incredibly solid cock against you. The first firm roll of Sebastian’s hips pulled shaky gasps from both of you as the thick head breached your walls, slick and tight and warm, and Sebastian couldn’t help the breathless moan of your name that fell from his lips then.

“Fuck, you feel amazing, darling– Merlin– you’re so warm, shit.” He leaned forward to plunge himself further into you, taking care to grind slowly after each small, shallow thrust. Your shaky breaths filled the space between the two of you as Sebastian rocked his hips steadily against your ass, everything he had done to prepare you paying off in the form of you taking his cock perfectly, letting him slide deeper with every short plunge of his hips.

Sebastian kept up his patient, easy rhythm, sliding his hands along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs to simultaneously tease you and hold you more firmly in place. You let out a long, whimpering moan, your eyes squeezing shut as Sebastian finally bottomed out, and you savored in the marvelous feeling of being filled by him.

“How’s it feel, love?” Sebastian asked quietly, lowering his head a bit more to nudge his nose against your sweat-slick forehead. The kiss he pressed there soothed you further, and the way you sighed and melted further was proof enough that Sebastian was doing well. “Is it too much?”

“Fuck no,” you groaned, your voice breaking slightly, but you were way too scatter-brained to care. You were completely enveloped by Sebastian in the best possible ways, the initial sting of the thick stretch vanishing entirely with his gentle grinding. “Gods, Sebastian,” you gasped, your lashes fluttering open to make dazed eye contact with your freckled lover. “You’re so big, f-feels so good…”

Sebastian groaned, mouthing wetly against the smooth curve of your knee draped over his shoulder, and when he sank his teeth into the sensitive flesh there, you responded with a keening moan from low in your throat.

He wasn’t pulling out far before he was smoothly rolling his hips back in, setting an achingly slow pace to start with. The way you felt around him was euphoric, your body quaking in time to Sebastian’s steady, languid thrusts. His bruising grip on your thighs had you panting and squirming back against his cock, musing your hair wildly beneath you, and your hands fisted in the covers in a bid to find purchase.

“You’re perfect,” Sebastian moaned his praises into the crook of your leg, increasing the intensity of his thrusts when he felt you arching towards him, the head of his cock brushing deeper and harder. “You’re so fucking perfect– I love you, darling– I never stopped loving you.”

Your denied release from earlier came roaring to life in the pit of your gut as you felt Sebastian’s cock graze over your sweet spot, wanton moans spilling from your lips as you clawed at the sheets and gasped breathlessly. “Sebastian– fuck, I l-love you, I love you so much–” His hips snapped against your ass sharply at your mindless confession, and your lips parted around a pleading cry for more, overwhelmed tears pricking at your clenched eyes as Sebastian obliged you.

With a throaty growl, Sebastian released your legs from his ironclad grip, letting them fall limply against the bed so he could lower himself to snake his arms around your waist and arch you towards him, ramming his cock into you with blinding precision that made you wail his name shamelessly.

“S-Sebastian, please, please– just like that–” you ground your hips back onto your lover, thighs trembling from how good Sebastian fucked you, filling you up deep and rough and just right. The way he dug his fingers into the skin of your waist to slam you back down into his relentless thrusts only served to add fuel to the growing fire in your core, leaving you a sloppy, gasping, pleading mess underneath him.

The two of you were holding on by barely there threads, your looming orgasms building, and you knew Sebastian was close when he buried his head in the crook of your shoulder to pant loudly against your skin. Your arms flew around his neck, clinging to him desperately as you rutted against him, wordlessly urging him to take what he wanted– to finally let go.

Sebastian came with a brutal cry of your name, his rough pumping transforming into sensual, deep grinding, and he hurriedly brought one of his hands to your clit to rub tight, demanding circles against you. The combined feeling of his cock emptying inside of you and the perfect stimulation from his fingers brought you clean over the edge with him, your nails sinking into his skin and leaving angry welts in their wake as you sobbed in ecstasy.

Thoroughly spent, the two of you stayed intertwined for what seemed like hours, but realistically couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes. Sebastian continued to slowly rock his hips into you long after the two of you had come down, until your overstimulated twitches and moans prompted him to gently slide out of your dripping folds, swallowing thickly when he lifted his head to rake over your prone form.

Your half-hooded gaze fixed on Sebastian as he tenderly trailed his hands up over your breasts, ghosting over the trail of love-bites and scratches that now decorated your sternum. His thumb swept up the vulnerable apex of your throat to angle your flushed lips towards his mouth. The kiss held a thousand promises that neither one of you cared to voice in the moment, and you let him nudge you up towards the headboard before he gathered you securely in his arms.

“Thank you.” Sebastian whispered into the top of your head after a few minutes of pleasant silence. You were tucked comfortably against his chest, his arm wrapped around you as he traced tiny shapes and patterns along the curve of your spine. You had been lightly trailing your fingers over the plethora of scars that lined his chest, committing the feeling of each one to memory, but his words made you pause.

“I can’t say I’ve ever been thanked for sex before,” you murmured against his side, and your head jostled when he laughed softly.

“Don’t be stupid– although, yes, definitely thank you for the sex. But I meant ‘thank you’ for everything else.”

Your lips pressed into a hard line, but you forced yourself to keep your tone light hearted when you replied. “Don’t go thanking me too soon. We haven’t even made it out of Ministry territory yet– ow!”

You flinched away from his pinching fingers against your back, the sharp sting throbbing to life– and though it wasn’t a severe pain in the slightest, you craned your head back to glare at him.

His dark eyes sparkled with amusement and an underlying fondness that instantly cooled your temper. “Is it so hard for you to just say ‘you’re welcome, Sebastian’ and kiss me?”

The laugh that bubbled from your throat was like music to Sebastian’s ears, and he realized dimly that it was the first time he had heard it in over two years. He never wanted to stop hearing it, and he vowed to himself then that he would spend every day of the rest of his life trying to make you feel that kind of joy.

“Is that it? If that’s all you wanted, you only needed to ask.”

Sebastian tugged you closer, lazily sweeping his broad hand over the small of your back to press you into him as his lips captured yours in a dizzying kiss. It melted away your lingering tension, and you ran your fingers through his disheveled hair, pushing the overgrown locs out of his face delicately. The fodness in the action had him sighing against your lips, and nothing in this lifetime would ever compare to this moment here with you.

“I love you,” he said, and you cracked your eyes open to see him staring at you with a deeply profound expression. “I meant what I said earlier– I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you managed to flash him a watery smile before sappy tears were running down your cheeks despite your best efforts. “Me too. I’ve always loved you, Sebastian, and I always will. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“How’s forever sound? I have no plans to leave your side anytime soon. That should give us plenty of time to figure out what comes next.”

He stole your lips again, never breaking away as he rolled himself over to cage you completely beneath his taller frame. It was an impassioned kiss, full of desire and desperation, and all you could do was kiss him back with equal fervor, mirroring his wants.

Any concerns drifted from your minds as the two of you got lost in the newfound versions of yourselves, taking exceptional care throughout the night to commit every new thing about the other to memory. The moment held promise for the future— for what you now knew you could have with Sebastian, and you swore to yourself then that you would fight with everything in you to protect this second chance. The Ministry would have to pry Sebastian from your cold, dead hands.

No matter what was to come, your heart felt lighter knowing that the two of you would face it together.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x female!reader #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow #my writing #this shit is so long y'all I'm sorry #if you're gonna read this it's a fucking commitment

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dirtyvulture · 1 year ago

Note

sergeant beef having scratches all over their back & it’s really just because they were an idiot and fell on some rocky place and slid down but nat would see and get so mad lol

Omg I love this, anon. Sergeant Beef is such a himbo. 😭

I wrote a short little scene because I couldn't help myself lol.

"Let me hop into the shower really quick and then we can watch a movie," you tell Natasha, pulling your shirt over your head and pausing when you hear her gasp.

"What are those?" she asks, tracing her fingers down your back.

"Huh?" You try to crane your neck to see what she's point at. "Oh. I took the recruits out to the hamster wheel this morning," you say, referencing the infamous trail where recruits ran for hours up and down the side of a mountain. "I tripped over a snake hole and fell on some rocks."

Natasha stares at you and you know she doesn't believe you.

"Seriously!" you emphasize. "Ask Wilson, he wouldn't stop laughing at me." She continues to look unpersuaded. "Please, you know I'm not seeing anyone but you." You open your arms for a hug but Natasha remains stiff even when you press her against your chest.

"Come join me in the shower and I'll show you I'm still yours?" you ask, and that's finally enough to crack a smile.

"Just don't slip on the soap like you did last time," she teases.

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

AN: They're so cute. 🥺

#anon ask #vulture answers #sergeant beef au

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smaptain-smerica · 1 year ago

Text

Sparrow

Part I - Little Bird

Pairing: Female!reader x Ghost x König

Summary: Sparrow partners up with soldiers Ghost and Soap on an intel gathering mission when the scars of her past get her into a dangerous situation. After being rescued by KorTac forces, she finds herself working along side them to ensure her freedom.

Maturity: depictions of violence and torture as well as harsh profanity will be written into this story. 16+ recommended

Masterlist

Chapter 1

"Fucking run!"

Ghost hurdled over a large piece of rubble on the ground with ease.

"This is what happens when they let you make the plan! Fucking bastard!" Ghost growled angrily as him and his friend ran frantically through a ruined town, a rain of gunfire and shouts in a different language trailing them. Soap looked over at Ghost, a wicked smile on his mischievous mug.

Ghost and Soap had been sent on a mission together to gather intel on a suspected threat, and for some reason, Soap was chosen to run point on. That was Price's first mistake.

As the two males thudded across the sands, dodging fire left and right, Ghost thought about their escape plan. Their vehicle had been commandeered so they would just have to keep running until they lost them. In full tactical gear in the afternoon sun on the hot sands of Saudi Arabia, that would be difficult.

Movement caught Ghost's attention as a large Jeep was ripping across the sands and suddenly coming to a stop directly in their path. Ghost was about to make an abrupt turn and run the other way from the mysterious vehicle when he saw a masked woman reach over and opened the passenger-side door.

"Get in! Hurry!" She yelled. He wouldn't have trusted it had she not adorned the SAS symbol beneath the flag of her country of origin on her chest.

Soap reached the passenger side door and jumped in, closing the door behind him. Ghost grabbed onto the hood of the car and lifted himself up and through the open backseat window. Before his feet had even left the ground the woman had already started driving.

Ghost widened his eyes as he beheld the woman behind the wheel. Her hair was tied back in a braid and a thick buckled strap wrapped around her hair was attached to the mask covering the lower part of her face. It looked like a surgical mask except it was black and made of a reinforced material that seemed to be form-fitted to her face. Surrounding her e/c eyes was old black face paint mixed with some patches of dirt. Finally, a small scar ran from the middle of her right eyebrow, over her eye, then disappeared behind the mask.

With expert execution, she ripped the sunroof open and turned her body around to address Soap. "Grab that gun and start shooting."

Without wasting a second, soap heaved the gun that was at Ghost's feet on the floorboards and brought it up to his lap. He stood out the sunroof, the gun hitting the roof of the car before Soap rained hellfire upon them.

Ghost turned around and looked out the back window, seeing rows of men falling victim to Soap's deadly accuracy. The only thing standing between them and freedom now was a rocky maze. The Jeep didn't even slow as they came barreling toward the start of the rocky pathway. The only warning they got from the mystery woman was; "Hang on!"

This must have been a path she had navigated before because she was taking the sharp turns and curves like she had done them one hundred times. Mountains of fallen and weathered rocks were piled around the car as they snaked their way through.

A curse fell from the woman's mouth as she saw what we were quickly approaching. A very narrow passageway adorned with freshly fallen boulders. She hesitated only for a moment before grabbing Soap by his tactical belt and yanking him back into the car. "Get ready to flee the car if this doesn't work." She warned us.

"If what doesn't work?" Ghost demanded, tightening his grip on the 'oh-shit-handle' in the back seat.

Reaching down towards the gear handle she quickly flipped the Jeep from 4-wheel drive to 2-wheel drive without slowing down for a second. That definitely was not good for the vehicle.

Enemies in vehicles of their own were quickly approaching us. A few stray gunshots littered the nearly impenetrable barrier of the vehicle. The woman was not slowing down, not even a little.

Not even when she whipped the car hard to the left, then equally as hard back to the right causing the car to go up on the two passenger side wheels. Just in time for the narrow entrance.

Ghost was glad he had been hanging on, otherwise, he would have been thrown out of the window. The sound of the metal scraping on the roof of the car made his teeth hurt but he soon heard the revving of the engine and the car started to move. They were driving nearly sideways on the wall. Thank god for the Jeep's suspension on the tires. After a few more feet of driving they broke through the other side of the narrow rocky passage, the Jeep falling onto its four tires with a painful bounce.

The Jeep was off again, ripping across the sandy dunes and leaving the shouting men behind them. The woman looked over her shoulder out the back window at the slowly shrinking scene they left behind. Ghost could see it in her eyes as she smiled wildly. Astonished was an understatement for how he was feeling.

"You're fucking insane!" Soap exclaimed, sounding more like a compliment than a complaint.

"It's nice to meet you too, Sergeant MacTavish." The woman hummed with a chuckle laced in her vocal cords.

"You can call me Soap, lass."

The woman nodded her head gently. "I'm First Lieutenant L/n, you can call me Sparrow."

"Ah, my pal Ghost here is a Lieutenant too." Sparrow's attention shifted to where Ghost sat in the back seat. Her eyes met his and he couldn't quite tell what emotions were hiding behind them. She watched him, expectant of an answer. He had none to give her, soap said it all already.

"The fuck is his problem?" Sparrow asked Soap, pointing a thumb back at Ghost as if he weren't even there. Soap laughed and waved a dismissive hand at her.

"He's just shy, he'll come around. Probably."

Ghost rolled his eyes at his partner and then directed his attention outside at the sand dunes. He hadn't even realized that they had made it to a packed dirt road and were now headed west.

"When Price sent me to come get you two, I didn't realize that I would be the getaway car." Sparrow hummed in amusement, meeting Ghost's gaze briefly in the rearview mirror before he looked away.

"Am I sure glad you did?" Soap chuckled, shuffling around in his seat to get comfortable. "Where'd you learn to drive like that?"

Sparrow looked over at Soap as she talked. "My dad was a Formula 1 driver. I was driving a car way before it was legal."

"Really?" Soap asked.

"Oh yeah. He loved it. It gave him and his family a chance to travel the world. I went to every single race." Sparrow explained. A hint of longing was hidden in her tone of voice that Ghost picked up on. He had noticed her use of past tense, it was only safe to assume.

"How'd he die?" Ghost asked.

Soap whipped his head around and gave Ghost a look that said 'Why the fuck would you say that?' Sparrow looked back at him through the rearview mirror.

"Doing what he loved. 3 car crash and only one survived. The doctor said he went quickly and painlessly."

"I'm sorry, Lass."

"We've all got shit that happened to us." She responded.

"Where are you taking us?" Ghost asked.

"Rendezvous point. It's my safe house where I'm currently stationed. Turns out our missions have more in common than we thought. You two better get comfortable, we will be driving into the night."

Ghost eyed the woman suspiciously. He didn't know whether he fully trusted her or not. After everything that had happened with Graves, he wasn't entirely fond of new people. Why had he never seen her before? Was she just a newer addition? What was she doing before this? Those questions would remain unanswered as he sat silently in the back seat, observing the woman carefully as she and Soap made light conversation for the duration of the drive.

Night had fallen by the time the three soldiers had arrived in a small, quiet town. Sparrow pulled the jeep into a makeshift, tarp-covered overhang next to a small house. Ghost looked down at his watch, it was just past 11:30 pm. The three of them walked in through the backdoor that Sparrow locked behind them.

A three-person couch was in the middle of the room with one armchair to the right. The coffee table was hardly standing on three of its legs. For how dusty and sandy the outside of the house and surrounding areas were, the sitting area was surprisingly clean.

Sparrow threw her backpack on the armchair and strolled through a doorway that looked like a kitchen. She came back through the door shortly with three beers in her hand. "They're not very cold. The fridge doesn't work very well."

Soap eagerly grabbed the bottle and popped the cap off. Ghost took the bottle more tenderly. "If you're hungry there's some canned soups in the cabinet. You can heat it up if you start a fire under the stove." Sparrow explained as she took a swig of the beer herself.

"You can take a shower if you want but there's no hot water. Don't drink the tap water, it's disgusting. I have some boiled water in water bottles in the fridge." Sparrow walked towards a hallway with two doors on the right and one door on the left.

"Over here is where you'll sleep. If you two are going to have sex keep it down, we share a wall." Soap nearly spit out his drink at the comment. Ghost chuckled, starting to like the woman a little more now.

"Bathroom is over here. If you need me, knock first. Other than that we will go over the folder in the morning." Sparrow saluted to them before slipping into her bedroom door.

Ghost looked over at Soap whose eyes were trailing where Sparrow had disappeared into her door. Soap's attention turned back towards Ghost with a wicked smirk on his face. "I like her."

Soap opened the door to their bedroom. There were two neatly made beds on either side of the wall. Soap was already taking off his shoes and undressing on the bed on the left. Ghost wasn't sleeping. He wouldn't fall asleep for a few hours at least.

Without another word, he walked out of the door and took a few steps toward the entrance to Sparrow's room. The door was open a crack and she didn't have her shirt on, her back to the door. Ghost knew he shouldn't have looked, it was disrespectful. He should have turned away immediately but the large, nasty scars across her back captured his attention. He stared through the door, wondering, how something like that could have happened. Did it also have something to do with the scar on her eyebrow?

Ghost quickly stepped away from the crack in the doorway and knocked twice on her door. "Hold on."

Sparrow returned to the door a few seconds later wearing a loose, long sleeve shirt and the black mask adorning the bottom of her face. She looked up at Ghost and cocked an eyebrow. "Everything okay? I promise the sheets are clean."

"No, it's not that." Ghost reassured her.

"Can I see the mission brief for tomorrow?"

Sparrow nodded. "Not ready to sleep?" She asked, leading them to the living room where she shuffled through her backpack.

"No."

Sparrow hummed in response as she pulled out a Manila folder, blowing some of the dust off it before handing it to him. "I get that."

Ghost grabbed the folder, looking into her eyes. He wore a mask. Always. At all times. He had just never been on the receiving end of the effect it had on some people. Ghost wanted to take her face in his hands and see what she was hiding. He wondered if the scars on her back were connected to why she hid her face. How similar were they in that sense?

"Lieutenant!" Ghost finally snapped out of his trance and looked around at what would be the woman's features.

"I don't have time to stand here all night and let you admire me." Ghost felt his face heat up, thankful that the mask was covering it.

Sparrow smiled with her eyes as Ghost took the papers from her. "Try to get some sleep tonight, yeah?" Sparrow patted his shoulder causing him to tense and go rigid underneath the touch. He simply nodded his head and watched her walk around the corner of the hallway.

You had been stationed here for a few months now on stealth missions to gather intel on a suspected terrorist threat. The town where you were stationed was in ruin. The water lines and plumbing were shit, most of the food was stale and full of preservatives. The buildings had zero AC and hardly enough electricity to power the street lights. Most of the time, the town felt very glum.

But every Sunday, the town sprung to life. All the citizens got together all their hard-earned money and created. Jewelry, candles, soaps, spices, baked goods and fresh fruits. All the children played kickball in the fields. Then when the adults had drunk their supply of beer, the adults joined in on the fun. By the end of the day everyone is singing under the setting sun.

Today was Sunday. You were talking around the market in a jilbab, a head scarf wrapped around your head to cover your hair and the lower part of your face. You were self conscious about the large, ugly scar on the lower half of your face. You didn't want to scare any of the locals with the ugliness of your troubled past.

Being around for so long you had picked up on some Arabic. Enough to communicate with the vendors anyway. They knew more English than you did Arabic so you felt it was only fair that you tried to learn.

You had managed to score a few goodies for yourself and the boys for breakfast. Cost you extra to buy extra food but you didn't mind doing it.

You entered the house through the front door and saw both the large men sitting on the couch, the papers from the mission reports spread out on the table. "You two are lucky! I scored some good stuff for breakfast."

You dug around in your basket and threw an orange to each one of them. They both caught them and looked at them questioningly. "And!" You added, setting the basket down on the arm of the chair.

"Amira owed me a favor, so I got these." You set down two muffins on the table and looked at the two men with an eager smile under the scarf.

Soap met your gaze and smiled widely. "Thanks, lass."

"How long have you been here?" Ghost asked, his raspy and deep voice racking chills up your spine just like it had the first time you heard it. You looked into his eyes, the dark and mysterious eyes that the black paint surrounding them only added to it.

"A few months." You responded while taking a muffin for yourself from your basket. You brought it up to your mouth under your scarf to still conceal most of your identity.

Soap had already finished off the muffin and began to move on to the orange. Ghost looked down at his muffin and then over at Soap's orange. Ghost grabbed the citrus out of Soap's hands and replaced it with his muffin he didn't eat. You chuckled a little at the behavior.

"So, tell us what the game plan is." Ghost leaned back in the chair, shifting his hips upward to get into a more comfortable position. He removed a glove from his hands and began peeling one of the oranges.

You noticed the scars on his hand as you watched him peel back the layers of the fruit. The way his large hips moved as he readjusted. You had to push down the inappropriate thoughts before they bubbled to your brain.

"Basically, what I've been doing is gathering intel on a possible terrorist threat to the nations. That town you two were in that you so graciously sent into a guns-of-glory spiral was my main operating place. Lucky for you two, the man I've been tracking, Saad Faizan, is meeting with some of his business partners. You'll assist me with gathering the intel that I've been working on getting for months. Then, when Saad's business partner leaves you'll track their location and get in contact with Price from there."

Both of the men looked at you with their heads tilted as you half-assed the explanation of the mission. "So that's it?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "That's it. There's no guarantee how long the men will be here for. It could be today, it could be weeks. Your only job is to make sure I don't die, and follow them when they leave."

"Copy." Was all Ghost said with a nod.

You stood up and made your way over to a trunk by a small window, popping it open. The inside was covered in all kinds of weapons and ammunition. You began to grab your preferred weapons from the crate.

"Take whatever you want, I'm going to go get ready then we will roll out." You walked to your room, making sure to shut the door and lock it before taking off your headscarf.

Looking in the mirror was a difficult task, one you forced yourself to do every day to come to terms with the marring that you now adorned. Two years of forcing yourself to look at it and you still hadn't gotten used to it. Your fingers gently touched the white, rugged skin across your right cheek. A weight pressed down on your chest as you reached for the mask you adorned every day. You put the mask on and buckled the strap in the back firmly. The headscarf returned to your face to maintain a casual appearance for gathering information. The scars made your face too recognizable without it. You weren't sure why they kept you on intel missions. After the accident you pushed for moving to being a Sniper. It would be easier than having to conceal the ugly every day. But they said they couldn't lose you, you were a valuable asset.

When you returned to the living room you saw both the men had finished gathering their desired weapons from the trunk and they both looked at you expectantly.

"Let's roll!"

Ghost and Soap stayed in the truck on the outskirts of the city while you made your way through the town to the restaurant that they were supposed to be meeting at. Your eyes scanned the area for any suspicious threats as you continued walking. Not that anybody could tell you were military, just a cautious habit of being a woman.

"Little bird, how copy?" Ghost's voice rang in your ear.

"Two shakes of a tail feather from location." Your quick wits responded before you could even think about it. You couldn't decide if the silly little nickname pissed you off or gave you butterflies. You heard a hum of a chuckle at the other end of the comms after your response.

You opened the door to the restaurant, immediately spotting the man you had been tracking for months. Dark colored hair, almond shaped eyes, fuller lips and a Roman nose. Next to him sat a smaller man that looked nervous beyond belief. You pulled a small bugging device from your pants pocket under the jilbab.

Picking up a brisk pace, you walked near his table, reaching under the table and placing the bug. You hurried over to the opposite side of the restaurant and took a seat. "Bug is in place. Tap me in." You said in your com to the boys.

Some static noise filled your ear before you heard the Arabic man talking. The waiter came over to you with a smile, asking you what you would like. You responded 'water' back to him in Arabic before he hurried away. "You know Arabic?" Soap asked.

"A little. What I could pick up in the span of a couple months." You responded. Suddenly a very tall, dressed to the nines, blonde man walked in. Followed by a smaller, equally as well dressed brunette.

They both sat down at the table with Saad and the smaller man introduced himself in another language to Saad's partner. The two business men were primarily talking to their partners that they brought, then the partners would talk to each other and then their bosses. That's when you realized that they were translators.

"What language is that, German?" Soap asked.

"No, Russian." You responded quietly as you tried to listen to the choppy conversation between the translators. "Something about moving drugs and guns."

"How many languages do you know, little bird?" Ghost asked, another shockwave running up your spine and sending butterflies to your stomach.

"Russian, German, French, Italian, Spanish. English, obviously. I'm not fluent in any of them but I know enough to get by." You explained.

"Color me impressed." Ghost hummed in your ear.

"You've got enough black face paint as is. I don't think you need any more colors." Your wits responded, earning a laugh from soap in the background of Ghosts com.

You were smiling to yourself under the mask when you heard a familiar word. Баба́й. Babai.

"The boogieman..." you whispered, suddenly coming to a chilling realization. "I think this is the Russian Mafia."

Silence rang from the other end of the boys comms before Soap spoke up. "What do we do?"

"Wait. We will send the audio back to base to be translated." You explained while bringing out a small notepad and tried to write down as many words of the Russian man that you could understand. Most of it was illegal trade of guns, drugs, typical mafia stuff. Until an unknown word caught your attention. "раб." You breathed.

You listened to the next few words in Russian to try and get some context. He was talking about men, sending men and women to Saad and vise versa. "I think they're trading people."

"Armies?" Ghost asked.

"The Russian mob doesn't have an army." You whispered back into the com.

"Slaves?"

A worried breath escaped your lips as a weight pressed down on you. You hoped with every fiber of your being that wasn't true. But for some reason it made the most sense.

About an hour had passed of you sitting in that restaurant and just listening to the conversation. You tried to write down as much as you could understand of the two languages but was grateful that the audio got translated by the professionals.

The Russian man and his partner stood from their seat and headed for the door. That only left Saad and his partner sitting there. They made conversation for a little before both of them stood up to leave. Saad had his partner turn ahead of them to leave. But Saad didn't leave. He rotated and looked over his shoulder, directly into your eyes. Your heart stopped and chills ran their way from your scalp and down your back.

Saad held your gaze for a few more seconds before facing back forward, and leaving through the door.

Next Chapter

#simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod x you #cod x y/n #konig modern warfare #konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x you #konig mw2 #friends to lovers #enemies to lovers

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princessdimondheart · 1 year ago

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Sea of Cortéz | Price x Daughter! Reader | Ch.1

Pairing: Price + Daughter! Reader, Reader x OC, TF-141 x Platonic! Reader

Warnings: 🔪- death, bodies

Edited: No

A/N: I had this idea pop up while watching NCIS!!! So there might be some references or even a little crossover if I make more parts…Should I make more parts?? If so I have notes on what should happen next.

Masterlist

Ch. 1 [Here] | Ch. 2

Character banner ©️ Me

Gaz huffed as he grappled over a rocky outcrop. He was glad he remembered to put on his gloves for this mission. He had previously forgotten to pack his gloves for other missions and ended up with scuffs and scratches. A hand appeared in his line of sight. He reached up to grab hold of his Captain’s open hand. The older man grunted as he helped pull the younger man over. The rest of the Task Force had just made it up as well.

They were on a reconnaissance mission to find different routes to an AQ compound. They also had to make note of their patrols, numbers, and any movement to and from. The known compound was hidden in a steep valley within a mountain range in the United Republic of Adal. If Gaz recalled correctly, Al Mazrah was just over 50 kilometers away from their current location.

The Captain was making conversation about his grown daughter that Gaz had learned about at the beginning of the Task Force. The team was in the Captain’s office when Johnny was the first to notice a framed photo of a rather pretty lady, thinking it was his girlfriend or something. A scowling Price said that she was his daughter and that she looked more like her mother than him. That he had her at a very young age and her mother was never in the picture almost immediately after her birth. Now his Captain was trying to set him up with her. His face burned at the thought of dating his Captain’s own blood. He was feeling kinda proud that he would be considered worthy enough for Price’s daughter. Johnny was snickering at him with a grin so wide Gaz wanted to smack it right off his face. He scowled at the Scot.

Ghost was on point with Soap just behind him. He and the Captain were in the back watching their six. They had made it down the other side of the rocky hill they climbed up to and we’re now making their way through a dry creek bed. The bed was dry with cracks splitting the top layers of dirt. The dry flecks crunched under their boots.

Ghost rounded a bend and paused. “Fuckin’ hell. Hold.” He raised his clenched fist.

Captain Price moved closer to Ghost. “What is it?”

“A bloody massacre…” His words and the lilt in his voice made Gaz’s blood run cold.

~~~~~

There was carnage left behind from this most obvious ambush. The two vehicles were blasted to bits, likely from an IED or smaller explosives. The Marines here put up a good fight. Dozens of empty round casings littered the sandy ground. Although some died in the blast before they could make a defense.

Four bodies were laid about around the vehicles. Based on their position they were fighting on two sides. Soap and Ghost began checking the bodies for any inkling as to why these Marines were here. They never received intel about another team being out in this region of Adal.

Gaz and Price covered them, searching along the bluffs nearby and further upstream. He stood by Soap who’d crouched to grab something from the Marine’s pocket.

“Oh, fuck!” Soap exclaimed. Gaz looked at him confused. Johnny help up the… photo… of a person I’m rather revealing clothing. Or lack of clothing. Why did her face look so familiar?

Then it clicked! That was Price’s daughter. She was much older in her semi-nude photograph but it was the same girl from the photo on Price’s desk.

“I don’t think I’ll be getting that date with your daughter.” Gaz let out an awkward chuckle. He was definitely not going on a date when they went back.

Price was confused by his words. He walked closer to the pair. “What do you mean, Kyle?”

Soap makes sure her privacy was covered and shows it to Price. His frown was almost instant.

“Is that… that.. a um,” he swallowed hard and shook his head. “A nude photo of my baby girl?”

Ghost came closer. “Hmm… seems so…”

The Captain’s body was stiff and then he turned his head down to the man that was in possession of such a photo of his not so little girl. His brow in a heavy glare. “Who the bloody hell is this bloke to have a fuckin’ nude photo of my-!” He gave the Marine a rather disrespectful kick to his side.

“Woah! Captain!” In the heat of the moment, trying to pull Price back before he did anything else he would regret, Gaz almost missed the soft groan that came from the body.

“Oh meh god, he’s fuckin’ alive!” Johnny heard it too and yelled, falling to his knees to check the Marine’s pulse. “…It’s faint but there. He must of passed out from blood loss or pain.”

Gaz looked at his shocked yet still confused Captain. “We need to call for a medevac.”

“Soap and I will stay and complete the mission as fast as possible.” Ghost slapped his large gloved hand on Price’s shoulder. “We’ll wrap the rest up before the helo comes and when you get back, you can handle whatever the ’ell is goin’ on ’ere.”

Price shook off his hand but agreed with what Ghost said. He called over the radio and a helicopter was inbound in 30 minutes. Gaz and Soap did what they could to help the Marine out. Wrapping him in bandages where he was shot. A bullet hit him in the right shoulder and another two in the left leg. From what Gaz could discern, the two bullets just missed his bone but he wasn’t sure if any major arteries were nicked. He wasn’t certain but the convoy must have been ambushed within the last 24 to 48 hours since this guy was still alive. The rest of the Marines were placed in body bags that they all carried in their packs just in case a mission went south.

Just in time, the helicopter arrived just down stream from the ambush site. Sand blew around them in large puffs of clouds. All the bodies, dead and alive, were loaded up. The medics on board were immediately on the Marine still alive, treating his wounds and placing and IV drip before the doctors back on base could look him over and perform surgery.

Price yelled into the headset he wore the moment they got on the helo. “Who is this man?”

The medic pulled out a metal chain from the Marine’s shirt. His dog tag. “He appears to be a Gunnery Sergeant… Miguel Juan Cortéz. A-positive blood type-.“ Price waved him off.

~~~~~

When they arrived on base, the medics took the lead and had the Gunny offloaded and halfway to the med-tents before Gaz and Price could even stand up. They both made it to the tents when the Gunny was rushed into emergency surgery. They sat outside the operating room on the old wooden benches. They creaked when they sat down.

Several hours passed before they heard steps rushing towards them. They looked up to see Kate Laswell speedily making her way towards them. She stopped just a foot or so in front of them.

“I heard down the grapevine that you brought back Miguel Juan Cortéz?” She rushed taking in only a short breath.

“Yes, why?” The Captain was still upset but had time to cool off somewhat.

“Good! Good, actually that’s perfect!” Laswell sighed in relief. Their raised brows in confusion alerted her to their lack of info. “He’s important, well, very very important to the people on The Hill right now.”

“Politicians?” Gaz cringed. Laswell looked back and forth between them.

“Kyle, John… Gunnery Sergeant Cortéz is two Senatorial votes and a Presidential signature away from being a Medal of Honor recipient.” The intensity of Laswell’s eyes showed that she wasn’t messing around nor was it a lie. Both men straightened in their seats.

The Medal of Honor… an award so prestigious that it was rarely given to anyone. A soldier had to go above and beyond the call of duty at risk of their own life. An act of Valor.

Just who was this Gunny Cortéz?

🔖 Taglist:

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ltash · 5 months ago

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Forever

Ep-15 "Lost" SimonGhostRileyxFemaleReader

"When someone you love becomes a memory, that memory becomes a treasure."

Isn't it amazing?" she breathed, and Ghost nodded, though his thoughts were on her rather than the view.

"Absolutely," he replied, feeling a connection deepen with each shared experience. This was more than just a hike; it was a step into a new chapter together.

They continued their journey, the path winding through the mountain terrain. The conversation flowed easily, with Price's jokes and Andrea's laughter providing a steady background melody.

Ghost, however, found himself strangely quiet. It was as if he was seeing everything for the first time through her eyes-the beauty of the mountain landscape, the play of sunlight in her hair, the way her laugh echoed against the rocks. His heart felt strange in his chest, beating a little faster each time she turned to look at him.

As they navigated the narrow opening in the steep wall, the jagged rocks seemed to shift beneath Andrea's feet. Panic surged through her as she lost her footing, a scream tearing from her lips. In an instant, Ghost's hand shot out, grasping her wrist, but he slipped too, their weight suddenly hanging precariously from the single rope tethered to the rocky mountain.

"Ghost! Don't let me fall!" Andrea pleaded, tears streaming down her face, her heart racing with terror.

"I won't, Andrea. I won't!" His voice was steady, but the strain was evident as he pulled her up with surprising strength, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Above them, Soap, Captain Price, and Gaz were desperately trying to haul them to safety, their shouts mingling with the sound of shifting rock.

The rope creaked ominously, tension building with each second. "Oh my God!" Andrea gasped, glancing up just as the rope snapped with a final, agonizing crack.

Time seemed to slow as they plummeted into the darkness of the cave below. Ghost instinctively wrapped himself around her, shielding her from the impending impact. The ground rushed up to meet them, and with a bone-jarring thud, they landed in a chaotic tumble.

For a heartbeat, all was still. Andrea's scream echoed in the silence, then abruptly cut off, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing in the dim light.

Ghost lay protectively over her, his body a shield against the jagged rocks that surrounded them. The weight of uncertainty hung thick in the air as he struggled to gather his thoughts, his heart pounding as he looked down at her, desperate for any sign of life.

"Look into my eyes," he urged, his voice a gentle whisper despite the chaos around them. "We'll be alright."

But as Andrea lay motionless beneath him, a chilling silence enveloped the cave, leaving Ghost alone with the echoes of their fall and the dawning realization of what they faced.

Ghost's heart hammered in his chest, each beat a frantic reminder of the urgency of the moment. His mind raced, desperately trying to piece together the chaos that had led them here. The cave loomed around them, dark and oppressive, with only a sliver of light filtering in from the opening above, casting an eerie glow on the scene.

"Andrea," he repeated, his voice rising in urgency. "Look at me." He gently shook her, fear twisting in his gut as he searched for any sign of life. But she lay completely unconscious, her stillness a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him.

"Andrea! Please. Wake up!" His voice was pleading, a raw edge of desperation creeping in. He cradled her head in his hands, feeling the warmth of blood seeping from the back of her skull, soaking through his gloved fingers. Panic clawed at him as he whispered her name again, "Andrea!"

Gathering her in his arms, he felt the weight of the world pressing down on him. Each breath he took was labored, the air thick with dread. He could feel the pulse of fear in his veins as he rocked her gently, willing her to respond.

"Stay with me," he murmured, his voice cracking. He needed her to fight. He needed her to wake up. The cave seemed to close in around them, the shadows deepening as if mocking his fear.

He scanned the area, looking for anything that might help, his eyes darting over the jagged rocks and debris that littered the ground. Memories flooded back-how they had stumbled into this place, how quickly everything had spiraled out of control. They were trapped in a nightmare, and he was determined to pull her from its grasp.

With a surge of resolve, he adjusted his grip, his arms tightening around her as he prepared to move. "I'm not leaving you," he vowed fiercely, the words a promise as he steeled himself. He glanced toward the cave entrance, calculating their escape route, each heartbeat echoing in his ears like a countdown.

"Just hold on. I'll get you out," he whispered, his breath hitching with emotion.

Ghost cradled her in his arms, the sight of blood seeping from her head twisting his gut with fear. It was a foreign feeling, one he hadn't experienced in years-fear for someone other than himself.

He pressed his fingers to her neck, feeling her pulse-thready and faint. A wave of protectiveness surged through him, an almost primal need to do something, anything, to save her. Gritting his teeth against the rising panic, he fumbled for his comms.

"Price, Soap! I need a quick evac and med team. Andrea's hurt bad," he barked into the radio, urgency lacing his voice.

Static crackled for a moment before Price's voice came through, sharp and clear. "Copy that, Ghost. We're en route. Hold tight."

"Make it quick!" Ghost snapped, his focus unwavering as he looked down at Andrea. He couldn't lose her. Not now.

He shifted his weight slightly, positioning her more securely against him while keeping an eye on the cave entrance. Time felt like it was slipping away, each second stretching into an eternity. He needed to keep her stable until help arrived.

"Come on, Andrea. Fight for me," he urged softly, brushing his thumb against her cheek. The silence hung heavy, broken only by the distant sounds of their teammates approaching. His heart raced, a relentless rhythm echoing his desperation.

The wait was agonizing. Every sound, every movement within the cave intensified Ghost's sense of urgency. He kept his eyes fixed on Andrea's face, searching for any sign of consciousness, but she remained still, blood seeping from her wound in a slow, cruel trickle. Each second felt like an eternity, bringing the evac team closer but stretching the tension to its breaking point.

Finally, the sound of multiple footsteps echoed through the darkness, and a beam of light pierced the shadows. Soap and Price appeared at the cave entrance, their faces tight with concern.

"Ghost!" Soap shouted, rushing forward. "What happened?"

She took a hit to the head," Ghost replied, his voice strained as he shifted Andrea slightly to make room for them. "We need to move fast."

Price quickly assessed the situation, kneeling beside Ghost. "We've got medics on standby. Let's get her stabilized."

Soap knelt on the other side, his hands deftly checking her injuries. "Andrea, can you hear me? Stay with us!"

Ghost's heart raced as he watched, torn between hope and dread. He felt utterly powerless, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. Every second felt critical as they worked to help her.

"Get the stretcher ready!" Price barked to Soap, who nodded and scrambled to grab the equipment from their pack. Ghost felt a surge of gratitude for his teammates, knowing they would do everything in their power to save her.

"Just hold on, Andrea," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "Help is here."

Soap and Price worked quickly, efficiently setting up the stretcher and gently lifting Andrea onto it. The tension in the cave was palpable, the grim reality of the situation crashing down on them like a heavy weight.

With practiced ease, they attached emergency medical devices to her body, monitoring her vitals as they moved. Each step sent a jolt of worry through Ghost; his eyes remained fixed on her still form, unwilling to look away.

As they emerged into the open air, the sunlight felt almost jarring after the oppressive darkness of the cave. Ghost squinted against the brightness, his heart racing as they made their way toward the waiting helicopter. The sound of rotors thumping above filled him with both hope and anxiety.

"Keep moving!" Soap urged, glancing back at Ghost as they picked up the pace. Price took the lead, eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger.

They reached the helicopter, and the crew quickly prepared for the medevac. Ghost felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, the urgency of the moment pushing him forward. He gently placed a hand on Andrea's arm, a silent promise that he wouldn't leave her side.

"Get her inside!" Price commanded, urgency in his tone. They carefully loaded Andrea into the helicopter, the medics ready with their equipment.

As the doors closed and the aircraft lifted off the ground, Ghost took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the world shift slightly. But the battle wasn't over yet; they still needed to get her to safety. His gaze never left her, the flicker of hope battling against the fear that clawed at him.

The helicopter roared to life, its powerful engine drowning out nearly all other sounds. The interior hummed with machinery, punctuated by the occasional murmur between the medical team and the rush of blood in Ghost's ears.

He found a spot near Andrea, the sight of her on the makeshift bed sending a sharp pang of fear through him. Everything about her seemed fragile-her eyes closed, her body unnaturally still. The image clawed at his insides, a relentless reminder of how quickly things could change.

The medical team worked diligently, their movements efficient and practiced. Ghost's gaze followed every action, heart pounding with worry as they attached IV lines and monitored her vitals. Each beep of the machines felt like a countdown, heightening his anxiety.

"Is she stable?" he finally asked, his voice strained.

One of the medics glanced up, meeting his gaze. "We're doing everything we can. She's critical, but we're keeping her stable for now."

Ghost nodded, his throat tight. He fought against the wave of helplessness threatening to overwhelm him. All he could do was stand vigil, a silent guardian as they flew toward safety.

Ghost's gaze never left her, tracking every flicker of movement, every rise and fall of her chest. He longed for her to wake up, to see those eyes open and hear her voice, but she remained unresponsive, an unsettling stillness enveloping her.

The medics continued their work, checking monitors and adjusting IVs, their faces focused but grave. Ghost's heart raced with each passing moment, the uncertainty wrapping around him like a vice. He clenched his fists, fighting against the helplessness that threatened to consume him.

As the helicopter finally touched down, a wave of relief washed over Ghost. The medics sprang into action, rushing to get Andrea out and into the waiting ambulance, the whir of the chopper's blades fading behind them.

He settled beside Andrea, her unconscious form on the stretcher, surrounded by medical equipment that beeped steadily, each sound a reminder of the battle she was fighting. Her eyes remained closed, her face ashen and pale, and the sight tugged at his heart.

"Come on, Andrea," he whispered, gripping her hand gently. "You have to fight. I'm right here." The ambulance jolted with each bump in the road, but he remained steadfast, his focus solely on her.

Time felt distorted, every second stretching out as he watched her, praying for any sign of consciousness. He couldn't shake the fear that gripped him, but deep down, he held onto hope, willing her to find her way back to him.

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and worries. He kept his expression stoic, but inside, he was a mess. Memories flooded in-her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, the countless moments that now felt painfully distant. He stole a glance at her pale face, feeling the warmth of her hand in his as if it were the only tether keeping him grounded in this chaos.

He turned his gaze back to her, fighting the urge to break down. She needed strength now, even if it was only from him. With every bump in the road, he squeezed her hand a little tighter, willing her to hold on, to fight. "Stay with me," he whispered, though he knew she couldn't hear him.

As the ambulance sped through the streets, the adrenaline coursing through his veins masked the creeping dread that threatened to swallow him whole. Ghost replayed every moment they had shared, desperate to find a glimmer of hope in the darkness. He thought of their plans, the dreams they had painted together, and the future that now hung in the balance like a fragile thread.

He stopped to lean against a wall, running a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. Memories of her smile and the warmth of her laughter played like a movie reel in his mind, each frame a stark contrast to the cold reality of the hospital.

Ghost's thoughts spiraled. What if she didn't make it? What if the doctors couldn't bring her back? The questions swirled relentlessly, and he felt trapped in a nightmare that refused to end. He took a deep breath, grounding himself, trying to push those dark thoughts aside.

Finally, he caught sight of a doctor approaching, her expression serious yet measured. Ghost straightened, heart racing as she stopped before him. "Mr. Ghost," she said, her voice steady but laced with concern. "We need to talk."

His stomach twisted, and he steeled himself for whatever news she was about to deliver.

The doctor's somber expression sent a chill down Ghost's spine. He squared his shoulders, preparing for the worst, even as the hope he clung to flickered like a fragile flame.

"What is it, doc?" he asked, his voice gravelly and strained. He clenched his fists, bracing himself for the impact of her words.

The doctor took a moment, her gaze steady but empathetic. "We've stabilized her condition, but she's in critical care. There were complications, and she needs time to heal."

Relief and dread tangled in Ghost's chest, the weight of the news nearly overwhelming him. "Critical care... so there's a chance?"

"Yes," she replied, her tone carefully measured. "But she's not out of the woods yet. We're doing everything we can, but it's going to be a long road."

Ghost nodded, swallowing hard. The flicker of hope was a fragile thing, but it was enough to keep him standing. "Can I see her?"

The doctor hesitated, then nodded. "For a few minutes. Just remember, she's unconscious, and we need to keep her calm. No sudden movements or loud noises."

As she led him down the hallway, Ghost's heart raced. Each step felt like an eternity, the sterile environment closing in around him. Finally, they reached a door marked with a simple "ICU." The doctor pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm right here."

Between visits, silence enveloped him like a heavy blanket. He leaned forward, willing her to sense his presence, to feel the bond they shared even in this dark moment. "You're stronger than this," he murmured softly, gripping her hand tighter. "I know you can fight. Just come back to me."

When the doctor finally returned, Ghost's heart raced again. He stood up, anxiety coursing through him. "Any changes?"

"Still critical," she replied, her expression grave. "But she's stable for now. That's all we can ask for at this point."

Ghost nodded, forcing himself to maintain hope. "What can I do?"

"Just be here," she said, her tone softening. "Your presence can make a difference."

The hours blended together in a mind-numbing cycle of beeps and updates. Ghost found himself trapped in a loop, his mind swinging between moments of quiet reflection and anxious pacing. The hospital room felt like a small bubble, entirely removed from the outside world.

As night fell and the harsh fluorescent lights flickered above, a deeper sense of isolation settled in. Ghost felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, threatening to crush the fragile hope he held onto. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through pictures of happier times, each image a stark contrast to the sterile environment surrounding him.

In those images, she was vibrant, full of life-smiling at the camera, the world a canvas for their dreams. He closed his eyes, clinging to those memories, hoping they would somehow reach her.

The soft groan startled Ghost out of his exhausted stupor, his heart leaping into his throat. Her slightest movement sent a shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins, igniting a spark of hope in the otherwise dull room.

He leaned in closer, every muscle tensed in anticipation, his breath hitching as he watched her. "Come on," he whispered, his voice soft and urgent. "You can do this. Keep fighting."

Her eyelids fluttered again, a slight crease forming on her brow as if she were caught in the grip of a dream. Ghost felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, overwhelmed by the possibility of her awakening. He reached out, gently stroking her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips.

"Just a little more," he urged, his voice trembling. "I'm right here. You're not alone."

And then, as if responding to his quiet plea, her eyes slowly opened. They were glassy and unfocused at first, but a flicker of recognition passed through them as they settled on his face. "Ghost..." she whispered, barely audible, but it was enough to shatter the weight of despair that had enveloped him.

"Hey! I'm here," he breathed, a mixture of relief and joy flooding through him. "You did it. You're back."

"Who are you?" She asked blankly.

Ghost froze, the mixture of relief and hope vanishing in an instant.** Her voice was raspy, her eyes unfocused, and her words hit him like a punch to the gut. "Who are you?"

He felt a sharp pang in his chest, a cold, hollow pit opening up inside him. This wasn't the moment he had envisioned, the reunion he had silently prayed for in countless sleepless nights. She looked at him as if he were a stranger, with no recognition and no hint of familiarity in her gaze.

Ghost forced himself to keep his voice even, striving to conceal the maelstrom of emotions churning within him. "It's me, Ghost," he said softly, the name lingering in the air like a fragile thread connecting their past.

But the flicker of hope he clung to was swiftly extinguished by the blankness in her expression. She shook her head slightly, as if trying to shake off a dream, confusion clouding her features. The light that once danced in her eyes seemed extinguished, leaving only shadows behind.

"Why are you here?" Her words were cautious, as if he might vanish into thin air if she spoke too loudly. Ghost took a step closer, heart racing, desperate to breach the chasm that had formed between them.

"I came to find you. I've been looking for you... for so long." Each word felt like a weighty stone cast into the depths of a darkened well. He searched her face for any sign of recognition, but the only response was a flicker of fear that passed over her features.

"Find me? I don't... I don't know you," she whispered, her voice breaking. The reality of her amnesia settled over him like a suffocating shroud, and the warmth of their shared memories felt miles away.

"Please," he pleaded, taking another step, reaching out as if to grasp the fragments of their history. "Think. We were together. You... you were everything to me."

But her eyes remained distant, lost in a fog he couldn't penetrate. Each heartbeat felt like a countdown, the seconds slipping away as the truth settled heavily between them. Ghost felt the weight of despair pressing down, the world around him blurring as he fought to maintain his composure.

"I don't remember," she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, the vulnerability in her tone cutting deeper than any blade. "I wish I could."

"I won't give up on you," he vowed, the promise spilling from his lips with fervor. "I'll help you remember. I'll bring you back."

"Just give me a chance," he urged, hope threading through his words like a lifeline tossed into turbulent waters. "Let me help you."

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chaosbarelycontained · 6 months ago

Text

I Don’t Care For Your Attitude

North Country Boy Chapter 7

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!OC

TW: Swearing, fighting

Words: 3.1k

Synopsis: Jules and Ghost butt heads over an upcoming mission and young Jules fights for Simon’s honour.

Scribbling some notes down on her virtual notepad, Jules used a hand gesture to continue her flyover of the northern reaches of Dushikistan, a tiny country in the Pamir Mountains. The terrain was harsh and yet beautiful, with rolling steppes giving way to towering peaks crowned white with snow.

Sandy-coloured yurts and small brick buildings were well camouflaged against the rocky ground but, as Jules focussed in on one particular valley, more and more became visible. She hovered over the area for a few more minutes before her view changed and the camera panned between two cliff faces and across to an ancient fortress that, to the untrained eye, seemed ruined and abandoned. Jules double-tapped her thumb and middle finger together and the image enlarged. Staring at the ground around the fortress she finally saw the confirmation she needed in the subtle tyre marks that surrounded the structure.

“Gotcha,” she muttered, making a few screenshots and altering the contrast so that the tracks were more visible.

Checking the time in the bottom left of her viewscreen she was relieved to see she still had fifteen minutes until Price’s briefing so she pinged the information she’d collated across to her tablet and stashed her headset on its charger dock. Her emerald grey beret found its place back on her head and she tucked her tablet into her trouser pocket. She meticulously checked that every piece of equipment was logged off and shut down before exiting the room and locking the door.

On her way back over to the small barracks building she’d come to call home, Jules heard a whistle. She turned to find Roach jogging to catch up with her and she slowed her pace so that he could fall into step beside her.

“Alright, Tiger?” he asked genially, “whatcha been up to?”

“Just finalising some intel for the briefing. You?”

“Watching Ghost beast the rookies,” he snickered. “I would have helped but it was too entertaining. I think one of ‘em might have actually shit his pants.”

Jules gave a derisive snort. “The SAS selection process must be seriously lackin’ if they’re findin’ the Hallowe'en Drama Queen that terrifyin’.”

Roach faced her with an expression of concerned bemusement. “What the fuck do they feed you in Manchester? You’re all fucking bonkers. Just make sure you don’t say that to his face.”

“I would if he’d ever show it, an’ if he tried somethin’ again I’d knock his fuckin’ block off,” she tutted, rolling her eyes.

The smile that had been brewing on Roach’s face rapidly vanished as he glanced behind Jules. He blanched, swallowing thickly, and cast his eyes to the ground. Jules’ stomach threatened to drop out of her arse as she sensed the hulking presence behind them draw ever closer but it was caught by the net of her fury and she managed to maintain her poise, raising her chin arrogantly as the Lieutenant stalked past them.

“Ya could try, Sergeant, but yer too short to reach,” he rumbled, without a backward glance.

“That was…tame,” Roach muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Just make sure you don’t go anywhere alone for the next few days.”

Jules sucked in a breath, ready to respond, but then caught the teasing glint in Roach’s eye and the smirk that grew in the corner of his mouth.

“Dickhead,” she chuckled, nudging his shoulder.

They weren’t the last to reach the briefing room, Soap followed along close behind them, and the entirety of Bravo Company was seated before the briefing was due to start. Price gave a run down of what they already knew and then gestured to Jules with an upturned palm.

“Our resident recon specialist has been working on locations. What’ve you got for us, Tiger?”

Jules stood and pressed the remote that turned on the large screen fixed to one of the walls, making sure it mirrored her tablet. She projected the flyover of the valleys that she’d been searching earlier, and then made the video freeze on an image of the fortress.

“There’s an old fortress just outside this village. Looks abandoned but there’s vehicle marks around it. Too many for somethin’ so far away from tourist trails. That’s where they’re hidin’.”

“Sounds promising,” Price nodded his approval. “Ghost, what d’you reckon?”

The Lieutenant dragged his eyes away from the screen to face his Captain.

“Looks like a fairly simple op to me. In and out. Get Delta Company in to clean up.” He jerked his chin upward, already expecting everyone to concur.

“Agreed,” Price said. “Soap, you’re…sorry Sergeant Kelsall, you got something to add?” he raised his eyebrow at the sound of Jules clearing her throat.

“Yeah, it’s the locals, Sir,” she said, mentally steeling herself against the Captain’s laser-sharp scrutiny. “It’s too much of a risk to them if we go mob-handed an’ all guns blazin’.”

“Negative, Captain.” Ghost interjected as he planted his feet more firmly on the floor and folded his arms across his chest. “The intel we’d gain is worth the potential casualties.”

Jules planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I have to disagree. These people aren’t involved with this organisation. They need to be protected as much as possible.”

Ghost let out a derive scoff and rolled his eyes. “Just what we needed,” he tutted. “A bleedin’ heart sympathist. We’ve got a job to do.”

Jules turned her head slowly and glared at Ghost with thinly veiled contempt.

“If ye weren’t my Lieutenant I’d call you a cunt,” she snapped, ignoring the snorts of amused disbelief from the rest of the squad. “It’s nothin’ to do wi’ that. If I thought the juice was worth the squeeze I’d say go for it, but it's not.”

She tapped on her tablet a few times and the display on the large screen behind the Captain changed to a view of the settlement. “These villagers have been feeding us intel for months. They don’t trust easily. If we put them in harm’s way then they’ll never let us back in and we’ll have lost a valuable source.”

“You’ve got a fair point there Tiger,” Price admitted, ponderously. “What do you suggest?”

“We need to be subtle about it,” Jules pressed. “There’s an abandoned settlement in the next valley. I can contact our guys closest to the area, get a base set up, an’ then we can recce from there.” She went to tap on her tablet again but paused and looked at Price. “If you don’t mind, Sir, I took the liberty of writin’ up a plan.”

“Go for it,” he nodded.

Jules pinged the mission overview onto the large screen so that everyone could read the details. There were mutterings of agreement from the rest of Bravo Company, and even Ghost raised his eyebrow in surprise at the detail in Jules’ work.

“Alright Tiger, you’ve got me convinced,” Price said, stroking his hand across his beard. “Get in touch with your contact and get the ops base sorted. I’ll have a look over this in more detail and we’ll reconvene at 1600hrs to finalise. Johnny, Roach, you’re the kit men. Gaz, get onto transport. I want to be in the air by 0800 tomorrow.

There was a chorus of “affirmitive”, “aye, Sir,” and “on it,” from the squad.

With a nod from Price, the three teammates were dismissed to their various tasks, leaving the Captain with his Lieutenant and Jules, who had returned to her tablet and was tapping away distractedly.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any way of seeing inside that fortress, Kelsall? A floor plan or something?” Price asked.

“Just sent you over the schematics, Sir,” she said, the corner of her mouth twisting up into a smile as glanced up from her screen.

“Do I want to know how you managed to get your hands on those?”

“Prob’ly not,” she admitted, “but if y’get a call from the Dushiki Government archives just act natural.”

Price snickered and appraised the Sergeant with growing affection, the glow from her tablet picking out the frown of concentration on her face. He looked across at Ghost then, who had been characteristically silent since his earlier snarky comments to Jules, and was surprised to see an expression of outright admiration on the face of the usually stoic soldier.

Speaking aloud, as if he hadn’t seen a thing, Price walked around the table to his own tablet, picking it up and scanning the information displayed there.

“Gonna put Johnny and Roach on perimeter, Gaz can take the East side with me so that leaves you two on the West.”

Jules looked up sharply, barely managing to school her face into something resembling blandess.

“Is that gonna be a problem?” Price asked, looking at Jules but addressing both of them.

“Not fer me, Sir,” she gritted.

“Ghost?” Price tried, but his second in command was still lost in his reverie. “Hey…Lieutenant.”

Ghost almost jumped, his eyes flying to Price as his brain registered the question.

“Negative,” he finally replied. “No problems here.”

“Good, get on with it then,” Price dismissed them and turned his attention back to his tablet as he rubbed his fingers over his moustache and muttered under his breath.

Jules nodded her acknowledgement and made her way through the door, her pace slower than normal as she continued to read her screen, but she stiffened as she heard Ghost’s voice calling to her.

“Hold up Ju-Sergeant,” he corrected himself.

“What?” She said abruptly, barely sparing him a glance.

“Bit out of your pay grade, to come up with a deployment plan, innit? Then again, once a swot…” There was a teasing tone to his words that Jules immediately interpreted as mockery.

“Maybe in this squad,” she replied, her face growing flush, “but in the SRR we were expected to contribute.”

“We’re not the SRR.”

“That’s painfully obvious,” she snarked back, one hand resting on her hip as she pointedly looked him up and down.

Ghost huffed out a sigh and scratched at the back of his neck. “Look, do you need me to check-”

“Check my work?” Jules said incredulously. “Nice t’know y’ve got confidence in your team, Lieutenant. Would y’ve asked Gaz that? Or Soap? Didn’t think so.”

“I didn't mean it like that,” he tried.

“Yeah ye did. Is it because you think you know me? ‘Cause if it is then you thought wrong. I’ve been doin’ this shit for nearly ten years an’ I ain’t had any complaints about ma deployment prep so far.”

“No, just about yer ability to follow orders. Yer file said as much.” He couldn’t help but push her just that little bit further.

“Oh, ya can read? Clever lad. For a while there y’had me wonderin’. Now I know you just ignored ma letters an’ messages on purpose,” she seethed with her jaw set.

She was furious once more and the act of trying to keep it bottled up inside made her chin tremble and her eyes began to water even as they flashed with anger. Not wanting him to think he’d made her cry, Jules turned on her heel and stalked off down the corridor towards the mess.

“I read ‘em all,” he muttered quietly, but she’d already retreated too far away to hear him.

Slipping into the seemingly empty mess, Jules rested her back against the wall and sniffled loudly. Frustrated with herself for letting her emotions get the better of her, she wiped away an errant tear with the back of her hand and took a shaky breath. The door beside opened once more and Jules steeled herself for another confrontation with the Lieutenant but it was Gaz who entered. He started at the sight of her, clearly not expecting anyone to be there, but then his expression changed into one of concern as he noticed her red-rimmed eyes.

“What’s happened?” he asked gently, which only served to encourage another tear to slip down Jules’s cheek.

“Nothin’ really,” she shrugged, swiping away the evidence of her emotions. “I’m not upset, I’m-” She let out a dry chuckle at Gaz’s obvious disbelief. “I’m not! I’m actually fumin’. This is just anger leakin’ out of my eyes,” she gestured to her face.

“Let me guess…” Gaz began, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his now-frowning face cockily towards her in a passable impression of Ghost.

His tactic worked and Jules began to laugh in earnest.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “Can’t ever let ‘em see you cry though. They might think you actually care.”

“Come here,” Gaz said, slinging his arm around her shoulder and squeezing tightly. “Chin up, you’ve got this. Just try not to deck him again, yeah?”

* * * * *

It was almost dark by the time Jules made it out of the computer rooms at college but Rachel still waited for her by the entrance. A cold wind whipped around her legs and she pulled her coat tighter across her chest, her head bowed down as she hooked her arm through Rachel’s and tugged her friend towards the bus stop.

“You comin’ to mine?” she asked but Rachel replied in the negative.

“Nah, I can’t tonight. I gotta pick our Gary up from the childminder’s.”

“Fair enough,” Jules said, pulling a face.

“Oi, Kelsall,” a harsh voice squawked and Jules turned to find a small gaggle of girls stalking towards them.

Squinting her eyes against the wind she realised all too soon who had called her name.

“Givin’ me dirties now too eh? Cheeky bitch,” Debbie snapped, coming to stand before Jules, her hip popped and her head tilted to the side as she crossed her arms under her chest.

“Alright Debbie? What’s up?” Jules tried warily.

“What’s up? I’ll tell yeh what’s up, yeh little slag…” Her head bobbed aggressively as she gesticulated wildly.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jules interrupted, holding up her hands. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on but yer not talkin’ to me like that.”

“I’ll talk to yeh however I want seein’ as yeh think it’s ok to shag mi fella behind mi back.”

“Hang on a minute,” Rachel interjected. “What fella? You don’t mean Simon do yeh?”

“Who else would I mean? This little tart’s been ‘anging after ‘im fer ages. It’s pathetic,” Debbie sneered.

“You shagged Simon Riley?!” Rachel exclaimed, turning to Jules with a look of excitement and surprise.

“No, I didn’t,” Jules hissed, “we just…messed around a bit after the taxi dropped us off last week.”

“Get in,” Rachel grinned, giving Jules a high five.

“That’s not what I heard,” Debbie snapped, stepping closer to Jules. “You were all over ‘im like a rash. You need tuh find yer own fella an’ leave mine alone, fuckin’ slag.”

“Alright, that’s enough.’ Jules said, her voice low and even as she squared up to Debbie, staring her straight in the eye. “Number one, I’m not shaggin’ Simon bloody Riley, and number two, even if I were it wouldn’t matter coz he ain’t your fella anyway. He sacked you off coz you let Skinny Mike get in your knickers round the back of the chippy. Everyone knows so there’s no point in tryin’ to say it didn’t ‘appen. Just fuck off and leave me alone.”

With one last, angry glare, Jules turned her back to Debbie and, grabbing Rachel’s arm again, began to stride away.

“You know what?” Debbie called after her, her voice laced with malice. “Yer welcome to ‘im, he’s a scrubber anyway with his cheap shit clothes and fake trainers. He’s got that many bruises, I bet he’s a skag-head.”

Jules froze for a split second, just long enough for Rachel to tighten her hold on her elbow before she was turning once more. Ripping her arm out of her friend’s grip, Jules tore across the pavement and launched herself at the grinning girl, whose eyes widened in surprise at the ferocity of Jules’ attack.

“Say that again.” Jules screeched. “Say it again, I fuckin’ DARE you.”

The two girls scrabbled on the floor in a mess of flying fists and clawed fingers. Blood was smeared across both their faces by the time their mates managed to tear them apart and Debbie was dragged away surrounded by her gaggle. Jules tried to go after her but Rachel’s arm around her heaving shoulders was enough to cause her to halt. She spat after Debbie’s retreating back and then raised a hand to probe at a tender spot on her temple.

“She didn’t get any of mi hair, did she?” Jules asked sheepishly.

“Nah, mate,” but yer gonna have a few decent bruises tomorrow.”

“I’m not cryin’, you know,” Jules sniffled, wiping the back of her hand gingerly across her eyes.

“I know,” Rachel nodded.

“I’m just fumin’.”

“I know,” Rachel said again, a broad grin slowly creeping across her face. “You know what else though?”

“What?”

“You snogged Simon Riley.”

“Yeah I did,” Jules began to giggle, which turned into a laugh and, by the time the bus arrived the two girls were crying together, arms wrapped so tightly around their bellies they could barely put their clipper cards into the machine.

Rachel had been right. By the next morning Jules’ eye had developed a deep purple bruise beneath it and there were some angry-looking claw marks across the side of her jaw. Thankful that it was Saturday and she wouldn’t have to brave the questions at college, Jules had stuck around in her room until her Mum had left for work and then trudged downstairs to make herself some breakfast and a brew. Of course it was just her luck that there was a tap on the back door and it opened to reveal the one person she really didn’t want to see.

A faint blush crept its way up Simon’s neck when he realised Jules was standing in the kitchen. They hadn’t seen each other since that night out and neither of them really knew how to react around the other. As his eyes finally found their way to her face he hissed in a breath at the state of her.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell Jules, what happened?”

“Nothin’,” she mumbled, dipping her head.

“That don’t look like nothin’,” he pressed, closing the door behind him and moving further into the kitchen.

“She had a fight with that Debbie,” Rob said from the hallway. “Apparently Debbie took the worst of it. Dunno why she’d wanna cause trouble wi’ you tho, eh Jules?”

Jules’ eyes whipped up to meet Simon’s and they shared a look of panic but Rob remained oblivious.

“She’ll know better than to pick on a Kellsall, won’t she,” Rob said, slipping his arm around Jules’ shoulder and squeezing her tight.

“Yeah well,” Jules muttered, staring at Simon over the rim of her mug, “I ain’t havin’ anyone slaggin’ off me or mine.”

Taglist: @aykxz98 @spicyspicyliving

#call of duty #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost x oc #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #john price #john soap mactavish #soap cod #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick

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foap-enjoyer · 1 year ago

Text

Drugging | Sick | Poisoned

Sick.

'Soap thinks he's got just a simple cold. Nope. Anyway, cue blizzard safehouse one bed trope because I'm lazy'

Trigger warnings for this prompt: Vomit. Ships for this prompt: Sort of the start of Ghoap? Ghost is very affectionate, more or less.

The one my lovely tumblr people voted on all those days ago! :)

Read it here, on AO3: Ouch. - Chapter 5 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

Missions in Russian mountains were becoming way too common.

At least, that’s what Soap thought.

There were positives to mountain missions, he supposed. There were positives to everything. A beautiful view; clean, fresh, untouched air. Sometimes, on long missions, he would even see rare wildlife, animals which had never seen a human before. They would peer at him through the brush, eyes bright and curious. Sometimes, some would even come over, eat a bite of whatever he had on offer before scrambling away. He liked those pros.

But the cons? Well those fucking sucked. The cold, firstly. The cold sucked- oh, and don’t forget the lack of signal, which meant no far-lined comms, no phones, no nada. Just him, his team, and a shit ton of snow, usually for days at a time. It could drive even the most social of men insane.

Oh, and to top it off, as a little added bonus for this mission, because that’s just how he rolls- he was sick. Not super sick, mind you. It’d started off as a cold, when he’d woken up pre-mission. At least, he assumed it was. Itchy throat, ugly cough, his usual first symptoms.

In his childhood, he would have curled up into a tiny, sniffling ball and let his mammy hold him, and soothe the pain away just with her touch. But now, he was a fully grown man. A grown man who worked in a job that, unlike being a student in school, would not tolerate a day off. Especially for something as small as a cold.

So, brushing his teeth, tying his laces, and grabbing his bag, he went out to face the day head on. Like a soldier would.

He really wished he was still seven, still at home with his mum.

This… cold was no fucking cold. This was a parasite worming its way into every orifice of his body, a disease spreading through his blood, an alien forcing itself inside his chest, taking control of every nerve and joint and muscle until he was nothing but mush.

Fucking cold his ass. If this was a cold, maybe it was time to retire, because he clearly was getting too old for this shit.

The harshness of the Russian wilderness didn’t help his case one bit.

They’d landed at their respective drop-off points. Price and Gaz were on the complete opposite side of the mountains to him and Ghost, and the plan was to meet in the middle, where he and Gaz would infiltrate the government-owned set of buildings as Price and Ghost ran overwatch on the outskirts. A simple enough plan, until the blizzard hit.

“You’re telling me that higher-ups can plan entire wars to a T, if they wanted to, but they can’t check the fucking weather?”

That was Gaz, voice static-y through the comms. He sounded pissed, and of course he was, he was allowed to, given their situation. Hell, Soap was too. Price sighed, and Soap could imagine him rolling his eyes at the younger man, “There’s nothing we can do about it, Sergeant, so quit whining. Ghost?”

Ghost was behind him, using his path through the heaps of snow surrounding them to guide himself, and his sniper-kit through the rocky terrain. He could hear the man grunt as he lugged the heavy bag over a large rock in their path. “Yeah, Cap?”

“There should be a little safehouse just a few klicks North of your position. Fancy taking a wander over there? Can’t do shit if this storm keeps up like this.”

Ghost grasped Soap’s shoulder, altering his course slightly up the hill, rather than downwards. Soap’s knees wobbled with exhaustion, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Back up they go. “We’ll take a look. What’re you two doing?”

“Cap’s looking now, says there’s a cave nearby.” Gaz huffed out a laugh, “At least you guys get an actual house.”

Soap chuckled softly, his teeth chattering together like a talkative parrot, “Send me a pic if you find a bear in there, Kyle, would you? You know they’re my favourite animal.”

“Will do, prick.”

The comms silenced soon after. Soap assumed it was because, like them, Gaz and Price were having to hike a while to get to their location. The mountains weren’t the steepest, deadliest of mountains, but in a blizzard as bad as this one, you needed full concentration.

The wind was at its peak now, whistling through the canyons of the snowy wilderness, spiking him right through his clothing with its cold crystals of air and ice. If it weren’t for his deathly grip onto the passing uncovered roots of mountain-grown trees, he’s certain he would have fallen right off of the cliff-face by now.

He felt numb, his whole body was ice-cold. He was trembling, at least, which was a good thing. Meant his body was still working. Ghost was still behind him, lagging behind slightly, preoccupied with lugging his bags as well as checking their location. When he’d last trusted himself enough to look back, the man had been busy checking a little grey piece of technology, the blue light reflecting in his snow-white mask.

He knew that the little ipod-like thing hadn’t initially been supposed to be used to find this supposed safehouse, but rather help Ghost angle himself correctly when it came to overwatch protection. For later in the mission. At least higher-ups had been courteous enough to give them some form of direction in case of an emergency.

“Should be over this last hill!” Ghost startled him with his shout, even if he barely heard it over the wind. A hand clasped his shoulder when he stumbled, startled, and he could see a gloved finger in his peripheral, pointing in said direction. When Ghost spoke next, his voice was in his ear. “Through those trees.”

He nodded.

Another twenty, maybe thirty minutes, and they finally, finally came upon the house. If he was honest, it was more of a glorified shed, maybe. At least from a distance. No windows, one door, a little wooden building sat nestled between a few cut-down stumps of previous trees. Maybe the wood used to make it? Probably.

The door had been locked, but a sharp boot to the lock had solved that issue. Their fingers were too numb to pick the lock anyway.

Inside, it wasn’t too bad. There was a little fireplace, a sofa- actually no, it was a pullout sofa-bed, actually. In the other room, the only other room, a tiny kitchen. That was it, really. It wasn’t the worst safehouse he’d seen (he’d give that to the one he’d stumbled into, half stabbed, in Romania a few years back), but it wasn’t the best either. It didn’t even have a bathroom!

Ghost got to work as soon as the door was closed behind them. He shuffled forward, dumping his kit on the floor as he began shedding his clothes piece-by-piece, dumping them onto the back of the sofa-bed. He was in the middle of taking his shoes off before he peered up at Soap, confused. “Johnny?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Clothes.”

He blinked again, before nodding, fingers trembling, fumbling for his coat’s zipper, “Yeah, gotcha.”

“No inappropriate joke today, Sergeant?”

He shook his head tiredly, “Too fuckin’ cold, LT.”

A soft huff of a laugh, and Ghost placed his boots against a nearby wall, tugging his soggy, icy mask off. Frost clung to his eyelashes, and calloused fingers rubbed at them. Once the majority of the white was gone from the hairs, Ghost’s eyes were on him again, eyebrow curled, “Soap?”

Oh. He was staring again. He shook his head, going back to fumbling with his stuff. “Sorry.”

If Ghost was worried, he didn’t say anything about it. “I’m gonna go look at the kitchen for some food.” He said instead, “You get the fire going when you can. You’re right, it’s fucking freezing.”

He watched as the man turned his back and waltzed into the kitchen. Which, technically, was simply an extension of the living room. All that separated them was a tiny archway, after all.

Once he finally got his coat off, and tossed onto the floor, was when his body began to fail him.

“Ghost…?”

“Yeah?” Ghost turned, peering at him from the other room, his eyes dark in the dim lighting of the safehouse. “What’s up?”

“I don’t…” He swallowed harshly. The room was beginning to spin violently, and he reached a hand out desperately to clutch onto the nearest object, that being the sofa. “I don’t feel so good…”

“Johnny?” Ghost’s voice was starting to fade out as he fought to keep himself upright.

Something was buzzing under his skin, warm and itchy. Sweat pooled against his neck. He had been cold only a moment ago, freezing, even… What was wrong with him? “Simon?”

A hand on his shoulder, “I’m here.”

“I think…” His stomach coiled, and he squeezed his eyes shut with a soft hiccup, “‘m gonna be sick.”

“Alright, alright.” Simon’s hands wrapped around him, guiding him forward, towards the small kitchen. But as soon as his hand released its deathly grip on the sofa, Soap’s knees gave in.

He would have hit the floor if it weren’t for Simon, who took his weight with a grunt, barely managing to move them forward off of carpet and onto tile before Soap vomited.

“Easy, Johnny,” He could hear Simon attempt to soothe as he retched, fully held up in the older man’s arms. He felt limp, boneless, “Easy.”

His world continued to spin violently as he heaved, the cold tile on his knees sharply contrasting the horrible burning sensation consuming him whole. He whimpered, trying to squirm away from the heat inside him. Simon just held him tighter. “It’ll be over soon.”

“I-” He retched again, dry heaving over a steadily growing pile of vomit. His eyes stung, and he choked on a sob. “Fuck-”

A hand pressed into his forehead. “You’re burning up…” Simon muttered softly, “Fuck, Johnny, why didn’t you tell me?”

He hiccuped, turning to press his head under the crook of Simon’s neck. He was crying, he could feel the familiar wet warmth soaking into the fabric of Simon’s shirt. He wanted to apologise, but breathing was hard enough at the minute. His hands, trembling, clutched onto Simon wherever he could get a good grip, circling around the man’s back, holding tight.

He swore a kiss pressed into his hair. He swore it. “You’re alright, I got you.” Simon’s voice was firm, and yet it was laced with worry. They were both hardened soldiers, he shouldn’t be sobbing like this over a simple sickness. It had to be something more, right? After a moment, “Do you still feel sick?”

He shook his head.

“Okay.” Simon took a moment to think, to breathe. Soap. “Okay. I’m going to move you to the sofa, and then clean this up. Think you can move?”

He shook his head again. His knees felt like jelly, if he got up, he’d most definitely fall right back down.

“It’s alright,” Simon murmured, “I’ll carry you.”

With a quick rearrange of arms, followed by a soft grunt, Simon lifted him up. Instinctively, Soap clutched close, squeezing his eyes shut once more as his head spun. As soon as Simon settled him onto the sofa only inches away, he brought a hand up to his mouth, dry heaving into his palm once more. No vomit, this time.

A hand rubbed at his back. “Easy.” A hand in his hair. He leaned against it tiredly as Simon helped him lean backwards onto the old cushions. “Just breathe. It’ll help.”

As soon as he was sitting comfortably, the hands were gone. His eyes cracked open, looking around. Simon had just… disappeared.

“Si’?” He croaked, anxiety coiling. He hadn’t heard him leave, where was he? “Right here.” A damp cloth touched his forehead, and moments later the man was back in view, kneeling down in front of him. A bowl was given to Soap, settled in his lap neatly. “If you’re sick again.”

“Oh.” He rasped. Yeah, of course Simon would think to go grab something.

A glass of water was offered next. His hands reached out shakily to take it, but Simon didn’t let go, instead holding the glass steady as Soap brought it to his lips, taking small sips. He pulled it away a moment later. “Not too much.” He reminded Soap, “It’ll make you throw up.”

He hummed tiredly. “I know.”

“Now you’re not puking your guts up.” The glass was placed onto a nearby old, dusty coffee table. Simon’s eyes were on him not long after. “Care to explain why you thought it was a good idea to come out on a mission when you were feeling like shit?”

“I didn’t feel bad this morning.” Which was true. Sort of. It’d, mostly, come on suddenly. “Once I felt sick, we were already off.”

“You could’ve still told someone.” Simon’s voice was soft, but firm. “Price, Gaz, me, hell, even the pilots. Anyone, Soap.”

“Sorry.” He whispered tiredly. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“I can’t get a hold of Price.” That woke him a little. “Signal’s shit. Blizzard is practically snowing us in, I think.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Simon sighed, hand reaching up to brush some blonde, stray strands behind his ear. “But we’ve got a while before we’ll need to check back in. So, we’ll just hunker down. Feel like eating?”

He shook his head. Simon’s eyes softened. “You need to, Johnny.”

He shook his head again, eyes drooping slightly. “‘M tired.”

“Alright.” Simon relented, biting his lip. “Alright. I’ll… We can eat later?”

He nodded. That worked.

“You take the sofa,” Simon went to move, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

He reached out, grasping his wrist. “We can share.” He murmured, exhausted. “It’s a sofa-bed.”

“Yeah, like a single bed.” The older man huffed, “I can take the floor.”

He didn’t let go of the man’s wrist. Simon didn’t pull away, either. “Just sleep here.” He yawned, “‘S easier.”

There was a pause, before a soft; “You’re not gonna puke on me, are you?”

He chuckled, eyes already closed, “Only if you snore.”

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