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rememberwren · 7 months ago

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Complicated Pleasures

OR: Home Videos. You (fem!reader) and Ghost have been married for years when your prodigal friend Johnny finds out that you make and post porn together. Feelings happen. 13k

About this: m/m, f/m, oral f and m receiving, anal sex, PIV, kink, pornography, sir kink, slight objectification, objectionable writing, soft!simon, very soft fic altogether, cum sharing.

((A video begins.

A bed in a tidy room. Identifying features have been hidden: pictures placed face down on the nightstands, blinds drawn tight until the room is cast in a cool glow. A woman sits amongst the nondescript bedspread and sheets, her legs tucked up against her chest and arms wrapped around her thighs, naked except for the mask that does little to truly obscure her face.

Once she knows the video has begun, it is like she blooms, arms and legs falling away to reveal the soft petals of her nakedness: the plains of her body, the angles and curves. She’s near perfect, Soap thinks, already fisting his hard cock.

She looks almost exactly like you.

Then a man walks around from the other side of the camera, and Soap’s heart leaves his body.))

“Johnny!” you say brightly, throwing open the front door. In streams the cold air and bright sunshine reflecting off the snow, and in steps Johnny with snowflakes in his hair and on the shoulders of his coat, gifts wrapped in bright shades of gold and silver tucked beneath one of his arms.

He stomps his feet, boots shedding packed snow on the doormat, and leans in to deposit the gifts a safe distance away so that he can open his arms and gather you up in them. Your fingers tangle in his jacket, holding him close. He is warm even after coming in from the snow, his scent like Christmas itself: woodsy pine and crackling fires. You feel Simon’s presence appear in the living room doorway and begin to pull away, trying not to hog his friend, even if you desperately want to.

“Lookit you, bonnie as ever,” Johnny says against your ear. He lets you go, bending down to unlace his boots and call a greeting to Simon: “I see you brooding over there, LT. Happy Christmas to yeh.”

“No titles at Christmas, Johnny.”

“Yessir.”

“You didn’t need to bring gifts,” you scold him.

“Of course I did—it’s fucking Christmas,” says Johnny with a grin as he straightens. He passes you the gifts, a small package and a larger one, each wrapped by a practiced hand that you sense must not have been Johnny’s own. You wonder if there isn’t a girl in his life now—except you and Simon had extended the invitation to one, if so. Why he wouldn’t have brought her, you couldn’t understand.

Maybe his mum wrapped the gifts.

Simon and Johnny clasp hands which turns into a hug. Watching them together makes the dust settle in some riotous part of your heart. The two of them—their friendship—just makes perfect sense in its improbability.

Simon mutters something under his breath and Johnny nods, burying his face deeper into Simon’s broad shoulder. You have the perfect vantage point of Johnny’s face: his eyes squeezed shut, long lashes resting on his cheeks.

A timer in the kitchen goes off—the roast you’ve been cooking since the early morning hours. Excusing yourself, you disappear into the kitchen, pausing just beyond the doorway to press your chilly hands to your flushed cheeks.

Wine. You needed wine.

“So,” you begin once the three of you have sat down for dinner. “Fill us in, Johnny. What have you been up to?”

The unsaid words linger between you all, What have you been up to during the three years you left? Johnny gives a wane smile, and you think that maybe the time spent apart didn’t serve him nearly as well as he’d hoped it would—however he’d hoped it would. Simon sits at the head of the table, his ankle tangled against your own beneath the oak. It’s a comforting reminder of his presence, considering he lets you and Johnny do most of the talking for now.

“Whole lot o’ nothing,” Johnny says, sipping at the wine in his glass between sentences. “Traveled abroad fer a while. Spent some time in America, some time in South Korea.”

“Sounds like a nice place to meet people,” you say, aiming for subtlety the way a sledgehammer might. “I notice you didn’t take us up on our invitation and bring a lass with you.”

“No lass to bring, hen,” he says smoothly.

Simon’s ankle stirs against your own, some silent attempt at communication. When you glance over toward him, his eyes are on his plate, face stoic, revealing nothing.

“Any lads?” you guess.

Simon’s fork squeaks against his plate. Johnny stops eating. For a moment they both stare at you in shocked silence. Then a grin spreads over Johnny’s handsome face, blooming straight into laughter. He shakes his head, like you have said something very silly.

“No, no lads,” he says.

Simon’s ankle shifts again.

You reach for your glass of wine, face hot—

—and you don’t stop drinking.

Afternoon turns into evening, and by the time night falls, the three of you have drunk your way through three bottles of wine and successfully caught each other up on your lives to date. Simon and Johnny have slipped out onto the porch twice to smoke, bringing back in the scent of tobacco and snow, one you don’t mind at all. The fire in the fireplace burns low, crackling and spitting as the log splits. The room is strewn with torn gift wrapping. Simon has already unboxed the knife Johnny had made for him, testing its weight in his palm, testing the sharpness of the blade against the pad of his thumb. (Add that to the list of things which shouldn’t arouse you about Simon but do.)

It reminds you of the idyllic Christmases that you had reached for all your life and only ever skimmed with your fingers. You should have known that the missing piece was Johnny all along.

Wine drunk, you have kicked your feet up on Johnny’s lap at one end of the couch and curled your upper half on Simon’s lap at the other end. It is easy to fall asleep to the warm lull of their voices, swapping stories from their time in the military together.

But all at once, the subject matter changes, and it drags you from the threshold of sleep into some misty gray area in between a dream and wakefulness. Eyes still closed, you listen.

“I found you both, you know.” Johnny’s voice is barely more than a whisper, difficult to hear over the crackling fire.

“Don’t know what you mean, Johnny. We’re right here.”

“I found your videos.”

Your hands tighten into fists where you are clutching Simon’s shirt, eyes cracking open as you put the pieces together in your mind. But he’s smoother than you are, always able to keep a cool head. He sounds a little bored, a little confused as he asks: “What videos?”

“Never known you to play dumb LT. You know the ones I mean. The porn.”

A lengthy silence as Simon weighs his options and likely decides that there’s no use in lying. “You did, did you?”

“Aye.”

A pause.

“So that’s why you finally came back. Three fucking years she begs you to at least come for Christmas—who knew all it would take was a little pornography to put a fire under your arse.”

“That’s not—didn’t even find it until a few days ago, after I’d already said yes—“ Johnny says, voice rising in his defense.

“Careful. We don’t want to wake her up, do we?” Simon’s hand pets against your hair, softer than a kiss from the wind. Though he must know you’re awake, you’re grateful that he lets you pretend, lets you hide away while he handles this. “If she knew that you’d seen those videos, she’d be embarrassed. That would make me upset. You understand?”

“Aye,” he says, lowering his voice a little. He rests his hand against your ankle in his lap and then decides it’s not appropriate, shifts his hand back to his own thigh. You miss his touch. You’ve always missed Johnny’s touch more than you should miss the touch of your husband’s best friend. “But if you didn’t want people to see them, I don’t understand what you were thinkin’ posting them online.”

“Three guesses. No, go on. Never known you to be shy. Guess.”

Johnny wets his lips. “You didn’t think you’d be recognized.”

“There’s one.”

“You…you like it.”

“There’s two. Give us a third.”

“She likes it.”

You groan a little in embarrassment, turning your face away from where Johnny can see its profile, burying it in Simon’s lap. He’s hard, a fact you only realize when his jean-clad cock rubs against your cheek. You go still, eyes widening as this knowledge goes straight to the warmth that’s been stoked between your legs more often than the fireplace has tonight.

Simon’s hand finds the nape of your neck and rests there, keeping you still and quiet. It reminds you of your last video, when he had taken you from behind and put his hand on the nape of your neck to urge your face into the bed, his hips snapping against your ass. Where had the camera been, then? You couldn’t remember. That was Simon’s one rule, besides the masks and never saying each other’s names: don’t look into the camera.

“So what do you plan to do with this knowledge, Johnny?” Simon asks. You hold your breath, still feigning sleep. “Who do you plan to tell? You know I don’t have anyone left who would give a fuck, but I’m sure you could find someone for her—someone who could shame her and make her feel bad for trying to feel good. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck no. I’d not tell a soul,” says Johnny fiercely. His hand comes to rest on your ankle again. This time he leaves it, thumb brushing the bone. “I swear it.”

“Then why bring it up at all?”

“I…I don’t know,” Johnny admits, head ducking. “I just had to. Spending time with yeh both, knowing what I knew—it felt dishonest.”

Simon hums. “You know what I’d like to know?”

“What’s that?”

“What our single friend was doing looking at couples porn.”

The night ends quickly after that. Simon carries you to bed—the bed where you film so much of the porn that Johnny has apparently seen—and helps you begin undressing while Johnny gets his boots on in the other room.

“I’m so embarrassed,” you breathe, quiet so that Johnny could not overhear if he happened to be standing right outside the door. Your head is spinning, and only partly from all the wine. Your face burns. Your heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Johnny has seen the videos, the ones you and Simon cheekily dub ‘home movies’! God, how you will ever face him again is beyond you.

“Give me the word and I’ll throw him out,” says Simon. “We’ll never see him again.”

That makes a sick feeling rise up in the back of your throat. You look up at Simon and take in the somber, angry-adjacent expression on his face, and you know that he is serious. Simon never says a word that he doesn’t mean. But you can hear what he didn’t say, the words unspoken: it would kill him to do it. All their years spent watching each other’s backs, it would be hard to stab Johnny’s and leave him in the cold. Especially after the bliss of just getting him back.

You don’t want that. Not for Simon, not for Johnny. Not even for you.

“I like Johnny,” you affirm. “I just don’t know how I’ll face him.”

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. He’s the pervert looking in through our window.”

“We’re the perverts fucking with the blinds wide open,” you remind him.

“I’ll see him out. Finish getting undressed,” he says, disappearing through the doorway. You hear the warm timber of his voice matched by Johnny’s and the sound of the front door opening. Two sets of boots crunch through snow, and now the voices are so far away that you can’t even make out their tone, much less their words.

Stripping the last of your clothes off, you roll onto your belly and bury your face in your pillow. Tonight had been going so well. It was hard to believe how far off course things had become. What was Johnny doing looking for couples porn anyhow?

You roll back over, staring into the darkness of the ceiling. The answer was simple: because it would get him off. It didn’t matter if it was tentacles to titjobs. He’d more than likely been looking up porn while he jerked off.

Had he realized right away that it was you and Simon and turned the video off in disgust? Or had it taken a moment for it to sink in? Had he cared at all?

Or had he jerked off instead? You realize you are rubbing your thighs together belatedly and force yourself into stillness.

The front door opens, Simon stomping inside and taking off his boots. When he joins you in bed, his cheeks are still cold, mouth minty from hastily brushing his teeth of tobacco and wine. You lean in and kiss him, looking for comfort. He kisses back, sweeping his tongue through your mouth, sucking on your lower lip.

“I’m not in the mood tonight,” you whisper when you both part, not necessarily out of truthfulness, but because you feel like you shouldn’t be in the mood.

“Wasn’t expecting anything.”

You lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heart. Your embarrassment is a little lessened now, abated by the calm that Simon exudes from his pores. It’s hard to believe that anything in the world could go wrong that Simon couldn’t handle with a twist of his hand or a few choice words. After a while, you glance up to find him still awake, staring into the darkness of the room. He meets your eyes and gives you one of his rare, wane smiles.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

After a moment of silence, he says: “Our next video.”

((AMATEUR COUPLE: WAKING UP MY WIFE WITH MORNING SEX. Soap knows that he shouldn’t click on the link. The first time was an honest mistake, but anything afterwards is intentional—and unforgivable. If Ghost were to find out…Soap doesn’t even want to think about it.

Except why would it be wrong for Soap to do it but right for a bunch of strangers?

He doesn’t need to look down to know his cock is hard. Against his better judgement—or any judgement at all, really—he clicks the link. The video starts with Ghost in the frame, completely naked. He’s seen LT naked often enough (it’s unavoidable in such close quarters as they have shared) but he’s never looked, not like this.

Time has barely changed him. He is still fitter than any man has the right to be, thick with muscles that are for functionality and not just for show—though the show is still impressive.

While he’d always known that Ghost would be a sight to behold, seeing it in this context cements a fact in his brain, one that had sent him running years prior: he’s attracted to his closest friend. All the bad flirting disguised as taking the piss back when they were in the 141—it wasn’t just taking the piss. Not for Soap, at least.

In the video, Ghost exits the frame and crosses to the other side of the bed. He’s not wearing a mask this time but the upper half of his face remains solidly out of frame until it is offscreen again. You are positioned closest to the camera, laying on your side facing the audience. Your face isn’t visible, but your breasts are once Ghost draws the blankets down, down, and then down far enough to reveal your closed thighs.

Fuck, Soap wants to see your cunt. He grips his cock tightly and squeezes, watching raptly as Ghost loops an arm over you and begins to softly tease your nipples. Soap slips a hand up his shirt and thumbs at a nipple of his own, wishing it was the other man’s touch. His cock leaks where it lies thickly against his belly as he watches his former lieutenant tease you, trace figures over your naked body, and at last slip a hand between your thighs, working one of your legs over back of his own. Now Soap can see just a trace of your slit, so soft. It makes his jaws ache, makes him want Ghost to hold your thighs apart so that he can lick and suck you into a frenzy.

He can tell the exact moment you wake. Your body stiffens, mouth falling open as Ghost sinks two of his fingers inside you. One of your hands reaches down to grip at your husband’s forearm as you scramble into wakefulness.

“Good morning,” Ghost says.))

The doorbell sounds, telling Simon that Johnny has arrived, but he lets his Sergeant wait out in the cold while the kettle finishes filling. A not-small part of him is still holding a grudge against Johnny for making you so embarrassed. It had taken time for you to come into your own. Courage. The videos had been your idea, whispered in the heat of the moment beneath the cover of darkness—but with time you’d been bold enough to talk about them over dinner. To read the comments with him and laugh. To watch the videos and end up in bed all over again.

Now he could see the hesitation in your eyes whenever he pulled out his phone.

Johnny’s expression is its typical one, open, friendly, when Simon opens the door. When he sees Simon, those blue eyes grow wide before he can curb the reaction. Johnny swallows, throat bobbing.

“Hey LT. Lookit you. Laswell really has yeh behind a desk now doesn’t she?” Johnny’s hand reached out like he’s going to touch the tie that still dangles from around Simon’s neck, but he thinks better of it.

Just another hunch of Simon’s proven right.

“What part of no field work confused you?” Simon asks, stepping aside to let Johnny in.

“No confusion. Just didn’t expect yeh to look so…” He trails off, eyes flittering over Simon from his combed hair to his dress shirt stretched tight across his chest to the dress slacks that cling to his thighs. “…fancy.”

“I don’t wear the tie for Laswell’s benefit. But you already knew that.”

Johnny flushes, as good an admission as any. Wisely, he says nothing, following Simon into the kitchen and taking an offered seat at the kitchen island. His eyes flicker around the room, similar to how they had on Christmas. Then, Simon had mistaken it for Johnny taking in the way things had changed—the wallpaper is new, as is the backsplash behind the oven and stove, there are new pictures on the refrigerator—but now Simon suspects that Johnny is remembering. Piecing together backdrops he has seen in their videos.

“The missus home?” Johnny asks, drumming his fingers on the granite.

“No. Work.”

Simon pours tea for two, even though Johnny hates tea, and slides it across the countertop to him. To his benefit, Johnny accepts it without complaint, warming his hands around the mug.

“I told her.”

Johnny doesn’t need to ask what or who—they’ve both been thinking about it since the moment he walked in. Simon watches as his face twists with naked regret. It tells Simon that Johnny really didn’t know that you were only feigning sleep on Christmas.

“Is she angry with me?”

“Embarrassed.”

Johnny looks outraged on your behalf. “She has no reason t’ be!”

Simon shrugs as if to say, This is what your curiosity bought her, Johnny. This is the price she’s paying. Johnny’s shoulders sag under the weight of his own guilt, elbows bracing themselves on the countertop so that he can put his face in his hands.

“Maybe,” says Simon, “it would make more of a difference if she heard it from you.”

Johnny looks up, brow furrowed. “Heard what from me? That I’ve seen her—like that?”

Simon’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “No. That she doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

Johnny turns the idea over in his head. He’s clever, but too blinded by his own desire to see the manipulation for what it is. What does it matter if it’s Simon’s idea or his own? Johnny is dying to talk to you.

“You’d give me her number?”

Simon shrugs.

“Alright,” says Johnny at length, drawing the word out. “I can do that. If you think it will help.”

Simon says nothing, sipping at his tea to hide any smugness behind his cup.

((The video begins in a kitchen, one Johnny has been in many times. You are there, back mostly to the camera, pressed against the granite island countertop. Simon is on the other side of you, consuming all your attention. Steaming Jesus, he’s huge compared to you, huge compared to everyone. He’s dressed in his work attire: dress clothes, dark tie in place. The effect is jarring in contrast with the mask.

Simon reaches up and works his tie loose and off over his head. You tilt your head down a little and on it goes, easy as anything. When Simon turns you to face the camera, the tie dangles between your bare breasts. One hand on the nape of your neck, Simon bends you forward towards the granite and Soap can tell the exact moment his cock slips inside you based on the way your mouth falls open, your eyes squeezing shut behind your own mask.

Soap isn’t sure who he’s jealous of more—you or Simon.))

Simon told me that he told you what I found. I just wanted to message you myself and say how sorry I am if I embarrassed you.

You sigh reading over the text message. Flexing your fingers, you give a quick glance toward where Simon lays dozing with his head against the back of the couch, feet up on the coffee table (the knife he got for Christmas rests on his chest; he’d been toying with it absently for the last half hour) and answer: There’s no reason to apologize. It’s not your fault I’m embarrassed.

It is though, isn’t it? You don’t care that other people see. You just care that I did.

You pause and bite at your nails, thinking over his words and how to respond. He’s mostly right. There had been an aspect of embarrassment at first when you and Simon began posting the videos (and that embarrassment had gotten you off to a certain extent, though it didn’t usually). But eventually that heated shame had melted away into eagerness for the camera. You’d read the comments on the videos, countless human beings talking about the various ways they masturbate to your sex with Simon, talking about the things they wish they could do to you, with you, with Simon.

So why was it so much more embarrassing knowing that Johnny had seen? Because he knew you. Because he’d seen the parts of you that you had purposefully covered up for the camera. No one was meant to see both sides—no one was meant to have all of you. Except for Simon.

But if somebody was going to do it, a small part of you is glad it was Johnny.

You’re Simon’s friend, you message back, curious. Didn’t it feel strange to see us like that?

Honestly? He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Not as strange as I might have thought.

((AMATEUR COUPLE: WIFE PRACTICES HER BLOWJOB SKILLS, the video is aptly titled. You are on your knees, hands tied neatly at the base of your spine. Simon sits at the edge of the bed, camera positioned perpendicular to you both, with a downward angle.

You lean forward and let his hard, flushed cock disappear past your lips deeper, deeper, until you reach the limits of what you can take without preparation or practice. His hand comes down to rest softly against the back of your head as you make yourself gag and choke around the thickest part of his cock. There’s no need to hold you down; Simon doesn’t even bother.

Soap’s jaw aches, desperate for a chance to be on his knees for Ghost like that. He could take more than you—he knows he could. Not that it had to be a competition, not when you both could share a cock that size and barely notice the other was there. He strips his own cock thinking about it, eyes falling shut as he lets the background noise of the video—Simon’s gentle praises, your whines and chokes, the wet gurgles of a throat being fucked—carry him over the edge.))

New Year’s Eve.

The house is full of bodies and laughter. You feel near-delirious with your own joy, never made happier than by the happiness of the people around you. Alejandro and Rodolfo had flown in and were staying in the guest house through the New Year, arriving only yesterday with enough luggage for four between the two of them; Kyle and his girlfriend; John and his wife; Kate and her partner; even Farah and her brother had made a pit stop to spend the evening with you on their way back to Urzikstan from the Americas.

The party had been BYOB, and everyone had taken to the sentiment and more. Farrah is mixing drinks in the kitchen, strong concoctions that even John struggles to keep down. Gaz and Alejandro keep insisting on shots (which you politely decline just as often as you agree. Simon drinks nothing, his tumultuous past putting him off of hard alcohol for good).

People are well and truly drunk by the time Johnny arrives. The whoops and hollers that fill the house have you thinking that midnight has come early. A swarm of bodies surround him, and he is forced to make the rounds hugging each person and being taken to task by them for being gone for so goddamn long.

He arrives at you before Simon, and his face softens, smile going a little unsure around the edges as he opens his arms for you, the first time he’s seen you in person since Christmas. You could rebuff him, but you also can’t. It’s Johnny. Nearly tripping to toss yourself into his arms, he lifts you a few inches off the floor, nose buried in your hair.

“Bonnie as always,” he whispers into your ear after putting you back down. His hand tugs teasingly on the short hem of your dress, like he is trying to lengthen it, knuckles brushing your thighs. You swat his hand away, face flushing with warmth. It wasn’t that short.

“Johnny,” Simon calls. The two men embrace, hug lasting longer than any other. In the distance, you see Gaz elbow Price, jerking his head toward the two men.

You put a hand on Simon’s shoulder, anxious suddenly. Simon draws back, clapping Johnny on the shoulder. He orders: “Get yourself a drink.”

“Yessir.”

“None of that.”

“Games? I was told there would be games,” Gaz says, situating himself between you and Simon. He’s dressed smartly in a dress-shirt with the collar undone. Someone has put a party hat on him, cone-shaped, to celebrate the New Year. You had managed to wrestle Simon into one for thirty seconds before the first of the company arrived; the memory makes you smile.

“I have Cards Against Humanity,” you offer.

“Oh, I love that game,” Kyle’s girlfriend says to your delight.

“No—no—we aren’t in middle school here,” Johnny says. “And if we are, then I want to play truth or dare so my chances of getting kissed tonight rises exponentially.”

“Come over here and they will,” Gaz offers.

“Don’t make promises you’re not ready to keep, Garrick,” Johnny warns, grinning.

“Sounds like something a coward would say, all due respect—”

Then Johnny has a fistful of Kyle’s shirt, hauling him in for a bold though chaste kiss on the mouth. You are suddenly hyper aware of Simon beside you, standing tall and very still while everyone laughs and cheers at the men’s antics. You can’t deny it’s a pleasing sight, but a part of you feels irritated with the whole display.

“Jesus Christ,” John sighs, tipping his hat back on his head. “Soap’s right—if you’ve got a normal deck of cards, love, I know plenty of games for adults to play.”

“Not sure I want to play those kinds of games with you, John,” Kate says somberly to the laughs of everyone around her.

“We’ve got cards,” Simon mutters.

Farah calls to you from the kitchen, asking you to try her latest conglomeration of alcohol. Eager to be anywhere but there, you escape to the kitchen. You lift yourself up onto one of the stools at the island, taking the red plastic cup from her hand and sniffing it. Just the smell burns the hairs of your nose.

“Jesus, Farah, this could kill me,” you laugh.

“Pathetic,” she says with a grin to lighten her words. “I think I saw some apple juice in the refrigerator, would you like that instead?”

“Alright.”

“A warm glass of milk, perhaps?”

“You’ve made your point,” you say, eyes narrowing in good humor. Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves (and stomach), you take a generous swig of the cup. Fuck, it burns going down and it burns in your belly, like swallowing a lit flame. You cough a little, trying not to gag, and hold up your thumb to her. “It’s great—so good—“

Simon comes to sit beside you at the island. He takes the cup, smells it, and raises both brows.

“Can I tempt you, Lieutenant?” Farah asks.

“No.”

“Then I won’t try. Where’s John, he’s never afraid of a challenge.”

Unseen to her beneath the island, fingertips brush your stocking-covered thighs. Your knees clamp together on instinct as you fight not to look over at Simon. What is he doing?

He strikes up a conversation with Farah about her time spent in the Americas. When his hand doesn’t move, your thighs relax a little. He was just being intimate; often he liked to have a hand on your back or his foot resting against your own beneath the table. It wasn’t his fault you were on edge. Your head spins a little, thanks to the shots and Farah’s drink. Planting one elbow on the countertop, you try to focus on her stories when Simon’s hand moves again, slipping further between your legs. The hem of your dress has ridden up so high in your seated position that it doesn’t take much for his fingertips to graze against the heated seam between your legs.

You clamp your knees shut again. He pinches your thigh softly, just enough to get the message through to you. Staring at Farah, hearing nothing, you spread your shaking knees again and let him cup you between your legs. Fuck. You tilt your hips, making as if to adjust your position on the chair. It only serves to bring you in closer contact with Simon’s hand. A groan is born and dies in the back of your throat.

He keeps you there, holding your cunt, having a fluent conversation with Farah while your brain melts out your ears. At length, he stands. Leaning down, he says in your ear: “Outside, two minutes. Go out the back.”

Then he disappears amongst the sea of people

Three minutes later you are shivering out in the snow. Your coat only helps so much with your legs bare save for your stockings. You hadn’t even had time to lace up your boots. Shifting from one foot to the other in the spotlight of the floodlights to keep warm, you cast glances left and right wondering from which direction Simon will come, wondering what he wants that couldn’t have taken place in doors.

At last he appears, looking far warmer than you in his olive green jacket and jeans, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You smile at the sight of him. He doesn’t smile back.

“Put your hands against the wall.”

“Simon?”

He sighs, running a hand over the curve of your waist, testing its fit in his palm. “Now I’ll have to edit that part out. Let’s try again. Put your hands on the wall.”

You see then the phone placed just-so in the breast pocket of his coat. The glossy camera lens stares back at you, no flashing red light, nothing nearly so 1999. But you knew it was filming. What was it seeing now? The house in the background, the cool blue siding and brick. You, face surprised, lips chapped from the cold weather lately, your sexy little golden dress nearly obscured beneath your coat.

“The time to back out is now,” Simon prods you.

But there’s no way you’re backing out, not after the kitchen. Not after the hazy arousal you’ve been walking around in all night just at the thought of seeing Johnny again. Turning around, you reach out with shaking hands and place them against the freezing cold siding. You can see your breath like a smoky plume with each of your frantic exhales as Simon’s hands grip your ass, slipping beneath the hem of your dress and finding your stockings to tug them down around your knees.

“Got to keep quiet for me,” he says. “Can you do that?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, wishing you were close enough to the house to rest your heated cheek against it.

Simon gives a heavy exhale at your words and you grin, unseen.

Your panties join your stockings stuck around your knees. It doesn’t give you much space to spread your legs, but Simon is so lengthy that he doesn’t need the extra room. He doesn’t press against your back, ever-conscious of the camera and its angles, but you hear the sound of his belt being undone and like a Pavlovian response, it has you drooling between the legs. His cock is burning warm when it brushes against your ass, and you find yourself arching your back, seeking to put that heat inside you.

He hums, hands spreading you wide as he can for the benefit of the camera, even if the lighting isn’t the best to see your entrance.

“Pretty fucking girl,” he mutters. The position can’t be comfortable for him, but he’s never seemed to care about that. He reaches down to grip the base of his cock and guides the head inside you. It is a tight fit without any preparation, but he keeps the penetration shallow, rocking you back and forth on just the head, sometimes letting his cock slip free to brush against your aching clit. Your teeth clamp together, desperate to keep your sounds in—usually during home videos, Simon encouraged you to be noisy (“for the audience”). Now you found yourself struggling not to give in to the old habit.

All of the sudden, his hand is in your hair, turning your head, guiding it to change directions until you are looking at your footsteps in the snow leading back the way you came—

Until you are looking squarely at Johnny, standing nearly frozen in the snow at the edge of the house. He’s wearing his coat and boots, hands jammed deep into his coat pockets. The darkness makes it hard to make out the subtlety of his features, but you can tell that his mouth is dropped open in an expression of near comical disbelief.

You barely manage to keep from choking out Simon’s name, your entire body going stiff—your cunt rippling around his cock. He laughs, a low rumbling chuckle that has you squeezing your eyes shut. A whine slips free from your throat and the wind must carry it straight to Johnny, because you hear his quiet, Steamin’ Jesus.

“He’s been waiting for this all night, I bet,” Simon mutters, his hips snapping against yours. Your hands scramble to find purchase against the siding, slip down a little to grip the bricks which offer you more resistance. “Watching you flit back and forth in this dress, knowing what you look like underneath it. He wishes it was him fucking you right now.”

“No,” you gasp, scandalized.

Simon just laughs again. The sound doesn’t embarrass you, just ratchets your own dizzying arousal higher. You can’t take your eyes off of Johnny, who has stumbled two or three steps closer in the snow and now has his hand against the house very similarly to you. His other hand is in a fist at his side. Closer like this, there’s no mistaking the heated expression in his eyes. Nor the bulge in his pants.

“Oh God,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut again and turning away.

“Look at him—look at him. He wants to touch himself,” Simon says, borderline conversational as his dick makes the most heinous squelching noises inside your body. “But I don’t think he’s got the balls.”

One of your hands comes off the bricks and reaches down between your thighs—but Simon grabs it at the last moment and pins it back in its place, sending you nearly to tears.

“Cum on my cock or don’t cum at all,” he says, feeling cruel.

The both of you know that that likely means you won’t cum at all, not like this, and the knowledge threatens to undo you. He’s going to get you three-fourths of the way there and then leave you like this, edge you in front of all of your closest friends and not satisfy you until the very last one has left. Tears well in your eyes, beading up at the corners.

Behind you, his thrusts grow sloppy. You dare another glance towards Johnny and see his turned back, both his hands in his mohawk gripping at his hair like he is fighting with himself. Your eyes fall shut; you’re fighting a battle of your own, you can’t be concerned about his. Simon groans lowly, filling you with his seed. He pulls out in a wet rush of fluids, reaching down to stave off his dripping seed and save your leggings from destruction.

Gently, he fucks his cum back into you with his fingers. He wipes it across your swollen folds and in the soaked crotch of your panties before pulling them back up to rest safely on your hips. Bending down, he wipes his hands clean in the snow and then on his jacket before helping you pull your stockings up into place. The tears in your eyes have overflowed by now, dripping down your cheeks and off your chin. When you glance over, Johnny is gone.

“Okay?” Simon murmurs, fiddling with his phone. He stops the video.

“Yeah,” you sigh shakily. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Moments to midnight and you are searching for Simon. His figure should be easy to spot, but his head isn’t visible above the sea of people, nor is his baritone voice audible amongst the cacophony of others.

Someone else is notably missing as well. An itch in the back of your brain swells, one you have to follow to scratch.

Countdowns begin. You peek out the window nearest to you but see no sign of either man outside in the snow smoking. Watching couples pair off, you pad on bare feet (having kicked off your heels ages ago) toward the master bedroom, slipping into the dim hallway that forks off to the bedroom, the guest bath, and the office. That hallway is where you find them, standing in the dark toe to toe. Simon has Johnny up against the wall, clutching fistfuls of Johnny’s shirt, nearly tearing it. In the dim lighting, you can barely make out their features.

For a moment, you think they are about to come to blows. You are ready to step between them, to take either of them by the ear like an old school matriarch and remind them that they are friends and they love each other and this is no way to act amongst family—but then the others cry out for midnight and they kiss.

Oh God, do they kiss. Johnny’s shirt strains in Simon’s hands as he lifts the other man the last few inches needed to slot their mouths together comfortably. There is no chaste peck, no soft exploration of tongues, it is a frenzied open-mouthed devouring of each other, jaws flexing as if to open up and swallow the other whole.

Claps and cheers ring out in the living room, jolting Simon and Johnny apart. Before you can even string together a sentence, Johnny has brushed by you, one hand pressing at his mouth. He grabs his coat and leaves out the front door without so much as a goodbye to anyone.

The party is over. The sun is rising. Alejandro and Rodolfo have retired out to the guest house leaving you and Simon behind to clean up the mess in more ways than one. Eyes tired but brain buzzing, you come into the living room with a half-filled trash bag in your arms to find Simon sitting on the sofa by the fireplace, his head in his hands.

You drop the trash bag and go to him, climbing into his lap. He sighs and lets his head rest against your breasts, breaths slow and deep, not betraying any of the turmoil that might be going on in his mind.

“He’ll be back,” you promise, stroking your fingers through his cropped hair. “He’ll come back, baby.”

You don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t.

“Have you two done that before?” you ask.

Simon shifts. He turns until his ear presses against your sternum, like he is listening to your heart for the answer. He says: “No. Once—almost, I think. But you know what he’s like. So fucking persistent. And bright. Like he’s got the bloody sun inside him.”

“You never told me.”

“Wasn’t anything to tell.” He looks up at you with dark eyes, decidedly grim despite his words: “We doing this?”

“Seems so,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails just to watch how his eyes get heavy. Simon so often denies himself simple pleasures, but he deserves them. The simple ones and the complicated ones.

“He belongs to me,” Simon says at length, slow, like he is working it out for himself. “Just like you do.”

“No baby,” you remind him, leaning down to press a kiss to his mouth. “He belongs to us.”

((It becomes a degenerate ritual.

Soap gets home from work and showers. As soon as the steam hits the bathroom mirror, he’s hard, but he doesn’t touch himself; refuses to. He showers and cleans himself perfunctorily, cock aching. It is just as familiar with this ritual as he is, just as hungry for it. It knows what is coming.

After he is clean and dry, he’ll go naked into his room and bring out his laptop. He always sits at his desk—hates having the laptop on his lap, wants it somewhere stable and safe so he can have both hands free to touch himself—and then he brings up your porn page with Simon. There are more than fifty videos he can choose from. Some he has only seen once, especially those early videos when you both were still getting a feel for the process and working out your nerves. There are others that are old favorites, ones that he knows every word to, one where he could mimic your every sigh and whine if he wanted to.

And sometimes, like on nights such as this, there’s a new video. His heart jumps to his throat.

AMATEUR COUPLE: ARGUMENT TURNS INTO SEX (NO AUDIO). Fuck, just the title has mind whirling. It was just for show, surely—he couldn’t imagine you both filming one of your actual arguments for the sake of good pornography—but he was intrigued nonetheless. Some of his favorite videos featured Ghost getting a little rougher with you, and you giving back as good as you got.

He clicks the link. The video begins in the bedroom, recognizable to him now as your own. The camera is in the corner facing the bed at an angle giving a wide vantage point, like a voyeur standing at attention. Like Soap himself has snuck in and is watching. Just the thought has him gripping the base of his cock, a soft groan passing his lips.

You’re sitting on the bed, mask in place. Your arms are crossed, mouth downturned into a frown as Simon enters the screen. The first minute or so truly looks like an argument, the occasional jerky hand gesture from you coupled with Simon’s clipped responses. Soap tries to read your lips, but he’s never been very good at it; he can’t make out a single word of what the two of you might be saying. Then the aura changes, the tense energy from the argument turning into something slicker, something sexual as Simon comes around the bed and puts his hand on the center of your naked chest, pressing you back, back until you are laying down.

You fight against him, batting his hand out of the way. He pins you down easily, so much larger and stronger than you. Soap grips his cock at the thought of being in your place, being pinned to the bed with Ghost’s massive figure over him. Ghost wouldn’t need to be gentle with him either, not the way he was with you. Soap wouldn’t mind. Soap would like it, the same way he liked it in the hallway at your house when Simon gripped him by the shirt and nearly jerked him right out of his boots.

Your head comes off the bed, mouth chasing Ghost’s—but he draws away. Soap can almost hear the laugh he clearly gives, the rumbling chuckle that would be tangible in his chest. You grit your teeth together, jaw tight. Now when Simon bends down to kiss you, you turn your head away, a childish game of cat and mouse. He grips your chin and turns it back toward him, heavy on the eye contact. When you two finally kiss, it is rough, two hungry people searching for dirty secrets behind each other's teeth.

Ghost kisses his way down your body, sucking bruises wherever he can. By the time he’s in between your legs, you are writhing, hands gripping his hair and trying to guide his mouth to the place that needs it most. He tugs your thighs over his shoulders, pins you to the bed with one massive forearm, and eats you out like a starving man. The angle for the camera isn’t the best here, but Soap can’t take his eyes off of you anyway: your body tight as a bowstring, breasts pressed together from the position of your arms, tendons of your neck straining as your head tilts backwards.

Soap begins to work his cock over faster, watching your pleasure. When Ghost stops, he leaves you on the edge if your tortured expression is anything to go by, but you let him maneuver you into the position he wants—hands and knees, an old favorite for LT it seems—but this time is special, because this time you are forced to face the camera dead on.

It’s like you’re looking Soap in the eye. The brief flash of guilt this gives him only serves to ratchet his desire higher, his cock dripping precum over his knuckles as he fists it. Ghost slips his cock inside you and sets a brutal pace that you are eager to meet, your hands twisting in the bedspread as you press yourself further back against his cock.

Ghost leans down and mutters something in your ear. More than ever, Soap misses the audio. Whatever he says has your eyes flashing to meet the camera lens, and you do so with near girlish shyness, like you are seeing it for the first time, like you have only just noticed it’s been there all these months. Your eyes can’t catch on it at first, flittering away every chance you get. Ghost’s thrusts slow to deep grinds. He wraps a hand around your throat and says more, lips moving against the nape of your neck. Fuck, what Johnny wouldn’t give to be able to read lips.

This time you look back at the camera and keep your eyes there. Ghost resumes his thrusts, each one making your breasts bounce softly, but your eyes never leave the lens, always quick to return even when they briefly fall shut.

Your pleasure waxes when you slip a hand between your thighs, and you begin murmuring something repeatedly, just a discrete little movement of your lips. But at Ghost’s prodding, you begin to cry it out louder and louder until Soap is damn near sure that you are screaming, your lips forming the same syllables over and over again if only Soap were able to make them out. Your eyes roll back as you cum, arms growing weak until you dip and rest your upper body against the bed giving the camera an excellent view of Simon fucking into you from behind, the arch of your body, the curve of your waist to the width of your hips.

Soap cums when Ghost does, Ghost’s head lolling to the side as his thrusts grow sloppy and forceful, making a mess of you no doubt.

It isn’t until later when he’s in bed that he recognizes the word you were chanting for what it is.

How it took him so long to recognize his own name he’ll never know.))

He comes back.

Simon has just returned from taking Alejandro and Rodolfo to the airport. Ever since New Year’s Eve, there has been a quietness about him which breaks prior records. Neither of you say it, but if Johnny leaves this time, it will take more out of him than it had before. It will take something out of you, too. You spend the days trying to keep busy, checking your phone too often for texts that don’t come.

You’ve just taken the kettle off the stove when the doorbell rings, and both of you know. Your eyes meet across the kitchen. Simon nods his head toward the door, and you rush to answer it, feeling your heart in your throat. Johnny stands there on the step looking sheepish and cold, his boots and the bottom quarter of his jeans wet, like he has walked here from a great distance.

“May I come in?” he asks.

Simon appears behind you. Johnny gives him a wavering smile. Without a word, you hold the door open, stepping aside to let him in.

“Didn’t think you’d be back,” Simon says coolly.

“Didn’t think I’d be back either,” Johnny admits. He wets his lips. “I…I need to come clean. It’s eatin’ me up inside. Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t fucking think without it being about the two of you. I don’t know what to do with myself except put myself at your feet and ask fer your forgiveness.”

“Johnny, that’s not—”

“No,” says Simon, stilling the words on your tongue. “I think that’s a good place to start. Get on your knees, Johnny.”

Johnny blinks once, face the picture of innocent ignorance—but then he is dropping to his knees hard enough for you to hear them crack against the hardwood underneath. He obeys without thinking, because that is something that has always been easy for him to do: obey Simon. Think later.

Simon’s hand reaches out, slow enough to give Johnny a chance to flinch away, but he doesn’t. Instead Simon threads his fingers through Johnny’s mohawk, the sides which are growing out just a little too long. Johnny’s eyes fall shut at the touch, and the whole thing goes straight to your belly, arousal making your head light.

“You liked watching so much,” Simon says, voice low and quiet. “I think it’s time we put you to good use.”

“We have rules. Don’t look at the camera, don’t say each other’s names, and do as I say. Can you handle that?” Simon asks.

“Rules of engagement. Yessir.”

Simon snorts softly at Johnny’s eagerness. “Glad to see you still know to follow directions. But let’s see how well. Strip. Everything off. You won’t need it.”

Johnny’s hands find the neckline of his shirt and tug it off over his head, revealing a body that is all smooth muscle and tan skin. The dark hair on his chest thickens just below his navel, trailing down into his jeans which he unbuttons without ceremony, feet working to step out of his shoes at the same time. He keeps his balance well, already slipping into a focused, strangely familiar headspace. You make yourself as small as possible on the bed, arms looped around your legs, eyes watching him hungrily. It’s been so long that you’ve wanted to see Johnny like this; now that it’s on the verge of becoming true, you feel shy and unsure.

Johnny keeps his eyes on yours while he pushes his pants down his thighs and steps out of them. He smiles at you, soft and understanding, and only then do you let your eyes flicker down to take in his cock: he is hard, uncut, thick as Simon even if he can’t have him beaten in length. His dexterous fingers wrap around the shaft, stroking himself, the flushed head disappearing and reappearing in his fist.

“What do you think?” Simon asks you, voice a low rumble at your side. His eyes are watching you, concerned with you first and foremost. “Is he pretty enough?”

Johnny makes an offended sound.

“I’d say so,” you answer, aiming for unaffected and landing somewhere amongst breathless. Already you can feel the tension between your legs, a deep seated ache as your pussy drools onto the sheets below you.

“You want to suck his cock,” says Simon. It’s not a question, but your head bobs anyway. “Go on, then. Crawl to him.”

Shifting onto your hands and knees, you crawl to him, focusing on the mechanics of it instead of trying to feign sexiness. At the edge of the bed, you slip off and down to the floor amongst the pile of his clothes, laying your hands on his thighs and looking up at him from beneath his cock.

He lets out a shaky breath. “You’re gonna suck my dick?”

You nod.

Johnny looks to Simon with a helpless expression as if to ask, What do I do? When you glance back over your shoulder, you see that Simon is giving him nothing to work with, face a blank slate except for his raised brows. Phone in hand, aimed at the two of you. The sight of it seems to steel Johnny’s nerves. He’s never been one to be shy.

“Go at yer own pace, lass,” he says.

Leaning in, you trace your lips against the side of his shaft, feeling the velvety softness against your mouth. He smells like he showered before he came over, though you wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t. Johnny always smells good—even on those days before he went away when he and Simon would go running together, pushing each other to their limits, returning sweaty and exhausted. Now after all this time you get to see if he tastes as good as he smells. You part your lips and leave open mouthed kisses along his length, looking up at him through your lashes when you feel his fingers sink into your hair. His mouth is parted as he watches you raptly, pupils blown wide.

Confidence mounting, you take the head past your lips and suckle, treating him just as soft and sweetly as you know Simon won’t. Above you, he groans, hips jerking until you take another inch or two past your lips. You let him, rising up on your knees to adjust the angle, sinking your way down until his head brushes the softness at the back of your throat. Taking a calming inhale, you swallow and press forward, letting him sink into your throat until your gag reflex can take no more and forces him out.

Johnny moans like he’s dying, his hands shaking as he fights not to thrust into your throat. Words stream from his mouth, filthy Scottish-tinted praises that have you wriggling in your place, desperate for a hand between your thighs.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Simon asks.

“Never seen no one like her,” Johnny gasps, one hand letting go of your hair so that he can wipe the drool from the side of your mouth. He gives a weak laugh. “And I—fuuck, fuck—I’ve looked.”

“She’ll suck you off until you tell her to stop. Doesn’t matter how long you leave her at it,” Simon says. Fabric rustles behind you, and you ache to be able to turn and see what he is doing. But you are more determined to prove your goodness to Johnny. “Sometimes when I work from home she keeps my cock warm at my desk.”

“Dunno how you get a goddamn thing done with her mouth around yeh.”

“Discipline.”

“I left mine in my other pants—fuck, I’m gonna cum. Are you one of those dirty girls that swallows?” he asks.

You nod. Simon is there suddenly, a warm presence at your shoulder as he passes Johnny the camera. Nearly wrecked, Johnny’s hands shake as he aims it down at you, looking at you through the lens. His balls draw up, cock lengthening that last little bit as he spills into your mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” Simon says at the last moment. You whine but obey. Simon pulls you up and nearly makes you dizzy with the way he kisses you, licks into your open mouth lapping Johnny’s seed from your tongue.

“Jesus, Mary, ‘n Joseph,” Johnny breathes, belatedly remembering to turn the camera onto you both. This will likely be the messiest video you’ve ever made transition wise, but you have a feeling that it will be your favorite.

When the kiss ends, you swallow and pull off to open your mouth, showing Johnny—and the audience—what they want: that you’ve swallowed your portion like a good girl.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have cum,” Johnny laughs weakly. “We’ve barely started. I don’t want this to be over.”

“You’ll cum again,” Simon says. “But it’s time to give someone else a turn. Sitrep?”

Johnny is all grins. “All good here, sir.”

It makes you shiver to hear Johnny call him that. You’ve heard it countless times before, but never like this. The context turns the word into something foreign, something sexy. Not to mention, you know exactly what it does to Simon. Not for the first time, you wonder if his wires didn’t get a little crossed during his time enlisted, if he didn’t learn that particular kink from hearing Johnny chirp it at him every day.

“Good boy,” says Simon softly, reaching out to ruffle Johnny’s mohawk. Johnny bats his hand away, but it’s impossible to miss the way he flushes from the cheeks down his chest at those words. Simon sets the phone on the tripod in the corner, making minor adjustments, and then turns his eyes to you. “C’mere.”

He sets you up against the headboard, your back against his chest. He parts your thighs, reaching down to use his thumbs to spread your sex open for Johnny’s hungry gaze, for the camera’s lens. You hide your masked-face behind your hands, hips rising toward his touch, desperate for the stimulation.

“Pent up?” Simon asks, voice rough.

A sound slips past your lips, low and needy..

“This what you want?” His calloused fingers ghost over your swollen clit.

“Yes,” you mumble, voice muffled by your hands.

“Be a good girl and you’ll get it. You know how to be a good girl?”

“How?”

“Stay relaxed. Keep your thighs open. And don’t lie to me. Can you do that?”

You nod. Yes. Easy things. You fight to relax your body, loosening your muscles. Your hands fall to rest against Simon’s thighs, eyes cracking open to watch Johnny who has seated himself at the end of the bed out of the way of the camera’s view. When he sees you looking, he smiles, reassuring and warm. His cock, which had been soft moments ago, already looks noticeably more interested in the events taking place.

Simon drags his fingers over your clit. You tense all over, sucking in a breath before you remember his first rule and relax, going loose and soft again. He waits, patient. The next time he strokes you, you stay malleable, and he hums deep in his chest, pleased with the progress. His hand cups your whole sex, palm huge compared to you.

“When was the first time you ever wanted to fuck our boy over here?” Simon asks.

You know that he can’t use Johnny’s name, not on film, but neither you nor Johnny had expected the flashbang of this term of endearment. Johnny seems to melt, his eyes going heavy-lidded at the thought of being ‘your boy’. You can’t help but feel the incredible rightness of his words. They resonate deep in your chest like the ringing of a bell, tangible down to your fingertips and toes. Johnny is yours, and he is Simon’s.

“How long?” Simon asks again, more firmly.

“Since—since you brought him home.”

Simon slips two fingers past your entrance as a reward for your honesty. Their thickness has you gasping, fingers scrambling for purchase against his thighs. He hums something in your ear—probably a reminder about trying to relax—and you do try, but it is hard when you ache as badly as you do. You find yourself digging your heels into the bedspread, lifting your hips to try and work his fingers deeper inside of you. He feeds them to your cunt all the way to the last knuckle.

“How’s she feel, sir?” Johnny asks.

“Like the only heaven the likes of us will ever know.”

“I believe it,” Johnny sighs. “Give us a taste.”

Simon extends his fingers and Johnny takes them onto his tongue, licking and sucking the digits clean. You’re close enough to Simon to feel his inhale, to feel the way his cock jumps where it’s pressed against your lower back. He plays at being unaffected, but Simon isn’t immune to the powers of finger-sucking. He isn’t immune to Johnny.

Then he says: “Put that mouth to work, Johnny.”

Johnny drops to his belly between your thighs, breath fanning across your folds. Simon has to pin your legs apart, humming when your nails dig into the skin of his forearms. They are teaming up on you, against you, and you feel so small pinned between them.

“Dreamed of this,” Johnny sighs into your pussy. He nuzzles against you, nose brushing your slit before licking a thick stripe up your folds. He laps at the honey leaking from your entrance, broad strokes of his tongue as Simon’s fingers keep you spread open for his hungry mouth.

Sometimes Johnny’s tongue laps over Simon’s fingers, and when it does, you feel his cock twitch against your back. It only serves to remind you how empty you feel. Your hands grip Johnny’s hair, guiding his soft mouth to your clit where he sucks and laps contentedly, and you beg for his fingers.

He moans against you, voice vibrating through your pussy. His hips have started a slow grind against the bedspread, desperate for friction as his blue eyes find Simon’s dark ones, silently asking for permission.

Simon nods. Johnny slips his middle-most two fingers into you, hooking them softly, searching for that spongy, textured place just inside you. It’s everything you needed, the pleasure in your belly rising to a near painful crest. Your hand scrambles to find one of Simon’s, lacing your fingers together as you burst against Johnny’s tongue, squeezing his fingers, barely remembering to keep from calling his name.

Johnny lays his head against your inner thigh, panting. His eyes are foggy, pussy-drunk as he struggles to focus on you both, his fingers still tucked softly inside you.

“Break,” Simon whispers, kissing your neck. He shifts out from behind you, the only one of you still fully dressed. Going to the tripod in the corner, he pauses the camera and then leaves the room.

“Great abrupt bastard, isn’t he?” Johnny asks, slipping his fingers out from inside you. He goes to lick them clean, but you stop him, bringing his hand to your own mouth and cleaning your slick from his fingers, tongue searching for your taste all the way to the webbing between his knuckles. His laugh is breathy. “You like that? Like the taste of pussy?”

You nod, slipping your mask off briefly.

“Need a pretty girl to play with then, not the likes of me.”

Your hand latches around his wrist as he goes to pull away, lips turning down into a frown. “That’s not what we want. We don’t play with people. People aren’t toys to us. And we’ve never had sex with anyone else like this. You should know that from the videos.”

“Aye,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to offend yeh, lass. I was only teasing.”

“Johnny…”

“Yes?”

“Why’d you go away?” you ask. You know it might ruin the moment, but the curiosity is too much, an old wound with the scab picked clean off until it aches all over again. “Things seemed so good when Simon and I first got together. You were coming around all the time. Then you just…left.”

Johnny can’t meet your eyes as he thinks back, as he remembers those days in the year after Simon first met you. When he speaks, his voice is steady. “I told yeh earlier. Couldn’t stop thinking about the two of you. Didn’t feel right to feel that way ‘bout my best mate and his best girl. And when he told me that he was gonna propose to yeh—I had two choices. Stay and watch, or run away. Maybe Simon’s right. Maybe I am a coward.”

“He told me that the two of you almost kissed once. Back during your SAS days.”

A ghost of a smile appears on Johnny’s mouth. “Outside the Barranquilla, Columbia safehouse. I remember. I thought he would break my teeth if I tried, but Jesus, how I wanted to.”

“I think your odds were 50/50,” you say, scooting back until you are seated in Simon’s old spot, reclining against the headboard. “It started back then for you, didn’t it?”

“Aye. I was a goner.”

“You love him.”

Johnny gives you a secretive smile. He presses his finger to his lips. Shh.

Simon enters the room with three water bottles and pauses, eyes flickering between you both. “The fuck were you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” you say. “Is that water? I’m so thirsty, thank you baby.”

“Her subtlety could use some work, LT,” Johnny says, watching as Simon goes and turns the camera back on. You hastily put your mask back in place.

“Not her forte,” Simon admits dryly. He cracks open one of the bottles of water after tossing the last one to Johnny and drinks half of it in just a few gulps, despite having done very little so far in the scheme of things. You figured that was about to change, watching him shrug out of his shirt.

Simon didn’t undress the way Johnny did. There wasn’t any fanfare or confidence; it was simple and efficient. You knew that Simon’s relationship with his body was a complex one. It had served him well, and he did his best to keep it healthy, but contemplating the aesthetics of it was too offensive to his palate. The scars were intense: thick punctures along his sides, the depressed, pale pucker of bullet wounds, the hard clean lines of a knife here and there. You had never minded, and judging by the way Johnny’s throat clicks when he swallows, Johnny didn’t mind either.

“I want to fuck you,” he says.

“Yes,” you agree. Fingers had been excellent, but nothing could compare to Simon’s cock.

He shakes his head. “Not you. Him.”

You turn your gaze on Johnny whose eyes are avidly watching Simon unfasten his jeans. He pushes them down over his thick thighs and reveals he’s not wearing any underwear beneath, his cock half-hard and rosy. He wraps his fist around it, jerking himself to full stiffness with a perfunctory touch, not at all interested in the show he is putting on for you both.

“Can you take him, Johnny?” you tease.

“I’ll die trying, thanks very much.”

“I hope not,” is all Simon says, going to the bench at the end of the bed and retrieving the lube. He asks: “Condom?”

“Not necessary,” Johnny says, breaths coming faster now. You put your hand on his ankle, remembering the way he had touched you there on Christmas, stroking the bone softly. He glances to you and grins, and you see that what you mistook for nerves is actually excitement. He puts his hand over your own, squeezing. “Are you going to feel left out, lass?”

“Terribly.”

“If you last the whole time,” says Simon, holding the lube up to the light to see how empty it is. “I’ll let you fuck her when I’m finished with you.”

“Jesus,” Johnny laughs weakly. “Can’t argue with that. Throw me that and I’ll get myself ready.”

“I can do it,” says Simon, seating himself on the edge of the bed. Johnny shifts into a better position, feet flat on the bed, knees toward the ceiling. For a long time, Simon just looks at him: his silly hair, the odd scar here and there, his half hard cock. Deftly, he opens the cap on the lube and slicks two fingers while you come to kneel on the other side of Johnny, eager for a show.

“Camera, love,” Simon reminds you, fingers searching between Johnny’s legs. Judging by the way Johnny’s jaw goes tight, he’s found what he’s looking for. You shift, glancing over your shoulder to make sure you are out of the camera’s point of view. Reaching down, you trail your fingertips gently over Johnny’s cock. Simon says: “Been a while?”

“You could say that,” Johnny says, mouth falling open in a silent moan as Simon works him open. You’ve been on the receiving end of Simon’s ministrations; you know his patience can be near painful. Johnny learns it the hard way when Simon pauses twice to lube his fingers, until even the soft thrusts he gives into Johnny’s ass fill the room with the sound of sex.

You play with his cock absently, enjoying being the tormentor instead of the tormented for once. Johnny’s silent breaths turn to heavy pants and then needy groans, foreskin pulling back to reveal the sensitive head as he grows in your palm thanks to Simon’s fingers playing inside him. His heels slip against the bedspread as he searches for the angles that suit him best, and he chokes when he finds them.

“Please, I’m ready,” Johnny says, fingers wrapping around Simon’s wrist. Simon lets him pull his fingers free and reaches for the lube again, this time to slick his cock.

“Any preference for how I take you?” he asks mildly, like one might ask, How do you take your tea? One sugar please and thank you.

“None, so long as your cock’s inside me,” Johnny grits out.

“This’ll do,” says Simon, bullying his way between Johnny’s spread thighs. It takes a few pillows beneath his hips before he’s at the right height for Simon’s cock to notch against his entrance, and then you watch with rapt attention as Johnny’s body seems to blossom to welcome in Simon’s cock, a surplus of lubricant easing the way.

Johnny flinches.

“Easy,” says Simon, stilling. “Relax.”

You curl up at Johnny’s side, slipping beneath one of his arms and cuddling against him. Your nervous fingers find one of his nipples and toy with it softly, kissing at his shoulder while you murmur words of encouragement to him.

Johnny laughs weakly. “Don’t need all that, lass, but thank yeh.”

“Wish I had someone cheering me on the first time I took Simon’s cock,” you admit.

Simon frowns. “I was cheering you on.”

“Less talking please, more fucking,” Johnny says, lips upturned. His body relaxes and Simon sinks the rest of the way inside him, all the way to the fucking hilt, deeper than you can ever take him in your cunt. It thrills you and makes you envious all at once. You pinch Johnny’s nipple, forcing a quiet gasp out of his throat.

Simon looks good—strong. Unaffected. But you know him better. His brow is lower than ever, eyes closed as he centers himself. His breaths come so evenly that you know he must be counting them—four seconds in, four seconds out. His fingertips have sunk into the meat of Johnny’s thighs, gripping him tightly, as if to keep him from squirming away, or to keep him from squirming at all.

“You solid?” Simon asks him.

“Affirm,” Johnny breathes. “Go slow.”

Famous last words—Simon withdraws with painstaking care, until just his head lingers inside Johnny’s body. He sinks back in at the most leisurely pace you’ve ever seen, thrusts smooth and deep as his thighs brush against Johnny’s ass. It takes no time at all for Johnny to regret those words, one of his hands laced with yours and the other twisting in the bedsheets as he begs Simon to move faster.

And Simon can only take so much teasing himself, really. He’s human too.

His hips snap into the open cradle of Johnny’s thighs. Johnny cries out, cock jerking where it lays hard and leaking against his belly. You lean up onto one elbow so that you can watch his pretty face contort: brow furrowing, mouth falling open.

“Not going to cum, right?” you ask him slyly.

He shakes his head.

You glance down at his cock doubtfully. Simon, overhearing your words, takes that as a personal challenge, drilling into Johnny with a single-mindedness that is admirable to see and terrible to be on the receiving end of all in one.

Suddenly tears overflow from Johnny’s eyes, dripping down toward his temples. You sit up in alarm as he lifts his hands but he just palms at his eyes, laughing. Simon slows, stops. He reaches down to pry Johnny’s hands away and then kisses him, something soft and sweet. Johnny’s hands shake as he reaches up to thread his fingers through Simon’s hair, tugging him closer.

Your heart feels liable to burst. You remember Johnny’s finger pressed to his lips, that universal sign. Shh.

“He’s alright,” Simon says, not unkindly. “Aren’t you?”

Johnny croaks an affirmative.

After that, it is less fucking and more making love; there’s nothing else to call in. Simon pins Johnny’s wrists to the bed just to feel like he’s still in control, but his thrusts are syrupy slow, not fully withdrawing, seeking to remain as close to Johnny as he can for as long as possible. You stroke one of Johnny’s palms and Simon lets it free so that you can hold it, your fingers lacing together in a way that is foreign yes, but comfortable.

“You’ve been a good boy for me, Johnny,” Simon says.

“Don’t say that,” Johnny groans, turning his head away, flushed pink.

“It’s true. Know how to be an even better boy?”

Johnny is intrigued. Being a good boy is suddenly beneath him; now he wants to be the best boy. Looking at Simon through his lashes, he asks: “How’s that?”

“Cum on my cock.”

“Don’t do it Johnny,” you whine. “It’s a trap.”

Simon laughs. He kneels back onto his haunches, dragging Johnny’s body along with him, and reaches for the other man’s cock, working it over in his fist. Johnny nearly howls, kept on the edge so long that to see the bottom of the cliffside is to know the promise of pain. He doesn’t know whether to grind his hips deeper against Simon’s cock or to chase the heat of his hand.

“Close,” he groans.

“Go on. Pretty abs like this—make a mess on ‘em.”

Johnny does, pearlescent seed dripping from between Simon’s fingers as he milks Johnny for every last drop. Only then does he begin thrusting again, fast and hard, searching for his own end. Not a handful of thrusts later and he goes sloppy, breath punched from his lungs as he spills inside Johnny.

“You promised me a cock to ride,” you say.

“Couldn’t be helped, lass,” Johnny says with a dopey, lovesick smile. You hum.

“We’ll just have to get you hard again, won’t we?” you ask, wrapping your fingers around his softening cock.

That night, the bed is full. Johnny and you are entwined, legs and arms wrapped around each other creating an endless feedback of heat that Simon was careful not to be swept away in, too focused on his mission to allow for any mistakes. He makes no sound as he slips out of bed. He stops by the tripod in the corner and takes his phone out into the living room, turning the sound down so low that he has to hold the speaker close to his ear to hear it, lest he wake Johnny.

He listens to you and Johnny talk while he was gone, when you believed the camera to be off. He plays it again, watching just the video. By the time he’s returned in the video, Simon’s chest feels full of pressure, like something is inside him trying to crawl its way out. Love. What does Simon Riley know about love?

Well, he knows one thing.

Except maybe now he knows two.

He deletes the video and goes back to bed.

#ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #complicated pleasures #simon riley x reader

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months ago

Text

The Brother's Best Friend - Ghost x Soap x Gaz x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: F/M/M/M, brother’s best friend(s) au, alcohol, swearing, truth or dare, unprotected piv, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), dirty talk

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: For Kinkmas 2024 (Group Sex)

While on vacation in the mountains with your brother and his three best friends, you find yourself snowed in with the three of them during a heavy snowfall. The catch? Your brother went into town and likely won’t be back until morning. Why let an opportunity like this pass you by?

ao3 // main masterlist // kinkmas 2024 masterlist

"What game are we playing?"

"A game, Johnny? You want to play cards?" asks Simon, placing five rocks glasses and a bottle of whiskey in the center of the table.

Johnny shrugs. "Cards are a bit boring."

"Unless you're drinking," says Kyle, reaching for the glasses and whiskey.

Johnny sighs loudly, stretching his arms over his head. "I was thinking something more...interactive."

"We're not having an orgy," replies Simon, deadpan, taking the glass Kyle offers him.

Johnny nearly tumbles out of his chair. "That's not—"

"I’m only kidding. Fucking hell." Simon clinks glasses with Kyle and knocks back his whiskey.

You linger near the large window overlooking the frozen mountain lake. Snow comes down from the sky in a thick blanket, smothering everything in sight. Town is nearby, but getting there will be difficult in this weather. It’s not like any of you plan on going anywhere.

Johnny snags the whiskey bottle. "I was thinking more along the lines of team building."

"We're not having an orgy," repeats Simon, this time clearly teasing him.

Johnny extends his arms outward, shock on his face. Kyle barks a laugh, clutching his stomach as he doubles over in laughter.

“You fucking numptie,” mutters Johnny.

Simon shrugs nonchalantly. "If you want to suck my cock, Johnny, all you have to do is ask."

Kyle snorts, and then wheezes so hard he beats his fist over his chest three times before he can breathe again.

These are your brother's friends. Men he's worked alongside during his years of military service. Your brother is out now, living the civilian life, but they all keep in contact. Your brother isn't here though. Not here in the cabin at least. He went to town and is likely stuck there until morning.

Simon smiles behind his whiskey glass. Johnny scowls. “There’s a lady present.”

"I've heard worse," you retort, walking over to grab your own glass from the table.

While you’d never admit it to your brother, you do find his friends attractive—always have. There have been nights where you’ve thought about each of them before thinking about all of them at once. Part of you says you should feel shame over lusting after them—but it’s hard to deny what you want.

All three of them are here. Together. And your brother won't be back until morning due to the snow.

This is your chance to test the waters.

"What game are you thinking?" you ask innocently.

Johnny grins. "Truth or Dare."

Kyle rolls his eyes and Simon groans.

"We're not in fucking primary school anymore,” chides Kyle, pouring himself a bit more whiskey.

“Just say you’re boring,” responds Johnny.

" That's what you want to play, Johnny? Really?"

"It'll be fun!"

"All right. I'll bite." Simon turns to Kyle. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"What do you think of this game?"

"Fucking lame."

Simon cocks an eyebrow at Johnny. "See."

Johnny responds by blowing raspberries at them.

"I think it sounds fun."

Their heads turn in unison. The laughter fades, their features softening yet curious. While they deeply respect your brother, they’ve always had a sweet spot for you.

Johnny sets his glass down on the table. “You think so?”

You shrug. "What's the harm? And what else are we going to do?" You gesture toward the large window where the snow falls.

While Johnny and Kyle exchange a glance, you notice Simon’s subtle shift. His gaze lingers on you, observing like he’s just discovered something new. It’s an assessing stare, and you instantly tingle, beginning to melt under that intensity.

Kyle drapes his arm over the back of his chair, addressing you. "Truth or dare?"

You give it a moment before answering. "Dare."

His eyebrows rise in surprise. He glances around the room, clearly looking for something to give you. Simon’s gaze is still fixed on you, eyes slightly narrowed like he can't exactly decide on something.

Appearing to land on an idea, Kyle opens his mouth, but Simon lightly taps his shoulder. Leaning down, Simon whispers into Kyle’s ear. You cannot hear them.

Kyle’s eyes widen and he pulls back. “He’ll fucking kill us.”

“He isn’t here.” Still, Simon’s gaze remains locked on you. “And I think she wants to.”

Kyle glances between you and Simon, an uncertainty in his gaze. “Fine,” he sighs. “But if he finds out about this. And kills us. It’s on you.”

Simon shrugs like it doesn’t bother him at all.

Kyle takes a sip of his whiskey. “I dare you,” he says slowly. “To go sit in Johnny’s lap.”

"Done," you reply automatically.

Johnny splutters, nearly spitting his whiskey all over the table. “Fucking what, mate?”

You saunter over and place your hand on the back of Johnny’s chair. His cheeks turn bright red as he turns his attention to you. It's goddamn adorable.

But there is no protest from him. Surrender is all he has. Johnny’s arms open up, inviting you in, and you perch there with your legs draped over his on one side.

“So, Johnny,” you say with a sultry purr, draping your arm over the back of his neck. “Truth? Or dare?”

He swallows, those gorgeously blue eyes on you. "Truth."

Like Simon did with Kyle, you lean in until your lips are pressed to his ear. "Are you happy that I'm in your lap?"

Johnny shifts slightly in the chair, and a growing stiffness pokes you in the thigh. He hooks one arm around your back, supporting your weight, his large hand splaying wide to grasp your outer thigh.

"Yes," he replies, audibly.

You draw away, giving him your best smile. “Your turn.”

Johnny licks his lips He glances at Simon. "Truth or dare."

Simon cracks his neck. "Dare."

With a straight face, Johnny says, "Add hot sauce to your whiskey and drink the whole thing."

Kyle starts laughing.

Simon shakes his head. “Be fucking for real, Johnny. Try again.”

Johnny’s eyebrows crease in the middle. “We promised him we’d take care of her.”

“And we are,” replies Simon. His gaze shifts from Johnny’s face to yours. “Aren’t we, dove?”

This is your in—your opportunity.

“You’re taking very good care of me.”

Simon places his hands on the table and leans in, addressing you. “Truth or dare, love.”

“Dare.”

Simon’s gaze immediately drops. It is a slow ascent back to your face. “I dare you to take off your clothes.” He pauses a moment, gaze shifting to the table. “And lie back on the table.”

You hear Kyle and Johnny’s sharp inhales, like they can’t quite believe Simon would be so bold. But it excites you. Makes you slick between the thighs.

Taking your glass, you knock back your whiskey. It burns on the way down—but it’s good. You ease out of Johnny’s lap, his hand almost seeming reluctant to let you go. Placing the empty glass on the nearby counter, you begin to undress.

Slowly—ever so slowly—you remove piece after piece, never glancing over your shoulder to look at the three of them. But you feel their stares—how focused they are on you. When you’re down to just your underwear, you ease them down, bending forward slightly so they have a clear view of your backside.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Kyle, and you hear the appreciation in it.

Kicking away the fabric, you take a step back, placing both hands onto the tabletop. As you push yourself up to sit on the edge, Simon is right there, hands on your waist to help. With a small scoot to the left, you find yourself facing Johnny. He’s still seated, mouth open slightly as he watches on.

It’s easy to fall back onto your shoulder. To spread your legs wide.

Johnny's eyes go glassy and wide as you reveal yourself to him.

"Johnny,” prompts Simon. “Truth or dare."

"Dare,” he replies automatically, his gaze still fixed on the space between your legs.

Simon grasps the back of Johnny’s neck. “I dare you to fuck that gorgeous pussy.” He gives his neck a light squeeze before pulling away.

One of Johnny’s hands comes up to linger on your calf muscle. It slowly slides upward as he stands up. His gaze devours you, leaving no inch unappreciated.

Simon’s large hand settles on your stomach. It caresses, then slides to the valley between your breasts. Lightly pressing, Simon urges you fully onto your back. As you straighten out, there is no support for your head. It hangs over the edge.

"Kyle," says Ghost. "Truth or—"

"Dare,” interrupts Kyle, already knowing what he wants.

Simon smirks, his large hand circling your neck. “I dare you to fuck her throat.”

On cue, you open your mouth, presenting it to Kyle. Simon’s hand slides away only to be replaced with Kyle’s. His fingers lightly brush over your chest and down your neck to the line of your jaw. He works his way to your mouth, tracing your lips before descending back to your throat.

The gentle brush of his fingers becomes a firm grip as his other hand falls to the front of his jeans. Anticipation coils in your belly as a pulsing need thumps deep in your core. All your daydreaming and nighttime thoughts are becoming reality.

Johnny’s hands slowly stroke your inner thighs but all you can see is Kyle, and the reveal of his erection. Ever so gently, Kyle’s hold on your neck shifts to the back of your head. He cradles it, giving you support as the head of his cock enters your mouth. Simon’s hand is still rests between your breasts, unmoving.

Johnny’s hands go to your hips, and lightly tug, bringing you to the very edge. You cannot see him but you feel him—sense him. With one hand on your inner thigh, he drags the head of his cock up and down your pussy, coating it in your slickness.

Kyle’s eyelids flutter, and then he feeds you more of his cock. Still grasping the back of your head, Kyle flattens his other hand against the top of the table. He doesn’t fuck your throat but lightly rocks his hips.

Against your skin, Simon’s hand descends, caressing. With a groan, Johnny lines himself up, easing inside. Your pussy flutters slightly—resists—and then gladly takes him. You’re perfectly stretched, full in two holes.

You make little pleased sound in your throat that vibrates against Kyle’s cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips jerking slightly.

You can hear Johnny murmuring but it’s difficult to make out. He might be cursing—might be praising.

They aren’t rough with your body. Even if they were you wouldn’t mind. Together they move. Every thrust of Johnny’s hips sends you a little further down Kyle’s dick. You lose yourself in the motion, enjoying the way they take turns thrusting into you.

A part of your drifts, until you’re yanked back to reality.

Simon’s fingers have found your clit. They rub little circle until you feel an orgasm quickly rising to the surface. You whimper, pussy flexing—squeezing around Johnny’s cock.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” repeats Johnny, each vowel slightly elongated as he shudders against you.

“Doing so good for us, dove,” says Simon, voice husky.

His praise is sweet, and made even sweeter when his mouth comes down on your clit, the tip of his tongue circling it.

This makes you snap—unfurl like a striking snake.

You cry out, nearly choking around Kyle’s dick as your orgasm hits you over the head. Johnny’s thrusts quicken, his grip on your thighs hard as his fingers dig in, likely to leave bruises behind after it’s said and done.

Simon gives your clit a final lick. “Want them to come inside you? Would you like that, dove?”

All you can do is moan around Kyle’s dick.

Simon chuckles. “Dare you to finish inside her, Johnny. Let’s see how pretty that pussy looks dripping with your cum.”

With one hand gripping your thigh and the other pressing to your stomach, Johnny fucks you properly, each thrust rough and purposefully. Kyle doesn’t even move. Johnny’s thrusting is forcing you to throat Kyle nearly to the base. They quicken—become sharp.

His breath leaves him in grunts. Becomes a groan. Becomes him sealing your bodies together. You feel the burst of warmth as he cum coats your insides. Just to sweeten the deal, you engage those muscles, squeezing down on him.

Kyle quickly withdraws, his hand on the base of his cock. He jerks it and then marks your skin with his cum. Simon doesn’t hesitate. He dips his head, licking the cum off your skin as Kyle gentle lifts your head enough to watch.

But he doesn’t swallow. No.

Simon locks lips with you, transferring the cum to your mouth. You take it greedily, swallowing it done for him.

When he breaks away, it’s almost painful. You don’t want him to.

“Truth or dare, love.”

“Truth,” you whisper, voice raspy.

“Do you want us to keep fucking you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Simon smiles.

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bits-and-babs · 1 year ago

Text

✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k

summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.

cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.

ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist

"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house.

The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises.

The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether.

Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence.

"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde."

"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"

The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'.

"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.

"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."

"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"

"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.

"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes."

It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel.

✰

The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.

The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it.

Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that.

Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order.

Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it.

He says nothing.

Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt.

"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"

Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"

Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"

Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils.

"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk.

You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action.

When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much.

Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose.

"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock.

Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'.

Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head.

Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform.

By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast.

"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"

"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.

"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune.

You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed.

A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet.

"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission.

Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you.

The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up.

"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"

"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another."

"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins.

There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side.

"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention.

"I don't know what you m-"

"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."

Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes.

"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"

Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow.

"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth.

"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue.

"The mask stays on."

Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.

“Go.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.

Oh. Oh!

Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.

The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand.

Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise.

Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.

“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”

“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”

Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body.

“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape.

He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave.

“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”

Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you.

“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged.

It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation.

“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”

“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”

When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair.

Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand.

“What was the prize?”

“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes.

“What. Was. The. Prize?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information. “H-Hassa-ahh!”

You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex.

“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression.

“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–”

Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly.

Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress.

The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion.

You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.

He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips.

“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot.

“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing.

“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre.

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?”

The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth.

“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”

“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?”

You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper.

“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–”

You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name.

“S-Simon! Fuck–”

Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration.

“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–”

✰

“He’s blonde.”

Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull.

The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust.

“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.

“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively.

The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

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notquitecanon · 1 month ago

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Not Quite Canon's Masterlist:

Just another multifandom imagines blog. All works are dated- so you can date my progress and track as my ADHD brain jumps from one hyper-fixation to the next

** Indicated NSFW. 18+ MDNI

Do Not Repost! Please and Thanks <3

Requests/asks are always open, the rat in my brain likes receiving little messages and notes of inspiration :)))

Works & Playlists below the cut!

Criminal Minds x Marvel crossover 2019, unfinished (masterlist)

Marvel:

Spangled Stars || Steve Rogers x Reader (2019) Whiplash || Peter Maximoff x Reader (2019) Like a Good Neighbor || Bucky Barnes x Reader (2019) Chance Encounter || Spiderman x Reader (2020) Look at You || Moon Knight system x reader (2023) ** Call Me… || Matt Murdock x Reader (2024)

See Also: Miguel O' Hara Playlist on Spotify 🎧 Criminal Minds / Marvel Crossover listed above ^^

Criminal Minds:

Christmas Vacation || Spencer Reid x Reader (2019) Fun Facts || Spencer Reid x Reader (2020) Thief! || Spencer Reid x Reader (2020) Missing || Spencer Reid x Reader (2020)

See Also: Criminal Minds / Marvel Crossover listed above ^^

John Wick:

First Impressions || John Wick x Reader (2020) With & Without || John Wick x Reader (2021)

DC Comics:

Zero Stars || Adrian Chase x Reader (2022) Beverage Napkin || Adrian Chase x Reader (2022) Stop Worrying || Adrian Chase x Reader (2022) Ghosting || John Constantine x Reader (2023)

See Also: Adrian Chase Spotify Playlist 🎧

Ghostbusters:

Here, Let Me || Dr. Egon Spenger x Reader (2021) Mandatory Attendance || Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader (2021) Happy Golden Days || Dr. Ray Stantz x Reader Snow || Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader (2022) For Emergencies Only || Dr. Egon Spengler (2022) >Part 2 (Metaphorical Rescue Eggroll) >Part 3 (The Love Hypothetical) Dust and Motor Oil || Dr. Ray Stantz x Reader (2022) Stardust & Fungi || Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader (2022) Tell ‘em bout the Twinkie || Dr. Egon Spengler x extroverted!Reader (2023) Hypno!kink headcanon (2022) (plotbunny free to good home) ** See Also: Ray Stantz Spotify Playlist 🎧 I Wanna Be Ghostbuster Playlist 🎧

That 70s Show:

First Dates || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020) Snowed In || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020) Comfort || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020) Slippery & Cold || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020) ** 4 Things Steven Hyde Agreed To & 1 He Didn’t || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020)

Star Wars:

From the Start || Kylo Ren/Ben Solo x Reader (2019) Strings || Obi-Wan Kenobi x Politician!Reader (2020) Disappointment || Kylo Ren x Reader (2020) ** Sacrifice and Devotion || Din Djarin x Reader ( 2023) See Also: Din Djarin Playlist on Spotify 🎧

Twilight:

Cowardice || Jasper Hale x Reader (2020) Bad Moods || Jasper Hale x Reader (2020) Attitude Adjustment || Jasper Hale x Reader (2020) The Moment Before Eternity || Carlisle Cullen x Reader (2020) Firsts || Carlisle Cullen x Reader (2020) Spiked Punch || Jasper Hale x Reader (2021) GTA || Jasper Hale x Reader (2021)

Baldur’s Gate 3:

Insufferably Admirable || Astarion x Reader (2023) > Part 2 (Foolishly Admirable - 2024) See Also: Astarion || The Pale Elf playlist on spotify 🎧

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare:

Keep Talking || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2024) ** Warmth || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2024) Dense || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2024) A thought about Poly!141 x Reader (2024) ** >>Search History || Poly!141 x Reader (2024) ** >> Virtual Breadcrumbs || Poly!141 x Reader (2024) (Part 1.5) ** >> IRL Plug and Play || Poly!141 x reader (2025) (Part 3) ** ~~~~Any additional asks or headcanons are posted under the #searchhistory on my blog!

Familiar and Whiskey || Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (2024)** Some clever sleep pun title || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2025)

See Also: POV: ur in love with Johnny "Soap" McTavish playlist 🎧

POV: ur in love with Simon “Ghost” Riley 🎧

#masterlist

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prettypixels22 · 1 year ago

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Headcanons for spending Christmas with call of duty characters

(feat. simon "ghost" riley, john "soap" mactavish, kyle "gaz" garrick, john price,

kate laswell, farah karim, alex keller, phillip graves)

a/n: for context, in each section you’re referenced to have kids with each character and, although not explicitly stated, the reader is implied to be a homebody but these headcanons are kept gender neutral. if you continue to read, i hope you enjoy.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Christmas is the best time for him to show how much he appreciates you and the kids

He’s not a bad parent, he’s always been very good with the kids

He provides for you all and takes care of them the best he can but he knows he can be emotionally distant at times

He can handle most situations involving his kids but when they get upset or argue with each other, he struggles and has to rely on you to help them

It’s not that he doesn’t want to emotionally connect with them, he just isn’t sure how and he’s not used to talking about his feelings

So gift giving is a good way for him to express that he does care and love you all

He likes both receiving and gifting things that are homemade or sentimental, he enjoys those kinds of gifts because they are specific to your little family and that makes it so special to him

Skulls become like a trademark to your family and tiny skull symbols are hidden in most gifts, wether it be a carving on a wooden item, an engraving on a piece of jewelry, an embroidery on fabric or even woven into those little bracelets kids like to make

Speaking of skulls, your kids definitely have skull designed sky masks that they used to stay warm when they play in the snow

The kids sit on the same sled and have Ghost pull them around, it’s so heart warming seeing your partner and children play while wearing the same masks like they’re a little family of ghosts

When your children go to bed, you talk to Simon about something they’ve been telling you recently, “The kids want a dog.”

You bring it up during one of those intimate times when he’s not wearing his mask and you feel like you can read his mind

Instead of the blank stare you usually see when all of his features, save for his eyes, are covered, you can see the slight changes in his expression

His eyebrows twitch and his jaw clenches, you can’t tell he doesn’t think it’s a good idea

“We can name him Riley,” you joke, “He can be our guard dog and protect us when you’re not around.”

Although you weren’t being serious, he actually started warming up to the idea

It wouldn’t be a puppy though, he’d take you to look at retired military dogs

There was one you two took a particular liking to, a german shepherd, he was a nice dog and in need of a good home but he also had the proper training to be able to protect you and the kids if need be

The kids loved him, of course, and he was very gentle with them, wagging his tail while they hugged and pet him

You ended up falling asleep to a Christmas movie, your family cuddled up together on the couch with your new dog

John “Soap” MacTavish

Johnny loves Christmas and eagerly waits for it to come around every year

There’s always a mountain of gifts around the Christmas tree

Half of the presents he bought, he purchased all the way back in January

He just gets so giddy seeing you and the kids enjoy his gifts that he immediately wants buy more after Christmas is over

Then when it finally gets close to December, you two have your kids’ Christmas lists to deal with

You two have to start wrapping them, at least, a week in advance because there’s no way you’re getting them all done in one night

Especially when you have to wait for the kids, who are pumped full of sugar from eating too many Christmas cookies, to go to sleep

So they get double the gifts and on top of that they get even more when you visit the MacTavish family (which is huge by the way)

Speaking of, when you do visit his family, you get to sit inside by the fireplace and drink hot cocoa with his parents and sisters and watch from the window while Soap takes your kids outside to play with their cousins and uncles in the snow

You get a front row seat to the comical scene of Johnny being hit with a snowball and dramatically collapsing to the grown, a swarm of children climbing over him and playfully attacking

He will play outside with his kids for hours, having snowball fights, building snowmen, sledding

He’d love to take them snowboarding one day, if only the military would grant him enough leave time to take them to a ski resort

While your kids play with their nieces and nephews, Soap will definitely try to sneak you away for some “alone time”

If you object to this and tell him him that you two need to go back and watch your kids, he’ll pull you into an empty room, large hands cradling your face as he tries to bargain with you, “Just lemme give you a quick kiss, bonnie. Hmm?”

But it’s never just a “quick kiss” and you don’t know how you keep falling for that

He’s so sweet when he’s affectionate, he’ll slow dance with you by the fireplace or run you a nice relaxing bath with rose petals, it’s a romantic and intimate way of showing you how much he loves you

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Since joining task force 141, he’s had to spend more time away from you and the kids then he’s used to

He misses you all a lot when he’s away but it makes each Christmas that much more special because he has to cherish every second he spends with you and your children

You two usually plan for Christmas together but since he’s been away you do most of the planning and he helps as much as he can when he finally returns home

If you’re cooking something and he knows what ingredient you’ll need next, he’ll grab it for you and set it on the counter before you even have the chance to ask

He also keeps the kids distracted so you can focus on dinner by building gingerbread houses with them, which were a lot harder than he was anticipating and by the time they got the house to stand, there were globs of frosting everywhere with gumdrops and mints scattered across the kitchen table

He cleans it all up though along with any mess you might’ve made while cooking dinner, he cleans the dishes and pans that you’ve used so you don’t have to worry about it later and wipes down the counter

You’re more excited than usual to invite your in-laws to Christmas Dinner

You’ve grown super close to them since Gaz joined Task Force 141, they were your rock during his absence

If you ever needed help with the kids or were just lonely, they would welcome you into their home with open arms

You’d sit with them and talk about how you missed Gaz or how good of a father and partner he was

They’d reminisce about raising him and the childhood they worked so hard to provide for him, going through a photo album of baby Kyle and explaining the backstory behind each picture

Throughout the dinner Gaz sees how close you’ve gotten with his family and it’s not just you, his kids have also grown accustomed to seeing their grandparents regularly

That Christmas is so hard for him because he just wants to be able to be with you and kids again

He knew what he was getting into when he joined 141 and he still believes in the cause but seeing his family get along and be happy makes it a challenge for him not to go back to the SAS

“You know I love you, right?” He’ll ask after dinner. He start saying it a lot more often because if something does happen to him, he doesn’t want their to be a doubt in your mind about how much he loves you and the kids

As the end of his leave time approaches, he kisses you nonstop and holds you and the kids tight, knowing he’ll have to say goodbye soon

John Price

Every year there’s at least one gift that relates to the military

It all started when your son wrote that he wanted nerf guns on his Christmas list one year

That Christmas you and your husband watched your son and daughter go to war with one another, running around the house and hiding under tables, trying to shoot each other with foam bullets

Price thought it was hilarious and the kids clearly enjoyed it, so he started gifting them foam weapons and toy sets with fake knives, grenades and binoculars

He enjoys watching his kids play with each other and was particularly amused one day when your son was army crawling around in the grass trying to sneak up on his sister

That next Christmas he got your son a ghillie suit which he became absolutely infatuated with

You’d call the kids in for dinner and your son would walk in looking like a mountain of grass

That one gift was what started the tradition of gifting actual military gear

While your daughter just likes getting things she and her brother can play together with, your son becomes interested in actual military equipment

His Christmas lists will start to include things like a tact helmet or vest

One time, he got them both night vision goggles which sucked for you because when he had to leave the kids wanted to stay up all night and play in the dark

(Side note: His kids have definitely picked up on words that relate to the military and war but they don’t fully know what the words mean so they’ll say things like “homework is propaganda”)

Something oddly specific that Price is thankful for is the fact that the older his kids get, the longer they want to sleep in

He loves watching the kids get excited from seeing the present under the tree and all but he enjoys the few hours he has in the morning where he can just hold you close

You two already don’t get to have a lot of time together because of your husband’s line of work and having two children didn’t help since most of your attention revolves around them

He cherishes the mornings where everything’s calm and quite and you’re curled up in his arms without a care in the world

Kate Laswell

She’s very efficient went it comes to buying the kids Christmas presents

When your kids write their Christmas lists, you two split the responsibility, she buys half and you buy the rest

It minimizes the time you have to spend buying gifts and you two usually get it done early so there’s no last minute present hunting, it makes the process quick and painless

During the week of Christmas, you two would take your kids to a café so they could have sweet treats for breakfast and a nice hot chocolate with a small candy cane to stir the piping liquid

After that you’d walk down the street, checking out different gift and pop-up shops so the kids could get Christmas souvenirs

Kate loves taking pictures of you all during the holidays and would definitely take your kids to get their pictures taken with a mall Santa

All of the photos would go in a photo album she has of all the happy memories and milestones you’ve all had over the years

The night before she has to leave for work again, you two sit on the porch and watch the snow fall

Your ears pick up on the sound of a quite ‘flck’ and you turn to see your wife lighting a cigarette, “Kate.”

A small chuckle escapes her lips, she knows how much you hate when she smokes, “It’s Christmas. Humor me, just this once.”

You don’t want your last night together to be a fight so you don’t push the issue but you don’t hide your disapproval either, “Those things are bad for you.”

She takes your hand in hers, intertwining your fingers, “Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”

You know she has and it’s why you worry each time she’s away, you brush your fingers against her knuckles, “Do you have to go?”

“Unfortunately,” she exhales the smoke from her cigarette, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, “But I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”

Farah Karim

Similar to Ghost, she’s a good parent but sometimes struggles to connect with them emotionally

Your kids would absolutely adore her though

I mean, she’s the most badass role model any kid could have

They always make sure she’s involved in activities, even if she’s too busy to actual partake

She’ll be talking to one of her soldiers on the phone when, all of a sudden, her kids run up to her to hand her Christmas treats and hot cocoa that they made with you

She tends to think of her brother a lot during the holidays, gifting her kids things that she and Hadir enjoyed as children

She doesn’t ever want them to go through what she went through with her brother, first losing her parent and the Hadir turning on her

She teaches them to respect each other and will immediately shut down any fights they have

She appreciates that you light three candles each Christmas for her brother and parents, it’s a subtle acknowledgment of the family she’s lost without crossing any boundaries or opening up old wounds

Although a big portion of her time is preoccupied by the work she’s does to protect her homeland as well as you and your children, she always makes sure that on the holidays there will be a few days where her focus is solely on you and the kids

The kids eat this up and immediately put her to work, they love having her undivided attention and all the Christmas activities she wasn’t able to do before they have her do now

They’ve already make Christmas cookies with you so they’ll make gingerbread houses with her

I also think that because her soldiers are like family, they’d hold a small ceremony where each each soldier brings their loved ones and they pass around little homemade gifts that they made with their family

On the night of Christmas, you and Farah sit in front of the three candles you had lit, in a few minutes it’ll be twelve am and Christmas will officially be over

”Do you want to have the honor of blowing them out?” you ask

She gives you a soft smile, “I’ll let them burn a little longer.”

She wonders if her parents and brother can see her, if they’re glad to see her living a happy life with you and the kids

You move closer, wrapping an arm around her, “I’m sure they’d be proud of you, Farah. So proud.”

Alex Keller

I feel like he’d be such a good girl dad

On Christmas Eve morning, he’d be laying on his stomach in the living room with his daughters sitting on either side of him

Christmas movies would be playing in the background, his youngest letting him pick the colors for his hundredth friendship bracelet while his oldest crochets a snowman with a red and green scarf

His daughters are very crafty so they’d enjoy decorating the house and Christmas tree

After Thanksgiving when all of the Christmas stuff is on display, you’d take the girls shopping for lights, ornaments, tinsels, etc.

Alex will lift your youngest daughter so she can string up decorations while your oldest tells her if something needs to be moved to the right or left so everything’s perfectly even

They also like frosting Christmas cookies but instead of just slapping random colors on the cookie, they pick colors that look pretty together and try to be as neat as possible which contradicts their fathers hot mess of an icing job

You wouldn’t be surprised if they decided that they wanted to pick up cookie frosting as a hobby

There are things that Alex was able to do before, like run around with the kids in the snow, that he can’t do now because of his prosthetic leg

The girls don’t mind though, they actually go out of their way to make sure he’s comfortable, even treating him like he’s made out of glass at times despite the fact that he’s still actively fights in Urzikstan

But it’s sweet how much they care about their father and his well-being

While you’re cleaning up after dinner, Alex will wrap his arms around you from behind, his mustache tickling your skin as he presses soft kisses to your neck

He thanks you for dinner and tells you how good the food was

In turn, you tell him how much you and the girls miss him while he’s away, you jokingly add on, “I was hoping your leg would be enough to make you retire.”

He laughs at that and promising you that it won’t be long now, soon he’ll finally return to you and the kids for good

Phillip Graves

Considering he and Shadow Company work for whoever has the most money, you know he can afford anything on his kids Christmas list

He’ll send you a large sum of money while he’s away so you won’t have any trouble buying presents and the gifts he get you are usually quite expensive

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, you two message each other nonstop

You talk about what you got the kids, what you’ll be making for Christmas dinner, when he’s coming home, things like that

He’ll send you flirty text like “you know what I want for Christmas?” with a winky face or “Wear something pretty when I come home.”

The kids are always excited when their father comes home, they tell him what they wrote down on their Christmas list and which gifts they’re really hoping they get

He tells them that they better be good if they want all those presents, knowing damn well that you’ve already bought every single thing on those lists

I feel like he’d prefer a real tree over a fake tree for no other reason besides the fact that it looks better so each year he takes the kids to look at Christmas trees and, of course, the kids along with their father always want the biggest most badass looking tree

He’ll bring a tote bin up from the basement that’s full of last year’s Christmas decorations and you’ll all decorate the tree as a family

You cringe each time you watch pine needles fall as you wrap the tree in lights and tinsel, you know it’ll be a pain to clean up when Christmas is over but you let it happen every year anyway because you see how happy it makes your husband and children

When Graves puts the kids down for bed, you know exactly what he’s gonna do next

He exits the kids bedroom, closing the door behind him, and he’s on you in seconds

His lips capture yours in a heated kiss as he walks you towards your shared bedroom

“We need to wrap the kids’ presents-,” you try to remind him but he cuts you off with a kiss and tells you, “We can do that later, baby.”

photo creds (pinterest): goldeagleactual - ghost, soap/price, farah/alex | SimpsxCod - gaz | cavantine - kate | julikuli666 - graves

#cod x reader #modern warfare x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #john price x reader #kate laswell x reader #farah karim x reader #alex keller x reader #phillip graves x reader

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deblklesb · 1 year ago

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[Phantoms of Past — Abby x Reader]

[AFAB!reader, friends to lovers, Christmas themed, br!reader, angsty, MDNI]

a/n: well, is this late for Christmas? yes. but do i care? also yes bc i'm paranoid and have some need to make stuff on time, so imagine my despair when i couldn't finish this. but i ALSO know that I'm doing my best, and for that i have to pat my own back. anyway, this is for my brazilian besties out there!!!

cw: reader is brazilian, usage of phrases in pt-br with the translation after and between parenthesis, owen mentioned (this man is a cw by himself idc this is not a owen appreciated blog), mutual pinning, Abby understands portuguese and even talks some. let me know if i forgot something.

not proof read | word count: 3,274

reblogs are highly appreciated!!

While you drive through the recently cleaned streets of the neighborhood you grew up, thanking the heavens that it stopped snowing for now, the radio plays a seasonal song and your murmur along. The traffic on the main roads were chaotic, almost as congested as your uncle's arteries, but now the decorated rooftops and doorsteps replaced the headlights on your peripheral vision. In front of a house stood a snowman, or at least his body stripped of arms and face.

You park in front of a house with simple adornments and flashers around the main door, a LED deer standing next to it and a small table with fake cookies and milk on top. All the energy was so reminiscent of the years you'd spend a whole day decorating the house with your mom, mainly inside, just so your father and sister could take care of the outside. Now that you both were grown and away, the couple occupied itself with the house interior and resumed the exterior with a simple approach. It never failed to take a smile from you, though, especially seeing the way they would adhere to simple things just because it looked cute, even if it had nothing to do with their native traditions.

Coming from Brasil, for the first part of your life you had hot weather and sunny days on Christmas. Maybe a night of rain, but never snow. Fireworks and catholic mass were on the list, but your parents went just to go along with the rest of the family and friends. They weren't religious, so in the end Christmas was simply another holiday, but with presents and - as all the other holidays - a family gathering. The main difference now was that you were studying in another city, becoming one of the absent relatives; you know, the ones that mainly go home for the holidays and vacations. It wasn't bad, but they definitely missed you a lot and the feeling was mutual.

Using your key to get in, the sounds of Simone’s “Então É Natal” (“And So It Is Christmas”), a brazilian holiday song, hit you immediately. You chuckle, taking off your boots and coats. From the front corridor the ornamented tree is visible, carrying innumerous lights and details. There's probably not a single empty wall, the seasonal decoration filling every inch of your field of vision.

“There she is!” Your father shouts as you appear in the living room smiling. The man goes into your direction with open arms, holding you tight. You smell that same cologne he wears since you can remember anything, and along with the warmth of the house, it truly feels like home. Some of the tension from university and work just falls on the carpet, leaving your body to receive all the good things inside that place.

“Carlos, you'll smash our child and I cannot have another one”, your mom yells somewhere from the kitchen direction, making you laugh.

“I can get another one anywhere, Marília”, he finally lets go, an arm around your shoulders. “Won't be as nice as this one, though”

“Of course not, she's irreplaceable”, your cousin Felipe says, approaching. “Prima, você tem feito falta!” (“Cousin, you have been missed!”) He holds you sideways with an insane amount of exaggeration, taking an embarrassed chuckle from you. Felipe was a lawyer with a lot of charisma, but inside he was just your cousin that your mom liked a lot. You both used to play together growing up. “From some people, a little too much”, he whispers playfully before running away, not letting you scold him for bringing up something you were not prepared to deal with this earlier, especially when the person implied wasn't even around. Yet.

Your father doesn't seem to notice, now talking with your mom again.

“Hey, Alice”, you wave to Felipe’s wife sitting on the couch, drinking something on a Christmas themed mug.

“Hey, sweetie! How's uni?”

“Tiring”, you shrug. “How about the kids?”

Your name is once again shouted through the house, and as you turn around three kids are running into you. Camila, Jorge e Rayana hold your waist, almost making you fall with a laugh. Camila is the oldest, at five years old, but the others are at the age of three. They're simply the most precious people in that family.

“Meus pestinhas!” (“My little brats!”) You start messing their hairs and pinching their ears playfully.

“Eu perdi um dente, olha!” (“I lost a tooth, look!”) Camila smiles widely, showing the first little window on her mouth.

“Ela tá ficando banguela e feia” (“She's getting toothless and ugly”) Jorge points out, and by Camila's reaction this isn't a new saying.

“Well, that's too bad. Because you'll get toothless and ugly too, just wait a few years”, Rayana and Camila laugh as the boy pouts at your response, looking at their mom.

“Vamo, vamo, abram espaço. Preciso abraçar minha filha” (Come on, come on, clear the way. I need to hug my daughter) Your mom’s voice finally reached the living room before her arms were wrapped around your torso. It's warm and familiar, you've missed her so much.

“Oi, mãe” (“Hey, mom”)

“Você tá tão magrinha, filha. Aposto que não anda comendo direito na correria, né?” (“You're so skinny, child. I bet you haven't been eating well in all the rush, right?”) The caressing she does on your back is reassuring, and by that you can tell you're going back with bowls filled with food. “Sua irmã vai chegar só mais tarde, seu pai vai buscar ela na estação” (“Your sister will arrive just later, your father will pick her up on the station”)

“When will uncle Jerry get here? He said he would get me new crayons”, Rayana mumbles while playing with one of the numerous ornaments on the lit up tree.

You try not to react to what that phrase implies, going with your mom to the kitchen to busy your hands and your mind with something else. She would probably kick you out of there soon anyway, she never liked having other people in the kitchen with her unless very necessary. But the need to act normal, smile and not think about family friends coming over it's bigger than the prospect of being scolded out of a room.

While the conversation continues in the living room and the song plays to never leave an empty place in your audition, you hover around the place talking with your mom about the neighborhood news and her routines in the morning walks group. It's comforting to know about what's going on, even if it doesn't really affect your life.

You help her cut the bread to make rabanadas (french toasts), looking forward to finally eating them. It's one of your favorite things of this season, even though you could actually find it anywhere at any time of the year. But the memories of having a plate of those on the supper table, covered in sugar and cinnamon, it's one of your favorites. So you're dividing your attention between the chore of slicing the bread and listening to your mom speaking, when a name being yelled in the living room catches your ear and you almost cut the tip of your thumb.

It's Jorge’s voice. “Abby!”

It's a blessing your mom didn't notice it, but now you have a bigger motive to stay inside the kitchen and never leave it.

No matter how much your mother talked, or the music filled the air, or the people in the other room got into different conversations within the group; her voice seemed louder than any other thing to you. You would swear she was next to the table you had the cutting board on, chatting with the children and playing with them.

You could swear you could listen to her whispering to you about lonely nights and missing pieces of a puzzle.

“Tia!” (“Auntie!”)

Your mom stops speaking just to turn around and look into the tall woman's direction. “Abigail!” Her comforting, mothering arms hold the strong torso, and the blonde needs to be in a not very straight posture to fully embrace your mom. What could you say, hightness wasn't in your family's genes.

“One of these days you'll be able to carry me around, with how big and strong you're getting!” And they both laugh as if Abby didn't live at the end of the block and they saw each other constantly.

All the while, you're trying to avoid the upcoming, inevitable moment. Your eyes glue on the bread, but you're not really looking at it. They're talking but you can't decipher the words, just assimilate the sweet voice making your cells tremble in vibrations. Cutting another piece, and another, then another, then-

“Puta que pariu-” (“Motherfucker-”), a drop of blood falls onto the cutting board when you pull your hand away, thumb red and hurting.

“What happened?” Your mom asks, concern in her voice.

“I cut my finger”, the running water of the sink makes the wound sting when you put the finger under it, the blood keeps coming out.

“I can take care of that if you need to”, Abby says, making you look directly at her for the first time of the night.

And you have to give the lack of air to the pain. You have to, because otherwise you would be admitting that looking at her takes your breath away.

“Yeah, Abby is working as a nurse in a school now. I bet she's used to this type of thing”, Marília goes to the cutting board, taking the pieces you've cut already.

There's nowhere to run over this. What will you say, that you don't want her to take care of your wound? That you can't be next to her, orelse all the coherent thoughts in your mind will fade away, leaving room for her voice? That your fingers ache to touch her?

You look to your still bleeding finger under the open faucet, then to the tall, blonde woman again. And while your mother wasn't looking, you both had a silent conversation about something, everything. She could see the doubt in your eyes, but you could see the pleads in hers.

“Sure, I think it wouldn't be much…” You try to smile, finally turning the faucet off and grabbing a towel to wrapp around your finger.

You both go upstairs, she tells you how there was a first aid kit in the bathroom and your stomach jumps at the realization that she knew your house more than yourself probably. Looking forward at all times and trying not to pay too much attention to her careful hand touching your arm like she was guiding you around the place.

“Go to your room, I’ll take the kit”, and you don’t even look at her to see how she was looking at you. You don’t know how that hurt her, mainly because you’re trying to get out of this situation as fast as possible.

The room is just like you always leave it after the breaks, bed neatly covered and books on the shelves. Some stuffed animals that you couldn’t bear to donate were aligned on a shelf next to a poster of a band you liked, the black and red contrasting with the creamy colors of a small giraffe. You saw the table where once you were pressed against, the lamp giving a soft light on the room as you felt a pair of lips so close to yours after all those years of yearning and silent pining.

“Okay, let’s give this a look” she was back using that voice, the one for the workplace. Tender, but firm; like she was trying to be secure, but reassuring.

Abby pulled the chair next to the table so she could sit in front of you, her knees together between your separated legs as she carefully took your hand and unwrapped the towel. Crimson drops started to flow down your finger, and the blonde woman never took the blue eyes away from the cut.

The distance wasn’t enough. Her scent would haunt the bedroom all night, making you dream about her just like it happened before, during your late school years, when she came to spend the day and left you numb and daydreaming. Her touches were so gentle, featherlight.

“It wasn't that bad, we can handle it”, she muttered like she was talking to one of the students from the school she worked at. “So, how's college?”

“It's okay, I guess”, with eyes glued on your own hand, you tried not to notice her thighs too much. “I've been working my ass off to write a paper while keeping up with classes and the monitoring thing”

“You'll get this, I'm sure”, you looked up just in time to see a smirk on her lips, but then returned to look down again before being trapped on that hypnotizing expression. “After all, you've always been very good with your words”

“It was easier in school, though”

“It always is”, she cuts the bandage before wrapping your finger with it. “But that's the thing, right? We start to realize how school was maybe easier, but then again, would you rather be back?”

“Oh, fuck no”, you chuckle as she finishes the curative. “I wouldn't change this for that”

“Yeah”, you finally look up more confident, meeting her indescribable expression. “I would change some things, actually”

“Like what?” You're just keeping the conversation, just trying to let it flow well enough for it to be bearable. You surely weren't expecting the next phrase.

“I wouldn't have dated Owen”, she sighs.

Owen was Abby's boyfriend. They started dating in the last year of school, and looked very much in love, for your displeasing. He wasn't a bad guy per se, but the fact that you already had a crush on Abby made you think that your feelings towards him were totally based on jealousy. So every single thing you had to say about him would be shoved down your throat immediately, and you'd just smile and nod to your friend anytime she mentioned him. You told her he was nice - couldn't bring yourself to say more than that - and supported their relationship with the most painful role in that whole story: the best friend with an unrequited crush.

By fall you found out she and Owen had broken up. Right after…

“Why is that?” Her eyes wander from the quilt to your hands, then back to your face. They were so beautiful, you could spend the rest of the night admiring them. Or the way her hair would fall around her face with soft lines, how her freckles were so attractive to the touch, especially on her arms.

“Don't think I was really into him… At least not in the right way”, Abby was the one not looking at you now, almost more interested in putting the stuff back on the kit box. “I could've been honest with him… And with you”

“Abby-”

“That's fine…” She shrugged. “He was a little bit of a dumbass anyway”

Silence falls around you both, filling the room with an emptiness.

The image of them both in your living room, last Christmas, haunts your mind as soon as you remember how you knew nothing and was too caught up in your own thoughts at the time. The way she laughed at his jokes, making your stomach turn as you smiled politely. Or how you saw them kissing next to the coat holder by the front door, and all the food you ate wanted to come back in awful bitterness.

You never told anyone. Never said a word, as always, rather keeping the green feeling on the back of your mind in order to not do something stupid - like being rude or start crying.

But then, you came home for the summer break. You dad was making barbecues in the backyard, you mom decorated the house with all the stuff your cousin brought from Brasil on his last trip, and you'd listen to pagode in the living room while the kids were playing and running, waiting for the meat to be properly roasted so they could finally eat.

Internally, you were ready to deal with that same gut-rotting feeling all over again. The plan was to sustain the fake expression until the time allowed you to pull the tiredness card on everyone and go to your room to watch some old telenovela.

Abby showed up alone, greeting everyone as usual. And when she looked at you, you could swear that was something in her eyes that could make you shiver. How she took your figure in before hugging you, how she held you so tight and for a little bit longer. How she was always trying to be next to you. You couldn't decipher, though, and the whole day went by mixing the confusion of her being without Owen and not even mentioning his name, and the rush of being that close to her again.

That night, in your room, she kissed you. Right there, where you were sitting now, she held your face between your hands and your skin shivered, while her lips touched yours.

You waited for years. Kissing her was probably one of the only things you wanted to do every time she was around, flesh craving hers. And it finally happened… But she had a boyfriend.

So you never talked about it again. You went back to college and texted her less and less.

“Abby, Abby, Abby!” A childish voice came from the corridor, the door opened to show Rayana. “Come here, I need your help to defeat Jorge and papai” (dad)

“Okay, I'll be there in a second!” The blonde smiled before the girl ran back downstairs. “Well, it seems like a have a duty”

“Can't let her down, she'll never forgive you”, you both chuckled while she got out of the room, first to leave the kit back in the bathroom and then to go to the living room again.

Sighing, you laid back on the mattress. Just like that summer night, you were alone in your room trying to collect your feelings about an interaction with Abby. Heart beating fast and a familiar warmth on your chest, wanting to curse every single entity for putting you in this position.

You came down maybe 15 minutes later, mask back on to decorate your face with a smile. You saw the tall woman on the mat with the younger children on top of her, attacking her while laughs filled the place.

“Okay, okay, saiam de cima da Abigail” (“Get off of Abigail”) Your mom didn't have to say it twice before they were sitting next to her. “Abigail, I need a favor. Remember that bowl I lent to you last week?”

“Sure”, her arms seemed stronger now that she was supporting herself on the elbows. Why was she so gorgeous?

“I need you to get it for me, darling”

“Okay, I got it”, Abby got up and immediately went grabbing her coat again.

And you were about to go back to the kitchen to make yourself useful, but it couldn't be that easy.

“Filha, vai com ela. Está nevando bastante, não é bom dirigir sozinha nesse tempo” (“Daughter, go with her. It's snowing a lot, it isn't good to drive alone in the weather”)

“Oh, it's not necessary-” She really tried, but your mom wouldn't take a negative answer.

“I'm not asking, you won't go alone!”

You nod and start putting on heavy clothes. It was okay, all good. You both would get in the house, grab the bowl, and get back in no time. It would be fine.

[dividers by @cafekitsune]

#abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby anderson #tlou abby #tlou2 abby #abby the last of us 2 #christmas theme #deblklesb #abby anderson the last of us #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson tlou2

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chicoca · 1 year ago

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Did you know that i have your heart in the garden?

Chapter one: amore mio aiutami /ao3

song: amore mio aiutami–piero piccioni

Warnings: Use of a degrading word

Words: 5.5k

Nina De Rosa -Daughter of Don Tommasino De Rosa and Valentina Parisi. Little sister of Simone, Florentino, and Calogero. -Born December 27, 1925 in Corleone, Sicily. You are an artist moderately recognized in Sicily. Since you were a child your poems and paintings have been praised by your family. Your mother, a writer with an anonymous signature, has instilled art in you. Being the only daughter of the Don, you have been spoiled and supported in all your passions. You meet Michael (Michele) Corleone in the winter of 1946. He is welcomed and protected by your father after murdering two men in The United States.

Read masterlist for summary and playlist <3

The little snowflakes danced in the air in front of his eyes. His tensed body, his hand still feeling heavy, and the pain in his face kept him fatigued. The travel had made his mind a nest of noise. The sound of the wind, the sea, the voices, and the constant click clack. For a moment he thought he lost himself there. That’s how he felt after everything. So rushed, in the darkness of his boarding, only a man with a scar on his right cheek kept him company. His name was Emmanuele, a Don Tommasino’s capo, the man in charge of taking him to Sicily. They didn’t talk much, only what was necessary until they reached the small private airport run by “The Families”.

Similar to New York. Sicily was controlled by four main families; Quintana from Corleone; Indelicato from Palermo; Pentangeli from Partinico; and De Rosa from Bagheria–Corleone. Three of them were close to the Corleone family, mainly due to the alliances made by Vito. However, with Don Tommasino De Rosa the friendship was much deeper. Vito, a man of great values, always maintained his devotion to his friend, who helped him in his revenge and gave him and his family shelter in his homeland.

Michael must have been five years old when he met you for the first time. He wouldn’t remember you. You were just a baby in your mother’s arms, recently baptized. With your pompous dress and your blessed head, they named you goddaughter of Vito. At the celebration the children played, the adults drank and chatted pleasantly, and Michael remained silent near his father. You were close, you babbled charming your aunts, and you squeezed your godfather’s finger in your fist causing him to smile.

It was the only time you crossed paths, like two complete strangers who never thought about each other again. Until that winter, when Michael’s life began to change in a way he thought he could escape. Ambitions were left behind, because Sicily received him with the cold filling his entire body. The only thing he could think about was home, about returning, even though he knew it would be impossible. Now in solitude he refrained from letting himself be carried away by fatal thoughts. He concentrated on being rational, on getting to Don Tommasino’s house and finally resting a little bit.

Emmanuele took him in a car along uphill roads, entering a city of ancient architecture that immediately caught his attention. So different from his home, it caused a knot in his chest that he ignored in the face of the wonderful views. Snow covered the cobbled roofs of the houses, it made a small path on the side of the street covering the grass. Going uphill, Emmanuele told him that they would enter through the forest where Don Tommasino’s house was located in a wide rural villa. Michael stuck his head out the window admiring the cold green vegetation. He could see the small booths with armed men. They continued until they reached a guarded gate, upon recognizing Emmanuele the men opened it, revealing a big house. Michael didn’t show how amazed he was by the place. With a large garden that disappeared into a stone path at the back, the house was in the center of a captivating nature.

They got out of the car, where some soldiers approached to take out the little luggage that Michael was able to bring with him. Sally had little time to gather a couple of shirts, a pair of pants, and a belt. Still, he was grateful to have his coat in the face of the weather he encountered. He could feel the humidity of the plants sticking to his skin along with the snow that fell lightly on his hair. Fortunately he didn’t have to wait too long for the front door to open, inviting a homely warmth that he followed behind Emmanuele.

Inside a captivating melody sounds like a warm welcome that calmed his body a little. The entrance had a large room with a fountain in the center and a large staircase that leads to the second floor. Behind it a window looked out onto the back garden where he could see a table and a couple of people. From the hallway to the left, where the music was coming from, a man with a cane appears who smiles openly at him, extending his arm to wrap him in a side hug. Michael could feel the light squeeze of his hand against his back, feeling his weight fall gently on him. With two pats he separated to grab his shoulder.

“Michele! You have grown so much, boy. Let me look at that face… I’ll call Taza, you need to treat that” He gestured, moving his open palm pointing at his face. Emmanuele at his side just looked at them “I’m very sorry about your father. I wish him my best blessings. He will recover soon” Michael smiled at his words.

“Don Tommasino, I thank you very much for receiving me… Molto grato (I’m very thankful)”.

Don Tommasino hugged him by the shoulders, leaning lightly on him, and made him walk to the back to exit through a door that led to a terrace. There the wide views showed part of the city from above, although everything was covered by vegetation.

“I appreciate your words Michele. Because of the great friendship that I share with your father I give you shelter… Una casa (A house) You will be protected, Michele. I have sworn to your family that” Michael sat in one of the chairs, under the roof unlike the soldiers that guarded the place. Don Tommasino sat next to him “I like winter, you will like this place in the cold”.

Michael only thought about the summer and how at that moment he would be home again. He already missed everything. He felt the tingle of a sadness that penetrated his soul. At the same time, fatigue did not allow him to feel anything other than an emptiness. As if he was incapable of feeling.

“Mi piace l’estate (I like summer)” He said.

“Amerai l’estate. Anche se immagino che speri di tornare per allora (You will love summer, although I suppose you hope to return by then)” Michael nodded, sighing lightly.

“My italian… Il mio italiano non è cosí buono (My italian isn’t so good)” Don Tommasino laughed a little and patted him on the knee.

“Don’t worry about it, they will understand you. But you could practice it” Michael nodded again.

“Michele I recommend you use another name here” Said Don Tommasino

“I could use Andolini, my father’s enemies don’t know his last name”.

“Maybe it’s risky, but it works. We have a lot of Andolinis here” Don Tommasino assured

Suddenly, he noticed three men approaching from the side of the house. Don Tommasino quickly stood up to receive them. Two of them were armed with luparas and were wearing light jackets. Something unsuitable for the cold, thought Michael.

“Benvenuto Michele (Welcome Michael) I’m Armando Fusco, consigliere of Don Tommasino, a pleasure” The man shook his hand in greeting and continued to introduce the two men who accompanied him “These are Fabrizio and Calo, your bodyguards assigned from Emmanuel. They are loyal to the family, so feel comfortable” Emmanuel at his side nodded before his men.

Fabrizio smiled broadly at him and squeezed his hand in a cheerful greeting.

“America, America… Quanto è bello lì, eh? (How nice it’s there, eh?)” Calo, next to him, laughed at his friend and sat in front of Michael. Getting a little snow on his head, he didn’t seem to care.

“Vuole essere portato in America, è il suo sogno (He wants to be taken to America, it’s his dream)” Calo said towards Michael.

“These men have the job of protecting you. Don’t hesitate to ask them anything” Don Tommasino said, leaning on his cane, Michael could notice how one of his legs was tilting loosely “Now let’s eat something. Armando, please tell Calogero that I want to see him” With that, Michael got up to follow him into the house.

Following his pace, since Don Tommasino walked slowly, Michael held his hands behind his back and admired the place again. Noticing his observant gaze, Don Tommasino spoke.

“They shot me in the legs, kid” He pointed his cane at his shin “I saw you look at me, it causes curiosity… Always observant, Michele. You were like that too when you came here years ago, remember?” Michael nodded, matching his steps. They were walking towards the hallway where the music was still playing “You were very little, always near your father”.

His thoughts inevitably turned to his father, still having the image of his body in the hospital bed. He felt that if he concentrated enough he could feel the skin of his father’s forehead under his palm, in the caress he granted him when he promised to take care of him. He can still see the small tear that ran down his cheek when he had to leave him. The wave of sudden worry filled him for a second, barely letting him breathe. Without contact, he only had his own hopes as consolation.

“Amore mio, amore mio. Il… boy, Michele, è già arrivato? (My love, my love. Has the boy… arrived yet?)” A feminine voice called from the kitchen, where the aroma distracted Michael enough to notice his hunger.

Inside, the warm lighting opened the way to a large kitchen with a dining room included. At least ten people were able to sit comfortably at the table. All made of varnished wood. The kitchen had a lot of furniture and a counter that gave views outside. The woman, Don Tommasino’s wife, Michael assumed, approached, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Michele, my wife Valentina” Don Tommasino presented, making a gesture so that they would greet each other. Michael accepted the small hug and the kiss on the cheek. Suddenly she looked at him with concern.

“I’m sorry, Michele. Being raised in America, you won’t be used to it” She said in a slow english that Michael patiently understood.

“My father has raised me close to our culture. Siamo italiani, non pensare di offendermi (We are italians, don’t think it offends me)” Michael said quickly, the woman nodded.

“I have lunch ready. Meat well cooked the way my husband likes it. Take a seat, Michele… Our sons will be arriving soon, Tomy” Valentina moved to the kitchen to start preparing.

Don Tommasino sat at the head of the table and motioned for Michael to sit nearby, to his left. Michael sat comfortably, crossing one of his legs and leaning back.

“Where is Nina? She won’t have lunch with us?” Don Tommasino asked, thinking you would be in the house by now.

“She’s in town with Carolina, they’re buying shoes” Valentina responded with a shrug as she tossed the salad on the counter “She will probably eat with her” She said in english, as a courtesy so that Michael would understand.

“When she arrives let me know. I want to talk to her”.

Michael didn’t pay much attention to the conversation. He got lost in the food’s aroma and in his numb body. The only thing that brought him out of his little state was the voice of people approaching. In front of him three men, one in a police uniform and two in civilian clothes, entered, greeting the couple effusively.

“Mama! Che profumo delizioso (Mom! What a delicious aroma)” “Delizioso, ho fome, Mama! (Delicious, I’m hungry, Mom!)” “Papa, come va il freddo con quella gamba? (Dad, how’s the cold with that leg?)”

The men greeted their mother with a kiss, hugging her affectionately. One of them, the older, came up to greet his father and then looked at Michael shaking his hand.

“Simone De Rosa… You the guy from La America?” Michael nodded “Good, good, I know some english so don’t worry”.

“Parlo anche un po’ italiano (I speak a little italian)” Michael responded, aware of the other men approaching to greet him. Behind them Valentina brought the dishes.

“I’m Florencio. How was the arrival, eh?” Said the shorter one of them. The uniformed man also presented himself “Calogero” He said, shaking Michael’s hand after his brother.

“These are my boys, Michele. My daughter isn’t here, unfortunately, you will meet her later”.

“That girl Nina, tsk, tsk, tsk” Simone clicked his tongue “She’s been so busy these days. I’ve barely seen her” He complained while receiving his plate. Michael also received his, noticing how the brothers quickly began to eat.

“You have to understand her. With everything she has to do, we will see her very little” Said Valentina while sitting to the right of his husband.

“Your sister is doing something that none of you would do” Don Tommasino said as he poured the wine. Michael asked for just a little.

“We can’t do it, we are men” Said Calogero causing a disapproving look from his mother.

“We will not talk about your sister at the table. What she does she will discuss it with your father. Enjoy your food, you were hungry” She said, indicating with her fork.

“Well… Michele, tell us about America” Florencio seemed interested in Simone’s request.

“Better ask him something specific, boy” Said Don Tommasino while drinking his wine. Michael observed them with attention while eating.

“Come sono le donne? (How are the women?)” Asked Calogero causing laughter among his brothers “Scommetto che sono piccoli, magri, come nei film (I bet they are small, skinny, like in the pictures)” “Belli, sono belli! (Beautiful, they are beautiful!)” The brothers seemed to talk to each other without addressing Michael.

“Non potrei dirtelo (I couldn’t tell you)” That caught their attention, Michael continued eating.

“Non può? Cosa non può? è un finocchio? (Can’t? What can’t? Is he a faggot?)” Calogero said jokingly to Simone. However, his brother looked at him seriously and then looked at his father.

Michael didn’t feel offended about it. Understanding the man’s mentality he simply wiped himself with a napkin in silence. Don Tommasino, on the other hand, felt deep shame at his son’s behavior. Valentina blushed with the same shame and looked at her husband expectantly.

“Excuse my son, Michele. He is usually rude, something that embarrasses me. Please ignore his words… Calogero, we’ll talk later” With a passive tone of voice but with a hard gaze he continued to reprimand his son.

“Don’t worry. I have a brother just the same… I don’t have any comments about women, because it’s not an interesting conversation for me. They will be beautiful, for sure, as there will be many in other places” His monotone tone and expressionless look didn’t give Calogero room to make another comment.

Florencio, accustomed to his brother’s slips, drank wine and after swallowing he spoke.

“Old Frankie, how is he? Still under Clemenza I must assume” Michael tilted his head in interest.

“Yeah. Frankie, Frankie. We are good friends of Vincenzo. It has been a long time since we heard from him in La America” Simone said, taking the salad to serve himself in big portions.

“Yes, he continues under Clemenza, dedicated to the family” Don Tommasino clinked his glass with Michael’s and then raised it.

“For the family and the dedication… I want to make something clear to you three. Michele is my protégé, he is under our care until he can return safely to America. I know you know but I’ll repeat myself. I want total discretion, only those close to us can be aware of his presence. No one else will be told his name or anything about what is happening in New York” The brothers nodded at their father’s words.

“What about Quintana?” Asked Florencio.

“What about them?” Asked Don Tommasino.

“Our bond isn’t strong yet. The war is over but the tension continues. If they find out about Michele they can use it against us” Simone replied.

“They aren’t friends of the Corleones. They never wanted to establish any ties” Calogero added.

“Don’t worry about them. They won’t be a problem. Leandro as underboss will have the privilege of stopping anything. He knows what’s best for him” Don Tommasino said as he finished his plate “Now let’s give Michele some space. Love, can you ask Emilda to take him to his room? I need to go to my office, Calogero come with me”.

Don Tommasino slowly left the dining room accompanied by his son. His two eldest sons got up and said they would go outside. Valentina called Emilda and picked up the plates while Michael wiped his nose with a napkin.

Emilda appeared and kindly took him to the second floor where his room was, at the end of the hallway with a perfect view of the stream and the garden. His luggage was already on his bed, and after thanking Emilda he closed the door.

Finally alone. The first thing he did was take off his coat, leaving him in his dress shirt and trousers. Having the need to bathe, he went to the bathroom connected to the room. There was a long bathtub, long enough for him to lie down without any problems. He slowly took off his clothes, leaving himself completely naked. Waiting for the tub to fill with water, he went to look in the mirror where he noticed his paleness and deep circles under his eyes. But what caught the attention was his injury.

His skin was covered in a purple hue. The swelling on his jaw had gone down a little but it was still painful. In the night he felt it more, the pressure on his head when lying down made the pain intense. It provoked a rage that dissipated quickly when he remembered that McClusky was dead. A feeling of resentment that was only calmed by his committed revenge. He almost thinks about his father but stops as he presses his fingers against his broken jaw. He didn’t like how he looked even though he had seen several men who arrived in Sicily had injuries

The pain was a sensation already learned, almost purifying. The war hadn’t made him a stronger or wiser man. Sharing with men who died at his side didn’t make him more sensitive. It was fear that still disturbs his mind when he remembers the pain. And it isn’t a physical pain, it’s a pain of the soul, as if his heart were going to shrink until it disappeared. It was fear that made him learn. And now, with the latent pain on his face, he could only ask God that nothing would happen to his family. He would pray for it until he returns, he knows it when he sees that his injury would take too long to abandon him.

Noticing that the tub is already full, he slowly gets into it, covering his body in the warm water. He immediately feels his muscles relax against the surface, almost feeling like he’s sinking. Letting himself go, he takes a deep breath to submerge his head under water. Stretching his legs and using force with his hands to keep him from floating, he stays down holding his breath. It’s almost cathartic.

He holds on until he can’t take it anymore, getting out of the water quickly, overflowing the tub and wetting the floor. He runs his hands over his face without noticing that he is crying. He sinks again, and repeats that over and over again until his body becomes limp. Then he just looks at the ceiling without thinking about anything, letting everything happen until he almost falls asleep in the cold water. If it wasn’t for the soft touch of the door he would have fallen asleep lying there.

“Signor, Don Tommasino vorrebbe parlarle (Mr. Don Tommasino would like to speak to you)” Emilda’s voice wakes him up enough to sit in the tub.

“Andrò presto Emilda, grazie mille (I’ll go soon Emilda, thank you very much)” He heard her footsteps go away, he waited until he felt the silence to get up.

He couldn’t feel the passage of time, or even register his body temperature. The only thing he did was dry off and change into the few clothes he brought, and went downstairs to go to Don Tommasino’s office.

The office was very different compared to his father’s office. Where it was dark there, here was a large window that showed trees in the background. There was Emmanuele, Armando Fusco, Simone, Florencio, Calogero and other man Michael hadn't meet yet.

“I hope you had a good rest Michele. Come in, sit down” He closed the door behind him and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Behind Don Tommasino was the unknown man, staring at him with such intensity that Michael couldn’t help but look back at him “Andrea smettila di disturbare Michele (Andre stop bothering Michael)... Don’t mind him. He just arrived and he’s very paranoid. Perfect for the job, eh?” The men laughed and Michael could tell that there wasn’t tension in the room. That made him feel more comfortable.

“You liked your room, Michele?” Don Tommasino asked. Michael nodded.

“Anisette?” asked Armando while pouring the cloudy liquid in small glasses. Michael accepted the glass and drank it along with everyone else.

“Well Michael, I called you because I want to tell you what a couple of things will be like here. We usually go to different areas of Sicily, meetings and things like that to maintain ties. Most of the time you will stay in the house with Fabrizio and Calo, but you can also go out to Palermo, once a week, you just have to not be identifiable. When I’m not here my men will be. Also my wife and daughter are always here too. The family visits us sometimes so you can meet them, if you don’t mind” Michael interrupted.

“Of course not” That made him smile.

“You are a good boy, Michele. Now let’s go out, it wasn’t that serious if you thought it was” Michael denied with his head while getting up.

“Hey! Papa! Are you in your office?” A female voice could be heard from outside, your voice.

“My beloved Nina, let’s go out so I can talk to her” He said as he walked with his cane towards the door. Michael could hear how you greeted each other in the hallway, your voices slowly drifting away behind the door.

Inside the men finished their drinks and got up to leave. Andrea, right hand of Don Tommasino and one of the capos, shook his hand in a firm squeeze that was intended to intimidate him. Michael appreciated the gesture, assuming that Don Tommasino’s safety was the man’s priority, he thought that this loyalty would be useful in the future.

When he left the office he noticed that the brothers De Rosa were still talking while they walked to the garden. Behind him Andrea told him to follow them because Don Tommasino loved sitting on his terrace, even if it was cold. As he moved forward he could hear your melodious voice, and like a song, he felt almost trapped in the curiosity of knowing what you were saying.

“... No, no papa, guarda. Oggi sono arrivati gli inviti, dobbiamo mandarli domani. Mi sto organizzando benissimo, credimi. Fidati e basta, andrà tutto bene (... No, no dad, look. The invitations arrived today, we have to send them tomorrow. I’m organizing this very well, believe me. You just trust me, it will be fine)”.

“Ma la mia vita, non sarà presto? (But, my life, won’t it be soon?)”.

“Ay papa, sta andando tutto bene, non preoccuparti (Ah dad, everything is going well, don’t worry)”.

“Sì papa, la ragazza sa quello che fa (Yes dad, the girl knows what she’s doing)”.

As he approached he noticed your back. Your figure covered by a long dark coat. He could only appreciate your dark hair and the movement of your hands. In front of you Don Tommasino looked at you attentively, with his eyebrows furrowed despite your words. Your brothers around you also listened but only Simone gave his opinion. Before Michael could make any gesture to indicate his presence, Andrea spoke.

“Signorina De Rosa, buon pomeriggio (Miss De Rosa, good afternoon)” That made you turn around.

If somebody asked Michael how silence is caused, he would have to answer that the body can only be immobilized with an overwhelming emotion. He could feel it in the impact of your eyes. But what a beautiful view that Sicilian winter brought. With cheeks flushed from the cold and eyelashes with little snowflakes. He didn’t know if it was just because you were beautiful or he had definitely gotten lost in your gaze. The tired body already forgotten was left behind the beating heart that deafened him.

Michael found himself standing with his heart beating faster than normal. He felt dazed and the blood boiled in his body. He could intensely perceive everything. He felt like he was in another world. He was struck by lightning. Don Tommasino, looking straight at Michael, could notice it, but he remained silent. The well-known lightning attack.

For you, the first time was a blast of warmth. Because of the open door and his presence, the light that illuminated his bruised face reflected a unique shine in his eyes. And what eyes! A deep brown that caught you like a careless prey. You’ve never seen eyes like those. So full of a story that you wanted to discover, an innate need to know everything that captivates you.

The silence was broken when you noticed that he brought his hand to his nose. Due to the blow, his sinuses were damaged. You knew that because your brother suffered the same thing due to a fight. Taking a handkerchief out of your coat, you approached him and offered it to him. A pale pink fabric with delicate embroidery that carries your perfume. Michael looked at the handkerchief and slowly accepted it, pressing it to his nose, immediately feeling the sweet aroma.

“Ciao Andrea. Sei Michele? Da New York? (Hi Andrea. Are you Michael? From New York?)” You asked, taking a step back, slightly losing the feeling of his closeness.

“Yes Nina, he’s Michael. Michael, my daughter Nina” Don Tommasino said, in the background your brothers talked.

“Buon pomeriggio, Nina… Grazie per il fazzoletto, io… I will return it to you after washing it (Good afternoon, Nina… Thanks for the handkerchief, I…)” Michael spoke english not knowing how to continue in italian. You smiled and with a gesture you denied.

“Don’t worry. I have more” You replied, he didn’t push it.

Still in awe of his eyes, you couldn’t help but take in everything, as if he were going to unexpectedly leave your sight. Michael wasn’t far behind, even with your handkerchief pressing against his nose, more because of your perfume than his rhinorrhoea, he looked at your face trying to engrave it in his memory.

“Well, I hope you like poetry Michele… Nina keep him company, Armando has a couple of things to discuss with me” Said Don Tommasino as he saw how his consigliere waved his hand from inside the house.

For a man with a cane he moves around quite a bit, Michael thought. Now with a bit of confusion in his eyes, he took a seat waiting for you to do the same. You, instead, watched your father walk until he disappeared on the way to his office. With your brothers talking to a couple of your father’s workers, you noticed that Michael was waiting for you. With a little shyness you sat in front of him, and remembered your father’s words.

“What about poetry?” He asked you.

“Oh! I’m a poet and a classical literature teacher. He’s quite proud of it, that’s all” Michael noticed how you squeezed your hands and rubbed them.

“Poet, how interesting. How do you write it?” You didn’t know if he was really interested in talking about it, but like any other enthusiastic person, when you had the chance to talk about what you love the most, you couldn’t contain yourself.

“I couldn’t explain it. It's just. Mmm… It flows from me, you know? You don’t have something like that?” You asked.

“Something like that?” He took a moment before continuing “I don’t think so, what emanates from me doesn’t cause any art” That intrigued you.

“And what emanates from you?” If he could answer honestly he would. But he saw a very pure curiosity in your eyes.

“Some things” He said, looking away from you to admire the garden. The snow was no longer falling, however, the place was still covered in white.

“You are quite a mysterious man, don’t you think?” You said with a smile that almost caused him to imitate you, but he remained expressionless.

“I don’t think so. You are an artist, though…” You looked at him inquisitively “You are more likely to share your thoughts”.

“That 's true. I have always been a transparent woman”.

“Just like your brother” He said, looking at Calogero.

“Oh, you already met him, eh? Don’t mind him, he’s always had a sharp tongue, always getting in trouble” You pointed at Michael’s jaw “Someone broke his jaw one time, for insulting a Quintana”.

“What did he say to deserve that?” He asked, leaning against the chair, looking comfortable in his clothes.

“He said some things about Don Quintana’s daughter, may she rest in peace. It was very unpleasant. My mother slapped him when he arrived” Michael nodded. Your brother looked like the kind of man who made those mistakes.

“Is he a lieutenant?” You quickly denied at his question.

“He is a carabiniere. He likes to be one, he always wears his uniform” You both looked at him from a distance. Calogero was adjusting his sleeves while laughing at something Florencio said “Are you a lieutenant?” Michael looked at you again.

“I’m a marine” You raised your eyebrows at his response.

“You went to war? For America?” You asked, resting your chin in your knuckles. Michael lowered his head a little.

“Yes”.

“Your father supported that?” You noticed how his gaze intensified.

“No, he didn’t like the idea very much. But he couldn’t do anything against it, not at first” You wanted to ask him more, so you didn’t stop. Now feeling more comfortable you relaxed your posture.

“He did though” You assumed “You have medals?”.

“Yes, I have some” His calm voice contrasted with your animated one.

From the outside it seemed that only you were paying attention. But Michael, from his passivity, was completely focused on you.

“Did you leave them in America? I’ve never seen one. Why do you have them?” You almost thought he was getting bored of your questions, but he smiled as if he remembered something good.

“Extreme bravery beyond the call of duty” The tingle of remembered adrenaline kept his smile on his face.

“So that emanates from you… Are you an altruist?” Michael thought deeply about your question, before he could answer you talked again “I know what you did in New York”.

“Do you? And what does that answer to you?” He asked, wanting to know what you would say.

“I think you are… Many men kill in the name of their Don, even sons kill for their parents. But one thing is to kill and another thing is to accept what death entails. You are here, very far from home. And when I look at you I know that this isn’t what you would want. That’s why I think you are” Michael took your words in and nodded slowly, he didn’t think the same.

“And you’re perceptive, I guess” That made you smirk a little.

“I usually observe everything, it helps with writing”.

“What else helps you?”.

“I have a place, a special one. It's outside, passing that fence, see?” You pointed where the stream disappeared between the trees “There I write and read, I go when it’s not so cold”.

“Why that place?” It encouraged you that he asked you so many questions.

“It’s beautiful, it’s like it’s from another world. Sometimes, when the sun goes down, the leaves create some rays that reflect in the water. When I look at that I get inspired” You brought your hands to your chest, squeezing your palms. Oh you wished it were summer.

“I-...” Michael was suddenly interrupted by a voice calling your name. He could notice your eyes changed in the way your eyelids moved.

Recognizing that voice you stood up awaiting his presence. From the side your brother Simone appeared with a tall man in a fitted and expensive suit. Michael saw how he approached you, taking your hand to give it a soft kiss.

“Michele, this is Leandro Quintana, my fiance” The only thing Michael could notice was how you didn’t look him in the eyes again.

CHAPTER TWO

#al pacino #michael corleone fanfic #michael corleone au #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone #the godfather au #the godfather

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konigsblog · 2 years ago

Text

"earl grey, please."

- ghost x f!reader (ongoing story)

you and ghost had been childhood best friends who separated after highschool, but one day at your café you meet once again.

warnings: angst, brief mention of simons dad (not detailed)

masterlist

chapter one, second time meeting you.

the sounds of blenders, customers and kettles going off filled your ears, you worked at a café called, "thanks-a-latte" it was a stupid name. you came up with it when you were 18, fresh out of highschool after failing most of your exams. something to cry about at the time but looking back you weren't all that upset now.

a customer infront snapped you out of your thoughts. "earl grey, please." a gruff voice spoke, you couldn't help but notice the balaclava he was wearing, most of the time people wore those whilst stealing. "uh- yea, can i get y-you anything else?" you stuttered, because of slight fear and the fact that you weren't paying attention before. "ham and cheese croissant." the throaty voice spoke, this time with a calmer undertone to it "for here or to go?" "for here."

as you were preparing his earl grey, a nostalgic feeling came to you. was it the voice? a thick manchester accent did sound familiar to you, but you lived in manchester, so why wouldn't it be familiar? "ham and cheese croissant and your flat white, sir!"

you watched as the man lifted his balaclava to take a sip of his drink, he pulled a phone out and started texting? was he meeting someone? why did you care so much? you should be paying attention to your job. but, you still couldn't guide yourself to stop looking at this man, you probably looked like a creep.

a man with a mohawk walked, throwing a wave and a smile to the man as he walked up to you. "hm, macchiato and a brownie, please!' his scottish accent was clear through his cheerful voice. "sure, for here or to go?" you asked, and just as you thought, a couple minutes later he was with that familiar man.

what was it that you couldn't shake off? whilst taking orders you couldn't help but think, a old friend? and thats when it hit you, that specific voice, the coarseness of it and how rough it was reminded you of a old friend. simon.

but when you turned back all you saw was an empty table with empty cups. sighing at your stupidness, you went back to making this woman her latte.

*****

you laid awake on your bed, "1:57am" read back on the clock as you glanced over at it. a wave of regret and sadness formed in your eyes. it wasn't like he was a customer who came often, that could've been a sign from god to go speak to your childhood best friend, and you blew it away because you couldn't remember him.

"simon, what the hell?!" both of you laughed, you picked up a snowball and threw it. it hit him directly in the nose, you doubled over, laughing at his face. this went on for another hour. throwing snowballs at eachother. it maybe have seemed stupid for two 16 year olds to be playing in the snow, but why did you care? you were with your best friend, that was all that matters.

you always brought simon over to your house, knowing what his dad was like you wanted to show him what a real family is, what it should be like. your mum poured you both a hot chocolate, scolding you both for being immature enough to catch a cold. she treated simon as her own, like her own son. made sure he was sure that he didn't want to stay over or making sure he didn't go hungry. you cleaned up his bruises and scratches that he endured and gave him the love he should've received.

tears started forming in your eyes, you remember the day he told you he would be joining the army. you knew that you couldn't stop him, it was his life, if he wanted to do that he should go forward but you couldn't help the weeping and tears rolling down your cheek as you waved him goodbye that one day in june.

"[name], i need to talk to you." your ears perked at his voice, you loved his voice, the roughness of it was somehow comforting. "yeah, what's up?" smiling at him, "i'm gonna be joining the SAS." pushing back the "what ifs" you smiled at him again, "oh." your voice broke, not knowing what to say. "are you sure?" you asked, trying to distract him from the wetness of your eyes. "yes, i'm gonna be leaving in june." it was may, "love, please don't cry." shit, he noticed. he pulled you in for a hug, his scent, he smelt like a forest, earthy. "i don't want you to die, please be safe when you go." you dampened his shirt. "i'll try, darling."

although you and simon never entered a relationship with eachother, you would be ready to drop anyone just for him.

but atleast you know he's alive?

*****

end of chapter one, im not sure if you guys are gonna want this series but ill try post the next chapters soon!

#call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #ghost headcanon #modern warefare ii #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #cod x y/n #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost mwii #ghost simon riley #ghost fanfiction #reader x ghost #simon ghost riley x reader

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forensicated · 3 months ago

Note

What are some of your favourite episodes of the bill?

Oooh crikey, so many! Thank you for the question! These are in no particular order. Also apologies for the formatting, I'm on my phone trying to reply and remember which numbered episode is which and have to go check some of them to ensure they're right as I've bounced everywhere around timelines the last couple of years doing the recaps and they blurred.

* All Change, the millennium new years eve when cid became uniform for the night.

* Respect 1 and 2, the end episodes. I don't like the way some of the character storylines were wound up but those two episodes were an amazing tribute.

* The Chief Super's Party, June and Roy flirting at the bar, Brownlow deeply unimpressed by the company that Roy kept. Roy getting one over on the super without Brownlow even realising which allowed him to support Ted. Ted's drunk driving crash ending up with him sleeping on a boat overnight and solving a robbery to save his job whilst hungover.

* The Target Trilogy, June and Steve get shot at. It's thought that it's Steve being targeted but they soon realise how wrong they are. Poor Jo 😕

* An Honour To Serve, Gina's last episodes. Smithy's kiss on the cheek and how much he respects her 💔❤️ "Goodnight Ma'am" (RIP Roberta ❤️)

* Lullaby with Smithy going from reading Tim a bedtime story in a cell with absolutely no feeling in his voice through to him singing 5 little speckled frogs to try keep him calm and not worry him when they were kidnapped.

* Integrity, Nicks first episodes. The contrast of him and Smithy paired together is awesome. Especially when they unite.

* Gunrunner, Smithy and guns...

* Witness and the episodes featuring Carly in the run up. Smithy really became the paternal figure that he didn't want to initially and cared about her, Leanne and Brooke. (& laughing at Nate when he runs the wrong way after sending him to chase after her whilst he stands and has a nice little chat.)

* Righteous Kill 1 and 2, Max protecting the wife and son of a man he shot in S019.

* Brittaniamania, Mickey undercover as a football hooligan and Debbie pretending to be his girlfriend with Dave and Paul his workmates though Paul being shit at plastering almost got them caught.

* Episode 154, the aftermath of Mickeys rape. The acting is incredible.

* Tinderbox, Brownlow, Conway and Meadows in an outward bounds team building course against Manion and his cocky cheating team.

* Conviction - particularly the riot training episode where Smithy and Callum end up having a physical fight to end their frustration over what happened with Devlin. The last episode of that is a bit frustrating though as I don't think Smithy could give his guilt over that quickly to accept a promotion when it was eating him alive. It made out he and Stevie had continued a thing from Gunrunner too that they hadn't. (the promotion thing bugged me so much I made a fic about it)

* First Impressions 1 and 2, purely for WUK (or "WUS!") and nick and uniform hiding in Diane's cupboard to watch Ben on cctv.

* Blurred Around The Edges, Smithy's army friend makes an appearance and turns his world upside down. (another I did a fic about!)

* Soft Talking, Smithy delivers a baby in the middle of a street and has to try and find the mother when she disappears and get her away from the abusive boyfriend and dad.

* When the snow lay roundabout, Danny the elf knowing what Matt secretly wished, Reg being the only copper out because of the snow (he'd only gone to get a Christmas tree) Rod trying to scam uniform, a cheeky kid outing him and helping polly and Gary trim the tree and the barbershop quartet!

* PC Smith, Needing to show himself in a good light, Smithy volunteers with Nick to look after a gay couple who are receiving homophobic threats. Everyone is surprised, not least Smithy himself.

*Episode 372, Cop The Lot "Simon Cowell eat your heart out!"

* Cowboy Country, Max ends up using his mother's priest to try track a Polish criminal down

*Game Plan, Max goes undercover with the Monks family.

* Tolerance, Smithy's C019 training and interview.

* Episode 69 and 70, cop idol and Cass being taken hostage and murdered by the serial killer 💔

* 117 and 118 Smithy's first 2 Sgt episodes including singing at the gay club.

* Good Cop Bad Cop , callum's first. Smithy leaps on him twice and Dan is NOT impressed when Callum acts all dodgy and tries to shut him out.

* 131 Smithy goes undercover in prison to try locate some expensive cars and Ken's son.

* 138 and 139 Smithy and Gina go out for a drink and end up in a drinking game. Smithy cheats! "You're a cab!" The next morning Gina had a little prang and all hell breaks loose.

* 162 the first live episode

* 205 206 Nicks last episodes before going into witness protection. I hate that they didn't make more of his and Sgt!smithy's past but at least they acknowledge it in this episode. It's just a shame that a lot of newer viewers would have been confused as hell at what was going on with their goodbye.

* 214 215 the start of Gina and Jonathan properly.

* Appropriate Force, Callum comes face to face with his ex and her criminal husband. Smithy has to literally pull him away from beating the husband into a pulp for attacking his wife.

* 237 Jim and June get married. For the cast dressed up, Smithy teasing Gina about settling down and shoving her forward to catch the bouquet and the beautiful Gina and Jonathan moments. Though sadly they do end up breaking up.

Killer On The Run, Ryan Jones blames Smithy for him killing his wife. (Smithy had let slip that Ryan was infatuated with a prostitute the episode before) and tries to take revenge, holding both Smithy and Pauline, Smithy's mother at gunpoint at various times

* 272 273 Gina taken hostage by Irene Radford and the story of their history and how alike they were falls out.

* 286 Dan's first appearance at the driving school with Amber and Leela. Amber's attempts to get in with the instructor once she finds out she's a lesbian is hilarious.

* 288 289 Andrea is found out and the station explodes in a fireball thanks to Colin Fairfax. Smithy and Ken's final scene is heartbreaking 💔

*298 Dan transfers and puts himself in danger rescuing a woman who is treated as a slave by those she works for as well as being raped by the father. Rosa is terrified but Dan tries to help, made harder by the fact she's deaf and doesn't speak English.

* 302 303 Mickey returns with MIT colleagues and arrests Neil. It's a heartbreaking look at what the rape had done to Mickey or "Michael" as he insists he is now and then something further breaks his heart....

* 327 Gina is found having collapsed at home by Smithy and Jonathan. Gina and Jonathan have a heart to heart and she almost tells him she wants to reunite... Right as he tells her he has a girlfriend. She forces herself to let him go for good 💔💔

* 349 second live episode and the end of Prosser.

* 360 and 361 Dan finally discovers who it is that has been blackmailing him about his affair and a lot is revealed about his history in these 2.

* 402 403 Smithy returns to work after the Larson debarkle to find Gina graffiting his welcome back posters and his first case involving his ex cellmate

* The Fat Lady Sings, Dave is approached by an opera singer who tells him she's being stalked. He ignores her and soon regrets it. Duncan arrives and arouses suspicions when the others realise he lives in a fancy penthouse apartment and has connections in the operatic world.

* Whose Side Are You On?, Dashers arranges a football match against a group of teens and lets Viv play in goal. (Vivs only experience being netball) so he doesn't have to let Bob Cryer play.

* Square Peg Round Hole, John Boulton is stuck with a needle during an arrest and worries he might have HIV but being John he won't stay at home.

*Wannabe, A young girl makes her attraction to Rod very obvious and he uses it to get her druggy parents.

* Team Play, Jack forces Duncan to take part in a compulsory training course with him. Duncan wants to skip it and work a sexual assault case with Liz. Poor Tom keeps being chucked off the case everyrime Duncan can slip out or take calls before he's dragged back in again to unwillingly participate in the exercise 😂

Badlands, the episode with Daves assault and those leading up to it (and after) with Boultons obsession with the Lovers and trying to nail Mick. The one where George loses it and goes for John when he goads him is perfect. Just a shame it leads the the Dave, Jenny, George, Polly mess.

* Trial Run, Rod calls in sick to Moonlight as a bodyguard. He thinks he's getting a female model but ends up with his hands full with two rich kids, one of which is a little shit.

* 427 Dan at the go kart center

* 481 It's Smithy's birthday, but noone will leave him alone.

* In The Know, Leon finds himself under suspicion when he's spotted being roughed up by a target of CID

* That's Love For You & Rescue Me, Leon struggles with a case where the parents of a baby he has bonded with are suspected of abusing her.

* The Truth Will Out, Smithy asks callum to apologise to a bloke who is accusing him of pushing him. He helps out unofficially when a young kid goes missing and panics when he thinks Smithy had gotten stuck during an underwater rescue. Their final scene is amazing.

* Hide and Seek, Leon finds a little girl hiding in a fireplace and they bond a she looks after her whilst they try to find her mother. They have tea parties and pretend to be invisible and all sorts ❤️ and then Tilly breaks his heart when she says "I thought you were my friend." he later risks his job doing something naughty that is seen by Rachel...

* Solace and The Calling. Dominic is incredible in these episodes, it's a real masterclass of how he can show every bit of what Leon is feeling with the slightest change of expression.

* Tombstone, Callum tries to deal with the death of his estranged father and the knowledge that he was a rapist.

Twanky, Sun Hill put on a panto and catch a criminal attempting to off an officer during it, hopefully without the audience realising.

Sorry, went a little overboard there! Interested to hear about yours (and everyone else's!), Anon!? Could have gone on all night naming eps.

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ghostandcoffee · 1 year ago

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Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Snowbound Hearts🤍

What was once a bustling city, fallen by the ruins of war and cloaked in a thick blanket of snow and bloodshed. The melancholic sound of footsteps echoed the heaviness in the team's hearts. Ghost trudged through the icy terrain yearning for his lover so many miles away. They'd been separated for two months due to his military deployment.

The snowflakes around him reminded him of you, and how much you love the beauty of snow....you practically glow in the winter. The cold seeped through his gear and he craved your soft touch and warm smile. He missed the way your eyes sparkled like stars when you talked to him about the holiday decorations and outfits that you planned on buying this year.

As the snowfall intensified the team sought refuge in a small abandoned cafe tucked away in an alley. Ghost watched as Price pulled his hat over his face catching some shut eye, tuning out Soap and Gaz who were laughing loudly playing some games on a notepad. Ghost started out the window watching as the snow painted the streets a beautiful white.

Ghost silently pulled out a letter you had written to him a month ago. Ghost found solace in the words on the paper. Before you, he'd never had anyone write to him while he was away. He'll never forget the way his eyes watered when he received your letter.

Ghost ached to hold you again, to smell the lovely scent of your shampoo. He dreamed of being back home, a home filled with love and warmth. The snowflakes outside would be a reminder of their bond.

And so amidst the hopelessness that surrounded him daily, Ghost would preserve. He'd find strength with you in mind, reminding him what he's fighting for. Hope was like a flame in his heart. A flame lit by you, your underlying love kept him going, kept him strong.

As the snow fell Ghost silently made you a promise that very soon he'd come home to you. Forever intertwined like the delicate threads of a snowflake.

#simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #tf 141 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod imagine #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod ghost

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lingthusiasm · 2 years ago

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Lingthusiasm Episode 80: Word Magic

The magical kind of spell and the written kind of spell are historically linked. This reflects how saying a word can change the state of the world, both in terms of fictional magic spells that set things on fire or make them invisible, and in terms of the real-world linguistic concept of performative utterances, which let us agree to contracts, place bets, establish names, and otherwise alter the fabric of our relationships.

In this episode, your hosts Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne get enthusiastic about word magic! We talk about how the word magic systems are set up differently in three recent fantasy books we like: Babel by R.F. Kuang, Carry On by Rainbow Rowell, and the Scholomance series by Naomi Novik. We also talk about linguistic performatives: why saying “I do” in a movie doesn’t make you married, aka Felicity Conditions, aka an excellent drag name; performativity as applied to gender (yup, Judith Butler got it from linguistics); the “hereby” test; and how technology changes what counts as a performative.

Click here for a link to this episode in your podcast player of choice or read the transcript here.

Announcements: People often ask us to recommend interesting books about linguistics that don't assume prior knowledge of linguistics, so we've come up with a list of 12 books that we personally recommend, including both nonfiction and fiction books with linguistically interesting elements! Get this list of our top 12 linguistics books by signing up for our free email list. Email subscribers get an email once a month when there's a new episode of Lingthusiasm, and this month existing subscribers will see a link to our linguistics books list! If you find this any time in the future, you'll get the books list in the confirmation email after you sign up. In this month’s bonus episode, we get excited about the results of the 2022 Lingthusiasm Survey. We talk about synesthesia fomo, whether people respond differently to kiki/bouba depending on whether they're aware of them as a meme, complicating the "where is a frown?" map, the plural of emoji, and more! Plus, we mentioned swearing in this episode? Yeah, we’ve got bonus episodes about that too. Join us on Patreon now to get access to this and 70+ other bonus episodes, as well as access to the Lingthusiasm Discord server where you can chat with other language nerds! Our patrons let us keep making the main episodes free for everyone and we really appreciate every level of support.

Here are the links mentioned in the episode:

Etymonline entry for ‘spell’

Etymonline entry for ‘glamour’

‘Babel’ by R. F. Kuang on Goodreads

‘Carry On - The Simon Snow series’ by Rainbow Rowell on Goodreads

‘A Deadly Education - The Scholomance Series’ by Naomi Novik on Goodreads

Lingthusiasm episode ‘Cool things about scales and implicature’

Wikipedia entry for ‘performative utterances’

Superlinguo post on ‘I do’ and performatives in weddings

Government of Canada post on ‘hereby’

All Things Linguistics post on performatives

Judith Butler Wikipedia entry

‘Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity’ by Judith Butler on Goodreads

‘Universality and specificity in infant-directed speech: Pitch modifications as a function of infant age and sex in a tonal and non-tonal language’ by C. Kitamura et al

Tambiah 1968 on word magic

Lingthusiasm bonus episodes on swearing:

‘Real swear words vs pseudo swears’

‘The grammar of swearing’

‘What makes a swear word feel sweary? A &⩐#⦫& Liveshow’

You can listen to this episode via Lingthusiasm.com, Soundcloud, RSS, Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. You can also download an mp3 via the Soundcloud page for offline listening.

To receive an email whenever a new episode drops, sign up for the Lingthusiasm mailing list.

You can help keep Lingthusiasm ad-free, get access to bonus content, and more perks by supporting us on Patreon.

Lingthusiasm is on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Mastodon, and Tumblr. Email us at contact [at] lingthusiasm [dot] com

Gretchen is on Twitter as @GretchenAMcC and blogs at All Things Linguistic.

Lauren is on Twitter as @superlinguo and blogs at Superlinguo.

Lingthusiasm is created by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our senior producer is Claire Gawne, our production editor is Sarah Dopierala, and our production assistant is Martha Tsutsui Billins. Our music is ‘Ancient City’ by The Triangles.

This episode of Lingthusiasm is made available under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license (CC 4.0 BY-NC-SA).

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gloomwitchwrites · 28 days ago

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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: swearing, trauma, therapy, unprotected piv, oral sex (female receiving)

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Part Twenty-Eight of Ink & Needle

The aftermath of Kit’s actions influences your daily life. You proposition Simon with the hope of moving forward.

Chapter Twenty-Seven // Chapter Twenty-Nine

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Three Months Later

Healing isn’t linear. It is not kind or forgiving. The strangeness of therapy is how it resembles a spiderweb, beautiful at a glance but a lie. There is nothing beautiful in facing what you wish to leave behind. Sticky and lethal and pure carnage rehashed over and over again until talking it out becomes a numbing dullness.

Hope therapy goes well today. Love you.

Evie’s text stares up at you from the phone screen. She’s been a good friend through all of this, giving you space yet standing by your side. How the roles have reversed, become opposite from where it all started.

Bravo’s wet nose pushes into your palm, forcing your attention away from the phone screen.

“Hello, Bravo,” you croon softly, scratching the underside of his chin. “You good boy. Best boy!” His tail whips around in a circle, kicking up a breeze.

Simon’s dog has attended every therapy session with you. At first, you thought is strange that Simon insisted on it, but now you can’t imagine not having the German Shepherd there. Nearly all of your appointments occur during 141 Ink’s business hours. Simon cannot join you in person, but he can send a piece of himself along.

“Where’s your dad?” you tease. “Do you see him?”

Bravo stretches his neck, glancing around for Simon. It lasts only a moment. He is clearly far more interested in the attention you’re giving him.

“He is right here.”

Simon’s voice wraps around like a warm hug. You went without it for so long that now it’s a treat every time you hear him speak.

Bravo pivots out of your touch, taking a step forward to situate himself between you and Simon.

Simon’s eyebrows rise slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. The body language stands in stark contrast to his massive grin. “Protecting her, are you? Even from me?” Bravo half-whines, half-barks. Simon chuckles. “That’s my boy.”

He gives Bravo a quick pat on the head before stepping around the dog. You immediately lean into Simon, one hand pressing into his chest as he cups the side of your neck, his thumb resting on the front of your throat. There is a protective, nearly primal quality to the way Simon’s features shift as his attention turns to you

“Am I late?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No.” Presenting your mouth, Simon descends slowly, meeting you with a serenely sensual kiss.

All the quiet, simmering anxiety that sits in the back of your mind melts away like a last snow, leaving behind a plethora of green grass that reaches for the sun. Simon is your beacon in the dark, the candle flame that lights your way.

One kiss is not enough. You need a second. A third.

The old flame of desire snakes upward, slithering between your bones to settle in your chest. It is asking for the thing you’ve denied yourself the last three months—an intimacy you had with Simon before everything happened.

A fourth kiss. A fifth. Desire tightens its languid body, constricting until your breath catches.

“Get a room!”

The voice of a passing stranger breaks the enchantment, the building desire retreating to hide amongst brown leaves and sticks.

Your cheeks grow hot just as a scowl appears on Simon’s face. Shoulder’s straightening, Simon is gearing to tell the interloper off, but you grab at Simon’s hand the second he begins to turn. A light tug is all it takes. Just your touch, and Simon’s scowl recedes to a soft smile that he only ever gives to you.

With a quick shrug of his shoulders, Simon clears his throat and takes Bravo’s offered leash, wrapping it around his tattooed knuckles. He places his hand low on your back, ushering you toward his parked car.

“How was therapy?”

Simon asks every time—a loaded question.

You exhale through your nostrils, briefly glancing away from him because telling the truth is fucking hard, especially when it involves him. You settle on a half-lie.

“Fine,” you reply. “Productive.”

Fine? Yes. Productive? No.

Simon’s head tilts slightly, gaze assessing like he doesn’t entirely believe you. “Up for company today?”

This you can appreciate it. Simon may always ask how therapy went but he never pushes further than you’re willing to give.

“Not really,” you answer, this time truthfully.

Evie’s unanswered text is as much a reminder as Simon’s questions. Things are different now. Normal cannot be what it once was. There are fractures you hold in your heart, memories that you wish you could erase with a quick snap of the fingers.

Simon nods, apparently content with your answer. “Then we’ll go home.”

It’s a short walk to the car, but you savor every second, leaning against Simon with each step. He talks your ear off about nothing, filling the air with what he did at the shop today, and the customers he had even as he helps you into the car.

It’s a lovely distraction. Which is why Simon is doing it at all. He knows. He understands. Simon is not a chatty person, he’s usually blunt with his words, more to the point than anything else. He prefers fewer words than long-winded nothings, and him keeping you distracted like this goes against everything he’s comfortable with.

But Simon doesn’t know what you talk about in those sessions with the therapist, and you refuse to share it with him. He also doesn’t ask, and for that, you’re fucking grateful. You’re still coming to terms with it yourself, shuffling through the two and a half months you were gone.

Sometimes, you think things would be easier if Kit had just hurt you. That’s the expected thing, to be mutilated in unforgiveable ways. You think about his choices often, what was going through his head, and why he never raised a single hand to you. The silence you received instead is almost worse somehow. Kit refused to speak with you, and the only other person who saw was the man that brought you your meal. He refused to say anything to you—refused to even glance in your direction. It wasn’t until the coffin that you heard the first human voice other than your own in two months.

And the voice was Simon’s. Not Kit’s. Simon’s.

Today, you talked about the coffin.

Not that you actually remember it. You only saw it after you were released from the hospital. Simon took you to some military base because Captain Price thought that seeing it in person might trigger a memory. He was firmly against it, insisted that you didn’t have to do this, but you pushed back, wanting to see what that monster put you in. Simon backed down, but setting your gaze on the thing that you nearly died in turned your limbs to stone and your mind to smeared jelly.

Simon was fucking furious. You’ve seen him upset—and you thought you knew what anger looked like on him. How wrong you were. Kyle stepped in and escorted you out of the room. You might have been on the other side of the wall but it only damped the screaming match that happened. Their words were heated, the exchange loud, and though you didn’t catch all of it, you picked up pieces.

Don’t involve her again.

This is my price to pay.

She’s suffered enough.

Kyle, while leaning against the wall next to you and fidgeting with his watch, had given you a solemn smile, an attempt to reassure but only left you feeling hollow.

“Don’t fret over it,” he had said. “Simon loves you is all. Price knows that.”

“They’re screaming at each other,” you murmured.

Kyle shrugged, the smile becoming more sincere and genuine. “Price will hug him after he’s done yelling. Simon will grunt.” He winked. “All good, love. Promise.”

Simon never brought you to another military base or anything to do with what happened again. If anyone reached out to him to insist, you never heard about it.

But of what you do remember, it’s of what happened before the coffin, how Kit smiled when he brought you your meal. You didn’t know it was drugged then. He hid it well, disguising the taste and texture. You should have known something was wrong when Kit sat on the floor across from you and watched you gobble up every bite. But you had been hungry, and having another person near felt so comforting in the moment.

“Movie sound good?”

You inhale sharply, turning toward Simon’s voice. He’s standing next to you, passenger door open, the middle of the brow creased with concern by your reaction. The two of you are already home.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “What did you ask?”

The corners of his lips turn downward. You’ve slipped off again—left reality for a bit.

“A movie,” repeats Simon. “After dinner. Thought we could stay in tonight.”

Bravo shoves his face between the front passenger seat and the interior of the car. His dark eyes dart between the two of you, impatience clear in the way his tail thump thump thumps against the backseat.

“Great,” you reply, slipping out of the car.

Simon’s gaze remains impassive, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes your hand, Bravo trotting along behind the two of you.

Inside, Simon takes your coat, hanging it up next to his before heading into the kitchen to start the kettle. It’s April now, but the weather is still chilly on occasion, and you could go for a tea.

“The new visa should arrive soon,” says Simon, flipping the tap on the electric kettle. “Price made a few calls.” Grabbing two mugs from the cupboard, he sets them down on the counter before turning around to face you. “Could get you a different one. A longer stay.” He pauses, a hopefulness twinkling in his eye. “Citizenship even.”

With everything that’s happened, Simon still wants you here, with him. Hands clasped in front of you, you meander into the kitchen, almost sauntering in the way you approach him. Simon’s eyelids grow heavy, that earlier desire forming in his gaze. The two of you have touched and kissed, but the few times any further intimacy has been initiated, it’s been by Simon. You weren’t committed then, still confused and dripping with a sense of being unclean.

When you’re ready. No rush.

Respect for you outweighs his desire. Simon made you aware in other ways—subtle glances and touches, gentle compliments—but never pushed, never made you feel like sex is an expectation. He handed you the ball and bat with the only request that you swing when ready.

“Is that what you want, Simon? For me to stay?”

As you draw closer, Simon’s hands instinctually reach out to you. You do not shy away but step into his embrace. Those large, tattooed hands of his clutch your waist, pulling you closer until you’re nearly flush against him.

“There are few things I want more.”

“Only a few?” you tease, and you’re greeted with a warm smile.

“Nothing, then.”

The kettle starts to boil, but Simon ignores his, all of his attention focused on you.

“I don’t want to watch a movie. Think I’d like to do something else.”

Simon shrugs. “Course, love. Whatever you want.” He shifts slightly to plop a teabag into each mug and then carefully pours the water over the top. “We can watch the next episode of that show—”

“No,” you interject, and Simon sets the kettle down. “I mean—” You lick your lips, unsure of how you want to approach this. “I want to…try.”

Simon blinks. “Try,” he says slowly. “Try…what?”

It takes every ounce of control to not laugh at Simon’s confusion. Placing your hand on his chest, you slide it lower, and lower still until the confusion on his face melts away and realization dawns. Without breaking eye contact, Simon grasps your wrist and draws your hand away as it falls dangerously close to brushing against his groin.

“Only if you’re ready,” he murmurs, though you hear the hunger. “Don’t do it on my account.”

“I miss you.”

“I’m right here, love.”

As you press into him, Simon’s resolve splinters. Your face is upturned, lips slightly parted in offer, and Simon’s mouth is just shy of connection. You breathe him in just as he does you. There is nothing you want more, to be consumed by him, to reconnect in the one way you’ve been without.

Simon lightly grasps the bottom-half of your face. “After dinner,” he says, and the curling need pooling low in your belly squirms with discontent.

“Now,” you breathe, a demand.

Simon’s eyelids flutter. Close. He takes a deep, steadying breath before opening them again. “If I sink inside you right now, I won’t last.”

The admission only enflames the already burning embers. You desperately need to cross this hurdle, to find this intimacy with Simon again. With one hand free, you gently cup him through his jeans, rubbing, finding him hard and wanton.

Simon growls, and then you’re being lifted. He shoves everything out of the way, hot water spilling into the sink and onto the floor. The tea is forgotten, the bags briefly floating in the sink before the water disappears down the drain.

“I’m not taking you like this,” says Simon, forehead pressing against yours. “We’re having tea. Dinner. And only after will I indulge you.”

“Think the tea is ruined, Simon.”

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, closing the distance to seize you in a fierce kiss.

Everything about it is honey-drenched. Sticky. Slightly sweet. You open for him, and he goes for a taste, his hand on your throat like a collar. This is the passion you remember; the wanton need you crave.

It is not gone. Only buried.

As your hands roam, the kissing only becomes more desperate. Your thighs trap his waist, but he makes no move to retreat. Not like you could stop him. He’s far stronger than you, and even in that strength he’s aware of it, not grasping too tightly.

Fingers delve, and in seconds you have the front of Simon’s jeans open, slipping your hand inside to find his warmth. As your fingers brush his skin, Simon breaks the kiss, nearly choking on his next breath as he draws back.

“Dinner first,” he groans, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand from his pants. “Food first.”

“You’re a tease, Simon Riley,” you whimper.

He chuckles, low and knowing. “Like making you squirm.”

Dinner is a much longer affair than you’d like, as if Simon has an eternity to feed you. Every time you try to help, he shoos you off, telling you to relax and enjoy your cuppa. You eventually give up, curling up with Bravo on the sofa watching reality television as Simon putters about.

When he finally hands you your plate, you scarf it down in record time, promptly setting it aside to stare at Simon longingly.

“After,” he repeats.

“Buzzkill.”

Simon reaches over and squeezes your thigh, returning to his meal, gaze locked on the television. You try to refocus, but your mind is locked on a singular goal like you’re a man thinking with his dick and not his brain.

With a final scrape of his fork across his plate, Simon clears it, sighing with contentment. Reaching for your plate, he starts cleaning up, still insisting that you don’t move from the couch at all. This time, you don’t put up a fight, deciding it is better to snuggle with Bravo.

“Bed, Bravo,” snaps Simon. The German Shepherd grumbles as he lifts his head from your lap and dramatically slides off the couch. “To think you used to sniff out bombs,” mutters Simon, shaking his head. “Off with you.”

Bravo disappears down the hall, and then Simon is turning to you, holding out a hand in offering. “Come here to me.”

The delivery in his voice leaves no room for denial. Pushing off from the couch and reaching for his hand is easy. You want this—need this.

Simon’s arms go around you, holding you close. That soft smile returns and you answer it with one of your own.

“Still want to do this?”

“I’m sure.”

Simon’s thumb lightly grazes the line of your jaw. “Tell me if you want to stop. Promise me.”

“Promise,” you murmur.

“That’s my girl.”

With your hand in his, Simon walks backward into the bedroom. He pulls you in as he shuts the door, teasing a kiss but not giving it to you. You try to steal one anyway, but Simon knows you too well, leaning away at the last second as he slips his hand from yours.

There is no mask. No anymore. Haven’t seen it at all unless he’s at the shop, working. His sweatshirt goes, followed by his shirt, leaving him bare from the waist up. Even in the dark with a just a hint of moonlight, you can glimpse him.

Corded muscle. Endless tattoos.

Your hands copy his movements, removing an article of clothing one at a time. All this time you’ve been rushing, and now that you’re here, the undressing is slow. Languid. Simon is done before you, and even in the dark you notice the way his hands clench and unclench with the anticipation of touching you.

You barely have your socks and pants off before Simon is grasping for you, hands groping ass and hip, mouth coming down on yours with desperation. In this, you feel utterly wanted, as if there is nothing he requires more than to be one with you.

Simon’s erection presses into your lower stomach, an insistent thing that both of you ignore. His kisses are your favorite, you want them forever, and that is all you can focus on even as your grow slicker between the thighs.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and then connect them behind his neck, clinging like he’ll disappear if you don’t. Simon’s hands slide over your back and down to your ass, filling his hands as squeezing. Angling your hips up a bit, he rubs himself against you, a low groan leaving him as the base of his erection brushes the side of your clit.

Forget slow. Forget the fact that Simon admitted he wouldn’t last.

Unlocking your arms from around his neck, you reach back and grab one of Simon’s groping hands. Bringing it between your bodies, you guide his fingers to your pussy, desperately needing him to touch you. His thick fingers slide easily over your sex, your arousal apparent.

You shiver from the contact, but Simon? Simon growls, low and feral, and utterly primal. Flattening three fingers against your sex, Simon parts you, the middle finger teasing your entrance with a soft caress. It hovers, and then starts to slide in.

Simon’s lips move away from your mouth and to your chin, then to your jaw, and then your throat. More of his finger enters.

“I missed you,” you whimper as he settles to the knuckle. Simon’s teeth graze your neck as his finger begins to slide back out. “Every. Day.”

Simon adds a second finger, pumping both in perfect rhythm. “I’m here now, love. Right here. Not going anywhere.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as Simon’s palm rubs against your clit. “I—love—”

“Love, what?” coaxes Simon.

“You. I love you.”

Simon’s teeth no longer graze but they don’t bite down. They trace a line up your throat before taking a nip at your bottom lip. His fingers begin to retreat again but you grasp the back of his hand, pressing, urging him back inside.

“Don’t be gentle with me,” you murmur, rocking your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers. “Fuck me the way you want to. Please.”

Simon’s head tilts to the side. “You sure about that, love?”

You whimper, nodding, pussy clenching around his fingers as his palm lightly rubs against your clit again. It’s lovely—slowly building that orgasm you so desperately crave. But then Simon’s fingers are gone and in his mouth, sucking them clean.

Your brain short circuits, unable to comprehend the change until Simon is guiding you onto all fours on the bed. He places a hand on your upper back, urging your front into the mattress as your ass stays up in the air. Guiding your legs apart, you expect him to settle between, to mount you and rut.

His mouth finds you instead, tongue parting your pussy from clit to opening then back again. You press back against his mouth and Simon makes a feast of you. The orgasm is a slap in the face. It doesn’t arrive slowly but as a thunderous force, nearly smashing you over the head with its intensity.

Thighs quiver. Legs shake. You cry out so loud you think Simon might stop. He doesn’t. He only continues through the ordeal, urging toward another and yet another until there are tears in your eyes. Only then does he draw back, wettened lips kissing the backs of your thighs and the curve of your ass.

His strong hands rub up and down the length of your back. Soothing and comforting at first, but then demanding, helping you turn until you’re facing him. Limbs like jelly, you allow Simon to draw you into his lap, to ease your legs to fall on either side of him, to help guide you to and then onto his cock.

“Want me to stop?” he asks, voice gruff.

You vehemently shake your head. “No. Want you. Always.”

With a final effort, Simon rocks his hips up just as he presses down on your hips. Every inch is inside of you, stretching, filling. You’re full of him, but it’s not enough. You need him to move.

“Simon,” you beg.

Shifting his arms, he supports you with his hands and forearms as well as his thighs. It forces your legs up and open, ankles and feet dangling. A slice of moonlight cuts through the room, highlighting the space where your bodies meet. With your forehead resting against his cheek, you watch as Simon guides you up and down his length, disappearing and then reappearing with a shine.

Keeping one arm hooked behind his neck, you reach between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. You create a v with index and middle finger, parting your pussy to open you up more, to capture the place where Simon’s cock penetrates you.

He’s hardly keeping it together as you tease the base of his cock with a fingernail Simon’s whimper instinctually has your pussy tightening around him.

“I want you to come inside me,” you whisper, breath brushing over his cheek. Simon’s hands tighten, fingers digging into your flesh as he ceases sliding and starts thrusting. “Please,” you add with a hint of longing.

He cannot say no. Simon never does.

In seconds, Simon has you on your back, flattening you against the bed. With one hand above your head, fisting the sheets, he rests the other on the inner thigh of your left leg, holding it wide and open for a better angle.

Simon’s first thrust is brutal. He buries his face against your neck, and doesn’t fucking stop. Every time your bodies connect, he grunts loudly. The muscles in his back bulge beneath your palms.

This is not healing. This is carnage. This is a burial.

Simon is digging your grave but not to leave you to rot. You are to be wholly submerged, wholly undone in the dark, to be thread unspooled. You will linger in this grave, in Simon’s arm, to know only of him. And then, only then, will you be unearthed from the dirt.

In the morning, with the light, there will be a calmness that smothers all. A closing of a door that will never be reopened. There is no definition in past, only a resounding future, and you must take it—seek it.

“I love you,” groans Simon.

His words are what does it, that breaks the flood, and shows you the way forward.

“You’re mine.”

These words are not a groan, more a plea. You’re mine because he wants it so, and all you need to do is agree.

Mine.

“Love you.”

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